Chance

A monster’s ball

He slept after that. It was the first time in days. Her scent lingered in the room, calling forth the warmth of her body. He shut off his cell phone, unplugged his landline, wrapped himself in all that she had left, and slept the sleep of the pure in heart. In time light appeared at the edges of his blinds. There were sounds in the streets, citizens of the city going about their day. Good things and bad things were no doubt transpiring, moments of fluid beauty alongside those of an unspeakable and rapid decline. There would be the wonderful first light on the waves of Ocean Beach. There would also be mutating cells and blind corners, scandalous and predacious behavior… new patients hatched at every turn. Some would even find their way to his door. He would do what he could and it would never be enough. The lights upon the narrow metal blinds waxed and waned. The sounds of the street came and went. The fat programmer argued and made love with his unseen companion. In the end, he believed that he might actually have spent an entire twenty-four-hour period in bed. For a time he was thinking this a first and was not displeased then remembered that he had spent long periods in bed at one other point in his life and at last began to worry that he might be here for the simple reason that he no longer had it in him to get up. Upon a closer examination it became clear that without his actually having been aware of it, he had assumed the fetal position. Over time worry gave way to a kind of panic. A good part of the problem lay in his inability to determine what exactly he would do when and if he did get out of bed.

He could not have said how long this period of inertia went on before at last a task born of such necessity presented itself that he could not imagine what had prevented him from seeing it until now. In its wake he rose, lingered for some time in a hot shower, dressed, and went out. Not, however, before finding a little something she had left behind, an earring on the dresser, a bit of gold with a single amber stone. He left the apartment filled with a sudden and unexpected euphoria, this in concert with an unbearable longing, an understanding of the gross impossibility of things.

To reach his garage it was necessary to first go outside and he found the street alive with activity… all manner of people out and about as if the strange weather were some cause for celebration, oblivious beneath skies made thick with sludge. He took it for the day after the day after and was willing to cede the loss of one in between. He was pondering the very problem when his cell phone began to vibrate against the lining of his slacks.

It was Janice Silver wondering if he’d heard the news. He thought it best to play dumb. “Where have you been hiding?” she asked. “The thing made the papers. I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

“What exactly are we talking about?”

“Raymond Blackstone. He was stabbed in back of a massage parlor. I was thinking that if you hadn’t heard about it in any other way, she might have been in touch.”

“Not with me,” Chance said, uncertain as to why he was continuing to lie. There was no real reason for it. He might so easily be found out. Guilt’s a funny thing, he concluded. It leads to ever more guilt. “What about you?” he asked.

“Not a word.”

“What’s the prognosis? Will he live?”

“Sadly yes. I suppose that’s terrible to say.”

“An understandable sentiment. Anything about who did it?”

“Nothing in what I’ve seen.”

“And no leads?”

“Not that they’re sharing. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Chance said. “Not a thing. Just curious.”

“Well…” Janice said after a somewhat lengthy pause. “Now you know at least. You may hear from her yet.”

“It’s possible. If so I will keep you posted.”

“Please do,” Janice said. “I know we’ve gone round some about her, but I’d like to know what happens. My offer to help locate someone willing to take her on still stands.”

Chance thanked her, extricated the Oldsmobile from his garage, and drove straightway to the old warehouse, as had been his intent on rising. Raymond Blackstone had said that he was going to handle things, that he knew what to do. Chance had yet to pass this on to Big D and in this he was no doubt remiss. It seemed to him quite possible that Blackstone’s words were no more than bluff meant to rattle her cage. It seemed equally possible that sloth and poor judgment had already made him late for the dance. It was then, to his great dismay, that he arrived to find the place in an uncharacteristic state of disarray.

The front door was open to the sidewalk as usual but something was off. He sensed it walking in, even before finding Carl at the rear of the building where the door to D’s quarters had been left ajar and the normally implacable old man pacing to and fro before it as if searching for something he’d lost. The old man looked as if he had not slept at any point in the recent past or if he had it was in the clothes he was wearing. There was gray stubble upon his cheeks, a haunted look in his deep-set black eyes. The nearby desk, normally so neat in its arrangement, was littered with paperwork. Peering through the doorway to D’s room, Chance could see that one of the Eames chairs had been overturned. The bed was unmade and a number of books lay strewn across the floor. Even more disturbing was the plastic pill bottle at the foot of the bed, its cap fallen away, its contents scattered. “My God,” Chance said, the starch draining from his legs. The old man himself appeared to sway, as though about to lose balance.

