Chapter 9

The Los Angeles River ran alongside the studio. Except for a few times during the winter rainy season, the river was a subject of much humor. In the dry months there was never more than a trickle of water, hardly more than a garden hose could supply. In the rainy season a torrent sometimes did race down the concrete channel toward the sea, the brown, turbulent water reaching near the top of the concrete banks.

Since it was now mid-July, there was only a ribbon of dirty water. A high wire fence ran along the top of the river bank, enclosing the studio. While working there as an extra, Wade had noticed the six-foot fence and the three strands of barbed wire along the top. He could only hope that the top strands weren't electrified. If they were, he was out of luck.

He'd made a trip to a hardware store that afternoon and purchased wire cutters, a rope ladder, a flashlight, and a pair of painter's coveralls. Lisa wore a dark sweater and a pair of dark slacks.

They waited until after dark before entering the river channel about a mile from the rear of the studio lot. The sloping side of the channel on which they walked was littered with debris: tin cans, boxes, automobile tires, fecal matter, et cetera. Although it was illegal to trespass there, children played in the river, dogs cavorted, and once Wade had seen a horse ridden there, shoes sending up sparks from the concrete.

Reflected light from nearby street lights gave enough illumination to walk by, although they occasionally stumbled over or stepped into something. Wade didn't want to use the flashlight yet, for fear they'd be seen from across the river.

Lisa clung to his arm, picking her way daintily since suffering a mishap right after they started out. She said, "The things a woman will do for a man!"

"Don't complain," Wade retorted. "Coming along was your idea. To keep you away I'm sure I'd have had to rope and tie you."

"That's right, cowhand. You would have. And I'm not complaining, just commenting on the condition of womanhood."

When he judged they were approximately opposite the sets he'd explored that day with Claire, he started up the bank. It was rough going. The concrete was dry but it was steeply slanted and slippery as pebbled glass. They progressed a few feet, slid back a couple, then toiled on.

They were both out of breath and had skinned knees and elbows when they finally reached the fence. And even there they found standing difficult. The fence was flush with the lip of the concrete, without any kind of a ledge to stand on. Wade guided Lisa's fingers into the steel webbing of the fence and told her to hold on.

Then, grasping the fence with one hand, he tossed the rope ladder over with the other. It took him several tries to get it over properly. When it was finally over he groped with his fingers through the octagonal gaps in the fence and tied the end of the ladder close to the ground inside. He tested it; it seemed firmly anchored.

"You stay down here until I go up and cut that barbed wire," he said. "If they're by chance electrified and I fry up there like a chicken, you'd better take off like a big bird."

She gasped and clutched at him. "Darling, maybe you shouldn't go up there."

He had intended it as a joke but he realized it had been a poor one. He said quickly, "I'm spoofing. It's not juiced up." I hope, he added silently.

He clambered up the swaying ladder. At the top he took the wire clippers from his pocket. He hadn't the least idea whether barbed wire even could be electrified. Into his mind came the memory of Dr. Hunter's electroshock treatments and his body thrashing wildly, then going rigid. He forced the image from his mind, held his breath, gingerly put the clippers in place, mouthed a prayer then clamped down. The wire parted with a strumming sound but no electricity jolted him. The two pieces of the cut wire curled away from him like iron filings. He cut the other two strands quickly, then called down softly, "It's okay, Lisa. I'm going over now. You wait until I reach the ground on the other side before you climb over."

He went over the fence and down to the ground on the other side. He landed opposite Lisa. He poked a finger through the fence and touched her lips. She laughed in relief and nipped at his finger.

"Okay, Lisa. Up and over!"

She clambered over the fence with the agility of a monkey. On the ground she caught his hand and whispered, "I feel just like a burglar!" She giggled at the thought.

"We get caught, we'll probably hang for one."

Using the flashlight sparingly, he led the way toward where he thought the western set should be. At first nothing looked at all familiar. The empty sets seemed eerie in the dim light, like half-completed cities on alien continents utterly deserted as though the inhabitants had fled before a plague.

He got lost several times before he finally stumbled onto the western street and the saloon with the batwing doors. He squeezed Lisa's hand and whispered, "Well, this is it, honey!"

"Why are we whispering?" she whispered back.

"I don't know. It just seems the thing to do."

He felt her shiver. "I know. It's so ... ghostly. I keep looking over my shoulder, expecting to see Tom Mix striding down the middle of the street with guns blazing!"

"Tom Mix? I didn't think you were that old."

"I'm not, smartie, but I can read, for heaven's sake! And the old Tom Mix silent movies are big on TV out our way."

