Last Call

by Matthew Nunes

  “You’re assuming a prosecution.”

  “There will be a reckoning. I’m not going to hurt anyone,” I said, intercepting the look he gave me. “I’m not going to sit back and wait, anymore, either.”

  “I remember. You said that at the bar, too.”

  “Probably getting old, and forgetful.”

  “Probably,” he agreed.

  “Probably what?” I asked.

  Chapter 30

  He drove over the causeway to Goat Island, and pulled into the hotel parking lot. A valet approached and was greeted with a badge.

  “Sonny, if my car moves an inch, if the keys are not in the ignition when I come down, or if there’s as much as a scratch, then you will never move in this town without a cop demanding ID. Are we clear on that?”

  The kid looked at him, goggle-eyed.

  “I’d be surprised if a police officer had ever even spoken to him before,” I whispered when we got into the elevator.

  “Well, now he knows that we’re here to serve and protect.”

  “Room number?”

  He gave it to me.

  “What if they’re not there?”

  “Would you for chrissake relax? I’m not an amateur. He used the same fake name to check in. What are the odds? They have adjoining rooms. She used her real name. Room service delivered a champagne breakfast for two to her room, less than,” he looked at his watch, “fifteen minutes ago. I arranged to have them stall until then, so we’ll be getting here just as they finished up.”

  “What if they slept in?”

  “Their flight leaves from Green at eleven-thirty. They can’t sleep much after nine, regardless. Worst case, we get them out of bed. Yesterday, they hung around the city, shopped, hit the galleries and played a round of golf. He bought a small sculpture at one of the galleries for four grand.”

  “What’d they shoot?” I asked, just for something to say.

  “Eighty-two and a seventy-nine, playing from the blues.”

  I looked at him.

  He grimaced, “I have no damned idea. I know they played golf, okay? Jeeze.”

  He knocked on the door, and said “Room Service,” in a cheerful voice.

  I heard a man speak, “We already have our order.”

  DaSilva knocked again, “Maybe there’s a mistake, but the first order was incomplete, sir.” He was perfect.

  I heard movement and stepped to the latch side of the door. Out of sight, I drew my Beretta, and held it to my side. The door opened, and Rob of the CIA, wearing a blue blazer and gray slacks was looking at me.

  He started to speak, and to push the door closed, when he looked down and saw my pistol, cocked and pointed at his midsection. “May we come in?” I asked.

  “We were eating, and we have a flight to catch, but please do, as long as you can keep it brief.”

  I raised the pistol, and that was the first DaSilva noticed it. He didn’t blink, drawing his and holding it at his side as he entered, moving to the opposite side of the door. “Sergeant,” I said, “I wonder if you would make sure of our privacy?”

  He quickly checked the closets, the bathroom, and locked the door to the adjoining room.

  “Clear, Mr. Costa,” he said, and holstered his weapon. I nodded toward Rob, and he quickly patted him down.

  “Let’s all sit down. Mind?” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

  “No, help yourself, Mr. Costa,” the widow Morley said.

  “Sergeant?”

  “No thank you, I’m fine.”

  “Everyone comfortable, then?” I said. “Well, Bob, it’s good to see you again. I had a long night, and it’s been awhile since we spoke, but it’s a genuine pleasure.”

  “It’s Rob, Mr. Costa,”

  “Okay, Bob, but for now, I’d like to keep things moving along. You do have your obligations, don’t you?”

  He nodded, and Mrs. Morley nodded. She seemed puzzled, but willing to let her lover take care of matters. His face showed some annoyance over the name. I liked that. DaSilva stood with his arms folded, looking like a cop.

  “So, Bob let me tell you what I’ve been up to, and how your life is about to take a serious turn for the worse. Would you like to hear all of that?”

  “First of all, Mr. Costa, there’s nothing legal about what you’re doing here, and I promise you can’t do a thing to my life. It’s fine as it is. I assure you that I will use whatever means I have to alter yours. This is unconscionable.”

