Stone Junction

  The women called them Boy Poet and the Grizzly Bear. A tawny blond half in love with Daniel caught the essential difference – ‘Mott loves us equally, all at once. Daniel loves us specifically, one by one.’

  But, unfortunately, once only, for as Daniel soon discovered, after a single orgasm with a woman, he was impotent with her thereafter. Try as he (and they) would, which was considerably, he couldn’t get it up for any of them twice. The women were confused and understanding. Daniel was just confused. By the end of summer he was depressed, and at harvest, when all the Commies had arrived to help pick, dry, clip, and bag the powerful sinsemilla, the drying sheds were so erotically charged with the fragrance of ripe females – plant and animal – that Daniel could hardly bear it. Though he feared Mott might react with laughter or disgust, Daniel turned to him for help.

  Mott listened to Daniel’s hesitant description of the problem and simply nodded. ‘Thought you’d been looking puny lately. Wondered what was going on.’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know,’ Daniel said glumly.

  Mott said, ‘This is going to take some massive thinking, and that means hitting the special reserves.’

  They were in the main room of Mott’s house, the trapezoidal interior hung with animal skulls suspended from the ceiling on delicate silver wires. Mott jerked hard on a wolverine skull and Daniel heard a latch open behind him. Intrigued, he watched as Mott lifted a four-by-eight panel from the wall, revealing a storage space containing shelves of guns, ammo, grenades, and four gallon-jars of a greenish-tinged liquid. Mott took down one of the jars, rummaged in a box till he came up with a large, clear-plastic meat baster with a bright red bulb, and set them on the table in front of Daniel.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Mott unscrewed the cap and bent over to savor the bouquet. ‘Something special I had Charmaine brew up in her spare time. Call it Ol’ Wolverine.’

  ‘Is it like your chili?’

  ‘Better.’ Mott dipped the baster in the jar and drew up a few inches of liquid. ‘It’s whole extract of coca leaf, peyote buttons, and poppy heads, then she centrifuges ’em or some damn thing to get the essence, and after that she makes a ten percent solution.’ Mott tilted his head, stuck the narrow tip of the baster in his nostril, and squeezed the bulb. ‘Razoooolllii!’ he cried, swaying slightly. He wiped the tears and handed Daniel the baster. Daniel, cautious, half-filled the tip. The effect of Ol’ Wolverine on the sinuses was much like that of Mott’s chili on the palate.

  Thus fortified, Mott addressed Daniel’s problem. ‘What ya got,’ he explained, ‘is a weird case of Shrivel Dick. Nobody’s sure what causes it. Some docs think it’s physical, some mental. In your case, having taken some shrapnel to the brain, I gotta think that’s the reason. Don’t matter if it wasa sliver of metal, cause even if you blow a speck of fly shit through a bowl of jello, it’s gonna have some effect, right? And I’m assuming you actually do want to diddle these girls, and don’t suffer from some sorta unnatural pussy aversion.’

  ‘No, I’m sure,’ Daniel said.

  ‘So the message is gettin’ from your heart to your brain, but it ain’t making it from your brain to your dick – that’s the problem right there.’

  ‘It does once.’

  ‘Maybe the switch is weak, and one blast of desire fries it shut?’

  ‘Maybe so.’

  ‘What you’ve gotta do, Dan, is take the scientific approach. Do a fucking experiment. Get three or four of the Commies, blindfold yourself so you don’t know who’s who, then have ’em take turns on ya.’

  Dolefully, Daniel shook his head. ‘I tried it two weeks ago with Helen, Jade, and Annie. Once each.’

  ‘Yeah? Is Jade that one with the tits that’d make your heart stand still?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’ta used the blindfold.’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  Responding to Daniel’s glum tone, Mott said with sudden brightness, ‘But hey – what the hell? Women are awful hard critters to please.’ Long with always wanting everything to fit their mood at the moment, they want you to pay attention to ’em and be nice and give ’em credit cards. Once could be plenty. Blessin’ in disguise.’

  ‘Right now it feels like a curse.’

