by Allan Cole
The moment she said it, she was sorry that she did. She’d practically peed her panties when Danny had crept into her room.
"Nah," Sam said. He shrugged. "Danny can’t help himself, you know. There’d be no point in busting his chops. Like I said, he’s a pill freak."
He grimaced, as if not liking what he had to say next. "But what I have to do," he said, "is scare the holy bejesus out of him."
"Good," Ellen said firmly. "He sure scared more than that out of me."
*****
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IT WAS QUITTING time at the check cashing store and Danny was whistling tunelessly as he flipped the sign to closed, then exited and locked up.
He touched the bandage on his head and winced. The bitch, he thought. Then he jumped a mile as a voice came from behind him:
"Looks like she really clocked you a good one, Danny, boy."
Danny came around to find Sam grinning at him. Over Sam’s shoulder, Danny could see Ellen waiting at the mouth of the alley. He barely had time to react before Sam sledgehammered a fist into his gut, driving the air out of him like a curb-shot tire.
As Danny went down, hands gripped over his injured belly, Sam grabbed him by the collar and cake-walked him to the alley.
Several passersby look at them in alarm. "Bleeding ulcer," Sam explained. And he kept going, leaving them gawking in his wake.
In the alley, Ellen hopped behind the wheel of the Mustang. Sam forced Danny inside and piled in next to him.
"Go," Sam commanded.
Ellen went, burning rubber all the way.
*****
Sam directed Ellen generally west and south from Deercreek Beach until they were driving along a frighteningly empty rural road. Nothing but deep ditches and thick woods on either side, with an occasional break for a mobile home or a barn.
"We’re way out in Crackerland now," Sam said to nobody in particular.
He pointed to a battered sign advertising an I-Hop ten miles up ahead. "Can’t even get syrup on your overhauls for another ten miles," he said. "But there’s plenty of opportunity for gator poachers and frog giggers."
"Jesus, Sam," Danny said. "I’m no cracker, you know that."
Sam clapped him on the shoulder. "If you say so, Danny boy," he said.
A dirt road loomed up ahead on the right. Sam pointed it out to Ellen. "Here we go," he said.
Ellen made the turn. Instantly they were bumping over a busted track that jerked the Mustang all over the place. She down shifted. An experienced driver over such roads during her Jamaica sojourn, she knew how to avoid busted axels and pierced oil pans.
Sam nodded at her approvingly. "Not bad," he said.
Ellen grinned, feeling exhilarated. But that quickly changed to foreboding when Sam pointed to a turnout that overlooked a wide canal. She pulled up to it and stopped the car.
Sam vaulted from the car, popped the door and dragged Danny out with him. Ellen started to protest the treatment, but a look from Sam silenced her.
"For chrissakes, Sam," Danny said. "I told the lady I was sorry."
Sam ignored him. He went to the trunk, popped it and hoisted out several hefty cement blocks. He fished out a long heavy chain that rattled like a metallic snake as it slid over the rim of the trunk.
Danny stared at them warily. "What’re you doin’, man?" he asked.
Sam gestured at the canal. "Some cracker told me these canals can get twenty, thirty feet deep," he said. "Think they’re lyin’ Danny boy?"
Danny licked his lips, then slowly shook his head. Sam smiled at the response. "Well, I’m not too sure myself," Sam admitted. "Nobody likes to twist the truth more than a Florida cracker. It’s his nature, you know?"
Danny didn’t say a word in reply. Ellen looked from one man to the other. Wondering what Sam was up to.
"I say we find out for ourselves just how deep this canal is," Sam said.
He started looping the chain around Danny’s neck. Danny tried to shrug the coils off, but they kept gathering around him like a huge snake.
"This ain’t necessary, man," he said. "I told you- I blew the money at the dog track."
"Yeah, that’s what you said," Sam replied, throwing more coils of chain over Danny.
Then he got out a large padlock from his pocket. Danny started to struggle, but Sam gave him a sharp slap across his face. Ellen winced at the sound of it.
"Hold still," Sam said quite calmly, as if it had only been a friendly tap.
Danny obeyed and Sam slipped the chain through the cement blocks. Ellen was pale as a ghost. Despite Sam’s promise to not hurt Danny, she was afraid that things were going too far.
