Dreams Die First (16 page)

There was no signature. It wasn’t needed. I stuffed the money in my pocket, read the note again, then tore it up. I got out of the car and dropped the pieces in the trash can.

“Check under the hood?” the attendant asked.

“Everything,” I said and headed for the john.

The attendant was waiting for me with a slip of paper in his hand. “You needed a quart of oil and I topped up your radiator and battery water. Six fifteen.”

I gave him seven dollars and got back in the car. It was five thirty in the morning and the day was coming up as I cruised past the mission at the end of North Beach. It was an old gray building, more like a warehouse than a hostel. There was a sign over the vacant lot: NO PARKING EXCEPT MISSION VISITORS. I pulled into a spot right up against the building. Then I got out of the car and started toward the door.

Before I could knock, it was opened by a medium-sized man in a brown suit. “Brother Gareth?” he asked in a thin voice.

I nodded.

“I’m Brother Harry,” he said, extending his hand. “Peace and love.”

“Peace and love,” I replied. His hand was soft.

“Come inside. I’ve been waiting for you since four o’clock. I was beginning to worry.”

I smiled at him. “That Valiant is not exactly the fastest car in the world.”

“You’re here. That’s all that matters,” he said, leading the way down a corridor. “I’ve got a room ready for you. You can crash there until your plane leaves.”

“What time is that?”

“Three-forty-five. But don’t worry about it. I’ll get you there on time.” He opened a door and I followed him into the room. “Can I have your car keys?”

I stared at him.

“I was told the car is hot. It will stick out like a sore thumb on our lot.”

I gave him the keys. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I was told to put it into a compacter.”

There was nothing to say. If you had to get rid of a car, that was the way to do it. No trace left. All the same I felt a twinge. The little old car and I had done a lot together.

I looked around the plainly furnished room. There was a narrow bed, a narrow chair, a narrow closet and a narrow window on the wall. It was a perfect room for a thin man. Suddenly I was totally exhausted. I couldn’t think. All I wanted to do was sleep.

“I’ll be back in a few hours with your breakfast. I think it’s a good idea if you stay in the room. We don’t want anybody to spot you.”

I nodded. Speaking was too much effort. He closed the door behind him and I stretched out on the bed with my clothes on. I had just enough strength to kick off my shoes before I went out like a light.

***

I slept through breakfast, but Brother Harry woke me for lunch. “You have to be at the airport an hour before departure,” he said almost apologetically as he placed the tray on a chair before me.

“That’s okay.” I looked down at the tray. Beef stew. I might have guessed. “I’m not really hungry right now. I’ll get something at the airport later.”

“The bathroom’s over there. You’d better shave. Blond beards don’t go with black hair.” He gestured to the other door. “You’ll find a razor in the medicine cabinet.”

The shave and shower helped. I began to feel alive again. I came out of the bathroom. He was waiting and so was the beef stew. I still wasn’t up to it. “Any objection to getting out to the airport early?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. Do you want to leave now?”

“Yes.” Suddenly I had had enough of small rooms and narrow beds.

***

He pulled his old Ford Fairlane to a stop in front of the United Airlines terminal, reached into his coat pocket and handed me an envelope. “Your ticket’s in there,” he said. “Brother Robert will be waiting for you in Honolulu. He’ll take you to the mission.”

“How will I recognize him?”

“He’ll find you.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Peace and love.”

“Peace and—” I stopped. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why are you going to all this trouble for me? I’m not even a member of your church. And yet all it took was a word from Brother Jonathan.”

“Oh, no,” he said quickly. “It wasn’t Brother Jonathan. He hasn’t got that kind of authority.”

“Then who has?” But I knew the answer almost before the question passed my lips.

“Reverend Sam,” he said in a hushed voice. “There isn’t a thing that happens in the church without his knowledge. He takes care of all of us. God bless him. Peace and love.”

“Peace and love.” I got out of the car and watched him drive off into the traffic heading toward the city. Inside the terminal I checked the departure board. It was only two thirty, which meant that I had an hour and a quarter to wait. I headed for the nearest cocktail lounge.

