Well, then. Time to order up another case of vodka online and to again argue with some clod wanting to switch me over to Grey Goose. Right, Clod. I understood commission. But I wasn’t about to abandon loyal Beeto who’d seen me through my complete disintegration. Oops! Did I accidentally type the word clod? Yup. Humorless Clod responded by sending me a virus that I couldn’t even drink. Plan B. After rescuing my iPhone from a pile of dirty laundry I dialed Donald the Doorman to order an old-fashioned booze run.
For the next four days I reloaded software between bouts of drinking and feeling sorry for myself, and pornography. For some strange reason Donald the Doorman kept tucking porn magazines into my booze bags, which got me worrying some. I was seriously anxious about the protocol around properly thanking Donald for such thoughtfulness and about what I should actually say to the letch. I mean, what do say to a guy that fond of body parts? ‘Thanks for the porn, Don. You’re a hell of a guy.’ Or, was that too chummy? Maybe I should say more formally, ‘You are most considerate, Donald. Most kind. You know that I’m a shut-in and still you continue to keep me in touch with the outside world.’ In the end I decided against thanking Donald at all.
Nearing the fifth week of my self-imposed isolation I started babbling to the monster in the mirror. He was a looker, all right. He had a werewolf quality to him, black-faced and shaggy, with haunting sky-blue eyes. He looked familiar though. He looked like someone I’d been before, in another life. In that life I’d had a family and I was in love with a beautiful girl who refused to love me back. A familiar story? I mean, a lot of guys are walking around with broken hearts and nobody gives a damn. Get over it, people say. So, that’s what I told the werewolf in the mirror. I said, ‘Get over it, Wolf.’ And without contemplation Wolf answered back. ‘Give me vodka, you cheapskate. A lot of vodka.’ So I did. I gave Wolf a lot of vodka if only to prove my generosity. So, now I was guzzling vodka with a werewolf and I wasn’t even ashamed. I wasn’t exactly in a position to bond with my new BBF, however, my lying on the bathroom floor, face down. And do you want to know the worst part? Wolf abandoned me too - after saying something about pathetic pity-parties and the need to breathe. Talk about gratitude! I rolled over to count the stars. High up in the sky the stars were twinkling in the plaster. Put that on your list, I told myself. New ceiling. No stars. Stars make you sick. Toilet. Barf. And they say that drunks can’t think.
But the very next day I noticed the bones in my fingers growing larger, my hips growing smaller, and shortly thereafter my sweats fell off. I decided to order in food.
Donald almost broke the door down in his hurry to feed me. “Chinese food!” he announced. “Fifty bucks.”
I swatted his hand away. “I gave you two hundred this morning for the booze. You can’t have spent it all.”
Donald had a cylindrical look to him, like an exquisite Persian carpet all rolled up. He had friendly brown eyes, a hooknose, and curly dark hair that sprang like mattress coils from under a doorman’s cap. “The food’s thirty, Charlie. So your tip is the rest. Take it or leave it.” He put the bag behind his back and held his ground, about the size of a postage stamp. “I could always let your boss in.”
He was starting to bug me. “I don’t have a boss. I’m self-employed.”
“Right. I’ll tell Mr. Jones that in the elevator. When I’m escorting him up.”
I shelled out fifty bucks.
Early the following morning texts started to arrive, the first one from Trish the Terrible. Charlie, you idiot. I got your suicide note. And if you kill yourself over Jack I’ll kick your butt. But in your next death threat could you possibly mention my name? Your special coffee awaits!
Right. Coffee spiked with bits from the warehouse bathroom floor. I could happily die without a last beverage from Trish. Old Sammy in the Tree texted next from Jack’s cell. Charlie, you are such a goof. That’s why I like you. You always make me laugh. We all know you like yourself too much to end it all.
Hmm. Apparently, I’d sent out a suicide note to my address book. Tony Chan texted next. If you stay in there much longer Jack is going to dynamite the place. Come out with your hands up. Love, Tony.
Shoeshine Fatso texted from his iPhone. Want your ears boxed, kid? You try that stupidity and you’ll get no respect from me. Not that you get much now. Kidding.
