After things fell apart, p.5
After Things Fell Apart, page 5
“But a smorgasbord dinner for two shouldn’t cost fifty bucks.”
“It’s the complete smorgasbord, bozo.”
“Yeah, well, we been around, to most of the ports in what’s left of the four corners of the world,” said the sailor in the underwear. “And we never got socked for no $50 for smorgasbord. Not even in Port Said.”
“This is San Rafael,” said the bouncer. “And that’s the price. If you bozos can’t come up with it, get ' off the turf.”
Haley stopped across from the girl. “Good evening,” he said, grinning.
Her brown eyes widened slightly, then she smiled a wide quirky smile at him. “You’ve got olive oil all over you. Here.” She held out one long fingered hand and dabbed at his face with a pastel handkerchief. She couldn’t quite reach. “No, that’s no good. You’ll fall in the potato salad if you lean anymore.” She ducked down and went under the table, emerging long legs first on his side of it. “Now then.”
Haley continued to grin as she wiped his face and then his jacket. Finally he said, “Thanks.”
“You grin a hell of a lot,” the girl said. “Even when people throw things at you.”
“It’s a reflex.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you just see things in a particular way.”
The dressed sailor said, “We’ve been pushed around too much in this rattletrap town. We’re up in arms.”
“I was born and raised here,” said the bouncer, who had a dolphin tattooed on his left bicep. “I don’t take to your calling this a rattletrap town, bozo.”
“Pucky.” The other sailor crunched a French roll on the bouncer’s thin haired head.
“The specialty of the house,” said the girl. “I’ve been here two nights and we haven’t sold one complete smorgasbord yet.”
“Probably a good thing.”
“Oh, I don’t mind undressing,” said the girl. “That’s the easiest part.” She touched absently at the bow tied belt of the kimono. “Look, for $10 you can buy me a drink at one of those tables against the wall. Or just sit. Would you?”
“Sure,” said Haley. As they walked across the cavern the bouncer pushed the dressed sailor back over into the decorative suckling pig. “I’m Jim Haley,” Haley said to the girl.
“Okay.” She took the wall side of the table and nodded him down opposite her. From the other cavern came the strains of Clap Hands, Here Comes Charlie. “Nobody will bring us anything till this set is over. My name is Penny Deacon. Oh, you better put $10 on the table top in case the management does look in.”
Haley did. “Okay, done.”
“You have a basically honest face,” said Penny. “It’s a little too bony, but even the bones look honest. You ever hear of an oldtime actor named James Coburn?”
“No.”
“He had a bony but honest face, too. But nothing at all like yours,” said the girl. “I had an uncle who was a movie freak. This Was down in the Republic. That’s all gone down, all to pieces now. Everybody has different important dates, which is why history is so hard to share. For a lot of people I guess Southern California went to pieces way back during the war, the invasion. With us it was only three and some years ago.” She stopped, smiled her quirky smile. “Very verbal. First time in weeks. Your turn. Say something bony and honest.”
Haley said, “I’m an operative for the Private Inquiry Office and I want you to help me locate Lady Day.”
Penny put her arms up on the table, hugged her elbows. “Not that honest,” she said. “That’s from an old joke. Not that shaggy. I had another uncle who was a joke collector. People are always collecting things around me. Like the floating saxophonist out there.”
“And he’s collecting you.”
Penny nodded. “He assumes he is, at the moment. See, I now and then get the idea I need somebody to lean on. A popular delusion and madness of the crowd. Big Mac. Big Mac looked like he might be helpful. I was in one of my periodic prop-me-up moods when I started working here. I don’t know.” She paused and watched him. “What kind of deal?”
“What do you want?”
She smiled. “That’s too specific. Right at the moment, though, I think this place is even less interesting than the Nixon Institute. I worked there.”
“I know.”
“Sure, that’s right. You’re almost a cop,” said Penny. “You have a big file on me, stuffed in a data box or someplace?”
