by Martin Clark
“Bullshit,” Hobbes said. “You call that a threat?”
“Yeah,” Joel answered.
“What a cluster fuck this turned out to be,” Hobbes griped. “Let’s hope we haven’t lost the painting.”
“I truly hope you recover it,” Joel said.
Joel and Woods said goodbye to Officer Winton and his helpers and walked through the casino to the front of the hotel. While the valet was retrieving the Taurus, Joel and Woods stood without talking and waited for the car. Visitors were coming and leaving, cabs peeled off a line near the entrance to collect their fares, and an elderly couple stopped to ask the doorman how to find the buffet and if their coupons were any good there. When the car arrived, Woods inquired where Joel wanted to have dinner, and for a second he thought about suggesting the Rosewood Grille, but he finally said he was indifferent, mentioned Taco Bell or Subway, anything on the route out of the city. Hobbes was already in his silver ride, parked alongside the curb, the engine idling.
“Nothing else I need to know?” Woods said to Joel in a confidential voice. “Just between us?”
“Can’t we please give it a rest, Mr. Woods? I’m trying, okay? I’ll contact you if anything occurs to me.”
Sophie was eager to know what had happened in Las Vegas. She leaned forward and her appearance brightened until Joel told her how Sa’ad had unearthed their plan and brought them up short. They were sitting at opposite ends of her sofa, Sophie dressed in sweatpants and a rugby shirt, Joel wearing jeans. It was seven-thirty in the evening, and the supper dishes were still on the table, a skillet with blackened hamburger remnants still on the range. An hour earlier, Baker had welcomed Joel home with hugs and a fistful of papers and projects from school, imploring him to look at every drawing and every assignment. Sophie had let the child bound around his uncle and blather excitedly, then dispatched him to his room and ordered him to read a book or play with his Tinker Toys.
“I’m so disappointed, Joel. I really thought you were on the right track, that this would work. Maybe . . .” She hesitated. “Who knows, huh? Does this mean your deal is gone?”
“I’m not sure. Woods was very supportive, and it’s not my fault. I did what they told me.”
“It kills me that an asshole like Sa’ad, the mastermind, is escaping, and you’re going to get screwed. Shit. And I was so convinced that confessing was the best option you had.”
“You’ve given me good advice. And been a great sister.”
“Thanks,” Sophie said.
“Can I ask you something?” Joel didn’t change his position. He stayed slouched in the sofa’s frayed corner.
“Sure.”
“More advice,” he said.
“Okay.” Sophie arranged the collar of her jersey.
“I think I have something on Sa’ad. But I’m not a hundred percent positive.”
“What? What is it?”
“I’m almost certain he’s holding part of the jewelry we took. At his office, hidden there. Maybe other stuff as well.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He has this collection of gum machines, and I think he hides contraband in them. I’ve seen Edmund remove one of the tops and fish out things, heard conversations. So when I was in Vegas, I did some investigating. I didn’t have much time, but I swear I think there’re jewels stuck in the machines. I felt something strange, like a velvet bag—similar to the one they gave me—jammed in a chute. I only had a few seconds to poke around, pretending to buy gum, since Sa’ad was right there.”
“Did you tell the cops?”
“I wanted to, started to. But I’m afraid if I’m wrong . . . well, can you imagine how they’ll crucify me if I’m wrong? If they get a warrant and search Sa’ad’s office and find nothing, he’ll sue them to kingdom come. And they’ll hang me, yes they will. Even Lynette will want my scalp.”
“How sure are you?”
“Very.”
“I say tell them exactly what you’ve told me, warts and all.”
“Well, it’s also problematic if I’m correct. The more I’m around Sa’ad, the more I become convinced he’s dangerous. What if he discovers I’m the one who ratted on him?”
“He already knows you tried to dupe him, right? Didn’t you just describe how he busted you guys?”
“Yeah, but he walked away. He won. It would be different if they catch him. He might try to retaliate.”
