by E. Groat
The Calhern Gallery was filled with candlelight and music. John had outdone himself as usual. The fellow who had purchased the obnoxious, $6,500 piece of art just two weeks before was caught up in an equally obnoxious canvas that evening. John was circling, waiting for the proper moment for the kill—but when he saw Zoe arrive, he left his prey in artsy reverie.
“You my dear, put all my works of art to shame.” Zoe lowered her lashes in a mock blush and bowed slightly in her best southern belle imitation. “Watch it, Scarlett,” John chuckled. “We have a few wealthy feminists here we wouldn’t want to offend.”
Garth stepped over from a lavishly linen-clad table, and offered Zoe her drink. He shook John’s hand warmly and thanked him for all the help he had given their project over the past year.
“Just doing my bit, Garth. Besides, I love doing it. It keeps the pigeons close by and we all feel great about doing something worthwhile.”
Zoe scanned the gallery and was thoroughly pleased by the turnout. She gazed down the candlelit buffet filled with succulent culinary treasures of imported cheese, meat, pates and other delicacies. A silver fountain of champagne was cast center stage on the buffet, surrounded by fresh flowers. She noticed Father Fitzhugh close by, his huge hand encircling the fragile champagne ware while he chugged down the golden liquid and mesmerized the ladies with tales from the Emerald Isle. Rabbi Isserman, Reverend Joyce, and their wives were not too far away, embroiled in a discussion of religious warfare and dogma, no doubt enjoying the evening in a less-subdued manner as they drank coffee and hot tea.
All in all, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. John always had a knack for turning these things out so they did not seem stuffy. Everyone was happy to give their money, never feeling coerced. Getting people to give, without producing long faces from a feeling of forced benevolence, was a feat few could pull off. John managed to do it quite charmingly. As the evening progressed, Zoe and Garth were caught up in the frivolity of polite conversation and laughter. They even managed to pass the evening without running into the obligatory loudmouth drunk who usually showed up at these affairs. John Calhern ran a tight ship, and would breach no nonsense or disturbance of civility.
However, while Zoe was deep in conversation with Father Fitzhugh, Nelson Beckman appeared with his wife and Joshua Lawton. His appearance imprinted a distasteful pall on Zoe for the rest of the evening. John was escorting them toward her, and she found it too late to escape the meeting once a beaming John began the introductions. Zoe’s face paled, and John knew immediately that there was bad blood there. He regretted having brought them over, but Zoe handled it gracefully. She acknowledged the fact that she had met Mr. Lawton at last year’s fundraiser, and of course, that she knew of Mr. Beckman since she was a child. When all the polite politics were finished, Zoe excused herself, leaving the Beckmans and Lawton in John’s hands.
John soon turned them over to Father Fitzhugh, and followed Zoe to the champagne fountain to request a refill. He didn’t know what the problem was, but he was sensitive enough to Zoe that he realized it was not a welcome meeting that he had just arranged. John made this observation known to Zoe, and assured her he would have avoided it had he only known her feelings. Zoe stopped John before he could continue berating himself. How could he have known that Lawton and Beckman were doing everything they could to keep her father’s dream from becoming a reality?
“This is a wonderful evening, John,” Zoe explained. “Don’t think or feel for one moment that you have done anything to spoil it for me. You are the best. This whole thing will work itself out. Don’t trouble yourself about this for one minute, promise?” He smiled and nodded. “Now, don’t you think it’s time for the presentations?”
John called for everyone’s attention, and made his way to the small podium he had set up for this special occasion. His introductions were brief, with a general overview of why they were there — for the inner-city revitalization project, specifically the children’s center and school, and low-cost housing.
“I am pleased and honored to introduce...” he continued. One by one, eight donors came to the fore with checks in hand, beaming with charity — and some beaming with just a bit too much of the grape. Isserman and Joyce proudly presented the checks from their respective church and synagogue, totaling just under $6,000.
