Chapter 6 & 7

Clint, Darian and Anna drive through the front gate of the salvage yard and pull to a stop in front of the old school bus.  Clint leans over to Anna.  “Quite a story.  You’ve got your work cut out for you.  Darian’s a good friend.  I owe him a few. We’ll repair these shocks and see what we can find.”

Anna thoughtfully climbs out and watches Clint and Darian walk toward some parts.

***

In a modest rooming house in downtown LA, Steely unlocks his deadbolt, then shuffles through his keys for the ones to unlock the other three locks to his apartment door.

            From down below on the 2^nd floor, the landlady calls up.  “Another long night, eh Sargent?”

            Steely, looking exhausted, acknowledges her weakly.  “Long night, Mrs. Jensen.  How’s your cat?”

            Mrs. Jensen dumps her garbage bag down the incinerator.  “She’s getting’ better.  That medicine of Oscar’s you gave me seems to be working.”

            Steely opens the final lock and bellows down two floors.  “Good to hear, Mrs. Jensen.  Good to hear.  You take care now.”

            Stepping into the apartment, Steely secures all the locks, removes his shoes, placing them neatly by the door, and walks through the dim morning light to the open window.  He unstraps his gun belt and very precisely places it on the wall hook.  Several cats come up to him as he undoes his tie, picks up the goldfish food and sprinkles a bit into a small aquarium.  He then gives all the cats a friendly pat and picking up his favorite, Oscar, stands by the window a moment watching the activity below. “Have a good day, Oscar?  Mine was… the usual.” He continues to gaze down on the heavily trafficked street as early morning rush hour horns continue their cacophony of disturbance.  People on foot rush to catch a bus, diesel smoke furrowing up to create a gray shroud over the hectic “get to work” activity.

            Steely shuts the window down and pulls the venetian blinds.  He stands a moment, still hearing the horns, then turns and scans his apartment, wall to wall.  He subtly nods approval of the neat, orderly placement of furniture, old, but well kempt.  Rug, a rather dull green, but functional amidst the museum like walls.  Surrounding him are hundreds of war items.  Dominating the far wall is an American flag.  Pinned to it are several medals, including the Sliver Star and Purple Heart.  One wall is heavily laden with guns, vintage Vietnam War.  The opposite wall is covered in framed pictures and newspaper clippings from the same period.  Some show Steely in uniform and others in battle fatigues.  One very old picture shows him as a teenage boy standing next to an old bus.  Painted on the side of the bus is, “St. Augustine Orphanage.”  Written on the photo is: Home Sweet Home – Good luck Gaines – Don’t Forget where your Home Sweet Home is – Richy .  Next to the orphanage picture is a photo of a woman standing in front of a small storefront with “Palm Readings” painted on the window.  An inscription reads: “Thanks.  Love, Wendy”.

            Steely’s eyes well up as he stares at the two pictures.

            Horns and traffic noises begin to disturb him and he goes to his record player, taking out an environment recording of the seashore and placing it on the turntable.  He then puts on a set of headphones and dragging behind him a long extension cord, drops into his easy chair.  Oscar curls up in his lap and he strokes him gently as he continues listening to the seashore’s calming effect.  “Love you, Oscar.”

***

The streets of Los Angeles at night finds Doc, Pepe, Sophia, Banjo, Anna, Darian and Clint all confronting other Rags with the picture and recording.  The response is always the same.  No one has heard of her.

***

            Barney’s Bar offers an old run-down combination bar and quick food stop.  Seated in the center of the room is Banjo playing the recording of Anna’s grandmother. One Rag, Stan, listens intently.

The room reveals several Rags sitting at wooden tables sipping shared beer and wine, compliments of Anna’s meager budget.  The general decor is one of junkyard findings.  A moose head with half of its antlers broken off adorns a wall above a plastic palm tree decorated like a Christmas tree.  An old Rag sits atop a broken bucking-bull-ride as it rocks limply, its motor quietly grinding itself to a sure death. The bartender, doubling as a short order cook, fulfills orders from the sidewalk customers, grabbing a quick hot dog or hamburger on the run.

            In one corner of the room, a Rag woman working a jigsaw puzzle and sipping beer through a straw, gives a high five to a group of three Rag men playing poker with pennies and sharing a hot dog cut in three pieces.

            The tape finishes.  Banjo waits for Stan’s answer.

            “Maybe I know her.  Maybe I don’t.”

            Banjo slaps a dollar on the table.  “If you know her, sweet cheeks, let’s hear it.  You don’t?  I ain’t  payin’ to smell your lousy breath.”

            Stan glares at the dollar bill. 

            Banjo stands up.  “Don’t jerk me around.”

            Stan leans over and speaks confidentially to Banjo.  “I know somebody who could pass for her. We could split the reward.”

            Banjo starts to put the recorder away.  “Shit.  I ought to bust your head for thinkin’ like that.”

            Stan puffs his chest out. “Don’t give me that ‘Holier than thou’ crap, Banjo.  The Blue Boys pay you for info.  Why shouldn’t WE get good bucks for the same thing?”

            Banjo grabs him by the wrist in a bone-crunching grip. “Because I give – honest- info, Stan.  Info that’s hard for the cops to get sometimes.”  He leans in closer, the scar running from his ear down to his Adam’s apple catching Stan’s eye. “You know what I mean, don’t ya, Stan?  So, you keep your lip zipped ‘bout the Blue Boys, ya hear?”