Wade pushed the doors wide and stepped in first, shining the flashlight around. The dust was still thick on the floor. The few footprints he saw on the floor were old ones, layered with dust, and probably were the ones he and

Claire had left. He motioned with the flashlight and Lisa entered. She followed him as he moved down the room. Wade pointed the light at the table where they'd eaten lunch that day. The paper cups they'd used for the martinis were still there.

"Nobody has been here. There are the cups we used that day. ... Hey!" His voice soared jubilantly. "That alone proves I was here with Claire. How else would I know about the cups?"

He took Lisa's hand and hustled her around behind the long bar, deliberately refraining from pointing the flashlight at the mirror until they were in position. And there he was! Stetson, moustache, sneer, and guns blazing. Relief left him weak. The light wavered and he had to lean against the bar. "It's all true then. I didn't dream any of it up. Thank God! I'm not crazy!"

"I never did think you were, darling. Not for very long, at any rate."

Her voice sounded strange. He flicked the light at her. She was weeping, great tears welling out of her eyes and running down her cheeks, as she stared straight ahead at the sketch.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? What is it?"

"That sketch ... It brings it all back, when we were girls together on the ranch. You know a funny thing?" She turned a weeping face to him. "This is the first time I've really cried for

Claire since her death. I know I cried last night but that was more for me than anything. I was feeling sorry for myself. But now ... she's gone! Claire's gone!" She fell into his arms, shaking with violent sobs, and for a second time he held her while she cried it out. He placed the flashlight on the bar without switching it off and patted and soothed and comforted her.

Holding Lisa, he found his thoughts moving back to Claire. Here on this set, where he'd been with her that day, Claire was more real to him than at any time since he had awakened in the sanitarium. Closing his eyes, he recalled the time of pleasure in her bedroom. He remembered her coming to him in a frenzy, crying, "God, sweetie! Dear God!" He remembered her strident plea, "Please, sweetie, do it!" He remembered her eyes flaring wide in surprise, remembered her saying, "Hey!", when he had entered her. Most of all, he remembered the savage way her nails had ripped and tore at his back, the way she had screamed obscenities into his ear as they had broke through to a mutual climax.

Wade's thoughts came back to the present as Lisa drew away from him, took some pieces of tissue from the pocket of her slacks and mopped at her face. Then she squared her shoulders and gave her head a shake. "There! No more tears, I promise!" She laughed shakily.

He picked up the flashlight. "We'd better get out of this place before a guard stumbles onto us. They must have someone around here at night." Then he froze, head cocked. "Did you hear something?"

"No ... yes, I do!"

It was a furtive sound, coming from somewhere toward the door. A rat? A stray dog?

Lisa crowded against him. "What is it?"

"I don't know. A guard would announce..." He swung the beam of the light toward the door. The batwing doors were swinging gently as though someone had just passed through. Wade swung the light beam left. Nothing. He reversed it to the right and saw just a shadow darting out of sight around the edge of a stack of scenery. Or was he imagining it?

Lisa said, "I saw somebody. Or something. I'm sure I did, Wade!"

"Yeah. Me, too." He raised his voice to a shout. "Who is it? Who's there?"

There was no answer, of course, but he was certain he could hear running footsteps. And suddenly he knew. Rage engulfed him. "It's that bastard who's been tailing me! It has to be. I'm going to settle this right now! You stay right here, Lisa, so I can find you again."

"Darling, do you think you...? " Her voice, which had risen in alarm, dropped to a murmur. "Just be careful, darling, whatever you do."

He merely grunted, placed one hand on the bar, vaulted over, and hit the floor running. He was through being careful. He knew now that he wasn't whacky but was instead the focal point of some involved, bizarre plot; and the man running away had the answer to the riddle, at least part of the answer. If he could get his hands on whoever it was, he'd beat it out of him if necessary!

But the prospect of catching him didn't look very promising. When he rounded the corner of the first stack of scenery flats, he saw nobody. And the scenery, standing on edge in racks, went far back, row after row. He ran down the line, shining the light between each rack for a quick look. And saw nothing. He reached the last rack and wheeled around it. Still nothing. And there was nothing back there but a weed-grown lot and the next set thirty yards or so away.

He hesitated, undecided. Had his quarry scurried across the vacant lot and onto the next set? All of a sudden he laughed. His quarry? So now he was the hunter! That was indeed good for a laugh, and yet it gave him a good feeling to know that he had finally seized the initiative. Then he heard a crash behind him, followed by a scream from Lisa. "Wade!" His quarry had doubled back to Lisa! Cursing under his breath, Wade ran back at full speed.