  ‘Well, short of brain surgery, you’re gonna have to live with it, and since you’d be stark motherfucking crazy to let someone cut on your brain, that leaves living with it – and you might as well start now. So what say, pardner, we take a moonlight ride up on Bleeker Ridge? Nothing in the world Pissgums hates worse than a night ride.’

  ‘No thanks, Mott, but I appreciate your asking.’

  ‘Think about it, Dan. Sitting up there on Bleeker Ridge watching the snow fall in the moonlight.’

  Perplexed, Daniel said, ‘It’s not snowing.’

  Mott seemed startled by the information, then smiled. ‘Well, maybe it’ll start.’

  ‘Thanks anyway, Mott,’ Daniel said, rising from the table, ‘but I think I’ll go watch it from the river. You and Pissgums have a good time.’

  Daniel sat by the river, dejected by the one thing he hadn’t mentioned, the fear that his condition made love impossible. He hadn’t felt like discussing that with Mott. Mott was friendly enough, but never let friendliness cross the line into intimacy. Wild Bill was like that. Aunt Charmaine, too. All these AMO people with their guarded, friendly openness. Volta wasn’t even that friendly.

  He caught a flash of light downstream, then heard the distinctive growl of Charmaine’s Chevy panel truck gearing down for the bridge. His mother had always claimed that old women knew everything important. He wondered if he would have been able to talk to his mother about his problem; it cheered him to feel certain he could have. He decided to consult Charmaine. As an older woman, she might have some insight. As a chemist, maybe she could make him a potion. When he stood up he felt a faint twist of nausea. Daniel took a moment to connect it with mescaline, and about the time he recalled that Mott’s Ol’ Wolverine contained peyote, he realized he was ripped.

  Charmaine was in the kitchen, reading the paper and eating toast. Daniel, aided by the coca-mesc-opium combo, liked the way she held her toast.

  ‘Daniel,’ she said pleasantly putting down the paper. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I have a problem.’

  ‘Yes?’ There was neither apprehension nor cajolery in her voice, just the usual open neutrality.

  ‘It’s a sexual problem. I talked to Mott, but I wanted to ask your advice, too.’

  ‘You’re loaded,’ Charmaine said, looking at him intently, toast still poised in her hand.

  ‘Being loaded and talking to Mott are the same thing. He was riding Pissgums in the snow.’ Daniel paused, his train of thought derailed, then added awkwardly, ‘But I want to talk to you independent of being loaded.’

  She gestured with her toast. ‘Sit down and talk.’

  Daniel sat at the table and began to explain, absently turning a jar of marmalade between his hands. Charmaine reached over and lifted it from his grasp. Daniel stumbled, embarrassed. She listened with a calm focus that unsettled him.

  When he’d concluded, Charmaine said, ‘So it’s not a problem of having one orgasm a night, but of being limited to one orgasm per partner, whether that night or next month?’

  ‘Yes ma’am, that’s it.’

  ‘Can you masturbate twice?’

  Daniel nodded, stunned. He hadn’t even thought about that.

  ‘If you can make love with yourself twice but not anyone else, I doubt the problem is physiological.’ She stood, delicately brushed toast crumbs from her fingers, and started for the back door.

  Daniel watched her go as if she were falling, either away from him or toward him, he couldn’t tell. He blurted, ‘I’d like to sleep with you. I think I could do it with you twice.’

  Charmaine stopped and turned around, a hint of warmth in her smile. ‘I’m absolutely flattered, Daniel, but I’m just as absolutely not interested. I
’m in the middle of some very demanding work, first of all. More important, I’m not the solution to your problem.’

  ‘Well, since I’ve already made a fool of myself, I might as well ask you something I’ve been wondering about. Whose aunt are you, anyway?’

  Charmaine replied easily, ‘Nobody’s really. It’s a name Mommy’s Commies gave me years ago. It’s not widely known – and I’ll trust you to keep it that way – but I’m Polly McCloud’s daughter.’

  ‘Mommy of Mommy’s Commies is your mother?’

  ‘Yes. Though it doesn’t make me an aunt to the girls, clearly.’

  ‘Why don’t you ever visit your mother?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Oh,’ Daniel said. She acted as if he should have known, but how could he if nobody ever told him anything and were evasive if you asked?

  Before Daniel could think of anything to say, Charmaine concluded, ‘I have work to do, and you have company waiting. Good night.’

