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VISUALIZATIONS
Illustrated excerpts from TEMBO


CHAPTER ONE

I was handed a half dozen five-by-seven color photos of a black and gray elephant sculpture.  Judging by the scale ruler included in some of the pictures the thing was between seven and eight inches in length and about six inches in height.  "So what value did the appraiser put on this curiosity?"


CHAPTER TWO

What I found was a tropical jungle so thick the actual house wasn't even visible from the street.  The buildings—it turned out there were two, a large home and a cottage—were set well back from the street at the end of a long driveway down the right edge of the property.

Since there were no gates or signs telling me to go away, I drove right into a primeval forest full of exotic trees and shrubs.  The only flora I recognized were some Italian cypress and maybe a camphor tree or two.  Otherwise I might just as well have been transported to deepest, darkest Africa or wherever such trees grow.

CHAPTER TWO

Stepping out the still open front door, I pulled the little dart out of the doorframe and held it up.  "It was all about this."

We all stared at the projectile for a moment before Lilly said, "What in heaven's name is it?"

The dart was about an inch-and-a-half long with tiny white feathers like an arrow would have at the back and a nasty looking needle at the other end.  The needle had something orange on its tip, which of course had to be curare or some other exotic poison.

I said, "Unless I'm way off base, this is a blowgun dart.  It was fired or blown or whatever one calls it at us from out there in the front yard somewhere.  I heard the guy, but never saw him."
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CHAPTER THREE

Next I climbed into my car and turned left from Yucca onto Highland, following it south through downtown Hollywood about a mile-and-a-half to Santa Monica Boulevard.  There I turned left again, and then right a few blocks later onto Cahuenga Boulevard where I pulled to the curb in front of the block-square Technicolor production and processing labs.

I walked into the three-story main structure just like I owned the place and headed toward the labyrinth of small labs at the back of the building.  The fellow I'd come to see was Mike Winters.  He was one of Technicolor's top technicians and he occasionally moonlighted as a forensic chemist when his employers weren't looking.

CHAPTER THREE

It might be a long shot, but I figured a Natural History Museum was as good a place to get a handle on elephant myths as any.

At the top of fifteen wide concrete steps there was an elaborate entrance topped by three arches and a whole lot of gewgaws and other stuff that, as far as I could see, contributed nothing to the process of learning about natural history.  Walking through the entrance, I found myself in a great chamber with marble walls and more echoes that the Swiss Alps.  It was all I could do to refrain from yodeling.

CHAPTER THREE

El Coyote is unique in Hollywood because it is one of the few good restaurants celebrities have found, but tourists haven't.  Personally, I go there because the food is good, and I can honestly say I've have never been pestered for an autograph while eating there.

It's a small place with an exterior mish-mash of columns and arches.  The mish-mash continues on the inside with a long narrow dining room full of booths and a ceiling draped with those little colored light bulbs they put on Christmas trees.  Well, like I said, I go there because the food is good.

CHAPTER FOUR

When it opened about a year ago to replace the old Southern Pacific and Santa Fe depots, I read that it was designed by the same architects who designed out City Hall, and the terminal is a combination of Dutch Colonial Revival, Mission Revival, and Streamline Moderne architectural styles.  Okay, if that's what they want to call it, fine by me.  I just call it an impressive, clean design that puts me in the mood to get on a train.

Inside, the place is huge with vaulted ceilings and what look like wooden beams, but I'm told are actually steel beams.  The passenger waiting areas and the ticket counters are well lit by huge windows on both long walls during the day and at night by decorative chandeliers hung from the ceiling on chains.  Either way, it's an impressive sight and an excellent place to begin an adventure by train.

CHAPTER FIVE

Ten minutes later I was eastbound on Hollywood Boulevard heading for the Wilshire district.  The El Royale apartment building was a gray and white, nine-floor monstrosity designed in what I believe is called the rococo style, which seems to require that design figures—spirals, diamonds and such be stuck any place there's room for them.  The management gets an A in landscaping, though.  Little hedges, lawns and other shrubbery were all manicured within an inch of their lives.


CHAPTER FIVE

At about two-twenty-five a woman walked into the lobby and it took a second look for me to recognize Lillian Bouvier.  She had traded her Miss Frump facade in for a considerably more glamorous look that included a touch of makeup and a nicely tailored and belted gray jacket over a skirt that ended about an inch below her knees.  She was also wearing silk stockings, practical but stylish heels, and a hat with feathers in it.


