NORTH NORTH HOLLYWOOD - Chapter 38 -by Peter Nolan Smith

THIRTY-EIGHT

Sean drove away west on the Ventura Freeway in a blinding downpour, heading anyplace, but the apartment of Sepulveda since that was the first place the police would come looking for the killer of a policeman. Lena was out cold and he turned up the heat, started singing the words to a song by Jerry Jeff Walker to calm his nerves, "If I could just get off of the Ventura Freeway without getting killed or caught."
The song might have been silly, but Sean obeyed the words of the song, until the gas gauge hit E. Nothing kills a getaway faster than an empty tank, so he pulled off the freeway to gas up at the Malibu Canyon service station.
Before paying for the gas, Sean checked on Lena, who was breathing normal and then through the downpour to the convenience store and phoned Sherri. She deserved a warning, but he only got the answering machine on her cell.
After warning her to stay away from the apartment, he drove away, ready to go to the ends of the Earth, for his sins in New York had caught up with him again and had endangered Lena. He needed to put some miles between him and the Valley, except the trip over the Santa Monica Mountains was so torturous, that Sean turned into the first motel on the Pacific Coast Highway.
The motel manager refrained from commenting about Sean's battered face or lack of shoes, for he had seen hundreds of drifters throughout his tenure at the front desk. Some of them good, some of them bad, but as long as they paid in advance their appearance was strictly their own business.
After being handed the key to the room farthest from the road, Sean parked the Taurus with its rear end against a retaining wall, so no one could read the plate. Getting a blanket from the room, Sean covered Lena before carrying her to the bed, where he unfastened the leather and metal harness from her shivering body. Going back outside, Sean rummaged through the car, glad to be re-untied with his old leather bag and Irish passport. It would come in handy during his trip south.
Rifling through deRocco's bag turned up nothing special, so he brought inside his bag, in the aluminum case, the computer, and the.38, on which the lingering smell of cordite was physical proof that Lena really had shot a man. Nothing could convict them faster than being caught with the murder weapon in their possession, yet Sean told himself he might need the gun later and put the revolver on the night table before plugging in the computer, although he couldn't open the program, because he didn't have the code.

Lena was sleeping soundly, so he inspected the harness and the PC. Remembering what he had been told back at the studio, Sean slowly pieced together that the harness was designed to register readings from Lena's body for the computer, though to what end was a mystery, which Lena might be able to explain, unfortunately she wasn't breaking free of sleep any time soon and he sat down on the bed to feel her head, but found himself stroking her hair. Only an hour ago he could have had her any way he wanted, but now he was satisfied with only a caress. Before he let himself go, Sean kissed her forehead and sat in the room's only chair, telling himself to be strong.
Sean turned on the TV, surfing the channels for any news about a killing in the Valley, but every stations' newscast carried nothing, but live coverage of coastal devastation. It didn't make any sense that a murder involving a porno starlet and a NYPD detective wasn't the lead story. Either the coverage of the typhoon had bumped everything else off the line-up or the LAPD had not leaked the story to the Press. The third possibility was that no one at the studio had called the police, but he had to play it safe and act, as if Lena and he were wanted criminals. This left them a few options.
Calling the police and giving himself up to the authorities meant facing murder charges and possibly being incarcerated, if only till bail was arranged. Lena was too young and he was too old for a long jail bid. Every cell in his body told him to run, yet his New Year's resolution prevented him from abandoning Lena in this condition.
Sean picked up the phone several times, but resisted calling anyone, especially Sherri, for the police would be monitoring calls to the apartment. Left to his own device, he stared at the TV without any of the images reaching his brain. Soon he closed his eyes and fall asleep, for what seemed to be the first time in days.
When he woke, Sean stood up and stretched his body, most of which ached from new and old injuries, since sleeping in a chair isn't the best way to spend the night. Seeing Lena was still asleep, Sean limped over to the window and drew back the shades.
White clouds streaked across the cerulean blue sky and bright sunlight lit up the land. The storm was over, but the picking up had yet to begun. The gale-force winds had skinned the bark from the eucalyptus trees bordering the motel's property. Broken branches were scattered across the parking lot and a thick layer of mud had washed down the nearest hill, proving the storm had had its way with California. Normally he would have gone back to sleep, except he had to get rid of the car and get Lena some clothing, for nothing arouses the interest of the police faster than a naked woman.
