SoCal Madness, the Final Chapter

the two men in the car full of glass, dead bodies and blood hadn’t said a word until they stopped.  ‘what the fuck?’  ‘no shit, what the fuck?  we’re covered with blood and no windshield is gonna get us pulled over in a heart beat.’   ‘yeah.  ok. i was gonna suggest we drive it up into the foothills and push it off some cliff and down into a ravine but i dunno now.’  ‘that still might work. let’s check the trunk.’  inside the trunk the men found some beach towels and a blanket.  ‘ok.  we are in luck. we wipe the car down and stick the dead ladies in the trunk.  we just have blood on our backsides.  if we make it without getting pulled over and don’t have to get out of the car we will be ok.’  ‘man, if we get pulled over we are off to the lethal injection room faster than you can say the lapd planted all this evidence on us.’  
 
the men had been very lucky so far.  no sirens sounded in the night other than the normal stuff bit it was off in the distance.  nothing anywhere close.  they had been lucky indeed.  one of the men walked out to the street and told the third man to follow them and if they got pulled over to just keep on going.  no sense in all of them going down.  the men had decided to take the freeway and hope the late hour wouldn’t have many highway patrolmen out or if there were they would hopefully be busy with drunks.  plus it was the quickest way up to the foothills.   as it turned out their luck held and they made it up into the foothills in no time. 
 
the road was deserted and they wound their way up into the san gabriel mountains unmolested.  they found a good spot after about 15 minutes of driving.  a turn out with no guard rail.  they pulled in and wiped down the car once more making sure there were no fingerprints or shoe prints in or on the car.  even with gloves it paid to be careful. they left the two bodies in the trunk and pushed it over the edge of the ravine.  the car fell several hundred feet and landed on it’s roof.  thankfully, no explosion like in the movies.  with that they all got into the other car and made their way back home.  by the time they got back to their homes it was almost 2am.  the two bloodied men showered and bagged up their clothes for later disposal. 
 
the insanity of a summer saturday night continued unabated as the men went about taking care of their business.  one of the men phoned the other two and they met again near the dumpster.  ‘look. i say we do some more of these bastards.  we may never get another chance.  if we get popped.  we get popped.  we been through this before.  screw it.’  ‘ok. yeah, why not?’  ‘alright. let’s do it.’ 
 
almost 3am and the parade of human stupidity was still in full swing out on the street.  perhaps even more so at that late night or early morning hour.  a night of drinking and drugs having taken control of the already stupid assholes vapid minds.  the men were loaded up and ready to go once again.  they didn’t have long to wait.  the car was moving down the street with more noise than they had heard in some time.  the plan worked again perfectly.  two more dead and disposed of assholes. 
 
on their way back from the disposal of the last bodies and car.  the men decided to do one more job and make it a statement.  they would leave the car in the street with the radio blaring and the dead left were they died in the car.
 
simple enough but would anyone figure out their insane statement?  the three men didn’t care.  they were high on all the adrenaline and death.   ‘only thing is we don’t do the last one on our street.  to close for comfort.  we can’t take that chance.’  ‘ok.’  ’sure we should be able to find something just about anywhere.  and they did find something very quickly in the next town over.  it hadn’t taken any time at all. 
 
they had pulled to the curb when they heard a car coming from behind them.  radio blasting.  4am on a sunday morning and the soon to be terminally stupid were still working at being the assholes they were.  the three friends decided to just stop the car and waste whoever was in it.   they got out of the car and stood in the street.  3 abreast.  blocking the road with their bodies.  the car approached and slowed to a stop.  the two shooters went to each side of the car and the third held his ground holding a tire iron he had pulled from the trunk. 
 
the three men had hit the jack pot.  the car was full.  the two shooters emptied their weapons into the car.  it was over in a few seconds.  though amazingly one of the occupants in the car made it through the killing zone and ran from the car.  the friend with the tire iron went after the kid and caught him with a flying tackle.  army training kicked in and he broke the kid’s neck with the simple technique he had been taught many years before.  he picked the dead kid up and brought him back to the car and laid him out on the hood.  the other friends were in their car and had it ready to go.  he picked up the tire iron from the street and joined his three friends.  they left the scene and headed home. 
 
the car sat there in the street with it’s stereo blasting and the dead kid on the hood for five minutes or so before another car load of assholes came down the street and found what had been left there.  the police were called and they spent well into the the daylight hours of sunday morning trying to figure out just what had happened.  
 
of course they never did.  they thought it was this or maybe that but it really wasn’t any of those things.  then the other cars started turning up.  or more precisely parents started to finally wonder where their stupid children were and called the police.  all the cars turned up and the dead bodies found.  the last to turn up was the car in the ravine.  it took several weeks before some one pulled off into the turnout, got out of their car, and actually looked down over the edge.
 
all the killings made a big splash in the media.  there was the usual tsk tsking, along with smirking feigned outrage at the carnage but it was good for ratings and the sharks that they were kept it up for as long as they could.  the late development of the car in the ravine added fuel to their sanctimonious eye brow raising.  however, in the end, the story just faded away like they all eventually do.  the police gave up and went about their business of trying to quell the turning tide of insanity that seemed to have a death grip on society.
 
the three friends?  they never spoke of that night again.  not even when it was just the three of them sitting and sipping a beverage out on the patio during the patio drinking season.  they had made their point though no one actually got what the point was.  but they knew and that after all that was all that really mattered. 
 
fini
 
jmh

SoCal Madness, part 4

several days later the the car and dead body were finally found when  someone passing by noticed a strong odor emanating from the parked car.  the death of the asshole barely made a blip on the tv or radio news.  though it did manage to grab a few inches of space in the local fish wrap.  the police made a cursory attempt at trying to find any witnesses to the crime and the whole matter was seemingly dropped soon after. 
 
the 3 desperate friends were buoyed by this turn of events.  ‘it’s like i told you guys.  the cops have their hands full.  just another dead body among lots of dead bodies.  they don’t have the time or the manpower for any of this.’  so with that the next night they shot out three consecutive street lights on the street where they lived.  it was a wednesday night and they planned to carry out the next mad part of the plan late saturday night and early sunday morning of the coming weekend.  that is if the electric company didn’t fix the lights before then.  
 
saturday came and the lights were still out of order.  they caught a break as their wives or girlfriends had gone out of town and off to vegas for the weekend.   a simple enough plan and worth the money it cost the three men to send them away.  the three men met for their final meeting before the insane rampage was set to begin.  ‘i’m still the shooter.’  ‘yeah, fine.  but i’ve been thinking we may need another piece.  just in case things go sideways.’  ‘hmm, maybe.’  ‘he’s right. no problem, i’ll bring my .22 auto along for fire support.’  ’shorts only.’  ‘yep, and i’ll attach the stocking to the ejector.’  ‘good deal.’  ‘ya know we may need a heavy piece if things really go sideways.’  ‘too much noise.’  ‘if i tape a plastic coke bottle to the barrel of my .357 i can get one good heavy round off with about as much noise as the .22.  we might need it.’  ‘ok.’  ‘alright set it up and bring it.’  the three men spent the day as they normally did.  however, late that night around midnight, they all crept quietly and unseen from their homes.  they met near one of the trash dumpsters not far from the street. 
 
the shooter was dressed in light clothing to make it easier for the cars to see him as he stepped off the curb and into their path.   the other two were dressed in dark clothes.  as a prop, the shooter also had a six pack of tall buds in cans.   they stood around not saying much while they waited for their first victim.  they didn’t have too long to wait.
 
like always they heard the car coming several blocks away.  the shooter and his friends got ready.  the shooter on one side of the street and the other two along with their fire support pieces on the other.  as the car drew closer the loud music thumped and banged like concussions from an explosion.   when it was about 30 yards away the shooter stepped from the curb with the six pack in his hand.  the .22 in his other and at his side.  he wobbled into the street and stood in the car’s path.  
 
