Т Паркер - The Room of White Fire

“Okay. Enthused but not agitated. Maybe stopping all the meds was a good idea. He looks fit and sane and tan. And he’s got a darling young companion.”

I nodded. “Did she seem okay?”

“Fine. Very stuck on Clay, by the way she looked at him.”

“And all he said about his next destination was ‘back south’?”

“Just like I said on the phone. The girl — Sequoia? — seemed pleased with that, since her trailer is there. Isn’t that delightful, the great Hickman male hooked up with a girl who lives in a trailer?”

I said nothing, instead picturing a map of California in my head and drawing a bold black line from Arcadia, south to San Diego’s Waterfront Bar and Grill, then north two hundred miles to Ojai in Ventura County, then north another three hundred miles to Redwood Valley in Mendocino. Since then, his known destinations had been farther and farther south — San Francisco and Laguna Beach. So, could “back south” from Laguna mean La Jolla and Briggs Spencer? Was Clay ready to bring him the white fire?

“Had you communicated with him since he escaped from the hospital? Before yesterday?”

“Of course. Text messages and email.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he’d taken a leave of absence,” said Daphne. “It was tongue in cheek. We both know that Arcadia is as much a prison as it is a hospital. He said he wasn’t ever going back. He said he was on a mission, and when it was over he would come see me.”

I asked if I could read the message chain with Clay but she said she’d deleted it, out of habit. She was not a message-chain saver. Her phone notified her of something. She checked it and set it back down on the table. “Gotta run soon.”

When I asked her why she communicated with Clay but never visited him at Arcadia, she gave me a sharply disappointed look.

“I saw it once,” she snapped. “Haven’t you? It’s a medication-fueled playground for dysfunctional members of the one percent. It angers me that Rex and Pat have put him there. What they really want is for Clay to go away. This big hero who Rex lived his fantasies through? Now he’s just a shame to them. I’m fond of Clay. We used to laugh. We are both painters. In our different ways, we are both free. I don’t consider myself a Hickman. Don’t want to be. Maybe that’s why Clay and I get along.”

Daphne’s disdain for her parents was fierce. Unlikable people, I agreed, but I had read them differently. I saw decency and love behind their frustration with their son. Saw them trying to protect and even heal Clay in the best way they knew, not simply locking him away from the world. There had to be more beneath her anger than Clay being sent to Arcadia. I decided to come back to that. “Do you know anything about Clay’s time in Romania during the war? From 2008 to ’09?”

“I’m pretty sure he was in Iraq. A jet mechanic. I really do need to go.”

“Have you met Briggs Spencer?”

“I don’t even know who he is. I don’t get out of Laguna very often, Mr. Ford. It’s my cocoon. And that’s just the way I like it.”

“May I borrow these pictures?”

She stood. “You can have them. I’ve been wondering what to do with them for years.”

“Please, think back to yesterday. Did he say anything about where he was going next?”

“Only south.”

“Did he ever talk to you about Vazz and the fighting dolls?”

Daphne sighed impatiently and looked down at me with a surprised expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“One more question?”

“All right.”

“Why do you detest your parents?”

“I don’t. I just will not be around them. The way he treats her. The way she lets him treat her. It’s an alcohol-soaked knot they’ll never untie. They don’t want to untie it. Scenes and ‘accidents’ and dramatic apologies. Enough. I don’t have to be around it. They can’t stand my lifestyle anyway. And I’m not about to give up my right to love who I want to love.”

I bagged the pictures and stood just as the front door flew open and a husky young woman barreled in. She wore a snap-brim panama and a smile until she saw me. Then she took off the hat, dropped the smile, and gave me an assessing stare. Her hair was razor-cut, and she wore baggy trousers, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a wide floral necktie.

“Just the PI,” said Daphne, going to her.

The woman strode past her to me with her hand out. “Melinda Campbell. I own Daphne’s gallery on PCH. How do you do?” Her shake was warm and firm.

“Very well, thank you.”

“Have you found Clay?”

“I’ve practically got him surrounded.”

She smiled. “He looked good yesterday. Of course, I don’t know him as well as Daph. But he had peace in his eyes. Maybe that’s attributable to not being in a mental institution any longer.”

“Please call me if you see him again,” I said, putting on my hat.

“Nice shantung.”

“Thank you. It was a gift.”

“I’ve got one kind of like it.”

She gestured to the entryway rack, scarcely visible beneath all the hats.

“Any of them lucky?”

“All of them. But only on certain days. I’ve learned their powers over time.”

I headed south on PCH, pulled into a pay space, and sent a text message to Sequoia.

3:48 PM

Where are u? I need to see Clay

3:49 PM

I have changed mind. U must trick Deimos and bring HIM to ME

3:51 PM

This is new, Clay!

3:52 PM

Great ideas change. U work for him so he must trust u so easy to fool

3:53 PM

If I can do that, where and when?

3:55 PM

Must make arrangements, won’t take long

3:56 PM

What arrangements?

3:56 PM

Can Dr. Hulet come too?

3:57 PM

That is up to her but I guess yes. Do u want me to give her this number?

3:58 PM

No. Arcadia full of evil spies. No. No.

3:59 PM

Okay. Are you still in California?

4:01 PM

In my own state of mind

4:02 PM

S, are you okay?

4:03 PM

Not just okay. In love for first time

4:03 PM

BRING ME DEIMOS!!!

4:04 PM

Okay. When and where?

4:05 PM

I will say when time and place are right.

4:06 PM

What do you want from all this, Clay?

4:08 PM

To be a hero.

4:09 PM

Dr. Hulet says you are a hero.

4:11 PM

She has always believed in me. She is the healer I always wanted to be.

4:13 PM

Heal yourself, Clay.

I waited twenty minutes. Listened to the news. A Laguna Beach meter maid came by and said she’d have to ticket me if I didn’t move. I punched the truck down PCH toward Dana Point, phone on the seat beside me, ringtone and volume pegged on high.

But Clay had gone silent again.

I picked up Interstate 5 south, hit the eternal San Clemente jam-up, then a wreck at San Onofre nuclear plant. Traffic inched. I pulled into the rest stop near Pendleton, walked out for a look at the Pacific, smoked a cigarette. I wondered how long Roland Ford would have to wait on Clay Hickman. Then weighed that against Clay’s desire to tell his story to Nell Flanagan. Okay, I thought. Time to pull this trigger.

I got David Wills’s burner from the glove box and sent Clay a message from Nell Flanagan’s cagey story editor.

5:23 PM

Nell loves idea in spite of government hurdles and has asked me to audition you! This is first step in process. You and I will meet, you will tell me your story (off camera), and show me any relevant material you have (the video). Please be prepared and organized. If your story is as good as I think it will be, Nell will green-light the segment! FYI: In my two-plus years with Nell, she has NEVER ONCE declined to do a segment that I have personally endorsed. I can sell Nell! Thoughts?