Sunliner
By Oliver Clarke
Copyright 2012 Oliver Clarke
Smashwords Edition
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Prologue
Sometimes life throws you a curveball, puts you somewhere you hadn't expected. That's life, as they say.
I've always thought there were two sorts of folk: those that take these kinds of things in their stride and those that get thrown by them. The first sort of people just shrug the unexpected off and keep going. The second kind get upset or angry, they hit the bottle, they mope, they see shrinks.
Until today I guess I would have put myself more in the latter category. I don't have a great track record of just keeping on going.
Sometimes though life goes further and puts you somewhere that isn't just unexpected, it's a place you hadn't even imagined existed. This is when you find out what you're really made of, because now the people who don't keep going end up dead or sitting in a corner screaming.
I was in one of those places. In the past eight hours I'd seen the impossible, I'd had people try to kill me and I'd killed. I'd been on a terrible journey.
And that journey had brought me here.
Hiding in the back of a used car with a woman I'd thought I knew quite well but was coming to realise I hardly knew at all. Hiding from a mob of Irish gangsters out for our blood and from something else. Something my brain still couldn't quite explain.
Chapter One
The middle of the night... it was always the middle of the damned night. The green glow of the hands on my wristwatch told me it was 1:15 which was about my usual waking time. If the other elements of my night-time routine stayed true to type I'd lay awake until about 3am and then drift away again into a restless, dreamless sleep. My mouth still tasted of last night's booze but the release the alcohol gave me had faded and I just felt tired. Tired and old; and yet my mind was so awake, full of all the things I didn't want there. The ghoulies and ghosties and memories and futile hopes that hid in the dark, waiting to ambush me when I awoke...awoke in the middle of the damned night. In a vain attempt to keep them at bay I started doing what I did every night. I started thinking about my day. And today of all days it was actually worth thinking about....
I should probably start by telling you what I do for a living, nothing fancy or heroic or even interesting. I sell cars. Used cars. I've heard all the jokes a million times. Can you trust me? Well, mostly. I'm no more likely to screw you over than any other salesman anyway. I guess you probably need to have a little faith in me, for the purposes of the relationship we have going on here anyway, because if you don't trust me there's not much point you reading any further. Why read something by someone you don't trust? Why waste your precious time...
So I sell used cars. Regular type cars to regular type people and every so often something not so regular to someone not so regular. Nothing outlandish here, but I have a mechanic who’s pretty handy and sometimes people have special requests... like maybe a car that looks beat up and on its last legs but has a turbo charged V8 under the hood and everything that goes with that. A car you wouldn't look at twice but which goes like a bat out of hell. Why would anyone need a car like that? I don't ask, although I guess I have my ideas.
I've been in the automobile game more years than I care to remember, ever since I left the service after the war, and my first day on the job the guy who ran the lot told me his maxim for success in sales: "Give 'em what they want and don't think you know better than them what that is".
He was a bitter old geezer with too much of a taste for whisky and the moral compass of the Marquis de Sade but I've pretty much stuck to his maxim and it's served me well enough. Any other similarities between us I'll decline to comment on.
So ten years on I have a lot of my own and I get to bore the kids that work for me with my own ill formed thoughts on the nature of life and the used auto business.
They're good kids for the most part, no rocket scientists but they know how to treat a customer. How to give them what they want (and sometimes a little bit more than that) and keep the money flowing in for me. Plus, they're loyal, I've not yet had anyone dip their hand in the till or try to stiff me. Let me tell you friend, in my line of work that's kind of rare, there are a lot of sharks out there. So I take pride in that, as I do in the fact that my business has a reputation for honesty and good value and giving working men an automobile they can rely on. And those special customers? I try not to worry too much about them, because boy do they pay well.
Today (yesterday I guess it is now) I was in my office on the lot, working through some paperwork when Billy knocks on the door. Billy is the youngest guy who works for me, mostly he just washes and waxes the cars and keeps them looking sparky, every once in a while I let him loose on a customer. Mostly when we're busy or a man down. I wouldn't go so far as to say that Billy is slow or retarded or anything like that but he certainly wasn't at the front of the queue when the brains were handed out. Truth be told he's the son of a guy I served with and he, the guy, Jarrett is his name, asked me to take Billy on as a favour. I owe Jarrett, owe him a lot, and the debts you incur in wartime are ones you can't not repay, least in my opinion, so when he asked, I said sure and Billy has been working for me for a year or so now. Does a good job too, of the waxing and washing at least. His skills as a salesman leave a lot to be desired, he just makes people nervous is the problem, gets so worked up himself at the stress of trying to make a sale that people think he's hiding something. With my cars I assure you he ain't, but impressions count in my business just as much as the politics or religion. You wouldn't vote for some guy who was stuttering with sweat pouring down his face you wouldn't buy a car off of one either. And boy can Billy sweat when he gets nervy. So that's why I only put him in front of a customer when I have to.
