1 Trenchcoat
I was driving down my car - yes, I still have one of those piles of slop-hoppy - and looking at the sides of Hollywood Boulevard with the stars in the ground staring up at the pale blue sky. It was 140° in the shade. They used to make movies here, but it is now too warm. I split my skin because the winos stuck together and the newly acquired schlong was still not quite in place. Got to see the surgeon again, pronto. He does the adjustment with his mouth like nobody else. I tightened my trenchcoat just for good measure because Mr. Franklin does not go out where everyone can see him.
I checked my skin, and it still said the same date January 16th, 2054. Friday and half the new moon. Yes, I etched the computer in my wrist when it was still cool. Not quite the JD because 247-1283 does not ring as well as Pennsylvania 65000 while taking the A-train. (Oh, for the days of 7-digit phone numbers)
I cruised my car into a parking space, realizing that $20 had slipped its way all my card and into the great void beyond. It’s not the years honey, it’s the mileage. Popping out of my car I handed the keys to the hood to park, then I gave him another 20 to make sure that nothing else was going to be done. Grease never comes completely out. “Seeyur later.” reached my lips by default. It costs you nothing to be polite. Joe was the old man’s name and everybody knew Joe because he was a fixture out of time, back when the time was something that we had plenty of.
I was underneath the pseudo-neon lights of Hollywood and Vine with an old-fashioned analog tick-tock keeping time. My ex-hubby called it “Wine” because of all of the keep grappa that was looted beneath the lofts. He was a character a half.
I remember a picture of Jimmy Dean. Come Back to the 5 & Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean – I am your disciple even if there is some decay. And it was at this moment that Stan the Man greeted me from Holly Vine inside the Taft. “Mighty cool day, all things considered.”
“Nothing like the sun.”
Nothing beat down like the sun. And nothing is very strong.
I stepped on a star that was not finished, though I did not know the reason why. Half a star with no name on it. I went into the watering hole.
Moseying up to a stool by the bar I nixed the water because five dollars a glass is far too much, and I waited for my appointment.
And in a few moments, the doors bashed open and there it was: some cash for the day because I didn’t mind working. I stepped off and shook his hand as he came towards me and we took a table in the back. I hadn’t realized he was old with lines etched on his cheeks.
There was a silence so thick you could cut it with a blade, which meant he wanted me to start. “So, you were in a hurry to get me here.”
“Yes, I have a job for you.” He smoked the last breath of pot and then squished it down on the cigarette plate.
“For me specifically?” I could not help letting my right brow edge up a bit.
“Yes.” His face was calm.
“What is it? A ticket perhaps?” Anything to get up to Anchorage and see the rushes.
“It’s not so profitable as all of that.”
“No Churchill on the Hudson?”
“’ Fraid not from my end. But you’re the man who knows all the connections and I’m sure that you will find what you are looking for.” With that, he handed me an old-fashioned note and a picture. I knew that it was a missing person. And I was supposed to get to the bottom and top of it.
I looked at him took the note and said: “A man whose new can dream on half a Star.”
With that, I went to the entrance to get my car. Joe drove it out with a smile, and I checked to make sure that there was no goo or mess because you never could be sure with a parking job. It is Black Dahlia with la Muerte cocaine junkies to the job site. The reason I was here was I was the only one who knew where the job site was. Well me, and all of the hot cone discordant beboppers who played with fire. I was on the make for the info and I did not care how I got it. I checked the glove compartment to see if my laser pistol was fresh. Then I checked the seats, but they looked clean, so I left to talk to one of my lowdown friends in high places. I knew just the type, a sweaty gangrenous putrid little hustler who knew the beginning of everything that came to an end. I called for the Trump and I knew where to find him.
The Bradbury Building in Blade Runner glory. Only at night because that’s when the trump comes out.
2 DOA
It seems dead on arrival with the folded iron rails and the street oaken shafts running to the windowed ceiling. It is dark outside. It is even darker inside. I checked my coat pocket just to make sure that the laser pistol was there and charged. It hummed. I debated whether I should take it out and then decided that that would be for the best.
