Jon Fixx

by Jason Squire Fluck

  Cheryl dropped us at Vespucci’s house, where Joey was waiting in the courtyard. He led us into Vespucci’s study where he was sitting behind his desk, the creases in his forehead appearing deeper, the stress of the evening’s outcome clearly written across his face.

  “How’s Maggie?” I asked

  “She’s asleep in her room. Her mother is with her.”

  For several moments, we didn’t say anything. Finally, Vespucci said, “Jon, I guess your job is done here, but I have to ask you for a favor.”

  I waited, not sure what else he could want of me.

  “I need you to destroy the story you’ve written. I know Maggie will want it destroyed. There is no need to tarnish the Balducci name. After tonight, what has happened will never be discussed again.” His look traveled from me to my companions and back.

  “We understand.”

  Luci and Donovan nodded in agreement.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out the thumb drive with “The Love Story of Marco and Maggie” on it. I crossed to Vespucci’s desk and set it down. “This is the only copy I have.” Returning to my chair, I asked, “Can I ask you something?”

  I took Vespucci’s silence as a yes.

  “How did Maggie end up in the restaurant?”

  “I knew she wouldn’t believe me if I told her the truth. She would want proof. So I let her read the story you wrote, which of course upset her, to say the least. I decided to bring her along in the car so she could see for herself how Marco had betrayed her. She jumped out of the car before we could stop her.”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “She’ll recover much faster from this than if she’d married that man.”

  “What about the girl in Italy?”

  “I’ll let Giancarlo know about her. He’ll make sure she’s taken care of.” Responding to the worried look on my face, Vespucci raised his right hand, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together indicating money. “I mean this, Jon.”

  I relaxed. “Of course. I knew that’s what you meant.”

  Vespucci stood up, crossing from behind his desk, holding a check in his hand. I stared at it, not sure if I should accept it. The madness of the last twenty-four hours was too fresh to completely process, but accepting money after what had happened made me feel more like a mercenary than an author. I wasn’t sure I’d actually done the job I was hired to do. The groom was dead. The bride was in her room, mourning more than just the death of her future husband. Not the usual outcome for my novellas.

  “I’m not sure I can accept that, Tony, given everything that’s happened.”

  “Jon, you found out the truth. That’s what I hired you to do. You earned this.”

  Reluctantly, I took the check. “Thanks.”

  Vespucci shook the hands of each of my companions. As he crossed the room to leave, he turned to us one last time. “Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. It’s been a tough day. Since I know you don’t have a hotel booked, we took care of that. Joey is going to escort you to the Waldorf Astoria in Manhattan, so you can get a good night’s sleep before you head back to Los Angeles. I owe you a debt of gratitude, all three of you. If there’s ever anything I can do, don’t hesitate to call.” Then, he disappeared into the dim light of the hallway.

  The remainder of our time in New York went by quickly. As promised, Joey drove us to the Waldorf Astoria, and the three of us spent the night in the posh comfort of the ultra-exclusive hotel. Upon Joey’s insistence that Vespucci wanted us to enjoy ourselves on his dime, we indulged in the bourgeois hotel services, including excessive room service, a room-tendered masseuse who gave an enviable Swedish-styled massage, and a huge breakfast in the morning. By midday we were on a direct flight back to Los Angeles, the amazing, scary events of the last few days now a memory. I didn’t hear from Maggie before I left. I was afraid to call her. For all I knew, she wanted to stuff the entire affair away into a distant corner of her mind, and any interaction with me would do nothing more than be a reminder of what had happened.

  On the flight home, I reflected on how my interview with Marco devolved into the unplanned mess it became, even though the night’s overall events turned out more boon than bane. For Marco, of course, the night was all bane, literally. For his family, and Maggie specifically, the outcome was a combination of both good and bad. For the Balduccis, they’d lost they’re prodigal son, the man who was being groomed to take the reins from his father, and hopefully, one day take the coveted position of Don currently bestowed upon Tony Vespucci. However, if and when Marco’s truth was revealed, his turn as a snitch would have disgraced the family name, reducing the Balducci moniker to the level of vermin. In that respect, Marco’s death was a boon of which the Balducci family would never be aware. As it stood, they were left mourning the loss of their son.

  For Maggie, it was more complicated, both logistically and emotionally. In the short run, Maggie had a jumble of competing feelings to deal with, anger and pain, shame and regret, lost love. To complicate matters, she had to put her feelings aside over the course of the next week and present a good front to deal with the funeral of her supposed beloved. In the long run, Marco’s death was a boon, saving Maggie from a wedding that would have caused her a lifetime of grief and anguish when she discovered Marco’s true feelings for her, of his motivations, of his ultimate betrayal. That future would have been far worse than the one Maggie would soon begin to build anew. I hoped one day Maggie would realize that I did what I did because I cared for her.

