SALVATION chapter 17

Salvation
chapter 17

Los Angeles

FBI Chief Jarold Dodd reviewed evidence files
piled on his desk in the Los Angeles office of the
FBI located on Wilshire Boulevard..
During a conference meeting between FBI and
local law enforcement Dodd felt satisfactory with the
course of action he'd chosen..
The magnitude of the case now being dubbed by the media
as 'The Mad Muse ' left Dodd with the opportunity
to create a Joint Terrorism Task force or (JTTF) drawing
from both the FBI-Counter terrorism Division and
additional available resources from local city police and
state Sheriff's Departments.

The JTTF had been originally conceived in New York City
after the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks, a successful
project between federal and local authorities united in a
common goal..Since that time the program had expanded
to include the Los Angeles Region of the FBI, the
third largest Region in the country..

Dodd managed to stem the tide of concerns L. A.'s
Chief of Police Vincent Hernandez voiced on behalf of both
his office and the city Mayor's Office regarding the public's
view of the L.A. Police Department competency should the federal
agency force it's jurisdictional hand remanding the case entirely.

Personally Jarold Dodd didn't give two shakes about what political
shinny-ness Los Angeles elected officials maintained with their
constituents. He did however have a soft spot for L. A.'s finest
as he himself had begun his law enforcement career a rookie
out of the Rampart Division, what today seemed like twenty
seven life times ago..

Out of hundreds of pieces of documentation compiled over
the last twenty four hours concerning the Mad Muse case
only three swayed his decision to instigate the JTTF as
the best course of action.
One, there were no signs of forcible entry to apartment 12.
Two, the photos of the murder weapon prints on the walls
of the apartment..Murder weapons no person present at
the conference had any explanation as to their nature.
And three, the fact Inspector Hal Pigg was initially assigned
to the investigation.

It had been his long time friend and associate Hal Pigg who'd
sent Dodd the 8x10 glossy color photos of the blood
smeared walls of apartment 12..Photos sent as a message
between old colleagues who shared a common secret..
A secret dating back ten years to a time and place both
men would have preferred been the simple construction
of a nightmare..

Dodd had been a seasoned investigator close to the
promotion that would bring him into the ranks of the
FBI and ultimately to his current position in the agency.
Pigg at that time was still a beat cop Officer III
assigned to assist Dodd in the investigation of an
elusive serial killer who's exclusive targets where that
of elderly Oriental couples in the north west district
of Chinatown..
The district who's population are primarily ancestors of
original mainland Chinese immigrants dating back to
Los Angeles railroad workers of the early 1800's.

Following the killers trail originating from what was once
'Old Chinatown' now Union Station, Dodd and Pigg worked
relentlessly day and night over a three month period chasing
the killer who's identity had never been officially verified..

The method of operation always the same..Double murder
execution style slaying of both victims..
Their heads decapitated.
The traditional pig tails of long braided hair cut off and taken
like a trophy.

Science Investigation technicians surmised the murder weapon to
be that of a dagger..
The victims severed hair, dipped in their own blood, used as a
writing instrument by which the killer claimed responsibility for
the crimes. Like grisly paint brushes the consistent message
'Bushido' written in Japanese was left on the victims foreheads
for Dodd and Pigg to find.

Silk and leather fibers found at the scene were analyzed
by electron microscopy and energy dispersion x-ray at the physical
science forensic lab..Trapped within the silk fibers technicians
found residues of hair that were in turn subjected to chloroplast
and nuclear DNA detection through the biology forensic unit.
Conclusions found were that hair embedded in the cloth originated
from both horse and human leading authorities to believe the killer's
occupation may be one that involved some aspect of close
proximity with horses..
Further DNA mitochondria testing however proved to shed a
shadow of confusion on the entire forensic process as the
confirmed age of the hair specimens astonished the scientific
community dating at over seven hundred years to the
thirteenth century.

In many crime scenes the killer's outer clothing left scrape marks
where contacting metal objects such as stoves, refrigerators,
or metallic framed furniture.
Residue samples from the scrape marks later identified as iron,
layered with overcoats of lacquer in a variety of pigments including
white, pale green, black, and orange.

Do to the destructive condition of the crime scenes it had become
apparent from the start this killer worked from a state of fiery
rage..Slashed walls, ceilings, household decor, furniture, even
major appliances attacked and savaged as if the killer believed
it's self immersed in middle of a of battlefield..
Fragments recovered from a huge gash in a victims kitchen stove
were analyzed and concluded to be that of an iron core three foot
sword combined with layered overcoats of hardened steel..

The assimilation of physical and biological evidence coupled
with the Japanese terminology written in the victims blood led
authorities to conclude the killer to be a person of Japanese
descent under the grip of a psychotic break.

Liken to the deep intoxication of a method actor the killer
dressed in traditional thirteenth century Japanese military attire..
An authentic piece likely stolen from a museum of antiquity.
A complete set of Japanese Samurai Calvary armor and weaponry.

These conclusions explained the ancient horse and human hair
findings as preserved over the years embedded in the fabric
of the armor.

Police Department Psychologists and Psychiatrists were having
a field day..
One theory on the table was that the killer was both meticulous
and learned..A historian perhaps consumed by an ancient time..
Reliving centuries past Chinese and Japanese warlords battling for
land rights on a disputed border.
Another, that the killer believed himself in the service of a
ancient Chancellor. The act of killing Chinese elders in the present
time somehow back slashing the line of living succession..In the
killers warped reality the generation of offspring directly related to
his victims would subsequently disappear never having been
born..

Dodd and Pigg had developed a theory of their own based on
first hand experience..Twice they had cornered the killer
in small two room apartments just as the killer had
finished his grisly work..
On both occasions a short squat Japanese man flailed glisten
bright steel through a series of precision maneuvers..The hilt of
the sword wrapped in white silk then overlay with more black silk
tightly woven into a grip..White diamond shapes decorated
the hilt where the silk underlining wrap showed through in
periodic spacing along the length of the grip..A three foot
black lacquered scabbard hung from his full dress warrior armor.
A coating of blood covered a tanto dagger the man held in
his left hand..Fierce eyes glared through the openings
of a ornamented half-mask face shield or 'mempo'.
At first glance Dodd thought this must be where the inventors
of the Star Wars character Darth Vader got the idea for
his helmet and face mask.
The protruding nose plate and wide cut grimacing mouth
section lent even more weight to his fierce visage.
The top of the man's face hidden by a kind of metal
helmet domed at the top giving way to protective
plates of iron attached and falling over the ears
and neck line coming to rest on a under coat of leather
wear at the shoulders..An iron breastplate covered the
man's chest and mid rift. 3x5 inch plates of iron
laced together and lacquered in several colors formed a
skirting of armor around the hips and upper legs. The front
opened for ease of leg movement exposing the man's
legs and shins shielded in what appeared to be black lacquered
wood or bronze guards disappearing into the tops of orange silk
laced leather boots the base of which where almost completely
squared except for the front tip of metal soles abruptly forming
a menacing weapon themselves filed into sharp protruding points.

With guns trained both Pigg and Dodd warned the man of their
presence advising him to drop his weapons..
To their amazement the image before them began to fade from
their sight in a shimmering morphoses until what the men could
only describe as a semi-transparent apparition escaped them
simply walking through the nearest wall..

Dodd jumped as the desk phone rang..He swiped it up
in a pudgy hand and stuck the receiver under his double
chin.."Dodd"..He listened to the gruffly voice of a
Riverside County Sheriff Deputy routed directly to
him through the front desk..
"Would you repeat that again Officer?" He said
sitting upright in the desk chair..
"That's B&D auto repair in Desert Center...Got it.
I am sending a team out there within the hour
Deputy Pearson...Just keep doing what your doing
for me..I don't want civilians anywhere near the property
got that?"
He punched an open line and dialed The Parker Center
tapping in Hal Pigg's extension.

Samatha's unit was working in the Griffith Park area
patrolling streets and showing authority presence
as city, county and state utility repairs were in progress.
She'd just closed the cover of her cell phone after checking
in with Quentin's sitter Darlene Young..

Darlene lived next door and in addition to her success as a
Romance novelist she watched Quentin while Samantha was
working..Normally he would be in school today having started
kindergarten this year..
Today was not a normal day however and the two had been
busy baking cookies, cleaning house, and working on their
continuous re-modeling project of Quentin's bedroom away
from home..

Samantha and Darlene had become like sisters
over the years. Darlene, an endearing friend helped
Samantha through some rough times, and it had been
Darlene who'd been Quentin's nanny while Mom was
away from home..
Darlene and Quentin got along famously which was
another blessing. If Samantha's work schedule required
longer hours than she'd originally planned it had
never been a concern for Darlene..

Samantha sighed sipping at her can of diet Pepsi while
her team mates cracked jokes and dug at brown
bag lunches after taking over a picnic table just off
Crystal Springs Drive.
At times she felt a pang of jealously that as with many
working single mothers and fathers, Darlene seemed to
enjoyed more quality time with Quentin than Samantha
was capable..

She wondered if that same feeling of lonely separation
had been a factor in her initial response to Hal's request
that she not accompany him to Chinatown..
It had been a couple of hours ago she'd spoke with him
and as time has it's way of having it's way, she now began
to feel that maybe she'd overreacted.
He's decision was after all based on his desire to
protect her..In his way, to take care of her..
Maybe I should call him back and tell him it's okay she
thought..
She signed again letting the cell phone slip back inside
the front shirt pocket of her navy blue uniform..
"He needs to know it's important for me to take care
of him too," she whispered to herself..

