An Incident Halfway to Hell
By Ian De Shils (Ernest Shields)

Chapter 4

“Wake up, Case, we're here!”

The shake aroused Casey who found himself slumped sideways in the seat, his head pillowed on Hoot's thigh and he remembered ending up in this exact same position that night at Melva's party. When the booze caught up with him, he passed out and Hoot sat on the verandah for an hour or more holding his head, or maybe preventing him from killing himself by rolling down that long flight of steps. Struggling upright, he discovered his hands were now free. Somehow he missed feeling that maneuver, but how long was he been asleep? The last thing he remembered was hearing one of Melva's tapes playing quietly in the background while Scotty talked to Hoot about a concert date in Chicago.

“Where are we?” Casey asked.

"I call it 'Halfway to Hell.' It's my own little desert oasis. You can get out now.” Hoot led Casey to the door of the medium sized adobe house outlined in the car's headlights and once inside demanded his shoes.

“What do you want 'em for?” Casey asked, looking down. The place wasn't carpeted, unglazed ceramic tile covered the entire floor.

“Never mind, just kick them off.” Hoot replied, flipping on the rest of the interior lights.

The house appeared to be one large open space, at least from what Casey could see. A small kitchen ran along the right hand wall with an eating bar and stools defining the area. To his left, the room spread expansively before a massive fireplace and on the wall above the mantel hung a pair of crossed swords he recognized at once. One was a damaged practice foil that belonged to him, or had, until he tossed it in the trash, the other a pitted dueling rapier he and Hoot picked up at a garage sale one Sunday afternoon. The white painted walls held pictures he also recognized, enlargements of snapshots  the two shared over the years. Some were Hoot's favorites, some his, like the one showing the two of them trying on huge Mexican sombreros. That one was taken on a Tijauana day trip four years ago. He also liked the blizzard scene,--- he and Hoot huddled together,--- wrapped up like Eskimos in Montreal. That one taken two years ago on the last tour they did together. The wall was alive with pictures of dancers and band members most of whom long since departed Melva, and central among them was the framed playbill from the first tour they did together; both their names in such tiny print it took a magnifying glass see them.

Casey scanned the room. Lots of seating in front of the fireplace he noted, modern, but showing a definite Spanish influence. The intermingled wooden pieces of furniture were of pure Mexican design. Carved and painted chests and tables picked up the motif of the beams that spanned overhead and those repeated in a scattering of glazed tile insets in the floor. Heavy burgundy drapes stood guard along three arched windows and like the massive front door, the kitchen cupboard faces carried deeply incised carving. It was cheerful room yet held an almost monastic feel of quite and calm.

Scotty pushed past asking for the bathroom, Hoot pointed and the man disappeared through an alcove Casey missed at first view. The house was evidently larger than he thought. When the man returned Hoot handed him Casey's shoes, saying, “He won't be needing these.”

Scotty gave Casey another of his shit eating grins, “Well, gotta be going. Watch your step around here, Casey,” he said as he slid out the door and closed it behind him. A moment later the car started and pulled away.

Casey wondered about the comment, asked, “All right, what's with the shoe bit?”

“Now I don't have to worry about you hiking out a' here. It's a good ten miles to anywhere and nothing but sand burrs and cactus in all directions. No phone either. Get the picture?”

Hoot sauntered into the kitchen area, filled a coffee maker and plugged it in. Casey settled silently onto one of the stools for a moment, then asked, “Why are you doing this Hoot? Damn it, I've never done a thing to you.”

Hoot rubbed his jaw, “Oh, no?”

“Okay, so I punched you. Hell, I was scared, you came at me like a damn brahma bull going after a rodeo clown and I just reacted.  I let fly before I thought, but I'm not talking about that. I've always been square with you and I can't understand why you want to ruin everything I've worked for?”

“Aw shit, Case,--- I don't.   You know I don't hold grudges;  but, think about it; you signed with Birchline for five years and that contract still stands. I warned you about getting in too deep with those advances and do you remember what you told me?”

