by P G Loiselle
At the far end of the room was Stone, commandeering Carney’s swivel chair, with his lower legs crossed and stacked feet plopped up high on the desk. He tried to give the impression of being in control, but I thought he might topple down in a moment of slap-stick clumsiness. I approached the desk, said nothing and buried my vision deep into the reflective lenses of his silly glasses. He must have realized that his body language wasn’t portraying the grace of a measured leader and brought his lower half back down to ground level. Not bothering to stand and properly greet me in a cordial manner, he broke his silence by clearing his phlegm after a minute of thought or simply not knowing how to begin.
“Mr. Moore, we meet again.” He sipped an iced brown liquid from a generous sized tumbler. A large drop slid down his chin, rolled further to the folds of his double chin and found a generous crease in his neck to reside in. “I would like to say it’s a pleasure, but we both know we’re here to discuss other matters. Please, sit down. Would you like something to drink? Vodka Martini? Scotch and soda maybe?”
“It’s nine in the morning Mr…uh…Misterrr?” I asked, bumbling, almost mentioning his name.
“Who I am is unimportant. You can call me Mr. S.”
“Well, it’s morning, Mr. S., and I don’t drink this early. Besides, I need tooo…” I stopped talking, fascinated by his preoccupation with a large bowl of snails. More specifically, they were periwinkles from the sea, and he was picking one out of its armor with a long fork, the kind used to get at the hard-to-reach parts of a lobster.
He noticed the break in conversation and prodded me to continue while he slurped up the tiny creature between his lips.
“…get to work. That’s what I need to do.” I turned my downward tilted head to the right, towards Carney, and rolled my eyes up to meet his gaze. “Or am I fired? You always say you’ll fire me.”
“No. No, Luke, of course not. We ah, we only need your help. That’s all.” He fidgeted like he was doing the pee pee-dance and had already wrung his hands pink.
“I told you I’d help, but I’m not sure what I can do. Did you get a copy of the bank statements?”
“Mr. Moore, we can get to all that afterwards,” Stone said, scraping out the insides of the next shell. “Do you know where Miss Lynch is right now?”
“Miss Lynch? Amy? Probably at her desk.”
Stone tightened his lips, holding back a smirk. “I don’t think she’s coming to work today, Mr. Moore. Or tomorrow, or the next day.”
“Was she fired?” I asked, overplaying my concern. I turned to Carney for the answer.
“No, not fired, but we’re sure she knows what happened to the money.” He withdrew a few steps, turning away, and ricocheted back towards me. “You know, that money is what keeps Far Out Imports in business. It’s used to pay suppliers, distributors, EMPLOYEES. With that money gone, we might not be able to keep all our workers on the payroll. It’d be a real shame if we had to fire people because of one person’s greed. You know, unemployment tears families apart, Luke.”
What a bunch of malarkey. How I wanted to bust out laughing at his cheap display of soppy drama. Instinct prompted me, however, to play his game instead. “Amy’s not like that,” I said. “She cares about everybody who works here.”
“Like she cares about you, Mr. Moore?” Stone said and swallowed down the next homeless slug without even chewing. “Do you really think that just because she eats lunch with you and flirts a little, she truly cares, or even likes you?” He took out a mini tape recorder and pressed play.
‘When are you going to realize that I’m your Mr. Right? You know, once I’m a rich and famous rock star, it’ll be too late. Then I’ll have to be dating super models, and I’ll have no time for an East Providence girl like you.’
‘Luke honey, you know I’m saving the best for last. Besides, you see what happens with the guys I go out with. It’s over before it’s even begun.’
‘Jerks you go out with, you mean.’
‘You know I adore you, darling.’
“Saving the best for last? You know I adore you, darling?” Stone said, mimicking Amy’s voice in falsetto pitch. “Eh, Mr. Moore? Do you really believe that phony baloney rubbish?”
What the…? A recording of our lunch at Alias? Inside, I was ripping but masked my anger. Besides the fact that we were spied on, Stone invaded my head, or at least tried to. “How’d you get that?” I asked, demanding an answer.