the car slowed and stopped.  there were two occupants.  both males in their 20’s.  they stopped and began yelling at the shooter to get the fuck out of the street and out of their way.  the music still blared.  the shooter walked up to the driver’s side and quickly put two shots in the driver’s face.  as he pushed the dead body to the side he put two more shots into the head of the passenger.  it was over before it began. the other members of the mad group came out of the shadows and dealt with the vehicle and it’s dead passengers.  as planned, one drove the car several blocks away and the other followed.  the shooter stepped back into the shadows to watch and wait. fifteen minutes later the other men were back and reported no problems.  the car and bodies were left to be found at a later date and time when the smell would make them visible. 
 
not long after their return the familiar blare of another car stereo was heard, this time from the other direction.  just like the first time the shooter stepped in front of the car.  the car stopped and more yelling for him to get out of the road.   he walked up to the driver side window and put two shots into the startled face of the driver.  then 2 more into the passenger’s head before he realized there were two more people in the back seat.  he got off two more shots into the chest of the third victim as the fire support .22 took care of the last passenger in a similar fashion.  they all quickly secured the dead bodies and the car was driven off in an other direction to be parked and abandoned with it’s dead cargo still inside.
 
when the three insane friends met again, by the side of the dumpster, they were amazed and happy at what had gone down.  it had been fairly easy.  even their cold blooded murder had been easy, they said.  no regrets or sadness at what they had done.  they also agreed the fire support pieces had been a very good idea.  in the midst of all this happiness a third car was heard.
 
the three went to their positions and waited.  this car had the stereo at levels even they had not heard before.  it seemed as if they could hear the studs vibrate in the homes on the street as the car approached.  it was one thing to hear them vibrate inside a house but to hear them vibrate while standing out on the street gave them all pause.  this car was probably waking the dead.  the shooter knew he had to be quick with this one.  someone might look outside to see just who this asshole was as he passed by.  
 
there were only two people in this car.  the driver and her passenger, another young woman.  as the car neared him the shooter stepped off the curb and in front of the car.  this time instead of yelling the driver laid on the horn and kept coming.   the shooter stood his ground and the car barely stopped before it hit him.  he knew time was short.  so did the fire support shooter.  the main shooter emptied his magazine into the front window.  the support piece emptied into the passenger side of the car.  the 20 rounds did what they were meant to do.  though it was the one round from the silenced .357 that killed the driver.  however, the shattered windshield presented them with a major problem.  
 
without saying a word the shooter joined the driver in the car and they drove away from the mad scene.  the other friend followed.  none of them was sure if anyone had looked outside with all the horn honking and general loud insanity coming from the street.  they would know soon enough if sirens were heard.  the stereo had been turned off and the shooter, who was in the passenger seat, quickly broke out what was left of the windshield.  that took care of the obvious problem.  the other problem was there were four people in the front seat.  two of them being dead.  the driver pulled into an alley behind a small strip mall.  fortunately for the men it was a very dark alley.  the third friend knew they were in a fix and didn’t follow them into the alley.  he pulled to the curb, shut off his lights, and waited.   
 
jmh
 
 
 

SoCal Madness, part 3

the early spring and summer passed with little change from any other early spring and summer.  the three friends sat and drank each evening in the soft summer evening light of southern california.  the summer progressed into the hot damp nasty dog days of august.  the time when sleep was fitful and restless at best.   the thumpity thump of the weekend car traffic made it even worse.  sleep became a rare and precious commodity.  for the three old friends the lack of sleep, once again, became a part of their daily evening conversation.  

‘man, this heat and humidity is killing me. i can’t sleep. when i do doze off the chumps and their car stereos jolt my old ass wide awake.’   ‘yeah, it’s a never ending cycle this time of year.’  ‘you boys had enough?’  ‘enough of what?’  ‘oh, shit, he’s back on that again?’  ‘what do you think?  of course i am.   you think i want to end up like my old man and piss my pants every time i take a leak?  stuck with wearing a kotex in my underwear for years, until i finally die?  no, thanks.  i’m not going to out live my future. i’m not doing that.  there comes a time when what’s the point?  it’s quality not quantity.  i mean to take some of these assholes out.  if i die, fine.  if i get caught the state can buy me kotex till i die.  fuck it.  the state ain’t gonna catch me.  no way.  i’m fucking doing this.  if you guys help, it will be a piece of cake.  if not, well, i’ll manage.  somehow.’ 

as usual the other two friends just sat there and looked at each other.  neither saying a word for what was probably half an hour.  finally one of them spoke, ‘ok.  yeah, pants pissing.  jesus.  i hear you.  life just sorta gets worse and worse.  daily shit goes down the tube faster than an unassisted hard on disappears.’  ‘ain’t that the truth?  it’s not like we have much going for us.  i mean other than this.  and this is just, well, getting to the point of, sorry, just some sort of sewing circle type shit but with drinks.’  ’sad but true.  ok.  looks like we are signing on to this madness of yours.  what the fuck?’  ‘i guess we are.  seems like we may as well.  i don’t want to end up stinking of piss and shit in my really golden years.  fuck that.  either a blaze of glory or the state can deal with my sorry ass.  either way, i don’t care.’  ‘yeah, seems like that’s the case.  ok. count me in.’  they rose as one and touched bottles or glasses together and sealed the insane mad plan.

to saner men, this pact, seemingly dredged up from the bowels of hell would have given them pause.  why should lack of sleep and the stupidity of the young, along with the fears of the old, make anyone want to kill?  indeed,  why?  to those three men the answer would be, why not?  why not, retaliate against the rampant madness all around them?  why not take out something that is nothing more than a cancer on the breast of society?  take out something that is abhorrent to any civilized man.   yes, so it seems, the mad plan had some legs.  madness, seemingly coming to a head.  the one who’s original plan it was, shook his head and said, ‘finally.’  

several days passed until the madness was spoken of again.  ‘ok. look, we need a rehearsal before the harder stuff goes down. i have someone in mind.  you guys know who it is.’  ‘yeah.  tell me about it.  i know.  ha ha.  the asshole who every morning before 6am has his car radio blaring for 5 or 10 minutes in the garage while god knows what the hell is going on in his house.’  ‘right on, my brother.  it’s that dumb fucker.’  ’ha ha.  i’m with you on that.  sure, we should have done him long ago.  sorry ass inconsiderate fuck that he is.’  ‘ok. look. we do this guy first.  it ain’t gonna be easy with the early morning light but we have history going for us.  we have the real early morning assholes  then there’s a break until this dick rolls out to work.  we have a window of maybe 5 minutes, way more than enough time for the deal to go down.  i say we go monday morning.  agreed?’  ’ok.’  ‘yeah, sure.’  ’solid.  we go monday morning.’

sunday night the three now totally insane friends met for the evening patio drinking.  ‘alright.  the asshole starts his car and has the car stereo blaring.  he goes back in the house for 5 or so minutes, doing god knows what.  he comes back out and leaves.  when he comes out i’m in the garage and i double tap him.  we toss him in the car and drive away.’  ’ i like it.  man, like you said the car stereos covers the .22 shorts.’  ‘yeah, we should have done this piece of crap long ago.  what were we thinking?’  the reply came in unison, ‘damned if i know.’  ‘one thing though.  we need to police the brass.’  ‘oh, shit.  yeah, we sure do.’  ‘piece of cake.  i’ll just attach some nylon stocking to the ejector and let it catch the brass.  lots easier than fumbling around on the ground trying to find it.’ 

so, the next morning the three friends were up even before the rat bastards and their car stereo insanity began.  ‘ok, first thing.  we all wear gloves.’  ‘yes.’  ‘right.’  ‘i cap him.  we toss him in the car and you drive him a couple of blocks away.  you follow and bring him back.  remember to lock the car and be sure the windows are rolled up.  you guys drive over to the super wally’s mart and toss the keys in one of the dumpsters out back.  or down some drain someplace as you drive by.  don’t matter, just get rid of them and make sure no one sees you.’   ’solid. no problem.’  ‘i hope so.  if we pull this one off, we are in.  the late night early morning stuff will be a piece of cake.’  ‘right on.’  ‘let’s do it.’

