Mr Jones

by William Cain

  She adds, “Next, he’s going to have to meet my family. I’m firm on that. I feel very strongly about having a close family. Turn right here, Frank,” she says, pointing.

  “What about Megan?”

  “Megan and I are mending our differences. Things are getting better between us.”

  Frank is skeptical, “Oh, really? She’s going to overlook the time you hired a private eye to dig up some dirt on her so you could become Patrick’s guardian? That’s pretty heavy stuff.”

  Thinking about the time when she and Joe didn’t approve of Megan’s parenting—it was really Reggi that didn’t approve, Joe was just there to be her pit bull and yes man—she answers Frank, “We didn’t really mean it.”

  “Sure, Mom. So when am I going to meet him? Do you have any pictures of him to show me?” he asks.

  “You have to meet him before the wedding. I’ll show some pictures to you when we get home. There’s the entrance to Heritage Hills. You know your way from here.”

  They pull through the security gate, and Reggi suggests they take an alternate way home and gives him instructions on which turns to take as they drive slowly. People are on the golf course, in twos and fours, on the fairways, on the green putting, teeing off from the blues and whites, sometimes a ladies’ group can be seen. It’s a beautiful mountain day, with blue skies and tall white clouds. Pine trees line the manicured drive, and multi-million-dollar homes can be seen, set back from the road, nestled behind a sharp slope, or privacy landscaping and the like.

  Reggi tells Frank to slow down at one point as they are crawling along, “That’s Ken’s place.”

  Below the road they’re on, at the end of a long driveway, sits a sprawling ranch in a valley that slopes away revealing the Smoky Mountains beyond it. It’s a custom designed home, providing views and privacy at the same time. “What you don’t see is that it’s built into a hill, and it’s four stories. He has an elevator in the house and an interior atrium in the middle. There’s a palm tree in it.”

  “Why don’t we stop in and say hello, Mom?” Frank would like to get an inside look into the lifestyle of the rich and famous.

  “Oh, he’s not home.”

  “Come on, Mom, how would you know that?”

  “I saw him golfing on our way here.”

  “Why didn’t you point him out to me?”

  She looks at him, raises her shoulders, “Don’t know. Guess I should have. Sorry.”

  Soon they pull into Reggi’s driveway with the new car, the garage door opens after she presses the remote, and the car settles into its new home.

  ◆◆◆

  Later in the day, Frank is seated in the living room thinking about Ken’s place. It makes his mother’s home look like a cottage. The guy must be loaded.

  Reggi floats into the room, refreshed after having taken a short nap. “Francis, you want a bite to eat? Come into the kitchen and let’s have a snack,” and, being a dutiful son, he follows.

  As she takes out some crostini rounds and pimento cheese, along with grapes and an apple from the fridge, Frank asks, “I need to talk about something with you, Mom. It’s been bothering me.”

  She looks at him questioningly, “That sounds serious. Go ahead, you have the floor.”

  “You know about Ken’s wife, right?”

  She begins to place some crostini’s in a small plate and fixing the other foods, “Oh, sure I do. Ken and I talk about her a lot, how it affected the kids. How it strained the relationship with Ken and the kids. You know his daughter in Asheville still won’t talk to him?”

  “No, I didn’t know that. Anyway, you know what she died from?”

  Reggi, shaking her head, says, “Poor lady. Yes, I know. Cancer. It was a long illness. Ken misses her. It’s pretty bad. We pray together over it. I think it helps.”

  “She didn’t have cancer, Mom.”

  “What? Yes, she did. Pancreatic cancer. That’s what she had.”

  “No, Mom, if that’s what he told you, he’s lying.”

  At this, his mother becomes angry, and she turns on him somewhat, pointing the fork she’s holding at him, “Do not call Ken a liar. That is disrespectful. You take that back right now.”

  “It’s not what she died from, Mother.” He notices her getting fired up. He’s seen this from her before, over his fifty-four years as her son. But, he’s not backing down.

