An
Incident Halfway to Hell
By Ian DeShils (Ernest Shields)
Chapter 1
"Allemande left and a' doe see doe, --- swing that girl then let her
go, . . .” A man with snow-white hair and a lyrical voice guided the patterns
with a practiced finesse. Fiddles skirled, the dancers circled - the
girl once more came back to Casey O'Brian's arm and then the final notes
swooped down to signal the dance's end. Applause, foot stomps and
whistles hailed the musicians.
“We'll take a fifteen minute break, folks.” The caller announced,
“don't forget, there are still raffle tickets at the concession stand,---
and after the break we've got a line dance coming up.”
The girl fanned herself with a piece of paper, an advertisement for
the dance, Casey noted.
“Would you like a soda. . .?” What was her name? For a moment Casey
was at a loss, then it came to him: Judy! Yes,--- only,--- Judy what? What
the hell was her last name,--- he couldn't remember from their brief introduction
a few minutes ago.
"Yes, please.” came the girl's shy reply.
She's really cute, Casey thought and a terrific dancer, too. From their
first turn on the floor he realized Judy was one of those rare naturals
who moved as though they'd been practicing together for months. He rather
liked her shyness as well. It was a refreshing change from the brashness
of the women he worked with at Paramount.
While wending his way to the refreshment stand, Casey started putting
together little scenarios on how to get Judy's phone number without acting
like he was coming on to her. She's way too good a dancer to lose track
of, but on the other hand, he didn't have the time or the inclination to
get back into the dating scene. 'Oh, for Christ's sake, he told himself in
disgust, --- here you are worrying about details that will likely never happen,---
just ask her and stop being such a wuss!'
Catching the bearded counter man's eye, Casey held up two fingers and
pointed to the Coke sign. The man nodded as he continued to fill a row
of paper cups that stretched out beside him. Casey leaned against the
counter. Like so many other Friday nights the comforting ebb and flow of
conversation washed over him,--- the little bursts of laughter from the crowd
seemed to crest like waves. He enjoyed this place. No matter how tiring the
week might be, a Friday night here always seemed to revive his spirits. There
was nothing fancy about it, just a big old VFW club and a bunch of ordinary
folks coming together for an evening of fun, yet of all the available entertainment
in Los Angeles, this had become his favorite spot to unwind.
"Hi, Casey!” A girl called. Looking up he saw Irene and Steve,
a young couple who attended almost every Friday. He smiled and waved at
them and at several others who were headed for the seating along the far
wall. Half the people here he knew by sight, if not by name. It was the
kind of comfortable anonymity he cherished,--- and which he hoped wouldn't
end as abruptly as Spear and the honchos at Paramount were saying. They
were now tossing out terms like 'block buster' and 'smash' for “Love Stories,”
but, surely they couldn't know yet. The last scenes were barely in the can,---
the final cut still weeks away.
These thoughts he pushed aside. Hit or not, he was proud of the work
he'd done in “Love Stories.” It was a good film, a solid job of acting,---
he knew from watching the daily's and from the comments made by Marvin
Spear, Hollywood's toughest director. In fact he almost hoped Spear
was wrong. A good film, yes, something to build a career on, but not a smash,---
Casey no longer yearned for instant fame,--- his five year acquaintance
with the rich and famous of Hollywood cured him of those fantasies.
Turning back to see how his order was coming he watched the kids behind the
counter slap hot dogs together and pour cheese over chips. Casey recognized
most of them from previous nights, except for the guy pouring drinks. He
was new, and not all that familiar with the Coke machine Casey realized as
he watched several cups overflow. A few moments later the drinks were on
the counter.
“Good crowd tonight.” Casey observed.
“Yeah, not bad. Can't say I care much for country-western music, but
it pulls 'em in I guess. That'll be three bucks.”
As he worked his way back through the crowd Casey spotted Judy standing
with a blond girl, their backs to him, heads together. Something about
the blond seemed familiar. It was the way she stood, a hand on one hip,.
