by Ed Gorman
“Oh, Favor, I just feel so terrible right now.”
“You lie down and try to nap. That’s the best thing.”
He could feel the gratitude coming from the other end of the phone. It was almost tangible.
Four innings later—the Cubs losing another close one, 9-0—Favor heard somebody in the hall. Evans.
Favor took out his .38—he saw no reason to carry one of the monsters cops seemed to favor these days—and then just sat there with his drink in one hand and his .38 in the other.
When Evans came through the door, the .38 was pointing directly at his chest. He was all flashy sports clothes—yellow summer sweater, white ducks, $150 white Reeboks, and enough Raw Vanilla cologne to peel off wallpaper. Being bald and dumpy and squint-eyed kind of spoiled the effect, though.
“Hey,” he said, “what the hell’s going on?”
“Close the door and sit down and shut up.”
“That my booze you’re drinking?”
Guy’s holding a gun on him and all Evans worries about is his booze.
“You hear what I said?”
“You’re obviously not the cops.”
“No shit.”
Then Evans finally went over and sat down on the couch. What he didn’t do was shut up.
“You’re in deep shit, my friend,” he said.
“First of all,” Favor said. “You’re the one in deep shit. And second of all, I ain’t your friend.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“I want you to get David Carson over here.”
“I don’t know any David Carson.”
“Yeah, right. Now pick up that phone and call him and tell him he needs to get over here right away, that somebody’s figured out what you two did.”
“You’re crazy, you know that? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Pick up the phone.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Damn right, no. This is my condo, not yours.”
Favor got up and went over to where Evans was perched anxiously on the edge of the couch. He brought the barrel of his gun down hard across the side of Evans’ head.
“You sonofabitch,” Evans said, and then kind of rolled around on the couch, holding the right side of his head, and wrinkling his pretty yellow sweater. After the pain had subsided somewhat, Evans said, “I still don’t know any David Carson.”
Evans started to protest again. This time, all Favor did was give him a good swift kick in the shin. An old playground technique.
“Ow! Aw shit! Ow!” This hurt a lot more, surprisingly, than the gun barrel along the side of the head. Evans bitched and cursed for four, five minutes and then Favor handed him the receiver.
“You sonofabitch,” Evans said. He dialed the number, asked for Carson. “You need to get over to my place right away,” he said as soon as Carson came on the line. “We got a problem. A big one.” He looked up at Favor. “Right away.” He hung up.
Favor sat down in the recliner again. “How much he pay you?”
“None of your business.”
“Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough, was it? You’ve still been shaking him down.”
“Yeah? Is that right?”
“One thing about people you blackmail. They wake up one day and decide they’re really sick of living under your thumb. And then they get violent.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You’re gonna get life, you know that, don’t you?” Evans didn’t say anything. Just stared out the window at the spring blue sky. “Unless, of course, you turn state’s evidence against him. His idea, you say. He came to me with the whole plan. The County Attorney’ll cut you some slack if you go that route.”
Evans said, “I wouldn’t get life?”
“Not if you cooperate.”
“Carson’s a lot bigger fish to fry. Socially, I mean.”
“He sure is. The County Attorney’d rather have his scalp than yours any day.”
Evans put his face in his hands. When he took them away, his eyes were moist. “God, I don’t know why I ever agreed to do this.”
“How’d you meet Carson?”
“He had an employee, this guy named Mandlebaum, and he had cancer and I took care of him the last couple weeks of his life. At home, I mean. So then Carson looked me up about ten, eleven months ago.”
“So he offered you the deal?”
“He kept hinting at it, talking about how the only thing that could save the business was the old man’s insurance policy. They had one of those key-man deals, where if one of the partners dies the business gets a lot of money. Almost three million, in this case. Enough to pay off some of the bills and keep things going.”
“How much he pay you?”
“Hundred grand.”
“How much more you been getting out of him?”
“Not that much.”
“How much?” Favor said.
“Thirty, around there. I’m not sure exactly.”
“You think it’d last forever?”
“Yeah, I guess I kinda started thinking that way. Kinda dumb, huh?”
Favor nodded. “Someday he’d either run out of money or run out of patience.”
“God, does my head hurt.”
“Sorry.”
“And my shin.”
“Sorry about that, too.”
“You really get off on slapping people around?”
“Sometimes.”
“That seems weird to me, hurting people I mean. I’m always trying to help people, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, like you helped Carson’s father-in-law.”
“That was the only time I ever did anything like that.” He sounded as if Favor had deeply hurt him by reminding him of the incident.
Footsteps in the hallway. Coming this way.
“You going to hide?” Evans whispered.
“Huh-uh,” Favor whispered back. “Just go open the door.”
The footsteps came closer. Evans looked scared. Favor waved him to the door with the .38. “When he knocks, open the door and then step back and let him walk inside.”
When the knock came, Evans looked back at Favor. Favor nodded. David Carson was framed in the doorway. He was a lanky, impressive middle-aged man. He looked very unhappy.