I moved along the iron stair light. There were only passing lights from above, probably police looking for someone who wanted a cigarette when cigarettes were illegal. But then the darkness crowded in and there was only silence. But it was a silence that was loud and heavy as if there were footsteps but not the audible kind. I moved over to the doors on the outside slowly tiptoeing through the climate of dark noir. It was the climate that came for us all and I was hoping that it wasn’t going to come for me that night.
I saw a ray going down from the ceiling. I looked and saw the ghost of a shadow. I gritted my teeth and slunk along. If I were a rookie the tension would have strangled my knees. But that time was long since passed.
Then from the light, a shot rang out - it was kinetic and therefore old-school of the time since the Renaissance. I knew not to reveal my location by shooting back but crept along the shadows to get a closer shot.
Another shot rang out, those two were where the first one was. Whoever I was stalking knew that his time was up because random scores from a hot barrel are a loser’s game. I crossed while avoiding the light from above and brought the laser pistol in front of my chest.
Then I saw a frantic man looking in each direction to see if he could get one last shot. Instead, I aimed at his pistol and squeezed the trigger. The one thing about laser pistols is they have only six shots so each of them had to count.
The pistol split and flew away like the dove. And in that same instant of time, I came up behind him and put the laser pistol to his ear. Up close you could see that it was Trump and he was screaming without oxygen.
It was then that I said quietly: “Now, Donald McRonald, you are going to talk or so help me God you will be whistling through your ears.” Then I talked back to the laser pistol.
He struggled for a moment but realized that I had him by the gullet and there was no point. “What do you want to know? And can I not tell you and just leave you with a sack of cash?”
“I had my time off, thank you.” Then with the other hand, I showed him the picture. “Do you know anything about her?”
He just stared at the picture trying to figure out whether he should soon like a pigeon or be silent. Then he realized that silence was going to be of the grave which did not set well with him. “I don’t know where she is but I know that the man who walks the wall can enlighten you.”
“The wall by the sea?”
“That’s the one. He calls himself Mrs. Lonleyhearts because he swings ways.”
Then I left after searching him for other goodies and left. I knew he was telling the truth because there was sweat on the laser pistol, and it wasn’t mine.
3 Mrs. Lonleyhearts
This is what is new around the world: a wall between land and sea. Between the lively heat that humans live on and the distractive heat of the ocean. It is 150 feet of neo-concrete coming to a pinnacle with only room for two to walk shoulder to shoulder. The fog was dialed up to 11.
Far away, I saw a man. He was in a new uniform but that didn’t mean much to me. I wasn’t talking to him as a police officer, and I hoped he would not respond in his professional duties.
We paced stride for stride until we were in intimate contact. The air was breathless though the wind was stiff.
He waited.
Taking out some weed and rolling it into a fag, I quietly lit it. Then after a drag or two or three or even four: “ I want to know about a woman, Lonleyhearts.”
There was a recognition that I had been introduced by one of the lower friends in the darkness. “Dead or alive?” It was the kind of question that the man asking it already knew the answer.
“I’m not sure but I rather think dead.”
“Have a picture or am I supposed to guess?”
From out of my pocket came the picture.
He just took it and examined the high arches in the brow and the stiff cheeks.
“Are you a private or public dick? Or are you a mixture between the two?”
“I’m a trade which does not take into account all of the angles.”
“So, a corporation which begs for money from the government if they make mistake.”
“Something like that.” While engaging in this tête-à-tête I noticed that he had at least three weapons and they were in different locations. I also noticed that he was strapped and had arms that were hypertrophy to the wazoo. In a fight, I would pick him over me. Or almost anyone.
I could see that he wanted a of the marijuana but was still on duty. The lower lip quiver for a puff.
“Let me write it down for you.” And he took out a pad and then scrawled an address that was just outside of Los Angeles. “But be warned, this is an NC-17 show.”
I took the note from him and then asked: “Why should I receive this generosity?”
“Because you’re the first one who’s asked me. Finders keepers.”
Thinking is hard, but it’s occasionally worth doing. I wrote out my address and my name and gave it to Mrs. Lonleyhearts. “Just in case I have not heard from you again, this will be something you can sell.”
Then I took my hat and walked back along the wall in the night. I looked at the foaming waves. They were as cool as they would be this day.
I looked out and saw the morning star and thought to reach for it.
