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                                            CHAPTER ELEVEN

                                     Jackie Weldon

9:55 a.m.

In the blackness, Reggie heard music.

A vicious headache escaped, throb by throb, through his eyes. Pain crowded his face, especially his nose. His muscles hurt. He discovered his groin was particularly tender when he moved his legs together.

In the next room Billy Joel continued to sing:

Your sister's out, she's on a date;
You just sit home and masturbate....

The thought of yanking his pud raised a lump of nausea in his throat. When he gasped, he sniffed. Blankets, curtains, starched sheets. Downey fresh. He was in bed. Again, he tried to open his eyes. They hurt. The lids quivered as he tore the lashes apart.

He laid on a double bed under sheets, in a darkened room, a sliver of morning slipping by the side of the window shade.

His body felt lifeless. An ache, like a defeat, came over him as his eyes became used to the light in the bedroom. He rolled slowly to his side. The clock on the night stand glowed in the dark. It was almost ten in the morning.

The raunchy organ music and Billy Joel's nasally assurance that Captain Jack will get you high tonight faded.

In the next room, a voice–a man's voice. "Enough of that." It was the man on the intercom, the wimp on the phone last night. He heard the spring-loaded sound of a tape ejection.

Reggie elevated his body slightly, pushed himself from the soft puffy pillow with his elbow. A woozy feeling swarmed his head. He toppled forward, fell from the bed and thudded hard on the rug. His stomach churned. He retched.

"What was that?" the man said from the next room.

"He's awake." Lucilva's voice. Footsteps. The door opened. Bright light flooded over Reggie as he lay on the floor.

"Mr. Thomas," she said too formally, reaching down to help him, "are you all right?"

He shrugged her hand away.

"I'm just trying to–Jesus, what's that smell?"

She found the amoeba-shaped pool of vomit at her feet. She picked up the phone beside the bed and pushed the intercom button.

Reggie reached for the bedpost, hoisted himself to his feet and sat on the end of the bed.

"Amalia," Lucilva said into the phone, "bring some water and towels to Mr. Thomas's room, please." She hung up.

Reggie asked: "What happened?"

"You tell me."

"Last night, I mean."

"Well." She sighed. "My crazy brother beat the daylights out of you."

"Terrific. And I missed it?"

"I'm very sorry."

"Not more than me. Is he still around?"

"No."

"Where's Jackie?"

"Asleep. Next room. I just checked on her."

"Yeah? And what about medical attention? Or is that too much to ask or doesn't it matter that your brother raped her."

Incredulously, she replied: "Josh? She said she heard something outside the motorhome and got scared and ran out naked and fell. Who said he raped her?" She raised the shade to half-mast. Sunlight formed a parallelogram on the bed. Reggie squinted.

"Jackie said." Slowly, he rose from the bed. Keeping his legs apart, he walked bowlegged to the door. The Salvadoran maid Amalia arrived with a plastic pail of hot water and some towels. Reggie squeezed by her.

"And spray the room with something," Lucilva ordered, following Reggie into the hallway.

"Which room?"

"First door on the right."

Reggie opened the door a crack, peered inside the darkened room. In the dim light, under a mountain of silk sheets, blankets and a thick patchwork comforter, her head enfolded deep in pillows, Jackie lay sleeping. He stepped in the room, closed the door on Lucilva. He didn't want her in there. Reggie turned on the lamp on the table under the window. In sleep, she looked even younger than seventeen. Her short brown hair was matted around a face so void of expression she looked dead. She appeared child-like in the big four-poster bed.

Little girl, he thought, kneeling beside the bed. He touched her shoulder, stroked it gently. You gotta go home. I shouldn't have brought you here. His hand drifted to her neck. Then his fingers followed the line of her jaw to her hair. He softly stroked her head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Abruptly, her eyes opened, fluttered, and then recognition came to her face. Her eyes darted around the room. "Is he still here?"

"No, he's gone. Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"My arm. He kinda twisted it. And my ribs hurt a little."

"You need to see a doctor?"

"I don't think so. How're you?"

She's trying to keep me out of it.

"Pretty beat up, to be honest. What happened?"

"He knocked you out with a piece of pipe and then he just kept kicking you and kicking you. I tried to stop him, but he pushed me away. He was too big. I ran in the house and got Lucilva. She stopped him. He would've killed you."

"We oughta have the son-of-a-bitch arrested," Reggie suggested.

She licked her lips and sighed, searching the room for some illusive thought. Finally, the corner of her mouth twitched into a painful grin.

"I need a hit."

They watched each other's eyes. There was a tap at the door.

"Get dressed," he said. "We'll go see that detective."

Jackie shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea. It could ruin everything."

"Everything's already ruined, Jackie. You can't let him get away with it." Another tap at the door. "Wait a minute, please."

"What about your business?"

"Screw 'em."

"I don't want to go through anything. You know? He might do something to me if I go to the police. And everything you've planned–I just want to forget about it. I just want a hit, okay? Please. One more and I swear I'll never slam again."

"You said you wanted to go home last night."

A trace of exasperation seeped through her voice as she said:

"Lucilva fixed you up and we got you to bed last night. While she was in your room, I called Teddi–"

"Who?"

"My mother. She's...she's picking me up at the bus station in L. A. I take a shuttle from here to Barstow, then to L.A."

"You're not taking any bus. I'll drive–"

"No. I'm taking the bus. You finish what you have to. When you're done, we can pick up where we...I guess where we never began."

"Get off the crank," Reggie said, touching her cheek with the palm of his hand. "I'll take care of Josh."

Her eyes averted his. "Don't. Let it go."

"I won't let it go."

