by Martin Clark
“That’s what you said, isn’t it?” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and sucked in clean air through his mouth.
“So what? But I, you know, was just saying it because I was mad. Is that why you’re throwing up, because you thought I’d never talk to you again?” Her tone was nearly cheerful. “That would be sorta cool.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean?”
“How well do you know a man named Edmund Brooks, Christy? Or even better, how about a fellow by the name of Sa’ad X. Sa’ad?”
For a moment, it appeared that Christy was going to join Joel in his distress—her knees went soft, her face melted and her neck and cheeks filled with startled blood. “Oh shit,” she said and stood there, transparent and undone. She slid her foot to the side, almost staggered, then clutched her stomach with both hands. “I don’t know anyone like that. Why?”
“I’m sure you know Edmund. He goes to church at Roanoke First Baptist.”
She seemed at a loss as to what she should do with her hands. From her belly, they went to her hips, and she rocked forward, appeared to lose her balance. “This shit is way too daunting.” Her voice was weak, confused. “I’m splitting.”
“Edmund put you up to this, didn’t he?” The question hemorrhaged astonishment. “This is one of his scams.” Joel tried to sound more certain. “You and Edmund and Sa’ad hatched the whole scheme to rip off the insurance company. I’m just a collateral concern on the way to the jackpot.”
Christy had stopped staggering and swaying and had braced her legs underneath her. She looked at Joel, and it was apparent to him she was weighing what she should do, how much she should admit. A police cruiser entered the parking lot from the far end, and Joel could tell by its speed and path that the trip wasn’t routine. The car bounced on its springs when it went over a small dip and zigzagged through empty spaces instead of following the marked routes and painted arrows. Christy noticed the police as well, and she gave Joel a curious, ambivalent smile, raised her hand to her lips and blew him a kiss. Her nails were painted a stark shade of red, and she had a thick silver ring on her thumb. The colors jarred him when her hand flicked in his direction, came through the air like five sharp darts and a bright circle, appeared to separate from her fingers.
She spun toward the mall, and Joel let off the brake, tried to steer out of the lot without calling attention to himself, a patch of vomit drying on the side of his small, tacky car, his shirt unbuttoned and ripped, and silver duct tape stuck to him as if he’d just been hastily repaired. He kept watch in his rearview mirror and took the closest exit from the lot, made it onto the main road and blended into traffic. What a fiasco, he thought. What a fiasco. He had been stymied by an eighteen-year-old party girl, his efforts at subterfuge so clumsy that the likes of Christy had seen right through him. And he’d been ruthlessly betrayed by Edmund, sacrificed for the sake of the sag and some easy insurance dollars.
He stopped at a red signal and checked the highway behind him: no sign of the police. He buttoned and tucked his shirt while he was waiting at the light, spat out the window. The residue from his vomit still plagued his mouth and clung to his nose, and there was a viscous spot the size of a quarter on his pant leg, a splatter that would probably leave a stain, no matter how thoroughly he scrubbed and soaked it.
As the car in front of him started to accelerate, it dawned on Joel that his misadventure with Christy had actually been a good thing, perhaps even Heaven sent. Despite the embarrassing, wretched argument and the dash through the mall, despite getting so sick that the upheaval had poured from his head, and despite being frightened and on edge and scared, this was a great and marvelous revelation. Now he knew where he stood. Had his plan worked, had he been able to tape Christy saying what he wanted her to say and then left without incident, there would’ve been no confrontation and he never would have heard her recite Sa’ad’s profane mantra. Without the chaos, he’d still be a sucker and a dupe. “Thank you,” he said aloud. “Glory be.”
Joel drove five miles to Brambleton Avenue, turned right and then traveled until he located a convenience store. He pulled into the lot, parking the car away from the street and behind a van that made the Neon difficult to spot. The store was busy, and Joel waited in line to pay for a cappuccino and a pack of Wrigley’s gum. The coffee came self-serve, and he placed his cup underneath a machine and held a button while two jets shot milk and coffee till he’d gotten his money’s worth. He took the coffee along with two napkins and sat in the Neon, debating what he should do next. The cappuccino chased the bittersweet taste from his mouth and throat, and he blew his nose into one of the napkins, did his best to rid his nostrils of the vomit scent.
