Hip Cities and Lost Souls

             They were just fading at dawn, bodies sprawled across the interior of the farm house like mannequins, each limb frozen into its last drug-induced orgasm faces thrust into one another's bosom, men with men, women with women, a mingling of both, gasping as if dying rather than making love.   Chris clutched the inside ledge of the window with both hands, keeping her back to it, wishing it out of existence. She did not understand how people could let themselves get so out of control.   But each time it had come down to this. Each shipment of dope from Denver called for such a ritual. Not that the drug lords up north cared about the sampling, no doubt taking into account the habits of their hippie connections, adding enough for indulgences at each step along the route.   But this time, something was wrong. Chris couldn't say just what, which made her warnings to the other sound vague. It was a feeling she had that had gro...

 This is the second version of this novel, as of this date it is still unfinished, although I'm working on completing it as a post it. Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six More to come email to Al Sullivan

  Demetre waited for Lance at the bottom of the stairs, his tall black shape a full head above the sea of blue uniforms and flashing lights.   Like a parade, Lance thought. A welcome home celebration with no heros to honor. Only dirty-faced men lying face down in a room of death, fighting the war over and over again in their heads and hearts, this side of the cosmic door, and maybe on the other side as well, killing insanely for petty kingdoms and abuses of love.   Lance felt sick and retched, nothing coming up from his stomach but air. He had eaten nothing in what seemed like days.   "Leave him to me," Demetre said, pushing the approaching cops away. His arm fell around Lance's shoulder. "Is he dead?"   Lance nodded.   Demetre's scarred face tightened with a twinge of pain. "I suppose it had to end like this," he said, looking up at the house. "Nothing could tame him, and Jail would have killed him, too, only more slowly."   ...

The house looked and sounded vacant. The booming rock & roll of hours ago seemed an illusion now, like some dark nightmare Lance had dreamed up-- he half expected to wake to the scream of mortars and find himself in the jungle again, someone shaking him, someone telling him wounded men needed his services.   He smelled death wafting down the stairs from the house instead of sound or light. He had come to know it at a distance.   "Something's wrong up there," Lance said, pinching Bobo's shoulder in the dark. "There should be some kind of noise."   "Maybe they're meditating," Bobo said.   "Or dead."   "Don't be so upbeat, pacifist." But Bobo sounded tired, and his gaze studied the house without its usual spark.   "Why can't we go in, at least."   "Because I want Mike and Dan here first," Bobo said. "The more of us the better. If Buckingham's in there, I don't want hi...

    The "We never close" sign blinked orange in the window, more prominent in the growing dark than the conventional Pioneer Market sign. Several cars had pulled up to the curb with people at the take-out counter. Sunset Boulevard traffic whirled by, despite the traffic light. Sinister figures in cut-off denim jackets leaned against the counter eyeing Mike and Dan as they cross the street from the park. Around their ankles, empty hamburger bags swirled like sage brush. Mike glanced back. Lights from distant traffic twinkled through the trees but no sign of pursuit.   "Inside," he said, motioning Dan towards the double doors.   Dan paused, studying the park's low wall and overflowing tree branches, both hands gripping pistols.   Denver men! Here in L.A.!   The chill of it ached in his bones. He felt giddy from it, and strangely relieved, as if the burden of expectation had been lifted from his shoulders. He could quit worrying about when it would h...

     "I hate you!" Marie said, staring across the table at Mike emblazoned eyes, her make-up cracked around her mouth in a permanent expression of grief.   "No you don't," Mike said, calmly stirring his cup of coffee. "It's all in your head like you said it would be."   "I said Daddy would convince me to come home," Marie snapped. "He didn't. I convinced myself. And you helped. If I never heard Daddy's voice, things might have been different. I wouldn't have cared. I wouldn't have thought of home. But I miss him. I miss being home. And I'm going back."   "Why don't we wait until things blow over," Mike said. "Then we can talk more rationally about it."   "I am being rational," Marie said. She looked around the food establishment and caught sight of Lance seated at the counter, his shoulders hutch in a deliberate attempt to seem uninvolved, taking his time coming bac...

      "This is crazy," Bobo protested as Dan pulled the car into the slanted parking slot. The meter still had time on it, though he finished a dime out of his pocket and added two hours. "Who the hell knows if he's even alive?"   "If he is we need to talk to him."   "Why?"   "To find out what happened and what he saw."   "You mean he might have seen...?"   "That's what we're here to find out."   "What about Mike? Shouldn't we be looking for him?"   "We've still got hours before the meeting. If we know who Buckingham is, we might be able to stop things before the killing starts."   Bobo nodded and climbed out his side of the car, staring up at the brick face of the building, his gaze jittery. "I'm not fond of these places, Dan," he said softly.   "Nor am I," Dan mumbled, the tightness growing in his chest. He wondered if his face sh...