"Sam, please," she blurted.
Sam gave her a warning look and once again she shut up. Not feeling too good about herself as she complied.
"Listen to her, Sam," Danny pleaded. "You don’t want to do this. I mean, how am I going to pay her back if I’m… you know… in the canal?"
He looked at Ellen pleadingly. "What would you rather have, lady. Money or satisfaction?"
Ellen nodded in agreement. "Satisfaction doesn’t pay the rent," she said.
Sam hesitated, then nodded. "How true," he said. He gave the chain a shake, rocking Danny back and forth. "Do you hear what she said, Danny, boy? Satisfaction doesn’t pay the rent?"
Danny got eager as hell. "I can get the four thousand up by the first of the month, okay?" he said.
Sam looked disappointed. "Why, that’s almost four weeks away, Danny," he said. "What’s the lady going to do meanwhile? I mean, you wiped her out, you greedy little prick. Not only that, but if she’s short the rent, that means my old lady, Ruth, is fucked too." Shook his head in disgust. "But you didn’t think about that, did you? How your criminal act might impact innocent people like Ruthie."
He slapped Danny across the head with an open palm. "With you it’s ‘me, me, me.’ Never mind the consequences for somebody else," he said.
Suddenly he reached out and slapped Danny’s face really hard. So hard that it left the man’s cheek stained deep red, like a palm print birthmark. Danny cowered, whimpering, but Sam only grinned at him as if it had been a friendly swat from a couple of kids playing grab ass.
"What I want to know, Danny boy," he said, "is how much you can give this lady today. And in case you’re wondering, I don’t give a damn what you have to do or who you have to fuck over to get it."
"I don’t know, Sam-" Danny started.
Sam’s growl cut him off. "How much?" He raised a threatening fist.
"Five hundred dollars," Danny blurted. "I can get her five hundred dollars. Tonight, man. Tonight."
Sam suddenly smiled and patted Danny’s cheek. "See how easy that was?" he said.
Danny smiled, relieved. But Sam soon wiped that off his face. "What about next week?" he demanded.
Danny way jolted. "What?" he asked. "Whaddya mean, next week?"
Sam sighed with exaggerated exasperation. Danny finally got it.
"I give her five hundred more," he said.
Sam rolled his hand. "And so on and so on," he said.
Danny was alarmed. "Jesus, man," he said.
Sam jerked the chain.
"Okay, okay," Danny said. "I’ll give her five hundred a week until she’s paid off."
Sam shook his head. "Bullshit, Danny boy," he said. "The five hundred is the vig. The interest. She gets five hundred a week for four weeks. And on the fourth week you also pay her the four thousand dollars you stole from her."
He raised his balled up fist. It looked like a five-pound sledge. "Got it?"
Danny ducked his head. "Yeah, man," he cried. "I fucking got it."
Sam stepped back, well satisfied. Ellen looked at him in amazement. Sam gave Danny a shove. "Start walking," he said. "It’s only ten miles to that I-Hop."
He checked his watch. "And you can come on over to my house about… oh… eight thirty. And bring that five hundred dollars, you hear?"
Danny spun around and sta
rted trotting toward the road, dragging the long chain behind him. Too scared to stop and take it off.
Sam laughed at the sight, then turned back to an astonished Ellen. "So now you’re a big time loan shark, Ellen," he said. "Got four thousand out on the street earning five bills a week."
Ellen gave a nervous laugh. "That’s me," she said. "Public Enemy Number One."
*****
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PERRY MASON WAS up to his old tricks again on Mrs. Berman’s TV. The theme music was blaring and the cast regulars were being introduced, but before the story could start, bars of white shot through the picture and the screen went blank.
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Berman said. "There it goes again." She poked buttons on her remote, but to no avail.
"Let me try, Ma," Ellen said, going to the set and fiddling with various knobs.
Her mother watched as Ellen tried to restore her favorite show, trying first one thing, then another. But it wasn’t much use. "I think you need a new TV set, Ma," Ellen said.
"Harry’s buying me one," Mrs. Berman said.
This surprised the hell out of Ellen. "You talked to Harry?" she asked.
