Who is Charlie Conti?

by Claus von Bohlen

  I hate horror movies anyway and the one I was watching was not helping to calm my nerves. It was one of those movies that has long silent bits but you know that something scary is going to happen, and when it does happen there’ll be a really loud noise and the searing burning sensation will shoot through your veins. I hate movies like that. They’re the movie equivalent of hiding behind a door and shouting ‘boo’ at someone. Sure, it can be entertaining, but it’s no more than that. The other reason I hate those movies is because I’m really susceptible to them; either I can’t look and have to hide behind a cushion, or else I spend the whole time telling myself that it’s only a movie and they’re only actors and I make myself think about where they placed the cameras and so on. But really, neither of those are great ways to watch a movie. And although I’d walked into the TV room midway through the movie, I was still finding it pretty scary.

  In this movie a young couple had driven up to Scotland for a weekend in some big old house covered in ivy and all. There were lots of other guests. Over dinner the couple sat either side of the hostess who told them about the history of the house and about the closure of the east wing, and how there was a tower at the end of the wing which was haunted. The boyfriend was one of those pompous British types with red faces who like saying stuff like ‘Absolute rot!’ and ‘What nonsense!’ I find those kind of characters pretty funny. Anyway, this guy’s girlfriend was getting angry with him and when the hostess excused herself she leaned across and told him to ‘jolly well pipe down’ which made him go even more red and bug-eyed. You could see that he really saw himself as the champion of common sense in a world of impressionable, superstitious women. I’ve got to say, he was a pretty good actor.

  When the hostess returned, the boyfriend asked her whether she had ever been in the east wing. She said that she hadn’t; the corridor had been boarded up. As far as she knew, the last person to go there had been a handyman who had been in to patch a hole in the roof when her father was just a kid. The handyman had slipped on the tiles and fallen to his death. No one had seen it happen but afterwards his face had been crisscrossed with deep cuts that the undertaker hadn’t been able to disguise. It was strange because he had fallen onto an empty flowerbed.

  Anyway, in the film the guests are hanging around in the drawing room after dinner and playing card games when suddenly the girlfriend notices that her boyfriend is not there. She asks whether anyone else has seen him; no one has. She becomes more and more agitated and then grabs the hostess and tells her that she is sure that he’s gone to prove a point by checking out the tower in the east wing. The hostess panics; she seizes her brother by the cuff and they march off towards the east wing with the by now ashen-faced girlfriend behind them and the rest of the whispering guests following behind her. The camera follows their progress from above so you get the eerie feeling there’s someone, or something, watching them from up there. When they get to the corridor that leads into the east wing they see that one of the boards has been prized away and neatly leant against the wall. They pause for a moment and a couple of the brother’s friends are sent to find candles since the electrical wiring which used to connect to the east wing no longer works. When they return the candles are lit and the party steps through the hole in the boards and, led by the hostess, they start tentatively calling out the boyfriend’s name: ‘Archie’. They shuffle down the corridor and the spectral faces of anaemic ancestors loom out of the darkness for a moment as the candlelight flickers over old portraits. They keep calling out and a note of desperation enters their voices. The light from the lit part of the corridor on the other side of the boards begins to fade and the darkness envelops the party on either side. By now everyone is holding hands. At the end of the corridor an iron ladder with thin, tubular rungs ascends the stone wall and disappears through a hole in the vaulted ceiling high above them. As the party stares at the ladder in the candle’s penumbra it appears to shake. One of the girls at the back of the group screams but almost immediately Archie’s voice is heard:

  ‘It’s fine, it’s fine. Stop that racket.’

  The hostess calls out his name, less tentatively this time: ‘Archie, is that you?’

  ‘Of course it’s me. I went up to the belfry,’ Archie’s legs appear through the hole in the ceiling. He climbs carefully down the ladder with his back to the party and an unlit cigarette lighter in one hand, ‘and, like I said, it’s absolute rot about the place being haunted.’

  ‘I can’t believe you did that. Never do anything like that again or I won’t invite you back, ever.’