Now this was a hot afternoon, July in this city what do you expect! And whilst Billy hadn't been selling today he had been doing his usual cleaning duties and had more than enough time to work up a sweat.
I looked up at his knock to see him there, all shiny looking through the door glass. I waved him in and I swear to God the second that door was opened I got a whiff of him. That acrid stench never failed to take me back to the Pacific. Not, funnily enough, to the bad times - there was too much going on during those for something as commonplace as BO to make an impression - but to the calmer moments. The snatched hours spent smoking and playing cards. Passing round photos of loved ones and sharing stories of home. Hard to believe it now but I'd carried a picture of my wife Ellie with me the whole time, spoken to her each night as I turned in, promising her I'd get myself home safe. I'd carried two photos in fact, one a professionally taken portrait she'd insisted we get done, saying "if you're going to be showing me off to a bunch of GIs I want to look my best". I'd had to pay for that one, but hadn't begrudged it, she'd looked so happy having it taken, playing the cover girl. The second was a snap I'd taken myself one day when we'd been down at the beach of Ellie in her bathing suit, filling it in all the right places, God she'd had some curves. So the first one I'd shown to the guys if they asked me if I had a girl at home. And that was the one I talked to at night. The other photo I used for other things...use your imagination.
So in walked Billy, bringing with him memories of a lot of folk who are now dead. He looked happy and excited by life, like he always did, and that boundless energy and enthusiasm of his made me like having him around even if he did stink to high heaven. He was like an antidote to me.
"Hey boss," he said, "guess who's out the front?"
"I give in", I said. "Please, enlighten me." (hey, I said I liked the kid, I didn't say I was nice to him, that's not something that really comes naturally for me these days).
"John Jackson," he grinned that innocent, happy, stupid smile of his. "When's the last time he was here, boss? Six months back? Gary fixed him up that convertible..."
The first two words got me interested, the rest kind of washed over me, like a commercial you've seen on TV a million times. JJ (that's what he liked to be called, and heaven help you if you didn't do what he liked) lived on the shady side of the street but every so often he'd show up with an interesting (and usually very profitable) request. Yeah, JJ and I did a fair bit of business together of one kind and another.
I interrupted Billy, "Call him JJ, kid, you know that's what he likes". I knew he wouldn't though, Billy seemed incapable of performing this simple task. He'd told me one time that his mother would never let him use nicknames, especially (heaven forbid) for his elders and betters. JJ was remarkably and uncharacteristically lenient of this. I guess Billy's character had charmed him in the same way it had me. I'd seen him have men beaten badly over next to nothing in the past. Had seen him take an eager role in dishing out the pain himself on a couple of occasions. No sign of that rage with Billy though on any of the times JJ and the kid had met.
Come to think of it JJ hadn't been to see us in quite a while. The six months that Billy had mentioned (and which wasn't too bad an estimate as far as I could recall) was an unusually long time for him to be away. In the past he'd visited me with a new order every two to three months. I hadn't missed his visits, although my bank balance may have a little, but I did now wonder if there was a specific reason for the absence. And if there would be anything different about this request. Dealings with JJ had a habit of never being quite as straightforward as they seemed at first.
Chapter Two
It was hot and I was tired so half of me wanted to just send Billy scampering out to bring JJ back to me. But JJ wasn't someone you summoned he was someone you greeted personally, so I hoisted myself out of the chair (lot more bulk there than in my army days, let me tell you). As soon as my back left the leather and the casual waft of air from the fan next to my desk hit me I could tell my shirt was wet through. I thought about slinging my jacket on but hell, it was only the guys out front. Well, and Rachel, the receptionist, but she was practically one of the guys.
Billy and I walked out of my office and through the workshop where Gary works his magic on the cars we have in. He was under a car, a huge ten year old Chevrolet I'd bought off a widow for a song, just his skinny legs sticking out. "Gary," called Billy in a stage whisper as we walked past, "John Jackson's here!". I heard the mechanic's head hit something on the underside of the car and could picture him reflexively tensing at JJ's name. Then he started swearing. A lot. One of the guys or not I was glad Rachel was out of earshot. With a practiced efficiency Gary slid himself out from under the Chevy. I wasn't surprised to see that his brown face was smeared with oil and also darkened by anger. "Curtis", he said to me (I didn't tell you my name yet did I - Curtis, Curtis Merryweather - pleased to meet you). "Curtis, please tell me we ain't doing another special for that lunatic."
"I don't know what we're doing Gary," I said. "Other than talking. He's here, he's got cash he probably wants to spend. Most likely a lot of cash. He's a customer. I'm going to talk to him. You have a problem with that we can talk about it later. Right now I need to get out there..."
Thing is I knew Gary had a problem and I knew why too. JJ didn't care for coloured folks and Gary, he's about as coloured as you can get. Some coloureds try to get along. Gary doesn't. Not even a little bit. I can see his point, why should he let anyone talk down to him or tell him what he can and can't do. Why should any man.
