No Reservations

by Natalia Banks

  Hal turned on the recorder on the table and said, “Mr. Gardner, thank you for joining us again today.”

  He nodded broadly. “Awright. So … what?”

  “Right to the point,” Hal said with a little smile, setting down a folder and crossing to one of the easels. “Very good. Mister Gardner, these are your paintings, isn’t that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.” He mumbled.

  “Take a good look. Are you sure these are the paintings you identified as yours, the paintings you made?” Hal said as his eyebrows raised.

  “Yeah, man, that’s my name right in the corner. Are you blind?” He retorted, his annoyance starting to bubble up within him.

  “I am not,” Hal said, no room for levity in his professionally courteous tone. “But, just because that’s your name, it doesn’t mean you painted the picture.” He let the question hang for a minute before explaining, “After all, somebody may have forged your paintings and switched them, from out of your lawyer’s office’s storage, perhaps.”

  Tony sighed, rolled his eyes, and took a good, hard look at one of the paintings. “Did you paint this painting?” Hal repeated in a steady tone.

  “Yes,” Tony said, confused and irritated.

  Hal pointed to another picture. “What about this one? One of yours, right?”

  “Yes, Jesus, I painted ‘em all, okay? You dragged me all the way out here for this?”

  “Okay, we’ve established that you painted these paintings.”

  “Yes, okay?” Tony said raising his voice.

  “Before Mr. Griffin Phoenix inflicted those injuries to your right arm, rendering it useless for painting.”

  “That’s right.” Tony confirmed.

  “Because, of course, you’re right-handed.” Hal said, recalling the information Tony had previously disclosed.

  “Yes, I’m right-friggin’-handed!” He said in a huff as he crossed his arms over his chest.

  “But, these paintings, Mr. Gardner, were painted by a left-handed person.” Hal said matter of factly with full conviction. Tony froze in his chair, the unspoken fear clear in his wide eyes and opened mouth, blood draining from his face. Hal crossed to one of the paintings, pointing out the hashmark patters of the brush strokes. “Any professional appraiser or art expert will testify that there’s a subtle difference in the way a left-handed or right-handed person makes these strokes. And you’re clearly right-handed.”

  “No, I’m … I’m amphibious.” Tony stuttered.

  “You mean ambidextrous?” Hal corrected him.

  “Right, that’s right, both-handed.”

  “No you’re not, Mr. Gardner, and we can prove that in about seven seconds. Shall I pass you a pen, ask you to write a simple word with your left hand, or do you wanna just come clean?”

  Tony looked at Lorraine and Griffin, and Lorraine could sense his desperation, she could almost hear his increasing heartbeat, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his shorn head. His lawyer stood up, closed his attached case, said, “I can no longer represent this client,” before walking out of the room without looking back, ignoring Tony’s pleas and closing the door behind him.

  Hal turned to Tony, who glanced at the door and seemed to be weighing his options. Hal said, “You won’t get halfway down the hall before the cops grab ya. They may even just shoot, depending on how much coke they lifted from the evidence locker.”

  Tony looked at him, then at Lorraine and Griffin and back at the attorney.

  Hal said, “We’ve got you on attempted grand larceny, attempted fraud, malicious persecution.”

  “That’s no big rap, I can fight that!” Tony barked.

  “Sure you can … with the public defender, and they process a case every seven minutes. Seven minutes, Mr. Gardner, seven minutes between you and fifty years in jail. You’re a young man, maybe with good behavior you’ll get out in twenty years. You gotta remember that my client here will do everything in his power to ensure that justice is served to the very fullest extent.”

  Hal didn’t have to go into detail. Everybody in the room knew what he meant by ensure and justice and fullest extent; he meant favors, bribes, and a forever-unmerciful parole board.

  Hal leaned forward, his aging face nearing Tony’s younger, more angular features. “You’ll look a lot worse than me when you get out, Mr. Gardner. And not without reason.” Hal leaned back and stood up to resume pacing around the room, casually passing the very pictures which were meant to destroy Lorraine and Griffin and their family. Instead, they were the weapons of the former would-be rapist’s undoing, and the delivery of his ultimate justice.

