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hug。
I rolled away。 I slid on sticky white webs。 I saw white…webbed walls and a white…webbed ceiling。
My head hurt。 My body throbbed。 My white world wiggled and wobbled。
It hit me。
Padded cell/straitjacket/voices or ventriloquistic voodoo：
〃Torture him。 〃/ 〃Kill him。 〃/ 〃Dump Contino someplace。〃
I remembered Mars and the mermaid。 I remembered my trident…tailed twins。 I remembered the hypo hits that hopped me up on Big H。 I diagnosed my dilemma。
I was hooked on Horse。
I shook。 I shuddered。 I shivered。 I decided to probe my prognosis。
I rubbed my cheek against white rubber。 I felt a sticky two…day stubble。 I couldn't be a junkie yet。
I 〃still〃 hurt。 I 〃still〃 throbbed。 My white world 〃still〃 wiggled and wobbled。 I was 〃still〃 mummified and dope…doctored。
I scanned my white world。 I saw a small black square cut into one wall about a foot above floor level。
I rolled up to it。 Heat hit me。 I saw metal grates set six inches in。 I tried to jam my ass and my rear restraint straps up against them。 I couldn't get close。
I rolled over and faced the wall。 I bit at white plastic。 I snapped three times and got a good tooth hold。 I burrowed； bit and spat； burrowed； bit and spat； burrowed； bit and spat。 I chewed a big hole around the grates and slammed my ass against them。
Heat。
It warmed me and singed me and scorched my ass。 I bit the floor to staunch my pain and stifle incipient screams。 I smelled toasted white cotton and burning flesh。
I slammed my ass in tighter。 The pain accelerated。 I felt little ass hairs sizzle。 I bit down harder and almost choked on a chunk of white plastic。
My armiock went limp。 My bear hug broke。 I rolled away from the grates and rolled out of my straitjacket。
I stood up。 I stumbled and fell。 My circulation started to circulate。 I crawled to a waffle…webbed white door。
I crouched。 I rubbed my ass。 I counted the waffle webs on the walls to stay calm。 The door opened at 4；806。
A man stepped in。 I grabbed his ankles and pulled。 He hit the floor facedown。 I kicked the door shut and jumped on his back。
I pressed his face into white plastic。 Tucks and tufts muffled his screams。 I knee…dropped him nine times。 I came down on his kidneys full force。
Blood blew out of his mouth。 It spritzed and sprayed and trickled through little white troughs。
He was dead。
I pulled a key ring off his belt and stumbled to the door。 I looked out。 I saw an empty hall。 I saw a door marked 〃Pharmacy/ Restricted。〃
I shook。 I shivered。 I braced myself into the door。 My hands hopped to heavy rpms。
I needed a fix。
I looked down the hallway。 I recognized the pink walls。 I thought I heard a screech two doors down。
Mount Sinai。 The locked ward。
I stumbled to the pharmacy door。 I fumbled and bumbled my keys。 My hands hopped。 I stabbed keys at the keyhole。 The fourth key let me in。
I shut the door。 I turned on a light。 I dumped three drawers of dope into a sink。 I dug through Digitalis； Desoxyn； and Dilantin。 I tossed Tuinal and Terpin Hydrate and shoved Seconal aside。 I grabbed four vials of Methedrine Hydrochloride and dumped every drawer in the room。
I sifted through morphine Syrettes and pawed through pills。 I found a portable spike and jabbed up a big jolt of Meth。 I tied off my arm with my black lizard belt and mainlined my way back to Mars。
I strafed the stratosphere in six seconds。 I returned to Earth and ran toward that screech two doors down。
I kicked the door in。 I entered another white world。
Oscar Levant was strapped to a king…size dartboard。 A dozen darts dotted his chest。 The nut…ward guy held jumper cables and a squirt gun。 The cable cord was socked into a wall switch。
He saw me。 He squirt…gunned me。 He charged at me with his cables。 I slipped on wet white plastic and hit the floor。
He stabbed at me。 He caught me。 Voltage bounced off my chest。 I rolled into the dartboard。 It capsized。 Oscar hit the floor and slipped free。
I stood up。 The nut…ward guy charged me。 Oscar pulled a dart off his chest and let fly。 He nailed the nut…ward guy in the neck。
It stunned him。 He dropped the squirt gun。 I grabbed it and squirted him。 Oscar lobbed two darts at his face。
They stunned him。 He dropped his cables。 I grabbed them and clamped them down on his balls。
He screamed。 I slipped Oscar the squirt gun。 He shot him in the balls and electrocuted him。
6
Joi Lansing hid us out。 We turned her house into a kick pad。
I kicked Big H。 Joi knew a dope doc and a Chinese herbalist。 They collaborated and cooked up pounds to cleanse me。 I popped their portions and felt all the poison pour out of my pores。
Oscar kicked cold turkey。 He played Joi's piano twenty hours a day。 He played himself into and way past exhaustion。 He played blistering Bartok and soft Brahms ballades。 He perched on Joi's balcony and played for the Hollywood Hills。 People stood on their rooftops and listened。
Busy hands can't shake。 Busy brains don't dwell on dope deprivation。
I kicked Horse。 I didn't know if I could kick my homicide habit。
Murder was a monkey on my back now。 I found a context to make mayhem mine。 Most men found it in war。 I attracted it with my fear and put myself in peril to perpetrate it。 I was a murder magnet。 I'd continue to kill as long as it felt justifiable and erotic。
I wanted to juke Jack Webb and Johnny Stomp and hang their hides out to dry。 I wanted to fry Freddy Otash in hot oil and pulverize William H。 Parker。 I didn't know if I wanted to avenge Trent Woodard or go on another kill spree。 My murder motives were convoluted and ego…polluted。 I didn't know if I wanted to save L。A。 or annihilate it and go down behind a big ovation。
I ran it byJoi。 She told me to relax and let things play out hushhush。 Dinkins and Wells were still John Doe'd in the papers and on TV。 The Mount Sinai massacre never made print。 The LAPD plot was huge and unverifiable。 Oscar was a hophead。 I was a draft dodger。 Jack Webb was Joe Friday。 Let it go。 It was all too big to flick with。
I couldn't let it go。 My murder…mangled memory said no。 Joi took me to bed and tried to induce amnesia。
We made love to Bartok and Brahms。 We slept to soft Schubert and Schumann。 Oscar played to our passion。 His music molded my memories of murder and sparked my lust for more of the same。
We made love and slept for a week。 A Rachmaninoff opus 32 prelude pushed me over the edge。
I called my parents and told them to hide in their bomb shelter。 I told Joi to call Harvey Glatman and suggest some publicity pix。
7
Voices or ventriloquistic voodoo：
〃We've got to move the master file tonight。 Stash it someplace safe at your studio。〃
〃Yeah； boss。〃
I heard those words in a hop haze。 I was half…ass sure that Freddy 0 and Harvey Glatman said them。 I had a hunch that Harvey took his pervert pix in some sick sanctum sanctorum。
Joi walked into his repair shop。 Oscar and I watched。 We were staked out in Joi's Jag coupe。
We watched the door。 We waited。 Joi went in wired。
Oscar hooked her up。 We bought a 〃Sergeant Joe Friday Surveillance Kit〃 at a toy store and went wild。 Joi