by Allan Cole
Linda glanced at her watch. "Two more miles," she said, with a weak laugh. "He always tries to get in at least five this time of day."
"The way the chauffeur acted, it seemed like a matter of life and death," Ellen said.
Linda made a face. "The chauffeur," she said with heavy sarcasm. "He’s just some dork Harry got out of jail and is making work off his fee." She shrugged. "Look, instead of reading that right wing propaganda Harry’s too cheap to even get a new subscription to, why don’t you just tell me to go fuck myself and barge right in."
Ellen got up from her chair. "Do I really have to say something rude to you?", she said.
"I’ll make something up," Linda said. She indicated the office clock on the wall. "He has to leave in a little bit, so what he’s doing is playing the filibuster game… dragging things out until the last possible second. If he follows his usual MO, he’ll give you a ration of garbage, then leave in a hurry. This way – the if you barge in, way – you’ll maybe have a chance to get in the last word."
"Sounds like a plan to me," Ellen said. "Consider yourself told to fuck off."
Linda put a hand over her heart, as if wounded. "I’ve been told," she said.
Ellen barged in.
Her entrance, however dramatically intended, fell flat. Mainly because Harry didn’t notice her. Earphones clamped to his head, sound turned up full volume, he was jogging at a fairly fast clip on his running machine.
A powerful looking man several years older than Ellen, he wore a form-fitting runner’s outfit that showed off his build. Despite his attempts at masculinity, Ellen thought he looked a little… well, fey… the way he ran. Waving his hands about to the time of the music as if directing an ethereal orchestra.
What a nerd, she thought as she plopped herself in a client’s chair and looked about his office. It was a large room, expensively decorated in leather and dark wood. Besides the usual law books, one wall was devoted to pictures of Harry in various athletic pursuits. Running, biking, tennis, rock climbing, etc. There was even a blown up picture of the younger Harry in a pugilist’s pose from his Yale boxing team days.
The jock oddness continued in other areas of the room. Besides the running machine there was a weight rack, folded up exercise machines, a crunch board, and so on. In one corner he even had a speed bag.
Ellen rolled her eyes at all the macho weirdness. He really was a nerd, she thought. And not for the first time. It seemed to her that Harry had gone to many extremes over the years to shake off his inherent nerdiness. That was what the boxing team business was all about. And all the hours at the gym making muscle to cover over the wimp inside. Like fleshy armor, she thought
Then she turned, cupped her hands around her mouth to make a megaphone and shouted: "Turn the damn thing off, Harry."
The shout was loud enough to cut through and Harry jumped as if goosed. He palmed the off button, straddled the running boards, and removed the headphones. He looked around until he found Ellen.
"So you made yourself at home, did you?" he said.
"I told Linda to fuck off and barged right in," Ellen said.
Harry, shrugged – that figures - and got off the machine. He drank some water from a fancy bottle and wiped himself down with a towel.
"Got my five miles in," he said. Then he struck a pose, flexing his arms, sucking in his gut, etc. "Pretty good for forty two, huh?"
He picked up some 35-pound barbells and started doing biceps exercises.
"Forty two, are you?" Ellen said sarcastically. "Talk about forever young. One of these days I’m going to wake up and find my older brother is suddenly younger than I am."
"Still a bitch, aren’t you, Ellen," Harry said. "You’ll never change."
"God knows it’s not for want of you trying, brother dear," Ellen said. "You’ve gone out of your way to brainwash me. Up to and including throwing me into a loony bin for electric shock treatments."
She gave him a withering look. "And now I have been summoned, O Lord And Master Of Morality," she said. "I tremble to hear what great crime I have committed that has so offended thee that thou hast found it necessary to send thy chariot to fetch this lowly bitch."
Harry snorted. "Piss on it, Ellen," he said. "It seems that a certain detective came to visit me… A Sergeant Bill Propp…"
Ellen frowned. "I don’t know why he bothered you about my robbery," she said. "Unless he thinks you’re one of the suspects, that is."
