That night, Billy shows up with ten more rings in a clear plastic baggie. He isn't in a good mood. The Jims have decided that Heather is not properly appreciative of their gift. If it weren't for Billy, they said, they would have withdrawn their offer.
"Can't you bring more than a few at a time?” Heather asks. She spills the rings onto the coffee table. “How about some of the other things? Not just rings."
"I don't know,” Billy says. “The guys aren't too happy."
They are sitting on the sofa. Billy is stiff, legs spread wide, arms folded over his chest. Heather is leaning forward, looking at the rings. Her thigh pushes against his knee.
"How much do you think these are worth?” She touches them lightly, rearranging them. “All together."
"All together? Maybe...” After thinking for a second, he says, “I don't know."
"Take a guess."
"I can't guess."
"What do you mean, you can't guess?"
"I don't know."
"That's what a guess is, silly."
Billy expects the discussion to veer into an examination of his flaws and inadequacies with money. Heather is obsessed with money, and in particular with Billy's views on it. He doesn't have any views on money as long as he has enough to get by. But suddenly, right then, all he wants is to escape, go to Yasmine's, hang with the guys, drink some beer, shoot some darts.
"Sundance,” Heather says. Billy chuckles. It sounds dopey when she says it, when she actually calls him that. The room is quiet—no TV, no radio. The name vibrates like something hard and metallic has fallen from a shelf.
"Yeah?” Billy says. “Evelyn.” But his voice is distant, grumpy.
"Why don't we get out of here?"
That's exactly what he wants to do, but not with Heather, not when she is in this mood. And not when he is worried that his buddies are upset with him.
"Naw,” says Billy. Heather looks at him crossly. “Maybe tomorrow night,” he adds. “I'm tired."
"No, silly,” she says. “I mean get away from here, go somewhere new. Start over. Start fresh.” She snuggles against him and turns her eyes upward to his face. Billy still doesn't get it. “Move away,” she says.
"Move away?” Billy is totally confused.
"There's nothing really holding us here. I'm not even working..."
"Yeah, and if you leave, you'll probably lose your workers’ comp.” Billy slides forward. “For sure, I won't be able to get unemployment."
"I can get my aunt to cash my unemployment checks and send me the money,” she says. Her breasts push against his side, her chin digs into his arm, her eyes are damp. “Anyhow,” she adds, “you can get a job anywhere with your skills."
"Yeah, but I like it here, I was born here. My buds are here."
"Your buds,” she says sharply. “Your buds are crooks, and you need to get away from them.” Billy fidgets. He doesn't know where this is going. She says, “We can change our names, have a whole new life, leave the past behind."
"Where would we go?” Billy asks.
"We could go anywhere,” she says, drawing a circle on his chest with her finger to indicate the entire world. “Wyoming."
"Wyoming?” How is she coming up with this stuff? He doesn't even know exactly where Wyoming is.
Billy is silent, not even thinking about what she's saying. Heather grows tired of waiting.
"Well?"
"Well what?” he says. “I don't want to leave my past behind. It would be like leaving my future behind, if you know what I mean."
Heather doesn't care what he means. She lifts onto her knees and speaks earnestly.
"Listen,” she says. “We can do something.” She is watching his face closely, but he won't look at her. “We could ... I don't know, do something, get some money somehow.” She pauses, and moving only his eyes, Billy casts her a glance. “We could sell these rings,” she says.
"Whaaaaat?” Now, he looks at her, his eyes bugging out of their sockets. “What are you talking about?"
"You could get some more of the rings tomorrow. Keep these and also bring some more. Not all of them. How many do they have? Total? You could take like a third of them."
Billy is on his feet. Shaking his head. Shaking all over.
"No, no, no. You don't steal from your best friends. Not when all they want is to do me a favor, for crying out loud."
Maybe he should tell her that he asked them to get the rings for him, but he's afraid what her goofy logic might do with that information.
"Look,” she says, “you're sort of an accomplice anyhow.” His eyes narrow. “Just by knowing about it. What the law says is you have to call the police if you know about a crime."
"No way,” Billy says.
