42 – English friend to the Musketeer

 

 

 Marie giggled at the hippies fucking on the lawn. She seemed to want to join them the way she had back at the apartment. It annoyed Lance. He hated public scenes of any kind, even arguments with Sarah, and his nerves still hadn't gotten over the chase through Hollywood. He kept looking over his shoulder expecting to see the army of Daddy's men descending upon him.

 Bulldogs. Not human. Not Charlie. Even the cong had known when to give up. Lance didn't expect them to be fooled for long by his back door escape.

 Yet it seemed safe here back in Free Press Bob's little haven, a bit of old insanity rather than the new variety, the line as long as usual with the same grumbling hippies staring at them as they moved.

 "We're not here for papers," Lance said, echoing Mike's earlier visit, and like earlier, none of the hippies seemed to believe it, casting dark glances as Lance shoved Marie through the door.

 "About time you got here!" Free Press Bob bellowed, leaping up from behind the counter. "Where's Mike?"

 "We were kind of hoping we'd find him here," Lance said, sagging against the door frame, a confused hippie chick eyeing him and Marie with bright, paranoid eyes. She gathered her papers and scooted quickly.

 "Well, he's not," Free Press Bob barked. "Didn't you people get my message?"

 "You sent someone to the house?"

 "Hours ago," Free Press Bob said. "But never mind that. You're here at least..."

 Another hippie came in through the door. Free Press Bob exploded. "Out! Can't you see I'm busy?"

 "I just wanted...."

 "No more papers tonight. Tell the rest of them on your way out."

 The hippie vanished. Free Press Bob motioned Lance to lock the door.

 "You didn't have to do that," Lance said. "We could wait for Mike in a corner..."

 "If Mike is coming," Free Press Bob said, fishing a joint out of a pack of cigarettes. His hands shook as he lit it, and he studied them through a billow of smoke.

 "He said he'd stop here."

 "But he might not get the chance. All hell is breaking loose in this town. First the narc story we published, and now a cop killing up in the hills."

 "Someone killed a cop?" Lance said, horrified, wondering which cop? Wondering if Demetre had finally caught up with Buckingham after all.

 "Four of them," Free Press Bob said after another long toke. "I don't know all the details, but people said there was a gun battle up in Griffiths Park-- and the cops came out on the short side."

 "But who would be that stupid?"

 "The rumor mill has mentioned Billy Night Rider," Free Press Bob said. "Billy does a gig up there near the observatory. I think his gang picked on the wrong woman this time. Maybe an undercover cop."

 "But what does that have to do with Mikie?" Marie asked.

 "One of my people saw him wandering up in that direction earlier. If he's mixed up in it, he'll never get out of those hill alive. The cops are out for blood."

 "That's terrible!" Marie moaned. "We've got to do something."

 "Like what?" Free Press Bob asked sourly.

 "Send someone to warn him."

 "Like hell I will!" the newspaper man roared. "It's hardly safe to walk the streets let alone sending someone up there."

 "But you sent a messenger to the house," Lance pointed out.

 "Earlier, before any of this happened."

 "Why?" Lance asked.

 Free Press Bob paused and studied Lance's face across the counter, the eyes going softer after a time. "I suppose it's all right to tell you two," he said. "Buckingham left a note here for him."

 "Buckingham?" Lance roared. "You saw him?"

 "He didn't come inside. He just handed this to one of the people on the line."

 Free Press Bob held up a folded piece of paper. Marie reached for it, but the newspaper man kept it out of reach.

 "It's for Mike," he said.

 "Give it to her," Lance said. "We talked to Demetre earlier and the cop had nothing good to say about Buckingham. If something's happened to Mike, the note might be the only clue we have to finding him."

 Free Press Bob's face twisted sourly, but he dropped the note down on the counter; Marie snatched it up, tearing the cheap notebook paper as she unfolded it.

 Large third-grade block letters showed on the page in blunted pencil, like some perverse gummer school joke.

 Meet me on the Venice Pier at midnight, Monday.

                English Friend to the Musketeers.

 Lance frowned over this last. "Who the hell is this English Friend."

