“This is Mr. Buttman,” Rey said with a snort as he resumed his place behind the bar.
“Mr. Buttman, our esteemed emissary. What greeting brings you to my door this fine day?” The thin dapper man put the drink to his lips. He was not what I expected, but then, what did I expect? I looked at Rey as a way to determine if I should spill my communiqué now or wait. John understood the cue. “This way, if you please, Mr. Buttman.”
The door led into a well-worn office. John sat behind the desk as I took my place in one of the leatherettes facing it. The desk, other than a phone and a pen, had nothing on it. A standing lamp in the corner produced just enough light that we were able to see one another. I took a sip of whiskey. “You’re something of an anomaly, Mr. Buttman,” he said this while sipping his own drink.
“In what way?”
“I like to know who I’m dealing with no matter who or what they might be, so I always do a little digging. With you, there’s little there. No history beyond a few years ago. I find that interesting, especially in this day and age. Maybe something’s up, maybe not… we’ll let that pass for now. You’ve been vouched for, so to speak.” The man took another sip. “Yet I’m curious. You’re no spring chicken; those years went somewhere. Most men your age have a trail a mile long. It’s curious that you don’t. I get why they use you, but now that I see you, I wonder…” The man had doubts, and it didn’t matter what Boyer or Durant or whomever his contact said to assure him of my value, he had to see for himself. “The message?”
“The cart at the abattoir is blue. The pears arrive at two.” Whatever that meant, it made the thin dapper man smile, then sit back.
“Mean anything to you?”
“No, I’m just here to spread the good word.” I finished the last of the whiskey and soda. “Anything else I can do for you?” This was generally my way of saying I had nothing else to add. I wasn’t here to chitchat.
“No, that’s all.” We stood and I made my way to the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Buttman.” I nodded and closed the door behind me.
Agnes was at the bar. Rey’s attention continued to be held by the glowering box. I took a step in her direction, to which she replied in kind. We walked together to the door. She took the glass from my hand. I watched as her eyes made one last pass up and down yours truly.
“Tell me, are you attached in any serious way, Monk Buttman?” Her hand found the sleeve of my jacket.
“Not in any serious way… why do you ask?” That smile was bright and alluring. It channeled an impulse I found hard to resist, to move closer.
“I was thinking, if it’s not too far out of your way, how about a drink one of these nights? Might be interesting.” It might be.
“How’s tomorrow, eight or so?”
“I’ll be here, at the end of the bar.” Her large breasts brushed against me as I opened the door, “I’ll see you then.”
“I look forward to it.” That smile wandered off, back towards the bar.
2
My next stop was worlds away from John’s little hole in the wall. Up in Beverly Hills, above the city, well-appointed homes with tasteful walls and gardens adorned the gently curving streets. Martin lived here. The people here did not make do with what they had; theirs was that small enclave of the charmed, what they wanted they got. Living in the land of the rich and famous required a sense of style, and the money to make it happen. Nothing appeared out of place, wild or natural. Nothing like the world I grew up in. Martin’s home was at the top of the curve, set back at the edge of the hill, surrounded by a stone and wrought iron fence. The driveway was blocked by an ornate gate. I pressed the button on the intercom and mentally restated the phrase Boyer gave me. This would let Martin know I wasn’t an encyclopedia salesman or any other undesirable interloper. A woman’s voice came over the intercom.
“Yes?” I was surprised by the sonic clarity. I don’t know why.
“I’m from Aeschylus and Associates to speak with Martin.”
“Then we certainly mustn’t keep you waiting. Please come up.” The gate opened with a quiet stately grace, ushering me onto the manicured grounds. The city below, and the ocean beyond, shone in the filtered sunlight. A woman was leaning against a pillar by the front door. I parked the Falcon, grabbed the package, and made like I had any business being here. The woman, slender, as all these women tended to be, took me in with a kind of offhand observation reserved for those with nothing better to do.