"Besides,” Heather says, “you can't steal something that's already been stolen, can you?” She is speaking in falsetto, clinging to his hand. Heather is mercurial, able to shift from calm to vehement to frantic in a blink. “Can you, Sundance?” She's crushing his hand. “Can you?"
"Who would we sell them to, anyhow?” Still shaking. She tugs Billy back down on the sofa beside her, but he refuses to relax. “I don't even know who buys stolen rings."
"So they are stolen!” She lets go of his hand, rearranges herself. Her voice is cranky, scolding. “Listen, if your genius buddies can figure out what to do with them, then so can we."
Her flash anger lashes out, but the flame collides with an immutable shield of loyalty.
"They don't have to figure anything out,” Billy says. “They already know.” He leans forward, scoops the rings back into the baggie, and stuffs it into the pocket of his jeans. Stands, moves toward the door.
"Where are you going?” she asks, getting up and following him.
"You shouldn't disrespect a man's friends,” he says.
"Oh, please,” she snaps disdainfully. She puffs her chest, puts her hands on her hips, speaks in a deep voice. “Womenfolk shouldn't disrespect a man's high school friends.” She flubbers her lips. “What's that, something you learned from the Sundance Kid?"
Billy stares at her for a moment, flicks his mustache—out of habit, not as his trademark move.
"Anyhow,” Heather says, shifting her tone. “What about a man's fianceee?"
Billy has to think about that. “You're not making any sense,” he says.
"What did I say?” she yelps, bursting into tears. He ignores her. “What did I say?” He takes another step away from her. “Okay, forget it,” she says abruptly, voice calm, commanding. “Sit down.” She turns her back and moves toward the sofa, waving him to follow. “I was just thinking, brainstorming, working with some different ideas.” She produces a fake laugh. “We'll think of something else.” Her brain is whirring. “How about this? I'll talk to your friends. See if they'll sponsor us."
"Sponsor us?"
"Sure."
"I'm going,” he says. Opens the door.
"No, wait,” she pleads.
"I'm tired. I'm going to bed early tonight.” He steps into the hallway. “I'll see you tomorrow."
* * * *
After leaving Heather, Billy goes to Yasmine's and hangs out with The Jims. Several times, especially after becoming a little tipsy, Billy complains about and apologizes for Heather's ingratitude.
"Billy Boy, no problem,” the Jims reassure him.
"She's not you, Billy,” Jim McDermott says more than once.
"She is she, and we are three,” Menke rhymes, and holds up his beer.
They clink their bottles in a solemn toast. But Billy remains moody and brooding until just before closing, when Menke says he has an early surveillance and suggests that Billy go with him.
"We'll be out all day,” Menke says. “Give you a little break."
McDermott urges Billy to go with Menke. “Let the little woman cool down a bit."
Billy has accompanied Menke on other jobs and rather likes it. Sitting in the car all day, looking at nothing, thinking about nothing, drinking coffee. He likes
early mornings, especially when they are situated before the sun rises and can watch the darkness fade, the sky turn crimson, the trees take shape, the world come alive. Feel night's chill evaporate.
"Yeah,” says Billy. “Pick me up."
* * * *
At Yasmine's the next evening, when Billy and Menke come in from their day of surveillance, Big Jim McDermott is sitting in the corner booth, looking serious.
"Have you talked to Evelyn?” he asks Billy.
Evelyn? Billy has to think who he means. “Oh yeah, Evelyn.” He chuckles. “No, not since last night."
"We've been on a mission all day,” says Menke. “Keeping the world safe from insurance scammers."
"Anyhow, I'm still more than a little bit PO'ed with her after yesterday."
During the day, Billy and Menke talked about Heather-Evelyn, and Billy's mood has not softened toward her.
"Well,” says McDermott, shrugging his shoulders. “I've got good news and bad news."
"Eye-ee,” says Menke, his lips curl into a knowing smirk. “Better let us get a beer first."
"Yeah,” says Billy, “I'm parched."
"Double parched,” Menke twitters, and crosses to the bar. Returns with two Shipyard Summers, clunks them on the table, and wiggles into the booth next to Billy.