CHAPTER EIGHT

Eighteen-thirty-five Van Ness Avenue was about half a mile from Bette Davis's digs.  It turned out to be a symmetrical little bungalow with a front door perfectly centered between two windows.  The peak of the shingled roof ran from left to right and, for reasons unfathomable to me, the builder had stuck something like a dormer window in the middle of the roof section facing the street.  Aside from having a roof dormer window on a single story building, the cottage fit Miss Frump to a T.  Maybe the odd roof protrusion represented an odd facet of Lilly Bouvier's personality.


CHAPTER EIGHT

The kitchen was next.  Its walls were painted a pale yellow to match the ceramic tiles on the counter top and a pattern in the linoleum on the floor.  The cabinets were painted white to match the small Kelvinator refrigerator and a four-burner Wedgewood gas stove.

I've found you can learn a lot about people by snooping in their refrigerators, so I snooped.  Lilly Bouvier's fridge was mostly stocked with fresh vegetables—carrots, tomatoes, celery, and the like.  The cold box also held half a quart of milk, a jar of Del Monte dill pickles, an egg carton with five eggs left, and a few condiments.  It was enough to make a meat and potatoes guy like me cry.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Then I noticed the edge of a box showing on the top shelf.  I reached up and brought down a one pound Whitman's candy box.  Inside there remained three chocolates in their little brown paper cups.  I suspected they'd been put out of sight to make the candy last as long as possible.  Apparently Miss Frump had at least one vice, but she was careful to keep it under control.


CHAPTER NINE

I pulled into the tree-lined circular drive and parked smack dab in front of the Union Terminal waiting room entrance at noon.  I wasn't there more than a few minutes when passengers from the Southern Pacific Coaster began pouring through of the terminal doors.


CHAPTER NINE

"It was great.  Those parlor car seats are really slick.  You can swivel them toward the windows and lean back for a great view of the scenery going by.  I could see great views of the ocean and the beach and all the little towns along the way.  Thank you for getting me a seat in that car."


CHAPTER NINE

Inside, the Spanish and Deco terminal building was busy, but not crowded.  The wall opposite the entrance was taken up with airline ticket counters—TWA, American and United were there, plus some lesser known airlines, including Central Valley Air Lines.


CHAPTER NINE

Once all of the passengers were aboard, our stewardess, who according to her name badge was Eileen, closed the hatch and walked to the front of the cabin.  There she explained most of the things I had just shown Susan.  Finally, as the pilot fired up the port and then starboard engines, she walked the length of the cabin to make sure everyone was strapped in and ready to fly.


CHAPTER NINE

I said, "There's the valley.  We should have smooth sailing from here on."

"Oh, my!  Everything is so flat.  What valley is it?"

A little surprised that she didn't know that answer to that one already, I said, "In general terms it's known as the central valley, but on the map it's actually considered two valleys.  Everything south of Stockton is known as the San Joaquin Valley and everything north of there is the Sacramento Valley.  There is no physical boundary between them.  They're named for the watersheds that carry water down from the Sierra Nevada Mountains out there to our right.  The primary drainage occurs through two rivers, the Sacramento River and the San Joaquin River.  They come together near Stockton and form what's usually called the Delta."

CHAPTER TEN

Inside, the Cadillac was about as plush and stylish as you expect a Caddy to be.  The seats were made of a comfortable leather in a light brown color.  The dashboard was a similar color with a pushbutton radio at the top of chrome waterfall that concealed the radio's speaker.  The instruments were in the usual place on the left side in front of the driver where they belong, while a clock and the glove compartment filled up the empty space on the passenger side of the dash.

The shift lever for the three-speed, all-synchromesh transmission was mounted on the steering column within easy reach, and the steering wheel was mounted at a comfortable angle and distance from the seat for long distance driving.  The big 135 horsepower V8 started on the first try, and made a healthy rumble that clearly said, "Let's go!"  We went.

CHAPTER TEN

"Yeah, that's the mighty muddy Sacramento.  The American River flows into it up here a ways, but we're going to turn left and cross that bridge up ahead and cross the river before we get there.  That will take us into West Sacramento."

