Ringer

by Wiprud, Brian M

  “Yes, the job, the wrong to be set right. What we talked about?” Dixie shot an annoyed glance at the busboy.

  “We spoke of the ring,” I said, sipping my wine.

  “You’ll get the ring when the job is done.”

  “The ring is the job. That is why Father Gomez sent me. Perhaps I have been in La Paz too long, but this seems perfectly simple.”

  Dixie held a hand over the phone and focused a scowl on the busboy. “Are you done?”

  Robert looked exasperated and said to the bus boy, “What is it you want?”

  The busboy said, “I come to this place.”

  “And?” Dixie spat.

  “I come a long distance.”

  “Dix, I think he’s retarded, they sometimes hire them at places like this. Look, Pedro, we need privacy, please go back to the kitchen.”

  “My name is Paco, and I have come from Mexico, to this very table in this restaurant. You have job for me. Are you not the ones who contacted me to kill?”

  Dixie and Grant couldn’t have looked more flash frozen if they’d been shrimps, shrimps with their mouths hanging open and their pupils extremely small. I suppose shrimps don’t have mouths that hang open, or eyes with pupils, but you see what I’m saying, yes? They were stunned.

  Seemingly without moving, Dixie snapped her cell phone shut.

  A waitress appeared. “Is this man bothering you, sir? Sir? Ma’am?”

  Grant finally mumbled, “Not at this time, no.”

  * * *

  The Red Flame Diner side of our screen goes away, and now you see only me with my wine at the beach mansion looking at my phone.

  “Hello? Hello?” I snapped my phone shut as well. “Bah, these cell phones and their signals. It is just as well. I think they need to realize it is time to stop playing games.”

  Purity lifted her head. “What was that?”

  “Nothing. Just a bad connection.”

  Let’s cut to comely Purity on the phone with Skip Baker, split screen, and the reporter is reclined at his cramped desk in a hectic newsroom. Purity is near the camera, and now I am standing out of earshot at the far railing of the deck looking out to sea.

  “Skip, tell me you sent Morty out here, that you had that creep in the stocking attack the limo. Otherwise, it is just too freaky, something bizarre is going on.”

  “Babe, I can only say it so many times. This is not my doing. I didn’t rig this. You’re right, something is going on, and I can’t wait to find out what it is because there is front page written all over it. Just the fact that the guardian angel saved you yet again is pure gold. Did you call the cops?”

  “The cops? LMFAO, you must be kidding. And stand around waiting for them to fill in their little reports?”

  “Did Morty say why he was standing on Hill Road when you just happened to drive by?”

  “He says God sent him, and that he was there on a holy mission that he can’t discuss.”

  Skip snorted. “That’s the same thing he told me—more or less—at 100 Centre Street. You don’t suppose he actually is your guardian angel, do you?”

  “True, the white suit is what angels are wearing this year. Check this out: It seems he only eats grilled cheese sandwiches and is some sort of La Paz lothario. What kind of angel is that?”

  “Previous life?”

  “Morty speaks his mind, I’ll give him that. He’s as honest a person as I think I’ve ever met. At least he didn’t lie about why he was on Hill Road; he just won’t or can’t tell me why. IMHO, he must have been there waiting for me, waiting for the limo to come along. He was waving his arms as we drove past, and it took me a second to realize who he was.”

  “How would he have known you would be driving that way?”

  “Good question.”

  “Morty must have arranged for the attack.”

  “Or someone else knew he was going to be there.”

  “Like who?”

  “If the creep tried to kill me with a machine gun I’d say it was Robbie who set it up, or that CU-next-Tuesday Dixie, but OMG the creep looked like he was in a Halloween costume, and he didn’t even seem to have a weapon, just black gloves. I dunno, he was like a pro wrestler.”

  “That is just too good.” Skip barked a laugh. “If only your dad would put a hit out on you. We’d run out of ink selling papers, and the Web site would jam.”

  Purity scowled. “Gee, thanks, Skip, and FYI Robbie is not my father.”

  “Sorry, babe, but can you imagine?”

  “If anybody should be putting a hit out on anybody…” Purity lowered her sunglasses, her gaze fixing on me.

