by Bruce Wagner
“I don’t know,” said one of the cops, with mock skepticism. “Sounds like Death-by-Celebrex.”
“Oh, we get the sophisticated ones on the West Side,” said Detective Whitsell, Staniel’s friend from the Academy. “None of that meth-lab trailer trash you guys have to deal with. We’re chasing a gang now who gotta thing going you wouldn’t believe. It’s essentially a lottery scam—we call em the Blind Sister Crew. They just grabbed a million dollars off the sweetest old lady you’ll ever meet. She took a pretty good beating from em too, which was unusual. I mean, these guys are ferocious. Terrorized her just for jollies. But they’re amazing. Talk about imaginative, I’m impressed!”
“You sound like you want to spread for em.”
“Yeah, right after you—I got dibs on the washing machine. But before you blow me, make me a sandwich, will you?”
“How about pork?”
There was laughter all around and Whitsell continued.
“They had to wire her jaw.”
“She can’t open her mouth? Cancel that sandwich.”
More laughter.
“They walk right in the bank with seriously forged papers. They claim to be hooked up with Pataki and Bloomberg, and make sure their marks check out the Town Cars they ride around in—they all have chauffeurs. I mean, these guys could write bestsellers. Da Vinci Code shit. Their scams are so convoluted, the department’s in fucking awe. Have you ever seen any movies by David Mamet? He’s pretty good. Kinda unrealistic, but pretty good. He has a show on cable called The Unit?”
“I got your unit right here.”
“Your dragqueen snitches already told me it’s nothin to write home about.
“I seen that show. It’s good.”
“Entertaining. He writes plays and does movies too. The Heist? I think he wrote Scarface. Naw—something else. Anyway, he did—what’s it called?—I’m blanking—most his movies are about people getting short-conned. Well, these ‘Blind Sisters’ could give Mamet a run for his money. I’m telling you, if they knocked on my door, I might fall for their shit. And the horrible thing is, I just got a call there was a fire over there. At her place—the old lady’s.”
“No shit,” said Staniel.
“Did she burn?”
“Naw, she’s all right.”
“It was the crew? The people that shook her down?”
“We don’t have evidence of that. At this point, I’m not sure I’d be surprised.”
“That’s evil.”
“Nice house too—nice little house. She wasn’t hurt. Had a nurse staying with her. Everybody woke up.”
“Fires tend to do that.”
“Or not.”
“If you don’t have a smoke detector.”
“Our African-American friends tend not to.”
“Where there’s smokes, there’s fire.”
“Racist motherfucker.”
“Blow me.”
“I told you, 1st make me that Maytag sandwich.”
“So they had a little barbecue?”
“House is torched. They pulled her from the bedroom. She’s OK. Shaken up though.”
“Tell me about it.”
The men slipped into simpatico mode.
“On top of everything, they had to use wirecutters cause she was hyperventilating.”
“Jesus.”
“At least now Ma Clampett could give you some acton.”
“You’re evil.”
“Diet Coke evil.”
“Her money stolen, beat up, jaw wired, house burned. Not exactly the Golden Years.”
“More like the Golden Shower Years.”
“Hey now! We’re not talking about what you do with one of your hookers—we’re talking about a sweet little old lady.”
“Think it’s arson?”
“ATF’s all over it. We’re not even close to ending our fraud investigation.”
“ ‘The Blind Sisters.’ Got a nice ring to it.”
“Hey meester,” said the motorcycle cop. “Wanna fuck my blind seester?”
More laughter.
“Kinda makes you wonder,” said Whitsell, “what they’d have been capable of if they applied all that energy to something positive.”
“HIV positive.”
“Yeah. Makes you all wistful.”
“Seriously. These guys could have been CEOs.”
“Right. Too bad. They could’ve founded Halliburton.”
“They coulda come up with the iPod.”
“Or built special washing machines for blowjobs.”
“Only thing is, if they were CEOs…their rapsheets would probably be twice as fucking long!”