As he considered his plight, he drank the coffee and began biting a circle around the top of the styrofoam cup. He finished with the cup and chewed a piece of the gum until it lost its flavor, folded it in the wrapper and started on another stick. People and vehicles came and went. A family filled the neighboring van and left, dropping an empty bag from the window as they were backing up. An SUV stopped beside Joel soon afterward, and two skinny, rambunctious boys jumped out and squared off and flailed karate moves, their hands held high in cartoonish poses and their kicks and punches nowhere close to landing. They would shout “Haaa!” every time they changed stances or took a swing, and they kept at it until their father made them quit.
For half an hour, Joel pondered what he should do. He finally decided to call his sister, the only person on the planet who wouldn’t betray him and who cared what happened to him. He found a pay phone outside the store, attached to the wall. The metal box enclosing the phone was scratched and defaced by initials, numbers, names and trite vulgarities. The plastic binder for the phone book hung empty at the end of a slight chain, the book probably ripped out by kids or late-night drunks. Joel called collect, said his name into the receiver when a computerized voice at the other end prompted him. Sophie accepted the call and came on the line. He could hear the TV in the background.
“Joel? Where are you?” she asked.
“I’m in Roanoke.”
“I hope this isn’t your one call from the station. You’re not with Danno and McGarrett, are you?”
“I’m fine. Actually, I have some good news.”
“Great.” She told her son to cut down the TV volume. “You’d sometimes think Baker is deaf,” she said when she returned to her conversation with Joel.
“Listen, here’s what I need you to do. Go to a pay phone and call me back, okay? Don’t tell me where you’re going, don’t say the location, just go and call me here.”
“Why?”
“I’m afraid someone might be listening to our conversations.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I’m not going to take any chances. Would you please just do it and not debate the issue for the next two hours?”
“How, Joel, can I call you? I don’t know your number.”
“Area code is 540. Then our old street address, and the month and day of Dad’s birthday. Add three to the last digit.”
“Let me find a pen.”
Joel heard a kitchen drawer open and Sophie hunting through the clutter. He repeated the sequence, and she wrote down the numbers and recited the code back to him. “Will I need a password or cloaking device for the car? Trench coat? How about one of those fountain pens that turns into a rocket ship?”
Joel laughed. “Call me as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting for you.” The plan seemed imperfect if someone was indeed tapping Sophie’s phone, but it was the best he could do and better than nothing. He was suddenly very paranoid, a new arrival in the world of deceit and backstabbing.
Sophie phoned in less than ten minutes, and Joel could tell she was outside, could hear traffic passing and something mechanical in the background, an engine or a compressor. “Joel? Is this my brother Joel?”
“Thanks. That was quick.”
“How do I know it’s re
ally you?” Her tone was playful, mocking.
“Because it is.” Joel leaned against the store wall, supported his weight with his shoulder.
“I need to test you.”
Despite everything, he smiled. “Go ahead.”
“My first boyfriend.”
“Freddie Morris. We called him Hollywood on account of his horrible sunglasses.”
“Okay. You pass,” she said. “So what’s the big secret? I hope this warrants all the hype and suspense. I’m wearing a scarf and sunglasses, you know. Got Baker dressed in his Halloween costume.”
“I have a lot to tell you, a lot I’ve learned.”
“Give me the short version, please. We’re using my calling card.”
Joel told her what had happened, recounted his meeting with Christy and his discovery. “But I don’t know what to do, Sophie. I’m absolutely hemmed in,” he said. “I know I’ve been set up, but there doesn’t seem to be any escaping.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve managed to find a better explanation than the ones you left here with. I told you that Edmund was slippery, didn’t I? I told you the moment I laid eyes on him, and you chastised me. Remember?”
