Getting Old Is Très Dangereux: A Mystery

by Rita Lakin

  “I’m glad she’s all right. How did she take it when you filled her in about The Snake?”

  “Again, almost disinterested. She just wants to go home.”

  “And still no sign of him?”

  “It’s a puzzle. Nothing’s happening. It’s too quiet. I thought he’d make his move by now. Maybe he’s laying low because you spotted him. The entire security staff at the hotel is on full alert. I’ve also posted extra men around the building and they’re canvassing the whole area. I wonder where he is.”

  The Snake paces his crummy hotel room, holding a plastic bag full of ice to one side of his cheek. He’s totally frustrated by how things are going. This job should have been done by now, but his redheaded target is surrounded by flics. He’s certain that cop in the hotel guessed it was him. Now he has to rework his plan. Not that that would deter The Snake. What’s making him crazy is this damned Florida. He’s allergic to everything that grows here. Every flower makes him sneeze! To make matters worse, first he had to get glasses and now this—the pain in his tooth is getting worse by the hour. Getting old, he decides, is the pain in the derrière.

  An hour later, The Snake climbs the rickety steps leading to the office of Dr. Horace H. Holiday. The building needs paint and repair. There’s an easy alley getaway. The whole street smells of garbage. Good. The Snake has chosen from the yellow pages well. He couldn’t appear in some flashy main street office with too many possible witnesses.

  At least it’s clean inside, and even better, the dentist’s white coat doesn’t carry the bloodstains of former patients. He probably doesn’t even have many patients. The Snake sums up the man quickly: Overfed. Anxious. Too eager to please. Obviously has no receptionist. File folders lying around. A quantity of old coffee in cardboard cups.

  The Snake adopts a pathetic lost-tourist act, heavily accenting his English, pretending not to know the language well. He can see the gleam in Dr. Holiday’s greedy eyes; certain he’s deciding how much he will rip him off. Pretending stupidity, The Snake effusively thanks the man for seeing him on such short notice. “You are saving the life of me.”

  The dentist says with false cheer, “Not at all. Always glad to show foreign visitors our Florida hospitality.” The Snake introduces himself as M. Merde, knowing this fool won’t know what the offensive word means. He takes enjoyment from these little games he plays.

  The Snake sits down rigidly in the dentist’s chair. He is relieved to see the man scrub his hands, and then put on latex gloves. His instruments are waiting in a sanitizing dish. The Snake breathes a sigh of relief. He’d hate to die, poisoned by this hack.

  After placing a relatively clean paper bib around his neck, Dr. Holiday smiles broadly. “Now, Mr. Merd, let’s take care of your little problem.” Holiday opens his new client’s mouth and pokes around with his pick.

  The Snake watches with amusement as the man’s smile turns to horror. He actually stutters. “When is the last time you saw your dentist back home?”

  He pretends to be ashamed. “I don’t know. Maybe 1964? About the last time I went to church.” He chuckles. Another good one.

  The dentist leaves him for a moment, to hurriedly search his cabinets “I need my camera. I must have a picture of your rotting mouth for the next ADA meeting. It’s one for the record books.”

  The Snake’s eyes narrow. “Come back here. No pictures.”

  Dr. H.H.H. is dismayed. He returns to the chair. “In the interests of science—”

  “Just pull the bad tooth.”

  “But you don’t understand. There are at least a hundred hours of work in this mouth of yours. I hardly know where to begin. This abscessed tooth—”

  “Get the damned tooth out.”

  Dr. H.H.H. doesn’t realize he is about to make the biggest mistake of his life. He glares at The Snake. “Shame on you! These are the worst teeth I’ve seen in forty years. You’re an embarrassment.”

  The dentist fails to notice the narrowing eyes of his patient. He continues to poke around The Snake’s mouth in fast cadence with his growing lecture. “You old people don’t understand how important it is to floss! Sure, getting old is the pits, but that’s no excuse for laziness. I’ll bet you haven’t checked your prostate recently, either. I’ll bet it’s as big as the Dolphins’ stadium.”

  The Snake leaps up toward him and grabs him by the collar and tightly holds on. “Just pull the damn tooth.”

