The Jim Morrison Heist Pt. 04

Consciously he walked the ramp all the way to the top, around the side of the massive edifice, clinging to its walls, never looking down. On the way he encountered two more giant stone rings encircling the manor but both came equipped with more makeshift rampways up. After strenuously negotiating his dizzying way up and around the Runesgate Manor house Jallen finally surfaced in the vicinity of the front garden. He recognized it as the only bit of grass between Gyp's jungle portal and the entryway to the manor. How it managed to grow without sunlight he could not fathom. Sorcerous horticulture was not his line.

Jallen emerged far enough away from the front double doors to go unnoticed by the Dan Dan Man and his familiar, Pugmire. Both were still on duty so Jallen knew the party carried on. He wanted out of that nest of vipers and never come back, he did not reenter. Two pink marble fountains flanked Gyp's portal opening. He prayed it led back to Gyp's wagon. Zoey had drawn his attention to those landmarks when they'd cleared the main trail hours ago, he recalled. The fountains helped him regain his bearings in unfamiliar territory as much as the grass in the front garden.

He was ragged as his Brioni suit, burnt around the edges from climbing through sooty heat. It was ruined, but his evening wasn't. Actually those tense minutes on the side of the building on the brink of death had been the most exhilarating of his whole life. Sharing the same air as the grim reaper him made him feel more alive than he'd ever felt. He'd lost his suit but survived, clung to life. He'd lost one girl but found two others. Coughing, Jallen stumbled toward the water in the fountains, every bone in his body aching from the beating and the harrowing climb. All his nerve endings screamed with each step. He leaned weakly against the basin of the nearer fountain, grateful for the mist created by the thunderous splashing of recirculating water. The wetness in the air cooled the scorched skin of his face and hands. His body stank under his clothes, or what was left of them.

Jallen cast a final look at the bizarre Runesgate mansion encased like a knife in a sheath into the surface of the planet, aimed at its sulphurous bowels. What had accomplished that marvel of engineering? Blinded by Zoey's presence he hadn't noticed all that when entering the summer solstice bash, at least he departed with eyes wide open. The only visible portion of the manor above ground was the top floor of the structure, but not visible from the fields and pastures of Chas Park. It only made sense all stairways led down inside the manor. But ultimately they all led back up.

He splashed fountain water on his scorched face and hair, took a few deep breaths and traversed on unsure feet over to the portal. Staring inside he discovered the jungle path still visible. In he went, following the wide trail as best he could, running when possible and trudging when he couldn't. No one else appeared among the trees. Maybe each party had their own personalized timestream and were invisible to others on the trail. Maybe he was delirious contemplating things beyond his comprehension. All the same he gave thanks for proper lighting along the way. Fortunately the subterranean darkness enveloping the Rowling-Boyle estate did not prevail here. Time almost stood still in Gyp's dimension but Jallen felt like hours had gone by before he collapsed inside his wagon. At least that's where he thought he was.

Shouting to get the astral gypsy's attention failed. No words left his mouth, just thirsty croaks. His body ached, a dull constant pain. Mentally he cursed the man responsible. His vision shimmered before his eyes blinked out. Blankness, then falling down. How long he lay there dazed did not concern him as much as finding Gyp.

As if by magic the next thing he knew the words "Mr. Darling, sir, Mr. Darling, sir" echoed through his head. What should be relief became a tolling bell exacerbating the worst headache he'd ever had. Rough hands shook him.

"Stop shaking me, I'm in pain," he said in a desperate whisper.

Jallen opened his eyes and three Gyps wavered in and out of his sight. He closed his eyelids and remembered nothing after. When he came back around he laid on his back in a bed. A single Gyp stood over him, a sports bottle of water in his hand. Jallen made a strangled inarticulate sound. Gyp dribbled some water from the bottle between his lips. Jallen seized the bottle from Gyp's hands, drank till he emptied it.

"More, have you got any more?"

He didn't remember Gyp giving him another bottle and when he finished the whole thing he felt like he might survive. But that was a long way from healed. Gyp knelt beside him so they could see eye to eye.

"Mr. Darling, were you in a fire? What happen?"

"You don't want to know. Knowing what I do might endanger your life in the future. Have you seen Zoey? Has she left the party already?"

