Los Angeles Stories (25 page)

There was only one other car in front of the Barlow. It was a pre­war Plymouth convertible, a cute car, a lady's car. I'd seen it earlier. That might mean Nurse Bari was still on duty, or maybe it belonged to a black-jack-­wielding orderly. I'm not one of those guys you read about in the dime-store murder books with the crazy covers, the kind of sharp cat who can break in a second-story window and get the girl out while he cuts the bad guys down with a .45 and cracks wise the whole time. Not old Sonny, not with his shot-­up army hospital legs. But I had to find out if Houseley was there, so I got back in the Olds and drove down the hill. I parked right in front, next to the Plymouth. The registration on the sun visor read, “Lynn Bari, Barlow Sanitarium, Chavez Ravine Rd., Los Angeles.”

The main building was dark. There was a lighted window in one of the cottages, and I tried to walk there as quiet as a man with a cane can walk. The window gave on a small sitting room where Nurse Bari was reading a book by the light of a floor lamp. She was wearing a house­coat with a flower design, not very fancy or stylish, like she was in for the night and wasn't expecting anyone. I watched her. She had an allure women in artistic paintings have when they're just sitting alone doing nothing. Organ music drifted out the window from a table radio next to her chair. A man was speaking in the sorry tones of an undertaker: “Korla Pandit will now conclude this hour of blessed meditation. Send your prayer requests together with your dollars to
The Brighter Day
, care of this station.” The organ died away. You wouldn't have figured the violet­-eyed, alabaster-­faced Nurse Bari for the likes of Korla Pandit.

She put the book down and walked through a connecting door, and I moved to the next window. Somebody was stretched out on a bed. Bari stood there for a few minutes checking a pulse and then left. There was a pair of French doors with curtains, which were unlocked. I opened the door a little and waited. No bells rang; no orderlies came running swinging rubber truncheons. Whatever the Barlow was, high-security it was not. I went in. It was Houseley. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing deep and regular.

“Houseley, wake up,” I whispered. I bent down closer and whispered again. “Houseley, it's me, Sonny.” I took his arm and shook him. He stirred. “Won't enlist,” he mumbled. I shook him some more. His hands reached in the air. “Whiskey!” he croaked.

“You can have a drink, but you got to answer one question,” I whispered. His hands went back down. He frowned. “What are you doing here?” I asked him.

“Make me a sergeant, charge the booze!”

“Listen, I been in the army, it's hard to get liquor. Where you going to get it?”

“
Captain
Cross.” Houseley gave a mock salute. “Big shot, army hospital, gets what he wants.”

“The war is over, Houseley, you're back stateside now. What's Cross want you for?”

“He threatened me! Won't work for him! Won't be bothered!”

“Nurse Bari went to get you a drink, she'll be right back.” He smiled, he liked Nurse Bari. I heard the radio. I went to the door and looked in. Now she was doing needlepoint. The radio was making noisy, echoing sounds. “Live from Temple City, it's time once again for
Championship Bowling
, brought to you by Miller, the champagne of bottled beer!” Bari turned the dial. “The Slavick Jewelry Company brings you
Music Into The Night
, with your host, Thomas Cassidy.” An orchestra fiddled around. Bari went back to her needlepoint.

In the army, they told us be decisive. Consider your options, but don't take too long, because someone might get the drop on you and get you hurt. I put my money on violet and walked into the room. Bari looked up and saw me and put her needlepoint down — it was one of those framed panels with the old-­time lettering: “For Cozy Comfort to Serve My Guests” —that was as far as she had got. I pointed to it. “What's the rest of it, Nurse Bari?” The violet eyes gave away nothing. “I always like my kitchen best,'” she said in her low voice. I sat in a chair across from her. “My legs are killing me,” I said.

“I guess we underestimated you,” she said.

“Most people do, if they even bother. I want to know what is going on with Houseley. He told me he was a doctor here. Cross said, ‘no such person.' Now you're watching him. Go on from there.”

“The man you call Houseley Stephenson is a patient here, has been for years. He and Dr. Cross knew each other in the Army. He has an unusual medical condition which Dr. Cross has been treating him for ever since.”

