Saguaro Riptide

SIX

Kate swore under her breath. The former light-heavyweight champion of the world had certainly romped and stomped ail over her first impressions. Jack Baddalach was definitely smarter than she’d guessed. And that played serious hell with her ego, because she had always thought of herself as a crackerjack judge of character.

Barring Vince Komoko, of course.

She swung the Dodge Dakota into a parking space in front of the Saguaro Riptide. Sandy Kapalua-Dayton was over by the swimming pool, busy with one of those little chlorine test kits. She waved as Kate slammed the door of the truck, and Kate waved back as she headed up the stairs.

Kate entered her room and closed the door, relieved to have escaped even the most minimal human contact. She stood stock-still for a second in the dark, appreciating the silence.

The simple truth was that she loved it. She was glad to be alone, glad to be out of sight.

Glad that there wasn’t an answering machine to check, so she didn’t have to feel bad that no one had left a message for her. Glad that there wasn’t a mailbox out front with her name on it, so she didn’t have to feel bad that no one had written her a letter. Glad that she didn’t know anyone within a thousand miles who gave a damn about her one way or another, apart from a guy who obviously had a missing bag of money foremost on his mind and a motel owner who only wanted to know if someone had been pissing in her swimming pool.

Kate hit max a/c and the air conditioner whirred alive. She sat on the bed, untied and kicked off her army boots, and speared the shackled TV remote with her index finger.

"Well, Ricki, I never meant for things to get so out of hand. I mean, Patrice and Rene was in different towns. I never thought they’d be findin’ out about each other. .”

Kate’s index finger came down hard.

CLICK. The channel changed.

". . it wasn’t like that, Geraldo. You make it sound like I was using her. Remember, she got something out of it, too. But she acted like I owed her something, even said that I was insensitive. Man, I am sensitive. Mucho sensitive. Shit. . next to me, Mr. Rogers is like Jeffrey Dahmer. That woman just wanted too much, way more than I could give. .”

CLICK.

“. . and that’s the way it is, Oprah. It’s over. I accept that now. I’m just looking for closure.”

Kate’s palm slammed down on the remote.

The TV screen went blank.

Still, Kate couldn’t look away. The picture tube was murky green, the color of an angry sea. The color of deep water out past the point where whitecaps churn, where people drown and their bodies are lost forever.

Sitting there on the bed, Kate could see her reflection in the picture tube very clearly.

“Don’t you dare wimp out on me, Benteen,” she said.

She snatched up one U.S. Army-issue size 8 boot and brought it down hard on the shackled remote.

Plastic shrapnel exploded across the bed. Two AA batteries flew through the air with the greatest of ease and disappeared in a wave of shag carpet like a couple of depth charges vanishing in a deep blue sea.

Kate pulled off her canary yellow T-shirt and draped it over the TV screen so that the coiled snake and the legend beneath it-DON'T TREAD ON ME-faced her bed.

She stared at the legend for at least a minute. Then she unzipped her jeans and wriggled out of them.

She needed to think.

It was definitely bikini time.

“This database indexes magazine articles for the last several years,” the librarian said. “What would you like to look up?”

“A person named Kate Benteen,” Jack said.

The librarian typed BENTEEN, KATE. A moment later, a list of articles appeared on the screen.

“You can scroll through this listing, even print it out if you want to.”

“Great. Thanks a lot.”

“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.” The librarian smiled, semi-ingratiatingly. “It’s not often we have a celebrity in our midst, Mr. Baddalach.”

The elderly woman didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and headed toward the reference desk before Jack even had a chance to say Aw shucks, ma 'am. Robbed of his opportunity to turn on the charm, he sat down at the keyboard and scrolled through the list of articles.

And there it was, in golden letters glowing on a black screen. Somehow, Jack didn’t have it in him to be surprised. Still, he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

He stared at the screen for a long time, letting it all sink in. Then he hit the print button. A moment later he had it down in black and white-what the computer nerds called a hard copy. And Jack could definitely go with that, because this information seemed seriously hard, one amazing road map of one amazing past:

Jack tore off the list and turned, eager to ask the librarian where the magazine collection was stored.

He came face-to-face with the two cops instead.

“My God,” the deputy said. “It can actually read.”

“Yeah.” Wyetta Earp grinned. “Kind of scary, isn’t it?”

Twenty laps quick-time and Kate felt a whole lot better. Lungs on fire. Lithe muscles pumped and hard.

She kicked to the edge of the pool, avoiding the ladder. Two hands solid on the coping and she vaulted from the water as smooth and graceful as anything on God’s green. If there were judges for swimming pool exits, every damn one of them would be holding up a sign with a “10” on it.

