She silently picked her book up and began reading.
“Stop playing games, will you?”
Never taking her eyes from the book, she said, “You’re wasting your time with White. He’s finished.”
I hated her dismissiveness. “What are you talking about? We’re just getting the campaign started.”
“You’re talking like a fool, Gideon. People are running from him.”
“That’s not true.”
Placing the book in her lap, she said, “Really? How busy was your event?”
She had a point. The ballroom was just about a third filled. “It was okay, they’ll come around.”
She laughed, “Wait till you see tomorrow’s editorial.”
What did she know? How could she not inform me? “What are you talking about?”
“Let’s just say it’s safe to say he doesn’t have many friends left.”
“Well, if they leave him at the first sign of trouble, they weren’t friends to begin with. Where’s their loyalty?”
“There is where you’re wrong again. You’ve got to run at the first hint of rot.”
“That’s not how I operate.”
“That’s the difference between you and me, Gideon. The Boggs never associate themselves with failure.”
It was a verbal stomach punch, a dreadful revelation that exemplified the difference in our DNA. I hoped it wasn’t permanent, but when I woke up on the couch the next morning, the reality that things had changed haunted me.
I tried to bridge the gap, but the relationship continued to erode, albeit at a slower pace. Then my heart attack hit and what remained of the relationship quickly disintegrated into full-blown dysfunction.
Chapter 12
Raul Sanchez
Taking the stairs to Alejandro’s apartment, my legs felt heavy. Why was I so tired? The heat here was no worse than Mexico. My job on Keewaydin was physical but nothing crazy. Everybody says it’s the stress from mama’s cancer. Maybe. But what about the stress of toeing the line with so many chances for easy money?
Alejandro’s was on the third floor. He was another fool, cleaning offices at night and cutting lawns in the day. A cat ran by. I tried to kick it, then knocked on the door.
“Hey Raul.”
“What the doctor say?”
Alejandro frowned. “She’s weaker. Doctor says your mama needs more dialysis.”
“When she getting it?”
He shook his head. “They said Medicare won’t pay for more.”
“What?”
“Said she gets what everyone else gets.”
“But he said she needs more, no?”
“Yeah.”
“So, what’s next?”
Alejandro shrugged. “He said you could pay, but it’s like six grand a month.”
***
“Raul, grab me another flat.”
I pulled the last flat of begonias off the trailer and took them to Pedro, asking, “How many people they having?”
“I dunno, man.”
I said, “I can’t believe we’re ripping these pansies out. Who’s coming, the fucking president?”
“Charlie said somethin’ about a charity thing.”
“Charity? With all the shit they throw out around here?”
“I know what you mean, man. But they got money.”
“It ain’t right, especially when they throw out food.”
Pedro planted another begonia and said, “I asked the jefe one day if we could have the leftovers, but he said no.”
“Me too, he told me to mind my business.” I mopped my brow. “Pena’s got no balls, man.”
“Last place I was at, they always gave food to us when they had parties.”
“It’s a fucking waste.”
“It’s the way it is, man.”
“They’re sticking it in our faces.”
“I know. Hey, amigo, go get more flowers.”
Pushing the trailer, I slow-walked it to the dock. If it weren’t for Mama, I would’ve ditched everything. Grabbed me what I could. She needed me, she’s sick. And now she needed big money for dialysis. Man, the way I knew to get serious money was by doing what put me behind bars.
If I got nailed again, I knew what would happen. Me, I could handle being in the joint, but it’d kill mama. Locked up in Mexico, she came every week, but each time she looked a shitload older. If I went back in, it’d kill her before the kidney cancer did. There had to be a way to get the cash to help her.
I loaded the trailer, thinking it wasn’t easy staying straight. A big-assed yacht, music blaring, sped by. Man, some people had it easy, just like the Boggs woman. Born on third base and the bitch thinks she hit a triple. She’s got more money than God. You know, she could fix this shit fast. I’m gonna lean on her. How can she say no?
***
The deck had more chairs than a hotel. I looked for places to touch up, keeping my eye on the sliders. She usually left the house after lunch. Moving a club chair, I saw her in the window by the sink. Grabbing the paint can, I went to the window.
Boggs saw me. She smiled, and I put up a finger, beckoning her. Her smile disappeared and she stepped back. I held up my paint brush and she relaxed, opening the slider. A blast of cold air hit me.
“How can I help you?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. But I─I need to ask you something.”
She leaned away from the door but said nothing.
“Uhm, you see it’s about my mama.”
“You’re Raul, correct?”
I nodded. “I work with Senor Pena.”
She smiled. “Tell me. What’s happening with your mother?”
“You see, she’s got cancer, in the kidney.”
Boggs frowned. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know, and it’s bad, real bad.”
“It must be difficult for you.”
“It is.”
“How can I help? Would you like Mr. Pena to give you time to be with your mother?”
“She needs dialysis. More dialysis.”
“Raul, I’m sure if that is what the doctor prescribes, it’s nothing to be fearful of.”
“But she can’t have it.”