Finally the one I’d been dreading all along. I need you son. I need your help. Reynolds the Wrap is going after Richard and I need you to watch out for my boy. xoxo Jack.
Watch out for his new boy, he meant, because just short weeks ago Richard Chang had been out to butcher us both, he might recall. I doubted the biggest crime-boss on the planet needed my help but… it was a half-assed excuse to detangle from Beeto, to face life head-on, in a mediocre sort of way. Maybe one day a week I’d give up vodka. Ok. Maybe I’d sneak vodka on that day too, given that I lived alone. I somehow managed to drag my butt to the bathroom and while cutting my beard with garden shears I happen to notice a vodka box in the hallway reflected in the mirror. In big blue letters the words read, Frederick Chopin. 1810-1849. Warsaw, Poland.
Sorry, Beeto. I guess you looked exactly like somebody else.
Chapter Two
I DON’T EVEN LIKE VODKA. And I don’t know why I let some Internet bootlegger convince me that I did. Like my dad, Jack, I prefer whiskey - neat and in the company of someone I enjoy. I’m social drinker, cut and dried out, although it took about a year.
On a crisp October morning I headed out in my Beemer, top down. I drove through the Causeway whiffing the scent of pine needles decaying on the forest floor and by the time I reached the Lions Gate Bridge by hopes began to soar. Blue sky. Wispy white clouds. God, I felt great! I was alive again. I could see Jack’s house up in the Properties, looming on the cliff. Home. I remembered everything good about growing up there. I could even smell Maya’s ginger cookies baking in the oven and Julia’s French perfume as it trailed behind her through a room; the spicy fragrance of Cuban tobacco drifting through the library door as two old reprobates celebrated their freshly-laundered money. Home. I was about to seriously wallow in it.
Julia met me at the front doors of 33 Terrace Place wearing taupe. Taupe was her second favorite color but if anyone could blow a beggar away on the doorstep it was Jack’s sister, my first crush, draped in taupe. Julia looked hot wearing a pantsuit with skinny little legs and teetering on five-inch heels. Her sleek dark hair went twisting into a knot.
“Charlie!” she squealed. “Darling! It’s wonderful to see you.”
“You too, Julia.” I hugged her hard.
Her round hazel eyes studied me up and down. “You look just dreadful you know.”
“You should’ve seen me last week.”
“He isn’t worth it, you know. Jack’s not worth the trouble he causes you.”
Right. Julia and Jack adored each other and anyone naive enough to believe otherwise deserved to be caught between them.
Oh. Oh. The statue of David in the alcove started to sway. Once again it was about genitals so I hung my scarf on his knob.
“It’s penis envy,” I told Julia.
“What?”
“David. He’s jealous of me because his penis is shriveling.”
She laughed. “I’m so glad you’re back! And I’m sure David is too. You know those Italian boys thrive on competition.” She led me into a familiar living room of leafy palm trees and Moroccan treasures and white leather sofas clumped in pairs. We settled into a couple of animal print chairs.
“Jillian is traveling but she’ll be home tonight, Charlie. She texted from Frankfurt. She needed to get away for a while.”
“No kidding! It must have been a shock knowing that she married her own brother and how close she came to, well….”
“Trust you to bring that up.”
I shrugged. “Reality sucks.”
“Yes. But thanks to you and your big buddy, Willy Chan, all ended well.”
“Little buddy. Willy’s just fiv
e-eight. I’m six feet.”
“You’re six-two.”
“Says Jack.”
“Says me. I was there when Jack and Tony measured you. Although they told you that you were only six feet I clearly saw the tape. I also heard them later in the library laughing about how they’d tricked you. You were eighteen at the time and ‘getting too big for your britches’ they said.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Don’t look at me.”
“You could have told me the truth.”
