SALVATION chapter 20

Salvation
Part II
Chapter 20

Denver, Colorado
Friday,October 3rd 9:AM

Sal Fox enjoyed a vigorous breakfast at Ellyington's restaurant pied-a-terre within the atrium-style Brown Palace Hotel in down town Denver.
His view from the four star triangular landmark over looking City Park was remarkable. Fall colors burst scintillating bouquets of aspen gold amidst vivid hues of blush, elm apricot, cerise, and evergreen.
Cradled at 5,280 feet just east of Rockie Mountain snow crowned peaks, Denver is an inter-fusion of modern city skyline and rich history dating to the 1858 Pikes Peak Gold Rush.
This morning Fox barely seemed to notice. For the first time in over thirty hours he dared confidence a future in the music industry-and an appetite.
The ensuing events of last nights dinner hosted in the Grand Ball Room of the Brown Palace occupied his thoughts while gobbling down a three egg Denver omelet, buttered toast and coffee.
Through out Thursday the big three music corporations had converged behind reticent doors at the Colorado Convention Center. The meetings summating in a press release detailing a startling bold strategy and change of venue appertaining the Battle of the Bands event.
Sal spent the majority of that day in expectation of a phone call. Pacing between his laptop on the hotel suite's writing desk to the bay window over looking Speer Boulevard's mint green semi-circular bridge work and commuter traffic below.
Stock's had tumbled over the last twenty four hours as frightened share holders reacted. Preliminary damages in wake of the deadly music release had skyrocketed into hundreds of millions of dollars.
Someone had to pay.
Good news was on the rise however. Medical science was making remarkable progress in the treatment of those unfortunate's exposed to the music. Over booked hospital wards were beginning to thin out as a successful drug treatments related to the control and maintenance of psychotic disease were restoring patient's sanity. Los Angeles, by far the hardest hit city, had bounced back expeditiously thanks to an unprecedented display of Federal, State, County, and local authorities working in a spirit of cooperation.
As initial shock of the tragic event began to subside. Naturally fingers would begin pointing in an effort to pinpoint where the bulk of responsibility should rightfully rest.

