The 56th Man

by J. Clayton Rogers

  Italian! What were Sandra and her idiotic crew thinking? There isn't a man on the street who doesn't see me for what I am. And oddly enough, all those men on the street are wrong. Maybe Sicilian wasn't a bad choice, after all. A dangerous Mafioso...

  The two vampish employees of Moria's Notions had said Moria and Tina went to Andy’s or the Shamrock on Tuesday and Friday evenings. Did Tina keep up the habit? Or had the death of her business partner--and presumably friend--put her out of sorts for after-hours socializing?

  Ari had a fifty-fifty chance of finding out that night. In fact, he admitted to himself, the odds were far longer than that. If Tina just happened to skip this Friday, or if Friday was the day she went to Andy’s, or if she varied her routine, the odds grew longer by far. But Ari was familiar with luck in all forms, and knew the good could strike with the same ineffable certainty as the bad at any moment. Even then, it was open to interpretation. His presence at the Chinese grocery had been bad luck for Ari, very bad luck for the would-be robbers, and splendid luck indeed for the store manager.

  Good luck struck for Ari twenty-five minutes after he entered the Shamrock. Bad luck struck for Tina Press at precisely the same moment, when Ari saw her walk languidly through the tavern door, nod knowingly at the waitress, and settle in at the booth nearest the entrance. She did not see him, well-hidden in the shadow of the overhead glass rack in a bar that was already dimly lit. He watched.

  Unfortunately, if he went to the buffet she could not fail to spot him. The Long Island Tea had stirred up his appetite. He had to satisfy himself with pretzels from an oval dish near the speed rail.

  "You want another?" the bartender asked when he had emptied his glass.

  An immense glow filled Ari’s limbs, as though he had stepped into a Jacuzzi. He had a long night ahead. "Do you have something...?"

  “Unleaded?”

  “I’m not sure…”

  "How about Ginger ale?"

  "Is that a Fanta?"

  "Now I'm the one not sure..."

  "A soda?"

  "Well yeah."

  "Then I'll have that."

  It was a lot to pay for a soft drink, but the seat with the view came with it.

  By his second Canada Dry he had seen enough. First a man, then a woman, then a couple came and sat with Tina, conversing with her and sharing a few laughs before departing. In between the hellos and good-byes some discreet commerce took place behind propped menus. Ari realized what he had in mind might prove more difficult than he had anticipated. The bar owner must be taking a cut from these transactions, which were not so furtive as to be invisible. Every fifteen minutes or so, the bartender handed the waitress a drink for Tina's table. She did not take advantage of the free buffet.

  Ari took up his glass and sauntered over to the buffet. Tina might be satisfied with her liquid diet, but he was famished, even after six meatballs. He filled up a plate, then slid into the front booth, across from Tina.

  "Hey," she said in a sultry voice before even looking at him.

  "Good evening," Ari said, stabbing a meatball with his toothpick.

  Her head shot up. She frowned and glanced over at the bartender, who stopped plying his dishtowel across the counter and leaned his forearms on the newly-cleaned wood. He was tall but thin. Either someone Ari had not seen provided the muscle around here, or he had some other means of establishing order.

  "Problem, Tina?"

  She turned back to Ari and worked on focusing her eyes. Her glass was small, like a miniature champagne flute. Ari had watched the shuttle service between the bar and booth and knew she had had three of whatever it was she was drinking. It was obvious she depended upon the good will of the Shamrock staff to function.

  "I know you..." she said.

  "We met briefly yesterday morning, in front of your shop."

  "Oh yeah...the French Twist."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "When you ran off in the rain, you yelled something in French. Something about being late for an appointment."

  "Yes," Ari sighed. An appointment with a gunfight.

  "Yeah..." She attempted a snarl, which misfired into a sad leer. Ari realized she was going to try to chase him off with attitude. The clock on the wall said 6:43. He could take his time.

  "You're that wetback that bought Moria's house." Her face went gloomy with doubt. "I mean...you're that mick...no, wait...I'm sorry. Give me a minute.

