CHAPTER 10--VALLEY OF FIRE

June 1997

Why did you throw the Jack of Hearts away?

-Jim Morrison

It's a hell of a thing to kill a man.

-Clint Eastwood in the Unforgiven

O

f course, wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to Rooster about Ginny, that she-practically over my dead body, that is-had joined our pilgrimage to Vegas. The fight that erupted between Louie and me, those few hours between my arriving at the motel and our driving out to her parent's place in South Austin, was the worst of our entire relationship. Remembered yelling at him for one of his asinine suicide threats.

"You know, my old man, God rest his soul, after I snuck back into the country, was so happy to see me he erupted in tears. And for the next five years, as I laid low and lived the life of a pariah, an exile, moving from place to place, paranoid to even set foot in Flagstaff, he and I would take vacations. And we became the best friends two men could be. Like me and you. And yet those years were the toughest of my life, because I'd come back, and found out about my wife's suicide, and here I was totally alone. “Except, of course, there was my dad. And when I'd get real low, and we'd get into fights sometimes on the telephone, and I'd say I wanted to kill myself. And he'd call my threats tantamount to emotional terrorism. So, unless you're really going to off yourself, chill. Don't make me call 911 and leave you here to get locked up in a mental institution. That's how my dad handled emotional terrorists."

Louie looked at me and seemed to understand. I had gotten through to him. He knew how lonely I'd been for you, Queen, in all those years right after the war. He knew that I'd been mad at you first. Sure, I wanted to be mad at you, Queen, but then it was only normal I'd be presumed dead. Sure, my disappearance had been tainted by that ugly DDT business. And sure, it was romantic, like Romeo and Juliet. Still, there were always those times I wished that you had held on, that you had kept the faith. Because I was coming back for you. I always meant to. And as the years trudged on, I came around to seeing it more and more your way, how you had seen it, and I forgave you. And that's when I realized that love, real love, transcends whatever temporal relationships we begin or end. That the love of one person, a person from whom you may never ever receive in kind the love you gave, can fill the heart with joy anyway, that the gift of love comes from inside when we accept the hand that life deals us.

Does real love have to pass through all the rigmarole and messiness that we mistake for relationships? Do two people have to fuck each other in order to feel "in-love?" Does it always have to mean you shack up together, sleep in the same bed, and basically hack your way through life together? Or does it mean something more? Does it mean what I feel when I remember you, Queen, so beautiful in your wedding dress, three-months pregnant, that day we were married, back in 69? We were dumb kids, in love, full of optimism. Yeah, I was willing to go over. I wasn't that into the free love thing at all. A guy did what his country asked. Yeah, I was that stupid. And we were married days before I shipped, never having bought a house together, never having lived together, never having done the things that soul mates are supposed to do together. Except make love.

Still, went over there with the heaviest of hearts, as you remember. Would I ever see the child in your womb? Would I live to see him or her, grow old with you, and live happily ever after? And then came the news that one fateful day. Your letter. It devastated me. Neither of us would see the child. I couldn't help but blame myself. The stress and worry of our separation was behind that miscarriage. Had to have been. And the look in Louie's eyes spoke volumes, like as long as she was alive there would be hope. And maybe someday down the road, he would learn whatever it was his Christian god wanted him to learn, that it's not the object of the desire that you really need, but the desire alone, I've always believed anyway. For desire and passion fuel our lives, and infuse our creativity with joy and anguish, making our art all the more real. Why deny Louie, if she was willing to come, the chance to get to know her better? Maybe he'd start to see her for who she really was, and not idealize her like some goddess. Why get in the way of young dreams and hormones? And in that moment, I gave in. It was a dumb move, ultimately, made with the heart and not the head. And that's fate, or as Louie would say, "God's will."

Louie had promised a trip all the way to Los Angeles. Of course, Louie didn't realize that Rooster really meant business. My thoughts were leaning now towards putting her on a bus ASAP back to Austin. That made more sense. What would have to be handled very carefully, however, was telling her. I thought all this glancing over at her on the other side of the camp fire we got going. The light from the flames flashed on her face, illuminating her high-cheek bone features, her brown eyes. She was smoking her usual Marlboro Reds, and looking quite peeved. After all, we promised her a trip to Las Vegas, and now we were hiding out in the desert outside of Vegas like the outlaws that we were-at a place called the Valley of Fire National Park. Gorgeous natural red rock formations and exotic shapes in sandstone cliffs. Had bragged about how gorgeous the spot was the whole way there. Ginny seemed like she was almost looking forward to it. Unfortunately, by the time we had arrived, it was dark, and there really wasn't much to see. Ginny seemed bored.

"What's up?" I asked. "You don't look happy."

