Requiem for Moses

by William Kienzle

  It was the ultimate turnoff. He dressed hurriedly and, without bothering to check on her well-being—physical or mental—departed.

  He was at Virago early the next morning. Too early; he’d had far too much to drink after he got home. But there were things that needed doing, and he was the only one capable of making these decisions.

  He was unsure what to make of that fiasco with Judy last night. There was no doubt she would add an unprecedented touch of class to the club. But he now had serious doubts about her mistress role.

  Having learned, or so he thought, from his experience with Margie, he had never married. But if he hadn’t had a limitless supply of condoms, he could easily have become known as the latter-day Father of our Country.

  Still, he had been completely fooled by Judy. The way she danced, the way she looked, the way she acted—he might even, in time, have considered marriage.

  But now—well that was out of the question. Hell, he doubted that he’d ever again even attempt sex with her.

  Such were his thoughts when Joe Blinstraub knocked and entered the office. He held out a packet that had been hand-delivered for Cameron. It contained a videocassette and an envelope. Taped to the cassette was a typed note that read, “Play this first.”

  Cameron, puzzled, handed the cassette to Blinstraub, who inserted it into the VCR.

  The furrows in Cameron’s forehead deepened momentarily, as a few blurry lines appeared on the screen. His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened as the blurred lines cleared to capture last night’s romp in Judy’s bed. With no lead-in to what had actually taken place, it looked for all the world as if he had raped the girl.

  In a rage, he ripped open the envelope and read the enclosure:

  Jake:

  You never looked better.

  A couple of things you ought to know: One, the young lady you were with is not Judy Young. She is Judith Green, my daughter. And two, Young is a small pun on my part. Actually, she is fifteen, not eighteen.

  Jake, all this comes down to statutory rape. With more than enough evidence.

  But why should I threaten you? Especially when we are about to merge the ownership of Virago—and all future Viragos.

  What are partners for, anyway?

  Your new partner,

  Moe

  P.S. My lawyer will be calling on your lawyer.

  Cameron crumpled the letter and slam-dunked it in the wastebasket. “Have you figured it out yet, Joe?”

  Blinstraub shook his head.

  “Judy Young, our star for the day, is really Judith Green.”

  Blinstraub’s mouth dropped open. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Wait—you didn’t really—!”

  “Damn it, Joe, I laid her, I didn’t rape her!”

  “Okay, okay—”

  “You remember her age on the résumé?”

  “Eighteen, wasn’t it?”

  “Right: eighteen. And guess what? Guess how old she really is.”

  “Uh … not fifteen!”

  “Right again, Joe. And that’s statutory. They’ve got the tape. And, in exchange for letting Green into our organization, he’ll sit on the evidence.”

  “Blackmail!”

  Cameron, teeth gritted, nodded.

  “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  “You’re a lawyer. Anything come to mind?”

  Blinstraub, eyes closed, shook his head. “No.”

  “Better get ready, Joe. Green’s attorney will be calling—today, I’ll bet.”

  “And the girl—Judy Young—uh, Green—what about her?”

  “She gave quite a performance. If you knew all that went on last night, you’d figure that she was just a nervous virgin. I’m tellin’ you, Joe, it wasn’t even close to rape. But damned if she didn’t make it look like rape. Oh, yeah, quite a performance. But her final curtain. I don’t think we’ll be seeing her again.”

  THE PRESENT

  “And so we haven’t,” Cameron concluded.

  “Incredible,” Father Koesler said. “He used his own daughter to blackmail you into making him a partner. That’s really incredible.”

  “The more you think about it, the more incredible it is. I paid off the loan nineteen years ago. That’s when Moe decided he wanted to be a part of my business. That’s when I decided he’d have to accept me as a partner in his enterprises or it was no deal.

  “God knows when Moe decided on blackmail. But at the time he wanted in, his kid was—what … two? That means he waited around thirteen years so he could screw me with his own daughter. What a mind! He could make that Italian guy … Machiavelli … look like Forrest Gump!