Casey squirmed, “Yeah,” he admitted. He always figured the next tour and the next video would take care of it, only the 'next tour' never materialized ,--- Melva fired him a week before it started.

“The way I see it, you kinda brought this on yourself and you can't just walk away, Case. You either have to pay off those advances or work it out,--- it's in the contract.”

“Didn't she tell you I tried? Hell, Paul sent me statements. I knew exactly how much I owed. When I finished the film at Paramount I sent a check, in fact I sent it twice and they returned it both times. Damn it, I've tried satisfying Melva, but I'll burn in hell before starring in one of Vitto's porn flicks.”

Hoot just stared at him for a long moment, “You're serious aren't you? I mean about the money. That wasn't the story I got! Melva said you trying to weasel out.”

“Well I'm not,--- at least as far money is concerned. I'll admit I wasn't as smart about it as I should have been, but I'm not trying to screw Birchline. If they'll take the money, fine, but I won't do a skin flick; I can't,--- Paramount has a pile invested in this project. Can't you just see me in one of Vitto's epics coming out at the same time as 'Love Stories' hits the big screen? God, I'd be drummed out of Hollywood.”

“Well,--- when you come right down to it, you're not exactly a virgin. Those stills Vitto took a few years ago are still circulating on the Internet.”

“Yeah, but those are only nude shots,--- hell,--- everyone does those. You know what Vitto wants, a regular fuck film. That would ruin me. What I can't figure out is what Melva thinks this kidnapping bullshit will accomplish. It won't change my mind.”

“Whoa there, Case, what kidnapping? Hey, you and me are on a little vacation here, Buddy, just like old times.” Hoot replied, grinning as naively as a ten-year-old.

“Old times my ass! When did we ever vacation together?”

“Well,--- we talked about it,--- it wasn't my fault you signed up for every acting class in L.A.   Anyway, we always shared a room on tour,--- it was almost the same thing.”

“Bologna,--- doing one night stands,--- seven days a week is not a 'vacation'. Yeah, we had some fun,--- when you weren't 'otherwise occupied.' That last tour, for instance, I must have packed your stuff twenty-five times and hardly ever saw you at all except on stage. I thought Melva was gonna wear you out before that trip was over.”

“Melva?” Hoot exclaimed. “Holy shit, did you really think Melva and me were getting it on?” he laughed, “Naw, we don't swing that way. It was Sara Smith. Remember her, the little blond with the big boobs?”

“Really? Now wait a minute,--- didn't you used to call her the Frost Queen?”

“Well, yeah, but there was a slight January thaw. It didn't last though, by the third week she froze over again.”

The vibes, those soothing emanations that existed from the very first day of their friendship had once again settled over Casey,--- the feeling so familiar he found it impossible not to drop into the same old comfortable repartee.  He watched Hoot slice a small block of cheese, the sharp cheddar they both favored and he realized it had been six months or more since they  last shared a meal. Sadly, they seemed to have, somehow, run out time for friendship. Work kept them too busy to take a day off and go to the beach, or to a movie like they used to. Instead, they wound up talking to each other's answering machines.
It was the chill from the metal footrest penetrating his stockings that brought Casey back to the present and to his current predicament.

"Ya' know, you can call this a 'vacation' or anything you want, but what the hell does it accomplish except causing more trouble?”

“All right,” Hoot replied, “It's not a vacation. Honest, Case, I didn't know you tried to settle the advance,--- if I had, maybe I could have done something. Now it's too late. Melva is pissed and you're in real trouble. If you just hadn't signed that stupid release none of this would have happened.”

“Hey, I was oiled to the gills that night!”

“You weren't that drunk. I don't know what your problem was,--- Vitto yelled 'audition' and you were the first to drop your pants.”

Well,--- he 'was' drunk, but Hoot was right, too, he wasn't stoned drunk. He clearly recalled being embarrassed when Vitto pointed out his lack of 'essential star quality', referring of course, to Casey's average endowment.