Father Mike followed. His mischievous blue eyes twinkled with delight as he pulled his formidable frame perfectly erect, and in a military cadence announced that St. Xavier had raised $14,492 — an almost-impossible task in two weeks. A great round of applause rose from the ranks, and Father Mike’s chest heaved. He was in his glory, not unlike when he was scoring touchdowns back at Notre Dame. It was just in him to be the best he possibly could be. Zoe rushed to the podium, encircled his broad chest in her arms, pulled him down to kiss his bald head, and proclaimed to all that the spell of the Blarney Stone must be working overtime for him to have collected this much in such a short time. One more round of applause, and Father Fitzhugh reluctantly left the limelight to join Isserman and Joyce. He acknowledged them with a coy smile and a slight sniff, as he sat down beside them for the remainder of the presentation.
The evening was winding down when a voice from the audience gained attention with one more donation. It was Josh Lawton, who raised his hand and announced a check written for $10,000. On one condition — that he present it to the gracious lady who was behind this benefit, Ms. Zoe Erskine. Under normal circumstances, Josh would not have been so obvious about donations for worthy causes. This spectacle had two purposes. One, to send a loud-and-clear message to Beckman that he was unhappy with the position that had been forced upon him. And two, to let Zoe Erskine know that he supported her cause. Beckman was making the rounds, spreading innuendo and doubt, trumpeting his misgivings that this downtown project would probably never see the light of day. So, in the face of all this, Josh made the donation. While Beckman shot him a deadly glare when the proposal was heard, Josh simply smiled back at Beckman and tipped his glass in response.
All heads turned toward Zoe. The puzzled look on her face indicated she had not yet found the owner of the voice in the crowd. As she followed its direction, her eyes became transfixed when they fell upon the brow of Joshua Lawton. Within moments, she found herself being escorted to the podium by John and Father Mike. By this time, Garth was unsure about anything that was happening during the night’s festivities.
Josh and Zoe met eye to eye in front of the crowded room, and she wrestled with the uncomfortable situation with a labored smile and forced graciousness. Josh’s presentation of the check was leveraged with yet another condition — it would double if Ms. Erskine had dinner with him the following evening. Anger was erupting in her clear blue eyes but she quickly checked it, like a child retrieving his fingers from the cookie jar when caught. Ensnared by all the eyes upon her and the sizable amount of the check, Zoe acquiesced. This was like a bad movie that couldn’t be over quickly enough. Josh extended his hand and she accepted, publicly promising that there would be dinner the next night promptly at eight, at the new bistro called Rembrandts.
The evening was unquestionably very profitable and successful. John deserved a twenty-one-gun salute. But as they taxied home, Garth’s sleepy head on her shoulder, Zoe made a mental note. Next time, she must remember to check the guest list before sending out the invitations.
Chapter 11
After nursing an absolutely horrible hangover the next morning, arising early, and attending to the awful aches of his mind and body with aspirin and Pepto, Garth returned to the blessed relief of the bed. It was not until well after two that he became acutely aware of the events of the night before, and unable to control his anger over this set-up dinner date. He had not experienced a hangover of this magnitude since he had been a young hard hat working I-beams on high rises. Usually, they were brought on by youthful bets and dares.
The stress of the past several weeks was probably taking its toll. He had been faced with deadlines and layoffs
before, but extortion and rigged business dealings were something he could walk away from. Garth had simply said “no” and retreated from insinuations of lower-grade steel or honeycombed concrete. For a field rife with graft in the state of New York, Garth had managed to keep his nose clean and make a decent living playing by the rules. In fact, his high standards and quality control were what initiated his long association with Warren. He wished desperately now that he was here. This mayor thing was something from which he could not retreat, go around, or walk away. Mayor Harris was an obstacle who had to be dealt with; there were too many lives involved. He had to deal with this head on, and this stress no doubt had some bearing on his unusual overindulgence the previous night.
Zoe was not necessarily sympathetic, but she was tolerant. She made him scrambled eggs and dry toast about mid-afternoon, while he sulked about her upcoming dinner with Lawton. He ate his food like a petulant child, feeling too bad to get overly vocal about his feelings.
“Let’s let the subject rest now,” she said. “It’s done, I’ll be home early.”
