Malachi, Ruse Master

by Pamela Schloesser Canepa

  “Thank you, sir.”

  This was awesome! I wanted to celebrate, but there was very little money in my pocket.

  Otis stood on the corner as I was leaving.

  “Hey, Otis!” I called. “Good to see you.” I held out a dollar. “I got the job, so I’ll pay you some more next week.”

  “Oh, no, young man. I said that one was on the house, and I meant it.”

  “Well, how can you eat if you just give your work away?”

  “They got a seat for me at the soup kitchen. Really, I’m taken care of. It’s hard to move up, but what good am I if I can’t help a guy out?”

  “You’re an awesome guy, but you gotta let me help you out someday.”

  “Okay, Malachi, I will.” He climbed onto his bike.

  How did he know my new name? I didn’t recall ever telling him. “Wait!”

  “Gotta go!” he called into the wind as his bike carried him away to another street, other cars, and other opportunities.

  When I later went back for my fifty dollar advance, I couldn’t find Otis anywhere.

  Afterward, I got home around noon, and the neighbors were going at it again. Hollering, screaming, and things being thrown. You would think I lived in an apartment. No, this was a house, and there was a small lawn separating us. I sort of wished I lived in the country. Loud crying met my ears. The husband took off in his car, squealing the tires.

  He was a cop who worked at night, and I suspect he often drank after he got home in the wee hours of the morning. Either she didn’t like the drinking, or he just got kind of violent when he drank.

  This time, I had heard things breaking in the house. There was only one way to make sure she was alright. Of course, I could call the cops myself. Would she get the help she deserved, or would they just pat her on the back knowing that he was one of them?

  Despite the cold, I walked over in flip-flops. I had gotten comfortable in sweatpants and slippers, but everyone knows you can really mess up cheap slippers by walking outdoors in them. I knocked and got no answer. The crying continued. I turned the doorknob, and it was unlocked.

  Opening the door, I called in, “Ma’am, I’m your next door neighbor, Malachi, just wanting to check and make sure you’re alright!”

  “My next door neighbor is not Malachi,” she said through sobs.

  I followed the direction of her voice to the kitchen. “I’m Henry’s roommate. I stay in the basement,” I said softly, surveying the chaos surrounding her. She stood there in a robe, thin and pale with a bloody leg. She was an attractive woman, but her face was drawn with worry. It looked as if a tornado had gone through the room.

  “Oh,” she said, sniffling as I approached. “Well, we’ve got a good mess here. Sorry.”

  Why was she sorry?

  I walked closer. “Ma’am, you’re bleeding.” She had quite a gash on her leg, probably from flying glass. I walked closer to help her up, managing to get a piece of glass in one of my flip-flops. “I can take you to the ER. You should think about staying at a friend’s house for a few days. Can I help you clean up this glass?” I leaned against a counter so as not to put pressure on the glass in my flip-flop, since reaching with my hand had not removed the offending shard as I had hoped it would.

  “Who are you supposed to be, my Superman? No, you don’t need to help. He’ll just accuse me of cheating. You’ll make things worse! Don’t let him catch you here,” she whispered, as if someone would hear. Her fear was hanging over her like another person was present in the room with us.

  Shivering, I grabbed some paper towels and handed them to her. Then, I grabbed a broom from the corner.

  “Your foot’s bleeding,” she noted, leaning against the counter.

  “Ma’am, you really need to leave or let me call the police.”

  Her eyes grew wide with panic. “No! You can’t do that; I don’t want them here. It will only make things worse.”

  “Can I drive you somewhere?”

  “Malachi, you do not want to be seen driving me anywhere. If he comes back, you are in a world of trouble. You’re young, but he could mess you up. I can’t be responsible for that.”

  “Let me call somebody for you.”

  “Mary, down the street. She was so nice when my dad passed away. But she can’t know what’s going on.”

  “What’s her number?”

  “I’ll call.” She started dialing. “I mean it, Malachi. Don’t hang around. Put that broom down.”

