"Barkeep, a glass of your River City water for my good friend," Bob demanded.
"What can I get you, Nemo?" The barman failed to show the slightest interest in Bob's reference.
"A Sam Adams," Josh said.
The barman cracked open a bottle and put it in front of Josh.
"This is the man who climbed from his sinking car in the Sacramento River and swam to shore even though he can't swim," Bob expanded while paying for Josh's drink.
"You're the one," the barman responded flatly, then moved on to the next customer.
"I saw that on TV. You're a lucky man," the man sitting next to Bob said.
"Something like that," Josh said, before turning to Bob. "With your level of subtlety you should work with the terminally ill. You have a great bedside manner."
"Hey, man, you looked as though you needed a little tail pulling. Your face is longer than that jump you made into the river. But seriously, I'm glad you're okay, pal. You scared us for awhile," Bob said and slapped Josh on the back.
"I'm glad to be around and thanks for looking after Kate and Abby, I appreciate it," Josh said.
"You're not going to tell me you love me and get all metrosexual on me, are you?"
"Bite me," Josh said, smiling.
"That's my boy."
Josh swigged his beer and watched the game with Bob to allow a moment to compose himself before broaching the subject of his problems. Bob ruined his plan by speaking first.
"So why did you want to meet here?" Bob gestured to the bar with the bottle. "We haven't been in a bar together for some time. What's up?"
"Come on, let's sit down where we won't be overheard."
Bob
made his farewell to the man at the bar. As they crossed the room, Josh felt the tension build between them. They took up residence in a quiet booth by the restrooms. Josh tried to prepare himself, putting all the facts in order before speaking.
"I think I'm in big trouble."
"Why?"
"I don't believe my accident was an accident. I think it was deliberate."
"Bullshit, buddy. I think you came across Roger Ebert without his Prozac." Bob gave a limp-wristed thumbs down. "No disrespect intended, but you aren't that special."
"But I think I am. I did something that makes me special."
"I don't think I'm going to want to hear this, so you'd better tell me before I get the hell out of here," Bob said.
"You know that insurance policy I got you to cash in for me about eighteen months ago?"
"Yeah."
"The money was for a payoff."
"Payoff who?"
"Belinda Wong. She was blackmailing me." Finally, he'd said it. It was out. He'd admitted his predicament to someone. He found relief in confession. It made the problem less foreboding, although he imagined this relief would be short-lived.
"Your secretary? Jesus Christ. What was she blackmailing you over?"
"We had an affair for a year when things weren't too good between Kate and me. When I broke it off she said she would tell all."
"I got you over fifty thousand. You gave it all to her?"
"Yes, but it wasn't just for the affair. I gave her the money for what I told her during the affair. I took a kickback on a building project in Dixon after Abby was born."
"Shit." Bob sat back and struggled to comprehend what Josh was telling him.
"You know Abby had complications after her birth and I didn't have the insurance to cover the bills. I was inspecting this construction project in Dixon and the construction company knew it wouldn't pass because they'd cut corners. So when it came to the inspection, they offered me ten thousand to turn a blind eye. At the time it seemed like an answer to my prayers and I took it with both hands."
"Christ, what a train wreck," Bob said. "Where are the other bodies buried?"
"Thanks for making me feel better," Josh said bitterly.
"Christ, Josh, I can't believe you never told me. Jesus, I'm your best friend."
"It's not something you tell."
Bob shook his head. "Did Kate ever wonder where you got the money for Abby's treatment?"
"No. She never knew my medical plan didn't stretch that far. Unfortunately, the problem got worse when I moved on to the next project the company was building.
They wanted to arrange a similar set-up. I had done it as a means to an end and not as a career enhancement.
I couldn't squeal on them, so I got out of the building trade and became a buyer."
"And Bell knows all this?"
"The whole thing. My dick got the better of me. I wanted to show off." Josh went silent for a moment, reliving the events in his head. "Later, I realized I was an idiot for cheating on Kate and I told Bell it was all over. She wanted to get even. She wanted money to keep the details from Kate and the press."
Josh felt sick to his stomach. He'd hidden that part of his life so deep within him, he had forgotten all about his mistakes until now. Bell had brought them all back like drowned corpses rising to the surface. All his fears returned as if it had just happened. Josh emptied the remainder of the beer and brought the empty bottle down onto the table with a resounding crack.
"You bastard," Bob said and meant it. "Why did you have to tell me? I was in a good mood when I came in here."
"Because you're my friend and the only person I thought I could turn to."
"You're a bad advertisement for friendship."
"You won't tell anyone?"
"You know I won't because I'm your friend." Bob said the word "friend" like it was a dirty word.
"Thanks."
"I knew you were in the shit when you wanted that insurance policy cashed in. I thought you were overstretched or something, but this." Bob shook his head.
"If you hadn't told me, I wouldn't have believed it."
"Sometimes it's hard for me to believe."
"So, what's this got to do with your accident?"
"Bell called me today asking me for another five thousand and told me if I didn't pay, something bad would happen. I think she forced me off the bridge."
"But you said it was a male driver."
"It was, but maybe she paid someone."
