The Heavenly Gates - Series Finale

Part 3 of three. a.k.a. The Conclusion.

Dedicated to first-born child, Harriet - for reasons she alone will appreciate.

... I found the cult centre on a stretch of highway where the road led out of town. It was surrounded by insignificant business enterprises of the quick-buck variety - second-rate motels, fast-food outlets and lube shops. It was the perfect location for a cult - the people were as transient as the business community.

I didn't like driving in that area. Every moron sitting atop four wheels seemed to be just itching to either get out of town or go out and get drunk. There was a reckless feeling in the air that night, a kind of touchy abandonment where every fight is at least half a second in the planning stages and every accident is a hit and run.

I spotted my destination, cut the headlights and idled into the lot. For a while, I just sat in the car and watched through the windows. It was the cult headquarters all right. All the kids inside were decked out in their official garb. Striped jackets and pants - the legs and lapels of which were in fashion ten years ago and on their heads, small undersized beanies, the kind prep school kids have to wear. I was positive that brainwashing techniques had been used. You wouldn't be able to get any self-respecting teenager into a get-up like that.

I spotted the Thomas kid from a photograph his sister had given me. He looked like all the others. Short, close-cropped hair on the boys and the girls all in pony-tails. From what I could make out, the only prerequisite for becoming a member of this club was to have a big smile and a puss full of acne.

If it hadn't been for the photograph, I don't know how I would have been able to tell the Thomas kid apart from the rest of them. One kid looked almost identical to the other. What bothered me was the image that the leaders wanted them to project. They all seemed obnoxiously clean-cut and cheerful. If I was to wake up with a hangover one morning and one of these jokers was the first thing I saw, I'd feel the need to call him over and punch him in the face. Only then, would I be able to get on with the rest of the day.

I had to hand it to whoever brainwashed these kids though. They'd done a damn thorough job of it. With army-like efficiency they hustled around like ants - each with a job to do. But the movements seemed mechanical - like marionets dancing on strings. But boy, could they go through the motions. I half-imagined they would jump through flaming hoops if they were asked.

I left my car and walked in. I'd have to come up with an idea to get the Thomas kid out somehow and into the deprogramming process. As I walked across the lot, I glanced at the gaudy cheap statues on the front lawn - pagan idols of some sick, perverted idea of religion. Inside were glossy photos of some clown I took to be their leader, their guru. I passed a couple of the uniformed kids talking about ostracizing one of the new recruits for not wanting to take part in the group baseball game that weekend. If I was lucky, it might be the Thomas kid they were talking about and I wouldn't get much of a struggle out of him.

I played my hunch through. I went up to the Thomas kid.

"Your sister sent me. You want to forget this foolishness and get out of here?"

He nodded sheepishly, "They got me on garbage detail for a month just because I didn't want to play left-field, sir."

"Ya darn fool kid, what'd ya expect? This ain't no picnic. These guys play for keeps. Now - the blue DeSoto outside. Take the garbage out and be ready to get into it when I give you the signal. Got it? I'll be out in a minute."

As I stood in a line-up, my eyes began to dry out from the harsh glare of the overhead florescent lights. Obviously used as a sleep-deprivation technique in breaking down new recruits. I couldn't see how anyone could stand more than ten minutes in the place and after a five-minute wait in the line, I was ready to run out, fearing my braincells would either be numbed by the Muzak or fried from the lights.

When I reached the counter, a yapful of perfect teeth asks, "Can I help you?"

I order a coffee and the simpleton forgets to even offer me sugar or cream.

"That's alright, baby. I take my coffee the same way I like my women - hot, strong and black." I always like to give the counter help a hard time with that one.

But she didn't get it. It was over her head. All she could think of in the way of response was to do what she'd been told over and over again - "And would you like fries and a Big Mac with your coffee, sir?"

I grabbed my java and walked out. Flies and wasps circled the garbage cans. It was a good place to bring my swatter. In front of me, a new set of suckers walked under those damned golden arches.

