Prodigy

by Charles Atkins

  Barrett shot up, sending the piano bench toppling behind her.

  Jimmy laughed, “Careful, Dr. Conyors. I don’t think that kind of physical display is necessary, although I can tell by the look in your eyes all the things you’d like to do. But let’s face it; Jimbo is no stranger to a good thrashing. In fact,” and he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I think he likes it. Must have been all those afternoons watching Mommy and the gardener. Now my little Chicky, she was always more of a hitter than a catcher. Like father, like daughter, I guess. Though you’d think his years in the nuthouse might have changed him. Because you know what they say,” he asked rhetorically. “Today’s catcher is tomorrow’s pitcher.”

  “Where is my sister? What have you done with her?”

  “Me? I haven’t touched her,” he winked and walked across the room. He leaned over the mahogany secretary and flipped down the top. “Let’s see. I know I’ve got a little something here for you.” He picked up a thick manila envelope, carried it back to her and dangled it in front of her face. “I can see what you’re thinking,” he said. “At this very minute you’re just itching to get to your Detective Hobbs and figure out how you can trap little Jimbo. Well, we’re not heading down that road. Let’s be clear on that. If you ever want to see your sister … at least in a breathing state … there will be no police. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, and this,” he said, releasing his hold on the envelope, “is a little present.”

  Barrett felt the thick packet in her hand.

  “Open it. See what’s inside.”

  She tore the top of the package open, revealing a stack of newspaper clippings and articles that had been downloaded from the Internet.

  As she pulled them out she was met by a series of stories involving police corruption.

  “Didn’t you ever wonder,” he began, “how it is that your detective Hobbs went from being a Deputy Chief to … to little more than a babysitter. Somehow I have a hard time reconciling your forgiving and forgetting his past trespasses. Unless … no, that couldn’t be,” he chuckled. “Unless he never told you. Or maybe he told you something that was a little less than the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help him God. Men can be such crafty little devils. Such dirty little pigs.”

  Barrett stared at the articles, flipping through them and feeling sickened as she read headline after headline that spoke of bribes and corruption. Yes, he’d told her about that, but there was more.

  “But you already knew that, didn’t you,” Jimmy persisted. “You don’t have the best track record with men. I think you’re too trusting. At least with Jimbo, what you see is what you get … Is something wrong, Dr. Conyors?”

  “No,” she lied, wondering how she would have reacted if Ed had told her everything. Would she have kissed him? Would she be hoping, even now, that she’d hear his knock at Jimmy’s door?

  “Are you sure? Are you quite sure that you’re not standing there feeling the sweet birdie of love up and fly away? Because somehow I don’t think he told you everything. That it wasn’t just gambling and prostitution; it was mountains and mountains of kiddy porn, and little bitty children being used in unspeakable ways.” Jimmy moved closer to Barrett, leaving barely a foot between them. “And at the top of it all, there’s your boyfriend … There’s a couple things I don’t quite understand, and from the rather sour look on your face, I imagine you’re having similar thoughts.”

  “Where’s my sister?”

  “That’s not where I was going,” he replied, a look of mock disappointment on his lips. “The thing, actually two things, I don’t understand are, how did he get to keep his job? And, of course, the thing that has Jimbo’s panties all twisted up is what the hell do you see in him?” Jimmy shut his eyes and when he opened them his shoulders sagged and he stepped back slightly. “He doesn’t love you,” his voice soft. “He’s not good enough for you,” he looked down at his feet and then back at her, “but I am.”

  Barrett’s stomach lurched.

  “It’s true,” he persisted, “there’s a way out for both of us. It’s the only answer.” He awkwardly dropped to one knee and grabbed her hand, “Marry me, Barrett; everything will work out. Marry me.”

  She dropped back, easily twisting her hand from his grip, while clamping the other to her mouth.

  He gasped at the force of her rejection and stared slack-jawed up at her.

  Neither one spoke.