Gyp spoke quietly, gently, Jallen grateful for his subdued exuberance and volume under the circumstances. A bell still rang inside his head but he felt better than he had departing the Rowling-Boyle complex. "Yes, yes, Mr. Darling, Zoey and her grandmother leave hours ago."

He hadn't the strength to look at the time. "Did they say anything?"

"About you? Zoey's grandmother ask if you leave yet, I tell her no. She did not care to linger, she wanted to go home to her bed. Zoey was most unhappy and didn't speak at all."

"Sorry, Gyp, I don't know when hours ago was. What time is it?"

"The sun will be up in a few minutes." He extracted a pocket watch from his lavender vest pocket and squinted at it. "5:45."

"Is it the same time outside your wagon?"

His pirate's grin reappeared on his face, "Yes, Mr. Darling. It is almost daylight in the outside world."

"Thanks, Gyp, and call me Jallen, my real name. Richard Darling is one made up for me by Zoey to protect my true identity."

"Are you a policeman, Mr. Jallen?"

"No, Gyp, I'm a school teacher."

"I think you need to be in a hospital. What happen to you inside?"

"I lost a fight, but I can't tell you more."

"Men our age, Mr. Jallen, sir, is time to hang up our boxing gloves. No?"

"Yes. Advice I'll take. And if you would call me Jallen, not mister."

"Okay, mister, I mean, Jallen. You are worthy of my respect, sir."

"Just because I drive a Cadillac?"

"I think for more than that. Should I call an ambulance?"

"I'd rather you didn't. Look, can you get someone to drive me home? I'd like to try recuperating there."

Gyp's eyes lit up. "Drive you home, in your fantastic machine?"

Jallen nodded, and that hurt too. "Are you volunteering to drive or is there someone available you know? I'm in Sussex, Distrikt 14."

"If anyone drives your Caddy sedan it will be I, Mr. Jallen, sir."

"Just Jallen."

"Okay, Just Jallen, sir. I will summon assistance to lock up the wagon after the final guest departs. We can leave soon."

"Will it take your assistance long to report in?"

"I think not, he's my nephew." He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Sanjulian! Come in here."

The door in the rear of the wagon swung open in seconds. Taking into consideration the shifting skeins of time in that neighborhood seconds was how long it felt at any rate. A young shirtless lad entered, gangly, taller than Jallen.

"Was that soon enough?" asked Gyp.

He laughed, and it hurt to laugh.

Jallen didn't remember being loaded into his Cadillac or giving Gyp the keys. He regained consciousness for a moment, slumped his head toward Gyp. The fellow grinned from ear to ear, both hands on the wheel and the speedometer creeping up on a hundred miles an hour. Jallen went back to sleep. Gyp woke him for the checkpoint stops. Eyes closed, lolling in the seat, he listened to Gyp orate gross distortions of the truth to the soldiers. Jallen faded in and out of Gyp's serpentine variations of facts.

"Me? I am his designated driver. He was over served wine at a party. Fell into a fireplace, I might add he wasn't exactly chuffed with the condition it left his suit in. Probably go to litigation. I don't know why the host had a fire roaring in the middle of June, Russian émigré bloke, maybe a foreign custom. Don't like my clothes? Of course we were at a costume party, you don't think I dress like this nine to five Monday through Friday do you!" And so on.

When they pulled away from a second or third stop Gyp said, "Just Jallen, sir, we are now in Sussex. Can you furnish street turnings and house numbers please?"

When Jallen felt the car stop he heard Gyp say, "Do you always leave your front door open?"

He'd forgotten Bondage might have burgled his home in his absence. Summoning the last of his strength he went inside with Gyp. His place looked untouched, except the safe. It was as open as his front door, the only things missing were three books of Jim Morrison poems. Jallen could only laugh and laugh no matter how much it hurt.

He thanked Gyp for his safe passage. Gyp asked, "Sir, your home was robbed and you have a sense of humour about it? And not even call the police."

"Have you ever been burgled, Gyp? I have. Police departments don't solve burglaries, they write reports. I lost a few books, but the thieves don't have what they think do."

"Thieves?"

"I suspect two of them. You want to call a taxi? I'll pay for your return to Far Owls and then some."

"I will call my nephew to keep an eye on things in Chas Park."

"What will you do, Gyp?"

