Kem Nunn - Tapping the Source

A waitress came and poured coffee, took their orders. Ike wrapped his fingers around the mug. “What else did he talk about?”

“A lot of things; some pretty crazy things. He didn’t always make sense.” She paused for a moment. “He mentioned Janet Adams,” she began again, slowly. “He called to her. And some of the time I think he thought he was talking to her, thought I was her or something. But I guess it made me start thinking back to what you and I had talked about. Anyway, one day I went to the library. They keep old newspapers there on microfilm and I wanted to see what had been in the papers about Janet Adams. All I had ever heard on the subject was talk; and like I told you, it was some time ago.”

Ike took a sip of his coffee and burned his mouth. The waitress showed up with their breakfast. Plates rattled against the counter. The greasy smell of fried eggs hit him in the face.

“I found the articles, one in the local paper and another in the L.A. Times . There were a number of things I hadn’t known or hadn’t remembered. You asked me once about Milo Trax. Well, the article in the Times concentrated mainly on him. He is the guy who owns the Trax Ranch. Apparently his father was one of the first Hollywood movie moguls. He was the one who bought the land and had the house built. At any rate, his son Milo owns it now, he’s some kind of playboy, I guess, and for a time he was into making surf films. Evidently that was what was going on when Janet died. Milo Trax had taken Preston, Hound, and Janet down to Mexico on his yacht. Then the men came back alone, without Janet. The first story was that she had drowned. Then some Mexican fishermen found the body, and that was when it was discovered that her death had been drug-related. And they found something else out, too, that she had been pregnant.”

Ike had not touched his food. He was still staring into the pink Formica. The sunlight was coming through the glass behind them now, heating up his neck, and there were flies buzzing against the glass. Barbara put down her fork. She reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “I’ve just started,” she told him. “Stupid, isn’t it?”

Ike shrugged. The only thing he could think of just now was the similarity of two stories: two trips to Mexico. Two girls who had not returned. When he closed his eyes, he saw the faded photograph in the shop, Janet Adams smiling at him out of the palest of skies. Certainly the similarity had not been lost on Preston. Was that why he had never said more, because to admit that he had a good idea of what had happened to Ellen would be to admit some involvement in the death of Janet Adams? New questions were forcing their way into his aching head with frightening speed.

“I don’t know how you think all of this connects with what may have become of your sister,” he heard Barbara say. “But I figured maybe that was why you were so interested in Hound and Preston. Preston said that your sister had been involved with Hound, or so you thought. And that was what you were up to, trying to find out something.”

“Is that all he said?”

“Basically. It was a fairly one-sided conversation. I know he thinks it’s a bad idea, that you’re going to wind up involved in something you may not find it so easy to get out of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” But he knew well enough what it meant.

Barbara shook her head. “I don’t know. But I have the feeling he’s probably right, for once. I’m frightened for you, Ike. You can’t get involved with people like Hound Adams and expect any good to come from it.”

The trouble was, he was not even listening now. A new and terrible thought was slowly seeping into his consciousness. If there had been other trips to Mexico, other girls who had not come back, what about the future? What about Michelle? He had already heard Hound talk it up, and he had heard Michelle say she wanted to go. Christ, she would go in a minute now. He was sure of it. And then another thought struck him: the girls, the parties, the movies. Could that have been what Hound was up to, looking for a certain girl, the right girl for some terrible end? He felt his pulse hammering in his temples, and when he thought back on his stupid attempt to talk to her at Hound’s, he felt that he might be sick on the counter. He even imagined that he was responsible, that he had driven her to Hound with his own paranoia and erratic behavior. But he was sure of one thing: He would not stay in Huntington Beach and see Michelle leave with Hound Adams. He would not wait for Hound Adams to come back alone. It would not happen like that this time. He would find a way to stop her. He would find a way and he would make it work. It was suddenly all that mattered.

He could scarcely remember what else he and Barbara said to each other on the way home. All he could think about was Michelle, and that he wanted to talk to Preston again, consequences be damned.

They came upon the duplex from the backside this time and stood near a small hedge that separated the yard from the alley. There was a gate in the hedge and Barbara stopped with her hand resting on it.

“I should come in,” Ike said. “I should talk to him.”

She had taken her shades out of her purse and slipped them on. “Not now,” she said. “I’m sure he’s sleeping. He had just taken some medication when I left. It always knocks him out for a while. Then he wakes up and starts drinking.”

He told her about seeing Preston in front of the shop.

“Happens all the time,” she said. She turned away for a moment, then looked back toward him. “I’m leaving him for good, Ike. I’ve put some applications in at some schools. My father’s going to foot the bill. But I’m getting out.”

He wasn’t sure what to say. He waited.

“You think that’s terrible, running out on him when he needs me? Something like that?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can’t handle it anymore. It’s like I’ve woken up to what I told you that night in your room. I’m not going to sit around and watch my life go down the tubes any longer. I’m going to get on with it. And he’s killing himself, Ike, for sure now. It’s just a question of time. I can’t watch any longer.”

Ike felt the sunlight on his shoulders. He felt very tired and somehow unmoved by what Barbara was saying. After all, it was his fucking karma, wasn’t it? Damn him. All he wanted now was to talk to him once more. Let him live long enough for that, at least. “I’m coming by,” he said. “Tonight.”

“Not tonight. His parents are supposed to be coming by later today. And I’m packing. They’re going to give me a ride into the city. That should be a scene.”

“I’ll come by late.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said. “I don’t know what to tell you to expect. He’s bad, Ike.” She dropped her cigarette in the alley and stepped on it. Then she reached into her purse and took out a matchbook and pen. She scribbled a number on the inside cover. “Call me if anything happens. If you’re still around. Good-bye, Ike.” She put a hand on his forearm, then turned and started down the walkway without looking back.

Ike stood for a moment in the alley, watching her. He felt irritable and slightly dizzy as he walked back toward the Sea View apartments; there were times when he actually thought he was disappearing in the heat waves that rose from the pavement at his feet.

He climbed the stairs to his room, aware now that his shoulder had begun to throb again, and he went to the bathroom to peel the gauze from the still bloody-looking act of madness. He felt the breeze, cool on his hot skin. He wondered what had happened to him. He wondered who he was and was frightened to discover he could not recognize the crazy face and tattooed body caught in the ancient discolored glass above the sink.