The Kind One (34 page)

“How the hell should I know? Out running wild, probably. Now get outa here. ’Fore I call the cops.”

She shut the door. Her smell lingered. I walked out to the street. Looked up and down it. No sign of Sophie running wild, or doing anything else. I half hoped she had run away.

I sat down on the steps to wait for her. It was a hot day, and the sun was shining nearly straight down, and there wasn’t any shade. I was sick of the sunlight and wished I was sitting here cold and shivering in the rain. I knew for a fact that I was living my final few days in sunny California. I wanted to get away from here like Darla had wanted to get away from Nebraska City, Nebraska, and Elwood, Indiana.

Tinker Bell joined me for a while, but the sun became too much for her and she retired to the shade of a nearby bush. She lay on her side and gazed at me with her calm green eyes.

After a while I checked my watch. I had to leave. I had to meet Dick at noon.

   “I love fucking fried oysters,” said Dick.

He was on his second plate of them. He could eat a lot for a skinny person.

We were at a restaurant called Eddie’s on the Santa Monica Pier. I was having the seafood platter. A melancholy-looking stork was sitting on a railing outside the window watching us eat.

“Has Bud said anything about me?” I asked.

“Yeah. He said if you was to come around again, not to let you in. But not to rough you up or nothing.” Dick shook his head. “Geez, Danny. You and Darla. What was in your fucking head? You must wanna die young or something.”

“Are you going to Palm Springs with him?”

“Nah. He wants me and the Kornblum brothers to stay at his house.”

“And guard Darla?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Camilla, our slinky, sloe-eyed waitress, brought us over two more mugs of beer. Dick slurped some down, getting foam on his moustache, as he watched her sway away.

“When’s he leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

Which was Saturday.

“And when’s he coming back?”

“Sunday. You’re making me nervous, kid. What’s with all the questions?”

“Don’t you think it’s time?”

“Time for what?”

“To get outa this racket. Like you’re always talking about. And sell goat-gland extract. Or whatever.”

“Yeah, it’s probably about time.”

“How about tomorrow night? Around midnight. Or whenever the Kornblum brothers fall asleep.”

Dick chewed grimly on a french fry. “I don’t think I wanna hear this.”

“All you gotta do is get a message to Darla. Tell her I’ll be waiting outside the gate for her at midnight. And then she sneaks outa the house, and you open the gate for us, and then we all get outa town.”

“And then they catch us, and then we wind up keeping Tommy company. Out in the desert, by that fucking chicken ranch.”

“They’re not gonna catch us. The Bud Seitz gang’s a sinking ship, Dick. It’s like the
Monfalcone.
Everybody’s ganging up on Bud. He’s gonna be too busy trying to save his own neck to worry about what we’re doing.”

“Even if I was thinking about maybe going along with this, I only got about fifty bucks. How far’s that gonna take me?”

I went in my pocket and pulled out a wad of bills and put them on the table between us.

“That’s 500 dollars. It’s yours now. And I’ll give you another grand tomorrow night.”

Dick gave a soft whistle. “That’s a lotta jack,” he said. But the money remained on the table at the end of the meal. I re-pocketed it, and we left Eddie’s.

Dick lit up a cigarette, and we walked down the pier. The ocean breeze felt nice after the relentless heat of Hollywood. Far to the north I could see Point Dume. I remembered being there with Darla. Watching the sea lion on the rock as she told me about Beau Jack. All of a sudden it struck me that, though I had lost my past, I was building up a new past. Every day I was becoming more solid, less ghost-like. And I felt a surge of energy, an optimistic tingle down my spine, a conviction that I’d be able to pull everything off, make the world right for Darla and Sophie and me.

We reached the amusement-park part of the pier. It was aswarm with kids. We stopped in front of the Ferris wheel. It was taking on new passengers.

Dick blew out some smoke, and smiled a little.

“Fucking Ferris wheel,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“I loved going to Coney Island when I was a kid. There was this place called Dreamland. It was only open a few years, and then it burned down. They had the greatest rides. The Shoot-the-Chutes. The Fighting Flames. The fucking Haunted Swing. The Giant Racer Roller Coaster. I met this girl there once. Her name was Mildred Beasley. She was real pretty, and she wore real nice clothes. She said her old man was a watchmaker. I didn’t wanna tell her my old man was dead, so I said he was a shoemaker, and owned his own shop. Then I seen her looking down at my shoes. Well, my shoes was fucking falling offa my feet, they was so old, and I could tell she knew I was lying, but she didn’t say nothing about it. She just smiled. She was always smiling.

