Warren Murphy: Acid Rock

"You were sorry last year, you'll be sorry next year. I guess it's the way with the bureau, isn't it? To be sorry? We're having squash tonight. You like squash."

"If I had a choice, you know I wouldn't disappoint you again."

"Does it matter? Get washed up. We'll be eating in a minute."

"I can't stay."

Mrs. Blake scooped up one place setting and ran into the kitchen. Blake followed his wife. She was crying.

"Go. Just go," she sobbed. "I know you have to go. So just go."

"I love you," he said.

"What difference does that make? Just get out of here."

He tried to kiss her but she twisted her head away. She would remember, for the rest of her life, denying him that last kiss.

When Blake returned to headquarters, he realized his mistake. Two agents were in a side office talking,

"It's in there," said one, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. "We've got a real winner this time."

"How long has she been in there? Did she eat supper?"

"She says she doesn't have to eat. Eating is selfish."

"You check on her?"

"An hour ago. She says she doesn't know why she should be kept in prison when she hasn't done anything wrong. If you ask me, I'd like to see even more space in the generation gap."

"You should be with her," said Blake, and entered the room without a backward glance. It was dark. Blake turned on the lights.

"Damn," he said.

Flowing red hair cascaded over the arm of a chair. Two young white legs poked crazily over its back. The chest did not move. No apparent breathing. The loose tie-dyed tee shirt was motionless.

Blake rushed to the still form and put his ear to the heart. Was that a beat? Yes. Strong. Beating strongly.

"Let's ball," said the faint voice and Blake felt the voice vibrations against his cheek. He stood up. Her crystal blue eyes had pupils the size of pinheads. The light pink lips formed a weak, silly grin.

"Let's ball," she said.

"Miss Stoner, what did you take?"

"A trip to the mountain. I'm on the mountain. The mountain. Fuhhh-reaked out. Fuhhhreaked."

"Did Miss Stoner have a pocketbook, bag, anything?" Blake called to the other agents.

"Yeah, Bill. Sort of a small pouch."

"Search it and give me the drugs."

Blake watched the girl try to focus her eyes.

"No drugs here," said the other agent.

"I'm going to search her. Get in here," said Blake, who wanted a witness and corroborating testimony should the girl later claim an improper advance was made against her.

Her blue jeans were faded and tight. Blake patted the pockets and felt a small vial.

As he reached for it, she said:

"Foreplay. Good. I like foreplay."

The pills were like small yellow aspirin tablets.

"Mescaline?" asked Blake.

"No thanks, I'm already turned on," said Vickie Stoner.

"She's all yours," said the agent.

"She's ours," corrected Blake. "I want two men with her at all times. At all times." Blake checked his watch. They would miss the evening flight to Washington, D.C. He wasn't going to take her on a plane in this condition. Blake and the two agents sat with her during the night. Just before dawn, she began to cry, then she closed her eyes and went to sleep. When she awoke, she was ravenous. She wanted three superburgers, a double order of french fries, a cola and a milkshake.

They drove to a drive-in hamburger stand and when they left, she demanded they stop at a cigar store. She said she wanted a chocolate bar and just couldn't go on without one. Blake thought she was too long inside the store and started in after her, but he met her in the doorway. "Just something I had to do," she explained, but would not tell him what it was. He noticed she did not have a chocolate bar in her hand.

As they neared the airport, she turned on the radio and kept moving the dial until what appeared to be static with a beat came from the speakers. The words bespoke a strong dissatisfaction with the world and a need for someone, which Blake assumed to be sexual.

Vickie Stoner nodded her head to the music and when the news came on, she shut her eyes.

The lead story was about last night's flight from Los Angeles to Washington. It had crashed over the Rockies. Witnesses reported what appeared to be an explosion in the tail assembly. One hundred persons were killed.

Blake signaled the car ahead to pull over. The one behind also pulled over.

Ten men in suits, ties, and shined cordovans gathered at the side of the road. They all wore snap-brim hats.

"All right. You, you, you and you," said Blake. "Get into lounging clothes. I don't want to see any two men in standard dress. You and you, don't shave for a while. You and you, get the parts out of your hair. That crewcut we can't do anything with, so you keep your hat on."

"What's up, Bill?"

"Our flight to Washington was bombed last night. I don't know if it has anything to do with us, but we were supposed to be on that plane when it blew up over the Rockies. We were told that Miss Stoner's life is in danger. I guess we should act accordingly. This is what we're going to do. We're not flying to Washington. We're going to assume there are real killers after Miss Stoner's life. That means an attack could come from anywhere. So we're going to be careful. We're driving to Denver, but not in three lookalike government pool cars. You and you, rent the jazziest car you can get. You and you, get a truck. You and you, get a heavy four-door car, maybe a Cadillac or Lincoln."

"Rent?"

"Unless you own one."

"We'll rent."

"Okay. You, get back to Watkins. Tell him we're driving to Denver. We're going to get rooms in the hotel that faces the Rockies, so we don't have to worry about anyone sniping from a window across the street. We'll check in with Supervisor Watkins when we get there."

"If we use rented cars, we won't have radio contact," one agent noted.

"I'll sacrifice that for not being noticed," Blake said.

"Sir, do you really think there is an open contract out on Miss Stoner's life? I mean, one that is being picked up?"

"I think we were lucky we didn't take that flight last night is what I think. I think we're going to stay lucky. There's a luncheonette with a parking lot just outside of Watts. Brubaw's. Everyone know where it is?"

There were some assents and a few nos. Blake paired the ones who knew with those who didn't and returned to his government car.

"Okeydokey," said Blake, smiling.

"What does that mean?" asked Vickie Stoner. "Okeydokey?"

"It means we're in good shape, Miss Stoner."

"Heavy, man," said Vickie.

At the hotel in Denver, Blake organized his men in a diamond pattern that he found out, late in life, was also used by the Viet Cong when they camped. He had learned it from an old hand who said his father had learned it from a Texas ranger.

One man was posted on a street north of the hotel, another was posted south. Close to the room, east and west on the street directly below, were other men. That was the outer perimeter.

The rooms above and to the sides of Miss Stoner's were also rented by Blake's agents. And one man floated within the diamond, checking the points without being obvious.

Blake and two other agents shared the suite with Vickie Stoner, who appeared bored with television and wanted records of Maggot and the Dead Meat Lice.

"Someday, I'm gonna ball that Maggot," said Vickie, pointing to an album cover of what appeared to Blake to be a derelict with blue paint under his eyes and three lamp chops hanging from the chest of his white satin jumpsuit. "He's the baddest," Vickie said.

"That's negative?" asked Blake.

"That's positive," said Vickie.

"Do you want to see something very baddest?" asked Blake.

Vickie smiled at his use of language. "Sure," she said.