Now I don't get too involved in politics, it’s bad for business, so I just tried to keep Gary and JJ as far from each other as I could. That wasn't always possible though, sometimes JJ's requirements demanded a mechanical know how that was way beyond me and for those I had to call Gary in. I always made sure he got something extra in his pay those weeks, but I also knew that for him that would never be enough. He kept the peace for me (as much as he did) because of our history in the Pacific. Maybe I played on that too much. Maybe I should have stopped taking JJ's money long ago. Because he was a criminal, because he was bad news, because he was a racist.
"We can talk later," I said again and walked on, with Billy chasing after me.
I always felt good walking through the door into front of the lot. No matter the frayed edges of my office or the used, dirty oiliness of Gary's realm; the front of Merryweather's autos was what I'd worked so hard over the years to achieve. The sparkling, clean, just like on TV, showroom perfection. As I strode out onto my stage I put on my best used car salesman smile without even realising it, taking everything in. The light of the bright summer's day beamed through the big plate glass windows that fronted the room, glinting off the sea of chrome and waxed paint outside. Over to one side I could see JJ perching on the edge of Rachel's desk talking to her, or maybe just at her. Rachel was nothing special but JJ was one of those guys who couldn't help chatting up the prettiest girl in the room, even if she was the only girl in the room. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I could see that Rachel was blushing, even from over here. That didn't surprise me either, and she wouldn't be blushing in that giggling "oh, mister" way that women do in movies. She'd be blushing from her soul, embarrassed and angry at having her space invaded by someone I'm sure she was as arrogant, aggressive and thoroughly unpleasant. In fact that wasn't a bad character assessment at all. Rachel was a strange fish. She was great at her job, friendly but professional with the customers, organised as hell and not afraid to let me know when I wasn't doing my paperwork right, which was often. But there was something missing in her, something she held back from the world. It was like you never saw the whole her. I'd seen her laugh on occasion but it always looked slightly forced, even when Gary was in full flow and let me tell you that guy can be funny, me and the guys have all told him he should be on Amateur Hour. Rachel rarely gave him more than a smile though, she was almost like one of those robots from the dumb science fiction movies Billy liked so much, like she couldn't feel. She never talked about her past, in fact she never really talked much about anything. All I knew was she'd moved to the US from France in the late 40s, don't know what happened back there but with all the crap that went on you can make a guess. I never pushed her on it though. My Mom used to tell me to wait to be told, that's what I was doing. If she ever felt the need to tell me she knew where my office was. And as long as it didn't stop her doing a good job why should I care anyway?
But right now we had a problem, because JJ looked like he had her wound up so tight she might explode. I knew she'd be holding it in, that's what she did, but one more wink and "dame" from the All American boy might just send her over the edge. I could almost see the anger bubbling up in her, like Daffy Duck getting more and more irate with Porky Pig...steam coming out the ears and gauges in his eyes going all the way up to FULL. Rachel wore her jet black hair tied up in a bun that looked as tightly wound as she was, holding it in place was a long ornate pin and for a second I pictured her pulling it out and sticking it straight up through JJ's jaw, up through his mouth to skewer and hold his wagging tongue still at last before carrying on into that nasty brain of his. But of course she didn't do that, so I picked up my pace a little, lifted a hand and waved, calling "JJ, how goes it?"
He turned, focussing those big baby blue eyes of his on me and smiled, running a hand through his blonde hair. That hair was always just a shade too long, not untidy, but deliberately styled and worn half an inch longer than regular guys, like he was making a point about being different, like the normal rules of life didn't apply to him.
"Curt", he said, no-one called me Curt and I think he knew that. Think he liked naming people to assert his power over them. I'd corrected him in the past but I didn't today, I just wanted to get him away from Rachel as quickly as I could before she went off like an A-Bomb. "It goes well. You?"
"Fine, JJ, just fine," I replied.
He slid his butt off Rachel's desk and stood as I approached, turning to face me, ignoring her completely now. Behind him I could see the relief on her face, her shoulders sagged a little and I heard a tiny whistle as she exhaled through her nose. I got a brief, rare smile from her, one of gratitude and maybe apology that she'd let a paying customer annoy her so. For a split-second I thought there might something else there too, but then at the corner of my vision I saw motion and realised JJ was raising his hand to shake. I met his gaze and grasped his hand, slightly damp with the heat but then I guess mine was too. As shook he put his left hand on my shoulder and pulled me slightly towards him, his voice dropped, "We really need to talk, Curt. In private. I've got something I need you to do..."
Had I know at that point where all this was going to end up I'd have grabbed Rachel's hairpin and jammed it into his brain myself.
Chapter Three
Looking back on those events as I lay in my bed, my middle-aged body feeling ten times as tired as my buzzing mind, I started to wonder just what JJ had said to Rachel to get her so fired up. Had he just been turning on the charm or had he done something more, touched on a nerve from her past somehow. I'd seen her annoyed when guys hit on her - and despite the fact that she was my age or older and homely at best I'd seen a fair few try - but I'd never seen her as downright angry as she'd looked today. Maybe I'd talk to her about it in the morning, find out what had gone on.