  Surprised and suddenly frightened, the dentist stutters, “Of-of course. Whatever you say.” He tries to pull away. “I must prepare your anesthetic. We wouldn’t want you to feel any pain.”

  “You want to give me laughing gas?” His eyes are slits by now. He tightens his grip on the dentist’s neck. The Snake smiles, and it’s not a pretty sight, what with those awful teeth. He can tell by the rolling of the man’s eyes that the dentist’s mind is hysterically trying out ways to save himself from this possible nutcase.

  “Nobody treats The Snake with disrespect!” With that he pulls out his knife and presses it to the dentist’s neck. A tiny smidgen of blood seeps down onto the formerly clean smock. The man gasps.

  “Just do it!”

  Even though his hands are shaking, the dentist manages to get the job done. In the moment that The Snake’s hand loosens in response to the pain, Holiday makes a run for it. But as ever, The Snake is faster. He leaps out of the chair.

  “Please don’t hurt me. Listen, this is free of charge. Please—”

  The Snake grabs him.

  The dentist looks into The Snake’s face, terrified now. “Why are you doing this? If you don’t want anyone to know you were here—you weren’t. Honest. I never saw you. I had no patients today.”

  He babbles. “I didn’t even hear you mention your name, Mr. Merd.” And sweats as he tries unsuccessfully to escape. “I have a divorced wife. Expensive alimony payments. Four children. One ready to go off to school. Do you know what that costs these days? Of course I wanted him to go to dental college, but you know kids … ”

  “Then I hope you carry a lot of life insurance.” With that, The Snake lets his trusty knife carry out its usual excellent work.

  Dr. Horace H. Holiday’s last dying thought is that his patient’s English had improved considerably.

  As The Snake leaves the dentist’s office, popping stolen pain pills, he begins to plot his new plan to finish the job. First, he will look for a suitable dinner companion.

  27

  WEDDING DAY MINUS ONE

  Early in the morning, when the New York-to-Fort Lauderdale red-eye arrives, Jack, Evvie, and Joe stand at my side. Morrie wanted to come and greet his sister, but he couldn’t get away. We stand excitedly outside the baggage claim area, waiting for our three family groups to arrive. Joe even has his camera ready.

  Here they come. Joe and Evvie’s daughter Martha and her husband, Elliot, rush toward us. Right behind them is Jack’s daughter Lisa and her hubby, Dan, and their two boys. The new baby stayed home with Dan’s folks. And right on their heels, there’s my daughter Emily with her Alan and my four wonderful grandkids.

  After the big group hug and many happy shots taken with Joe’s camera, much laughing and much posing, the entire gang suddenly moves backward away from us. What’s this?

  They line up as best they can despite the interruptions of passengers’ goings and comings at the terminal. Arms around one another, they wait for a signal. My Emily gives it with a wave of her hand and a cry. “Now!”

  A chorus of familial voices shout out in unison, “What took you so long?”

  Back at Lanai Gardens, Ida stands legs apart, hands on hips, in front of the girls. She is annoyed. “You have to come with me.”

  Sophie mimics her position. “Well, we’re not going. We have a hundred things to do today. We need to get our hair done. And do our cooking for the wedding. Right, Bella?”

  Bella nods her head vehemently. “Right. And besides, the Cane Fu wedding rehearsal is starting in twenty minutes. And you ha
ve to be there, too.”

  Ida pulls a sour face. She thinks the idea of copying West Point, using canes to make an archway under which the brides and grooms will walk, is silly. “Well, I haven’t made up my mind if I’m going to do it or not.”

  Bella is insulted. “It’s for our dearest friends. How can you refuse? It’s an honor.”

  Ida eyes them slowly. “All right, I’ll carry my cane. But first you have to go with me right now. The meeting’s about to start.”

  Sophie won’t budge. “We’ve already been there this week. It’s enough. Besides, both of us heard from our dead husbands. We don’t need to attend today.”

  Ida is adamant. “But I haven’t heard from mine, and I have a strong hunch that today’s my lucky day. And wouldn’t my friends, meaning you two, want to share my joy?”

  Sophie, remembering Stanley’s warning, stamps her foot. “You’re no friend. Not anymore.”

  Ida, betting on the fact she knows them so well, tries another tactic. She needs them there to see the Blatsteins’ fall from grace.