Surely CEO Terry Washburn would wish to demonstrate competency in the eyes of Universal, EMI and Sony. Minimal damage to the industry a key factor. It would be demonstrative skills of scheme and action that ultimately determine Washburn's survival at the top, or crashing descent to the bottom.
Sal saw himself a perfect victim of that action.
Surely Mister Washburn had no intention of allowing blame to rest on his own shoulders. His course of action was as predictable as a sunrise. He would hack off the heads of those previously involved with the band MENACE and move forward with a plan of diversion designed to recover the confidence of stockholders.
Thursday ticked by and Sal still had received no phone call. 11:AM, noon, 1:PM...He found no shelter in those hours. No faint hope that within the passage of time perhaps Washburn had chosen some alternate recourse. Instead, the silence of unknowing fed his trepidation creating building blocks of narrowing focus.
He began to singularize himself as a caged animal. A captured wolf pacing the confines of it's enclosure-reduced to a single thought. The resemblance enraged him- as it was so unbecoming of the Sal Fox he knew himself to be.
From earliest recollection he had always been a scrappy survivor. Raised in the streets of Brooklyn he identified within himself the uncanny talents of an alley cat-always landing on his feet. That natural ability had
been until now his life's forte.
He Stood at the suite's bay window mendicating himself to think. Below the hotel City Park's 314 acres of green turf spiraled outward from a huge central flat ground. Breaking the expanse were intermittent small lakes and groves of aspen trees-walking paths-restroom facilities. The vibrant show of colors did not impress him however something inherent in the park's size did..
His memory churned, gnawing at the maze of recycled anxiety gripping his thoughts all day.
He'd just turned from the scene pinching the bridge of his nose when impetuous dawning washed over him. An enlightenment so profound it hurdled through his vocal cords expelling it's self in speech.
"This is where Denver hosts their annual summer jazz festival."
He turned from the window rushing to the writing desk. Pulling up an e-mail program he hammered at the keyboard in ferocious determination..
Five hours later he had still not received a single correspondence from Corporate management.
He showered and dressed in his finest suit preparing for the 6PM dinner sponsored by Universal in the Grand Ball Room.
The itinerary for Friday's meetings arrived via e-mail at 5PM and Sal made mental notes of the times, and conference rooms all located at the Colorado Convention Center.
A memorial luncheon dedicated to the passing of his predecessor Kenneth Anderson was to take place at noon.
He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol all day telling himself his hands shook due to the constant cups of coffee he'd consumed. All the while suspecting the tremors might also be relating the state of his nerves.
Tonight's dinner would be a testing of the reception he could expect at tomorrow's meetings should he still be game-fully employed at that time..
His stomach flip-flopped at the closeness of the hour. He must find the courage to face the crowd downstairs..A comparatively minor task as the company in the Ball Room would be limited to Universal management and their employees..If he survive the night, Friday's scrutinizing eyes will include employees of BMI and Sony Music Corporations as well. Sal suspected even the trendy 40 foot Blue Bear sculpture poised peeking in the centers lobby would have eyes only for him.
The fourth floor elevator was thankfully empty. He pressed the second floor key and the car descended without stopping. It paused and opened to a hallway he navigated down a long corridor toward the rear of the building- the widest section of the triangle building- opening to the expanse of The Ball Room.
Sal felt a surge of confidence as he entered the room. The fact he was part of the elegant atmosphere displayed here was a ego booster in and of it's self.
The Grand Ball Room was graced with huge chandeliers. It's walls tastefully draped in several gold hues. Much of the gleaming wood floor was covered for the dinner arrangement. Divided by thick embellished rugs of blue and orange laid beneath the tables leaving a wide aisle facing side by side podiums. The tables where round with six place settings over stark white linen covers. Each table graced a three foot tall vase of colorful bouquets tall enough as to allow unhampered eye contact or movement.
