Hollywood Station

TWENTY-ONE

BY THE TIME the June deployment period was in full swing at Hollywood Station, things were back to normal. The surfer cops were hitting the beach at Malibu every chance they got. B.M. Driscoll was sure that he had a sinus infection from what to him was a severe allergy season. Be

But best of all for the midwatch, Mag Takara came back to duty. The Oracle thought she should be assigned to the desk until her vision improved a bit more, and she agreed. Mag wore glasses now and would soon be taking sick days for future plastic surgery, but she wanted very much to put on the uniform again, and it was permitted. She learned that she was going to be awarded the Medal of Valor for her actions in the jewelry store on the night of the grenade incident. She said her parents would be very proud.

Mag even thanked Flotsam for the beautiful roses he had brought to the hospital, telling him he was a “choiceamundo friend.” Flotsam actually blushed.

When Budgie Polk saw Mag, they hugged, and Budgie looked at the cheekbone that showed a slight darkened crater where tissue had not yet fully recovered and said, “You’re still the most gorgeous slut that ever hustled tricks on Sunset Boulevard.”

The deployment period was ending on a night when the homicide team of Andi McCrea and Brant Hinkle was working late after having arrested an aging actor who walked into his agent’s office, cold-cocked the guy with an Oscar replica that the actor used as a paperweight, and then threatened to return with a gun.

When Hollywood Nate heard about it he said no jury made up of SAG members would ever convict the actor, and they might even make the agent buy him another fake Oscar.

They were just finishing up that evening when the Oracle entered the detective squad room looking very grim. He said, “Andi, can you come to the captain’s office, please?”

“What’s up?” she said, following the Oracle to the captain’s office, where she saw a U.S. Army sergeant major holding his hat in both hands.

“Noooo!” Andi cried out, and Brant Hinkle heard and ran to the sound of her voice.

“He’s not dead!” the Oracle said quickly. “He’s alive!”

He put his arm around her and led her into the office and closed the door.

The sergeant major said, “Detective McCrea, we’ve been informed that your son, Max, has been wounded. I’m really sorry.”

“Wounded,” she said, as though the word were foreign to her.

“It wasn’t a roadside bomb, it was an ambush. Automatic weapons and mortars.”

“Oh, my god,” she said and started weeping.

“It’s his leg. I’m afraid he’s lost his right leg.” Then he quickly added, “But it’s below the knee. That’s much better.”

“Much better,” Andi murmured, hardly hearing, hardly comprehending.

“He’s been flown to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany, and from there he’ll go to Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington.”

The sergeant major expressed his and the army’s gratitude, offered to assist her in any way he could, and said a lot of other things. And she didn’t understand a word of it.

When he was finished, Andi thanked him and walked out into the corridor, where Brant Hinkle took her in his arms and said to the Oracle, “I’ll drive her home.”

There wasn’t a more excited homeowner in that part of Hollywood than Mabel was these days. She had so much to do. There just weren’t enough hours in the day.

First of all, she got a new screen door. It was a nice aluminum door that the man said would last a lifetime. Then he looked at Mabel and she knew he was thinking, It will surely last your lifetime.

Then came the painting of the exterior, which was still going on. Mabel had to keep the windows open all the time in this hot weather, even though there was the awful smell of paint from outside. But it all just added to the excitement. They were going to start painting the interior of the house very soon and putting wallpaper in the kitchen and bathroom. Mabel thought she’d buy a couple of air conditioners before the interior painting started. It was a thrilling time to be alive.

When they were having breakfast, Mabel said to Olive, “Do you think you’re up to going to an NA meeting this afternoon, dear?”

“Oh, sure,” Olive said, still looking pale from having to white-knuckle it.

“I started going to AA when I was sixty-two years old,” Mabel said. “After my husband died, the booze got the best of me. I’ve been in recovery ever since. You’ll meet some grand people there who will always be just a phone call away. I’m sure that the NA meetings are like AA meetings, just a different drug is all. But I have no doubt you’ll prevail. You’re a strong girl, Olive. You’ve never had a chance to prove it.”

“I’ll be okay, Mabel,” Olive said, trying to eat some scrambled egg.

Mabel’s physician had told Olive that a diet of nutritious food was essential for her, and Mabel hadn’t stopped cooking since Olive arrived. Mabel had seen that Olive’s attempt at unassisted withdrawal from methamphetamine addiction was very hard on her, so Mabel had taken Olive by bus to a doctor who’d treated Mabel for thirty years.

The doctor had examined Olive and given her medication to ease withdrawal symptoms but said that healthy eating was the best medicine, along with abstaining from all drugs forever.

Mabel was pleased watching Olive eat a forkful of scrambled egg and a bite of toast, washing it all down with orange juice. A week earlier she couldn’t have done that.

“Dear,” Mabel said, “do you feel well enough today to talk about the future?”

“Sure, Mabel,” Olive said, realizing that this was the first time in her life that anyone had ever mentioned her future. Olive never thought that she had a future. Or much of a past. She’d always lived in the present.

“As soon as you’re well into recovery I’m going to do a quitclaim deed. Do you know what that is?”

“No.”

“I’m going to deed this house to you with the provision that I can live here for the rest of my life.”

Olive looked at Mabel with a blank expression, then said, “I don’t think I understand what you mean.”

“That’s the least I can do for you after what you’ve given me,” Mabel said. “I was going to leave the house to the Salvation Army so the state doesn’t get it. That’s what will happen to Farley’s house, you know. He had no heirs and no will, so the state of California will take it. I think Governor Schwarzenegger is rich enough. He doesn’t need my house.”

Olive clearly couldn’t grasp it. “Me?” she said. “You’re giving me your house?”

“All that I ask is that you take care of me as best you can for as long as you can. We can hire one of those nice Filipino girls to help with the unpleasant nursing when I get to that point. I would like to die at home. I think my doctor will help me achieve that wish. He’s a good and decent man.”

Suddenly tears ran down Olive’s cheeks, and she said, “I don’t want you to die, Mabel!”

“There there, dear,” Mabel said, patting Olive’s hand. “My parents both lived until they were nearly one hundred. I expect I’ve got some years left.”

Olive got up and took a tissue from the box beside Mabel’s chair, then came and sat down at the table again, wiping her eyes.