  She sighs, as if giving in. “Very well. I’ll go alone. I’ll tell you later if you missed anything.”

  She starts for the back path to Jerry’s Deli. In moments, she can hear the patter of their feet following her. The thought of missing anything will do it every time.

  To any bystander, the scene is chaos. But knowing that Evvie is in charge of the rehearsal, I have full confidence all will work out. I watch her in action. Like a traffic cop, my sister stands in the eye of the hurricane and dispenses whatever directions are needed. Pardon my mixed metaphor.

  Our friend and neighbor Pat “Nancy” Drew rushes up to her, wringing her hands. “We only have fifty chairs. Will that be enough?”

  Evvie: “Not to worry. If people have to stand, they will.”

  Pat scurries off.

  Joe approaches, worriedly looking around. “Where are your dingbat girlfriends? They’re needed for the Cane Fu rehearsal.”

  Evvie: “Don’t worry. Enlist stand-ins from our many grandchildren. They’ll love it. And warn them not to hit anyone over the heads with the canes.”

  Joe isn’t finished. “Hy is being a pain in the neck about which pole he gets to carry for the chuppah. He says he feels unbalanced.”

  Evvie laughs: “That’s because he is unbalanced. Let him pick his pole. Ignore him otherwise.”

  Linda wheels her chair over. Proudly she introduces the four scruffy-looking teenagers with her, carrying instruments. “Here they are, as promised. My grandson, Run, and his friends, Hop, Skip, and Jump.” She smiles wanly. “Their ‘professional’ names. For their band—Toothpaste.”

  I don’t dare crack a smile.

  Evvie, lips pursed: “Pleased to meet you. Find Joe and he’ll show them where they should set up.”

  When they leave, Evvie releases a groan.

  I walk closer to her. “Heaven help us.”

  We both try to hide our giggles.

  Evvie says, “Toothpaste? I think maybe someone should put a cap over them.”

  “Need some relief?”

  With her eyes glancing every which way, she says, “Nah. I’m having a ball.”

  “Very clever of you to give our families little jobs to do. It’s quite a sight seeing Dan, Alan, and Elliot redesigning the brush cove we’ll be standing in. With their wives decorating with balloons and kibitzing, of course.”

  “I missed my calling in life. I should have been a CEO of some major corporation. Like the CIA. Hah!”

  “Strange, isn’t it? No sign of Bella, Ida, and Sophie? I would have thought they’d be the first ones here.”

  “I can’t imagine why they weren’t. Could they be together, considering the war they’re fighting?”

  Ida tries not to squirm in her chair. She knows she’ll be called. She’s fresh meat for the Blatsteins. Sophie and Bella, still grumpy, keep looking at their watches. Ida only half listens to the guru’s lecture on the central chakra—the heart of the journey.

  He drones on, “The symbol for this chakra is twelve lotus petals around a six-pointed star. It is concerned with forgiveness and compassion—unconditional love and true acceptance in both body and spirit.”

  Yeah, yeah, Ida thinks. Sounds like all that sixties huggy-kissy stuff. What a joke.

  The guru is interrupted by the chimes. Everyone pays attention immediately. Ida sits straight up in her seat.

  The “dead husband” speaks. “I call upon Ida Franz. It’s Murray calling.”

  Yes! Ida jumps to her feet. Sophie and Bella stare, amazed. Her plan is working. She knew it would.

  “Murray, darling. So glad to hear from you. I knew you would call. I felt it in my heart.” She smiles, getting a kick out of this. She milks it. “My heart chakra told me.”

  “Murray” continues. “Thank you for telling our son to put flowers on my grave. It was so sweet you still remember.”

  A crooked smile appears on her face. Ida plays it to the hilt. She takes her time looking around, making sure every eye in the room is on her. “What son? We have no son. And Murray, what is this about a grave? You were cremated.” She lets her bewilderment turn into anger. “I have your ashes on the shelf in my bedroom closet, in an old Chock Full O’ Nuts coffee can, right next to my summer hats. What’s going on around here?”

  Sophie and Bella stare at her in shock, their mouths wide open. All the women gape at Ida, horrified by this turn of events.