“Not me, no,” said Haley. “I can get you safely out of here, if that’s what you want. Get you probably a thousand bucks for providing me with information. Depends on the information.”
“I act on impulse a lot,” said Penny. “You’ll find that out. Right now I’m in the mood to go along with you. I’ll need, maybe, some protection. Lady Day, that outfit, they’re tough. Nobody. tougher than a...”
“Than what?”
“Nothing. They’re likely to try to do me in if I give you information. One of the few charms of this job is I have the AM to stand between me and any assaults.”
“Nobody’s going to get a chance to hurt you, Penny.”
“That’ll be a switch,” said the girl. “Okay, Jim. I guess it’s a deal. My shift here is until ten. I’ll have a better chance of slipping away if I do it at the usual time. Big Mac and his magic saxophone thinks I’m going to spend the night with him again. I guess the two of us can help him shake that notion. I’ll meet you at the rear entrance, off the parking lot at ten. Okay?”
“Yeah,” said Haley. “Do you know where Lady Day is? Who she is?”
“No,” said Penny. “Not exactly. What I can sell you is the location of one of her recruiters. It’s how I got involved. I guess my other uncle is the one who brought you in on this. The old arrowsmith?”
“Yes. This recruiter, is she in town here?”
Penny shook her head. “It’s a guy, more or less, and he’s down the coast in a town called San Arturo. You know it?”
“Inland, between Frisco and Carmel.”
“That’s the place,” said Penny. “I won’t tell you any more details now. I’ll go along to the town with you. I guess I’m in the mood for an excursion. Will that be okay?”
Haley told her it would.
The two sailors were still confronting the bouncer when Haley left the cavern. Something crashed among them, but Haley didn’t see what. When he looked back over his shoulder it was to grin at Penny.
VIII
Haley chose a booth at the end of an outdoor cluster of public vidphone booths and called the Intelligence and Investigation Office. After several buzzes and a droning, Chief McGuinness showed on the sticky circle screen.
“Hello, Jim. Why are you waving at me?”
“I’m wiping chile gravy off the viewer.”
The big slumped chief of intelligence was half into a broad ribbed cardigan. “I’m at home. They switched your call. You haven’t seen our place since Tildy got the bear baiting posters up, have you?”
“That’s right,” said Haley. “I want some background files. See what you have and I’ll check back in an hour.”
“Wait, are you . . . where? Gravy on the screen, must be San Rafael. The trail led you there?” “Yes.”
“I can videofax some information to you. We have an agent there who has a v-fax.”
Haley said, finally, “Okay. I want what you can get on Penny Deacon and Hobart ‘Big Mac’ MacGregor.” “That’s the mysterious girl, is it? Penny Deacon.” McGuinness had the sweater all the way on and was scribbling on the edge of a punch card. “What’s she look like?”
Elbows were bumping into walls two booths over. Haley said, “Five feet seven, about 120 pounds, dark brown hair, faintly freckled, small star shaped scar just above left knee, pretty, high cheek bones, nice outdoor tan.”
“That’s very thorough.”
“She wasn’t very dressed when I met her.” McGuinness blinked. “You’re not turning into another La Penna?”
“No. A lot of people are undressed around here. It’s a fad.” Two booths over, three underage boys and two twenty year old Negro girls were undressing and wriggling. “Here’s what Big Mac MacGregor looks like.” Haley described the saxophone player.
McGuinness shook his head twice. “Where are you calling from?”
“Public booth.”
“I hear grunting sounds in the background.”
“Some people are grappling near here,” explained Haley. “Who’s the guy with the v-fax machine?”
“His name is Claypoole. He runs the San Rafael Social Relief Center on D Street. I’ll shoot what I can find over to him.” McGuinness’ head clicked up. “Is that somebody naked behind you?”
Haley turned. “Yes, it is. I’ll see you later.” He cut off.
On the buckled mosaic tile in front of his booth a young girl was tugging off her lemon yellow underwear. It had the name Pearline embroidered all over it. “We’re trying for the record again,” the pale girl told Haley.