"I will stay here a day or two to keep an eye on your well being. If you need to visit doctors I will be your chauffeur. Should you need items from the grocers or apothecaries I am at your service." Gyp covered his mouth with a fist as he coughed. "And should your vehicle require maintenance or petrol I will attend to it and make sure proper amount of air in all tires. There will not be a speck on your windscreen. If more thieves seek to force their way into your domicile I will, what is that wonderful American expression, I will fuck them up. You can recover peacefully, without lingering ancillary worries nagging at you retarding the healing process."

"That's generous of you, but don't stop your life looking after me. After what I went through it's all downhill now."

"Maybe there is one small ulterior motive." Did a con man lurk behind his infectious grin? Jallen knew not to laugh. He hurt and he didn't mind.

"You want to negotiate to buy my Cadillac?"

"I am embarrassed by my transparency. Will you at least consider it, Just Jallen?"

"What if I end up saying no?"

"I will have bragging rights the rest of my days that I piloted HMS Land Barge on a few short voyages."

"You've earned them, mon ami. And if Zoey comes to my door?"

"There is plenty of time to consider that, if the time comes."

"Interesting. What or when do you think is the time to answer the door for her?"

"The bell rings, you know it is her but you feel nothing, do not answer."

"When will I be ready to answer?"

"Easy to tell. Your stomach will hurt."

Gyp ran Jallen's household for a few days. Zoey never called or came to visit. Four days later Gyp returned to his painted gypsy wagon in Chas Park. Jallen let Gyp drive his car back to Far Owls then Jallen drove himself home to Sussex. Gyp put three hundred miles on the car that week. He had a feeling one day soon Gyp would have the title of his 1959 Cadillac De Ville.

Jallen stayed home the rest of the week recovering on his own before returning to Hogfarts. On his first day back Tricker Treatise sucked him off in his car parked behind the council flats in nearby Ogdenton, Distrikt 11. He hadn't come since Dripping Spring coerced the last few drops out of him in that little room in Runesgate Manor. Tricker applied all her considerable talents to keep his bench seat unsoiled. She attempted to swallow more than she usually bargained for, coughed up some overflow in her hand. While Tricker sat in Jallen's car with a warm helping of ball sap cooling in her tummy she told him that Zoey had not been back to his class, taught by a substitute at Hogfarts since the party. Tricker licked her palm clean and sucked her fingers. He ran his fingers through Tricker's hair and reflected on his brief time with Zoey.

* * *

Jallen deceived Zoey more than the other way around.

He let her look over his shoulder on purpose when he opened the safe. She wasn't the only one he ever let watch him; but he never met anyone as enthusiastic about Morrison's poetry in his life. If she wanted to memorize the combination he'd made it easy for her, turning the dial deliberately nice and slow. If the Morrison stuff went missing from the safe he had a 99% chance of knowing the guilty party. He didn't give a toss if the books had been stolen. He'd've given her the stuff had she asked, but she hadn't.

The most logical way the heist went down was Zoey asked Bondage to steal the books, after she'd laid eyes on them. She'd divert Jallen at the Rowling-Boyle party at the time of the prearranged theft and leave with an ironclad alibi. And it only made sense that Bondage and she had been in a relationship long before the day it rained. Jallen casually mentioned owning the Morrison poetry in Zoey's particular class that Monday. Nobody cared about it except her. She'd never shown the least interest in Jallen till then. In hindsight it seemed sudden and convenient of her to behave uncharacteristically out of nowhere, strip off in front of him in an effort to convince him to drive her home in the rain. Her asking for a lift did not guarantee being led straight to the score and its location, but it was the first indirect step in that direction. She may not have had premeditated larceny in her heart until the exact moment she'd held the books in her hands. He'd been more than happy to let her sex him up in the car. She was the one who asked to spend the night on his couch. All any woman has to do is tell a man she wants to spend the night at his place and the gentleman will issue an invitation. And Zoey had shown him an invitation to Runesgate Manor the second after she confirmed Tuesday morning he had all three books and where he kept them. Zoey had from Tuesday night to Saturday evening to plan a Jim Morrison heist with Bondage.

She ignored Jallen in her class as usual the rest of that week even though she rang him early each evening pretending to be falling in love with him, though not in those words. The calls never exceeded five or six minutes. Maybe Bondage stood right there tapping his foot and looking at his watch and gesturing for her to hurry up. They had four nights to drive by his house in Bondage's car so he'd know where to strike once he knew Jallen would not be at home. Bondage might've been rifling his safe two minutes after seeing him depart at 7:30 to pick Zoey up for the party. He was at the punch bowl immediately after Zoey and Jallen got out of the downstairs theatre. Bondage might've staged himself there even before they got waylaid to The Ceremony of the Virgin.