JJ was a nasty piece of work alright and not beyond using psychological as well as physical violence to get what he wanted. I remembered the first time he'd come to me...
It had been 6 years previously, the dealership I'd had had been smaller then and the cars I hawked not of such high quality, but I already had a reputation for selling decent vehicles at a fair price. Even back then Gary was a massive asset, and my good reputation was fuelled in many ways by his ability to get any car running.
I hadn't even known who JJ was when he first walked in, although I'd noticed him straight away, mainly because he was flanked by two other guys, which was definitely unusual. Men usually came in either on their own or with their wives. Occasionally we might get a father and son come in together but never three guys as a group. Now of course since then JJ's photo has been in the paper a fair few times but back then he was nearer the start of his career and the notoriety that he has now hadn't built up yet.
So it seemed strange that these three guys should walk in together but I didn't think too much of it and let old Joe Cooper who worked for me back then approach them. Joe was coming towards the end of his career and ended up retiring the following year. He'd had his own lot a few years previously but the stress of running it had near burnt him out so he sold it and came to work for me instead. He'd never admit it but I think his wife Hattie had a big part to play in that decision. Hattie and Joe lived a few blocks over from us and Hattie and Ellie my wife went way back. This was when Ellie was still around of course, before she went...
So anyway Hattie had known Ellie when she was growing up, she'd been a neighbourhood friend of Ellie's mom. I think she'd watched Ellie after school and so forth. Hattie and Joe came to our wedding in '41 and we used to have them over for dinner every so often. When I got out of the the service it was Joe who got me my first job in the auto business and he gave me advice and contacts when I set up for myself. Later on when Joe was having troubles and I was doing well I was more than happy to take him on. In fact I reckon Hattie and Ellie probably planned the whole thing behind our backs and then influenced us both into making it happen, women being the cunning creatures that they are.
Joe was old but far from past his prime. In fact he was the best salesman I had at the time and what he didn't know about the cars wasn't worth knowing. So I was surprised that within a minute or so of starting to talk to Joe the atypical trio were making a move for the door.
I wandered over trying to look casual, not wanting to lose a potential sale but also not wanting to upset Joe. This was six years back, when I still had it in me to worry about people.
"Morning fellas," I called. "Seen anything you like?"
Joe turned with a pained look on his face that worried me, his eyes narrowed slightly in what I knew from experience was a warning. His little way of telling me I needed to watch out. He'd looked at me that way a few times when we'd for a beer after work and he thought I'd had one too many and wanted more. Joe was one of the straightest guys I ever met, honest as the day is long, loyal to his friends and devoted to his wife. It was probably a combination of these three things that led to his business going under, he just wasn't cut out for it.
Any salesman quickly learns to size up cutomers quickly, gauge their likes and dislikes, guess their income.
These were definitely an odd looking bunch, standing out from my normal clientele in appearance as well as number. It was impossible to start with anyone except middle guy, tall, blond haired and blue eyed he looked like an Aryan poster boy for the Nazis. Square jawed and determined. It was hard to tell his age, maybe in his early 30s like me, maybe younger. He certainly dressed young, smart but with a stylish edge most guys my age can't be bothered with any more. His clothes looked new too, brand new and well pressed but the lack of a wedding ring on his finger meant there was no Mrs Aryan at home to take care of that for him. He didn't look like the kind of guy to do chores for himself so that implied a maid or some kind of service. All that suggested money. Then I caught sight of the watch on his wrist and that really suggested money, it certainly put my courtesy of Uncle Sam Hamilton to shame. This was some expensive timepiece, Swiss for sure and shining like a newly polished hood ornament. So the question was, if this guy had the money I thought he did what was he doing shopping for used cars in a low rent joint like mine?
Mr Left and Mr Right weren't quite as much of an enigma, apart from the fact that they seemed to come as a package with blue eyes. They looked like athletes, boxers maybe or wrestlers, tightly spring guys who made their living from their bodies. They both wore suits like their friend but you could tell they weren't as at home in them as he was. The cloth looked like it was struggling to keep all those rippling muscles contained. Like if they moved the wrong way some of those seams might tear.
For a fleeting second I wondered if this might be some bizarre homo thing, a macho love triangle. Maybe this was some Hollywood Mary and these two muscle boys kept him happy. But that didn't explain why he was here either, and it didn't explain Joe's warning glance. That left one possibility, which I guess was the obvious one. This was a mobster and his henchmen. Lucky Luciano out with his hired muscle. They certainly all looked like bad news, bad enough that I wasn't overjoyed about having them in my place.
Joe opened his mouth to say something when the mobster (that was definitely how I was thinking of him now) spoke, cutting old Joe off.
"Joe here was just trying to persuade me I don't want to buy a car off you. Seems like an Irish way of doing things. What kind of guys you employing here? Maybe old Joe is getting a bit past it - losing it upstairs if you know what I mean. Getting forgetful. Getting that old timer's disease. What do you think guys?" He glanced at his two buddies. "You think old Joey's gone demented?"