“What record, Pearline?”
“I’m not Pearline. This is just her skimpies. I slipped them on by mistake after our last record attempt.” She paused, took a breath. “The naked phone booth record. We’ve got a call in now.” She dropped her underwear at his feet and pointed at the crowding booth.
Seven naked young people were in there now. A black girl in a floating foetal position. “That’s right,” she was saying. “We want KENC-TV in Frisco. You know, the television station with the Dick Reisberson Show on it. You know Dick Reisberson. I don’t know if he’s a newscaster. No, I’m talking about the Dick Reisberson who has the naked phone booth contest going on.”
Haley left the area.
A metal plaque on the brown wood face of the welfare store explained in 12 point type: Charity is more than a handout. It is a means of communication, a sympathetic rapport. Thus physical ambiance
is as important as psychological attitude. Thus each Social Relief Center is designed to make you feel at home. This WS was built in 1993 by the Joint S.F. Enclave/San Rafael Relief Center Committee and is based on the type of general store current in the then United States in 1890, which was in the last century.
Under this someone had scratched: Claypoole is a sissy.
Haley entered the narrow store and the bell suspended over the wood and glass door tinkled.
"Sit on the bench and take a form,” ordered the cracker barrel on his immediate left.
“I’m not here for food,” said Haley. “I have business with Claypoole.”
“Sit on the bench and take a form,” repeated the yellow barrel. Its speaker grid was loose and buzzed when it spoke.
“He can’t say nothing else,” said a frail old man who was on the bench with a form in his hand. “He’s one way. Long as you stand in his vicinity he’ll keep on saying that same dam thing.”
Haley extracted a pink form from the top of the barrel and crossed the swayed wood floor. “Know where Claypoole’s office is?”
“Back of the counter. But Uncle Dave’ll knock you on your duff if you try to go in there. About the only thing Claypoole’ll come into the store proper for is a protest and that takes fifty people.”
“Who’s Uncle Dave?”
The old man pointed through the musty dimness. “The store proprietor, a mean old andy.”
Up from behind a tall jar of saltines appeared a cherubic android, pink faced with spectacles, com cob pipe, tossled white hair. “Howdy, stranger. Got your food coupons all in order?”
The old man whispered, “He’s a stubborn old cuss. He still insists we’re on coupons, even though we been on script for two years or more now. Haven’t we?”
Haley nodded, moved closer to the android. “I want to see Claypoole. Tell him Haley.”
The pink old machine chuckled. “Now, why should I go up to a feller and say Haley? Don’t make much sense.” He sucked his pipe stem and exhaled smoke. “You disabled or what?”
“I’m Haley. To see Claypoole on S.F. Enclave business.”
“Pretty sassy for a cripple, if you are,” said the android. He sidestepped and leaned in the direction of the sitting old man. “Hey, you old coot. Are you still puzzling over that questionnaire?”
“I forget how to spell malnutrition.” He fluttered the form. “Over here in the List Six Things You Are Probably Suffering From part.”
“We might waive that portion if you hurry up and fill in the rest.”
“What’s the handout tonight anyway?”
“Kid vitamins.”
“What? To restore my youth?”
“No, you ninny. These here are surplus children’s multiple vitamins in the form of animal shaped candy.”
“What animals?”
“Dogs, apes, elephants, chipmunks, bullfrogs, gazelles, lemurs and tarsiers.”
The old man smacked his lips half-heartedly. “I guess it’s better than starving.”
Haley leaped over the counter. He landed in front of the wood door marked Claypoole/Director and tapped on it with a knobby fist.
“Hey, feller,” cried Uncle Dave, clutching up a wooden headed mallet.
The door inched inward and a pale Negro stared out. “Don’t put the clout on him, Uncle Dave. He’s okay.”
“Come jumping over my counter like a hyena,” complained the android. “Talked back to the cracker barrel, pretended to be a hopeless cripple. More than likely conspired to stage a protest.” He clunked a hanging cheese with his mallet.