"I certainly did," her mother replied. "He’s my son, isn’t he? He’s not like Ellen. She never calls, or writes, or comes to visit me."
Exasperated, Ellen said, "But I’m Ellen, Ma. And I’m right here."
Mrs. Berman didn’t respond. Instead she asked, "Would you like to see more of my secrets?"
Ellen sighed. "That’d be nice, Ma," she said.
She fetched the scrap book from the bureau and sat beside her mother, pretending great interest while the old woman slowly turned the pages.
*****
Outside the home, Sam was parked in his old place under the tree, watching the entrance. Danny sat next to him, feeling generally lousy.
He touched his banged up head and face. "Christ, Sam," he said, "couldn’t you have gone easier on me?"
Sam shrugged. "Had to look real," he said. "That Ellen’s no dummy. And you sure as shit aren’t any kind of an actor. Jesus, the phony way you whined I thought maybe you got some tips watching old Scooby Doo reruns."
Danny rubbed his head again, wincing. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said. "But you didn’t have smack me so hard on my sore head." Then he suddenly grinned. "Pretty cool move, man," he said. "Using the bitch’s own money to salt the mine. Serves her right for hitting people with wine bottles."
Sam grunted – uninterested in small talk. Then his eyes widened as he saw Ellen exit the nursing home. She walked swiftly to a waiting cab, got in, and drove off.
"Show time, folks," Sam said, suddenly full of good cheer again.
The two men got out of the car and went to the trunk. Sam opened it and motioned to Danny. "Get the TV," he said.
Danny nodded, lifted out a large box containing a portable television set.
"Come on," Sam said.
He hurried toward the home, Danny staggering after him with the big box in his arms.
*****
In the nursing home, Mrs. Berman sat sadly in the chair, staring at the blank TV screen. Then the nurse opened the door. The towering figure of Sam was right behind her.
"Look who’s here, Mrs. Berman," Betty said.
Mrs. Berman spotted Sam and beamed with delight. "Harry," she cried, her voice full of joy.
Sam bounded into the room, charm turned up full blast. "Hi, ya, Mom," he said.
He gave Mrs. Berman a big kiss and a hug. "How’s my girl, huh?" he said. "When are we gonna blow this joint and go dancing?"
Mrs. Berman laughed and gave him a playful slap on the arm. "Oh, Harry," she said. "You’re so fresh."
Betty smiled at the nice scene. "You sure have been popular lately, Mrs. Berman," she said. "Two visitors and it isn’t even time for lunch yet.
Sam gave Mrs. Berman yet another hug. "Of course, she’s popular," he said. "A regular heartbreaker, that’s my Mom." He turned back to Mrs. Berman. "Hey, wait until you see what I got you," he said.
Mrs. Berman squirmed with excitement. "The TV?" she asks.
"Just like I promised," Sam said. "But better."
He waived to Danny, who was out in the hallway. "Bring it in, Danny," he said.
Betty made herself scarce while Danny lugged in the TV box.
"Let’s get the sucker open," Sam said.
Mrs. Berman watched with rapt attention as Sam flicked out his deadly knife and slit the box open. He did it carefully, slitting all along the box. He folded the knife, put in his pocket.
Then he remembered Danny. He motioned to him. "Get lost," he said. "I wanna be alone with my mom."
Danny got lost. Sam turned back to the task at hand. "Now, wait until you see what we got here, Mom," he said. "A real super duper deal."
And he lifted out a portable TV/VCR combination. "Ta Da," he exclaimed with a flourish.
Quickly he removed the old set and put the new one on its stand. Plugged it in, turned it on and bingo! an episode of Mayberry RFD faded into view.
Mrs. Berman was ecstatic. She clapped her hands and hooted in glee. Sam stepped away from the set, watching her watch the TV. Then he flicked the set off.
"But, Harry," Mrs. Berman complained. "Perry Mason’s coming on soon."
"In a minute, mom," Sam said. "We have to do something else, first. We’ll tape the episode, then you can watch all you want."
Mrs. Berman nodded wisely. "You want to see my book of secrets again, right?" she said.
"What a mind reader you are, Mom," Sam said.