“Christ, it was just a cast party, those things were always wild,--- and I wasn't the only one who signed a release.”

“No, but you're the whose tit's in a wringer now. Look, lets forget that shit. After tonight it's not contracts you have worry about, it's Melva. She went to the dance to harass you, to make you run with your tail between your legs, only you turned the tables on her. Now I think she want's you in a ditch somewhere.”

“What! You mean dead?” Casey was shocked.

“No, that wouldn't satisfy her half as much as seeing your face smashed. She's really pissed, Case, you have no idea.”

“So, that's it! I'm on ice out here, waiting for the bully boys, huh?”

“Oh, for Christ's sake!  Don't be an idiot, Melva doesn't know anything about this; in fact she doesn't know this place exists. I'm just trying to keep you from getting hurt.”

Suddenly the whole thing made sense. He'd been 'kidnapped' all right, but kidnapped out of harms way. Hoot hadn't changed a bit, he was still doing what he thought was best. In this instance Casey didn't agree, a court order and a visit by the cops would straighten out both Melva and Vitto a hell of lot faster, but he was touched Hoot would go to this extreme for him. He also realized he wasn't Hoot's only concern, “You're protecting her, too, aren't you?” he said.

“Of course I am! I don't want Melva going to jail any more than I want you beat up. I guess I'm trying to protect each of you from the other. This thing has escalated to where you'll have to disappear for a while.”

“How long is 'a while'?”

"Oh, a couple of weeks maybe. John Martin can probably talk some sense to her, Markey, too, for that matter. It's just that greedy bastard Vitto whose pushing for the flick. It was his idea you know. After he heard the rumors coming out of Paramount, all he could see was dollar signs. He doesn't give a shit for anyone, not even Melva, but he sure knows what buttons to push. I don't know all the details, in fact I only heard about this mess yesterday, but I know damn well he's the one who started the whole thing.

“Two weeks!” Casey exclaimed, “You've got to be kidding!”

“Hey,--- it might get cleared up a lot sooner. I'll be in town Monday, I'll talk to Paul, maybe he can straighten it out.”

“Oh, now, this is cute! It sounds like I'm stranded out here like some barefoot and pregnant bride, is that the idea?”

Hoot laughed, “I don't know about the pregnant part, I sort of figured barefoot would be enough. I'll be back on Wednesday. It won't be so bad. There's a pool outside, a satellite dish that gets two hundred channels and lots of reading material. This is my personal hideaway and it's pretty well stocked.”

The machine on the counter buzzed.  Hoot pulled the pot free, “Coffee?” he asked. Casey nodded. Hoot poured and settled beside him on the next stool,

“So when did you buy this place?”

“Oh, two,--- three months back. I got it so I could get away on the weekends where no one could find me. The damn phone never stops ringing at home. Only problem is, I haven't had much chance to use it yet. Melva's new tour is coming up and I've been swamped.”

“So, you weren't even going to tell me about it, huh?” Casey chided.

“Sure I was,--- the next time we got together. Hell, I haven't seen you in six months.”

“Well, I've been busy, too, we were on location half the winter. Anyhow, these are cool digs, Hoot. I really like the Mexican look.”

“Yeah,--- well,--- the next time I bring you here, just don't kick me in the nuts, okay?”

Casey suddenly felt like a jerk. He lay his hand on Hoot shoulder, “I'm really sorry, Hoot,--- everything happened so fast,--- I saw the look on your face, got scared and just let fly. It was all reaction.”

“You're forgiven,” he said, “The truth is when Melva started screaming I was pissed off at everyone for dragging me into this mess,--- you included. I probably looked it, too. Sorry about the bloody nose, Case,--- I didn't mean to hit you that hard.”

Shaking his head, Casey laughed wryly, “Oooh, yes you did! Not that I blame you,--- I earned that swat. Of course if your hand print remains permanently impressed, I'm talking to a lawyer.”

