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Andrew Roller Presents
JUPITER RISING
Chapter Ten
I awoke to the smell of stale alcohol. Something bumped my
shoulder. Groggily I rolled over. Where was I? I opened my eyes and a
face, close to mine, surprised me. It hovered over me, lined with age,
premature age I thought, and poverty or self-abuse. It was a homeless
bum, I realized, his grizzled stubbled face half-grinning at me, half-
pitying me.
ÒSay, friend. You got a dollar?Ó the man with alcoholic breath asked
me. I shook my head no. Despite my penuriousness he offered me a hand
up. With his other hand he was leaning on a makeshift cane, a stick taken
from along the shore. I accepted his hand. He pulled on me. To my
surprise my geeky frame stayed on the ground. It was too heavy for him to
lift.
ÒNever mind. IÕll get up,Ó I mumbled, and lifted myself up with my
own hands pressing on the sand. I saw past him then; little Lisa, still
wearing my shirt from several days previously, stood knee-deep in the
ocean. She was exposing her bare pudenda to the dawn. A wave rolled in,
hit her, leapt up and touched the slit between her legs. She squealed
happily. ÒLisa!Ó I called. Reluctantly she turned. ÒWe better get going,Ó I
called to her, though at that moment I knew not where we would go or
what we would do. I had at best a dollar or two left in my wallet;
technically it was hers, since sheÕd asked me to hold the money IÕd paid
her when IÕd ÒboughtÓ her, and her box of turtles, four days ago. ÒThanks,Ó
I said, turning to the bum. To my surprise he looked suddenly less bent by
age, more firm, more upright. The wildness that IÕd noted in his eyes upon
waking seemed to have faded, replaced by a kind of sober thoughtfulness.
I felt some sort of eerie kinship with him then, but why? Quickly I ran
though a half-remembered catalog of old college and high school teachers.
Had I known him years ago? No, as best I could tell, IÕd never seen him
before this morningÕs dawn. Yet here he was, seemingly waiting for me to
say more, to command him perhaps. ÒSorry, but I donÕt have a dollar,Ó I
told him, feeling guilty because I knew I had at least a dollar in my wallet
but why should I give him the last of my money? Of LisaÕs money? He
shook his head.
ÒIt is no matter,Ó he said. I turned and called to Lisa again. I
stepped back away from this eerie man who kept waiting, with a kind of
idle patience, for me to tell him more, to give him charity. Lisa came
running to me now. I clasped her hand and she giggled. She glanced at the
man but said nothing. We turned and walked away. The man pretended to
stir the sand where Lisa and I had laid, and to inspect some trash lying
further on, but all the while I felt certain he was still watching us; Lisa
and I, as we walked away.
A paperbox broke my self-absorbed dawn reverie. My picture was in
the paper, above the fold. Next to it was LisaÕs.
ÒHey! ThatÕs me!Ó Lisa cried.
ÒHunt continues for missing girl,Ó a headline read. Underneath a
smaller headline barked, ÒSanramento man suspected.Ó
ÒOh shit,Ó I said. Lisa looked up at me. A smile touched her lips.
ÒI think our fifteen minutes of fame has arrived,Ó I told her.
ÒHuh?Ó Lisa asked.
ÒItÕs an old saying. An artist said it once,Ó I told her.
ÒAt least they might not recognize you,Ó Lisa said to me.
ÒOh, sure. ThatÕs just my Nevada driverÕs licence photo theyÕve got
there on the front page,Ó I replied. Suddenly a car slowed down. Someone
looked out at us; a woman, riding as a passenger in the car. I felt a chill
run up my spine. No wonder the old bum on the beach had stared at me.
HeÕd already seen the paper, and these people must have too. ÒWeÕve got to
get out of here,Ó I told Lisa.
ÒBut where will we go?Ó Lisa asked me, her voice high, her childÕs
hand gripped in mine as I ran along the sidewalk.
ÒI donÕt know,Ó I said. ÒI really donÕt know.Ó
Three minutes later we ran into the police. They recognized Lisa at
once; I guess the woman in the car must have telephoned them. I tried to
pull Lisa behind a dumpster but it was too late. Two cops jumped out of
their police cruiser; a man and a woman.
