The engine roars as Agent Orange floors the accelerator.
*
All I can see are the tops of trees, passing by in a blur. Hear horns blaring.
The sedan brutally swerves from side to side, tilting heavily on its straining suspension.
Now I’m slipping crazily across the seat, crashing first into the door then back towards Agent Orange.
All I can think is that we’re swerving in and out of other cars on the road.
Suddenly, I hear a police siren burst into life.
It’s in the distance but, despite the way we’re hurtling along, it’s gaining, growing in intensity.
Our sedan begins to slow, take a straighter course.
We pull in beneath the shade of roadside trees.
‘Don’t worry kid,’ Agent Orange says as he finally draws the sedan to halt. ‘At least these cops have scared the T-Bird off.’
As soon as the sedan stops, he leaps out, his ID already flicked open in a raised hand.
‘Official business officer,’ he shouts. ‘Thanks for scaring off that T-Bird!’
‘T-Bird?’
The cop sounds like he ain’t scoped the T-bird chasing us. He’s obviously pulled us in for speeding, nothing more.
‘Anything else we can do to help?’
The other cop sounds like he’s eager to help a Fed agent, or whatever it is Agent Orange is – I never got a close scan of his ID.
‘Sure, officer; you can make sure you keep an eye on this kid for me.’
He says it like it could mean keep an eye on me to keep me out of danger, or to make sure I don’t get into trouble.
One of the cop laughs. ‘Let’s just have a look-’
The cop never finishes his sentence. There’s a gunshot, so loud it makes the sedan rattle.
There’s another shot, sounding even louder.
Agent Orange leaps back into the car, slamming the door behind him, slamming the sedan into drive again.
He pulls away from the kerb like he’s a racing driver.
‘Sh–!’ he screams. ‘They’ve just shot the two cops!’
*
Chapter 14
‘Look, how many times I got to tell you kid? If someone like me wanted you dead, you’d be dead.’
Yeah, thought he’d say that.
We’ve finally pulled in somewhere safe. I ain’t shy of admitting, he had to calm me down.
I ain’t ever thought I’d be around when two cops were shot.
‘Killing cops is a serious business kid!’ he tells me, like I’d never have guessed.
Sh–, no kidding, I’m tempted to say.
But I don’t feel so smart anymore. I feel like a little kid, truth be told.
‘I was behind a bush!’ I find myself screaming. ‘He shot at me even though he couldn’t see me. So he ain’t exactly minding if I ended up dead or not!’
‘A bush kid?’ He gives a hard, grimacing chuckle. ‘You telling me you think an agent can’t make out a target behind a bush?’
‘So you’re admitting it was an agent, yeah?’
‘Whoever it was, he had a silenced sniper rifle. Things like that don’t come cheap.’
‘An agent, yeah?’ I persisted.
‘Chances are – yeah.’
‘Working for you?’
‘You got the memory of a goldfish kid? I just rescued you, remember?’
‘Rescued me from someone who ain’t after killing me, so you’re telling me.’
‘Didn’t want to kill you at first. That ain’t the same thing as killing you soon as he reckons it’s time. My guess is, any guy prepared to kill a couple of cops reckons it’s time.’
‘So you’re the big hero Captain America. So how come you ain’t just getting these guys to back off?’
The hard, grimacing chuckle again.
‘You know, you make me laugh kid. You should be up there on stage, with Jerry Lewis. Falling around, making a fool of yourself. At least get some money for being stupid.’
‘That a way of saying you ain’t got no influence over these other guys, yeah?’
The chuckle again. Perhaps he’s right, perhaps I should get myself on Broadway.
‘You forgotten already what I said ’bout right hands not knowing what left hands are doing? Fingers not knowing what the one next to it are up to?’
It’s not a real question; least ways, he doesn’t wait for an answer.
‘See, you’re learning this the easy way cos I’m telling you, boy. Me, I found it out the hard way out in French Indochina. You know French Indochina?’
I shake my head. I could probably point out China on a map, but I ain’t ever heard of no French Indochina.