  Now she’s even more angry, and her face becomes twisted and she spits out, “Ok, honey-bunny. Why don’t you just tell me what you think!”

  Frank actually regrets getting into this, she’s almost out of control. “Ok, I will. But you calm down first. We’re just having a discussion, that is all.”

  Reggi thinks better of her behavior and she tells him through slightly gritted teeth, “Ok, I’m calm, go ahead.”

  “She was murdered in July of last year.”

  At this, Reggi puts both hands on the counter and stares at Frank with her mouth wide open, eyes wide open, a look of total disbelief. She stays like this for around five seconds, closes her mouth, throws her head back, and begins laughing hysterically. “Who the hell told you that cockamamie story? That is insane. Really, Frank. That is just plain nonsense.”

  Frank calmly tells her, “It’s true. Want to hear something else? He’s a retired mobster from Chicago. Ken Jones isn’t even his real name.”

  “Oh, shit, Frank. Where did you hear that?”

  “Edwin.”

  “Edwin? He’s a bonehead. You know you can’t believe anything he tells you, or Charlotte. They’re the biggest liars on the planet. Really, Frank, I thought you knew better!”

  Frank does feel kind of foolish. From the corner of his eye, he sees a movement, and, as his head turns, he spots a man, having parked his car at the top of the drive, is walking down the steep driveway towards the front door.

  Reggi steps over to see what caught Frank’s attention and she is completely surprised. A man, dressed in light khakis and polo shirt, leather woven loafers on his feet, eyes behind expensive sunwear.

  It’s Ken Jones.

  ◆◆◆

  “What’s he doing here?” Reggi says out loud. Then, after catching what she just said, “He never comes over before calling.” Frank looks at her, and she adds, “that’s Ken Jones.”

  Thinking quickly, she tells Frank, “Why don’t you answer the door while I go tidy up.” She turns to go to her bedroom while Frank heads in the opposite direction towards the door.

  Once inside her bedroom, she’s wide-eyed over this visit from Ken, struggling a little to adjust her hair and apply some make-up. She can hear Frank opening the door and addressing the visitor. Reggi is as calm as she can be and waits a few moments before meeting them; she wants to hear what they’re saying first.

  ◆◆◆

  Gen woke up from his nap refreshed, the effects of the alcohol long gone. After a shower and a shave, he looks into the mirror, evaluating the final product. “Nice job Gen, Ken, whatever your name is. Time to go see Reggi. She’s going to tell me what I want to know or I’m going to slice her up.” He turns away, opens his dresser drawer, pulls out his switchblade, and puts it into his pocket. He drives to Reggi Thomas’s home, parks at the top, and walks down the driveway, and he is one angry man.

  Before he can reach the door, it opens wide and a tall man steps out. “Hello, Mr. Jones. We finally meet!” The man has a broad smile, and his hand is outstretched.

  His mind turning over, he decides, unhappily, that no one will be killed this afternoon. He knows what he has to do, and he readies himself, thinking, this man is Frank Thomas, Reggi’s son. He thinks I’m marrying his mother. This is the guy from New York. Play along, Gen. He takes Frank’s hand and pumps it vigorously, “You must be Frank. I am really pleased to meet you.”

  Frank, thinking about earlier, says, “How was your golf game today?”

  Ken answers, “I wasn’t playing golf today. I don’t understand,” and he looks out of sorts at Frank.

&nb
sp; “Maybe my mother made a mistake, no problem. Anyway, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot. You and Mom have been busy.”

  “Sure, I mean yes, we’ve been busy, what with a wedding coming up and all that. Your mother’s a real catch. Sorry to hear about your stepfather.”

  “Come on in,” Frank motions.

  “I can’t stay, I just wanted to tell your mother something, ask her something.”

  And at that, Reggi appears, and she’s dressed in tight white pants and a flowery, flowing blouse. Ken sees her and whistles, then, “Wow, Reggi you look great,” and he means it. She is a looker.

  Reggi sees this is a defining moment and remains composed, and, as Ken steps forward to give her a brief hug, Frank steps aside. “Hi, Ken. What brings you here? Won’t you come in,” she says animatedly, smiling broadly that fake smile everyone wears around here.

