by P G Loiselle
Wrong impression? What would be the right impression? First there was this creep in the office, Carney turns into a lunatic, and then we blow the whole bank roll with ten slips of paper and a Bic pen.
As soon as I got back to my cube, Amy showed up. “What was that all about? Everyone in the office is squawking about Carney spazzing out and that weird guy.”
“Carney’s being a dick like always. Don’t know what he’s up to, and I don’t care. I don’t care about him or if this company goes belly up. If that guy wants me to do stupid stuff, I’ll do it. I just don’t care anymore.”
“Come on, Luke. Since when do you let that sorry sack get to you?”
“Probably every day and many a night.” I paused, recalibrating, and snapped back into my old me. “Amy, listen. It’s Friday. Let me do what I need to do, and we can meet at The Corner at like eight. We’ll get wasted and forget about that prick. I’m buying the beer and wings. Deal?”
“Deal,” she said firmly, and left in a haste without adding anything more to the conversation.
I wrote the stupid checks as told, considering his threats, and brought them to Carney for signature. He mumbled something to himself, like he’d deliver them personally, which was fine with me. I wrapped it up and left for home much earlier than normal to burn off some overtime hours.
Right now, it’s 6:00 p.m., and I can hardly wait until my rendezvous with Amy. I think I’ll head down to The Corner early and get in a few drinks to calm myself before she comes. She gave off an unusual vibe today like she was excited about something. Could it be about going out with me tonight? That soft, moist kiss after the Boston gig felt like more than just a friendly peck. Did she finally realize that she doesn’t need to date losers? I doubt it. Was it at all possible that it would be my lucky night after everything she said about only being friends? Probably not. Should I stop dwelling on it and go have a good time? Yes.
Sunday, July 12, 1987
My life’s been peppered heavy with excitement at times. What I’d been through in my youth, mostly with Stevie, I could write volumes about: preteen mischief in the decaying mills of the industrial heyday, weekly keg parties and monster campfires in the woods with hordes of other unruly teens, cruising the state in old jalopies, in packs, looking for an adventure and usually finding one, and of course, experiencing game changing epiphanies as a musician and showman. But this weekend tops everything, and it all started on Friday night at The Corner.
I arrived an hour earlier than meeting time with Amy and plopped myself down on my favorite barstool with no other intention than getting primed up for a fun-filled evening in which anything possible could happen. It was packed with the workers of the world who had just scored their Friday paycheck and were using The Corner as a launching pad to a night of alcohol excess and infinite potential. Don greeted me as always by pulling a Bud out of his hat but couldn’t stick around to do more of his magic since the barroom was sprawling with a great many thirsty patrons.
I was minding my own business and delving into what my musical future could possibly bring when someone sat down next to me in the only other stool free at the bar. At first, I didn’t warrant it a gander, but out of the utmost corner of my right eye, I noticed a familiar face: the same strange character that was in Carney’s office in the afternoon. It could have been a very peculiar coincidence, so I didn’t dare look his way. Don came over, and the guy ordered a double bourbon on the rocks, ‘the best in the house’, the man emphasized. Don poured the standard well-brand of liquor in a chipped glass, set it in front of him and got back to his hustling before the guy could even smack his lips.
“Celebrating tonight?” the man asked me after an extended silence. “It’s not normal to celebrate alone. Usually, those we love best are chosen to celebrate with us.” His voice was even more sinister than his appearance.
“Excuse me?” I asked, taken aback. “Do I know you? I don’t think so and have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“But I know you. You’re the bookkeeper who knows where the money goes. And somehow it didn’t go where it was supposed to.” He nipped off his five-dollar a bottle bourbon and appeared sedate.
“I’m sorry, sir. You’re right. I am an accountant for Far Out Imports. And yes, I’m responsible for paying vendors, but I only cut the checks. What happens after that isn’t my business. Matter of fact, I work under strict confidentiality and can’t divulge any company information. You’d have to talk to Mr. Carney about the details. I recognize you from today; you must know how to reach him.”
