A Farewell to Legs

by JEFFREY COHEN

  “No,” I said. “The medical examiner wouldn’t have a reason to take prints if Cherie Braxton—who didn’t know him very long, and couldn’t tell the difference—and later, Stephanie, both identified the body as Louis Gibson. Lester looked enough like you to pull it off, right Legs? And once you took his shoes, the ones without the three-inch lifts in them, you were walking around at your real height, instead of the one everybody was used to. So you looked more like him.”

  “DNA?” Mahoney asked. Legs was looking at whomever was speaking, as if he were a spectator, enjoying the show. After all, we were talking about how clever he was—what’s not to like?

  “All they got was a hair from the piece of cabbage Legs has on his head,” I said. Legs involuntarily touched himself on the head to make sure it was still there. “That actually worked to his advantage, since the cops got a DNA match on a guy who was executed in the state of Texas seven years ago, and that totally confused them. It always pays to get a real human hair wig, does-n’t it, Legs?”

  “I said, stop calling me that!” he bellowed.

  “Did you know that you were wearing a murderer’s hair, Legs?” I asked. “That’s kind of, I don’t know, symmetrical, isn’t it?”

  “So, where did the money go?” Mahoney asked. “The cops didn’t find it in any of his accounts.”

  “They won’t find it in my accounts,” said Legs, pleased to pat himself on the back for his own ingenuity. “My mother is laundering it for me.”

  “Forty-four years old and still doing his laundry at Mom’s,” Mahoney said, clucking his tongue and shaking his head. “Pathetic.”

  “Clearly, Stephanie knows about all this, or she wouldn’t have led us to this room for you to shoot us, right Leggsy?” If I could get him angry enough to make a large movement before he taped us to the chair, Mahoney or I (better Mahoney) could rush him.

  Legs laughed. “Yeah, Stephanie knows,” he said.

  “How’d you get her to go along with it?” I asked.

  The voice from the doorway was one laced with nostalgia and sex. “Go along with it?” Stephanie asked. “Do you really think he was smart enough to think this all up himself?”

  She stood in the doorway in a matching trenchcoat, although hers was more of the tan-colored Humphrey Bogart type. Of course, it flattered her. I thought in that moment that the old hotel keys were better. These “slide-the-card-through-the-machine” things just didn’t make enough noise, and someone could sneak in on you like this.

  “I knew Mr. Mahoney would be here,” she said. “You have a habit of hiding him in the closet, don’t you, Aaron? Sorry Louis got here so early.”

  Stephanie’s face was hard and emotionless, and I had never seen her look like that before. She walked in and took the gun from Legs without so much as a blink. He gave it to her, and actually seemed to flinch a little as she reached for it.

  “Tie them up,” she said. “I’ll hold the gun.”

  “So it was your idea, huh Steph?” I asked.

  “Naturally,” she said. “Louis couldn’t come up with a decent plan to get himself from one room to another. You have to blame yourself for this, Aaron. If you hadn’t found out more than you were supposed to, and then told me what you knew, we would-n’t have to shut you up on our way to the airport. But we have to buy a few hours before the flight leaves.”

  “I’m disappointed,” I admitted. “I thought better of you than this.”

  “Why?” she asked. “Because I was the girl from high school with the big tits that everybody wanted to go to bed with? We never really knew each other all that well, Aaron, so that’s the only image you could be clinging to.”

  I’d been thinking quite a bit about it, so I was ready. “That wasn’t it at all, Steph,” I said. “You’re right that the image I had from twenty-five years ago was the one I was using, but it wasn’t just about sex. I never seriously considered sex with you, because I thought I was out of your league. That was before Abby taught me about leagues. I was a skinny little kid who didn’t fit into any group, and you used to talk to me sometimes. You, the coolest girl in the class. So that was what I wanted. If I could impress the cool girl, then maybe I could be cool, too.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said as Legs finished taping Mahoney to his chair. “But you’re never going to be cool.”

  “Big news,” said Mahoney.