4 El Camino Real
It was up the King’s Highway between the land and the ocean. Down below there were craters and one of them held Black Dahlia, and the secret that she hid. I turned up the road where logical north was physical south. And then parked the car on the berm and looked out over the churning sea. It beckons me like a mirage. Somewhat like the heat which boils away from oil: it comes back to haunt on another day. Holstering my pistol and getting a rope out with a cloth at the end, I latched the car and proceeded down the crooked rocks bouncing each step. In the gut, I felt the splurge of a meal that I should not have eaten.
Then below me was a tunnel and I bounced one more time and tied the rope. This was what I had been looking for and even I was scared as to what I would find.
Then I slowly paced in with only determination as my guide. Each step echoed on the walls and I could feel cobwebs hitting my face. I placed my hands on the walls because I knew that there would be some sign. If one murder if is extremely likely that one wants to come back and admire one’s handiwork.
It took me at least 10 minutes and then I felt a round disk. I could read the inscription with my fingertips. Round and round my index finger went until it formed the word “Dahlia.” This was the gold that I had been searching for. But it was gold dust and I needed to find the mine. I reached down to touch the floor but had no luck.
Then I stood up and realized that someone hiding a body would be more cautious than burying it in the ground. So I reached up to the ceiling. It was rough and craggy with small stalactites. But then I felt the polished hand of a human being. I felt around and discovered that the body was in the ceiling. I took out a screwdriver and gradually lowered down a large chunk of rock. And in it were the remains of parts of a body but also an urn. The remains were chewy gooey ewey. The shreds of clothes were torn and stinky. The urn was polished and impervious.
Inside the urn were documents that I would have to read outside. When I did I discovered that Joe was more than just the parking guy, he was the intermediary between rich men and shapely young ladies. The kick was that the shapely young ladies never made it back because the men did not want to just plum the depths but strangle the lifeblood. I realized that Joe was meticulous and wanted the information for its own sake.
Then I got driving home down El Camino Real to the heated south.
I needed to talk with Joe.
5 Joe
Here I was, back at Joe’s. sitting in the line to park my car. And other things. Sitting and waiting for the dénouement of the oeuvre which had a punchline that no one found funny.
I pulled up and on the passenger’s side and pressed the button to lower the window. It was right there underneath the shade of Joe’s winning spot. I grumbled as Joe was counting money and then looked up. But he continued to rest on his chair. It was clear that he wanted them to come out to him in the blazing heat. This will not do. So I honked the horn and settled down to engage in a staring contest. Eventually, he relented and lowered his chair. Then he shuffled out.
“What may I do for you Mr. Franklin?”
“I have a picture.”
“That’s very nice of you. What’s it got to do with me?”
“I’d like to have a nice chat because often your doppelgänger isn’t so nice.”
“And what is this chat about?”
“The picture is of Dahlia. And I have information as to where her body parts are. And I’m wondering if you want to keep this slightly quiet. Or I may have to blab.”
This caught him cold because he thought this body was in the rearview mirror. He hesitated and then took out some weed and lit it with a cheap lighter.
“It’s got a costly a lot to keep you quiet. But very little to keep you dead.”
“The problem is that this Mrs. Lonelyhearts would then have more information to sell. And he’s not the kind who keels over easily. Sort of like the high tide.”
There was a gulp from Joe.
“How am I going to know that you won’t soil the sheets after you leave?”
“I just want a little cottage on the Riviera du Hudson. I’m not greedy but I do know when I have scored.”
From there the arrangements were rather simple: I leave him a card and an amount, and he would have the money wired by Bitcoin.
All nice and legal in an illegal sort of way. The only other thing to do was tell my original employer that I was unable to find out anything. You and I knew that that was more than a fib. But his money also came from a hot source so he could not complain if he had been outbid.
6 Coda
So here I am on Churchill on the Hudson, drinking a cool margarita and looking out over the view of the sunrise. It’s getting a bit hot here, and I wonder if Mars or Europa will be coming up soon. Europa would be particularly nice, a deep ocean to luxuriate in with the outer crust being a refreshing dip down -160C˚
Freeway to your heart to catch half a star.
Thanks for your enjoyable entertainment. Twas a trip.
The future is not what it once was