They laughed uproariously and tucked into their steaks.
Ray flagged the waiter for another round of drinks.
LXXV.
Chess
In consideration of the payment to me of the sum of EIGHTY-FIVE THOUSAND NINE HUNDRED AND 00/100 ($85,900), I do hereby release and forever discharge GlobalWorld Productions Inc., a Nevada corporation, and its boards, officers, agents, servants and employees from any and all claims and causes of action which I now have, or may hereafter have, on account of injuries sustained resulting from or arising out of an accident which occured on 04/14/06, at 4891 Glen Oaks Way, as particularly described in Claim File No. D7-49117.
For said consideration and as a further inducement to GlobalWorld Productions Inc. to enter into this compromise settlement, I further agree: that this release shall apply to all unknown and unanticipated injuries and damages resulting from or arising out of said accident as well as to injuries and damages now known, disclosed or anticipated; that I have executed this release upon my judgment and that of my own physician and not in reliance upon any statement or representation by any employee, representative or physician representing or purporting to represent GlobalWorld Productions Inc., concerning the nature and extent of my bodily injury or injuries or the nature and extent of my damages or the legal liability therefore; and that I expressly waive the benefits of the provisions of Section 1542 of the Civil Code, which reads as follows: A general release does not extend to claims which the creditor does not know or suspect to exist in his favor at the time of executing the release, which if known by him must have materially affected his settlement with the debtor.
I further understand and agree; that this release is not to be used as evidence of an admission of liability for the damages alleged and described in said Council File No. D7-49117 filed with the City Clerk of the City of Los Angeles; that said payment by GlobalWorld Productions Inc. or by any of its officers or employees is the sole consideration for this release, and is in full settlement and satisfaction of my said Claim File No. D7-49117 and in full satisfaction of all other claims and causes of action which I may now have against GlobalWorld Productions Inc.; that there are no agreements or promises not expressed herein; that the terms of this release are contractual; and that whenever the singular is used herein it includes the plural.
LXXVI.
Marjorie
“MOTHER? Mother, listen. You have to listen, OK? Are you with me? Mama, I don’t know why all this is happening the way it’s happening. But they—the police—don’t think the fire had anything to do with the people who stole your money. Do you understand? Because I don’t want you to feel you aren’t safe. You are! Completely. I’ll take care of you. I love you, Mama! Everyone thinks it was just a coincidence, a horrible, horrible coincidence. It was electrical—they think it was electrical. Do you understand? I am so sorry. Sometimes bad things happen in this world and I know you’ve had your share of terrible things—worse than terrible—all in a row. And it’s crazy. But you’re safe now…we could have lost you—I could have lost you in that fire! And the insurance company’s been great. The house is completely covered. (Which was a lie. The fastidious old woman had understandably missed the last, ill-timed premium payment; Joan was planning to fight that fight with her lawyers). Are you taking any of this in, Mom? There are some things
I want to tell you. Need to tell you…I’m going to have a baby. I’m going to have a baby, Mom! I met a man on a job I was up for in Northern California. Remember? The memorial in Napa? And he’s a very wealthy man. Well, I didn’t get the job, but I got a baby! Isn’t that crazy? We didn’t plan it. We haven’t discussed marriage but he’s extremely wealthy—one of the richest men in the country and the world—and I think he’s really excited about having this child. And so am I. And it’s really important because of my age that I take care of myself so that everything goes smoothly. I can’t wait for you to be a grandmother! You’re going to be a grandma! Isn’t that the most fantastic thing? Mom? You are going to be so amazing, there is going to be so much you can teach her. I’m saying ‘her’ but I don’t know what it’s going to be yet—it’s just a feeling—I told the doctor I don’t want to find out. I just want to have it. I feel so incredibly blessed. I can’t wait to feel what it’s like to have a baby. You have been such a wonderful mother—you are such a