thirty minutes later the man who did the same thing each and every morning started his car in the garage and left it there with the radio blaring.  it was only a few minutes before 6am, but of course he, being an asshole,  was totally oblivious to his own rampant stupidity.  it was to be his last morning of such utter disregard for his fellow neighbors.  as he stepped from the house and into his garage two barely audible shots rang out.  the dumb ass was dead before he hit the ground.  the two other friends quickly gathered him up and tossed him into the front seat of the car.  with the gatage door closing one of the friends drove him off with the radio still at ungodly levels for any time of the day.  the other friend followed.  three blocks to the east they found a quite residential street and left the car with the dead asshole stuffed down on the floorboards of the passenger side of the car.  locked it up then dumped his car keys in a storm drain two blocks further east. 

the whole sad affair was over and done within 10 minutes, tops.  the three friends gathered at a local ihop for breakfast to celebrate and discuss their mornings work.  ‘boys, like i have been telling you.  simple easy. right?’  ‘yeah, easy as pie.’  ‘ok.  when do we start for real?’  ‘let’s don’t get too greedy.  we wait for a day or two and see what happens.  then we go for it.’ 

jmh

ya know, i try and try to edit this shit to look like somethig that’s more or less ok. no matter what the fuck i do wordpress can’t deal with it. sweet.

SoCal Madness, part 2

it hadn’t always been like this, the dim witted borderline imbeciles driving around trying to be cool with their car stereos blaring at ungodly levels.  as a mater of fact, the whole damn thing just more or less snuck up on the saner of the population.  oh sure, back in the late 80’s early 90’s, some cities passed ordinances concerning loud car stereos and such.  those ordinances got buried in the crime wave of drugs and the general stupidity of the general population causing local cops more trouble and work than they had cops on patrol.  plus even the dull and stupid have to work at some point in their dull and stupid lives doing dull and stupid work.  so the ear shattering rancid music wasn’t particularly bad during the work week.  at times, it could be but for the most part it was on the weekends when the dull and stupid got even more dull and stupid.   the spring and summer months meant weekends full of bad music played at levels that could probably be heard on mars.

the next evening the 3 nam vets met again for the second night of the season of patio drinking and chatting.  they had been doing it for so long they had forgotten just how the whole deal had begun.  it didn’t matter, as it was really just time to get away from their wives or girlfriends.  a time for some booze and no female asking them dull insipid questions like why they needed to drink every day with their weird and or loser friends among other things.  ah, yes, like most men they had bid farewell to the simple life long ago.  the evening, being a monday, and of course, a work week night meant for a relatively peaceful evening for outside sitting and sipping.  the peace and quiet was only broken at odd intervals by the ear shattering so called music. 

  

‘you know i don’t think i’m going to make it.’  ‘make what?  are you sick or something?’  ‘no, nothing like that.  i mean, i don’t think i’m going to make it through another summer of this blaring car stereo shit.’  the other two friends gave each other a look.  the other friend continued.  ‘you know it could be done.’  ‘the man is talking in riddles this evening.  now what?’  ‘killing the dumb ass kids as they drive down the street.’  ‘man, you are crazy. there’s no way you are gonna get away with that action.  it’s just plain crazy.’  ‘i don’t like it any better than you do but he’s right, ain’t no way.  none of us do, but man, that’s just crazy.’  ‘i don’t think so.  i think it could be pulled off.  actually fairly simple.  you want to hear about it or not?’  the idea made the other two men uncomfortable but they decided to listen to their friend’s crazy idea.  they had nothing better to do and it was a nice warm spring time evening.  ‘alright. go ahead.’  ’ok.  the really annoying shit goes down on weekends late in the evening or early morning when the really stupid crazy ones are out being annoying and probably stoned, drunk, or both.’ 

he noticed he had their attention so he continued.  ‘there isn’t much traffic on the road other than them.  you can hear them coming from blocks away.  now remember, they have the windows down.  we could use a simple…’  ‘now hold on, sport.  what’s this we shit?  don’t be dragging us into your murder one conviction.’  ‘you gonna listen or what?  just hear me out.’  ’shit.  go ahead.’  ‘thank you.  we take a page from the viet cong tax collectors.  we just step out into the road and stop them.  instead of asking for tax money, we cap them with two behind the ear or where ever.  see, we have several things in our favor.  night time, rolled down windows, and the loud music to cover the gun shots.  which wouldn’t be that loud anyways.  a .22 auto loaded with shorts.  pretty quiet even without the help of the music.’   

the other two friends sat there in a stunned silence.  they realized he wasn’t kidding and had seemingly thought things out enough to the point, where he knew he would need their help if he wanted to carry out his insane plan.   one of them spoke.  ‘yeah, ok.  it might be night but what about the street lights?’  ‘we shoot a couple of them out.  it takes edison weeks to replace a broken street light.  if they ever do.’  ‘you really think some stoned out drunken asshole kid is gonna stop just cause you jump out in front of him?’  ’sure with a few props.  they need to see you in the dark so some sorta light colored clothing needs to be worn, and most importantly, you are carrying a six pack of beer.  they think you’re just some old drunken vato and at the least they slow way down or stop in hopes of snagging a brew off your drunk ass.  the .22 auto is in your hand but out of sight.  they aren’t gonna see it anyway.  they will be looking at the beer.  they stop.  you walk up to the window.  the music is still blaring.  you stick the gun in the car and pop pop.  it would be over before they knew what hit them.’ 

            

more stunned silence.  ‘alright.  what happens if there’s a car load of the fucks?’  ‘plenty of ammo in the clip to pop them all.  they will be to stunned to manage much of any kind of response if you hammer down fast enough…no real problem.’   ‘man.  you are talking about cold blooded murder.’  ‘yeah. i guess so.  i don’t care anymore.  things are just too out of control.  the stupid breed like rabbits and then don’t even bother to half ass take care of their kids or teach them anything half ass useful.  it’s every man for himself.  the fuckers don’t care about anything.  you’ve seen them out at the mailbox.  they open it it up and just toss the junk mail out into the street for the wind to take away.  they think it doesn’t matter or they are just to important or stupid to be bothered with throwing away trash.  they are oblivious to any normal human decency when they are out in public.  you go to a store, you better give them a wide berth or you are asking for trouble.  especially if they are fucked up, which is pretty much all the time.  yeah, i know we got fucked up too.  but we didn’t try to get into a fight just because someone wandered by and we didn’t like the looks of them.  i’m sick of these fuckers and it’s time to deal with them.’  the second night of the patio drinking and chatting season had come to an abrupt end.

jmh

john zen, pi part 10

picking up the phone john heard his friend chief of detectives, don ray, ask if it was zen on the line. 

‘what?…yes…don?…how did?…’

‘i’ve been calling the office and your home with no luck.  i called the phone company to get velda’s home number.  she gave me this one.  what gives?’

’sheila may.  she called the office and i convinced her to come and stay with velda where she would be safer.  i came over here to pick her up.  when i got here the place was empty and all i found was her half packed suitcase.  she’s gone.’

‘well, that fits.  one of my detectives just spotted someone who looked like sheila going through ontario in a car with two men.  one of them looked like the the jewish mobster rumored to to be working on the racing wire out here.’

‘bugsy seigel’, muttered zen.

‘who?  what?  anyway, my man tailed them for a bit but lost the car up by chaffey high school.  the kids were let out early today and he got stuck at fourth st with all of them crossing euclid.’ 

‘ok.  ok.  sounds like i had better get back out to ontario.  what was the make of the car?  did the detective get a plate number?’