. . almost like Melva, . . . The thought crossed his mind but he brushed
it off. Melva and country music? What a laugh! Yet, as he drew nearer he
heard the blond woman's voice over the buzz of the crowd, and it was
a voice he knew all too well. Casey's name was spoken, along with a derogatory
term that caused him to stop dead in his tracks. What the devil is she up
to, he wondered. Stepping forward he cleared his throat and said,
“Judy, here's your soda.”
The girl spun, red faced. Melva turned and Casey got a look at her
in a form he barely recognized; her dark hair now bleached a silver blond.
What a change, he thought, almost like a disguise, and not for the better,
he realized. Her coloring just didn't go with that hair and the odd orange
shade of lipstick she wore.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.
“Oh, I just happened to be passing.” she replied, tossing her new bright
locks in an old familiar way, “It looked kinda interesting.”
“Cut the crap, Melva, you wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this.”
Judy stood aside looking at the two in consternation.
Melva offered up her tight little smile which to Casey spoke as plain
as words: The evil bitch was here to cause trouble. He knew the same way
he knew the sun rose in the east. He glanced around expecting to see some
of her security men, but instead spied Hoot standing by the door. Shit!
Now she's dragging him into it. Damn her to hell! Casey suddenly felt trapped.
Not even friendship was sacred when Melva decided to claim her pound of
flesh.
“It's not going to happen you know, so you might as well forget it.”
he told her.
“There's a contract, O'Brian. You took the loot quick enough, now we
get to name the product.”
“Like hell you do. I returned that money twice and you refused it.”
“Uh-huh, sure you did, . . .” The sarcasm rolled from her lips, “tell
me another, Casey,--- I love fairy tales.”
“You know damn well I did! And if you think that cockamamie agreement
will stand up in court, just try it, I dare you.”
“Vitto thinks it might, anyway you signed a waver and that's good enough
for me.”
“Damn it, Melva, what is it about “NO” you don't understand? It's not
going to happen so just get out of my life and leave me alone!”
“Not likely Sweetheart. You owe a chunk of money, remember? We had
a deal and you'll stick to it or wish you had.”
Casey's Irish temper flared. “Do I have to get a court order? Two
years ago you didn't give a shit, 'Hit the road' are the words I remember.
Now, when it would ruin everything for me, you and Vitto want a flick,
well, in your dreams baby!”
“Oh, I have dreams Case, dreams of seeing you on the small screen doing
what you do best. It just so happens that right now you're worth a fortune
to Vitto, so like it or not, it's time to pay the piper.” Turning to Judy,
Melva said, “You do know what he does best, don't you? Well let me tell
you, Honey. . .”
Casey felt like decking her, but instead he quickly interrupted in
a voice loud enough to override hers, “Gee, I guess we all have dreams,
Melva. Mine are of you taking piss test every week. I read about the drunk
driving charge. Has the old court system got you dried out yet?” That
should twist her crank! Melva never could stand ridicule. He appraised
her carefully. It was ten o'clock and she was still stone cold sober,---
must be the probation, he thought.
Casey's words hit the exact spot he aimed for; Melva's face blanched
before turning beet red. She fumed, practically breathing fire, but Casey
didn't let up. Since they were finally face to face, he went for the
showdown.
“So, how did you like the drunk tank? That must have been damn
exciting for you Melv, all those hulking big cops with handcuffs and nightstick's.
Oh, that's right,--- I forgot,--- YOU like to do the cuffing, not the
other way around.”
That did the trick; Melva exploded.
“You God damned mother fucking son of bitch,. . .” she spat, her normally
pretty face distorted in anger. Judy beat a hasty retreat to the other
side of the hall as Melva cut loose with language that would shame a sailor.
Casey looked at her for a moment, then brought the outburst to an abrupt
halt by emptying both cokes over her head. For a moment she sputtered like
a drowned cat then started screaming at the top of her lungs.