Chance led him to a chair from which Carl sat looking up, as might some cornered animal facing certain death. “Where have you been?” he asked. The old man’s voice was thin and wavering.

“Yes… I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been out of touch…”

“I tried calling.”

To which Chance could only nod. First the deposition, then Jaclyn, then sleep, his cell off the entire time. He could see how it had been.

“He’s in the hospital. There was some kind of seizure…”

“The diabetes.”

Carl looked to the room. “He was in there when I came. I always hear him at work on something.” The old man paused, seeking to control his voice, fighting off tears. “If there’s no work to be done for the studio, he’ll be at work on his blades or his tomahawks. He doesn’t sleep, you know. I’ve tried to tell him that’s not good.” He looked to Chance. “Why, each day they find out something new about how much we need sleep to stay healthy. You’re not a superman, I tell him.” He paused once more to shake his head. “He thinks he is you know. It’s what he thinks. It’s what he had to think, I suppose, when you stop to consider it.”

Chance was not altogether clear about what exactly he was being asked to consider but the old man went on without waiting comment. “In the morning though… when I came in… I couldn’t hear a thing. I gave it just a bit then knocked. Nothing, so I went inside. I found him on that bed in there but he was lying in a strange way and one arm was hanging off and on the floor…” The old man’s voice cracked. He sought once more to collect himself. “I couldn’t get him to wake up,” he said. “He was turning blue. I called the emergency.”

Fearing some impending medical crisis of his own, Chance found support upon the edge of the cluttered desk. He was very clear about what had happened. Having bested the massage parlor muscle and Detective Blackstone, having survived a stun gun, pepper spray, and a car accident, the big man had been undone by the great ice-cream hunt. “What was his condition?” Chance asked. “When the paramedics left with him, I mean. Was he awake?”

The old man moved his head. “They took blood…”

“They would have to see if the coma was hypoglycemic or hyperglycemic. Did they give him a shot of something?”

“The needle was grotesque.”

“Hyperglycemic would be my guess. He was moving, though? Lucid at all?”

“I don’t know,” Carl said. “It was hard for me to see but they were talking to him when they carried him out.”

“That’s good,” Chance said. “Means the drug was working, that it hadn’t been too long. Sounds to me as if it was a very good thing that you found him when you did.” He could see that the old man was verging once more on tears. “I almost didn’t,” Carl said. “He likes his doughnuts in the mornings. Normally I bring some in from Bob’s but the car was low on gas and I came straight here.” He wiped at an eye with the heel of his hand and shook his head. “I’ve told him he ought to cut back. He doesn’t always listen.”

“No,” Chance said. He was thinking of D’s theory on the medicinal uses of salt. “And that would have been what, two mornings ago?… Do you know where they’ve taken him?” He was surprised to find that the old man did not, which fact seemed only to distress him further. “That’s okay,” Chance said. “I’ll make some calls. Shouldn’t be too hard to find out. My car is on the street. We’ll go together, see how he’s doing.”

Carl remained as he was.

“We’ve every reason to hope,” Chance said. “What you’ve told me so far sounds promising. So long as there was no damage to the heart.” He took his cell phone from his pocket. “I’m sure it’s UCSF but we can call on the way. I know a good many of the doctors and nurses on staff.” He was already turning for the door but Carl seemed intent on holding his ground, the look of the cornered animal returning to his face. “Is there a problem?” Chance asked.

“Certainly not on my end,” Carl told him, the sudden victim of as yet unspecified crimes.

Chance just looked at him. Carl exacted a wait. “I am assuming they will be there,” he said at last.

“They?” Chance asked.

He had been envisioning the city’s finest, the flash of golden shields amid a sea of blue but the old man was quick to set him straight. “What passes for the poor boy’s family,” he said, his voice having steadied to the point that he was able at last to abandon panic in favor of moral outrage. “Monsters,” he added by way of clarification. “Absolute monsters. More than one of them in one place at one time and it’s a regular monster’s ball.” He drew himself to his full height and took the measure of Chance by looking him squarely in the eye. “And of course, they do not, as you might imagine, approve of yours truly. You’ll have to go it alone.”