Joe's face had gone the colour of the Russian flag, much the same as Rachel's did in response to JJ's banter six years later. I took a deep breath, made a decision and opened my mouth.
"Two things mister, firstly I don't like people I don't know coming in here and bad mouthing my staff. And you I don't know from Adam. Secondly, Joe might just be the best salesman I've got and he's also my friend, if he thinks we shouldn't sell you a car then that's good enough for me".
Looking back I don't know if I was brave or foolhardy or just plain dumb. What I do know is that JJ wasn't used to not getting his way and his lackeys weren't used to him not getting his way either. For a second his face repeated the Russian flag impression that Joe's had just done and I started to worry that I'd just gotten myself into more trouble than I could handle. The two gorillas flanking him puffed up their chests and I felt awful damn small of a sudden. I'm six foot in my stockinged feet and back then, only a few years out of the Army and before my life went south, I still had a soldier's physique; compared to these beefcakes though I was the Olive Oyle to their Bluto.
But then something clicked inside the mobster's head, I could see it in his eyes which went from fiery to cold as ice in a second. That temperature drop scared me far more than any threat from the muscle men. I'd known a couple of guys like this when I was overseas, guys who could switch their emotions on and off. And those kind of guys you don't mess with, not unless you want to be watching your back forever.
But for now it seemed I didn't have to worry.
"We're splittling boys," said blondie, "plenty of other crummy car holes round here who'll be more than happy to take our money. Let's leave grandpa and Mr Two Things here to enjoy the rest of their day." And with that they turned as one and walked out.
Joe turned to me. "Thank you, son," he said with a tremble in his voice. "You have no idea who that was do you?"
"Not clue one," I allowed, "but I'm guessing he's bad news".
"The worst...I've lived in this neighbourhood a lot longer than you have Curtis, I knew that thug when he was a kid shop lifting and shaking down school kids for their lunch money. I knew his Daddy too, and he was such a mean SOB it's no wonder John turned out as bad as he did. There certainly weren't many tears shed round here when he passed. That's his name, John, John Jackson although he goes by JJ for some reason. He's been away for a while, other side of the country I heard, staying with relatives in the East, probably laying low until some trouble or other blew over. Looks like he's back though, and that may be a problem for us. I hope to God we haven't just both made a big mistake."
I put my hand on his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. "So do I, Joe," I said, "but if we have we'll just have to deal with it". And there we left it, although the oppressive atmosphere lingered for the rest of the day, like a storm that was building but couldn't quite break.
So that was that, my first meeting with JJ and I'd politely showed him the door, wishing him a merry don't let it hit you on the ass on your way out as I ushered him out of my establishment. The management reserves the right to refuse service and so on and so forth.
Problem is he came back two days later.
Chapter Four
I say two days but I guess actually it was more like two and a half, because when JJ and the deltoid duo showed up again it was dark. It was 6pm I guess and this was January so the sun had been down an hour or so.
Gary and Joe and the other guys who worked for me had all left for the day. Back then there was no Rachel, not sure where she was in '49, I guess that was about the time she moved to the States from La Belle France. Although in her case maybe it hadn't been quite so Belle.
Anyways, I had no receptionist back then, no-one to organise me and chase me up for paperwork I hadn't gotten around to doing.
So it was just me there that night, shuffling paper on my desk before heading home to the wife. By that point the memory of JJ's visit had pretty much faded. Or at least the gut punch of its emotional impact had and it felt like many other evenings I'd spent there after the closed sign was up on the door. Sorting things out, planning for the future, paying bills and writing out invoices in my not so neat handwriting. It was a warm night, even in January Los Angeles doesn't get what you'd call cold, and a wet one. The rain had been coming down most of the afternoon, but seemed to be easing off now, another reason to stick around a bit longer as if I needed one with all the things that needed doing.
I lit a cigarette, poured myself a coffee and resolved to stay just another half hour and then call it a day. By then the rain should have stopped and I might stand a chance of getting home dry. Besides I'd done too many late nights recently, trying to keep on top of everything as I worked to build the business up, and Ellie deserved a bit of my time. Come to think of it I deserved a bit of hers...
The coffee wasn't hot anymore but it was strong and the caffeine and nicotine double whammy gave me the boost I needed to get things wrapped up.
Twenty minutes later I was switching the lights off and stepping out of the door, walking past the cars parked out front. The rain had indeed stopped and I took a second to survey my empire. It wasn't much, a few cars a bit past their best, a small brick and glass building, a dream of a better future for me and Ellie. But it was all mine, all expect the 75% the bank owned but I tried not to worry to much about that. Things were hard but getting better every day, I had a feeling everything was going to turn out fine. I had my own business, a decent home and a beautiful wife inside it whose biological clock was ticking. Hell, I thought, mine just might be ticking a bit too. Wasn't this the American dream?
