Suspicion of Betrayal

by Barbara Parker

  There was more to this, Gail could sense it, but she knew that Harry Lasko would not tell her. She said, "There's a hearing next month to reconsider the amount of temporary alimony and child support. Jamie could use your testimony. You don't have to go into detail, just say that Wendell made money on Eagle Beach, and how much—"

  "That's not a good idea. You just tell the judge what I told you. Take him aside and tell him."

  Gail shook her head. "It's not allowed."

  "Not allowed." A deep chuckle vibrated in his chest. "Gail, some things ought to be done. Fuck the rules. Excuse my language. You're a lawyer, you have a job to do. Follow every last nit-picking rule, you wind up with nothing. Remember that."

  She did not point out the obvious: Harry Lasko had wound up with a federal indictment. "What does Wendell do," she asked, "besides advise oil companies?"

  "Oh, Wendell's a deal maker. Example. When I met him, about four years ago, he was working as a consultant with a drilling company out of Houston. They stayed at my hotel on Curacao and went fishing with the brother or uncle, I don't remember, of whoever is in charge of Venezuelan coastal oil rights. Wendell got a fee for negotiating what the drilling company had to pay the politician's brother."

  "Negotiating a bribe?"

  "They call it a cost of doing business. Step two was, Wendell put the Texas company in contact with a Venezuelan company, proposing a joint venture. It went through and he got another cut, and more when the oil came in. He made money, and he asked my advice where to put it. Privacy was a concern."

  "He wanted a bank that wouldn't report his deposits to the IRS," Gail said.

  "Right. Some of his income he took back to the U.S., some he didn't."

  And Harry Lasko had done the same thing, Gail assumed. She had more questions, but he was unlikely to say anything substantive.

  She noticed that the wind chimes were making a racket, and the sky had darkened.

  "Am I putting you in a spot with Quintana, talking to me? We don't have to tell him." Harry spread his hands apart, palms up, willing to do her a favor.

  "Thanks, but Anthony and I like to be open with each other. He won't be thrilled, but when something falls in your lap, what do you do?"

  "You gotta go with it." He grinned and winked.

  Gail picked up her jacket, wondering precisely what she would say to Anthony. I couldn't help it. Harry Lasko started running his mouth . . . She intended to go back inside the house, but instead turned around to ask, "Harry, have you ever heard of the Old Island Club? It's on St. Thomas, but I can't remember exactly where."

  "Sapphire Beach. Sure, I know the Island Club. Have you been there?"

  "No, I just heard someone talk about it. What's it like?"

  "I believe it was made from timbers out of an old shipwreck. At high tide the waves come right under the windows. They've got a big wooden deck and a pit for roasting pigs."

  "Is it popular?"

  "Oh, yeah. If you like tourists. I used to go when it was a hangout for sailors. It's still fun." Lasko took a last drag on his cigarette and dropped it into a planter full of dead philodendron. They walked across the terrace. Jamie was visible inside, sipping a drink.

  "How did you get into the resort business?" Gail asked.

  He slid back the door. "My dad ran a hotel in Baltimore, but I thought Vegas sounded exciting. I went in the fifties, when it was starting to heat up. I dealt blackjack, poker, ran the craps table. I bought my first hotel in Nassau with my wife, Edie. I met her in Vegas. She was a showgirl then. Could she dance. What a set of legs. Up to her neck, those legs."

  He took the drink that Jamie offered him. "Jamie, you've seen my wife. Does she not have the best set of legs? And when she was younger, breasts like ripe cantaloupes. Gail, am I embarrassing you?"

  She smiled. "No, Harry."

  "Edie used to be a platinum blonde, a tall girl, like you. And smart! When I got to Vegas I was so green. I had dreams of being a comic, to show you how dumb I was. Edie felt sorry for me. She showed me the ropes, who was who. She actually thought I was funny. When Edie laughed, I was in heaven."

  Harry reached out and tapped Jamie on the arm. "Hey, come here. You need a laugh."

  "Sure." She curled up on the end of the rattan sofa, and Harry sat beside her.

