The Sixteen Burdens (7 page)

I’ll pay for this.

C
HAPTER
N
INE

U
SING
THE
FIVE
spot Pickford had given him earlier, Gray caught a cab at the train station and followed Pickford on a wild ride through Los Angeles. After dropping her driver off at the county hospital, she drove with a housefly’s instincts, making sudden turns every which way until she found her way to the Sunset Strip.

Pickford had stopped at three or four bars in Hollywood, each time popping in and coming out so quickly Gray was still getting out of his taxi. Finally she drove to the Bali Ballroom in West Hollywood. It was a gaudy turquoise dance hall that stuck out like a flamenco dancer at a funeral. The entrance was a giant arch made by two neon palm trees that bent and crossed each other at the top.

Pickford was inside for more than five minutes when Gray decided to get out. He paid the taxi driver and told him to wait, then walked up to the blue velvet rope blocking the entrance. Apparently Frankenstein and the Wolf Man had a love child, and he was working as a doorman at the Bali Ballroom. The hairy goon took one look at Gray and cracked his knuckles in greeting.

“We’re full,” he growled, even as he let a couple behind Gray walk in.

Gray pulled out the last dollar he had from the Lincoln that Pickford had given him earlier. He gave it to the doorman, who pocketed it.

“Is it any emptier now?” Gray asked.

“No, but your wallet is. Scram.”

Furious, Gray walked around back and began pulling on any doors he saw, but all of them were locked. As he walked back around to the front of the building, he saw Pickford hurrying to her car with a man. Gray ran toward his taxi only to discover it had left. There was another taxi, however, idling by the main entrance. He darted toward it, only to nearly collide with a young woman running from the other direction. She grabbed the back handle.

“This is my taxi, sorry.”

She yanked on the door but it only opened two inches before Gray slammed it shut.

“Beat it, kitten. This is my cab. The only reason you got to it first is ’cause I stopped short so we wouldn’t smash into each other.”

“That’s the price of being a gentleman,” she said. “Or whatever you are. Excuse me.”

She pulled on the door again but Gray had his hand firmly set against it. He turned around and looked for Pickford, who was unlocking her passenger door for the man with her.

“We’ll flip for it,” Gray said.

“I don’t gamble,” the girl said. “I never gamble.”

She had a stiff dress and white gloves, her hair kept back by a headband. Although it suited her nicely, the dress looked far too conservative for the day’s fashion, as if it had been purchased for a young woman thirty years ago.

Gray let go of the door and the girl slipped in. She reached over to shut the door but Gray slid in beside her, jostling her with his jacket elbow.

“We’ll share,” he said. “You can have it when I’m done.”

“I’m in a rush. You can have it when I’m done!”

They turned their heads and looked out the back window. Pickford was pulling away.

“Driver, follow that car!” they both said.

They looked at each other.

“I guess we can share after all,” Gray said. “You paying, muffin?”

Ten minutes later, the taxi was cruising west down Wilshire Boulevard. The young woman was looking out the window, and her shadowy face illuminated with an orange glow every time they passed a street lamp.

“Mary Pickford,” Gray said. “Who’s she with? You overhear any of her conversation?”

“Tell me first why you’re following her.”

Gray adjusted the fedora on his head.

“I’m a private eye on a case.”

She looked at him for the first time since they had gotten in the taxi. A laugh escaped from her mouth that she didn’t bother to stifle.

“You’re a private detective? Who’s your client, Rin Tin Tin?”

“Sure, cookie. The case of the missing dog bone.”

She didn’t respond, but continued to stare out at the oncoming traffic. He noticed a large red hand mark across the side of her face. Someone had slapped her, hard.

“What happened to you?” he said.

She gingerly touched her cheek.

“I made a madman madder.”

She looked at him.

“There’s no use getting angry on my behalf.”

“Who said I was angry?”

Gray looked at her. For the briefest moment he saw red energy swirl around her, with a thin ribbon of blue deep inside. It was like a smoke bomb, but translucent and glowing. Just as quickly it was gone. It must have been the reflection from a passing neon sign.

