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INTRODUCTION
The 1960’s were a historic era of cultural and political upheaval worldwide, and Los Angeles along with San Francisco were at the west coast epicenters.
The 1970s amped the Vibe; from the grit of L.A, and glitz of Hollywood, to the sunny beach-lined communities north and south of the Los Angeles International Airport.
There was a thriving evolution of new ways to live, to expand one’s mind, and new ways to do business. And one of the rising big businesses was within the Drug Culture.
The times were ripe for anyone to grab the reins and take hold of whatever they could. All ideas, trends, and concepts if not new, were brought forward from the past to be celebrated. With these near daily new enterprises and concepts came great ideas implemented for the good and some for the bad.
William Trent, a young private investigator, maintains his office and living space above the garages of an adjacent apartment building in the “Ghost Town” area of Venice, California. The rickety, but sturdy stairs to Will’s office were open for anyone who needed his services.
Will was experienced in both deductive reasoning and altered states of consciousness. He had taken nearly every drug, hallucinogen, and psychotropic known, and used those experience’s benefits to become successful enough to hold down his own one man investigation business.
There was much to be said for certain stoners’ abilities to use their clouded stoned appearance to actually gain detailed insight on those who momentarily let their guard down due to thinking that they were dealing with just another stoned Hippie.
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Tonight’s Episode: “HOLLYWOOD HILLS”
Diamonds, rare jewels, and gemstones laid out on a vast distant landscape of black velvet transformed into the reality of the midnight lights of Los Angeles as seen from high atop the Hollywood Hills.
William Trent was having visual fun while tripping on the LSD he had taken earlier before attending the party hosted by a past client. He was out on the terrace taking in the cool night air when several guests came out and offered him a toke on a joint. Will smiled and took a nice hit, held it, and passed it back.
During the early ‘70s the excesses of the ‘60’s became the norm; Cocaine, LSD, Marijuana, Amphetamines, Barbiturates, Hashish, Hallucinogens, Tranquilizers, Angel Dust, and Heroin, were all an influential aspect on society. Within the Counter-Culture expanding one’s mind while tripping-out was a favorite pastime, especially at events like Rock concerts, or parties, or anytime.
Will was known as The Stoned Private Eye, which had become a positive, not a negative, as he attracted people in need of help by someone who understood what was going on in the surreal world. Just like Arthur Conan Doyle’s master of deduction Sherlock Holmes, Will needed his own “7 percent solution” between cases to keep him sharp and keep his mind active. Unlike Holmes’ Cocaine “assistance”, Will’s weapon of choice was Psychedelics, he liked the strangeness.
Out on the terrace, still high on LSD, Will engaged the couple in some fun conversation. Their laughter attracted interest from the guests inside, who came out to join in the fun. Soon the terrace became the party and Will, socially spaced-out, disappeared down an adjacent flight of stairs out into a terraced garden that also looked out upon the gem-laden city.
As he looked up into the sky and the stars he felt the expanse of space and could feel the curvature of the earth. It was as if there was an invisible dome that could be spiritually felt but not seen.
Will became aware of someone descending the staircase behind him. As he turned to greet the party-goer her sexy silhouette became framed by a first floor lit room. As she came closer to him Will noticed something familiar in her walk, Will knew this walk, but before the light fell on her face, she spoke, “Hello, William.”
Most of Will’s friends and associates knew him just as Will, there were only a few who called him by his given name; she was one.
Will: “Emily, I didn’t see you upstairs.” “How have you been?”
Emily pauses, looks him in the eye, “The Stoned Private Eye, eh?”
Will mastered the art of not only maintaining on all sorts of drugs but tapping into a higher state of communication bordering on extra sensory perception while on them. He sensed a playful but agenda-driven vibe from Emily.
Will; “I haven’t seen you since . . .” Will is interrupted by Emily: “Since the Doors concert, July 5th 1968.” She points south, “Right down the road a piece at the Hollywood Bowl.”