 "It's from a Defoe novel," the newspaper man said. "The Three Musketeers had and English ally named Lord Buckingham."

 "That seems like an odd reference," Lance said.

 "Not if you're Mike-- he's a Defoe fanatic from way back when. The odd thing is that Buckingham should know it."

 "It's Monday now," Marie said. "Does this mean Mike missed the meeting."

 "Maybe," Bob mumbled. "It might mean tonight-- or nothing at all."

 "You mean it could be a trap?" Lance asked.

 The newspaper man shrugged. "There are lots of people in town interested in that drug shipment."

 "But not a lot of people who know Mike's in town."

 "Maybe Mike got word some other way and already went to Venice," Marie suggested.

 "Then why was he wandering up around Griffiths Park?" Free Press Bob asked.

 None of them seemed to have an answer to that.

                ***********

 The tapping on the door woke Lance from solid sleep. At first, he thought it a woodpecker. From his room back east he had heard them often this time of year-- and he'd been dreaming of the east and his uncle's house, and his still living there as if nothing had happened, no stolen money, no tour of Vietnam. But even after his eyes were open, the tapping continued. No woodpeckers lived in Southern California. And none pecked at doors an hour before dawn.

 A light went on in one of the back rooms, sending a spray of dim orange across the floor. The widest angle illuminated Marie's sleeping form, her hands wrapped around her own legs like a child. Lance felt something stir in him and turned his attention towards the grumbling Free Press Bob.

 "Is that someone at the door?" the newspaper man asked, looking more haggard than usual in underwear and socks-- his body an accumulation of sticks, each of which threaten to poke through his greying flesh.

 "I think so," Lance said.

 "Who? The Police?"

 "I didn't sound like their knock."

 "It never does," the newspaper man said, lifting a section of counter. It rose like a draw bridge with a hinge on one side, allowing him to pass beneath. He eased close to the door and bent his ear to it.

 "Who is it?" the man asked sharply.

 "Me-- Mike," the voice answered.

 "Mike?" Lance said just loud enough to wake Marie. She opened her eyes with a small cry.

 "Let me in, will you!" Mike's insistent voice said.

 The crease along Free Press Bob's brow deepened, as his suspicious eyes shifted nervously towards Lance.

 "I think it's him," Lance said.

 "It better be," the man grumbled, working open each of the three dead bolts. "Other wise we're all in for a visit downtown."

 As soon as the door was free, Mike tumbled in. "Close it!" he hissed. "And lock it! The whole fucking word is going crazy out there."

 Mike looked bad-- his face drawn tight around his jutting cheek bones, like flesh sucked dry of blood. Flecks of dirt, pine needles and tree bark clung to his clothing. A jagged hole in his jeans dripped blood from some fall along his way back.

 Free Press Bob stared for a moment, then complied with the request, throwing closed the door and jerking each bolt back into place.

 "Did you kill them?" the newspaper man asked, leaning against the inside the door.

 Mike frowned, though didn't sit, his gaze sweeping around the room as if in a cage, eyes narrowing at the sight of Lance and more so when they found Marie.

 "Kill who?" he asked.

 "The cops up in Griffiths Park."

 This drew Mike's disbelieving stare. "You know about that?"

 "It's all over town by this time," Free Press Bob said. "News like that spreads fast."

 Mike nodded and sat heavily down onto one of the bundles of paper. He glanced at Marie again who had faded back into dream-land.

 "How did she get here?" he asked.

 "We came looking for you," Lance said.

 A slow sigh escaped Mike. "I suppose I was gone longer than I figured." He reached down and stroked Marie's hair. Her eyes fluttered open and stared at the upside down face, her thick, blond brows folding inward before recognizing him.

 "Mikie!" she yelped and leaped up and into his arms. "Are you really here?"

 "Yeah really," Mike said, emitting a weary laugh. "Though I don't exactly believe it myself yet."

 "But where did you go?" she asked, stepping back from him, her hands flicking bits of brush off his shoulders and hair. "We were so worried about you."

 "I wound up in Griffiths Park, but I didn't kill any of the cops," he said, pushing her hands away to rub his face-- his fingers pressing deep into his eyes sockets.