‘Not surprising, kid,’ he says. ‘They don’t want anyone knowing ’bout Viet-nam. The Frenchies were taking a pasting from the commie Viet Minh out at a place called Dien Bien Phu. Me and some flyboys, we weren’t officially out there, but we were set to go in, the US Cavalry charging to the rescue, right? Never happened, kid. We let the Frenchies die and the commies take over. And you know why? Turns out ever since World War Two we’d had agents out there supplying and supporting the Viet Minh’s leader, Ho Chi Minh.’
‘So all this tale of heroics in China, it’s all just to let me know – what? That you ain’t helping me after all? That you’re all squabbling away like kids in a playground.’
‘What I’m saying is kid, they got no scruples ’bout letting good men die to hide what they’re up to; so what chances you giving a dumb ass kid, eh?’
‘So what’d I do, eh? Hide? Where’d I hide?’
‘First thing, I’d say goodbye to your Mom. Second thing, pack your bag, kid!’
*
Chapter 15
Mom’s glazed eyes are intently focused on the flickering screen.
Lassie, coming to the rescue; ‘What you saying girl?’
Mom’s eyes never leave the stupid dog. It’s running past the same clump of fir trees it runs past every week.
The pack’s by the cooker. Franco-American Macaroni with cheese sauce. A ‘quick trick that makes a little meat go a long way’.
She’s added her own special touch of course. Hunt's Tomato Sauce. ‘The modern way to cook with tomato.’
Mom’s always bought into these slogans. Like they’re her equivalent of philosophies from Marx or Sartre (yeah, I have seen these around Marilyn’s house).
‘Newport refreshes while you smoke’ – she’s bought into that one big time. All those sea-blue packs and ads featuring beautiful women bathing in Mediterranean waters. ‘Only Newport adds a refreshing hint of mint to the soothing coolness of menthol…’
She coughs, splutters. Reaches for another ‘refreshing’ smoke.
They’re as far away from our home life as anything, those ads. A life we’ll never see.
‘I was cleaning at Elizabeth Pollard’s today.’
She says it without looking up, even though it’s now the adverts. She says it like it’s something I should be really interested in.
Normally, I ain’t giving a rat’s ass whose house Mom’s been cleaning. Could be the Queen of England’s house, all I care. But, see, Elizabeth Pollard’s a neighbour of Marilyn’s.
‘And?’ I say.
‘And she and her friends were playing cards – bridge, I think.’
Playing bridge. That’s up there with the sort of life you see in old Fred Astaire movies, way Mom sees it.
Up there with long, slim cigarette holders and dinner parties with forks and knives set out like you ain’t got anything better to do than neatly line ’em up.
That don’t mean Mom knows how to play, natch. But any mention of bridge will always come with a hint of excitement in her voice.
This time, th
ough, it’s slightly different. Like she’s dying to tell me something, but she wants me to ask the right questions first.
Like when I was younger and she’d be egging me on to try and guess what was in the wrapped Christmas presents under the scrappy bit of fir that passed for a tree in our house.
‘And?’ Now I’m wondering if this is really going anywhere after all.
She spins around in her chair to look at me. She can’t hold in her secret any longer.
‘They were full of it, Jack, all of ’em. All thinking they knew more than anybody else ’bout poor Marilyn dying like that.’
Her eyes flash like miniature TV screens.
‘So you know what I said Jack? I stop cleaning, Jack, and I said you’d seen one of Bobby’s agents there that night, Jack!’
‘What? Are you crazy Mom?’
I’m livid. I can’t help it! Is the stupid woman trying to get me killed?
‘I never said I’d seen Bobby’s agents there that night Mom!’
Mom’s eyes are wide, like she’s shocked I’m so angry. Like I’m angry that I didn’t get the Christmas present I wanted.
‘That man who came here said you said you did!’ she says defensively.
Bobby Kennedy?
What’d he be doing there?
Sure, okay, I could see the President, Jack, turning up – they’d met at Lawford’s place, and he had an eye for the broads, way I’d heard it. And who wouldn’t have an eye for Marilyn?
‘Sure, and what else’d he say Mom? He said to keep quiet ’bout it, didn’t he?’
I splutter and spit I’m so angry.
‘You trying to get me killed, you stupid woman?’
