CHAPTER 14
The Winners Alliance
“Who wants to comment on that?” Dick commanded room 201B at the Trenton JCC. He scanned the faces in the circle of plastic chairs, slapping his pen in his palm. He resembled a well-dressed prison guard pressing for answers. “Tom thinks he’s better off without the money.”
“I don’t think being broke is the answer.” Jerry fanned away Arlene’s cigarette smoke. It burned his eyes.
“I’ll second that.” Arlene puffed again. A thin tube of ash bent from the tip of her cigarette, like a charred tree limb. She was spending a little too much time at the tanning salon, and her skin glowed with a queer orange hue.
“Don’t get me wrong. I still believe in money.” Tom sat by the window, noshing on a chocolate éclair. Since the loan to repurchase his father’s bakery fell through, he adopted a cavalier attitude about wealth.
“What is it that you believe?” Dick flipped through his notebook.
“I still believe it can make good.”
“That’s great. You must keep the faith.”
“I want more money. I hope to have it one day.”
“And you will. Be positive.”
“But I don’t know if I need millions. I’ve done that.”
Jerry considered the lottery tickets in his wallet. He still purchased them, just like the old days. He bought a strip of five from Mojique at the Seven-Eleven, plus an extra large cup of black coffee. The ritual made him feel like a regular guy, but he’d never confess it to this crowd.
Tom swallowed a huge mouthful of pastry. You almost saw it slide down his gullet. “I tried to guess where I went wrong, so I traced things backwards.”
“Excellent,” Dick said. “Go with that thought.”
“I was happy before I won the money, but if I had the choice again, would I give it away from the start?”
Jerry chewed on that question. He’d given half of everything to Mel Cogdon. Unfortunately, it was the half that he wanted to keep. Chelsea never phoned. She never sent e-mail. It’d been a month, and not even a postcard from Mexico dropped out of his mailbox. He anticipated one of those tacky honeymoon pictures with her and Mel donning oversized sombreros—the lovebirds in goofy bliss. He’d prepared himself not to react, but he never thought that no contact might bother him more.
Arlene tapped her ash into a plastic cup. “You should make a checklist: good points on the right, bad points on the left. See how it adds up.”
Tom wiped his mouth with a napkin. “On one hand, I liked being able to have choices, but on the other, there’s that constant worry about what to do.”
“Correct,” Dick said. “Freedom has its price.”
“I’ve decided that I would give the money away, donate it to charity.”
“Stop it!” Jerry thumped his heel on the linoleum floor.
The room turned abruptly toward Jerry.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “You wouldn’t give the money away.”
Tom looked hurt. This happened once per session, but usually Dick told him off. “Yes. I, I …”
“You’re broke because nobody stopped you from making bad choices.” Jerry had had enough of this. He suddenly understood the term ‘oral masturbation.’ If Tom wanted to dream aloud, he should take up a writing career.
“But ...”
“But nothing. You got rich, then spent it all. It’s that simple.”
“I guess I invested cash in the wrong areas.”
“You thought the money was the answer to your problems. You thought you could buy the answers.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“That’s my point. No one told us what to do. No one warned us what might happen.”
The room fell silent. Every man and woman in the circle acknowledged Jerry’s words with a long glance or a nod of the head. He felt like a teacher who just scolded the class. It was a red-hot poker of truth in the eye, the poignancy searing, concrete enough to touch, and who’d dare refute it. Everyone already knew the truth. In fact, they lived it. They came to the Winners Circle for affirmation of the facts.
Jerry noticed Dick squinting in his direction. Jerry recognized that look too. Dick’s big brain was turning. Dick had a new idea.
A week later, Dick planted himself in the middle of Jerry’s Victorian couch. He and Tom were making a habit of showing up unannounced at the farmhouse, but this time, Dick was on an urgent mission. He bent Jerry’s ear for twenty minutes. He plotted to save the world, at least their part of it. He was going to shield the big dollar lottery winners from harm and especially themselves.