“You’re not at all what I expected.”
“No?” A slow grin came to me. I enjoyed being the unexpected.
“No.” Bemused, she turned and we went into the house. The entry, complemented by small tables dressed with flowering vases, led into a great room with a broad panorama of our megalopolis. “Quite a view, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is. I envy your good fortune. The view from my window, such as it is, is of a few lilac bushes and my neighbor’s walls. It must be something to have this every day.”
“I try not to complain. Please sit down.”
The woman, Martin’s wife I presumed, stood next to me as we admired the skyline. Like Agnes, she was not a young woman, but time had treated her with a kindness not afforded Agnes. If she was cosmetically enhanced, I didn’t see it, but then I wasn’t looking that hard. An attractive woman, no matter her age, is just that, and to my mind, to be admired. Her perfume was subtle and alluring. I wondered if she had time for a drink. I was in a bit of a dry spell as far as women were concerned, so my desires were interfering with the job at hand.
“I’ll go find Martin,” she said.
I found a chair and sat down. The room was sparsely decorated given its size. The windows were actually a series of sliding doors that allowed the room to be opened up to the outside. A pool, the type that seems to literally fall off the side of the hill, lay beyond the sliding doors. The place was far too quiet for my taste; too reverent. Quiet was meant for the woods, places like that. I needed some noise. Cities required noise, sound, reverberation. Fortunately, noise came in the form of Martin, grousing to the woman.
“What do they want now?”
“Given how little you discuss anything with me, how would I know?” The woman was almost playful in her response. I didn’t sense a great deal of affection between them. Visually though, they made a striking pair. Martin was a tall angular man, lean and athletic. They had that beautiful people vibe despite the verbal jabs. The woman pointed to me.
“This is…” She didn’t know who I was.
“My name is Buttman, Monk Buttman.”
A wide smile found the woman of the house. “Mr. Monk Buttman.”
The man of the house was not nearly as amused.
“What do you want, Buttman? Why are you here? You’ll find I’m not as entertained by this as my wife.” He was clearly unnerved to see me. I noticed his hands were shaking. I thought that an odd response to a glorified messenger boy.
“Lighten up, Martin, he’s only doing his job. There are people in this world who still work for a living. You used to work once, remember? ” The eyes above her smile narrowed.
“I’m not interested in your worthless banter today, Judith. Why don’t you do us both a favor and run off and fuck the pool boy. It’ll give you something to do.” Judith leaned up against the wall near where I was still sitting. I felt obliged to stand up.
“Seriously, Martin, you know pool boys aren’t my thing. I’m more of a…” She glanced in my direction. “…Courier kind of woman.” Martin stepped towards us.
“I’m not here to aggravate any disagreements the two of you may have or add to your personal difficulties. I have a package for you that I’ll need back, and a message for you alone.”
That stopped him. I handed him the package. He took it and sat down on the couch.
“Will you give us a minute, Judith? Please.” The tone of his voice softened. She was no longer smiling. The regard she gave Martin reminded me of Desiree and Boyer.
“Of course, dear.” She headed out towards the pool. On the way, her hand ran along the sleeve of my jacket. I was two for two. “Try not to keep Monk here too long, otherwise I won’t be able to live up to your expectations.”
I couldn’t help noticing that she swung her hips with a little more accentuation as she left. A mischievous thought crossed my mind; maybe Martin would like to watch. He noticed my roving eye.
“Buttman!” I tried to clear my mind of the man’s wife. “The message!”
“My apologies. Chickens and aprons, spoons and spores; late night is no good. Saturday is finished.”
The color went out of his face even as he continued to look at me. His hands fiddled with the envelope. He sat back and pulled the papers out. Whatever they were, whatever they meant, Martin wasn’t having any of it. With each page turned, he grew more agitated, finally throwing them all across the room.
