Chapter 29. The Island Mansion

The women's prison in Chico was once
the Norconian Hotel, a  hideaway
for the film stars of its day.

The Island Estate was among a collection of mansions and hotels from the twenties scattered about California where the fabulously Nouveau Riche, film stars, and gangsters, took shelter from the common folks. A few survived the wreckers ball or fire. The Island Estate was of this genre of architecture and past affluence.

The mansion appeared to have fallen in disrepair but was used by contractors like the Bird Dog to train recruits like Anna for privately conducted covert operations. These were sanctioned by, but kept separate from, the alphabet soup of government agencies. Even the director of Operations was kept in the dark about its existence. The decaying structures on the estate were cover enough for a blanket of plausible deniability when political hacks and bureaucrats engaged in covert criminal activity outside of the watchful eyes of Washington DC.

A couple miles off the dirt path and onto pavement, I found a good spot to pull off the road behind some brush to check out Larry’s wound. He was hit on the left shoulder blade. Not much blood like an artery but enough for him to bleed-out if we let it go too long. I tore off one of my flannel sleeves, rolled it up in a wad, and pressed it onto the wound, “Give me your belt, Larry. We don’t have much time.”

He was pale and too weak to be challenging my decision, “What for?”

“I have to strap it down... keep some pressure on it.”

He was reluctant to take off his belt as though he suspected my motives.

“C’mon, trust me Doc,” and I tightened it diagonal around his neck to his arm pit the best I could. It was enough to hold the improvised compress.

The pick-up tore past us while I played field medic. Had they been looking they might have spotted us. I could see the Rio Vista Junction in the distance from where we hid and waited to see which way they’d take. The choice was made for us if I wanted to get to the mansion, or Dinky Dao, on the other side of the river and shipping channel. They went towards Rio Vista. That makes it foolish to cross at the Rio Vista Bridge. It was almost a sure thing Yuri would have his boys posted near the bridge. They wouldn’t be so dumb to shoot at us in the light of day but being spotted would be bad enough. It might give away our anchor point or the Island Mansion where I hoped Ryan would be waiting as planned. Hope… yes, hoped. Plans have a way of getting the old Fubar. The only other way to cross would be the long way skirting Sacramento from the east.

An ambulance and two Solano County Sheriff patrol cars sped past us from Fairfield going towards Yuri’s crashed SUV. A police helicopter went in the direction of Rio Vista. They had to be looking for us. I hoped Ryan would be around to straighten them out.

Our best bet was to go north through Sacramento and turn south before the old Tower Bridge where we could cross the river without going through the city. Larry was getting weaker and barely holding on. He needed to get where that shoulder could be patched. Casey had the Dinky Dao prepared for combat and/or base opiate pleasures. He kept a military first-aid field-kit on board, well-stocked with anything needed for emergency surgery like removing a bullet: rubbing alcohol and peroxide, compress bandages, wraps, sutures, clamps, probes, forceps and most importantly, syringes and several vials of morphine if Anna hadn’t pilfered them.

It wasn’t easy for anyone to get anywhere near where Gabe and I fished and hunted geese on Stone Lake when I was a kid. Occasionally, when I came home on leave, we’d set up there in the slough off the road near the lake to hide out, get fucked up, tell stories, or fish and duck-hunt. It wasn’t Stone lake but rather it was the slough. We called it old Stoney because any sportsman worth his salt doesn’t like to give away perfect spots for fishing or a duck blind. The only way into the lake from Snodgrass Slough would have been at low tide under the low bridge at Lambert road by canoe or kayak. There was no way to get into the lake by any boat the size of the Dinky Dao. Old Gabe covered her with camo-netting and she was almost invisible unless I knew where and what I was looking for.

Poor Larry was barely hanging on by the time I rode the graveled washboard road, branching south to a narrow arm of the slough. I stopped and dismounted at a spot that was hidden from the road in the bushes. Three yards at low-tide of sucking muck was between solid ground and the Dinky Dao. I threw down an eight-foot plank across it that was laying at the side, handy for crossing.

Doc couldn’t muster the strength to swing his leg over the seat to dismount, kickstand sinking into the rain soaked earth, he fell to the ground, pulling the bike over on top of his other leg. I lifted the bike, leaned it against a near-by tree. Larry sat where he fell. The pallid skin on his face was transparent enough to see the network of blue veins on his brow.

“Can you stand, Larry?”

“Yeh, I think so.”

 “Let’s try this again.” I hefted him over my shoulder, crossed on the plank and plopped him through a flap of the netting over the side where he fell limp to the deck.

I flipped the switch of the marine radio. I hoped someone, Ryan or anyone, was aboard to fil me in on what was going on. I called down into the forward berths, “Anybody here?”

No answer. Anna, Casey, Gabe, the Bird Dog, and Ryan, none of them were there. They had to be at the Island Mansion. I picked Larry up off the deck, took him in the cabin, and propped him upright on the seat at the same table where we’d tripped on acid an ice age before. The radio could wait.

Taking the field kit out of the cupboard, I filled a syringe from one of several vials for Larry’s sake and spiked some morphine for myself… first to calm my nerves. My hands had to be steady for what I was about to do. He tipped over to one side while I prepared for surgery.

“Larry, can you sit up and lean on the table?”

“Yeh sure…” but I had to pull him upright and slump him, torso splayed, over the table. I muscle popped some morphine into his arm and lit one of Casey’s generic cigarettes while I waited for the juice to kick in. Something about cigarettes and morphine go well together. I’d done this in the field before… several times.

“No-thangs. I dun smoke sig-rettes.”

