Robert A. Liston
The Tower of Evil
1: Homeless Driver
Walter Byerly drove to his volunteer “day job” in his “perfectly good” Chevy Nova. The car, not too dented and rusty, was his sop to thrift, or so he thought, also his revolt against stylistic whims.
At work he hopped into a late model Ford minivan, light blue in color and emblazoned with the words CARE WHEELS, INC., to begin chauffeuring homeless folk around town. On occasion, and with great reluctance, Byerly would admit the van was a lot more fun to drive, even if it lacked the charm and integrity of his clunker.
He nestled the van against the curb in front of the Salvation Army building on Chapala St. below Haley. A group of homeless gathered, waiting for breakfast at The Sally, as it was called.
This was the seedy part of Santa Barbara, the closest thing it had to a skid row. But even here there was a sort of tainted beauty, like a dowager with memories of glory days, needing only a little fixing up to once again attend the ball.
Byerly loved this time of day in Santa Barbara, when the morning mist began to burn off, casting the whole place in expectancy, awaiting the glorious sun and sky. Coming from the Midwest, with its ozone problem, he hadn’t realized just how deep a blue the sky really is till he came to California.
The rear door slid open. “G’mornin’, Doc.” Byerly turned to the voice of Henry Clay, a former student of his. A skiing accident had taken away half his IQ and all his good sense. He now lived on the street.
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Henry.”
“Why not? I ‘member when you was teachin’ at UCSB.”
“And I definitely wish you hadn’t told everyone that.. I keep getting asked-”
“Hey, Doc, will you take a look at this thing on my hand?”
He turned to the voice at the driver’s window. “Sorry, I’m not that kind of doc. You want to see Nadine, the public health nurse. She’ll be here in an hour or so.” He turned back to Henry Clay. “See what I mean?” He doubted he did. “You want to go to the mental health clinic?”
“Yeah, I got an appointment with the doc.”
Apparently everyone was a doc.
A fellow he had not seen before approached him on the passenger side. He had a heavy, matted beard, dreadlocks and looked filthy. “Where do you go?”
“I run folks out to the public health and VA clinics. Social Services, better known as Welfare, is out there, too.”
He seemed to register that, nodding his head, then he turned away.
“I guess I’m not going where he is.”
“Why do you do this, Doc, being a college perfesser and all?”
“I’m a retired professor, Henry, and I do this because it’s fun. Driving you folks is far more educational than anything I used to teach. Besides, I do so enjoy shocking my stuffy friends. “ ‘What do you do?’ they ask. ‘I’m a homeless driver,’ I say.” He chuckled. “Now I know how AIDS people feel.”courthouse
He remained there awhile, watching the sidewalk action. People had ability to laugh and have fun even under the most hopeless-or homeless- conditions.
“Hey, Doc, you’ll never guess what I saw the other day.”
He glanced at Henry in the rear view mirror. He was puny and disheveled, always trying to please, like a runt of the litter at chow time. “Oh, I might. Let’s see, was it here in Santa Barbara?”
“Yep, right downtown, on the street beside the library.”
“That’s too many clues, Henry. You’re making it too easy. Beside the library on Anacapa Street?” The public library was a favorite hangout for the domicile deprived.
“Yep, right across the street from the courthouse.”
Henry was enjoying this game. “Let me see. Something you saw?” Byerly squirmed in his seat so as to look back at Henry. “I don’t know-a kidnapping, you saw a kidnapping.”
Henry was crestfallen. “You saw it, too?”
“No, Henry, honest, I was just guessing. You really saw a kidnapping at one of the busiest corners in town? That’s amazing, tell me about it.”
Henry was pleased by the praise. “I see this girl standin’ there at the bus stop, but I knew she wasn’t waitin’ for no bus, ‘cause the No. 20 and the No. 1 came and she didn’t get on. She was lost, I’m sure she was lost.”
“How old was this girl.”
“She was, oh, I don’t know ages, Doc, old enough not to get lost, she was, you know…” He made a gesture with his hands.
“I get the picture, Henry. She was a woman, not a girl.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Of course you did. What happened to this lost woman?”
A black car drives up, one of them big ones with a driver, I forget what they’s called.”
“A limousine?”
“Yeah, that’s is. This guy gets out and-”
“The driver?”
“Naw, the other guy in front. He was a mean lookin’ dude, shaved head, with one of them pencil beards framing his mouth and chin, big guy, wore dark glasses, looked like one of them Ninja fellows.”
Byerly was sorry he’d interrupted. Henry had lost his train of thought. “So what did this Ninja guy do when he got out of the limousine?”
“He goes up to the girl, says something to her, then she says something back. I couldn’t hear what. Then the guy grabs the girl by the elbow, drags her toward the car. She didn’t want to go, I could tell, but he has his way with her, as they say.” Henry snickered. “Then the car drives off.”
“That’s interesting Henry, but she probably had a date with him.”
“At nine in the mornin’?”
You may have a point there. What did the girl look like?”
“Look? I don’t look at no girls, I get in trouble when I do.”
“Everyone should be as wise as you, Henry. I don’t suppose you got a license number on the limo.”
“I did, but I forget it, didn’t have no pencil. But there was one of them stickers on the rear bumper, you know, vote for so and so.”
“Vote for whom?”
“I can’t 'member nothin’ like that, Doc. He’s that dude who’s always bitchin’ at folks for either not going to church or havin’ too much fun.”
“You can only mean Justin Wright.” Byerly laughed. “You have just encapsulated his entire presidential campaign, my friend. When did this kidnapping take place?”
“Oh, geez, I dunno.”
“Try to think, Henry, it might be important.”
A sharp squeal made Byerly look back at the sidewalk. A couple nuzzled each other. Nothing unusual in that, except she was blonde, better looking and better dressed than most. Repugnance and desperation showed on her face as a limp haired creature, young enough to be her son, grappled her.
“It was last Tuesday, Doc.”
“A week ago. Are you sure?”
“I never forget a kidnappin’, Doc.” He thought that very funny.
“Stop it!” The blonde pushed at straggly hair and tried to get away, but he pulled her back to him roughly. She pushed again, but she was clearly losing the struggle.
Byerly stuck his head out the window. “Hey, Romeo, leave her alone.”
