Hear the Wind Blow, Dear... (Vic Daniel Series) Page 4

  'Shakespeare, dummy,' she called through the door. 'What's-his-name. Tomorrow and tomorrow.'

  'I was sure it was the Beatles,' I called back. 'Live and learn.'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I strolled to my car feeling all in all not displeased with the way I'd handled my latest little chore. Life is not all big chores, you know, and mine in particular. I usually had three or four jobs, if they could be called that, going on at any one time. Some got resolved fairly quickly, some I gave up on, some were yearly security contracts that only needed my attention every couple of weeks, bits and pieces, you might say. I plan to write a small monograph on the subject of bits and pieces some day as soon as I find out what a monograph is.

  The timing being about right, after I left Elroy's I drove over the Hollywood Hills and down to Inglewood where I picked up Ellena and her daughter. The daughter we dropped off at a friend's house a few blocks away, then I got on the northbound freeway just in time to join the afternoon exodus. Ellena had little to say on the journey, worried as she was about pobre Chico.

  When we got to Parson's Crossing, Ricky and his buddy Tommy were sitting out on the edge of the side porch, swinging their heels and putting away after-work beers. As I was parking, Ricky said something to his friend, crumpled up his empty tin, tossed it into a wire bin and came over to join us. He helped his wife out of the car, kissed her cheek, asked her how she was. She smiled up at him and said she was fine. We all got in the front seat of Ricky's Jeep and took off. Tommy watched us go.

  'How far is it?' I asked Ricky.

  'Twenty minutes' drive, maybe a ten-minute walk,' he said. 'You sure you're all right, Mama? You know how bouncy it gets, would you be happier waiting for us? You could wait at Mae's.'

  'If you do,' I said, 'stay away from her pecan pie.'

  Ellena shook her head stubbornly. 'I come,' she said. She patted her husband's arm reassuringly.

  He shrugged. 'What can you do?' 'What did you tell Tommy?' I asked him. 'Nothing.'

  'You must have told him something. How often does Ellena show up here after work with a tall, handsome gringo?'

  'Oh. I said we were going to look at a piece of property over near Walton that me and my uncle might buy. OK?'

  'OK. Have you ever mentioned anything at all to him or anybody else about Chico?'

  'Never. Why?'

  'Just asking,' I said.

  We drove in silence for a while. Ellena laid her head against her husband's shoulder. She took it away when we turned off the paved road on to a dirt one. About fifty yards farther on was a locked gate that was well signposted with warnings of no admittance to the public, and why. Ricky handed me a key, I jumped out, undid the padlock, waited until the Jeep was through the gate, locked up again then hopped back in. What a team.

  The road got rapidly worse. In some places it had been resurfaced with tree trunks from deadfalls laid side by side and roughly packed with dirt in the gaps. I asked Ricky if there was a lot of that type of road in the reserve.

  'Every few miles,' he said, switching into four-wheel drive to take a slippery hill. 'Like a grid. For service access, for in case of fire, for fire breaks, for boundaries so we can identify any section by its coordinates. Up north where Tommy works it gets hillier so the grid isn't as regular.'

  'Who put the roads in?'

  'The original loggers,' he said. 'All of this is second or third growth. It's coming on, though. If it had a little more natural water like it does farther north in California it would do even better.'

  We pulled up at the top of the rise; Ricky switched off the motor.

  'Pretty, eh, querida?' he said in the sudden quiet.

  Ellena agreed that it was pretty. I suppose it was, if you think trees are pretty, for that was about it as far as the eye could see, low tree-covered hills rising in the distance to higher tree-covered hills. Me, I reserve the word 'pretty' for things that really are, like Maidenform bras and neon signs of cocktail glasses winking on and off.

  'Where's Wonderland Park from here?' I asked Enrique as we were all getting out and stretching.

  'You can't see it but it's only about a mile and a half that way,' he said, pointing.

  'That way would be south?'

  'It would.' He unlocked the trunk, took out a heavy belt that had clipped to it a machete in a leather case, a holster, a canteen which he shook to see that it was full, and one or two other useful objects, then buckled it on. Then he took his wife's hand and we set off into the jungle. Well, forest, if you want to nit-pick, but it was jungle to me. Ellena carried a shopping bag she had brought along.

