Devil's Dance

by Daniel Depp

  ‘There was drink.’

  ‘Walter started drinking when Number One left him. He was practically teetotal before that. You should have seen him. Handsome kid, like something out of Jay Gatsby. A real athlete. He rowed, did you know that? She put the spurs into him and that set the booze flowing. I watched it happen.’ He blew a smoke ring and thoughtfully watched it float toward the ceiling. Then he said, ‘Cancer. Walter was dying.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Liver, prostate, bone, you name it. They didn’t even have to open him up, no use. The X-rays looked like a satellite photo of Africa. He had three, four months left, max, and they weren’t going to be pretty. I don’t even want to think about the pain. The amount of dope they had him on alone should have killed him. A few more pills would have done the job. The Beverly Wilshire thing, that was Walter just being funny. He swore he’d get even. I remember when he said it.’

  ‘I thought he was drinking.’

  ‘Nah. His liver couldn’t process it anymore, for, what, the last six months. And he couldn’t take it anyway with all that dope. Walter died, my friend, as sober as a Mormon.’

  Bernie had that rare talent, exclusive to the best attorneys, of knowing when to shut up. He allowed Spandau to sit there. Finally Spandau said:

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me, Bernie?’

  ‘What would you have done? Walter needed someone to keep the business going. He didn’t want you worrying about that and him too. He figured you had enough problems, am I right? Walter also didn’t want any goddamn fuss. And he would never have gotten away with that Beverly Wilshire thing. Walter always knew what he was doing.’

  Bernie leaned forward, opened a thick file on the desk, leafed through it.

  ‘His estate is in good shape, he made sure of that. In fact he had all this worked out long ago, so there’s no question of him being of sound mind or whatever. Everything is in good order and there shouldn’t be any glitches unless somebody comes out of the woodwork to complain, which I don’t see. No kids, no living relatives, all the ex-wives taken care of or remarried. The official reading of the will is next week, but barring unforeseen circumstances, you get just about everything. Walter wanted me to tell you as soon as possible.’

  Bernie paused to let this sink in.

  ‘He’s left a nice annuity to his cleaning lady, and there’s some bits to various friends – Pancho’s gets a new kitchen, for instance – but otherwise you’ve got the Palisades house and some other real-estate holdings, and there are stocks and so forth. Walter was well invested, so you’re doing okay, my friend. You are sitting pretty. And there’s the business. It’s yours, if you want it, with a few minor stipulations. You can’t change the name, for instance. Walter was his father’s name too. Walter was firm about that. The company only passes to you if you keep to Walter’s terms. If you decide you don’t want it, then I have instructions to close it down. You’re not going to pass out, are you?’

  Spandau shook his head, got up, went to the window, stood looking out. Bernie couldn’t see his face.

  ‘The bastard,’ Spandau said quietly.

  ‘The accountant is working on all this, so I’ll have a better breakdown for the official reading next week. So you’ve got some time to digest all this, but I’ll have to have your final decision by then. Whatever you decide, Walter requests that you continue any cases that are operational now. He specified the work you’re doing for Frank Jurado and the Charles Marston case. He’d like you to see that they’re completed. The finances are in place to keep things running as long as need be. Is this acceptable?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘He was a good man,’ said Bernie. ‘Better than he ever let on.’

  ‘He was a master manipulator, is what he was.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Bernie, ‘it was one of the things I admired most about him. I could never figure out why he wouldn’t go into politics.’

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Pookie, Leo, and Tina sat in the reception area while Spandau filled them in. When he finished, there was a moment of silence, then Leo said admiringly, ‘Damn!’ and Pookie said:

  ‘Okay, if nobody else is going to ask this, what happens to the business? You’re taking over, right?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Oh god, David …’

  ‘It’s more complicated than you know. There’s Anna. There’s a lot to be considered.’

  ‘Walter stipulated that we finish whatever cases we have on our plates now. The money is there for as long as it takes. So we have time. If we do have to shut down, there’s separation pay. Walter thought of everything. It won’t be that bad. Everybody is taken care of.’