“He's an alcoholic, what's so unusual?”

“He needs special medication.” Her book was facedown on the table by her knitting basket. It was more of a pamphlet than a book, entitled, “A Sample Talk for Those Who Invite Small Groups to Meet­ings.” She noticed me looking at it and covered it with a ball of yarn.

“You could talk me into most anything, Lynn, since that's your name, but I make false teeth for living, so I'm sort of an expert. The other night, Houseley told me he was doing research here, and just now he babbled about something he has that Cross wanted. I think it has to do with the war, like my legs. What makes it a secret?”

“I don't know what to say, I only came to work here four years ago. No one ever comes to see Mr. Stephenson.” Bari saw something over my shoulder, and her eyes got big. I looked around, already feeling the crazed orderly's vise­like grip on my windpipe, but it was only Houseley standing in the door. “Where's my drink?” he said. “Told you I don't make mistakes, the girl was fine all along. Why'd you tell everyone she died? Cross promised me bonded, can't trust anybody.” Bari got up and took Houseley back in the other room. She was gentle with him, he went quietly. In five minutes, she was back.

“This dead girl keeps coming up, she bothers him,” I said. “I can't follow it. Have you got anything to eat here?”

“No. And I think you had better leave, it's getting late.”

“Why? I'm a night man, I'm used to it. I thought we were just getting acquainted.”

“If the doctor comes back, there's going to be trouble. I can make you a cup of coffee, that's all there is,” she said.

I was getting light­ headed. The army doctors had warned me about low blood sugar. There were too many doctors in Los Angeles. If you laid them end to end, they'd reach all the way from Chavez Ravine to the Belfont Building.

“I think Houseley's in some kind of danger, and I'm going to take him with me. I have nothing to offer you, but why stick around here? Los Angeles is the land of the brighter day.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, but she didn't budge. It was time to go. I went back to the bedroom. Houseley was sleeping. I got his arm over my shoulder and stood him up. Leaning hard on my cane, I dragged him over to the French doors and got them open. By that time, I was sweating. Then there was the yard. It wasn't a big yard, but it was big enough. “If you're going to make a move, make it,” the CO used to say. I moved.

It was cold and damp outside. The ground was soft and my cane didn't help much. It was a snail's pace, but we managed. Around the front there was gravel, and it was easier. I got Houseley up to the Olds and rested him on the front fender, trying not to throw up on him. Then suddenly the headlights snapped on, nailing us like coyotes on the road. Someone got out of the car and walked toward us on the gravel, stopping behind the lights.

“
Ó
rale. Buenas noches, amigos.” The words trailed off like wind in the trees.

“What are you doing in my car?” I said. It was a stupid thing to say, but my pulse rate was up too high and I couldn't think.

“I like these ones, the tranny es
coool
.”

“What do you want?” I said

“I am known as Cousin Beto.
”

“You work for Dr. Cross?”

“Si. Claro. It's so tranquilo in Palo Verde en la noche. Why you have to rush away?”

“I'm taking this man out of here. Step aside.”

“ ‘Step aside'? Is this hospitable
?
Is this
polite
?
You, mi amigo, are in no position to give orders.” Behind the lights, he was just a shape. In the darkness, other shapes joined him.

“We're leaving.” It was a stupid thing to say. I wasn't going any­where. Weak as I was, I couldn't even drive the car fifty feet.

“Watch the left hand. Knife,” Houseley whispered. The shapes darted forward.

“Pa'tras, cabrones!” Cousin Beto hissed, and the shapes moved back. He stepped into the light where I could see him. He was short, but his pachuco hair­do gave him an extra four inches. He was wearing a white undershirt and a long coat that didn't match his pleated trousers. “You are expected,” he said, bowing like a ma
î
tre d' in an Olvera Street taco joint.

Beto and the boys locked us in what seemed to be Cross's office. “El doctor is busy just now, pero he will attend you very soon,” Beto said. He tended to keep his left hand out of sight in his coat pocket.

Houseley came to life and started going through Cross's desk drawers. “Cross is a doper, but he might have something around for medicinal purposes.”

“I never knew you were in the army, Houseley.”

