Moments later I was on the air again, holding forth like someone with something to say. The first two hours of the shift flew by, and the phones blinked like homes dressed for Christmas. I was comfortable and in my element, anchoring the debates and cracking wise.
"Okay, okay. Let's just say, for the sake of discussion, that you're right. Let's say a womanizer like you is promiscuous because he truly loves women."
"Damn straight," the caller said.
For the hell of it, I left the "damn" alone. I was pacing again, working myself up. "Just loves women to death. Hey, in fact you can't keep your mind or your hands off them, right?"
"No matter how hard I try," the man bragged.
"I see."
You're a smug prick. I think you're covering up for something. Like maybe a really tiny dick or some Homo-erotic fantasies you can't allow to surface
. I figured this call was more about the dude blowing his own horn than anything else, so he was fair game. I bored in.
"Okay. What about all the hurt feelings from betrayals and lies? How do you account for emotional fallout? Would you call that part of it loving, too?"
"I can't be responsible for everyone else's reaction."
I pounced. "The best definition of integrity I ever heard is from a guy named John Kabat Zinn. He calls it 'obedience to the unenforceable.' Integrity means being a man, instead of a lying piece of dog crap who can't be trusted to go to the corner grocery store without trying to hump something."
"Hey, wait a second . . ."
"Thanks for calling." I dropped back into my chair. "But if that's all you have to offer don't bother to again." I cut him off and let a dial tone hang for dramatic effect.
"Listen people, there are all kinds of excuses for having affairs, and both men and women do it. But the bottom line is you're lying, and you're betraying your own honor. And dishonestly is most definitely
not
love. End of lecture. This is Mick Callahan, and I'll be back with you in a few minutes after these brief words from the good folks who pay my meager salary."
I started a station ID linked to four minutes of commercials, leaned back to stretch. My beeper went off. Puzzled, I checked the digits and saw it was my own number. I dialed with one eye on the clock.
"Peanut?"
"I think someone is in the back yard."
"Tell me about it."
She was tense, speaking in a whisper. "I heard something moving around out there, something big."
"Are you sure it wasn't Murphy?"
"This was bigger than a cat. At first I thought maybe a dog had gotten into the yard, you know? But when I peeked out the side window I saw that the gate is closed."
"Could Mary have gotten outside?"
"She's asleep in her bed. Mick, I'm really scared. What should I do, call the police?"
The commercial was running down.
God damn it, Mary has felony warrants
. "No, don't call the police yet. Hang on just a second."
I went live. "I'm in the mood for a little music. I'm going to play one of my favorite songs while I pick the next topic." I started a song that turned out to be an old Nat King Cole. "Peanut, you there?"
"I'm in the kitchen now, sitting on the floor. I haven't heard anything. What if it's that pimp, come for Mary?"
"How would he know where I live?" But I knew the answer. He had someone follow me home from Pomona. "There is a number on the fridge, a cop named Larry Donato. He's off duty tonight, so see if he can come over. I am going to call you right back."
"Okay."
She severed the connection. I programmed the computer to play some extra music, broke in on the Nat Cole song as I stuffed things into my briefcase. "This is Mick Callahan, and I have to stop a little early for personal reasons, but I'll see you again tomorrow. Until then, here's some cool jazz."
I burned rubber out of the parking lot, hit the freeway onramp and dialed my home number. There was no answer. Frustrated, I changed lanes like a madman, but for no apparent reason the freeway was a parking lot.
I left the highway and roared down Victory, even clipped a parked car while beating a red light. Eventually I screeched to a halt in front of my home. The lights were on and the front door was standing open. I slipped around to the trunk, opened it, and reached inside for the .357.
"You know that's against the law?"
I spun around. A tall man, about my own size and build, stepped out of the shadows. He wore nothing but a pair of dark Bermuda shorts and tennis shoes with no socks. I went for the gun.
Officer Larry Donato laughed. "Whoa! I'm one of the good guys, remember?"
