The Glitter Dome Read Free Page A

cracked against the night table when his body hit the floor like a bag of sticks.
    â€œI suck my teeth loose!” Amazing Grace shrieked. “For what? A fuckin FAG !”
    Al Mackey didn’t know if she had taken him back to The Glitter Dome. He didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t know where he was, except that he was driving his five-year-old Pinto on the Hollywood Freeway. The next thing he did know was that a very strange thing happened: A California Highway Patrol motor cop was traveling beside him on the driver’s side, motioning for Al Mackey to come his way.
    Al Mackey thought it exceedingly dangerous for the motor cop to be cruising so close to his car, so he held the steering wheel firmly in his right hand and with the left tried in vain to roll down the window. He couldn’t understand what the Chippy wanted. Maybe he’d better pull over.
    Then an extraordinary thing happened. The Chip yelled at him so loudly it hurt. The motor cop said: “Get outa that fuckin wreck, asshole!”
    Al Mackey decided to pull over. He could hardly see the freeway in front of him. Where were his headlights? He was suddenly aware that cars were passing him as though he was standing still.
    He was standing still.
    The door was opened by the enraged Chip, who grabbed the detective by the torn coat sleeve and jerked him out of the car. Al Mackey bumped his head. The roof seemed lower.
    The roof was lower.
    Al Mackey was standing on the freeway. There was a flare pattern behind him and several rubberneckers slowed to see what happened. The motor cop waved them past, holding Al Mackey erect by the scruff of the neck. An L.A.P.D. radio car rolled up behind them. Two cops came forward with flashlights.
    â€œNeed some help?” the younger one asked the motor cop, who at last released his hold and let Al Mackey slump against the demolished Pinto.
    â€œI was tooling along when I see this drunk run up on the embankment,” the Chip said. “His Pinto climbs the embankment after crossing three traffic lanes. Then he rolls over a hundred and eighty degrees and comes back down on the wheels. He thinks he’s still driving when I walk up to the car!”
    Al Mackey was starting to come around a bit and sensed he was in some trouble. He stepped back from the Pinto and examined it. The roof was six inches lower all the way around. The entire car was more than a foot lower since all four tires were flat. Every window was shattered and the windshield was gone. The right passenger door was lying in the lush ice plant beside the freeway. Al Mackey was unmarked except for the bump on the head he got when the motor cop pulled him out.
    â€œHey! It’s Sergeant Mackey!” the younger cop said. He turned to his partner. “Ron, it’s Mackey from the dicks bureau!”
    â€œOh shit. A cop.” The motor cop’s eyeballs rolled back under his helmet. He’d been here before. Déjà vu .
    Al Mackey just couldn’t quite fit it all together. It was like the first moment of dream awakening. Things made sense and yet they didn’t. The truth was more elusive than usual at those moments.
    â€œI think I can explain,” Al Mackey began, but he had to stop. Each step he took made him rattle. He tinkled and crunched as he walked. Windshield glass was falling from his clothing like snow. His hair was full of shattered glass. It was even in his pockets.
    â€œLook here,” the young bluecoat said to the Chip, “we’ll call tow service for the car and get him home. He’s an okay guy. Give him a break?”
    â€œAsshole!” the motor cop said to Al Mackey, as he stormed back to his bike, kicking up sparks with his cleated boots. He drove his fist into his saddle before climbing on and roaring away.
    Al Mackey was absolutely certain that this could be explained, given a few moments to put it all together.
    He stroked it again. This was the real whanger. This