July 26-27, 1969 - Hinman Middle
Sunrise shone into those same picture windows. Bobby, stiff from napping in the armchair, stretched his weary body. It had been a long and very uncomfortable night.
Mary handed him a cup of coffee. Bobby took a sip and looked over at their charge. Gary was still asleep. Overnight, a river of blood had left his head wounds and wound its way from the pillow, down the couch, and onto the floor. Gary's face was dotted with sweat beads and pasty white. His groans and moans never ended, not even through his slumber. Bobby had suffered enough. He moved to the kitchen to have his coffee in peace. Sadie replaced Bobby as guard.
The girls had made some soup for Gary, and Mary was trying to get him to eat. Bobby, half asleep, wandered into the kitchen and plunked down at the table. Sadie slid a cheese sandwich his way as a lunch of sorts. Bobby washed it down with another one of Gary's beers. He inhaled, got up, and returned to the living room to see how their patient was faring.
Gary was finally awake. His thoughts had not changed.
"Bob, listen. I really need to go to the hospital. This wound won't stop bleeding. The pain is worse. I think it may be infected. God knows where Charlie's sword has been."
Bobby plunked down on the armrest, thinking on the fly. "Before you put us all in hot water, how 'bout you let Sadie re-dress your wounds. Let's see how they're doing."
Gary set his pleading eyes on Mary. Getting no support, Gary backed down. He knew if he reported this incident, it could affect his drug making business, and would most likely hurt Mary. She had given his address to the social workers so she could keep Pooh Bear at Spahn's. He didn't want to cause anyone any more grief. He never did.
"Okay, I'll let Sadie look. You guys can leave after that. I won't call anyone."
"I'd rather stay here with you, man, if it's all the same. To make sure you don't get really sick. And if you do, we're here to help, right?" Bob was more interested in protecting his own ass than protecting Gary's life, but that was all Bobby could think to say that Gary would buy.
"Yeah, sure, whatever you want." Gary yawned out the words, flinching in pain. He slowly rose from the couch. His hair was stuck in the matted blood on the pillow. He yelped until the strands let go. Sadie helped Gary to the kitchen where she carefully removed the dressings.
Sadie smiled. "They're looking much better today." She lied, of course.
The wounds looked terrible. Sadie soaked them again in rubbing alcohol, applied some antibiotic cream over the stitching, and redressed each wound. The cuts were still oozing blood, but the constant flow had subsided.
Gary offered a weak smile. He so wanted to believe her. He needed this nightmare to end. He picked up a roach from the ashtray and re-lit it. After the hit and the breakfast Mary had made, Gary slowly padded to bed, praying he'd sleep away the pain, dream away this disaster.
The oppressive heat dragged on into early evening. Gary's windows were open, but there wasn't a breath of air. It was the girls' turn to take the night watch while Bobby slept on the couch. The two girls listened to the kitchen radio, tidied up, and took turns looking in on Gary. Every time, they found him fast asleep.
Bobby woke up with a start, his nerves still frayed. He returned to the kitchen and got the low-down on their patient while the girls offered a hot dinner of macaroni and cheese. He let the meal and a couple of beers settle in his gut before he looked in on Gary. Bobby was on edge with Gary now. He never knew which Gary he'd be talking to each time. The enraged one, who wanted to seek medical attention and squeal to the cops. Or the pliant one, who knew the score and would play Manson's game and peacefully return to the ranch.
Bobby was emotionally and physically exhausted. He needed this mess to be done. He wanted to head back to his apartment, escape all this negativity, and return to what he loved — creating songs and playing his music. Bobby came to LA for the music, the free love, and the occasional LSD trip. Manson's "love-in" was not what Bobby had pictured for himself. He wanted to live the free life as depicted on the pages of LIFE magazine. Drug deal burns, guns, and sword attacks weren't part of that scene.
Bobby, carrying a dinner tray, made his way to Gary's bed. Gary heard him approach and turned on his side. "You still here, brother? I'd thought you guys would be long gone by now." Gary sat up to accept the tray.
Bobby smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. "I wouldn't leave you, man. Not like this. We used to be roomies, remember? You're looking way better. Maybe we can finally have that party we planned."
Gary laughed but quickly stopped. Smiling stretched the stitching on his cheek. He remembered his living nightmare. "Bob, this is so unfair. Why can't you see it my way? Charlie needs to be taught a lesson on this one. He can't go around acting like King Shit in other peoples' lives. I'll skip the hospital for now, but I'd sure like you to back me up on calling the cops on him."
Bobby inhaled. He didn't like where this was going. "You can't prove it was him, Gary. The girls will lie to protect Charlie, you know that. And my life won't be worth a plug nickel if I squeal on Charlie. No, man, we got to swallow this one. I'll make it up to you by dealin' tabs for free for ya, however long you want me to. But let's drop the fuzz, okay?"
It was Gary's turn to inhale. "Could you line up some deals for me before I head to Europe? I sure could use the extra dough."
Bobby smiled. "Sure, man. I got connections all over Hollywood and Topanga. My musician buddies know people, too. I could probably get you enough deals to replace those cars out there and some loot for your trip. So how ‘bout it, Gary? No more talk of the fuzz or the hospital. As soon as you're up to traveling to the ranch, we can call on Charlie's doc to look at your wounds. No charge, okay?"
With only as much smiling as Gary could endure with the pain, he agreed to the deal, juiced at the prospect of more drug money to finance his trip, and to get Charlie off his back. Gary ate most of what was on the tray. And with a full stomach, some much needed sleep, and a renewed sense of hope, Gary was ready to party, thinking more pot would dull the pain.
With the gibbous moon now high in the sky, the girls tagged the man and returned to Gary's bed, while Gary and Bobby sat up and toked. With the lit stove light as his guide, Bobby hit Gary's stash hidden under the now bullet-riddled sink and grabbed a couple cold beers. Earlier in the day, Mary and Sadie had scrubbed most of the blood off the throw pillow, couch, and rug, yet, the stains remained as reminders of events better left forgotten.
Gary switched on the piano light, thinking he'd play. But he was too weak and returned to the couch. Bobby sunk into the armchair with one of Gary's acoustic guitars and picked out a tune. The pair gazed at the starry night sky. The heat of the day had finally died, and a cool breeze wafted through the windows. Bobby and Gary smoked the pot, drank beers, and talked over old times, trying their best to forget yesterday's bad juju. In their chemical stupor, their worries soon wafted through the open windows, along with the pot smoke and the odor of stale beer. Bobby told silly jokes. Gary laughed and winced from the pain.
Spirits rose. Maybe everything would turn out cool. Bobby could tell Gary was warming up to the idea of heading to Spahn's. For the first time since Manson cut Bobby's luck with that cutlass, the musician breathed easy.
The moon slowly lowered. The hours ticked by. The girls were sound asleep. Gary was too weak, and Bobby was too stoned to move. The two men fell asleep, neither stirring until dawn.
The bookcase clock chimed twelve times. A wind gust blew through the open windows and washed over a little wooden desk. An imagined calendar page flipped to another day.
It was July 27, 1969.
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