by Pascal Scott
“Sounds like a good plan,” Denise said.
“It’s perfect. It has to be perfect.”
“When do you want it to go down?”
Elizabeth considered.
“It’ll have to be after I get out of Omega. That happens on Friday, May 31. Until then, I only have Mondays free. That doesn’t give us enough flexibility. After May 31, I’m a free woman.”
“What’s today?”
“April 22.”
“That’s not that long. It shouldn’t be a problem about Mickie. You’ve already got her thinking about it.”
Elizabeth lifted herself up from her elbow and sat up straight. “How do you know that? That she’s thinking about it.”
“Mickie tells me everything. She trusts me.”
Seemed like everybody wanted to trust Denise. Still, if Denise could manage it, it would be easier to have her persuade Mickie than for Elizabeth to trick Mickie’s brain into having a convulsion.
“Okay. You work on Mickie. And if it doesn’t happen your way, I’ll switch out her meds.”
“Awesome,” Denise said. “But a couple of things.”
“What?”
“Thirds. We split the money in thirds.”
“Okay, yeah, in thirds.”
“And I drive the getaway car. I know where to get a stolen car.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Elizabeth said.
“And in San Diego, I’ll help you unload the money into that storage locker you’re gonna find. And then we’ll drive back to the Bay Area—”
“No, we’ll fly,” Elizabeth corrected.
“Fly?”
“Yeah, we need to leave the stolen car at the border. To make it look like Mickie was alone.”
“Oh, okay. Makes sense. So, we’ll fly back to the Bay Area—”
“On separate flights,” Elizabeth interrupted.
“Yeah, okay, separate flights. And then we’ll go back to normal. Like nothin’ happened.”
“For a while, yeah, it needs to be life as usual,” Elizabeth said.
“Right, right.”
They were both quiet for a moment. Then Denise said, “So, deal?” and extended her hand to shake.
It was weird, Elizabeth thought. Here they were, still wet from sex, and Denise was asking for a let’s-make-a-deal handshake as if they were business partners. Which, Elizabeth realized suddenly, they were.
“Deal.” Elizabeth shook the hand that twenty minutes ago had brought her to the first orgasm she’d had with another person in more than half a decade.
“Sweet. We’ll need IDs. I can get those. I know a guy.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But, uh, Lizbeth?”
“Yeah?”
“We probably shouldn’t be naked when Mickie gets home from work.”
“Oh, right.”
“One more thing,” Denise said.
“Yeah? What?”
“That was hot. You and me, we’re good together.”
Chapter Nine
The Nash Residential Hotel was a shabby, red-brick building in the Tenderloin that provided the low-income housing known as SRO, single room occupancy. This was where Denise lived, even though she spent most of her nights at Mickie’s place in the Haight. For months, Denise had been resisting Mickie’s suggestions that they move in together. Denise had promised she would “just as soon as,” an excuse she justified by an obstacle course of new challenges that appeared with predictable regularity in her life.
The hotel’s residents lived in eight-by-ten rooms with shared bathrooms and kitchens. Inside Denise’s room, there was a single bed, a three-drawer dresser, a floor lamp with a tan linen shade, a radiator, and a window covered by a tattered venetian blind. A small scratched-up wood table held a coffeemaker and an ashtray full of quarters for the phone downstairs. Conditions were cockroach-shabby, but the inducement was the rent. Denise paid only three hundred forty dollars a month to have her own permanent address. Elizabeth had no clear idea how Denise earned a living but was certain it wasn’t legal.
By the second week of May, they had fallen into a pattern. Every Monday, Elizabeth would visit Denise at the Nash for mid-morning sex. By 4:00 p.m., they would be at Mickie’s, drinking beer and ordering pizza, trying to talk Mickie into agreeing to the plan. Mickie hadn’t consented yet, but it was only a matter of wearing her down, Denise assured Elizabeth. Elizabeth would leave the Haight in time to make her 10:00 p.m. curfew at Omega. Denise would spend the night with Mickie.