  He said, "You know, I never asked Edie out at first because she was going with a guy sent down from Chicago to keep an eye on things in the casino. Joe Angionelli. Touch his girl, you kiss your ass good-bye. One day I'm walking home, and I hear this horn tooting at me. It's Joe's car, a fifty-eight Caddy convertible, white with red leather interior, and Edie's behind the wheel. She says get in, let's go. Go where? We're having a picnic. I see a basket in the back. Then she scoots over and tells me to drive. What? Are you nuts? Me drive this car? She says go ahead, Joe's in L.A. till tomorrow, and I won't tell. She puts on her sunglasses and her scarf, and we go tearing across the desert and the dust rolls up behind us like smoke. I mean, here I am in a Mafia goon's brand-new Cadillac, with this beautiful, gorgeous dame. We have a nice little supper by a lake. We have some booze, we swim. The sun goes down, the stars come up. Oh, those stars. You can't see them like that here, but wow. Was I in love. We turned on the radio and danced. A corny old song, 'It Had to Be You,' which of course became our song. Edie still likes me to sing to her. I think she hears me, I really do."

  Harry Lasko took a drink, then said, "Anyway, coming back, I swerve to miss something in the road and run the car into a gulley and just cream the front end. Edie says don't worry, don't worry, we'll think of something. We hitch a ride from an Indian in a pickup truck, and all I'm thinking is, I'm dead. When Joe gets back to Vegas, I'm dead. But the crazy thing is, the same night we were out there, the FBI arrested him in L.A. The next day Joe calls Edie to tell her to bring the car over, he's getting out on bail, and she says, Joe, it's gone. Whaddaya mean, gone? Where's my fuckin' car? The feds took it! The sons-a-bitches seized it and towed it away!"

  Gail laughed along with the others. Jamie threw back her head and whooped, and her shoulders shook.

  Harry's laughter trailed off. "We left Vegas that night and didn't look back. We worked our way over to the Bahamas and bought a little hotel, then a bigger one, then two in Jamaica. We traveled all over the islands. Edie loved the water, how clear it is, how blue. What a ride we had."

  He stared down into his glass. Jamie reached over and put a hand on his wrist. He patted it, then took another sip of his drink.

  Gail looked from one of them to the other, a little confused.

  Harry said, "I don't mean to talk about her in the past tense. Edie's alive, but she has Alzheimer's. She doesn't know me anymore. When I go to prison, Edie won't be aware. You could say that's a blessing."

  "Oh. I see." Gail felt the hideous irony like a weight on her chest.

  Jamie said, "I wish I'd known Edie . . . before."

  "You would have been great pals."

  "You're a good man, Harry."

  He laughed. "Tell it to the feds."

  Tears shone in her eyes. "What am I gonna do when you're gone?"

  "Jesus. I'm not gonna die, I'll be away for a while." Harry Lasko put his glass on the end table and stood up. He began dancing to a slow, jazzy beat of a tune that Gail did not know. "Ba-da-bop-bop-a-daaa." He took a step, then a turn, one hand on his chest, the other extended. He motioned to Jamie. "Come here. Dance with me."

  "No, Harry—"

  "Yes, Harry. Yes, Harry." He pulled her out of her chair, singing, "Bop-ba-da-da-daaah."

  Jamie spun around under his extended arm, then around again, stopping precisely to face him, then around again. Her heavy breasts wobbled under the pink T-shirt. He dipped her backward. She shrieked, but he didn't drop her. Jamie's bare foot pointed toward the ceiling.

  "This girl can dance!"

  She laughed. "I'm so out of shape."

  "No, you never forget. You got the moves, baby doll."

  At twenty Jamie Sue Johnson had da
nced in N'Awlins in little more than long red hair, freckles on white skin, and a rose tattoo on her thigh.

  Harry clicked the beat with his fingers, and his shoulders moved. The light gleamed on the frames of his glasses. "When I kissed youuuu, for the first time, it was the best time—"

  Jamie laughed with delight, and Gail found herself smiling. Harry swung Jamie around and hummed the melody with a voice made husky by years of booze and cigarettes.

  "Why wasn't Wendell nice to me, Harry? That's all he had to be. I wouldn't have filed for divorce if he'd just been nice to me."

  "Wendell is a putz. You'll have better someday."

  "You think so?"

  "Would I lie?"

  "It's the scariest thing, Harry."

  "No, baby doll. There's worse."

  She smiled. "I reckon there is."

  "I reckon so." He sang again, putting his arms around her waist. "When that old yellow mooooon was hangin' up above me . . ."