  “Can’t stay, Reggi. There’s a fundraiser at the club tonight and I thought you might want to know about it. I thought I’d tell you in person.”

  “That’s really kind of you,” she says, turning to glare at Frank.

  “Ok, got to finish my rounds and let the others know. I’m off, bye.” He quickly makes it back to his car before he whips out his switchblade and starts cutting.

  ◆◆◆

  Inside, Reggi insists Jones and she are in love and there is no truth to all that nonsense Frank was talking about.

  Frank’s head is swimming with what he just saw. He needs time to process it.

  The next day, Frank wakes early, packs, and kisses his mother goodbye. Reggi knows he’s eager to return to Adelaide.

  Chapter 19 Ulrich

  April 29th

  If you haven’t cried, your eyes can’t be beautiful. Sophia Loren

  She takes her keys out of her handbag as she approaches the apartment door. Inserting the key into the lock, she then opens it. After she steps through the doorway, she pauses. Something is out of sorts, she can sense it, and she can smell it. She doesn’t stop. Instead, she takes off her coat and throws it over the couch, places her bag on the dumbwaiter next to the door, and continues inside to the kitchen.

  She flips on the kitchen light and walks over to the refrigerator. Opening it, she takes out a bottle of juice. Reaching into the cupboard, she finds a glass, fills it up, and, speaking out loud, tells the home entertainment unit to play some piano music. It’s soon underway and she begins to head to the bedroom to put on her pajamas. As she approaches the door to her room, she hears a click. She stops and slowly turns around and finds a man behind her.

  He speaks, “Hello, Helen.”

  He has a distinct Russian accent and, even in the dark hallway, she can make out his shape. As he comes closer, she finds him to be of average build with slicked back hair and round horn-rimmed glasses.

  He tells her to turn around and put her hands behind her back. As she does, he begins to place handcuffs on her. He stops when he feels the distinct shape of a gun tucked into her waistline. He pulls it out and finds it to be holstered.

  “I’ll take this,” he tells her in his thickly accented English, his hot breath resting on her neck, “it’ll be my little souvenir.”

  Holding the barrel of his gun to the back of her head, he looks at her weapon and calmly asks her rhetorically, “Is this a silencer on your weapon, Helen?”

  Helen replies patiently, “You can find out for yourself. What is it that you want?”

  “You know what I’m here for,” he answers her roughly.

  “Then, I guess I won’t be needing it anymore. Enjoy it,” she replies submissively, strangely.

  After he cuffs her, he walks her to his car, not bothering to lock the apartment. She asks, “How did you get in?”

  “Shut up, Helen.”

  As they drive away, she asks him merrily, “Are we going to take a hike today? I love hikes.”

  He looks over and says, “Shut up.”

  “Not the talkative type, I guess. If you’re going to take me on a date, then you need to be a little friendlier,” she tells him, almost singing the words.

  She looks over at him again, “Ok, have it your way, but if it’s a long drive, it’ll give us time to speak to each other, you know, to share,” and she smiles.

  After a few minutes, he remarks, “You’re not like your pictures, Helen.”

  “Oh, I’m not?” she asks coyly.

  “No, you’re a lot cuter in person.”

  She laughs a little, “Cuter? Maybe it’s just the light.”

  “Too bad I have to bury you in a grave I dug,” he laments sourly.

  Helen just replies, “Oh, that’s Ok.”

  The man gives her a peculiar look, thinking, what is up with this crazy woman? I’m driving her to her final resting place and she’s singing and telling me it’s Ok.

  They find themselves on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It’s deserted. No one else is on the road at this time of night. After a short time longer, he pulls off the road and takes a dirt path away from the main road.

  Around a mile or two in, he stops the car, then turns off the engine. With his gun trained on her, he pulls open her door and tells her to exit the car. Using a flashlight to lead their way, they take a short walk into the brush on a little used trail. Before long they find themselves in front of a large, deep hole surrounded by rhododendron. He tells her to stand in front of it and turn around to look at him.