  No one had ever apologized to Ari for misapplying a racial epithet to him. He found the experience amusing, but did not smile.

  "Spade...? Well, you look like half a spade." Tina rifled through her lexicon of the dark side, which seemed as paltry as the rest of her vocabulary. "Frog...guinea...spic! That's it! Spic! Or wait..."

  It was amazing what a little lipstick could do. When Ari had seen her at the shop, she had been wearing a bright red gloss that animated her small face. But that irate liveliness now rested in a nest of red-smeared paper napkins at her elbow. She had been dabbing at her lips as she drank, removing her personality bit by bit, until she was stone.

  "I believe the phrase you are looking for is 'Italian of Arab descent'," Ari said.

  "Don't tell me the Pope's gone PC."

  "I have no idea." Ari finished his ginger ale.

  A young couple who looked like clones of the Mackenzies entered the bar, hesitated uncertainly on seeing Tina sharing the booth with a stranger, and left. With her back to the door, Tina could not see them, but the bartender was obviously put out.

  "You're still snooping around about the Riggins murders?" Tina said angrily.

  "I'm quite curious--"

  "Weren't you told to forget it?"

  Not exactly. Carrington had done his best to make Ari uncomfortable. But for all the blunt hints, he had never come right out and told Ari to give up his personal investigation, or else.

  "I only have a few questions--"

  Tina smiled as the waitress came up to their table. "Marybelle..." Tina said with relief, as though she had just taken a shot from an oxygen mask.

  "Ah," said Ari, scooting his empty glass to the edge. "Could I have another one of these?"

  "Sir," said Marybelle, ignoring the glass. "This is a family restaurant. We don't want any trouble."

  "Certainly. Neither do I."

  "Then I'm going to have to ask you to stop disturbing this lady."

  Tina flicked her brow and Marybelle became more emphatic.

  "In fact, sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

  "And if I don't leave, and insist on continuing my lovely conversation with this lovely lady, will you call the police?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "But you don't really want to do that, do you?" Ari said. "They would be astonished to find out Tina has been dispensing non-prescription medication out of her little pharmacy here. That's an interesting handbag, by the way. Gucci?"

  He had raised the discussion beyond discussion. Words now bordered on the meaningless, unless they could be backed by a viable threat.

  Tina leaned forward, smirking. "Listen, Mr. What-the-Fuck, you'd better get your ass out of here. Marybelle is a black belt. She'll crack your spine for the marrow."

  "Your language is unsightly," said Ari. He meant it.

  "Sir," Marybelle persisted, taking a stance. Ari noticed she had excellent balance. She was wearing cropped jeans and a tied off blouse that exposed her finely toned ribs. He was impressed when she flexed her abdominal muscles.

  "From what I've seen in American movies, I believe this is the moment I ask if you want to step outside."

  "With pleasure, sir."

  "You have, I believe, served in the armed forces?"

  "Hooah, sir."

  "It shows." Ari's hand shot out. He had Marybelle by the wrist. She gave a small shout of anger at being surprised. She moved forward to attack but this only helped Ari plant her hand on the table. He slid his thumb under her middle finger, using the rest of his hand to hold her down. As she raised her other ar
m to strike, Ari lifted up on her trapped finger. She gave a small bark of pain.

  "Please desist," Ari said pleasantly, adding a little more pressure when it seemed she wasn't listening.

  Tina watched bug-eyed. The bartender had circled around with the first weapon that came into his hand: an ash tray. Ari warned him off by drawing another shout from Marybelle.

  The bartender noticed customers staring at him. He smiled and began wiping out the ash tray with the edge of his small apron.

  Ari kept his voice low. "Marybelle, listen carefully. Do you hear me? I have never broken a woman’s arm before. I'm sure it would upset my digestion. Proper digestion is critical to good health, don't you agree?"

  Marybelle was sweating, her nausea gathering. Ari hoped she would see reason quickly, or else her digestion would end up in his lap.

  "Okay," she grimaced.

  Ari let go. She stepped back, massaging her hand. Ari decided not to add insult to injury by insisting on a refill.

