by Alan Cook
He stopped, but I could imagine the rest of the sentence: "I don't have anything to hold over Arrow at the moment."
I tried again. "You're a sporting man, James. Let me play blackjack for my freedom. If I don't increase my initial stake by ten times, I'll help you with Elma."
James laughed. "Too late. I've already given you the money for your card. You can't have it both ways. By the way, you've got two weeks to pull this off. That's when the Dionysus board meeting is."
"What if I fail?"
"You won't fail, Karl. Failure isn't in my vocabulary. And starting at this moment it isn't in yours."
***
Grant Avenue was its usual busy self, teeming with people and odors, basking in the infrequent warmth of a sunny day with no foggy strings attached. The odors, some of which emanated from an open fish market, might have unsettled my stomach if I had lingered too long. The plastic-wrapped people of my generation weren't used to being so close to the origin of their food.
I had made a quick change of clothes in my car so as to blend in with the tourists. I was just another sightseer strolling along with the crowds.
I turned onto the side street where Ned had met his demise, searching for I don't know what. It looked like any of a dozen other streets in the area, with shops selling an eclectic array of goods, restaurants with exotic names and food to match. I'm not sure I found the actual alley where Ned was killed. Alleys have a sameness about them.
I spotted the parking lot where Ned's car had been found and saw an attendant take money from an incoming customer and give him a ticket. A parking ticket. It occurred to me that Detective Washington had never mentioned that a parking ticket had been found in Ned's pocket.
What if the killers had found the ticket, gone to the car, planted the cocaine and then returned the car keys but not the ticket to Ned's pocket? The whole operation could have been conducted in ten minutes. And the parking attendant would not have been on duty that late so nobody would have observed what happened.
I turned several corners, at random, and found myself in a residential area—row houses that had seen better days. Fewer pedestrians here, not much auto traffic.
On a street corner ahead three homeboys—is that what they were called?—stood, smoking cigarettes. The shaved heads, rings through every protruding piece of flesh, tattoos, baggy jeans with crotches down to the knees, could have been in LA, except that I hadn't seen Asians who looked like this.
The sensible thing was to avoid them, go the other way. But I wasn't feeling sensible. Maybe because I was about to betray my father for a baseball card. Maybe because I was looking for a miracle to get me out of it.
I walked up to them and said, "I'm not a cop, but I'd like to ask you something."
They stared at me, coolly, insolently. One said, "Man says he ain't a cop."
Another: "Fuckin' right he ain't a cop."
The third: "We know all the cops. No cops we don't know. We know all the cars. We know everybody and everything in the hood."
The first: "You come in here, you don't belong, we pick you up on the radar. You hang around, you better have business here, and your business is our business."
The second: "You a lost tourist from Grant. You got no business here."
The Three Stooges, but they weren't funny. I should just walk away, except that they had shifted positions and were blocking the sidewalk.
"A guy was shot near Grant," I tried, "a couple of weeks ago. Name of Ned Mackay. Word is, someone paid to have it done. I just want a name. Who paid for it?"
"We don't know nothin' about no fuckin' shooting."
"We're good little boys, don't play with guns."
I tried again. "I don't care who did it. I just want to know who paid for it."
"How much money you got on you?" It was the first boy, possibly the leader.
"About a hundred dollars," I said, cautiously. I had at least that.
He spat. "A hundred dollars. Not even pocket money."
The third one said, "Rabbit, you'd sell your sister for 50.”
They chuckled. I chuckled. A very small chuckle.
Rabbit said, "Let's see the money."
Should I? What choice did I have? I pulled out my wallet and counted out five twenties. When he saw there was more he said, "Give me all of it."
Trying to appear cool, trying to hide my shaking hands, I pulled out all my bills and handed them to Rabbit. I put the wallet back in my pocket.
"If I give you a name," Rabbit said, "it didn't come from me. You come back here with the cops, I don't know nothing, you understand?"
I nodded. I had no plans to return under any circumstances.
"The name is Stan."
"Stan?"
"You heard me. I saw a credit card in there. Give me the credit card."
It was brand new. I had just received it in the mail. "It won't do you any good. You won't be able to use it." Reason with him. He's not such a bad guy.
"Give me the fuckin' credit card!"
He pulled something halfway out of his pocket. A gun. I took out my wallet again and gave him the credit card. I turned to walk away. One of the others blocked my path.
"Okay, I'm outta here," I said. Talk lightly. Breezily. I stepped to the side to walk around him. He stepped with me. Like a macabre dance.
"Let him go," Rabbit said, irritably.
"He might bring back the cops."
"He won't bring back the cops. He's a fuckin' tourist."
"I have to catch a plane," I said.
I stepped carefully around the guy and walked away, expecting to hear gunshots, expecting to feel bullets tearing into me with each jerky step I took.
Behind me I heard Rabbit say, "C'mon. I know where we can get cash for the card."
***
What next? I looked out the window of the plane, not seeing anything. I had called the credit card company. I had replenished my cash. Fortunately, they hadn't taken my ATM card. I had cut my financial losses, but what about my psychic losses?