“Carney sent me to you, young man. He divulged to me that you were the one who made out the checks and would be the one who knows the whereabouts of my, well, my assets.”
“Look, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I made out several checks, yes but gave them to Mr. Carney and left. Maybe he really does know where your money is. I don’t. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to enjoy my drink, by myself, and would appreciate some privacy.”
I directed my sight straight ahead and tried to pretend he wasn’t there. I would have moved to a different barstool, but there were no others available, and I didn’t want to just get up and leave. That would have surely given him something to be suspicious about.
“Carney is sitting at the office as we speak, perturbed as I am. He too wants to know where the assets are. I’m most assured that he wouldn’t be the sort of business associate who would jeopardize an important relationship like the one we have simply to make a quick profit. He told me how badly underfunded you are with all those loans.” The large man took a hefty swig out of his glass and swirled around the ice, spilling some of the liquid on the bar top. “Or maybe that girlfriend of yours knows where my assets are? Miss Lynch she calls herself if I’m not mistaken.”
Amy? Holy shit. She’d be here any minute now, I thought. How did her name get dragged into this? Carney again. This person is obviously dangerous, and Amy would start right into him if he confronted her, especially about something that she has no idea about. I was paralyzed and wasn’t sure what to do next. As if on cue, the phone behind the bar rang. Don picked it up, exchanged pleasantries and strolled over to me as if it’s a normal occurrence.
“Luke, that feller Mike on the telephone for you. Come round back and have a chat with him, will you?”
“Thanks, Don,” I said. My body shuddered from within, but I kept steady on the outside.
Piano Mike on the phone? How on Earth would he even know I’m here right now, and why would he be calling? I wasn’t sure what was going on, so I did as Don said and took the receiver in my right hand.
“Mike? I’m kind of busy. What’s up?”
“Luke, it’s me.” It was Amy and she sounded concerned. “Act normal and listen up. There might be some assholes questioning you about money. Pretend you don’t know anything. I have their money. I’ll tell you about it in due time. These guys are killers, Luke. Be careful.” She hung up without even giving me a chance to respond.
“No, Mike,” I said, projecting my voice towards the killer. “Not tonight. I’m just going to hang here and get to bed early. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
I put down the receiver before the dial tone became audible and walked over to my stool on the other side of the bar. He didn’t wait before starting in on me again.
“Mr. Moore, I only want what’s mine, nothing more, nothing less. Someone’s playing games here, with my assets, and I will get to the bottom of this. If it turns out that you are not being 100% truthful in this matter, I will personally see to it that there’ll be grave consequences to face.” The glass rose, and the last of the ice slipped into his mouth. He devoured the cubes with a few loud crunches. “Do you understand fully what I said, Mr. Moore?”
“If I could help you, sir, I would. Hey, we could meet with Mr. Carney on Monday morning to straighten things out. Maybe the money’s stuck in some so
rt of clearing account at the bank, and this is only a misunderstanding?”
“Perhaps, but I’ll be the one to decide how to proceed. Let us see what develops over the weekend. And Mr. Moore, I know where to find you: in the office, at home, or in any of the usual establishments that you like to frequent: the Foxy Lady, for example.” He moved his drink in mini circles along the counter surface and seemed entranced by his own action. “There are your friends to think about too, including Miss Lynch. We’ll surely find a solution to this…quandary. Let’s hope it’s an easy one for all parties involved. Tough solutions can impact everyone’s life. If there’s a life still left to impact.” He lifted his glass high and let the final drops of Bourbon trickle onto his padded tongue. “Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Moore, and for everyone’s sake, be noble and do the right thing.” He pushed his bottom-heavy torso up from the stool, tottering about, threw a fifty down on the bar and walked out the door, bumping into chairs, tables and other obstacles along the way.