Hoot reached out and turned Casey's face back and forth giving it the same scrutiny he once did when they touched up each other's skin toner during a shoot. “Looks like I'm safe,” he jibed, smiling, “nothing's changed, you're just as ugly as ever.”

They dallied around the kitchen while Hoot gave Casey an update on Melva. He agreed she was getting more erratic, too much booze, too many pills, he said. He was hoping probation might keep her sober long enough to see what she was doing to herself, but so far all it had done was make her more difficult.

“She's really a pain sometimes. Her last album isn't selling well and she's blaming everyone.”

“Why the hell do you put up with her?” Casey asked.

“She's family.” It was all Hoot had to say on the subject.

Casey finally agreed that a little 'vacation' might be best under the circumstances, then a clock somewhere in the house struck two and Hoot stood up and stretched, “It's been a hell of day for me, I'm ready for bed, how 'bout you?”

“Lead the way.”  Casey replied stifling a yawn.

He padded along behind feeling the chill of the tile floor through thin stockings. The alcove didn't lead to a hall as he first assumed, instead it was just an indentation in the wall hiding another massive carved door and a narrow linen closet. Hoot ushered Casey into a large bedroom and bath complex with a single oversized bed occupying one end of the room. Surprised, Casey asked,  “Where do I sleep?”

“Right here, I guess, or you can try one of the couches. Sorry, I've only got one bed. Is that a problem?”

“Well,--- I guess not unless you kick all night, or hog the covers.” Casey's puckish streak took over. He eyed the bed as though suddenly apprehensive, “Tell me something,--- are those sheets clean? I mean, who knows what you've been doing out here.” He dodged and made it to the bathroom just as a pillow sailed passed his head.

“Missed me!” he laughed.

When he emerged, he half expected another pillow in the face, but instead found Hoot all ready sacked out. Casey stripped to his shorts and slid under the covers and as he turned off the light, he noticed Hoot's underwear tossed on a chair. That didn't particularly surprise him, he knew Hoot's habit of sleeping nude, only this was the first time they ever shared a bed. Still, it was king sized with plenty of space, no need to get up tight about it, he told himself.

“Goodnight, Case.” Hoot muttered sleepily as he rolled to his side.

“'Night.” Casey responded.

Hoot's tiredness soon displayed itself. In a matter of minutes he was softly snoring while Casey lie awake staring into the darkness and trying to sort out the events of the last few hours. It occurred to him if Melva ever found out about Hoot taking a hand in this affair, his job would be history, cousin or no. The only saving aspect of this otherwise miserable evening was finding Hoot totally unaffected by his rapid advancement at Birchline. He was a rock. Neither money nor position seemed to change him, just as the parties never changed him, back when they were both bit actors in Melva's videos. Casey's mind drifted to those days, the good times and the bad, especially the bad, and it seemed Hoot was always able to handle anything that came his way, even Casey's deepest, darkest secret.

He was with Melva for nearly two years when that confidence took place. Four or five music videos, a pair of tours and a million parties punctuated the time span and with it, an awakening to an aspect of himself Casey didn't know existed,--- and one he couldn't acknowledge even to himself. Around Melva it was smorgasbord of sex with half the parties degenerating into drug driven orgies and Casey found he willing partnered not only women, but men if they made advances. At first he blamed it on the booze, but as it happened again and again, he realized it wasn't just the drink. With men he found an easy comfort he never discovered in his relationships with women. He tried to deny it while at the same time hiding it from his friends,--- Hoot in particular.

Casey thought he knew Hoot's feelings when it came to gays. Among the crew there were only two outwardly gay men, Jerome and Randy and Hoot held both in utter contempt. Oh, he never let it show, but Casey felt it, just as he felt himself becoming worthless in his friend's eyes. Instead of facing it square on, he went from a party drinker to alcoholic in a matter of months, missing rehearsals and fouling up when he did appear. Again Hoot took charge. He dragged Casey to rehab clinic, standing by him throughout the ordeal and afterwards as well, and when Casey finally broke down and spilled his guts, he discovered to his amazement Hoot didn't give a hoot.