The distinctive sound of an approaching helicopter
broke Samantha's thoughts and within thirty
seconds a black and white Jet Ranger settled directly
across the street in a Bank of America parking lot within
sixty yards of Samantha and her team.
A man wearing a gray wool suit, black wingtips, and dark
framed sunglasses exited the chopper ducking under the
churning props holding out identification as he sprinted
across the street toward the police.
"Lieutenant De La Cruz?"..The man had a pretty good idea
the pretty Hispanic woman with the raven colored hair was
who he was looking for."Lieutenant?"..
"I am Lieutenant De La Cruz." She answered..
"Lieutenant I am Special Agent Mallory of the FBI." Mallory
was tall lanky about forty with close cropped black hair. He
held out his credentials for her to verify.."You've been
reassigned Lieutenant to a special task force in conjunction
with the Los Angeles Police Department and the FBI under
authorization of The Joint Terrorism Task force, Lieutenant."
Samantha's jaw dropped.."I've been assigned?"
"That's correct Lieutenant De La Cruz..I've been dispatched
to escort you to a current crime scene where you'll be briefed
by the rest of your team."
"I am assuming my Captain is aware of this reassignment Agent
Mallory?"
"That's is correct Lieutenant. Captain Delaney sends his apologies
he wasn't able to inform you himself. This entire task force
is still being deployed and a situation has come up that we
need to move on pronto..You have a ranking Officer III
Henry Stanton with you today Lieutenant?"
"I am Stanton." The team was huddling around Agent Mallory
everyone trying to hear and speak over the sound waves
the chopper was thumping out..
Mallory turned addressing Stanton an overweight middle aged
baby face of a man everyone loved for his easy manner and
constant joking..
"Officer Stanton you will be assuming command here..I am
advised to inform you call Captain Delaney for your orders
concerning the rest of your shift."
"Ok"..Stanton puffed up addressing the team.."You guys
hear that?..Your mine!"
Mallory then returned his attention to Samantha.
"If you'll follow me Lieutenant, I'll answer any questions you
have in route."
Samantha nodded handing her cruiser keys to Stanton.
"I'll see you guys later!"

Following Mallory's lead she ducked under the chopper's
accelerating engine as the pilot was already throttling up.
Samantha climbed in the back of the four seat helicopter
and buckled in..Mallory took the front passenger side
and turned handing her a credit card size identification card
previously prepared for her..Samantha's picture was embedded
on the card. The official seal of the United States Department
of Justice embossed on the right side.A black lettered heading
read FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION.
Under the heading her name and title where imprinted
SPECIAL AGENT SAMANTHA DE LA CRUZ.
She stared at the card in disbelief then spoke up to
Mallory having to shout above the choppers up thrust.
"Glad I got this!..My son would never believe it other
wise!"
Mallory grinned..
"Who will I be assisting Agent Mallory?"
Mallory thought a moment then responded.."You'll be
assisting the Director of The FBI Los Angeles Regional
Office..Chief Jarold Dodd."
Samantha nodded.."Right..But in the field I mean..Who
am I assisting in the field?"
"Assisting?"...Mallory didn't quite understand.."Oh you
mean in your unit?" He yelled back.
"Yes, that what I am asking, in my unit."
Mallory nodded and yelled over the engine whine as the
chopper lifted off.."Well, Inspector Hal Pigg has been named
head investigator on the case Lieutenant..But you won't
be assisting him."
"Hal is on the case?" Samantha asked incredulous.
"Mallory nodded.."He's been authorized by Chief Dodd to
pick his own team..He picked you as partner. The others
assigned to the team will be assisting you two."
Mallory grinned again as Samantha's eyes widened..
"Special Agent De La Cruz, "Mallory yelled as the chopper
did an abrupt left and headed east, "Welcome to the FBI!"

SALVATION chapter 16

SALVATION
chapter 16

Los Angeles

10am
Detective Pigg viewed city skyline from the third floor
Robbery-Homicide Division of The Parker Center in
downtown Los Angeles. Hal's modest office was
located in the Homicide Special Section of the (RHD).
A copy of The Los Angeles Times for Thursday October
2nd lay on his desk screaming at fiberglass acoustic
ceiling panels in bold block ink.

DEADLY MUSIC ROCKS LOS ANGELES

A coffee stained Xerox machine whirred and thumped
spitting incoming faxes with the attitude of a slave.
The city was quiet. Eerie.. Freeways, boulevards, avenues
and streets loomed in the distance lonely and uncertain as
broken hearts.
California was in an official state of emergency..Police, fire,
rescue, on demand utilities, towing vehicles, made up the
majority of moving objects seen on the roadways.
The State Governors office expected conditions to improve
through out the day with a termination of the state of
emergency projected by 6PM this evening.

An enforcement ring around the entire Los Angeles County
region was now in place. Authorized by the Governor's Office,
National guard troops patrolled streets and manned roadblocks.
Public and private, air traffic had resumed allowing arrival and
departure.. Public transportation was slowly mobilizing however
not expected to resume normal operations until the following day.
The Emergency Broadcast System was up and running constant
current affairs, survival tips, and warnings.
Hotlines were in place for those requiring emergency assistance.
The lines jammed, the expected waiting time for an available
ambulance had reached over two hours by 9 AM.

It was not a good day to get sick, or injured, or work, or play,
or feel in the mood to go to the mall.
It was a day of minutes slow cooked and churned thick within
the walls of a prison.
A boiling compaction of frustration and bother expanding
like a sun spot of needy resentment.
There had been problems...Domestic violence,
hate crimes, bomb, assassination, and suicide threats,
all of the above by 8 am..It was the rippling pool
of an aftermath. A faucet of negativity open wide then
loosely closed leaving acidic drippings of bad karma plotting
from a center point and waking in all directions.

Hal had spoken with Ed Hoffman an hour ago..He'd reached
the music agent early. Turmoil in the streets of San Diego
made camping out at the office a safer option for Ed rather
than attempt navigation a combination of inner city streets
and freeway exchanges from La Mesa to his home in the
suburb of Clairemont some fifteen miles north.

Metro Division's 'A' platoon had patched Hal over
investigative findings courtesy the Law Enforcement Data
Net. Mister Hoffman had voluntarily notified the San Diego
Police Department of his secretary's accidental contamination.
As well his business association with the band MENACE.
The agent was currently faxing Hal a data log bio history
of the band.

This morning Hal was under pressure to compile a report of
possible leads and up to date crime scene evidence
the Los Angeles Police Department would include
in a press report scheduled for noon today.
The city morgue's Pathologist's report put the time of
death for all three victims at approximately 10 to 11 AM.
The report shed no new light on the murder weapon.
As of 10 AM this morning Winston Mckeen's head and
Herman Gilespie's entire person were both still at large.

The FBI threaten to claim jurisdiction of the case
as boundaries of effected areas had quickly crossed city
limits not to mention state lines.
That would put the LA Police in the role of support
dictated by the Federal agency. As the city of Los
Angeles was hardest hit and the initial investigation
begun within Los Angeles Police jurisdiction the city
police were currently in hot debate with the FBI in an
effort to retain custody of the case placing the FBI at
their disposal.

Peering out at the morning sky Hal was going through
the motions expected of him at this stage of the investigation.
Convinced the general consensus of all law enforcement
agencies involved were steadfast adopting a guise of false premise.
FBI, city police and county Sheriff departments through out
the State of California were placing the responsibility of
the events Wednesday squarely on the shoulders of Herman
Gilespie.
The blood smeared walls of apartment 12 and the prints of
the murder weapon embedded there convinced Hal that Gilespie
was but a pawn in a larger scheme..

It appeared to Hal that life was like a circle of events
finding themselves reconnecting at intersections.
He was feeling a kind of deja vu. A crossroads had found
it's way back to him from an earlier time. A time in his life
successfully stuffed and stacked away in a locked closet.
It's key no longer used. It's hinges no longer tested in medicinal
measure of a mending wound. A time long shackled, bound,
and exiled in the dark recesses of his mind.

It caused both a state of confusion and insight into the
workings of the universe that suggested Man's concept of
the passage of time was an illusion. A strange ancestry
of kinship between this case, and a case ten years ago,
somehow connected through the mechanics of a wheel
in the sky.
An appointment of fate..and responsibility..
A responsibility born of past commitment that bore down
making hairs on his neck suddenly quiver with moisture.

He pulled fax copies from the gray plastic receiving
tray and viewed the documents while sipping from his
coffee mug. What he was looking for was a link to Gilespie's
idea of sanctuary..A friend, relative, band member, anyone
who Herman might feel he could trust..Or a weak link.
Someone he could lean on, maybe intimidate into helping
him..
The list was long..The history contained in these documents
covered five years. Back when Ed Hoffman first signed the
band to a record contract. The result of a first prize award
in an annual songwriting showcase for unsigned bands and
musicians. From that time to present the personnel under
Herman Gilespie turned over no less than seven times.
Hal scanned the list of names out of curiosity for any
that might have emerged as famous from that time to
present..Adrian Phillips, Shawn Carson, Gregory Durward,
Kile Mattews, Victor Douglas, Edward Clifford, Warren Donaldson,
Sylvester Vernon, Tyrone Warren, Wilbur Mason, Lamar Delmar,
Dwight Donovan..
Blackwell, Shepard, and McKeen had been with the band two
years, a long run considering the track record.
The last fall out had been a woman. A Michelle Mc Allister
who'd left the band some nine months ago.
Her current contact information had been scratched.
All that remained was a reference to secondary contacts.
Floyd Mc Allister and Laura Mc Allister listed as the woman's
Father and Mother. There was a referral phone number.
"Aspen."...Hal moaned..."Talk about out of jurisdiction."

