I went to my bank and told the teller I wanted to close my account. When she saw the amount…one hundred and fifty thousand…you’d think I handed her a stick-up note and pulled out a gun.
“Just one minute, sir!” she said as she ran off, “You need to speak to Mr. Larson.”
A minute later, Mr. Larson came smiling over to me.
“What seems to be the trouble?” he asked.
“No trouble, I just want to close my account.”
He ushered me over to his desk, and in so many words, tried to talk me out of pulling my money. He offered me a toaster oven, a transistor radio, an electric coffeepot and theater tickets, and still my answer was, “No.”
Finally he said, “If it’s a question of needing money, you can borrow against your account.”
“Sure,” I thought, “Better your money than mine.”
“If you just fill out these forms, we can have the money for you the day after tomorrow.”
“Too late,” I said, “I need the money, now.”
He thought for a moment, “Very well, just fill out these papers and I’ll get you a cashier’s check.”
“No good, I need it in cash,” I handed him a paper bag; “You can put it in here…large bills, please.”
Fifteen minutes later, I was walking out of the bank with a paper bag filled with a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in large bills.
There’d be no skin off my nose, once Jack was gone and Justine and I were together, and everything that is hers is mine…she can pay off the loan. What a plan!
I stood outside the bank, laughing. A bank loaned me a hundred and fifty thousand dollars to kill one of their own…a banker. What a country! You’ve got to love it!
***
As expected, my phone call to Chi was met with an icy-cold shoulder. I tried joking with him, as if nothing had come between us, as if it were only yesterday when we last spoke. He wasn’t buying it. He remained bitter and aloof. Still, when I suggested we see each other, he was quick to reply.
“Okay…my place…Friday…eight-thirty, don’t be late!” Click…he hung up.
I arrived early on Friday. When I knocked on Chi’s front door, it flew open; he had obviously not closed it properly.
“Chi…it’s me…Alex!”
Next moment, Chi came rushing out of the bedroom.
“Alex!” he shouted, wrapping his arms around me. “Where the hell have you been?”
By the way he swaggered up to me, the slur in his speech and the smell of his breath; I could tell he’d had a drink or two. He wasn’t roaring fall-down drunk, but enough to consider him unpredictable…unstable…a loose cannon.
“I’ve been busy, Chi…working; got to make a living, you know.”
“Spending all your time with that skinny bitch of yours, I bet.”
Inwardly, I felt like taking a swing at him; but outwardly, I responded with a smile and laugher. “It’s only business, Chi; you know how it works. And this time it’s paid off big time! Sit down and I’ll tell you about it.”
I slowly took out three different stacks of money from my jacket pockets and spread them atop the coffee table.
“One hundred and fifty big ones to kill her husband,” I said proudly.
“What’s the split?” he asked.
“This is it…it’s all yours!”
“Just to kill her husband?” he questioned out loud, “You know, secretly, they want all of us killed…men that is…the bitches!”
“So, what do you think?” I asked.
“Well, I ain’t doing it alone. You’re going to help!” he demanded.
“Anyway I can; you’re the boss,” I said, wanting to bite my tongue.
He hesitated, then he smiled, “You know, I’ve missed you…you son of a bitch!”
“And I missed you, but I had business to attend to. And see, it was worth the wait; it really paid off big this time,” I said, pointing to the money. “Don’t worry, I’m back now and everything will be just like it was…better! You and me against the world, pal.”
He obviously liked the sound of that and started to smile.
“You know, I never did anything with the names of all those woman we got from Harold,” he confessed.
“Who needs them,” I said, “Let’s just finish this job, and we’ll be sitting pretty.”
“So, you want me to help kill that skinny bitch’s husband?”
Again, I had to bit my tongue.
“It’ll be a cinch,” I said.
He thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ll do it…for you. I wouldn’t do it for anyone else; but for you…I’ll do it.” Then he leaned forward, closer to me. “But first, you have to do something for me.”
“And what’s that?”
“It’s a surprise.”
He rose from his chair, walked over to the bar where he found a flask of whiskey and placed it in his back pocket…that was a bad omen. Then, he reached into his pant’s pocket, pulled out a set of car keys and tossed them over to me.
“You drive…I’m too messed up.”
***
It was a rental, a sleek, sporty black BMW with an equally black interior. Before Chi got in the car, and sat down in the front passenger seat, he took out his flask of whiskey and immediately started to sip on it.
I followed his directions…turn here…go straight…take a left, and so on, till we were barreling deep into the bowels of the Holland Tunnel, which connects New York to New Jersey.
“Jersey, what the hell is in Jersey?”
“Unfinished business,” was all he said.
When we emerged from the tunnel, we headed for the main highway.
We passed miles of oil refineries with their infinite maze of large pipes, enormous holding tanks and orange flames shooting up atop of high release towers. The excess burned dark brown smoke into the atmosphere; and the stench was like that of a pig farm.
A little further on, an overhead sign announced, Newark.
I considered questioning Chi about our destination, but he had been sipping at the flask throughout the journey; better to be safe than sorry; I remained silent.