"No, I'm not. Much to my dismay, I thought, I would be in Las Vegas, and I could finally experience what it means to 'viva Las Vegas.' Instead, I'm hiding out in the hills like I'm a fucking criminal. This is not fun, Jack. I want to play a slot machine. I want to see all the neon. I don't want to hide out in the desert like some fugitive."

"You're hanging out with a couple of crazy criminals right now. That makes you guilty by association. If you use the box, you will become one of us," Louie said.

"Right," she said. "But this is putting the cart before the horse. Let me come hide out after I hit town."

This was starting to make me nervous.

"Since when had we decided that she could use the box," I said, looking at Louie accusingly. "I don't remember discussing that."

Sure, she knew about it. But using the box took a certain amount of finesse.

Discretion.

Maturity.

It was time to put my foot down.

"Aw, c'mon, Jack, you know how easy it is."

"No fucking way. Not on your fucking life!"

Ginny was livid.

"You mean I don't get to use the magic box? I come all the way to fucking Las Vegas, and I don't get to use the box?"

"Quit acting like a spoiled brat," I yelled at her. "Nobody else, and I mean nobody, else goes to Vegas armed with a device like this. Go experience Vegas the way it's supposed to be experienced. Play for real. Playing with the box isn't fun. It's just work."

"I think it would be fun."

"Sorry."

"I don't have any money."

"We will give you money," I assured her.

"Oh, how cute! An allowance for the sugar-spun sister! This sucks!" She stood up fast.

"Chill, Ginny, I think Jack's right," Louie fired back at her.

"Oh fuck you Louie. And fuck you, too, Jack. I'm going to get to use the box."

"Over my dead body," I said.

She stormed off into the dark night. Turning to Louie I asked quietly, under my breath "It's locked up, right?"

"Of course,” Louie assured me.

"We both sat there staring at the fire for the longest time. Then Louie spoke up. "Jack," Louie said. "What exactly happened in Vietnam between you and this DDT, and why does he call himself DDT? I thought DDT was a poison, a pesticide."

"It is. And he is. Because he thinks he's tough shit. Truth is, he's rat shit."

The fire crackled. Night animal sounds could be heard.

"Why?"

"You know, I really don't know for sure," I said. "I guess because he was an orphan."

"Really?"

"That's what he said. And, judging from his disposition, I tend to believe it. Still, I tried to befriend him. I mean, I felt sorry for the guy."

"I'm an orphan," Louie said.

"That's true," I said. "But you knew your parents. I don't think Tony ever did. Anyway, we were in the same platoon. And both he and I had a hankering for blackjack, the ol' twenty-one. That was about the only thing we had in common. Used to get others to play, get some action going. We played with whatever we had by chipping some off into a house bank-smokes, drugs, money-and we played blackjack. Well, Tony loved to double down. And not just on tens and elevens. He’d double down on nines, eights, sometimes sevens. And when lost he just got real mad. Almost thought he was going to kill a guy once.

"I remember the day exactly, because it was the day of the Kent State massacre, May 4, 1970, on the eve of the invasion of Cambodia. It was when I really began to question what we were actually doing over there. You know, I was such a straight kid in high school. It was the stress of battle and being in the army that drove me to first drinking, and then pot and acid. So, as you can imagine, as my perception of reality changed, so did my own ideas about war.

"One night, it's just me and Tony on a routine patrol. And I don't know what it was with that guy, but he was on edge. I don't know what was up with him. He was making me very nervous. And then we stumbled upon what was left of a small village.

"Tony shouted for everyone to come out and so did I. It was routine. And there was this banging sound over near Tony, and he turns and starts firing at this little hut with a small door on some hinges. And this pregnant woman, about 20, falls, riddled with bullets, through the door, falls flat on her face, stirring up dust. When the dust clears, there's this little boy that she was holding and he'd only fallen and gotten scraped up. I ran over to help him.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Tony demanded.

"I guess I should have known better, but hell, I said something to the effect that now the boy was an orphan; the least we could do was help him. And Tony just came unglued. Butchered that little boy with machine gun fire, screaming that he was doing the kid a favor. The other peasants ran like mad and Tony just opened up like the madman that he was. I yelled at him to stop, but he just kept screaming and laughing and shooting. And so I tried to waste him."

"You just shot him?"

"Yeah. And I got out of there. Figured I'd make up some story about how he was killed. It was dumb, but I should have just made sure he was dead. I really don't care for killing. Never did after the first time in battle. And having to be certain makes it all the worse. It's like you have the choice: finish the job, or not. You make the decision to end one life twice. It's almost like getting a message on a computer: Are you absolutely sure you want to delete this human?"

"So he survived?"

"Sure did. Patrols found him the next day. Unconscious. When he came to, he fingered me and blamed me for the massacre. Was placed under arrest, and scheduled for a court martial."

"How'd you manage to escape?"