He was seated returning a nod or two from associates he recognized from the Atlanta office.
As dinner progressed several speakers attempted to sooth a general tense atmosphere with light rhetoric bringing with it general update information in the process. It was near the end of a full course prime rib dinner-a dinner Sal barely touched-before the closed door conference meetings were addressed.
Details of the Corporation's plans had been e-mailed to the various employees as the dinner progressed, and all were advised questions surrounding the event would be discussed at the conference meetings tomorrow morning.
Sal's mouth dropped as the Battle of the Bands event was played out.
It adopted general consensus of the ideas he'd e-mailed in memo format earlier in the day.
The chosen site of this years event was Denver and the exact location City Park as he'd recommended.
Denver's ability to accommodate large tourist populations and it's relative easy access reasoned it favorable over the previously considered small city of Aspen. Denver International Airport only fifteen miles from downtown, coupled with major highway access serviced by Interstates 70, 76, and 25 the deciding factors.
The date of the event and venue had also been changed as recommended by Sal's memo. Instead of the traditional early December weekend, the event was re-scheduled just two weeks away-the weekend of October 18th & 19th.
The National Weather Service promised that weekend would bring mild conditions in the middle of a Denver warming trend. Chinook winds resulting from warm air passing over the mountains to the west would bring late summer conditions.
A fall festival would be the theme of the event scheduled at the height of Denver's 'Gold Rush' fall season landscape.
The three music corporations' decision to push forward the event was based on an healing factor. A festival of such proportions would bring with it a renewal of life celebration that beat within the heart of all music-at least previous to the disastrous release of "King of the World."
World wide promotion of the event was already in motion. Special discount packages were being worked out with the hotel and motel industry in the region with the big three subsidizing the off set costs.. Major television rights had been obtained as the event would also be televised in over 65 countries around the world..
Addressing the Mad Muse catastrophe, the corporations agreed the best defense was a good offense. In a bold advertising campaign using reverse psychology Herman Gilespie and MENACE would be exploited as the 'power of music' gone bad. MENACE Halloween costumes- Herman Gilespie masks-would be hugely promoted as the dark evil for which it was.
In a bold commitment the music industry would promote it's self as knight and shinning armor creating a major division dedicated to the pre-viewing of all new music previously released to insure the plaque within MENACE music would never again be unleashed into the world.
Huge promotional packages were being schemed to draw the attention of music lovers world wide including free concert tickets- major artist's title releases - cash sweepstakes-world tour vacation packages.
A huge relief engulfed The Ball Room followed by applause-cheers and outbreaks of standing ovation.
The atmosphere suddenly party like in nature as late news had hit the wires with already positive response from stock values showing a rise at the last few moments before the closing bell on wall street. Anticipation filled the air opening stocks Friday morning would reflect dramatic positive results as the news spread across the world.
The biggest shocker for Sal was that his name was announced as executive head of The Mad Muse campaign...Suddenly he was surrounded by thundering applause of his associates...
Sitting now in Ellyington's enjoying a good meal-after a good night sleep. He felt a strength of purpose combining an earned wisdom forged from a lesson well taken.
Spring time had always been Sal's favorite time of year. Today however, he'd found within himself a new appreciation of the swollen fall colors offered just outside the restaurant. A sense of maturity reflected in the season he now identified within himself.
Never again would he allow himself to fall victim of circumstance. The Mad Muse campaign was going to be a huge success. His mind's eye could finally see the red carpet ahead of him at the end of the tunnel..Soon it would unroll for him and the wine, women and song would certainly follow.