  I realized she was coming out of shock and moving into survival mode, but I couldn’t see why she acted so protective of me. It could have been because she’d also be in such trouble if I was found in her house.

  She spoke in to the phone. “Mary, can I come over for a while? I might need you to drive me somewhere. Well, I, it’s funny, I accidentally broke a glass, and my leg got cut. No, Don is out for a little while today, and I really should take care of this.”

  Her lies were too smooth. Was she lying to me to protect her abusive husband? Just then, a car drove up.

  “Yes, I’ll be over in five minutes.” She hung up the phone, hurriedly. “That’s his car. You have to go! Out the back door. Go!!!”

  I ran. I wasn’t being cowardly; I was ensuring she would get help. “What house is Mary in?” I asked.

  “Three houses on the left!” Her face was red with fear and panic.

  I made sure to close her back door. She was right behind me, locking it. There need not be evidence that I was there, although, if he used a forensic kit, I was in trouble. He couldn’t be that psycho, could he?

  I jumped over one fence, and landing on my foot made it bleed even worse. I limped while I ran, trying to put as little pressure as possible on my cut foot, which probably had the smallest shard of glass embedded into it now.

  Three houses on the left. Knock, knock. An old man answered.

  “Is Mary here?”

  “Nah, she lives two houses down. I’m out of work sick today. Mary’s probably not there. She works too.”

  So why did she direct me to Mary’s house? Did she have a good reason? Had she even actually called Mary, or was it a ruse to get me out of the house?

  “Sir, um, wait. I don’t even know her name. I’m Malachi. I live with Henry, in his basement. I need help; I mean, it’s my neighbor, the lady with the husband who’s a cop?”

  “Yes. Don and Sofie.”

  “It’s Sofia, she’s hurt.”

  “She just goes by Sofie. Long story.”

  I felt like such a heel. Never had I found a reason to speak to any of these people, but now, it was terribly important. “Let me start over again. Sofie is hurt. She’s got this big cut. She did not want me to be caught at her house. Can you just call the cops or some other agency? She needs to go to the doctor, and her husband’s there. Something went wrong between the two of them.” I attempted to state it in a way this man would believe.

  “Well, Malachi, I’m Stephen. I don’t know those two too well, just met up at last year’s community Christmas party.” He walked to his front door and looked down the street.

  “His car’s not there.”

  “Maybe he took her to the doctor. No, I’ll bet he got mad again. You’ve got to go check. Will you, please?” I pleaded in earnest.

  “Yeah, I could do that.”

  “Also, can you loan me some slippers, or any old shoes. I promise I’ll clean them up and bring them back.”

  He reached into his coat closet and pulled out some rubber boots, then went and pulled a Band-Aid out of a kitchen drawer. “Put this on first. You want socks?”

  “No. Sir, please, you’ve got to go check on her.” I stood on one leg to apply the Band-Aid.

  He handed me some paper towels. “Put those in so you don’t bleed all over my boots. Disinfect before returning.”

  “No problem.” I struggled to get the boots on. “Are you going now?” I stepped out with him.

  “I suppose so.” He looked both ways down the street before
moving any further.

  “Should I call the cops?”

  “Oh, heck no. He’s a cop, you know.” Stephen scratched his head as if deep in thought.

  Suddenly the light dawned on me, and I understood why she didn’t want to call for help. “Please help her out.” I started walking down the street wearing his ill-fitting boots. “Thank you, Stephen.”

  “Yeah. I hate getting involved like this.” He shook his head while he kept walking toward her house, so I slowed my walk to make sure he got there. I watched him turn and go up her walkway, then I hid behind a bush when he knocked on the door.

  There was no way I could go home yet. I went to the corner store and looked around. I had left my money at the house, and even worse, I had left the door unlocked. It wasn’t an unsafe neighborhood, but Henry would kill me if anyone broke in.

  Later, when I dared walk home, the husband’s car was gone; he’d probably gone off to work, and all was quiet. I’d go and ask Stephen how it went after a good shower.