  Jimmy blinked, and sprang to his feet. “Get out!”

  “Shit,” she’d misplayed her hand, why hadn’t she seen this coming? “You surprised me, that’s all,” she tried to hide her revulsion.

  “I’m sure he did.”

  “Look,” she said, standing her ground, “the deal was I play music in exchange for my sister.”

  “No,” he snarled, “That wasn’t the deal. I’m not certain I know anything about a Justine.”

  “Please, don’t hurt her. Just tell me what it is that you want.”

  “There you go, I thought we’d finally make our way to tit for tat. It all comes down to family, doesn’t it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In the end, it’s family that matters. They can fuck you in the ass, and beat you till there’s blood coming out of your eyes. They can chop you up and stick you in the furnace, but when push comes to shoving down the stairs, it’s family that’s there for you. Don’t ya find?”

  “I just want my sister. Tell me what you want.”

  “Always looking for the simple answer, aren’t you? What do they call that … Occam’s razor? That cheap disposable doesn’t work in this house. I would have thought you’d have figured that out by now. Don’t let’s start playing stupid; it’s not attractive. It’s not you.”

  “Was he … you’re serious. Is that what it is? You want to marry me?”

  “You sound surprised. Jimbo’s getting to be that certain age. He’s certainly eligible. I can think of a couple dozen society cunts that would love to wrap their creamy thighs around Jimbo’s money. I don’t think they’d care too much about his … dubious past. After all, with our kind of money, a little touch of eccentricity is expected; it’s the norm. No telling how many nannies have gone into the fire.”

  “So let me get this straight. I marry you and Justine goes free, nothing’s done to her. No games … she’s free.”

  Jimmy stepped in close to Barrett, a sliver of air separated them.

  She held her ground.

  “There’s so much more,” he whispered. “Think of the music, you have to admit that was wonderful.”

  “It was.”

  “Relationships have grown from lesser things. You and Jimbo can make something of extraordinary beauty. How many couples can say that? So, he’s got a few quirks, a little extra baggage. At heart, he’s a good boy.”

  “If I marry you … him, you’ll let her go?” she repeated, feeling his breath on her face, wondering if he was going to try and kiss her, and would she be able to stand her ground?

  “Tit for tat,” he whispered, bringing a finger up to the side of her face, and coming a hair’s breadth away from touching her. “Shall he try again … last chance … last dance … last stab for a little romance.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  He blinked. Tears welled in his eyes. “Marry me,” he gasped, reaching out his hand and then pulling it back, as though fearing a second rejection.

  “Yes,” she said. “But you can’t let anything happen to her. You have to keep my sister safe. Do you understand, Jimmy? If you want me, you have to keep her safe. Now I need you to take me to her.”

  His eyes shut tightly and stayed that way for several seconds. His expression twisted and his teeth ground noisily.

  Barrett watched, tensed and prepared for anything.

  When he opened his eyes he said nothing as he stared at her. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “We have a problem,” he said.


  “What?”

  “It’s sad to say, especially for two people about to embark on a lifetime of marital bliss,” he smiled. “We have some trust issues. Nothing that can’t be overcome. It’s just …”

  The doorbell rang.

  Jimmy blinked, as the grandfather clock started to chime, “It’s Hector,” he said, “it’s ten o’clock. You mustn’t say anything,” he warned. “If you tell anyone, we’ll know. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you tell Detective Hobbs, I have no doubt that your sister will die, and it won’t be an easy death.”

  “Is she safe?”

  “For now … Here’s the deal. Come tonight and come alone,” he walked over to a mahogany hutch and picked up a thick cream colored envelope. He handed it to her. “Open it.”

  And for the second time, she stared at the engraved invitation to Jimmy’s Carnegie Hall recital. Only on this one, there was a single change:

  James Cyrus Martin, IV

  invites you to an evening of romance and music.

  Place: Carnegie Hall/Weill Recital Hall

  Time: 8:00 p.m.