Los Angeles

Under days of extreme stress FBI Chief Jarold Dodd often confided to closer subordinates that he should have been a farmer.
Taking in the burning accusations registered in the eyes of Special Agent
Cyrus Denason his thoughts recognized this to be one of those days.
Raised in the mid-west on his fathers' two thousand acre farm Dodd spent his teen age years fascinated with the adventurous lives of characters depicted in crime solve mystery novels. Many a night his tiny upstairs bedroom glowed with oil lamps as he lay engrossed in chapters of Raymond Chandler that eroded his father's expectations with every turning page.
His dream of escaping the long monotonous days of farming life were realized when at the age of eighteen he was accepted into the cadet program of a small town police force- much to the expected disappointment of his father.
Now, after almost a third century the residue of living year after year under the glaring disapproval of his father's countenance still affected him- Dodd found confrontation difficult to digest.
He'd thought he recognized some of his father's overbearing personality in the demeanor of Agent Cyrus Denason-a man Jarold had not liked from first association over five years ago.
Denason was an ivy leaguer graduated from West Point, and had served time in the military enlisting at the rank of Lieutenant.
His aggressive nature soon advanced him into the Special Forces Division of Army Intelligence where he honed his skills specializing in interrogation. Leaving with a reputation of one who produced results no matter the cost.
Dodd believed Denason was a man who conceived himself the very center of life. Viewing anyone and everyone as tools- contacts who's only legitimate purpose was in the acknowledgment and support of his own convictions. His imposing size of six foot four and obsession with weight lifting served his image of self superiority perfectly. Dodd had sensed the man found joy when those attributes cowered anyone who dared question his motives.
Denason now stood towering directly over the desk of Jarold Dodd. Bearing jealous contempt for the man who's job he fully expected to claim within a years time. He saw Dodd as soft and hated the mans pudgy features and diplomatic persona. Denason felt a growing repulsion increase with every passing moment in Dodd's presence.
He had pulled strings to get a private meeting with Dodd and had no intention of leaving before the fat bastard caved in and gave him what he'd come for.
The case of the Mad Muse was high profile. The kind of case Denason had been waiting for. It was the perfect vehicle to propel him to the top of the chain. He was not about to allow Dodd to ruin his chances of advancement over some old chum relationship between the Chief and LA's detective Pigg.
He felt his rock hard muscles fully tense up- Stifling an urge to reached across the desk and strangle Dodd where he sat.
"I want to know why your dogging me on this case!"
Dodd watched a throbbing vein pop out on Denason's temple and answered level toned ."Why don't you have a seat Agent?"
It was a command not a question, and Denason backed up stiffly taking a seat in the office chair in front of the desk.
"I am head investigator in this office Dodd and I want the case."
Dodd was fully aware of Denason's strong arm tactics. He believed the rumors Denason had been compiling personal files on every successful politician and law enforcement agency in the country. Accessing sensitive materials on individual government employees using his security clearance and hacking capabilities learned while involved with Army intelligence. Dodd was pretty sure Denason had a file on him as well. Denason was smart enough to patiently gather enough dirt on a target then use it when the time was right.
Every body had skeletons hiding somewhere in their past, and the more success an individual enjoyed the more weight those mistakes carried if exposed.
Dodd figured Denason must have got to someone pretty high up the food chain.The memo waiting for him when he'd arrived at the office today requested he work with Denason as much as possible. The memo was straight out of Washington DC., and Dodd knew of one or two of the brass out there had a thing for young prostitutes...
Denason was proving himself a formidable enemy.
Dodd controlled himself although he hated having to appease the likes of Denason.
" One..You've got three open cases on your plate Agent Denason."
Denason shot back.."Three minor cases compared to this!"
Dodd didn't allow the interruption to derail him.."Two...This case is of a sensitive nature requiring a investigator with specific experience skills to address it."
Denason flew out of his chair planting his knuckles on Dodd's desk.."Hal Pigg?..Stinking LA cops?"
Dodd blinked but didn't budge.."I told you to sit down Denason!"
Several seconds past as Denason's black eyes bore into Dodd. His big arms shook as he fought to control himself. Slowly he slid his knuckles off the desk and sat down hard- spitting to Dodd in a seething mockery.
" Maybe you ought to check your memo's Chief."
Dodd glared back as seconds past like minutes. He stood up and turned to the office window over looking downtown Los Angeles. Should have been a farmer he thought to himself.
"Fine...You want to be on the case?...Your on the case...But Pigg stays in charge!..You got that?...Your working for him."
"Bullshit!" Denason yelled gripping the office chair arm rests..."That's bullshit!"
Dodd swung around, "You want to know what bullshit is Denason? Bullshit is I haven't suspended you yet for insubordination!"
He marched up to Denason and was sure he saw a hint of confusion in the man's eyes.."Your scare tactics might work against some fuck wad over in Washington, but they don't mean shit to me!..If I say Pigg stays in charge, he stays in charge!..Now get the fuck out of my office!"
Denason stood up slow and walked to the door as Dodd sat down at his desk..
"Oh, and one more thing Agent Denason."
Denason waited not turning around as Dodd continued.
" Here at the FBI, we don't consider any open cases as minor."

SALVATION chapter 19

Chapter 19

Michelle held Nick listening to the quiet breathing of his sleep. She bent slowly kissing the top of his head where it rest beneath the under slope of her breasts. The log fire snapped bringing warmth and a glow of shifting hues that danced to a rhythm of rain drops against glistening window sills. She moved ever so slightly and felt him sigh deep and rewarding. His right hand slipped like silk across her upper thigh resting at her hip line causing eruptions of pleasure deep within her loins. She dared not wake him and fulfill her growing need as he'd slept badly through the night and even as they dozed this afternoon. With all her might she scolded herself and the radiating heat that begged she move again stroking him softly. Catching her quickening breath at the thought of bringing him to a semi-conscience-ness while she had her way with him.
They'd spent last evening sharing events of their travels. Gorging on pizza while catching up with the television news. Michelle listened in awe Nick's description of the Zoot Suit Man and the mad cows. He in turn spellbound when Michelle realized Herman Gilespie was at the heart of the chaos. They both spoke with Michelle's Parents, however she made the conversation brief promising to call first thing in the morning. She giggled at Nick's chivalry as he attempted to lay his bedding on the floor then scolded him advising he'd better be on the bed next to her within two seconds flat.
She wondered if it would always be this way between them. If it was possible for a man and woman to be-this close for long. And for a moment her emotion made known itself a tear for she believed it to be true..Even as all her previous life professed it an illusion...She believed it to be true. An uncontrolled joy left her shuddering from within and Nick stirred from a dreamless sleep. His left hand slipped forward cupping her hip as his lips planted kisses along her stomach line tickling their way between her parting thighs. A low moan escaped her as she ran her fingers through his hair. Leaning back against fluffy down feathers she closed her eyes.