“Something tells me you have a name for this plan,” Jerry said.
“It’s called the Winners Alliance.” Dick donned a content expression, as if he’d just laid out the inner workings of the first atomic bomb and given it a name. “I took the idea from you. We’re going to warn them. We’re going to warn them all.”
“We can’t warn them.”
“We can, and we will.”
Jerry was speechless. It was impossible to warn anyone about the future, much less predict its color and shape in advance. He’d tried it once and ended up with something that resembled nothing he’d imagined. “What about the Winners Circle?”
“The Circle’s still going on. We’ll always need that to mop up broken lives. This is a splinter group to counteract problems before they start.”
“Who’s in it?”
“Just us—you, I, and Tom. Tucker will perform the undercover work.” Dick leaned closer, as if someone bugged their conversation from outside the room. “I want no one else to know. It’s a secret alliance, a sub-entity within the Winners Circle.”
“This all seems a little too covert for me. Explain it again.”
“We monitor millionaires for signs of personal and financial destruction, then intervene at the right moment.”
Jerry worried whenever Dick got to thinking like this: the plans, the secrets. “How will you know when the right moment arrives?”
“Tucker’s putting a file together on everyone.”
“Everyone?” Jerry scanned Dick’s dark priest-like getup. Dick was a zealot for sure, noble but naïve, not to mention a little scary, the essence of a true missionary. One hundred years earlier, he’d be roaming the jungles, converting natives to Christians, and as always with a zealot, it was mostly about the converter as opposed to the converts.
“Everyone in the last ten years will have a file,” Dick said. “We’ll review them regularly for changes. They’ll be a file on each of us as well. It’s the only fair way.”
“I suppose.” Jerry heard Tom rummaging in the kitchen. The teakettle boiled and a package of potato chips or pretzels ripped open. “What does Tom think?”
“He’s in.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes.”
“He’s not nervous?” Jerry knew what a worrywart Tom was.
“The Alliance will pay him a stipend for odd jobs and driving.”
“Oh, that’s why he’s in.”
Dick ignored the remark. “What do you say? Are you joining us?”
“You really need me for this?”
“There’s a presence about you.”
“I’m not roughing anyone up.”
“You’re solid, Jerry.” Dick slapped him in the arm, as if the threesome were embarking on a rugby scrum instead of something weird and outrageous.
“No funny stuff?”
“Nothing unnecessary.”
Jerry looked at Dick’s outstretched hand. He was bored silly, rattling around the farm from sunup to sunset. What was the harm? A phone call here; a letter there. Besides, he needed the companionship. “Alright, I’ll see how it goes.”
“Great.” Dick pulled a file from his loaded briefcase and dropped it on the coffee table. “You’re our first case.”
“You’re joking.”
“Do I joke?”
Jerry just stared. No, you have no sen
se of humor whatsoever.
“Gina Spagnoli,” Dick said. “How much money have you spent on her?”
“I don’t know. Twenty, thirty grand. I have to check with Tisch.”
“Do you even know if it’s your child yet?”
“No, not yet. I mean, I assume it is.”
“You assume?”
“Yes.” He noticed how weak that sounded. So much for having the ‘presence’ that Dick had mentioned.
Dick conjured that hit man look in his eye. A fresh idea was forming. “I think it’s time we found out for a fact or not if that baby is yours.”
CHAPTER 15
Incidental Baby
“Is this the best way?” Jerry sat in the back seat of Dick’s navy blue Lincoln Navigator. Tom drove, and Tucker rode shotgun. Jerry nudged Dick in the elbow. “Are you sure we can’t speak to Gina first?”
“She’ll never agree to it.” Dick was dressed in his black uniform—turtleneck, linen slacks, Milanese loafers. He had the Winners Alliance files spread on his lap, studying a floor plan of Gina’s new condo in the Princeton borough. “We need results, not to mention discretion. And the Spagnoli woman is incapable of both.”