“And continue to live in this house? Not likely.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her shapely legs. “I don’t quite know how to say this, Charlie, but it has to be said. We all love you, my darling. More than you know. Especially Jack. Jack adores you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“He does. You likely won’t remember this but I remember very clearly. When your parents died in that unfortunate accident Jack was scared. Scared of the responsibility of parenting two children because he was just twenty-six and had inherited the business from Dad that same spring. I was a year older and was also scared because both Mom and Dad were gone and I was stuck with Jack.” Her eyes twinkled. “But Jack took to you like a mood-altering drug. You were his little clone. He dressed you the same as he dressed, having his tailor create little suits for you, identical to his. And remember when he bought those home permanent kits for Maya to make your hair curly like his? What a production that was!”
I cringed. “Boy, do I remember! I shaved my head in protest.”
“Courageously so. Jack wasn’t happy but you gained his respect.”
“Yeah, right. He started calling me ‘the Monk’.”
She showed her perfectly white teeth. “But he liked the fact that you stood up to him. He respects you for it.”
“He has a funny way of showing it.”
“Like I said earlier you don’t have to take crap from him. You just do. And last year when he wrongly went to jail and everything turned chaotic, whom did we all lean on? You.” She stood up. “I know it’s early afternoon but I think we should have a drink. Whiskey for you, neat?”
“Make mine light. I’m trying to quit.”
She returned with a Waterford tumbler half-full. “I know that Jack looks every inch the villain at this juncture but I think you need to cut him some slack. Not to be trite but there’s so much more than what meets the eye.”
“With him there always is.” Such as the millions he made by stealing from me, I wanted to say. Like he needed more money to stash in Switzerland or the Caymans or the floorboards beneath our feet.
At the front door I hugged Julia again. “I thought you and Peter were moving in together.”
“I thought so too. But it didn’t exactly work out. Peter’s a cop. He didn’t take to the lifestyle of the rich and famous. He lasted all of three days in my penthouse. Then he needed his space.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Nothing has really changed. I’m here most of the time, as usual. The penthouse is just a nice retreat, a shelter away from Jack. I’m restoring my villa in Spain and combined with my many business dealings I really don’t have time for a personal life.”
“That’s bullshit.”
She punched me on the arm. “You would have to use his expression. Just when my heart was beginning to mend.”
On the drive over to the warehouse later in the day I mulled Julia’s words. I was a Jones, like it or not, through coercion. Call me a glutton for torture but I happened to like the salty ocean breeze and the scent of decaying algae. The Port. Home. Jack. Well, two out of three wasn’t bad.
He smiled when he saw me in the doorway. “The prodigal son! And just in time for the cocktail hours.”
I pulled up a chair and reached for the tumbler of whiskey spinning towards me across the desk. “Here’s to good times.”
Jack’s green eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s poor luck to say that, Hamster.” His sandy curls and bushy mustache needed a rigorous trim. “You have to toast to something bad. Like, here’s to the goddamned feds! May they keep their grubby paws off my laundered money.”
“And off my stolen surveillance equipment. It’s about all I have left.”
“Now you’ve got the hang of it!”
We raised our glasses.
“Funny you should drop by today because I’ve got a job for you.”
Well, so much for apologies. An apology was something Jack paid others to deliver. Julia had done a fine job setting me up.
“I’m really excited,” I said sarcastically. “Guarding Richard. It’s a great title for a movie. But as I recall Richard has more armed guards than Fort Knox. What could he possibly want from me?”
“It isn’t what Richard wants. It’s what I want. I still call the shots.”
Chapter Three
SOMETIMES TAKING A BREAK TO smell the vodka works in a guy’s favor and in my case, it did. The Chinatown apartment I’d rented to spy on Reynolds Woo – while looking for communication from Willy in Beijing — was still in my name and would be for two more years. And since the cameras and microphones Jackie had planted in Reynolds’ suite were still in place I had only to lug the monitor up three flights of stairs. Done.
I unlocked the door, hooked up the equipment, and zeroed in on the computer-hacking genius known to me mostly from spying. He hadn’t changed much. No, Reynolds the Wrap Woo was still taking odd and peculiar to a new level of weird. He was still tiny. And with little GI Joe fingers he was madly typing while bouncing back and forth between myriad computers, juggling virtual B and E’s. Little wire-rimmed glasses rested near the tip of his nose as his keen brown eyes searched the Web. I got whiplash just watching him whirl - so fast that the kippah almost fell off his head. To my knowledge he had yet to convert to Judaism.