"Don’t be ridiculous, Ellen," Harry said. "Sergeant Propp was only following orders." He gave her a meaningful look, "I’ve asked the local authorities to keep an eye on you," he said.
Harry put down the weights and started doing stretches. "The Deercreek Chief Of Police and I golf together with some regularity," he said.
While Ellen thought this over, Harry went to an exercise machine – one of Chuck Norris’ Total Gyms. He dropped it down, stretched out on the board and started working the cables, pulling himself up and down the board.
"Listen, Harry," Ellen said. "I’m not going to get into it with you. Yes, I was robbed. Which can happen to anybody these days."
"I know, Ellen," Harry said. "But why is it that everything always seems to be happening to you? I swear to God, if I heard that your nude body had been pulled out of some rural ditch I wouldn’t be surprised one bit."
"Well, until that happy day, Harry," Ellen said, "what is it you exactly want to know about the robbery? I’d be glad to fill you in on the thrilling details, even though the incident really is none of your damned business."
"I’m afraid it is my business, sister, dear," Harry replied. "As the executor of our father’s estate and overseer of your trust, I have certain fiduciary duties. Which include being what you believe is nothing more than a common snoop."
Ellen’s laughter was bitter. "Peeping Tom is more like it, Harry," she said.
"Let’s get to the point," Harry said, "I have a busy afternoon."
"I certainly don’t want to impede your progress," Ellen said. "How exactly do you intend to screw me this time, brother dear? I’m dying to hear the details."
Harry only shook his head at her sarcasm. "Apparently you’ve carelessly lost the money I gave you," he said. "I also wanted to make it plain that I will think carefully about the amount I disperse when the next payment comes due."
"Bullshit and double bullshit, Harry," Ellen retorted. "You shorted me on the one and only check I managed to squeeze out of you. Every time I ask for what is rightfully mine, you always come up with some ridiculous, self-righteous excuse."
She gave him a penetrating look. "Sometimes I wonder if you’re trying to cover something up."
Harry frowned and stopped working the cables. "What are you implying?" he demanded.
"That maybe you’ve been dipping into the fiduciary till, Harry," she said. "Tell me it isn’t so."
"That’s just like you, Ellen," Harry said. "You blow it – and you blow it big time – and immediately look around for someone else to blame."
Ellen became weary of the sibling game. "Let’s not fight," she said. "The stolen money is no long an issue. My friends found the man responsible and I’m being paid back."
Harry stared at her a moment, then went to his speed bag and started punching. "Did you notify the police?" he asked. "That’s the proper course of action."
"You mean Sergeant Propp?" Ellen scoffed. "Give me a break. He was ready to arrest me for stealing the money from myself."
"I don’t like what I’m hearing," Harry said. "And I’m telling you right now that I do not approve of the course of action you have chosen."
"Well, there are certain things I don’t approve of, Harry," Ellen said, "that are far more important than my robbery, or your efforts to humiliate me. I’m speaking of our mother."
Harry stopped punching and turned to Ellen. "What about her?" he demanded. "I’ve placed our mother in the best facility available. And have provided her with the very best medical care. You can’t believe the ast
ronomical bills-"
Ellen was fed up and jumped in. "Shut up with your bullshit, Harry," she said. "You don’t pay the bills, so just shut up. You know very well that the money comes from mother’s inheritance from father. Plus her own money – which is plenty. Don’t pretend otherwise."
"This conversation has gone far enough, Ellen," Harry said. "I’m putting you on warning right now. I’m very influential in Palm Beach County. And if you get out of line I’ll… Well, let me put it this way - you’ll rue the day that your crossed me."
Ellen got to her feet. "Just remember, do right by our mother," she said, "or you might be the one who ends up doing a little ruing for a change."
She boiled out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Harry stared at the door for a long time, then shrugged – fuck her. And he went at it on the speed bag again. Pounding at it for all he was worth – but instead of calming down he got angrier, really ripping into the bag.