She’s on her feet now, pleading for understanding.
‘No, no, it ain’t just me said this Jack! Lizzy – Elizabeth – well when she hears this, she’s all quiet, right, thinking ’bout it! Oh, I weren’t sure if I should say this, she said, but now everyone knows, well, she said, I saw him there that night too! She’d seen him there too, Jack, she said! So it ain’t just you who’s saying it Jack! You ain’t in danger no more if Lizzy’s saying it as well!
‘Seen who? Who had she seen?’
‘Bobby! Bobby Kennedy – she said she saw him and two other men go to Marilyn’s house!’
‘Aw, she’s making it up Mom – can’t you see? She’s just trying to outdo her friends.’
‘She said she was playing cards and they all saw him!’
‘What time?’
‘Six or seven.’
‘Can’t have been Mom. I was there round then; I never saw him.’
‘So they ain’t got the time right, is all! Bridge, they were playing bridge, I reckon, and they ain’t aware how long they’ve been playing.’
‘It’d have to be ’bout nine thirty Mom!’
‘So what time is it now, eh, Mr Know-everything? Go on, tell me what time it is now!’
‘Well I ain’t sure Mom! Five? Six?’
‘See, you ain’t knowing, are you?’
‘Okay, okay Mom – you could be right. They could’ve got the time wrong. It could’ve been about nine thirty.’
I ain’t gonna go telling her you lose track of time when someone’s out to pop you. And I ain’t wanting any arguments with her, not when I ain’t sure when I’ll be seeing her again.
I head off to the curtained-off bit of the bedroom that passes for my room. I pack a small bag quickly. There’s not much to pack, to be honest.
‘I’m heading out for a while Mom.’
I swing the bag over my shoulder, like I’ve persuaded some mug to pay for an hour’s bowling.
‘Jack, you ain’t angry with me are you?’ she asks.
‘Nah,’ I say, bending over to give her forehead a kiss. She is my Mom, after all.
She acts surprised, pleased.
‘I’ll make you something special later,’ she says, smiling, taking my hand and holding it like she doesn’t want to let go.
I slip my hand out of hers.
‘I’ve got to go Mom,’ I say.
Great; the most she’s ever said to me, and it happens on the night I’m leaving.
Outside, I slip into the car’s passenger seat. I can’t help but look up at the window, glowing dimly behind the filthy curtains.
I couldn’t even tell her where I’d be going.
He said it wasn’t wise.
He hadn’t told me where we’re going anyway, just to make sure I couldn’t tell her.
He pulls the sedan away from the kerb.
‘It’s for the best kid,’ he says.
*
Chapter 16
‘Kid, I’m really beginning to wonder if I ain’t doing myself wrong here, putting my life on the line to save you. More I hear from you, more I wonder if ain’t been better if you and kooky Miss Monroe had been locked away some place together.’
The sedan’s main beams are on, forming a glowing pyramid of light across the road ahead of us. Damn it all if it ain’t later than I thought it was.
Mom was right ’bout how time can fool you, passing by quicker than you think it can.
I’d told Agent Orange how Mom’s ‘friends’ had seen Booby Kennedy approaching Marilyn’s house around nine thirty.
‘Ain’t I already told you Marilyn ain’t kooky?’ I say in reply to his put down.
‘And I’ve already told you kid, don’t go thinking you know someone just cos you enjoy flattering yourself you know them. If you think you know them, it means you don’t. All that I told you earlier about the Frenchies – it’s still going on kid, betrayal at all levels. Few months back, friends of mine died trying to help Cubans take back their own country. Brave Americans dying on a beach all because some other Americans suddenly decided there’s things they ain’t wanting disclosed. Not just rogue agents neither; people in power, kid, with their own secret agendas. So tell me kid, why should I trust the word of some stupid broads who’ve over indulged on the martinis?’
‘They were playing cards, not drinking martinis.’
Agent Orange gives me a withering glance.
‘Kid, martinis will’ve been involved, trust me.’
‘You told me to trust no one.’
‘Lucky for you I’ve got both hands on the wheel kid, otherwise you’d’ve earned yourself a good slap there. See, your Mom and her friends, they’ve got overactive imaginations; see a guy in a smart suit, and they think it’s Bobby Kennedy. You ask me, they’ve got their times wrong and it was that limey Lawford they saw going over there.’