  ‘What if I happen to like it here?’ said Pookie. ‘Like maybe I’m attached now.’

  ‘We’re all attached,’ said Spandau. ‘But you can become un-attached. As Walter would say, what you need right now is a healthy dose of Get Your Ass Back to Work. That goes for all of us.’

  As they headed back to work, Leo said to Spandau:

  ‘I’ve got that Oregon info you wanted.’

  ‘You found me a location?’

  ‘Location, name, address, the works.’

  They went into Spandau’s office. Leo logged on, up came the church website.

  ‘The website’s only been up for about a year, but Father Paul blogs nearly every day about something. Today what is it, let’s see … Ah yeah, great, he’s got about five hundred words here on watching the black squirrels playing outside. It’s like reading Bambi, this guy and his little woodland creatures. This might, you know, actually be the most boring blog on the face of the earth.’

  ‘The photo, Leo.’

  ‘So it was a quick search through the archive for anything about Father Mike or Oregon. Father Mike goes fishing, Father Mike sends us a letter from Oregon, et cetera. It doesn’t say where he goes except somewhere near Ashland, no names of who he stays with. But then here’s a photo. Father Michael holding up a trout, caption says, “Leviathan captured in his own backyard!” Cute, huh?’

  ‘Great, but how does this help us?’

  ‘Hang on. Here’s another photo, Father Mike chilling out in a BarcaLounger. “A well-deserved rest!” Jeez, I dunno if this guy is being sarcastic or he really is this lame. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to blog if it’s this stomach-turning. Look at the wood paneling behind him. I’m amazed people still do that. One more reason why Home Depot should be burned to the ground.’

  ‘Leo.’

  ‘Watch this.’

  He clicked on the photo, then called up the technical information on the photo.

  A few more key strokes and a map of Oregon appeared with two tiny red flags.

  ‘You can see that the photos were taken not far apart.’

  Leo began zooming in on one of the flags.

  ‘This is so cool …’

  Ashland, Oregon. Not far out of town was the river. As Leo went closer roads and street names appeared. He clicked again and the map turned into a satellite photo of a house and its surrounding area.

  ‘Scary, isn’t it?’ said Leo. ‘If we can do this, you have to imagine what the government is capable of. Rebecca Hamlin, 1444 Smithfield Rd, Sparks Creek, Oregon. Age thirty-eight, one son, Michael, age fifteen. She works from home, has a mail-order internet business selling knitting yarns. There’s a Facebook page but I only have public access to it. There are some photos, though. You want to see what she looks like?’

  ‘No,’ said Spandau. ‘I’ve already seen her.’

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Anna said, ‘You didn’t come home last night. I notice these things.’

  They were having lunch at Ago’s on Melrose, out on the garden patio, where you could smoke. Half a dozen celebrities were sucking down nicotine and Pellegrino while having the usual moral dilemma over the menu. You’re dying for the Nodino di Vitella al Balsamico but what you know you’re really going to have is the fucking beet salad.

  ‘It depends on what you mean by
home,’ Spandau said. ‘I worked late at Woodland Hills. I had a load of stuff in the office there to go over. It’s a mess.’

  She looked at him for a moment, then looked at the menu.

  ‘What are you going to have?’ she asked. ‘I’m having the beet salad.’

  Spandau said, ‘I’m having the Nodino di Vitella al Balsamico.’

  ‘You’re being spiteful, aren’t you?’

  ‘And the Castello dei Rampolla,’ he announced, shutting the menu and laying it down.

  ‘The whole bottle?’

  ‘You’re going to split it with me, beet salad be damned. You’re going to need it.’

  ‘Oh god,’ she said. ‘The news was that bad? I’m so sorry, David. But maybe it’s all for the best. You know we’ve been talking about you going off on your own anyway and—’

  ‘The official reading of the will isn’t until next week. But unless somebody challenges it, which isn’t likely, Walter left the whole enchilada to me.’

