Getting Old Can Hurt You

by Rita Lakin

  ‘You got what you want. Let us out,’ I say.

  ‘Nice try, Grandma, but you’ll stay right here. Maybe we’ll come back for you, maybe not.’ He pinches my cheek. If I were Tori, I’d spit in his face. But even though I want to, I’m not Tori. And I don’t.

  Dockson returns with Tori. Removes the blindfold and tape. She kicks him in the leg. He jumps around in pain. Dockson smacks her. Dix thinks it’s funny.

  The three men hurry to the door.

  ‘Stay cool,’ the bastard calls to us.

  Then they are gone. We are bereft.

  Tori comes to me and we hug. I want to say something hopeful, but why bother? I feel just as defeated as she does.

  And the cruel, unfeeling sun is beginning to heat up the shed.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Izzy Now on the Job

  Izzy is jumping for joy. ‘I knew somebody would bail me out. Who’s the Good Samaritan?’ He is wearing his old suit again. Gone is his jail garb.

  Jack and Morrie eye the performance with jaded indifference.

  Morrie says, ‘Not quite what you think. We’re borrowing you for a short while.’

  Jack jumps in. ‘You’re going to play a part to help us on a sting.’

  His eyes light up. ‘I know what that means. I saw the movie. Robert Redford. Paul Newman. Who do I get to play?’ Izzy is still high on this unexpected respite from his jail cell.

  Morrie continues. ‘I have some interesting news for you. You have a house guest.’

  Izzy’s eyebrows cross and meet in center confusion. ‘What? Who? Where? At my house four blocks away?’

  ‘That’s the one. We believe he is staying there with two friends.’

  ‘Is he, whoever he is, the one bailing me out?’

  Morrie shrugs. ‘There is no bailing out here. We want to take you to your house; we want you to get your key from under the rock—’

  Izzy interrupts. ‘How do you know about my hiding place? It’s a secret.’

  Jack snorts. ‘Every one in the world hides their key under a rock. Couldn’t you have come up with something more original?’

  Morrie says, ‘Congratulations, your son Charles is staying in your house.’

  Izzy is dazed. ‘What? My boy, Chaz?’

  Morrie speaks quickly. ‘Listen, time is important here. We’ll fill you in as we go, but we need to leave right now.’

  ‘Okay, that’s very nice of you to let me have this visit …’

  Morrie stops him. ‘No, this is not pleasure, this is business. We need you to play a part. In this sting.’

  ‘I always liked Paul Newman in that movie.’

  ‘Okay, our star, Isadore Dix, is playing Paul Newman. You will be coming home and using your key to get in, and act surprised. Your son is there and you will be thrilled to see him. You will keep him busy. We’ll take it from there.’

  ‘I will be surprised and thrilled. I haven’t seen my boy in about thirty years, but why now? And take what from where? What’s going on? I heard that people charge big money for using their houses. In stings. And movies, too.’

  Morrie ignores him so Jack answers. ‘That’s in Hollywood. Making movies. Not here. Sorry.’

  A policeman sticks his head through the door. ‘Everyone is in place. We’ve got them surrounded.’

  Morrie starts for the door. ‘Let’s hit the road.’

  As Izzy is led to the door; he asks, ‘Is there some payment for this role? What about residuals? A SAG card? What’s in it for me?’

  FORTY-FIVE

  Those Darn Church Bells

  Jack is nervous. Everything depends on Dix and his guys being surprised.

  Izzy does as he was told. However, in his premier role of actor, he makes a big production of picking up his key and unlocking the door.

  He can’t resist the joke. He calls out, about to cross the threshold, ‘Honey, I’m home,’ then turns and winks at Morrie, who glares back at him. Morrie makes arm-shuffling gestures and Izzy whispers, ‘Okay, I’m going. I’m going!’ He enters, shutting the door behind him.

  ‘How long do we wait?’ Jack asks from their hiding place in the bushes.

  ‘Give him ten minutes.’

  One of his police cadre comes from behind the house. ‘The car is gone,’ he reports.

  They had sent a chopper up earlier and it was reported that some older version of a Ford sedan was seen in the open garage.

  Morrie is disturbed. ‘Not good.’ And no sign of the black SUV anywhere in the neighborhood.

