Chapter 35. Anna at Large

Anna knew she was vivid dreaming… it was how she always dreamed, but this was an opiate dream. It was of the tropics… of a temple ruin in a rain forest. Rain… not your regular rain coming down in drops dripping but rain falling in thundering sheets… a Niagara of rain … and coming out from under and between the knobs of gnarled and twisted roots overhanging the decaying stone edifice of a jungle temple ruin, a procession of a hundred monks wearing rain soaked saffron robes in twos, were led by an ancient monk. She stood raising a hand - halt handed - facing the procession in the middle of a causeway on which the monks stepped to the slow beat of drums towards her. Each monk reverently cupped a bowl in both hands containing a lotus blossom. A funeral dirge. She stood in front of the procession waiting for it to arrive. She couldn’t hear herself begging the leader something… his head was shaved like hers…his face was kind though creased with age. He whispered, “You belong to us.” She recognized the voice from the shadows of a transparent veil. It was that of the Bird Dog. “You know that by now, don’t you?” 

“No… I can’t. I must find my father.”

The saffron robes of a monk in the procession directly behind the leader turned blood red. He was Smerdyakov, “No. Stay with us. The worms are ready to dine.”

Bird Dog barked, “No, Anna, Escape! Your father’s fallen into a deep well.”

With a start… startled, Anna tried to get out of the bed. Dogs barked outside the window next to her. She didn’t understand, it was a hospital bed… with rails on the sides. She pushed herself out and off but something was wrong. Her body leaden, she was moving through thick air, her feet felt as though strapped with heavy exercise weights and they wouldn’t follow commands. Anna fell forward but caught her fall, hands out, on the bed tray. It rolled away but she gained control in time by falling to the side and landing halfway on the bed. Lifting herself on one elbow, she saw police patrolling with K-9’s outside her window. There was a closet across the room. It was far away enough to be daunting but she felt she must check to see if she had clothes.

A nurse rushed into the room before she could get to it. “Annadel, you mustn’t be out of bed. Let me help you back.”

“No… no. I don’t want to be here.” The dream was still vivid, “My father’s in a deep well!”

The nurse humored the girl as if speaking to a child, “Stay, Honey, the doctors are making their rounds and will be here within the hour.”

She gently pulled Anna back further onto the bed while an attendant wheeled a gurney into the room.

The attendant was a robust man with cropped blonde hair on a head too small for his broad shoulders, biceps as thick as Anna's thighs, and pecs that challenged the fabric of his white Tee to their maximum tensile strength. The nurse patted the gurney and asked, “Can you get up on this on your own, honey?”

“Really? You call me Honey. Who are you and where the fuck am I?”

The attendant stood by, “Is this one gonna be trouble?”

The nurse nodded his way. He clasped his arms around her and lifted her in a swoop to the gurney. There wasn’t enough in her to resist when they strapped her down and wheeled her out the door to an elevator and then across a hallway into an examination room. They had her reclined in a gyno-chair within seconds. Under normal circumstances, she felt vulnerable with her feet in stirrups trapped in one of those chairs. She had less than no time and little energy to object. The Nurse and attendant started to strap her down.

“Please, no more restraints.”

“Okay, just behave.” The nurse nodded to the attendant who backed off.

A doctor entered… well, he looked the part of one, wearing a white coat accessorized with stethoscope and clipboard. The nurse frowned. It was obvious to Anna there was no love lost between the two, “You can go, I’ll take it from here,” he said.

 “You know the rules, Doctor Coxcomb.” And as though reading through the penal code, the Nurse recited, “the AMA recommends that a female chaperone is present for all pelvic exams.”

“Have it your way but she has to request it.”

“She did. Right Hon?” Then the nurse, not waiting for Hon to respond, ignored him and smiled while opening a box with swabs and paraphernalia wrapped in crinkly medical paper, explaining, “Now, sugar, this is a rape kit. Have you ever seen one?”

Anna’s reality sharply collided with the one she was being presented, “No, fuckin’ no way. I haven’t been raped, have I?”

 “You tell me. We’ll administer a rape test just in case. You were kinda out of it when you came in. Can you remember any of it?”

Anna’s bile rose. It was as though she was being treated as just another O.D. Then she remembered pieces, memory flashes, of what happened at the boat. Of Larry --- of Casey --- of Casey! “Yes, Casey.” She screamed, “They killed Casey!”

“Calm down girl. Or it will be the restraints.” She asked the attendant, “Did somebody get killed. Who? Who got killed?”

Anna shouted, “Yuri, he killed Casey.”