  I cut him off. “Why me, Steph? Why’d you insist that I write about the murder, instead of just taking off with the dork and the money?” I pointed at Legs.

  “There were some financial details that hadn’t been completed yet, and we needed to stay in the country for a few weeks to make sure no one suspected Louis was still alive,” Stephanie said. “Louis, get the legs.” Gibson almost reacted at the word “legs,” then started in on Mahoney’s with the tape.

  “But you didn’t answer why you needed me,” I reminded her.

  “You were insurance, Aaron. I could get information on what the police knew through you, and I could control which way the press was going by controlling you. You got just enough information to keep you going.”

  Damn it! I wasn’t just going to get shot. Now I had to tell my wife she was right, too. Boy was I was having a day!

  “But you didn’t control me,” I said. Got to get some of your own back.

  “I did for a while. Long enough,” said Steph. Her eyes were devoid of emotion. “Besides, you were a great witness. You’d seen me at the reunion, and you could testify I was in New Jersey only a few hours after poor Louis had been killed.”

  “Should I put tape on his mouth?” Legs asked Stephanie, pointing to Mahoney.

  “Hopefully, it won’t be necessary,” she said. “Start taping Aaron.” Legs obediently walked over and started wrapping duct tape around my arms and the armchair.

  “I get the better chair,” I teased Mahoney.

  “Could you please tape his mouth?” Mahoney asked.

  Once Legs had me securely fastened to the chair, Stephanie put the gun into her coat pocket. “You’re not going to shoot us?” I asked her.

  “Not unless we have to,” she said. “We’re not cold-blooded murderers.”

  “I think Lester might disagree,” I said. “How did you get him to show up at Cheri’s that day?”

  “The way I get any man to do anything,” she answered. “I told him I was going to have sex with him, told him I was getting revenge on Louis for all his affairs. Then we got in with a key Louis had made. Lester showed up with his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out of his mouth.”

  “I have a dog like that,” I said. “Did Lester pee on the rug, too?”

  “That’s very funny, Aaron,” she said, and a shiver ran down my back.

  “Must have been a shock to you, Legs, when they show up and you’re already naked on the bed. Talk about your interruptus.”

  “I knew they were coming,” said Legs. “I was just expecting them later.”

  “It wasn’t anything I hadn’t already seen,” Stephanie said. “And believe me, it isn’t really worth looking at.”

  “Ouch,” said Mahoney. Legs actually winced a little. I was glad Abby never talked about me like that. At least not in front of me.

  “So you drove up to New Jersey, immediately parked near, but not at, the airport, flew back down to D.C., killed Lester, and then flew back up to Jersey, so it could be established you were up here when the cops figured Legs had been killed?” Mahoney had the itinerary all worked out.

  “Very good,” said Stephanie. “I thought that part would be enough to throw everyone off, but you’ve become a real problem, Aaron. You didn’t even respond when I tried to seduce you, and that always works.”

  “I’m seduce-proof. Except for my wife, who can seduce me pretty much by breathing.” Competition brings out the best in women.

  “That was the moment when we first started thinking that you might not be totally controllable,” said Stephanie. Of course, it doesn’t bring out the bes
t in all women. That didn’t bode well. Best to distract her.

  “So you couldn’t get Lester to lie down,” I continued, “and you stabbed him right there, next to the bed. You had to work fast to mop up the blood, didn’t you, Steph?”

  “Good thing I had my club soda nearby,” Legs chimed in, proud of himself for having gotten something right. Stephanie rolled her eyes a little.

  “How’d you make sure he didn’t have any clothes on already?” I asked Stephanie. “There were no fibers on the knife.”

  “We had our. . . foreplay in the living room,” she said. “Lester already had his shirt off before we went in to consummate the relationship. The poor man, he really was awfully confused.”

  “You took a big chance that old Cherie would take a shower at just the right time,” Mahoney pointed out.

  “Not really,” said Legs. “The original plan was to make it look like she killed me. But she took long showers all the time after we made love.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” said Mahoney.