“I don’t know how discrete this will be.”
“More discrete than a public court battle, and you don’t want that. Millionaires lose in the public eye. Spagnoli understands that and is using it against you. The press will turn you into Leona Helmsley and dig you a grave.”
“It won’t go that far.”
“I’m telling you, get the blood specimen from the child. A gene test will eliminate you as the father with 99.9 percent accuracy.”
“What if I just sit down with her and ask for a sample?”
“I expect a suggestion like that coming from Tom.”
Tom rolled his eyes in the rearview mirror. Tucker snickered.
“There has to be another way,” Jerry said.
“We’ve been over this. We can’t uncover the child’s medical records, not even the pediatrician’s name. The Spagnoli woman has got the child’s information clamped down like Fort Knox gold.”
“That’s for sure.”
“She must be under guidance. My guess is her lawyer is excellent.”
“That’s what my attorney said.”
“Don’t doubt it. Tucker tried bribing the records office in town. It was like the child didn’t exist.”
“I saw Gina. She was as plump as a Thanksgiving turkey.” Jerry glanced at the color blowup of the baby—bruised and abused from delivery. A swirl of black hair covered his head, much like his own at birth. He sighed. This was his relationship with his son: paychecks out, pictures back in the mail. The level of communication wasn’t much better than with his old man. “Damn.”
“Take it easy,” Dick said. “Just follow the plan, and we’ll straighten out this mess.”
“What if it really is my child?”
“I’ve got a plan for that too.”
Jerry hesitated to hear it but knew he would anyway. Dick loved the sound of his own voice, especially when he had an idea, which he always did.
“The Alliance will take care of everything,” Dick said. “This is only phase one. Phase two, if necessary, will be to get your son away from the Spagnoli woman.”
“Let’s stick to phase one for tonight, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll review, so there’s no confusion. When Tom and Tucker create the diversion, go in the opposite direction with the child. Create time and space between you and Spagnoli.”
“This better work.”
“We’ve got sirens, bomb explosions, the works.” Dick glanced at the huge speakers in the payload compartment. They looked like walnut veneer replicas of the Washington Monument. They were unable to stand up straight in the truck. “We bought Tucker a new stereo.”
“One thousand watts, mate.” Tucker grinned, his big ears fanning from his head like open sails. “Can’t wait to plug her in at home.”
“At a minimum, Spagnoli will run to the window to check it out,” Dick said. “That’ll give you time to duck out the rear. Later on, tell her you retreated to protect your son. Who would blame you?”
“Okay.” Jerry pulled the blood stick from his pocket.
“Stick the kid and tuck it away,” Dick said. “We don’t need a lot.”
“That’s the part I hate.”
“It’s simple. You practiced a dozen times on Tom last night.”
Tom waved his hand above the steering wheel. The band-aids on his fingertips flashed beneath a passing streetlight.
“Alright. I can do this.”
“That’s the spirit.” Dick slapped Jerry’s shoulder and turned toward the front seat. “Men, pull over at the next corner.”
Gina came to the door in a pink negligee with a satin shawl. Jerry’s eyes fell to the aureole of her left breast peeking from the lacy material. She appeared trim and energetic, yet she’d given birth only a few months earlier.
“Hello, Gina,” Jerry said.
She allowed him a moment to stare, before whipping the shawl over her chest. “Excuse me. I was just feeding your son.”
“How’s little Jerry doing?”
“You can see for yourself.” She tugged down on the lapels of his jacket, forcing him to bend. She rose to the tips of her bare toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m glad you came.”
“I phoned you on short notice. I hope it’s not too late.”
She sparkled. “We’ve been waiting up for you.”
Gina led him down the hall to the room beside the master bedroom. Jerry reviewed the floor plan in his head. Gina occupied the first floor. When the diversion struck, he was to exit near the patio. It was a warm spring night. She might not hear the baby cry or even notice him missing.