"No, I don't buy that. It wouldn't be in her interests to kill you. She'd be killing the goose that lays the golden egg and all that crap."
"Maybe she wasn't trying to kill me--just scare me into paying."
"This is unreal," Bob said. "So what are you going to do?"
"I don't know."
"You've only got two choices. Pay her and refuel that gravy train or blow her off, tell Kate what you did and take your chances. What appeals to you most?"
"Neither."
"Can you afford to pay this time around?"
"Yeah, I have some savings that aren't in a joint account."
"Then
buy yourself some time and pay her, but find out what the hell she's up to. I find it hard to believe she's going to all this trouble for the small sums of money involved. It's not as if she's tapping the Rockefeller fountain. Personally, I think she's using the accident as a lever to screw with you, and it's working."
"So you think the timing is coincidental?"
"Yes, I do. You've dug yourself in deep and you're panicking. You need to start thinking straight."
"Okay, I'll pay her. How do I diffuse the situation?"
"I don't know. We'll have to deal with that when we have more information."
"We?"
"Yes, we. As much as I dislike what you've done, I'm here to help you, man. You and Kate have too much going for you."
"Don't tell me what I already know."
"Well, why didn't you know it at the time?"
Josh didn't have an answer.
Bob Deuce sat in his office at Family Stop Insurance Services moving paperwork around. Josh's revelations in the bar the previous night preoccupied him. The impact had left him concussed. He'd never dreamt his closest friend could have got himself into so much shit.
He'd stayed to watch the game but found his mind wandering back to Josh. He left twenty minutes after Josh did. His wife, Nancy, detected his mood, but he deflected her questions.
He slept little. Rather than sharing Josh's burden, he'd taken it all upon his shoulders. He realized the pressure Josh must be under keeping it a secret for all this time. It was bad enough experiencing the situation by proxy. He would find it difficult not to blurt it out the next time he saw Kate. Sharing was a bitch. But friendship was friendship and Josh needed his help now more than ever. Maria, Bob's receptionist, acted as a welcome distraction when she popped her head through the door.
"Bob, I have a James Mitchell from Pinnacle Investments outside. He says he's got an appointment with you, but I don't have a record of it. Is that right?"
"Yes, he does. He called after you'd gone. Sorry, I didn't write it down. Send him in." Bob managed a thin smile. He didn't really want to see this guy, but duty called.
Maria disappeared.
Bob looked at his desk. It was a sty. He thought about making a stab at clearing it up, but blew the idea off. He just didn't have the heart. Let him see that I'm a slob.
Maria returned with his ten o'clock appointment.
"James Mitchell, Bob."
Maria saw herself out and the men introduced themselves and shook hands. The strength of the man's grip surprised Bob. He looked so ordinary. Everything about James Mitchell was average--medium build, average height, slightly receding hairline and an unremarkable face. If he had been the basis for "Where's Waldo," no one would have ever found him. He was about forty-five and dressed conservatively in a generic single-breasted suit.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Mitchell?" Bob said.
"James, please. I'm speaking to various insurance brokers in California to promote Pinnacle Investments and to remind them of our services, especially our unique ones. In the past you've been instrumental in providing us business, but things have dropped off and I would like to see what we can do for you and your clients," Mitchell said.
Bob saw no point in prolonging this meeting for nicety's sake. He wanted the salesman out of his office as soon as possible. "Okay, James. The main reason for the decline is most of your services are geared to investments and I'm an insurance agent. I've sold some of your life policies, but I do find that some of your competitors offer much better rates."
Mitchell asked Bob to outline where the differences were between Pinnacle Investments and their competitors.
Mitchell wrote Bob's comments in a notebook on top of his briefcase, which he balanced on his knees.
Bob thought the exercise was a waste of his time, but it took his mind off his other worries.
"I see you've sold several of our viatical policies over the last few years--to a John S. Densmore, who is now deceased, a Margaret F. Macey and a Joshua K. Michaels."
Bob nodded in agreement.
"I wanted to update our records on Margaret Macey and Josh Michaels."
"Let me get their files." Bob left his desk for the archives in the rear of the building and returned with the files. Sitting down, he said, "What do you need to know?"
"Josh Michaels, does he still fly and rock climb?"
"Yes, he flies regularly, but I don't think he rock climbs much nowadays."
"And how's his health?"
"Good as far as I know."
"Good. And how about Margaret Macey's health?"
"Not so good. I saw her some months ago to renew her homeowner's insurance and she didn't look well.
She's a very nervous woman. I think she's very drug dependent these days."
"So the treatment is not going well, eh?"
"No, I don't think the doctors have much chance of curing her heart problems."
"Is she terminal?"
"No, I think it's just that she's old and everything is worn out." Bob added, "She went for the viatical settlement because she needed cash, not because she was terminal."
"That's a shame." Mitchell looked suitably moved, but then suddenly brightened. "Thanks for the update, Bob. Do you have any other candidates for these unique insurance opportunities? It's a thriving division for us. I know it was originally intended to be a program for the terminally ill, but since then we've opened up the qualifications. It's fast becoming an alternative way to refinance."