  Date: Saturday, May 1

  Cello: James Cyrus Martin, IV

  Piano: Barrett Conyors

  “Any deviation, any altering of the plan and your sister will be nothing but a memory. And as clever as you are, Dr. Conyors, we’ve been at this a much longer time. I’ll know if we’re being followed. I’ll know if you’re wearing a wire. I know all of your reindeer games.” He laughed, “Perhaps one day as we’re chatting to our grandchildren you’ll understand how very old we really are.”

  The doorbell rang again. Jimmy blinked and went to answer it.

  She followed and watched as Hector entered the foyer.

  “Hey doc,” he called to her. “You’re still here.”

  “She was just leaving,” Jimmy said, as he took the plastic medication box from the aide.

  “You feeling okay?” the aide asked her.

  “I’m fine,” she mumbled.

  “You look kind of green,” he said.

  “I must be coming down with something,” she answered as her toe caught on the library threshold and she stumbled.

  “You want me to call you a cab?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she straightened and looked through the open door at the park’s shadowy canopy.

  “Goodbye, Dr. Conyors,” Jimmy said in the tone a child uses when responding to a teacher.

  She looked back at him, his features arranged in a neutral and pleasant expression. For an instant she had the illusion that he was wearing a mask, and that beneath it she could see a different face, one with eyes that burned. “Goodbye, Jimmy,” she turned on shaky legs, and grabbing the iron handrail, walked away.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Fifty feet from the house, she stopped and stood weak-kneed on the sidewalk. She looked back at the park, as joggers looped around the carefully tended paths. Children played, and nannies, Russian au pairs, and parents chatted on gracefully scrolled ironwork benches.

  “Barrett,” a man’s voice intruded into her thoughts.

  She saw Hobbs coming toward her, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt.

  “I just got your message, I was out with my girls,” he blurted, “I came as fast as I …”

  She nearly screamed at the sound of a second voice—Jimmy’s.

  “Oh, Dr. Conyors,” he sang out, from the top of his stoop. “You forgot your bag. Why, look who’s here … it’s Detective Hobbs.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He shook his head. “Not getting off to a very good start, are we?”

  She felt trapped, wanting to tell Hobbs everything. To have him pull out his service revolver right there and take Jimmy in or … .But even as that fantasy sparked, it was answered by the horrible knowledge that if she did that, Justine would die. It was Jimmy’s way. And just because he might be taken into custody, it wouldn’t alter the outcome.

  Jimmy bounded down the steps with her black bag and the manila envelope filled with newspaper clippings, “and I believe these are yours, as well,” he said handing them over. He looked up and down the block and then back at Hector who was peeking out of the front door holding a protesting kitten in his arms. “It’s such a beautiful day. I wonder if I might get permission to go for a walk.”

  “I could take you,” Hector said, “we could do some shopping.”

  “That would be great,” Jimmy replied. “I could use a few things. What is it they say?” he smiled at Barrett. “Today is the first day of the rest of our lives,” and he scampered back up the stairs.

  Hobbs stared up at the house and watched as the aide followed Jimmy back inside and closed the door. “What the hell was that?”

  “Don’t say anything,” she whispered. And then loud enough to be heard, “Here!” she thrust the envelope filled with clippings at him. “You forgot to tell me a few things,” feigning anger.

  Bewildered, Hobbs opened it. His expression darkened as he viewed the contents. “Look,” he started.

  She grabbed it from him, and with her back to the Martin house, she slipped in the announcement of the recital. “I don’t ever want to see you again!” and she threw the envelope to the ground, turned and began to jog and then to run.

  “Barrett, wait!” he shouted, the envelope on the sidewalk. “Wait!” He ran after her; he didn’t catch her.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, Jimbo,” Father cackled.

  “You’re wrong,” Jimmy argued, struggling against the fear and the doubt that Father brought, like crows to a roadside kill.

  “We’ll see. Awfully convenient the way her cock-of-the-walk stud just happens to be here. Like Prince Fucking Charming.”