wonderful woman. Mom? You heard all that, right? That I’m going to have a baby? And I know that you aren’t feeling so blessed right now and I can’t imagine going through any of what you’ve been through. What those people did. But I want you with me, you’re going to live with me, I’m going to buy a house. I have the money now. I’m going to have a lot of money. I want us to stay together. The man I’m having the child with wants us to live at the Beverly Hills Hotel until we find a place, he’s going to pay for everything, 2 big bungalows, we’re going to have the time of our lives! I’m taking a sabbatical from work and we’re going to spend tons of time together, isn’t that fantastic? The Beverly Hills Hotel is in a really beautiful area—you know where it is, right? The pink building up on Sunset? They call it ‘the Pink Palace’ and it has that famous wallpaper?—there’s a park across the street and we can go for walks, every day. We can have lunch in the coffeeshop downstairs, remember the little coffeeshop? I took you and Hamilton there once and you said it was like a cruise ship. Ham said it reminded him of the QE2—remember, Mama? There was a movie star eating at the counter? Sandra Bullock? Remember Sandra Bullock? Everything is paid for, Mom, and the hotel has tons of security because it’s owned by the Sultan of Brunei, so you can totally feel safe. And I might get married but that’s not something we’re really thinking about right now, there’s been too much excitement already, don’t you think? Don’t you think we’ve had a little too much excitement, Mom?”
Joan laughed and her mother smiled.
They had tears in their eyes.
The Pink Palace. The Taj Mahal Palace.
“It’s a different world now, and people don’t always get married. Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell—you like Goldie, don’t you, Mom?—don’t you like Goldie?—they never married and they have kids and have been together about a hundred years. Rachel Weisz? She got the Academy Award. And David Letterman, and Johnny Depp and his girlfriend? You probably don’t know him but he’s a big, big star. And Brad and Angelina! And they’re all really happy! But anything’s possible…so my boyfriend, Lew, Lew Freiberg, the father of my child, is arranging for us to have 2 whole bungalows at the Beverly Hills Hotel (which was true; a Guerdon “write-off”) and we can go for walks when you feel better, walks will be good, for me too, I can do yoga and Pilates at the hotel, there’s an amazing spa there, for you, saunas would be great—the doctor said you don’t need the wires back on, isn’t that good? Mom? Isn’t that great?—and there’ll be a nurse with us at all times, Lew is paying for it, he insists, and Chester can come visit just like before. It’s going to be so much fun! And if you’re feeling better, we can go to India in a few months, when the monsoons end. OK? I can travel when I’m pregnant, my doctor said it’s completely fine. In fact, now’s the time to do it! Before I get too big! Trudy’s setting everything up. I really want to go! There’s a train we can take, with an ayurvedic spa, that is just like the Orient Express. I am so excited. Mom, you’re going to have a grandchild! Isn’t that so amazing? You never have to worry about anything again. You will never have to worry about being alone. You know where we can walk? To that movie theater you took us when we were young. On Beverly and Wilshire. Remember? The ‘Taj Mahal’?”
“No,” said Marj, tremulously returning to the real world.
“No, what?”
Joan was at least glad that her mother was engaged.
“It is not there.”
“Of course it is, Mom! It’s not a movie theater anymore but it still has that beautiful roof…”
“No.”
“It’ll be our little way of preparing for the real thing! Walks will be good. We need our strength because we’re gonna be doing some hiking over there, Mom. I love you so much. I am so sorry about everything that’s happened, I am so sorry I haven’t been there for you. All I wanted was to show how independent I was but I was such an asshole. Forgive me, Mother! Will you forgive me? Please? Please! You’re not mad at me, are you? Please forgive me for being so selfish and so fucked up! I’m going to have so much money and we’ll put back in the bank every cent those horrible people took from you, all right? We’ll put it back times 10. I’ll have the ability to do that, Mom. OK? Do you hear me? We have a deal? OK, Mom? You love me? Mama? Do you love me? Are you mad at me? Did you hear when I said you were going to be a grandma? And that I was rich? And that we’re going to move into the hotel?”
“Yes,” said Marj.