‘no plate number just the new car paper stuff.  the car is a dark blue ford sedan with wide whitewalls.  that’s all we have right now.  i’ll put the force out looking for them.’

‘good.  i’ll see you or call you as soon as i get back to ontario.’

zen called velda and gave her the news.  he told her he was heading back out to ontario.  he told her to stay by the phone in case sheila may called.  zen also said he had a funny feeling about this development.  as he hung up the phone his heart skipped another beat. 

life and the dark dismal way things are dealt to you is just like a game, he thought.  when you least expect something that’s when it happens.   john zen knew his heart was telling him what he already knew.  he was falling in love with sheila may.  he just hoped she would be around to hear him tell her that one day.

as zen drove back out to ontario the skies darkened with the onset of a december evening and an approaching winter storm.   dark black clouds blown in from the pacific, by a strong west wind, slammed up against the san gabriel mountains.   the dark moisture rich clouds were being pushed down into the low foothills.  john knew by looking at the san gabriels and the low clouds this was going to be a cold winter storm with lots of snow, even at the lower elevations.  with the advent of the coming rain he pushed the accelerator of the coupe closer to floor as he drove into and then out of the clouds that lingered at the top of kellogg hill.  as he dropped into the pomona valley a light rain began to fall.

by then time he reached ontario a steady cold rain was falling in the early darkness.  he made his way south to the ontario police department for a talk with his friend don ray.    the two men met in the chief’s office over hot coffee and sandwiches.  don told zen that the car with sheila may had disappeared.  it hadn’t been spotted in ontario since early that afternoon.  the chief also said that he had asked the upland police to be on the look out for the sedan as well and the san bernardino county sheriff, who handled the cucamonga area.  as yet, no one had reported seeing the car.

after the simple meal and chat zen decided to venture out in the rain on his own to search for sheila may.   he made a bee line for the old stone, padre winery, where sheila may had first met amos fly.  he knew it was a long shot but it was all he had and he couldn’t just sit there and wait for things to happen. 

the rain made for an interesting drive out to the vineyards of cucamonga.  as most of the north and south streets in the area became the flood control system during rain storms.  pushing his way across those flooded north/south streets he finally made his way to archibald ave where he turned north.   driving a bit too fast for the weather he had a rooster tail trailing his coupe.   the wiper blades were having a hard time keeping up with the rain as he turned right on 8th st and drove slowly out to the old padre winery.   he knew in his heart that the whole trip was futile and it proved to be correct.  zen slowly drove past the closed and locked front gate.  he noticed no light coming from inside the stone buildings.  sighing, he lit a smoke, turned around, and stopped a bit further down the road.  he sat there smoking and waiting for something or anything to happen inside the dark winery.  

after an hour or so of chain smoking he realized his wait was fruitless and he made the sodden drive back to his temporary home in south ontario.  as he pulled into the old hobb’s place he noticed sam wasn’t at home.  a busy night for the restaurant, zen thought.  while he unwound himself from the front seat of his coupe a flash of lightning lit the dark evening sky revealing the the stark dormant fig tree at the center of the courtyard.  zen quickly made it to the guest house and unlocked the door.  after calling velda he took a hot shower and fell into bed.  the lightning was still flashing as zen finally drifted off to a restless dreamless sleep.

the rain was stopping as the phone next to zen’s bed started ringing.  he rolled over and glanced at the clock.  it was another early wake up call, 5:30am.  on the fourth ring, he answered.  ‘ok.  yeah.  zen, here.’  ‘john, it’s don.  we have another body out at cement mountain.  i’m sorry to be the one to tell you but it’s sheila may.  you’d better make it out here pronto.’   ‘yes, of course.  i’m on my way.’

at first john couldn’t believe what he had just heard.  it couldn’t possibly be sheila may.  but he knew his friend wouldn’t make such a mistake.  zen’s heart sank to the floor then bounced back up into his throat and stayed there.  he quickly dressed then sped off to the nightmare that waited for him.  the the drive to cement mountain was deja vu, all over again.  everything a blur up to the point of entering the cement pit.  the coroner’s van was just moments ahead of him.  his friend, don ray, was standing near a body under a blue plastic tarp.

zen stopped the car and just sat.  finally he lit a smoke then walked over to what waited for him.  ‘morning, john.’  ‘i guess.  let me see her, don.’  ‘john, it’s like the other.  maybe worse.  it isn’t a pretty sight.  not much blood because of the rain.’  ‘fine.  let’s get it over with.’  his friend lifted the plastic tarp and the dissected body of sheila may was there on the ground before him.   her face cut up and disfigured into a leering smiling cartoon face.  john turned away and saw only red.  a true living nightmare if there ever was one.

his friend don spoke,  ‘ the nightwatchman was surprised by someone at around midnight.  he got cold cocked pretty good.  he finally came around at about 4am.  he saw the body and called us.  we don’t have anything other than what you just saw.’  while he was talking a uniformed cop walked up to them.   ‘chief, the cucamonga sheriff is saying one of their patrol cars spotted the dark blue sedan sometime around 2am on route 66 heading west with one lone passenger, a white male.  no stop was made because the patrol car received a radio call concerning a very nasty traffic accident at about the same time.’  ‘did they get a look at him?’  ‘yeah. a good looking guy, maybe in his late 40’s. well dressed.’  

upon hearing that john zen turned and ran through the sloppy ground back to his coupe.  don ray caught up with him and grabbed him by the shoulder.  ‘hold on john.  where are you going?’  john shook off his friend’s hand and said, ‘i’m going to get that fucker.’  ‘john, wait a minute.  what are you talking about?  you just can’t go off half cocked like this.’  zen already had the car in gear and moving while don ray was still talking.

great blasts of red clouded his vision.  inside his chest his heart was beating like a sledge hammer.  it was hard for him to see the road, let alone drive.  as he was passing a gas station, he some how noticed a phone booth.  he quickly turned in and made a call to ben morris.  john told ben what was happening and what he needed from him.  the only thing ben said was, ok, and that he would meet john at the bar in an hour.  after his conversation with ben, john was much calmer.  resolve had set in.  cold clear resolve along with a big dose of revenge simmered in his heart.       

an hour later he was parked in front of hannigan’s.  the lights were on so he knew ben was waiting.  lighting a smoke he walked to the door and knocked.  ben opened the door and pulled john inside.  then he spoke in a rush.  ‘yeah, zen.  it was bugsy, again.  he’s gone off the deep end with all his vegas troubles and italian mob problems.  so as a result he’s gone even more crazy than his nickname.  he’s out of control.  dragna wants him dead.  so does chicago.  some of dragna’s boys will be here soon looking for the same thing you are.  i can’t say no.  if you are going to do this, do it now.’  

with that he reached behind the bar and pulled out an m-1 rifle with an 8 round magazine plus one more .30 caliber round.  ben handed the rifle to john and said,  ’dragna’s guys know where to go.  you have to hurry.’  as he spoke he handed zen a folded piece of paper.  810 LINDEN WY, BEVERLY HILLS, was printed on it.  zen read the note and smiled.  then he shook ben’s hand.  putting the rifle under his coat he left the bar and made the drive into beverly hills.  

linden was a residential neighborhood in the low hills above sunset blvd.  810 was fairly easy to find.  he parked a few houses away and loaded the rifle.  the 8 round mag with the one extra round in the pipe.  9 shots in all.  more than enough to do what needed to be done.  zen knew the mob was right behind him but he didn’t know how far back they were.  he had to hurry but not rush things or things would turn to shit in a big way.  

he walked quickly down the deserted sidewalk and slipped between two houses, 810 and 814.  he found a spot in the bushes there where he could see the living room of 810.  time was short.  he needed a break.  as if answering his silent plea, bugsy seigel, walked into the room with a newspaper and sat on the couch.  he was wearing a smoking jacket over his clothes.   as he raised the paper to read it 9 quick shots rang out.  one round found his left eye and removed a portion of his skull.  5 other rounds found their mark as well.   bugsy seigel was dead. 