  Jamie's forehead dropped to his shoulder. She wept while he rocked her.

  "And you said you loved me. Baby, what a time, oh, what a time we had."

  EIGHT

  It was quarter to six, and raining hard, when Gail left Jamie Sweet's house. She slammed the car door and tossed her umbrella to the floor of the passenger side. Pausing at the end of the gated driveway, wipers sweeping sheets of water off the windshield, Gail hit speed-dial for Anthony's office.

  Mr. Quintana was with a client. "Please tell him I'm running late. We'll meet him at the hospital." Gail had learned that the stereotype about Cuban time didn't apply to Anthony. He was punctual to the minute, and would keep checking his watch if he had to wait around for someone else to get ready.

  With her headlights on, she hurried as fast as she dared on the narrow residential streets, barreling through puddles and swerving around a palm frond. She turned onto U.S. 1, the main artery through the south part of the county. A half mile later, taillights blazed, and she hit the brakes. Trapped in the middle lane behind a panel truck, Gail couldn't see what the problem was.

  She called home. "Lynn? It's me, stuck in a traffic jam. There must be an accident. I'm going to be late. I'm so sorry." Lynn told her not to worry about it. She would phone her husband and tell him to take the boys out for pizza. Karen was upstairs taking a bath, and the repairman was nearly finished with the wiring. Gail asked her to remind Karen that they had to pay a visit to Anthony's grandfather tonight; then the three of them would go to dinner. "Tell her to put on something nice."

  Gail said that there was some money in a drawer in the kitchen, and Lynn could pay the electrician from that. Gail accelerated to keep up with the truck, which had moved several yards ahead. Just in time she saw a car quickly cutting in front of her from the right. She slammed on the brakes, catching her breath when the car behind her nearly slid into her bumper. The driver in front turned around and gave her the finger. She could see his mouth moving in inaudible curses. She blared her horn at him.

  The clock announced 6:02 in calm blue digital numerals.

  Rain obscured the strip shopping center to the east. A man ran across the parking lot with a plastic bag flapping over his head. Lightning flickered, and a crack of thunder followed. Summer thunderstorms were fierce but short-lived.

  Gail's mind turned to Jamie Sweet. She had no idea what Jamie might do or what she wanted. In the space of ten minutes Jamie had gone from hating Wendell to loving him, then to wanting any settlement just to have it over with. Gail could feel her slipping away, preferring to drown rather than keep up the struggle.

  "Selfish bastard," Gail said aloud. If Harry Lasko was right, Wendell had a million dollars or more in an offshore bank. If Gail could prove it, the judge would be likely to give the house, the stocks and bonds, the cars, the collectibles, the condo in Key West—everything within his reach—to Jamie because Wendell, in his greed, had flat-out lied to the court. The tricky part was finding the proof. She couldn't simply tell the judge that Harry Lasko supposed that Wendell had money. The supplemental documents that she expected on Friday might help, but Gail wanted to talk to Harry again, as soon as she cleared it with Anthony.

  Before meeting Harry Lasko, Gail had not cared one way or the other about his going to prison, but now she could not bear the thought of it. She wanted Anthony to save him. Do something. Don't let this man die behind bars.

  She found herself softly singing the tune that Harry had sung to Jamie. "When I kissed you ... for the first time . . . Baby, what a time we had."

  In south Florida rain might fall on one block and leave the next untouched. As Gail turned onto Clematis Street, the sun was sending golden light under the retreating clouds.

  She noticed a group of kids by the low rock wall on the Cunningham property across the street. Payton Cunningham straddled his bicycle in baggy shorts and an oversized T-shirt, and his sister was combing another girl's hair. Two boys were hitting each other in the arm. As Gail's car approached, the group shifted to let her pass. Then Gail saw Karen sitting on the wall, swinging her feet. She jumped down and came slowly across the street in her hip-hugging bell-bottoms and a top that showed her navel. Gail stared at her, then turned to park in the driveway.

  She couldn't. The space was taken up with Lynn Dobbert's old Toyota and a faded green van that Gail recognized as belonging to the repairman, Charlie Jenkins. She parked beside a half-empty pallet of roof tiles. The roofers were supposed to have finished their repairs today, but apparently they'd had better things to do.