  ‘He left you the agency?’

  ‘The agency, the house in the Palisades, the real-estate holdings, the stocks and bonds. Just about everything.’

  She was quiet. She stared at him. Her mouth opened, then it closed. Then she said quietly, ‘Well, shit.’

  ‘That pretty much sums up how I feel, as well.’

  ‘The twisted, malicious son of a bitch.’

  ‘I don’t think he did it to piss you off.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure,’ she said. She shook her head. ‘He finally got you, didn’t he, the bastard. He had to blow his brains out, but he won in the end.’

  ‘What in god’s name are you talking about. You’re taking paranoia to a whole new realm here. The man was dying of cancer and he was in a lot of pain. I’m fairly sure he wasn’t thinking of you when he did it. Walter did have other things on his mind, as hard as that is for you to believe.’

  ‘You knew about the cancer?’

  ‘No. I just thought he was drinking. I tore into him about it. I said some things. It was the drugs, the whole time. I thought he was drinking but it was the painkillers. Half the organs in his body were devoured. I can’t imagine what it must have been like.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  They ordered. Spandau asked for the wine to be brought quickly.

  ‘I suppose it simplifies things.’

  ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ he said. ‘How do you figure that?’

  ‘Your choices are made for you. He made them.’

  ‘I haven’t made any choices. Not yet anyway, not without talking to you. I’m not obliged to take over the business.’

  ‘What happens if you don’t?’

  ‘Walter’s stipulations are that it be dissolved. He didn’t want anyone else running it. Whether I take over or not doesn’t affect anything else. I still inherit and Pookie and Leo get a nice severance package. So no, he didn’t pull a fast one and lock me into it. There’s no pressure.’

  The wine came. The waiter poured a thimbleful into Spandau’s glass. Nobody was in the mood for the pretense of sniffing and he motioned the waiter to fill the glasses. The waiter seemed a little disappointed though in his experience only the assholes ever sent it back. The waiter eased away and Spandau attacked his vino with more than a little desperation.

  ‘I don’t see what there is to discuss, then,’ she said. ‘It’s your decision.’

  ‘I thought we might talk about it.’

  ‘Like there’s anything to talk about. Look, congratulations, you’re a rich man now or whatever. Your options in life have greatly increased. I’m sure things are starting to look different.’

  ‘Jesus, Anna, will you just say what the hell is on your mind?’

  ‘How long have you known about this? I find it difficult to believe you had no idea, that he didn’t at least drop you a few hints.’

  ‘I found out about it today. And no, Walter didn’t drop any hints.’

  ‘You never thought what would happen if he died? I mean, the man was drinking himself to death anyway.’

  ‘I never gave it much thought. I suppose I figured it would be like we’ve talked about, I’d start something up for myself. Something a little less stressful. I’ve been running things while he’s been gone, and it’s no picnic. Walter was good at the socializing crap and I’m not, it’s too high profile. And I don’t like sitting behind a desk pushing papers around. That’s not me.’

  ‘So what’s the problem? Don’t do it.’

  ‘It’s not that easy,’ he said.

  ‘Why not?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘You don’t owe him anything,’ she said. ‘Especially not to spend the rest of your life running the Walter fucking Coren memorial detective agency. I’ll bet he stipulated you can’t change the name. He did, didn’t he?’

  Spandau smiled in spite of himself.

  ‘I knew it. Even beyond the grave he’s figured out how to take advantage of you. Are you sure he’s dead? Maybe he’s just set all this up and is shacked up somewhere laughing his ass off. I wouldn’t put it past him.’

  ‘He was my friend,’ said Spandau. ‘I know that doesn’t mean a goddamned thing to you, but it does to me.’

  Even as she said it, Anna realized she’d gone too far. Of course it was what she felt, but she hadn’t meant to say it and now there was that look on his face, the look where his jaw muscles tightened and his brown eyes went a little liquid and she knew she’d hurt him to the quick and that he’d never quite forgive her. It was one of those moments where, in repair, you were now obliged to utter the real truth in spite of the dignity it cost.