  “Sorry I have to do this, it’s just a job.”

  She replies nonchalantly, “No worries.” He’s staring at her again. She almost looks bored, and frankly, it’s weirding him out.

  He takes his weapon and puts it away. He then pulls her gun out and removes it from her holster. Smiling at her and looking the gun over approvingly, he tells her, “Nice pistol. This will be a great souvenir.”

  She’s just standing there smiling, and it’s really beginning to irritate him a little bit. He aims the gun from a safe distance. He doesn’t want to bloody his clothes. When he pulls the trigger, he hears a click, and nothing happens.

  He is surprised and suddenly, the feeling of dread appears. Helen begins to walk toward him, and he pulls the trigger again. Her hands are free, and fear overcomes him. When he begins to lunge for her, he finds out that he can’t. Paralysis is beginning to grip him. He looks at the gun he’s holding. He’s been had.

  “Drug-induced paralysis, on the handle you’re holding. Goes right through the skin,” she explains as she takes the flashlight he’s holding.

  He can’t even look surprised, he can’t move. She gives him a slight push backward and he lands with a heavy thud in the underbrush and dead leaves.

  Helen, standing over him, inquires in a concerned fashion, “How do you feel? You look Ok. You’re breathing, that’s a good sign. I’m happy for you. Are you happy?” Not waiting for a response, she adds, “I don’t think there’s anything that Spadaro does that we don’t know about. You were found the moment you stepped into his great room on that stormy evening last week that you’re coming after me. I looked you up, Ulrich. Your habit of taking keepsakes made it just too easy for me.”

  Kneeling down, Helen takes the weapon from his hands, careful to use the barrel, leans over to him and whispers, “If you want to tell Spadaro, go ahead. He’s a dead man soon.”

  Looking at him, “I’m going to watch you until you’re able to stand and then you’re on your own,” and she kisses him on the lips.

  “Go home, Ulrich, your daughter is waiting, you’re all she has.”

  ◆◆◆

  Mitch stopped off to grab some groceries. He returns to his car and begins to drive home. On the way there he turns on the radio, slips in a CD, and begins listening to some popular Italian songs. Soon after he begins to sing along, he feels something very cold on the back of his neck. The next thing he hears is a click and Helen saying, “Hello, Mitch.”

  He is instantly in total fear, and she tells him not to worry, to keep his eyes on the road. When they get to the turn th
at he should take to go home, she tells him to go straight. After a while, she asks him to take a right. The sign at the entrance reads “Dead End.”

  After a couple of miles, he asks nervously, “Hey, Helen what are you doing? It’s me, Mitch.”

  She says, “Yeah, it’s me, Helen. Listen, don’t worry. We’re just going to talk where we won’t be disturbed. Stop the car at the end of the road. It’s coming up.”

  After he does, she tells him to get out. She has her weapon trained on him, and they take a short walk and come to a stop at a tall pine tree.

  She looks at Mitch and soothingly tells him, “Don’t be so afraid. I’m just going to teach you some manners.”

  He doesn’t know what she means, but he calms down a little. He doesn’t believe she’s going to hurt him any longer. She asks him to stand against the tree and place his hands behind him, around the trunk. He looks at her gun and does as he’s told, and she cuffs them, strapping him to the tree. In the dark with the flashlight throwing deep, dark shadows on her face, to him she looks like the devil’s right-hand man.

  He begins to become afraid again. She looks at him, “Remain calm, silly. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  Mitch meekly tells her, “I’m just wondering where this is going, that’s all.”

  She shines the flashlight into his eyes, blinding him. When he begins to ask what she’s doing, she suddenly reaches toward him with a long sharp knife and sticks it in his mouth. With one swift motion, she slices his tongue in two pieces.

  He starts screaming, but it’s not very loud. His tongue is gone, and his mouth is filled with blood. She slices his belly deeply. She looks at him and hisses, “The animals can smell this miles away, your stench. If they don’t eat you, the insects will.”