  "Who are you?" Tina asked breathlessly as soon as Marybelle slunk away.

  "You've heard of the Genovese family?"

  "My God..." Tina pressed her spine against the bench. "What are you, some kind of hitman? Am I trespassing on someone's territory? You want a piece of the action?"

  Ari briefly considered the offer. He was, after all, strapped for cash. But he decided this was not the best way to acquire it.

  "I want nothing to do with your operation here," said Ari. "I am only a concerned citizen..." Ari paused. He wasn't exactly a citizen of this country. Not even a welcome guest, it seemed. "A concerned citizen of the world. Whoever killed that family is still on the loose. Bringing them to justice would benefit everyone."

  "Not the killer," said Tina.

  Singular...

  "Did Jerry Riggins own a gun?"

  "How the fuck should I--" Tina was not looking at him, but at the wall paneling. But she sensed his dissatisfaction with her. Even before he presented himself, as he watched from the barstool, he had seen her progressively wilt with each minute. It wasn't just the alcohol. She did not like the drug trade. Had she inherited it from Moria?

  Shadows formed harsh pools under her eyes. She shook her head. "I don't know. But I think..."

  "Yes?" Ari prodded.

  "Moria said something about getting one. I was surprised. That wasn't like her."

  "Was she afraid of someone?"

  "Since you saw the business you must know the business," she scolded, as though to say he wasn't a very good spy.

  "You're saying that the trade in little cellophane envelopes is dangerous?"

  Tina brushed away several layers of alcohol haze, leaving behind about a dozen.

  "I know what you're thinking, that this is what got Moria killed. But it isn't."

  This settled one of Ari's questions very nicely. "How do you know?"

  "Because I would have been told so."

  "By Carrington?"

  Tina had enough of her wits about her to shrug. "Anyway, everyone liked her. This...was nothing. Like giving a drink to a friend."

  "Yes, I always make my friends pay for their drinks." Ari finished off his last meatball. Suddenly, a glass appeared in front of him.

  "On the house."

  "Why, thank you, Marybelle," said Ari, smiling up at the waitress. "That is most gracious of you."

  Marybelle nodded and walked away. Tina tossed a skeptical glance at her protectress, then at the ginger ale.

  "How long had you and Moria been entertaining your friends this way?"

  "Not long."

  Having encountered a wide swath of relativism since his arrival, Ari aimed for a more precise timescale. "'Not long' means what? Months? Years?"

  "A few..."

  "Years?"

  She didn't answer.

  "Did Jerry participate in this business?"

  "Jerry was a wuss."

  "Because he looked after the boys at home?"

  "Because he really had faith in that garbage he painted and thought he was going somewhere."

  "Meaning fame and fortune?"

  "Meaning he thought he had the right to mooch off his wife and her folks. 'For the greater glory of garbage' and all that. Well he's raking it in, now...and look what he had to do to get there."

  Ari found the choice of words curious. "What did he have to do?"

  "He--" Tina caught herself. "He had to go and get killed," she said finally.

  Ari gave her a nod of agreement. Yes, that seemed a bit extreme. "Tell me, why would Moria get involved in something like this? Not for the money. Wasn't she well-provided for by her parents?"

  "People with money are even worse," said Tina, giving one of her short locks a violent tug.

  "You mean she was in it for kicks?"

  "Her father..."

  "What about him?"

  But Tina was wagging her finger at Marybelle. "Sugar, could you bring me another one of these?"

  "Sure, Sugar," said the waitress, returning to the bar.

  Tina took out a pack of Marlboros. "Mind?"

  In response, Ari brought out his Winstons. A cloud of smoke soon boiled at the front of the bar.

  "You know some of the customers are worried about second-hand smoke," Marybelle admonished Tina as she brought her drink.

  Ari inferred from her tone that she was speaking of Tina's customers, not the usual clientele of the Shamrock family establishment--though of as yet Ari had seen no children. The irony of health-conscious druggies was not lost on him.

