The Rabbit Factory

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The Rabbit Factory Page 21

by Marshall Karp


  “So far, you haven’t done anything wrong,” I said.

  Big Jim blew a cloud of stogie smoke into the air. “It gets better,” he said.

  Frankie ran his fingers through his hair. “You know me, Mike. I gamble. I’m trying to reform. I go to G.A. meetings and stay away from the old haunts and the old gambling buddies. But I’m not entirely recovered. I play the stock market. Some of the TVs in the club are tuned to the financial channels, and when I catch a look at the ticker, I react. One day, Vicki asks why I’m so excited. I tell her about this one software stock I bought at sixteen. It’s up to twenty-three, and I think it can go to forty. She asks me to buy some for her. She has some money that her husband doesn’t know about. If I buy the stock for her, she’ll pay me a commission.”

  “Did you mention that health club managers are not licensed to do that?”

  “I told her it’s against the law for me to act as a broker. She says, Screw the law. Buy her two thousand shares, pay the broker’s commission, then take a cut for myself. This way her old man will never find out. So I say, What the hell, and she says she’ll wire fifty grand to my account. I tell her she’s overpaying me for my services, and she says she’s sure I can find a way to make it up to her.”

  “Subtle,” I said.

  “She is what she is. The next morning, I call my bank to see if the fifty G’s are there, and they say they have a computer glitch; they’ll call me back. Ten minutes later the phone rings, but it’s not the bank, it’s Miggie Spinks.”

  “If it’s not too judgmental, let me remind you that Miggie is a total scumbag. He’s fucked you over ten times since high school.”

  “Now it’s eleven. Miggie’s a broker and he’s raving on about this stock Medibon, a small drug company in France. He says they’re about to announce a cure for rheumatoid arthritis and all the big drug companies will get into a bidding war for the patent. He says I should jump in now at a buck a share and the stock will go to twenty in a week. I multiplied fifty thousand times twenty and it’s a nice, round million bucks, so I bought fifty thousand shares.”

  “You bought $50,000 worth of snake oil for Vicki.”

  “No. I bought it for me. With her money.”

  I looked at Big Jim, who remained curiously silent. “OPM,” I said. I turned back to Frankie. “What did you tell Vicki?”

  “I lied. I told her I bought two thousand shares of the software stock at twenty-three. By the end of the day, it had jumped a point and half, so she was already up three thousand. She says how smart I am, and I’m thinking I’m gonna make a fortune off her money, and she’ll never know she staked me.”

  “Just a wild guess,” I said. “The Medibon stock tanked.”

  “The next day the frogs announced that the drug works, but a bunch of the patients developed liver failure and a few died. Back to the drawing board. By the time I could sell off my shares the stock dropped to nineteen cents. I got about nine grand back from Vicki’s fifty.”

  “So you’re now forty-one thousand in the hole,” I said.

  “Fifty-one thousand,” he said. “Because by now, the software stock I was supposed to buy her was up to thirty.”

  “But you originally bought some for yourself, so you’re making money.”

  “Mike, I’m a nickel-and-dimer. I only had a hundred shares. I was up like fourteen hundred bucks.”

  “I’m getting bogged down in the math,” I said. “Get back to the story.”

  “Okay, I know I’m in deep shit, but I’m not totally freaked, because she’s not ready to sell. I’m thinking I still have some time to undo the damage.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “I started sleeping with her.”

  I laughed. “Sorry,” I said. “You caught me by surprise with that one.”

  “Yeah, well, I told her that I dumped my fiancée because I was crazy for her. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but of my many dumb moves, this turned out to be the dumbest.”

  “Don’t be judgmental,” I said.

  “We went at it hot and heavy for a month. We got so involved that I’m thinking, the sex is good; she’s not gonna ask me for the money. Then one day, she tells me she wants to sell the stock. It’s at thirty-five, so she thinks she’s got seventy grand and she wants to buy a painting. I tell her it’s a bad idea, that the stock was going to take another upturn. A week later it does and now I owe her eighty-two thousand. So I took the nine grand I had left, plus I sold whatever stocks I owned, and I pulled together seventeen grand.”