  “Even then, I’m not sure he could’ve pulled it off except that I was asleep at the switch. I should’ve known better. What would a talent like Judy be doing in a topless place? At least I should’ve checked it out. On top of that, she’s got a lot of her mother’s features.”

  Cameron, with a benevolent smile, looked directly into the priest’s eyes. “That give you any material for your sermon?”

  “Not hardly.” Koesler almost laughed. The enormity of Green’s duplicity ruled that out.

  “But”—Koesler looked puzzled—“you show no anger. You don’t seem to be holding any sort of grudge. How come?”

  Cameron shoved his hands into his pockets. “Oh, I was plenty steamed when it all happened. Even now that he’s dead I can’t forget all the crap that he dumped in my life. But there’s one final thing ….” He grinned as if he were having the last laugh. “Three weeks ago, he announced that he was going to get together with the rest of the shareholders—to buy me out. I think he could’ve done it, too.

  “So if I seem happy, I am: The son-of-a-bitch couldn’t have picked a better time to die.” He grinned again, sardonically. “I guess the only reason I’m here is to make sure they plant him.”

  Koesler checked his everpresent watch. It hadn’t taken Cameron as long as it had seemed to tell his tale. As the priest looked around, he spied Mrs. Green—she who preferred being called Margie. Thanks to Cameron’s tale, Koesler saw her now in an entirely different light.

  She was still surrounded by friends and well-wishers. And she still did not seem in the least a grieving widow. Koesler wondered what her story might be if she were to unburden herself à la Cameron.

  “I wish I could break in on Mrs. Green,” Koesler said. “Thanks for your help and all, Mr. Cameron, but Mrs. Green promised me some—I trust—useful background I can use for the eulogy—brief though it may be.”

  “I think,” Cameron said, “that you’re going to get some more feedback from that couple over there who are eyeing us. I know at least part of the woman’s relationship with Moe. But, unless I’m mistaken, you won’t be able to use her stuff either. Now, pardon me while I slip outside. I really need a smoke.”

  Cameron turned and headed for the door.

  Koesler reflected that it was a lucky thing that Green had died of natural causes. If it had been murder, Jake Cameron would make a prime suspect.

  Revenge would be an obvious motive for all the meddling the doctor had done in Cameron’s life and career. An even stronger motive would be Green’s latest threat to cut Cameron completely out of the business he had built from scratch. To shatter Cameron’s dream come true. Driven to this point, Cameron probably would stop at nothing to prevent Green from stripping the dream away.

  But, for now, the couple that Cameron had pointed out were, indeed, approaching, and purposefully.

  Koesler prayed they would have something reasonably positive to say about Dr. Green.

  Chapter Five

  They were a handsome young couple, he tall and rugged, with piercing blue eyes and thick dark blond hair; she with brilliant red hair and a face and figure of classic beauty. They were headed directly for Koesler. There was no point in trying to move away. Besides, despite Cameron’s prediction, they might just have a reminiscence or two he could use.

  “You’re the pastor here, Father?�
� the woman asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re going to speak about Dr. Green?”

  “Right again … at least that’s the plan.” During the past few minutes, he had been busy making resolutions never to let himself get into a jam like this again. All the while he knew such panic resolutions were not worth the paper they were not written on.

  “Well,” the young woman said, “I’m Claire McNern and this is my fiancé, Stan Lacki.”

  Koesler had known a Lacki in the seminary. Put a couple of curlicues on a couple of the letters and Lacki is pronounced a very Polish Wonski. An Irish girl marrying a Polish boy. Nice.

  “We saw you talking to Jake Cameron. He’s a partner of Dr. Green and you were talking so seriously, we figured that you were probably talking about the doctor.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, Father,” she said, “I don’t know what Jake was telling you. There were rumors about Jake and the doctor, but I don’t know how true they are.”