  Since he half expected Volta would be waiting for him in his cabin, he was mildly discombobulated to see a stocky woman with snow-white hair standing at his door. For an instant he thought it might be Polly McCloud, but then he recognized her – and was as shocked to see her as he had been the first time.

  ‘Goddammit, you better remember,’ she threatened.

  ‘Dolly Varden.’

  ‘I can show you my buckshot cherry if you don’t believe it. And don’t just stand there, come over and give this ol’ frame a squeeze – I need all the young action I can get.’

  As he hugged her, he realized she was the first person he’d seen since his mother’s death who’d known her while alive. ‘My mother’s dead, you know,’ he said as evenly as he could.

  ‘Yes, I know. It made me sad in a real simple way. It’s also the reason I’m here. I’m acting as a go-between.’

  ‘Between who?’

  ‘AMO and Shamus Malloy.’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘I’m a little dumb tonight. You’ll have to explain.’

  ‘Volta put the word out that you claimed your mother’s death was not an accident, that she had yelled for you to run before the bomb exploded, and that you wanted the names of Shamus’s accomplices since they might be responsible. When Shamus finally heard, he called Volta and said he wouldn’t give him the names until he was satisfied that you really had heard your mother scream for you to run. Obviously, Shamus thought it might be a ploy on Volta’s part to either extract privileged information or to keep Shamus feeling miserable. Volta suggested a go-between. They agreed on me.’

  Daniel said, ‘You can tell Shamus it’s true, and that we’d appreciate the names of the others involved.’

  ‘So you don’t think it was an accident?’

  ‘It may have been. I don’t know. She yelled and then the bomb exploded – the same second. My gut feeling is that somebody killed her.’

  ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘No. That’s why Volta and I want the names of the others.’

  ‘I’ll tell Shamus personally.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Daniel,’ Dolly chided, ‘that’s confidential.’

  ‘Well, how is he?’

  ‘Torn up – he loved Annalee.’

  Trembling, Daniel said, ‘So did I. Tell him if I didn’t do it and he didn’t do it, we should talk to the other three people involved, the bomb-maker for sure.’

  ‘Shamus asked me to warn you that Volta is a very strong and cunning man who didn’t want the theft to occur.’

  ‘Do you think Volta had anything to do with it?’

  ‘Personally? No. But he is a powerful and perceptive man.’

  Daniel rubbed his eyes. ‘Dolly, do you mind if I ask your opinion on an entirely unrelated matter?’

  ‘Hell, I’d be honored.’

  Dolly listened as he explained his problem. When he finished, she said, ‘So you can only make love with the same woman once – if I got it right?’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘Well, you best make it good.’

  Dolly left the next morning with Charmaine after assuring Daniel that if and when Shamus provided the names, Volta would contact him.

  At about the same time, seventy miles upriver, Jade Lavelle and Annie Sawyer waited for Mommy to return from her morning dip in the Rouge. They met her on the trail. Her short silver hair was still wet from her swim. She listened as they explained Daniel’s problem, her clear hazel eyes shifting from one speaker to the other.

  Mommy’s response was swift and definite. ‘Don’t get involved with him. He’s going in a different direction.’

  Annie and Jade were startled. Mommy seldom spoke so directly or emphatically.

  As they thanked her and turned to leave, Mommy added, her voice much softer, ‘I know – oh, how I know – they are attractive.’

  Over the next month, as the harvest was cured, clipped, and distributed, Daniel tried to follow Dolly’s advice. But he was still limited, for whatever reason, to one orgasm with each woman. All the Commies soon knew of Mommy’s comment, and those who hadn’t slept with him hurried to do so. By Thanksgiving, he’d just about run out of Commie lovers.

  Fishing for steelhead, Daniel nearly leapt in the river when Volta appeared behind him and said, ‘Any luck?’

  ‘None,’ Daniel said.

  ‘Well, here’s some. We’re fairly certain we know who killed your mother. The man who made the bomb, Gideon Nobel.’

  ‘Why?’ was all Daniel could say.

  ‘He was in love with her, had been for years.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound right,’ Daniel said. ‘For one thing, I’m sure she never mentioned him.’ He began to reel in.