"Jesus, you scared me. Are they okay?"
"They're okay," Donato said. "No maniacs in sight. Quite a harem you have in there; which one's yours?"
I grunted. "Neither, pal. The tall one's a good friend, and the other girl is somebody we're trying to help."
Donato smiled. "I am really glad to hear that, because I just asked Suzanne for her phone number."
"Damn, you work fast." I felt a small twinge of jealousy that caught me off guard.
Wow, that's mature, Callahan
. "You treat her right, or you and me will be dancing some night."
Donato grinned, a bit wickedly. "Big brother?"
"Absolutely, I have a proprietary interest in that woman's happiness and safety. Speaking of which, how the hell did you get here so fast?"
"I live two off ramps away. I was watching the game. I just threw on some shorts and I brought these." He reached down and produced his badge, a long flashlight, and his snub-nosed .38. "Just to be on the safe side."
"Thanks. Seems like I'm going to owe you quite a few favors."
"No shit. A lot of trouble to go through for one damned autograph."
"Yeah, but you got Suzanne's phone number."
"There's that."
We started towards the house. Donato said: "Hey, do you want to maybe tell me what the hell is going on?"
"Actually, it's probably no big deal."
"And you have some swamp land you want to sell me."
"I'd tell you if I could, and I really am grateful."
"My cousin Darlene? The vice cop who busted you and cut you loose that time? She said you were trouble. I should have listened."
"Maybe you should have."
Donato grinned. "Okay. I needed to make a heroic impression, so I've already been around the yard twice. Want to come with me the third time?"
I followed him into the house. We closed and locked the door. Peanut was curled up on the couch, dressed in pink pajamas and sipping some water from a tall plastic cup. I noticed that she sat up and primped her hair when she saw Donato coming. I got that vaguely sick feeling again.
Physician, heal thyself
. I stopped and patted her on the shoulder.
"I think that boy wants you, Peanut."
"He's nice," she said. "You don't mind?"
"Don't be silly. Now, what happened?"
"I guess it was nothing. I'm sorry if I worried you, Mick."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm glad you called. Mary still sleeping?"
"Like the dead."
"Mick?" Donato, from the yard. "Can you come out here a second?"
"I'll be right back."
I stepped out onto the porch, waited for my eyes to adjust. Larry Donato was standing in the far corner of the yard, shining his flashlight on the ground. "This look right?"
The area around the telephone line was trampled. The panel was open, but the wires had not been cut. I frowned and scratched my chin. I needed a shave. "I don't know, maybe somebody from the phone company? Nothing is damaged that I can see. Is the line still working?"
"Like a charm," Donato said. "I already checked. But look at this." He moved a few feet away. The pale light from his flash illuminated the succulent garden at the back of the property. "Jesus, now I'm freezing my ass off for some reason."
"Look at what, Larry?"
"Where was it . . . over here?" Donato held the light steady. I got down on one knee. Something looked ominous. It was a circular, burned patch of grass, perhaps eight inches around. In the center of it lay a small black stone. The stone had a stick figure scratched on it.
"I saw you got a lot of Oriental shit on your bookcase," Donato said. "So at first I thought that maybe this was a meditation thing, but didn't you say the asshole that jumped you had a tattoo?"
"Yeah, and it looked something like that. A stick figure surrounded by flames." I touched the grass. The burned blades crumbled beneath my fingers. I sniffed the cinders and palmed them. They were still quite warm. "It's a burning man, sort of like at that festival."
"What does it mean?"
"I don't rightly know, but the lady wasn't hearing things, Larry. Somebody was out here."
"This some kind of voodoo shit?"
Voodoo?
I thought of Fancy and my stomach clenched. "Maybe."
Donato knelt at my side. "You're pushing my limits. I'm an officer of the law, remember? Now, I'm always happy to help out a beautiful woman, but I need to know what's going on."
"Turn out the light, Larry."