The phone rang he picked it up spilling the usual introduction.
"Homicide, Inspector Pigg."
"How's it going?" It was Sam.
He leaned back in his chair.."Under the gun. How's things with
you?"
"Ok, the air is better today, huh?"
He looked out at the sky again.."Yeah, I think the wind is helping.
Are you in the office at Metro?"
"No I am in the field...Not on SWAT though..We're helping out
here and there with back up for clean up teams mostly."
He nodded.."I am glad your staying out of trouble."
She chuckled."Yeah, I am staying out of trouble..Wha'cha
doin' later?"
"I was thinking of getting up the nerve to ask a pretty
Lieutenant friend of mine out to dinner."
"I'd like that sweetie but where are we going to find
a place open around here?"
"I forgot."
She laughed, "Boy, you are stuck in the office today!"
"I..I am sorry..I am still thinking about last night."
"Yeah?..That's a good thing I hope."
He smiled. "It's a very good thing."..
"Me too", she said.
A shadow pressed him and he slowed..
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
"I just remembered..I have to drive into Chinatown
later this afternoon."
"Something on the case?"
"Yeah..Maybe we should make it tomorrow night.
I am not sure what time I am going to get back, and
tomorrow most restaurants should be open, you know?"
"What time are leaving for Chinatown?"
"I should be done around here by 4 o'clock."
"Maybe I could ride along with you..I am intrigued
by the case."
His first inclination was the joy of Sam's presence..
"Oh Sam that would be wonderful!"..But as the words
left his mouth the shadow pressed again with an
urgency."But,...Oh,Sam.."
"What is it Hal?"..There was a worried tone to her voice.
She sensed his anxiety.
He started..but felt a deep desire to protect her..
"It's...It's better if I do this one alone."
"Do what alone?..What's in Chinatown Hal?"
He paused.."This case..It's not what everybody thinks.."
She came back quick. "What your doing there, it's
dangerous, am I right?"
"Sam, Chinatown isn't dangerous..This case, and
anyone involved in it...That's what is dangerous.
What I have to do there...It's off the record..It's one of those
gut instincts I've got to follow through...It's not something
the Department would understand..I'am not sure I even
understand it..I just feel it's the starting point of what
needs to be done...A possibility in finding the means to stop
what has happened from happening again.
Samantha spoke slow and determined.
"I trust you Hal..I trust your judgement..If what you
say is true..I want to go with you..I want to help you."
"I can't put you in that kind of danger."
Her voice was tight.
"Hal danger is what we do..It's an intricate part of our lives."
Not wanting her to go away from the conversation feeling
as if he didn't trust her, or that he was simply rejecting
her offer of support...He opened up to her a bit more.
"Sam..This is different than the kind of violence we both
are accustom to..What we've been trained to deal with..
This case becomes dangerous out of mere association.
If it's what I think it is, once I involve you even on a ride
along, you become a possible threat to the source of this.
You will be in danger, and Quentin will be in danger also..
I can't explain the how or why of it with anymore detail.
All I can say is the less you know the less of a threat
you are to what I am describing."

Seconds passed as Samantha weighed Hal's remarks.
She could let this go..Just let him have his way and
ask him to call her later so she'd know he was alright.
They could pick things up tomorrow like Hal suggested.
But her past caught up to her as she spoke to the
first man she'd truly cared about in over five years.
And the person she was today the person that had
emerged out the lit end of that five year tunnel
could not let it go..

"Please don't be angry with me Sam." She heard
him say..She responded to him out of condition
rather than assimilation as her mind was suddenly
far away..
"I am not angry with you Hal." Her voice sounded
tired and there was a under tone of sadness that
caused Hal's breath to catch as if he'd become
aware of a dismal event about to occur seconds
before it happened.

She had hoped they would be given the grace of
time..An element she had come to believe as
fundamental in the building blocks of a good
relationship..Time to talk and explore values,
goals, and importance in their individual lives..
Recognizing their seeds of compatibility then planting
together in a rich soil of respect and tolerance..
Nourishing, thriving, growing together until
the roots and stocks entwined in harmony
spring and grasping at life as one life.
She had noticed Hal over a year ago and
felt the seeds where there. In the interest
of their common chosen professions..In
Hal's unobtrusive but confident demeanor.
She had watched from a distance the way
he treated people with a common respect and
diverseness that lacked pre-judgement.
A gift seemingly uncommon in a cultured society
that valued status and symbolisms obtained in
the dissection and categorization of economic
achievement, ethnic and cultural origins.

After her divorce she'd avoided emotional involvement
with men. Choosing to bring her life's focus to
equal measure between the raising of her son and
her career in law enforcement.
Her marriage had been a mistake not realized until
the passing of five years time..It wasn't that her
husband and father of her son was a bad man.
Hector Gonzales was a driven man..An obsessive
compulsive personality raised in the gang war slums of
South Central Los Angeles were his mother and
sister were gunned down in broad daylight, victims
of a drive by shooting.
His single pre-occupation in life was to free himself
and distance himself as far as humanly possible
from the lot of nightmare, poverty, and hopelessness
from which he came..

She was twenty-five, he thirty-four when she met him.
All ready a successful commercial real estate broker
living in a high rise condominium in Wilshire.
Long before their marriage he had communicated to
Samantha his ten year goal to financial security..
A goal that would not and could not be denied.
It did not include the burden and added responsibilities
of fathering a child.
He was furious with her when five years later, in her first
year as a Los Angeles Police Cadet she told him she
was pregnant..
She had inadvertently back him into a corner in which
he responded as a frightened animal.
As far as Hector Gonzales was concerned in a single
sentence she had brought the very infrastructure of
his ten year plan to a grinding dead end halt five years
prematurely..She had ruined his life's plan.

He insisted she have an abortion.
The future of their lives together, their marriage, love,
friendship, hinged on the ultimatum.
She stabbed him in the back when she refused..
He felt used and cheated as he'd supported her
while she finished college graduating with a
bachelorship in criminal science.
He called her selfish, opportunistic, dismissive
and unappreciative of his own financial sacrifice
in supporting her career ambitions.

She pleaded with him then begged trying to
convince him that life held no regard for the
best laid plans..That life was inherently what
surrounds us, and not we that surround it.
Hector was not moved..He left her immediately
filed divorce and vanished from her life.

Now with Quentin over five full years of age.
His Father had never once asked to see him.
For three years she suffered..Then for two years
she strengthened.. Now with the long dark
tunnel behind her she vowed she would never
allow herself to make the same mistake again.

She checked her wrist watch and spoke to Hal
with resolve.
"I want to talk to you before you go..After we
speak, if you still feel the same, I promise I
will not have any more to say in the matter.
..I can be at the Parker Center by 3:45 at the
latest."
"Alright Sam..I'll wait for you."
"Ok, I'll see you soon."
"Sam?"
"Yes?"
"Be careful out there."
"I will."


Desert Center, California

Albert Fairfield squeezed straight Ajax dish soap
in the palms of his grease smeared hands scrubbing
for a full half minute before rinsing black oil and dirt
down the shop sink drain in the back room of B&D
automotive repair. He then used an orange shop rag
to dry them thinking to himself he should be using
the white untreated ones for this, but it wasn't
even lunch time yet so what the hell..

He looked through the 18''x 48'' window that faced
the shop bays and smiled at his wife Mary Fairfield
who hunched over the office computer keyboard
concentrating on the daily accounting books..He was
fifty five and she was,....well he really couldn't
remember how old Mary was but she was a few years
younger than him..Over fifty for sure cause he remembered
what a bitch she pitched when she turned the magic
'half century' point about a year or so ago..

He inspected his hands frowning at the familiar ground
in black stuff existing under his nails and between the
tough iron skinned wrinkles at the tips of his fingers..
The stuff that was, as always, still there..
He shrugged grabbing the Ajax and repeated the process.
He'd just finished the lube, oil,filter, and tune up
of Mister Hendley's maroon four door Toyota Celica
and needed to clean up before backing the car
out of the bay.

The day had been pretty much routine for an
early October Thursday...A long awaited nip graced
the morning air at 6:45 when he'd opened.
A sure sign the long desert summer would be slowly
giving way to cooler days in the months ahead.

It wasn't until he slipped behind the wheel closing
the driver's door of Mister Henley's Toyota that he noted
the 'new car' aroma scent filling his stuffy sinuses
from an air freshener dangling off the rear view mirror
mounting bracket.
It was drastic comparing to the repair shop's natural
combination of dirty oil, cleaning solvent, gasoline,
and permeated linger of exhaust fumes..

The shop's 250 gallon reserve tank compressor
motor kicked to life as Albert back the Toyota out and
slipped the automatic transmission to drive pulling
around back of the shop to the customer parking area.
He spun the wheel right and had just feathered
the brake when the car crushed head first into
what felt like a brick wall six feet from the chipped white
concrete bumper strip at the head of the parking strip..
He couldn't see a thing but definitely could hear
Mary screaming bloody murder as she tore out of
the office in her big fluffy hot pink house slippers,
tan peddle pushers, and white oversized tee shirt..
The one with Property of B&D Automotive Repair
silk screened in bright blue letters across the chest.
"Ohmyfuckinggod!!!...Al!!..Al?.....Ohmyfuckinggod!!!"
Luckily he was moving at no more than ten miles an
hour, but the sudden impact squashed his chest
directly into the steering wheel exploding the drivers
side air bag slamming him back pinned against the
optional camel colored cloth fabric driver's seat..

Mister Hendley wasn't what one would call well off
however, he damn sure wasn't going to settle for the
cheap standard issue vinyl crap upholstery that would
leave a puddle of sweat on the seat and a wet stain on
the ass of his trousers every time he got out of the car..
When one lives in the desert this kind of thing becomes
an important factor in every day life.

Mary's face was ash white as she peered in the driver's
side window at her husband wedged in like two
pounds in a one pound bag..A combination of huge
white and pink roller curlers threatened to take an eye out
as they bobbed and flailed in her dishwater blond hair..
She stared in bewilderment as Albert's left arm jerked
slightly and the motorized window mercifully lowered..
"deet'ah dife"..He communicated between pinched cheeks
and a locked jaw held hostage by the pressure of the
air bag against his face.
"Deet a dife?"..Mary asked incredulously..
He rolled his eyes and tried again.
"Deet'ah iiifff!"
"Get a knife??"...Her eyes were the size of the cucumber
slices she placed over her lids with out fail every night
an hour before bedtime.
"Dessss!"
She bolted back to the shop tearing through the little
flat compartment drawers of Albert's fire engine red
Craftsman top box mechanic tool chest..There was no
knife to be found..There was however a foot long chrome
blade standard end screwdriver and she grabbed it
ignoring the slippery residue of oil slick pasted on the
florescent yellow handle.
"Will this do?"...She panted holding up the business
end of the larger than life shank for Albert's consideration.
His eyes widened and she noticed an almost imperceptible
shrug..
Gripping the handle with both hands Mary arched the screwdriver
back over her shoulder like a golf pro driving it straight into
the air bag..It bounced off the surface with the kick back
of a high caliper rifle butt held an inch off the shoulder..
She got off the ground wiping the gravel off the sleeve of her shirt.
Dazed and confused she prepared to try again then noticed a
slight hissing sound coming from the cabin..She dropped the
screwdriver on the floor of the parking lot covering her face
with her hands..She couldn't believe she'd done it..The air
bag was deflating.