  “You have some connection with the club? Virago?”

  “I used to dance there.” She blushed.

  You don’t find that much anymore. Blushing, Koesler feared, had become somewhat old-fashioned. Personally, he liked it.

  “You see,” she said without further preamble, “like I said, Stan and I are getting married. At least we plan to. But we’ve got some problems. A couple of big ones. It’s like this, Father: Stan here works in a service station. He doesn’t just pump gas; he’s a terrific mechanic. And I wait tables at Carl’s Chop House.”

  Ah, thought Koesler, she left showbiz. I wonder why. But this is beginning to sound like a problem I could better handle in the rectory. It’s certainly not getting me more prepared to say anything about the deceased.

  “Excuse me, Father,” she continued. “I’m really nervous. This is kind of a personal problem. Stan and I really need to find somebody who’s willing to take the time with us and listen. And, while you were talking with Jake, Stan here said, ‘You know, Claire, that priest seems awful patient. He seems real interested in what Cameron is telling him. Maybe we can talk to him.’”

  That did it. These people really wanted—needed—to talk. Koesler could not find it within himself to turn them away. Even if they didn’t tell him anything about Moe Green; if worst came to worst he could always go generic.

  “Well, see, Father …”

  She would tell the story. But Stan was leaning in close. His very nearness would join him to the narration.

  “This happened about two years ago. I was auditioning for a job as a dancer at Virago. I was nervous as hell—oh, excuse me, Father.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve been that nervous.” If I had any sense, Koesler thought, I’d be that scared now.

  “Did you ever try out for something,” she asked, “and you were real confident until you got a look at what the other contestants could do? And then you knew you were way out of your league? Well, that’s what happened to me at Virago a couple of years ago.

  “I was second last of eighteen girls. All the other girls had competed before. So they were all winners already. They’d won auditions before. So they were the cream of the crop. I got there ‘cause a friend of mine was a friend of one of the big shots at Virago.

  “When I saw what these kids could do, I knew I shouldn’t have even been there. But when my turn finally came, I gave it my best shot.”

  THE PAST

  Dr. Moses Green chuckled. “Where in the world did you find her?”

  Jake Cameron was sore, and he sounded it. “Joe Blinstraub owed a favor. The only thing we had to agree to was to include her in the audition.”

  Since becoming a partner, Green had assumed an active role at Virago, much to Cameron’s exasperation and distress. Whenever an audition was scheduled, Green made every effort to attend. Only rarely did he allow his medical practice to interfere.

  “Going to take her on, Jake?” Green chortled.

  Cameron merely snorted.

  Then Green leaned forward. Something had occurred to him. After several moments of reflection, he drew his chair closer to Cameron’s. Competing against the music, the doctor spoke loudly into Cameron’s ear. “Take her on, Jake.”

  Cameron turned to him. “You crazy?”

  “Not often, but this time yes. She’ll be lucky if she gets off that stage in one piece. A little bad luck in that routine and she could hurt herself.”

  The suggestion didn’t make any sense at all. But, in Cameron’s experience, the doctor usually got what he wanted.

  “Jake,” Green said, still speaking over the music, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re planning a big finale à la Las Vegas, with all the dancers, at the end of each evening’s major set.”

  Cameron nodded slowly.

  “Put her in that. Stick her back in the back row, put her in the wings—hell, put her backstage if you want.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense at all, Moe. The broad is here as a favor, nothing more. We didn’t know anything about her; she might’ve turned out to be good. As it is, she stinks. We’ll let her finish her routine—if you could call it that. Then she’s outta here.”

  “Tell you what,” Green persisted, “take her on and I’ll personally see that she gets professional instruction. If, after she gets the training, she can’t make this line legitimately, she’s history. But, in the meantime, she dances at Virago. I don’t care where. The ladies’ room.”

  “Why bother? We got enough pros in this batch to fill our needs.”

  “Jake, remember that revolving stage you were planning?”