It was near dark as the Bell 206 whisked Samantha and Hal westward over the city of Los Angeles. The lights of the skyline stretched galactic swirling colors of red, green, white, blue, and gold. A tolling day filled with event left them tired and hungry. A dripping ceiling had rolled into the Los Angeles basin while they were away. At the Parker Center car lot Hal slipped in the passenger side of his cruiser as Sam had requested to drive.
They pulled out into light traffic as the state of emergency had now been lifted. An unspoken protocol loomed between them. Police ethics surrounding the behavior of male and female partners dictate she would drop off at her house and he proceed with the car to his home across town.
For several minutes neither spoke as she navigated a succession of slick surface streets bringing them closer to her home in Mar Vista.
An awkwardness of expected separation pinched it's self between the seats of the police car. Traffic lights that normally worked against the flow of time seemed intent in falling green as the miles shortened in destination.
"What time did you want to start tomorrow?" she asked making a right turn onto Culver Boulevard. The signal flasher sounded like a metronome in his ears. Intermittent wipers swept periodic drizzle from their view.
"How does about seven sound?"
Store front lighting mixed with greasy roadway painted rainbows over a canvas of black background.
"It's ok with me,..She sounded annoyed..Your the one has to come all the way from,...Santa Monica isn't it?" Her tone mimicked his own feelings of hollowness. Through out their time at Desert Center they'd felt natural together. As if being together had always been meant for them. Finding themselves mesmerized in soft glancing touches and a vibrancy that filled the spaces between them.
"I don't mind Sam."
"Well I do!" She snapped..."Damn it!"..She sighed massaging long perfect fingers against her left temple.."I should have taken the time to stop at Metro and pick up my own car...Instead I...."
She pulled over breaking hard and parallel parked. Hal looked out the side window through distorted rain drops recognizing Samantha's condominium complex...They'd arrived.
She turned toward him forcing the transmission into park. "Why did you change your mind?"
Her eyes flashed in the glow of red and green L.E.Ds illuminating the driver's console..Overhead street lamps pierced the windshield bringing her body in Hal's eyes a sharp silhouette.
"Why did you bring me in on this case?"
She shut down the engine- the cabin as quiet as a confessional.
Seeing her this way-filled with emotion- Hal felt her full impact and was overwhelmed by her beauty.
She shook her head..."We're,...we're working partners for Christ's sake." Her shoulders sagged, her face turned away looking out at the street.
He reached down unbuckling his seat belt. His decision to bring her on the case hit him full force. He didn't fully realize until this moment what lie beneath the logic.
"Sam."....
Her voice cracked, "What?"
"I....I don't want to say goodnight."
Her shoulders straightened and her eyes took him in...
"....I am,...crazy about you Sam," his head shook as if he were lost.
Her hands trembled unlinking her seat belt as he spoke.
"Come home with me tonight."..
She threw herself into his arms and he held her tight. Their mouths meeting in greedy melding passion.
"Come home with me tonight, he whispered stroking her hair.
She nodded against him wiping tears from her face and sat up.
"What about Quentin?"
"I think that's why we're here baby....I think we're here to pick Quen up."