The bar was crowded, so I sat down at one of the small tables. The waitress came with my order—a double scotch on the rocks.

The way I figured it Brother Jonathan must have called Reverend Sam almost as soon as I got to his mission. Jonathan wouldn’t have made these arrangements on his own. It was organization all the way.

But what had made Reverend Sam decide that I needed protection?

“Another double, sir?”

I looked up with surprise. I hadn’t realized I had emptied my glass. They had to be watering their whiskey because I didn’t even feel it. I nodded.

She put down the drink. I glanced at the clock behind the bar. Two-forty-five. “Is there a phone here?” I asked.

“Just outside the entrance, sir.”

I paid the tab. “I’ll be back,” I said, leaving the drink on the table. I got a stack of quarters from the cashier and put in a call to Reverend Sam.

I caught him at home. “How is Bobby?” I asked.

“Much better. The doctors expect to have him on normal foods by the end of the week.” His voice lowered. “Where are you?”

“San Francisco International.”

I could hear the relief in his voice. “Then you are going to Honolulu?”

“The plane leaves in an hour.”

“Good. When Lonergan told me how bad things were, I knew I had to do something.”

“Was it Lonergan’s idea that I ship out?”

“No. But when I told him what we could do, he thought it was a good solution. I owe you too much not to help out.”

I was silent.

“I’ve made all the arrangements. You’ll be well looked after.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“You don’t have to thank me. After all, you wouldn’t be in this trouble if it weren’t for Bobby.” He hesitated a moment. “If you need anything, you call me.”

“I’m all right.”

“Then don’t worry. I’m sure Lonergan will have everything straightened out in a short time; then you’ll be able to come back.”

“Sure.”

“Have a good flight. God be with you.”

“Peace and love,” I said, hanging up the phone.

I made a series of calls trying to track down Lonergan, but he was nowhere to be found. No one at his home, his office or the Silver Stud knew where he was. I couldn’t even get an answer on the mobile telephone in his car.

I was bothered. It was all too pat. Lonergan knew I didn’t want to go away. Yet I was moving farther and farther away from where I wanted to be. I didn’t even know whether the copy for the paper had made it to the printers on time. I put another quarter in the phone and called the paper.

“
Hollywood Express
.” I recognized Verita’s voice.

I knew she would know who it was, so I didn’t identify myself. “You okay?”

“Yes. You?”

“Fine. Can you talk? Anyone around?”

“I’m alone. Everyone’s gone.”

“The copy make it to the printers?”

“It’s all done. Your friend is very good. She worked all night to have everything ready.”

“Good.”

“Are you coming back?”

“That’s a strange question. Of course I’m coming back. What makes you ask?”

“Lonergan says you’re not. He was here with Ronzi. They took Persky upstairs for a meeting. When they came down, Lonergan said you were selling the paper to Ronzi and that Persky was taking over for you. When Lonergan and Ronzi left, Persky told me that I wouldn’t be needed after this week.”

I felt the rush of cold anger. My uncle was doing his usual number. Playing God. “No way,” I said. “It’s not going to happen.”

“What can you do? If you come back, they will find you and kill you. They are evil, those men.”

“You go home and wait there until you hear from me.” I put down the phone and walked over to the departure board. There was a flight to Los Angeles at three thirty.

I was on it.

CHAPTER 23

Honest John, the used-car man, squinted against the late afternoon sun. “This here’s our special for the week. Jes goin’ on TV with it today.”

I looked at the Corvair convertible. The black top and vinyl seats had been freshly polished and the yellow body gleamed from a recent wax job. “What are you asking for it?”

“Eight hundred including T and L. It’s a steal at that money. Twenty-three hundred new in sixty-five. Practically no mileage on it at all, considerin’.”

“How much?”

“Look at the speedometer fer yerself.”

I opened the door and looked. Sixteen thousand miles. I turned back to him.

He nodded. “Sixteen. That’s right. Nothin’. That car’s good for a hundred.”

“Not according to Ralph Nader.”