We've fallen a long way, I thought. From the Pearly Gates to this ugly, neon-lit yellow beacon. Oh Lord, gimme a break! And then stepped aside and let them pass.

The Heavenly Gates - Part 2

Part 2 of 3. The middle section is dedicated to 'Dee-Jay,' our middle child because it's the middle section - and as the poem goes, "The middle child is full of grace."

... One thing about being a private investigator - you don't always know when your next case will come along. If you want to use the word 'employed' to describe how I spend my days, you can also use the prefix 'self' or 'un.' Most days, you could pick the latter.

That's why when a week earlier, a sweet young kid shows up on my doorstep sporting a look like someone'd just told her Santa Claus was dead and her hand clenched around three $50 bills, I knew I'd be in business for at least a few more days.

"Are you Mister Divine, the private eye?"

"That's what it says on the door, sister. What ails ya?"

She collapsed in a chair and buried her face in her hands. "Mr. Divine, you've got to help me! I've no where else to turn!"

"Come on, take it easy now. Just what seems to be the problem, Miss ...?

"Thomas. Mary Ellen Thomas. I want you to find someone. It's Jeff! He's my brother and if - "

She began sniffling. I walked into the bathroom and came back with a roll of toilet paper. It was only one-ply, but she didn't seem to mind.

"And if you can't help me, I just don't know what I'll do! Oh please, Mr. Divine, say you'll help me!"

She was in pretty bad shape, poor kid. Tears staining those rosy red cheeks, shoulders racked with sobbing and a runny nose to boot. I felt sorry for her. She began to pull herself together. Again she pleaded, "Can you help me, Mr. Divine?"

I took a long thoughtful pull on my Lucky. "That depends Miss. Are those three red bills for me?"

Against my better judgement, I asked if she'd thought about going to the police.

"No, I couldn't do that. He's in trouble. I don't know what kind but it might be drugs."

I didn't bother to pursue the merits of telling her to fill out a Missing Persons report with the police. After all, $150 was a hundred and fifty bucks.

It turned out to be a deprogramming job. I'd been getting a lot of that kind of work lately. It was a good thing too. Thanks to the sexual revolution of the sixties and new divorce laws of the mid-seventies, a lot of us private dicks had been going out of business and ending up as security guards.

It looked like a pretty standard deprogramming scam. The same old story. Mixed up kid. Lonely. Probably into drugs. Gets involved with a bunch who promise him love, home, family and eternal paradise. The kid denounces his friends and family and then gets put to work hustling flowers on downtown street-corners. It had all the classic signs. Problem was, his sister didn't know what cult or where he was.

"The last time I saw him, he looked so strange."

"How do you mean, Miss Thomas?"

"Well ... different from before. Now he's polite and always smiling."

"There's nothing wrong with that Miss. I've been known to say 'please' and crack a smile once in a while myself."

"Oh it's not just that. It's like there's nothing behind the smile. He's like a robot. It's not the Jeff I grew up with. ... Oh, I know it all sounds like nonsense Mr. Divine, you've got to believe me. I just know he's in trouble."

She was crying again. I went over and patted her on the back. Something in my gut told me she was a good kid. Something in my wallet told me I could help her out.

"There there now dollface. You just leave it up to me. I get these kind of cases all the time and there's no problem with the deprogramming end of it. It'll cost you, mind you. It's a risky and dangerous business from where I stand. As far as the law's concerned, technically it's not much different from kidnapping. But that's my problem. Don't you worry your pretty little head about anything."

"Oh gosh, Mr. Divine, how can I ever thank you?"

"Well, those three fifties would be a start."



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On the day Delores Da Lovely showed up I hadn't made any progress in the case other than spend the $150 retainer Mary Ellen Thomas had given me. I had nothing to show for it. I had called in a few IOU's from the boys in blue downtown and filed a Missing Persons report. So far, they hadn't been able to turn up anything.

I was beginning to suspect they never would when Delores Da Lovely sauntered into my office and gave me my first real break in the case.