  ‘That’s part of the reason – the feeling wasn’t mutual.’

  Daniel started to say something, but Volta held up his hands. ‘Let me apologize for the cheap drama – it’s an old show-business habit. Let’s go on up to the house and I’ll start from the beginning. That is, if you’re done fishing.’

  They walked back to the ranch house and sat in the living room. Volta began, ‘Dolly contacted Shamus, gave him your assurance that your mother had shouted a warning just before the bomb exploded, and Shamus, after considering it for a few weeks, sent the names of the other people involved.’ He handed Daniel a piece of paper. Daniel recognized Shamus’s scrawl.

  Carl Fuller – driver

  Olaf Ekblad – inside

  Gideon Nobel – bomb

  ‘What does inside mean?’ Daniel asked.

  ‘Going inside with Shamus, for the actual theft. As soon as I received the names – I’ve been in Mexico – I put some of our best people on them, and they’ve found out quite a bit in the short time they’ve had.

  ‘Carl “The Throttle” Fuller is an old wheelman, a real pro. We found him in Minneapolis without any trouble. He claims all he knew of the setup was his end – procuring the cars, arranging the switches, times and places for picking up the others. He didn’t know about the diversionary bomb, and never met anyone else involved except Shamus.

  ‘Basically the same story for Olaf Ekblad – absolutely trustworthy, no nerves, and he could have written the manuals for most alarm systems. In fact, AMO has used his services in the past and we’ve found him utterly reliable. He knew a diversion was planned, but not what or who was involved.’

  Daniel interrupted. ‘But this Gideon Nobel did?’

  ‘Listen for a moment. Gideon Nobel met your mother when she was sixteen or seventeen – it was in San Francisco, during one of her visits.’

  ‘I was too young then,’ Daniel said, disappointed. ‘I won’t be able to remember.’

  ‘They met in North Beach and he fell in love. For over a year they were occasional lovers – much too occasional for Gideon. Your mother, it seems, was something of a street legend at the time, showing up for a few days a month and then disappearing. At any rate, their affair is still remembered. Gideon was evidently captivated; your mother, less so. She went out with other men, and
there were a few public scenes that leave little doubt of his jealousy and anger.

  ‘Gideon was a highly regarded sculptor then, at least among the avant-garde. His most memorable work is a set of twenty-four pieces sharing the central image of Mickey Mouse. In fact, it’s called Mickey Mouse Time in America, and pieces of the set still exist.

  ‘While there may be aesthetic arguments about the value of his sculptures, there’s none about the artistry of his bombs. Expert workmanship. Untraceable connections for the explosives. The highest-quality components. Excellent safety features. And no mistakes that anybody ever heard about. Gideon also had a certain panache in his demolitions, always using a Mickey Mouse clock – sort of his signature, even though he replaced the clock mechanisms with more sophisticated timers.

  ‘Now this is important: Gideon, unbeknownst to Shamus, lived less than four blocks away from Shamus in Richmond. It is easily conceivable that he saw your mother and Shamus together, or even that Shamus told him about her – though Shamus denies that anyone but you and he knew of your mother’s involvement. It is possible that Gideon deduced your mother would be delivering the bomb. He knew that it was merely for diversion, which meant that it would present a very low risk for whoever delivered it, yet would require someone completely trustworthy – in short, a perfect job for Shamus’s lover.

  ‘At this point it gets a bit trickier. Shamus swears that Gideon didn’t know that the bomb was diversionary to a plutonium theft. However, Gideon knew something of Shamus’s history, and no doubt sensed his current obsession with fissionable materials – Gideon was not without wit, and obsessions are difficult to conceal. So it’s likely Gideon figured out what Shamus was after. There is evidence Gideon had reservations about his association with the heist, as he indirectly confided to certain friends days before the planned attempt – mentioning that he was involved in something that he regretted, fearing it would bring a great deal of scrutiny to his activities. It also seems Gideon had a particular antipathy to nuclear devices, considering them beyond the scale of intelligent control. Not unlike Shamus’s position, really, but with the crucial difference that Gideon believed they are so poisonous to the soul that you can’t mess with them without contamination, whatever your motives.