*****
The intercom buzzed. Harry sighed and held onto the speed bag, panting. It buzzed again. Harry grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat away as he to his desk and hit the button.
"Yes, Linda?" he said.
"It’s time for your appointment at Fist City, Harry," Linda said.
A big smile creased Harry’s face. "Thank God, Linda," he said. "After dealing with my sister I need to work off a little steam."
*****
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SAM WAS PARKED in the Deercreek Beach library lot – which was just across from Harry’s office. It was an ideal spot, with plenty of trees for shade, no parking meters to feed, and an easy exit if he had to follow somebody fast.
Better still, with all the pretty young mothers in halter tops and shorts, or thin summer dresses going back and forth from the library with their pre-school charges, the view was full of many bonuses. He got a hard on just looking at all that fecundity.
Sam had tailed Ellen’s limo to the office, wondering what was up. Danny was with him – Sam had made him take some time off for his injuries, figuring he - Sam - might need an errand boy with a small mind and an obedient attitude.
It was fairly obvious what Ellen’s business was when Sam had slipped into the building after her and checked the office directory. The Harold Berman, Attorney At Law sign had made things Crystal City clear.
This was the glass-bottomed boat Sam had been looking for ever since he’d overheard Ellen giving her brother’s answering machine a piece of her mind. Now he was getting a close-up look at how the Berman family worked.
He’d returned from Harry’s office building with a light heart, sliding behind the wheel, flicking on the air conditioning and preparing to wait for as long as it took.
"What’s happening, man?" Danny wanted to know. "We gonna eat soon, or what? I’m fucking starving."
Sam looked up and down the street. Then he spotted a health food store. He pointed it out to Danny. "I’m feeling peckish, myself," he said. "Go get me a pound or so of their mixed nuts – the nut barrels are in the back. Another pound of their mixed dried fruit – and dig in deep, the stale shit’s at the top."
He thought a minute, then, "Yeah, and maybe a quart of egg whites for a little protein pick me up and a couple of jugs of orange juice. Fresh as they got, so check the wear dates."
Then he turned back to watching the office building. Danny didn’t move. Sam looked over at him and saw the worried expression on his face.
"Why are you still here?" he asked. "When we split, it’ll almost certainly be fast."
"I don’t have enough money for all that shit," Danny whined.
Sam gave a long sigh. "I don’t give a shit about your money problems, Danny boy," he said. "You’re a fucking pill freak and I’m giving you a chance here. Now, go get my shit. And whatever you want, if anything. And for fuck’s sake don’t get yourself busted for shoplifting, because not only will I cut you out of this deal, but I will kick your ass from here to Mars when you get out of county lockup."
He leaned over and pushed the passenger door open. "Now, fucking get."
Danny got.
He returned about twenty minutes later, his shirt and pants bulging. He’d managed to boost everything Sam had asked for, plus a few oatmeal cookies for himself. Even so, Sam pissed in his ear about the nuts being stale, just to keep him straight.
He was just mixing an egg white and OJ cocktail when Ellen emerged. He reached for the key to start the engine, but then relaxed.
"Ain’t you gonna follow her, man?" Danny asked.
Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he watched her hail a cab, get in and leave. He settled back.
"Guess not," Danny said.
Sam finished his cocktail. Drank it down – smooth, real smooth.
Then he turned on the radio and listened to some oldies but goodies for awhile, tapping the dash to the time of the music.
Beside him, Danny squirmed and sighed like a restless kid. Sam was seriously considering smacking him, to make him stay still, when he saw the limo pull up in front.
"Here we go," he said.
"Here we go, what?" Danny wanted to know.
Sam didn’t bother answering. He pushed the food and shit off his lap and fired up the Mustang.
A minute later a tall, muscular looking man in a lawyer’s suit emerged and got into the limo.
That must be Harry, Sam thought.
"Are we gonna follow them?" Danny asked.