A lazy afternoon breeze-hot and dry as they came- washed over her. Kate toweled off and grabbed the sunblock. Lathered on that Coppertone 45.

Her mind felt as clear as the afternoon sky. Swimming did that for her. Blew all the misery right out of her soul. Something about pushing her body to the limit-every inch of it, every muscle working in concert-provided a solitary satisfaction and restored her confidence. All alone, she could stay afloat and keep it moving, plowing through the water, her direction sure and constant.

Jesus. She almost laughed. What was she doing thinking thoughts like that? Was she ready for Oprah or what?

She slipped on her sunglasses and glanced over at Sandy Kapalua-Dayton, who was cleaning out the filter trap. Sandy smiled, gave her the old thumbs up.

Then her expression changed. A splash of surprise, a demitasse of awe.

At the same moment Kate heard a car engine behind her. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see a florist’s van pull into a parking space near the pool.

The driver got out and opened the side door of the van. He disappeared inside for an instant, then reappeared with a dozen red roses in hand.

Kate looked at Sandy.

Found that Sandy was staring at her.

Neither one smiled, because both knew that at present there were only two women at the Saguaro Riptide Motel.

So the order of the day was poker faces for two, like gunfighters doing the high noon thing.

Simultaneously, they looked at the delivery boy.

He nodded. “Howdy, ladies.”

They smiled like homecoming candidates awaiting a crown.

The boy turned. He passed the motel office and headed for the motel proper.

Jackpot, Kate thought.

The boy climbed the stairs.

Neared Kate’s room.

Glanced at a receipt.

Passed Kate’s door without breaking stride.

Stopped two rooms down, at the end of the landing, and knocked.

A long moment passed. Finally, the door opened.

The delivery boy presented a black man with a dozen red roses.

Sandy Kapalua-Dayton said, “Shit.”

“It’s like this,” Wyetta explained, shooting a thumb over her shoulder in the librarian’s direction. “Marge plays bridge with my dear old gray-haired mama. They had themselves a game just yesterday, in fact.”

“And girls will talk, won’t they?” Jack said.

“Will you look at that.” Rorie chuckled. “Not only can it read, it can think, too. Next thing you know, it’ll be using tools.”

Wyetta let the comment go, focusing on Jack. “Yeah. Girls will talk, all right. Especially my mama. Why, she just had to tell Marge the story of how I locked up the ex-light- heavyweight champion of the whole wide world for stealing a stack of magazines.”

“So … let me guess: Marge, being a good upstanding civic-minded citizen, figured you needed to know when a magazine-rustling desperado such as myself appears at the public library with periodicals on his mind."

“Just like lettin’ a horny rooster into the hen house,” Rorie said.

Jack folded the computer printout and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Then I guess there’s no point in me trying to take a gander at the old magazines, is there?”

Wyetta feigned surprise. “Hey, did I wake up in another country? Russia, maybe? Heck, cowboy, this here is America. Home of the brave, land of the Freedom of Information Act, and all like that.”

“Uh-huh.” Jack sighed. “So where does your pal Marge hide the back issues?”

Wyetta shrugged. “Well, I hate to be the one to piss on your hydrant, but magazines are for reference use only here at the Pipeline Beach Public Library. Marge keeps ’em in the back room, safe from thievin’ sidewinders like yourself We wouldn’t want you to go cuttin’ any erotic pictures out of the National Geographic when we weren’t looking.”

“Actually, nothing turns me off faster than that ritual scarification stuff,” Jack said. “And modern primitives. . well, you show me a woman with a tongue stud and I get the all-over heebie-jeebies, believe you me.”

“I don’t know.” Wyetta glanced at Rorie. “What do you think, pardner? Can we trust this gringo?”

“Well. . it’s okay by me. But just this once.”

“C’mon, cowboy.” Wyetta escorted Jack to the reference desk. “Marge, our friend here wants to look at a few magazines.”

Marge smiled at Jack. “Certainly. Just give me your library card and I’ll get whatever you’d like.”

Jack pulled out his wallet. Flipped through his card collection-Nevada driver’s license, corporate plastic, ATM card, a couple of video rental membership cards.

“Looks like I’m short one library card,” he said.

Marge pushed a form his way. “No problem. Just fill this out. We’ll need to see some identification with your address here in Pipeline Beach.”

“Actually, I’m a stranger in these parts. And I’ve got a nasty suspicion that you can’t accept anything with my Las Vegas address.”

“Sorry,” Marge said. “Our facilities are for local taxpayers only.”

Wyetta shook her head. “Fats Domino said it best: Ain’t that a shame. Can’t we bend the rules just a teeny-weeny bit. Marge? The boy has promised that he won’t ask for any National Geographics.”