“You have a lot of anger,” she said. “Other things too.”

She twirled her hair for a while, staring out the window, then seemed to make a decision.

“There’s a reward for information leading to the capture of the man who’s abducting all of those actresses,” she said. “I intend to claim it.”

“Do you have information about that?”

“I overheard Mrs. Pickford say she knew who the man was, and she said she was on her way to stop him,” Elsie said.

“Did she say anything about him?”

She tugged on one of her curls as she thought about it.

“They called him the world’s strongest man.”

The world’s strongest man.

Why did that sound familiar? He thought a moment, then removed the newspaper from his jacket pocket. He flipped through the pages to find what he was looking for; it didn’t take long. There, on the same inside page of the story about Nina Beauregard was a quarter-page ad for the circus. Spanning the top of the ad was a drawing of a giant man lifting a massive barbell above his head. He had a handlebar mustache and an intense gaze. Above him, a headline: “Darko Atlas, the strongest man on Earth!”

Below the strongman was a collage of other circus performers—acrobats, an animal tamer, a knife thrower—but Gray zeroed in on a cluster of performers: three half-sized clowns who were juggling batons.

The Lollipop Guild.

“I know where we’re going,” Gray said.

“Where?” she asked.

Gray didn’t respond. He didn’t want her running off to tell the police, not until he could confirm it himself.

“Well?” she said. “How are we supposed to work as a team if you don’t tell me?”

“We ain’t a team,” Gray said. “I work on my own.”

She crossed her arms.

“Driver, pull this car over right now.”

“We’ll lose them!” Gray said. “Driver, keep going.”

The driver glowered at them in his rear-view mirror. He pulled over into the slow lane. They began to lose Pickford’s car in the traffic.

“I obey whoever’s paying.”

“I am!” Gray said. He reached into his pocket but came out with only pennies.

The young woman removed a crumpled dollar from her coin purse. She handed it to the driver.

“Now,” she said to Gray, “Are we stopping, or are we working as a team?”

“Come on, dollface,” he pleaded.

She crossed her arms. Gray had no choice; he’d have to let her tag along.

“We’re going to the circus,” he said.

She smiled.

“There, that wasn’t so hard. And don’t call me dollface.”

Gray pulled his fedora over his eyes and pretended to nap.

“I’m Elsie,” she said.

She cleared her throat. Gray tipped his hat up to see her holding out her hand.

“Gray,” he said without taking it.

“Oh, you’re
Gray
,” Elsie said, folding her hands back in her lap. “Mrs. Pickford was right. You
are
rough around the edges.”

C
HAPTER
T
EN

P
ANCHITO
AWOKE
TO
paramedics lifting him onto a stretcher. His head was throbbing and his vision was blurry. When he tried to sit up, someone guided him back down.

“Don’t move, Parcheesi,” Farrell said. “They’re going to take you to the hospital.”

Panchito forced his head up.

“Where’s Gray Studebaker?”

Farrell’s lips pressed into a pruney little oval. The big baby looked as if he were on the verge of tears.

“He’s gone.”

The paramedics were carrying Panchito through the dormitory, out through the hall. The foyer was lined with crippled boys on both sides, excitedly watching the procession of medics and the injured. The First Inaugural Polio Parade.

“What do you recall?” Farrell asked, following behind the stretcher. “You remember that I wasn’t there, don’t you? I was in the dining hall, taking care of the other boys as is my duty. I had nothing to do with this.”

Panchito remembered going into the dormitory, finding two little men rummaging through Gray’s things. They were looking for something. He shouted at them, told them to stop. That’s when a third scoundrel appeared and hit him on the back of head. The coward.

“Those men,” Panchito said. “Where are they?”

“Those odious dwarves?” Farrell said. “They’re tied up in the printing room. The police will be here any moment to arrest them.”

“The police!”

Panchito tried to sit up, but Farrell forced him back down.

“I’ll have them restrain you if you don’t sit still.”