Skidding around the first scenery rack, he stabbed the light beam toward the bar. Lisa stood where he'd left her, apparently unharmed. Her face was tilted up as she stared up into the darkness. As the light hit her, she shielded her face and pointed up. "He's up there, Wade! Somewhere up there!"

He turned the light off her and shouted, "All right, Lisa! You stay right there!"

He pointed the light up into a maze of beams and catwalks and arc lights. The flashlight beam was too weak to reach all the way up. He lowered the beam and swept it back and forth across the second level, then the first, and he saw a shadowy figure climbing a ladder.

Wade felt the familiar lurch of vertigo at the thought of climbing up there. He could collect Lisa and run; they should be able to get away now. But he knew he couldn't. He had to face this now or he'd never be able to face himself in the future.

He hurried back behind the set where he knew the ladders were. He found one directly behind the wall backing the bar. The ladder was nothing more than two two-by-fours with one-by-twos nailed in between. He directed the light up briefly, gritted his teeth and started to climb. For the first few feet, he had his eyes clenched shut. Halfway up, he forced them open. He climbed with the flashlight, switched off, clutched in one hand. As his hands encountered the last rung, then the catwalk, he raised himself up until just his elbows rested on the catwalk and switched on the flashlight.

An orange flower blossomed in the night off to his right and a bullet clanged into the flashlight. It was wrenched from Wade's hand; seconds later, he heard it clatter to the floor below.

Of course, the man would have a gun. He should have known that. So now what should he do? He no longer thought of retreat. Resting his weight gingerly so the ancient boards wouldn't creak, he eased his body up the last few rungs until he lay flat on the catwalk. At least they were even in one respect. He couldn't see his adversary, but neither could the man see him. The man could only fire at any sound Wade inadvertently made, while Wade could judge the other's approximate location by the flash of the gun. On second thought, that might not be such an advantage. By simply firing blindly the other just might hit the target. The thought was far from comforting. He'd better move. He began worming along the narrow catwalk.

And from below Lisa called up, her voice edged with panic, "Wade? Are you all right?"

He longed to reassure her, but he couldn't risk it. He clamped his lips together and kept crawling. The planks were thick with dust. It invaded his nostrils and he had to fight back a sneeze. He'd progressed about six feet, approximately the length of his body, when the gun fired again. The bullet thudded into the planks where he'd been only moments ago. The fire-blossom located the other on the ladder halfway up to the second level.

Wade again fought back vertigo. Was he going to have to climb all the way to the third level? He kept crawling, now and then groping along the edge of the planks for the other ladder. Despite all his caution, the ancient boards creaked under his weight. Each time they did, he held his breath, steeling himself for the impact of a bullet. Yet it worked both ways. Directly overhead, he heard the boards groan in protest and he knew the other had reached the third catwalk.

Then his sweeping hand encountered the two-by-four siding of the ladder. He eased himself around and started up slowly. This was the last catwalk. Soon they would be down to the nitty-gritty. If he only had a weapon! The man waiting for him up there had a gun and he had his bare hands.

His reaching hand found the planks of the catwalk. He eased his body onto the catwalk, crouching on all fours. At least he knew which way the man had gone. The catwalk ended in a blank wall; his shadow would finally be cornered. Wade choked off a laugh. How in the hell could he corner a man with a gun ? It would be something like reaching into a pit to pick up an angry rattlesnake with his bare hands!

He gathered himself to get to his feet and his hand brushed against something. He felt it with his fingers. It was a length of two-by-four about three feet long. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. If he could get in close enough without being sieved by bullets first. ... He stood up. And the lights came on. He staggered back against the wooden rail, blinking at the floor below. The arc lights were all below him, pointing directly down on the saloon set, but their reflected glare threw light up here. A wave of dizziness swept over him as he looked down and he had to hold onto the railing to keep from falling. He saw Lisa standing in the middle of the floor staring up. She must have found the switchboard controlling the bank of lights. ...

Almost too late, he remembered the man on the catwalk with him. He spun half around and threw himself awkwardly. He was just in time. The gun boomed and a bullet whistled past his head. The figure at the endof the catwalk was only a shadow; the light wasn't good enough to reveal his features.