  I smiled at him, and for the first time, Mrs. Morley spoke, “Rob, what is this all about? Is he here to kill me, too? Mr. Costa, is that it? Will you finally kill every last member of my family? Rob, why is he here?”

  Rob stood, “Mrs. Morley is quite correct, it’s time for you both to leave.”

  “Sit down, sir,” said DaSilva, in a quiet voice. I looked over at him and saw the kind of anger that should make people afraid. Rob recognized it and dropped back into his seat. “I spoke to an old friend from my time in in Recon, about his time in Viet Nam and in the ‘company,’ and found out all about you, Mr. Singer. Your grandfather, the anti-Hitler Prussian officer and you, the second generation ‘Company Man,’ and all of the games in Nam. Before your grandfather came to the States, your family’s name was ‘Von Singler und Ettlinger,’ right? Wonder if that’s where your sense of entitlement comes from.”

  “Sergeant, word of your inquiries reached me,” of course. Your acquaintance was a fine and loyal officer. He spoke quite well of you, too. This behavior is a surprise.”

  DaSilva said, “My friend and I lost close friends, we did horrifying things, and we were lucky to come out of those hell holes you sent us into with minds and souls intact. Do you understand that? We thought we were serving, but it turns out we were game pieces for overeducated, elitist assholes, like you. Someone treating you like the felon you are is long overdue, in my opinion. To me, you’re a traitor, a war criminal, and at this moment, you could be charged with homicide and conspiracy. My behavior is just fine, thank you.” His face was tight and it matched his voice. “If I were you, I’d give Mr. Costa a listen, and stop making idle threats.”

  DaSilva’s eyes were narrow, and he was leaning forward as he spoke. “You and your kind got at least one war going, thinking you knew best. You were there. What you did resulted in an explosion in the ‘law of unintended consequences.’”

  Singer’s eyebrows went up.

  “That’s right, I can read and write. Just like in Viet Nam, and some other shitholes, you set off a chain of events here in Newport, and the genie got out of the bottle. Just like Viet Nam, you’ve been trying to stuff it back in. The result is Mrs. Morley’s sick son is dead. Again, the law of unintended consequences.” Camille Morley was staring at Singer, with dawning awareness. I could almost see connections forming.

  I didn’t expect that.

  DaSilva said, “You’d think after you got fifty thousand American kids killed that you might have learned a little something. Guess not. Paul, you’d better take over, before I forget what I am.” His fists were so tight that the knuckles were smooth and white.

  Rob spoke for the first time in awhile. “Camille, why don’t you go to your room and finish packing?”

  “Camille, these are things you need to hear,” I said.

  “You mind your station and your own business,” Singer snapped.

  “Let me think about that, Bobby. No.” I lifted my pistol a scant inch and saw his eyes go to it. “So, where to begin? Well, I’ll start with what I know, then I’ll review what needs to happen next, Okay? Sergeant, how does that sound?”

  DaSilva nodded.

  Mrs. Morley started to rise. “I think I’d like an eye opener.”

  I held my hand out to her. “I’ll get it for you.” I went to the bar near the television set and began to break seals. There was a bucket of ice, and a carafe of orange juice. I mixed her a weak Orange Blossom, and handed it to her.

  “There. Everyone set? Good. Bob-bo, it seems
that your first mistake was in enhancing the work of your professional. The Congressman would have been a natural causes death, and you could have gone on with your life. Was Camille the woman in the bar whose hand you were holding?”

  He shook his head. “You are speculating.”

  “Nope, the hotel security system videos show you and your female companion in the hotel at the time of the murder. The waitress that night saw both of your faces. She’s currently under police protection by the way, so don’t run for the phone.”

  DaSilva never batted an eye. There was no video, and Sarah didn’t remember anyone at that table.

  “Female companion, Rob?” said Mrs. Morley. “Do go on, Mr. Costa.” She took a sip of her drink.

  “You hired a call girl, who got a pretty unusual drug into the Congressman. You or someone you hired eliminated the young lady to hide any traces, and dumped her body into Narragansett Bay. She was just a loose end to you. Her uncle claimed her body, what was left of it. He had to see that. Guess she wasn’t real to you or your employee? Still, you’d be in the clear if you’d left it at that.”