Two minutes later Albert freed himself from the car..Wobbly
knees,aching neck,and wrenched back. Holding on to the
front quarter panel as a cane he limped to the front of
the car to see what he'd hit..
"Oh shit"..he mumbled.."Hendley's going to go ballistic."
The center of the front bumper was loose and sagging..
Bent down giving the car the appearance it was smiling.
Bright green engine coolant was pooling under the radiator
where it had obviously been punctured.
Albert was dumfounded...He looked at Mary in amazement
and held out his arms..There was nothing in front of the
car..The concrete stop guard was just where he'd expected
it to be a full six feet in front of the vehicle.
Mary walked to the back of the car and stooped down..Nothing
lay between the undercarriage and the ground..No
mangled bodies, no discarded and forgotten wheels and tires,
or scrap automotive mufflers, or entire engines or transmissions.
Not a single thing..

Albert stood back from the car scratching his
head..He was starting to get frustrated and Mary hated it when
Al got frustrated..Tools flew, walls shook and because the
little shop office was only six by eight feet in size there was
no place to hide when Al got frustrated.

He was walking around in little circles now feinting at pulling
his hair out..Mary knew he was feinting at pulling his hair
out because he didn't have any hair to really pull out..
She really didn't understand why someone with no hair to
begin with would act like they were trying to pull their hair out..
It was something she really meant to ask Al about, but
every time it happened he was too upset to bring the
subject up, and after the whole thing was just water under
the bridge Mary was usually so relieved she simply forgot
about it..

He turned to her now eyes bulging, both arms directing
her to the front of the car.
"There's nothing here!!...There is not a fucking thing here!!"
Her body language was desperately agreeing with him..
In a serge of adrenalin he'd forgotten his neck, and his
back pain..He was moving nearly as quickly as his heart
rate.."What am I going to tell Hendley?"...His voice
cracked as if he was about to cry.."What am I going
to tell fucking Hendley?"..He reached against the left
under dash panel pulling the hood release..
"The fucking radiator's leaking!"...He stormed toward
the front to lift the hood speaking to Mary directly..
"This is the kind of thing that puts a man out of
busine....ahhhaa!!!"

Mary stood in awe as Albert rounded the front of the
vehicle and careened into something hard and heavy
that tore through the knee of his dark blue work trousers..
He screamed in pain and screamed again as he lost his
balance falling forward face first pounding against an
unseen surface of cold sharp metal filled with awkward
points and protrusions..Albert rolled and caught, elbows twisting,
a gash ripping open over his brow, with nothing to grasp he
fell between the unseen mass and the front bumper
of the Toyota.

"Albert.".....Mary's voice sounded far away..At first Albert
thought he'd fallen un conscience from the fall and was just
waking back up.."There is something there Albert."...Again
her voice sounded like she was speaking to him from between
two coffee cans attached by a taunt fishing line.
He pushed his palms against the parking lot and turned over
on his back wincing at the bleeding scrapes and embedded gravel
chewing into his hands..
He could see Mary's face now and it held a visage of shock and
horror..She sounded far away because her mind had no room
to occupy him..She was speaking to herself using his
name only as reference. An ingrained habit that develops between
two people who have been together over the course of
a very long time.
A reference that still held a sliver of the world she thought she
knew but could no longer understand.
"It's there..It's sitting right there..
We just can't see it cause it's invisible."

SALVATION chapter 15

SALVATION
chapter 15

Los Angeles, California

"Are you gonna' be my new daddy?"
"Quentin De La Cruz!"...Samantha's face flushed.
She shook her head wiping dry a dinner plate and
adding it to the others neatly arranged within
pine cabinets behind frosty etched glass doors.
Hal bent before a white double sink donning thick
Rubber Maid gloves up to his elbows.
They had a system..Hal washed the dishes then
gave them to Quentin who stood on a two rung
step stool submerging them in rinse water then
passing to his Mother who dried and put them
away..To their left a rustic oak dinning table,
and four matching high back chairs were framed
by an L shaped wall of 10 panel french doors and
windows leading to a small back yard patio that
viewed city lights through a arched trelis crowned
with bougainvillea.

Sensing he was in trouble five year old Quentin's
mop of dark brown hair dropped toward the rinse
water. His small hands stirring a coffee cup that
was no longer a simple cup but had become an
underwater spaceship with friendly aliens inside
living under the ocean making lots of new friends
with the sharks and other stuff that lived there..

Hal pulled the bright yellow gloves out of soapy
water wiping them on Samantha's checkered cooking
apron. The one with the frilly lace on the border..He got
big laughs and claps of approval when he nonchalantly
put the neck loop over his head and tied the strings
around his waist..
Seeing Quentin's involvement with the cup he asked.
"What's that you got there Quent?"
Quentin didn't look up but answered as if he should
make the mistake of averting his eyes from the
spaceship even for a split second it might go out of
control and plummet to the deep dark depths of the
ocean floor never to be found.
"Spaceship." He murmured.
"An underwater spaceship?" Hal sounded genuinely impressed.
"Yeah!"..Quentin's big brown eyes flashed up at Hal. His face
lit up from ear to ear..The fact a grown up 'got it' made the
pretend spaceship that much more real, an emotional
bonding for him.

"How'd you know Mister Hal?"..He was in awe of Hal's
apparent super human power..The ability to read minds.
Up to this point in his young life he thought only his Mother
had the unique gift.
"What, you didn't see me down there?"..Hal questioned
pointing to the deep.
Quentin giggled when he spoke sensing another funny
joke was about to erupt..
"No.." He chuckled waiting for the punch line.

Hal had been keeping Quentin in stitches since he arrived
over two hours ago and Quentin didn't want it to end even
though he knew it was way, way, passed his bedtime and
his Mommy was going to make him go to bed as soon as
the dishes were done..
Hal plopped the big yellow dish glove on top of the rinse
water and slowly pushed it under.."We all live in a yellow
submarine, a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine."
Quentin screamed in delight as Hal sang and maneuver
the dish glove around the bottom of the rinse water
stopping in front of the 'spaceship' and waving..
"We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine,
a yellow submarine!"
All three of them singing along with Quentin's little body
swaying back and forth to music his legs marching in
stationary time on the top of the stool.
Hal piped in making his voice sound like an echo..
"And our friends are all aboard!"...He forgot the next
line looking to Samantha for help.
"Many more of them.." She started and they both chipped in.
"Live next door!..And the band begins to play!"
Hal did the trumpet sounds and the room filled with the
chorus.
After, she slipped between them kissing her son on the
top of his head, her left arm slid up and gently
scratched Hal's back between his shoulder blades..
She stretched up on her tip toes whispering in his right ear.
"What a ham you are."

Quentin insisted Hal be the one that put him to bed cause
he wanted to show Hal all the neat stuff he had in his
very own room..
Legos invaded the carpet. A poster depicting every known
breed of dog hung surrounded by framed crayola art work
of landscapes, jet airplanes, police cars, motorcycles,
firetrucks, and little stick boys holding of the hands of
little stick Moms with oversized heads and smiles.
"You gonna' be home when I wake up?"
Hal sat on the edge of Quentin's bed pulling the covers
over him up to his neck.
"Oh,.. When you wake up I will be waking up too over at
my house."
"Your gonna' come back though, right?"
Quentin squealed as Hal's head bumped into one of the
Model airplanes hanging from the ceiling attached by
fishing line..
"I think I just got bombed!"
"Yeah." Quentin giggled.
"I'd like to come over and see you again Buddy.
Have to go to work though. You know, just like
your Mom."
"Yeah." Quentin yawned.
Hal placed his two index fingers on top of each other
making a finger line between his palms.
"Cut the pickle."
Quentin made a fist with his right hand and pushed
down on Hal's finger bridge forcing them apart.
Hal's right hand squeezed the blanket over Quentin's
tummy.
"Here's a tickle!"

He left the nightlight on and the bedroom door
agar as instructed before descending the stair
way to the living room below.
The banister wall was covered in 8x10 wood
framed family photos mixed with metal framed
awards and accommodations earned by Samantha
over her years of service.
The condo's walls were airy, light with a hint
of peach. Cream colored carpet broken up sections
of wood flooring in the kitchen, and dinning room.
The living room decor was a promotion of the south
west with a dark brown sectional placed in the center
of the room. Large black lacquered frames complimented
still life paintings of earthy pottery bowls and
vases against stratified yellow backgrounds.

The gated key complex located on Culver Boulevard
in Mar Vista was a favorite residence of police
department employees out of the Pacific Division
station a block away. The division Samantha was
formally attached before her promotion to Metropolitan
Division's special teams three years ago.
Ten to fifteen squad cars graced the numbered
parking stalls at any given time of the day.
The independent security company was a good
one, and many of the guards stationed here had
aspirations in law enforcement careers.

She was curled up on the sofa smiling at him.
"Thanks for doing that."
"My pleasure...He's a great kid."
She unfolded from the couch walking to him.
Hal was amazed at her natural grace and
relaxed demeanor..She reached up hooking
her hands around his neck..
"I have to confess something Hal."
It felt wonderful having her so close to him.
He slipped his hands around her waist.
They spoke low and soft.
"Let me guess, the dishes were still dirty."
She shook her head slow.
"I really like you Hal."
"I really like you too Sam."
She let her hands unlock and slip to his upper arms.
"But,..I am concerned."
"You are?"
She nodded.."I am just not sure my son has really
taken to you."
"You think he hates me?"
She put her nose in his chest and nodded smiling.
"Maybe if I can figure out how to keep you around
awhile, he'll warm up."
"Never know, it could work."