moving more quickly and furtively than before john made his way back to the coupe unseen by any of the residents of linden wy.  he stashed the rifle under the front seat and started the car.  he was halfway down the block when he passed a sedan coming slowly the other way.  there were 3 men inside, obviously italian, and obviously looking at the addresses on the houses.  dragna’s men.  just a few minutes too late, smiled john.  as he turned onto the street of dreams, sunset blvd, police sirens from several directions cut through the cool clean december morning air. 

the end

jmh 

i know i’ve played fast and loose with some historical aspects of this story.  also some of the geographical stuff as well.  i guess that’s why they call it fiction.  i hope you enjoyed the story anyway.

john zen, pi part 9

after his meeting with ben, john, drove back to his office for a talk with, velda.  his was mind a sea of thoughts that kept tossing him one way and then another.  the air was clean and clear in the cool of a windless december morning.  maybe some rain was coming today or tomorrow to wash away the grit left by the winds.  zen, was lucky enough to find a  parking spot in front of his building.  the second floor office window was open.  velda was at work.  the open window to allow the cool clean air inside.  as he climbed the stairs he wished he’d had a nickel for each time he had walked to the second floor.  by now, he would at least have enough money for a new car or a race horse at santa anita.  he smiled at the thought.   reaching the second floor landing he saw that the door was open.  all was well, or at least, in this little part of the world.

‘hey, sweetie’,  he said, as he came through the door.  velda, jumped to her feet, came around the desk, and almost knocked him over as she hugged him.  ‘oh, my god, zen, it’s so good to see you’,  velda cried.  they stood in the center of office hugging for a moment or two.  zen, made the first move to unwind.  ‘you look good, sis.  how’s business?’  ’ha. we have no business, john.  just this mess with sheila may that i’ve gotten you into and it doesn’t even pay.’  ‘yes, well, then things are pretty much normal around here.’  john, smiled as he spoke the words.

they sat at zen’s desk and he brought velda up to speed on all of the developments.  including ben’s chat, as she was completely trust worthy.  ‘velda, i think i need to find sheila may.  do you have any idea at all who she may have been calling when i left her at the station?’  ‘not really, john, but you should never have left her alone.’  ‘yes, i know that now but she’s an adult and it seemed like she would be ok at the time.  hell, she might even be ok right now for all we know.’   as they sat there mired in their own thoughts the phone rang.

‘john zen, pi’, answered velda.  ’sheila, we were just talking about you. are you safe?  where are you?’  john took the phone from velda’s hand.  ’sheila, this is john.  i think you’re in danger of becoming a head line in the morning papers.  where are you?  who are you with?’   ’oh, john, thanks for your concern and your help yesterday too.  i’m safe and well.  i’m staying at a doctor’s place over in the eastern part of the city.  i’m fine.  the doctor has helped me out before.  we go way back.  it’s ok.’ replied sheila.   

john, sighed, then spoke again.  ’sheila, i’d feel a whole lot better about this if you were staying with velda.  i’ve learned some things and unless i’m mistaken someone is or will be looking for you very soon.  you are in more danger than you know.  it’s all because of amos fly.  you knew him and got to close to him.’   ‘but, john, i told you i don’t know anything.’  ‘maybe that’s true and maybe it isn’t.  the fact is, just by having been around that fly character puts you in danger.  serious mob danger.’  ‘i..i..don’t.. i..’ stammered sheila.  very calmly, john, said,  ‘where are you sheila.  tell me.  i’ll come right over and get you.  you’ll be safer with us.  trust me.’  ‘i’m staying with, dr. leslie cee, his home is on norton ave.  124 is the address.’  ’ok.  fine.  i know the area.   i’m coming right over.   get your things together.’ 

zen, hung up the phone and turned to velda.  ‘velda, lock up and go home.  i’m picking sheila up and i’ll bring her to your place as soon as i can.’  ’sure. john, i understand.’   with that, zen, ran from the office, down the stairs and out to his coupe.   

barely observing traffic laws, zen, made fairly good time driving to the norton ave address.  the norton ave area was in transition and still reeling from the effects of the second world war and the korean war.  parts of the residential area were just streets, curbs, and gutters with a large number of weeds where the houses should have been.  for some reason the area had not caught up with the rest of the southern california post war boom times.  it was a desolate place in the blooming city of lost angels.

zen, found the address of, dr. leslie cee, and slammed the car into the curb in what almost passed for a parking maneuver.  he rushed to the front door and rapped his knuckles on on it.  there was no answer.  he slammed the palms of both hands on the door.  still no response.  he tried the door knob.  the door was locked.  looking at the door jam he decided to break in.  rushing back to the coupe he pulled a large screwdriver from the trunk.  using the screwdriver he was able to pop the front door open.  gun out he moved slowly into the house.  obviously the home was empty.  the sound of the pounding and door being jimmied should have roused anyone inside.  unless they were hiding.  zen, carefully checked out the house.  he didn’t find anyone but he had one more room to check.

the door was closed.  he paused, then just kicked the flimsy door open.  inside on the bed was a partially packed suitcase.  it was the same suitcase, sheila may, had packed and taken with her on the trip from ontario  zen, called out her name.  he called again.  realizing she was gone, as well as the doctor, he looked more closely at the house.   there were a few pieces of a womens clothing on the bedroom floor.  as for the rest of the home there was no sign of a struggle or violence.  nothing.  using his handkerchief he picked up the phone and called velda.  she was already at her apartment and answered on the first ring.  zen, told her where he was and that sheila may was gone, as well as her doctor friend.  he told velda he would sit and wait to see if anyone showed up.  he read the number on the phone to velda.

zen sat on the sofa and lit a smoke.  he was confused.  it was apparent that sheila may had started to pack.  she had been stopped or been interrupted, then disappeared.  was, dr leslie cee, involved somehow in the whole affair?  did he have some mob connections?  as john sat smoking he realized he hadn’t looked into the home’s detached garage.  getting up he went through the kitchen and out into the backyard.   the garage stood 20 feet from the house.  the big car door was closed and there was a large padlock on the hinge.  the locked side door was another matter.  the large screwdriver made simple work of opening the door.  the garage was empty but looked as if it was being used as a workshop or something.   the daylight streaming through the open door was not enough light for zen to really see what was going on.  he found the light switch by the door and flicked on the lights.   

the garage was being used as some sort of operating theatre.  numerous medical instruments lined the walls.  there was a surgical light that hung from the ceiling with a medical exam table underneath it.  stirrups hung from one end of the table.  dr leslie cee, appeared to be a doctor who did abortions at home.  it became clear why, sheila may, had said she and the doctor were friends and that he had helped her out before.   sheila may, had on at least one occasion used the services of dr cee and his home office.  carefully checking the office he found nothing of any use.  no records of any sort or any other clue that might help him find, sheila may.   standing outside the garage, smoking in the cool sunlight, zen, heard the telephone ringing inside the house.

jmh

john zen, pi part 8

john stood there and watched, sheila may, go through the ornate train station doors.  he saw her stop at the first pay phone and drop a dime in the slot.  ‘well.  that about does it.  at least for now.’  john, said aloud.   he got back into his car and drove over to his downtown  l.a. office, thinking of sheila may as he drove.  it wasn’t much of an office building just three floors of walk ups with his office being on the second floor.  he parked out front and made his way up the used worn stairs.  reaching his floor he turned right and walked over to the second door on his left.  it was closed.  thinking that it was funny because, velda, should still be there.  it wasn’t that late and she liked having the door open.  velda, didn’t like surprises either.  the door was locked.

he found his keys and slipped them into the lock.  with his other hand he pulled out his .45.  opening the door he saw the note taped to the chair facing velda’s desk.  he closed the door but kept the gun in his hand.  the note was from velda, saying she had left early to help her mother do a few things that couldn’t wait for the weekend.  besides, she pointed out, it wasn’t like the world was pounding down the door for john zen’s services.  always a kidder, zen, thought with a smile.  he holstered his gun and sat at his desk.   

picking up his phone he called chief of detectives, don ray, in ontario.   the chief answered on the second ring. 