The gangbangers I would get over, but being a Judas was not me. What if I did nothing? If Elma voted with James, I was in the clear. But what if she didn't? Chances are she wouldn't. According to my father, Arrow had convinced her to vote with him.
What would happen to me? What happened to Ned? Stan. Stan was the front man for James. He contracted with the killers. He knew where I lived.
Okay, go to the police. Tell them James paid to have Ned murdered. Right. James, one of the most influential men in San Francisco. And me without a shred of evidence.
Why did James have Ned killed? Because Ned owed him. Probably lost The Game and promised to deliver Dionysus to him. Then reneged. That's what happens to people who don't keep their promises to James.
I wanted to scream. Right there on the airplane. Make a disturbance, get myself arrested. If I'm in jail I can't be working on Elma. Hey, sorry, James, something came up. Did a little time so I couldn't help you. Heh, heh. Catch me again, later.
But James is a good businessman. We've got to separate that fact from his moral failings—meaning an occasional murder. If everything goes his way there won't be a problem. Everybody wins. Including my father. Everybody is happy. My father forgives me when he sees I was right.
The sun rises in the west.
Chapter 27 ELMA--2
"I'm going back to work next week."
Arrow and I looked at each other, but the news was not unexpected. My father looked better each day. His color had returned and he had started walking with Jacie, although more slowly and not as far as before.
I had asked to join them during Arrow's daily briefing because...to be honest, because I was afraid to speak to my father alone. I couldn't remember that I had ever convinced him of anything by myself or changed his mind on an issue.
Arrow was the buffer between him and me. I could speak more freely with her there, even though she might not agree with me—probably wouldn't agree with me.
She
had the floor first and talked about various corporate issues. Among other things, she gave the latest official figures for Tartan's holdings of Dionysus stock. It was obvious that James was still acquiring the stock in the open market, but not in blocks large enough to cause the price to jump. The stock had gone up in the last week, but whether any of that gain was due to increased activity on Tartan's part we didn't know since Arrow's figures were weeks old.
Arrow saved the best for last. She pulled a piece of paper out of an envelope, with a flourish, and said, "Richard, I thought you'd like to see this with your own eyes. It's Elma's signed proxy, giving you the right to vote all of her shares at the meeting." She handed the paper to him.
My father smiled the broadest smile I had seen from him since his stroke, reached over and gave Arrow, who was sitting beside him on the couch, a big hug. It's a good thing Jacie wasn't in the room.
It was my turn to speak. I felt as if my team had just gotten the ball for the first time, behind by a score of 40 to nothing. My idea was to discuss the advantages of selling the company to James from an "objective" point of view. I even had notes; in fact, I had put together a written outline.
If I could convince my father of this course of action, then of course I wouldn't have to convince Elma, especially since he had her proxy. But I could tell from my first words that the momentum was against me. My father had won and he wasn't going to listen to an opposing point of view.
He interrupted me before I had made a single point and said, "I don't know why all of a sudden you're taking James' side on this, especially after what you and Arrow found out in London. But let me tell you right here and now that James is the last person I'd sell out to. I'd rather sell to Microsoft, and you know how I feel about Bill Gates."
I tried again, stumbling along, fighting against reality, and attempting to make my arguments sound plausible.
This time Arrow interrupted me. She said, "Karl, maybe you're just trying to play devil's advocate, but this is a strange time to do it. The decision has been made to fight James. Elma has given Richard her proxy. In fact, the fight is over because James can't buy enough stock in the open market to ever have more than a minority interest. The best he can hope for is perhaps one seat on the Board of Directors. If he will be satisfied with that, fine. If not, he'll probably sell the stock at some point."
When the meeting concluded I walked Arrow out to her car, hoping to mend fences. I said, trying to speak lightly, "It might not be so bad, working for James. He thinks very highly of you."
"Ha! About as high as any woman is going to get with James is receptionist, and only because most of the people he deals with are men. He needs someone with short skirts and nice legs to distract them until he can get in their pants."
How did she know about the receptionist? "I guess Elma is firmly in Richard's camp now."
"You saw the proxy form."
"You've done your job, it appears."
"Karl, you're acting very strange today," Arrow said, with a puzzled look on her face. "Maybe you need a vacation."
***
"Tell me again why you asked me out to dinner—not that I'm complaining."
Elma sat across from me with her green eyes smiling. She wore a dress that matched her eyes and complimented her red hair. Her freckles on an almost unlined face and youthful figure completed the picture of a woman who couldn't possibly have three grown children.
"I'm not satisfied that everything possible is being done in the investigation of Ned's death," I said, making it up as I went along. "I was just hoping that in talking to you I could pick up some clue that maybe...perhaps I could pass along to the police."
"I'll help you and the police all I can; you know that. But I've told about everything I know that I thought might be of use—which is practically nothing. However, I really appreciate the opportunity to eat a genuine steak for a change. Since I've been cooking just for Sarah and me I've made mostly salads and vegetarian stuff. And she eats practically nothing. I'm worried about her—I’ve been reading up on anorexia."
Elma chewed a bite of meat slowly, swallowed it and added, "It certainly helps the ambiance to have a handsome young man seated across the table from me."