  Ida picks up momentum. She turns on the guru and Jerry’s wife. “What kind of racket are you running? I knew you were phonies! I left a make-believe letter in my purse, knowing that you people search them for information!” Her face is getting redder by the moment, but in her frenzy she can’t stop. She runs to the back closet and flings it open.

  Her voice is shrill and high-pitched. “Where are you, Phoebe? Busing dishes? Get out here, Lenny, stop nibbling at the pastrami already. Come out, come out wherever you are.”

  She breathes heavily. It gives Ida great pleasure to watch Mrs. Jerry push herself against the wall, afraid that she might hurt her. Poor Arlene Simon, closing her eyes, so she won’t have to watch. Ida smiles meanly at the effect she’s having.

  But then “Murray” calls out again.

  “My poor, poor Ida. You didn’t fool anybody with your thoughtless letter. They know the real truth. That you put your own daughter in prison and your grandchildren will have nothing more to do with you. That’s why they moved to California, to get as far from you as possible.”

  Ida stops cold. How is it possible … ?

  Ida slowly turns toward the guru, who is still mouthing “Murray’s” words. She feels as if she’ll faint. She grabs onto a chair to hold her up.

  The guru locks his eyes onto hers. “Murray” continues in a nasty tone of voice. “I have news for you, my dear wife. Our convict daughter is about to get paroled. And she will be coming after you.”

  With that, Ida’s arms drop from the chair. The last thing she sees is the room spinning wildly around her and then, blackness.

  When Ida comes to, the first faces she’s aware of are those of Bella and Sophie. They kneel beside her looking worried and frightened. They are both crying. In fact, everyone in the room is tearfully surrounding her. Mrs. Jerry comes over and hands Sophie a damp cloth. Sophie lightly wipes Ida’s sweating forehead. All the faces show concern.

  Ida tries to talk but can’t. She is astonished to feel the sympathy of this whole group of people, sending waves of love out to her.

  Baba also looks at her with deep compassion. “May I help you up, Mrs. Franz?”

  Ida can barely nod. He gently lifts her to her feet. She stands, wobbly. At that moment Sophie and Bella and every woman in the room reach out wanting to help hold her. She feels their strength and is deeply grateful.

  With that Ida bursts into tears.

  Bella and Sophie hold onto her arms as they head for home. The sun is going down—she had no idea they’d been at the meeting
so long. For a few moments none of them speak. Finally Ida breaks the silence. “You mustn’t tell Gladdy or Evvie. It will ruin their wedding.”

  Sophie smiles. “Not a word out of my mouth. Pinkie honor.” She rolls her pinkie finger into Bella’s.

  Bella nods happily as her pinkie accepts Sophie’s. “Not a peep out of me, either.”

  They walk a little farther.

  Ida stops. She needs to tell them everything. They sit on a bench under a palm tree. They listen, their faces solemn.

  It’s hard for her to begin, but she must. “I’ve lied. About everything I ever told you about my life. I was too ashamed of the things that happened—the things I did. The mistakes I made.” She dabs at her tears with a tissue.

  “Everybody makes mistakes,” Bella offers.

  “Shh,” Sophie says kindly. “Let Ida finish.”

  “My daughter and son-in-law were selling drugs and I couldn’t stand the life they led, endangering my sweet grandchildren. They were on food stamps. They felt the world owed it to them. Why didn’t I recognize my daughter’s illness? I tried to help.” She shakes her head as she’s reminded of the bad memories. “I gave them money to support them until they found work. The money went fast and foolishly. I gave them more with their promises they would reform. When I finally had enough, I shut off the cash cow.”

  Bella can’t help it. “Oy, then what happened?”

  “They stole my jewelry. They forged my name on checks and when I found out, they laughed at me. They lied and didn’t give a damn how much they hurt me. I couldn’t think straight. I called the police and turned them in. My daughter’s husband got off, but she went to jail. My grandchildren believed their mother’s lies, swearing that I gave their parents all that money and jewelry.

  “They blamed me, and hated me so much for what I did to their mother and ruining their lives. They didn’t want to ever see me again. My darling babies ended up living with their other grandmother, who had no interest in them. Their lives must have been awful. I felt so guilty.” She stops to take a breath. “My daughter threatened my life. She said she’d finish me off when she got out.”