While Drowning in the Desert
Page 12
A revolver. Six bullets; two fired, leaving four. Nathan, Hope, Sami and Karen.
“What …”
“Mine shaft,” he said. “Boring hole. Fifty feet deep, perhaps. So you won’t suffer long. And soon you have the company of your friends, ja?”
And he dropped me.
I slid down some dirt and then felt myself in open air. I fell and fell and waited for the smack at the bottom that should end this.
I didn’t exactly smack.
I splashed.
I plunged feet-first underwater, didn’t hit bottom, then struggled with my one good arm to the surface.
A circle of light tantalized about thirty feet up. The hole was about ten feet in circumference and God only knows how many scant desert rains it had taken to leave this much water.
I tried to grab the side and my hand slipped. I tried again. Same thing. I couldn’t even feel my left hand, never mind raise it or grab anything. All I could do was tread water, and that just barely.
So there it is, I thought. There’s no way out, no way to help the others, and nothing to do but tread water with one arm until I wear out. Nathan and Hope were beyond help, Karen would die, and I was drowning in the middle of the desert.
A while later, when I heard the distant, hollow thump of the shots, I decided that drowning wasn’t so bad.
Chapter 26
My ribs hurt like hell and my heart ached worse. As I watched Heinz-57 carry Neal away I knew I was never going to see him again.
Neal, I mean.
And yes, I started to cry. This time my heart really was broken and I didn’t care that some little Arab midget was pointing a gun at me, and I didn’t even care if he pulled the trigger.
My life was over anyway.
So when little … Sami, I guess his name was, herded Nathan and Hope out of what was left of the shack and sat us down in the sun to bake until Heinz-57 came to shoot us, I didn’t much care.
That’s the downside to loving someone. When they go they take so much of your life with them.
Anyway, old Heinz-57 came striding back a while later like he was King Shit, you know.
“What did you do to Neal?” I asked.
“Disposed of him,” he said.
Then I really started crying. I didn’t care that the son of a bitch was enjoying it. My damn heart was broken.
Heinz kept moving, fiddled with the Land Rover, and managed to back it out of the shack. Then he said to Sami, “You carry the old man’s body, I carry this bitch. Then we come back. It will take both of us to carry the old lady.”
“I beg your pardon!” Hope said.
“Okay,” said Sami. “I—”
He stopped in his tracks. His mouth gaped as he looked over Heinz’s shoulder. I looked too.
A Jeep was barreling in on us. The driver braked, the Jeep fishtailed and threw up a cloud of dust. When it cleared I saw an older, silver-haired man in an immaculate gray pinstripe suit climb easily out of the passenger side. The driver, a barrel-chested man in his early thirties, got out his own side.
Sami dropped his gun in the dirt. I could see Heinz holding his behind his back.
The silver-haired man said, “Hello, Mr. Silver.”
Nathan said, “Good morning, Mr. C.”
Mr. C turned to Heinz and said, “It’s not polite to keep people sitting out in the sun like this. Particularly older people.”
“What business is this of yours?” Heinz asked.
“Where’s Neal Carey?”
I couldn’t see Heinz-57’s face, but I knew it had that arrogant smirk on it as he said, “The same place you’ll—”
He swung out the gun and went into a macho-man combat crouch.
I swear that Mr. C didn’t move, flinch, or even blink as his driver pulled his own gun and shot Heinz-57 four times in the chest before Heinz could even raise his pistol. Mr. C just turned his gaze to Sami and asked, “Where’s Neal Carey?”
Sami’s hand shook as he pointed toward the opposite hill.
I got up and ran.
Chapter 27
I don’t know how long it was before I heard the footsteps.
At first they seemed far off and muffled and I didn’t yell because it didn’t matter anymore. I figured that it was Heinz and Sami and that they were about to drop the bodies down the shaft. I didn’t want to see that anyway so I closed my eyes and tried to drown.
Then I heard someone say, “I don’t know, ma’am. I’m afraid he’s dead.”
And Karen say, “Then I want to find his body!”
Karen? “His body”?
“Down here!” I yelled. “I’m down here!”
I could hear the footsteps shuffling around.
“DOWN HERE! I’M DOWN HERE!”
“NEAL?!”
“DOWN HERE! DOWN HERE!”
I saw Karen’s face peek out from the circle of blue sky.
“Hold on, babe!” she shouted. “They’re bringing a rope!”
“Are you okay?!”
“I think I have a cracked rib! Are you okay!?”
“Well, I’m alive!”
“Well I guess that beats the alternative!” she hollered. “I love you!”
“I love you, too!”
“Nathan?!” I asked.
“He’s okay!”
“Hope?!”
“Fine!” she yelled. “Everyone’s fine except for Heinz-57! I don’t think he’s going to make it!”
Actually, I didn’t care if Heinz made it or not.
“You hang in there, babe!” Karen yelled. “They’re coming!”
They came a few minutes later. I saw the rope come down and managed to grab the end with my right hand. Then I saw the barrel-chested guy from the Sands peer over the edge.
“Can you loop that around yourself and tie it off?” he asked.