  Just then, Izzy pokes his head out. He shrugs. ‘Nobody home.’

  ‘Damn it, we’re too late!’ He brings his men in from around the perimeter and orders them to search every inch of the house. ‘Find Gladdy and Tori! They must be here somewhere!’

  Jack is worried. ‘Maybe they’ve taken them along with them to a different hiding place. Is it possible they knew we were coming?’

  Morrie swears. ‘Unlikely. All bases are covered! They have to be here.’

  Izzy whines. ‘My first chance to see my boy and I missed him.’

  The policemen are back downstairs in record time. They’ve looked everywhere. The house is empty. They found suitcases. And scraps of food on the kitchen table, razors and toiletry in bathrooms, but nothing else.

  Suddenly there is an ear-piercing sound; church bells ringing so close, you would think you were directly in their bell tower. Hands clasp ears. The sound is deafening.

  ‘What the hell?’ This from Jack.

  Izzy shouts proudly, ‘That’s our local church around the corner. Telling us it’s Sunday, twelve noon.’

  Morrie shouts back, ‘This is crazy. I can’t hear you. Let’s get out of here. Now!’

  In the shed, Gladdy and Tori have covered their ears as well.

  Tori is in a panic. She yells, ‘I swear I heard voices out there!’

  ‘The guys are back again?’ I practically shriek to be heard.

  ‘No, it’s many different voices. I could hear them in the garage.’

  Young ears, our Tori has. I didn’t hear anything.

  ‘We’ve got to signal them.’ Tori pulls off her boots and races around the shed, banging the heels from wall to wall. She’s already soaked in sweat, from the heat that’s radiating, and slowly suffocating us.

  ‘Gladdy, help me!’

  I can barely pull off my shoes. I’m already weakened from the heat. I can hardly move. What little water we had, I wasted, throwing it in Tori’s face to wake her. ‘Tori, it’s useless with those damn bells!’

  She can’t hear me anyway; she continues to pound.

  With every ounce of strength I can manage, I am pounding, too.

  The bells finally stop ringing. The cops are taking off. Morrie and Jack stand there, shaking their heads, as if to remove the noise still in their ears.

  Izzy grins. ‘Every Sunday, like clockwork.’ He enjoys his pun. ‘Wakes up the whole neighborhood. Church-goers have no excuse to sleep in. Like they didn’t hear their alarm clocks?’

  Morrie starts hurrying down the driveway, and looks back. Jack hasn’t moved. ‘What? What are you waiting for?’

  ‘I think I hear something.’ He bends, as if to listen.

  ‘Yeah, we’ll be hearing that ringing in our ears all day.’ Morrie starts to move again.

  ‘Listen.’

  Izzy adds. ‘I hear it, too. A different kind of noise.’

  Jack is like someone possessed. He is following the sound. Around the side of the house, past the potted plants, moving toward the open garage.

  In moments, Morrie and Izzy catch up.

  All three stop in their tracks. Listening. Realizing that there is a hammering of metal and it’s coming from inside the shed!

  Jack starts hitting his fists onto the shed. Shouting, ‘Gladdy! Gladdy?’

  The pounding stops and he can hear both our voices.

  ‘Jack!’ I can hardly speak.

  ‘Get us out of here!’ Tori shouts.

  Morrie is
furious with himself. ‘I thought they searched here! Dammit!’

  Jack shouts, moving around the metal shack, ‘How do we get into this damn thing?’

  Izzy yells. ‘There’s a door back inside! Follow me!’ Morrie and Jack race Izzy into the empty garage.

  Jack hits at the complicated lock connecting metal door. In seconds, Tori calls out. ‘Duh! It’s locked! If it wasn’t, we’d be out where you are. I hope you have some muscle to get us out! And you better hurry before we drop dead!’

  Jack calls back. ‘Hold on, Tori. Just hold on.’

  ‘Yeah, easy for you say. We’re in a sauna, here. Ever hear of a sauna without a towel? Try to move a little faster, big guy.’

  ‘Kid’s got a mouth on her.’ Morrie examines the lock carefully.

  ‘She sure does.’ Jack says it proudly.

  Morrie looks to Izzy. ‘Keys?’