She took a deep breath, lolled her head back against the headboard. "I need a hit–bad." She bit her lower lip.

There was another tap at the door. Reggie unlocked and opened it. A dandy-looking fellow stood there. He was in his mid-forties, with dark graying hair and a trimmed salt and pepper beard. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to the elbow, and yellow suspenders held up a pair of beige trousers with creases sharp enough for shaving. Lucilva stood behind him, a sour expression of exclusion on her face.

"How do you do, Mr. Thomas?" the man said. He looked at Jackie. She looked away, pulling the sheets around her. The man turned back to Reggie. "Heard you had a little go-'round with Lucy's little brother." The statement was probably meant as introduction, but it was terribly awkward.

"This is my friend, John Quinn," Lucilva said.

Reggie nodded to him. "Could I speak to you?" he said. He took Lucilva’s arm and led her down the hall. He stopped halfway, walked back to Jackie's room and peeked in. Quinn had approached the bed. He turned to Reggie, then stepped away from the bed.

"Get dressed," Reggie said. "We're going."

She glanced at this stranger in her room. "I want to say goodbye to Ivan," she said.

Reggie nodded. Staring into Quinn's face, he closed the door and rejoined Lucilva.

"Pleasure meeting you," Quinn called after them. Reggie heard the rough edge of sarcasm in his voice but ignored it.

He took Lucilva outside to a bronze statue of a desert pioneer perched on the lawn. He stopped and turned on her. "I want to know where Josh is, I want to know how that faggot fits in, and I want to know when we're getting started on the burn."

Lucilva folded her arms across her red cotton blouse, lifting her bust in the process. "Josh is gone. To get the chemicals. That man is not a faggot, he's an actor. He doesn't fit in with the deal. He's on the city council. I'm trying to...work out some things with the city and he's someone with receptive ears. By tonight Josh'll have the chemicals and your little buddy'll be out of jail and you can get set up at the hangar–"

"Only if the fat troll stays away," Reggie interjected acidly.

"Well...I don't think so. It's his hangar. Only safe place. There's nothing for fifteen miles in any direction. We fly the product out of there to a pig farm east of Baker, and–"

"Fly? In that contraption in the hangar?"

"It's an ultra-light."

"Who does the flying?"

"That doesn't concern you. You make it. That's all."

"And what do you do?"

"I decide whether you're going to make it."

Reggie found the sun nearly at its zenith. He shaded his face with his hand to look around the huge putting green yard, cluttered with several split-wood tables, chairs made of thin, twisted willow branches. A perfect day for...something. He began wondering: When did I forget how to enjoy the simple things in life? Simple fun. Making movies was simple fun.

"You're fading out again," Lucilva said. "Can't you stop that?"

"I'm thinking."

"Then don't think."

"What're you going to do about Josh?"

"About what?"

"Jackie. The rape."

"Mr. Thomas–"

"Jackie has no reason to lie about it. I saw him."

"Rape her?"

"No. He was coming down from the motorhome."

"He said he just got there and heard somebody scream, went to investigate and got stuck in the mud."

"And Jackie made it all up?"

"My brother–my half brother–is a violent man. You're witness to that fact. But I know my brother, and he doesn't have it in him to rape a teenager."

"No question, he raped her. And he's going to pay for it. Somehow. Maybe not now. When the job's done. Someday."

"Do what you have to do."

John Quinn stepped out into the sunshine and donned a pale yellow Panama hat. He threw Lucilva a kiss. She waved back. He left in a mud-splattered, black MG convertible, an American flag fluttering from the aerial.

Lucilva stared down into the valley. "Caught Jackie snooping around my house last night. I want her gone."

"It’s already been decided," Reggie assured her.

"When?"

"Today."

"Excellent."

* * *

Outside the two temporary courtroom trailers, Reggie avoided Officer Tooley who stood near the farthest trailer marked Department B by standing under a shady tree. His brow dripped perspiration. It was hot. He wished for the rain again.

After paying his fine, I. Q. emerged from Department B. He stood at the top of the ramp, using his hand as a visor and finally settled on the shady spot.

"Hey, Reg! Boy'm I glad to be out here! What happened to you?" He reached for the lump on Reggie's face, a lump that had become more painful the larger it got.

Reggie grunted, blocked his hand away and said, "Let's go."

I. Q. followed him. "How'd you manage to get to the baggy?"

"Shut up, I didn't," Reggie whispered back.

"It was over an ounce–somebody did."

"Does it matter?"

"Hell, I just asked. You don't have to bite my head off." They walked down the hill a hundred paces and I. Q. asked, "Deal still on?"

"Yes. The deal's on."

"Everything's cool?"

"Yes."

"How's everything cool?"

Reggie stopped and turned on him. "You already screwed things up letting the cops in the motorhome. As a favor, I'm not telling you anything more than you have to know. The less you know the better."

I. Q. hung his head. Reggie walked the rest of the way down the hill, crossed First Street, taking Hill Avenue one block. They crossed Second Street to the motorhome, parked under a tree across the street from the Paley Park and Museum in front of Odds and Ends Antique Shop. I. Q. hadn't said a word the whole way and wouldn't look at him once they got in the motorhome.

"I'm sorry," Reggie apologized. "I got the shit beat out of me. I'm not in a good mood, all right? Bear with me."

"You won't even let me give a shit about you."

"I'm sorry. Be my guest. Give a shit all you want. Right now, though, we have to meet Jackie."

"Where is she?"

"Buying a bus ticket."

I. Q.'s face turned stony. Then anxious nervousness took over his voice. "Where is she going? What's going on?"

A twinge of emptiness settled in Reggie's stomach. "Jackie's going home."