“You’re wrong,” he said one day. “Not sitting at the table with us.”
“Mom’s a trash picker. In case you didn’t know.”
I thought that might shut him up good. But do you know what he came back with? “I know.”
No way. “You knew?”
“Of course. Mommy didn’t want to tell you because she knows how sensitive you are.”
“We’re living a lie man. This ain’t no American dream.”
“We’re living. And we have each other. We have the Valley.”
“Fuck the Valley. You’re a fool,” I told him. “You’re a Goddamn fool.”
The Valley lies. That’s what it does best.
So I want you to tell me this—what is so great about a fucking place where decent women have to pick trash for a living? Where they have to lie to their sons? If you can find one redeeming quality about this shithole I want you to tell me. And don’t say honor, respect for family, all that. Cause I don’t want to hear it.
Here’s what I’ll do then. I’ll do me. Doing me is what I’m best at.
Life is short. Have a little fun.
I’m at Rita’s Tavern, now. I kick back in the corner, away from the Arm and his men arguing over their conspiracy theories. I’m sick of everyone talking about all these missing children and how they think Cosimo the Corpse and his Night’s Council have something to do with it. I don’t know why everyone is getting all excited. If you ask me, people just need to take it easy and enjoy themselves. If you think about everything that’s going on in the world you’ll only drive yourself crazy. All I’m focused on right now is getting my buzz on, and figuring out if I want to take a stroll over to the Madam’s ranch in a while.
Cheating. Fucking cheating. Yeah I do it. Yeah. I know it’s wrong. But there are a whole lot of things that are wrong in this life. Like the mayor and those sex slaves he’s rounding up in that mansion on Pilgrim’s Island. I’m pretty tight with the mayor. He pays me well to keep him safe and advised. I would never dream he would confess his secret to me, though. But come to think of it, for every man I’ve known, no matter how discreet, there always comes a time when they need to fess. Let them demons right out, like my mother would say. Just so happened I was telling Mayor Vaughn about my own little down-low dirties. About how sometimes I like to dabble in the underage girl thing. It’s kind of like half bragging, half-confession, I guess. It’s like, yeah I’m a bad boy but doesn’t the evil just taste so damn good? And he was all like, yeah I get you my man. I get you. I’m down with the same damn thing.
But who can judge us? We are born right into a swarming sea of iniquity. It almost drowns us before we even take our first breath. Nobody asks to be born into this world. It just happens. And you’ve got to deal with it. So this is the way I deal with mine. The bottle, the women, and the money. Oh yeah. The money.
The mayor’s liaison takes a seat beside me and orders a White Russian. “Did you get any more information?”
“Been busy,” I tell him.
“We all been busy. The family. Do they know anything?”
I should probably tell him about my niece, but I don’t. She may be a nosy little brat, but it’s already bad enough I tried to kill her. Anyways, she won’t find out nothing. “No,” I tell him.
“You’re lying. We know about the girl. She’s been to you and she’s asked you about your brother. And about…him.”
Great. What now? Don’t tell me they wired the clubhouse. Goddamn this new age we live in and all our shit being monitored all the time—fucking Dragnet Nation and shit. The clubhouse is my only place left to unwind. “Who told you that?”
“A contact.”
“Yeah. So what. She’s just a little shit. You can’t blame her for trying to find her pops. Can you?”
“She mentioned Cosimo. She might know things.”
“Trust me. She doesn’t know anything. People tell ghost stories around here all the time. Even The Arm.”
“But The Arm is not the daughter of the man who is missing.”
“She’s still just a little kid. Didn’t I tell you that? What are you deaf?”
“What about the house. Have you been in the house?”
“You don’t understand the Valley. I can’t get in there that easy. Besides, you all were in there already. And you didn’t find anything.”
“We didn’t have much time. But you know the family.”
“They consider me a “Merigan. I was just in there today and they kicked me out before I had my coat off.” I remember the aromas in the kitchen. God, it smelled good in there. I wished my niece would have at least offered me a bite or even a doggy bag or some shit. “I was only in the kitchen, but I didn’t see no crown.”
“Shhhhh,” he whispers. “Don’t say it out loud.”
“What the hell is it anyways? Why is it so important?”
“You will find out in due time.”
“When do I get to meet your boss anyways?”
“He’s not well. He’s not having many visitors.”
“Well I’m getting tired of waiting. All these promises. Couple bucks you been tossing. Ain’t enough. I can make my own.”
That’s when he slips something across the bar. It’s a DVD. It’s titled “The Final Boss.”
A guy who looks like a real bad ass is featured on the front. He’s like some kind of a gangster. Relaxing in a study with his legs propped up on a desk. He’s smoking a cigar and looking straight into the camera. The guy is me. “Where’d you get that?” I ask.
“Why? Do you like it?”
“That’s me,” I tell him.
“Yes. It is you. Do you want to be famous Joe?”
I reach out to take the DVD, but he slides it down the bar out of my reach. Motherfucker. “Do you want to be famous?”
I get it. I’m not a fool. This is like some kind of a pact. A choice has to be made here. “I’ll keep looking. For that crown. I’ll keep looking for the one who has it. As for my niece you can check her out yourself.”