"Two things," said a voice behind me and my good mood began to fall away. I turned and there he was, John Jackson, JJ if you please, with Tweedledum and Tweedledumbbell stood silently behind him like the statues of intellectually challenged Greek gods.
Half of me wanted to bite back, but the last remnants of my previous hubris were still lingering so I thought I'd try playing it cool. Maybe they just happened to be passing, admittedly it didn't seem likely but I thought I might as well give it a try.
"We concluded our business the other day, friend." I said calmly. "Nothing more for either of us to say."
"Who said I wanted to talk" he said and waved his cronies forward.
As I said, this was still in the days when I took care of myself and I'd been handy enough with my fists in the army on occasion but there was no way I was taking on the behemoth brothers. Besides, who knew what kind of equaliser JJ might have under that sharp suit of his. And by equaliser I meant something that would shift the odds even more massively in his favour.
So it was without pride but with what I thought was pretty damn good sense I started backing away down the street, both hands held up in front of me like a sailor on shore leave about to grab some honey's assets.
"Easy guys," I said, a bit less calmly this time, "no need for any trouble..."
They obviously disagreed. I could tell this because they picked up the pace a bit and set their faces in grimaces that were even uglier and more menacing. I could see their tree trunk legs rubbing together as they strode towards me and I hoped for their sakes they'd put some talcum powder down their pants that morning. Having the leg muscles of an ox may look impressive but in my opinion actually being able to move your legs freely is preferable in almost all situations. With that thought I decided to put my much less sizeable but much more flexible legs to good use and get the hell away. I suppose I should have thrown out some witty parting quip but instead I just showed them my heels and headed off down the street as fast as my size tens would carry me.
The street was a not particularly affluent commercial one full of businesses that were either like mine - fairly new but on the up - or fairly old and on their uppers. At 6:30 on a Thursday night they were all closed for the day and the street was deserted expect for me and my new friends. Deserted and dark...nice combo when you're being chased by two guys who'd like nothing better than to pound you into next week.
My one hope was a diner right at the end of the block, it'd be open for business for another few hours yet and the neighbourhood flatfoots were known to drop in there for a coffee on a quiet night. It was a good two hundred yards from my current location but my feet were doing a better than expected job of putting clear water between me and my pursuers and I thought I just might make it. I could hear them behind me, four feet slapping the tarmac and two sets of lungs obviously not designed for sprinting already starting to pant away. The combination was almost musical, like a bass drum and a high hat played in a jazzy rhythm - dum, dum, wheeze, dum, dum, wheeze. Every so often one of them would hit a puddle and through in a freestyle cymbal slash. Never mind their lungs and the chafing that must be going on, I couldn't help but shed a tear for those four knees which must be taking some brutal punishment in their role as shock absorbers between those massive torsos and the hard sidewalk. After a while I realised that the drumming behind me was getting quieter and further way and I risked a glance back. The pair were definitely dropping back and I felt a surge of relief. I could see JJ behind them and was surprised to see that he was standing still, not chasing after us, not pulling a pistol to take a pot shot at me. Just watching us like a spectator at a track meet.
I looked forward again and kept pounding the pavement, eager to get to the safe haven of the diner as quickly as I could. And then I heard the car. Nothing unusual about a car in LA, even after dark on a quiet street like this, what was unusual was the fact that this one sounded like it had just gone from 0 to 60 in about two seconds flat. Beyond unusual though, downright worrying in fact, was the fact that it was clearly headed in my direction.
I looked back again and saw it... a big black shape, lights off, coming at me fast. It had obviously been parked a few stores down from the lot in the other direction and I realised I'd been a fool not to realise they wouldn't have come on foot. Not in that rain and not with JJ's obvious desire to look like he'd just stepped off the silver screen...
They'd obviously had a driver too, waiting in the car to provide a quick getaway after I'd obligingly taken my beating and agreed to whatever JJ's demands were, assuming I could still speak with a mouthful of broken teeth. Now that their plans had gone slightly awry the driver was doing his best to earn some brownie points by trying to get things back on track for his boss...by driving a tonne of Detroit steel straight at me.
Chapter Five
The driver switched his full beams on, bathing me in harsh white light and dazzling me. I snapped my face forward, blinded eyes searching the street ahead for something that might provide refuge. I'd walked down this damn street a millions times and now when I needed to I couldn't picture it at all. So here I was, powering along with the legs of Jesse Owens and the eyesight of Mr Goddam Magoo.
I shut my eyes for a split second, squeezing them tight to try and clear the dazzle, praying to all the saints that I didn't run smack bang into a trash can or lamppost.
Someone was certainly watching over me because I didn't.
When I opened them again things were a bit clearer. The headlights were casting my shadow on the damp street in front of me, millisecond by millisecond it grew shorter as the roar of the engine filled my ears. And then I saw my salvation, on the right hand side a narrow alleyway between a pawn shop and a boarded up store that I think had been a bakers. Only problem was I was on the left hand side of the street.