  “Stop it!”

  “Can’t ignore the facts, Jimbo. He wants her. She’s a fine piece of ass. Tell me, did you think about throwing her to the floor and peeling off those luscious tight pants. We’d like to know. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “Shut up.”

  “That’s right, you have a thing about not touching them. I wonder where that came from. But now you’ll have years and years of free therapy.”

  “She said yes,” Jimmy muttered, no longer interested in Father’s twisted input.

  “Was it really a yes, Jimbo? Let’s not get too excited. You’ve got her arm twisted behind her back. What was she going to say? She might even have let you sneak a hand inside those tight little britches. That would have been tasty. But now … missed opportunity.”

  “That’s not what I want and you know it.”

  “You don’t know what you want,” Father spat back. “You’re just a pissant little punk who never grew up.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  “Fine, this is where the parents get blamed for everything. If your mother were only here … although I bet you could dredge her up. Wouldn’t that be fun? So you told her about the peepholes and Mommy’s games. And now she’s going to marry you. I don’t think so, Jimbo.”

  “She loves me!” Jimmy said.

  “No she doesn’t. Right now she’s out there thinking of ways to trick you.”

  “No!”

  “She’s sharing all your secrets with her big-dicked stud.”

  “She won’t do that,” he stuck the tip of his thumb into his mouth. “She loves me.”

  “But what about …”

  Jimmy imagined a wall coming down inside his head, thick cement with tight seams and steel rebar, nothing could get through, not Father, not the vague and shadowy others that hung out well beyond the reaches of his probing thoughts. The important thing was she had said “Yes.” She said “Yes.” Proof that she loved him. There was so much that needed to be done, and chitchatting with Father was no help. They had a concert to give. He felt Father banging against the cement, wanting to make him doubt.

  “No … no,” that wouldn’t happen. She would come … the past three weeks preparing … so much
work, but worth it, all worth it. And then he remembered something critical he’d forgotten.

  He ran upstairs to Mother’s room, walked into her closet, and opened the wall safe. He sat cross-legged on the floor and piled jewelry boxes in a wall around him. One by one he opened them.

  Father pushed through a chink in the wall, “Something old.”

  “Go away!” Jimmy muttered. Father was such a corny old bugger. He picked out all of the ring boxes. One by one he went through them, trying to find something suitable. He knew that he was down to the last hurdles, the tests of love.

  He stared at great-great grandmother’s sapphire and diamond art deco cocktail ring. He picked up the jewel and held it in the dull light. The diamonds that surrounded the four-carat sapphire were water blue, large and flawless. There was a coldness about them, but just on the outside, as light sparkled and burst in rainbows from their depths. He remembered seeing Barrett’s wedding picture and the flapper-style dress that she’d worn; she’d like this ring. He put it back in its satin-lined box, popped the lid closed, and dropped it into his pocket.

  Next he opened a large Cartier box and stared at the glorious diamond and platinum set that included the swan-tear necklace. The stones blue-white, large and perfect. The earrings would dangle and glitter around her long, graceful neck. The necklace—that even fifty years ago had cost in the mid six figures—was fit for his princess, his queen. “Yes,” they were beautiful, she was beautiful. And Father was wrong, she did love him; even Ellen could see that. And most importantly, she had said, “Yes.”

  Sitting cross-legged in Mother’s climate-controlled closet, surrounded by couture gowns and chiffoniers filled with lingerie, he drifted into a world of possibility—a future with a beautiful wife, children, and music, glorious music. And in the center of it all, there he’d be, happy, free, and loved.

  Father chortled and hissed through his vision, “Little Jimbo, happy at last.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Barrett stood on the corner of 7th Avenue and 57th; it was 7:30, and she could barely move. She felt numb and not real, as the city whizzed by on a beautiful May night, where the sun was just now setting, turning the clouds purple and smearing the sky with vivid arcs of pink.