  'What's all the equipment for?' I asked Ricky with exaggerated concern. 'Bears? Wolves? Big Foot?'

  'Common sense,' he said. 'If I fell and broke my leg, with the machete I could make a splint and with the gun I could make a noise.'

  'And with the canteen you could drink,' I said. 'I get it.'

  The going was easy, although I couldn't see any discernible path we were following. The ground underfoot was springy with fallen needles and the trees were far enough apart so we didn't have to hack our way through it with the machete.

  'Are there any animals at all here?' I asked Ricky after a bit. 'Just out of curiosity.'

  'Plenty,' he said proudly. 'Squirrels, snakes, coyotes, porcupines, shrews, there might be a bobcat or two, coons, I've never seen a wolf but Tommy said he did although it could have been a dog. Maybe someday we'll get bear back, wouldn't that be great?'

  'Marvelous,' I said, sneaking a look back over one shoulder. 'Can't wait.'

  Quiet. It was quiet in the woods . . . too quiet. What happened to the drums, Carruthers? After another bit Ricky suddenly stopped and pointed up at something. I looked, fearing the worst. Ricky made a bird noise, and darned if the bird didn't answer him.

  'Woodpecker,' he whispered.

  'Why isn't it pecking?' I whispered back. Ellena giggled.

  'It's made its home already,' she said.

  'Of course,' I said.

  As Ricky had mentioned earlier, it was only about a tenminute walk. When I was giving a wide berth to something I thought just might be a highly dangerous coral snake but which turned out to be a partly peeled twig, he told me to wait where I was for a moment and went on ahead with his wife. A minute later I heard her call out, 'Chico? It's me. And Rico.' Ricky reappeared almost immediately and beckoned me forward. After a few steps I could see Chico's abode through the trees – a small lean-to maybe ten foot square made out of unpainted weathered logs that had been roughly trimmed, with a tarpaper roof. It had no windows that I could see, but the door was ajar. On the roof was a sort of square wooden box that I supposed acted as the top of a chimney. A rain barrel made from an empty oil drum sat under one of the eaves. Some washing was drying on a cord stretched between two nearby trees. Several animal skins were tacked up on the front wall of the cabin. I could see Ellena down on her knees in the doorway, talking as if to a child she didn't want to frighten.

  When I caught up to Ricky I asked him how he had ever found the place, hidden as it was.

  'I saw it by accident through the fire-watcher's telescope,' he said. 'You can't see it from here now because of the new growth but there's a fire tower way over there somewhere. I go up there maybe once a month to look over my empire and win a little money playing gin. I took Chico up there once.'

  Ellena got up, brushed the knees of her slacks, and came over to join us. She seemed upset.

  'How is he?' Ricky asked her.

  'Malo,' she said, shaking her head. 'He'll hardly even talk to me. I told him you brought a friend who had to see him, it was serious, but I don't know . . .'

  'Let's go, amigo,' said Ricky. I followed him the few steps to the shed, then we stepped inside, me having to duck considerably. Inside it was dark and slightly chilly. In one corner a fireplace had been built out of natural stone. And, as I'd supposed, the wooden box on the roof was the top of a cleverly designed, homemade wooden chimney. It had obviously b
een constructed with some considerable skill, as had the wooden table and chair, bedframe and a couple of three-legged stools. There was a Coleman lamp on the table, a stack of firewood beside the fireplace. A large tin box. Several smaller tin boxes. On top of the bedframe was a thin slab of foam and a neatly folded duvet. A row of pots hung from nails by the fire, another one hung by a chain over the ashes. A machete and a whetstone on a shelf. A couple of wooden candle holders. Bunches of dried herbs were strung up on the wall beside the fire, also a string of dried mushrooms and one of dried peppers. One wall had been reserved for Chico's art collection – there were several drawings of birds he had done, I found out, similar to the ones in Ricky's office, some colored photographs of his homeland, and a small Nicaraguan flag – blue and white horizontal stripes.