ÒHalt!Ó both cops called out. They ran toward us, guns drawn. I tried
to hold onto LisaÕs hand as they tackled me. I was stronger than I
expected, throwing the woman off, but the man hit me with the handle of
his pistol and I collapsed on the pavement.
ÒNo!Ó Lisa cried. The female cop grabbed her.
ÒCall for back-up,Ó the male cop, quickly handcuffing me before I
could regain my senses, told his partner. Lisa was still screaming but the
woman ignored her, calling into her radio for another cruiser.
The male cop hauled me to the police car.
ÒJaneel, do you have back-up?Ó the male cop asked the female as he
put me into their car.
ÒYeah,Ó Janeel answered.
After a few cursory questions I was on my way Ôdowntown,Õ as they
say. I didnÕt know what to do. A second police car had arrived; Janeel had
forced Lisa into that car. They followed us. I watched L.A. go by in the
early morning air and felt the sand in my shorts. This was silly, who were
they to interfere with Lisa and me when we wanted to be together?
Turning, I tried to see Lisa in the other car. There was her head, bobbing
in the back seat, juxtaposed against the image of a police shotgun mounted
to the carÕs dash.
ÒDamn!Ó I cried out. Bill the cop looked in his rear view mirror. I
saw his bulky stupid cow-like face and hated him, suddenly. And I
realized this would be the last I might ever be outside. For some reason
an image of Tim McVeighÕs death house flashed in my mind. I saw him
looking at the moon, the night before he was killed, seeing it for the first
time after many years in prison. Seeing it for the last time, too.
And what of Lisa? Would I ever see her again, live? Or would I just
see her briefly on some courtroom tape, conned by some prosecutorÕs
stooge to say what the dumb cows like Bill the cop wanted her to say.
ÒHe touched me, he hurt me, he tried to rape me...Ó
ÒDamn!Ó I said again. Fuck this Puritanical place! They didnÕt
understand us at all! They didnÕt know what weÕd had together, how weÕd
liked each other, loved each other! I kicked the side door of the police car,
violently. To my utter amazement the door seemed to give way. Bill the
cow-cop looked in his rearview mirror again. There was still the look of
confident stupidity in his eyes, but a touch of fear too. His fear inspired
me. I kicked the door again.
It opened. The stupid cow-cop driving the car swerved. I fell out.
With my hands cuffed behind my back, I hit the street shoulder-first. Then
my left leg and face hit, simultaneously, and I was almost run over by the
cop car following behind.
I got up, unsteadily, onto my knees. Blood was running down my face.
There was a sharp pain in my forehead and a sharper one where my nose
was. When I tried moving my jaw it hurt and my nose hurt a lot worse. My
left knee was killing me; it almost collapsed under me. Finding some
unknown strength within me, I managed to struggle up to my feet despite
still having my hands cuffed behind my back. I tested the steel handcuffs;
they didnÕt budge. Dazedly I began heading from the street to the
sidewalk. All around me now, seemingly, police sirens were blazing. Cops
were yelling, at me and at each other. A gun went off; something snapped
past my head and one cop yelled at another. To fire again, or to cease
firing? I couldnÕt be sure. Somewhere I thought I heard Lisa screaming.
ÒGet her out of here!Ó was the first clearly intelligible cry that
reached my ears. The police cruiser with Lisa in it sped off, suddenly,
leaving me with Bill the stupid cow-cop. He approached me, gun drawn, as
I reached the sidewalk. A second cop, who IÕd not seen before, came
trailing after him. He was trying to get his gun out of his holster but was
having trouble.
And then the city bus appeared. I guess it was an early morning
express bus. It came loudly around the corner and stopped. Someone got
off it, but I barely noticed. The two cops had closed in on me.
ÒGet down!Ó Bill the cop barked at me. His partner shadowed him.
Bill clapped a hand to my shoulder and my left knee gave way. I dropped
down, again making too-close friends with the street as I rolled off the
sidewalk and into the gutter. Suddenly something struck Bill from behind
as I looked up at him. A second later the thing attacked again; I realized it
was the driftwood cane of the homeless man IÕd met on the beach.