  Izzy shakes his head, pointing up to an empty wall key-holder. ‘They’re gone.’

  I cry out again, but I am so weak; I worry that he won’t be able to hear me.

  ‘Hurry, darling, we can’t breathe.’

  Jack kicks at the door, desperate.

  ‘Wait,’ Izzy says, ‘I got tools.’

  Jack and Morrie run after him to the other side of his potted plants. Jack sees a shovel, grabs it.

  Jack is sweating. Desperate. Tries as hard as he can to break the lock with the shovel. It isn’t working. He is near tears of frustration.

  Tori’s voice again, snippy. ‘Where’s Spiderman when we need him?’

  Morrie yells to us to get away from the inside of the door. He pushes Jack aside, points his weapon, takes aim and shoots at the lock. It shatters bits of metal, but the lock remains unaffected.

  Izzy apologizes. ‘I spent a lot of money on that lock. It’s extra strong.’

  Morrie asks, ‘You keep something important in that shed?’

  ‘No, it’s empty.’

  Jack, still pounding the shovel at the unbreakable device, glares at him. ‘You have an expensive car you keep in this open garage, and you lock an empty shed?’

  Izzy shrugs. He never thought of that.

  Tori continues to shout from inside. ‘What’s taking you dorks so long? I’ll be late for my Hatha Yoga class!’ More banging on the metal.

  They no longer hear my voice and I’m sure Jack is frightened.

  Morrie calls on his phone for special assistance. Morrie and Izzy stand back to wait, helpless, except for Jack who keeps banging away hopelessly with the shovel.

  One of Morrie’s men has returned. A cop is now running up the driveway, carrying an electric saw. Morrie practically has to drag Jack out of the way of the door. He doesn’t want to stop trying.

  Morrie, to the cop, ‘You know what to do?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Within minutes he works the saw in a circle around the metal surrounding the lock. Once the hole is made, the lock drops to the ground.

  Tori grins through the hole. ‘Mr Cop, make it a little larger, okay?’

  Jack pulls his way into the now easily opened shed, leaping over the broken lock, shouting for me. Tori, holding her boots, is already rushing out the open door, gives him a quick kiss as they pass one another. ‘Wifey said you’d come. You’re fab! If I didn’t have a father, I’d want you to be him!’ She yells, ‘Water, water all around, and not a drop to drink!’

  Jack finds me leaning against a wall, my hands trying to protect my face from the burning heat. I am barely breathing. I can’t even imagine the temperature inside. Jack gently half walks, half carries me.

  Outside, Tori is gulping water from the nearest hose brought to her by Izzy. Between swallows she shouts, ‘Don’t just stand there. They’re on their way to the racetrack. My dad is there! My dad is alive!’

  Jack says to us, ‘We know, we figured it out, too.’

  Tori hugs them. Morrie. The cop with the saw, and even Izzy.

  With that, the group is running down the driveway, jumping into cars.

  Morrie shouts. ‘Jack. Gladdy. Get down here.’

  Tori can’t resist the last word. ‘Yeah, and they’ve got guns. Let’s move it!’

  After I gulp eagerly at the water in the hose, Jack and I hug tightly. It was a close call and we know it. ‘If I lost you …’

  ‘But you didn’t, my darling.’

  FORTY-SIX

  The Racetrack

  Jack wants to send me home. I insist on going with him. ‘You need to rest,’ he argues.

  ‘Later. I can help right now. I know what those guys look like.’ I insist on riding to the racetrack with them, and so I do. I’m not going to let them talk me out of it. Tori is going to find her father, I know she will, and I want to be there to witness it.

  On our arrival, we are quickly given heads-ups from Morrie’s cops already on site: They report that the Woodleys are no longer in their Panorama Stables area. Neither are they at the paddocks, where horses were saddled before each race. Two of their horses are running today. They’ve been told they are seated somewhere in the grandstand where they always watch the races. But no one could tell them exactly where they sit.

  Tori dashes off on her own. Jack and Morrie join his men searching the park for Dix and his partners, equipped with only a blurred photo of the prison guard. Izzy, unrealistic, yet hopeful, and totally excited, insists he would be useful even though he hasn’t seen his son since he ran away in his teen years. ‘A father would know his son, no matter what,’ says Izzy, who would say anything not to be in his jail cell. But would a daughter recognize a father she never met?