Wade did the only thing possible, did it without thinking. He ran straight at the man, covering the distance between them in lunging strides. The gun bearing on him looked as large as a cannon, and he wondered, almost idly, if a bullet would knock him off the walk. He remembered the two-by-four in his hand and he hurled it with a sidewise twist of his body. The gun sounded again and splinters flew from the railing inches in front of Wade. The piece of wood spun through the air end over end. By some minor miracle, his aim had been good. The two-by-four clunked into the other man, knocking the gun out of his hand. The man grunted with pain and Wade heard the gun hit the floor far below just as he slammed into the man, his head down, feet driving. The momentum of his attack swept them crashing into the wall at the end of the catwalk. Wade knew that the wall was fragile, probably only plywood. If it gave way, they would plunge together to the ground three floors below. It shivered and seemed to bulge outward, but it held.

The man was small but wiry and had a terrifying strength. Wade wrapped his arms around the man's waist and tried to wrestle him down onto the planks. It was like trying to bulldog a wild range steer. The man used elbows and knees as very effective weapons. Twice a knee in Wade's groin just missed doing painful damage. Elbows thumped into Wade's ribs until he was positive they were all cracked. And the man wore built-up heels, heels he kept smashing down on Wade's toes.

It was a wordless struggle. The only sounds were the creaking of the planks under them, grunts of pain, and whistling breaths. Suddenly the other broke free and went reeling back against the frail wall. He rebounded and came at Wade who met him with flailing fists. Wade had never been expert at physical combat. Except for a few childhood tangles, he'd had very few fist fights. The other man was skilled at it. His elbows weren't powerful but he knew just where to land his fists for the maximum damage.

Wade's breath grew short, rasping through his lungs like fire, and his arms grew weary, his fists feeling as heavy as sledgehammers but not nearly so lethal. He knew his only chance was in close where his superior strength would give him the advantage. He closed with the other again, wrapping his arms around him in a bear-like hug.

The man snarled foul obscenities. His face was buried in Wade's neck; his breath scorched. Then Wade felt the fingers of the other's hand creeping up his face and he knew he was going for the eyes. Wade tried to twist his face aside but he'd made a slight error in judgment. The man wasn't going for the eyes. By the time Wade realized his mistake, it was too late. Two fingers were inserted into his nostrils like iron bars. The fingers twisted. The pain was excruciating. Wade screamed, screamed again, and his muscles turned to water. His hold loosened, and he began to sag to the planks. A part of his mind prepared him for the final, lethal blow. Then he realized that he was lying with one ear on the planks and he heard a drumming sound, like the hoofs of a racing horse. He was getting away!

Disregarding the pain, Wade rolled over and came to his feet. He ran after the fleeing shadow. A short distance before the other man reached the ladder, Wade left his feet in a flying tackle. He came up short and skidded along on the planks on his belly. With a last effort, he stretched one arm as far as it would go. He closed it around an ankle and twisted. The ankle slipped out of his grasp. But it was enough. He flipped over on his back in time to see the other flying through the air. The man struck the railing; it burst with a splintering sound. A shrill scream rent the air, rapidly dying away, and Wade held his breath until he heard a sickening thump far below. And then silence.

Aching all over, nostrils on fire, he crawled on his hands and knees to the edge of the catwalk and looked over the edge. A still figure was spread-eagled on the floor of the saloon. Lisa stood a few feet away, her hands plastered over her mouth. After what seemed a long time she looked up, her face a white blur. "Wade? Darling ... are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Just fine," he said weakly. He raised his voice. "Yes, Lisa, I'm all right." He got to his feet with care. His stomach lurched. He leaned over a piece of unbroken railing and retched dryly. But he knew it wasn't from the height. After this experience, he doubted he would ever be fearful of high places again. It was the sudden, violent death and his part, however small, in it. After a while he moved, felt for the ladder rungs with his feet, and shakily made his way down to the floor.

Lisa ran to meet him as he came around the end of the bar. She clutched at his hand, great eyes searching his face. "Wade, I was about out of my mind down here! I thought sure something happened to you up there!"

"Something almost did. And you didn't...." He scrubbed his hand across his mouth. He'd been about to scold her for shouting at him and for turning on the lights, but he thought better of it. It was even possible that her turning on the lights had helped save his life.

He walked over to the inert figure. The man was on his stomach, face hidden in the dust on the floor. Wade knelt and gingerly touched the back of the man's head with one finger. It rolled loosely. His neck had been broken by the fall. Wade jumped back, a shuddery sensation going through him as he recalled the almost identical circumstances with Claire. Then he steeled himself and moved in close again. He took the dead man by the shoulders and turned him over. Unsurprised, Wade saw the narrow, fox-like features of the man he knew as Lieutenant Brewer.