With a know-it-all grimace, Stone clutched the porcelain bowl and rummaged around with his utensil, hunting for the next choice crustacean. “You see, Mr. Moore, we’ve had strong suspicions, for quite a while, that Miss Lynch wasn’t looking out for the best interests of this company, or the honest people working here. She’s a con artist, and a thief. Lynch isn’t really her last name, you know. Her real last name is Almeida, but you were already informed of this.” He picked up a large one and dug out the boiled corpse.
“If you’re after Amy, what do you want with me?”
“We happen to think that you can help us find her” he said as he chewed on the rubbery mollusk while talking. “As a matter of fact, we happen to think that you know where she is.”
“Why should I know? We hang out at work, that’s about it. If Lynch isn’t her real name, then that’s news to me. And by the way, even if I did know where she was, you think I’d tell you? I have no idea what you’d even do to her and certainly don’t want blood on my hands.”
“Blood, Mr. Moore? Nobody said anything about blood. We only want our property back, and all will be forgotten.” Stone rested his elbows on the desk surface and placed his fingertips and heels of his hands together as if praying to the vessel of shells. He bowed his head a few degrees towards me. “If you could convince Miss Lynch, I mean Miss Almeida to return what is rightfully ours, you would be doing everyone justice. We will be happy, the Far Out Imports employees will keep their jobs, Miss Almeida will be safe, and we could probably help with your personal financial difficulties. Better yet, Mr. Moore, I know that you have high aspirations of being a success in the entertainment business. Well, I happen to have significant influence in this sector and could use my extensive network to help afford you the best chances possible to make it. Do you truly think the stars of today become big because of talent? Poppycock. Like the old saying goes, it’s not what you know but who you know that counts.” He looked down at the pile of sea snails. “Care for one, Mr. Moore? They’re delectable.”
“No. No, thank you. And Mr. S, the thought of being a professional musician is nice, but you know what, I’m happy working here. It’s a stable job, the pay’s fair, and my coworkers are like family. As for Amy, I’d be the first person to talk sense into her if she was involved, if I could find her. The last thing I want is for anyone to get hurt because of money.” I clasped the edge of the desk and leaned towards Stone. “But I have no clue where she is or how to get to her, so you’re talking to the wrong person. Maybe the police could help?”
“Luke, Amy’s one of our own,” Carney said. “We don’t want her to get into any trouble. Let’s solve this internally, like a family would do.”
“Understood,” I said and barely kept from cracking a smile. “However, no idea where she is and no way to get in touch with her except calling her at home. Geez, I don’t even know where she lives. Somewhere in Providence, or the East Side.”
“East Providence, Mr. Moore. She lives in East Providence, and there has been no sign of her at her home since Friday. Calling would be futile.” Stone took off his glasses to reveal a shrewd pair of eyes. “What about your bandmate? Something tells me that he might know where Miss Almeida is hiding.”
“Bandmate? Why bandmate? Which bandmate? I have four.” I knew damn well who he was referring to.
“Mr. Steven Jameson, of 338 Marshall Ave in Cumberland.”
“Stevie? How would he know? We both spent our S
aturday on the run from you, by the way. Had no idea what you wanted and thought it’d be our last day alive.” Stone decimated those poor marine animals like chips, one after the other. I gravitated even closer to the monster, honing in on both of his pupils. “I swear to God, Mr. S.,” I said, chastising him through my teeth. “If anything happens to me or my friends, my people, people you don’t know exist, will go straight to the police. I made a cassette tape recording of everything that went down Saturday; they have it safely locked away.” I took out a primitive sketch of da Silva that I scribbled down at breakfast. “My people also have this.”
He stopped gorging himself and snatched the drawing from me with both hands. He scrutinized my masterpiece at varying distances, like he was trying to focus. “Ha,” he said, scoffing at my bluff. “You think you can harm me with a little picture and a cassette tape? I have more than enough experience in dealing with such legal matters. Refrain from such petty threats, or it will get serious.” He put his glasses back on and changed his tone. “Besides, nothing’s going to happen to you or your friends. We don’t operate like that. As I said before, we’re businessmen, nothing more, nothing less. We only want our assets back.”