Sean stashed the .38 under the bed and wrote a note, telling Lena to stay put until his return. He thought about kissing her, but left without disturbing Lena, for she would need the extra hour's sleep in the day to come.
The onshore wind carried the soft fragrant mélange of coastal sage and ocean salt, as Sean surveyed the subdued hues of the vegetation covering the steep hillsides. Flowers were popping out from the fire-scarred underbrush, for the winter rain had brought the arid coastline back to life. After asking the clerk for directions to the nearest shopping center, Sean bought a LA Times from the newspaper dispenser, which he read inside the Taurus. The pages didn't contain a single line about a murder in the Valley.
Sean scratched his head. Nobody lets you get away with murder, especially if the victim is a cop. Stumped by the mystery, he drove the Taurus down the devastated coast. The empty coastal highway reminded him of hitchhiking up Route 1 on the way to Big Sur back in 1970. There might be more houses on the hillsides and the road was wider, otherwise not much else had changed since those hippie days.
The sun was burning off the last patches of the morning fog far at sea and the Pacific's siren call proved irresistible, so he steered the Taurus onto the wide gravel shoulder. Sean got out of the car and walked to the edge of a bluff overlooking a long stretch of beach, which was being pounded by angry waves. It was nature at its most elemental and Sean had to get closer.
Descending on a steep path, he lost his footing and slid the last five yards to the hard-packed sand, invisible to anyone on the highway. Extreme cold emanated from the foamy eddy of the sea, but he had not come here to just test the water with his toes and stripped to his underwear, to plunge recklessly into a crashing wave.
The frigid surf shocked his skin. A dull ache, similar to having eaten ice cream too fast, throbbed in his temples, as his arms and the kick of his legs propelled him through the winter water. Fifty yards out he broke the surface and bobbed on a wave, tossing his head back to float on his back and stare at the wide sky. This was what life was all about, not that man-made insanity on land. He was about to scream with the exhilaration of being one with the wind, sun, and ocean, when a surging current swelled underneath him.
A spear of terror pithed his spine and his eyes searched for a dorsal fin cutting through the water, then he frantically swam to shore. A fierce breaker tossed Sean onto the beach and he scrambled away from the reach of the sea. As warm blood flowed back to his outer skin, he studied the ocean, but nothing broke the surface to explain his fear. The surge had only been the eternal movement of the ocean, but one swim was enough and Sean dried off with the jacket and brushed the sand from his feet before putting on the Levis. He climbed the cliff on all fours, but stopped sharply upon reaching the road, for a CHiP's cruiser was parked next to the Taurus. Hand on her holster, the female officer held up the car keys and asked, "How was your swim?"
"Cold,” Sean replied, ready to be arrested.
"Is this your car?” She peered at him through mirrored sunglasses.
"No, it rented. You want to see my ID?" Sean made a motion to pull out his passport, but the officer indicated he had better keep his hands in sight. Lucky for him too, since she could have busted him for driving without a license.
"You're awfully brave to be swimming this time of year."
"I'm not scared of sharks," Sean lied.
"I bet you aren't, but that's not what get you." The officer took off her cap and explained with all the bloodlessness of the gruesome accident films they forced you to watch in driving school, "Usually this time of year three or four out-of-staters see the ocean and have to go for a swim in it. They cramp up and drown. The current takes them out and the fish get to them. Not a pretty sight. I was just making sure you didn't become a statistic"
"Thanks, I appreciate that." Sean was shocked the officer was being so polite, for she would have definitely run the plates, while he was taking his swim, but oddly neither the theft of the Taurus nor deRocco's murder must have been reported.
"I bet you do. One more thing."
"What's that?" Sean told himself, "Here it comes."
"Leaving your keys in the car is an invitation for a thief.” She dangled the keys in her left hand. "We have enough trouble with carjackers without you helping them."
"Point taken, officer.” God was still on his side, but he couldn't figure out why.
"What's with your face?"
"A fight out in the valley. I lost.” Sean wondered whether those bruises could warrant her taking him in.
Both of their heads turned, as a high whine came around the corner of the PCH a second before the Ferrari did. The officer recognized bigger revenue prey and tossed the keys, warning, "Try and stay out of trouble."
After the cruiser tore off the shoulder of the road in a cloud of dust, Sean breathed easier. This was his second brush with the law without being arrested and he prayed this streak wouldn't end before he made it out of town.