Again, I followed his direction to a T, till we came to an old run down neighborhood.
“Park here;” he said, “Now, shut off the engine.”
We parked in front of a large public housing project. Across the street, the entire block had been demolished; red bricks covered the ground far as the eye could see. Every building torn down, save for one in the middle of the block. It was a local tavern with a neon sign in the window that read, Club Zanzibar.
I turned to see Chi take a revolver from his coat pocket.
Again, I thought it best not to question him. We sat for nearly an hour without saying a word to each other. Chi was holding his gun in one hand and the whiskey flask in the other; he was staring intently at the front door of the Zanzibar.
Now and then, someone either entered or exited the bar. Music from the jukebox blared out at us for the short duration the door was open, and then, return to its muffled rumble once it closed.
I was beginning to grow impatient and about to speak up when something caught Chi’s attention; he sat up straight. There was the blare of momentary music from inside the club, as the door opened and a tall, slender, middle-aged black man stepped out.
Chi took a quick gulp from his flask, capped it and then placed it under his seat.
“Start the engine, and be ready to move,” he ordered as he stepped out of the car.
The man started walking down the street. Chi hustled between two parked cars and came up behind him.
“Hey…Jackson!” Chi yelled at the man who stopped and turned. Chi held the gun up and aimed it at the man’s head. Then I saw Chi rush to him, grab him by his jacket collar and shake him violently.
“Open your eyes! Open your eyes!” Chi shouted at the top of his lungs. The man opened his squinting eyes and looked into Chi’s. Chi put the gun against the man’s right temple and pulled the
trigger.
The sound of the gunshot echoed across the empty field and then returned. Chi let loose of his collar and the body fell to the ground; he rushed back to the car and jumped in.
“Drive!” he snapped at me.
The gun and the hand holding it were dripping with blood. He took out a handkerchief from his top pocket and wiped them clean; then he reached down under his seat for his flask. He started nursing on it again.
I somehow found my way back to the main highway, and continued to backtrack. Finally, when we were in the belly of the Holland Tunnel, I could no longer contain myself.
“Chi, what the hell just happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said softly, taking another hit from his flask.
“You called that man ‘Jackson’; isn’t that your name?”
“Alex…please…just shut up and drive. I can’t talk about it right now.” His response was gentle and polite, and there was a hint of exhaustion in his voice.
When we came out of the tunnel, once again on New York soil, Chi started directing our course, once more.
“Park over there.” He motioned with the barrel of the gun; I complied.
Turning off the engine, looking a ways up the street, I saw the marquee of the Chesterfield.
“Chi, what the hell are we doing here?”
“I want to ‘Dawnce’! Do you like to ‘Dawnce”?” he said in his best imitation of a British accent, mimicking the late great Beryl Rupert, the London fashion designer who ended her days seated on a commode in the lady’s room of the Chesterfield.
He placed the whiskey flask once more under his seat and stuffed the gun behind him, under his belt.
“Chi, leave the gun in the car, please,” I begged, but he ignored me and got out of the car. I followed close behind; we entered the club. His first stop was at the bar, where he downed two drinks, which he obviously didn’t need and I feared would put him over the edge.
“I want to dawnce!” Chi announced, tearing himself away from my grasp on his arm and headed toward the dance floor.
In his drunken stupor, he went into what you might call a freeform, eclectic improvisational dance; but mostly, he body-slammed into the other dancers who tried to push him aside.
“Watch where you’re stepping, faggot!” shouted Chi.
“Watch who you’re calling a faggot, faggot!” someone shouted back.
Chi started swinging his fists in all directions; but fortunately, none of his blows connected.
All dancers in the immediate area around him stopped dancing and began laughing at the drunken fool…the inebriated jester…the intoxicated clown.
Chi was boiling mad, “I’m not a faggot!” he proclaimed loudly.
“Yeah…that’s what my mother keeps telling my father!” someone jeered out, the crowd laughed louder and harder.
“You’re all faggots!” he asserted loud as he could over the music.
“It takes one to know one!” one of the dancers howled in response.
Chi swung a roundhouse punch and slammed his fist into his jaw.
Next instant, the dance floor became a blur of swinging arms and legs; Chi tried to fight everyone and everyone tried to stop him.
I rushed onto the dance floor and came up behind Chi. In the confusion, I was able to reach behind him, take hold of his gun and slip it into my coat pocket, without anyone noticing. Luckily, I had done this just in time; Chi reached around for his gun, only to come up empty-handed. Knowing Chi and the condition he was in, I suspect he would have used it.
A minute later, two large security men escorted us out of the club. They were good enough to help me get Chi into the car. Thankfully, he nodded off during the entire ride back to his apartment.
It was a struggle, but I somehow was able to shoulder him out of the car, into the elevator, and up to his apartment.
Not having my hands free, I was unable to turn on any of the lights. We fumbled about in the dark until I got him into the bedroom where, without mercy, I hurled him down on to his bed.
I thought about stripping him, to make him more comfortable; but decided against it. I also debated in my mind if I should leave the gun behind; but that was a bad idea. I choose to keep hold of it, for the time being.