‘chief ray’. 

‘don, zen, here.  i just wanted to let you know that i helped, sheila may, skip town.’  

‘ok, but why bother?’  replied, don ray. 

’she was leaving anyway and i think someone thinks she knows something about what’s going on with the mob out there and maybe elsewhere.’ 

‘i see.  maybe i should have had a talk with her.  you could have swung by here on your way out of town.’ 

‘yeah, i know.  maybe.  though i doubt she would have said a word to you about anything.’ 

‘yeah.’  the detective sighed.  

’she did mention the fact that amos seemed to be like a go between the italians and possibly some jewish mobsters.’  added zen.  ‘i figure the hoods she saw with some italians to be jews from back east’. 

‘you may be on to something there, zen.  that would more or less give us something solid on the racing wire deal.  the jewish mobsters have had that action for years.’ 

‘just letting you know, my friend.’ 

‘thanks for the info and i’ll see what i can do with it.  are you still in town?  maybe we can have dinner at the iron skillet or sam’s place this evening.’  

‘no, don, sorry.  i’m back in l.a. for the night.  i have to see a man here in the morning about something that might shed a lot more light on the situation.’ 

‘alright then.  thanks for calling and keep me posted.  see you when you get back here.’

after hanging up, zen, leaned back and stretched out in his gnarled wooden office chair.  he lit a fresh pall mall and let the rich smoke do it’s job as it swirled about his head in the still office air. shafts of light coming through the venetian blinds sent sharp crisp black and white images through the smoke.  he sat thinking and hoping that miss sheila may was, by this time, safe and out of harms way from any of the violence that seemed to be coming  down the pike.  violence, that zen knew wasn’t over by a long shot.  as he sat smoking and watching the smoke drift through the shafts of light, he replayed that turn she made as well as the sweet smile of hers at the station.  not to mention the peck on the neck.  they were making him wonder if, well, just wonder.  life had it’s funny little ways of throwing stuff at you when you least expected it.  throwing stuff at you like a very attractive dark haired lady who made your heart skip a beat.

john zen, had spent the evening in the pacific dinning car enjoying a large steak and a bottle of red wine.  it was one of his vices.  he loved the dinning car and it reminded him of the simple diner out in the vineyards of cucamonga.  the only difference being the pacific dinning car was more gentrified and sedate.  that, and of course, the price of a meal was considerably more in the downtown eatery.  he missed having velda at his side during the evenings splurge.  she generally was his ‘date’ for those pricey dinners but not last night.  his date for the evening were his thoughts of, sheila may, and that lovely dark haired smile.  after dinner the mellow ride to his apartment seemed as if he was driving one of those lighter than air blimps.  he felt good.  he felt that things were coming together and just maybe other things as well.  sleep came easy for zen that night.  an almost dreamless night of little tossing and turning.  deep sleep of the kind he had not had in many years.

the alarm woke him 7am.  he took a hot shower and fixed a pot of coffee.  reading the paper he noticed that an unidentified body of a young man had been found out in ontario.  chief of detectives, don ray, figured it was some sort of mob hit.  the yet to be identified young man had been carrying a large amount of cash in a grease stained paper bag.  the bag had been found stuffed under the spare tire of the car the man had been driving.  whoever had killed the man had not found the cash, for whatever reasons.   it seemed to zen that the mob was in some sort of turmoil and the inland empire was taking the brunt of the action so far.  he hoped his talk later that morning with, ben morris, would shed some much needed light on the whole affair.  bacon and eggs rounded out his morning at home.

at 9am he drove over to main and flower st, and the bar of his friend, ben morris.   ‘hannigan’s’ was a neighborhood bar of sorts though at times it catered to a more underworld clientele.  at that hour of the morning there weren’t many street parking spots left so, zen, had to park in a garage and walk half a block to ben’s bar.  he knocked quietly on the door.  it was opened by the owner himself.  they shook hands then sat at the bar.  ben, opened a bottle of scotch and poured each of them a shot.  he left the bottle between them.  ‘i know it’s early but with what i have to tell you i think we’ll both need this.’  the two men hoisted their glass, clinked them together while saying, salute, in the italian manner.  

zen, sat sipping his drink.  he hadn’t said more than a greeting to ben and he was just waiting for his friend to deliver his news in his own time and way.  after a bit, ben, spoke.  ’john, you’ve really stumbled on to something here.  the italians and jews are working on something very big out in las vegas.  the jew’s guy out here for this one is, bugsy seigel.  of course, dragna, is the the italian mob guy.  though, seigel, has carved up some turf of his own in the county area here in l.a.  his keeper of that turf is, mickey cohen.’  ben paused to sip his scotch.  ’jack dragna, isn’t taking kindly to any of this.  eh, you can’t blame him, i guess.  he feels slighted.  bugsy is building a big hotel and casino out in vegas.  you probably heard about it.  there’s been some trouble with money and just about everything else that can go wrong with any big construction project.’  ben, poured each of them another shot then continued.  ‘it seems that your man, amos fly, was the prime contractor for bugsy’s hotel.  he was the main man subbing out all the work that needed to be done.  the dumb shit got himself involved with some local vegas politicians wife.  the local pol was not amused.  amos took him for a ride out to zzyx road, capped him, then planted him there.  the fucking mob went ballistic.  bugsy even more so.  the little ginch, amos, thought he was ok.  but, as we know, he wasn’t.  bugsy was also thinking that amos had something to do with all his hotel troubles out in vegas.  with all that vegas trouble, word is, it was bugsy who sliced amos up.  the mob sanctioned it.  it was to be a very loud warning for anybody else who thought they could do as they please in vegas.  of course, there’s been some ancillary hits as well.  you probably saw the one in the paper this morning.  just some kid out in ontario who did some bag work for one of dragna’s crews.  tommy… something or another.  anyways, things aren’t good here in l.a with the outfit back east stepping into jack’s turf.  there’s been other hits too.  stuff no one has stumbled on yet.’

this was more than enough information to keep john zen busy for a very long time.  blockbuster information he couldn’t really tell anyone else.  not even the cops.  ben, was his friend and only a few people knew what was really going on.  if things got out in any way, more heads would roll.  at some point, ben’s.  zen finished his drink.  thanked his friend and walked out into the cool morning sunlight.  

jmh

 

john zen, pi part 7

sheila may quickly finished packing and john zen led her to the stairway for the walk down the five floors.  ‘no sense taking the elevator.  we don’t want anyone to see you leave here with a suitcase in your hand.’   as they arrived at the ground floor, zen, stepped into the deserted lobby, looked about, then he grabbed sheila by the wrist and they made a quick exit out into the parking lot.  zen tossed the suitcase into the back seat as he started the car.  sheila may was already sitting in the front seat.  ‘get down so no one will see you leaving the hotel with me.’  she did as she was told and the two of them started their trip back to los angeles. 

they drove in silence for a few miles.  zen, lit a smoke and spoke. 

‘i think you know more than you are letting on.  come clean with me and maybe i can put a stop to all the madness in your life.  how did you meet this amos fly?’ 

‘fast eddie said there was going to be a party out at one of the wineries in cucamonga.  this was a few months back.  i’d been stuck at the hotel for awhile and just sorta drifted into a working girls life.  a girl’s got to eat you know.’ 

’sure. go on.’ 

‘well, me and a few girls took him up on the offer and we were driven out to the winery.’

‘do you remember which one?’ asked zen. 

‘it was dark but, yeah.  it was the big stone place out past archibald some where.’ 

‘ok.  that’s good. keep going.’ 