I shook even more once he was gone. That man, who threatened my life and the lives of my friends, was searching for his lost money and Amy has it. How’d I get mixed up in this? What was I supposed to do? I tilted my head up and saw Don approaching with a more-than-worried look on his face.
“Don’t know what you into, Luke, but that feller’s no damn good. Whatever it be, you need be getting yourself out of it.”
“Don, I can’t talk about it right now. I can only tell you that I did absolutely nothing to make that guy mad at me.”
He reached over the bar and snatched my wrists. “You getting yourself into troubles, whatever it be, you come calling.”
“Right now, the only problem is that my bottle’s empty. And can you top it off with a shot of Jack? I need something to numb me up”
“That really what you be needing right now?”
With that poignant question, a jolt of clarity struck. If Mr. Mob knew where I lived, he must also know where Amy lives. And he seems to think she’s involved in this. Or at least is using her to get me to cooperate. I had to find her before he did, and at the same time, play it cool.
“You’re right. I’m all set. What’s the damage?”
“On the house tonight. Now go tend to what needs tending.”
“Thanks, Don. I owe you.” I sped off to the bathroom for a squirt and left.
There are so many decisions to waver on; however, when it comes to life threatening situations involving those you love most, there’s no room for hesitation. The problem was, I didn’t have a stinking plan. I couldn’t go straight to Amy’s since they were bound to follow me there. I didn’t want to drive by Stevie’s because he was hopefully not even a blip on their radar. Should I go to the police? Amy said she took the money, and I didn’t want to get her screwed. Confront Carney? I wouldn’t even know how to contact him, and anyway, he’s in cahoots with the killer.
I was sweating it out in my car, key in the ignition, reluctant
to fire up the Grey Beast…basically hesitating. I rolled my eyeballs up slightly towards the windshield and noticed a suspicious vehicle with two iffy looking males hanging low in the front seat.
I couldn’t be sure yet but would have bet my shorts that they were there to keep tabs on me. From then on, I knew where to begin, the Cumberland Farms convenience store down the street from my house. From there, I’d have to find a way to sneak over to Stevie’s.
Without hesitation, I cranked the starter, put it in gear and drove towards the exit. The car in question at first stayed put. As soon as I turned out of the parking lot, though, their headlights were aglow. Now it was undeniable that they were after me. Once I hit the Mendon road crossing, I went left and kept it steady. My tail stuck way back but was close enough not to lose sight of me. When I stopped at a red light, they dawdled behind and caught up again as the light turned green.
Cumberland Farms was coming up, and I eased into the lot and parked in front of the entrance. The two men sped past and pulled into the shopping plaza on the other side of the street, letting their tires screech. I didn’t need anything at the store but wanted to give the semblance that Mr. Cool had nothing to hide. I bought a gallon of whole milk, a double pack of raisin English muffins and a lottery ticket to test my luck. I scratched the stub right away and won two dollars that I pocketed instead of plowing it back into more tickets.
As soon as I was out of the store, it was homeward bound. Maybe by that point, my aggressors would conclude that I didn’t have their assets. Why would I waste time buying milk and English muffins if I had a boat load of money to squander? Or were they already banking on Amy having the cash and were waiting for me to lead the path to her door? Whatever they were thinking, the only place I was leading them to was my one-bedroom house in the seedy part of town that they supposedly already knew about.
I pulled into the garage, and once hidden within the confines of my modest dwelling, lowered the shades, put on some subtle lighting and turned up the stereo so it was audible from the outside but not loud enough to warrant a police-visit. A timer was set so that the lights and stereo would go off at eleven, making it look like I went to bed. I scurried down into the cellar and snuck quietly out the back like a thief in the night. I cut through a few yards, hopped some fences and ended up on the other side of the block.