“Well, I don’t have your money. And Stevie doesn’t either, so leave him out of it.”
“We don’t believe Mr. Jameson partook in the misappropriation.” His attention moved to his drink as he put his sausage shaped index finger into his glass and stirred the murky alcohol. “As a matter of fact, he didn’t leave the house at all yesterday. According to my associates, his guitar could be heard all afternoon.”
“Great. You’re stalking us, innocent bystanders.”
“Just keeping tabs. We paid a visit to your piano playing associate too. All out in the open.”
“You went to Mike’s house? What’s he got to do with this?”
“The poor fellow was so distraught, so distraught. I was there personally to facilitate the conversation.”
“I warned you, mister. If anything happens to any of us, they’ll be a hefty price to pay.”
“And I cautioned you, Mr. Moore, to hold your tongue. It’s not about you, or Mr. Jameson, or any of your other cohorts. We need you to help us find Miss Almeida. And we are certain you can.”
“Well, I can’t and wouldn’t. And I highly doubt she’s involved either. She’s not the greedy sort.”
“I see, Mr. Moore. So, this is how it’s going to be.”
Stone, attempting to stand up, put too much forward weight on the arms of the chair, causing it to roll backwards from underneath him. He dropped against the desktop, sending the bowl of half-eaten shellfish flying with his chin. Instead of a full-on crash, he bounced back into a standing position and waddled around in circles, looking confused. He must have dizzied himself from all that spinning and was forced to sit back down in the same chair that he wanted to get up from. Carney ran over to see if he was alright.
“Get away from me, you incompetent fool. It’s your fault we’re here in the first place.”
Carney slithered back to the chair next to me and laid his hands on the desk. He lowered his head as his fingertips pressed into the mahogany surface.
Once Stone retained his bearings, he continued as if nothing had happened. “I’d like you to take some time to think about it, and if something jars your memory and you can be of service to us, and I mean all of us, including Miss Almeida, Mr. Jameson, your fragile little piano man, the Far Out Imports employees, the so-called loved ones that you consider family, we will be waiting and open for negotiation.” He hammered both fists on the table, screaming, and shocked Carney out of his frozen state. “Hear that, Carney? The man needs time to think.”
“Yes sir,” Carney said as he propped himself up. “The man needs time…to think.” His head swiveled towards me ,and at first, he was silent, as though he wasn’t sure what was asked of him. He gripped the desk like he was on a death-coaster, and his eyes told tales of dread. “Luke. You need time to think,” he said, speaking mechanically. “Take the day off, the rest of the day…with pay…to think.”
While Carney was busy with me, Stone combed the spilled mess for an occupied shell and quickly extracted another naked sea snail. Within seconds, he managed to remove himself from the seat and scooted around the desk to start his unannounced departure. While passing, he took the lobster fork, periwinkle and all and jammed it into Carney’s right hand, which still lay upon the desktop. It pierced the webbing between his thumb and index finger, and I can only imagine that the dual tips came out the other side and penetrated the wood. Carney hollered even louder and shriller than when he lost his ear and yanked out the pointy utensil, allowing streams of blood to gush out the four holes like through a sieve. He sprung out of his seat and made for the far corner of the room, hopping and twisting while howling in a series of auditory explosions.
“Mr. Carney, are you…”
“Leave me, Moore…ooh…it’s your fault…ooh.”
Without wavering, Stone continued to exit. Before making it to the door, he stopped like his baby-faced henchman did before telling me Amy’s real name. He swerved back towards me, removed something from his pocket and flung it onto the ground. “This might help you think harder,” he said, shouting over his victim’s wounded cries. He turned and left, stumbling over a small shag rug placed in front of the door.