 "Daddy's men are here, Mikie," Marie said.

 This drew up Mike's reddened eyes-- not with disbelief so much as greater weariness. "When it rains, it pours," he mumbled. "Where did you see them?"

 "On the Boulevard," Lance said. "They chased us for a while-- we barely managed to escape."

 "I'll bet," Mike said, eyeing Lance with spark of admiration. "Not many people do. But it spells another bit of trouble we don't need."

 "And that's not all of it," Free Press Bob said., moving back behind the counter, withdrawing Buckingham's note from a box. "Maybe you should take a gander at this. Unless of course you already know about it."

 "What is it?"

 "A message from Buckingham."

 Mike snatched the piece of paper up and quickly read its contents, a thick crease forming between his brows as he looked up. "Why would I know anything about this already?"

 "We figured you might have run into Buckingham while up in the hills."

 "Not Buckingham," Mike said. "Billy Night Rider and Chris."

 "Chris?" Marie howled. "What did that bitch want?"

 Mike laughed. "The usual shit. She begged for me to run off with her."

 "I ought to kill her!"

 "Not likely," Mike said, patting her shoulder paternally. "She'd give a dozen of your Daddy's men a tussle if she wanted to. But don't worry. I wouldn't go off with her if she was the last woman on earth."

 "But you were with her."

 "She followed me up to Los Felix. Billy Night Rider hooked onto her thinking she was fair game. The cops clamped onto the whole thing. That's when the shooting started."

 "Who exactly off-ed the pigs?" Free Press Bob asked.

 "Mostly Billy," Mike said with a note of something painful in his voice.

 "Mostly?"

 "It's not important."

 "But it's bad news no matter what," the newspaper man said. "If the cops snag Billy he'll blame the whole thing on you."

 "Maybe," Mike said, staring at the note again. "Maybe they won't catch him."

 "Can you take that chance?"

 "No," Mike mumbled. "Which is why this is so important." He flapped the note.

 "Then you intend to meet with him?" Lance asked, strangely surprised. Somehow he'd thought it unlikely after all the craziness.

 "Damned straight," Mike said. "Provided I haven't missed it already. I'm supposed to hook up with Demetre sometime before midnight. Maybe he'll have something I can use to bargain with."

 "If he doesn't bust you," Free Press Bob said.

 "We have an agreement," Mike said.

 "Maybe. But things have a way of changing when cops get killed."

 Mike sighed. "That's a chance I'll have to take."

                ***********

 Mrs. Lansford’s door snapped open when Lance started up the stairs-- Mike stopping short ahead of him, his face taunt and his hands near the bulge in his belt.

 "Mr. Drummond, could I speak with you?" the blue-haired old lady asked, stepping free of the shadow. A mingled sense of relief and panic spun dizzily in Lance's head.

 "Certainly," Lance mumbled and eased back down the steps aware of the eerie quiet that had settled over the building. He almost preferred the sound of the party to this kind of silence. "What can I do for you?"

 The woman hugged closed her terry cloth robe, the lack of over-zealous makeup making her look less tough. "I've received complaints from the neighbors about noise," she said. "There seemed to be a racket coming out of your apartment last night."

 "I'm afraid that's impossible," Lance said. "I wasn't even home last night."

 The woman's face crinkled as if to explode, but the eyes showed just enough doubt to hold it back. "Not home?"

 "I've just got a new job," Lance said. "Working nights."

 "What about your wife?"

 "She's off visiting a sick friend," Lance explained. "The neighbors must have heard the noise coming from another apartment, or someone's car stereo."

 "I suppose that could explain it," the woman said. "I should have been here. These things always happen while I'm away."

 "Indeed they do," Lance said, trying not to show his relief.

 "Well, keep down your stereo anyway," the woman said. "You tend to be loud at times."

 "Absolutely," Lance assured her and turned back towards the stairs.

 "Good, good," the woman muttered and paused outside her door.

 "Is there something else, Mrs. Landsford?" Lance asked from two steps up.

 "You will have rent for me later this morning?"

 "The moment the bank opens," Lance assured her, and wondered as he climbed up the stairs again if he would have to rob it.

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