Joan smiled, and wiped away tears. Maybe—just maybe—everything would work out.
“Did you know that’s where Howard Hughes used to live? I think we’re going to be in the same bungalow. The one he had all his affairs in. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Did you get the ticket?”
“The ticket? To India?”
“No—the lottery ticket. Did you buy it today?”
“Not yet.”
“Use the same numbers. You don’t have to go to Riki’s if it’s out of the way, but—”
“Of course it’s not out of the way, silly!”
Joan laughed and cried at once.
“But if you can, that’s my lucky spot. And the same numbers, Joanie! The lucky numbers.”
“OK, Ma. I’ll go—I’ll go right now. I love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.”
She kissed Marj twice then left in a storm.
LXXVII.
Joan
THEY moved to the hotel.
Tests proved that Lew was the father. Joan cried in relief (she was crying a lot lately) even though she never had reason to doubt. Not long after, she met with attorneys in a nondescript building on 3rd Street—one hers, one a mediator (pointedly having no cross-connection whatsoever with the Northern California behemoth, but rather, a man whose trade was child custody cases and others closer to that ilk), 3 from Guerdon—to sign the papers. She did as she was told, dutifully reporting to the somewhat surprised Barbet and Pradeep that test results, now forever sealed, had shown the dad to be someone other than Mr Mem. Lew thought of everything, providing a respectable “entity” as he said he would, giving Joan a plausible one-night-stand backstory; nevermind it not helping her already sluttish image. But she was among friends. The donor of choice was in fact a real guy, early 30s, one of those aging code-writing kidz (they showed her his picture. Cute). They were careful to find someone who had never worked for Guerdon LLC, and whose background check revealed him to be reliably bricks-and-mortar, also being compensated and sworn to secrecy, and who would, if gossip should surface, affably go on record to having spilled his seed—again, only if and when Joan were ever pressured, for the sake of veracity, to point the finger. Which remained a hypothetical, and that would be where his involvement ended. If, say, an enterprising tabloid PI or dirtblog were to dig deeper, a tactical paper trail of endorsed monthly support checks (about $3,000 each, reflecting his more modest means) waited to be uncovered, a trail that would roughly begin a few months prior to the moment she left the legal offices where the contract was hammered out
.
SHE needed to “handle” Chester. She didn’t want him hanging around the hotel agitating their mom. (Her brother could agitate the Dalai Lama.) He kept talking about “getting” the people who set fire to the house, that the cops were wrong, it probably had been set by the gang who took her money, and wanted to “finish her off” in case anything came to trial. Not helpful. When he persisted in asking who was paying for the bungalows and all—she still hadn’t brought up the pregnancy—Joan said, Marjorie’s insurance. Chess didn’t believe it. She went off on him. “I’m paying for it, then, OK? I’m paying for the nurses and the bungalows and the whatever. Now, did you want to help contribute, Chester? Cause if you don’t then leave it alone.” That shut him up, for now. If Mom said anything about the benefactor and potential husband-to-be “up north,” she’d just tell her brother Marj was delusional, or that ARK was taking care of it out of a special account. She hated to even be worrying about this kind of shit. Her nest egg hadn’t even fucking hatched.
Joan wasn’t sure if that bullshitty story about getting injured on a reality show was even true. It was so lame. She did suss the girlfriend, Laxmi, loitering in the lobby outside the Polo Lounge. Her brother said she gave great massages, and it would be “a healing” for Marj to be on the receiving end of those helping hippie hands, “gratis,” but Joan said she didn’t think that was such a good idea, Mom was too spooked to “meet new people” (“She knows Laxmi!” shouted Chess), and besides, the nurses were taking care of her physical needs. If anyone was going be giving Mother a massage, it won’t be your New Age consort. At least he wasn’t too combative about it. There seemed to be a cloud hanging over him; when he pushed too hard and Joan pushed back, Chess instantly relented, his face contorting in despair. Something was definitely going on, beyond drugs or sexual obsession. It was discomfiting but Joan got it to work in her favor.