It was a Polaroid, lying face down on carpet. It reminded me of Carney shoving the picture of me at the Foxy Lady in my face. I bent down and lifted it up, first inspecting the back of it, thinking, how bad can it be? I must have convinced him that I wasn’t with Amy on the weekend, or he wouldn’t have let me off so easily. Ignoring Carney’s outbursts of agony, I turned it over. Right there, in Kodachrome specticolor, I saw to my disgust, a picture of Amy, and Stevie, Amy’s parted mouth moving away from Stevie’s, a strand of her spit still clinging to his lower lip, while Stevie appears to be pulling Amy’s entire torso towards his midriff, hands resting on the indents of her waist as his fingertips clawed deep into the fabric covering the small of her back. The image crushed me. Nevertheless, I stared emotionless at the rectangular mix of chemicals forming the picture and even though Carney was preoccupied, didn’t let my facial expression give anything away. Despite Carney’s wailing and the dab of pity I felt, I rushed out of the office, taking up the day-off offer and beelined straight to The Corner.
I slumped down at the bar, shrouded by an air of Eeyore gloom.
“Luke,” Don said. His face lit up, and he nodded as his lever-like arm lowered an open beer bottle into my awaiting hand. “Fancy seeing you here at noontime on a Monday.” His smile widened, and his flexed jowls neared my face, almost to kissing distance. “Roast beef sandwich on special today. Done season it myself. Slow broiled all night.”
“Sounds perfect. Could use a big hunk of flesh today.”
“Everything peachy? How come you not working?” He scanned the area and again hunched over towards me, keeping it at a whisper. “Something to do with that fat man on Friday evening?”
I was so busy thinking about the image of Amy and Stevie and its implications, the whole predicament with Stone had escaped me. Don’s question jolted me awake to the pickle we were still in.
“Well, yes and no. Can’t get into the particulars right now, but that wacko from Friday gave me this.” I pulled out the picture from my back pocket and handed it over.
Don examined the image, and his teeth spread wide in his mouth like a horse. The man glowed. “That be Stevie and that gal friend a yours. Amy is it? They kissing. They in love?”
“How would I know? They certainly didn’t talk to me before they sucked face.”
With his head still fixed upon the picture, Don’s pupils rolled up to meet mine. “You like her, no? That why you upset.”
“Darn right I like her, and yes, I’m upset, very.”
“And she like you?”
“Well, I joke with her all the time, about her being my girlfriend and all. She could probably guess that I like her.”
“But you tell it like it being a joke?”
“Yeah, but she must know I mean it. Besides, she said any hanky-panky between us would ruin our friendship. Said she’d dump me like she does the rest of them. I’d bet you a fifty it’s because of other reasons.”
Don scratched his head and wrinkled his nose. “Women more clever than men sometimes when it come to love and romantics. You tell Stevie you smitten for her?”
“Well, no, not exactly. But if he can’t see it, he must be as blind as a bat.”
“Hmm…” Don purred again.
“Ok, I see your point. Think I should talk to him?”
“Talking to me ain’t getting you no answers. You need to know the truth, you got to go straight to it and yack some with your boy, Stevie. You don’t want to know or ain’t ready, you do what you be doing now.”
“You mean pouting like a five-year-old?”
“You sais it, not me.”
“Don, where you learn this shit?”
“Me? I ain’t got no answers. You do yourself. I only help tickle them out of you.”
Stevie earns his wages in a woodshop making custom displays. I figured I’d meet him at his workplace at shift’s end and talk things through before he had the chance to slip away. We also needed to discuss what to do with Amy, the money and our pursuers, in general, and figure out how to get out of the jam we were in. For this, we needed privacy and who knows who was watching, following, recording or filming. We had to steal away in secrecy, and that meant shaking whoever may be on my tail and nabbing Stevie without anyone catching wind of it.
For ideas on staying incognito, I thought it best to ask my go-to guy, Dale. Aside from being a kickass drummer, he’s an all-rounder type at a used car lot called Magic Cars that also does maintenance and repairs on anything with four wheels and an engine. The place belongs to his Uncle Rick, who kind of took a back seat once Dale officially hopped onboard. After leaving The Corner, I stopped at a phone booth to ring him up at the lot. I would have bet a fifty that he’d be there manning the stations.