"Hit us with the good news first,” says Menke, eyeing a brown paper grocery bag on the seat next to Big Jim.
"You ready for this?” McDermott asks, holding his somber tone.
Billy takes a long gulp of beer, grins, clinks his bottle against Menke's, takes another drink. “Hit us,” he says.
Menke is twitching with anticipation.
"Let me say first,” says McDermott, “if it weren't for you, Billy Boy, we wouldn't be into this jewelry store thing."
"Wouldn't be in, wouldn't have to get out.” Menke says, rolling his face into a frown.
"Robbing jewelry stores to get our best friend an engagement ring,” McDermott says, gesturing without lifting his hands off the table.
"Greedy women,” says Menke. “Gimme more, gimme more.” He holds up his hands, snarls, crimps his fingers.
"Ugh.” Billy ducks his head, covers his face. “Guys, I am really sorry,” he says with anguished intensity. “Heather ... I can't believe ... you know, I'm telling her the ring deal is off. I mean, no kidding ... I'm not even sure I ought to be talking about marriage.” He rustles his hands.
The Jims watch Billy go through his changes, and then Big Jim breaks in. “You know what else we wouldn't be into if it weren't for you?"
Billy winces.
"Tell us,” says Menke.
Big Jim hoists the paper bag onto the table, unfurls the top, and empties the contents on the table.
"All this money."
Eight stacks of neatly bound one hundred dollar bills tumble out of the bag. Billy's eyes look like they might explode. McDermott grabs a stack of hundreds, riffles the edge, and tosses it to Billy.
"Looks like twenty-five times eight, twenty thousand smackers,” says Menke, counting and computing quickly in his head. With a nod, Big Jim confirms Menke's calculations. “Smackers galore,” Menke says jubilantly.
The Jims burst out laughing. They slap hands a couple times, and then both hold their palms out for Billy to slap.
"Give us a smack, Billy Boy,” Menke says.
Smiling faintly, Billy extends his hand, letting each man high-five him, but he still doesn't know what's going on. The Jims, though they're always generous after a job, have never shared the details with him.
McDermott says, “A little less than hoped for, but, hey, we had to move things quickly.” He divides the cash, saying, “Three packets for me, three for you, and two for Billy.” Leaves them lying on the table.
Seeing that Billy isn't catching up, Menke explains.
"While we were out spying today, Big Jim fenced the jewelry."
"What was left of it,” McDermott adds.
"Oh, no! You mean some of it was missing?” Menke asks, though he obviously knows the answer.
McDermott, with exaggerated despondency, says, “Yes, Evelyn...” He shakes his head. “It seems she had some of the best pieces."
Again, it takes Billy several beats to catch up.
"Evelyn?” he says. “You mean Heather?” He racks his brain, and then says, “No, no, she only had the one ring, that first one she picked out. I brought the others back last night."
Big Jim spreads his palms, pulls a grim face.
"Uh-oh,” Menke groans, feigning gloomy disbelief. Wraps an arm around Billy's shoulder. “Brace yourself, my friend. Here come the bad news."
"I'm afraid so."
"I'm braced,” says Menke, tightening his grip, turning his face to Billy. “Are you?"
Big Jim tells the story, taking liberties to fill in some of the details.
* * * *
At seven o'clock that morning—Menke and Billy had already been on surveillance for nearly an hour—the police kicked open the door to Heather-Evelyn's apartment. She was awake but still in bed, when she heard the first muted sounds of activity in the hallway. She smiled to herself, certain it was Billy coming to apologize, weighed down with expensive and delightful trinkets to incite a woman's passions. But, alas, she thinks, the lock was jammed...
Billy chuckles here, because the damned lock did always stick.
But before Heather-Evelyn could mobilize her ample figure, the door shattered. She heard it whack the wall as it crashed open. Covering her mouth with a delicate hand, she murmured, Oh, dear, this can't be my charming Billy.
Both Billy and Menke are sniggering uncontrollably at McDermott's tale.
It didn't occur to her to scream until the cops flooded into the bedroom, guns drawn, shouting, in here, in here, we've got her.