  Camille Morley was looking at him, now. Her look was one of bitter amusement. Her voice had a cold, ironic tone to it. “Dick was a manipulator, but I’m beginning to see your mastery of the art.”

  Rob looked back at her. There was passion, desire, longing and the knowledge that he would never see it returned again. He slumped in his seat. “This is nonsense, you have no way to prove anything, because I did no such thing.”

  “Must have been a shock to you and your lady friend when Morley stumbled into the men’s room. But you’re an operator. You remembered the knife and probably saw me toss it into the dishpan. The timing was right, and you picked it out, and went back to your seat, I’d guess. I didn’t see this part, but at one point you rose and went into the men’s room. You found Morley, probably dead. If not, he was dying. Here’s where it gets kind of shaky.

  “Mrs. Morley, you know that Friedrich/Rob/Bob, Singer or whatever, is in love with you. It’s hopeless, depthless and without any limits. You’re both lucky and cursed. It’s fortunate to find someone who is even capable of that kind of love. He thought of the abuse you’d suffered. He thought of all of the small scale evil the Congressman did, and his love for you was overcome by his hate for what your husband had done.

  “Anyway, Bobby, you looked the knife over, and held it by the blade, lining it up as you were taught to do, and pushed it into Morley’s ear with the palm of your hand. You simply had to act against him, or what remained of him. I can’t say I blame you, there. But it was a lapse. Internet is a great thing. You know that technique has been taught all the way back to World War Two and the OSS? Women were taught to use hat pins.”

  “I’m not going to listen to this nonsense.”

  “Oh, yes, Bob, you are. See, it continues to get better. Your method of demonstrating your hate dropped me into the shit. That probably wouldn’t have bothered you or stopped you. Even now, I’m easy to rid yourself of, in your mind. I thought, until a minute ago, that the woman in the bar was Mrs. Morley. Sorry, Camille, I misjudged you a bit. Turns out you’re more than I thought you were. Still, I don’t think anyone would blame you.”

  She nodded, and her eyes were filling.

  “We’ll come back to the woman. Earlier that evening, I met one of the men from that table when he came up to the bar, and assumed that I knew all about the people sitting there. Singer, I saw you holding the woman’s hand, and it bothered me. I still missed my wife, and I was jealous. So I remembered.”

  Singer simply stared ahead. “Camille, we can have a good life, what’s left to us. I love you, you can come to love me again,” he stuttered to a stop. His composure and reserve shattered like spun glass on the stones of her new strength. No one should ever witness what had just happened to those two. If it had been different, I would have been embarrassed.

  He wasn’t denying any more.

  “So, you returned to DC, comforted the widow, and probably her daughter in an appropriately avuncular way, and waited for the bartender to get charged, arraigned, tried and convicted. Long before then, you would have your bride and a fine life. Even with the knife, it could have worked. The FBI was under immense pressure to get me into custody over that. I don’t suppose you’d care to talk about the source of that pressure, would you? No.”

  “May I get up, please,” he said, “I really need to stand.” He was asking for permission. I was pleased by his demolition.

  “Sure, but you will stand right there, until you sit. You will keep your hands in plain sight, and you will make no sudden moves. Is that clear?”

  “Clear,” he said in a lifeless voice. He rose.

  “Back to events. When it was thought that the congressman died of a heart attack, I was free to visit the surviving Morleys down in the capitol. That must have turned your classy poop watery, Bob. Then Mrs. Morley referred me to you and set up the meeting. You had to do it. I wondered about that, until just now when I realized that Mrs. Morley didn’t know about your actions. You attended the meeting, gave me a lot of non-information and promised to send more to me. But you never did anything, did you? The last thing you wanted was to help me. That was your second mistake, Bob,” I said.

  “Please, I hate that name, call me Rob, or at least Friedrich.”