SALVATION chapter 18

Chapter 18

Zoot Suit Man growled frustration on several levels. The one on the motorcycle was going to be like a monkey throwing proverbial wrenches into the workings of his plans. He knew this to be true because as a ranking General in the armies of the underworld Zoot Suit Man possessed the power of foresight. It was a milky crystal at best however, coupled with the tight political reigns dictated by the kingdom downstairs he found himself sitting like a lame duck. "Fucking politics!" His rage bellowed into the atmosphere bouncing off pillars of moisture stacking themselves like giant mushrooms off the Gulf of Mexico. As if in response to a tantrum the heavens released a purple bolt of power followed by a thunderous clap.
Zoot Suit Man cowered. His eyes shifting side to side as pelting rain fell a reminder how easily he could be touched.
He hated the old souls like the one temple inside the motorcycle rider. He'd peered at it back at Brawley then stepped back in revulsion recognizing it for what it was- untouchable.
Maybe two or three lifetimes ago while the thing was stitching down it's seams he'd have concocted a means to slither in via the weakness of a stressed life. Now it was too late. Assassination the only option.
"Big fish that got away," he mumbled to himself aware his thoughts and actions may quite possibly be subject to monitoring.
He also hated the fact if successful eliminating the man as he tried outside the shit kicker town, he'd be cut by his own double edged sword. The old soul was ready to move on and if Zoot Suit Man pushed the envelope it meant trouble for Methuselah just down the road. When old souls move on they always wind up Generals for the other side.
"Damned if you do, damned if you don't," he snickered at the irony of it all. He hunkered down at the base of an oak tree that instantly turned the color of charcoal.
Above all else he hated Methuselah. Hated the better than thou attitude of the politician sitting in the comfy confines of his elevated throne. Spitting policy and missions statements to subordinates such as Zoot Suit Man under the constant frenzy of squirming pussy straddling his lap. The bastard pretended confidence when in fact Methuselah was driven by fear. His first priority always protection of the balance of power. The rights of passage in the lower echelons of the universe dependant on it. Everybody answers to somebody.
Ten thousand Generals were currently chained and caged in the depths of Hades for simply exercising what Zoot Suit Man determined displays of enthusiasm while fulfilling their campaigns.
Personally Zoot Suit Man thought General Goloth did an outstanding service with her work in Russia-Germany-Poland during and after the second world war. She however was not shown a hero's welcome when she came marching home. Methuselah was in a rage claiming to have nearly lost his keys to the realm. Goloth's reward was her tits cut off and her head stuck on a stake. A welcome wagon on the inside shore of the river Styx.
Most Generals secretly sided with Zoot Suit Man's thirst for the big show
and Methuselah saw his strategy kept the domain's legions in a state of famished readiness.
Methuselah's strategy of plausible deniability rest major responsibility on the palms of weaker souls. Affording self protection under the guise of free will. Especially stealthy in an age of reason. Man's obsession with natural science and technology over the last two hundred years compels eager explanation the aspects of the universe in terms of natural phenomena. Perfect camouflage.
Zoot Suit found his concentration at last and set about the task of organizing his priorities. He had given Herman Gilespie the power of invisibility. Herman would now trek under the direction of Little Birdie to
his final destination. There Zoot Suite Man's campaign would be realized. He trusted Little Birdie to teach Herman how to use the power efficiently as to remain undetected. Alone Herman would do something stupid in a heart beat. Wind up captured. Reduced to a sideshow freak in a traveling circus. He knew Herman was in Vegas now and he hoped to holy hell Little Birdie had a handle on it. The last thing he needed was Herman making a spectacle of himself.