‘Big difference in time; you said he was there at eleven.’
‘You seen a woman after a couple of martinis kid? She’d be hard put to tell the time on a town clock, let alone an itsy-bitsy wristwatch.’
‘Going by what I see in the papers, it ain’t looking to me like Lawford’s ever gonna admit he was there that night.’
‘He was there kid, trus–’
He pauses, gives me a sly smile.
‘I’ve been doing some digging kid. Why else you think I’m here helping you?’
‘So now you’re saying you believe me things ain’t adding up?’
‘Things don’t add up – but that don’t mean we’ve got the sort of answer you’re looking for kid.’
‘So?’ I give him a look, like I’m waiting for an explanation.
He makes out he suddenly has to concentrate on his driving, so I decide to start the ball rolling.
‘See, the way the limey says it in the papers, when he calls Marilyn she sounds sleepy. Ain’t no different from when he’s called a hundred times before, he says. She’s planning on going to bed. Yet he tells you or your boys that she’s ranting. That she’s goodbying the President, Bugs Bunny, Wily Coyote and anyone else who cares to listen.’
‘Yeah, I see kid. I also see you’re hoping your little nuggets of fools gold is gonna get me revealing what I know.’
‘We
ll all the others calling her that night say she’s fine. Both before and after the limey’s call. See in the papers where DiMaggio’s son Joe Junior calls? Eight thirty he’s on the blower, seeking a little advice regarding his romantic problems–’
‘Sure, I know that kid. His engagement had been broken off. Pamel Ries, twenty one year old honey blonde. “If anything was amiss, I wasn’t aware of it,” he says.’
‘Fact is, only one saying she’s crazed is this smarmy limey. You telling me there ain’t anything strange there?’
‘Plenty of things’re strange about that night boy.’
He doesn’t go any further. I decide to help him out again.
‘Here’s another thing that just ain’t stacking up right. Lawford, he says he’s calling cos he thinks she’s lonely. Inviting her to a party, right? So how come he’s asking her again when he’s already asked her twice? First time when she’s round his beach house, second when he called around five. Both times she says no.’
‘Way he has it kid, your Miss Monroe called him asking for his wife’s phone number, vacationing with the kids out in Hyannis Port. She sounded lonely, so he called her back.’
‘His wife Pat Kennedy, right?’
He gives me the sly look again, managing to say ‘Don’t mess with me kid’ just with his narrowed eyes.
I reckon he must practise that look in a mirror to get it off so pat.
‘Means nothing kid, and you know it. No matter what he told the papers, he told me he was worried about our Miss Monroe. So he calls his manager, Milt Ebbins. Ebbins tells him not to go over – How’d it look? You're the President's brother-in-law, for christsake! So he calls Monroe’s lawyer, Milton Rudin. So Rudin calls the house eight thirty, getting Eunice to check out on Miss Monroe. Eunice says she checks out okay.’
‘That phone sure sounds like it was doing a lot of ringing that night. Sounds like Marilyn was fine again, you ask me. Sounds like you also been doing a lot of checking yourself.’
‘Told you kid, I don’t trust no one. Especially our limy hero, who makes out he’s still not satisfied, see? He calls another friend just before eleven, this guy Joe Naar. Asks him to call round and make sure Miss Monroe ain’t gone and given herself an overdose. Before Naar can even leave his house he gets another call – Rudin again – telling him everything’s okay after all. Turns out our good Dr Greenson has given Marilyn a sedative.’
He’s turned off the highway, heading down some streets with low-built houses on either side. The streets here aren’t even straight. They wind over and around what must have been rolling hills at one time.
‘Still our hero’s concerned,’ he says. ‘So he goes round, taking Pat – Pat Newcomb, the press agent – with him. And, well, perhaps that sedatives not working too well or something, because now he’s panicked, and – and, well, here’s the rub kid, the detail that shows those broads have been dipping into those martinis like they’re bathing pools – because, come eleven thirty, he’s on the phone again. This time to Bobby Kennedy.’