The boys downtown in Missing Persons couldn't come up with anything on Jeffrey Thomas - but with the name Delores Da Lovely, they hit the jackpot. She hadn't even bothered to use an alias when she had come to see me. After following through on my hunch, I found out that she actually did go by the highly unlikely, but all too appropriate cognomen of 'Da Lovely.'

Finding out who she worked for, I put two and 2 toogether and was pretty sure that the wonderfully-named Miss Da Lovely could lead me right to Jeff Thomas. She had done everything but serve him to me on a tray.

I would be able to wind this case up a lot sooner than I had expected and get started on an early weekend. After Jeff Thomas' deprogramming treatment, I would need it. I grabbed my hat and headed out the door.


... tune in next week for the final installment of The Heavenly Gates - 'Part 3, The Final Installment."

The Heavenly Gates

... from the Archives - circa early '80s. The second short story I ever wrote after a week in which I quit my job, bought a house and found out that Mavis was 'with child' - to become a writer. Still wondering what a full-time writer-guy job would pay. Looking back, I'd say I made the right decision.

This is Part One of a three-part serial. Stay tuned.

This week's installment is dedicated to my boy - Sonny Jim.



... That made five in a row and a total of thirteen that morning. Flies that is. I had a piece of baloney sitting on my desk and when one would land, I'd swat it. I gave them a sporting chance though - the sun was beating down on my desk top and if they were smart, they'd notice the shadow of my swatter.

In between flies, I was doing my job. I'm a private investigator and that means that at the time I was drinking a cold cuppa joe, re-reading the newspaper and wondering where I'd get the scratch to pay my secretary, keep an eviction notice off my office door and still be able to buy a few boxes of Kraft Dinner to live on.

I had my eye on a fly that was about to land when my intercom buzzed.

"There's a Miss Da Lovely here to see you Mr. Divine."

"I don't know any Da Lovelys, Deb."

The fly had landed and was inspecting the piece of baloney which was sweating like an over-ripe tomato picker.

"She would really like to see you Mr. Divine. Says she didn't have time to make an appointment."

The fly sat up on his front set of legs and washed his other set as if he'd just disgraced himself on my desk and was washing his feet before dinner.

"I don't know Deb, I'm awfully tied up with this newspaper right now."

Debby just laughed and said, "I'll show her in."

A cloud had just passed in front of the sun, taking away the fly's protection. My shadowless swatter cut the air as I threw the ideals of sportsmanship out the window. The fly got away and I turned off the intercom and said, "You do that, Deb."

"Miss Da Lovely, this is Guy Divine. I'm sure he'll be able to help you."

Debby turned around and left the woman standing in the doorway. The sun was in my eyes but I could make out more than just a silhouette.

She sauntered into my office in a way that turned over erotic images in the grey matter between my ears. Sitting down opposite me, she casually arranged her long legs and gave me the once over.

I reciprocated. She was a cool looking number. Long blonde hair, thighs that could squeeze a man to death and a smile that would get him between them.

Glancing up, she gave me a look I could feel in my crotch. I pulled out the office bottle and made hers a double. Then we got down to business.

"Now, what's the problem Miss Da Lovely?"

She looked down into her lap. I could feel the old 'little girl lost' routine coming on but she surprised me by looking up into my eyes and asking, "Can we talk frankly, Mr. Divine? I'd like some kind of reassurance that you can help me before I say too much."

I leaned back in my chair, drawing smoke out of Lucky Strike in an attempt at looking thoughtful. "Well, I can't very well help you at all until you tell me what this is all about."

I sat up and gestured at her with my cigarette. "Now whether you realize this or not Miss Da Lovely, but a private detectives licence entitles you to confidentiality and the best darn service I can give you."

I leaned closer, inadvertently blowing smoke in her face. "If you don't trust me enough to confide in me, we may as well stop wasting our time right now."

She pretended to look hurt, but I wouldn't fall for it. "I didn't mean to offend you, Mr. Divine," she pouted.