‘we got there and there’s a bunch of italians and a few other guys waiting and drinking in this very nice big room in the winery.  lots of food and drinks set out.  us girls were told to just mingle and if the guys wanted anything they would let us know.’ 

‘tell me some more about those other guys that were there.’ 

‘nothing much to tell other than amos was one of the guys, along with 4 or 5 of his friends, i guess.’ 

’so was amos the guy in charge or what?  i mean obviously the italian mob guys were hosting some sort of party.  who seemed to be the other big shot?’ 

‘oh, it wasn’t amos, that’s for sure.  it was some other really good looking guy along with this sorta dumpy side kick kinda guy.  amos seemed to know both groups of people.  the italians and whoever the other guys were.’   

’so how did you get to know amos from that evening?’ 

‘he wanted to get laid and he picked me.  he was pretty drunk and had some trouble.  i didn’t give him a hard time about it and i guess he fell in love.  simple as that.’   

john zen was beginning to see the picture.  to bring it to clarity he would need to have his talk with ben morris in the morning.   ‘i see.  so you do amos.  he falls in love and then won’t leave you alone.  right?’ 

‘yeah, that pretty much covers it.  the guy was creepy, ya know?  but look.  i needed the money and he was easy.’   ‘ok. understood.  did you happen to over hear anything while you were around amos or at this party?’  ‘what do you mean?  ‘i mean like anybody talking about business you weren’t supposed to hear.’

sheila sat and thought about that for a mile or two.  she finally spoke,  ‘yeah.  maybe.  see, we had gone between these two big redwood tanks for some privacy.  i don’t think anyone saw us go back there.  but while i was trying to get things taken care of i heard the big italian guy and the good looking guy with his dumpy friend talking about nevada and las vegas.  some stuff about a horse wire in los angeles that was going to go up big time up against the guys in chicago.’ 

‘jesus, honey, no wonder you’re scared.  yeah, you might be next in their hit parade alright.  someone saw you two back there and amos did something after that night that made some one very unhappy.’   

they drove the rest of the way into downtown los angeles in silence.  there was no way zen could really put it all together without some more info.  he had most of what he needed from sheila but the rest of what she had was probably just amos fly being a strange love freak.  nothing that would move things along as to why he was killed or just what the mob had in it’s plans.  or more importantly what amos had done to get himself so brutally murdered. 

the afternoon was bight and clear with very little left in the way of the santa ana winds.  the tail end of the devil winds was always most welcome.  that’s if there could be a good thing to the them.  the departure of the wind left the air and vistas scoured clean for a time.  or until things went back to normal and the smog rolled in from the pacific, from where it had been blown, to turn things back into that dappled wintertime southern california sunlight of transparent gray brown hues.  which reminded the locals of l.a. summertime without the oppressive heat.  it would stay that way until it rained or the next santa ana blew in to scour the air clean, once again.

zen exited the freeway at alameda st.  he turned right and drove the short distance to union station.  the city of lost angles’ beautiful spanish slash art deco train station.  usually the place where those with money arrived in l.a.   not the greyhound bus depot, just a few miles to the west.  where legions of howard hughes’ men preyed on the young women from corn country who came to l.a. without much of anything in their pockets other than a lust for the silver screen.  hughes’ men promised them motion picture work and a place to live.  all they had to do was sign on the line and mr hughes would take care of everything.  some of them were lucky enough never to see mr hughes. or the inside of a motion picture studio, for that matter.  others, well, others, just ended up as howard’s fuck toys.  living the life of lotus land while being used and abused by the jackals and locusts of tinsel town.  some made it out.  others never did.  just another seemingly endless sad story in the city of lost love.

zen pulled to the curb in front of the station.  there were some comings and goings but not enough for a porter rush him away from the curb.  he removed sheila may’s bag from the back seat and told her.

‘look, if you need anything at all, you call velda, understand?  i don’t like this but you’re a big girl and i can’t make you hide out with, velda, if you don’t want to.’ 

‘thanks, john, for all you and velda have done for me.  i just don’t want you involved anymore with me and my screw ups.  ok?  i’ll be fine.  my friend will pick me up here as soon as i call.  don’t worry.’ 

with that she gave zen a hug and a kiss on his neck then turned to walk into the station.   she went a few paces further toward the lobby doors then turned, and gave zen, a big wonderful smile.  a smile that made his heart skip a beat. 

jmh

john zen, pi part 6

ben morris, was one of those strange folks you come across in your life, zen, thought as the pall mall smoke swirled around his head.  a client from a few years back who john had helped get clear of some movie studio trouble and then, ben, became his friend.  ben, turned out to be a good friend to have.  after the studio madness soured ben to the hollywood scene he had grown up with, ben morris, became a business man and bar owner in downtown los angeles.  he cultivated many friends in his new business enterprise with his quick wit and vast knowledge of firearms among many other things.  friends, most folks would certainly shy away from.  friends, that on occasion would sell him firearms or come looking to him for something special.  something special for that special job.  ben morris, was also known for his loyalty to friends and his tight lips.  attributes his new friends appreciated.  

the ringing phone brought zen out of his reverie.

‘john.  ben.  look, i just heard about something going on out where you are.  does it have anything to do with our talk?’

‘yeah, most probably so.  find out what you can and i’ll be at your place tomorrow morning for sure.  first thing.’

‘ok.  see you.  keep your head down.’

ben rang off before zen could make his reply. 

things were beginning to come together.  if ben morris was already getting some info on the amos fly murder.  a murder that now was probably, most assuredly, a mob hit.  a hit that was made to make a statement.  a statement that was meant for someone to take deep into their heart.  lighting another smoke with the butt of the one he was smoking, zen, called velda at the office. 

‘john zen, pi’ answered the lilting voice. 

”hey, sweetie.  i’ll be back in town tomorrow morning.  things are beginning to move.  i’m going to stay out here for the day and try to talk to your gal pal, sheila may.  is she still staying at the orange hotel?’   

‘as far as i know, john’

‘fine.  see you late tomorrow morning.’ 

‘ok. john.  be careful.’ 

‘thanks.’

after locking up, zen, restarted the coupe and drove back north.  thinking the best way to handle things at the orange hotel would be a quick stop at ford’s lunch for a quick word with sam hobbs.  he parked along the curb, got out and went inside.  he saw his friend talking to some people in a rear booth.  the cafe was almost deserted as it was mid morning.  the breakfast crowd had thinned out to just that booth.  the lunch crowd was still an hour or so away.  zen, stood his ground.  when sam finished his chat he walked over to his friend. 

‘long time no see’, sam chuckled.  

‘yeah.  it’s been awhile.’ replied zen.  ’sam, i’m going back to los angeles this afternoon for some business.  but before i go i need to talk to a working girl at the orange hotel.  do you know which bellboy i talk to?  i want to keep this as simple and painless as possible.’  

’sure, john, i understand.  let me see, you want to ask for, fast eddie.  his real name is edward otto but everyone calls him, fast eddie.  he’s the guy you want to talk to.’ 

‘thanks, sam.  i’ll stay in touch and i’ll keep the house key.’ 

‘no problem, john, keep your head down.’ 

‘everyone keeps saying that.  i guess i’d better.’ 

the orange hotel was just a block and a half from ford’s lunch, zen, drove the short distance and parked the coupe in the lot out back.  john knew that going up to the desk and asking for sheila may’s room number would just be asking for trouble.  he also knew that finding fast eddie and asking about sheila was somewhat edgy as well.  as he stepped into the time worn lobby he bought a newspaper, went to the shoe shine stand and sat in the chair.  as the young man began to shine his shoes he began to read the paper.  after a few minutes john asked the young man which bellboy was, fast eddie.  the young man looked up from his work and said with a smile.

‘fast eddie?  this time of day?  mister, you must be crazy.  fast eddie don’t come to work till after 4 most days.’  

