by Cameron West
I stepped over to a familiar-looking woman sitting at a customer-service desk. She had me sign the register, and then I followed her into the vault, checking over my shoulder.
It looked like business as usual, but it was hard to tell. I hadn’t suspected anything at the Gritti or at the Four Seasons. Self-doubt pawed at me. The customer-service woman left. I watched her go, half-expecting the door to close, the spoked steel handle to spin, locking me in for eternity.Get a grip.
I opened the safe-deposit box. The satchel was there. I pried its jaws apart. Wads of cash.Yess!I closed the beat-up case without counting the money. I knew how much was in there: one million nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I took the satchel with me and left the bank.
Outside, I looked for the young whispering couple. Gone. Nobody by the Mustang. The shopping-cart lady. Still there, sitting on a bench now, holding out a paper cup to a man in a suit who was giving her spare change.
I hustled around the corner back to Ginny. Just as my anxiety was starting to dissipate, I spotted the two Armanis standing on the curb leaning against the passenger door of my car, talking to her.Shit!
The car was facing away from me and one of the guys partially obscured my view of her. I picked up my pace, moving a little closer to the shops in the hope that they wouldn’t see me in their peripheral vision. They had to be armed. All I had was a satchel of money.
I stayed low, gaining speed. Throwing the satchel to the sidewalk, I sprang up right behind them, balling my fists and raising my elbows, and dropped down hard on each of their shoulders. They both yelped and fell to their knees.
“Oh man!” one of them moaned. I threw a forearm into the side of his head and he went down silently.
“Reb!” Ginny screamed as the other guy grabbed me by the back of my jacket. I spun around, took his hand with both of mine, and twisted. To keep his arm from breaking, he went with the force of themomentum until he was facing toward the back of the car with me behind him. I let go of his wrist with one hand and pushed on his elbow. He groaned again and fell back to his knees.
“Where’s Tecci?” I shouted, wrenching his arm higher. “Tell me or I’m going to break it right off!”
“Oh, shit, no, please!” he moaned.
“Where’s—”
“Reb!” Ginny yelled, jumping out of the car. “Let go of him! They were just asking about the car. Jesus, you’re hurting him!”
“We were just looking at your fucking car, man,” the guy groaned. “Lemme go.”
I did. He crawled away, sat against a light pole, and massaged his shoulder, glaring at me. His buddy started to come to and held his hands over his ears, shaking his head as though something very loud was happening in there.
“I’m at UCLA Law, pal,” the lamp-post boy threatened. “You just committed assault and battery on two people. It’s just a fucking car. She called you Reb? Give me your last name now, you animal.”
“Animal,” I gulped, comprehending what I’d done. I removed two ten-thousand dollar packs from the satchel and handed them to the law student. “Here,” I told him. “Take these. One is for your friend. Consider it an out-of-court settlement.”
I threw the bag in the trunk and opened the door for Ginny, whose expression had changed from astonishment to veneration. I had saved her, again, or at least thought I was saving her.
I hated feeling unhinged.
“Where are you taking me now, animal?” she asked as I pulled into traffic.
“I’m not taking you anywhere,” I said flatly. “And please, please don’t call me— Hey, that’s Archie’s car!”
“Where?”
“Four cars up,” I said, pointing. “The black Humvee. He’s just turning on Wilshire. Goddamn!”
I threw on my blinker to follow.
“How do you know it’s his?”
“I know. Can you see the license plate?”
“HOO-AH!” Ginny read.
“That’s the name of his business,” I told her as we got caught at a red light.“He’s heading there now. I can’t believe this.”
Archie’s specialty gun shop,Hoo-ah!,was in a small, freestanding purple building off Wilshire Boulevard. It had at one time belonged to a movie production company that started off big, but went toes-up after a couple of major flops. Inside, among the standard assortment of guns and paraphernalia, were glass cases with memorabilia and a couple hundred signed pictures of movie bozos, including me, although it was hard to tell it was me because I was wearing a motorcycle helmet and sliding under a burning semi-tractor-trailer on a police motorcycle.