  As Archie negotiates the final rungs he replies, ‘No need to do it again. I think I’ve made my point.’ Then he turns around to face the party and there is a moment of silence before a cacophony of screams. The camera zooms in on Archie’s face; his expression would be comic were his face not rendered hideous by the crisscross pattern of deep red cuts that cover it.

  At that moment I felt a tug on my sleeve and jumped a mile.

  ‘Let’s go.’ It was Mikey who had slipped into the TV room without me seeing.

  ‘Jeez Mikey. Don’t ever do that again.’

  ‘Come on buddy. This was your idea. It’s now or never.’

  *

  We snuck out of the TV room into the foyer and then out of the house. I was wearing my overcoat so I didn’t feel the cold so much, but Mikey started shivering almost immediately in his bathrobe and pyjamas. We made our way towards the chapel at the other end of the school, hugging the shadows between the pools of grimy orange light cast by the sodium lamps attached here and there to corners of buildings and doorways. We didn’t speak; Mikey was shivering too much and I was still thinking about Archie’s face.

  The chapel crept up on us pretty fast. The school was justly proud of the building; it was modern and the design was impressive, particularly by day. The entire back wall, behind the altar, was made out of glass and looked out over the playing fields. Beyond them, the rolling hills folded their way gently up through New Hampshire to Canada. My pew was right beside the huge window and I spent half an hour three mornings a week gazing out of it. The distant hills were only visible on clear days; they were dark and wooded and I liked to imagine them stretching northwards in an unbroken line to the empty expanses of snow and ice.

  The main door to the chapel was usually locked but the vestry door never was. That was so that boys on punishment duty could report to the old verger in the afternoons and clean the floor or polish the brass fittings for an hour or two. I’d been on punishment duty there once because I told Nick Fisher, the head of our dorm, that Herpes was the messenger of the Gods. I later found out that Mr Rowland-Smith had made him a laughing stock because of that. But because of the hour I’d had to spend polishing brass I knew that the verger usually left without locking the door so that boys could let themselves out.

  We hugged the side of the building and slinked round to the vestry door. It opened soundlessly when I pushed it and we snuck in. On either side of us hung the red and white cassocks worn by the choir. The white ruffs were visible even in the darkness, so we used them to navigate to the other end of the vestry where another door led into the main chapel. I opened the door; it creaked. I lit Mikey’s lighter then tiptoed over to the carpeted area in front of the altar. I remember the gold thread in the green altar cloth reflected the light of the flame. The huge wall of glass that loomed above us was an expanse of darkness. There was a faint whistling noise which I had never noticed before, presumably made by the wind high up on the roof. I sat down on the carpet and Mikey did the same. Then he began to empty the pockets of his bathrobe.

  ‘Fire-water, check. Wisdom weed, check. Personal effect of the departed, check. Leather-bound volume of mysterious provenance, check.’ After a pause he added, ‘Hypothermia, check.’ Then he said, ‘Right, find the chapter before the bit about eating sea turtle.’

  I started to leaf through the book. It was hard to read the spidery hand by the flickering light of the flame. I
remember deciphering the sentence, Mock not the turtle; he is a master of the deep, when I became aware of a faint metallic buzzing, like a winged insect caught in a cage. In the next instant light flooded the chapel and a hoarse voice intoned, ‘In flagrante delicto…’

  We looked up to see the old verger standing beside the vestry door. He repeated the words again – they are etched in my memory – savouring each syllable, rolling the ‘flagrante’ around the tip of his tongue like soft toffee, squeezing the ‘delicto’ against the roof of his mouth like a ripe grape.