“You were worried about what I'd think? Jesus Case, I'm touched, I really am, but you're an idiot! Look around you, half the people in Hollywood are gay and the other half switch from time to time.”

“You don't”

“No, so far I've never had the urge, but that doesn't mean it bothers me."

“Well, then why do you dislike, Jerome and Randy so much?”

Hoot snorted, “Because they're dipshits! Those two are always fucking up and always blaming someone else for it. I can't stand people like that!”

Casey was so wrapped up in his own problems he paid little attention to what was going on at Birchline. His friend's words were like a weight lifting off his chest, he sighed, the tenseness suddenly gone. Hoot caught him up in a bear hug and gave him a squeeze, “Don't worry about it, Buddy. If you ever turn into a dipshit, I'll tell you fast enough.”

Casey smiled in the dark as he recalled that incident and Hoot's off the cuff advice that followed,

“You knowl, Case, there's no law saying you have to announce it to the world. It doesn't mean much anyway, if you ever become well know, the tabloids will have you in bed with men and women you've never heard of. This is Hollywood, the land of dreams so if I were you I'd keep the mystery alive for as long as possible. It makes for a more diversified press.”

His confession changed nothing between them, except Casey stopped worrying. He also stayed off the booze; although, he had to admit when sober, Melva's parties weren't nearly as much fun. In compensation though it seemed like he and Hoot became even better friends afterward. No more lying,--- no more half told truths.

Hoot's friendship always mattered a great deal to Casey and now he began worrying his inclinations in the male direction might make him wander in his sleep. It was a thought that upset him almost as much as the actuality would upset Hoot. It left him lying uncomfortably awake until weariness took the upper hand, stealing those and all other thoughts away.

As he drifted toward morning, Casey had a dream and for once it wasn't of Melva and a flock of lawyers chasing after him. In this dream he was being wrapped in a warm sensuous blanket while someone gently caressed his hair. It was an erotic and tender fantasy, so sweet it almost seemed real and he slowly awoke he found himself wrapped not in a blanket, but trapped within warm, strong arms. He was spooned in the curve of a muscular body, legs entwined, an out-flow of warm breath ruffling his hair as softly as a lover's touch. For a moment he didn't know where he was, or who held him so securely, then he remembered,--- Hoot! And at that very same moment he realized  Hoot had an enormous morning erection pressed tight against his back. The breathing pattern changed, Hoot was still asleep obviously, but dreaming and twitching slightly as little moans escaped his lips. Suddenly, without even a warning thrust, Hoot ejaculated; a great gush of warm wetness flooded the space between them, drenching Casey thoroughly. Startled, he nearly burst out laughing. God, this had to be a first for old Hetro Hoot he thought. Remaining perfectly still he wondered if Hoot would now awaken on his own. He hoped so; he wanted to see his reaction. Instead, Hoot began to snore again and after a few minutes Casey realized if he didn't do something soon, they would likely end up glued together. He nudged with an elbow. No response, another nudge, this time harder.

“Hoot, wake up!”

“Wha. . . “

“Come on there, wake up. Either you just had a wet dream or you wet the bed. Let loose, will ya, I want to get cleaned up.”

“OH SHIT!” Hoot cried, rolling away. Cooler air touched the wetness on Casey's back making him shiver and then he noticed the dry desert air of the bedroom had taken on an almost ocean-like tang.

“Jesus, Case, I'm sorry.”

“Hey, it didn't bother me.” Casey responded. He should have let it go, yet couldn't overlook a perfect opportunity to tease. “Anytime you need to get off, Pal, just come on over to my side.” He jumped up and headed for the bathroom with only a glance at Hoot's stricken face.

At breakfast Hoot was more subdued than Casey ever saw him before. The incident obviously upset him a great deal. Casey suddenly felt guilty. Hoot was straight,--- he had no right to tease him like that.