  I threw him the bone. “Okay, Rob. No problem. Now, it gets even more interesting. You bought Detective Petersen, maybe that night, or maybe a little later. Doesn’t matter much. Whatever influence you had with Petersen, you didn’t know how corrupt he was. His aggression towards me, along with his actions got him investigated, and he’s going to prison. He will deal to get that sentence down. You could be part of that deal. He will offer you to the Feds, if it gets that far, and let the locals have the ones they’d be interested in. We’ll see. Still, if I were you, I’d be worried about ex-detective Petersen.”

  He started to speak.

  “No, Rob, I still have the floor. See all of this opened a huge can of worms related to the unlamented congressman’s personal life. He left too many tracks. One of his numerous victims set up a Dead Man’s Switch to protect herself.”

  He looked up, sharply.

  DaSilva was looking from one to the other of us. “Rob, care to explain the ‘Dead Man’s Switch’ to Sergeant DaSilva, here? See, he does honest work and wouldn’t know about your slimy business.”

  He shook his head. So I explained it quickly.

  “Mrs. Morley, I thought at the time that the Switch that the young lady set up was overkill. After I met Jason and Adam, I hoped that it would be enough.”

  “You did kill my son, Mr. Costa, I haven’t forgotten that.”

  “I never will, either, Mrs. Morley. I hope knowing that he and Adam were trying to kill me will help us.”

  “So, Rob, that got Adam and Jason involved. That got me a severe beating from one or the both of them. Adam probably for fun and revenge. I’d put him down at the Morley manse. You found out about it, maybe from Jason himself, or maybe from Adam. You may have already owned a piece of that psycho, by then.”

  “How about that, Friedrich? Was he your boy when he beat the snot out of me? I know you had some ownership and mutual trust within a week, because that’s when he accepted the contract on me, isn’t it?”

  Mrs. Morley gaped at Friedrich. “What are you?” she asked.

  He hung his head and said nothing.

  “I wished Dick dead more times than I could ever count,” said the widow.

  He looked up, and a glimmer of hope showed in his eyes.

  “When you killed my husband, and never told me, and when you hired a killer to kill Mr. Costa, and never told me, and kept trying to control and manage, did you once think what it would do to us when I found out? Was your respect for me so limited? Did you truly think I’d never find out? Was all of this,” she gestured vaguely, “all of this, to keep it from me? Was it, Rob?”

  He nodded. “It’s all
been for you, Camille. From the moment I met you, whatever I was able to do, I did. What I was unable to do, I arranged. I love you, Camille. What I had, I put at your service; I laid at your feet. I saw your suffering, and I had to end it. Do you understand? Your son was probably beyond help, but I wanted to help Charlene, too.”

  “Charlene?” she almost shouted. “What have you done?”

  “Mrs. Morley?” I said.

  “Yes, what is it?” lots of impatience showing. She had a lot to say now.

  “Let’s stay with what we were doing. I think we need to get through it all, okay? You and I can talk about Charlene, if you really want to, after that.”

  “If I really want to?”

  I continued as if she hadn’t spoken. Rob looked older than he had twenty minutes before. He had the “thousand-yard-stare” of recent combat. If I thought about him too much, I’d pity him. I had to remember that he’d handed me the weapon, but never believed I’d be able to use it against him.

  “So, you offered Adam some money to kill me. Probably not a lot, but I think he’d have done it for free, as long as there was someone to ask or tell him to do it. You didn’t know about the tapes, though, did you? You would never have held on to evidence like that. Morley needed those tapes on some level, and his son enjoyed them, too. I had come into arm’s reach, and even a dope like me would eventually realize that you’d stonewalled me. You had only one reason to do so. You’re good, but you had to hope I’d slow down before Adam killed me.”

  The best he could do was shake his head from side to side.

  “Want to deny any of this, Rob? Should I go on?”

  He looked up at me, his face showing no sign of anything but misery.

  “So, Jason decides to run for Daddy’s seat, and starts testing the waters. Unfortunately, he and Adam knew I was digging around, and the TV message about the tapes got his attention. Before that, he went to my daughter’s school and trailed her a time or two, for my benefit, to warn me.

  “Camille would understand. I’m told you’re childless, Friedrich, so you can’t understand as she does.