Will’s mastery faded upon remembering the sequence of events of that night after the concert.
Will: “Listen, I’m sorry about how that all turned out but I had no choice.”
Emily obviously still angry over the events that happened more than three years ago had the right to be.
Emily: “No choice?”
Will, realizing that this was unresolved and seeing the need to be resolved, asked her if she came with someone.
Emily: “If I did, do you want me to just leave without even a word as to why?”
Will was just getting in deeper.
Will: “Do you want to leave, we can talk.” She agreed and they left the party.
Down on the Sunset Strip they sat in a booth over coffee at Ben Frank’s, a well-known restaurant hangout for Rockers like Zappa and the Mothers, the Doors, Love, the Stones when in town, and many other colorful denizens of Hollywood and beyond.
Will was phasing on the LSD and was in the post-peak world of psychedelia. He looked at the girl from ‘68 now a woman in ’71 who sat across from him, she looked troubled beyond Will’s actions of long ago. Will realized that she was not really mad at him, but that it was just a way to “break the ice” so she could relate what was really wrong.
Will; “I’ll tell you what happened that night if you’ll tell me what’s got you so scared right now.”
Emily looks out the window then back to Will, tears building in her eyes.
Emily: “I’m in trouble.” She pauses, takes a cigarette case out of her purse, and removes a cigarette – Will provides a light as her hand shakes and the cigarette trembles. After a drag that seems to relieve her momentarily, she adds, “Real bad trouble.”
Emily continues: “You know I wanted to be an actress, well, I got an agent, did some modeling, magazine print work, and some movie extra work, and then suddenly I was cast in a pretty decent TV pilot for a new show, and it all happened so fast, that I. . .” She stops, looks out the window again, “It was like unreal.”
Will, puzzled but concerned: “Well, that all sounds great, congratulations Emily.” “So what’s the trouble then?”
Emily: “I’m not stupid, far from it, I could spot the drug dealing and other illegal acts within the production, that’s nothing new.” “But . . . “
Emily takes Will’s hand from across the table, grips it tight and then says, “Will, I saw someone get killed.” “And I think they know that I saw.”
Will, shaken out of his psychedelic afterglow by her revelation: “When, where did you see this?”
Emily: “Last night, I was one of the last to leave the dressing room area when I heard the Director in a heated argument with someone else, then suddenly I heard a gunshot.”
Will: “And?’
Emily: “I heard what sounded like a body drop to the floor.” “I was scared.” “I didn’t know whether to run or stand still or hide, I hid.” “Then I heard other voices and then movement, then all was silent.”
“No one looked around for witnesses, so I thought I was in the clear, I grabbed my things and headed for the exit.” “Just as I pushed on the rail handle I looked down the hall and there at the end stood a man who just looked at me. I pushed the door open and ran to my car, as I drove away I could see the man at the door watching me leave.” “They know someone saw, and they know it was a female, they’ll narrow it down to me and I don’t want to die over being a witness to murder.”
Will, in intense thought: Did you see any of this or just hear it?”
Emily: “I was behind one of those big scene divider curtains so no I couldn’t see anything, just hearing it was enough.”
Will: “What were they arguing about?”
Emily: “I couldn’t make it out, just spurts of angry words of accusation.”
Will: “Like?”
Emily: “Something about not taking care of something.”
Will asks: “Who was threatening who, was it the Director?”
Emily: ”I’m sure it was the Director, he was always yelling at someone. I recognized his voice,”
Emily: “The Director killed someone.”
Will: “Allegedly killed.” Emily looks at him with a frown.
Will: “Hey, do we know that for sure, or that it was not the Director who was killed? Everything needs to be taken into consideration – have you been threatened or approached?”
Emily: “No, not really, I only came to this party to be among people, to feel safer, maybe. It was amazing that you were there.”
Will ponders: ”Yes . . . it was.” He slips her a piece of paper and a pen: ”Here, write down the address of where this happened, I’ll look into it tomorrow. I think it best you stay with me tonight.”