“I’m sorry. I knew he was a little shady, but never in a way to hurt anyone. Or so I thought. I’m heartsick at what he’s done to me, absolutely disappointed.”
“I don’t have any trouble believing he’d skin you alive for a dollar or two. He’s got the smell, Joel. You were a dolt not to see it.”
“I suppose so,” he said.
“And you’re sure he’s behind this? The girl told you?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“She admitted it?” Sophie was still not completely sold.
“She almost collapsed when I confronted her, and she looked like she’d seen a ghost and said ‘oh, shit’—pardon my language—and ran. I know what I know. This was a calculated plan to scam money, no doubt.”
“So she didn’t completely confess?”
“She might as well have.” He watched four college boys leave the convenience store, each carrying a case of Natural Light beer. “I’m certain this whole deal is crooked, and Sa’ad’s the mastermind.”
“Well, it makes more sense than anything else you’ve come up with.”
“They were planning to do this no matter what. If I’d never laid a hand on her, she was still going to say I did. She was in the church, with me, by herself—everyone knew that. Even if I’d kept my hands off her, even if I were completely innocent, it would’ve been a swearing contest, and with the infernal DNA tests they’d still be in the money. I just made it easier for them by kissing her a couple times. My own stupidity.”
“Quite a fantastic story, Joel.”
“Do you believe me now?”
“I don’t know what to believe. I’m the skeptical one. I think Michael Jackson did have a little surgery done, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s price-fixing among big oil companies.” She sighed, and Joel heard voices near her, several people talking at once. “But your solution is easy, isn’t it? Tell the police and your lawyer. The girl sounds like she’ll fall apart if things get tough. And maybe they’ll be able to turn up something on Edmund.”
“I can’t do that. It won’t work.”
“Won’t work?” Her voice spiked. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve already thought about it, and it won’t work. It’d be my word against theirs, and I’d have nothing to prove what I’m saying. Even if Christy flipflops—and who knows with her—it would still be difficult to convince anyone this is a scam, especially at this late date, after I’ve already pled guilty and sat on my hands for so long. It’ll just look like I’m trying to avoid paying what I owe, or trying to protect the church. If I knew how they manipulated the tests, I could make some headway, but right now I don’t think the police will be too impressed. Of course, the one thing we can count on if I visit the cops is they’ll send me back to jail for contacting Christy and violating my court order.”
“Well, certainly you should tell your lawyer, this Roland guy. What’s the harm there? I’m sure he’d like to know your theory before he questions Christy. With so much money at stake, I’d think the insurance company would want to investigate your angle. Common sense tells you that.”
“It’s not an angle—it’s the truth.”
“So tell him, Joel. Why wouldn’t you? At least he can ask her some questions and observe her reaction. He doesn’t have to admit you saw her, doesn’t have to mention any of that. Right? And he could talk to Edmund, find him and put him under oath.”
Four motorcycles arrived in the lot near the pay phone, and for a moment it was too noisy for Joel to continue talking. The bikers revved their engines before shutting them down, took off their gloves and helmets and sauntered past Joel, toward the store’s entrance.
“What were you saying?” Joel asked. “I missed part of it.”
“You should tell your lawyer so he and the insurance company can look into your theory.”
“Well, besides the fact that they have all the cards right now, there’s another reason I can’t turn them in. This thing is a tar baby.” He recalled Sa’ad looking at him from behind his tangled hands and discussing who would be “on the griddle” if the jewelry scam failed. He had several thousand dollars’ worth of stolen jewelry in his car, and they would no doubt cut him loose if he betrayed them, leave him to explain his efforts to bilk his insurer or possibly get word to the authorities that he had the missing goods. He was as guilty as they were, in just as deep, and he was the one with two convictions in his past. It was sly and cunning the way they’d tied him up, making him both a victim and a collaborator, keeping him close at hand, barricading his exits should he somehow piece together what was happening. “I can’t discuss it over the phone, but suffice it to say they’ve got some leverage where I’m concerned. We might all drown together if I cross them. As I see it, trying to convince the police or my lawyer I’ve been set up has nothing but downside—no one’s going to believe me, it’ll come out I saw Christy when I wasn’t supposed to, and Edmund and Sa’ad are in a position to retaliate big-time.”