Normally, I wouldn't have taken any more. I'd been through the same nonsense with countless housewives wanting me to witness first hand their husband's foolish indiscretions through the curtains of second-rate motel rooms. But she had a different effect on me.

Maybe it was the fact that I never tired of playing this little game. Maybe it was because I liked the pulling teeth part of the routine. Maybe it was because I needed a distraction from looking at the same newspaper for the fourth time that morning. Or perhaps it was that look in her eyes that put the word 'maybe' on my mind.

I smiled apologeticly. "No offence taken. It's just that a lot of people who come through that door waste more of my time than I can afford to lose."

A burst of laughter came from Debbie's desk outside my office and I got up to close the door. I'd have to have a talk with that girl.

It was hard to keep a straight face as I returned to my chair. It was harder still to keep my hand steady as I lit the cigarette she took when I offered one.

"I can assure you that I don't intend to waste your time. I only wanted some sort of assurance that I can trust you." She still hadn't lost the frightened little girl tone in her voice - a quiver meant to make me put my arm around her shoulder, pat her on the back and say, 'Now, now, now. Don't you worry your pretty little head about anything.'

Instead I said, "I think this is where I came in. Now - what can I do for you?"

She turned to ice. The glare from her eyes could have split a diamond. The only thing warm about her now was the tip of the cigarette which lay fuming between her fingers. She was the kind of woman where the pretension of polite friendliness dropped like a loose unbuttoned dress when they didn't get what they wanted. Her warm smile had cooled down to thin tight bloodless lips. The look from those eyes was cold and hard. Like her body, I thought miserably. She was the kinda dame you could crack an egg on her breast.

But remembering the dirty looks my landlord always gave me when the rent was overdue, I made the necessary polite overtures. I let on that she had put me in my place and suggested we get down to business.

Judging from the smirk on her face, it wasn't hard to tell that she thought she had me right in her hip pocket. For the moment I thought I'd stay there. It wasn't comfortable but that could be changed. She'd be more inclined to be careless if she felt confident.

"Okay. Now that we know where we stand, I'll give it to you straight. Drop the Jeffrey Thomas case. That's the bottom line, mister."

She was referring to a missing persons job I'd been investigating off and on for the past few days. So far I hadn't come up with anything - until now.

"I happen to be associated with a very large corporation who want to assure both you and your client that Mister Thomas is perfectly alright."

"What's in this for you, Miss Da Lovely?"

"That's no concern of yours. We understand that you've gone to considerable expense already and so we are willing to compensate you for your trouble." She passed me an envelope. "I'm sure that you will find this satisfactory."

Inside were a number of crisp new bills. I didn't bother to count them, but I knew it was way too much.

"I don't know what your game is, sister - but I can't accept this. Take it back to your boss and tell the dirty pimp he's going to have to use more than a cheap bribe to get me off this case."

I tossed it into her lap, took a good pull on my glass of cheap rye and swished it around my mouth. There was a dirty taste inside. Turning down large amounts of money always had that affect on me.

"Listen gumshoe. You're going to work with us, understand? If you don't buy my bill of goods now, you'll answer to a back-alley beating, but believe you me buster, you'll be whistling another tune soon enough."

"Does this mean we can't still be friends?"

"That depends, wise guy." She stood up and leaned over my desk. She was wearing a low cut dress and I admired the view. The Catskills were nothing in comparison. She wasn't wearing any perfume, but the heavy sweat beaded on her heaving chest registered a considerable rise on my erogenous scale.

"It all depends on whether or not you want to co-operate," she cooed and then gave me a smirk. You could tell she'd been a snotty brat as a kid. "Don't worry then hot shot. We'll be in touch with you again. Real soon."

She breezed out of my office like the silent wind before a storm. I closed the door behind her and opened the window. Then I poured myself another belt from my office bottle into my styrofoam cup, lit another Lucky and settled back to enjoy the calm.


... next week - Part 2 (of 3) - entitled, The Second Act.