Emily: “Thank you William.”
Will slept on his couch and woke up to the smell of fresh coffee. Emily approached him with a mug.
Emily: “Black, right?”
Will smiled: “Thanks.”
After a morning bowl of Maui Wowee Will told her to keep the door locked, don’t open it for anyone, and that there’s a gun in the big coffee can in the kitchen. Also for emergencies Will showed her a disguised access to and from the garages that he “remodeled” and also a good old fashioned trap door that assured broken bones upon landing on the garage’s concrete floor below. And then he left for Hollywood.
As Will pulled up down the street from the small studio, he saw an unmarked police car parked up the street, not a Narc car as they were really obvious, this was nondescript.
Something was not right. He slouched down and back toward the passenger’s side at an angle, a ploy that appears no one is in the driver’s seat, yet from the slightly elevated view from the passenger’s side allowed for great surveillance and yet immediate seat-slide, start-up, gas-peddlin’ if necessary.
Two officers emerged from the front door, got in their car, and left.
Will popped a few Bennies, crossed the street, and cautiously opened the front door to the studio. There lying on the floor was a dead Security Guard. He quickly and quietly scanned the immediate offices. File cabinets had been rifled through, drawers were opened, and there were no cameras or movie equipment anywhere.
Will figured it was obviously a high-financed front, but wondered what’s with the dead Security Guard, and the two cops? Before he left he went to the area where Emily said the murder happened. There was some blood on the floor left over from a sloppy clean-up job. Why clean-up one murder yet leave another in the front office? Had he arrived just after the cops killed the Security Guard?
These questions whizzed by as Will had a Pavlovian response to the Benzedrine; his brain’s memory anticipated the come on and actually mimicked the soon elevated rush effects to come – before they even dissolved in his system.
He was about to leave when the two cops entered the front door. Will crouched down and back in the shadows. There wasn’t much talk between the cops as they carried the security guard out the back entrance. Will took this as his getaway move and left out the front and got in his car. He hung a U-turn and cruised past the back alley to see the cops put the security guard in the trunk of their unmarked police car. He waited out of sight and then followed them when they left.
Will hung back so as not to attract suspicion. He would have gone to the Police under any other circumstances, but not now, he did not know how far the two cop’s involvement was as there was rumored to be an unaccountable not-officially sanctioned faction of the L.A.P.D. that acted with impunity.
After several blocks of tailing, Will decided enough’s enough and at a stop grabbed an old gray wig and thick lensed glasses out of a bag he kept in his car and put them on then slouched down a bit to appear like an old man at the wheel.
He pulled up alongside the cops and with his window down started cursing at them in an old man scruffy voice. As the light turned green, he continued ranting and waving his fist.
Will always blacked out his license plates when on unsure ground and at the next light he pulled up alongside the cops once again only this time he flipped them off with both hands.
He knew this would be the point where the cops would usually exert their power but with ulterior motives and a dead body in the trunk they resisted.
So when the light turned green Will pulled out and cut them off, although the cops resisted thus far Will knew that their egos could only take so much, so with the Benzedrine pumping through Will’s system he took the cops on a crazy chase letting them get close to tailgating and braking occasionally to get them even more pissed off, as by now they realized that they couldn’t run Will’s plates.
Wills knew of a perfect “dead man’s curve” and headed west on Sunset through Beverly Hills and once above the University of California, Los Angeles he pulled a 180 at the 405 and back-tracked east on Sunset, the cops followed. As he roared down the steep incline back above UCLA he made sure the cops were right on him and when he reached the bottom near the left-angled “dead man’s curve” he deliberately spun out into another 180 degree turn causing the cops to fly fast past him.
Unable to negotiate the immediate turn the unmarked police car flipped over repeatedly, the trunk opened, and the security guard flew off into the bushes.
Will never saw righteous retribution against Evil as a moral issue; when it comes down to you or them, there’s no question, and Evil feels the same way.
Whatever this was all about, Emily was certainly in danger. Will continued on Sunset west to Pacific Coast Highway and south to Venice.