  ‘Are you going to leave me?’ she asked him.

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘In my experience,’ she said, ‘you should always get very nervous when someone answers a question with another question.’

  ‘I’m not going to leave you,’ he said.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’ll have to check my calendar,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think I’ve got it down anywhere.’

  She tried not to cry, she really did. Tried hiding behind the upturned wineglass but there was just so long you could keep it there without actually drinking. When she lowered it she could feel the tiny landslides of carefully applied make-up.

  ‘Shit,’ she said.

  ‘Anna.’

  ‘You’re all fucking weird lately, and heading off in the middle of the night. We don’t talk anymore, we fight all the goddamn time and I have no idea why. You don’t come home last night and now there’s all this. You bastard, if you’re leaving me then at least you could have the decency to be honest about it.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. Anna, look at me. I’m not.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I have a choice,’ she said, ‘between sitting here and being really obvious about bawling my head off, or running through half of Hollywood trying to make it to the restroom. Which do you think is the better option?’

  ‘I think I’d turn my chair slightly to the left,’ he said, ‘and just have it.’

  Which is what she did. The waiter came with their salads and while her make-up looked like Emmett Kelly’s she was past caring. Spandau held her hand across the table and she wouldn’t let him take it away. The beet salad disappeared and Spandau drained the Chianti. She ate half of his lamb and slipped off a shoe to nuzzle his crotch under the table. Never pass up a chance to celebrate even the little victories.

  FORTY-NINE

  Oregon was damp and cold. Spandau found himself in yet another rented car, this one at least giving him a chance to stretch his legs. Rain splattered on the windshield as he followed the directions snapped at him by the GPS. ‘Merge left. In half a mile, make a sharp right turn.’ The female voice was cold, curt, and vaguely disapproving. Somehow you felt there was an implied ‘fathead’ silently tacked onto the end of every order.

  He came over a rise and saw the creek and the house beyond. It was a relief
to shut off the ill-tempered GPS. A small wooden bridge spanned the creek and rattled uneasily as he crossed. The house itself was a two-story clapboard structure a hundred yards slightly uphill from the water. A chain-link fence outlined most of the property. Spandau pulled off across the road from the front gate. Inside the fence a teenage boy with Down’s syndrome played in the dirt with a set of metal toy trucks. Spandau got out of the car and the boy trotted to the fence to meet him.

  ‘You’re not the mailman,’ said the boy.

  ‘No,’ said Spandau.

  ‘I got a package coming,’ said the boy. ‘It’s a fire truck. My mom got it on eBay.’

  ‘Fire trucks are cool,’ said Spandau.

  ‘I’ll let you see it when it comes,’ said the boy. ‘Fire trucks are cool.’

  ‘You’re Mikey?’

  ‘How’d you know my name? I don’t know you.’

  ‘I’m a friend of Father Michael’s.’

  ‘He’s a good friend,’ said the boy. ‘Known him all my life. Mom says he’s grumpy to some people but never to me. He’s going to live with us pretty soon.’

  ‘He must like you an awful lot,’ said Spandau. ‘He’s grumpy to me. Is he here?’

  ‘He’s in the house with Mom. You want me to get him?’

  ‘Would you please?’

  The boy turned to go into the house but already Father Michael was coming out the door. Rebecca Hamlin stood behind him.

  ‘I figured you’d turn up sooner than later,’ said Father Michael. ‘You didn’t strike me as the type who’d leave well enough alone.’

  ‘Is he a bad man?’ Mikey asked the priest.

  ‘No, Mikey, he’s just stupid and nosy. Why don’t you go on into the house while I talk to this gentleman.’

  Mikey went inside, but stood behind the glass weather door with his mother, watching.

  ‘Am I going to have to physically throw your ass back into that car?’ the priest said.