“Who’s Yuri?” the nurse asked Dr. Coxcomb.

He shrugged, “Don’t know.”

“Yuri’s… uh,” Anna recognized the doctor from somewhere but focused on gathering what strength she had while resolving to escape. No time to think about him, she demanded, “I don’t want that man to stay here. He, that doctor, doped me…” Dr. Coxcomb’s smirk reminded her of what had gone down… “you were there, at the boat. Fucker, you doped me!”

“She’s delusional.”

“Don’t worry, Hon,” the nurse assured her, “I’m not going anywhere. Got that, Doctor?”

The doctor nodded for the attendant to act, “What are you waiting for? Get her out of here.”

The nurse shrunk enough to avoid the behemoth’s grasp. Doctor Coxcomb helped to shove her out the door. The nurse struggled to get back in the examination room. She put up a hell of a fight. Anna saw her chance while they pushed and shoved in the hallway. Of the three, only the nurse could see her slip behind them during the fray and, saying nothing, let her slip past the Doctor and the hulk. With her hospital gown flapping, opened in back, the last they saw of her was her butt passing through the door to the stairwell. The attendant took off in full pursuit mode while Doctor Coxcomb followed. Anna’s coordination returned enough so that, one hand sliding on the rail, she damned near flew down the stairs, leaping four or five steps at a time. She exited the stairwell to find the first floor was one level above ground level. It was her good fortune the nearby window was a fire exit. She opened and burst through, setting off the alarms.

Once on the ground she ducked around a corner and dashed to the parking lot on the opposite side of the street. She could hear the doctor shouting orders, “Get her! She went over there!”

The dogs weren’t in sight. Their barking was going the other way. She spotted a VW Van parked within a short sprint, squatted next to it and tried the door. It was locked but the wing window was unlatched. She heard a commotion from frantic security guards and police shouting orders and more dogs barking. Her arm was thin enough to reach inside the wing window and pull the latch. She cracked the door enough to get inside and close it sliding under the dash before a squad car passed. The barking faded into the distance. She groped inside the glove box for anything that would work towards connecting the ignition pegs to hot-wire it. A fishing tackle box was on the floor behind the passenger seat containing a pair of needle-nosed pliers. Under the dash was a tangle of wiring that led to the radio. She clipped off a strand long enough to wrap around two of the power pegs and enough to tap the ignition peg… perfect. In seconds, she unscrewed the nuts, leaving the third starter peg open to make contact and kick in the starter when ready. She sat up enough to peek over the dash to see if the lot had anyone in it looking for her.

Old VW’s make a racket when they start and Anna knew she didn’t have a chance to outrun anyone if she was caught firing it up prematurely. Several uncomfortable moments passed. She crawled behind the seats to seek out anything useful and found a laundry bag. Among skid-marked skivvies and tees, stinking of beer and sweat, she dug out a greasy pair of denim coveralls, and a hooded San Francisco Giants sweatshirt. Getting out of that hospital gown was her first priority and the hoodie afforded her an extra layer of cover from getting I.D.’d. It was dusk by the time she fired it up and headed West on I-80 towards Vacaville.

She’d chosen the VW because they were the easiest vehicles to hot-wire. However, it bothered her that the contents of the dirty laundry bag told her it belonged to a working man. She’d try not to trash it and, besides, would need a less conspicuous car by morning. She had no money or plan beyond getting to the Island Mansion. Bird Dog was the clue her dream provided. Father is in a deep well… blood… raining blood.

She exited at Vacaville where she knew a cab driver and artist named Max, that left Santa Barbara to run some kind of arts program in the prison, thinking maybe he was still in town. Max and Crash had also been involved in a Vietnam Veterans group and had shared more than a few hours at Pal’s when they drove the night shift in Santa Barbara. Crash told her about the distinct triangle-shaped building where Max had his studio upstairs. He said you just go into old town on Main Street above a bicycle shop, you can’t miss it. It was a long shot but she thought, if he could be found, she might be able to hit him up for some cash and possibly a ride.

The door, to the second-floor studios up a flight of stairs, was locked. The bicycle shop on street level was closed but a light was on in the rear. She went around to a side door, ready to break-in, but was relieved when a man answered from the other side of the locked door, “We’re closed. Come back in the morning.”

She played the damsel in distress, explaining, “I must see Max. Does he still have a studio upstairs? Please, please...” She employed her strippers’, sugar-honey, plea, “I can’t get in upstairs. Pleeeee-ease, can you let me in?”