But things had changed in the Wrap’s home in my absence. New furniture had replaced the ratty antiques discarded by Reynolds’ horrid mom: a new pair of red sofas with black cabriole legs; black lacquered tables with ribbons of bright flowers painted on; and a rich oriental carpet anchoring all of the above. A mural of Hong Kong at night now covered an entire wall, not cheap. The boy had moved up in the world certainly, thanks to Jack’s thievery of me.
Enter ‘slick’ Willy Chan, my lifelong best bud, or former best bud, I should say. I hadn’t exactly been working on forgiveness, you understand. And I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say that Willy wanted to save my lily-white ass from corruption too. Bullshit. Anyway, Willy sauntered into Reynolds’ living room like he owned the place and possibly did own the building, given his years working for Jack and the Triad and having amassed a little real estate empire on the side. And what did I own? My mortgaged condo and a closet full of aging Gucci suits. And regrets. Maybe I should have gone bad like they all wanted me to in the beginning.
Immaculate in his designer suit and highly polished shoes, Willy looked every bit as flashy as the new furniture. He shook his shiny, shoulder-length hair before stretching out on a sofa and raising his feet. He was smiling. Willy was known for that infectious smile and even more so for the craftiness behind it. Taboo came creeping into the room to shoot a scowl at Willy’s back before retreating down the hallway past several armed guards. Reynolds’ assistant was still bowling-ball bald.
In the back office, Reynolds finally grew bored with stealing and proceeded to crank up a shattered karaoke machine held together with tape. You may remember that Mini had kicked the crap out of Reynolds’ favorite toy, due to what she viewed as her elder son’s stupidity. Funny that. A stupid genius. Well, Reynolds had quit Richard, a major CLM. And still in hiding he was left to sing karaoke and to wail like no other agoraphobic on the planet. In my absence he’d moved on to Taylor Swift and was mercilessly murdering Shake It Off. My stomach churned.
Reynolds must have sickened himself because he suddenly canned the music. “William! I need you. And bring the bald guy with you.”
William wa
s a thing between Reynolds and Willy, friends since school days. ‘William’ gave Willy the air of importance he deserved, Reynolds thought. And was certainly superior to ‘slick’ Willy Chan.
Willy rose from the sofa, shook his shiny dark hair, and awaited Taboo who was traveling down the hallway at the speed of light. Reynolds pointed to the scrunched papers cast all over the floor. “Clean up this mess, will you?”
Willy cocked his head. “Certainly. Taboo will get right on it.”
Taboo ground his teeth. “I did it last time. It’s Willy’s turn.”
Willy flashed Reynolds his killer smile. “I think it’s his forte. Do you not think he does it well?”
Reynolds winked back. “You are good at it, Taboo. It should probably be your permanent job.”
Willy sauntered down the hall to his own office, whistling.
Taboo set about tidying up but he wasn’t happy. “Willy is trying to cheat you.”
Well, I never said that Taboo was a genius too. Not even close. He wasn’t a genius among geniuses, if you know what I mean.
“Is that so?” Reynolds screwed up his face.
“He’s a computer hacker too, you know.”
“I didn’t know. Joke.”
“Not as good as you,” he said wisely. “But he is good.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I think he’s trying to steal your shipment.”
Now he had Reynolds’ interest. “What shipment would that be?”
Oh, oh. Taboo was shitting his pants. Although he shared Willy’s office he was not privy to classified information. “I’m not sure. I just heard him talking.”
“Talking and computer hacking!” said Reynolds sarcastically. “Exactly who’s been doing your job while you’ve been watching Willy?”
Red crept into Taboo’s cheeks.
Reynolds stretched his neck. “Hmm. Maybe you should spend some time with Lugs Nut, Taboo. A couple of days works for me. To improve your thinking.”
Jack in a Box Page 18