“What the hell does he know? He’s jes makin’ a name fer hisself scarin’ hell outta people. I drove that car myself. Handles like a baby carriage and jes as safe as one in the hands of a mother.”

I opened the lid. The engine looked good. At least it had been steam cleaned. The treads on the tires were not bad. Didn’t look like sixteen thousand miles. I went to the front of the car and opened the trunk. In the Corvair everything was back to front. The engine in the rear, the trunk in the front. There was no tread at all on the spare tire. There were even some bald spots showing through the black rubber. I looked at Honest John.

He had an answer waiting. “You know how some people are. Cheap. Won’t buy a new tire for a spare.”

“Sure. Can I take it around the block for a test?”

“You don’t have to. With our money-back guarantee, if you’re not happy, jes bring her back within ninety days an’ we give you the full credit fer the price against any other car you pick.”

“I’d like to try it. Just to see if I’m comfortable in it.”

“You put the top down on that sweetie an’ you’ll be more comfortable than you’ve ever been in yer life. You’ll be floatin’ in cunt. That there car is a natural pussy catcher.”

“That’s great. Right now I want to know if it runs.”

He stared at me for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” He turned and called to one of the men. “Hey, Chico, go out with this guy.”

The Mexican dropped the rag on the hood of the car he had been polishing and came over. I got into the car and started the motor. It turned over easily enough. I switched on the radio. Rock music blared out. I reached and unsnapped the catches and pressed the switch. The top went down smoothly. I turned on the wipers and hit the washer button. Water sprayed on the windshield and the wipers took it away. Then I put on the headlights, got out of the car and walked around it. All the lights were on. I went to the front of the car. “Put on the brights,” I called.

The Mexican touched the floor button. The brights worked.

“Now the directionals.”

Right, then left. They worked, too. I got back into the car. Honest John was watching me with a strange expression on his face. “I just like to check,” I said.

“That’s okay.”

I took the car out and drove it a few blocks. The brakes were good, all the gears including reverse were solid, and the steering was okay, considering the car weighed nothing. He was waiting for me when we drove back on the lot.

The Mexican got out and went back to his polishing. I remained seated. Honest John came up and leaned against the door. “What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Six hundred.”

He laughed.

I took out the roll and let him smell the money. “All cash.”

He looked at the money, then at me. “Seven-fifty.”

I riffled the bills. “Six and a quarter.”

“Seven.”

“Six-seventy-five and we close.”

“You jes bought yerself a car. Come into the office and we’ll fill out the papers.”

“Okay.” I switched off the engine. When I turned back to him, he had that strange expression on his face again.

“You a rock musician?”

“What makes you ask?”

“They have all kinds of weird getups. I never seen nobody with orange hair before.”

I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. My hair had turned a peculiar orange color. Shit. I wondered what was in that dye Denise used on me.

“Yer mother have orange hair?”

“No.”

“Yer father?”

I smiled at him. “I don’t know. I never saw him without a hat on.”

“It’s strange all right.”

“It sure is,” I agreed. I had the registration made out in Lonergan’s name, using his office address. After we’d taped the registration to the windshield, I drove to the nearest office supply store and bought four quart cans of rubber cement. Then I went to a phone and called Verita at home.

“Hello.” She sounded nervous. When she heard my voice, she sighed with relief. “Oh, Gary, I was so worried about you. Where are you?”

“I’m in town.”

“Two men in a black Buick followed me home from the office. They’re parked across the street from my apartment now.”

It figured. Sooner or later they would cover everyone they thought I might contact. The big question was who they were. “They look like cops?”

“I don’t know. The car has Nevada plates.”

That was a help. They weren’t cops. Whoever they were, it was better than having the whole Los Angeles police force looking for me. “Don’t worry,” I said. “They won’t bother you. They’re looking for me.”

“I know that. But I want to see you.”

“You will. Can you contact your cousin Julio Vasquez for me? He might help. We were in Vietnam together.”

“He is a dangerous man, Gary.”

“I know that.” Julio Vasquez was the king of the barrio. Nothing went on down there that he didn’t know about. “But the men we are playing with are dangerous, too.”