“For once in your life, just shut up!” he said, reaching out and giving
her a little push. Melva slipped, losing her balance. Her arms flailed
and she sat down hard amid the spilled ice and coke on the dance hall floor,
her screeching temporarily silenced in a moment of greater indignity.
From the corner of his eye, Casey spied Hoot charging through the crowd,
his muscled arms shoving people aside left and right. As the huge man closed,
Casey raised his hands in surrender, only his old friend didn't slow,
he just kept coming, his face set in lines as hard as stone. A chill ran
down Casey's spine,--- fear gripped his heart. He never saw Hoot look this
grim before. At the last possible moment Casey did a side-step spin and
with a dancer's precision kicked the man squarely in the groin. It was hardly
a love tap, but still far from the power Casey was capable of. He wasn't
mad at Hoot, just suddenly scared to death of him. The surprise attack
brought about the desired effect; Hoot folded. Casey, adding insult to injury,
planted a solid right to the side of Hoot's jaw and drove him to the floor.
It was over in an instant, but Casey wasted no time in congratulating himself.
He knew at best Hoot was only stunned, and there wasn't a chance this side
of hell of surprising him again.
The ensuing confusion covered Casey's escape. He slipped out the front
door, pushed past a crowd of smokers near the entry and stepped into the
alley between the buildings. There, he waited. When Hoot got his senses
back, he was going to be one pissed off individual and Casey had no yen
to be caught loitering at a phone booth waiting for a cab. 'What a night
to be on foot,' he thought! He watched the entrance while silently cursing
the sports car that spent more time in the repair shop than it did on the
road. Behind him, the building's service door opened, dimly illuminating
a section of the alley. Casey tensed, then relaxed as the counter crew
began dragged trash bags out to the dumpster. The kids made several trips
and Casey realize just how up-tight he was when he jumped each time the
metal lid clanged. A few minutes later, Melva came out the front a step
ahead of Hoot. Casey slid deeper in the shadows while a hollow, empty
feeling invaded his gut. He knew he overreacted. It all happened too fast
to think,--- Hoot's line backer size made him scarily intimidating, but knowing
the man as he did, he realized now Hoot was probably just intent on breaking
up the fight.
“Damn it to hell!" he muttered, “Why did it have to end this way?”
He berated himself for not using his head and just walking away from Melva
and her mind games. Now, the one good thing that came from knowing Melva
was gone; his friendship with Hoot. The man's myopic devotion to his cousin
was unwavering; however, it was odd he couldn't see what a manipulating
bitch she was,--- and him the most manipulated one of all.
“Woman trouble, Huh?” A voice from behind startled Casey and he spun
to face the bearded counter man. “Got a light?” the fellow, asked, shaking
a cigarette loose from a crumpled pack. Casey handed him a book of matches,
then at the sound of squealing tires glanced back to see Melva's BMW pull
away. “She looks familiar,” the man said, waving a glowing cigarette in
the general direction of the retreating car. “Who is she?”
“Melva Birch.”
“No shit, you mean the Divine Melva?”
“Or, the Malevolent Bitch, depending how well you know her.” Casey
replied, fishing out a Marlboro and lighting up. He'd been trying to
quit, but at that moment he really felt the need for one.
“So, what was all that about, a break up?”
“Naw, an old business deal gone sour. She won't take 'no' for an
answer.”
“Man, you two deal hard. Say, aren't you afraid she'll call the cops?
I mean you did knock her down. That's assault if she presses charges.”
Casey answered with a short bitter laugh, “You don't know Melva.
You can bet she has something on her mind right now, but it isn't the
cops. Besides, I didn't hit her, I just gave her a little push. Only
her pride got hurt.”
“What about the guy?”
“Well, that's a different story. I suppose Hoot could press charges,
only I don't think he will. Melva has him wrapped around her little finger.”
Again a twinge of guilt invaded Casey's conscience. Poor Hoot. Why the
hell couldn't Melva simply accept the money and let everyone get along.
“I saw the action. I gotta say it was pretty neat, but you don't sound
too happy about it.”