Swinging adeptly, he toppled both cops over. Then as some late-night
workmen yelled at us from near the bus stop, the homeless man reached
down along my arm. My right arm, then between my hands where the steel
handcuffs kept me prisoner.
ÒHey! Give us back our wire cutters!Ó one of the late-night workmen
near the bus stop cried out. The homeless man ignored them. I heard a
sharp ÔclickÕ! and suddenly my hands were free. Startled, I brought my
hands around to the front of myself. I gaped at the steel handcuffs still
clenching my wrists, but they were useless now, like decorations for
some street hood.
ÒThanks,Ó I said to the homeless bum as one of the late-night
workmen came running toward him.
ÒGet out of here before youÕre arrested by the highway department,Ó
the homeless man muttered at me. One of the cops, not Bill but the other
cop, made as if to get up. The homeless bum hit him again with his
driftwood cane. The man collapsed, unconscious. I saw BillÕs gun lying in
the street. I picked it up. I waved it at the late-night workman as he
closed with the homeless bum.
ÒStay back,Ó I warned the workman.
ÒDo as God commands,Ó the homeless bum told him. Then the bum
reached down and grabbed the pistol of the other cop, BillÕs partner.
Together we made our way toward the city bus. It sat motionless by the
curb, its driver and passengers to startled to know what to do. We
boarded the bus. The late-night workmen stared angrily after us. On the
bus, the driver looked at us, as stupidly as the cop had looked at me in his
rearview mirror, but the fear was total now. As it was in the faces of the
early morning passengers.
ÒGet off my bus!Ó the driver suddenly yelled at me. I waved the gun
at him. He reached for it and grabbed it. It went off, it missed him. Then
there was another shot. The driver slumped down, let go of my gun. I
turned and regarded the homeless man. He had shot the bus driver through
the head. Unbidden a name burst forth from my throat.
ÒHephaestus!Ó I cried.
ÒYes, Lord, at your service always,Ó the bum now named Hephaestus
answered me. I turned. There was a surfer sitting in the handicapped seat
that ran sideways along the right side of the bus. He seemed startled but
complaint. Kicking the driver out of my way, the man rolling down the
steps of what had been his bus, I reached out and grabbed the surferÕs
hand. I yanked him up from where he sat beside his surfboard.
ÒDrive the bus!Ó I commanded this early-morning surfer. With a kind
of grim satisfaction Hephaestus sat down in the handicapped seat. He
leaned his driftwood cane against the seat, next to the surferÕs surf board.
ÒWhoa, dude. IÕm not sure I--Ó the surfer protested, as I forced him
bodily into the bus driverÕs empty seat.
ÒFigure it out!Ó I ordered the surfer. I waved my pistol at the busÕs
passengers.
ÒAre there any other heros on board this morning?Ó I asked the
passengers. The eyes of frightened cleaning women and early-morning
commuters stared back at me. There were no other heros.
We pulled away from the curb, away from the late-night workmen
who stared sullenly after us, away from the two cops who lay motionless
on the curb. We passed the police cruiser IÕd been held captive in. ItÕs
left-side door hung limply open, the back door, where IÕd found my new
strength at the doorÕs expense. Blood still flowed down my face but the
pain was less now. When I moved my jaw, my nose seemed less injured. I
flexed my arms, looking again at the handcuffs that now hung tight to my
wrists like bangles. I was strong, injured but healing. I felt the air in my
lungs and knew that despite having sand in my shorts and no money in my
wallet and no idea of where Lisa was, I had a new sense of power. Of
control. I turned and looked at the homeless bum.
ÒWeÕve got to get Lisa,Ó I said to him, shouting, my voice tense and
desperate despite my new feeling of power. He nodded, resting, looking at
me but not looking at me, barely lifting his chin from his chest as he sat
in the handicapped seat.
ÒShe will be at the Emergency Admissions unit of the UC Mercy
Pediatric ward,Ó the homeless bum, who IÕd inexplicably named
Hephaestus answered me.