‘oh.  i see.  well, a friend of mine suggested i see him about this girl, sheila may.  he said if i was ever in the area to stop by and pay her a visit.’ 

as john said this he folded a five in half and handed it to the young man.  the youngster palmed the fin and said under his breathe,

’she be in room 548, mister.’ 

‘thanks’, replied zen, as the shine cloth snapped a few more times finishing up the job.   

after paying for the shoe shine he walked over to the elevator and lit a smoke as he waited.  getting in he he hit the fourth floor button.  at the fourth floor he got out and walked up the stairs to the fifth floor.  on the fifth floor he looked both ways to get his bearings.  he turned left and walked to room number 548.  before knocking on the door he took a deep breath and put his hand inside his jacket where he found his gun.  he knocked.  there was no answer but he could hear movement inside the room.  he knocked again.  this time louder.  ‘who is it?  what do you want?  i’m busy’, came the reply to his knocking.  ‘fast eddie sent me’, was zen’s reply. 

with that the door opened and a rather good looking dark haired woman stood in the door way with her hands on her hips.  ‘it’s too early for that.  besides i have to go out.  so scram’.  john pushed his way into the room while drawing his gun.  behind him he kicked the door closed.  quickly scanning the room he saw that, miss may, was packing her bags.  stepping to the bathroom he looked inside.  opening the closet door revealed there was no on else in the room other than the two of them. putting his gun back in his shoulder holster he said, ‘ john zen, pi.  you must be sheila may.  looks like you’re in a hurry here.’  ’so, you’re velda’s pi boss?  well, honey, you’re too late to help me now.  just get out of here and tell velda thanks but she can’t help me any more.’  with that she turned and began to pack more of her things into the open suitcase on the bed. 

‘look, sister, things aren’t that simple anymore.  someone is dead and it looks like you think you might be next.  talk to me before it’s too late.’ 

as sheila turned, tears ran down her face, streaking her make-up.   ‘ honestly, i don’t know anything.  all i know is amos fly is dead.  he was nothing but trouble for me.  see?  a strange little man with strange feelings about me.  i haven’t seen him since the cops got involved a few weeks back.  the guy was trouble.  i don’t know anything.  now he’s dead and i’m not sticking around to find out if i’m next.’   

‘where are you going?’ asked zen. 

‘back to l.a. i guess.  i don’t know.  but i’m not staying here.’  answered the scared lady.   

‘ok.  i’m heading that way myself.  why don’t i give you are ride back to l.a.  you can stay with velda.’ 

‘no, i’m not getting velda involved anymore than she already is.  i have a friend near downtown i can stay with.  i’ll take the ride offer and you can drop me off at union station.’ 

‘fine, finish packing and let’s go.’ 

jmh

john zen, pi part 5

the mad drive into the rising morning sun to the dead body of amos fly was over before john zen knew it.  his mind so wrapped up in the murder of the seemingly petty thug he was just about oblivious to everything.  the coroner arrived as he pulled into the quarry.  his friend, don ray, greeted him with a wave and beckoned him over with another.  amos fly’s corpse was already covered with the standard issue so california blue plastic tarp.  don ray asked, ‘you want to see?’  ‘yeah, let’s do it.’  flies had already found the mouth of amos fly.  they danced in and out in the early morning light and warmth.’shit.’  said john.  ‘yeah. that too. someone took their time on this one, zen.’  ‘no nightwatchman?’  ‘not last night.  the guy called in. his wife was having a baby.’   ‘convenient.’  ‘we already checked.  it’s legit.  the owners didn’t think one night without a guard would matter all that much.’  ‘i suppose, that is if you aren’t amos fly. christ they made such precise cuts.’  replied zen.  ‘yep. looks like surgical stuff.  the lab boys will check it out.’   don ray, backed off a step looked off into the mountains and the slowing winds, then spoke.  ‘the guy was a ginch.  but no one deserves to get it this way, zen.  he was chopped up and left here for the first guys that come in at 4am.  i got the call at 5am.’   ‘thanks for calling me, don.  i’ll be here all day looking around to see what i can find out.’  ’sure, zen, we go way back. i know you’re solid.  keep it close to the vest and keep me posted.’   ’sure chief.’  john zen shook the detective’s hand, looked once more at the bloody body of amos fly and walked back to his car. the slight morning winds helped get rid of the blood smell that lingered in his nose.  the pall mall smoke helped to clear the smell and his head. 

the drive into ontario for breakfast took him to ford’s lunch and his old friend, sam hobbs.  they greeted each other as only long lost friends can.  each talking in a rush and listening faster.  ‘ha ha. i know it’s not funny but i was out back in the store room yesterday when i heard the gun shots and tires screeching. i wondered what was going on.’  sam continued.  ’so you’re looking to stay here awhile, eh’   ‘yeah, sam, it would make things easier for me.’  ‘you can move into the guest house at my place, zen.  the couple that lived there moved out and since hattie died i haven’t had anyone to chat with.’   ‘ok, sam, thanks.’  sam handed him the key and said, ‘make yourself at home. the phone is still hooked up.  i put it in my name.’  ‘great, sam, thanks so very much.’  with that and a full stomach, john zen, pi, drove further south to the old hobbs place and a long forgotten youth.

he drove south to place where the gravillas and pepper trees ended.  to where the farms and dairies began.  to that place out of his past.  it stood on the northwest corner of euclid and ely.  maybe on a couple or three acres of land.  old long abandoned chicken coops and a small horse stable flanked one side of the property.  a nice one story house, still painted white, as the center piece.  though to john zen, the real center piece was the huge gnarled old fig tree that had stood in the courtyard for many many long years.  the tree trunk was a good 4 feet in diameter and the tree itself yielded up the best figs anywhere.  the sweet fruit and leaves gone now in the warm december.  the majestic tree of his youth grown even larger.  it’s bare limbs stretching out and covering the courtyard. zen parked his car under the broad lifeless limbs that cast broken shadows of winter light over the decaying asphalt drive.  he got out of the coupe and walked over to the tree and put both of his hands on the trunk.  catching up on old times, as it were.  the tree swayed gently in the breeze as if to welcome, john zen, home again.  zen, wished it were summer and the tree so full of fruit that it dropped every where, as if begging you to taste it’s sweet bounty.  all that fruit on the ground made you stop to sample some, while you hid from the hot bright summertime sun.   

he stood there and looked at the home where his mother had worked and the home he played in as kid.  often playing cards or parcheesi with his mother and hattie at the large dinning room table.  the laughter still rang in there, he thought.  his mother and hattie both gone now.  the laughter and joy of youth gone now as well, in a misshapen world of long ago dreams.  as he thought these and other thoughts he wiped away a tear and walked over to the guest house.  opening the door brought back many memories of others who had lived and loved there over the years.  the gambler and his wife, gone now as well, among others. 

inside he found the phone and called velda.  ‘hey,sis, it’s me.’   ‘oh, zen, finally.  what’s going on?  i’ve been calling you all morning.’  he filled her in on the events of the morning and gave her the number that was on the phone.  he told her to take some money from the stash and buy a big steak along with a bottle of dago red for dinner that night.   he hoped she would but she rarely did what he asked unless it was about the business.  he gave her a sisterly smooch and signed off.  while sitting at the kitchen table looking at the lifeless fig tree his thoughts weaved a tangled web. 

realizing he was miles away from his scheduled talk with, ben morris, he made another call.  ‘hannigan’s. and we ain’t open yet.  call back later.’   ’ben, it’s john.  something’s come up and i’m going to be stuck out in ontario for at least the day.  we still need to talk though.’  said zen.  ‘it concerns some friends of yours.’  ‘i understand.  the phone isn’t a place for that sort of conversation.  come and see me when you can.  i’ll be in early all week.’  ‘thanks ben, if you want to talk i’ll be at this number.’   after reading his friend the number, zen, hung up the phone and lit a smoke.  

jmh