  “Now that we’ve answered all your questions, boys, I’m afraid we’ll have to leave you.” Stephanie motioned Legs toward the door, and he obeyed. “We have a plane to catch.” To Legs: “we’ll take my car.”

  “A plane to a place without an extradition treaty with the United States, I’m sure,” I said. “You’re traveling under false names with very, very expensive counterfeit passports, right? And I’ll bet Mom has already funneled the money out of whatever accounts she was hiding them in and into a numbered Swiss account.”

  “Cayman,” said Legs, and Stephanie flashed him an angry look.

  “Your mother is really a case,” I told Legs. “You kill her own son, and she actually helps you get away with it.”

  “She’s getting a decent cut of the money for her trouble,” Legs boasted. “She’ll be a wealthy woman for the rest of her life.”

  “You’re lucky she doesn’t have a conscience,” I said. “Of course, she’s modeling her life on that of Eva Braun, so. . .”

  “Not everyone can be as morally perfect as you, Aaron,” said Stephanie. “Louis, it’s time.”

  He turned and walked out of the room. Stephanie walked over to the chair where I was restrained. She knelt to make sure she was making eye contact.

  “Don’t think about screaming your way out,” she said. “I need enough time to get us to the airport. So I requested a room with no one on either side, and the upper floors here have better soundproofing. They don’t want to annoy the guests who pay six hundred dollars a night.”

  “I don’t get it, Steph,” I said. “Was this all about the money? You’re going off to live the rest of your life with a guy who cheats on you on a daily basis, away from your children, and you can never come back. Is the money worth it?”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Let’s see what money is worth,” Stephanie said. “Here’s the ten thousand dollars you were going to get from Snapdragon. I’m willing to bet that you won’t tell them the whole story, and they won’t print it, so I’m reimbursing you ahead of time. You won’t want to admit your embarrassing role in this, and you won’t want to soil the reputation of good old Steph Jacobs, who’s been on your pedestal since you were sixteen. Here.” She put the money in my inside jacket pocket.

  “You think my taking the money proves that I’m as bad as you? That I’d kill an innocent man and live my life with a lizard like Legs Gibson for money?”

  She knelt back down next to me, and whispered in my ear. “It’s not just the money,” she said. “I actually love him.” I looked at her, and couldn’t stop myself.

  “Why?” I asked, and she shrugged. Then Stephanie stood up and started toward the door. She stopped, turned, and walked to Mahoney, who looked up at her in wonder. Then, Stephanie leaned down and kissed him hard on the lips for a long moment. When the kiss was finished, she turned on her heels and walked briskly out the hotel room door without looking back.

  Mahoney and I stared at each other for a while, then he broke into a wide grin.

  “See?” he said. “I told you she liked me better.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-Six

  We didn’t bother to scream for the longest time, although Mahoney did make one spirited attempt to wiggle his chair over toward the desk and dial the phone with his tongue. When that didn’t work, we sat and waited. I screamed once, but that was only because I hadn’t gone to the bathroom before they taped us to the chairs. When he found out why I was screaming, Mahoney gave it a try, but neither of our hearts was in it.

  Lucky for us, Barry Dutton checks his voice mail on Saturdays, and two Midland Heights cops (with two New Brunswick cops along for the ride) found us in the room about an hour and a half after Stephanie and Legs had left. I told them what had happened, but even Mason Abrams (who also checked his messages, and had called Barry in the interim) couldn’t get the Feds to Newark Airport before whatever flight they had taken was long gone.

  The cops cut us loose. I told them about the money in my jacket, that it was a bribe meant to keep us quiet, and they took it for evidence. I made sure it all went into a plastic bag, and was counted before it was marked. I didn’t want anyone to think I’d taken a dime.

  It did make me wonder about Gail Rayburn, though. Here, someone had asked me to compromise my values, and offered me a good deal of money to do it. I had given serious thought to keeping my mouth shut about it, and Mahoney would have backed me up.

  Ten grand is a lot of money in my neighborhood. But the thought of having ten thousand of Legs Gibson’s dollars paying for my son’s summer camp just didn’t feel right.