“Maybe. But if he’s like his buddy Edmund, I figure he’d simply crawl under a rock and hide like the slime he is.”
“Sa’ad’s a lot scarier than Edmund.”
Sophie attended to her collar again. “I suddenly have a feeling it’s not advice you’re after.”
“Not entirely,” Joel responded.
“There’s a subtext, huh? I’m seeing the legendary Joel King Shuffle, aren’t I?”
“I wouldn’t say that, no.” Joel uncrossed his legs, planted both feet on the floor. There was a broken video next to the new VCR, and Baker had unspooled yards of brown tape into a slapdash pile of spirals and coils. “But if you’d call Lynette, all my problems will be solved.”
“Call Lynette? Me? Why? And say what?”
“Tell her I’ve informed you where the jewelry, or something valuable, is hidden. That I literally touched it two days ago, and I’ve heard Sa’ad and Edmund discussing dishonest business.”
“How does that help you? Seems it would make it worse, like you’re holding out on them.”
“Perhaps. But if you inform them I’m scared, and tell them I’m afraid of what will happen if I’m wrong, they can make their own decision and won’t blame me if the bottom falls out. And this way, my name is not connected with the tip—I’m insulated, once removed. If they arrest Sa’ad, I’m sure he’ll be able to discover who reported him.”
“So you want him to come stalking me? Thanks.”
“He won’t view it the same. I was part of the scheme—you know, honor among thieves, that sort of crap. You’re a sister protecting her brother, and that’s a whole different kettle of fish. Besides, you said you weren’t worried.”
“I am now.”
“Well, I have to admit there’s some risk. Sa’ad might try something, but I don’t think he’d have the same passion where you’re concerned.”
“I don’t know, Joel. It might make things worse instead of better. And none of this really rings true—your reasoning’s all screwy.”
“It’s my only hope, Sophie,” Joel said. “Otherwise, Sa’ad walks and I get no deal and who knows how much jail time. Just tell Lynette I’m concerned, afraid of leaving her and Woods vulnerable, and they can decide for themselves.”
“Seems it never ends with you, Joel.”
“We need to do it soon, tonight even, before the stuff goes missing. Leave a message at her office on the answering machine, or call her at home.”
Sophie looked at the phone, and Joel could tell she was mulling what she should do, uncertain. “Remember how Sa’ad and Edmund stuck it to me?” he said. “And how I’m going to jail no matter what?”
“Joel . . .”
“I’ve got to stop him. He deserves it, Sophie. Please. ”
twenty-one
Dixon phoned Joel in late May and told him there was work for him, the first clients of the spring, a physician and his teenage son. The big rivers were still swollen and too swift to float, plumped by the runoff from the wettest winter in decades, but there were several creeks they could wade and nymph-fish, and Dixon had recently leased a handsome stretch of private water that would be good for respectable browns and rainbows until June, perhaps even July. Joel took the doctor and his son to three different streams, and they caught lots of strong, fat fish, many of which were acrobatic, came tearing from their pools six or seven times before losing their spirit. The doc gave Joel a fifty-dollar tip and his business card, and Dixon had increased the price for a guide by thirty bucks, so Joel received more on that end as well.
The sky was a blue,
winsome miracle, and the stream banks were dabbed with infant green, nascent sprigs and blades of grass that shot up irregularly, higher and more vivid than the beige winter holdovers surrounding them. “Beautiful country,” the doctor said, “especially this time of year.” Joel thought of Virginia while he and his two passengers were driving back to the shop, imagined the dogwoods with their ivory white and stained corners, recalled the azaleas and wisteria bushes and the irises slicing through the dirt outside the First Baptist parsonage, all the trees and fey perennials reborn as the days grew longer and milder.
Joel accompanied his clients to their rented car and watched them leave, then went to Dixon’s office, collected his pay and thanked his friend for the opportunity.
“I love it when the fishing starts,” Dixon said. “I can’t help it. No matter how long I’ve been doin’ this, I still get butterflies when I make the first casts or hook the first trout.”