Dissatisfied as she was about the situation, she found herself drawn to the meeting with Josh Lawton. For the $10,000 price tag, she could afford a few minutes of her time. Besides, she was curious as to what made this Lawton tick, and what the miserable bastard was up to regarding the downtown project. Zoe viewed this dinner as a trip to the dentist — an unwelcome, but necessary, visit.
Dry toast and eggs did take the wooziness away, and the rest of the afternoon was uneventful. Garth had gotten over his petulant mood, and by six he was actually feeling pretty good. His carping at Zoe had been reduced to a titter, and by the time she was readying herself for the dinner, the tittering had just turned into well-meaning words of caution.
“It is a fact of life,” Garth said. “Lawyers are known for being greedy and deceitful, up to no good. Be careful what you say, Zoe. This guy is going to be looking for anything to prevent the project going forward, don’t give him a chance. He’s going to be looking for a weak spot.”
* * *
The fact was, Josh had no idea Garth and Zoe were even aware of his adversarial part in connection with the project. In truth, he simply wanted some time with this lady he found so attractive. That, plus the fact it must have irked Beckman to his very soul. Josh unintentionally found himself grinning back at the mirror as he relished the look on Beckman’s face the night before. He made a final inspection of his appearance in the hall mirror, straightened his tie, and continued his gleeful mode on the way to the restaurant. Garth, in the meantime, had settled in for the evening with the new Stephen King novel, and waited for Zoe’s return like a fretful father.
Zoe arrived promptly at eight and was shown directly to Josh’s table. She wore a rather simple, white, tailored outfit, suitable for professional or eveningwear. Rather sizable diamond ear studs managed to enhance the evening effect. Josh rose as she advanced toward the table and extended his hand. Her gait was aloof, and she touched his outstretched hand like she was handling spoiled meat.
“Whoa, Ms. Erskine, I was hoping this evening would be pleasant for you,” Josh said. “Is my presence really that difficult to abide?”
The waiter held her chair so she could be seated, then — with pre-instruction from Josh — disappeared and returned with Rembrandt’s finest wine. After obligatory testing of the wine, Josh nodded his approval and the waiter poured for Zoe, and then Josh. Zoe sat there coldly while Josh continued to talk. He announced that he had taken the liberty to order for them, and continued on with explanation that he knew the owner and chef. He had become Josh’s client and then his friend, and finally Josh became an investor in the place. Since its opening three months ago, it had done quite well.
Zoe’s countenance remained stoic and she finally said quite tersely, “Mr. Lawton, I have no interest in your friends or your investments, or any more of your small talk. Perhaps you will tell me why I am here.”
Josh was a quick study, and it didn’t take him long to know this evening was not going to be pleasant. “Ms. Erskine,” he said, all levity drained from his voice, “I simply wanted to spend a pleasant evening over dinner with a lovely woman, and tell her what a wonderful thing I think she is trying to accomplish.”
“Oh God! What a crock!” She did not say these words openly, but her face clearly registered that she thought this man was full of crap. She finally gained enough composure to speak.
“I saw you. I saw you there.” This abrupt sentence from her lips did not compute, and Josh awkwardly listened, unable to make any sense out of the words.
“Ms. Erskine, you saw me? Saw me where?” His demeanor was one of complete bafflement.
“You are a two-faced bastard.”
Heads turned on this one, and there also seemed to be a slight shimmy in the chandelier.
“Quiet.” Josh took her sternly by the arm and reprimanded her for her bad manner. In a quieter tone, he then said, “Now, just tell me where you saw me, and why you think I’m not of proper parentage.”
“Western Boulevard, the old school building near Tiny’s, early in the morning,” she hissed at him.
Perplexed, Josh thought about it for a moment, then said, “What the hell were you doing out there at that time of the morning? It was freezing.”
“It’s not important why I was there Mr. Lawton; I know why you were there.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I know Beckman has wanted that area, specifically the two blocks surrounding Tiny’s, ever since my father laid his plans on the table for Mayor Hanks. But I didn’t know what a criminal he really was, or that I would be having dinner with his accomplice and flunky.”