Atlanta, Georgia

Thursday, 1:AM

Sal Fox sat back like an astronaut in stocking feet
reclined in his slick black leather Lazy Boy.
A bottle of scotch perched next to him on thick
belved glass a top a jet black side table to his left.
Usually kept at the side bar a steps away, tonight
the bottle was required within easy reach.
A fifty inch high definition plasma screen flashed
through the late night news.
His laptop droned on a matching coffee table
in front of him updating music industry insider's
information through a wireless modem connection.

He was lucky to be alive, he knew that.
Lucky to be sitting here getting shit faced and he
appreciated it..On the other hand, like the
half empty glass of scotch in his right hand, half
thankful was as much as he was currently willing
to comply..

He checked his watch. He had to fly to Denver
in the morning. Meet with other executives from Universal,
EMI and Sony International.
This years December 10th Battle of the Bands event was
coming up fast and the time had come to hammer out
coordination between corporations, companies, sponsors,
legal details, the whole shooting match..

Usually the event landmarked Sal's favorite time of year.
Lots of glitz,perks and special attention..The big three
corporations threw tons of money at this thing like a
macrocosmic neighborhood Christmas Tree Candy
Cane Lane competition. The winner bloating in 'spiritual
pride' secretly gloating behind the envious backs of the
defeated during Midnight Mass and subsequent Sunday's
there after for months to come.

And if you had a niche, like the kind of niche Sal's latest
promotion could have placed him right in the thick of..
The red carpet rolled and the wine, women and song flowed.
Now it looked like his red carpet was being replaced
by a bed of hot coals.
He could feel the burning eyes on him already..
The judges.
Eyes that spoke of earnings loss, plummeting stocks,
class action suits, corporate reputation's smeared.
The list was spreading like wild fire.
As in a premonition he saw himself being pulled from
conference rooms under the watchful glare of professional
peers. Quietly relocated to small cramped quarters containing
voice recorders and nervous brass all beginning their
interrogations with the same opening line..
"What happened?"


After the SWAT teams, investigators, Atlanta Police,
FBI, Coroner's office,forensics, and throngs of emergency
personnel had finished he was finally allowed to leave the
building at 10:45 PM.
Between police interrogations he was constantly re-interrogated
by Corporate personnel calling from New York, Detroit, Miami,
St.Paul, Austin, and Seattle.
There was much explaining to do and for the first time in
his career Sal didn't have the answers..
It all made him look bad..

He'd been in touch through out the day with Ed Hoffman
out in San Diego, the original affiliate who'd signed
Herman Gilespie's band..Sal was beginning to feel
a certain parallel destiny with Mister Hoffman.
He could see Universal giving him a stiff boot and landing
some where on skid row in a shabby little office with
ACME MUSIC posted over the door.
'Affiliate of Universal Music Corporation.'
Riches to rags, Porsche to VW, Main Street to Hobo Street, flyin'
high in April shot down in May compressed into a matter of hours.

What really bothered Fox was how he'd managed to get
into his current predicament in the first place..
Or rather, how out-foxed he'd been by whom ever was responsible
for putting him in this position.
Who pushed Ken Anderson's buttons?
Why did Ken Anderson commit suicide?
Who was really behind the Corporate decision to promote a relative
unknown band like MENACE with a single release starting at the top
of a popular top 40 air play station?
Did the responsible party know in advance the subliminal effects the
song would have on listeners?..
Why would anybody knowing do that?...What could possibly
be the point?

"Maybe it's 'try outs' for some type of secret military industrial
complex experimental psychological warfare program."
His head was spinning..
It's origination white washed from detection through a skillfully
concocted scheme activating trial phases through the
unexpecting escape goat of an art form.
In his gut he didn't believe it..Not originating from our
government anyway..
It was more the style of a Saddam hussein to go after his
own people, but this was even more nuts..This didn't even
bother to segregate.
Like germ warfare only less traceable. "Something Bin Laden
would cook up safe, comfy, untouchable over there in
fuck wad Pakistan."
Playing the part of evil godhead with too much time on his hands.

His mind raced..He felt trapped and used..
Did Ken Anderson learn of the scheme and balk?
Maybe Anderson hadn't been suicidal after all..
That fellah out in San Diego knew Anderson and he was defiantly
not buying the suicide story..
And the note he'd found taped to the top of the desk drawer.
The warning..
Why wasn't the top brass at Universal making any noise about the
"King of the World" fiasco?
Sal hadn't received a single phone call from any of the Corporation's
Executive heads, much less Terry Washburn the current CEO..

He glanced at the late night movie now playing on the
T.V. screen and sighed..'No Exit' starring Kevin Costner..
There was something else though..Something other than
the obvious parallels of desperation shared by the character
in the movie and Sal's current situation that caused his
fatigue swollen eye balls to narrow and focus on the
images bouncing off the thread bare nerves of his over
stressed mind.
A kind of ebullience that steadily gnawed it's way through his
current state of inebriation finding a common denominator
between himself and the star of the movie.
"Oh, yeah."..He remembered..The site being considered
for this years Battle of the Bands event..
It wasn't a lock by any means but there was a lot
of interest due to the number of high profile entertainment
names living in Aspen Colorado..Names like Kevin
Costner, Jack Nicholson, Michael Douglas, John Oats,
Antonio Banderas, Melanie Griffith, Mariah Carey, Michelle
Pfeiffer, Goldie Hawn, Kurt Russell.
Big heady cross platform drawing power from both silver
screen and music industries that Universal found to be
a very appetizing advertisement aspect of the coming
event.
The place was perfect. All decked out in holiday decor.
Red, green, blue, and white lighting reflected off
snow plowed streets. Dormant Aspen trees done up
in white twinkle lights up and down Galena Street.
Back drop of the Rockie Mountains with a five foot pristine
snow base..
"Wish I'd thought of it." he said..
"Whole town is going to look like an entrance
to the pearly gates."

SALVATION chapter 14

Salvation
chapter 14

The California desert
6:PM

Michelle parked at the far end of a rest stop some
fifteen miles east of Desert Center along the I-10.
She pulled off the helmet, glasses and spandex face
protection breathing deep the fresh desert air.
She had to pee, bad.
Five and a half hours after leaving Long Beach
she'd covered two hundred and twenty miles..
Made a quick fuel stop outside the town of Indio
using a credit card at the pump avoiding confronting
anyone inside the convenience store itself..
Slamming bottled water from of a vending machine
as she filled the gas tank..
She had to go then, but didn't dare risk the challenge
of communicating a bathroom key, or where that encounter
might lead.
Indio was an hour ago and she couldn't wait any longer.

The rest stop appeared quiet, deserted..
She pulled the cotton from her ears dancing foot to foot
as bladder pressure and the anticipation of it's release
lay fifty feet away at the public restroom.
A clear rush of fresh air filled her ear canals giving a
pleasant distraction from her immediate stress affording
some added precious seconds.

Approaching the restroom she heard a low banging noise
from inside..The unmistakable sound of a stall door locking
device striking metal against metal.
Michelle waited outside the restroom certain someone
was inside..She strained but heard no other sound..
No slight shuffling of feet, or clearing of a throat.
No flushing, no water running, or toilet tissue
spinning off a roll..She listened intently but now the
interior of the restroom was as quiet as a tomb..

Her bladder begged..She slipped up to the entrance
and peered into the room.
Ambient lighting only..
The dimly lit four stall facility housed permanent
moving shadows as sunlight swept across fine meshed
vent screen near the roof line..
The closest stall appeared empty the door hanging
agar...She bent her knees, her bladder screamed as
she tried looking beneath the bottom of the stalls for
any evidence of an occupant..

The little light surrounding the room was sucked
completely away in the lower corners.
Darker still in Michelle's vision due to contracted
pupils accustomed to direct sunlight.
She blinked then blinked again trying to force her
eyes to adjust..
"Hello?...Is anyone in here?"..
Her own voice answered an echo bouncing off the concrete
floor..

Vague outlines of individual doors began forming distinction as
her pupils adjust..Gray stalls against flat brown cinder
making up the walls. Bolted on her right, stainless steel
sinks hung like gargoyles of symbolic protection.
She took a step toward the nearest stall then stopped as
a shadow moved against the farthest stall..
Her eyes opened wide as the stall door swung inward
a third then swiftly slammed shut duplicating the sound
she'd heard outside.

Michelle froze in mid step unable to move..
Her heart lodged..Her brain worked over time frantically
deciphering information as her eyes continued adjusting
to their surroundings..
A spit second passed..Only a moment before pissing
her pants while tearing from the fear, her brain shouted
"The wind!..The wind!..The fucking wind."..The Santa
Anna wind was forcing the stall door open and
sucking it shut like a vacuum..She breathed and bolted
claiming the nearest stall..

The floor was wet and the smell of urine stung her
nose leaving sticky imprints on the bottom of her boots.
She rolled her eyes and squatted over the filthy toilet
taking care to hover there never touching the seat..
"Ok, ok you can go now!" She hissed at her self and the
hesitant inbred response of a body forced to relieve
it's self subject unnatural position in an unclean
environment. Her thighs trembled realizing how tolling
the day had become.
And then the noise came...The noise from outside.

The sound of rolling tires crushing over loose gravel..
The sound of them out there and me in here with no exit.
Nearer and nearer locking like radar low idle pushing
closer and closer.
She jumped up pulling at her jeans as if by God I am not
going to die with my pants down..
"Too late" she thought..The crumbling sound of tires
came to a silent stop just outside the restroom..

Michelle stood facing the doorless entry and realized she
was in the exact same spot she froze earlier only facing
out instead of in..
"Beep...Beep"...It was a horn..But not the deep baritone
blast of a truck horn..."Beep"...Not even the obnoxious
blare of a passenger vehicle...
She took two steps forward and peeked at the rim of the
doorway..Nick Flannery was pushing down his kick
stand and smiling in her direction..