            Stan doesn’t answer.

            “Ya hear, don’t ya Stan?”  Banjo pushes him away as the front door burst open and Cisco, a young 14-year-old Mexican street kid runs up to Banjo and whispers something in his ear.

            Banjo runs to the window and peers out to see…

Chapter

 7

Outside Barney’s, a power and light repair truck parked in the middle of the street has driver and helper placing pylons around the area of a manhole cover.

Inside Barney’s, Cisco nudges Banjo.  “That’s them, I tell ya.  That’s them.  What a hiding place.”

Banjo pats him on the shoulder and starts to leave, pushing his cart toward the door.  “Thanks, Cisco.  I’ll see you in a few minutes.  You did real good—real good.”  Banjo steps outside, pushes his cart up to the corner phone booth and dials.  Across the street the power and light boys continue to prepare the area for work.

The phone voice says, “Lieutenant Reese’s office.”

“This is Banjo.  Let me speak to him, quick.”

“Ya.  Sure, Banjo.  What’s up?”

“Reese, please.”

“On it.”

“This is Reese.”

Banjo charges in.  “Corner Western and 3^rd.  They’re movin’ fast, though.

“Thanks, Banjo.  I owe you one.”

Banjo grins, and hits him with, “You owe me three to be exact.  I’m getting’ way ahead of you.”  He nods and hangs up.  He takes his time and pushes his cart across the intersection, watching the repair men lift the man hole cover and go down with several canvas work bags. He barely steps up on the curb, when three police cars screech around the corner and surround the manhole opening.”

***

At the Benzoni Carnival, a little traveling bear in a shooting gallery falls backward, then another and another, as rifle shots ring out.  Clint continues to fire the gun as Darian and Anna look on, munching some food on a skewer.  In the background 6 or 7 rides operate with full loads, replete with screaming, laughing children and adults.  A large crowd mills about.

Clint puts down the gun and collects his prize, a stuffed dog, then walks with Anna and Darian into the crowd.

“How’d you get so good with a gun?” asked Anna.

Clint tries to hide his embarrassment.  “Grew up just down the street and the Benzoni Carnival’s been coming here this time of year since I can remember.”  He slaps the dog under Anna’s arm, generating a smile from Anna.  “Nice to see you smile,” said Clint.

“Just taking a break,” said Anna, with a shy smile.  “Let’s get back to work.”

A woman in s wild colored print housedress approaching them is whistling, accentuating the bright rouge and lipstick.

“I’ve seen her around,” said Darian.  He steps out.  “Hi.  Remember me?  Friend of Doc’s.  His birthday party last year?  At the salvage yard?

The old woman looks suspiciously at them.

“Well, I remember you,” said Darian.  “You whistle.  I play the trumpet.  Your whistle… that’s a favorite of mine.  Tea for Two.”

She is flattered and stops whistling.  A big smile reveals several missing teeth.  “Used to sound better before I lost these 2 up front.”

“Still sound good.  Maybe you can help us.”

“Huh?” The old woman becomes suspicious again.  “What you want?”

Darian calmly says, “My friend here, Anna, is trying to locate her grandmother.  She lives in the streets too, and…”. He gestures to

Anna to take out the recorder.  “We got this recording of her voice and…”

Anna starts the tape and show the photo. 

“This is an old picture, but…” said Anna.

The old woman closes her eyes and listens very intently to the recording for a few seconds.  Then, suddenly, her eyes spring open and she excitedly acknowledges.  “Sure.  Sure.  That’s Lucille.”

Excitedly, Anna steps up to her.  “Lucille.  Lucille what?  I mean, you know her?”

The old woman matter-of factly says, “Sure.  She hangs around here all the time.  Tries to take attention away from me with big flowered hat—daisies and God knows what, but…”.  She straightens her dress and fluffs her hair.  “She’s not much of a threat.  When you got it…”. She flashes a wicked wink, “when you really got it!”

“Where,” chimed in Clint. “Where, Ma’am?  Where would we find her?”

Old woman smiles.  “Can’t miss the hat.  She’s around.  She’s got one friend down by the Fun House she spends a lot of time with.”  She starts to walk away.

Anna stops her.  “Who’s the friend?”

The old woman turns and gestures, a “fat woman”.  She giggles, “Big Bertha,” and wonders off with a role of her eyes.

The three look as each other.  Darian offers, “She’s a bit…you know…off.”

Anna nods.  “Yah, well, it’s the first possibility.  Let’s check it out.”

                                                ***

Outside the carnival, Clint’s jeep is parked.  Steely and Frank’s black and white pulls alongside.  Steely checks it out.  “She’s got those off-road freaks messin’ around with her now, Frank.  Rags say she’s just lookin’ for the grandmother.  Don’t buy it.  There’s gotta be somethin’ else goin’ on with that little piece of juicy youth from dopamainia, Frisco, eh?”

            They pull over to the side and park.  We see a newspaper between them on the seat.  The headlines read: “BIG BUST DOWN A MANHOLE—45 KILOS OF COCAINE FOUND”.  A picture shows the power and light truck and captives.  Steely and Frank wander into the carnival.