“Well. . maybe if our friend here could get the City of Las Vegas to share some of its tax dollars.”

“C’mon, Marge,” Wyetta coaxed. “Just this once?”

Marge tsk-tsked the sheriff. “Now, Wyetta. . you know better than anyone what your mama always says.”

The women traded sly nods.

“Okay,” Jack said. “The suspense is killing me. I’ve got to know. What does Mama Earp always say?”

In unison, the women said: “Bending’s as good as busting.”

Wyetta slapped Jack on the shoulder. Hard.

“Them’s words to live by, cowboy,” she said.

And then, as punctuation, she winked.

Sandy said, “The thing is, my husband’s been dead for five years. But a delivery boy shows up with an armful of red roses and I figure that heaven must have finally got 800 numbers and Dale figured I was way past due for a dozen.” She shook her head. “That man still has such a strong hold on me, it’s amazing.”

The hot breeze brushed Kate’s hair like an invisible hand. She let things go dark for just an instant, then pushed her hair away from her eyes and stared at the swimming pool.

Water shimmering there, catching the sunlight, reflections dancing there that could have been anyone.

Her own reflection. Sandy’s reflection. But in her mind’s eye she saw only one person. Vincent Komoko. It seemed she’d never forget him. Never. No matter how hard she tried.

“Jesus. I’m sorry,” Sandy said. “You want me to get you some Kleenex?”

“No,” Kate said, wiping away her tears. “I’ll be all right.”

“I know it’s none of my business. . but does this have something to do with that guy you were asking about? That Vincent Komoko?”

“Yeah.” Kate wiped her eyes with die back of her hand. “It’s him.”

‘Trust me, kiddo-he ain’t worth it. Not to tell tales out of school or anything, but I just gave you the Dragnet version when you asked me about Komoko the other day. You know, the way Jack Webb used to do it-just the facts, ma’am.”

“I think what I need is the Mike Hammer version.” Kate smiled unexpectedly. “You know, Mickey Spillane-down and dirty and play up anything juicy.”

Sandy chuckled. “It ain’t anything to laugh over, really. If you ask me, Komoko was a slime. I don’t know what he was like when you knew him-and I get the sense that you knew him and knew him well. But by the time he started showing up here at the Riptide he’d gone full-tilt Robert De Niro.”

Sandy shook her head. “Komoko would show up once a month, like clockwork. First time I saw him, he was wearing this purple gangster suit-same color as Barney the Dinosaur. And that turned out to be one of his most tasteful outfits. Anyway, he’d book a room for the night, always pay cash. Then he’d hang around the pool in a pair of ball-buster bikini trunks, and he’d hang one of those damn reflector things around his neck so his Adam’s apple got good and tanned. And he always wore a Walkman, and thank God for that. I got a look at his tape box one day. Talk about a waste of plastic. Any idea why they let Lionel Ritchie make so many albums?”

“Maybe they already had all the Tupperware they could use?”

Sandy considered the explanation and nodded in agreement before continuing. “Anyway, at night Priscilla would show up dressed like she was ready for a night on the town. It didn’t take me long to figure out that your pal Komoko planned his visits to coincide with Ellis’s flea-market trips.

“Even so, I think Priscilla had to wait for Ellis to phone and check up on her, because she never showed up before eleven. Anyway, once she arrived, it was straight to the room, plug a pair of those four-battery speakers into the Walkman and pump up the Barry White tapes. The only time he opened the door was for the pizza delivery man.” Sandy shook her head. “Priscilla didn’t even get a good dinner out of the chump. More than once I’d see her the morning after-dressed to the nines, same way she’d arrived-staring at Komoko’s car as he pulled onto the highway. And, believe me, he never once waved good-bye.”

“That wasn’t Vince’s style,” Kate said. “He wasn’t a rearview mirror kind of guy.”

Sandy raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like the voice of experience.”

Kate nodded.

“Not that you learned your lesson or anything.”

Kate thought about that. “All I know is that Vince Komoko is the one who brought me to Pipeline Beach. He made me come. And he’s not even here.”

“And now that you’re here, he won’t let you go.” Sandy sighed. “Look, I’m going to lay it on the line for you-I came here twenty-seven years ago because a man I loved asked me to. I’d never even seen the place. But my man wanted to come, and he wanted me with him, so I came.

“His name was Dale Dayton,” Sandy said. “Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

“Sure.” Kate grinned. “Big kahuna of the surf guitar. Dale Dayton and the Daytonas. I’ve got three of his albums- Telecaster Stomp, Pipeline ’64, and that one he did after the surf craze died out. The one with the TV themes on it.”

"The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Goes Ape.”

"That’s right.” Kate snapped her fingers. “Hey, wait a minute. Now that I think about it. Pipeline ’64 opens with a cut called ‘Saguaro Riptide.’”