The loss of blood and morphine had him slurring words, smiling, and rambling, “I dun wanna haff a sickret.”

“Okay. See, Ah nivver inhaled seegars… you haff seegars?”

“We’re haffin fun, huh?”

“Nah, we don’t have cigars, Larry.” What I was about to do with the forceps would be torture for him. The was no way to prepare him for the shock but I tried, “Brace yourself now. Are you ready?”

“Ready, shit yeh. Luv ya man.”

“That’s the morphine talkin’ Larry. You’ll be cursing me in a minute.”

I started with the probe … fragmented talon… bone hit… missed arteries… good. His shoulder would be useless without intensive reconstruction. The forceps took out the biggest chunk of lead but there were several other pieces that tweezers painfully probed and extracted.

Thanks to the morphine, Larry merely moaned and groaned throughout the whole bit-by-bit digging and picking.

I disinfected, and packed the wound properly; wrapped and stabilized his arm in a sling. For good measure, I shot him up one more time for his cooperation. He smiled vacant eyed after I laid him down and tucked him in at the forward berth.

That was when I saw someone else sleeping under blankets in the opposite berth. I nudged and pulled away the blanket and turned the body from its side to its back. It was Casey. There was no need to check for a pulse but I pressed his neck with forefingers on cold flesh regardless. A peculiar smile graced his face. Always a bit disturbing… the face frozen in a death grin. I’d seen it before. It doesn’t mean they died peaceful though… just sometimes, when it is sudden… like Casey, with a third eye bullet hole in his forehead, he grinned back from the void

Anna was at the galley when I came back up from the berths, “Good job, Crash.”

“Good job yourself. I didn’t hear you come aboard.”

“That Hog made enough noise. I could hear it a mile away. I took to the bushes… just in case.”

I tried busying myself, wiping the blood off the table with Larry’s shirt, while she watched. I succeeded mostly in smearing it around. I passed her to the aft deck to draw a bucket of slough water. “How long? I didn’t see you.”

“Long enough to observe your surgical skills. You missed your calling. I’m impressed.”

Rinsing out the rag, I washed off the table finishing it off with rubbing alcohol and a cleaner rag. “Where’s Gabe?”

“At the island with Ryan. Casey and I waited here for you.”

“I hope this means there’s a strategy.” She would have to explain what happened to Casey. I felt the fatigue of staying awake two days and morphine creeping up. “I thought you had Casey by the dick. Why did Gabe leave you guys alone?”

“You need some rest, Crash. Give me your gun. I can take the first watch.”

Worry? Casey’s been shot and… the fatigue and morphine had me wasted. I laid the Browning in front of me. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

“You shot Casey?”

“No Crash.”

“Then who?”

“Save a life, take a life. Get some rest, David.” Her mysterious answer couldn’t keep me awake.

Head resting on folded arms, I fell asleep, or passed out, at the table. The sun was setting when I awoke. Shit…. Anna was gone. I could hear Larry snoring from below in the forward berths. I’d been dreaming of a river running near-by … roaring at times. The river sound was from traffic on I-5… spitting distance away. We seemed so isolated in the wetlands of the delta but civilization was not far away between Sacramento and the Bay Area. A million people have lived all their lives tucked away in suburban bedroom communities no more than a quarter mile or two or three as the crow flies from this Walden wilderness. It would not be seen from I-5 a half mile away that I was tied up in an old wreck of a boat with its owner singing with angels. I climbed out to check the area and to find Anna. The Harley wasn’t where I’d hid it either, “Fuckin’ Anna!”

Her form arose from the bush holding my Browning at ready. I hadn’t seen her. “I told you I had the first watch.”

It made no sense to me why she was pointing my gun at me… I knew better than to ask why. Instead I asked a simpler question for her to answer, “Where’s the bike?”

“In the drink, Crash. It’s no good to you now.” She waved the piece towards the boat. “It’s too much hardware to stash.”

On the way to the boat, I asked, “How the fuck are we gonna get out-a here without it?”

She gave me that nod an attendant gives a patient in a psych ward, “You can thank me for thinking ahead.”

“Sure, thanks.” I slowed my pace hoping she would come within reach. Lesson one in escorting a prisoner. Stay at least two arms’ lengths back. She’d been tutored but not well enough to match my experience. I half turned and reached out as though to help her board the boat. She paused long enough to wonder, perhaps, why I would even think she’d fall for such a gesture. It was an opening. An opening long enough to finish the turn melding Aikido style she fired a round into my dervish dance and spun to her side, disarming her with a flip of the wrist, snatching the Browning from her hand. I laughed… can I say, merrily? “Now, you can thank me for thinking ahead. Why Anna?”

It was my turn to show her how to escort a prisoner. We climbed back on board and sat across from each other at the galley table where so much had transpired before. She counted her fingers and sang, “On the twelfth day of Christmas… ”

“The Twelve Days are after Christmas, not before. Have you seen Ryan lately, or were you planning on a trade after you kill me too?”

“What do you mean by that? I don’t want to kill you, Crash. I thought you killed Casey.”

“Ryan? Smerdyakov. I don’t get it. You and Ryan?”

“Maybe, what’s it to you?”

“So, Casey’s dead and Ryan’s in? Casey’s old enough to be your dad and Ryan’s old enough to be his dad, that’s what I meant by that.”

“So, you could’ve had me if you wanted, dumb fuck.”

“Anna, you played me too. I just might be a dumb fuck. I don’t know what’s going on. Why did you kill Casey?”

At this point I was prepared for anything she might say but not this, “Crash, I didn’t kill Casey. You did.”