“Anyway. I end up spending every fucking cent I got on her. I’m buying her cotton candy, and hot dogs, and teddy bears, and then we go for a ride on the Ferris wheel. So we’re going around and around together, and she tells me I’m the nicest boy she’s met all summer, and she kisses me right on the cheek. I’m telling you, Danny, I ain’t never been so happy before or since.

“We made plans to meet up again exactly one week later, right there at the Ferris wheel.” He smiled again, a little bitterly this time. “I’ll give you three guesses whether she showed up or not. I’m still waiting for fucking Mildred Beasley.”

It was quiet a minute, and then I said: “Wanna get on?”

“The Ferris wheel?”

“Yeah.”

“With you?”

“Yeah.”

He seemed to consider it for a moment, then: “Nah. People’d think we was fairies.”

We walked on, toward the rumbling roller coaster. Kids screamed as they were swept past us, as though caught up in a catastrophe. “You really good for another G?” said Dick.

I nodded. Took the roll of bills out of my pocket and handed it over to him.

“I ain’t never been to Florida,” he said. “I hear you can pick oranges right off the fucking trees.”

   I was still a few blocks away from the bungalow court when I saw Sophie roller-skating down the sidewalk. I pulled up beside her, tooted my horn. She looked over and smiled and waved.

“You’re just the person I wanted to see,” I said.

She seemed delighted. “Really?”

“Yeah. Get in.”

She clomped on her roller skates over to the car and climbed in. Her cheeks were flushed, and her face and her skinny arms were filmed with sweat. She was working on a big wad of bubble gum. She looked up at me expectantly.

“I want to have a very serious talk with you, Sophie.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve found out some things about the Sonoma State Home. It’s not a very nice place. In fact, it’s a really bad place. I don’t think you oughta go there.”

“I don’t think I oughta go either. But Mom says I have to.”

“No. You don’t.”

“But what should I do? You mean I should run away again?”

“I’m leaving Los Angeles. Tomorrow night. I’m going to New York. You wanna come?”

Sophie looked as though she could barely believe her ears. Her jaws worked even faster on her gum.

“Come to
New York
?”

I nodded.

“With
you
?”

I nodded again. Now she nodded too. Vigorously.

“Now this is gonna have to be a big secret. We’re gonna have to sneak away. You can’t tell anybody.”

“It’s a secret,” she said solemnly. “I promise,” and she crossed her heart. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Somebody else’ll be going with us.”

“Who?”

“Her name’s Darla.”

“Is she your girlfriend?”

I shrugged. “She’s nice. You’ll like her.”

She blew a pink bubble till it popped.

“I doubt it.”

   AS I TOLD Dulwich my plan that night, he listened quietly, puffing on his pipe. Tobacco tonight, not opium. Tinker, on his lap, seemed to be listening too. When I finished, all Dulwich did was murmur: “Good old Danny.” His pipe had gone out, and he began fiddling around with it, trying to get it re-lit. Tinker jumped off his lap, walked over to the front door, and began lovingly licking herself.

“Well,” I said. “What do you think?”

“Morally, I think you’re on solid ground in taking Sophie away with you. Legally, I think it’s possible you could be charged with kidnapping, and if apprehended, could spend a very long time in prison. As for Darla…” His eyes wandered up to the painting—the yellow-haired girl on the windy cliff. “I would like to see you and your Darla be happy together. But I wonder if getting her out of the house might not prove trickier than you think. For instance, how far can you trust this Dick fellow? How do you know, after taking your money, he might not simply shoot you in the back?”

“I trust Dick. He’d never do that.”

“And what about the charmingly named Mousie Kornblum and his brother?”

“Everybody says they’re morons. I’m not worried about them.”

“They may be morons, but they’re morons with guns, which makes them dangerous. It’s a common, and often fatal mistake to underestimate your enemy. Let me give you some advice, Danny: Worry about everything. Expect things to go wrong. Bring extra ammunition. Prepare to adjust.”