In the store the opening credits ofThe Philadelphia Storywere running on a big-screen TV that usually played action films. Archie sat in a steel and leather chair wearing his customary getup—battle fatigue pants, jump boots, and a green army T-shirt that was a size too small. He had a bottle of Orange Crush in one hand and a fistful of popcorn in the other.
I approached him while Ginny hung nervously by the door, taking in the spectacle of the place. Archie didn’t see us.
“Hey,” I said.
Archie jumped out of his chair, looking like a parent who just spotted his lost kid at the mall. He lunged for me, his face bunching up as though he was going to cry. He hugged me so hard I could barely breathe, the popcorn in his huge fist crunching behind me.
“Jesus, Rebsky,” he whispered in my ear, “I’ve been so worried.”
I finally got free, picked up the remote, clicked it off, and tossed it on the table.
Ginny approached cautiously.
Archie looked at his mashed handful of popcorn, then stuffed it inhis mouth. He offered his buttery hand to Ginny and mumbled, “Hi. Ahee Feh.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me,” Ginny said.
He chewed the popcorn as fast as he could, washing it down with a slug of Crush. “Uh . . . no,” he said to the bottle. “I’d remember seeing you. Who are you?”
“Archie,” I said. “What the hell’s going on here?”
He jabbed a thick finger at me. “You first.”
I was getting angry. “The bump into Ginny outside the Danieli? The note in her bag? The box full of guns? Shooting the guy when I did the bus gag in Milan? Dracco’s card?”
Archie looked at me like I was crazy. “You’re Ginny?” he said, smiling at her.
She nodded.
“What’s he talking about, Ginny? Notes, guns. What bus gag? Who’s Dracco?”
“Archie!” I shouted. “Iknowit was you. Wasn’t it you?”
Archie pointed his thumb at his massive chest.“Thisis me.”
I was totally baffled. “You didn’t set up the guns?”
“What guns?”
“Come on. Two Sigs. Mini machine pistol.”
“Mini machine pistol?”
“We’ve known each other a long time,” I said. “I know my phone call got you thinking about Danny. I can picture you hanging up after turning me down, replaying what happened to him over and over. Don’t tell me my call didn’t stir up all kinds of stuff.”
Archie swallowed.
“Please tell me the truth,” I implored.
He plunked down in his chair, took a big swallow of soda.
“I did the guns,” he confessed to his jump boots. “Had to. Ginny, I hope I didn’t hurt you in the square. I never put the bump on someone your size before.”
Ginny said,“How did you know to give it to me?”
“I could tell Reb was searching for somebody. And you, well, you were dressed like . . . the scarf and goggles, head down, scoping everybody in the piazza? I used to be a cop. Come on. Stevie Wonder couldn’t have missed you.”
“Why didn’t you just come to me?” I asked.
Archie spat, “You’re damn right you stirred things up, asking me to make that kind of decision in a second. The whole flight over, I didn’t know whether to help you out or shoot you myself. I got you the guns, didn’t I? Sue me. But what the hell are you talking about? Who got
shot? Reb, you shot somebody?”
“No,youdid!” I shouted, confusion digging into me like barbed wire.
“The hell I did! I’d remember if I shot somebody.”
“That’s the same phrase you used about seeing Ginny! And five seconds later you confessed. So what the hell?”
Archie sprang out of his chair. “Look,” he snapped, “I decided to help you out. I made a call to somebody I know from a long time ago. I got the guns stashed. I tracked your ass, put the bump on her, planted the card, said two Hail Marys, and caught the next plane out of there.”
“Why didn’t you follow us?”
“I didn’t, okay? I just didn’t. May Moses smash my nuts with the Ten Commandments if I’m lying. I’ve been holing up at my place in Big Bear two days grinding down my fillings, thank you very much. I don’t have a damn clue what you’re into. And then what happens? Your place gets torched.”
“What?”
“Oh my God!” Ginny gasped.
“Your house burned to the ground yesterday.”
My heart froze.
“Oh . . . Jesus, Reb,” Archie said. “Gimme a hand, Ginny. He’s losing it.”