She almost knocked him down..He'd just dismounted the
bike and was working on his chin strap when she flew
into him..Grabbing at him and throwing her arms around
his neck..
His helmet fell on the ground as he hugged her waist lifting
her feet off the floor of the parking lot.
He'd taped his cell phone to the helmet next to the left
ear flap...It fell on the ground too.
"How did you find me?"
He breathed deep inhaling the sent of her hair and she
felt him shaking..
They spoke as one holding on to each other afraid to
let go.
"This is my second time on this loop..From Blythe to Desert
Center and back...I was so worried about you!"
She released him unzipping his jacket sliding her arms
around his waist.
"Well,...The traffic was just horrible."



Blythe, California

Dusk settled by the time Nick lead Michelle off the main road
onto a winding dirt drive ending at a modest two bedroom cabin located
in a remote area outside the town of Blythe..
Nick's Uncle owned the vacation home set on ten quiet acres fronting
the Colorado River..
Uncle Jimmy was a water sport enthusiast and the place was his
idea of Shangrila.
He'd bought it over twenty years ago and used it from June through August
every year without fail planning to make it his permanent location once retired from the Buena Park Fire Department in Los Angeles.
Nick held a standing invitation to use the cabin any time he desired..
It was the place of safety that sprung to mind when Nick suggested
Michelle and he meet in the desert.
"Does this place have a shower?" Michelle had asked him back at
the rest stop..
"Yep."..
"And, does this place have a bed?"
"Yep."
"What are we going to do about food?"
"The place is stocked."
"Can we be there in five minutes?"
"More like thirty five minutes."
"Let's roll."

An hour later the smell of baking pizza filled the cabin.
Hot steam escaped the bathroom door mixed with Michelle's
sweet singing voice as she luxured in a claw foot bath..
Nick leaned on the front door jam nursing a bottle of cold
Miller Highlife.
A back drop of purple mountains clutched at the endless sky.
Streaking flames of cirrus clouds, against dark blue hues of space.
Reflecting smooth wide flows of the Colorado River, a stones
toss from the door..
Crickets agreeing with his Uncle..This Shangrila.

SALVATION chapter 13

Salvation
chapter 13

Desert Center, California

Herman Gilespie was not a happy camper.
Things had not exactly gone the way he'd imagined
things were going to go..
Big deal, the zoot man proved he could make a
hit record.
Herman had kind of prepared himself expecting
some kind of bull shit hidden agenda..Some trickery..
After all it came with the territory..
You can't expect to deal with the dark side
and not get hosed in the end.
He just figured the end would come sometime
later. Sometime like years from now after his
end of the deal had been realized and he'd been living
high on the hog, up to his ears in tits and ass.
After the penthouses, Ferraris, vacation homes in
the Caribbean, cover of Rolling Stone magazine,
flings with Hollywood's hottest actresses, all the coke
he could snort and stock in a walk in closet.
You know,..just the basics..

Not this carrot on a string routine..
This was more like dealing with the mafia..
Little Birdie merrily chirping on and on about how fucking
lucky he was getting his foot in the door..This was closer
to stepping in the door, slipping, sliding, and landing face
first on the shit filled newspaper floor at the bottom
of Little Birdie's cage.
So far all he'd got out this fiasco was his apartment
thrashed, his band members killed, ten minutes
of fame, and eight hours on the ten most wanted list.
Add fall out over the burn down that was L. A. and he's
public enemy number one by dark.

Forcing his heel against the two foot chrome kick stand
he rest the chopper behind B&D Auto Repair's combination
gas station and two stall general repair facility on the west
end of Desert Center..An intersection of highways that linked
with Interstate 10 at the eastern floor of San Gorgonio gorge.
A strategic fueling spot for weekend warriors, river rats, and
fun seekers in route to Las Vegas, Laughlin, Colorado river,and
south east off road parks such as Glamus, or Ociotillo Wells.

Little Birdie told him it was time to ditch the bike for a
new set of wheels..
The same Little Birdie that told him to get the band together
at the ungodly hour of nine this morning..
An hour later Little Birdie told him he was borrowing Jason's
bike and making a beer run over at the Iranian liquor store
three blocks away.
Should have guessed then something was up.."Ain't no where
on this piece of shit to carry a twelve pack."
He'd just stuck the bulky cardboard box between his legs, fired the
thing back up when Little Birdie echoed in his head again saying
he wasn't going back to the apartment after all...
"What the fuck?..What the fuck I buy this for then?"
Little Birdie just laughed..
"Fuck you!..What the fuck am I doing here?..When am I going
back almighty fucking Little Birdie fuck?"
Quote Little Birdie.."Nevermore."

Little Birdie didn't even sound ominous..At least Poe's
Raven had some bass tone..Little Birdie's voice was more
like Tweedy's..But not the innocent Tweedy who's
thoughts and actions are based on self defense..More
like a giddy Tweedy with itchy feet in possession of
an H bomb.
"You don't want to fuck with me." Little Birdie would say
when Herman started to get the way he got right now.
From the little blips of vision that danced before his eyes
on the ride out to Desert Center Herman knew Little Birdie
wasn't joking..
Movie trailers of shit gone down back at the
apartment would flash in his head like day dreams while
he forced his way through the fuckfest of L. A. freeways
and frontage roads just as Little Birdie dictated..
"Da shit'da just hit da fan'ah!"..Little Birdie squealed
shortly after 10:30 AM while he was heading east. Why
was he heading east? Cause Little Birdie said so..
Herman freaked when flashes of the apartment shot through
his eyes blinding him from the road..."What the fuck is that?..
Fuck me!"
"Music video!" Little Birdie chirped..
He pulled off the road into a parking lot. It was a county
park with swings some picnic tables and a tan stuccoed block
restroom with men's on one side and woman's on the other.
No way he could maintain on the road with this shit bouncing
of his retinas..Little Birdie didn't bitch..Herman was sure Little
Birdie was still here though..He smelt the distinctive aroma of
popcorn..Extra butter...And the periodic crunch crunch of Little
Birdie's beak enjoying.

Blip..There was Jason Blackwell grinning away, standing over
the toilet beatin' off while soaking up the bass lines of "King
of the World" through the headset of his Ipod..
Blip..And fuck head Leroy zoned out on the couch plugged in
sucking down Herman's last can of suds...
"Ass hole"..Herman commented falling down on the grass
next to a big Eucalyptus tree.."Fat fuck,"...he remarked as
Winston Mckeen helped himself to the last of Herman's box
of Wheaties..
Little Birdie chimed in with a happy little tune from that
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs movie then shut up cause
the best part of this movie was coming up and Little Birdie
didn't want to miss a second of it..

Behind cabinet doors, under the kitchen sink, inside a
bulging trash bin, compact discard ripened.
Composting solids to paste, and paste to liquid pools
that churned and squirmed with black fly larvae
snuggle and warmed by the stratified heat of melting waste..
Little Birdie, being a little birdie, found fly larvae especially
delicious, and Herman could hear a frenzy of peck, peck,
pecks as Little Birdie crunched on popcorn pretending it
was the hundreds of plump white roly-poly morsels at
the bottom of the trash bin....Little Birdie was really getting
into the movie..

Little Birdie's bright yellow head twitched and focused on one
special tar colored larvae that split slurping thick black runny
goo multiplying on itself quickly filling the bottom of the
trash bin drowning out the others as it rose.
"The star of the show!..The star of the show!"...Little Birdie
could hardly constrain the excitement of it's fluttering heart.

Over spilling the top of the trash bin slurping and gurgling
weird science seeped through the cracks of the cabinet
pooling and solidifying on the filthy kitchen linoleum floor.
Two separate streams leaked the outer seams of the cabinet
doors and built upon themselves forming twelve inch diameter
stubby hooves of wobbling jello quickly hardened to support
the flabby up growth of ankles and shins..
Black elixir soaked through the footing pads absorbing and
flowing upward. Metabolizing into building blocks of thick
knobbed knees, short squat thigh quarters, a narrow hip line,
undefined genitalia and a thick stump of bobbed tail.

The body evolved shifting color. Dark molasses to reddish
brown, hairless and slick, covered in a membrane that
glistened against the light.
The trunk grew thick and short giving away prematurely
to a huge barrel chest the diameter liken of a refrigerator.
Shoulders round and slump rolled toward a meaty extension
of arms so long the clawed four fingered appendages
scraped at the kitchen floor.
It had no neck. A massive oblong pulsating skull of boneless
mass perched squarely on the shoulder line..Deep folds
of lateral brow waved up and over an extensive forehead
rippling the crown sweeping to a fibrous bag of timorous
flesh mottled and hanging off the back of the head.
The eyes were round and sunken surrounded by flabby
folds of loose skin making them appear as slits..There
was no protrusion of nose bone, only two three inch nasal
openings high on the face almost between the eyes.
The mouth lay open. A four foot wide gap with nine teeth
on the bottom jaw line and seven at the top.
The middle teeth short and stubbed, broken and twisted.
Bordered by four, six inch fangs of motley yellow and black.
Ear flaps resembling the tail section of large fish draped shirting
the tops of the shoulder blades.

Once complete it animated a single programmed response.
Taking a side sweeping left step while raising the right arm
the claws unfurled sinking deep into the unsuspecting throat
of Winston Mckeen..A geyser erupted drenching the monster's
face and chest as the arm lunged and lunged again pulling
the man's head straight back. The left arm hooked,
talons grasping and snagging in frustration at the slippery
blood soaked hair..Finally as if in learning, the serrated points
caught gouging their grip. The left arm slowly raised extending
and twisting before it's eyes the severed head.

No sound escaped the creature..No victory reflected it's gaze.
No satisfaction of a bloodlust fulfilled..It was dead to life.
Dead to thought..Dead to emotion..
It viewed the head through lifeless eyes and waited.
As if expecting special instruction from a glaring quizzical
expression on the dead man's face.
Seconds passed then abruptly again it animated.
Left arm swinging back, releasing to a gapping mouth,
the creature chomped twice swallowing the head
like a strawberry....