  “Yeah? Hello?”

  “It should be me on Robert.”

  Skip slapped his knee. “Now you’re thinking! Perfect. You could put a hit out on each other. Let’s get this rolling. Wait first, I’m sending a photographer out to Hill Road. Can you two go out and reenact the whole attack thing for him? I can also provide an actor to play the creep wrestler guy if you want.”

  Purity wasn’t listening to him; she was transfixed by me.

  “Spiffy.” Her thumb disconnected Skip.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  CUT TO THE GRANT INDUSTRIES tower on Sixth Avenue, and Robert’s pixie-like assistant on the phone at her desk. Before her is a yellow legal pad on which she taps a pencil. Cue the subtitles—Kathy is speaking Spanish into the phone.

  “Good morning, is this Nuestra Señora de Cortez?… I would like to speak with Father Gomez … I’m calling from Grant Industries in New York … It is a private matter about Morty Martinez … Yes, I’ll hold…”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  WE START WITH A CLOSE-UP of Helena’s crooked, angry finger in Tony’s face.

  “Fool!”

  When we pull back, we see Helena, Tony, and Abbie arrayed around a park bench in a secluded corner of Washington Square Park, the giant iconic archway in the background lit by the setting sun.

  Tony had his arms folded across his chest. “I thought it was the right move.”

  “Idiot!” Helena stamped her foot. “I told you to wait! Why did you not wait?”

  “I thought it was the right move. I thought it was Grant in the limo. It was his limo, so…”

  “Yes, but I told you to wait for Gina, so she could shill!”

  “To tell you the truth, I wanted to get it over with. I don’t like dressing up and attacking people. I could get arrested. I got a wife and a kid.”

  Abbie slumped on the bench. “I think we need a new plan.”

  Helena growled at the heavens. “We cannot. This plan is in motion. Grant must be convinced the talisman works and saves his life. We cannot switch plans in the middle.”

  “So then Tony just goes and tries to kill Grant now, in front of his building, and I shill. We follow the plan like this didn’t happen.”

  “Bah!” Helena spat. “Grant will now be expecting it. He will know that there was an attack on his daughter.”

  “Here comes Gina.” Abbie jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

  Tony sat straighter.

  Helena stopped pacing and turned to observe her niece’s approach.

  OK, I think for this shot we need the gauzy, milky, slow-motion view of Gina’s approach, because surely this woman was a goddess. A goddess? You think I am kidding, but I am not. Of course she had long, lustrous brown hair, ice blue eyes, elegant ears, sumptuous lips, noble cheekbones, perfect teeth, killer tits, narrow waist, swaying hips, curvaceous legs, and dainty feet. However, her qualities were even in the minute details. Even her slim arched eyebrows were natural and required no plucking. She was hairless everywhere but where there was supposed to be hair. Her olive skin had a natural glow that required no maintenance, with a gentle muscle tone that was born to her and not manufactured in a gym. She could eat anything she wanted and not gain an ounce. Deodorant was a stranger to her, and her breath was always sweet and fragrant as a pear. Gina was female perfection, right out of
the box. If she did not have to cut and shape her nails, her mortality would surely be in question.

  As Gina approached, glowing archway behind her, men stopped in their tracks and stared at the goddess in blue jeans and tank top, their expressions pained with the knowledge that this sort of perfection could never be theirs, or possibly that anybody could possibly be worthy of this woman’s charms.

  The women in Gina’s wake stopped and stared also, their expressions pained with the knowledge that the sort of standard set by women like Gina placed the bar unfairly high for them, and that only a pint of ice cream could erase the memory of this living totem of feminine quintessence.

  One would think that Gina’s life was as perfect as her packaging, yes? Not so. Her entire teen and adult life, men had stammered and fumbled around her, tongue-tied and fawning. Those brave enough to make a play for her sometimes succumbed to their passions and needed to be physically repelled. Which was why Gina was a student of Shui Ping, a martial art. Women immediately despised her for obvious reasons. As a result, she often had a hard time being understood when she spoke. She had wanted to capitalize on her looks and become a model. She was considered too “fat” to be a model because she had discernible hips and breasts. She wanted to become an actress, but despite continued auditions and a few screen credits in martial arts films, she was generally deemed “overkinetic” for speaking roles on-camera and a “distraction” onstage. In almost any workplace you can imagine her very presence was disruptive. Alas, she was relegated to stunt double work in martial arts films.