“I can’t. She’s hot with something. I can’t get near her.”
“Watch yourself, bro. She’s just a kid, bro. And still my niece.”
“Keep an eye on the Putzarellas. Let us know every step they take, especially the hot one.”
“She ain’t hot. But I got my eye on it.” I want that DVD. I want it for myself. But he ain’t giving it to me. He gets up and leaves a twenty—a charitable tip for the White Russian he barely touched. And he and my fame and fortune make their way out into the night.
14: Priscilla
Bill is poring over a massive book; he’s so lost in its pages that he doesn’t even notice me standing an inch from his desk. “Five,” I say.
He jolts upright; his glasses go crooked on his face. “Pris. You startled me.”
“Five more, Bill. Five. I spoke with one of the officers downstairs. Internal reports were made, but no investigations. I checked the paper. Nothing. Why has it not been made public?”
He takes his glasses off and heaves a deep sigh. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. “Priscilla. Sit.”
I’m not in the mood. I just want an answer. I just want a number to call. Someone to go to. To lodge a complaint. Why is this being swept under the rug? But if Bill wants me to sit, I’ll sit.
“Prissy. We’re friends, right?”
“Of course.”
“Ok. So what I’m about to tell you is not between professionals. It’s between friends.”
I get it. The stakes are higher. Whatever he tells me cannot go further than this room. I think of what friendship means to the people in the Valley. I respect their loyalty and I like to think of myself as being of that same moral fiber. “It will stay in this room.”
“Mayor Vaughn’s liaison was here. We spoke. The reports were sent to the office. We sent our people to the homes and they’re dealing with the families. Offering whatever support they need. But the mayor insists this doesn’t get out.”
“But this
is children we’re talking about. People need to know.”
He shakes his head decidedly. “No. No one is going to find out. It’s out of our hands.”
“But why?”
“Mayor Vaughn is quite the opportunist, Pris. More than anyone knows. This casino—he’s obsessed with it. We’re just a week away from the grand opening and he wants every headline to be about that. These reports would smudge his image, would put a bad taste in people’s mouths. What’s more, he’s running for governor next election.”
“I’ve never heard of this before.”
“I’m sure it happens everywhere. I’m sure it’s not the first. And it certainly won’t be the last.”
“It’s wrong,” I say. I want to cry. I want to bury my face in my hands and cry. “Bill, please. Let’s do something. I’m sure there’s something—”
“—Pris. I resigned.”
“What?”
“I’m only finishing out the month.” He closes his book and I see the cover. It’s Shakespeare.
He caresses the cover. “From my college days. Had it on the shelf for years and kept telling myself I would pick it up one day and start reading again. Now is the time.”
“No, Bill. We need you here. I need you.”
“It’s time, Priscilla. For me, it’s time.”
I stand. “Give me the names at least.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want you getting involved. You’re too emotional.”
“I promise I won’t make a fuss or get you in trouble. I just want to know who they are.”
He considers my request. “I won’t give you their names,” he finally decides. “It’s for your own protection. But I will tell you this. They all had scholarships to the da Vinci School of Arts. I don’t know if the people there should be advised on keeping a closer eye on their students.”
The da Vinci School of Arts for Children is a wonderful place. An old humanitarian couple named the Hillanders who have lived in Redemption all their lives funds it. A plaque honoring them is in the front office right above a picture of the two of them standing outside of the building. How nice. If I had that kind of money, I could see myself giving back to the community. Every time I’m in here I make it a point to look up to their picture. It reminds me that there are still good people in this world.
Today I’ve brought Regina with me, with the permission of her mother of course. Aside from her being my excuse to come here, I think a girl like her, so open and sensitive would benefit from immersing herself in the Arts. And there are scholarships for the underprivileged. I’m sure I can pull some strings to get her full tuition.
Today we’re meeting with the head master, Miss Janice Brine, to take a tour of the school.
Janice is about my age. She’s in black cargo pants and a white wife-beater. She’s got the smallest waist I’ve ever seen and her body is toned like crazy. Her skin glistens from a sheen of sweat and her cheeks are flushed. “You came at the perfect time,” she tells us as she leads us down a corridor with children running and skipping carefree. “I just finished my Hip-Hop class.”
“I love hip hop!” Regi exclaims skipping alongside her.
“Sounds fun,” I say.
“Oh. It is.” She winks at Regina.
Regina winks back.
We stop outside a classroom where children are painting on paper canvasses propped up on easels. The teacher is in the front of the classroom twirling to classical music.
“What’s she doing?” Regi asks.
“She’s the movement. The students are trying to capture her.”
“Interesting,” I muse.
“Capturing movement,” Janice says, still observing. “How do you do it? Where is the movement? Is it in the color, the angles? Or is it in the still places?”
“I think it’s in the twirly stuff all around her head!” Regina says. “I could paint that!”
“I bet you could,” Janice agrees with a hand on Regi’s head.
“Smart,” I comment. “And fun. Do you have classes for adults?” I ask.
She smiles. “There should be, that’s for sure.”