“I'm not! I never wanted to fight Hoot, we were friends. Now I guess
that's down the drain, too, thanks to Melva. I just hope to God he isn't
hurt.”
Suddenly a muscular arm snaked around Casey's neck in a stranglehold.
The cigarette flew from his hand as his arm was twisted painfully behind
him.
“You got your wish, Twinkle toes; I'm fine.” Hoot's voice whispered in
his ear. “Get the car, Scotty while my dear considerate friend and I have
a conversation.”
The bearded man grinned, tossed his cigarette aside and vanished
down the alley.
“So, you didn't want to fight me, huh? Well, you sure could have fooled
me! Jesus Christ, Case, why couldn't you just settled with Melva? Now
you got her pissed off and I ain't feeling so friendly myself. I owe you
one, Buddy, and if I hadn't heard what you just said, you'd be getting
it right now.”
Casey struggled, trying to break free which only tightened Hoot's grip.
“No, ya don't. You had your chance, now we do it my way.”
Hoot's red Buick pulled up along side, the same car Casey helped him
pick out the summer before. He was thrown into the rear seat, Hoot's
knee landing in small of his back while his hands were jerked behind him
and lashed together. Hoot then pulled Casey to a standing position and
with an open palm slapped him so hard stars danced before his eyes.
“That's for the sucker punch,” he said, roughly shoving him into the
seat again. Crawling in beside Casey, he slammed the door.
Casey blinked back tears, not so much from pain as from frustration.
He struggled with the binding, which only seemed to get tighter as he
pulled. The car rolled forward into the light. The crowd of smokers still
surrounding the entry, were now only steps away. Hoot grabbed Casey's
arm just above the elbow, squeezing painfully,
“No yelling. Just sit there and be quiet!”
Something began to wet Casey's upper lip. He snuffed; then a great
deal more ran down to invade his mouth. Hoot glancing his way, noticed
it. “Aw shit! Now you've got a nosebleed!” he said, as though it was all
Casey's fault. Whipping out a handkerchief he mopping up the offending
drip, “Lean back.” he ordered, holding the cloth in place while Scotty
pulled the car into the traffic lane.
“Where you taking me?” Casey demanded. He realized they were heading
away from Los Angeles, going north.
“Just a little trip. Melva don't want to see you right now, and believe
me you don't want to see her. We're gonna hammer this out Case, Melva want's
her due.”
Casey was about to say 'when pigs fly', but thought better of it. The
fact that the Malevolent Bitch would involve herself in a kidnapping put
a different light on the whole thing. She must be crazy, he thought. Hoot
dabbed at the blood a few more times, then satisfied that the flow stopped
he settled back in the seat.
“Exactly where are we going?” Casey asked again.
“Never mind,” Hoot replied, “but you might as well relax, it's gonna
be a couple of hours. Are you comfy?”
“Oh, hell, yes! I never knew how great it was to sit with my hands
tied behind me. Thanks for thinking of it.” Casey responded sarcastically.
Hoot chuckled. Casey squirmed on the seat trying to find a position were
his arms didn't ache, but failed miserably. “Do you suppose you could
cut me loose? I'm not about to jump out of a moving car.”
“Well I could, but you know something? My nuts still hurt. If I cut
you loose I just might have to show you what that feels like. But hey,
I'm versatile guy,--- how do you want it,--- tied or loose?”
Scotty guffawed and Casey settled back in silence. He was well aware
of Hoot's tit for tat philosophy, the punch was paid for, obviously, but
the kick was going to take a bit longer. He tried relaxing which seemed
to help, or else his arms were going numb. The ache lessened and after
awhile the steady plunk-plunk-plunk of tires hitting expansion joints
had a mesmerizing effect that let him slide away from the discomfort.
Quite suddenly, he felt exhausted. Like a wave receding, the adrenaline
drained away leaving his muscles feeling as heavy as lead. Twisting in
the seat to give his hands a bit more room in the corner, his foot bumped
against Hoot's leg.