I felt the room telescope. I was slipping down a funnel.Mom’s on fire. Who’s gonna put her out? Where’s Dad? I’m just a kid. “Jump, Reb! Save yourself.” Oh no . . . Mom. . .
My eyes came into focus.Ginny’s hand’s on my chest. She’s saying my name.
I struggled to a sitting position, took two deep breaths. Archie and Ginny knelt by me, the air heavy with their concern. “I’m all right,” I said as calmly as I could. “Really.”
“You just had a flashback, is what you had,” Archie said. “I’m a combat veteran. I know.”
Ginny checked my pulse. I shook my hand free of hers and got to my feet, feeling acrid and defensive.
“I’m all right,” I said with vinegar. “Tecci . . . he burned my house down.”
“Who’s Tecci?” Archie said. “What the fuck is going on here?”
In a burst of rage I grabbed Archie by his shirt, bunching it in my fist, getting right in his face. “That’s what I want to know, Archie!” I screamed. “What the fuck is going on here? Are you telling me you weren’t in Milan? You didn’t shoot that asshole by the bus?”
“Reb,” Archie said quietly, covering my hands with his much stronger ones.“My boy—”
“I’m not your boy!” Instantly I regretted saying that.
Archie closed his eyes for a few seconds, as if in prayer. “Myfriend,”he corrected. “Please let go of me.”
I smoothed out his T-shirt, shivering from cold sweat trickling down my back.
A moment later Archie said, “Now . . . tell me about the asshole I didn’t plug in Milan.”
An hour later we had told him everything. He had listened carefully, staring bug-eyed at Leonardo’s notes and the Circles of Truth. When we finished, he shook his woolly head.“I’m one of those people who didn’t thinkAlice in Wonderlandwas strange. The Mad Hatter? No problem. But the Medici Dagger andGibraltar? Beckett and Tecci? And you have some guardian angel in Milan puts you onto some guy named Dracco who drops you in L.A. for forty big ones? Tell me you don’t take drugs.”
I showed him Dracco’s card.“He knew what I did for a living.”
“He called him ‘Hollywood Reb,’ ” Ginny added.
“And he knew I could come up with a lot of cash, Archie. You’re the only person I told I had money. You and Ginny.”
Archie shrugged. “So? What’s that worth? If he knew you were a stuntman, he’d know you’re the best. So he’d figure you’re not working nights at Chuck E. Cheese.”
“Mm-hm. But how’d he know I’d be carrying it?”
Archie shrugged again. “C’mon. I didn’t tell anybody anything about any money.”
I mulled that over.
Archie raised a brow. “A guardian angel’s a handy thing to have.”
I rested my elbows on the table, wondering who it was.
Archie broke the silence.
“Here you are back in California to see Mona. I tell you, that’s somehow fitting. You know what I mean? It’s . . .” He turned to Ginny. “What’s the word I’m looking for?”
“Symmetrical?” Ginny said.
“Symmetrical, sure. Like these circles. So, Reb, you gonna call her or just show up on her doorstep?”
The hanging lamp’s light cast shadows on Archie’s and Ginny’s faces. I left the room to make the call.
Thirteen years. Three presidents. How many unanswered cards? What would Mona say? What would she think? What would she sound like?She answered on the fifth ring, out of breath.
“Whew! I hope it’s a client because if this is a sales call I’m going to be very petulant. I was outside at the car just about to leave.”
I took a deep breath to calm myself.“Don’t be mad, Mona. It’s a client.” Silence.
Then, “This voice sounds familiar. Where do I know this voice from? The past, that’s where. Oh my . . .”
I told her it was me.
Silence came from her end. All the anxiety was mine.
“Martha’s Reb . . .” she said softly.
I didn’t reply. My throat felt tight. I massaged it with one hand, aware of the pressure of the receiver against my ear.
“I can feel your hesitation,” Mona said. “There is nothing casual about this call. Something’s brought you to me. Something powerful.”
“I . . . need your help.”
“Help,” she repeated. “You’re saying I’ll get to see you?”