  "You see any customers?" Tina said querulously. "Until I finish with Sherlock here I think business will be nada."

  Marybelle bit Ari's head off with a glance and went away. Perhaps she was sorry she had given him the ginger ale.

  "What about Moria's father?"

  "Millionaire. I know that's not much these days, but a million is still a big number in Richmond. He was an executive with an aluminum company. Moria called him the Tin Man."

  "I'm sorry..."

  "You know, from The Wizard of Oz. The most iconic movie in American history?"

  "I must have missed that one," Ari confessed.

  "You never heard of Dorothy or the Cowardly Lion or the Scarecrow?"

  "Moria's father..."

  "Talk about cultural deficiency. If you want to become a citizen, you've got to watch that movie." Tina sipped at her drink.

  "I believe aluminum and tin are not the same thing."

  Tina burst out laughing. Like most people, she was at her most attractive when she laughed. No need for lipstick. "Moria's father, Tom Massington...he had some issues. I don't know all the details, but a few years ago he cut Moria out of his will. He totally cut her allowance, which was a thousand times more than my pappy gave me for being useless around the house. Heather...Moria's mother...she has money of her own that she was going to leave to Moria, but it's nothing like what she would've gotten if Tom hadn't changed his mind."

  "You don't know why?"

  "I can guess. Around the same time, Tom started pestering Moria about getting swabbed for a DNA sample. She couldn't exactly tell him to go fuck himself, him being her pot-of-gold daddy and all. But she put him off. So far as I know, he never got any cheek cells, or whatever it is they use for that."

  "He didn't think he was her father?"

  "Kinda looks like that."

  Ari brooded on this a moment. "Do you know how Jerry reacted to this?"

  "No. But he had to cut back on the gallery shows. I guess that would make any artist mad."

  "Was there any possibility that they could have lost their home?"

  "Not unless they didn't pay their taxes. Her daddy paid cash for it, not long before the split."

  "What is Heather Massington like?"

  "Royalty. She has a way of making you feel like a grasshopper. Moria's older brother was killed in a car wreck years ago and so far as I know she never shed a tear."

  "You knew Moria and her family back then?"

 
; "I've known Moria since we were teens. We met at Regency Mall. She was shopping. I was looking. We hit it off."

  "Did you sleep with her?"

  "Now you're stretching."

  "We heard things about America," Ari said limply, tacitly adding that in backwater Sicily one didn't hear much about other countries--just the smut. "I've heard of men having sex with camels, too. Not in America, though."

  "Now that's humping!" Tina laughed. "No, Moria and I never humped. Never occurred to us."

  "To you," said Ari.

  "Okay, I couldn't read her mind. But I never saw anything that would make me think she lusted after me."

  "Did you know her parents well?"

  "I only went to her house a few times. You know, the middle class piece of shit visiting the palace."

  "They didn't make you feel welcome."

  "As welcome as a worm."

  "So you don't know if Heather was the type of woman..."

  "To have a bastard? You never know. Moria never said anything about it." Tina paused to catch her breath. She had warmed to the discussion. "They came by the shop on opening day. All I remember was her sneer. ‘My little girl going into trade!’ You would have thought she preferred streetwalking. They liked Jerry, though."

  "Did you?"

  "He was weird. All the artists I've met are rebels or art-for-shit's-sake types. Jerry was super patriotic, super community involvement. That's why old Tom took a shine to him. Maybe he thought Jerry would put Moria on track. Not that she was ever off-track. She was never a wild girl."

  "Except when it came to sharing product with friends."

  Tina froze. Ari had taken the risk because he was sure Tina would never reveal Moria's source.

  "Why did you use that word?"

  "Product? That isn't the correct word?" Ari smiled stupidly.

  "It's all right," Tina said, the alcohol allaying her suspicion.

  "Did Moria have a cat?"

  "Huh? Yeah, she did, come to think of it. A big yellow tabby. Moose?"

  "Marmaduke?"

  "Oh yeah, Marmaduke. How did you know? Is he still hanging around the house? Did he give you his name?" Tina barked at her wit.