“Are you okay?” Hoot asked.
“I guess so.”
Hoot's question,--- the little tinge of concern in his voice put Casey's
mind at ease. There'd be no more rough stuff from Hoot. At the same time
he wondered what was in store for him at the end of this ride. Probably
something painful if Melva had anything to do with. Sitting trussed like
this convinced him the rumors were true. Melva did have mob connections,
but surely that didn't include Hoot. No way,--- he knew Hoot too well
to even consider it,--- they were friends, or at least they had been until
tonight; but, why the kidnap and why was the bearded man along? Was
he going to end up beaten until he agreed to do Melva and Vitto's bidding?
Casey dismissed the notion. Whatever was going on he knew in his heart
Hoot wouldn't stand by and let this Scotty guy do a beating. Hoot
couldn't have changed that much in the few months since he last saw him.
His fatigue settled into to an almost numbing weariness. Tired, his
mind drifted, floating just above the steady hum of the engine. All was
quiet until Scotty inserted a tape in the deck and the opening bars of
Melva's “Lover Boy” filled the car. It had been a while since he
heard that one, he thought. As much as he now detested Melva, that song
brought back some good memories of his salad days with her he almost forgot.
“Lover Boy” was the third video Casey worked on and as it turned out, one
of the most played of all time, a real chart topper for Melva. He recalled
the warm feelings he had back then as she stood before the whole crew and
thanked them, praised them in glowing terms for their hard work. It had
been a tough shoot, hours of grueling rehearsal, hundreds of takes, yet
it had also been a milestone for him as well. It was his first shot at lead
dancer and it gained him a two line mention in Variety.
It was soon after “Lover Boy” he first heard Melva's nickname,---
and was shocked by it. In those days Melva was still perfect in his eyes,
the perfect woman, the perfect boss,--- it wasn't until later he found
out Melva was known as the Malevolent Bitch by a great number of people,
including a former boyfriend, Larry Burke, who crossed her once and now walked
with a decided limp. Luckily, Casey never came close to fitting into the boyfriend
category. Boyfriends came and went while he stayed on,--- more than
three years as a full time employee, longer than practically anyone except
Hoot. The drinking, the drugs and the parties took a toll of everyone, Casey
included, and in the process he discovered Melva was a far different person
than the warm, caring one who heaped praise upon them that day. She could
be as sweet as honey when it served her purposes, and twice as mean as a
rattlesnake if the least bit annoyed. When they parted he was in debt to
her up to his ears, only the debt didn't seem to bother her at the time.
“I eat pretty boys for breakfast,” she screamed, “get out, and don't
show your face here again.” No questions of money or contracts then,
just hit the road and don't come back. Casey couldn't even remember how
the argument started, only the ending. Yet, like all endings it was also
a new beginning. He got it together and a year later landed the lead role
in “Love Stories.” It was a terrific break, an unheard of opportunity
for an unknown like himself and he lied through his teeth to secure the
role. No outstanding commitments he assured the studio,--- Melva didn't
give a damn anyway,--- or so he assumed. 'What an idiot,' he thought,---
and the worst part was after signing the Paramount deal he could've raised
the money in a heartbeat. He could have walked in and cleared the advance
account with Birchline, probably even bought out his contract for next to
nothing,--- but, oh no, he had to be the Big Man and wait until the big
check arrived.
It was during the final weeks of filming his stupidity came back to
haunt him. He found old contract hanging over him like the sword
of Damocles with dear Melva taking practice swings. Still, phone calls
and legal threats were one thing, kidnapping was something else again.
She must be crazy if she thinks she can get away with this! He had always
suspected Melva was behind Larry Burke's mugging, but mob connections or not,
there were too many witnesses at the dance hall for her to pull this kind
of shit. The woman had finally lost her mind.
After the city lights were well behind them, Hoot leaned forward
and gave directions to Scotty. The car threaded its way down the next
off ramp and onto a two lane and then mile after mile of black lonely
highway unrolled itself in front of the headlights.