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Authors: Thomas Pynchon

Tags: #Fiction, #General, #Political, #Satire

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BOOK: Inherent Vice
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the nearly total
absence of lighting in the parking lot could have been deliberate, to suggest Oriental intrigue and romance, though it also looked like a crime scene waiting on
it’s
next crime. Doc noticed a

56
Fireflite ragtop which seemed to be breathing deeply, as if it had raced all
the way down here gathering pinks as it came, and was trying to think
of how he could discreetly pop the hood and just have a look at the hemi
beneath, when Jade showed up.


I can

t stay out here long.
We’re
in Golden Fang territory, and a girl doesn

t necessarily want to get into difficulties with those folks.


This is the same Golden Fang you said to beware of in your note? What is it, some band?


You wish.

She made a my-lips-are-zipped gesture.


You

re not gonna tell me, after

beware of

and so forth?


No. I really only wanted to say how sorry I am. I just feel so shitty about what I did
...


Which was
...
what again?


I

m not a snitch!

she cried,

the cops told us they

d drop charges if
we just put you at the scene, which they already knew you were so where
was the harm, and I must

ve panicked, and really, Larry, I am, like,
so sorry?”


Call me Doc, it

s cool, Jade, they had to cut me loose, now they just
tail me everyplace, is all. Here.

He found a pack of smokes, tapped it on
the side of his hand, held it out, she took one, they lit up.


That copper,

she said.


You must mean Bigfoot.


Some warped sheet of plastic, that one.


Did he ever come around your salon, by any chance?


Looked in now and then, not the way a cop would do, not like expecting freebies or whatever—if this guy was being paid off, it was more like some private deal with Mr. Wolfmann.


And—don

t take it personally, but—was it Bigfoot himself who put me on the Buenas Noches Express, or did he subcontract it?

She shrugged.

Missed all that, Bambi and me were so freaked with that badass brigade stomping in, we
didn’t
stick around?


How about those jailhouse Nazis

t were supposed to been covering
Mickey

s back?


All over the place one minute, gone the next. Too bad. We were their
damn PX there for a while, we even got to where we could tell them apart and whatever.


They all disappeared? Was that before or after the fun started?


Before. Like a raid, when people know
it’s
gonna happen? They all
cleared out except for Glen, he was the only one who
...

she paused as
if trying to remember the word for it,

stayed.

She dropped her cigarette on the blacktop and squashed it with the pointed toe of her shoe.

Listen—there

s somebody who wants to talk to you.


You mean I should get out of here quick.


No, he thinks you can help each other out. He

s a new face, I

m not
even sure of his name, but I know he

s in some trouble.

She headed back
inside.

Out of the onshore mists known to shroud this piece of waterfront, another figure now emerged. Doc wasn

t always that easy to creep out, but still wished he hadn

t waited around. He recognized this party from the Polaroid that Hope had given him. It was Coy Harlingen, newly returned from the next world, where death along with
it’s
other side
effects had destroyed any fashion sense the tenor player might have had
left when he OD

d, resulting in painter

s overalls, a pink button-down shirt from the fifties with a narrow black knit tie, and ancient pointed cowboy boots.

Howdy, Coy.


I would

ve come to your office, man, but I thought there might be unfriendly eyeballs.

Doc needed an ear trumpet or something, because along with the horns and bells out in the harbor, Coy also had this tendency to fall into a nearly inaudible junkie

s murmur.


Is this safe enough for you, out here?

Doc said.


Let

s light this up and pretend we came out to smoke it.

Asian indica, heavily aromatic. Doc prepared to be knocked on his
ass but instead found a perimeter of clarity not too hard to stay inside of.
The glow at the end of the joint was blurred by the fog, and
it’s
color kept
shifting between orange and an intense pink.


I

m supposed to be dead,

Coy said.


There

s also a rumor you

re not.


That don

t come as such great news. Bein dead is part of my job image. Like what I do.