"A transport carrying me that was part of a caravan headed back to headquarters took some heavy hits. I was being detained inside an MP vehicle in that procession. Most everyone was killed. I got lucky. I laid low and waited till everything was quiet. Always have had this ability, like a snake, to be able to slither out of bad situations, out of harm's way. Managed to disguise myself to look like I was Vietnamese, and, with enough cash stashed away, was able to bribe, charm, and persuade my way out of the country."

"Wow! Amigo, that's wild. Why have you never told me the whole story?"

"It's not a pleasant one."

"So, did the army or whatever try to find you?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. Was presumed dead by some, but not others. There had been a few other survivors, some of them MP, who saw me escape. But the chances of my surviving as AWOL were slim, given the hostile area in which I'd escaped."

Somewhere, out there in the thin blackness, amongst the shapes, I could see the red cherry of a cigarette. It was Seton, slowly approaching us. As her form became illuminated by the dancing light of the flames, it became obvious she'd been crying. Immediately, Louie stood up and approached her. She let him hug her.

"What's wrong? What's up?" Louie asked her.

"Found a phone," she said. "About a quarter mile down the road at the visitor center. So, I decided to call my mom and dad, you know, just to let them know I was all right."

She became choked up.

"I wouldn't tell her where I was, or who I was with, but said I was OK."

"You must miss her?" I suggested.

"No, not really. It's my ....” She paused and looked up at the starry skies. “It’s my Dad. He's getting sicker."

"If you want, we can put you on a bus home," I offered.

"No," she insisted. "I can't go home. Not yet. I can't live with them, you don't understand."

Where was this all going to end up? She had to go home sometime.

Ginny was crying again. Louie did his best to be comforting, and I was starting to feel a little awkward.

"Hey, I'm going to go use the phone, now that I know where one is.”

The time to quit procrastinating and just call the Rooster had come. "Jack, just a minute ..," Ginny broke off from Louie.

"Yeah?"

"Got a smoke?"

"Sure," I reached into my top shirt pocket, and pulled a smoke out of my pack. Tossed it to her, turned around, and disappeared into the darkness. Found the phone right where she said it was.

"Jack! What the hell is going on? Saw you on the six o'clock news. They keep playing the scene over and over again. The whole thing. You're a hero. I even timed it. You're on the screen for 17 seconds. That's two seconds more than what Warhol promised."

Knew he was only joking around because he was about to lay into me big time. "I don't need a fucking hero right now. I need a delivery boy. And a delivery boy who's not going to get called into questioning while on the job."

"Then call Federal Express," I cracked.

"Don't get smart, Morrison. You don't have a lot of people you can call friends. You can't afford them, especially right now, if you get my drift."

No, I didn't get his drift.

"What the fuck would you have done, man?"

Rooster paused. Finally, he said, "The same thing, all right. That's why I don't go out anymore."

"Yeah, well I'm not ready to go hide in some hole, not yet."

"You have just as much reason to keep a low profile, Jack. Have you changed your appearance?"

"Well, I gave it some thought. I don't know if I could do it? I've always worn my hair long. It's, like, who I am these days."

"And the beard? Look hair grows back. Is it worth $1 million?"

He had a good point, Queen. Then again, the hair cut meant I would look like that other wanted killer, AWOL from 'Nam almost 30 years.

"OK, I'll take care of my hair. I'll even dye it. Pink."

"You don't have to go that far. But I do want you to play it safe. Our window of opportunity is here. But we must act fast. And secretly. This is why I'm going to have you do what I'm about to tell you. You know that this weekend is the second annual Virtual Grateful Dead Fest out at the Sam Boyd Silverbowl?"

"Yeah, I heard about it on the radio. Why? Do I get to go?"

"As a matter of fact you do! The show's sold out 'n' everything, but I've got one ticket waiting for you at will call."

"What about Louie?"

Not to mention the sugar-spun sister.

"Sorry, Jack. One's all I could swing. I don't have the same connections downtown that I used to."

"So what's your plan after that?"

"Got a Swiss bank account all set up and ready to go. I'm retiring, Jackie Boy. Fuck this town and all its two-faced suit-n-tie crooks. But first we need to get this little project carried out. I'll fill you in more when I see you. All I need for you to know now is that you're going in there to make a contact in the least conspicuous place possible. It just so happens this guy I got working for me is a big Deadhead. He suggested it. His name is Junior. He will be waiting for you at the very back, very top portion of the stands facing the stage projection. He's got long, black hair, parts of it in braids. And glasses. And he’ll be wearing ...uh, wait a minute, Jack. Junior, c'mere let me see that shirt you're wearing. OK, Jack, listen; it's got a picture of a castle that looks like the Disneyland Castle, -wait what's it say? 'Deadheadland, oh, that's funny. OK look for a guy in a bright tie-dyed shirt."

"Oh, that narrows it down some," I said sarcastically. "You didn't let me finish. That says Deadheadland: The happeningest place on Earth."