She almost reached for my hand. “I know it’s frightening to see your mother go through this, but dialysis, as serious as it is, is what she needs and you shouldn’t be afraid of it.”
“We want it, but we don’t have the money.”
A diamond earring appeared as Boggs tilted her head. “Doesn’t she have insurance?”
“She got Medicare, but they only give her once a week, and doctor says mama needs more.”
“I understand. There’s an appeal process when people are denied treatment.”
“She’ll be dead by then.”
She pursed her lips. “I see. Maybe there’s something we can do for your mother. Let me talk to the office and see what can be arranged.”
***
The boat dropped me and the rest of the maintenance crew back on the mainland. I got in my car, slamming the door. A couple of days had passed, and that bitch never answered me. Who the hell do these people think they are?
I threw gravel leaving the parking lot and headed east. Needing a brew, I stopped in a Seven Eleven. I bought a six-pack, guzzling half a can before getting in the car. Driving around, I tried to think things out. But except for one time, I’d kept things square, and where’d it get me?
By the time I got to our shithole, there were five crushed cans on the floor. Ripping the ring off the last beer, I couldn't shake that Boggs was playing with me.
She even had the gall to give me the shit she felt bad mama was sick. I almost believed her, but it was just a game. She shouldn't fool with me. The bitch didn't know who she was fucking with. I drained the last can, watching Alejandro drag trash cans to the curb. The sucker was taking the whole building out. I got out of the car.
“Yo, Aleja
ndro. You wanna take mine out?”
“Hey, Raul. We need to talk.”
“What of?”
“Your mama.”
“What about her?”
“It’s not good. The doctor’s worried.”
“About what?”
“Something about her blood. Said she really needs more of the dialysis.”
“Those fucks should just give it to her then.”
He shrugged. “I know.”
“This shit’s all fucked up, man.”
“We gotta do somethin’”
“I’m gonna handle it.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“Later, Alejandro.”
Walking to our place, I told myself to be smart about things. There was easy money to be made, big money. It was all sitting right there, asking to be taken, but I couldn’t get greedy. I’d go at it slowly, take a couple of pieces and see how it goes.
I hesitated before pulling the screen door open, trying to hear if mama was up. This was one night I hoped she was sleeping. The TV was on, but mama was sleeping in her recliner. I lowered the volume and she stirred.
“Raul?”
“Go back to sleep, Mama.”
She tried to get up. “I make you . . . something.”
I put my hand on her bony shoulder, “Stay, Mama; rest.”
She fell back into the chair. “I’m so tired.”
“It’s okay, Mama. It’s gonna be okay.”
“The doctors say . . . I need more . . .”
“I know, Mama. I’m gonna get it for you. Don’t worry.”
Pecking her cheek, I fixed her blanket and said good night.
I went to my tiny room. I grabbed a backpack and stuffed a black T-shirt and black chinos in it. Standing on the bed, I reached to the back of the closet shelf and pulled down a duffel bag. Making sure the blinds were closed, I dumped it out on my bed.
The small pile glinted in the lamplight. I grabbed my favorite, a jet-black Colt .45 and pointed it at the cracked mirror. It was too much firepower for such a soft job, but you had to be ready. Being with the Latin Kings, I knew you can never have too much muscle.
I slipped the gun and a blade in the backpack and put the other weapons back in the closet.
Chapter 13
Gideon Brighthouse
I generally steered clear of the main house on Wednesdays. It was the day Marilyn would bring her playmate, currently smooth-talking John Barnet, to the island. From the outset, I didn’t like Barnet, and I initially tried to keep Marilyn from doing business with him. He was a real showman, and I guess that’s why she ended up being drawn to him. Who puts a liquor store in Waterside Shops? No way he can make any money, in my opinion.
Wine was a tough business, I was always told. People who knew, said beer was where the money came in to pay the bills, and trust me, no one is going to Waterside to pick up a six-pack, even if it’s craft beer. Barnet spent a fortune outfitting the space his store occupied. Where’d he get that money from? When Marilyn started doing business with him, I had the family office make discreet inquiries into his past. There wasn’t much. He was from Los Angeles, had a couple of liquor stores where the clerks were behind plexiglass, and the biggest sellers were fifths of Jim Beam.
Barnet always wore a pin, even when not wearing a jacket, to signify he was a sommelier. It shouted insecurity and made me suspicious. The office verified he’d attended L.A.’s National Wine School, achieving the lowest certification possible. There were four levels of certification, and you needed a level three certification to get a pin. I mentioned it to Marilyn, but she accused me of being jealous. She was partially right; I was envious of his wine knowledge. I wanted to see him challenged on it, but since almost everyone knew less than him, it never happened.
Knowing wine and making money from it, at least in the Los Angeles neighborhoods where he did business, were two different things. It was a puzzle I’d wasted energy on because I saw how he captivated my wife, and I believed he sucked it out of from another rich woman.
I was feeling good about my plan. A side benefit would be I’d never see Barnet again. If those two knew what was coming, they wouldn’t be cavorting around. They knew I was on the island, but they pretended they were alone. I was tired of being made a fool. They’d change it up if they knew their affair was going to come to a screeching halt this weekend.