You working for these people here at the club?


Don

t know. Maybe. It

s where I come to pick up my paycheck.


Where are you staying?


House up in Topanga Canyon. A band I used to play for, the Boards.
But none of them know it

s me.


How can they not know it

s you?


Even when I was alive, they didn

t know it was me.

The sax player,

basically—the session guy. Plus over the years there

s been this big turnover of personnel, like, the Boards I played with have most of them gone
off by now and formed other bands. Only one or two of the old crew
are left, and they

re suffering, or do I mean blessed, with heavy Doper

s
Memory.


Story was you came to grief behind some bad smack. You still into that?


No. God. No, I

m clean these days. I was in a place up near—

A long silence and a stare while Coy wondered if he

d said too much and tried to figure what else Doc might know.

Actually, I

d appreciate it if—


It

s okay,

said Doc,

I can

t hear you too good, and how can I talk about what I don

t hear?


Sure. There was somethin I wanted to see you about.

Doc thought
he caught a note in Coy

s voice
...
not exactly accusing, but still sweep
ing Doc in somehow with some bigger injustice.

Doc peered at Coy

s intermittently distinct face, the drops of fog condensed on his beard shining in the lights from the Club Asiatique, a million separate little halos radiating all colors of the spectrum, and understood that regardless of who in this might help whom, Coy was going to require a light touch.

Sorry, man. What can I do for you?


It wouldn

t be nothin heavy. Just wondering if you could check in on
a couple of people. Lady and a little girl. See that they

re okay. That

s all.
And without bringing me into it.


Where are they staying?


Torrance?

He handed over a scrap of paper with Hope and Amethyst

s street address.


Easy drive for me, probably won

t even have to charge you for mileage.


You don

t have to go in and talk to anybody, just see if they

re still livin there, what

s in the driveway, who

s going in or out, law enforcement in the picture, any details you find interesting.

“I’
m on it.


I can

t pay you right now.


When you can. Whenever. Unless maybe you

re one of these folks who believe information is money
...
in which case, could I just ask—


Bearing in mind that either I don

t know or it

ll be my ass if I tell you, what is it, man?


Ever heard of the Golden Fang?


Sure.

Was that a hesitation? How long is too long?

It

s a boat.


Off-ly in-t

resteen,

Doc sang mor
e than spoke in the way Califor
nians do to indicate it isn

t interesting at all. Since when do you beware of a boat?


Seriously. A big schooner, I think somebody said. Brings stuff in and out of the country, but nobody wants to talk about what exactly. That blond Japanese guy tonight with the badass sidekick, who

s talkin to your friends? He

d know.


Because?

Instead of answering, Coy nodded somberly over Doc

s shoulder, across the parking lot, down the street at the main channel and the Outer Harbor beyond. Doc turned and thought he saw something white moving out there. But the fog coming in made everything deceptive. By the time he got to the street, there was nothing to see.

That was it,

Coy said.


How do you know?


Saw it sail in. Got here about the same time I did tonight.


I don

t know what I saw.


Me neither. Fact, I don

t even want to know.

Back inside, Doc found the light apparently shifted to more of an ultraviolet mode, because the parrots on his shirt had now begun to stir and flap, to squawk and maybe even talk, though that could also have
been from smoke. Lourdes and Motella meanwhile were behaving very
badly indeed, having chosen to assault a couple of local gun molls as a
sort of tag team, for which waiters and waitresses, keeping semi
-
visible,
had relocated a couple of tables in order to clear a space, and customers had gathered around to give encouragement. Clothing was ripped,
hairdos disarranged, skin exposed, and many holds with sexual subtexts
wriggled into and out of—the usual allurements of girl wrestling. Cookie
and Joaquin were still deep in conversation with Blondie-san. Iwao the
torpedo was busy watching the girls. Doc edged closer into earshot.

BOOK: Inherent Vice
12.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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