We continue down the hall and Janice says. “Next I’ll take you to our modern movement class. Regina, if you’d like you can join the girls there. See what you think.”
“Okay!” Regina’s all excited and for a brief moment I’m almost sorry I brought her here. I don’t want to get her hopes up with too much fun. I’ve already started up the paperwork to take her and her sister out of the house. But maybe this school will be a saving grace. An anchor for her in her life.
We reach the studio and Regi looks inside. There’s a girl Regi’s age dancing in front of the mirror. “Hey. That’s Alexandria Madonna. Hi Alexandria!”
A woman standing and watching the dancing girl shushes Regi with a stern finger to her lips.
“That’s Alexandria’s mother,” Janice explains apologetically. “She’s a little bit of a stage mom.”
“Lovely. I’m sure she’s a charm.”
Regi whispers. “That’s Netty over there. I’m gonna say hi.”
“Okay,” Miss Janice approves with a gentle nod of her head.
Miss Janice lets Regi in and closes the door behind her. We move to the glass wall and look in on Alexandria dancing.
“Miss Janice,” I say. “There were a couple of your students who went missing recently. I’m sure you’re aware of it.”
She straightens her spine. “Yes. We lost them.”
“And now the five from the Valley.”
“Yes. The five.”
“And the Bak boy before that.”
“Yes. You knew him?”
“Our office didn’t handle his case. But I’m privy to some of the details.”
Regi sits against the wall with the little girl Netty. She whispers something in Netty’s ear and Netty bites her bottom lip nervously.
“Is that why you’re here?” Janice asks, suddenly getting defensive. “To investigate?”
“No. To be quite honest, this is nonofficial. I won’t be documenting my visit. I really am here to get Regi registered. But I’m also here because…well I’ve got this feeling that someone might be targeting specific children—ones who are into the Arts. I’m not sure why, but I thought maybe you might have an idea.”
“I couldn’t think of any reason why. These children don’t pose a threat to anyone.”
“Did the Bak boy?”
“No. In fact, Benjamin was profound when he danced. He was born to dance, Miss Van Patten.”
We watch Alexandria move across the dance floor, executing perfect little bounds and spins.
“She’s quite good herself,” I note.
“Her mother sees to that,” Janice says sardonically. “She’s obsessed with competitions. Winning them. Between you and me it makes me sick. That whole I can do better than you phenomenon. Our kids are up against it, you know. I try to protect them as best I can.” She looks up to a picture of Leonardo daVinci hanging just beside the front door. “Sometimes I wonder if he would have been as great if his mother was at his back all the time demanding he beat everyone around him. How can true art come from cunning? It can’t, Miss Van Patten. It has to come from…”
“Where?”
“Well I don’t know. That’s what we try to discover here. Where it comes from. All I do know, is in order to access it, one must have freedom.” She stops and her jaw drops open. “My God. There it is. Thatagirl Netty. Thatagirl.” I look and I see Netty gliding across the floor, her arms like two ribbons billowing out around her. Regi stands clapping in joy as she watches her. She hops up and down in excitement.
Alexandria has stopped dancing. She’s just standing there with her arms laced in front of her. She glares at her mother and then back at the girls, her face beet red.
Her mother rushes over to the stereo and slams her hand down on it and the music stops.
Janice shakes her head and looks at me. “Damage control,” she utters resent
fully. “I have to deal with this. If you have any more questions feel free to call.”
Is it possible that Alexandria’s mother is involved in the missing children? Could she be getting rid of them to knock out all the other competition? I’m about to pull out of the parking lot when I see Alexandria’s mother heading toward a white Tahoe SUV.
“Wait here, Regina,” I say. I get out and approach her with a big smile on my face. “Hello,” I say.
She’s digging in her purse and doesn’t even look up to acknowledge me. “I saw your daughter dancing in there. She’s quite talented.”
“Thanks.”
I think she still might be pissed about Netty stealing her daughter’s thunder. “I was thinking of my niece. Maybe enrolling her here. Is there any way I could maybe get your number in case I had any questions? Maybe I can introduce my niece to your daughter.”
“She’s busy. She doesn’t have time for any more friends. Ask the secretary for a brochure.”
15: Stori
I rocket up the stone steps, and yank at the red doors. They’re locked. I pound with a closed fist.
No response.
“Father!” I yell into the door. “Father!”
I pound again.
While I anxiously wait for him, I turn back to the desolate piazza and ponder what I might do if he doesn’t answer. Where else can I go? Who could help me? Nothing comes to mind.
Thankfully I hear the doors unbolt. I whirl back around and there’s Father Ash. Just the sight of him makes me want to take his pale face in my hands and kiss it.
“What is it, Stori?” he asks as if he’s just as frightened as I am.
A train whistle from the station a mile away blares in the distance.
“I want to know the truth.”
Father Ash’s church is dim and empty. The stained glass windows are a patchwork of mauves and grey. Only candles light the way. We move through the solemn light down the west aisle toward the altar. “Your father came here long ago, Stori. My first day as pastor. He asked me to keep my eye on you. And to look out for strange people who might be looking for you.”
The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1) Page 15