  Cameron winced.

  “I was going to provide the financing.”

  “Was going?”

  “I think I’m running kind of short.”

  “So are professional basketball players.”

  “I’m just thinking of your timetable, Jake. The stage was your next priority.”

  “We can afford it if you’re strapped.”

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  “But not now.”

  Cameron slumped in his chair. He hated to lose. He hated it that he never beat Green. Not once. “Okay, okay. But just as a matter of curiosity, why? Why go to all this trouble? She’s just a broad. You’ve had hundreds. I don’t see anything special about her. Good tits and ass. But that’s not hard to find. Why Claire McNern?”

  Green sat back, relishing his victory. “Because, Jake, she knows how bad she is.”

  “Huh?”

  “She knows. I’ve been watching her. At first I didn’t see anything unique or even special about her. But I watched her expression as the other girls performed. She was stunned—amazed, thunderstruck, embarrassed. And then, when she got up to perform, it all became clear. She knows.”

  “So?”

  “Don’t you get it? I’m going to be her Abraham Lincoln … no, make that Swifty Lazar—hell, a combination of the two.”

  “What?”

  “The key to this whole thing is that the girl has learned a lesson today. She’s not Ginger Rogers. She hasn’t a chance in hell of dancing at Virago. Then, along comes me. I have taken pity on her. I’m gonna be her sugar daddy. I give her the Impossible Dream. I get her a job in Virago. It’s not much; in fact, the customers can barely see her. But she’s in. She made it.

  “On top of all that, I provide lessons from the best. So she can gradually move up. And, most of all, she doesn’t have to hide in a corner when somebody like Jake Cameron offers her an audition.”

  “Some plan.”

  “Is she going to be grateful? I ask you. She will wonder what she possibly can do to repay my concern, my caring, my financial investment.”

  “And you will have some ideas on the matter.”

  “I’ll think of something.”

  Jake gave Claire the good news. Miraculous news, in Claire’s opinion. And, indeed it was. Cameron also revealed to Claire the identity of her fairy godfather. It was part of the deal struck betw
een Moe and Jake, whereby Cameron got his revolving stage and Green got his mistress.

  Green carefully assessed his prey before getting to what he considered “the good part.” He investigated her background before making his move. Irish Catholic parents; six siblings, all living. From first grade through high school, Catholic training. Two years of Catholic college.

  Green could relate. At least on paper, this was the way Green had raised his two children. Well, actually, Margie had raised them. But Moe had been an attentive onlooker.

  Fortunately for Green’s purposes, Claire McNern’s parents had all but disowned her when she began her career in show business. If forced to choose—and they had been—her brother and sisters sided with their parents.

  Thus, she would not have to be weaned from hearth and home.

  Green set her up in a quasi-luxurious apartment and sent her to a highly recommended professional dance instructor. He planned everything carefully and, as it turned out, correctly. Although it rubbed wrong his entire being, all he did was give, give, give. He asked for nothing. He dismissed her avowals that, once established, she would repay him for all the considerable investment he had made in her.

  Eventually, and in Green’s mind, inevitably, one pleasant evening when he was paying her one of his frequent visits, she would be wearing a seductive, revelatory, and—to her—sinful negligee.

  Still he held off.

  Instead of forcing himself upon her, he pushed the final button. He detailed a fabricated description of his loveless marriage. It had, he reluctantly admitted, been years since he had enjoyed the physical love of a caring woman.

  She had almost exploded.

  Among the many pleasures of that night, he had discovered that she was a virgin. But not anymore.

  From the very beginning, his plans for Claire had been open-ended. In one scenario, he would have sex with her as early in their relationship as possible. Or he might prolong the suspense, then take her quickly, then drop her. The way things actually transpired, it was almost too good to be true. And to think he had made it up as he went along!

  Now there was no way he would put her out of his life. With his convincing fiction, he had created the perfect woman-on-the-side.