Mickie didn’t know that Denise and Elizabeth had become lovers. Denise said that unless Elizabeth wanted a threesome, it was better to keep Mickie in the dark. Elizabeth was willing to do just about anything to get what she wanted, but a threesome was out of the question. She had done enough of that sort of thing when she was a sex slave for Gina Hunter and her husband, Buddy. And besides, Mickie was her foster sister. There was something really creepy about having sex with your sister, even if you weren’t blood relatives. Bad enough that she was sleeping on the sly with her foster sister’s lover.
Elizabeth realized she was letting Denise take the lead in a plan that had become dangerously triangulated. She wondered absently how that had happened. Denise had a slippery way of usurping authority. Elizabeth would need to be careful.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” Denise said.
Denise licked the tip of her middle finger and ran it lightly over the areola of Elizabeth’s left breast, the more sensitive one. Elizabeth had passed out, literally lost consciousness, after climaxing, she didn’t know how many times, with Denise this morning. Denise had the sex drive of a hormonal adolescent. At this very moment, Elizabeth felt Denise’s hand sliding down her flat belly.
“No,” Elizabeth protested weakly.
“Mickie said yes,” Denise said.
Elizabeth’s eyes popped open. She pushed herself upright in Mickie’s bed. “She said yes? And you’re just telling me this now? When did she say yes?”
“Last night. She’d been goin’ back and forth, back and forth, and I was like, ’Ya want syrup with those waffles?’”
“What?”
“Syrup with those waffles. Waffling. It’s a joke.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said.
“Last night, Mickie got really quiet,” Denise continued. “And then she said, ‘I’m in.’ I knew exactly what she meant.”
“Oh, fuck.”
Denise spread herself out on the worn sheets, crooking an elbow to support her head.
“Yeah. She said she’s doin’ it for me. I told her she’s doin’ it for us.”
“Wow.”
“There’s a pickup scheduled for the last Friday of May. That’s your last day, right? At Omega?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, so that’s the day it’s goin’ down.”
Elizabeth was counting the days. That was only eighteen days from now. “I can’t believe this is really going to happen.”
“Well, Lizbeth, believe it. We’re all gonna be rich. Somethin’ else I was thinkin’ about. You think we’re gonna need guns?”
Elizabeth adjusted a pillow behind her back. “I hadn’t thought about that. Mickie carries a gun, right?”
“Yeah, but I thought maybe you and me should carry, too. In case there’s trouble.”
“I don’t know,” Elizabeth said. “Do you even know how to shoot?”
“Oh, yeah. My dad taught me. He’s a hunter, a deer hunter. He’s got a cabin north of Bern, up in the mountains. It’s on Rattlesnake Road. I always thought that was funny. Why would you buy a house on Rattlesnake Road? ’Ya know? Unless you like rattlers.”
“But that was a rifle, right?” Elizabeth clarified. “The gun you shot. For deer hunting, you use a rifle.”
“A Remington, yeah. But I know how to shoot a handgun. I’ve shot revolvers, I’ve shot automatics. I can handle a gun. Do you shoot?”
“I’ve held a gun, but I’ve never actually shot one.”
“I could show
you how.”
“Do you have a gun? Here?”
“No, I don’t have one in San Francisco. But I know a guy if we need guns—”
“You and your guys. You know a guy who can get you anything.”
Denise laughed. “Pretty much.”
Elizabeth was still considering. “No, I don’t think you and I should have guns. We might be tempted to use them. Mickie will have hers, and that should be enough. So, May 31. That’s the day.”
“That’s the day,” Denise said.
United Airlines Flight 2806 was scheduled to arrive at SFO from Honolulu at 6:25 a.m. Friday, May 31, 1996. About that time, Billy would be telling Omegans to say goodbye to Elizabeth. By 7:00 a.m., Elizabeth would be a free woman, standing on Geary Boulevard waiting for Denise and Mickie to pick her up when the job was done. That was the plan, the perfect plan.