As he pulled up to his place the lights were off and it seemed unlikely that she was sitting in the dark. Someone was up there with her, waiting, waiting for Will to open that door.
He felt a non-threatening presence right behind him and turned to see Emily as her outstretched arms hugged him.
Emily: “Those men, they’re from the studio, one looks like the one who spotted me,” “I saw them heading for the stairs and hid in the far side of your closet like you said when suddenly the floor opened to steps to the garage.” “They haven’t left and it’s been about a half hour.”
Will, as if to himself: “Two down, and two more take their place.”
Emily: What happened at the studio?”
Will: “Come on, I’ll tell you while we drive, my car’s around the corner.”
Will relates everything as they drive, then asks: “Why were you at that party last night?”
Emily: “I was invited by one of the producers of the TV show.”
Will: “Who? What’s his name?”
Emily: “Frankie Richman”
Will: “Frankie Richman was a client, he invited me to his party. This is all getting too coincidental. Other than a drug deal gone wrong as a motive for murder, this seems like something bigger.”
It was the Security Guard that bothered him. What was the Guard guarding? There was nothing of value left behind?
Will: “What was the TV pilot about?”
Emily: “It was a comedy about the lives of three men who worked as . . . Security Guards.”
Will: “The Security Guard wasn’t there to protect . . . he was one of the actors.”
Will pauses, reflects, and while driving lights up a joint. He takes a hit then doubles his intake with another deeper inhale, “the 00”, holds it, then exhales out the open window.
Will then realizes and reaches a point of comedic frustration: “He wasn’t a guard or an actor, he was part of this new TV show we’re in called, What The Hell is Goin” On?”
For the first time ever to Emily’s knowledge of him did he seem actually angry. She had seen him determined, focused, humorous, spaced, professional, charismatic, sexy, and very stoned, but not angry, and this anger was not directed toward those alleged killers, but at himself.
Heading east on Sunset Boulevard, and before turning left on Crescent Heights / Laurel Canyon Boulevard, Will’s high kicked-in as he glanced to the right of the intersection where the purple glory of Pandora’s Box, protest central for the 1967 Riots on the Sunset Strip once stood, and gave a mental good vibe nod to the now triangular slab of concrete separating lanes of traffic.
He continued on north past Hollywood Boulevard, then just past Houdini’s “Castle” onto Lookout Mountain Avenue, pulled over and parked.
Will to Emily: “Stay here, I’ll only be a couple minutes – I just need to do something.”
Will disappeared up a flight of stairs that were mostly obscured by foliage. And a couple minutes later he returned. Emily noticed a marked difference in his attitude, he seemed revitalized, confident.
Emily: “Will, you OK? I mean . . “
Will politely interrupts: “Yes, yes I am, now let’s solve this mess.”
Will backtracks to Hollywood Boulevard, east, and up Outpost Drive into the Hills.
They pull up in front of the Party House from the night before.
Emily: “Why are we here?’
Will: “Listen, I brought you along because it was the safest place for you, but now I want you get in that car’s trunk.”
Will points to Frankie Richman’s Rolls. Will had ridden in it when Frankie was his client and knew that he hid a key under the fender.
Emily: “What? Why?”
Will: “Trust me it will be the safest place for you right now, don’t worry, when the trunk is opened everything will be alright.”
Emily looks worried and puzzled, but trusted him and complies.
Will locks the trunk and heads for the party house.
Will knocks on the front door, then rings the doorbell, there’s no answer, Will tries the doorknob, it’s open, he cautiously goes inside.
Once inside Will moves across the big living room toward the terrace. Two men with guns emerge on each side of Will, one from the hallway and the other from the den. Will raises his hands.
Will: “I’m unarmed!”
Will knew that this was his only opportunity.
Will: “There will be no need for more violence, especially if you want both the money and the drugs.”
The two gunmen look to each other.