  After a six-hour bumpy ride, we touched down at LAX, back home in the City of Angels. Lost in our own thoughts, Luci, Donovan, and I walked quickly through the airport without a word, stepping outside into a balmy November afternoon, the sun shining down on our heads. We grabbed a shuttle to long-term parking and my Buick. Piling into the car, we rolled down the windows, exited the lot onto Century Boulevard, and headed north on the 405. Veering off on the I-10 east, I figured I’d take Luci home first. With the windows down, the warm California air blowing through our hair, the radio turned up loud enough to be heard over the whistling sound of the wind, for a few moments I felt normal, forgetting about everything that had happened over the last days and weeks and months. With a sideways glance at Luci in the front passenger seat and a quick glance in the rearview mirror at Donovan, I could tell they felt the same way, both staring off at the L.A. landscape as it whizzed by us, happy to be home.

  Pulling up before Luci’s Craftsman in the heart of Silver Lake, I popped the trunk for him to grab his luggage. Before climbing out, he turned in his seat, looking at me.

  “Jon, it’s been fun. Let’s do this again sometime, minus the guns and the Mafia and the FBI.”

  “I agree.”

  Luci reached his hand over the front seat to Donovan’s hulking frame tucked into the back, grasping his hand in a firm shake. “Couldn’t have had a better man watching my back.”

  Donovan returned the compliment. “Feel the same, Luci.” Donovan glanced over at the house. “Is your training dojo in the back?” Luci nodded. “Show me some moves sometime?”

  Grinning, Luci said, “I’d be honored. We could use Jon here as our sparring partner.” They both looked at me.

  “No way!” I blurted out. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass either one of you.”

  Luci and Donovan laughed. Izzy stepped onto the front porch, as striking as ever. Luci waved to her and climbed out of the car, grabbing his bag and crossing the lawn. He held Izzy in a tight embrace, pulling her feet off the porch. Arms wrapped around Luci’s waist, Izzy yelled over to the car, “Thanks for bringing him home safe, Jon.”

  I leaned across the passenger seat for a better vantage point. “I owe Luci all the thanks.”

  Izzy turned to Luci with a questioning look on her face, waiting for an explanation. Donovan climbed out of the back seat and took Luci’s place in front. A
fter a few words from Luci, Izzy turned back to us. “Sounds like you had an exciting week. This weekend. Dinner over here. Okay?

  “Donovan, that means you too,” Luci added.

  We both nodded and waved as I pulled away from the curb. Donovan directed me toward Glassell Park, where he said he’d been living for many years. I avoided the freeway, winding our way through the narrow streets of Silver Lake, traveling up and down over the hills, through Mount Washington, then Eagle Rock, finally finding our way into the perimeter of Glassell Park. Donovan indicated his house was coming up, pointing me down a small side street into a cul-de-sac that abutted the lower hill holding up the 134-freeway system high above. Driving to the end of the cul-de-sac, I pulled up beside a tidy, compact home resembling a hunting lodge. The yard was neatly trimmed, smartly dressed rose bushes lining the path leading to the front door. I pulled the car up to the dirt driveway. We sat quietly, staring at the house.

  I broke the silence. “Beautiful rosebushes, Donovan. Must take a lot of work.”

  “They’re my wife’s. The rose was her favorite flower. After she passed, I kept them going.”

  I stared at the roses, wondering what Donovan’s wife had been like. Suddenly, I realized I still had to pay Donovan. I reached over the front seat, grabbing my small travel bag and taking out my checkbook. I wrote a check covering the remaining money I owed him. I tore the check out of the book, handing it to him. He finally turned away from the roses, looking first at the check and then me. I could see he was having an internal debate as to whether he should take it, probably feeling the same way I felt when Vespucci handed me a check. “A deal’s a deal. You agreed to work for me. I owe you far more than this money, believe me.”

  After hesitating, Donovan accepted the check. “Next time, it’s on me.”

  I laughed. “Hopefully, there isn’t a next time.”

  As he opened his door, he said, “Don’t be surprised, Jon, if you wake up one day missing all this action and the adrenaline rush that comes with it. I took the security job because I was trying to avoid that truth in myself.”

  I couldn’t imagine I would ever wake up wishing I had even one ounce of the strain of the past days. “Think you’ll be heading back to New York any time soon?” I asked.

  Donovan considered his response. “Who knows? Nothing better than Times Square at Christmas. Gotta see which way the wind is blowing. See if Detective Hunt wants a visitor.” He climbed out of the car, grabbed his bag from the trunk, and came back to the passenger window, looking down at me.

  “If you go, I might join you. I’ve got some loose ends there as well,” I said.

  “I know you do.”

  With that, he turned his back on me and took the few steps off the street onto his humble, well-dressed property. Stopping at the first set of bushes, he gently leaned down to a red rose, holding it in his right hand and bending over to push his nose deep into the center of the red petals. A breeze blew across the flowers in my direction, carrying the scent of roses and a rush of memories of family picnics from childhood.