He did. The night closed in around us. We continued by starlight. "I don't know much. That girl I went to get, out in Pomona? That was Mary. She had a pimp, a rich, powerful, bad-tempered dude. This may be a message."
"Saying you're not out of reach?"
"Look, nothing is really broken or out of place, nobody got hurt, and I can't prove anything. And what do you want to bet there are no fingerprints on this piece of stone?"
"No bet."
"I need one last favor," I said.
He saw it coming. "No."
"It's simple. Please don't saying anything to anybody. Just sit on this for a few days."
"Let's see now," Donato said, "and you're not going to tell me why because . . . ?"
"Because it's better you don't know."
I don't want you complicit in helping someone evade a felony warrant. That could end your career.
"You know, I plan on making some serious moves on Suzanne, so I'm going to find out eventually."
"Later, Larry."
"Oh. Well, fuck you too, then." Donato sighed, got up and jogged into the house, calling back over his shoulder. "I
am
freezing my butt off. Give me something to drive home in, and we'll call it a night."
I went inside, grabbed the XL L.A. Rams jersey from the back of the armchair and tossed it to Larry Donato. He slipped it down over his shoulders. Peanut was standing at the kitchen sink. Larry winked at her.
"Suzanne? I'll call you in the morning. Maybe we'll go grab something to eat, okay?"
"Okay." Peanut blushed, busied herself with tightening her robe.
"Callahan? One more thing." Donato opened the front door.
"Sure."
"Don't ask me to keep any more secrets, okay?"
"I won't. Thanks." I followed him to the door and watched him drive away. I went back inside. Peanut had gone into the bathroom, probably to avoid being teased about Donato. Another emotion had replaced the pang of jealousy.
Damn it, I envy them. The way they look at one another, the things they're both thinking and feeling right now.
It had been many years since I'd allowed myself to fall in love.
I went to the bathroom door and tapped. "Sleep well."
"You too," Peanut said. She was busily brushing her teeth. I went back out into the living room, stood in one place for a long moment, thinking about Leyna Barton, then shook off the maudlin mood and went to the kitchen.
I opened the cabinet and removed a can of cat food; clicked my tongue and listened for paws on wooden floorboards.
Silence.
I opened the back door and called for Murphy, but saw no sign of the old dude. Perhaps startled by all the activity, he refused to come in.
I checked that all the doors and windows were locked and tried, with little success, to sleep. Then I noticed that the red light on the bedside answering machine was blinking. I listened to the morose voice, and then replayed the message again. Jerry had phoned me from Nevada.
I did not return the call.
SEVEN
"Is anyone here in their first thirty days of sobriety?"
The leader was a short, rotund woman in a red pants suit. She had silver hair and a grin-inducing, squeaky voice. She looked around the room, and eventually her eyes came to rest on Mary. After a few seconds of silence, she blushed and got to her feet. Peanut was sitting beside Larry Donato, who had come along out of curiosity. We all applauded along with the others.
"My name is Mary," she said, for the very first time. Her voice trembled. "I am an alcoholic and a drug addict."
It was another warm night. Mary was well scrubbed, and seemed healthy again. She wore a bright yellow dress, very little make-up, and a ribbon in her hair. She was a completely different person. This was a change I'd seen often in my years in the program, but had never completely gotten used to. A few minutes into the sharing, the leader chose her. Mary reddened, but spoke clearly and forcefully. "I feel like I have learned a lot in the last couple of weeks, but I'm on pretty thin ice. I still want to get high a lot of the time."
"Hey," a woman said, "you're not the only one."
Laughter. "You guys tell me not to think about anything but staying clean, but it's hard not to be afraid of my past catching up to me. There are a couple of people I never want to see again, some legal problems, that sort of stuff. And some of the things I did . . . well, I would rather not remember."
"Just the wreckage of the past," a man whispered, half to himself.
"But some of these people are bad. Scary. Does anybody know what I mean?" A few people nodded. "But I guess I will just have to keep taking it one day at a time, or I'll never get my thirty days. Thank you."