Will: “I initially thought that this was a drug deal gone wrong – am I right Guys? I’m right, but then I realized that this was not just any drug deal gone wrong, this involved bigwigs, studio heads, dealers, distributors, and cops. Well, I just had to tell someone about this. Murder, mayhem, should I go on?”
Will knew that this dialogue would draw out the facilitator, Frankie Richman.
Frankie walks into the room: “Will, what a story you spin I should hire you as a writer, you’re great as a P.I. but you do have a knack for a, well, an ABC Movie of the Week script.”
Frankie, with a snicker: “So, who did you tell?”
Will: “Oh, no one at the L.A.P.D. I know you’re covered.” “But the F.B.I. is interested in drug sales, and especially distribution across state lines, oh, and kidnapping.”
Frankie is suddenly taken aback: “What . . . you . . what kidnapping?”
Will not only blew Frankie’s mind with his knowledge and apparent turn of events, but by omission Frankie unknowingly confessed to the other deeds.”
Will: “Why that nice young actress you were hoping to pimp soon, Emily?” OK so you wanted her dead instead.” “Go take a look out on the terrace.”
Frankie goes out onto the terrace to see F.B.I. agents prying open his trunk to rescue Emily while others were coming up the stairs. Frankie just stood there in disbelief.
Will to the two gunmen: “If you guys hurry you can maybe get away out the back.”
The two gunmen run out the back.
Will, mostly to himself: “But I doubt it.”
Just then gunfire is heard, then it stops.
Will goes over to the terrace and looks down at the two gunmen face down in the grass and Frankie in handcuffs being led down the stairs.
An F.B.I. agent approaches Will, they shake hands both covering the others left hand in a sign of mutual friendship.
Agent: “Thanks for contacting The Man, we responded immediately.”
Will: “Like I knew you would.”
Agent: “The courts will be busy; Hollywood bigwigs will go down and take others with them, their connections will surface, a decent-sized drug distribution ring will be shut down, and many will be doing a long stretch in prison.”
Will nods and smiles: “We’ll be ready to testify when needed, and thanks.”
Will meets up with Emily at his car.
Will: “What did I tell you? Everything is alright!”
Will adds: “We’ll both have to testify, but just tell the truth and. . “
Emily interrupts him: “But, …”
Will stops her: “The truth is Frankie wanted you dead, kidnapping is just the gateway drug to the truth.” “Remember, Evil does not play fair – so sometimes neither do we.”
Will opens the car door for her, shuts it, and gets in on the driver’s side.
As he starts up the car Emily snuggles up next to him.
Will slowly pulls from the curb and puts his arm around her.
Written spontaneously over a few hours on June 3-4, 2018 with only The Stoned Private Eye, The 1970s, the Hollywood Hills, and a Noir Vibe as inspiration.
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“Street Fightin’ August 1968” copyright 2018 00individual TLL
As they try to get you, Where it will upset you
“The Psychedelic Train Hits The Beach!” Copyright 2017 00individual TLL
“Born To Be Wild – September 1968” copyright 2018 00individual TLL
Sep 16 Richard Nixon appears on “Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-in”
“The Psychedelic Train Dives Deep!” Copyright 2018 00individual TLL
“U.F.O. : Unlicensed Female Operatives – Agent S.E.X.: Special Espionage X Division”
“The Psychedelic Train Cruises Helloween Town!” Copyright 2017 00individual TLL
El Topo – 1970
“Magic Carpet Ride” copyright 2018 00individual TLL
November 15
“The Psychedelic Train Cruises Autumn ’68!” Copyright 2017 00individual TLL
“Two Lane Blacktop” 1971
This is not the sunrise.
“Mrs. Claus” Copyright 2018 00individual TLL
Dec 10 Japan’s biggest heist, the still-unsolved “300 million yen robbery”, occurs in Tokyo.
December 18
December 22
December 24
December 25
“The Psychedelic Train Engineered By Psychedelic Psyanta Takes Point For Santa Claus!”
“Goodbye To An Era” Copyright 2018 00individual TLL