"Give the girl a prize.” Sandy smiled, deep in memory. “We were going to make a home here, a place all our own. Build an oasis.”

"And something got in the way of that.”

Sandy nodded. “You’ve got a real way with understatement, girl.”

“So … are you going to tell me about it?”

“No,” Sandy said. “I don’t give that up easy. But what I will tell you is that Dale Dayton is dead and gone and I’m still here in a place I never wanted to be. I’m here in a busted-down motel, with a junkyard in the spot where an oasis was supposed to be and a junkyard dog standing in for the man I loved. But I have to tell you-if anything ever happened to that dog. . well, that would be it. Bad enough to be stranded, bad enough to be chained to the ground by a goddamned ghost. But to be all alone. .” She shook her head. “Jesus. Listen to me. I never talk about this. I don’t even think about it. And now I know why.” She glanced over at the motel office and the junkyard beyond. “He’s a dog, for Christ sakes. But if anything ever happened to him, it would be like losing Dale all over again. Like. .”

Kate wanted to reach out and touch Sandy’s arm, but she knew that would be a mistake. Still, she had to do something, so she said, “I’ve still got Vince in my head. And the sickest part of it is that I’m sure he’s dead. There’s no doubt about that. But he’s got a hold on me. A real death grip. And I can’t seem lo break it. I feel just like one of those no-hopes on the talk shows.” Her voice was rich with mockery that did nothing to hide her pain. “Help me, Oprah. I’m looking for closure.”

“Closure’s a bitch,” Sandy said.

“You’re right about that.” Kate filled her lungs with dry desert air. “Vincent Komoko, the love of my life. A guy who ended up taking fashion tips from a purple dinosaur.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference what a man is-it’s what you see in him that’s important. And sometimes a woman sees that one thing she wants to see and focuses on it until she can’t see anything else. She’s like a carousel horse, and she’s running after that one thing, and she’s sure she’s gonna catch it if she just stays the course. But she’s only going ’round and ’round-she’s not getting anywhere. She keeps on running, though. And pretty soon the paint peels off her flanks, and her mane gets chipped, and she still hasn’t caught up to that thing she wanted. And maybe some kid with a penknife blinds her just for fun. . but she keeps on running, because she knows that’s what carousel horses do. And she tells herself. I'm not tired yet. I’m almost there. Almost. Another day, another week, another month and I’ll be there. . And then one day it doesn’t matter that she’s blind, because she never once knew where she was going, anyway. It occurs to her that the running is the important thing. It’s all she’s ever done, all she’ll ever do. She fills her days with it. She doesn’t think about anything else but the running. It’s comfortable. It’s what she knows.”

Neither of them said anything for a while. Over in the junkyard Dale the dog started barking, but Sandy didn’t move.

Finally, Kate said, “You think I should leave?”

Sandy’s answer came fast. “Not until you decide where you want to run to. Then leave, and never look back.”

Kate smiled. “The old rearview mirror trick.”

“Hey. . men know all the best tricks. Wouldn’t hurt us to learn a few of ’em.”

Safe behind her sunglasses, Kate nodded. “I don’t know about you, but talking makes me thirsty. Buy you a Coke?”

“No. You’re not the only guest here at the Saguaro Riptide who’s got problems, y’know.” Sandy pointed to the room of the man who’d gotten a dozen roses. “I’d better make the rounds.”

The two women watched Baddalach cross the street and enter Floyd Riley’s barber shop.

“What do you think he’s doing?” Rorie asked.

Wyetta looked at her long and hard. “Jesus, Rorie. I may not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but I think maybe it’s safe to assume that the pug’s going to the barber shop because he wants his ears lowered.”

“Well sure,” Rorie said. “He’s getting a haircut. That’s obvious. But why now?”

“Who knows? Maybe he always retreats to bastions of masculinity when women with badges whittle his dick down to size. Maybe he didn’t see a bar nearby. Who cares?”

“Well, what do we do now?”

Wyetta stared at the name Marge had written on a scrap of paper. "Kate Benteen,” she read. “Yesterday she’s standing up for the pug at the five-and-dime like they’re sharing the same sheets. But today she’s his research topic at the library. Kinda makes you wonder about the parameters of their relationship, doesn’t it?”

“You think maybe we should look her up on Marge’s computer? See what the pug found out?”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “Wyatt Earp didn’t rely on computer databases, Rorie. He went straight to the horse’s mouth.”

“Yeah, but Wyatt had his brothers to back him up. And Doc Holliday, too.”

“Cowgirl, I’ll take you over a tubercular dentist any day of the week,” Wyetta said.

And then she started walking.