  Once again, I knew what was coming, but I clamped my jaw tight.

  “I took the seventeen to Vegas,” Frankie said. “I’ve been cold before, but this was like ice. The dealers were pulling twenty-one out of their asses. Whatever I did, I couldn’t win. I blew the whole wad in an hour. I knew I was fucked.”

  “Just curious, what casino did you go to?” I said.

  “Camelot. It’s my lucky casino. At least it was.”

  Small world. “So you lost all your money and you came to us,” I said.

  “No. First I went to Vicki. I knew I had to face the music sooner or later, so I told her the whole ugly story.”

  I smacked my hand down hard on the arm of my chair. The dogs perked up. “Bullshit,” I said. “You would never do that. You doctored the story so she wouldn’t figure out that you were planning to make a million with her dough. Don’t skate around the truth. One more lie, and I’m out of here.”

  “I’m not skating. I just didn’t think all those details were important.”

  “I’m a cop. As far as I’m concerned, I’m investigating a homicide. Yours. The first thing I go for is motive. Don’t spare me any of the details of what went on between you and the woman you stole $50,000 from. Now, you told her you blew the money, what was her reaction?”

  “She unzipped my fly and started sucking my dick. I swear it was like the money didn’t mean shit to her. We fucked our brains out. She was like an animal, and I gave her whatever she asked for. You want the details on that?”

  “Get to the part where she hires somebody to kill you.”

  “Right after the sex she goes into the shower. Two minutes later she comes storming out dripping wet, screaming bloody murder. She figured out the timing. She realized that I didn’t start screwing her till after I lost the money. She starts beating on me, kicking, throwing anything that wasn’t nailed down. She goes, ‘You steal my money, and then you start fucking me to make it right? You could’ve fucked me first, and I would’ve given you the $50,000, you dumb shit.’

  “She tells me to get the hell out, so I start putting on my clothes. Then she says, ‘You cost me a hundred grand, but you’ll pay.’ And I say, it’s not that much. And she says, ‘It will be by the time I finish paying someone to kill you dead. You better start running now.’ So I ran.”

  “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I heard that. Some famous guy said that once, right?”

  “Every guy has said that. At least once.”

  Jim put out his cigar. “So,” he said, “what do we do?”

  “We need to get him out of the limelight.” I said. “This has to be the first place they’ll look. Why don’t we send him off to rehab for twenty-eight days?”

  “Hey, I’m not a drug addict.”

  “You could’ve passed for one Monday night,” I said. “And by the way, how come you showed up looking like some hit man had already hit you?”

  “After I left Vicki I wanted to come here, but I couldn’t face Dad. I spent five days in a men’s shelter. Drank a lot of coffee. Didn’t sleep much. I can’t go to a fucking rehab, bro. You know people in the FBI. How about the Witness Protection Program?”

  “How about the Witless Protection Program, bro?” I snapped back at him. “Sorry. Cheap shot.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. But I knew it wasn’t. The last thing he needed was a Big Brother lecture.

  “Tell me w
hat you know about Vicki’s husband,” I said.

  “His name is Jack Pardini. If you go by the size of his house in Beverly Hills, his construction business is doing damn good. And if he found out I was doing his wife and lost her money, he’d kill us both.”

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” Jim said. “Where do we net out on all this?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. I gotta let this percolate. I’ll be in touch.” I stood up. Frankie didn’t. I headed for my car.

  Jim and the dogs followed. “Question,” he said, as the dogs roamed off to pee. “How’d you find out Joanie gave him the twenty thousand bucks?”

  “It was in next month’s letter. I opened it in a moment of weakness.”

  “Did she say how I know?”

  “She said she had no idea.”

  “The truth is, she told me.”

  “You’re kidding. Why wouldn’t she tell me that she told you?” I said. “No, no, forget that. Better question. Why would she tell you and not me?”