Thunder clouds cracked overhead as Hal sat on the edge of a pine
desk inside the stuffy office quarters of B&D Auto Repair.
He waited for the resonance to subside in an effort to maintain a calming demeanor when speaking with Mary and Albert Fairfield. Outside, Riverside County Sheriff Deputies wrapped the property line with ribbons of crime scene tape matching the color of their rain slickers.
Three helicopters rest on the immediate perimeters. An LAPD Bell 206 Hal had flown in on. An FBI Bell 412 with side door cargo bay. Also a huge dirt colored U.S. Army CH-47 Chinook. The United States Northern Command had been monitoring the case closely as FBI and Police updates rolled into their computers and phone lines. The scene at Desert Center caught attention as a possible National Security matter.
The invisible bundle at the back of the repair facility was guarded by U.S. Army personnel. The FBI had been advised after it's initial investigation the evidence would be confiscated by the military and deemed classified.
Hal had been instructed to inform Mister and Missus Fairfield the mass of invisibility was in fact a form of experimental stealth technology developed by the United States and subsequently stolen by foreign espionage. The sample located behind their business an attempt to transport the technology out of the country via Mexico. Mary and Albert Fairfield were being treated as patriotic hero's in light of their coincidental discovery and timely notification to authorities.
All a white lie of course as no one on the ground had any clue what mysterious components created the illusion of invisibility. Hal felt a responsibility to convince the couple however in the spirit of their protection. Lending his impromptu speech the best acting skills he could muster.
Hal perceived his current role as that of 'good cop' knowing full well the couple would soon be visited by strong arm federal lawyers armed with affidavits of sworn secrecy for the Fairfield's to sign. They would be told in no uncertain terms if those sworn commitments were in any way violated the couple would be subjecting themselves to charges of treason.
He shivered hoping Samantha's chopper would arrive soon. He was not prepared for the sudden shift in weather bringing with it a constant drizzle and his bones chilled.
The reversal of mind cementing his decision to bring Sam into the case was not uncharacteristic of Hal's psychological assimilation. Especially when confronted by the mixtures of emotion surrounding a woman he cared for. Eons of conditioning flowed through hard wires of evolution beginning a million and a half years ago when prehistory men gathered concepts of who they are by the roles they played. Hunters-leaders-protectors of the tribes from which they sprang. Hal's natural gravity toward protection was the driving force in his initial response.
Not until he'd finished his conversation with Samantha did he sensed a rising concern. His decision hadn't adequately blend with the emotional complexities of a modern man. Samantha is not just a woman. She is a highly skilled sharpshooter capable of lethal hand to hand combat. Trained with the ears of a fox and eyes of a hawk. He needed her. If for no other reason than to protect him. Together they would watch each other's back and hadn't that been his concern all along?
"If you'll excuse me Mister and Missus Fairfield I am going to step outside. I am expecting my partner to arrive any moment." Albert and Mary nodded grateful for the break in interrogations that had not ceased since the arrival of the first Sheriff's Deputy almost three hours ago. They had felt closer to each other at this moment than they had in years. The traumatic events of the day bringing them together. Albert's right arm held his wife's shoulder in a bonding embrace.
Hal stepped outside shielding rain under the metallic roof line of the building. He pulled a pack of Pall Mall's from the inside pocket of his gray sports coat and lit one up nodding to Agent Marsh and Sanchez, two FBI men assisting in the case. After an initial search of the immediate area for any sign of Gilespie's presence, they were busy scouring the property for evidence of his departure.
He worked his way to the back of the shop where the team of infantry and police where swapping war stories like old chums.
The hunk of invisibility wasn't invisible any more. Rain had clung and saturated the mass to where over half the chrome framed motorcycle exposed it's self like a dead deer after Mister Hendley's Celica plowed it over. It had an appearance of hovering. The left side of the bike lay against the ground still invisible somewhat protected from the rain. Before the drizzle started the same method of detection had been deployed by the services of a garden hose attached to a outside spigot. Water sprayed over the estimated boundaries exposed the previously unexposed for what it was.
Hal had called in the license plate confirming the chopper to be the stolen vehicle of Jason Blackwell. He then put in a request to Chief Dodd's office that local authorities be alerted of the possibility Gilespie escaped the area in a stolen vehicle.
He turned his attention west to the familiar echo of rotor chop approaching from that direction. Stamping out the cigarette he made his way around pot holes of puddles forming in the black top to a vacant section south of the property. Sam's chopper was coming in and he wanted to be there to greet her.