  “But, things may not be so bad,” Hal said, Lorraine and Griffin holding hands as they watched the interrogation unfold. “If you’ll turn state’s witness against your conspirator, we can reduce the charges, maybe even — ”

  “It’s some older broad,” Tony said, not even bothering to wait. “Barclay is her name, Mary Barclay.”

  Griffin muttered, “Mary Barclay? She’s about late fifties, graying hair, kind of short, bent posture a bit, talks with a kind of accent, English maybe?”

  “That’s right,” Tony said. “Ain’t surprised, said she knew you, used to be your maid or something.”

  Lorraine said, “Marion Beemish … Mrs. B.!”

  “Has to be,” Griffin said, turning to Tony. “She’s left-handed, too.”

  Hal asked, “You didn’t know she painted?”

  “She only worked for me for about two years.” Griffin turned to Tony. “Where is she, you rat bastard?”

  Tony shrugged. “I never visited her, she only came to see me. So I don’t know, do I?”

  Griffin released a frustrated roar and rushed Tony, grabbing him by his collar and smashing him against the wall. “What are you planning? Where is she?” Griffin roared.

  “I don’t know where she is! All we’re doing is suin’ you, man!”

  Hal forced himself between Griffin and Tony, Lorraine willing to sit and watch Griffin get in a few shots. Tony deserved it, and a lot more. Hal pushed a button and the door opened, two uniformed officers rushing into the room.

  “Thank God,” Tony said, “I want this maniac arrested. He keeps attacking me … and I’m a cripple!”

  Hal said to the officers, “Charge him, Officers, attempted grand larceny, conspiracy, sexual assault, attempted rape … ”

  “Wait a minute, man!” Tony’s voice cracking under the pressure.

  “Get his phone … as evidence.” Griffin instructed.

  Tony struggled feebly as the unformed officers closed in on him, wrenching his hands behind his back. “Oh man, this ain’t right! We made a deal!” He desperately pleaded.

  Hal said, “After you testify, we’ll do what we can on our end. ’Til then, you’re under wraps, pal.”

  “What? Waddaya mean? For how long?” Tony stuttered.

  Hal shrugged. “Depends on how much money you can raise for bail.” Hal looked over the head-shaved, scraggily Tony, right arm bent, palm up. “Worst case, I’d say not more than a few months, maybe a year. But, I may not be able to avoid … stretching things out, for the sake of juris prudence, you understand.”

  Tony started to kick and buck as they dragged him out of the room. Hal said, “Don’t feel too bad … My guess is they’ll kill you in the shower before you ever get to trial.”

  The officers dragged Tony away for what Lorraine and Griffin were convinced would be the last time.

  Lorraine stood near the pool on the porch outside their penthouse, all of Manhattan spread out at her feet. Rows of buildings both grand and ostentatious were lined up in perfect rows, cars crawling down the streets, avenues and boulevards between those concrete canyon walls. Lorraine had enjoyed this view so many times, from so many angles and at so many different times over the past few years. She’d crawled the streets as a would-be success, barely clinging to survival. She’d run down these streets, chased by shadowy figures. She’d crept around with a lethal
firearm, as dangerous as anybody in those grimy, concrete nooks and crannies of that endless metal maze of Manhattan and the other boroughs.

  Griffin entered from the hallway, setting his smartphone down on the dining room table before stepping out onto the porch. He quietly approached her, wrapping his powerful arms around her waist and pulling her close, gentle but strong and kissing the nape of her neck.

  Despite their recent victory, have snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, Lorraine knew Griffin wasn’t bringing good news, and she didn’t have to ask.

  “Missus B.’s gone,” he said. “They had two leads, apartments in various parts of town, the most recent abandoned three days ago.”

  “Airlines? ‘Mary Barclay’ had to go somewhere, I’d think it would be as far away as possible.” She speculated.

  “No word yet,” Griffin said, a moment of concerned quiet enveloping the two, the gritty city buzzing beneath them.