“I was only pulling your chain.” Casey said, stepping around to massage man's shoulders as he sat hunched over his coffee cup. Hoot didn't answer, he just sat rubbing the old scar on his inner arm. “Come on, forget what I said. Wet dreams happen.”

“It's never happened to me before!”

“So, it's a new experience,--- big deal. You got off, I got wet, it's not like we had sex.”  

“Jesus Case, I hope you don't think,--- It's not like,--- I mean,--- damn it,--- believe me, I wasn't trying to prime you for a skin flick or anything. It just sort a' . . .”

Casey laughed, yet a great wave of tenderness came over him. Reaching out he brushed the man's unruly hair to the side, “If I thought so, we'd be duking it out right now. No way! I know you better than that.”

“Yeah, but you don't understand. Vitto was talking about ways to get you primed. He and Melva cooked it up. Bad guy-good guy shit. She was gonna get you upset, and then I was supposed to step in and take you out of there and,--- oh, hell,--- I thought they might do something even more stupid if I didn't pretend to go along with it.”

Casey began to laugh.

“What's so funny?”

“I'm just trying to visualize this. What did Vitto have in mind? You and me making out in the back seat of your Buick? And then what, me so starry eyed I'd agree to make a porn flick? I'll bet he wrote that script himself, I've seen some of his videos.”

“Well,--- he never said it,--- but he sure as hell hinted at it.” Hoot replied, a wan smile finding its way to his lips.

“No shit?” Casey laughed so hard, tears ran down his face, “Don't worry, Pal, I know a wet dream from a sexual encounter. I gotta' say though, you really ought to get out more. For minute there I thought a tidal wave had struck. That must have been some dream.”

Hoot blushed,  Casey poured a cup of coffee and sat down next to him.

“You know, I was kind of nervous about last night myself. I thought if I ended up on your side of the bed, you'd think I was making a pass.”

Hoot's only response was a sidelong glance, Casey stirred more creamer into his coffee, “Damn it, Hoot, we're old friends. Let's not get into a tizzy over stuff like this. It's meaningless and there are more important things to worry about. I've got a feeling if Melva even suspected you were playing both sides of the fence, she'd make your life miserable.”

“You've got that right. She's not the most forgiving soul.”

“What I can't figure out is why you're still with her. You've got a ton of talent, you know everyone in the music business. You could have a job tomorrow morning.”

“Blood's thicker than water, Case.”

“You're fifth cousins for Christ's sake, even the law doesn't recognize blood that thin.”

“I owe it to her. She's been real generous to me and my folks. Sure she can be a pain in the ass, but she has her good side, too, especially when it comes to family.”

“Well, I guess I have seen a flash or two of that,” Casey admitted as he reached down to touch Hoot's scar. He ran his finger across it, tracing the outline and remembering how it got there.

When Hoot lay on the edge of death, Melva rushed to the hospital, volunteering as the first blood donor. She showed distress over Casey and the others on the crew as well, but there was no doubt in Casey's mind Hoot was her main concern. She stayed at the hospital for two solid days, never leaving his bedside.

The accident happened on the set of the very first video they did together. Casey, Hoot and a girl named Sylvia were doing final takes of a trio-de-melange sort of thing, a slow erotic set of moves choreographed so Hoot's lack of dancing ability didn't show. In this scene he was the hulky sex symbol that the other two gravitated around.

“Casey, to your right, Sylvia, at Casey's leg and Hoot, look down at Sylvia and touch her hair. Just like you rehearsed it, kids.”  

“Cut the noise!” someone yelled, the music came up and they started the routine as the din in the background quieted. It wasn't a sound recording so work went on in an adjoining set, but they did need to hear the music and the beat. Sheer curtains billowed behind them. Sylvia's see through costume matched that diaphanous fabric, while Hoot and Casey, tanned, oiled and bikini shaved were basically naked wearing only skin colored posing pouches. The rest of the set consisted of a half dozen huge glass mirrors suspended from above and rotating slowly around them; the rear side of each sheet of glass was painted a matte green.  In the finished video, Melva's face would appear on those matte areas while the dancer's reflections were picked up in multiples on the mirrored surfaces. It was all done in bits and pieces. Melva sang against a green screen, other dancers had done their parts on other days. Technicians using computers, blended the images to finished product and Casey was still amazed a four-minute video took so much time and talent to produce.