The little girl act works on most men and some women. She had played the role of pre-adolescent innocence so many time that it seemed her physical appearance regressed to that of a twelve-year-old. He opened the door and, seeing a pathetic urchin in a hoodie and the legs of her over-sized coverall rolled up, exposing filthy ankles and filthier bare-feet, he snarled, “No, sorry, fuckin’ McGee skipped out on rent over a year ago. If you see him, tell the deadbeat asshole he owes us three months’ rent. He might have forgot us but we haven't forgotten him.”

Flipping her hoodie back, she turned on the seductive charm, and wagged her head, “Dang mister, I’m sorry to hear that. He owes me money too. Do you have any idea if he’s still in town?”

The man lightened up paternal a little more when he saw how her sweetness matched her voice, “His old roommate told us Max went to Santa Monica. Last I know of, Ralph still lives on Holly Lane. Maybe he can help you more than I can.”

“You wouldn’t know his address, would you?”

“Sure, come on in, I’ll look it up. I’ve been there before but I don’t remember the number.”

It crossed her mind to rob the guy for petty cash, depending on his answer, but thought better of it when she noticed his hand he held the pad down with was a prosthetic. She didn’t pity him but she felt empathy for the suffering… of the story that goes with losing a part of one’s body.

“When you get to the building it’s the last door in there.”

A steady bass-riff, duh-duh-duh-duh-doom-muh-doom, growled through the ground in seismic waves under her feet as she approached the far end of the walkway past several apartments. She didn’t have to check the address, it had to be Ralph’s place. Anna pounded hard on the door… shouting answered her from inside, “One-Two… One-Two-Three-Four, … I wanna be X-Rated!” da-pa-papa da-pa-papa… the grumbling ceased… Clang! Clank! Followed by ear-splitting screeching feedback! The door opened a crack, smoke billowed out. Anna leaned into it and filled her lungs with the pungent fumes the best she could.

Ralph’s jet-black disheveled hair cascaded into his face and mid-back over his black leather jacket. He looked like a curly-haired Latino Ramone and younger than his age because he never had to shave. He spoke loud, as though the amps were still booming, “What do you want?” she held her hands over her ears. He stopped and took off his gun-range muffs. He poked his head out and peered from the door past Anna to the parking lot of the complex and then back into her dark eyes, “Woah, who are you, sweetheart?”

 She stepped back enough for him to appraise her, “I’m Anna. You must be Ralph, right?”

Ralph’s deep resonate voice, and smile just short of a leer, told her that he never had to go so far as to seduce women. To his advantage, women liked Ralph’s Latin good looks even though it was obvious to them he wasn’t interested in much more than bong hits, beer, sex, a few laughs, more beer, and more sex. They needed little or no persuading to fall into his bed. He turned on the charm, “Oh now, what can I do for you?”

 “Is Max around? Roy, at the bike shop, said he might be here.”

“Max, Naw. Max. Shit no. He ain’t around. What are you, a cop?” he eyed her clothes and opened the door wide enough for her to see inside through the apartment’s thick atmosphere. Standing back to look her over he was pleased at what he saw, or imagined, under the hoodie and over-sized coveralls.

“You’d be busted if I was.” She turned as if to leave, “Tell Max a friend needs his help… a friend of Crash, if you hear from him?”

“Just kidding. Crash, wow. Come on in and have a hit.”

Square egg-flats were stapled to the walls and taped to the windows like sound proofing but making for a claustrophobic space. It would be damned dark in there during day-light hours.

Ralph was stoned. When he was stoned he talked to hear himself talk. After all, he was a singer and, as any singer should, he liked the sound of his own voice, “I ain’t seen him in a year and, Max? Last I heard, shit, Max bailed with an Indian Chick to like Nicaragua or something.”

A card table with folding chairs was in the middle of the room and everything was damned near in reach of it… a stack of speakers, amps, and bass guitar at one side on a stand nearest to the door and a thread-worn couch and beat up dresser against the inner wall that separated the kitchenette from the living room. The center-piece of the table was a bong and an open bag of buds in a tip-tray.

He lit the bong and took a deep hit. After sucking it in and holding, he squeezed out, “Can you fuckin’ believe that? Max in a fuckin’ jungle.” Cough, “Man, I can see why though. Sent me a picture of her. Hot. Not Bianca Jagger hot…” cough again, “you know, but better, in my book. Mix in a little Africa with some Miskito… but not the bug… Miskitos are Indians… More like earth mama hot. Not bad for a white boy. Like I said, more like something Crash would go for.” He pulled out a chair for her, “You want a hit, a beer?”