“Come in, Mr. Haley,” said Claypoole, beckoning. Haley, once inside the small vastly clean office, asked, “You got the material from I& I?”
Claypoole stroked the tip of his nose with two fingers. “We have to be both firm and somewhat arbitrary with the people who frequent us. You can understand that?”
Haley said, “What did McGuinness send?” Claypoole sighed. “This double life is a burden. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the rural blues song that contains the lines, ‘Early this morning my blues came tumbling down. I was all locked up, lord, and prisoner bound’... ?”
“No.”
“That’s how I feel quite often.” Claypoole picked several sheets of flimsy fax paper from his small desk.
“You picking up anything on Lady Day here?” Haley asked as the Negro handed the sheets across.
“No,” said Claypoole. “I’m not up on everything in the world with a touch of negritude in it, after all.”
Haley leafed through the pages. “This is all?”
“That’s it, yes,” said Claypoole. “Not too much on either of them. Although what there is on that Deacon girl is quite interesting. A pretty complex biography to accompany one so relatively young, isn’t it?”
Haley tucked the sheets into an inside pocket and did not reply.
IX
Haley said, “I want to rent a land car.”
The short, dark, balding man was standing with legs wide, surrounded by a hundred used vehicles. “Take the damn Surprise Coins first. We’re playing the Surprise Coin Bank Night History Game this week and I want to hand out a hundred of these little dingbats every day.”
Haley let the man drop the coins in his palm.
They were big and gilt and showed famous assassinations of the past. “Hey, aren’t you ... ?”
“Bruce Carter,” said the small man quickly. He pointed at the car lot’s several colored light displays of his name for verification.
“You’ve had your nose changed,” said Haley. “But you’re Bruno Calimari.”
“Quiet, Haley. Button your lip. Don’t be a fink on me,” cautioned the dark man. “This burg is up to here in Amateur Mafia torpedoes.”
“This isn’t a Mafia town, no,” agreed Haley. “Why are you here, Bruno?”
Calimari jiggled the eighty historic coins left in his jumpsuit pockets. “You always was straight with me, Haley, even though me and you are on different sides of what’s left of the law. You work your side of the street, I work mine. Once in awhile you’ve laid a handful of finifs on me, a couple yards of kale. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.”
“Okay, so what’s going on?”
“I’m an undercover agent. Get me?”
“Sure, but why?”
Calimari said, “You really want a car, Haley? I got a couple aren’t hot or lemons. I wouldn’t want to stick you with a clunk. Get me?”
“I really have use for a car.”
“I can let you have that green one over there,” said Calimari. “You going to be out of this burg by nine tonight?” He wandered to the green land car.
“Well, no.” Haley kicked at the car’s synthetic tires.
“Just so you ain’t going to be on B Street.”
“I will be on B Street, Bruno. Sometime after nine. What’s coming up?” Haley placed his hand alongside his wallet. “Have you got some information to sell?”
Bruno puckered his mouth. “I ain’t angling for no cumshaw, Haley. You’re an on the level guy, a heads up eye. Get me? So I’m going to level with you, give you a free tip.” He knelt beside the used land car and when Haley was squatting beside him on the pastel asphalt, Bruno continued. “See we’re still pretty old country in the Mafia. We’re the real Mafia, after all, and got a tradition to uphold. But we also can keep up with what’s going on. Lately we been studying—now don’t give me the horse laugh, Haley—we been studying about guerrilla warfare. You heard of that?”
“Yes. You’re planning some kind of terrorist raid on B Street tonight, against the Amateur Mafia joints?”
Bruno laughed. “You always was a double dome, Haley. You guessed it. Yeah, and I’ll tell you this urban guerrilla stuff—we read about it in some chink books—it turns out to be not too different from the way we used to operate in the old days. Lots of shooting, element of surprise. The lay is this. We’re going to hit B Street right smack at nine tonight and give it the works. Get me? I don’t like to see you be a fall guy and get caught there. So my advice is you should stay clear.”
“Nine?”