McDermott adorns the narrative with physical demonstrations—clapping his hands, cupping his palm over his mouth, pointing his fingers gunlike, raising his eyebrows—and cop and Heather voice impersonations.
Of course, the police found the cheap red and gold brocade pouch containing a score of bracelets and rings, a necklace, one very identifiable brooch.
Menke cuts in, inquiring if the pouch was just lying around on the coffee table.
That's exactly where the police found it, McDermott confirms. On the wicker coffee table, right in front of the big red sofa.
Of course, Heather-Evelyn insisted that some evildoers must have planted this booty sometime during the night. He floats air quotes around the word planted. You mean, the lead detective asked, that some dastardly home invaders entered your apartment and left behind a bag of stolen jewels? Anti-thieves, so to speak?
Billy is in stitches, but he's also baffled. Could this be even half true? He doesn't bother analyzing the precision of McDermott's details, the sticky lock, the red sofa, the wicker coffee table.
"It seems,” says Big Jim, “that very early this morning the police received a tip concerning the jewelry store robbery."
"You don't say?” says Menke with a straight man's timing. “A tip?"
"Yes, apparently, a well-informed insurance dude phoned a police buddy and told him that he works with a clever and observant investigator who happened on the trail of that jewelry store heist the other day."
"Talk about a lucky break."
"Absolutely."
"So,” says Menke, screwing his face in thought, “are you saying that Evelyn-Heather was the jewel thief?"
"Mmm,” says Big Jim. “It certainly looks that way."
"She must have had accomplices. Have they been apprehended?"
"That's the sad part of the story,” says McDermott. “She's not giving them up."
Billy feels a tinge of shame. Poor Heather.
"Not giving them up?” Menke says. “Ah, she's a trouper."
"Well, maybe not such a trouper,” Big Jim corrects. “According to my sources, one Police Detective Noah Denver, she's insisting on a ridiculous story about the very fellows who arranged for her
capture, claiming they're the crooks."
"No,” Menke sighs. “She's blaming the insurance guys?"
"Naming names."
"Has she no shame?"
"There's more,” McDermott says. “The last I heard, she's also trying to implicate an old boyfriend, one Billy Feathers."
"That's you,” Menke says, shocked, looking at Billy.
"The cops aren't buying it,” says Big Jim.
"No?"
"Nope. They have it from a reliable source, namely that same insurance fellow who tipped them, that this Billy Feathers couldn't and wouldn't and didn't have anything to do with such a dastardly deed."
"Phew,” Menke says, wiping imaginary moisture from his brow. “It's good that someone can vouch for him to a well-placed detective."
"Indeed, it is,” McDermott agrees.
* * * *
Billy's head is reeling.
"So, my friend,” says McDermott, pushing Billy's share a little closer to him, “regarding the money, we figure part of it's yours."
"After all,” Menke chips in, “it was your idea."
"So you get a third..."
"A third minus.” Menke squeezes Billy's shoulder. “Because we had to give your fiancee her cut."
Billy frowns, thinking.
"Former fiancee,” he finally says. Smiles, laughs. Lifts his hands to high-five the boys one more time. “Womenfolk,” he says, stroking his mustache with extravagant self mockery, “should never dis a man's buds."
"There you go, Sundance."
Copyright © 2009 Dan Warthman
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Department: THE MYSTERIOUS CIPHER by Willie Rose
Each letter consistently represents another. The quotation is from a short mystery story. Arranging the answer letters in alphabetical order gives a clue to the title of the story.
R XZIGO CY HAO KFZYE BWRMO, WCVO HZZ XRYQ XCWV UZHHWOG ZY R PZZFGHOB, XCEAH UO R GCEY ZL BRGGCZYG GHFOHMAOP UOQZYP MZYHFZW.
—TZAY XZFHCXOF
cipher: A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
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Department: BOOKED & PRINTED by Robert C. Hahn
Like most mystery readers I not only have favorite authors, I have favorite series characters as well. And while some of those favorite authors don't visit my favorite characters as often as I would I like, it becomes a great treat when they finally do.
AHMM, September 2009 Page 8