She set the chair away from the table, at an angle facing the door where she could get out easily if she had to. She gave Ralph the once over as he went into the kitchenette to bring back two long-neck bottles of beer. She asked, “Don’t your neighbors complain?”

“Naw. I gots them egg-flats ta cushion the sound and, ‘sides, I give that one a bud or two and this one a few lines… before I quit the Cola…, uh, you’re not a cop, are you?”

“Would I tell you if I was?”

“Good point. Crash, no shit.” He lit the bowl again and passed the bong to her, “I met Crash… worked out with him when he was here to practice for my brown belt… you know, Ka Ju Kempo… he was drunk but, once he bowed, look out… he’s a bad-assed dude. Seems like he would’ve been the one to go to Nicaragua though, not Max. You know, Max… he got dinged bad… messed his head up… a bike accident… concussion. They say, that Chiquita was a school teacher or something. He’s more of an intellectual, ya know… not the soldier type… he went as a journalist, I think. Crash now, I saw him kick-ass once… tore a new one on some pendejo… a biker, at the Library.”

“In a library? Nobody shushed him?”

"What? No. The Library’s a bar… used to be a real Carnegie Library, though," he spaced, "It's in the basement where the children’s section used to be," and laughed a stoner's laugh, “Hah, we played there in kindergarten. Why you lookin’ for Crash? You a cop?”

“That’s three times you asked. Again, what makes you think I’d tell you if I was?” she lit the bong and let the bubbling of it affirm that she wasn’t likely a cop.

They sat at the card table while Ralph served up a couple more bottles of beer. He liked her but still wasn’t sure of her.

“I need to stay out of sight for just one night. I can use your floor.”

 “Sure, you kin stay here tonight?”

“Really? thanks Ralph.”

“It’s Ralph to Gringos. You can call me Rafael.” He flipped a Trojan in its wrapper out from his jacket pocket onto the table next to the bong, “Don’t worry, I gots protection.”

She wasn’t sure whether this was a clumsy come-on, trying to test her… piss her off, or, all the above.

Ralph reached behind the speaker stack next to the door “I gots this kind too,” and pulled out a pistol grip, sawed-off, twelve-gauge.

Anna was on it. In a swift turn-about, she was off the chair, had the shot-gun out of his hands and into hers with the naughty end of it on Ralph’s throat, “I doubt if you have the kind of protection I need, Rafael.”

After a few pregnant moments, he grinned and asked, “foreplay?” Not a wicked grin… she knew it came from the innocence of play. She laughed, to laugh-off the tension of the past week and handed the gun back.

Ralph’s confidence was comforting as was his sense of humor. They talked a few hours in which he explained, “I was a guard you know? Uh, a Corrections Officer at the prison ‘til I got busted. The DEA, and every other law enforcement agency, kicked in the door but it was a bogus bust… beat it in court. I only had caffeine pills. But I’m suspended without pay. When I get reinstated I’ll have back pay coming… gonna throw a party and then I’ll quit. I’m gonna have David Letterman host it and invite all the big stars like Joan Jett, Iggy Pop, Joey Ramone, Stevie Nicks, and, you know, Hunter Thompson and Joe Bob Briggs… Some might even come. You never know.”

Anna thought it was clear that Ralph was hemp-delusional but she humored him and explained an abridged version of what had gone down… before she asked, “Damn, I haven’t had a shower in a longer time than I can recall. They wouldn’t let me take one before the fuckin’ rape test. I was out of Dodge before that was ever going to happen.”

“Who? What happened. It wasn’t Crash, was it? Who did it?”

“Who said I was raped?”

“Why’d you run for it? They don’t do those tests unless they thought somethin’ happened, do they?”

“It’s hard to explain. A fuckin doctor doped me with somethin’ I don’t know what…”

“Who?”

“Dr. Coxcomb. Are you gonna let me use your shower or what?” She pulled the hoodie off up and over her head.

 “Shit, that was Max’s doctor. What a con!” Ralph appraised her bare breasts peeking half over the bib and under the straps of the coveralls. “Hey, you have some nice ta-ta’s, small ones. I like ‘em bigger but them’s nice,” he said.

“Thanks, I grew ‘em myself,” she shrugged off the straps, let the coveralls fall to the floor, and kicked them to the side, cupped her breasts and stood proud in front of him, “Two for the price of one.” When it wasn’t about selling it, sex came to her as a gesture as natural as a handshake. She knew sex bought loyalty better than talk or cash.

Poor Ralph, the punk rocker, was a sucker for love and sure that there was no other reason but sex for a girl to be naked. At first, he didn’t notice her body was bruised, especially her inner thighs. His libido was stemmed … not entirely but enough, “Yea, sure. Shower’s back in the bedroom, first door on the left. I think there’s a clean towel already in there.”