  Pobre Chico was sitting hunched on one of the stools in front of the dead fire. He looked to be no taller than his tiny sister. He had long, dark hair, unshaven face, eyes white in the gloom, dressed in clean jeans and a much-darned sweater. Plaited headband to hold back his hair. Sneakers. No socks. I wondered briefly how he kept as clean as he did.

  I didn't understand all that was said during the next half hour or so but I picked up some of it and Ricky or Ellena translated some of it then and some of it later, so I'll describe the events in the order they happened to keep it simple.

  First, after a moment Ellena squatted down – with some difficulty, because of her condition – beside the fireplace and began to rake out the ashes. Chico gently pushed her away and took over the chore himself, which was the first sign of life from him, no doubt his sister's intention, as she flashed us a satisfied look as she went and sat down carefully in the one chair. Chico opened up one of the tin boxes, took out dry kindling and some pine cones, and soon had a fire going right under the hanging pot. This he took down, rinsed out, refilled with fresh water from a clay jar, and hung it up again to heat. Then out of another box he laid out cups, sugar in a glass jar and some dry leaves in another jar about which I feared the worst. Ricky sat on the bed; I joined him there. Ellena chatted to her brother and before long he was answering her back, albeit in monosyllables. He smiled once when she pointed to her tummy and said, 'Bigger than you already.'

  It was obvious we weren't going to get down to the real reason for our visit until the tea ceremony was over so we made small talk until Chico had added some of the leaves to the hot water and then poured us all out a cup. It was as bad as I'd feared, even with three spoons of sugar in it, but we sipped it and made appreciative noises. Chico finished his in one gulp, not a bad idea, then opened up the care package his sister had brought him. Some more sugar, a half a dozen tins of sardines and tuna, fruit, some condensed milk, flour, a tin of Crisco, extra candles. He looked at each item carefully, sometimes reading the labels, then put everything away neatly in the appropriate tin or on the right shelf. Then, in thanks, he kissed his sister on the top of her head and gave his brother-in-law one abrupt handshake. Then Ricky, figuring it was time, began asking him about sheep, and none too gently either. He went over to him, looked down, then pointed at him and said,

  'Chico, was it you?'

  Chico hung his head.

  'Look at me,' Ricky said. Chico looked up. 'Was it you?'

  Finally, Chico nodded.

  'Why?'

  Chico shrugged. He didn't know.

  'When?'

  He forgot.

  'What did you do to them?'

  'I killed them.'

  'How?'

  He held out his two hands; he didn't look strong enough to strangle a marshmallow.

  'Then what?'

  Chico said he carried them down the path to the gate and threw them over on to the service road.

  'Then what?'

  'Then I took a swim.'

  Ellena and I looked at each other, uncomprehending.

  'A swim? Where?'

  'With my friend the big fish, I swim there often.'

  Jesus wept. He was only jumping in with one of the dolphins in the middle of the night.

  Chico smiled at the memory. 'He liked it. He knew when I was coming. He'd be waiting.'

  'Then what?' Ricky asked him.

  'I buried the sheep in the woods. I was ashamed.' Chico hung his head again. Ricky ruffled his hair none too gently.

  'Hell,' he said, 'what's a few stupid sheep, right Mr Daniel?'

  'Right on,' I said. 'Smelly critters.'

  'But understand, Chico, it could be serious trouble if it happens again, for you and me and Ellena. Maybe next time they don't send a friend of ours, like Mr Daniel, to investigate, maybe next time they send the police and maybe the police take you away where you can't have your own house anymore and where we can't visit you. I know you forget after that you do these things, but they have to stop.'

  'What can we do?' Ellena asked.

  'I don't know,' Ricky said. 'Maybe we can move him to another cabin as far up north as we can get, maybe I'll have to talk to Tommy.'

  Chico looked frightened.

  'Just as nice,' Ricky assured him, 'same size, with all your things, and we'd still come and see you, but you'd be twenty miles away from the nearest bloody sheep or big fish. But I don't know. What's twenty miles when you get like that?'