  Lorraine turned to Griffin, their faces inches from one another. “What about Ashe?”

  “I don’t think he had anything to do with Tony or Mrs. B — ”

  Lorraine playfully slapped his chest and pouted. “Don’t tease me, Grif. Should we cancel his play?”

  “Oh no, Lorraine, not again, it’ll push the kid over the edge. You know how much he’s wrapped up in it, how much it means to him.”

  “Of course I do … I’m in it!”

  “But, you never were comfortable with it, were you?”

  “Griffin, I quit the Education Department in exchange for the pressure it took the get that school play back up on the boards.”

  “I know you did, Lorraine, and I’m so proud of you for that, what a gesture. But, there were other reasons for you to walk away from that department.” Lorraine knew he was right, though she didn’t feel like admitting it. Instead, she let Griffin go on with, “Anyway, why cancel the play? You’ve quit the department, your petition’s been taken down, we’ve even beaten the law suit. Won’t be long until our reputation comes back, Phoenix Enterprises replaces its old contracts. Nobody has any reason to bother with you or me, certainly not our kids.”

  “But … Mrs. B. is still out there somewhere.” Lorraine reminded Griffin.

  “Yeah, a fifty-something-year-old woman whose best shot at the good life just went up in smoke. It was a cagy gambit, I can’t deny that.” He shook his head.

  “Neither can I, that’s what worries me.”

  “She had an ally, Lorraine, and he’s finally behind bars forever. This time they won’t mishandle the custody, I’ll see to it. And he’s not lawyered up anymore, either.”

  “That’s true.” She agreed, considering Griffin’s words.

  “And what’s old Mrs. B. gonna do on her own? Lorraine, you could kick her ass.” He let out a chuckle.

  “And I would if I had to.” She put her hands on her hips, imitating Wonder Woman.

  Griffin chuckled and gave her a little kiss on the temple. “There’s my girl. But, it's guaranteed she’s hiding out somewhere. She’s this close to dying in jail, she’s gotta know that. She’s probably laying low in a shire somewhere in England. We’ll see if we can’t track her down, but I really don’t think she’s gonna be a problem, certainly not for Ashe and his play. She was always very fond of Ashe.”

  That didn’t bring Lorraine much solace. Griffin’s logic was hard for her to contradict, and Lorraine was tired and relieved and exhilarated enough to embrace a happy ending for her family at long last. Ashe’s play would be a victory lap, a celebration, a rebirth.

  But a nervous curl in Lorraine’s gut told her it wouldn’t be that easy. It never had been before. Lorraine was struck with the instinctive feeling that things had never been more challenging, that her adversaries were still hiding, waiting to deliver the final, killing stroke.

  And she knew her neck wasn't the only one on the block.

  Chapter 15

  It was opening night of Ashe’s play, and the parking lot of Montego Prep was packed. The rest of the stately campus was quiet, poorly lit, the other buildings completely dark. A broad patch of concrete was adjacent to the auditorium, with the outdoor eating area and the cafeteria building on the other side.

  Parents and kids muttered and mumbled as they filed into the auditorium, two hundred conversations rising up to fill the big hall in a single rolling sound. Wooden seats creaked while people sat down, glancing at their programs and buzzing with anticipation.

  Griffin was in the front row alone, with Lorraine and Ashe backstage and Jeremy home with Kayla. Griffin looked around, accepting the congratulatory handshakes from those around him.

  Behind the closed curtain the stage was set, props ready to go. Lorraine was in costume as the character known only as ‘The Mom’. The timing couldn’t have been better, as the following Sunday was Mother’s Day. Around her, actors were stretching, reviewing their lines, getting into makeup, students who provided tech double-checking the lights and the sound.

  Ashe stood with Rachel, both looking around nervously. Lorraine approached them with what she hoped was a reassuring smile, even though she was more than just a bit nervous herself. “Hey guys,” she said buoyantly, “how’s it going? Are we ready for curtain?”