"I don't have many terminal patients. It's something I have recommended to clients as and when the need has arisen. With regard to refinancing, that's something I don't really get involved in unless my clients ask me."
"I understand, as long as we're not losing out to our competitors on that one. We like to think that we offer the best viatical service on the market."
Bob didn't need to hear the pitch and wrapped up business with Mitchell. They bullshitted a while about the insurance industry, life, family and sports. He felt sorry for Mitchell. It wasn't much of a life flitting from motel to motel. He knew. He'd done it himself for six years. He'd given it up to start his own business and never looked back.
How long are you in the area for, James?" Bob asked.
"Until the weekend, then I move to San Francisco, then LA."
"Well, if you feel up to it, I'm going to a barbecue on Saturday. Would you like to come? It's nothing fancy.
Just a friend's birthday and he's one of your clients, Josh Michaels."
"One of our viatical clients," Mitchell said.
"Yeah, but please don't mention it. His wife doesn't know."
"Oh, I understand," Mitchell said, stumbling over himself. "Yeah, sounds good. I would love to come."
Mitchell thanked Bob for his time and hospitality.
He gave Bob his motel address at the River City Inn, on the south side of the city, and they agreed on a time to meet on Saturday. The meeting had briefly perked Bob's spirits, but he fell back into his funk once the salesman was gone.
CHAPTER SIX
"Are you two going to play that game all day? It's beautiful outside and you should be out there," Kate complained.
"We're playing until I beat Daddy," Abby replied.
"Oh yeah?" Mock disbelief colored his words.
"You're a long way from winning, my girl. I'll be victorious.
Josh and his daughter were playing the Sacramento version of Monopoly in the living room. The game had started after breakfast and was still in progress at three in the afternoon. Properties had been bought and skylines built. The pair fought for domination.
Abby held her property cards fanned close to her face like a seasoned poker player, but her face told Josh she was pleased with herself. Occasionally she confided conspiratorially with her adviser, Wiener. He was meant to be representing the bank, but Josh was sure the dog knew something he didn't. He was losing to his daughter.
"Is that dog helping you, Abby?" he said, and raised an eyebrow.
"No, that would be cheating," she said, and hid her face behind her cards and giggled. "Your go."
Josh smiled at Abby. He picked up the dice and rolled them. A five and a two.
"Damn! Not again." This was the third time he'd been sent to the Traffic Jam square. He moved his riverboat piece to the square.
Abby erupted into laughter and Wiener barked in support.
"No two hundred dollars, no passing Go, Daddy,"
she squealed in delight and hugged the dachshund.
"Josh, I can't believe you're getting upset over losing to your daughter and the dog," Kate said, hoping to inject some sanity into the situation.
"That's the third time I've been on that damn Traffic Jam square in the last five circuits. That must be against the odds, and I bet that's gonna cost me another hundred bucks to get out," he said in dismay.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'll be around for consolation hugs for the loser, okay?" Kate said to the industrialists at play.
Josh wasn't really upset. It was all for Abby's entertainment.
He was actually enjoying himself. His talk with Bob had lightened his mood and so had
his two weeks leave. He wasn't sure whether the combination of these events contributed to his high spirits, but he hoped so. He was getting back to a normal life, at last.
Abby rolled the dice. A double six. She giggled again.
"What games do you play at school?" Josh asked.
The doorbell rang.
"Can someone answer that please?" Kate called out.
"If you wouldn't mind, honey. I'm on the verge of scalping this little upstart," Josh called back.
"No, he's not, Mom," Abby shouted.
"Okay, I'll answer it, shall I?"
"Mommy's never understood business, not like us chickens," Josh said.
Wiener yawned and licked his nose.
Kate opened the door and spoke to the visitor on the porch. Her tone was one of confusion and alarm. "Are you sure you have the right address?"
Josh looked up from the game. Abby, oblivious to her mother's remarks, counted off her move around the perimeter of the board.
"Josh, would you come here a minute?" Kate called.
Getting up, he asked, "Is everything okay?"
"Don't go Daddy, it's your turn," Abby said.
"I'll be back in a minute, honey," he said over his shoulder.
Kate turned toward him. Her expression was one of shock. A delivery boy in his early twenties stood on the porch with a confused look on his face.
"What's up?" Josh slipped an arm around his wife's waist in a statement of solidarity.
"I have a delivery for the Michaels's household. I'm very sorry for your loss, please accept my condolences,"
the young man said in a solemn tone, but bewilderment furrowed his brow.
He proffered the delivery, a funeral wreath, for Josh to accept. Josh couldn't believe what the guy held in his hands and took an involuntary step backward.
"Is this a joke?" Josh demanded, his grip on his temper slipping.
"No, sir," the delivery boy said.
Josh looked at the boy dressed in a yellow and green windbreaker and peered over his shoulder at the van parked in the street. The van was from Forget-Me-Not Florists and displayed a free phone number and a local address. Appearances seemed to be honest enough; the delivery boy wasn't bogus. Josh looked back at the boy.
"It's for the recently departed Josh Michaels," the driver continued. He made another attempt to give the wreath to Josh.
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