I didn’t want to say that I probably couldn’t do that standing on dry ground with two good arms, so I yelled, “I can try!”
“Trying won’t cut it!” he yelled. He pulled the rope back up. “Hold on.”
A few minutes later he was in the water with me. He looped the rope around both of us and yelled, “Take her up!”
I could hear the Jeep moaning in the sand. A minute later we were in daylight.
At first the sun blinded me so I couldn’t see Karen. I could feel her, though, as she put her arms around me. When I was able to see her face, there were tears on her cheeks.
I wanted to cry too, to be honest. But Mickey the C was standing there in a three-piece suit, in the desert sun, not even sweating. Not a bead of perspiration on his smooth face.
“Thank you,” I said.
“No problem,” he answered. “Anything for Natty Silver, the laughs he’s given me. And Joe Graham reached out for you. Said you’re like a son to him.”
Okay, maybe then my eyes might have moistened a little bit.
Don’t ever tell Graham, though, okay?
In the distance I heard the basslike beating of helicopter rotors.
“The cops?” I asked.
Mickey the C snorted. “The cops? They take forever to get here.”
A few minutes later I was on a stretcher beside Nathan Silver on a mob helicopter zooming us back to Las Vegas.
We’d been in the air about ten seconds when he mumbled, “So Arthur Minsky says to the Irish kid, ‘Son, you’re never going to be a good errand boy. Can you do anything else?’ And the kid, Costello, says, ‘I want to be a comic.’ Arthur laughs, I laugh, Eileen the Irish Dream laughs, Benny the Blade laughs. Then Arthur turns to me and says, ‘There you go, Natty. Here’s your replacement for Phil Gold. Teach him “Who’s on First.”’ And I say, ‘This kid? He can’t learn it. He’s the dumbest Mick I ever seen! Dumber maybe than you, even.’ I said to Arthur Minsky …”
“Nathan?”
“Yeeees?”
“Didn’t I meet you in Cleveland once?”
“I’ve never been to Cleveland.”
“Neither have I,”
I said. “Must have been two other guys.”
And I actually got a laugh out of Natty Silver.
Chapter 28
Ms. Pamela A. Holmstrum
Claims Superintendent
Western States Insurance Co.
801 Flower Street
Los Angeles, CA
Craig D. Schaeffer
Attorney-at-Law
3615 Monterey
Palm Desert, CA
14 August 1983
Dear Mr. Schaeffer,
Congratulations on your fine work on the Muller-Abdullah files. I was gratified to receive your communication that Attorney Eugene Petkovitch has dropped both bad-faith suits. Of course, I imagine that Mr. Muller’s demise and Mr. Abdullah’s incarceration rendered that litigation moot.
Western States Insurance Company is very pleased with your fine work on this file, and please allow me to add my personal congratulations. It has been a pleasure to work with you and I look forward to future collaborations.
Yours truly,
Pamela A. Holmstrum
P.S.: See, I told you things would work out.
Craig D. Schaeffer
Attorney-at-Law
3615 Monterey
Palm Desert, CA
Ms. Pamela A. Holmstrum
Claims Superintendent
Western States Insurance Co.
801 Flower Street
Los Angeles, CA
17 August 1983
Dear Ms. Holmstrum,
Thank you for your letter expressing your, and your company’s, appreciation for my modest efforts on the Muller-Abdullah file. I am indeed gratified that everything worked out. Let me also express my appreciation for your work on the matter and say how much I have enjoyed our association. I hope it will continue.
Sincerely,
Craig Schaeffer, Esquire
P.S.: Dinner Saturday?
Ms. Pamela A. Holmstrum
Claims Superintendent
Western States Insurance Co.
801 Flower Street
Los Angeles, CA
Craig D. Schaeffer
Attorney-at-Law
3615 Monterey
Palm Desert, CA
19 August 1983
Dear Craig,
Please find enclosed a correspondence from Eugene Petkovitch. I am referring this to you for your handling.
Yours truly,
Pam Holmstrum
P.S.: Do you believe the nerve of this son-of-a-gun?
P.P.S.: Eight o’clock?
The Law Offices of Eugene E. Petkovitch
1500 Mitch Miller Boulevard
Palm Springs, CA
Ms. Pamela Holmstrum
Western States Insurance Co.
801 Flower Street
Los Angeles, CA
16 August 1983
Dear Ms. Holmstrum,
This letter is to inform you that I no longer represent Mr. Amin “Sami” Abdullah. If I had thought for a moment that this man was an arsonist, fraud and kidnapper I would never have deigned to take pen in hand—rhetorically speaking—on his behalf. Please accept my profound apologies.
Second, I wish to inform you that I will be filing suit against you on behalf of the estate of the late Heinz Muller. The causes of action will be unlawful surveillance, harassment, assault with a deadly vehicle (his Land Rover), false imprisonment, and wrongful death. I am also naming Mr. Neal Carey, Mr. Nathan Silverstein, Ms. Hope White, Ms. Karen Hawley, and one John Doe aka “Mickey the C.”