He clicked the remote and got the VHS going to tape the show, then he fetched the scrap book and sat down beside Mrs. Berman.
"This time I want you to concentrate on Harry, Mom," he said. "Never mind everybody else. Just Harry."
Mrs. Berman looked confused. "But, you’re Harry," she said.
"Sure I am," Sam agreed.
He leaned over and gave her yet another big kiss. "I just was to relive the old times, Mom," he said. "The good times I had with you."
Mrs. Berman gave him a look of pure love. "You could always get anything you wanted from me, Harry," she said.
She started flipping pages.
*****
Ellen had been working steadily on the portrait of Sam. She’d finished the preliminaries and was deep into the painting itself. Daubing the oils on so thick it was almost like she was working in clay.
She stepped back to study the painting. In color, Sam looked even more foreboding than before. "Where are you going with this, Ellen?" she said aloud. "And why does he look so damned mean?"
Ellen picked up the brush again, but before she could continue there was a knock at the door. She groaned with impatience.
A voice called out: "It’s Ruth, Ellen."
Ellen put the brush down and started for the door. A sudden thought made her stop and go back to the painting. She turned it to the wall, so Ruth couldn’t see. "She wouldn’t get it," Ellen said. Then, grimacing, "Hell, I don’t get it."
She hurried to the door and opened it. Ruth craned her neck, trying to look into the room.
"I thought I heard you talking to somebody," she said.
Ellen gave a small laugh. "Nobody here but us crazy people," she said. Then: "Don’t tell anyone, but I talk to my paintings."
Ruth forced a smile. "I thought Sam might be here."
Ellen was surprised. "I haven’t seen Sam since yesterday," she said.
Ruth wasn’t quite satisfied. But she didn’t press the point. She indicated the reversed easel. "What are you painting?" she asked.
Ellen hesitated, realizing that the green-eyed monster had a firm hold on Ruth. "Nothing I want to brag about," she said. "I swear, I’m about to paint over the thing and start on something else."
Then realizing – "But, please. I’m being rude keeping you out in the hall. Come on in. Have a glass of wine, or something."
Ruth shook her head. "You have somebody asking for you outside," she said.
/> Ellen frowned. "For me?"
"Yeah. It’s that limo guy again," Ruth said. "Lazy jerk. Couldn’t fetch you himself. Instead he honked until I came out to see what all the fuss was about."
Exasperated, Ellen said, "I’m sorry Ruthie. I’ll go see what he wants."
She glanced back at the reversed easel, then headed out the door.
*****
Outside, she found the limo pulled up and the chauffeur lounging against it, listening to country music on the radio.
Ellen stalked over to him, pissed. "What’s with all the honking?" she demanded. "Are you trying to get me evicted?"
The chauffeur ignored her complaint. "Your brother wants to see you," he said flatly.
Ellen was taken aback. "What is this?" she demanded. "Has Harry joined the Mafia? Summoning people with a snap of his fingers?" She snapped her fingers by way of illustration.
The chauffeur shrugged. "I’ll tell him you refused to come," he said.
Ellen started to give the chauffeur a real piece of her mind. Then she calmed herself. In reality, there was nothing she wanted more than a face-to-face showdown with one Harold Berman, alleged brother.
She indicated her painting outfit. "You’ll have to wait until I change," she said.
"Whatever," the chauffeur said. "I’m paid by the hour on this gig."
Barely keeping her temper in check, Ellen spun around and stalked away. Fucking Harry was going to get a piece of her fucking mind.
And this time she wouldn’t let him hide behind Rachel’s skirts.
*****
CHAPTER TWENTY
ELLEN COOLED HER heels in Harry’s outer office, flipping through an old issue of U.S. News And World Report, trying not to listen to the humming of the electric motor in Harry’s inner office, and the steady, thump, thump of running feet.
Harry’s secretary – Linda – sat at her desk trying to look occupied, but she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable at Ellen’s long wait.
In her forties, Linda was a woman who dressed well and took care of herself. Ellen remembered when she was much younger and about to become Harry’s mistress. That episode hadn’t lasted long – but it did provide Linda with infinite job security. She knew where Harry had buried all the bodies.