  Briefcase in one hand, her purse over her shoulder, Gail waited for Karen, who was taking her time. Her hair hung loose, and her bangs were in her eyes. She was as tall as the other girls, but too young for this crowd.

  Gail noticed her mouth. "Where did you get that lipstick?"

  "It's Jennifer's."

  "What are you doing out here, anyway? You're still grounded from Friday." The only response was a shrug of narrow shoulders. "Never mind. Go change your clothes. And hurry. We're already late."

  "I'm going with Daddy," Karen said. "I called him to pick me up."

  Gail laughed in disbelief. "Well, you can just un-call him." She started toward the house. "Come on."

  Not budging, Karen crossed her arms. "I don't want to go with you."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You embarrassed me, Mom. You told Payton's mother that he called you on the phone and said something nasty."

  Gail glanced at the kids, who were avidly watching this scene. Peggy Cunningham had twisted what Gail had told her. "We'll discuss it later. Come inside, please. Now." She took the two stone steps to the front porch and saw Lynn Dobbert standing just inside the screen door.

  "Ms. Connor, I told Karen to put on something nice, just like you said, but she wouldn't." Lynn stood back to let them come in. "I didn't know she called her father."

  Karen rolled her eyes and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

  "Lynn, I am so sorry. I apologize for her behavior." Gail dropped her briefcase and purse on the sofa, then said to Karen, "Upstairs. Now."

  "Daddy's coming!"

  "We'll leave him a note."

  Just then a bearded man came out of the kitchen, wearing jeans and paint-spattered work boots. Charlie Jenkins was heavy enough that his belly hung over a scuffed leather tool belt. "Well, your electrical problem is resolved."

  Lynn unfolded some bills from the pocket of her slacks and handed them to Gail. "This is what I found—sixty-three dollars. He wants a hundred and twenty-five."

  Astonished, Gail looked at him. "For what?"

  He looked back as if his feelings were hurt. "It's what I always charge. Fifty minimum to show up, plus twenty-five every half hour. It took some time."

  She held up her hands. "Okay. Is everything working?"

  "Like new." Charlie Jenkins extended an arm toward the kitchen, and she went to see. Lynn and Karen trailed behind. He opened the refrigerator. The fight was on, and the motor was humming obediently; Then he flipped a sw
itch, turning the light in the ceiling on and off. "All right?"

  Gail nodded wearily. She noticed Karen getting the box of kitten chow out of a lower cabinet, holding Missy around the belly with her other hand. The cat could not possibly be hungry.

  She said to Jenkins, "What was the problem?"

  "A short in the wall. I had to replace the wire. You got those old cloth-covered wires. Looks like something bit it, probably a rat. You'll find out in a day or so. They rot pretty fast in this heat we're having."

  "Oh, wonderful." Gail retrieved her purse, finding eighteen dollars and change. She put that and the rest of the cash on the kitchen table. "That's eighty-three. Come on, Charlie, let me write you a check this time."

  He sucked in some air through his teeth. "Well, you know my policy, Ms. Connor. Cash only."

  "I'll make the check out to cash," she offered.

  "I really hate banks. Hate to walk into those places, standing in line."

  "Why is this happening? I'm supposed to be visiting someone at Mercy Hospital right now."

  Lynn said, "I have some money."

  "Would you?"

  Charlie Jenkins took out his receipt book. "Your lucky day." He bent over the table, belly hanging, and began to write.

  The doorbell rang. Karen sprinted for the living room. A second later her high voice rang out. "Daddy's here. Bye, Mom."

  "Wait just a minute! Lynn, get the receipt, okay? Karen!" Gail ran after her.

  Dave stood in the doorway, dressed in his usual fashion of boat shorts and Island Club shirt and billed cap. Gail pulled him onto the porch and closed the door, leaving Karen inside. "Dave, I'm sorry, but there's been some confusion. Karen shouldn't have called you. We made plans for dinner tonight."

  "All I know is, she said you weren't here, she didn't know where you were, she was in the house with strangers, and please, Daddy, come get me."

  "She knew very well where I was. I had an emergency with a client. And my receptionist is not a stranger."

  "What are you telling me? You won't let her come with me? Or what?" Dave's nose was sunburned, as if he had been outdoors all weekend. Karen had returned with her legs toasty brown, then white below the level of her tennis socks.