The Zoot Suit Man snickered watching Hal and Samantha pour over the discarded motorcycle to the delight of the infantry standing around. Every time she leaned over there was an appreciation of fine ass for their mental stimulation. Other than the obvious tabs he'd be keeping on these two as time progressed, there was something about them he found threatening. His head cocked changing perspective that he might grasp what it was about the two he could not fathom. A closeness encompassed them Zoot Suit Man could not understand. A confusion in the manner they communicated themselves through body language. It was as if they possessed a secret known only to them. The Zoot Suit Man found it both fascinating and disheartening. He did not like surprises.
As for the discovery of the motorcycle it was of no concern. The knew exactly what was to become of it's fate. After the military had prodded, probed and performed every experiment know to man in an effort to gain insight as to the aspect of it's invisibility they would simply give up. Eventually sealed in a crate labeled Top Secret. Shipped and stored at a military warehouse liken to the last scene of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.

"Waste of a nice bike," Samantha confided to Hal as they finished their inspection and moved into the repair facilities working bay. The military unit immediately began the process of tarping the bike and transporting it to the waiting Chinook helicopter. He leaned into her ear and whispered.
"I got a piece of broken tail light lens in my hand".
"Great," she smiled.
He continued, "I want to see if it reappears by it's self after time."
"Good idea." She sneaked a look around confirming no one had noticed them.
"You know what I am wondering? If this guy Gilespie was able to do what he did to that bike. He might have done the same thing to himself."
Hal thought about what she said and added. "For one, the guy's a loser. There's no way he did this alone. But, yeah your right, we may be looking for this guy and wow."..It hit him hard what Samantha had said.
If what she thought was true Gilespie could have slipped in the back of some unsuspecting motorist's car while they filled up at a local gas station. Or if he was bold enough to steal a vehicle it was going to be a shocker for the CHP officer who pulls him over and finds nobody at the wheel.
"It's creepy," Samantha said, "like everything about this case."
"Yeah," Hal nodded, "and the music thing too. Who ever did this was the brains behind that as well."
Checking their privacy as she spoke, "So where does that leave us?"
He shivered. "Right now we know he's heading east, that's a start..Listen Sam, I am freezing. What do you say we go get some coffee?"
"Oh honey! Why didn't you tell me?" She said alarmed.
He smiled, "I like that."
"What?"
He shrugged, "Honey."
"Yeah?..You like I call you honey,..honey?"
He smiled. "Yeah, don't ever stop."

Nick pushed smoldering embers around before placing another log in the fireplace. Michelle sat up in the queen size bed talking to her Parents for the second time today. She'd slept sound until 7 am when the smell of fresh brewed coffee rose her. Nick had already checked in with his friends hole up at the studio. Toby, Buck and Mac were fine other than the inconveniences that seem to center from the lack of a tooth brush and ripple outward from that point. All three men were anxious to return to their homes promising Nick they would not do so prematurely.
After initial morning contacts they felt no desire to budge from the sanctuary of the cabin. Michelle curled herself around Nick and they fell back to sleep until after noon. Now as she described to her Parents the events of the last twenty four hours Nick fought a hazy fatigue despite the quiet day.
His sleep had been restless plagued with nightmare. Finding himself emerged among indefinite landscapes shifting like fast moving clouds.
In a confusing state of roles sometimes out of breath running from an undefinable sense of evil that stalked him through forests of ravaged trees. Black and braking limbs crashed at his every step to a living floor that rose and fell like a breath under his feet. Foreboding shapes loomed above as if about to strike then with audible gasps sped away merging with dark ceilings of skyline against burnt amber horizons expanding at light speed toward infinite boundaries. As suddenly he was centered in a brilliant light. Surrounded by millions of living bubbles gravitating toward him. Their touch filling him with emotion. Some inspiring a soothing calm while others filled him with a mighty resolve. He saw himself a warrior leading charge from the upper grounds of snow capped mountains against hordes of black minion pouring out a canyon rimmed in fiery volcanoes. Thousands of naked horsemen as himself armed with golden sickles answering the call.
An avalanche of stallions born of a place where fear did not exist, tore through horror struck legions of the damned until writhing in defeat they fled- throwing themselves into the mouths of spewing fire from which they came.
"Come here baby," Michelle's arms stretched out toward him. Her cell phone discarded. He set aside the fire tools and slipped into her arms. She felt him shudder and decided he was cold pulling the blankets around them.

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.