No one ever pinpointed the actual cause of the accident, it seemed to be a combination of a weak safety cable and an overloaded platform that all gave away at the same instant. They were in the middle of the routine, Casey sliding his hand lightly over Hoot's chest, Sylvia sliding hers up both their legs, when a loud snap echoed from beyond the curtains and someone yelled “Watch out!” Sylvia looked up, screamed and shoved herself backward, knocking both Casey and Hoot off balance, and then the curtains tore loose, falling Kliegs hit the floor casting sparks in all directions as a nearly ceiling high scaffolding from the next set came crashing down through the curtains to shatter the mirrors and land directly on top of them.

For a while Casey was unconscious. He came around to the sound a woman screaming,--- people yelling,--- a frenzy of noise and confusion, and found himself unable to move. Hoot lay beneath him, Casey's head pressed into the man's stomach by the weight from above. The first thing he saw was the huge amount of blood. It was everywhere, they were covered in it and then he felt it spray warmly against his naked side. With the greatest of efforts, Casey turned his head. Hoot's arm lay before his eyes, a huge gash spurted blood with every heartbeat.

Panic took hold of him. He heaved upwards managing to move the planks and pipes that pinned them down and slapped a hand to the wound, pressing hard on the artery to stop the blood. It was almost too late. By the time help arrived, Hoot was deep in shock and barely breathing. Casey himself received several nasty gashes from the glass, but nothing like the stab wound that severed the artery in Hoot's arm. Casey shivered putting the incident out of his mind, then looked up to find Hoot watching him. He knew exactly what Casey was thinking about.

“It kind of makes us blood brothers, ya' know.” Hoot said quietly.

"Well,--- blood bath participants anyway.” Casey joked.

“You saved my life, Case. . .”

“And you saved mine! Christ, if it wasn't for you I'd be dead by now, or living under a bridge.” Casey gave the scar a final pat, “Now, let's try to save ourselves. We have to figure out what to do about Melva.”

“What'dya mean?”

“Well, first off, I don't want to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, and I don't think you want her finding out about your involvement.  Oh, I agree, this is as good a place as any to hang out, except I want Melva to think I'm somewhere far, far away.”

“But, she has no idea where you are.”

“Exactly, and neither does my agent or my lawyer. What happens when they get worried and file a missing person's report? Look, I don't need ten thousand tabloid reporters digging into my past while the cops are out looking for me. Besides, Melva can put two and two together. You didn't leave with her, then you disappear for a couple of days and I vanish off the face of the earth. She'll figure it out in no time.”

“I don't think so, you see I haven't disappeared at all, I'm in Chicago setting up tour dates.”

“What?” Casey responded. Then it came to him; Scotty!  Hoot winked and nodded.

“I was worried about the dance hall thing,  so I did a little advance planning. Right now my car is parked at LAX,  I'm in Chicago and you could be anywhere.”

“Well, that solves part of the problem. Now if we only had a phone I could head off the posse.”

An hour later, Casey stood in the doorway waiting while Hoot brought the Jeep around. It should have occurred to him Hoot would have another vehicle stored out here, but it never crossed his mind. Well away from the house and hidden behind a watered windbreak of Chinese elms and native shrubs, were several storage buildings, one of which contained an old Jeep used for yard work around the property.  Hoot pulled up in front of the walk. Casey started toward him when his stocking clad foot came down on a sand burr.

“Ow! Ow, Jesus K-rist!” He said, hobbling back to the doorway to sit down and extract the needle sharp pod. Hoot was right,--- walking barefoot around here was out of the question.

“Gotcha, huh?” Hoot said, smiling down at him, “Those things are all over the place. There's only one way you're going to get to the Jeep, so here we go. . .” Effortlessly he scooped Casey up and carried him the ten or so steps to the battered vehicle.