  Chapter 5

  Getting a Cover

  As if it wasn’t bad enough that my next door neighbor now hated me and gave me the eye every time he saw me, there were a few other discomforts of living where I did. Henry, my landlord, was out of town that week driving his rig. I was just counting down the days until I got a real paycheck. I had assumed all bills were taken care of.

  I jumped into the shower quickly. The water never did get hot, but it felt fairly warm. I knew I’d better hurry.

  “Ah!!!” I screamed. Suddenly, ice cold water sprayed out from the shower head. This was a cold morning in December, too. I grumbled to myself, Is the hot water heater broken? Just my luck!

  I briefly imagined where Henry was in his rig. Was it Arizona? I knew it was probably warm there, or at least temperate. Driving a rig sounded like a good life prospect in that moment. Never mind that I had accrued a few speeding tickets when I was driving my dad’s car during high school. No doubt they’d be checking into my background, so it likely wasn’t for me anyhow. I had been using my old Chevette, but with the type of jobs I’d be doing, it seemed it would be best to take a cab, specifically, a different cab driver every time, so as not to be tracked. I was thinking ahead. This was good, and the cold water was waking me up, getting my brain going. I wasn’t so bothered by it as I was starting to get used to it.

  “Ahh!!” I screamed again. A German cockroach had just crawled out from a miniscule hole in the wall. How do they fit into those places? I wondered. As a result of its sudden approach, I had bumped my head against one side of the miniscule shower. No one ever invested much money in a basement shower; I should not have been surprised. I massaged the growing goose bump on the side of my head, watching the little roach become overturned by the rush of water from the showerhead. Its legs scrambled as if to right itself, but it seemed to be having as bad a day as I was.

  “Serves you right,” I mumbled, imagining what it was like to truly be so powerless as to be washed away. His legs were still moving as the water carried it toward the drain. I was pretty sure that, if washed down the shower drain, this vicious roach would come out on the other side still alive. Supposedly these little critters had survived the ice age. What kind of a man was I? Afraid of a little bug. I turned the shower water off and shivered, grabbing a towel. The roach lay there struggling. I grabbed what remained of the bug spray under the tiny sink. Looking at it, I was not sure which way the spray would come out. I could just press down and see what happens. What if I accidentally sprayed it on my face instead, thus adding to the injury from just bumping my head? No one should mess with bug spray while they’re half awake, I decided, and placed it back under the tiny sink, then ran the water again to wash the roach away. I definitely needed a new place to stay.

  The fifty dollar advance had already dwindled, since I had celebrated with a meal at the Pancake Place. Forty-four dollars remained on my dresser. Jack had informed me when I returned for my advance, fake I.D. in hand, that my first job would take place in two days. I would be paid immediately following successful completion of the job.

  Meanwhile, I had Georgetown University breathing down my neck for dorm fees. There were still some textbooks piled up on my floor. Tomorrow I would go and sell them back, or maybe I’d sit outside the coffee shop and chat up a first year student, offering to sell these books at a cheap rate. In my opinion, 30% off would be a deal. They were practically new and would only gain me 20% of their cost back from the college bookstore. That’s a racket, if there ever was one. Not to mention the money I would need for the beat-up car that sat in the driveway most days, as I really needed to get that carburetor fixed. I could drive it if necessary, but catching a ride or a bus was a much better deal these days. Selling my texts would not be enough to pay for it, but it would sure help.

  I toweled off and quickly dressed, wondering if I could turn the heat up. Henry was a little bit of an overlord when it came to energy consumption in this place, which got me to worrying. Did he keep up with his bills? Would the energy bill come due before he returned? I opened the small refrigerator in my room and held a piece of ice to my head. Looking in the mirror, I saw that my lips were blue.

  I put on a pair of shoes, and sighing, climbed the carpeted stairs. On the kitchen counter were my keys. I threw on a jacket and went out to check the mail. No electric bill today. I’d check again every day, and if there was a bill, I decided to call him on his cellular phone right away. There was no way I could pay for it by myself right now.

