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exerpts from the novel
The Electronic Windmill

By Pete McKinley

Chapter XII



��After leaving Kang and the girl, Cole drove directly to his rooms at Aunt Hester’s. He parked at the side of the old house under an olive tree and unlocked the private entrance. The rooms were shut off from the main structure by an only door whose key, as well as the one he’d just used for the outside door, had been given him on the day he’d started high school. The room he entered had been used for study and occasionally to entertain friends. Subconsciously he glanced at the shelved books on one wall to see if they’d been disturbed. He had built the shelves that first summer between his freshman and sophomore years. As usual, the place was immaculately clean since the connecting door had never been locked. Aunt Hester had always protected his privacy scrupulously; if there was any doubt as to whether he was occupying the rooms, she would phone for permission to allow one of the Petersons to come in and clean, or even before she made a personal inspection.
��As a constant reminder of the precaution she took in protecting his identity, one of the middle shelves, just below eye level, which held only his leather bound diaries, was thick with dust. In checking an early yearly edition, it would often be necessary to brush away the cobwebs. All the other shelves and books sparkled. He selected the last volume, the one he placed there two nights before and in which he had made the most recent entries, brushed away the dust it never ceased to amaze him how quickly it collected - and, as he started to read a notation, a piece of paper fell to the floor. Picking it up he noted its contents and then re-hid it in the pages of the diary. Reading quickly for several seconds he finally closed the book and returned it to its proper place without disturbing the dust and cobwebs covering the other volumes.
��He showered and from his wardrobe split half and half between his two quarters was able to change clothes. When he’d finished, it was still more than an hour before he was to meet Larry at Borgia’s and the restlessness came again. It didn’t all fit; there was something that needed thinking about. He switched on the stereo and the room filled with sound. He sprawled on the sofa and tried to relax and meditate but after three minutes got up, turned the music off, and went out to the car.
��The tires screeched as he gunned down the curved driveway and at the street, braking only momentarily, he turned toward the wharf. He exceeded the speed limit for three blocks and then, taking his foot off the throttle, reduced speed to ten miles under the limit. Poking along, seemingly oblivious to traffic, but observing all the rules from sheer habit, he drove even slower, passing the fish grottoes on the west end of the wharf and continued to the Embarcadero and its covered piers.
��Something had occurred while they were in the park. He went over the day in his mind; the tennis match, they had almost won; the fiasco with the kids, they had probably conditioned them into confirmed gamblers; the picnic, he had eaten too much; Pilar’s prayer, he was in love with her, but she would never guess. What the hell was it? Something was there. A police siren electrified him suddenly and he couldn’t remember if he had run a red light or not, but the black and white car screamed by, and he saw that he was getting pretty far south on the waterfront.
��Continuing the slow cruise he turned left into China Basin Street and saw the SS Crescent Moon at her pier. There was unloading activity aboard and trucks were moving from the dock to the street. He drove on past to the end of the street, made a U-turn and headed back to the restaurant, arriving at Black Pearl Road a little before eight o’clock. He waved to Borgia’s parking attendant after he had parked in his reserved space. There was a couple in front of the restaurant waiting for their car or a taxi, and as Cole walked by, the young man said,
��“Mr. Rain? Excuse me, are you Cole Rain?”
��“Yes, I am. How are you?” Cole couldn’t think of a name or remember the face.
��The young man extended his hand, “My name is Glass. I’m a friend of Pilar’s. I recognized you although we’ve never met.”
��“Oh sure, Pilar told me about you.”
��The attractive girl was introduced as Mrs. Glass. Cole hadn’t known there was a Mrs. Glass. They chatted for a few moments before the attendant brought their car; no one mentioned the project Pilar and Glass were working on. When Cole entered the restaurant he asked Mario for a table in the corner, explaining that Larry would be meeting him in a few minutes. He ordered two picon punches and sat with his back to the wall surveying the dimly lit room. Only half his picon was gone when Larry shoved through the doors walked to the middle of the bar, and flicked his eyes quickly to the four corners. Cole sat impassive, waiting. Larry made a second check of the bar and then again his gaze more slowly circled the room. Coming to Cole’s corner, his teeth flashed once and he angled and side-stepped in that direction.