The nursery was azure blue with puffy clouds sponged on the upper walls and ceiling, which pleased Jerry in a way he couldn’t name. Gina dipped her arms into the crib and removed the swaddled child.
Jerry held his breath. The infant’s dark hair was gone, replaced by a smooth scalp with scant flecks of dried skin. A little hand with tiny fingernails poked from the powder blue blanket and pawed Gina’s chest. Jerry had handled the same breast on a couple of occasions. How strange was life?
“Here’s your boy.” Gina set the baby in Jerry’s arms.
His shoulders drew tight, and his arms went stiff. He feared he might drop the child, but the soft bundle weighed nothing at all.
He tugged the blanket from the baby’s chin and stared at the little nose, eyes, and mouth. The baby latched onto Jerry’s finger. It felt warm and firm. He caught an unusual sweet scent, as his own emotions beset him. He thought his eyes might tear but resisted the feeling.
“What do you think?” Gina asked, beaming as if she’d produced the little masterpiece all by herself.
“He’s so small.”
“He’s already put on three pounds.”
“Three?”
“He’ll gain a lot more with your genes.”
“I hope you can forgive me. I never meant for this to happen.”
“I know you. You’re a decent man. You’ll do the right thing.”
Jerry found her face. Paying money wasn’t a lot to ask. He had millions, most of which remained untouched by his Spartan ambitions. “I’ll do everything I can.”
A sharp explosion echoed in the street. At first, he forgot about the diversion. He clutched the baby harder, noticing the panicked look on Gina’s face.
“Oh my God.” Gina bolted from the room.
Jerry watched her disappear down the hall. He stood, dumbfounded by the excellence of Dick’s plan.
The baby’s eyes were wide-open, staring back at the big man above. The child’s eyes seemed to be saying: It worked! You’re crazy friends pulled it off. It actually worked.
Little Jerry kept staring. You’re supposed to run now, silly.
Jerry rushed for the exit, with the baby tucked in one arm like a football. He zigzag
ged through the halls, dodged a standing lamp near the corner, and located the den at the back of the condo. He slipped through the back door and onto the patio in the dark, thrilled to hit his destination on target.
Little Jerry didn’t seem to mind. He enjoyed the motion, cooing at daddy.
Jerry shut the door and whipped out the blood stick. He heard Dick’s words, ‘Stick the child and forget it. It’s done a million times a day, in thousands of hospitals.’ He hoped it didn’t hurt the little guy.
The sound of explosions reverberated from the front. Little Jerry blew bubbles. Jerry opened the sterile package and jabbed the stick into the baby’s palm.
The child began wailing in accordance with the bombs.
Jerry grabbed the doorknob, but it didn’t turn. “Not one of those.”
He glanced the length of the building. The condos spread out like a prison wall, redundant and unscalable yet adorned with a variety of patio furniture, barbecue grills, and the odd bicycle. He slid the blood sample into the plastic sleeve and ran for the front.
Bombs continued to burst, echoing throughout the complex. As he rounded the building, he nearly tripped over a stray garden hose and counted his blessings. He reached the front lawn, holding the child close, protecting him against the noise, but the explosions suddenly ceased.
He stopped and rocked little Jerry. The baby wailed like a bad dream.
“It’s okay.” He rocked softer and then faster. He was as suited to this business as being a millionaire. “Please, it’s okay. It’s okay.”
The noise of car wrecks supplanted the suburban warfare. From Tucker’s new monster stereo, the peaceful neighborhood was treated to a concert of screeching tires, crashing metal, and shattering windshields. The baby achieved a crescendo of cries between gasps for air.
Amid the worst of it, Jerry heard Tucker and Tom arguing. This particular change of diversionary tactic wasn’t in their plans.
Jerry headed toward the Navigator. The men shoved each other by the open trunk. Dick was mediating, while pressing buttons on the stereo’s main console. The cassette tape flipped over, and the sound of barking dogs punched through the huge speakers.
The Winners Circle Page 14