  I fear my Jack and Morrie are working against poor odds. This place is enormous. And a racetrack win is all about having the best odds.

  They won’t let me go with them. I assume they think I would only be in the way. Jack insists I stay safe. He wants me to rest. Over and over, I insist I am fine. So, here I am where he planted me, high above in the clubhouse area. With a pair of binoculars offered by one of Morrie’s cops, along with a cell phone in case I need anything. Giving me a made-up title of ‘Spotter’. Assume I’m far away from danger. Leaving me frustrated and useless.

  So, as I sit off and out of the action, I reminisce about what I know of Hialeah from years ago when I often spent days at the track with my dad. The smells are still the same. Horsey odors; hay vying with food smells; hot dogs, cotton candy. Hialeah stretches over two hundred acres, with stunning buildings and gorgeous gardens, and a huge lake; once considered one of the most beautiful parks in the country.

  But times have changed, and not for the better. There are no longer thoroughbred races. The greats – like Seabiscuit, War Admiral and Citation – raced here with cheering crowds numbering in the thousands. Jockeys like Arcaro and Shoemaker rode the biggest and best. The gorgeous flamingos are still here, living in the infield perched among the gardens and lake, their breeds’ home for more than a century.

  There is only quarter horse racing these days, and even though there are no longer the huge crowds, Morrie and men will still have trouble finding Dix in this huge stadium. I can spot his men circling, going up and down the steps, searching for three guys who look dangerous.

  The bugler in his red ‘hunting’ uniform comes out in front of the stands and blows the call to the post for the fifth race. A sight and sound that has always thrilled me. It still thrills me. For a moment, I’m a teenager, back with my father, the two of us hanging on the rail, in anticipation, waving our arms, screaming, cheering our chosen horse in. My dad, a genius at picking winners, even though I didn’t realize his were only two-dollar bets; we didn’t have enough money to waste. As a small child, that’s how I saw him. A winner, bringing home his small profit.

  I raise my binocs to watch the next batch of horses trot toward the starting gate across from the infield. They pass the stands and around the clubhouse and enter the area where they will wait.

  It takes a while to get all the horses in their stalls. Then the starter’s button sounds and – they’
re off!

  Then I remember why I’m here.

  Where is Jack and Morrie and Morrie’s men right now?

  Where are the Woodleys?

  Where is Tori?

  But worse, where are the evil men who intend to murder? Especially Dix, the most dangerous of the three?

  With my binocs I excitedly find Tori and I track her as she searches the stands, aisle by aisle, and I have to smile. After all Ida and I went through to finagle her to buy ‘acceptable’ clothes to go to the track, she’s in her old jeans, dirty tee, and boots, even grungier due to the time spent sweating, bath-less, in Izzy’s shed.

  If I had a racing form, or a program, I’d know which race will feature a Panorama Stables entry. I could ask someone to let me borrow their program, but no one is seated close enough to ask. And I must keep searching. The fifth race has just ended, but the Woodleys either didn’t have a horse running in that one, or lost. This happy owner, and his trainer, who are now being photographed in the Winner’s Circle with his winning horse and jockey, is definitely someone else.

  For a moment, Tori can hardly move. She stands in front of the private box where three people sit. They have been in her dreams so long and now she can only gaze upon them in awe. Such an amazing journey, over at last.

  She sees the puzzlement in the threesome facing this unknown, rather grubby-looking girl, who seems about to enter and intrude upon their privacy. The couple leaning close to one another is how she always imagined the Woodleys would look. Smart, beautiful, sophisticated, richly clothed and self-assured. And next to them; of course, her father! Her beautiful, definitely alive, long-lost father!

  Tori can hardly breathe. She stares at him, drinking in his handsomeness. She can see how much she resembles him. Same curly hair, same light brown color, though his has beginning streaks of gray.

  But when she looks into those hazel eyes exactly like hers, Tori can recognize the pain. She has seen that same pain when she glances at herself in a mirror. She wouldn’t be able to name it but she senses that it is the pain of loss. Of being taken from her mother at birth, of losing her grandmother, Ida. A father she never knew.