The men were a rough-looking lot. They had long greasy hair that came down past where their collars would have been if they wore proper shirts. But they wore T-shirts and leather jackets, dirty jeans and heavy boots.
I drove by quickly and then headed back toward Compton.
I MULLED OVER THE PROBLEM of Dean’s brother’s place all the way. Mr. Palmer was probably right about me walking up there alone. Even in a gesture of friendship those men would have probably shown me the door—with a tire iron. And I didn’t want Doreen or Dean to know I was looking into them, not until I had a plan.
I needed backup but there was only one man I knew who could take that ride. And it scared me to death even to consider his help.
* * *
ETTA ANSWERED THE DOOR when I got there. Her eyes turned to stone when she saw me through the screen.
“How did you find us?” she asked in a whisper.
“Why’d you lie to me, Etta?” I replied.
“Who is it?” Mouse called from somewhere in the house.
“Nobody,” Etta said.
“It’s me,” I said, raising my voice.
“Come on in, Easy,” Mouse said.
Etta stared death at me a moment more and then stepped aside.
Raymond was sitting at the dining table playing solitaire, dressed in a soft gray shirt and dark gray pants. These colors made his gray eyes spark like fire.
Etta moved to a corner and stared at me like Feather’s little yellow dog does sometimes.
“Don’t be gettin’ all mad, Etta,” Mouse said. “I told Easy I was here. You know we gonna need him if we want Dom to get out from under that police investigation.”
Etta turned on her heel and strode from the room. We could hear her slamming pots and pans around in the kitchen.
“What you know, Easy?” Mouse asked.
“Too much,” I said.
“It’s them books, brother. Readin’ ain’t all that good, you know. It softens up your brain.”
“We can’t kill ’em, Ray.”
His teeth were smiling but he was staring gray-eyed death.
“Really, man,” I said. “If you kill ’em then Dom will go down for the murder.”
“Okay, baby. I got ya. No killin’ ’cause it’s for Dom. Okay.”
“I need an out-of-town car,” I said. “That and the money bag.”
“We could keep the money, though,” Mouse said. “Right?”
“Most of it. Hopefully they got more money at the house.”
“What house?”
“Down in Venice.”
Mouse grinned again. “You’re good, Easy. Damn good.”
WE PICKED UP A CAR from a friend of Raymond’s. It was a purple Chrysler, from San Diego we were told. We headed out for Venice at about nine-fifteen. On the way we decided that Mouse should approach the family, to make sure that Dean and Doreen were there. I tried to think of something better. Putting Mouse in the face of the enemy more often than not ended up in a war. But I made him promise that he’d keep his gun in his belt loop and his knife in his pocket. That didn’t mean much, though. Mouse had killed people with his hands, feet, and once with his teeth.
I waited down the block while he approached them with the promise of good weed that he could procure. He was gone over an hour and a half.
I sat in the car worried that the men got suspicious and overpowered my friend. If he died this time there’d be no solace for me. I was just about ready to take the eight-chambered .38 and rush the houseful of long-haired white men.
But then Mouse strolled up.
He was singing a song. “Feelin’ Good.”
Once next to me again I could see that he was pretty high.
“Damn, Easy. If them boys wasn’t all up against Dom I’d like ’em pretty good. You know I offered ’em my weed but they had golden hash. Damn. Wow. That shit twist up your mind.”
“Dean and Doreen there?” I asked.
“Sure is. Both of ’em. But they headed out to Canada tomorrow morning. Leavin’ the country—‘just in case,’ they said.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Bright and early.”
“Shit.”
“What we gonna do, brother?” Mouse asked.
He was grinning, looking at his face in the rearview mirror.
“Wait here.” I took out the Wells-Fargo bag and made it down the street.
I went into a driveway two houses down from the house of the motorcyclists and jumped over three fences. This brought me to a stand of fruitless banana trees that separated Dean’s brother’s house from his neighbors. There was loud rock and roll music playing from the open back door.
I took a deep breath and made my way across the cement patio and to an open window. Inside the window a balding man with a beard was kissing Doreen. It was a long, slow kiss. They were lying on a mattress on the floor, pressed up into a corner. The bald man put a hand up under her dress and she made a grunting sound that surprised me.
Then Dean came in.
“What the fuck,” he said.
Doreen jumped up immediately. She was a little slow on her feet, though.
The balding man was laughing.
“Just a little kiss, Dean. That’s all, man. You don’t mind if your brother gets a little kiss from his future sister-in-law.”
“Get the fuck in our room, Dorrie,” Dean said.
“Oh come on, baby,” she said. “It wasn’t nuthin’.”
I felt something brush against my ankle. When I looked down I expected to see a cat but instead it was a rat standing on its back legs, baring uneven yellow fangs.
I know I made some kind of sound but luckily Dean and his brother’s cursing drowned it out.
They argued for a minute or more and then took it out of the room with Doreen trailing after.
I tossed the money bag into a corner and then ran for all I was worth.
Mouse was listening to the radio when I got there. He was lost in the soul of Otis Redding and I couldn’t stop from breathing like a spent dog.
“WE COULD JUST CALL THE POLICE,” I was saying. We were still parked down the block.
“Ain’t LAPD’s case,” Mouse argued. “They ain’t gonna come runnin’ on a phone call. And even if they do come they’ll stop at the front door and that’ll be that. No, Easy. My way is the only way and you know it.”
I finally agreed. Mouse was crazy and unread but he was smart in spite of that.
I DROVE DOWN THE STREET going about thirty. Mouse, who was sitting in the backseat, lowered his window. When we got in front of the bikers’ house, he opened fire with his cannon-like .41. He shot all six chambers and reloaded with amazing precision while I made a U-turn at the end of the block. He opened fire again on our return route. On our third pass a man was standing out in front of the house holding a rifle or maybe a shotgun.
“Don’t kill him, Raymond!” I shouted as my friend opened fire.
The rifleman fired too, blowing out the rear window.
“I hit him!” Mouse declared. “In the leg, Easy. In the leg.”
The next time we went down the block the man was crawling toward the house. Gunfire flared from the windows and our stolen Chrysler was hit with a few slugs.
I threw a bundle of money onto the lawn.
Mouse was laughing.
“One more time,” he said.
“No,” I told him. “If that don’t do it then nuthin’ will.”
I DROVE SEVENTEEN blocks north to the nearly vacant parking lot of a Safeway supermarket. We left the wounded Chrysler there and went on foot to my car, which was four blocks farther on.
Then we came to the hard part.
I drove back down to Venice, to the street where we had played cowboys and Indians. The police were there arresting the occupants of the house. I saw them put Doreen into the back of a squad car.
“…THERE WAS A VIOLENT shootout in Venice last night,” the radio announcer was saying at 5:15 the next morning. I was on my way to work. “When the police arrived at the scene they discovered a bundle of cash in a Wells-Fargo wrapper. Inside the house police found a number of unregistered handguns and more evidence from the armored car robbery that occurred in Santa Maria last week. Arrested were Anthony Gleason, who was wounded in the shootout, Mickey Lannerman, Doreen Fitz, and Arnold Wilson. A fifth suspect, Dean Lannerman, is believed to have fled the scene on foot. Police sources have informed us that the escaped Lannerman and Miss Fitz are now prime suspects in the armored car robbery. Lannerman is considered armed and dangerous…”