Len Deighton - Violent Ward

CHAPTER 16

Like most of the citys inhabitants, I spent many of those early hours of the riots comparing the TV coverage with wary glances out the window, until eventually I could hardly distinguish between those two distorting sheets of glass. The denizens of the newsrooms welcomed a seemingly endless stream of professionals. Reporters and camera teams, they came wide-eyed and excited and gleefully overloaded with news that was theirs for the taking on every street corner. And by nightfall my memories fused with theirs, and I indiscriminately looted their stories and carried them off to tell them as my own.

Come away from the TV, Danny. Robyna has helped me, and Ive fixed corned beef hash the way you like it.

The smoke-darkened blue sky changed to night. When the sky had disappeared, the city was crisscrossed with the orange-colored dots of sodium streetlights, which became blobs as the cameras tipped and joggled to get a new angle. A camera follows the crowd: bang! you almost feel the fist that strikes it. Race down the street, camera running, people screaming. Is it television, is it reality, or is it neither?

There is someone on the roof. Jesus, there is someone on the roof!

Its okay, Dad. Its just my neighbor.

Hes got a gun, Danny!

All my neighbors have guns. Were doing two hours: turn and turnabout.

I said Id spell him at midnight.

Stay out of it, Danny.

They might try and torch the lockups, said Danny, guessing that concern for my Caddie would help me see it his way. Thats what they did across the street. Folks use them for storage.

Ill come up with you, I said.

Those night hours on the roof with Danny will never fade from my memory. The view across the burning city was awesome. Sometimes for an hour or so Los Angeles seemed to be going to sleep, and then the sudden glare of red and yellow flames tore holes in the night to show where another building had been ignited and blown apart. What a panorama-with the city twinkling like fairyland and large sections of South Central totally dark as electricity outages severed the power connections. It was cold on the roof, but it was a chance to talk to Danny in a way we hadnt talked in a long time. He was a good kid. We talked about football and automobiles. We talked about politics and his allowance. We talked about everything except the riots and his grades; he made sure of that.

Did you see where the police seized a Packard Darrin? Sounds like the one you were looking for.

How do you know?

It was in the paper. The owner was murdered in a house in Topanga. I was going to send you the clipping, but I figured youd have seen it. You didnt read about it?

I havent got time to read the papers.

What happens to stuff like that? Will they sell that car at auction?

I dont know.

I thought maybe you wanted to buy it.

At one time I did. But I lost interest in it. I like my Caddie.

After I sat on the roof with Danny for an hour and a half I was almost frozen to death. Two of Dannys neighbors came and took over from us, and brought us hot soup.

The apartment next door to Danny was surprisingly comfortable. I guess the residents-an Iranian couple plus a brother-in-law who ran a plush nail and beauty salon in Beverly Hills-made a good living, but they were smart enough to hide all signs of it until you were inside. Then, pow! there was booze and cigarettes and silk walls and shag carpeting everywhere you looked, and no matter where you strayed there was an ashtray within arms reach. Were they smokers! You could smell it everywhere. And there was every kind of ashtray youve ever seen. Brass ashtrays and ceramic ones, Mickey Mouse ashtrays and thatched cottage ashtrays and ashtrays that played a tune. Some tobacco kooks they must have been. Theyd all gone to Vegas for a vacation and given Danny the key so he could look after the apartment for them. The Iranians had called Danny at midnight. They were watching the LA riot scenes on TV in a hotel room in Vegas and worrying.

When I came down from the roof shivering and frightened and burping with the taste of tomato soup, Betty was already in bed and asleep in the big master bedroom with its fluffy carpet and deep pile bedspread. I must have made a noise or something; she woke up when I came into the room.

Hello, Mickey, she said. Is Danny okay? The poor baby.

Hes a grown-up now, I said. We cant keep calling him baby. You got to let him go, honey.

She sat up in bed. She was wearing one of Dannys striped shirts as a nightdress. It looked good on her. We never talk anymore, she said.

Youre looking swell these days, Betty.

I wish I could say the same about you, Mickey. You look like hell.

Its cold out there.

I told you not to go. You want me to make you a hot drink? They got everything here.

Neighbors fixed tomato soup for us.

Tomato soup doesnt agree with you, Mickey. It gives you indigestion.

Now you tell me. Maybe Ill just close my eyes for a minute.

Its nice here... this apartment, I mean. Did I tell you? Ive got to get out of my place. The landlord wants it for himself.

You can use the Woodland Hills house if you want.

Can I really, Mickey? Ill pay rent. Im earning big bucks now.

You dont have to pay me anything. That place is too big for one person.

Youll be there too? Is that what you mean?

Ive nowhere else to go, I said.

Wed need a new bed, she said. One like this would be just great, wouldnt it?

Ill let you know in the morning, I said.

Oh, Mickey. I do love you.

I never did get up to switch off the TV. It was going all night. All normal programming was dumped, and the major local channels went over to a minute-by-minute news service. More and more pictures came in from the helicopters that now had the sky to themselves.

As dawn broke over the city, the cameras revealed empty streets littered with unimaginable amounts of debris, wrappings, rubbish, and discarded loot. Hundreds of fires were burning in the city, and theyd produced a fairy-tale gauze over the whole basin as far as the Hollywood Hills. The smoke rising from the fires was solid and black, and the TV news desk reported that there was intermittent gunfire and snipers so active that Fire Department personnel were no longer willing to enter South Central without police escorts.

The looters showed a considerate willingness to plunder only in regular shopping hours, and only when daylight was fully switched on did the TV vans get their cameras rolling at some of the most popular scenes of pillage. Men, women, and children were clambering out of smashed stores, laughing and joking as they staggered away under black plastic trash bags bulging with stolen goods. The supply of booty was dwindling now, but there were still TV sets to be found by the venturesome. Others had to be content with Teflon pans, toaster ovens, and blankets; from one store came a dozen gleeful kids bowling brand-new car tires along. Housewives were shopping without tears, coming out of a Hughes Market with bags filled to overflowing with frozen pizzas, steaks, Daz, Palmolive, and ice cream. The violence and hatred of yesterday seemed to have been largely replaced by relief and good humor. The cops were obviously under orders to stand back, and they were doing so. The looters were summoning that gleeful hysteria that marks the finale of a hit show.

Suddenly I woke up fully. The bed was empty.

The door opened suddenly. Mom! Felicity is here, announced Danny. In the other direction, Bettys head emerged from the bathroom. She wants to see you, Danny told her. And theres fresh coffee next door. How did you two sleep?

Thats none of your goddamned business, said Betty and disappeared back into the bathroom. I could hear the water running fiercely. Felicity pushed past Danny and came into the bedroom to look around at the furnishings. Hey, not bad! she pronounced. I pulled the bedclothes up to my chin. She laughed.