  The old verger’s role was mainly ceremonial; nothing he did had any real bearing on the running of the school and consequently he had become a figure of fun in the eyes of generations of schoolboys. He did his best to impress his importance upon us whenever he could, which is why he enjoyed having boys on punishment duty to order around. But unfortunately we had presented him with a perfect opportunity for revenge and he made full use of it. We never found out why he had been in the dark chapel late at night – among the many questions which had to be answered over the next forty-eight hours, that one fell by the wayside. I don’t want to go into the details of the sorry episode. It still pains me, not because of its naivety or because I had to move schools as a result. No, what pains me still is the fact that, despite my protesting that it was all my idea, Mikey Katzounnis was also kicked out for possession of cannabis. I could hardly begin to imagine the consternation which this would have caused in his wholesome Greek home. When his father arrived on Monday morning to collect him, he wouldn’t even look at me. I had brought dishonour upon his family and I guess the Greeks take that pretty seriously.

  Mikey was sent to a Jesuit school in Ohio. He never spoke to me again. I don’t even know whether his family still live in New York. I’d really liked his mom; I guess she had felt pretty sorry for me when she found out I was an orphan. So, when it came to filling out the application form for the Hollywood School of Dramatic Arts three years later, I figured that, if I were dying, she would overlook the fact that I’d got Mikey kicked out of school. I would sure prefer to have her by my bedside rather than Hartfelder, so that’s why I put down her name and address in the ‘emergency contact’ section of the application form.

  VI

  BACK IN THE diner off of Interstate 15 I’d been making a few notes on the paper napkins, but I hadn’t written down all that stuff about Mikey and Belmont and all. For one, there’s no way it would have fit. And anyway, I didn’t really want to tell Special Agent Kramer about my getting kicked out of school. Though I hadn’t met him yet we’d spoken a few times on the phone and I’d really gotten to like him. I didn’t want him to think the worse of me. The notes were mostly stuff like the dates when I first got to the Hollywood School of Dramatic Arts, the time I first met Ray Celador, basic stuff like that. The dates were mostly in my head but it was a good feeling to put them on paper.

  I stared out of the window, watching the shadows grow longer. The diner was empty; it was getting on for dusk and I’d been sitting there since before midday. I was also pretty hungry. I emptied the change from my pocket into my hand to count it underneath the table, then I looked over to try and catch the waitress’ eye. I had to keep looking for a while because she was concentrating on painting her nails on the stool by the cash register. When she did look up and saw me motion her over she looked kind of pissed. She stayed sitting for a while, waving her hand in the air and occasionally blowing on her nails. I thought maybe I should go order by the register.

  As I was walking over I saw her whisper into the little Dictaphone. I’d forgotten about that. I got to the register and she handed it to me very delicately so as not to touch either me or the Dictaphone with her nails. I took it from her but paused for a moment. The warm afternoon light was coming sideways through the slatted aluminum window blinds and the shadows of the slats were curving themselves around her body. I couldn’t help noticing her breasts pressing against her t-shirt. There was the shadow of one slat bending around her forehead, and the shadow of the next crossing the bridge of her nose; her green eyes were caught in the orange light. She looked amused.

  I pressed play.

  ‘Can I take your order?’

  I pressed record and spoke into the Dictaphone: ‘I’d like a burger, please,’ then I returned it to her. She rewound the tape, listened to my voice and then nodded and turned to relay the order through a hole in the wall to the kitchen. I went back to my table and the waitress followed me with a large glass of water in her hand. She placed it on the table. As soon as I sat down my cell phone, which was lying next to the napkins on the table, started to ring. The waitress was closer to the phone than I was. She gave me a look, picked it up and answered.

  ‘Joe’s diner, can I help you?’ Then, after a pause, ‘Yes sir, I think so. Medium height? I think so. Kinda cute?’ With this she threw another look in my direction. ‘Here, lemme ask him.’

  She whispered into the Dictaphone and passed it back to me. I pressed play again.

  ‘Do you know Special Agent Kramer? He’s on the phone.’

  I nodded and grabbed my cell from her hand. ‘Sir?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, is that you Charlie? This is Special Agent Kramer.’

  ‘Yes sir, it is.’

  ‘Who’s the broad?’

  ‘She’s the waitress here. She picked up my phone.’