  It is ironic that women this beautiful are truly cursed, not blessed, yes?

  “Hi, Aunt Abbie, Aunt Helena.” Gina’s jewel-like eyes shot a look at her cousin, whose mouth was hanging open. “How you doing, Tony?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “So good to see you, child.” Helena smiled like a crocodile and reached out to Gina. “Please sit a moment. We have a problem I think you can help us with.”

  Gina swiveled, and her exquisite bottom settled onto the unworthy wood of the park bench next to her lumpy, pale Aunt Abbie. Side by side you would not have known they were the same sex, much less the same variety of animal.

  “Is it illegal?”

  “Only if you think about it that way.”

  Gina’s shoulders rolled, and she brushed her mane of silken brown hair from her face. “Do tell?”

  “A billionaire has a curse, and it centers around a valuable ring. You must get the ring from him, switch it out with a fake, and make him think it has been destroyed. We want the ring, mainly to convince him that the curse is as I have described it, but it seems to have a value unto itself.”

  “We using one of those exploding rings from Oscar’s Magic Shop?”

  “Sharp girl.”

  “Complications?”

  “There’s a Mexican.”

  “Do tell?”

  “There is a Mexican who has come to town, and he is after the ring. We are not sure who he is or why he is after it. Part of our plan is to sideline this intruder through suspicion, by making our billionaire think this Mexican may have sent another Mexican to intimidate him. Tony is posing as a Mexican hit man. No gun, just gloves, a strangler.”

  “A Mexican strangler? Sounds like a vine.” Gina recrossed her legs. “I like the part about no guns. Does this Mexican have guns? Is he dangerous?”

  “It doesn’t look like it. He would have pulled one earlier when Tony showed himself. We’re not sure exactly how the Mexican fits in or what he wants, but you may encounter him and have to derail him or sucker him into the curse scenario.”

  “What’s my cut?”

  “Five hundred dollars.”

  “A thousand.”

  Abbie sat forward. “That’s not coming out of my thirty-five percent.”

  Helena crouched in front of Abbie and Gina like a football coach trying to explain a complicated play. “Here’s the deal. Abbie can have the thirty-five percent, but like Tony, Gina’s end comes out of both of ours. Fair?”

  “Then the thousand should come out of Tony’s end,” Abbie harrumphed.

  Tony seemed to wake up. “Hey, I’m only getting a thousand!”

  “We still need Tony. Now we need a shill, but a beautiful one. If you and Abbie cannot come to terms I will ask my niece Petulia.”

  Abbie and Gina spoke as one. “Petulia?”

  Tony just snorted.

  “She cleans up nice and could be the shill. A push-up bra, perfume, a wig, shoes.” Helena stood, arms akimbo. “So what’s it going to be, eh?”

  “I don’t like it.” Abbie slapped her hands on her knees. “But I’ll do it. Gina, you’ll have to wait for your cut, though. We don’t have it. None of us do until we get it from the mark.”

  “The mark being male, of course?”

  Helena nodded. “A rich man.”

  Gina’s luscious pink lips curved into a catty smile. “We’ll get it.”

  Helena turned to Tony. “Put on the white suit, and call your friends to find out who does Grant’s limo service. Also we need a chauffeur’s uniform for Gina. A tight uniform! Abbie? Brief her.”

  Tony began fiddling with his cell phone.

  “Here.” Abbie handed Gina a piece of lined notepaper. “That’s the mark’s address. His name is Grant. You’re his limo driver. You go pick Grant up, and Tony will attack him as he gets into the limo. You save Grant—but he’s wearing the calludaroo, so make him think that saved him. Then you two drive out to the Hamptons and go to a bar called El Rolo. That’s where his daughter hangs out. Her name is Purity. Tony tells us—”

  “Hold the phone.” Gina held up a hand. “We’re scamming Purity Grant?”