Panchito swiped Farrell’s hand away and rolled himself off the stretcher. He fell to the floor, breaking his fall with his belly more than his hands. The paramedics set down the stretcher to lift him back on.

“Stop struggling,” Farrell said. “I doubt you’ll get very far without your wheelchair.”

“I won’t hold your doubt against you,” Panchito said. “I’m used to being underestimated.”

Panchito jumped to his feet. The other boys gasped. Farrell grabbed him by the arm.

“Who are you?”

Panchito puffed out his chest.

“I am José Doroteo Arango Alameda, son of José Doroteo Arango Arámbula—revolutionary and hero of the Mexican people!
Cuidado
!”

He pushed Farrell aside and jumped over the stretcher, parting the sea of boys. It felt good to move his legs after two days of pretending to be bound to a wheelchair. Everyone watched as he escaped, but they were too stunned to follow.

He ran for the workshop. Mary Pickford would be furious if the police got involved. She had ordered Panchito to keep an eye on Gray for the past week, when the first of the actresses went missing. Panchito had no idea who Gray was, or why he was important, but it wasn’t his job to ask questions. It was his job to protect.

Even if the one you’re protecting is a big crumb.

Pickford had only meant for him to keep an eye on the boys’ home from afar, but that was as tedious as watching a record spin. So Panchito had decided to infiltrate the home by borrowing a wheelchair from the prop room at United Artists. Pickford wouldn’t be happy when she found out.

The lights were on in the printing room, and the windows outside were black. Panchito found the little men back to back, tied together around a big leg of one of the heavy work tables. He grabbed a pair of sharp scissors from the cutting table and with dramatic flair brought it against the man who seemed to be the leader, the one with the derby hat and crowded teeth.

“Who are you working for? I swear on my father’s grave I will slit your throat if you don’t speak.”

“Kiss off,” the man said. “Who are you, Zorro’s fat son?”

“I am José Doroteo Arango—”

“Yeah, we heard you the first time from all the way in here,” the bald man said.

“You’re bonkers, kid,” the ringleader said. “You and your whole immigrant family.”

Panchito punched him in the face. A sharp pain shot up Panchito’s wrist and he winced, shaking it out. He had never actually hit anyone before and it smarted something fierce. The ringleader, however, seemed completely unfazed.

“You’ll pay for that someday, kid.”

“You’ll pay for offending me and disrespecting my family name.”

Panchito brought the scissors back to his throat.

“Now, answer my original question. Or is there an ear you’d rather not have?”

A police siren blared from somewhere outside. Somewhere close. Panchito muttered a curse in Spanish. He couldn’t let the cops take these men. The investigators would want to know why they were there and what they were looking for. Then they’d start asking questions about Pickford and Gray, and who knows where that might lead.

Panchito slid underneath the table with the scissors, crawling behind the men. They all tried to crane their necks behind them.

“Hey donut, what’re you doing under there?”

Panchito cut the rope that was tied around the table leg, freeing the men. The rope fell loose around their chests, but they still had their hands tied together.

Panchito crawled back out as they were standing up.

“Go free,” Panchito said. “You are too weak and inconsequential for me to deal with.”

The dwarf with a hooked nose took an awkward two-handed swipe at Panchito. It hit him across the cheek but didn’t hurt him very much.

“Try saying that when our hands are free,” the man said.

The bald dwarf kneed Panchito in the stomach, and as he doubled over, the one with the derby hat kicked him to the floor.

Everyone froze when a pounding came from the front door. They heard it open, and Farrell’s nasal voice was directing officers toward the printing room.

“Let’s scram,” one of them said.

The three men ran out the back door of the workshop. Panchito willed himself up and stumbled out after them. The men ran straight, toward the tire factory upstream, so Panchito turned right, toward the river. He took only a few steps before slipping and tumbling the rest of the way down the bank. He landed in a pile of rotting garbage that was wet and moldy from the trickle of water running through it.

Panchito looked back up. In the moonlight he saw the little men hopping a low wall into the grounds of the tire factory.

One day I’ll be strong, and then you’ll all be sorry.