“Okay.”

Dulwich smiled sadly at me.

“Can it really be you’re leaving tomorrow?”

“I’ll miss you, Dulwich. It’s been great knowing you. You’ve been a real friend.”

Dulwich set down his pipe and walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a small silver cross attached to a short white ribbon with a purple stripe.

“What’s that?” I said.

“It’s the Military Cross. I’d forgotten all about it till I ran across it recently at the bottom of a dusty box. A forgotten medal awarded to a forgotten soldier for a forgotten action in a forgotten war.”

“What happened?”

“It had to do with a bridge. Over the Tigris River, at Kut. It had just been built by our engineers, for obscure reasons; but when the Turks arrived, the brass hats, in their infinite wisdom, realized it could be used as easily by them as by us, and ordered it destroyed. It was one of those death-or-glory jobs. One would have had to have been a fool to volunteer for it. I volunteered.”

Dulwich picked up the photograph of the noble-chinned Aubrey Joyce off the cabinet radio, looked fondly at it.

“I was in competition with Aubrey, you see. I knew he had already won the Victoria Cross in France. And even as I was volunteering I was already imagining telling him about my exploit after the war. In a wry, self-deprecating manner, of course, where he would have to read my bravery between the lines.

“In the event, it was a nasty business. It went off a little after midnight. I led a small raiding party across the bridge. I had to kill a Turkish sentry with my knife. A dear friend, Taff Bickerton, was killed. Poor Bickerton. He was such a gentle soul. He had no business being in a war. But the dual mission was accomplished: the bridge was blown up, and I won my medal. My glittering bit of metal.”

“So did you tell Aubrey all about it? After the war?”

Dulwich smiled, as he sat back down. “Oh yes. It was all more or less as I imagined. He wasn’t the type to say so, you know, but—I could tell that he was proud of me.” He looked at the medal, then held it out to me. “I’d like for you to have it.”

“Oh no. I couldn’t take it—”

“Please. To remember me by.”

I was surprised to see tears in Dulwich’s eyes. I took it.

“Consider it a talisman of good luck,” he said. “To keep you safe tomorrow night, and in the days to come.”

“Thanks, Dulwich. This means a lot to me.”

“I rather envy you, really.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“Off on an adventure! I’ve done a bit of tramping about in my time. I recall the pleasures of wandering in a new place without a penny in your pockets. Not knowing what’s to become of you. Knowing only that each step is a step into the new.”

“Come with us.”

“Oh, I think four would be a crowd, Danny. Five, counting Miss Tinker. But we’ll come visit you when you’re settled. Unlike most cats, Miss Tinker loves to travel.”

“Okay. I’d like that.”

Dulwich picked his pipe back up, struck a match, and put it to the bowl. “It’s interesting. I’ve been having traveling dreams lately. Just last night, for instance. I was in a motorcar with Aubrey. We were traveling across a lush green countryside. Neither of us said anything; it was perfectly pleasurable just being together.”

We heard a soft thud at the front door.

Tinker Bell was swatting at a pale-white moth fluttering against the other side of the screen.

   THE NEXT MORNING, I drove to Drucker’s Barbershop in Beverly Hills. Bud had introduced me to it. I got a haircut, a shave, a neck and shoulder rub, and a shoeshine.

Traffic was light for a Saturday as I drove back. The city seemed exhausted, like it had had enough of summer. I stopped at a filling station and got a full tank of gas, and had the oil, water, and air in my tires checked.

While I’d been gone the postman had come. I had one piece of mail. It began: “Dear Friend: To become independent you MUST invest! Line up with a REAL professional for REAL profits in the REAL ESTATE business!!!”

I wasn’t hungry, but I forced myself to eat a bowl of Campbell’s tomato soup with some crackers crumbled up in it.

Around two Dick called. Everything was set. Bud and the boys had left for Palm Springs. He’d talked to Darla, and she was eagerly awaiting my arrival. He suggested I show up around one in the morning. That would give Mousie and Freddie plenty of time to get drunk and pass out as was their habit.

I went outside around three and sat on the stoop and drank a lemon soda. The day was passing with agonizing slowness. It felt like I’d gone to get a haircut
last
Saturday instead of this morning.