A note from the author:

...The narrator of this accounting appeals your grace in
special circumstance..
His inability to proceed further intimate details concerning
the ensuing events of apartment 12..
...Lest he fall victim to a madness..A madness contagious
of design by those whom's interest would covet the truth be kept
unknown..
A lurking disease without vaccine exists in the unfiltered tapping
grounds of good and evil..
Created by the dark and laying wait to those who's necessary
association and close proximity to detail in the pursuit of truth
make lures,... for the malevolent..
...Better the narrator appear a fool and rest the guard of those
watchful eyes that the wiser might gain an insight from these
pages of accounting..
I whisper now to you and only to you..
An accounting of what is, and what should never be...
By your nod, I therefore proceed with caution..

Apartment 12

Jason Blackwell and Leroy Shepard never stood a chance..
They were grinners..The zoot suit man had seen to it and
seen to Herman Gilespie's immunization..The zoot suit man
had plans for Herman..Big plans that required Herman's
facilities be intact.
Herman's facilities were at the moment on the razor's edge..
He had long since fallen to unconsciousness..His waking mind
unable to process the events playing out back at apartment 12.
He lay under the shade of the Eucalyptus tree.
His eyes darting in rapid movement under closed sleeping lids..
Dreaming an unforgettable dream..

Leroy Shepard lay back on the living room couch resting his eyes
as music flowed through the Ipod sucking his life away..
Somewhere behind the music he felt a presence and his eyes
opened to a an eight foot drooling troll..
Honestly..Grinners are capable of function..They just lack motivation.
Leroy didn't fear for his life..The only thought that came to mind was
this big fat fuck was here to take his Ipod away..
That would never do.
He stuck his hands over the speakers of his headset and decided it
was time to leave..He got halfway to the front door.
Details can be reviewed by the contacting the Los Angeles Police
Department and requesting a copy of the crime scene investigation
report.
The added visual effects associated with the demise of Jason Blackwell
where in fact compliments of the zoot suit man himself..He entered
the apartment a few moments after the creature had completed his
purpose and literally evaporated into a filmy haze of black smoke.
The zoot suit man's finesse with the kitchen knives retrieved from
the apartment itself was intended for the benefit of Herman Gilespie.
The scene currently playing in the dream theater of Herman's
mind. His body jerked spastics recognizing the same fate awaited
him should he dare cross the zoot suit..
And to that recognition he woke up..

SALVATION chapter 12

Salvation
chapter 12

Los Angeles, California

The forensic team assigned to the case were
flown in by helicopter touching down in the middle of a
high school football field a mile south west of North
Stanley Street. At the request of Lieutenant Harrington,
Officers Silversmith and Carson were dispatched to transport
the three member team from the school to the crime scene.
The arrival of a police helicopter was a grateful distraction
for the facility and staff at Union High as the teenage children
held there for their protection were bored and impatient
complaining they now felt like hostages.
Normal bus transportation had been canceled and no child
was allowed to leave the school grounds with out a parent
or guardian personally picking them up.
The school had been designated a local emergency shelter
facility. Both F.E.M.A. and the Red Cross where currently on site
busy converting the multipurpose room into a receiving center.
More persons were arriving at the school then departing.
It was just after 4:00 PM and for many in Los Angeles this
Wednesday had already become a very long day.

Forensics scowered apartment 12 taking photos, gathering
evidence, examining the bodies, and searching for identifications.
Hal had found the third victim where Lieutenant De La Cruz
indicated he would, in the kitchen.
The third victim was not wedged behind a door, or hanging
face down from the ceiling. Victim number 3 was sitting on
a chair at the kitchen table with a half eaten bowl of
wheaties in front of him..Hal surmised the reason
the man hadn't finished his breakfast of champions wasn't
due to the fact he'd been a picky eater. His professional
opinion was the guy had been "fat dumb and happy"
moments before his demise.
Besides he still clutched a stainless steel table spoon in
his right hand..Not the little tea spoon size either..It was a
manly man's size spoon.
Nope, the guy hadn't scooped up the last few remaining bites
at the bottom of the stoneware cereal bowl simply because he
no longer had place to stick the spoon. His head was missing.
Mystery solved..
Hal looked for it though..Under the table, in the trash, behind the
couch, in the shower, generally peeking here and there. All the
while a little tune playing in the back of his mind..
"Come out, come out, where ever you are"..
Only so much he could do with no gloves, but now
that forensics had arrived even with the clear latex slapped
over his hands allowing a more thorough search without the
concern of disturbing fingerprints or evidence, the head was
not to be found.

He was in the single bedroom of the apartment now. The
only room in the place seemingly undisturbed by the violence
that had transpired.
It smelled of stale sweat and dirty laundry..Like soiled socks
left fermenting under a bed. He found personals in the dresser
and was busy categorizing evidence when something Samantha
said earlier struck him.."Like somebody painted the walls with
them."..She'd been referring to the blood stains and gore smeared
over the walls of the living room..
Hal walked back to the living room staring at the walls confirming
what had sprung aware to him while still in the bedroom..

The opposite walls of the room some twelve feet apart had
identical patterns left there etched in blood..
Hand prints..
Not the impressions of human hands as one would expect.
These were distinctively of a creature previously unknown
to Hal. Four individual three foot appendages attached to a
hand the approximate palm size of the fourteen by twenty
shattered picture frame lying on the living room carpet.
He shuttered.."Impossible..It can't be."
The ends of the appendages were what can only be described
as talons. Two inch wide sickles rugged and serrated
the inside line of which appeared would tear like a rough
cut saw blade.
Hal realized these were the weapons used on the first
two victims. Victims now identified as Leroy Shepard and
Jason Blackwell..Both members of the band 'MENACE'.
The third victim wasn't carrying any identification.
Maybe it had been taken, or maybe he just didn't carry
a wallet with him today.
It was concluded however the third victim's body was
not that of one Herman Gilespie, the man the SWAT
operation was intended to apprehend.

Photos of Herman Gilespie proved him to be of far
slighter build than the two hundred fifty pound man
(not including his head) sitting at the breakfast table.
Process of elimination suggest the victim to be
Winston Mckeen the fourth member of the band.

Previous to Hal's discovery of the strange prints left
over the living room walls, both he and Lieutenant
Harrington were leaning in the direction of a basic
prejudgment that Herman Gilespie committed the
murders in an attempt to silence loose ends.
Probably some time shortly after 10 AM when
results of the radio aired contaminated music began
hitting the news.

No murder weapons had been found however and
Lieutenant Harrington was somewhat hesitant to draw
concrete conclusions.
"It's possible Gilespie wasn't even present at the time
of the murders and his absence may have simply spared
him the same fate."..
Hal had to admit looking at the 8x10 colored glossy promotion
photo of Gilespie it seemed improbable, perhaps even impossible
for the skinny framed speed freak to do this kind of damage
all by his lonesome.
He hadn't ruled out the fact the three victims had been
converted to grinners however..Two smashed up Apple
Ipods with headphones were found and sealed in evidence
bags. The headless drummer might in fact still be wearing
his headphones with the Ipod neatly stuffed inside his mouth..
As with the kitchen butcher knives Hal kept having recurring
brain references to Thanksgiving Day turkeys.

If Gilespie had somehow managed to infect his companions
with the song and remain uninfected himself.
It could explain how he so conveniently got the drop on them.
Grinners were like cattle to the slaughter as long as pacified
by the continuous play of the music.
Hal's theory didn't explain how skinny little Herman could
have managed the enormous strength it would require to
crucify the one hundred seventy five pound Jason Blackwell
to the bathroom ceiling.
Standing in the living room trying to make some kind of
logic of his findings on the walls, he thought maybe
he was viewing evidence of what did.

Samantha De La Cruz was currently in communication with
division headquarters cooperating with the coordination
of another SWAT operation. A situation had developed
in the North Hollywood area and Lieutenant De La Cruz's
team was ordered to conduct yet another mission.
She finished with headquarters and stepped through the
doorway of apartment 12 watching Hal as he stood
perplexed before the hand prints.
Her movement caught his attention and as he turned to
face her they both switched their radios to channel 5.
"Tell me your not considering this as an art form."
She said pointing at the right wall.
He smiled.."No..But there is something here that
deserves contemplation."
She considered this and raised her perfect brown
eyebrows.
"Are you leaving?" Hal asked.
She nodded.."North Hollywood..We've got another call."
He felt a sense of panic tug at his gut and wondered if
the surface worry for her safety wasn't a emotion rooted
deeper in his own self protection. An ingrained response
warning him that he was going to hurt bad if something
happened to her..
"What was it earlier about the guy in the bathroom you
wanted me to see?"
Her words brought his thoughts back to the present.
"Oh that..It was just a tattoo on his arm that spelt
MENACE..Linking him to the band is all."
"How's the investigation coming?"
"There are APB's out on Gilespie now." He said..
Samantha nodded and spoke.
" Probably not much chance he's gotten far with the
airports closed and the freeways a mess."
Hal shook his head.."That's what worries me."
The pretty eyebrows raised again.
Hal continued." Two of the victims brought their own set
of wheels..The guy in the bathroom?..Name's Blackwell.
We were able to contact Mister Blackwell's girlfriend.
Turns out he's a diehard biker..Got a fancy custom chopper
he takes everywhere he goes.
We found Mister Shepard's keys on him and his firebird
it sitting outside on the street."
Samantha finished for him.."So, where is Blackwell's
fancy motorcycle?"
"That's what worries me." Hal nodded.."If I am Herman
Gilespie and I want to get out of town fast...
What better way through those freeways out there.."
"Then on a bike!"..She finished for him again..