Chapter Ten
Fifteen days and counting. It was Thursday, May 16, as Elizabeth took her usual seat in her usual aisle in the auditorium for the morning assembly. As the doors closed and the meeting began, the red velvet chair beside Elizabeth remained empty. It stayed that way all through the thirty minutes of announcements and updates. Billy stood on the podium, dressed in his signature overalls, his naked head reflecting the bright lights overhead. Behind him, the wide screen flaunted his image, larger than life.
“I have only one item of business this morning.” Billy leaned into the lectern. “It has come to my attention that one of our own has violated our code of ethics. This particular Omegan failed to pass inspection yesterday morning for a most vile transgression. The Omegan of whom I am speaking was discovered by a Commitment Keeper to have hidden contraband under the pillow of his bed.”
Billy turned to the screen behind him as the Billy-on-the-screen did the same. Then he turned back to the house, speaking over the heads of the audience to someone in the far distance.
“Can you bring up that picture?” he asked before looking back at the screen.
After a moment, Billy’s image disappeared, and the screen went black. Then the black became gray, and an object came slowly into focus. When it was completely distinct, there was a collective snicker from the audience. It was a Popsicle-orange dildo. Elizabeth had seen enough dildos in her life to recognize that this one was meant for anal use.
“Oh, fuck,” Elizabeth mumbled. Billy continued talking.
“Now this particular Omegan claimed that he had never seen this vulgarity before and that someone planted this obscenity under his pillow to get him into trouble.”
Billy paused.
“I do not believe that for a minute. I believe we all know better than to do a thing like that here at Omega. I can only conclude that this fellow was caught red-handed with an offensive sexual device and that when he was found out, he told a bold-faced lie. As we all know, there are items that are forbidden here at the Point. We do not allow processed foods, cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, pornographic materials, or marital aids.
“All Omegans are required to refrain from sexual acts during their residence at the Point. This means no touching yourself or the intimate parts of anyone else for the purpose of sexual gratification. That’s what it says in our code of ethics, the booklet each of you was given when you arrived at Omega. And I will remind you that you agreed, you signed a document, vowing to live by these rules.
“The Church of Omega is clean and green and godly. Since this incident, it has occurred to me that I have been too lenient with you. I will give this matter further thought and pray over it, and when it has been revealed to me how I can keep you from further error, I will share my revelations with you. In the meantime, the offender will be put in isolation as punishment.
“In other announcements, we have release dates coming up. Today is Stephen Penzler’s last day. When you have a chance, say goodbye to Stephen before he leaves us this morning. Coming up, we have Jonathan Kellerman releasing tomorrow, May 17, Linda Young and Rafael Gonzalez on May 22, Elizabeth Taylor Bundy on May 31, and Raul Luiz on June 1. Anything you have to say to these departing Omegans, you will want to say before they leave us.
“And always remember: Life is what you make it. This meeting is hereby adjourned.” Billy pounded the gavel. “Go forth and be wise.”
The Thursday lunch special at the Omega Café was corned beef with Swiss on grilled focaccia with Russian dressing and coleslaw. Lenny was sliding a plate onto the pass, calling “order up!” to an Omegan named Rachel, who was covering for the absent Miss Edie. Elizabeth knew next to nothing about isolation, other than that it was some place no one at Omega wanted to go, but she was sure that was where Miss Edie was now.
“Any idea when Miss Edie is coming back?” Elizabeth asked Rachel.
“Not a clue,” Rachel replied brusquely.
Elizabeth thought Rachel had the patronizing air of most VSAs, Voluntary Self-Admits. Like they were better than Elizabeth and the rest of the cons just because they were there of their own free will. As if deciding you’re so fucked up you need rehab was somehow morally superior to having the state make that decision for you.
As the shift ended at 3:00 p.m., Elizabeth finished loading the commercial dishwasher, changed into her street clothes, and walked back to the Point alone. In her room on the second floor, she changed again, this time into gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, and did an hour of mandatory exercise in the gym. Then she showered and dressed in a black T and dark blue jeans for dinner in the dining hall. At 7:00 p.m., she was sitting in a canvas folding chair in the Game room, waiting for the evening session to begin.