“I’m not signing them! I’m not doing this! They can’t force me to do this. I won’t! I won’t, you understand, I won’t!” Judith was watching. Martin saw her and began to rise, as if he was about to rush his wife. Instead he turned to me, “Take these goddamned papers and get the hell out of my house! OUT! NOW!” He bumped the corner of the couch as he got up. He screamed an obscenity and sent the couch tumbling across the polished wood floor.
“Martin!” Judith yelled after him as he left the room. I went around picking up the papers. After a moment Judith joined in. One of the papers caught her eye and she stopped to read it. A giggle came out of her just as she handed the paper to me. It wasn’t a cute or funny giggle. A cloud had found her eyes as it had found Martin’s. “Would you care for a drink, Mr. Buttman? I certainly need one. And maybe you could help me put the couch back.”
“Sure.” Together we righted the couch and put it back where it belonged.
“What do you drink, Mr. Buttman?”
I was having second thoughts about the drink. “Maybe a drink isn’t the best idea right now.”
She gave it a second.
“Sure it is. If it’s Martin you’re concerned with, don’t be. He’s not particularly interested in what I do to amuse myself, and who knows when he’ll come out of his precious little room. I may not see him for a week. Besides, it’s too nice a day to sit here by myself. Certainly, you have a few minutes you can spare? Now what can I get you?”
“Whiskey is fine.” There are worse things to do than have a drink with an attractive woman on a beautiful day. Even the old man would give me that. I followed her to the bar where she poured my drink. She then made one for herself. We sat by the pool, mostly in silence. “Is this what you do, Monk? You don’t mind if I use your first name, do you?”
“You can call me whatever you like. And yes, this is what I do.” Judith’s whiskey was better than Rey’s.
“Seems like an odd profession for a man your age.”
I was pretty sure she was simply making conversation.
“To some, sure, but I find it an interesting way to pass the time and make a little money. Plus it affords me the opportunity to do what I want. I’m not stuck to any timetable or schedule. I prefer it that way.”
Judith turned to me, a glint of mischief in her expression.
“You mean you don’t long for all this wealth and privilege? The prestige of telling everyone you meet what to do, to gloat that this is your home? You’d be amazed at what this view is worth. It’s a statement of position, you know, of importance. People in this town believe that’s what you’re meant to strive for. Don’t you?”
I stood and looked around.
“No. I won’t deny the beauty of your home, or that you’ve got one of the finest views, but to me it’s all too much; too much time, money, and effort to keep up; too many people wanting to take it from you, and for what? It can’t be anything but the experience because at some point you give it away, sell it, or die and it becomes someone else’s headache. I like things simple, easy going; a little here, a little there. There are so many beautiful things in this world to experience. Take this suit for instance. Well made, well-tailored, yet because it’s second hand, I got it cheap. It’s like the car out there, after time it becomes precious only in the sense that there are so few of them left, and, like the suit, cheap because someone decides it’s too old, or not stylish enough, or has no redeeming value. Still, they have value to me, and they require so little, monetarily, to maintain. It makes life easy.”
Judith’s gaze drifted off. She’d finished her drink. She got up and stood next to me.
“I don’t like to think about the nature of existence. It makes me uneasy. I’ve been here too long to think of it belonging to someone else, even though it was here when Martin and I were poor and living in a hovel down in the valley. It’s mine now, and it’s going to stay mine even if I have to throw that bastard Martin down the hill.” That made her laugh. It made me think it was time to go. “Interested in another drink, Mr. Buttman?” Her hand had found its way, once again, to the sleeve of my coat.
“Yes and no. I’m not immune to temptation, and I can’t think of anything better than being here with you on this very pleasant afternoon, but unfortunately I need to get these papers back.” We stood close together. It was turning into an unusual day. All the women I’d encountered, other than the delightful Desiree, were far too inviting to someone like me. I was usually invisible to them. I wasn’t sure how far to push it. The other jobs had been uneventful, in and out with little conversation. Women were rarely even present. As I said, I was riding out a dry spell. The water they sprinkled on me felt nice and I wanted more. If there was more, I wasn’t going to dwell on it too deeply.