On Saturdays there was only one housekeeper, and she always did the pool house around the time Marilyn would finish her yoga class. I’d put the mushroom into her juicer when she went to get the coconut milk, and that would be it.
A rush surged through my body and I smiled. I hadn’t felt this good since before the heart attack. Believing I should have done her in a year ago, I got up and headed to the main house. For some reason I wanted to see them together; maybe it was my conscience demanding reinforcement.
The tennis courts were visible in the distance. They had blue Har-Tru surfaces, and an image of Marilyn and me playing there in our tennis whites morphed into nurses tending to her when she slipped into a coma. Nothing I had read fixed the amount of time she’d be in a coma before dying. The average seemed to be three days. I hoped it would be quicker, but certainly not suddenly.
Going up the stairs two steps at a time, I heard voices that seemed to be arguing and were coming from the family room. I slowed down. No need to announce my presence; I wanted to surprise them. Slipping through the front door into the bleached, wood-paneled foyer, I stopped in front of a Ralph Lauren mirror which reflected the couple. Wine glasses in hand, Marilyn was on the beige Chesterfield couch, and opposite her Barnet sat on the blue bench in front of the grand piano.
Barnet was outfitted in light blue pants and a white linen shirt that made his deep tan look too dark. I squinted. Was he wearing orange socks? Waiting till he was in the midst of a sip, I stepped into the room,
“Wow. Am I witnessing a lover’s quarrel?”
Barnet nearly choked and stood up, towering over Marilyn, who said, “Gideon. You remember John.”
“How could I forget? He’s the guy who’s been screwing you, for what, over a year now?”
Barnet stiffened. “I─I better be going.”
“Ah, come on, John, stay. I don’t want to be the one to break up the weekly screw fest.”
Marilyn said, “That’s enough, Gideon!”
Barnet said, “Look, I’m gonna get going.”
Marilyn said, “Don’t you dare.”
I said, “Say, John, that pin of yours, I believe you need more than just the entry-level class to earn one.”
Barnet’s eyes moved to his chest and he said, “The sommelier pin? Technically there are several levels of certification. When things got too busy, I stopped taking courses and ended up somewhere in the middle.”
“Really? As far as I know, you only passed the first level in L.A., which doesn’t entitle you to a pin.”
“I took additional classes with their Parisian affiliate.”
“Real smooth, aren’t you? You’ve got an answer for everything.”
Marilyn sprung off the sofa. “Damn you, Gideon.”
Barnet said, “I’m sorry to have upset you, Gideon.”
“Me, upset? Why would you being here, in my living room, with my wife, upset me? It’s your Wednesday routine, isn’t it?”
Marilyn got up, saying, “Calm yourself down, Gideon. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
I laughed, “Really, and all the time I thought it was the two of you making me out to be a damn idiot. How silly of me.”
Barnet turned to Marilyn. “It’s better if I leave.”
I headed for the door. “No need to. The house is all yours.”
They’d gotten way too comfortable and needed a conscience check. Having both of them squirm a little before Marilyn left the scene forever felt damn good.
Chapter 14
Gideon Brighthouse
Images of
Marilyn and John Barnet having sex that afternoon haunted me. The doctors told me to take a walk when I was agitated to help calm me down. I slid a door open, stepping into a breeze that was sprinkled with rain, and retreated.
Those bastards probably did it in my old bedroom, the sexual pleasure heightened by the excitement from the encounter with me. Marilyn was so smug this afternoon, and that Barnet, he was a shifty bloodsucker if there ever was one. He played it right, though, much as I hate to admit. He offered two, or was it three times to leave? Barnet didn’t antagonize me at the time and even looked like he was somewhat scared. It was probably all an act. What was that Parisian nonsense? I’d have to check that out; he was probably lying.
Why did I give a damn what they did? In less than three days I’d have a fresh canvas to paint my life on. Still, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake them from my mind, especially Marilyn. As the rage rose, I tried the breathing exercises and the new stretching regime, but nothing worked.
***
Two of my pill bottles and a glass of water were on the coffee table. It was just past seven thirty. The Valium and Ativan combo had knocked me out. I’d been sleeping a couple of hours. I sat up, drank the rest of the water, and waited for the fog to lift.
When my mind cleared, I grabbed Contemporary Art Monthly off the coffee table and flipped through it to an article on Jasper Johns. About halfway through, the piece mentioned a string of his lesser-known works, and I was certain that the author had mistitled a small painting. Setting the magazine down, I lowered the recliner and headed to Serenity House. The library in the main house held every art book I’d ever owned, and among the wall-to-wall shelves a retrospective of Johns waited to clarify the title.
Approaching, I noticed that no lights, other than the automatics, were on. All six pairs of double windows above the front porch were ebony mirrors. Unless she left when I had slept, Marilyn was home. Perhaps she’d fallen asleep after her session with Barnet. I considered yelling her name out to wake her as I turned into the library.
The Serenity Murder (A Luca Mystery Book 3) Page 5