Arriving at the shopping plaza, Sean abandoned the car with keys in the ignition, for a thief or joyrider would take it before he returned outside. Catching the reflection of his face in the broad windows of the all-purpose food mart convinced Sean another transformation was needed. Inside the market he headed straight to the hair care selection, because there's only so much fun you can have as a blonde.
Sean picked out a hair dye, scissors, two t-shirts, and a set of jeans and sneakers for Lena, plus some fruit, bread, yogurt and cheese to eat at the motel. Sean paid for the purchases with a good $100 bill and disappeared into the men's room to rinse in the hair dye.
Fifteen minutes later he emerged with jet-black hair. No one in the store noticed the change. He bought two sets of cheap sunglasses and exited into the bright sunshine. The Taurus was gone.
Walking to the highway with the big bag in his arm, Sean rethought their next move. Police had to be hunting for them. The clear course was to go on the run. Skipping across the Mexican border with Lena was a dream come true, one for which he would sacrifice his soul, but she would want to see Sherri, so the dream remained safely a dream, though he had to get out of town no matter what.
He stuck out his thumb to hitchhike a ride up the coast. Several cars and vans passed before a dented pick-up truck with several longboards strapped to its flatbed stopped. Sean clambered into the back, waving to the trio of old-time surfers in the front, and the pick-up pulled onto the highway.
"What a day.” Sean said to himself, admiring the ocean and wilderness beyond the strip of roadside civilization. Mighty swells lay on the Pacific like rows of corduroy. Birds soared on the thermals above the red rock crests. The wind blowing in his hair and the sun kissing his face granted him a momentary stay on his mortality and he wished this moment could last forever, but as they neared the motel, he slammed his hand on the side of the truck. The pick-up stopped and Sean jumped out, thanking the surfers with another wave. Checking both ways, he crossed the highway. There was no sense in getting run down this late in the game.
The motel clerk regarded him suspiciously, until Sean showed him the key, since he could have sworn the man had been blonde this morning, though after so many years at this job all faces were all mixed up in his head, so he returned to watching the TV news about the beach damage.
Sean turned the key in the lock and opened the door. Lena's calm breathing was the only sound in the shadowy motel room and her scent permeated the room. She was the image of an angel from another time and he felt like an unwelcome voyeur, but wanted some sleep and sat on the bed. Feeling the movement on the mattress, Lena's eyes opened and, despite the room's dimness, she could make out a stranger with black hair. She screamed and savagely lashed out with her nails, drawing blood.
Sean recoiled from the attack and yelled, "Lena, stop it."
"Is that you?” The man in the blonde hair had vanished again. Truthfully he had been an illusion all the time.
"Yeah, I changed my hair color,” Sean answered, holding his face. Blood trickled from the parallel lacerations, for Lena's nails were not just for show. "Cause the police will be after us."
The mention of the word ‘police' caused Lena to sit up. "Us?"
"You think they'd let you kill a cop?"
"That man was no cop."
"Yes, he was."
"How do you know?” she asked indignantly, suspicious of a trick.
"It's a long story, but the truth is that you killed someone and that means the police will be after us. You understand that, right?” Sean asked, for while she might be the number one suspect in this crime, he was a very strong number two, and the police didn't care who swung for a crime as long as it was someone close to the victim.
Lena nodded and pulled up the sheet to cover her naked body.
"What were you doing back there anyway?” Sean demanded.
She explained the phone call from Louie Sinreich, the offer for her to be the SOMA for the virtual reality program, being drugged, and his coming into the room, though she broke down before getting to the shooting or that she had called Sherri, while he had been out. Lena shut her eyes. The man was right. She had killed a man, but only to protect him and protested weakly, "I only did what I had to do."
"Yeah, I know that, but admitting that in court could end up being a death sentence,” Sean warned, though she had definitely been drugged by the man in the studio, which would help any plea of temporary insanity, but only if he were there to back up her testimony and he had no intentions of telling the truth and nothing, but the truth in a court of law. "The strange thing is that none of this has hit the papers or TV. Nothing."
"Maybe...."Lena had seen the bullet hit the man's back.”Maybe he didn't die."
"Maybe he didn't, but you still shot him.” Sean could have sworn deRocco was dead, but it took a lot to put down a big man. Still they were in a lot of trouble and he outlined her choices. "You can go to the police or you can go to a lawyer. My friend, Vic Granollers, is a big shot out here. His wife even wants you in a film. He should be able to get us a good lawyer. Of course we could always go on the run. Mexico is only a few hours away."
Lena immediately shook her head upon hearing the last option. "I'm not going anywhere without Sherri."