“Maybe you’re right. One more drink and I might misbehave, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?” She took my hand and placed it on her nice firm ass.
“Probably not.” I had no interest in moving my hand. I liked where it was.
“Maybe another time?” I didn’t believe it for a minute, but it didn’t hurt to dream of the possibilities.
“I can’t imagine saying no.” Reluctantly, I pulled back and she walked me to the door. I put the envelope on the front seat as I slid into the car. Judith was once again leaning against the pillar, watching me.
“Goodbye, Mr. Buttman.” Another smile to remember.
The drive back to A and A centered mostly on those two smiles, those two women. As traffic was slow and congested, I let my thoughts drift elsewhere, into the possibilities, fantastical or not. I found it interesting what they had in common and what they did not. Agnes did not disguise the wear and tear that living had done to her; it was part of her allure, just as Judith’s was the way she seemed to defy the ravages of time. Both had fine figures; Judith being more refined, Agnes more voluptuous. I found this a rather delightful way to pass the time. I imagined the way they liked being made love to, what might be their secret desires. It kept me from fixating on the screeching, stinking, ramshackle of a truck in front of me. I was stuck behind it all the way to my exit. Sadly, as I entered the parking garage, I had to abandon my fantasies, it was time to get back to work.
I walked into the drab room.
Some things you never forget, much as you might try.
I expected to find Desiree at her desk; the same dour look on her face, the same dismissive attitude. Instead, I found her bent over the desk. Her blouse was pulled up over her breasts; her skirt up around her waist and her underwear pulled down. Boyer was behind her, his pants down around his knees, his hands pawi
ng her breasts. Her eyes were closed; anguish and revulsion contorted her face. Boyer was in his own sick little world. I stood there like a chump. It all felt like some slow motion sex film and I could do nothing but stare. I started backing towards the door. Boyer noticed me with that fucking smirk of his.
“Give me a few more minutes, Monk-man…” He was slamming Desiree into the desk. “If you’d like, you can have some sloppy seconds when I’m done.” Desiree was fighting back the tears, the anger. “You’d like that wouldn’t you, you stupid bitch. I told you she’d do what I…”
Turns out there was a knife, a switchblade; she had it in the top drawer.
It was in her hand while he was mouthing off. Then it was in his groin. She forced him back against the wall as he was regaling me of his complete control over this angry woman. She’d had enough. The blade stayed in him till it reached his navel. As he began to realize what was happening, his mouth opened just as she drove the blade into his neck. A mangled gurgle accompanied the gush of blood spilling out over the front of the exposed Desiree. Boyer slumped down, his hands grasping what was left of his penis. His uncomprehending eyes fixed on us. We watched as the little prick bled to death.
Desiree turned to me with the knife still in her hand. The blood rolled off her cheek and breasts and on to her belly and thighs. It followed the trellised rose tattoo, stretching from that same thigh up to her neck. We stood there. Slowly she rearranged her clothes, pulling up her underwear, covering herself up. She never took her eyes off me.
“I’m taking the money,” she whispered.
“What money?”
“In the bag; I want the envelope too.” She gestured to a bag by the chair next to me, and to what I held in my hands.
“Why?”
She wiped away the blood on her face while trying to compose herself.
“So they don’t kill me, that’s why.” Over Boyer? Why bother?
“Take the money.” I picked up the bag and tossed it to her. “But the envelope stays here.” She reached for the bag and clutched it to her chest. Fear crept into her eyes. She knew she couldn’t stay much longer, not in the condition she was in, not with Boyer lying next to her in a pool of his own congealing blood. “If you’re going, now’s the time. Otherwise, we can wait for security or the cops, your choice.”
Where Fools Dare to Tread Page 2