My First Novel: Chapter Three

Thanks, folks. Between my Facebook page and Blog we’re at a combined total of 50 “likes”, so here’s Chapter Three. Please note that on the right hand side of my Blog there’s a menu called “Landmarks”. There you’ll find a listing for “My Novel”. Click on that and you’ll see all three chapters in sequence. It’s easier to read that way. I’ll update “My Novel” as we go until the whole book is in there. Now, when we reach 70 likes, I’ll drop Chapter Four. Thanks for reading!

Chapter Three

Mike woke up in his parked car the next morning with a hangover from all his birthday beers. The storm had arrived just before sunrise and the rain was pounding on the roof of the car, running hard off the Spanish tile roof of his beachfront apartment building, streaming along the gutters and down the spouts, spilling over the drains, and flooding the courtyard. That’s southern California. No rain for months. Then you get clobbered.

Mike pulled his jacket over his head and ran up the steps to his apartment, getting drenched before he finally managed to open his door and collapse on the couch — soggy and sore-necked from snoozing behind the wheel. He hadn’t slept well. Drunken dreams of Gloria contended all night with nagging questions about the strange device he’d found and the meaning of “Murphy’s Ranch Thursday night 8:00.”

He took the mystery object out of his pocket and examined it. It was now Thursday morning, so if today was the Thursday in the message, maybe he still had time to learn something about this mystery before 8:00 that night. Nobody was paying him to work a case at the moment, so why not look into this weird device and its cryptic message?

But first, he was determined to buy that engagement ring.

He got himself cleaned up, put on one of his better suits, and got back on the road. The storm had died down, and the light rain falling over the bay in the morning sun created a rainbow, as Mike drove down to Santa Monica where he knew a jeweler he could trust.

Mike didn’t know a damn thing about jewelry or gems. He didn’t own anything more precious than a fifty-dollar Longines wristwatch. But he’d gotten to know Albert Borroni a few years ago when his store on Wilshire and Third Street was robbed. Mike and his partner nabbed the burglars trying to fence a dozen diamond rings. An accomplice they cut out of the deal ratted them out. Albert was grateful for the swift justice – and he and Mike had been pals ever since. At least as much of a pal as antisocial Mike had.

Mike stepped out of the drizzle and into Al’s jewelry store. He caught the proprietor’s attention, they exchanged greetings, and Mike got down to business. Al was thunderstruck.

“You’re looking for an engagement ring? You? Amazing! You mean to tell me the lone wolf has formed an actual attachment to another human being?”

Albert’s surprise and sarcasm were justified. He’d never talked to Al about having so much as a date. Fact is, Mike didn’t date much at all. There was nothing wrong with his sex drive, but Mike couldn’t make small talk to save his life. He didn’t want to talk about the war, his life as a cop, or his career as a private dick. That didn’t leave much to chat about over dinner and drinks. Professional girls didn’t require conversation. But with Gloria it was different. He wanted to tell her everything.

“You got a budget for this ring, Mike?”

“A hundred fifty bucks.”

“Wow. Big spender!”

“Too cheap?”

“Don’t be an ass! I can show you some nice rings at that price.”

Albert showed him a variety of rings, some with diamonds, some with rubies and other stones. “Look at this one,” he said, “It’s one of the rings those bastards stole, and you guys got back.” Mike took the ring and examined it — not that he had any idea what to be looking for. “It was made in the early 1920’s,” Al explained. “It has a nice little diamond, flanked by two blue sapphires. And the setting is classic Art Deco. She’ll love it.”

Mike didn’t know Art Deco from Art Carney. “I’ll take it,” he said.

“An excellent choice, my gumshoe goombah.” Albert rang up the sale. “Is there a date for this wedding?”

“Tell you the truth, Al. I don’t even know if there’s gonna be a wedding. But I’ve got the ring – so that’s a start.”

Albert put the ring in a box and handed it to Mike. “She must be a special girl. You, my friend, are not for all markets.”

“I’ll let you know how it works out,” said Mike, pocketing the ring as he strode to the door. “Wish me luck.”

“My wife and I will pray a rosary. Hell – we many even sponsor a novena!”

Al Borroni was chuckling to himself as Mike hit the pavement, pleased with his purchase. If his courage didn’t fail, Mike would pop the question to Gloria tonight. He wondered how she’d react. Would she be charmed — or spooked? Maybe it was too much, too soon. He wasn’t sure where he stood with Gloria, but he just wanted to ante up. To place his bet. He’d fallen in love with her, and he wanted her to know it.

But first, he wanted to settle the other matter weighing on his mind: the mystery of “Murphy’s Ranch Thursday night 8:00”.

The Santa Monica Public Library was just a couple blocks away. The rain was only a mist as Mike made his way down the street, into the library, and straight to the card catalog. He couldn’t find a listing for “Murphy’s Ranch”. The librarian sensed Mike’s frustration. An older woman in her early 50’s, maybe she knew something the card catalog didn’t.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Maybe. You have anything here about Murphy’s Ranch?”

“Murphy’s Ranch?”

“That’s right, Murphy’s Ranch. Ring a bell?”

An odd look passed across the librarian’s face. “Murphy’s Ranch. You must be a local, right?”

“I grew up in Malibu. Why?”

She walked to her desk, motioning for Mike to follow. “It was a local story, about ten years ago.” She opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out a stack of folders. “It happened right after Pearl Harbor.”

The librarian found the folder she was looking for, opened it, and picked through a stash of old newspaper articles. “Here it is.” She handed the article to Mike. “Crazy as it sounds,” she said, “Murphy’s Ranch was a Nazi hideout up in the Santa Monica mountains. In Pacific Palisades not far up the coast from here.”

“A Nazi hideout? No kidding.” Mike scanned the yellowing Los Angeles Times article covering the arrest of some Nazi sympathizers on December 8, 1941.

“Most people around here have forgotten all about it, but it caused quite a stir at the time. Of course, it’s not exactly a source of local pride. But I’m Jewish, so it made an impression on me and my family. You don’t forget finding out you had some secret Nazi neighbors lurking deep in a canyon, close to where you live, plotting who knows what.”

The librarian told Mike everything she knew. After Pearl Harbor, the cops arrested some American Nazis in a hidden compound they’d built in Rustic Canyon. They were members of an anti-Semitic, white supremacist group called the Silver Legion of America. They built their hideaway at Murphy’s Ranch before the war as a base for Nazi plots in America.

“They were hoping that after Hitler conquered Europe, he’d invade America – and they’d be waiting to support him. They planned their compound to be self-sustaining,” she explained, “with a water storage tank, a fuel tank, a concrete bomb shelter, cinder block storeroom — the works. Ironically, the main gate was designed by the great Negro architect Paul Williams.”

“He couldn’t have known too much about his clients,” Mike mused.

“It was known as Murphy’s Ranch because the owner of record was a guy named Murphy,” the librarian went on, “The real owners were Winona and Norman Stephens. Some say the Murphy thing was just an alias. The place is still there. Or what remains of it. You’ve got to go down hundreds of concrete stairs to get to it.”

Wow. This was far more than Mike expected. American Nazis living and plotting in a hidden compound in the Pacific Palisades? Hell, Mike was living in Malibu and attending UCLA in Westwood in ‘41 when the cops broke up this crazy fascist fantasy. He’d driven past a secret Nazi camp every day — and he had no idea. But now that he knew a little something about Murphy’s Ranch, “Thursday night 8:00” became a lot more intriguing.

It was 11:15 am. Mike had less than nine hours to learn more about Murphy’s Ranch and find out what, if anything, might be going on in that old Nazi hideout.