Sean was certain she was going to say that and explained, "We don't know where she is and going to the apartment would be a big mistake, since that's the first place the police would be staking out. I hope you see that."
She had as little interest in going to jail as this man, but every option pointed that way other than running and there was no way she could leave Sherri, so she shook her head and said, "I need to think alone."
"Take your time. Whatever your decision, I'll be there for you,” Sean offered and he left the motel room, half-hoping for her to call him back, but the door shut behind him without a single word from her lips.
The wind was weakening, as Sean walked across the parking lot to a meadow of wild grasses. Stopping at a ragged bluff above the broad Pacific Ocean, he breathed in the exhausted power of nature. Below the dusty cliff a score of wet-suited surfers bobbed on the incoming waves.
They had no fear of whatever lay beneath the surface or of the glassy waves rising from the deep. Looking over this serene setting should have calmed his nerves, but something told him whatever was about to happen would do so without his being told, since almost everything that had occurred in the last three weeks had been totally out of his control and mentally prepared himself for the worst.
Back inside the motel Lena lifted her head and glanced blankly around the room. Despite his warning she dialed home once more, begging for Sherri to pick up on the other end, but like before she only connected with the answering machine. "Sherri, if you're there, pick up. C'mon, pick up. Listen, I'm okay, but in big trouble. You probably already know everything. Please don't go home, and if you're there, leave. I'll get in touch with you somehow soon."
Lena had not felt so alone, since being deserted by her 'uncle' in that Paris hotel and she squeezed both arms around a pillow to repress a tremble of fear. She was sure Sherri was in trouble. Only six months ago endangering another person was an integral part of her dog-eat-dog world and she could have walked away without a single backward glance, however the last half-year with Sherri had thawed out her heart and she could no longer run away, because she was in love.
Praying she might have spent the night with Charley, Lena dialed the editor's number. After the fourth ring Charley picked up the phone and told Lena, "I haven't seen your girlfriend since yesterday. She was supposed to pick me up this morning. Is there anything wrong?"
"No, I'll have Sherri call you later.” There was no sense in getting Charley involved, so Lena hung up, her frame of mind worsening with every call.
Being unable to find her lover had convinced Lena that Sherri had been taken by Louie Sinreich and, if that was the case, then she would have to rescue her, only that would require help and only one person came to mind.
Lena searched through her pocketbook and fished out the card Isaac Conti had given her in Las Vegas. She punched in the number, not expecting to get the old man, since he had also vanished off the face of the earth. She was ready to hang up after the tenth ring, when a man gruffly asked, "What?"
"I'm looking for Isaac Conti." Lena thought she might have dialed a wrong number and her finger was about to press the END button, when the man demanded, "Who's calling?"
"Lena de Gama. A friend of Sherri's. He told me to call this number, if I needed his help.” Lena prayed the old man was there.
"Just a sec, I'll pass him to you."
"What's the problem, Lena?” Isaac asked.
"Maybe nothing.” Hearing his voice had a temporary calming effect on her nerves.
"If it were nothing, you wouldn't be calling me. Where's Sherri?"
"I thought she might be with me."
"You thought wrong. Where is she supposed to be?"
"At home, but she's not there.” Lena was on the verge of tears and the old man must have sensed this, for he said, "Calm down Lena. Whatever the problem is, we can solve it. Just start at the beginning, that's always best."
She choked down a sob and breathed deeply before recounting everything from the time she went to the studio to her escape. She was surprised how little remorse she had for having killed a man and only regretted she hadn't been able to shoot Louie Sinreich. The voice on the other end hesitated and asked, "And this man you were with? Where is he now?"
"Outside."
"And what do you think has happened to Sherri?"
"I think Louie has her,” Lena answered impotently, hoping Sherri's uncle would come up with some kind of a plan.
"You know where?"
"I have a good idea."
"Where are you?"
Lena picked up a postcard from the night table and told him the address of the motel.
"Don't go anywhere. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"What will we do then?"
"Let me worry about that. Just stay where you are,” Isaac said before hanging up.
Lena sat on the bed with the phone on her lap. The breeze carried the scent of the ocean through the open windows and the sun warmed the room, though none of these pleasantries touched Lena's senses, for she hurt so badly, but she told herself crying wasn't going to help anyone right now. Unfortunately she had no idea what would, so the tears started coming like a rain that would never stop and after the last storm everyone in Southern California knew what that was like.