  Donovan took his nose out of the flower, standing up straight. “Don’t be a stranger, Jon Fixx.”

  I smiled, and then kicked the car into gear. Minutes later, I was on the 134, heading back to my Cave. I wasn’t excited to return to that place but was glad, all the same, to be going home. I decided I’d start looking for a new apartment, one with more light and space. As the 134 West merged into the 101 North, Sara’s face popped into my mind’s eye, but there was no feeling attached. I was over her. I closed in on my exit, wondering how Maggie was handling everything. I figured I’d give it a few days, then check in with her father. I wondered if the FBI was going to pursue the Vespucci case without the star witness. I wondered if I’d ever see Ted Williams again.

  My apartment building appeared up ahead across the intersection of Woodman and Moorpark. I turned right on Moorpark, making an immediate left into the first floor parking garage. Pulling into my parking space, I shut the car off, leaning back against the driver’s seat, exhaling with a sigh of relief. I was home. Safe. I rolled the window up, climbed out of the car, grabbed my bag, and climbed the steps to my first floor single. A note on the front door stopped me in my tracks. My key in my hand, I stared dumbfounded at the note. It was from my neighbor upstairs, who I’d never met.

  It read, “Sorry for the trouble, but I had a slight leak in my kitchen while I was gone for the night, and I think it may have gone into your apartment. Please call the manager if you have any problems. Brandii.”

  My phone began to ring. I grabbed my phone, answering as I fumbled for the keys in my pocket. “Hello.”

  “Jon?”

  My heart skipped a beat.

  “Hi, it’s Maggie.” Her voice was soft and subdued. “I didn’t get to see you before you left.”

  I blurted out, “I’m really sorry for everything. I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way.”

  “I know. I don’t doubt that. I just wanted to call to thank you.”

  Thank me! Thank me for what? Exposing your fiancé for a snitch and getting him killed? I’m not sure “thank you” was the proper response. I didn’t know what to say to that.

  “Having the father I have, I’ve learned over the years that some things are what they are. The best way to deal with reality is to accept it, process it, and move on. That’s what I’m going to do.”

  “That’s brave of you, Maggie.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “I don’t have much choice, Jon. Otherwise, I’d just curl up into a ball and hide in the corner.” There was a brief pause. “You think you’ll be coming back to New York any time soon?”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “In fact, I was thinking of coming back at Christmas.”

  “Well, my father wanted me to tell you that next time you’re here, we absolutely want you over for dinner.”

  “Okay, I’d like that.”

  “So you’ll let us know?”

  “I will. Definitely.”

  “Good. Then we’ll see you soon.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Maybe my luck was turning around. I hung up the phone, staring at it, my right hand still searching in my pocket for my door key. But instead of pulling out my key, I pulled the infamous engagement ring out. I had completely forgotten about it. Staring at the huge diamond, I wondered what I should do with it. Almost instantly, without further thought, I realized exactly what I would do with it. Someday. I stuck it back in my pocket, a smile on my face. I grabbed the key, turning the lock and opening the door in one move. The door swung open to a total mess. The note had said a “slight” leak! Her kitchen must have flooded. There was an inch of standing water in my living room, water still dripping down from the ceiling. The walls had water streaks rolling down toward the floor. The one set of curtains covering my only windows were dripping. I figured God was trying to tell me something. The decision to move sooner than later was made for me.

  I took a step back from the doorway, pulling my phone back out of my pocket. After a couple of rings, I heard Donovan’s baritone barrel down through the earpiece.

  “Everything okay, Jon?”

  “Oh yeah, everything’s fine. Just one question. You have a spare room I could crash in tonight?”

  The end. For now. . . .

  Acknowledgements

  There are many people in my life to whom I owe thanks, so this is just the short list. I am eternally grateful to my mother for encouraging me ever since I first put pen to paper in 2nd grade, and then without complaint, tirelessly reading and editing everything I’ve written since.

  Special thanks to both my mother and father for providing me with an endless number of books year in and year out since that very first series I fell in love with by Walter Farley.

&nbs
p; Thank you to my sister for providing her skill and expertise and endless time to this project and allowing me to focus on my writing while she focused on actually getting this book into print.

  Lou, your first pass before anyone on the outside had read this helped me believe maybe I actually had something. Donna Walker, thank you for your early and continued support of both bookscover2cover and Jon Fixx, you helped Jon become a reality.

  Many thanks to my wife Miriam for providing the time, space, support, and belief in me to get the project done, and a very special thank you to Zion, whose birth lit the fire under me and made me get movin’.

  Author

  Jason Squire Fluck was raised in Pennsylvania, and spent most of his childhood with his nose in a book. He currently resides in North Hollywood with his wife, Miriam, and son Zion.

  Jon Fixx is his first novel.