Spending any more time thinking about was going to smash any window of opportunity I might have so I just glanced down at my shadow to confirm there was still a window at all and then went for it. I threw myself to the right, using the edge of the curb to propel myself, kicking off like a swimmer launching himself from the side of the pool. I didn't care about getting all the way to the other side of the street straight away. All I was worried about was getting to the other side of the car... At the speed he was going stopping and turning to come back at me would take him long enough that I could get to the alley. As long as I could get past him without having every bone in my body broken.
I sprang out into the street, not gracefully but reasonably effectively. God knows what the driver thought of my kamikaze tactic but it worked. The roar of the V8 filled my ears and then passed behind me as I landed on my feet and staggered forward, unable to stop myself. I ran that way a few paces, tilted forward at a crazy angle, before regaining my balance. As I reached the other side of the street I heard a screech as the brakes were applied and risked a glance over my shoulder. The car was skidding to a halt on the wet surface and it looked almost as out of control as I must have a moment ago. I thought for one gleeful second that it might crash but the driver clearly knew what he was doing and quickly wrestled it back under control.
A look back up the street revealed the muscle boys, who had stopped to watch me get turned into road kill, pick up their pace again and come lumbering towards me. JJ started running too, and I could see he was yelling something but the roar of blood in my ears drowned his words out. I figured I could probably guess a few of them...
I turned back to the alley and sprinted into it, realising as I did I had no idea where it led. Or if it led anywhere at all. It was about four feet wide and stank of garbage. Billy was still a kid back then but looking back I'm not sure which stench would have won out. The two smells in combination would certainly have been banned under the Geneva convention. I started breathing through my mouth rather than my nose as I ran on, trying to figure out where the hell this alley was going to take me. There were apartments above the shops that formed the mouth I'd entered, making the tall passage feel even narrower than it would have otherwise. What worried me was that I couldn't see the end of it, the sun was down and there were no streetlights here, just the occasional dim glow from a second or third storey window. I heard the odd noise from up there too: pots and pans clanking as someone cooked; Perry Como singing about some enchanted evening; a roar of canned laughter from some TV comedy; a baby crying; a man yelling...the sounds of life in modern America. I thought about yelling too, screaming my head off for someone to call the cops, get these lunatics away from me. Someone must have heard the ruckus but they'd probably thought that the revving of engines and squealing of brakes was down to kids taking their daddy's cars out and pretending they were hot rodders.
The further I got from the mouth of the alley the darker it got and the gloom and reek of rotting food made me wonder if I hadn't been swallowed by some huge creature, wasn't even now running down into its gut to be dissolved in stomach acid. Either that or I was Alice falling down the rabbit hole, it was certainly starting to feel like I was going nowhere safe. And fast.
My eyes continued to search ahead in the blackness, trying to see anything that might help me. I heard an echoed yell from behind me and realised my pursuers had reached the alley...something had better appear out of that horrible dark or I was...
And then I saw it, hanging down just ahead of me, a pull down cantilevered fire escape. The lowest point looked to be at about 10 feet, too low for me to reach just by jumping but....I came to an abrupt halt and ripped my rain coat off, holding it by the tail and whipping it up at the bottom step of the fire escape as I leapt into the air. The nylon slapped against the metal ineffectively and I realised it needed more weight to give me any chance of this working. Swearing under my breath and staring back at the alley I took hold of the lining of the coat about a foot from the bottom and tugged at it with both hands. Thank God for the decline in the quality of American clothing I'd read about in the Times the other day, it tore! I ripped the hole wider and then pulled my wallet from the inside pocket of my sports coat and shoved it into the gap in the coat between the outer and the lining. I could see them now, two large shapes running towards me, the hint of JJ's dapper silhouette behind. I didn't have long... My keys and Zippo joined the wallet and I took the coat by the collar, whipping it once round in a circle before jumping up again, this time it hit the bottom step with a metallic clang and thank Christ, success! The weighted fabric wrapped round the metal and with a tug the fire escape was swinging down towards me. I jumped again and grabbed it with my hand, nothing had ever felt so good than that cold, wet metal. The steps hit the ground with a bang and I pulled my coat, bundling it into a ball as I ran up them. I could hear JJ and co getting closer now and this time I did hear his shout "Get that m-----f-----" he yelled and I could hear the rage. I realised I still had no idea why he was here, was it just the slight of my refusing to sell him a cheap car? Seemed unlikely, so whatever we had wanted in the first place must have brought him back. And whatever that was he wanted it a heck of a lot. What I realised now was that escaping him now might not buy me anything more than a temporary stay of execution. He knew where the lot was, he knew my name. Hell, I was in the damn phone book, he might even know where I lived....
I reached the top of the stairs and saw them swing back up behind me just as the two beefcakes reached them. Between them they'd get the steps down again, even if it meant lifting JJ up to grab them like a kid being hoisted up to pick apples off a tree. So I kept running, up three more flights and onto the rooftop, praying I could get across it and out of their sight before they reached the top of the stairs. I was running back on myself, back along the street past the car lot, only four storeys up this time. I felt like the Batman in the Detective Comics I'd read as a kid. Although I guess I wasn't exactly fighting crime...I made it to the edge of the building and found another fire escape running down that as fast as my legs would take me, gravity helped move me even faster and I said a little prayer of thanks to Isaac Newton and that apple. A last glance back before my head was below the level of the roof revealed nothing...maybe I'd made it...maybe.