"Thank you. Er, did Ned have any friends in San Francisco—other than James?" I asked, trying to sound offhand.
"None that I know of. Why do you ask?"
"No Asian friends, then?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
Even if the police had told Elma about the gun Ned had, they wouldn't know where it had come from. I couldn't very well say to Elma, "Did Ned have a female friend who he knew well enough to leave a gun with?"
Whoever this mysterious woman was, nobody but Pat Wong's uncle would even admit to knowing her, and even he wouldn't give her name. I was at a dead-end on that alley.
A live piano player tinkled the tune "Born Free" in the background. Although I had brought Elma here, intending to try to convince her to revoke her proxy to my father, somehow, the more wine I drank the less important that seemed.
I picked up my wine glass and said, "I would like to make a toast to a beautiful woman with a ton of courage."
With a impish grin, Elma said, "I'm afraid I don't know the lass you be toasting, but I'll drink to anyone with those attributes." And she drank from her own glass.
At least I could tell James I had tried. "James, I took her out to dinner, but she beguiled me the same way she beguiled you 30 years ago. Since you know what I mean I'm sure you will understand."
"I understand, Karl. I understand that you're a worthless shit. Stan, give your men the signal." Bang. Bang. All's well that ends well.
***
When I escorted Elma to her door she invited me in. I had enjoyed being with her and savored the prospect of a few more minutes. We had conversed easily on many topics, something Esther and I didn't do, and she didn't talk business, like Arrow. In fact, I had been so entranced conversing with her about non-business subjects I had never found a way to bring up her proxy.
"Sarah's on a sleep-over at a friend's house," Elma said as she ushered me in. "Tomorrow is a school holiday for some reason or other—perhaps it's national political correctness day. Why don't you sit in the big chair and I'll make us some tea."
She indicated the chair I had seen her sitting in before. I protested mildly, but she playfully shoved me into it. Since I was feeling no pain I went easily. I was glad I had driven the few miles back to her house very slowly and reflected that I could use the additional time and tea to sober up for the drive home.
Elma was back in five minutes with a tray, a teapot, cups, saucers, etc. She set them down on the table in front of me and said, "It's a big chair. Do you mind if I share it with you?"
I was in no shape to protest, but even if I had wanted to she sat down before I could open my mouth. There was just room for the two of us as long as we nestled together and I kept my left arm behind her on the back of the chair.
I sipped my tea, using my right hand while Elma used her left. Her right arm was half on my leg. We sipped in silence for a few minutes. My heart beat like that of a teenage boy the first time he is in close proximity to a girl.
After a while I twisted my head so I could see Elma's face. I had to pull my head a few inches away from her to prevent her from being a blur to my farsighted eyes. There were tears running down her cheeks.
She saw me looking at her and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do this. It's just...I miss him, Karl. I miss the feel of him; do you know what I mean? He was such a physical person."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Elma turned her body toward me and buried her face in my neck. I felt the wetness of her tears and I faintly smelled a delicious perfume that I realized even then I would always associate with her.
I put my left hand on her shoulder and patted her right arm awkwardly with my right hand. It was a scene I wouldn't mind lasting for a long time. We became still and I almost drifted off to sleep.
&n
bsp; Then Elma lifted her face to mine. I started kissing away her tears, my lips roaming over her eyes and cheeks and lips. Our kisses grew more passionate and my right hand discovered a gap in the top of her dress. It fit easily inside. Her skin was surprisingly soft and smooth. I found out she was as excited as I was.
"Come to the bedroom," she whispered, starting to get up.
"Are you sure?" I asked. We shouldn't be doing this.
"Very sure," she said. She stood and with a firm grip on my arm, pulled me toward the bedroom.
Chapter 28 GEORGE AND MARTHA
I ran extra hard on Wednesday morning, perhaps trying to wash the guilt out of my system with the sweat. Images went through my mind as I ran: Elma laughing, Elma crying, Elma clinging to me. It occurred to me that I could easily get a crush on her. She was a very lovable woman.
Of course I couldn't afford to get a crush on her. Or if I did I couldn't do anything about it. This had been a one-night stand. But as my urgency to cleanse myself abated and my brain started to function normally, I began to realize that I need not have any guilt on Elma's behalf.
Elma had needed me in a way that was too complex for me to understand. Her last words to me as I left had been, "You saved my life."
I hadn't stayed the night; Elma couldn't afford the risk of having her daughter find me there. In addition, it would have destroyed the magic and the meaning of the moment to wake up together, with morning breath and morning reality. I had returned home and slept in my own bed, sleep being a relative term.
I ran to the post office and checked my mailbox. There was a small, padded package, big enough to hold baseball cards. Nothing unusual about that; I received cards all the time. I looked at the return address and didn't immediately recognize it. Then I did; this was the seller of the Honus Wagner card, the cause of all my misfortune. I laughed out loud, somewhat hysterically.
I couldn't wait to look at the card until I got home. I borrowed a pair of scissors from a postal clerk and carefully opened the package. Inside, the card was encased in hard plastic. I carefully inspected the front and the back. If anything, it looked better in person than the scans had looked on eBay. This was one helluva card.