"That's a funny looking bridge.  I don't think I've ever seen one like that before."

"It's called a vertical lift bridge.  The part of the bridge between the towers goes up and down to let large ships go through."

CHAPTER TEN

"The hotel we're looking for should be coming up on the left soon.  It's called the Hotel El Rancho.  I don't know anything about the place except that my travel agent said it was the closest quality hotel to where I need to be tomorrow."

"There it is!  Up there where that neon windmill is."

"Good eye, Angel.  Let's see how big the cockroaches are in this joint."

CHAPTER TEN

The Hotel El Rancho's Round Up Room was a large dining room with a fake beam ceiling, wooden tables with red and white table cloths, and western décor on the walls.  Even the plates had western scenes on them.  It all made me want to holler "YeeHa" and swing a lasso over my head, but I restrained myself so as to not embarrass Susan.


CHAPTER TWELVE

"I overheard her say something to Joyce Pimm about a unique—she called it sexy—brass table lamp her boyfriend has in his apartment.  She described it as a nude woman sitting between two colored globes.  I happened to know that lamp quite well.  It is on a nightstand in Rolly's bedroom, and he once told me it was a one-of-a-kind casting worth several thousand dollars, so there is not likely to be another one in some other man's bedroom."


CHAPTER TWELVE

Not being expert in architectural styles, I'll simply say Mission Santa Barbara was built in the California Mission style.  I can say that with some certainty because it looks like every other California Mission I've ever seen—a big white building with a red tile roof, lots of arches, and a bell tower or two.  The only difference was this one had a scummy pond out in front with a fountain that wasn't working.


CHAPTER TWELVE

When Miss Davis arrived, she was alone in the same maroon, wood-trimmed Buick station wagon Lilly had driven the day I saw her at Rolly Boland's apartment.  I waited several minutes and nobody appeared to be taking the slightest interest in her, so I pulled out and parked next to the Buick.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"It was an older Hudson two-door coupe', dark blue in color.  I also wrote down the license plate number.  It was 4J3871.  I will add that information to the note with her address, if you wish."


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Eighteen-fifty-seven Wilton Place was barely half a mile from Bette Davis's home.  It was also the strangest looking apartment building I've ever seen.  It was a tall, narrow brick block that was either five or six stories in height—I couldn't tell which because the window placement was odd.  Apparently there was enclosed parking on the first floor or in the basement.

The front had a stucco façade in two shades of pink, and a fire escape zig-zagged down the front of the top four floors.  An American flag flew from an angled flag staff near the front door, which was dolled up with a couple of phony columns and topped with some other design doodads, including an oval window in a fancy decorative frame.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It appeared Miss Alpert was a doodler.  The notepad page was covered with drawings.  Some of the shapes she'd drawn were familiar, others were not.  I looked at the scribbling and scratched my head for several seconds before I got it.  Miss Alpert didn't know how to write!  When she needed to remember something, she drew pictures to remind her of . . . of what?  The symbols meant nothing to me.  Maybe they would when I had more time to study them.


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I pocketed the notepad and went back to the living room for one last look before getting the heck out of there.  What I noticed this time that I'd missed when I came in was a snapshot in a small frame on a teetering end table.  The photo was of two women who bore a strong resemblance to one another.  One of them was Doris Alpert and the other looked enough like her to be her older sister.  I slipped the photograph into my pocket with the notepad.  I would return it to Miss Alpert when and if I ever saw her again.


CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The eighth house on Cherry had an address of 1225.  The neighborhood in which I found myself wasn't ever going to be confused with Beverly Hills or the Hollywood Hills, but 1225 had one of the neatest yards on the street.

The house was white with a blue awning on the street side to serve as a sun shield.  Like most of the houses in this part of the world, this one had an evaporative cooler—more commonly referred to as a swamp cooler—stuck on the side, and metal lawn furniture out on what actually looked enough like a lawn to be mowed.  A large shade tree kept the right side of the house cool and two young trees had been planted to eventually perform the same job out front.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

My next stop was on the other side of Broadway at a Shell service station.  There I filled up the Chrysler's tank again, bought an orange Nehi to go with my burgers, and made use of the restroom.  It was six o'clock when I got back on Route 66 and headed for home.


CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It's one of those places about which people say, "If you blink, you'll miss it."  The tiny community of Essex is about forty-five miles west of Needles and the whole town consists of a six-table café, a garage with a tow truck parked out front, a tiny market, a barn, and a few house trailers scattered along a two-block section of Route 66 at the exact center of nowhere.  In fact, Essex is so small it makes Needles look like a major metropolis.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Santa Barbara Hyatt is directly across Highway 101 from the beach so you'd expect the view to be good.  It is.  In fact, if you happen to have a deluxe suite on the second floor, you can see most of the coast all the way to the commercial fishing boats tied up at Stearns Wharf.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The lighthouse, according to Miss Gleason, my eighth grade teacher who took us on a field trip to Point Fermin, was built in the 1870s and was the first light on that particular section of the coast.  Now the light was electrified—before the light was fueled by kerosene—and it is maintained by the City of San Pedro instead of the Federal Light Keeper Service.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When I saw Joe's Café I knew their food had to be expensive just to pay for all the neon lighting out front.  Inside, though, the place was loaded with Italian ambiance—wooden tables and booths with red and white checked table cloths—and the smells coming out of the kitchen alone were worth the price of admission.  They even had wicker Chianti bottles with candles sticking out of them on the tables.  Mama Mia!


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Taking a folded piece of paper out of my jacket pocket and showed her an advertisement drawing I ripped out of a March, 1939 issue of Autocar Magazine.  The picture was of a Jaguar Saloon SS.  I held it up and said, "This is what we're looking for."

"Well, that shouldn't be too hard to spot.  It looks really different from most cars.  Is that the Saloon SS thing Lillian was talking about?"

"Yes.  The name the Brits gave it is 'Jaguar SS Saloon.  That's where they make them—Great Britain, specifically in Coventry."

 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I climbed down from the driver's seat and walked back to the trunk.  What I was after was a pair of field glasses.  What I got was the biggest damned diamondback rattlesnake I've ever seen.

It was his rattle that saved me.  I heard it the second I started to lift the rear deck lid, which was hinged at the top.  I let go of the handle just as the snake stuck his head out of the trunk.  I was hoping the trunk lid would catch him part way out of the trunk, but he was quicker and ducked back into the trunk.

For a couple of seconds I couldn't believe I'd seen what I just saw.  My clear memory of two black, beady eyes, a flicking forked tongue, and dark brown diamond pattern convinced me he was real.  The raucous rattling that was still going on helped.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

In the meantime I looked at our surroundings and realized we were at a Coast Guard facility.  Half a block to the west beyond some eucalyptus trees I could see a narrow two story building with a light tower sticking up from its roof.  Apparently Susan figured if you wanted to know about lighthouses, you went to one.  Susan is never short on logic.


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I began the new program by skipping my usual breakfast at home and walking four blocks east from my office on Hollywood Boulevard to the Armstrong and Carlton Restaurant for flannel cakes and sausages.  It was an unusually nice day and I enjoyed both the walk and the flannel cakes, especially since nobody tried to kill me on the way.


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I followed him to a smaller showroom off to the right of the main room.  There, a highly polished black roadster with paint that looked a foot deep reflected small overhead spotlights.  Allen stood there letting me look for a moment before saying, "Well, what do you think?"

"I think it's beautiful, but the badge above the grille says 'Triumph.'  I thought they were out of business."

Allen smiled his salesman's smile.  "They were almost out of business, but fate stepped in and saved the day.  Take a good look, my friend.  You are admiring a brand new Triumph Dolomite Roadster, and it is the only one in the United States!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Barney's isn't much more than a shack of a joint that has been here selling Barney Anthony's famous chili and French onion soup since 1920, six years before Route 66 was established as a federal highway.  That's just what I needed right now, a homey place with some heritage and stability.


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Eleven-eighty-three was a small, two-bedroom Spanish Mission style bungalow with the required red tile roof, stucco finish, and arches.  If I'd had to guess, I would have put the age of the place at about twenty years.  It was well maintained, but the yard was mostly gravel with a couple of spindly bushes for landscaping.  In other words, it had the earmarks of a rental—in this neighborhood, an inexpensive rental.