The limo moved smoothly away from the curb. Sam tucked in behind the limo, one hand easy on the wheel, the other holding his OJ bottle ready for the next toke of vitamin C and egg whites.
"Guess we are," Danny said.
*****
Sam followed the limo all the way to Lauderdale, then lost it in afternoon traffic. Munching aminos to maintain his calm, he made a wide circle, then narrowed the circle until Danny finally spotted the limo.
"Over there," he said, pointing.
There was a large, flashy gym/entertainment center for well-to-do sports wannabes. A big garish sign, framed with neon boxing gloves read: FIST CITY. The limo was parked out front with the driver lounging against it, smoking a cigarette and nipping from a half-pint.
"What’s this shit?" Danny wondered. "Workouts for candy asses."
Sam didn’t answer. He just found a good place to park, got out and headed for the joint – Danny in tow, jabbering about absolute bullshit.
Sam tuned him out, not hearing a word. It was a trick he’d learned in jail. Bullshitters have to bullshit, was the universal rule. But that didn’t mean you had to listen. Sometimes you shut them up. Sometimes it wasn’t worth it, or politically expedient. In which case, you just switched off that part of your brain. The bullshit part.
They strolled into the gym, which was a huge place – almost hotel size with several floors of activity.
They moved past racket ball courts, wall climbing rooms, two big swimming pools, rooms full of exercise equipment, other rooms full of women in leotards doing aerobics, or yoga, or dancing, or sprawling across huge balls – whatever the latest craze was in exercise.
They also went past health food bars, juice bars, and even a big cocktail lounge with a dozen or more big screen TV’s scattered around tuned to the sports channels and waitresses in skimpy outfits serving drinks like carrot juice and Stoli.
"If this is how the other half lives," Danny commented, "They can keep their half."
"I don’t know," Sam said. "Sure beats the shit out of the prison exercise yard."
Then they came to the boxing center – a large room containing two professional-size boxing rings, plus plenty of room for punching bags, speed bags and whatever else a boxer might require.
Two men were going at it in the center ring. Sam and Danny stood there watching them for awhile.
"Is that the guy?" Danny finally asked. "Hard to tell with the head gear. Plus, last time we saw him was in a suit."
Sam nodded. "That’s him," he said. "His mom’s got a picture of him in the
same getup."
In the ring, they saw Harry hit his opponent with a nice combination, and the guy went back into the ropes.
"Not bad," Danny said.
But the guy wasn’t going down that easily. He exploded back at Harry, driving him across the ring with a flurry of blows. Sam saw Harry’s legs wobble and wondered if he was about to fold. Then, all of a sudden, Harry drove a powerful left into his opponent’s groin.
The man doubled over and Harry slammed a right into the back of his head. And his opponent went down for the long count.
"Shit, you see that?" Danny said. "The son of a bitch cheats."
Sam grinned wolfishly. "Shoot, for awhile there I thought old Harry was just another dime-a-dozen bulked up wimp," he said. "I mean, what’s up with that Yale Boxing Team business?"
"Now we know better," Danny said.
Sam eyed Harry. "Uh, huh," he said. "We surely do."
*****
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE INTRUDER CAME in through the garden, pausing in the deep shadows of the trees while he peered into Ellen’s apartment through the big picture window.
The lights were on, but there was no one around. He heard music playing faintly – she was either home, or had gone out and left the TV or radio on.
It was a cloudy night, so not even his shadow could be seen as he moved swiftly out of the cover of the trees and went to the window.
Again he paused, watching and listening.
The music – although still faint – was a bit more recognizable. It had an island beat – Reggae, the guy guessed. He shook his head in disgust. He hated that stuff. They should keep it in the islands where it belonged.
The intruder slipped a long piece of plastic from his pocket – a device used by locksmiths to open car doors. Also suitable for bullshit window locks. He slipped it through the cracks, wriggled the plastic strip around until the hook on the end caught the bar, then gave a sharp yank.