ÒWhereÕs that?Ó I asked him.
ÒWeÕll have to stop and look in a phone book. I donÕt know offhand,Ó
Hephaestus told me. There was confidence in his voice, more confidence
than I had in mine.
ÒFind a phone booth and stop the bus,Ó I ordered my surfer dude
driver.
And so, despite the newfound power in my limbs and my remarkably
quick healing, despite my Hephaestus-aided heroics in overcoming two
police officers and taking an entire busload of people hostage, I shortly
found myself in the rather ignominious position of standing at a phone
booth looking in a phone book. Hephaestus covered the people on the bus,
and the surfer driver, with his pistol, while I tried to find UC Mercy. When
I did, there was a very long listing of various departments and it took me
awhile to locate the Pediatric ward.
By which time a police helicopter could be heard approaching.
Hephaestus came down off the bus.
ÒYouÕre supposed to be watching the people!Ó I cried to him, as
passengers began letting themselves out of the busÕs back door.
ÒNo time. Follow me into that abandoned building,Ó Hephaestus said.
He pointed with his gun, walking quickly forward with the aid of his
driftwood cane. I obeyed; what else could I do? Obviously there was
little hope of evading the police in a city bus, itÕs roof number shining up
at all the world to distinguish it from every other bus. Into the derelict
building we went, Hephaestus and I. Nobody followed us. ÒIÕve been here
before,Ó Hephaestus told me inside the darkness of the building. Before I
knew it weÕd crossed into a second building, then a third. I began to
realize that the police were no match for this homeless manÕs wanderings.
He knew this part of L.A. very well. We wound up in a dank basement.
Hephaestus banged his driftwood cane on a rusty metal door. After a
minute or so, a police chopper barely audible somewhere above, the door
opened. Just a little, its ancient hinges seemingly unwilling to let us
pass.
ÒCome on! Come on!Ó Hephaestus urged. The door creaked wider. A
girl, no more than 14, gazed out at us. Her face was white, pallid. I was
reminded of the late 80Õs fashion of girls refusing to tan themselves.
This girl still followed that trend, and so did her companion. He looked
like heÕd never been beyond the old doorÕs bounds, staring out at me
suddenly like some hunted wolf. His eyes were grim, was he afraid of us?
ÒWe come in peace,Ó I wanted to say, but Hephaestus and I were both
armed with police pistols and our morning had already added one corpse to
the lists of the dead.
ÒWho are you?Ó the pallid man asked us.
ÒI am Hephaestus and this is Zeus,Ó the old bum answered me. In
friendship I reached out and shook the pale girlÕs hand, then that of her
lover. Immediately they both seemed more friendly. They nodded, we
were admitted. Deep in that dank lair they showed us an old bathroom.
Gratefully I stripped off my sandy clothes and got in the shower.
ÒWe only have cold water... Lord,Ó the girl told me, adding the word
ÒLordÓ to both my surprise and hers. Hephaestus nodded with satisfaction.
ÒIt will do,Ó he said, but I screamed out as I turned on the shower
and had to bear the cold.
ÒAre you in trouble?Ó our pale host, the man, asked Hephaestus.
ÒOnly for a little while,Ó Hephaestus answered. ÒHe needs time,Ó
Hephaestus said. I could just hear his voice as I stood in the shower,
searching for the soap. I found it, a well-used bar. Hardly a bar fit for
what the girl had called me: ÒLordÓ.
What did that mean? Why did that word fall so easily, so naturally,
upon my ears? Why did I suddenly have a name for the homeless bum, and
why was it such a strange name: Hephaestus? It sounded like something
from the Greek class IÕd dropped out of in college.
Above me, beyond my icy shower, in the great broad daylight of this
terrible new morning, the police were looking for me. I felt safe for a
moment, but I couldnÕt live on without Lisa. I had to move quickly, to UC
Mercy, if I was to get her before they spirited her off to God knows where.
I guess pretty soon theyÕd take her back to her mother. I didnÕt even know
where she lived! Somewhere in Sanramento, thatÕs all I knew. Quickly I
soaped myself. I had to hurry, or we might be separated forever.
30
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