“What the hell is this, Evans?”
Evans stepped aside so Carson could get a look at Favor.
“C’mon in, Carson,” Favor said.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Just get your ass in here.” Favor liked pushing people like Carson around. For once, it was Carson’s turn to be the pushee.
“He knows,” Evans said.
“Oh, isn’t that just fucking ducky?” Carson said. He walked into the living room. “How’d he find out?” Carson said to Evans.
“I told him.”
“Figures. You dumb bastard.” Carson looked at Favor. “You’re not getting jack shit from me. You’d better understand that right up front. No more for Evans, and none at all for you.”
Favor decided now was probably a good time to get out of the recliner.
“You killed your father-in-law,” Favor said.
“What I did is my own business.” Carson’s tone made it clear that he never explained himself to peons.
“You ever think how your wife might feel about that?”
“Say,” Carson said, snapping his fingers. “Favor. Now I know who you are. Your father used to be the old man’s groundskeeper or something like that.”
“I liked the old man,” Favor said, “a lot more than you did, apparently.”
Carson looked at him and smiled. “When’s the last time you talked to her? To Jane.”
“A while ago. Why?”
“Go down and get her,” Carson said to Evans. Evans looked baffled. “My wife,” Carson said. “In my car.”
“What the hell are you trying to pull here, anyway?” Favor said.
“Go get her, Evans
,” Carson said. “I picked her up on the way over here.”
Evans looked at Favor for approval. Favor nodded. “Right back,” Evans said.
“You gullible bastard,” Carson said after Evans was gone. “You’re one of these guys who has a life-time crush on my wife, aren’t you? She told me how you used to write her letters sometimes.”
Favor felt his face redden.
“She may not be what you think,” Carson said. He was smiling again. Smirking, actually. “You’re some kind of investigator, right?” Carson said. “What’d she do, hire you to follow me around or something? That how you got into this? Stupid bitch.”
The name-calling stunned him. How dare anybody call Princess Jane a name. My God, this guy must be insane. Favor was about to say something when Jane came through the door. She wore a camel-colored suede car coat, a starched white shirt, black slacks and a pair of black flats. She was, as always, gorgeous.
“I’m sorry for all this, Favor,” she said.
Favor looked at Carson. “She knows what you did. To her father.”
Favor expected a big scene. All that happened was Jane looked at Carson. “I need to talk with Favor alone,” she said.
“Why the hell’d you have him following me around?” Carson said. If Carson had called her a name, Favor was prepared to slug him.
“Because I didn’t know what was going on.” she said. “You were acting so strange. I thought maybe you had a woman on the side.”
“So you hire this creep?” Carson said.
“He isn’t a creep, and I want to talk to him alone. Why don’t you and Mr. Evans go outside for a while?”
Carson glared at him, then nodded for Evans to follow him out. Carson slammed the door behind him good and hard.
Jane said, “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Favor. And I do want to pay you.”
“You know better than that.” Then: “I know some good divorce lawyers.”
Jane smiled sadly. “I love him, Favor. We have two children together.”
“He murdered your father.”
“We talked about that, on the way over here. I told him what I knew and we talked about it.” She reached out and took his hand. “This isn’t a very pretty thing to say about myself, Favor, but it’s true. I’m used to living a very lavish lifestyle. That’s the first thing David said to me after I told him that I knew what he and Evans had done to my father. He said, ‘I did it for the sake of our family. If I hadn’t, we’d be broke today. He was dying anyway, he didn’t have long to go. The company needed that key-man insurance payoff.’ That’s what he said, and you know, he’s right.”
“Oh, shit,” Favor said. “You mean you don’t mind he killed your father?”
She leaned forward on her tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I knew you’d be disappointed in me.”
“He killed your father. In cold blood.”
“He saved our family. Me. The girls. Himself. He didn’t have any choice. Daddy was dying anyway, don’t forget.” Done kissing him, she leaned back and said, “My father would have done the same thing in David’s circumstances. They’re the same kind of man, really. I’m sure that, subconsciously, I knew. That’s why I married him.”
“I should go to the police.”
“You’d destroy my life, Favor. Do you really want to do that?”
He looked at her. She was a stranger suddenly. “I guess not.”
“I knew you’d say that. I said that to David on the way over here. I said Favor’s an honorable man. He wouldn’t let me be hurt that way.”
This time, she kissed him on the lips, quickly but with real tenderness. “We just come from different backgrounds, Favor,” she said. “I guess I can’t expect you to understand me sometimes.” She looked back at the closed door.
“Now I’d better go.”
“Yeah. I guess you’d better.”
“I know you’re disappointed, Favor. And I’m sorry.”
“Sure.”
“Goodbye, Favor.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll always remember you. Really.”
And then she was gone.
Princess Jane was gone. Forever, Favor knew.
Forever.
When San Evans came through the door, Favor was in the kitchen helping himself to more Jack Daniels.
“Hey, man,” Evans said, sounding pissed. “That’s my booze.”