  We got home about five, and Abby made both Mahoney and me tell the whole story out of the kids’ earshot. This was easy, since Ethan was in his room playing video games and Leah was at Melissa’s house, handing over E-LIZ-abeth, whom she decided scared Warren too much. Warren had, in fact, refused to walk into Leah’s room, causing her much mental anguish. So the lizard went to live across the street, with another of its own kind. Those worms didn’t stand a chance.

  “You two really are a pair of detectives,” she said with great sarcasm. “If Ms. Cleavage and her husband hadn’t decided to let you live, I’d be explaining to the kids how their Daddy would not be coming home anymore.” She actually got a little moist in the eye at that suggestion, and she clenched her teeth with anger at our foolhardy actions. Then, being a Jewish woman, she began cooking. She started water boiling for pasta.

  “We had a backup plan,” I said. “I was going to be so witty and charming that she’d fall in love with me and ditch Legs.”

  “But she liked me better,” boasted Mahoney.

  “Nice plan,” said my wife.

  “What can I tell you, Abby?” I said. “I relied on my feelings. I never really thought that we were in danger. They were much more intent on showing us how superior they were than in killing us. And they’ve gotten everything they wanted.”

  She thought about that. “Yeah, you and your keen sense of human nature,” Abby snarled. “You kept insisting Stephanie did-n’t kill her husband.”

  “Well, she didn’t.”

  “So she killed her brother-in-law. That’s a minor distinction,” said my wife. The water was close to boiling, and she started creating an Alfredo sauce that would cause me to expand by a belt notch or two.

  “Actually, we never really did establish which one of them killed Lester,” I pointed out. “They were both there. They both knew the plan. It could have been either one of them.”

  Abby turned and gave me a “give me a break” look. “You know perfectly well that Louis wasn’t strong enough mentally to do that to his brother. You know that it was Stephanie’s plan from the beginning. You know, deep down in your heart, that she killed Lester Gibson without so much as a second thought.”

  “I don’t know that at all,” I said. Off her look, I added, “I might suspect it. . .”

  While Mahoney called hi
s wife, Abby started the pasta in the water and finished the sauce. I sidled up to her while she was stirring something, and put my arm around her waist.

  “You really do love me as much as I love you, don’t you?” I said.

  She turned and studied my face. “Of course I do, you idiot,” she said, and we fell together into a very enjoyable embrace, which was spoiled by a lump digging into my left side. Abby looked at me strangely, until I removed the tape recorder from my inside jacket pocket.

  “Did you have that on the whole time they were telling you about their evil scheme?” my wife asked, amazed at my deviousness.

  “Naturally,” I said. “If I got shot, I wanted you to hear about how I wasn’t interested in sleeping with Stephanie.”

  “You know,” she said, “while you were out, I finished reading your script.”

  “No kidding.”

  “No, no kidding,” said my wife.

  “And?”

  “And, it’s very good.” Ah, the moment I live for.

  Mahoney didn’t want to stay for dinner, so I had twice as much fettuccine Alfredo as I should have, but that didn’t seem very important at the time. I spent most of dinner gazing at my wife and children, and wondering how I could have been stupid enough to put my life on the line for a measly ten grand.

  That said, I still had the five thousand words to write on Legs and how he hadn’t actually been murdered, but had instead killed his brother and stolen his toupee, committing crimes against both society and good taste. After the kids went to bed, which was quite late, I started writing.

  I won’t bore you with all five thousand words (and besides, you should pick up a copy of Snapdragon and read all about it), but it began:

  By Aaron Tucker

  Everyone was agreed on one thing: Louis Gibson was an asshole.

  The problem is: the use of the word “was” in that last sentence is premature. The fact is, Louis Gibson is still an ass-hole, a living, breathing one, and he is in all likelihood enjoying himself immensely on an exclusive nude beach as you read this, spending some of the thirteen million dollars he stole from private citizens right before he killed his own brother and robbed him of his toupee.