  He rubbed his chin. Correction, chins. “She was a teacher. She had this philosophy. You never work with a student in a vacuum. You’re part of a chain. Whatever you learn that will help other teachers help that kid, you pass on. That’s why they have report cards and teacher evaluations that follow you from year to year. She didn’t tell you because you’re not Frankie’s teacher. I am. She was quite a woman, Joanie. The world lost a real gem. We all did.”

  I grabbed a pad and pencil from the car and jotted down Vicki’s name and a few other pertinent details that I didn’t want to forget.

  “What are you writing?” Jim asked.

  “My ‘Things To Do’ list. Buy dog food, catch serial killer, save brother’s life.”

  “Not in that order,” he said. “Thanks.” He gave me a hug, then he whistled for the dogs and lumbered back to the house to stand guard over his wayward son.

  CHAPTER 51

  Jerry Goldstein had been right. Roberta’s brisket and kasha varnishkes were excellent.

  Roberta, on the other hand, had exaggerated. Her very handsome son had big ears, small hands, bad breath, and was four inches shorter than Penina.

  Do Jewish mothers ever tell the truth about their sons when they’re trying to fix them up, Penina wondered. Then she laughed quietly to herself. I will, but that’s only because my sons are perfect.

  The afternoon went by quickly, and, while the boys had fun playing with the Goldstein’s grandsons, Dylan and Sammy, Penina had no doubt that Ari and Dov were counting the hours until they could go back to Familyland.

  The next morning it was still dark when Penina felt Dov crawl into her bed. She snuggled up to him and said, “Go back to sleep. The park isn’t open yet.”

  By the time the sun came up Dov was dressed. When Penina woke up at 7:30, he stood next to her bed and said, “I’m ready.”

  “That I can see,” she said. “But I’m not, Ari’s not, and the people at Familyland are not ready for you.”

  “Eemah,” the boy whined, “get out of bed. We could be the first ones there when the gate opens.”

  “Shush, you’ll wake your brother.”

  Ari mumbled something unintelligible from the other bed.

  “He’s up,” Dov said. “Can we go now?”

  “Can I go to the bathroom first?” she said, swinging her legs out of bed, grabbing him with two hands and kissing his forehead.

  She sat on the toilet and changed her Tampax. She knew this would be the heaviest day of her flow. Perfect timing for riding the roller coaster, she thought. By the time she showered and dressed, Ari was awake. The TV was tuned to a black minister who was praising Jesus. “Church programs?” she said.

  “This is the channel that always has the best cartoons,” Dov said.

  “Americans don’t watch cartoons on Sunday morning,” she said. “They show the church programs.”

  “Why?” said Dov. “It’s boring.”

  “So they don’t have to go,” Ari said. “They turn on the TV, and they say they were at church, but all they did was watch TV. It’s cheating.”

  “Don’t judge others,” Penina said.

  “Slichah, Eemah,” Dov said, apologizing.

  The trip from their fifth-floor room to the rooftop restaurant took less than five minutes, but the boys had to turn it into an adventure. The hotel had slipped envelopes under the doors of every guest who was expected to check out that morning. “They’re printouts of people’s bills,” Penina explained. “So they can look over all the charges before they check out.”

  “No,” Ari said. “They’re notices from Rambo that you’re banished from Familyland and you have to go home.” He ran down the corridor looking for rooms that had an envelope peeking out from the doorsill. “Room 547,” he said, raising his hands and pointing all ten fingers at the door, “you’re banished.” He moved along and found the next envelope. “Room 539, you are also banished.”

  Little Dov ran ahead of his big brother. “Room 526,” he said, mimicking Ari by raising both hands and pointing at the door, “you have offended the Gods and now you are banished from Familyland forever.”

  Just as he made his pronouncement, the door to Room 526 opened wide and a plump woman in pink shorts and a black McGreedy Moose T-shirt stepped out. “What do you mean I’m banished?” she said.

  Dov shrieked and raced down the hall. Ari threw himself on the floor and rolled in mock laughter. “It’s not that funny,” Penina said, as she walked past him. “Behave yourself.” She smiled at the woman and said, “Boys will be boys.”