Officer Silversmith appeared at the front door and Hal
held up three fingers..He and Samantha tuned to
Silversmith's frequency.
"Lieutenant their looking for you outside."
"Thanks Silversmith Samantha answered." She switch
to 5 again and Hal followed..
"Got to go..I just wanted to wish you good
luck on the case."
"Thanks, I appreciate that." Hal said..
She started to turn toward the door and Hal heard
himself speak.."Listen,..Sam...Would you do me
a favor?..I mean after the SWAT op is clear..
Could you patch over? Just let me know how
things went."
She stopped and turned back to him.
"Why detective..Are you asking me to call you
and let you know I am ok?"
He didn't hesitate. "Yes I am."
She pushed the transmitter button.
"Tell you what..I'll bet you dinner at my
place we both will be just fine at the
end of the day."
Hal smiled.."That's a bet I'd love to lose."

SALVATION chapter 11

Salvation
chapter 11

Brawley, California

3:00 PM
Nick took a frontage road off the 8 freeway as he
neared the city of El Centro. A farming community
serving the produce growers of California's Imperial
Valley..He turned left and navigated a series of dirt
access roads working his way north to the cattle town
of Brawley where he'd pick up the head of highway
78 north. A two lane alternate route making it's way
north east to Blythe where the 10 freeway intersected.
It was the town of Blythe where he planned to wait
for Michelle's call.

Brawley appeared quiet as he rode through the
downtown sector. A combination of manure and
hay scent waft the air. The district maintained an old
school 1950's atmosphere where one might still expect
department stores advertised as a five and dime.
The speed limit an excruciating twenty five miles per hour.
Cable strung stop lights with a red track mind left Nick
exposed and vulnerable.

After ten nerve racking minutes of stop and go he finally sat at the
head of 78 north waiting for the final light to turn green.
It was there, across the street, outside a rundown liquor store
he first saw the man.
Nick's impulse was that of a solemn resolve.
A gut instinct unquestionably dictating to Nick's soul the man
did not belong.

As if in direct defiance to Nick's initial judgement the man
seemed as if he not only belonged, but ruled his surroundings.
The arms where stretched outward like the wings of a bird.
The wrists limp, the hands dangling.
In the left he held what appeared to be a bottle of Orange
Crush that swung against the rhythm of a dance.
A dance that reminded Nick of a waltz..
A waltz originating from a distant age created under
dark foreboding skies.

From an ancient time when Man was but a spice added to a
mixture of emerging concepts.
Light and Dark finding themselves inadvertently stirred
and mingled within the boundaries of a great cauldron.
Gasping and suffocating at the repulsive touch and stench
of the other with no escape.
Out of an intolerable disharmony the fabric of separation was born.
Lines drawn, sides chosen, legions formed, in symbolic denial
and rebellion against the truth of a great catastrophe.

Through the concept of elimination great weapons were
forged into the world.
Legions of the Dark awaited in bound cages their
rights of birth.
Unleashed upon the world by mechanism of a summons.
Enacted through the movements of a dance. Performed in
forbidden forests under dark reflected moonlight, to an
audience of yellow eyes.

And as he danced his surroundings grew.
Emanating from the ground he stood on.
Seeping low and outward in all directions like the shadow
of a cloud absorbing the streets and buildings
of the entire township and beyond.

Attached to the belt loop of a tan colored zoot suit
flashed a gold watch case suspended by a chain.
Nick couldn't see the eyes.
A matching colored fedora was cocked and forward
leaving only a blissful smile to the imagination.

The light turned green and Nick crossed the intersection
drawing the attention of the man.
He dared not return the gaze but kept his eyes focused
down the road.
The blissful smile erupted into a gapping cheerful grin.
As if the sight of Nick brought to mind a sudden realization
of a deep dark secret known only to himself.
Nick felt the eyes bore deep into his back raising goose flesh
down his spine. The 78 mercifully bent itself around a swooping
left putting the man's line of sight behind him.

Two miles down the road his heart rate slowed to normal.
To his left a dairy farm seemed to stretch for miles. Grazing
pastures lush with green mixed against plowed dirt fields
anticipating planting..
Like salt and pepper sprinkled across the land, black
and white Jerseys forged their way northward fronting
the roadway. It was a fun road to travel given to combinations
of short straightaways then left and right exchanges as the road
worked it's way north then east then north again.

After navigating a particularly tight left Nick jammed down on
the breaks hard causing a slight fishtail from the rear end.
Cattle were in the roadway. A large break in the fencing exposed
their means of escape..Behind them a hundred Jerseys marched
in single file toward a common destination. To the north hundreds
more crowded the fence line their bodies rigid and alert as if
deciding where their rightful place stood in the ever growing
exit line.

Nick brought the bike to a standing halt. His jaw dropped,
eyes bulging in amazement and horror.
Dead cows were in the roadway..
Dropping stone dead as their hooves touched the black surface
of the tarmac. Piling on the shoulder ten feet wide...
The line of the dead slowly merging into the left lane as
those that came after staggered their way over fallen
brethren until they too became victims of the road.
The black and white barrier grew steady and thick reaching
the center yellow division strip of faded double lines
and spilling into the right lane.
Nick still had time to circumvent them on the right shoulder
but time was running out.
He leaned forward peering at the roadway seeking a device
crossing it that might explain the phenomenon..
He detected nothing but was gripped with fear of becoming a
victim himself once breaking the apparent invisible line.
The massacre continued relentless closing the gap.
He put the Harley in first and slipped the clutch crossing
the line at the extreme right shoulder.
As he did the cattle to the north stampeded the fence line.
Five hundred feet ahead of him they charged the fence
like a battering ram laying it to waste.
Gone were the docile brown eyes of submissive beasts
of burden. Replace instead by a malevolent rage of bloodlust.
They hurled through the mangled fence kicking and
screaming, snapping back their gum lines exposing perfect
rows of two inch square cap teeth.

Nick slammed the bike in second gear and the earth shook.
The rear tire bit and slipped against the bucking road bed.
A billowing curtain of cloudy dust rose up behind the stampede
catching the up draft of Santa Anna creating a wall of
storm..
Three hundred feet away he screamed "third!" catching
the upper gear gaining speed..
The road bucked again as inertia slammed the dead
against pavement sliding and building against the shoulder.
All eyes where trained on him now. Frenzied eyes that
glared determination.
The air filled with deafening thunder.
Charging hooves,breaking bones, snapping jaws, and
the barking exhaust of an accelerating Harley Softail.

Two hundred feet out the left lane was completely
covered. What had taken minutes for the cattle to
accomplish previously now had taken only a
few seconds.
He punched fourth gear as a cow plundered into the
right lane. A hundred feet to go and the gap was
there..So were the cows.
Charging over the fallen, it's neck extended like a
race horse, the murderous right eye of the cow
knew it had him.
Nick slid against the gas tank and targeting the gap
then let go of the handle bars..
The cow launched it's self into the air.
Nick laid his back down flat against the seat and
raised his left leg off the driving peg.
Turning it's head in mid air the cow barred it's teeth
to meet the on coming prey.
Locking his knee, raising his leg, like a lance his left boot crushed
through a mouth of gnashing teeth. It's head
jerked left forcing the bike right.
Staring directly at the sky, Nick watched as the
massive head passed over him an inch above his
brow line crashing to the road a fraction behind the
rear fender.
Grabbing the bars he tore himself from the seat and leaned
left with all his might cutting diagonally across the lanes.
He shook his head up shifting to fifth cranking open the
throttle grip he burned down the roadway against a sand
storm sky.


Riverside, California

4:00 PM
Michelle found conditions on the east 90 state highway only
slightly improved, but as the miles slowly gathered carrying her
farther from the center of Los Angeles air quality and visibility
began to improve.
She had just merged onto the 60 east in Riverside, a twenty
five mile stretch that would link her with Interstate 10 east
when she fell in behind a small group of motorcyclists ahead
of her. Mimicking their pathways through congestion and
accident scenes.
The ability to see obstructions farther ahead rewarded an
overall improvement in her state of mind. Now with the added
comfort knowing others such as her self were finding success
cautiously freeing themselves from the chaotic region.

She had been on the road for three and a half hours
covering a total distance of seventy five miles.
Fatigue had settled between her shoulder blades.She
needed water badly plus the slow progression had used
two thirds of the bike's fuel.
Riverside was too dangerous to consider stopping. Soon
she would merge on the 10 east down the San Gorgonio
Pass to small desert towns where she would find a quiet
spot to fuel the bike and call her parents and Nick.
That goal still lay one hundred miles away.

The bikers ahead of her slowed abruptly swinging around
a bad accident. People were standing in the roadway and
as Michelle navigated a slow turn a man appeared clutching
and hurdling at her. His right leg was wounded and dragging
behind as he leapt trying to pull Michelle from the bike.
She ducked her head instinctively and the man's out
stretched hands caught the dome of her helmet deflecting
his strength allowing her to speed passed.
It happened so fast she first thought a large bird had
mistakenly flown into her path. Not until she glanced in
the right side mirror seeing the man sprawled on the
roadway did she realize she'd been attacked.

In the moments following the incident she became
resolved. She wanted to be with Nick. She suddenly
realized getting to Nick was the driving force that had
given her the fierce determination to get through this
ordeal..She straightened her back releasing muscle
tensions and allowed her self the luxury of hope.
After all she'd been through this day and most certainly
the worst behind her she felt a new energy.
Even the ass hole on the hard tail custom chopper behind
her couldn't intimidate her now..
He'd been dogging her tail for the last ten miles trying
to pass her. The close zigzag moves around traffic
and debris hadn't allowed a passing opportunity and
with each mile the rider's frustration was becoming
more aggressive.
Finally the road opened for a quarter mile and the
chopper blasted past. The rider's left arm
extended flipping her the finger. The frame and
gas tank were a combination of air brushed
red and orange flames over a yellow base.
Raked forks, ape hanger handle bars, and bright
chrome engine casing. The rear tire wide
and thick like a hot rod roadster's.
The extended appendage of the rider continued
waving like a flag as it barreled down the road
passing the other motorcyclists as well.
Michelle breathed relief as the fat oversized rear
tire disappeared from view..
"Nick" she whispered.."Soon I'll be with Nick."