Was kind of funny, Queen. It was those kinds of trademark rip-offs that really pissed off corporate dinosaurs like Disney, which makes it that much better. So there I was anticipating the closest thing to a Grateful Dead concert this side of fat man Jerry Garcia's death. Guess if I had been a fan, it might have meant something. But it was Rooster's game and he was calling all the shots.

Then I remembered.

The DDT sighting. I wasn't sure I should tell the eccentric ol' bag, because of the way he tended to freak out and go off lately. And I really wanted this deal to follow through, Queen. It was Louie's and my ticket to a new way of life, maybe. A million fucking bucks. Still, I felt duty-bound.

"Uh, Rooster," I ventured nervously.

"What? What is it? Is something wrong? Something other than the fact that the whole world knows what the fuck you look like now?"

The way he jumped all over me made me rethink my decision to tell him about both DDT and the sugar-spun sister.

"Uh, just, what time was that again, that you wanted to me meet the contact?"

"I told you, sometime around 9:30. Start of the second set, whenever that is."

"Oh, OK, got it."

Said contact, Rooster told me, would lead us to his secret location, Rooster's Complex. Although I'd known Rooster for years, this was a relatively new place he'd built, in the wake of his falling out with some of his friends and business partners downtown.

Was I hallucinating back at the Edgewater? Was that really just somebody that looked like DDT? No sign of him since. Could he be following us?

"Oh, hey, Jack, one more thing."

"Yeah, Roos?"

"You still got your piece, right?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I? I just used it."

"Rooster didn't need to say anything else. Just the question sent the message: this could be dangerous.

Rooster's operations usually went smoothly. Of course, there was that outside chance. Between Rooster's suggestive question and the haunting image in the back of my mind of that face inside that black BMW, I was feeling less than complacent. When I got back up to the campsite, Ginny was sitting next to the fire. Louie had drifted away from the campfire and was looking up at the night sky. And what a night to trip out on the stars. He was practicing his kung fu. Swinging his arm and kicking at invisible targets in the air. From time to time, as we rambled across the country, trying to spread out our game as wide as possible to avoid detection, I'd let Louie take karate lessons. Because of what happened with his arm, he hated guns. No, he wasn't a complete pacifist, although extremely kind-hearted. He just always felt that Karate, Kung Fu and other forms of martial arts, were more honorable forms of self-defense.

Louie had stopped doing his kicks, and was just standing there, looking up at the moon. Every now and then he'd stop, pick up a rock, and chuck it as far as he could with his one arm. Damn fucking strong, that one arm of his. Once hit me real hard, I know.

Went over to where he was standing.

"Louie, my man. You're the man, man. Keep practicing those kicks."

"Hey. Jack of Hearts. What gives? What's up with the Rooster?"

"I don't know. Look, I didn't tell him about Ginny. Tomorrow what I want you to do is to take Ginny to a hotel on the strip, give her some money, to play whatever. Stay with her. Do whatever it takes to make her happy."

"Wait amigo. What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm going alone to Rooster's. I don't want to unnerve him by showing up with a whole entourage."

"Do you really think Rooster, or you for that matter, are in that much danger?"

"Yes, yes, I do."

"Then I'll go with you."

Thought about it some, Queen, and decided he was right. Louie was a good ally to have around. His karate wasn't useless, and his senses were real keen. We could ditch the juvenile at a hotel.

"OK, so do that first thing tomorrow. If she pitches a fit, buy her something. I'm going to scratch out a list of things for you to get while you're downtown, OK?"

"Sure."

"And treat yourself to something extra special. Hit Glitter Gulch or one of those other clubs you like to hit."

"Oh, it's OK, but no thanks," he said.

What have you done with Louie, Pod Man?

"You're kidding me, right."

What happened to the Louie I used to know, the one with the three-ton Penthouse collection that we had to leave behind in upstate New York? The one who was always racking up the charges on the pay per view adult movies we could get in many of the motels we stayed at during our adventures. Come to think of it, Queen, I hadn't noticed any of those charges lately. Since the Roswell incident, we'd all been taking separate rooms, but I'd pay for them all at once.

"Dude, I can't even watch pornos anymore. All I can do is think of her. Yeah, in the beginning I could fuck around, and, like, pretend the chick I'm doing is her. But now I can't even do that. All I can do is lie in my bed and fantasize about her. And it's the best thing I ever felt."

He got this dreamy look in his eye.

"It felt so good, I cried," Louie said.

You know, Queen, I really wondered what it was he saw in her. And I looked over at where she was sitting, sort of rocking back and forth in front of the fire, her knees pulled up to her chest. And along with wondering what it was he saw in her, besides the obvious, I wondered if she knew how to cut hair. Didn't really matter. She'd have to do. For all his resourcefulness, I didn't trust Louie, with his one arm, with a pair of scissors around my head.