If he'd robbed Jallen while he taught during the day when his house was unattended it would've been too early, too suspicious or obvious to him that Zoey was the culprit or conspiring with a second person. Bondage and she needed to give the upcoming job a reasonable amount of time to gel and assure her being in Jallen's company during the burglary. The summer solstice party had been a timely and ideal excuse to get him out of his house. Had there been no real party Zoey could've conjured numerable scenarios to entice him off his premises: a movie, dinner, the dependably surefire 'can you pop over and help me undress' gag, etc. From the time he picked her up Saturday night she'd avoided all physical contact with Jallen, citing excuses like make-up and going wild after the party. Sure, she gave his willy a few squeezes in the car on the way. Was it to stay in character, keep him unsuspecting; or was that his paranoia talking? His and her antagonizing each other had always been friendly, natural to the point he believed she enjoyed their arguments. But she was not in love, and Jallen should've picked up on that. Instead he foolishly convinced himself she was. And that was all on him.

When Zoey first encountered Bondage at the ball, he whispered to her right in front of Jallen. Had he let her know he'd successfully completed the heist or did they use a code for mission accomplished? Immediately afterward she started brushing Jallen off. She gave him the cold shoulder bigtime and never said another word to him after sitting down at the Seven Suits table. Then and there she cut all her losses, not just walking away from Jallen, but running (at least in his state of mind at the time). She hadn't even looked up at him standing beside the card table holding hands with Dripping Spring. He chuckled at that madness.

Zoey would never have to take her professor to bed again, regardless if the Monday night sex had been good or not. Bondage later confirmed being the jealous type to Jallen. The Cockney Cock knew Zoey fucked his brains out and decided he wanted to kill him for it.

The pleasurable and informative interlude with Miss Dripping Spring had gone much smoother. She knew somebody who knew Bondage was bad cess. The instant Spring told Jallen the bloke was a safecracker he knew the Jim Morrison books were as good as gone. Things worked out perfectly for Zoey, not so well for Bondage. The calamity of his death was the last thing Jallen could have foreseen, beyond the farthest reach of his imagination. Deceased by stumblebumdom.

It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility Zoey would never know what became of him. Nobody would, so long as Jallen kept his mouth shut. He hadn't even confided in Gyp. Zoey might conceivably even run back into Jallen's arms and bed again after accepting the fact Bondage was never coming back. Should that happen he'd welcome her back, of course, the sex was too good. He could see himself acting philosophical around her mourning his loss of the Morrison material. Well, that's life; you can't take it with you; at least I enjoyed it all those years; and if the thief can live with it then I can live without it.

But there was a rub. The three stolen privately printed Jim Morrison books were facsimiles.

After Jallen had books of his own printed at Jim's original publisher Western Lithograph he requested them to duplicate the three real ones Morrison gave him. He'd wanted back-up copies. On the rare occasions he had shared them with others (like Zoey) he'd always made a big deal of removing them from his safe so they'd think that's where he kept the originals. Nobody knew he had duplicates. The authentic ones Morrison had truly given him Jallen kept in the bottom drawer of his stove, stuffed between the pages of old newspapers under some skillets. Most stoves have a drawer under the oven itself designed to store extra pots and pans, not exactly a place thieves think to look when a fireproof safe is in the home too. With the exception of a few hundred people in the entire human race no one else would think they were of any value, long to own them, or even care.

Everything is interconnected.

Jallen wondered if Zoey also realized the role of Arista Spladt was portrayed by none other than Guerlain Gape. For whatever flighty motives she had it took more than a pair of hornrimmed glasses to disguise her from someone she worked with on a day to day basis, like Jallen. Guerlain especially broke cover carelessly spluttering "do what thou wilt, do what thou wilt" while he'd exercised her sphincter in the loveseat. Any Hogfarts teacher acquainted with Ms. Gape knew she used it as a figure of speech every day of her life. He had the Golden Dawn's number alright. Jallen felt good about slaking Guerlain Gape's thirst in the theatre. Maybe Arista hallucinated the whole time and didn't remember him, or was he the one tripping? He still deferred to her great power but her intimidation factor with him now was a dragonfly of a different colour.