She showered, and afterwards, checked the mirror for bruises, wondering what happened to her, asking her image, “Was I raped? Wouldn’t I remember something like that no matter how doped up. Maybe beaten to look like rape?” She came out of the bathroom to find Ralph laying naked on top the covers on the bed. She crawled up next to him. Anna was in no mood for sex but was willing to pay the price for his loyalty. Her experience with young men was that the best way to a man’s heart wasn’t his stomach at all… at least not a man Ralph’s age.

What started out as a nuzzle… a ploy… her way of paying for room and board, became more than that to her. He held her… spooned up from behind. It was a comfort like the way Crash held her on the beach that first night. He was kind and gentle in one moment and then, at times, a beast… just enough of a beast. If ever she loved a lover it would’ve been Casey but that was one thing about Casey that disappointed Anna, he seemed almost afraid of her and that he held back. Like he was already in love with her. But Ralph was different. He wasn’t going to fall in love and it turned into a passionate night. She wasn’t in the habit of rating johns because most weren’t worthy of thinking about it that much but, if she did, Rafael would be at the top of her short list.

She was out of bed at sunrise. Ralph’s jacket and black jeans were draped over the back of a chair. His wallet hung on a chain from a belt loop. She found that it contained a couple hundred bucks in twenties, tens, and smaller bills. She would’ve taken all of it but she took only what she needed… a couple twenties.  He wouldn’t miss it unless he counted it right away. He snored peacefully while she rummaged through the cupboards in the kitchen to find a few cans of refried beans that she opened and a bag of chips and salsa.

Ralph awoke to the rattle-crinkle of the bag of tortilla chips and saw her sitting naked at the table scarfing down the refried beans scooped onto a chip. “Oh shit, you’re hungry, I’m sorry. We kin go to the store.”

 “No, I have to get out of here. I can’t be seen in public.”

“Yeh, you need clothes.” He opened a drawer from the small dresser next to the table and lit the bong, “My ex left some of her clothes. There’s some jeans and tees and some tennies in here, help yourself.”

“Yes, that too. But I have to get out of Vacaville.”

“Where? What can I do?”

She liked that he didn't hesitate or ask why, “I need to get to a place near Rio Vista?”

“Sure, I’ll take you, but, I kin tell you need a break. Stay with me a bit.”

She paused for several minutes. Her face hardened, “I need to go near there. You ever hear of the Island Mansion?”

 “Yeh, lived here all my life. Born and bred…. Island Mansion? Shit, I tried to check it out a few times. Something weird about it though. It looks abandoned, you’d think. But, I been there several times, and every time, some bad-assed lookin’ dudes with dogs… German Shepherds and one guy had a big dog, a Mastiff! They chased us off. I didn’t never see no tats on ‘em but I know ex-cons when I see ‘em.”

While the bong gurgled, she checked the clothes for anything that might fit and pulled on a pair of very tight jeans, “You mean, you didn’t ever see any tats on them.”

“What?” He passed the bong to her. “You need to chill.”

She held up a hand and declined, “No thanks, Raphael, not today. I have business to attend.”

 He sat thinking considering whether to take her but smiled as though he’d caught her in a misunderstanding, “That’s what I said… didn’t see no tats. Ain’t goin’ up that driveway, though. No way. I figured it ain’t healthy t’ git too near it.”

She tried the gym shoes. They fit better than the jeans, “I’m good. You ready? That’s all I need you to do, Rafael, get near it, just get me near it.”

“Woah, there Trigger. You gotta stay a few days, I can tell.”

“No, really, I’ve gotta go.”

“I know this much. Something heavy’s happenin’ and I don’t want you in over your head.”

“Over my head! No, dear one, it’s your head you should be worried about.”

“Hey, I ain’t helpless. I kin take care of myself, look.” Ralph opened his sliding closet door at brought out a neatly pressed Ghi with his black belt hanging from it.

Anna wanted to laugh until she saw that Ralph looked hurt, “Awe Rafael, dear Rafael… thanks, I appreciate it, but I can’t bring these guys down on you.

“Let’s just get some groceries and think about a plan. You gots something heavy goin’ on with Crash. I just know it. Call it tuition if you want but I’m not about to take on these guys ‘til I hear from Crash.”

Anna chuckled, “Okay. You’re right. I’ll stay one more night. And, by the way, that’s intuition sweet one.”

She knew what he would say to that and answered in unison with him, “That’s what I said, tuition.”