“Tell me that in August, when the tourists are bellyaching about the heat and demanding refunds if the fish don’t bite.” Joel smiled at his friend.
“Details, Joel, mere details. The spring weeks are like having a new lady in your life, pure romance and excitement. A fresh beginning.”
Joel picked up a large, gaudy fly with deer-hair wings. He studied the fly instead of Dixon, mashed the wings together and smoothed the half-inch tail. “On the subject of fresh beginnings,” he said, “I can never thank you enough—”
“Don’t need to,” Dixon interrupted. “You’ve thanked me and your sister’s thanked me, so let’s put this behind us. Makes me uncomfortable talkin’ about it so much. I only did what I thought was right, and it probably didn’t amount to a hill of beans anyway. Just don’t let me down.”
“Believe me, I won’t.”
“When you leavin’?” Dixon asked.
“My court date is August fifth, but I don’t have to turn in until the last of September. I shouldn’t miss any fishing days.”
“Sophie told me you got a deal for what—a year?”
“Nine months, thanks to you and Lynette. They’ve arranged it so I can do my sentence during the winter and be back here to work most of next summer. That is, if I still have a job after I’m released.”
“Long as I’m the owner, you’ll be welcome,” Dixon said.
It was Saturday, and Joel lingered at the Royal Coachman until closing, organizing stock and mopping a bathroom floor that was already spotless. Sophie was in the yard when he rolled to a halt at the end of their rutted driveway, setting her first warm-weather flowers into spaded, fertilized earth. The former owners had located two car tires at each corner of the concrete porch—not just any tires, Sophie always quipped, but artsy tires, spray-painted white—and Sophie was transferring young petunias and impatiens from plastic containers into the white circles. Joel had offered to haul off the tacky, white-trash planters, but Sophie was defiant where they were concerned, said they were a symbolic, tongue-in-cheek reflection of her make-do life, and there they’d stay. She was wearing her gloves and pouring water from a Maxwell House coffee can, had filled one tire and part of the other. Joel walked to where she was, accidentally stepping on an empty plant container and crushing it. “This isn’t any good, is it?” he asked, reaching for the flattened plastic.
“Nope,” she said. “Junk.”
“I didn’t see it. The light’s going; it’ll be dark soon.”
“I hope these live,” Sophie said. “I don’t have much of a green thumb.” She tamped around the stem of a petunia. “How was fishing?”
“Excellent. Nice guys and probably thirty trout. A fifty-dollar tip. And seeing Dixon was a delight.”
“I’m glad,” she replied.
“It was great to be on the river.”
“So ask me about my day, Joel.” There was the hint of a broader issue in her voice.
“Okay,” he grinned. “How was your day, Sophie?”
She removed her muddy gloves, stopped her gardening and sat Indian-style, peering up at him. “Ah, my day was good, too. I decided on something that’s been troubling me.”
“Troubling you? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Guess who called me a week ago?”
“I don’t know,” Joel said.
“Yeah you do. Think.”
“Sophie, I don’t have any idea.”
“Lynette Allen.”
“Okay,” Joel said. “What did she want?”
“Hmmm, let’s see. You’re clueless?”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to turn over another letter or two on the board.”
Sophie stood. Her knees were dirty, and her shirttail was at her thighs. “The reward. The museum reward. She called to discuss my letters and crime-stopper tips. It seems my most recent correspondence requested the cash since I’d reported my brother’s misconduct. There was my first letter, of course, and my phone call. You remember my phone call, when I told them where the famous ring was hidden?”
“I do.” He took a long, satisfied breath. “And we were correct, weren’t we? I told you as soon as Officer Winton told me. It was right there in Sa’ad’s office.”
“What a dumbass plan, Joel, even worse than the rest. Writing letters in my name, conning that nice woman? Didn’t you realize I’d discover what was happening? Hell, they’ll have to give me the check. I was bound to piece together what you did.” She sounded passionate, but not particularly distressed.