“Alex…spend the night with me?” he whimpered up to me in a drunken slur.
“Gee…can’t, Chi, I’ve got to go…I’ve got an important business meeting,” I was trying to humor him.
“With who…the Man-n-da-moon?” he was pointing to the window behind me. I turned to see an enormous full moon hanging in the night sky.
“Yeah…that’s right…with the Man in the moon,” still trying to humor him.
“You know…he used to come into my room at night and do filthy things to me?” Chi moaned softly.
“Who used to?” I asked.
He burst into a fit of laughter, “The Man-n-da-moon, silly!”
The laughter stopped; and in the next blink he was fast asleep.
I looked down at him, thinking to myself. I had no idea how grave were my sins, nor did I care. I hadn’t the slightest inkling how many laws of heaven and hell I broke that night. All that mattered to me, as I gazed down on him snoring away, was I succeeded in weaseling my way back into Chi’s life…I now had my killer!
***
Catching a smidgen of our conversation and not giving full attention to the words said, you’d think we were talking about the weather or what wine goes best with fish, or some other tidbit of trivial dribble. Such was the manner Justine and I discussed and planned the murder of her husband, Jack…coldly…soberly…and matter-of-factly.
The murder we scheduled for a Friday night, one month out, for multiple reasons.
For one, Justine received and invitation to a wedding and reception that weekend. The daughter of a friend was to be wed at a villa in the south of France. Justine booked a flight from New York to Paris for that same night we scheduled the murder; it would leave at nine-forty-five.
Meanwhile, her husband would be performing his weekly Friday night ritual; that is, fixing himself a sandwich and a beer and planting himself in front of the living room television to watch the ten o’clock news report.
Her trip not only insured Jack would be alone, but it formed an airtight alibi for Justine.
Justin supplied me with a copy of the key to the front door.
If Chi and I arrived at the Hutchinson’s home at ten o’clock, sharp, we were sure to find our target facing the television with his back to the living room entrance, off the main hall. No muss…no fuss…one gunshot to the back of the head…he would never know what hit him.
Then we would ransack the entire house from top to bottom, take a few articles of value to give the impression it had been a burglary, and then leave. What could be simpler?
Next part of our plan was a bit hazy. I suppose, Justine and I would wait the duration of what most people considered a proper amount of time for a widow to morn her husband’s passing.
During that time, she would be settling all the legal gobbledygook that accompanies a last will and testament.
Meanwhile, I would be slowly weaning Chi from off my breast. How I was to achieve this, I hadn’t the slightest idea? Perhaps, it would be best to leave New York, Justine and I, starting anew somewhere else?
When all this came to pass, Justine and I would finally be free. No longer needing to hide our love from the world, we would proclaim it to the world…forever!
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Heads you win; Tails I lose”
What Shakespeare wrote down in “Romeo and Juliet” is far from new. The struggle of unfulfilled love is as old as love itself. Before Shakespeare was woven in his mother’s womb, lovers have suffered and sacrificed in the name of love.
Consider the plight of Pyramus and Thisbe from ancient Greek text.
Two households, that of Pyramus, the handsome young lad, and Thisbe, the lovely maiden, separated by brick alone…one house
next to the other.
They watched each other’s comings and goings from afar; they fell in love without words. Their eyes, the windows of the soul, vowed their undying love for each other.
Had their parents consented, the two would have married in an instance; but no consent did they ever offer. The two families remained aloof to each other; thus pleas from the two youths fell on deaf ears.
The only consolation they found, by accident, was in the basement of the two buildings. The connecting wall between the two houses had a small chink, a crack between the two structures, through which the two lovers could converse.
Hours of love play took place through that half inch crevice in the wall. Words of adoration exchanged without as much as the slightest physical touch…so innocent and pure.
They held adulation and abhorrence for the wall. It allowed them an avenue to vent their love; but, feeling only each other’s hot breathe through the chink, it could only hinder their union. They loved and hated the wall.
In vain, they tried to touch lips between the gap but to no avail.
Finally, in despair, the two lovers decided to meet face-to-face at the foot of a white mulberry tree at the city’s boundary at an ancient tomb…the tomb of Ninus.
Of course, as in all stories of love and woe, fortune took a blind eye to the circumstances and played its pranks on all those involved.
At the tomb, a lioness brutally attacked Thisbe but she escaped unscathed; but in her getaway, she mistakenly dropped her scarf. The lioness that had been on the hunt throughout the day tore at the scarf, leaving traces of blood from earlier victims.
When Pyramus arrived, he found only the bloody scarf of Thisbe. Thinking the worst, he took his sword from out its sheath and plunged it into his own heart.
Thisbe returned to the scene and found her lover dead.
“Let the berries of this tree be a testimonial to our blood, which we shed for love!” she announced, taking Pyramus’ sword out of his dead body and plunging it into her own.
They buried their bodies within one tomb; and from then on, the mulberry tree brought forth only berries of red.
Memoirs of a Gigolo Page 23