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

In Port Hueneme California Route One is a two-lane road heading southwest toward the coast through scattered residential areas.  As we approached the outskirts of town, though, we left the housing tracts behind and encountered some of Ventura County's vast fields of agricultural endeavor.  What the local farmers were growing in those fields, however, was a mystery to me because we were traveling at a high speed through near total darkness.  In other words, there wasn't much time for sightseeing and no moonlight to see anything by if we had the time to look.  Earlier in the evening there was a full moon up there, but now there was also a layer of overcast between it and us.


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

There were steep cliffs and mountains on our left and I could see our headlights illuminating breakers up ahead.  Then Highway One did a zigzag to the left and we were twisting and turning with the coast line.  We both slowed to take the curves and the advantage I'd had with the uneven road surface disappeared.  Kipchumba was pulling away from us again.


CHAPTER THIRTY

I went downstairs and started the Chrysler, running a finger over the dent in the maroon paint caused by Damaris Kipchumba's stray round.  Getting it fixed was the next item on my list of errands, and the place where that job was going to get done was the dealership the car came from, Greer-Robbins over on Western Avenue.

Greer-Robbins was located in a smallish, two-story brick building with the showroom up front and the repair shop in back, down an alley that ran along the left side of the building.  The guy who ran the repair shop was a tall, slender fellow in coveralls named Ralph who genuinely looked like a mechanic.

CHAPTER THIRTY

My next stop was the See's Candy store in the one hundred block of Western, about two miles north of the dealership.  There, I splurged three-fifty on a five pound box of the best assorted chocolates made—or at least that's what my chocolate loving friends tell me.  Chocolate doesn't go real well with Scotch, so I don't eat a lot of it.


CHAPTER THIRTY

At the moment it was occupied by a dark green Buick Century Sedanette with chrome plating so shiny it was almost blinding and a polish job that looked three feet deep.


CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Jack's choice was a new 1941 model and when I opened the hood I saw something I liked right away.  The convertible was powered by one of Ford's upgraded ninety-five horsepower Mercury V8 engines.  Walking around the car, I discovered the car was what Ford called a Super Deluxe model.  That was the top model of Ford's line, and it came with all the newest gadgets and a plusher interior than the less expensive models.  It also was equipped with a long list of optional accessories, including a radio, heater, fog lamps, grill guard, mirrors, hubcaps, trim rings, fender skirts, tools and jack.  This one even had an official Ford spotlight installed next to the driver-side wind-wing window.  What on earth anyone would do with a spotlight besides have fun at the drive-in movies I had no idea.


CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I turned right on Pacific Avenue which changed names a few times before running into Ocean Avenue in Santa Monica.  The view out my side of the car was a sandy beach and lines of white-tipped breakers rolling in.  The view out Susan's side of the car was mostly high class beach hotels.


 

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Because we were just in time to catch the beginning of the going-home traffic it took nearly fifteen minutes to cover the last couple of miles, so it was quarter past five when a big white building that looked like the upper half of a steamship parked alongside the road appeared to our right.  We had arrived at Shangri-La.


CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Our suite was at the front corner of the hotel above the entrance.  Since that corner of the building was round, rather than square, the outer walls of the suite were curved, and because the hotel is right above the ocean, those curved walls were mostly glass, except for a door that led out to a terrace from which the view was spectacular, including the entire coastline from Palos Verdes to the south all the way up to Malibu on the north side.


CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I turned around to take a look and saw an honest to God true vision of loveliness.  Susan was dressed in a black cocktail dress that had just the right amount of wow to make me say, "Wow!"

She did a fashion model turn, showing me that the dress was a perfect fit with a hem that came to just the right spot below her knees.  Completing her turn, Susan said, "May I assume that 'wow' means you approve?"

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Once we were seated a sparkle caught my eye at her neck.  I'd been so busy looking at the whole package, I hadn't noticed the diamond pendant on a gold chain she was wearing.  I said, "Angel, if it's none of my business say so, but I don't think I've seen that diamond pendant before."

She gave me one of her coy looks and said, "Would it make you jealous if I told you some rich guy gave it to me?"

"You know damned well it would."

"Good.  The truth is, though, it was given to me by a rich woman."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

After dinner, we returned to our suite and Susan walked out onto our terrace while I tuned the radio to a music station that was playing Glenn Miller's Moonlight Serenade.

Then I followed her out to the terrace and we danced until the Miller recording ended and Artie Shaw's version of Frenesi began. Since it didn't really fit the mood for dancing, we stood at the terrace railing and enjoyed the view.