��“How did you work it out that I wanted a picon punch?” he asked.
��“I diagnosed that your digestive track needed a soothing agent. If you don’t want it, I’ll drink it and you can order your usual margarita special with Irish whiskey.”
��“Ugh, another time, man. No need to discuss it.” He sat down and took a sip. “By the way, my sister and brother-in-law don’t understand how Larry II came by all that money. I told them I’d bring you over next week and you’d explain.”
��“Hell, the explanation is that I’m gullible. I believed you when you said you were a champion jacks player. I can’t help it if you’ve grown big and awkward with all thumbs picking up those little bitty jacks.”
��“Yeah, maybe by next week, we can get a little humor into it,” Larry grunted.
��“Glad to explain about you. I owe them a dinner anyway. I’ll call and set it up. Maybe we could all get together. Kang can bring his new girl friend, and you could invite someone from your overstuffed grab bag.”
��“Sounds like a real rally. Maybe Pilar will bring Virgent Eddington - but what about you?” He took another drink of punch. “I was going to ask whatever happened to Myra or Lena or Theresa and that red-headed Ophelia? How can you let women like that slip through your fingers? I worry sometimes you’re losing your lechery.”
��“It’s being pent up for the moment,” Cole explained. “I hope to hell I don’t explode.”
��Giuseppe went hurrying by and catching a glimpse of them, stopped and trotted back to the table.
��“What - you hide in the corner? There’s a friend of yours ask about you, Cole. Come on, I give you another table, your friend is over here.”
��“We don’t want another table. This is fine. Who’s asking about me?” Cole wanted to know.
��Giuseppe turned to look and as he did so, Cole saw a man raise his arm and wave. Cole waved back not knowing who it was.
��“Hang tight,” he said to Larry. “I’ll check this guy out.” He rose and wended his way to the table where a man and woman were seated. In the dimly lighted room, he was almost there before he recognized Mike Crowder.
��“Mike, how are you? And Renee,” (her name is Renee?). “Nice to see you both again. When did you discover Borgia’s?”
��“This is our first experience,” Mike said. “The food is excellent. But Renee made me taste her drink, afraid Lucretia had spiked it.” (It is Renee.â
��“They serve only legal poison here,” Cole assured her. “Let me order you a capuccino, Lucretia’s most famous potion.”
��“Thanks, Cole,” Mike declined. “We’re due at the theatre in twenty minutes. The couple we had dinner with forgot the tickets and left early to go pick them up.”
��“Have you seen ‘Excreta’?” Renee interjected. “It’s had marvelous reviews.”
��“No, I haven’t,” Cole admitted. “I read a short piece on it, though.”
��“I can’t wait to see it,” she gushed. “I have a friend who has seen it twice and has reservations for a third time. She says that regardless of what you’ve read, it’s a play of hope and symbolizes the indestructability of life - carried on in some form or other. Everybody should see it,” she concluded.
��“I hope you enjoy it,” Cole said. “The title sounds immortal and should add a richness to the growth of our cultural heritage.”
��“I’m going to quote you to my friend,” Renee promised. “I think it better expresses what she was trying to say.”
��Cole turned to Mike. “I saw the ship at the pier when I drove by this evening.”
��“She just got back to her berth. She’s been in Alameda for repairs ever since we disembarked. We’ll probably sail again Monday morning.” He hesitated for a moment, taking the last sip of his coffee. “Things are happening so fast,” he said. “I had hoped we might have a chance to talk. There was an idea I wanted to discuss; I think you might have been interested.” He paused again and looked in the empty cup. “I want to tell you I enjoyed and appreciated the rap sessions we had aboard ship. I...”, then he trailed off and looked at his watch. “We’ve really got to hurry,” and they both stood up. “Thanks, Cole, and so long.”