“Of course I knew you’d solve it. You’d have to. I wanted you to, because I want you to have the money. Why do you think I jumped through every hoop known to man and prayed and labored and sweated? You deserve that twenty-five thousand.”
“I do?” she said, her voice fluttering.
“Yes, you do. If for no reason other than the hardship I’ve visited on you. And for a million other reasons. Your ex-husband’s a miserable cad who, to this day, mistreats you and Baker. You need money. Your son’s wearing shoes that are too small, and we’re driving our mother’s car. You’re due a break, and this one’s clean, honest and aboveboard. This isn’t sag money or insurance fraud.”
“Joel, it’s another con. I didn’t report you.”
“That’s not what the reward’s for.” This was Joel’s trump, he thought, the argument that would surely convert his sister. “The reward is for anyone who helped them recover the jewelry or the painting. And that’s you— you did it. You convinced me to go see Lynette and confess. You went with me to her office and pushed me when I was wavering. You legitimately caused the recovery by persuading me to go straight. There’s nothing corrupt about taking the reward. Please, Sophie, it’s the only thing I can do for you.”
“Nice try,” she said. “There also may be some dispute about the amount I’m due, since technically I only assisted them with one ring.”
“Sophie, for goodness sakes. I busted my butt to make this go. You told me to ask the Lord what ought to be done, and I did—I got on my knees and begged for guidance. And this works so perfectly, you see. You’re fairly and legally paid, Sa’ad is punished for his theft and for attacking me with Christy, Edmund’s shut down, I get my deal and there’s not anything the bad guys can say or do that won’t implicate them worse. You think Sa’ad’s going to admit he and I conspired to bilk an insurance company, and that I turned on him? It’s unassailable. He’s stuck. This is heaven-sent, with bows on every package. Take the darn cash.”
“It does seem foolproof. A good scam. Your technique’s improving.”
“Sophie, listen. I haven’t lied, I’ve sought the Lord’s will, I’ve helped the cops, and I’ve put two swindlers out of business and repaid them for damaging Roanoke First Baptist. This isn’t tainted, and it couldn’t be so perfect unless it was moral and right.”
“I don’t know if it’s perfect or not. That’s not the issue.”
“Take the reward,” Joel urged her. “If not for yourself, take it for Baker. Put it away for his college or something.”
“I can’t, Joel.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I’d be too much like you.” She said it without any malice, and there was affection in her expression. She took two steps and was beside him. The mountains were draped now, the world segueing into silhouettes and a huge panel of charcoal backdrop. “I’m not trying to be hurtful by saying that.” She held his hand and turned so they were looking in the same direction. “I’ve got my decency and my pride, Joel. I don’t want charity, and I don’t want to be the beneficiary of my brother’s misfortune. We’ve already been through this with your other schemes. And I especially don’t need money that’s been filtered through thousands of dodges and hustles, wind up like some gangster’s moll or John Dillinger’s sister. I appreciate it, I really do. I know you did it for me, but I’m passing.”
“Why? I can’t believe you.”
“I just told you why,” she said. “And even if I wanted the money, you’re so inept and unlucky I’m afraid we’d somehow wind up in trouble.”
“You’ll never crawl out of this hole,” Joel protested.
“Maybe not. But good things are happening—without manipulation. I like Raleigh, and so far he seems like a reliable man. I heard today the University of Michigan is planning to publish my Franklin Pierce article. Five hundred bucks they’re paying me. Five hundred. And the police caught two of the men who robbed us, found our microwave and the old TV and VCR. They contacted me at work yesterday. The insurance agent said I can keep them as well as the replacements because of the deductible and their being so ancient. I’ll put them in Baker’s room so he can watch The Lion King while wearing his undersize shoes.” She grinned but didn’t face Joel, continued to peer at the inky horizon.
“I can’t help feeling the reward’s part of a special unfolding, a blessing.”
“There’s a suspicion, you realize, that you somehow planted evidence to save your own hide and punish Sa’ad. Ms. Allen mentioned the possibility.”