“For whatever reason you were out there, Ms. Erskine, did it ever occur to you that things are not always as they appear? I am Beckman’s attorney, and only his attorney. This does not mean that I agree with or condone his business dealings, or am anywhere near liking this man. One of the reasons that I’m here tonight is that all the time you were receiving applause and hurrahs for your work, Beckman was working the room doing everything he could do to rain on your parade. Making noises that the project would be deep-sixed before it ever got off the ground. I do not want that to happen, but I won’t make any apologies for being at the old school. It’s true, I’m technically on the other side of the fence, so professionally I have to do what I can to prevent you from doing what I personally believe is right. Do you understand that? Maybe this will raise the old man’s hackles enough for him to dismiss me.”
Zoe soaked all this in, but wasn’t buying it. She studied his explanation and questioned him with caution, looking for trust like a stray dog approaching a man with his hand held out.
“It’s apparent, Mr. Lawton, that you are very well fixed and successful. Why not just refuse his patronage with your firm? What he’s asking of you is illegal; I think it’s called extortion.”
“You heard a lot, didn’t you?” he mused, continuing. “At my father’s death, when I inherited the firm and its clientele, Beckman was part of it. I’ve known him since I was a child. I didn’t like him then and I don’t like him now, but I made a promise to my father that I would serve and protect Beckman, just as he did. So you see, I have no allegiance to Beckman, Ms. Erskine, only the promise I made to my father. My father was very adamant about this, something about an obligation my family had to the Beckman family. It goes back many years.”
“It must be one hell of a marker.”
“You would think that over all the years my father worked with him, he would have paid his dues. Someday, I hope to find out what it is Beckman hung around my father’s neck like a millstone. So please believe me, Ms. Erskine, when I tell you there is no fealty or warmth to Beckman. Only a son’s promise to a dying man. This, of course, is none of your business and it is beyond me why I even offered an explanation.”
After digesting all this and appraising the sincerity of the man, Zoe softened. In her heart, she felt he was telling the tru
th. A promise to a father was something she could also relate to, given the feelings she had for her own. She knew how leverage worked in some families. Josh saw her expression change to a more receptive demeanor. Feeling he was on surer footing, he asked, “Can we eat now, and talk about extortion and moral perpetuity at a later date?”
With that, she smiled hesitantly, and Josh summoned the waiter.
Chapter 12
Well, Tommy called it right. Beckman did show up, after the invitation and announcement of the particular delicacy that was delivered by Tommy’s contact. Nellie felt the offer was too good to pass up, even at the preposterous price Tommy had put on the boy’s head.
Needless to say, Tommy knew his clientele, even if they didn’t know him. In Tommy’s trade, it was always best not to be known directly. His import-export business was just a front for what some had come to believe extinct. Slavery was indeed alive and well, and living in these United States. Civil unrest and war in third-world nations was a boon for lowlife scum like Tommy. Parents seeking protection for their children were eager for them to be sent to America, which they thought was a safe haven. Tommy had acquired these two babies and an older brother from Romania, shortly after Ceausescu and his wife were executed. They were orphaned and half-starved upon arrival. Tommy took them under his wing, and saw to their “well-being.” The older boy now, fifteen or sixteen, was virtually left for dead in the street, as some did not adapt well to their new lifestyle in America. In the business of human commodity, breakage of this sort was not insurable or tax deductible.
Tommy always provided lush surroundings for his clientele — caviar and candlelight, so to speak. Mayor James Leon Harris was enjoying life’s baser pleasures in one private room. Meanwhile, Beckman indulged himself in a lower level, private, soundproof, and safety locked room where his “social gathering” was being held.
All Tommy’s parties were exclusive, but seldom did his guests socialize over drinks and pate. Any fraternization Tommy had with them was strictly cash up front. A fantasy island for all those willing to pay. Tommy tailored the experience to each individual’s taste and eccentricities. Now, Mayor Harris? His taste was more conventional than Beckman’s, even boring. Harris preferred jazz accompanied by women of all sizes, shapes, and colors. His chosen drug was cocaine, and only the finest. The chosen mood, invincibility. Tonight he had it all, video enhanced.