  ‘Ok. Look Charlie, I’m not going to make it today. I got a lead on a guy in Arizona and I’ve been in and out of choppers all day and now the Bureau wants a full report. I’m sorry for dragging you out to the diner, it woulda been convenient if this shit hadn’t come up. But look, I’ll definitely be driving down Interstate 15 tomorrow. Can you meet me in the diner same time tomorrow?’

  ‘Yeah, I guess so.’

  ‘I’m sorry Charlie, there was nothing I could do.’

  ‘I’ll be here, but, um, I was just wondering…’ I tailed off, hoping Kramer would guess what I was going to say. He didn’t, so I went on, ‘I mean, it’s about cash, sir. I’ve hardly got enough to last me until tomorrow.’

  ‘I know Charlie, I know. Look, don’t worry. I’ll be there tomorrow two o’clock. You give me the laptop and I’ll get you to sign the forms. We’ll get your accounts unfrozen and I’ll authorize a withdrawal from the Bureau’s emergency fund as soon as I’ve confirmed your identity. Just sit tight Charlie.’

  ‘Yes sir. I’ll be here,’ I said.

  ‘Ok Charlie, I gotta go. Tomorrow at two.’

  The line went dead.

  I was left holding my phone in the empty diner with another twenty-four hours to kill and less than twenty bucks in my pocket. But all the same, I felt elated. I always did whenever I spoke to Special Agent Kramer. He had that effect on me, I guess because I trusted him and because he was the one figure of authority who believed that I was who I said I was. I mean, so much had happened, and it was such a long story, but Special Agent Kramer knew all about Ray already and that made a big difference.

  I’d forgotten about the waitress but I guess I must’ve caught her interest because she spoke to me for the first time without the Dictaphone.

  ‘So, you’re friends with a Special Agent?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, you could say that. Except we’ve never met, only spoken on the phone. I guess you’d like that.’

  ‘Maybe. Depends. So, how come you’re friends with him?’

  It went through my mind how easy it would be to invent a great story, like how me and Kramer were partners except I was undercover because with my youthful looks no one would suspect me, and we were doing a big bust in Vegas. I was pretty sure she’d buy it, and it could be kind of fun too. I mean, at the Hollywood School we were encouraged to do stuff like that, for practice or whatever. Before I met Ray Celador that’s just the sort of shit I’d have pulled. I didn’t do it anymore though, no way. So I told her the truth.

  ‘I can’t tell you anything about him. He’s helping me get outa trouble but I’m not allowed to talk about it
. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Huh.’ She gave me the same arch look as before, except the sunlight was no longer as orange and her eyes didn’t seem as green. Then she looked at her watch and said, ‘You’re gonna have to leave soon. I’m closing up.’

  ‘Oh, sure,’ I said. ‘Look, I’m really sorry I can’t tell you anything about Kramer or my case, but I’d love to buy you a drink if you’re free tonight.’ I don’t find it easy to be bold, but there was something about the moment that made it not so hard. Maybe it was the fact that we were alone in the softening slatted light and bound together by the same curved lines of shadow, or maybe it was her arch look, or maybe just the fact that she seemed interested in me.

  She replied, ‘I just heard you say you don’t have any cash.’

  That kind of caught me off-guard. ‘I don’t have much,’ I said, ‘but Kramer will fix that tomorrow. I got enough for a few drinks, and I got my car.’

  ‘So where you going to sleep tonight?’

  ‘I’ll find a motel,’ there was that amused look again, ‘or maybe I’ll sleep in my car.’ She didn’t say anything, so I went on, ‘So, how about that drink?’

  ‘That’s sweet but I can’t. I got stuff to do.’

  I felt a pang when she said that. I suddenly realized that she had a whole life outside of the diner, a life with friends and relationships and all the kind of stuff that people live for. As for me, it felt like pretty much everything I was and everything I had was right there in the diner, except for Izzy maybe.

  I guess I must’ve looked pretty sad because the waitress said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see you here tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure. That’s great.’ Then I realized I didn’t even know her name, so I asked, ‘One more thing, what’s your name?’

  She smiled and turned away from me to whisper into the Dictaphone which was still in her hand, then turned back round and passed it to me. I pressed play.