Chapter Eleven
“Elizabeth, hang back a minute,” Billy said.
The Thursday night session had ended early, after only two and a half hours. Throughout it, Billy had been uncharacteristically noncombative, ignoring opportunities to skewer the eleven defenseless participants. Elizabeth waited by the door as the rest of the circle left the room. The clock on the wall showed it was 9:33 p.m.
“I need a word with you in private.” Billy put a paternal arm around her shoulder. It took a force of will for Elizabeth not to recoil from his touch.
“Sure, Billy.”
She walked through the doorway and waited while he pulled a key from the chain hanging on the hammer loop of his overalls. When he had finished locking the door, she followed him into the bright vestibule with its gold-veined, white marble floor, oak wainscoting, and rococo chandeliers. If they turned right, they would walk about thirty-five feet to reach the receptionist’s station at the front entrance. A few feet beyond the unoccupied desk stood a black-shirted guard at the arched bronze-and-glass door that opened onto Geary Boulevard. Against the glass, rain was blowing in heavy sheets.
If they turned left, they would walk approximately the same distance to the grand stairway, a wide spiral staircase made of polished maple and acacia. Billy turned left. At the stairway, he ascended the steps, one by one, holding on to the smooth decorative handrail and speaking to Elizabeth at his side.
“‘And they went up the winding stairs into the middle chamber,’” he quoted. “That’s from the Bible. The writer is describing King Solomon’s temple. What he’s saying is that the way to wisdom is never straight or easy.”
“Uh-huh.”
Billy climbed slowly, laboriously, lifting his work boots heavily until his legs had reached the second floor. There he stopped and bent over, panting. Elizabeth was not winded at all.
“Cancer sticks,” he said. “I should have given them up sooner.”
When he could breathe again, he started up the last story. Because the third floor was off-limits to residents, Elizabeth had never seen its stark interior until now.
“The Masons ran out of money before they could finish the building,” Billy explained.
He led her down a dark, empty corridor illuminated only by an occasional globe sconce casting a dim light off the stucco walls. At a corner room at the far end, he stopped to unlock the door. Holding it open for her, B
illy played the out-of-character role of a gentleman. Elizabeth stepped inside.
“My office,” he said, flipping a wall switch that turned on a bronze pendant hanging over his desk, a large piece of furniture meant to impress visitors by its size and antique cherry wood. Its legs were ornately carved, ending in feet resembling an eagle’s talon. There were two chairs; the one behind his desk was a black leather recliner. The guest chair was similar but smaller and more modest. It was placed on a black and red Persian area rug and didn’t recline. Billy sat down. So did she.
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Billy over the clutter on his desk. Scattered across the leather pad were sheets of lined yellow paper on which he had written extensive notes in pencil. There were two flip-top index card holders made of gray metal; a daily calendar turned to May 16, 1996; an agate paperweight; a letter tray overflowing with opened envelopes; a stainless steel letter opener embellished with Masonic symbols on its hilt; a wood pencil holder filled with sharp number twos and ballpoint pens; and a display of Billy’s business cards: William Dewey Brandt, Director, The Omega Foundation. There was also a black push-button, corded desk phone; a telephone message pad; and a spindle on which were impaled several pink reminders of calls needing to be returned.
Behind the desk was a credenza carved from the same cherry wood. Above it on the wall hung several framed photographs of Billy shaking the hand of various local politicians, everyone smiling into the camera. Billy leaned back in his chair.
“I’m going to share something with you before I tell the rest of the flock,” he began.
The flock? Elizabeth thought but kept silent.
“For some time, I have been praying over the unpleasantness that arose from a recent incident regarding an obscene object discovered in the bed of one of our residents.”
Miss Edie. And where is Miss Edie? Still in isolation?
“After much prayerful reflection, I have received a vision. It came to me in my sleep, as clear as day. And in this vision, I was told that I am the ‘third partner in the first position.’”