  Helen patted her shoulder. “Not Purity, but her father. Tony was just out in the Hamptons and saw Purity go off with a Mexican, one who wants the ring Grant is wearing. The one we want. Purity goes to this bar every night, and we think she will go with this Mexican. You must convince the Mexican that the ring is cursed, too, so that he will no longer want it.”

  “So I’m saving Grant and then driving all the way out to the Hamptons to run interference with a Mexican, all so I can pull a switch with Grant?”

  Helena nodded.

  So did Gina. “I see. All this for a lousy thousand bucks? I just got off a plane.”

  Tony snapped his phone shut. “Got the limo, but we gotta hurry. Grant is expecting the car within the hour.”

  “Go!” Helena shooed with her hands. “We can discuss anything you like later, on your drive out there.”

  Gina stood reluctantly. “Aunt Abbie, is this going to work?”

  Abbie and Helena exchanged a cautious glance, then spoke in unison.

  “It’s worth a shot.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-TWO

  THE CAMERA PANS DOWN ROBERT Tyson Grant’s East Side town house to the front door just as the master of the house is exiting, a bag and briefcase over his shoulder, a limo idling at the curb. Grant has his phone to one ear.

  “Hey, Dix. Kathy sent a car for you. See you at the heliport in fifteen? Great.”

  Grant thumbed the call dead, tucked the phone into his inside pocket, and hustled toward the limo. The limo trunk popped open. He dropped his bags in the trunk and slammed the lid shut. When he did he saw Tony next to the limo.

  In a white suit.

  With a thin mustache.

  With a stocking pulled over his head and wearing black gloves, hands raised.

  Grant’s jaw just had a chance to drop when the white-suited menace was thrown past Grant onto the hood of a parked car. In his wake was Gina in a snug female chauffeur’s outfit and cap.

  “Aiee-hah!” Gina shrieked, throwing herself at Tony and punching a fist into his gut.

  “Ooof!” Tony jackknifed forward.

  Gina whooshed a backhanded chop to his neck, then kicked him so that he rolled off the car hood onto the sidewalk.

  “Stand back, sir!” Gina called over her shoulder
to Grant. “Aiee-hah!” She leaped onto the sidewalk and stood over the White-Suited Menace, fists of fury at the ready.

  Grant fumbled for his phone.

  “Run!” Gina whispered to Tony.

  “That hurt, Gina!” he whimpered.

  “Run, you idiot! If you don’t I’ll kick the ever-living crap out of you!”

  Tony rolled to his side, got to his feet, and lumbered away down the sidewalk.

  Gina held her spot but looked back at Grant. “Are you in a hurry?”

  Grant poked furiously at his phone. “Damn these things, they do a million things, but when you just want to make a call…”

  Gina broke from her pose and stepped from the sidewalk. She placed her hand over his phone. “Forget it. By the time the cops get here he’ll be long gone, and it will take hours to explain and fill in paperwork. I am your driver. My name is Gina.”

  “Who?” Grant stammered, pointing where Tony had vanished around the corner. “Who was that? He was trying to, he was…”

  “Excuse me.” Gina took off her cap, and her gorgeous hair cascaded down around her shoulders like brown satin. She fluffed it. “I hope you don’t mind. I broke a sweat.”

  Grant focused on her, his alarm from the attack eroding. “Well, of course, you don’t have to keep your hair up, I mean, hell, that was amazing, you beat up that big guy.”

  Gina dipped her head in a slight, courtly bow, one sapphire eye looking up at him from under the dark locks. “A good chauffeur looks out for her passengers. If the Mexican had killed you, I would have been derelict.”

  “Mexican?” Grant blinked rapidly.

  “Are you all right?” Gina put a hand to his face, and another on his chest, pressing the calludaroo.

  “Ow!” The raccoon paw dug into his breast.

  Gina jumped back. “You are injured?”

  “No, it’s just…” He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled out the talisman.

  “Calludaroo!” she gasped, pointing.

  Grant was being pulled—expertly, as we see—in three directions at once, his eyes flitting from where the Mexican Menace had gone to Gina’s charms to the calludaroo and the realization that Helena’s prophecy had come true. Just the same, it was evident by Grant’s gaze that all but Gina were unwanted distractions.