“Right away, if possible.”
“What about?”
I hesitated to answer.
“It’s all right. It can wait till you’re here. Are you coming alone?”
I told her no.
She asked if I was coming with family. That threw me. I had no family. I closed my eyes, sensed the moat I’d built around my life.“No,” I confessed.
“Well,” Mona said. “I’m a ride up from anywhere. If you plan on staying over, you should go to the Hollister House Inn in Little River, just outside of Mendocino. I’d offer you my couch, but the last person who slept on it woke up needing a chiropractor.”
The Hollister House sounded faintly familiar, but I didn’t know why. “What’s a good time?”
“Tomorrow. Eleven. Ask directions from the man who owns the inn. His name’s Pop. He’ll send you my way.”
I wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. “Mona . . .” I began. “I’m sorry for—”
She interrupted. “Whatever it is that brought you to me, it’s something to be thankful for. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She rang off.
I kept the phone to my ear for a moment, surprised by the calming effect her voice had had on me. I rubbed my eyes too hard so when I opened them everything was slightly out of focus. Now I was off-center again. That was better.
I reentered the room where Archie and Ginny were waiting expectantly.
“I want guns, Archie,”I announced.“Same stuff you got me in Venice.”
Ginny slapped the table. “Just a minute!”
“What?” I asked, surprised.
“I’ll bet that’s pretty much the same way you asked Archie last time.”
She was right. His silence confirmed it.
“Take two, Reb,” Ginny said. “This time with a little respect. Maybe even open with telling us if you reached Mona.”
“I reached Mona,” I answered.
“Would you like to embellish that?”
“What I’d like is guns and to get going. We’ve got some driving to do.”
I turned to Archie. “I apologize for being abrupt. I’d very much appreciate if you’d please loan me some handguns. Preferably of the same variety as the ones you planted in Venice.”
Archie stood up. “The Sigs I can do. But that mini, that was a special-thing I got as a favor. A prototype. It’s a bitch you lost it to that Buckett guy.”
&nbs
p; “Beckett,” I corrected. “And I’ll get it back.”
“I bet you will,” he said, walking into the storage room. He returned a minute later with the weapons.
As I was strapping on the Sigs, Archie said to me, “This time I’m coming along.”
“I don’t want you involved.”
“Don’t want me involved? You’re wearing weapons licensed to me, for chrissake. I’d say that’s involved.”
“Arch, I know you went way out on a limb for me, and you’re still out there. That means . . . much more than I can convey to you right now. Much more. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here today.”
“What are you talking about? Your house got burned down. There are some bad-ass motherfuckers out there.”
“Yeah?” I said, my anger fanned. “Well the baddest-ass motherfucker that ever drew a breath is standing right in front of you. Now I’m telling you, lay out.”
Archie’s face flushed. “Step in here any time, Ginny,” he urged. “He seems to listen to you.”
“That was manners,” she said. “This is . . . personal. I don’t think I can influence him about this.”
“I need to do this alone,” I told Archie.
“Then what the hell are you doing with her? Answer that.”
“I . . . I don’t know how to answer that.”
Ginny looked disappointed.
“I can’t answer any more questions today,” I said.“Not one.”
He didn’t reply, just stood in the doorway and watched us walk over to the Jag.
We slowly pulled out of his lot. When we hit the interstate I leaned on the gas.
After fifteen minutes of eighty-mile-an-hour silence, Ginny said, “So . . . aren’t we festive.”
eleven
Cruising up I-5 at warp speed, I pulled my portable phone out of the glove compartment, called information for Little River, and got the number for the Hollister House Inn. As I dialed, I recalled where I’d heard of the inn. My mom had taken me to see the movieSame Time, Next Year,which had been set in a quaint cottage that stood off by itself on a bluff overlooking one of the choicest views of the California coast.She’d grabbed my small hand in the theater while we watched. “Dad and I went there in ’65,” she’d whispered. “The Hollister House. Stayed in that very cabin. We ate smoked oysters and thought big thoughts, and, Reb, it was the ultimate place to rejuvenate.”