  “I hope so,” Rachel said. “ Mike keeps forgetting the words to the second verse of his song, and I dunno about the manhole prop, I don’t think it’s gonna come down right — ”

  Ashe said, “Rachel, it’ll be fine. It may not be perfect, but it’ll still be fine.” Lorraine couldn’t help but be impressed with Ashe’s confidence and maturity.

  More and more like his father every day.

  Griffin glanced around from the front row, the crowd filling up to the back rows. He checked his watch and shook his head. The schedule of the evening wasn’t the most troubling thing to grab his attention.

  A large man in a black coat and hat had slipped in the side doors, meant as an exit, and was sliding down the wall to the door leading to the backstage area. Griffin didn’t recognize him, but something about his appearance there seemed odd. Griffin quietly stood up and walked to the door himself, pulling it open and walking through, making sure it clicked closed behind him.

  The bustle of backstage preparations filled the dark hall that was created between the wall of the auditorium and the elevated stage to Griffin’s right. At the end of the that long area, Griffin glanced around but caught no sign of any man in any coat, black or otherwise.

  There was a small, concrete staircase, only five or six steps, leading to a small door. It was unlocked, and Griffin was certain as he pushed through that he’d find the man in the black coat on the other side.

  He quietly pushed the door open, carefully, knowing that the man could be armed and that he might be stumbling blindly into an ambush. Griffin eased the door open, ready to jump back at any time. The muffled sounds of the cast and crew above, their thudding footprints on the stage, only made Griffin more acutely attuned to how close the children were, how vulnerable.

  Pkew, pkew! The wall just inches from Griffin’s head kicked up little clouds of plaster and paint dust and Griffin ducked and bolted into the big basement, rolling on the floor and finding cover behind a stack of book boxes. Pkew, pkew! The bullets dug into the filled boxes, lost in the reams of books inside. Griffin knew that sound all two well, a silencer, which meant a handgun with perhaps ten rounds in the magazine, perhaps more.

  “Everybody run,” Griffin screamed out, his voice echoing in the concrete basement area under the auditorium. “Get out of there, on the stage, everybody flee for your lives.”

  “They can’t hear you, Mr. Phoenix. It would take a lot more than that to get through that concrete floor. It is supporting an entire auditorium, after all.”

  Griffin peered around, unable to spot his adversary. The basement was littered with boxes and metal shelves lined with books like some forgotten library after the apocalypse. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?” Griffin screamed.

 
; The unseen man chuckled, footsteps getting louder, echoing just a bit as he approached. In a high, spiteful tone, he said, “I’m the hand of justice, Mr. Phoenix, the great equalizer. Do you know your Bible, Mr. Phoenix?”

  “In passing,” Griffin said, crouched near those book boxes and waiting to leap at the first sign of the man. He opened one of the boxes’ top flaps and pulled out a large, hardcover textbook, sliding it into his shirt.

  “The exalted shall be humbled, and the humbled shall be exalted.” Griffin offered no answer, sensing that the man was almost close enough to reveal himself. He also needed a second textbook, just as thick and heavy as the first. The man, who spoke in a thin, high voice, almost womanly, went on, “You can’t buy your way out of this, my friend, or your family.”

  “Who are you working for?” Griffin growled.

  “You’re all going to die tonight, Mr. Phoenix; your wife, your son … you.” A sickening smile forming on the man’s face.

  That was the moment when the man’s round shadow reached its zenith, the front of that black jacket exposed. Griffin charged, textbook raised. Holding the book with both hands, Griffin smashed it down into the area parallel to his own head and down four inches, where he calculated the man’s head would be.

  Thump!

  It hit the man’s forehead, knocking his hat from his round, pale head.

  Pkew!

  Griffin felt the punch of the shot, nearly sending him scrambling backward. He got another swipe of that heaving book into the side of the man’s face, which Griffin still did not recognize. The move and the gunshot jostled the textbook from inside Griffin’s shirt and it slid to the side.

  Pkew! Another silenced shot hit the mark, this time with nothing to block it. The bullet tore into Griffin’s torso, about six inches beneath the sternum. Griffin felt it blast into him, boring into his flesh and his organs to finish a job Donal Roland had attempted almost four years before.