Stevie lived a half-mile away as the crow flies, and I set out in his direction on foot, ducking through walkways, hiding behind trees and hedges and finally taking a shortcut through the cemetery to his street. He lived in the ground floor unit of his father’s apartment building. He also commandeered the basement as a practice space and insulated it well enough so that nobody could hear him play his guitar, provided he kept the volume level on his Marshall stack below three. I didn’t want to ring the front bell since I couldn’t be sure where the killer’s henchmen would be lurking and needed to use caution. A spare key for the back entrance to the cellar was hidden under a rock in the yard, so I fetched it and inched open the door to the pitch-black space. I felt around on the wall for the light switch, rubbing and patting the unfinished surface but couldn’t find it. My hand moved up, moved down, moved across the spot where I remembered it to be. Where was that damn toggle? Aggravated and building up a sweat, I opened the door halfway and slipped into the room, creeping on tiptoes. Without me touching a thing, on went the light and I froze. A long metal object was bearing down my face. It was Stevie, a hair’s length away from bashing my skull in with a baseball bat. I braced for the impact as a flash of my parents in my father’s Italian convertible washed over me. He jerked back the Louisville Slugger right in time and shrieked like a school girl, jarring me out of my paralysis.
“It’s you,” he yelled.
“You almost frickin’ killed me,” I screamed in return.
We were both in shock from the surprise encounter and near miss. I looked up, and what startled me even more was Amy, positioned behind Stevie, as though he were the great protector. She ran to me, threw her arms around my neck and held so tight that her breast bone jutted uncomfortably into the peak of my chin.
“Luke, you’re safe. I’m so happy you’re safe.”
My heart compelled me to wrap my arms around her in reciprocation but instead, I broke away and vaulted back. “Am I safe, Amy? What the hell’s going on here? And why’d you drag us into this mess?” Considering that moments before, I was playing knight in shining armor, in the process of gathering my trusty sidekick for a mission to rescue the princess, my own reaction even surprised me.
Amy, probably choking on the tension, must have realized that she needed to tell the whole story. She grasped my fingers and motioned me and Stevie to the couch.
“I’m so sorry, Luke. I can only imagine what happened.” She was very serious and exuded an air of vulnerability that made me melt like ice cream in the desert at midday. It was the first time I saw the queen of the ball busters and the girl with the
steel skin, look willing to open her heart and spill her guts out on the table for us to lap up.
“No, I’m sorry, that I acted like that. I was worried stiff about you and then Stevie almost smashed my face with the bat. I didn’t expect you to be here. Why here of all places? All I wanted was to grab Stevie and then find you.”
“I needed to get to you too but couldn’t go direct. Figured Stevie could help me out. I looked him up in the phone book and took a chance he’d be home. Good thing I didn’t go straight to The Corner since Stone already tracked you down there.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Stone, the guy sitting next to you at The Corner when I called, from here. Don said there was this ‘shifty looking feller that set down beside you’, and that you ‘was seeming mighty scared as if you’d seen the son of Satan himself.’ Who else could it be but Stone?”
“Stone?”
“Joey da Silva, aka Stone,” she said as if I should know him. “Kind of a big wheel as far as mid-level gangsters go, at least in the Fall River area. Thinks he’s hot shit on a silver platter. You ask me, he’s more like cold diarrhea on a paper plate.” Amy erupted. “And for all I care, that asshole can burn in Hell forever, and after that for the rest of eternity.” Although she started to tear up, she held back the flood.
“I’m so confused,” I said. “What’s Stone got to do with Far Out? How did you get his money, and why do you want it? And why do you want him to burn in Hell? Tell me what’s going on. Will you?”
“Get comfy,” she said, pulling herself together. “It’ll take a while.”
Stevie and I were already sitting. We did as we were told and fluffed up some loose pillows and situated them behind our backs and necks as if that would really help. I was too tense to relax but at least tried to look it. When we settled down enough, she continued.
“My father, Serge, my pai I called him, was…” Tears welled up in her eyes again and spilled over as she blinked. “He was Portuguese, from Portugal.”