“ ‘Disarm the world,' they said. Ah, but first, they wanted some­thing to demonstrate their power, something big and showy. I told them, fine, no problem, I'll get the amplitude up so high, their eyes will vibrate right out of their sockets for hundreds of miles! They loved it! Told them, charge the booze and I'll do it! Idiots! No such thing, of course.”

“Disarm the world? Who, the army?”

“Used to be called ‘Mankind United.' Got into trouble during the war. Got a new moniker now, can't think what it is. Cross is slipping. I don't make mistakes.”

“What's Cross up to around here?”

“‘Divisional Superintendent,' he calls himself! Wasn't supposed to have a lady friend, the faithful didn't like it. F.B.I. claimed the organ­ization was seditious, tried to subpoena her. Cross put it out that she died as a result of the operation.”

“But she didn't die,” I said. “Where'd she go?”

“Made a deal with Cross. Silence in trade for a new name, new face. I did the job. Damn good work, I don't mind saying.”

“Where is she now?”

“You need to sharpen up the old gray matter there, Sonny. Pay attention, start taking vitamins, if you're going to come to work for the organization. They have a use for everybody, even Mexicans.” Houseley started going through the medicine cabinets. “My opinion? Diabetic,” he said, looking over at me.

“I've got to eat something, I can't stay here,” I said. There was another door in Cross's office, and it led out into a dark hallway lined with a few doors with glass windows. One showed light. I looked in, and it was a tiny room with padded walls and a narrow bed. A man was lying on the bed trussed up in a straitjacket. He must have felt me looking at him, because he turned his head toward the door. I figured the window was one-­way only. I could see Woody, but he couldn't see me.

The door was unlocked. Woody panicked when he saw the door open, but then he recognized me. “Mr. Kloer! Help me, for God Almighty's sake!”

“Who tied you up?”

“They kidnapped me, the Sponsors think I'm a spy for the Hidden Rulers. They hurt me! I'm not a spy, Mr. Kloer. I been a faithful servant all these years, make them stop!”

“The police are looking for you. Who was the girl, Woody? I'll help you, but tell me the truth. Don't bullshit me that you didn't know her. ”

“I swear I didn't!”

“I'm leaving, Woody. I'm going to find Nurse Bari and tell her you been lying.”

“No! Not her, not that! She'll tell Dr. Cross, and he'll take me to Ward Seven! Don't let them take me to Seven,” Woody sobbed. He was terrified. My CO used to say, every prisoner you take alive is a mad dog from hell unless proven otherwise. The point being, there was no positive proof available on short notice. I told Woody I was going to do a little recon. With the door closed, you couldn't hear him crying and begging.

There was one time we made a mistake that cost plenty. A Jap soldier was badly wounded and the medic said he was dying. The medic spoke a little Japanese, and he said, the man was begging to commit hara­-kiri with a sword for the sake of family honor. He had lost so much blood, we didn't see any harm, so Clark gave him his bayonet. He managed to spring off the stretcher and stab Clark in the stomach. Me and two other guys tried to grab him, but he was too quick for us, and he ran past us with the bayonet, screaming “Banzai!” and slashed the medic, whose back was turned. I brought him down with my army .45, but he had done plenty of damage. The CO really chewed us out that time.

Down the hall, Nurse Bari and Dr. Cross were in a room with the door open. I was curious about Bari's voice and the way it could change, like her eyes changed. One minute, she was just a nurse, and the next, she was the boss, the one with the chops, like we say in music. You need chops to play good, or to think fast, or control the situation. Joaquin Murphy has chops, Sonny Kloer doesn't have chops, never did. I listened, and it was quite interesting, especially on an empty stomach.

“You're a fool, Richard, you've always been such a fool. You're tall, and that look in your eyes makes people want to believe what you believe, but you've become entangled in the physical world. The Sponsors are displeased. I've done all I can.”

“I'm tired, I've been under a very great strain.” Cross was a ham actor at heart, but his voice was a real instrument too, like a radio bishop.

“The Sponsors have ordered me to find a new location immediately. I can't keep making excuses and lying to people. I didn't fool the man with the cane, he came back, you see. He even propositioned me, in a way.”