I reached the ground and ran to the end of the block and around the corner. I was sure no-one was following now but my earlier train of thought had me worried and I needed to do something urgently. Very urgently.
I reached the phone booth I'd been heading for and threw myself against the door, slamming it open. My hand went to my pants pockets and pulled out some coins, most of them fell to the floor in the rush but I kept hold of one, lifted the receiver and dialled. After 3 rings she answered and I jammed the coin into the slot.
"Ellie", I said, as calmly as I could, "It's me. Don't talk just listen. Something bad has happened, I can't explain now. I'm okay but I need you to get out of the house right away and go to your mom's. I'll meet you there"
"Curtis, my God..." she said, "I..."
"Just do it, baby" I was looking back at the street now, praying I didn't see one of them appear round that corner. I just needed to get Ellie out of the house as quickly as possible and somewhere safe. My next call would be to the cops, I just hoped JJ wouldn't have some way of weaselling out of things. Dammit, I thought, there weren't even any witnesses to any of this, just my one word against three of theirs. "Your Honor", I could hear some slimy lawyer saying, "This is all just a misunderstanding. Why on earth would my client hold any malice against Mr Merryweather?"
And then it was my wife's voice I was hearing.
She said, "I can't get out, Curtis. They're here".
Chapter Six
Laying there in bed in '55 I thought back to that crazy night six years earlier and wondered how the hell I'd had the energy for all that running. I certainly wouldn't now, too many years and added pounds and just one more for the roads under my belt.
Six years before that, in 1943 I'd been in the Pacific, fighting the Japanese menace and making the world a safer place. Christ what a difference between those three versions of me...
1943 - The dashing hero. Young, two years married, carrying a picture (two pictures) of his beautiful young wife with him as he stood up for truth, justice and the American Way. Brave, handsome, principled.
1949 - The rookie businessman. Living the American dream, working hard to build a better life for his wife. She a bit older now but still as beautiful, the little lady at home, greeting him with a kiss each night and a home cooked meal. The two of them planning a family together, dreaming of growing old with children and grandchildren filling their happy home with laughter. Hopeful.
1955 - The successful businessman. Wealthy, respected by his employees, a pillar of the community. Crooked, ashamed, alone. Drinking himself into oblivion each night to forget the things he's done. The dirty money. The hint of blood on it that he can never stop seeing. Worst of all knowing that his success is a sham. That none of it came from good honest hard work. That all of it is tainted.
An American Tragedy in three acts, ladies and gentleman, I give you the Life and Times of Curtis Merryweather.
And that third act started on that night in '49. The night I made a deal with the Devil.
I thought I was so goddam clever, escaping JJ and his henchmen, reliving my adventures fighting the Axis. The all American hero again, outwitting the dastardly villain on the rooftop. Playing at cops and robbers like a little kid.
Maybe if I'd just taken my beating things would have been better. They certainly couldn't have been any worse.
Poor Ellie, she hadn't deserved any of it, not one ounce of the pain that had come her way. That I'd brought her way.
We met in '38. I was 22, she was 18. So young and beautiful. I think she hadn't long got the curves that the second picture I took to the Pacific showed so well. She carried herself with a kind of teenage awkwardness and it was this that made it possible for me to approach her in the first place. Without that I would have thought her so far out of my league I might as well be hitting on Jean Harlow. In fact when I first laid eyes on her across the dance floor at my cousin's wedding I looked away almost immediately on the basis that if you can't afford the merchandise you might as well get out of the store.
Well that might not be exactly true, because whilst I looked away quickly I looked back pretty damn soon after. She was too good not to get a second glance. Long blonde hair, a pale (very pale for California) complexion and a face that wouldn't have been out of place on the front cover of Vogue. Damn she was pretty, she looked like some English damsel from one of those historical romance novels they sell in the drugstore. And if her face should be on Vogue that body demanded another type of publication entirely, one of those "art" magazines the guys at work passed around.
I was living and working in San Diego at the time, no surprise there - I'd been living there since I made my screaming entrance into the world in 1916. Working in a hardware store and doing pretty well, I'd just been made an assistant manager and was in the mood to celebrate.
The previous day I'd made the train journey to LA for my cousin Wilbur's wedding. He'd moved up that way a couple of years previously and met a girl and now they were tying the knot. If the slight roundness under her bridal gown was anything to go buy this wedding was of the shotgun rather than white variety, but everyone was politely not mentioning that and having a great time. Times being as they were back then it wasn't a grand affair, although at least with Prohibition over there was a decent amount of booze flowing. I found out later that Ellie was a friend of the bountiful bride and was a local girl herself.