��“So long, Mike. Good night, Renee - nice seeing you both again.”
��Moving slowly back to the table, he wondered about Mike’s strangeness. Why was he appreciative of the rap sessions? Hell, he’d forgotten to thank him for delivering his luggage and the ducks.
��“What happened?” Larry demanded. “Was it an apparition? You look confused.”
��Cole sat down and emptied his picon punch. “It was Mike Crowder and his wife. I told you about him.”
��“Oh yeah, the guy on the perpetual vacation.”
��“That’s right, only it isn’t a vacation to him and he’s changed since the last time I saw him.” Cole looked at Larry. “Are we going to eat anything, or are you ready to go?”
��“I’m not hungry, unless you want to.”
��“Let’s go.”
��Larry dropped a bill on the table and they started for the door. Giuseppe, seeing them leaving, came running.
��“What’s the matter - where you going? I told you I’d give you another table. We’ve got one of your favorites - veal picante with fettucini.”
��Larry grinned and said, “Thanks, old buddy, but we’ve got an appointment, and anyway we’re not hungry right now. We’ll try to get back before closing time.”
��Cole looked at Giuseppe and shook his head. “Lucretia told us the veal was tough and now you want to push it onto your best friends.”
��Giuseppe’s eyes got round, and he turned to scream at Lucretia who was seating a party of six. Cole grabbed him just in time, while he was still only sputtering.
��“I’m kidding, Giuseppe. We haven’t even talked to Lucretia. She never saw us poked back in the corner like that.” Giuseppe opened his mouth wide and Cole hurried on, “where we insisted on being put. We’ll be back and thanks for being a great guy and our best friend in the world.”
��As his two friends pushed out the front door, Giuseppe beamed his confusion.
��“Since you know where you’re going, why don’t you drive?” Cole suggested.
��Larry was parked next to Cole. He backed out and maneuvered through the lot to Black Pearl Road and then decided on Broadway and the tunnel which would take them through one of the hills that sectioned the city.
��“Where are we meeting your friend?” Cole asked.
��“We may not be meeting him at all. I’ll check his pad and we’ll swing by his favorite shooting gallery.”
��“I thought you made a date.”
��“I did, but that doesn’t mean anything. He might have forgotten it by now and could be anywhere of a dozen places, or he might be boxed.”
��“Yeah, like man, you’re going to have to help me out with some of this jargon,” Cole grinned.
��“’Boxed,’ he’s in jail; ‘shooting gallery,’ where they shoot up - inject drugs.”
��“If he’s high, is he going to make any sense?”
��“He’ll make more sense turned-on than he will if he’s cold. But maybe not a hell of a lot either way. I think he’ll try though, he wants turned-off.” Larry kept looking at the dark buildings until he found a gray dirty one that looked like all the rest.
��“Here’s his pad. Let me check it out.” He doubled-parked and Cole waited in the car but he came back a few minutes later alone. “We’ll go to Jollo’s. It’s only a couple of blocks over.” This time Larry found a parking slot a half block away. “I’ll be right back. I hope to hell Sam’s taking a night off... Uncle, or Sam - federal narcotic agents,” he explained and left Cole to wait.
��Twenty minutes later three people appeared suddenly from out of the dilapidated store front that Larry had entered. One of them was a girl. When they got to the convertible Larry introduced them.
��“This is Cole Rain,” he said, “and this is Cicero and Debbie.”
��Cicero was a tall, slender, good-looking black boy and Debbie a long-legged, long-haired blond with intensely blue eyes. Cole got out of the car and the couple moved into the back seat.
��“How about closing us in, man, the heat could be cruising round and round and we got a spike and two speed balls stashed.”
��Larry pressed the button raising the top, lashed it down and then started driving cautiously to his own pad.





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