“This is for you,” Favor said, and slapped a ten spot down on the counter. Favor knew he should be heading out but right now he didn’t want to go anywhere. He just wanted to stay right here and get wasted.
“She’s a looker.”
“She sure is that,” Favor said. “She sure is.”
“But her tits aren’t big enough.”
“Don’t talk about her that way. And I mean it.”
Evans was smart enough to look scared. Favor had suddenly turned dangerous again.
“She’s a princess,” Favor said, “a princess.” He felt like crying.
“Hey, man, I just like bigger tits is all. Sorry if I offended you. Now do you mind if I get in there and have a drink from my own bottle?”
“She’s a princess,” Favor said.
“Yeah, man, you said that already.”
“A princess,” Favor said, getting out of the way so Evans could get in there and get a drink from his own bottle. “A regular god-damned princess and don’t you forget it.”
Thanks to Dr. F. Paul Wilson for supplying the medical details in this story.
THE MOVING COFFIN
On that rainy Tuesday morning, half an hour after a car splashed me with mud, fifteen minutes after my left foot sank into a watery hole, my parole officer said, “Three times.”
“Three times?”
“That you snuck off last week.”
I started to defend myself, but all that came out was a sneeze. “It’s really miserable out there, isn’t it?” he said.
I’d always assumed that parole officers would be dour old gentlemen who wanted nothing more than to unnerve and exasperate their charges every time they got a chance.
Mr. DeConcini was not that way at all. His thirty extra pounds and bright blue eyes gave him a jolly effect, for one thing, and the yellow ties he favored continued the sense of quiet merriment. His personality was pretty much like that, too. Here we sat in an office filled with murderers, rapists, perverts, and armed-robbery types, and Mr. DeConcini managed to be relentlessly friendly, like a campaigning politician on speed.
“You know what I told him, Bob?”
“Told my boss?”
“Right. I said, if Bob disappeared for a few hours last week, he had a darn good reason. That’s exactly what I told him.”
“Well, I really appreciate that, Mr. DeConcini.”
“Ralph.”
“I really appreciate that, Ralph.”
I sneezed again.
“Kleenex?”
“Thank you.”
“So where did you go?”
“You really have to know?”
“I really have to know, Bob. I really do. I have a boss, too, you know.”
“I went to church.”
At first he didn’t react. Just sat there looking at me. Then he sat up straight in his seat and said, “You wouldn’t play with my feelings, would you, Bob?”
“No, Ralph, I wouldn’t play with your feelings.”
“I’ve been after you for months to get next to the Lord, and now you mean you’ve gone and done it?”
“Gone and done it, Ralph. Gone and done it.”
He looked as if he were about to cry. Ralph had always liked me because I wasn’t like, as he’d explained on my first visit, “the rest.” By that he meant that I had a college degree in business and that before I became prisoner number 4832, I’d been an executive in a research company.
He looked at me and gave me one of those crinkly smiles people in TV commercials are always giving each other. His bright blue eyes watered a
bit too.
“Good Lord, Bob, this is the moment a parole officer like myself lives for.”
“It is?”
“Of course. A parolee who’s renouncing his old ways and affirming his new ways by going to church three times in the middle of the day? This is going to be our lead story in next month’s newsletter. We got one of those desktop publishing deals, so we can get it out monthly now. A parolee who’s had the calling from God. It’s just great.”
You really believe that story I just gave you? I wanted to say. But not being crazy, at least not in that way, I decided to keep quiet.
“Mr. Carlson will be happy to hear about this.”
“I hope so. I don’t want to lose my job, Ralph.”
“He’ll be relieved, too. He thinks you’re a real good worker. Says you look nice in the clothes, too. And that counts in an upscale store like that. You know that’s probably the most expensive store in the city.”
“I’ve checked. It is.”
“And you’re their top salesman already—after only four months. I’m going to mention that in the newsletter story, too.”
“Good.”
He leaned close, as if he were going to confide in me one of the universe’s most important secrets.
“See all those people over there?”
“The parolees?” I said, scanning the line of sad and shabby and sometimes frightening men who sat angry and beaten and resentful in their bright plastic chairs.
He nodded. “Yeah, I see them, Ralph.”
“Hopeless,” he said. “They’re hopeless.”
Then he sat up straight, his desk an oasis of orderliness in a vast gray room of cluttered desks and even more cluttered lives.
“If I was a betting man, Bob, I’d bet you were the only one who’ll go completely straight the rest of his life.”
“I appreciate you saying that.”
“The recidivism rate is terrible. But you…”
The merry smile again.
“You always make my day, Bob. I feel that there’s a little hope left in the world when you’re around. I always tell my wife about you. I always say that on the days when Bob comes in, I feel like I’m actually accomplishing something.”
“That’s nice of you, Ralph.” I checked my watch. “Well, I guess I’d better be getting back. I wanted to use my lunch hour so I wouldn’t take any more hours away from the job.”