  Ricky looked at me for help. I didn't have a lot, in fact I wasn't sure I had any, in fact I didn't know what the hell to do for pobre Chico. I couldn't see him being any better off in a hospital, even if what he was suffering from was curable, which I doubted. To move him farther back into the woods might keep him out of trouble for a while but I couldn't help thinking that his recent actions really were a cry for help after all. But I'm no shrink, as you may have suspected by now, so what did I know? But maybe a real shrink could come up with something helpful, that was a thought. Then I had another one. I asked Ricky to ask Chico if he had lifted the occasional hamburger patty from Ye Cat 'n' Fiddle on his midnight prowls.

  'Hamburger, no,' Chico told him. 'Chocolate, si.'

  Which reminded me. I took out the six-pack of Mars Bars Ellena had suggested I bring along for Chico and passed it over. He inspected it carefully, gave me the same sort of onepump handshake he had given his brother-in-law, then stowed the candy away carefully in one of his tin boxes.

  We left shortly afterwards. Ellena gave her kid brother a hug. Ricky told him to be good, he'd see him in a few days. I said, 'Adios, Chico, suerte,' which means, lotsa luck, pal. As we were about to disappear into the wilderness, Chico came running after us with one of his bird sketches in one hand. He gave it to me, shook my hand again, then ran back towards his cabin. I've still got it, in my bedroom, as a matter of fact. It shows a large blue bird with its beak inside the beak of a small blue bird. What exactly they think they are doing I do not know.

  No one said very much on the way back, either in the jungle or during the drive south. Ricky did tell me, when asked, that Chico had killed animals before, once a neighbor's dog when he was living with the Castillos, which was one of the reasons they had moved him. He said Chico seemed to go crazy about once every six months, but the incidents weren't getting any more frequent. However, the incident with the sheep was the first time he had ever killed more than one animal, so maybe it was building up. Did I know Chico was a eunuch? I said the thought had crossed my mind. Then he asked me what I thought we should do.

  'God knows,' I said. 'I have a doctor friend who might take a look at him as a favor but he won't be back til the end of the week. According to you he should be OK until then. If he thinks something can be done medically, well, I hear papers can be arranged if you know the right people, maybe even some kind of army discharge documents so he could get treated for free in a Vets' hospital. Something that should be done for sure is for you to pay for the cost of replacing those corderos, and pronto, so the sheep lady can sleep nights; it won't be much because the lady can get them cheap from a guy we know. Then we can take our time and see what else we can come up with.'

  'Pobre Chico,' said Ellena
. She began to cry quietly, the tears running steadily down her thin face.

  I took her hand. It was half the size of mine, but a lot prettier.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When I got home that evening Mom was asleep on the sofa. She'd made a mess trying to cook me some spaghetti sauce, which I cleaned up, then I dropped her off downstairs where she was going to eat with Feeb – a potato chip, mince meat and macaroni casserole, I was informed – then the girls were going to watch sports on ESPN.

  I had a date with Evonne, who was the assistant to the vice-principal of St Stephen's, a high school not far from my office. We'd met about six months earlier when I was endeavoring, with considerable success, it turned out, to rid the school of some of its more undesirable elements, such as sixteen-year-old pushers and a head of security who was on the take. We had been seeing each other a couple of times a week since then. Evonne was blond, blue-eyed and cute as Blondie Bumstead as played by Penny Singleton, remember her? Like that. Aside from her legs, there was another item I liked about Evonne – she never wanted to have a serious talk with me in bed at two thirty in the morning. I'd never managed to be in bed with her at two thirty in the morning, but still. Don't get me wrong, she had her faults, serious ones – she was indifferent to dogs, she liked all kinds of marrows and squashes, she was hopeless with makeup and was easily the world's most irritating driver. However, what am I if not tolerant?

  We had a theater date, thank you, that evening, so I dressed with extra care – subdued (comparatively) Hawaiian shirt, sand-colored suede jacket, tan cords, moccasins. A dash of Brut. Clean undies. Wow.

  I picked her up at her place just after eight; she had the back half of a ranch-style house down on Beeker's Canyon that came with a good-sized garden thrown in where she actually grew marrows and summer squashes and assorted other greenery. My sweet was attired in a pair of skin-tight black toreadors, silver high heels, a scoop-neckline blouse and over all her old high-school letter sweater. Two blue barrettes in her curly blond hair. Lipstick already smudged. I smudged it some more in the car when we stopped at the first red light. It was cherry flavored, my second favorite.