“I disagree, but do what you want. How are they going to retaliate?”
“I can’t discuss it now.”
“I thought that’s why we’re talking on pay phones.”
“I’m not taking any chances,” Joel said.
“Quite a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Ollie,” she said, assuming a Laurel-and-Hardy voice.
“I’ll say.” Joel pushed away from the wall, looked at the traffic passing by on Brambleton Avenue. “The way I see it, I’ve pretty much got one option, and it’s not an altogether attractive one.”
“How about this option: Forget about it. Go there tomorrow and tell the truth—whatever that happens to be—and come home. What do you care about the rest? If these people rip off an insurance company, who gives a damn? Didn’t you tell me there’s four million in insurance? I can’t imagine she’ll receive anywhere near that kind of money, so you and the good Baptists are safe. Why get yourself in more trouble over a squabble with a bunch of con men and a stupid slut?”
“It’s not that simple. They shouldn’t get rich by lying and cheating and taking advantage of me. Edmund and Sa’ad deserve nothing, and Christy should receive, at most, a couple thousand bucks. If I can put a stop to this, I’m going to.”
“I don’t know, Joel. It sounds to me like you’re a little too eager to keep your hand in the action. I think these people are rubbing off on you. You ought to walk away and let everything unfold on its own. You act as if you can’t let go when you can be done with this nonsense in a heartbeat.”
“I’m not going to sit by while these louts profit at the expense of my good name.”
“Your, uh, good name?” she said.
“They’re destroying my reputation to make a buck.”
“What are you going to do? What’s the plan?” The playfulness was comple
tely gone from her attitude.
“I need you to help me. One more time, I need you to do something.”
“Joel—”
“I’m sorry to have to ask, but I need you to call Christy and have her meet me again. As bad as it sounds, she’s my best hope right now.”
“What for?” Sophie asked. “What do I need to tell her?”
“You’re a good sister. Thanks. I love you.”
“I haven’t said I’d call yet.”
“But I’m almost certain you will—I’d do it for you. And in the end—in the end—you’ll be rewarded and blessed for doing the right thing.”
nine
Christy had been boozing when Joel met her three hours later at the parking lot of Mac and Maggie’s restaurant. He could smell the alcohol soon after she got inside his car, and she occasionally added a “th” or a combination of spit and unfinished letters to the conclusion of her words. Her mood was difficult to decipher as she emerged from her BMW and toe-crushed a cigarette, though she seemed more stable and in kilter than she’d been earlier. Her purse arrived before she did, carelessly tossed through the open door, and there was a spurt of sound when the handbag hit, a jangle of keys and neglected change and something plastic. She flopped into the passenger seat, and the outside lights brightened one side of her face and left the other side dark, the illumination splitting her in two any time she looked straight ahead. The dim half was closest to Joel, showed him virtually nothing no matter how hard he strained to see.
“I know you’re just tryin’ to screw me over some more. I almost didn’t come.” Her tone was morose. “All that shit your sister said about you wantin’ to hook up with me to apologize is a big fat lie.”
“So why are you here?” he asked.
“I don’t know. There’s not much else to do, I guess, not on Sunday night in Roanoke.” She turned and gazed out the window, lifted a handful of hair away from her nape and held the strands in a makeshift ponytail. “So what’s up?” she asked, not looking at him. She dropped her hair and combed through it with her fingers. The light missed the majority of her head and face now and showered the console and the edge of her seat. A small patch of brightness, the size and shape of an egg, overflowed onto the carpet beside Joel’s foot. The glass was down on his side, and he’d changed clothes, but the interior still reeked, smelled like vomit woven through coffee, cologne, muggy air and spearmint gum.