  They rode the glass elevator to the rooftop. Happily for Penina there were no other passengers, so she let the boys hop, jump, and boomerang around the glass cage and then bow to the totally oblivious audience in the lobby below.

  “I’m not hungry,” Dov said as soon as they entered the restaurant.

  “You’re sitting at this table for thirty minutes, whether you eat or not,” Penina said. “So don’t think we’ll leave any earlier if you starve yourself.”

  “In that case I’ll have pancakes,” Dov said.

  Penina watched her two sons color the cartoon characters on their place mats with crayons while they waited for breakfast. “I think I’d like to go back to the Space Shuttle Restaurant for lunch,” she said. “The food was good, and it’s much faster than the fancy restaurants. Would you like that?”

  Dov perked up. “Yes, fast restaurants are the best. I want an Astroburger and two bags of Spaceman Ice Cream Pellets. Chocolate and strawberry.”

  “How can you eat those?” Penina said. “It’s all chemicals.”

  “I like chemicals,” Dov said. “They’re delicious. Especially the chocolate.”

  Penina laughed. “Fine. It’s your stomach. I like their Caesar salad with grilled chicken,” she said. And I like the small bathroom I found there, she thought. Much cleaner than the big ones with a million toilets and all those women and little girls chattering like magpies. And much more private, she said to herself, as she looked in her purse to check on her supply of tampons.

  They arrived at the gate by 9:04 and headed for the rides that the guidebook told them had the shortest lines early in the morning. Penina had delegated that responsibility to Ari, and he had planned it well. “I’m very proud of how you organized our morning,” she told the ten-year-old. “Very efficient.”

  “Like my Abba,” he said.

  “Yes,” she smiled, “very much like your father.”

  Ari’s master plan included a beat-the-crowd lunch at exactly noon. The Space Shuttle Restaurant was only a few minutes from their last ride of the morning, and they arrived at 12:07. There were plenty of tables, the lines were short, and the streamlined fast-food operation moved people along quickly.

  Penina found a table near the rear, convenient to the small ladies room she had discovered several days ago. As they ate, she looked around the restaurant and thought once again about her sons’ observation in the synagogue. Security here was non-existe
nt. So unlike Israel.

  The salad was as good as she remembered. “You’re finished,” Dov said, when she finally put down her fork. “Let’s go.”

  “You didn’t eat all your ice cream,” Penina said.

  “It’s freeze dried. I can just close the bag and put it in my pocket. It lasts forever.”

  “Well, my diet Coke is wet,” she said. “I need time to drink it.”

  “Carry it with you,” Dov said.

  “I would also like to go to the ladies room,” she added.

  “Again?” Ari said. “You’re going to mess up my whole schedule. We’re supposed to get on line for The Freedom Train. This is the best time to go.”

  “Where is it from here?” Penina said.

  “Close,” Ari said. He took a dog-eared map from his pocket. “Can Dov and I go first and get on line? You could catch up. We won’t get lost. Please.”

  “You’ll hold his hand?”

  Both boys jumped up sensing victory. “Yes, yes, yes,” they chanted.

  “Alright, I’ll catch up. But be careful. Don’t talk to strangers. And don’t get on the ride without me.”

  They bolted from the table before she could change her mind. She watched them walk out. Each in his own way was so much like his father.

  She had met Yaakov in the army when they were both twenty. He was strong. He was handsome. He was brave. But he also had a sensitive side. He was a poet. A dreamer. His passion was his writing. Over the course of their ten-year marriage, he wrote seven books of poetry, none of which were published. But he always said, “If I could just sell that first one, people will want to read the others.”

  He supported his family doing what he had to do. Driving a delivery van, night janitor in a hospital, and of course, waiting on tables. As many hours a day as he could spare, he wrote. They lived in a one-bedroom apartment. The boys took the bedroom; Penina and Yaakov slept in the living room. They had no money for life’s little luxuries like dinners at fancy restaurants, family vacations, or sadly, life insurance. So when Yaakov was killed in the bus explosion four years ago, Penina didn’t even have the money to bury him.

 

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