“My hero.” Casey quipped.

“Aw, shucks, 'taint nothin' a' tall.” Hoot shot back with a grin as he settled Casey on the seat.

A half-hour later, they pulled into the little desert town of Adelento. Casey sat in the Jeep while Hoot located a pair of size 9-1/2 athletic shoes and then they both headed for the nearest public phone. Once connected, Casey's agent, Ethel Mezu, quickly set up a conference call with Jim Dennis, the lawyer handling Casey's affairs, and the three discussed the situation while Hoot listened in. Jim was gung-ho for a harassment suit, while Ethel wanted to avoid one at all costs. Hoot shook his head and whispered,

“No lawsuits, Case, it will only make things worse.”  Casey finally made it clear all he wanted was out of the contract, which meant repaying the money he owed Birchline, and if necessary buying out the remaining months of the contract,--- anything to be free of it. Again, Hoot interrupted.

“Tell them not to move too fast. Give Paul Markey at least a week to cool Melva down and then go see him,--- and only him about buying out the contract.”

Casey conveyed that message as well. Dennis was far from happy; he preferred a face to face confrontation as soon as possible, but he finally agreed to do it Casey's way.

“Well, that wasn't so bad.” Casey said as he hung up the phone, “In a week or two it should all be settled.”

“The legal problems maybe,” Hoot replied, “But I'm worried right now Melva is past thinking about contracts and just want's revenge. If Paul can't calm the waters before your lawyer starts in, then watch out!”

“What the hell can she do?”

“You mean besides having your ass kicked? Ever hear of character assassination and black lists; how about a constant barrage of nasty rumors in the tabloids? A whole herd of people owe Paul and Melva favors and just about as many are scared to death of them! Didn't you ever notice she never gets bad press?”

“Hold on,--- that piece in the LA Times wasn't exactly complimentary.”

“One of Markey's few failures, believe me. When that story hit the tabloids though, it was all turned around,--- Melva, the poor victim and the cop, a heavy-handed Nazi. No mention at all of the fact she gouged his face.”

“Really? That wasn't in the Times either, just DUI and disorderly conduct. There was an altercation as well?”

Hoot nodded, “Big time,” he said, “In fact, she got a black eye out of it. Markey smoothed it over, Melva didn't sue, and the cops deep-sixed the resisting arrest charge. Like I said, Markey knows a lot of people.”

They had lunch at the local cafe, then picked up a few more groceries and headed back. The sun was high, the desert in bloom and Hoot took a side trail that wound up toward the mountains. The colors were breathtaking;  orange and yellow poppies and deep blue grape hyacinths covered the sere mountainsides like brush strokes blended on a giant palette. It was a display that happened only once a year and they rode through the very heart of it.

“Spring is my favorite time of year out here,” Hoot commented as he stopped so they could take in the view. “The heat hasn't settled in yet, and it's like this for two or three weeks. Pretty, huh?”

“Beautiful. I've heard about this, but never came through here at the right time to see it.”

They sat, taking in the panorama for a few minutes, then Hoot started the Jeep and they headed back to the house.

“Say, I meant to ask. Who is Scotty? I never saw him before last night.”

“He's from back home, I've known him since I was a kid. His father bought the farm next to our place. Scotty is maybe eight or nine years older than me, but being next door neighbors we got to know each other pretty well. After his dad died, Scott went into the Army and years later when I joined, I ran across him again. In fact we were in the same outfit for almost a year. He was going to make it a career, except he ended up with the same problem his dad had,--- a bad heart. Anyway, they gave him a medical discharge a few months back and he's been traveling around the country ever since. He's staying at my place for a few weeks while he sees the sights. McDermott is his last name. He's a real nice guy,--- you'll like him when you get to know him.”

“Does he always wear that shit eating grin?”

“Only when he knows something you don't” Hoot replied, laughing.

Copyright 2004 ~ Ian De Shils (Ernest Shields)