  On the way back, I saw Mrs. Bannon across the street glimpse out of her window, curlers still in her hair. I don’t think she liked me, but she sure was very curious about me. I was sure Don next door was spreading rumors about me. The only explanation I could come up with for his evil-eye glances was that a neighbor had seen me go into their house that one day and told him. He wouldn’t say anything because he knew what I found when I went in. That was okay; I could handle the evil-eye, and I wasn’t done with him. I just hadn’t come up with a plan that was elaborate enough to ensure he could be found out and the cops wouldn’t cover for him; either that, or to ensure his wife left him for good. It would not be easy.

  Back inside, I checked the newspaper for a side job as a cover for what I would really be doing, deciding I needed to ask Jack for a loaner computer. It was worth a go anyway. I happened to see the blinking light from my answering machine in the corner. I played the single message. “Hey, Mike. Phil here. You weren’t easy to track down. Anyway, I found you. What’s with dropping out? Man, you were the best in Hamlet. At any rate, call me back. We should get together at the Grub and Jug for old time’s sake.” He started reciting his phone number, and I clicked the stop button. Nope, I wasn’t planning on calling him back. My new identity would be hard to explain. If I ran into him by accident, the fact I was going by another name could be attributed to a lot of things: drugs, nervous breakdown, desire to break into film stardom…

  An interesting ad jumped out at me. A young man was promising to be my friend for a fee, no questions asked. I’ll be your co-worker, your old high school buddy, or your long-lost cousin, it claimed. I’ll scare away the crazy girlfriend or get your parents off your back. Call Mon.-Fri., 10 a.m. to 8 p.m. Leave a message if needed. Intrigued, I wrote the number down in my address book. I might need this guy someday as a cover.

  I found something that would serve as a pseudo job working for a telemarketing company. Make your own hours, it offered. Your pay will be commensurate with your time and effort. Fifteen minutes later, I was a new employee of Milson Penny Stocks. I had the voice for it; I could be successful at getting people to sign up. Ha! Who was I kidding!? This was another acting bit for me, pretending I cared if people signed up for the stock and savings newsletter from Milson’s company. Just a cover.

  Since I was on such a roll, I called the fellow, G.D. Bink, friend-for-hire.

  “G.D. here.”

  “Hey, G. D. My name is, um, Malachi. I wanted to kn
ow how your services work.”

  “Well, I’m assuming you want a friend. A cover? Someone to make you look normal to your parents or a girlfriend, or do you want the type of friend that would scare a girlfriend away?”

  “It could be either. Not sure yet.”

  “Okay. Pretty vague, Malachi. How about I ask you some questions. If I were your friend, what would we possibly have in common?”

  “Video games? I have that in common with a lot of people. Though I think I am growing out of that. Um, I was really good in acting class in college. Well, I dropped out. Not really my thing. But I was good at acting, just not good at college. We could have met there.”

  “Well, I could be that friend of yours who knows a friend of a friend who is making a movie. I’m gonna get you your ticket to stardom and fame, through some indie movie producer.”

  “Wow. That would be cool!”

  “Yeah, I just came up with that idea.”

  I had to silently remind myself that this would all be pretend. Too bad. Regardless, it was a pretty good story if I had to say so myself.

  “Sounds good, G.D. So, do I just call you when I need you?”

  “Hmm, you mean you don’t need me yet?”

  “No, but I have a feeling I will be needing your services.”

  “I get it. Just dropped out of college, probably doesn’t have a job, young guy needs some impressive story to tell the girls for why he’s not punching a clock anywhere; just call me. I’ll cover you. Just understand, I do need three days’ notice; otherwise, I may have to name the time. In other words, if you’re gonna need me right away, I may tell you I’m only free for coffee on a Saturday morning, not for that dinner with your girlfriend’s parents. Just call and let me know, fill me in on the situation. I’m your guy. Halloween’s coming up, too. You might just need a wingman.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah, you are pretty much right about the job thing, though I was hired as a tele-marketer. Doesn’t exactly make me look good for the girls. Haha. Alright, thanks, G.D.” I hung up the phone and decided pointedly not to give Phil a call back. Instead, I called Jack.