I am personally and professionally outraged—OUTRAGED—that an insurance carrier in this day and age would single out for oppressive treatment an individual just because that person happens to be a foreign immigrant. Immigration built this land, Ms. Holmstrum, lest you or Western States Insurance Company ever forget it!
Your conduct has been despicable!
I am certain that a California jury will send a message to the insurance industry—via a large punitive damages award—that this type of conduct will no longer be tolerated.
There is still time for you to avoid litigation.
My client, the estate of Mr. Heinz Muller, is generously willing to accept $100,000,000 for the pain, suffering and unlawful death that your Gestapo-like inquisition and jackboot investigative tactics have inflicted upon him. This sum represents far less than an outraged jury would award, and saves you the cost of a long, expensive, and ultimately futile defense.
This offer expires at close of business, five working days hence, and will not be compromised or renewed.
Sincerely yours,
Eugene E. Petkovitch
Craig D. Schaeffer
Attorney-at-Law
3615 Monterey
Palm Desert, CA
Ms. Pamela A. Holmstrum
Claims Superintendent
Western States Insurance Co.
801 Flower Street
Los Angeles, CA
20 August 1983
Dear Pam,
Enclosed please find my response to the demand letter of Attorney Eugene Petkovitch.
Here we go again.
Sincerely,
Craig
P.S.: Enjoyed watching The Searchers. Was it John Wayne, or you?
Craig D. Schaeffer
Attorney-at-Law
3615 Monterey
Palm Desert, CA
Eugene E. Petkovitch
The Law Offices of Eugene E. Petkovitch
1500 Mitch Miller Boulevard
Palm Springs, CA
20 August 1983
Dear Eugene,
I am once again representing Western States Insurance Company. In response to your latest correspondence:
1) Take us to court.
2) Bring your lunch.
The usual bullshit,
Craig “Mad Dog” Schaeffer
By Fax
Dear Craig,
I read with great interest your response to Attorney Petkovitch.
I have a triathlon in Laguna next weekend. Can you lend me some testosterone?
Pam
P.S.: I rented Annie Hall, if that will get you here.
Chapter 29
Dear Diary,
What a day!
I went over to visit Nathan in the hospital. He is sharing a room with that nice young man Neal. Nathan says Neal is kind of grumpy sometimes but Nathan puts up with it because he says that Neal is very eager to learn all about the good old days in burlesque so Nathan is telling him all about it.
Nathan is feeling much better even though the ordeal was very hard on him. He has decided to buy a condo here in Las Vegas. At first, Diary, he wanted to move in with me but I didn’t think that would be proper. So I told him to get his own place nearby and I would come over for matinees (blush, blush).
That nice young man Neal is also recovering. He had a dislocated shoulder, a cracked cheekbone, a bruised hip, a bruised throat, a concussion and multiple contusions. He says he is eager to get out of the hospital. In fact the other day, right in the middle of one of Nathan’s lessons about burlesque, Neal said that if he didn’t get out of the room soon he was going to stick his head down the commode and try to flush himself. I think he must have been joking, though, because they won’t let him up to use the bathroom and I think he is a little jealous of Nathan about this. Nathan is already in a wheelchair and Neal is still in bed.
I’m sure he was happy to see his fiancée, Karen. You remember, Diary, the nice girl that Neal would not get in a family way? She came in today as usual, but she had a special gleam in her eye, if you know what I mean (blush, blush). She came in and said hello to us and kissed Neal on the cheek.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Better,” he said.
“Headache?”
“No.”
“Shoulder?”
“Not bad.”
She smiled and dug into her purse. Then she pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and slipped it to me. “Sweetie,” she whispered, “can I treat you to
a movie or something?”
She winked at me and I winked back and then I rolled Nathan down to the cafeteria. They have slot machines there.
Karen was pulling the curtain around Neal’s bed as we left. I don’t know what went on in that room while we were gone, Diary! (Blush, blush.)
Your confidante,
Hope
Chapter 30
Men are dependable, god bless’em. You can bust them up, throw them down a mine shaft, and half drown them … they can have broken bones, a cracked head, and a body that’s one big bruise … in short, they can just hurt all over, and if that one part works they still want to, you know, do it.
It’s just one of the things I love about them.
Not that I jumped right into the sack. (“Eased” is more like it, anyway. When the moment came I “eased” into the sack, Neal being in a delicate condition and all.) First we made a little small talk.
“Petkovitch is suing you?!” I asked when Neal told me.
“He’s suing you, too.”
“That’s outrageous,” I said. “Do you know a good lawyer?”
“I don’t think we’ll be needing one,” Neal answered. “He’s also suing Mickey the C.”
“That’s not real bright.”
“It’s downright dim,” Neal said. “Mickey the C’s idea of playing rough includes a little more than sarcastic remarks in his correspondence.”
“I noticed.”
“Right.”
“So how are you?” I asked.
“I hurt all over.”
“One big bruise.”
“One big bruise.”
“I gave Hope twenty bucks.”
“What for?” he asked.
“Get rid of her.”
“And Nathan?”
“And Nathan.”
“What for?”
Giving me that innocent look as if he didn’t have a clue.
“Never mind,” I said. “You’re in pain.”