An Incident Halfway To Hell 6

It was a whirlwind for Casey, not at all like the staid Plaza bar. Introductions flew like darts, most missing the target by a wide margin with only a few penetrating enough to stick; a movie star, a well known singer and a world famous author mingled with a crowd where conversation was less of an art than a science in just trying to be heard above background music that beat as insistent as jungle drums. Joints passed from hand to hand, dusty white powder left residues on glass topped tables and the booze flowed in quantities not seen even at the Plaza. For hours the party rolled on full bore inside the house and all the way out to the pool, and along about ten, Casey, high as a kite ended up on the verandah in search of a quiet place to rest. He looked around. No seating on this verandah, it was meant only to showcase the house, so he dropped to the steps and leaned his head against a column, breathing deeply of the cool night air. He had only been there for a few minutes when someone else with the same idea came out and plopped down beside him. Casey looked up to see an imposingly large man, yet who was obviously not much older than he was.

"Hi." Casey said.

"I sure am! You too, by the looks of it." the man replied in a mellow southern drawl, "Some party, huh?"

"I'll say, I'm toast. Had to take a breather."

"Ditto to that. Hey buddy, I heard Melva say you're gonna be in her new video. Me too as it turns out, so I guess we'll be seeing more of each other."

Casey, pot laden enough that everything seemed hilarious, burst out laughing.

"What's so funny." The man asked.

"Well, since we'll be wearing nothing but jock straps I'm sure we will be seeing more of each other, a whole lot more!"

"Oh yeah," the man laughed, "You're right! By the way, my name is Hoot. And you're Casey, if I heard Melva right."

"Hoot? Not Hoot Gibson by any chance?" Casey laughed uproariously. The world glistened brightly in his pot shattered eyes and while he knew it was a stupid remark, he couldn't resist. Instead of getting huffy, the man just grinned,

"Wrong Hoot, Kiddo. Anders is the last name, and yours?"

"O'Brian. Nice to meet you Hoot." As Casey, turned to shake hands, he lost his perch on the step and nearly went tumbling down the long flight of stairs. Hoot grabbed his out flung arm.

"Whoa there, Case." he said pulling him back to safety. Re-seated firmly on the step Casey dimly realized that the whole save had been one effortless move on Hoot's part, and his impression was that the man could move like lightning, even when stoned. Soon after that, the booze hit hard and Casey didn't remember much of what they talked about that evening, only the fact that from that moment onward, Hoot always called him Case.

Chapter 4

"Wake up, Case, we're here!"

The shake aroused Casey who found himself slumped sideways in the seat, his head pillowed on Hoot's thigh and he remembered ending up in this exact same position that night at Melva's party. When the booze caught up with him, he passed out and Hoot had sat on the verandah for an hour or more holding his head, or maybe preventing him killing himself by rolling down that long flight of steps.

Struggling upright he discovered that his hands were now free. Somehow he missed feeling that maneuver, but how long had he been asleep? The last thing he remembered was hearing one of Melva's tapes playing quietly in the background while Scotty talked to Hoot about a concert date in Chicago.

"Where are we?" Casey asked.

"I call it Halfway to Hell. It's my own little desert oasis. You can get out now." Hoot led Casey to the door of the medium sized adobe house outlined in the car's headlights and once inside demanded his shoes.

"What do you want 'em for?" Casey asked, looking down. There wasn't any carpeting to worry about - the place was floored in unglazed ceramic tile.

"Never mind, just kick them off." Hoot replied, flipping on the rest of the interior lights.

The house appeared to be one large open space, at least from what Casey could see. A small kitchen ran along the right hand wall with an eating bar and stools defining the area. To his left, the room spread expansively before a massive fireplace and on the wall above the mantel hung a pair of crossed swords that he recognized at once. One was a damaged practice foil that belonged to him, or had, until he tossed it in the trash, the other a pitted dueling rapier that he and Hoot had picked up at a garage sale one Sunday afternoon. The white painted walls held pictures that he also recognized, enlargements of snapshots that they had shared over the years. Some were Hoot's favorites, some his, like the one showing the two of them trying on huge Mexican sombreros. That one was taken on Tijauana day trip four years ago. He also liked the blizzard scene - he and Hoot huddled together, wrapped up like Eskimos in Montreal. That one taken 2 years ago on the last tour they did together. The wall was alive with pictures of dancers and band members most of whom had long since departed Melva, and central among them was the framed a playbill from the first tour they did together - both their names in such tiny print it took a magnifying glass see them.

Casey scanned the room. Lots of seating in front of the fireplace he noted, modern, but showing a definite Spanish influence. The intermingled wooden pieces of furniture were of Mexican design. Carved, painted chests and tables picked up the motif of the beams that spanned overhead and those repeated in a scattering of glazed tile insets in the floor. Heavy burgundy drapes stood guard along three arched windows and like the massive front door, the kitchen cupboard faces carried deeply incised carvings. It was cheerful room yet held an almost monastic feel of quite and calm.

Scotty pushed past asking for the bathroom, Hoot pointed and the man disappeared through an alcove that Casey missed at first view. The house was evidently larger than he thought. When the man returned Hoot handed him the shoes, saying, "He won't be needing these."

Scotty gave Casey another of his shit eating grins, "Well, gotta be going, watch your step around here, Casey." he said as he slid out the door and closed it behind him. A moment later the car started and pulled away.

Casey wondering about that comment, asked, "All right, what's with the shoe bit?"

"Just that now I don't have to worry about you hiking outta here. It's a good ten miles to anywhere and nothing but sand burrs and cactus in all directions. No phone either. Get the picture?"

Hoot sauntered into the kitchen area, filled a coffee maker and plugged it in. Casey settled silently onto one of the stools for a moment, then asked, "Why are you doing this Hoot? Damn it, I've never done a thing to you."

Hoot rubbed his jaw and said, "Oh no?"

"OK, so I punched you. Hell, I was scared and let fly before I thought, but I'm not talking about that. I've always been square with you and I just don't understand why you want to ruin everything I've worked for?"

"Aw shit, Case, I don't. And you know I don't hold grudges. But think about it. You signed with Birchline for five years and that contract still stands. I warned you about getting in too deep with those advances and do you remember what you told me?"

Casey squirmed, "Yeah," he admitted. He always figured that the next tour and the next video would take care of it, only the 'next tour' never materialized - Melva fired him.

"The way I see it, you kinda brought this on yourself and you can't just walk away, Case. You either have to pay off those advances or work it out - it's in the contract . . ."

"Didn't she tell you I tried? Hell, Paul sent me statements. I knew exactly how much I owed. When I finished the film at Paramount I sent a check, in fact I sent it twice and they returned it both times. Damn it, I've tried satisfying Melva, but I'll burn in hell before starring in one of Vitto's porn flicks."

Hoot just stared at him for a long moment, "You're serious aren't you? I mean about the money. That wasn't the story I got! Melva said you trying to weasel out."

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written by ernies