by Tonia Brown
Otto had to move fast not to appear surprised by the revealing answer. “Drug money?” He stuck his tongue out and held the bag away, hoping to convey an air of disgust. “You mean you made this selling marijuana?”
“No. I made it selling coke.”
“Whoa, boss,” Marvin said.
“Maybe you shouldn’t tell him stuff like that,” Christopher said.
Maloney snorted. “Why? Who the fuck is he gonna tell? His momma?”
“He could tell the feds,” Marvin said.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Maybe he already has,” Mr. Banjo said.
Otto could feel the big man staring at him. Mr. Banjo knew about the recording equipment, and Otto knew the man knew, which made the whole thing even more uncomfortable.
As if confirming Otto’s suspicions, Banjo added, “He could be wearing a wire.”
“I said shut the fuck up,” Maloney said.
Otto tried to keep his eyes on Maloney, but the moment Banjo mentioned the wire, Otto swallowed hard. Surely everyone sensed the truth? Surely Banjo would tell everyone else? Surely the jig was up? No, Banjo kept his blessed mouth shut. Maloney grunted as he stared at Otto like he was staring at a cockroach on a filthy, cheap motel floor.
“Look at him,” Maloney said. “Like he would go to the fucking cops. Even if he did, you know what they would fucking do? They sure as hell wouldn’t put a wire on him and send him to me. They would pin all of it on him because he’s an easy target. A weak little shit sniffing, prick rubbing, perverted easy fucking target.” Maloney leaned across the table toward Otto, exhaling a long breath of cheap wine and poor oral hygiene. “You didn’t go to the feds, did you? No. And why? Because you don’t want to get in fucking trouble. You’re too goddamned stupid and fucking scared to stick up for yourself. You’re only here with me because of your fucking mutt. Well he’s dead meat, just like you, unless you give me what I want.” He held his hand out again. “Give me the bag. Now. Or I’ll kill your fucking dog myself.”
Otto handed the bag over without another word. There was no use arguing with the likes of Maloney.
Maloney snorted. “What a fucking amateur.”
“Funny,” Otto said as he stood. “I was just thinking the same thing.” He turned as slowly as he could, keeping his excitement bottled up as he walked away. He knew he shouldn’t have exited on that last line, lest he tipped his hand too soon, but he couldn’t help the jab. Maloney was a phenomenal asshole of a man. Everything about Toney Maloney was despicable, from his obnoxious cologne to his tasteless language. Not to mention the way he talked to Penny made Otto want to punch the man in the throat.
“How’d it go?” Walter asked.
“Okay,” Otto said under his breath as he kept walking. “I thought that security man was going to blow the whole thing though. Why didn’t the FBI warn him? He practically threw me out of here.”
“I don’t think he’s on our side.”
“You think he’s working for Maloney?”
“Let’s just say it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Ah. Thanks for leaving me alone. I don’t think I could’ve done that if you had been looking over my shoulder.”
“Not a problem. I’d rather not spend a lot of time around a man like Maloney if I can help it. I have enough sins of my own to face without his rubbing off onto my ghost. And that Banjo guy makes my skin crawl.”
“I know what you mean.” Otto came to stop near the tail end of the buffet by the desserts, debating on if he should take the time to eat or grab a quick drink.
“Why are you standing around?” Walter said.
Otto scratched his ear, turning his head toward Walter. “They told me to linger a bit. Try not to make it obvious that I was in a rush to leave.”
“Ah, good thinking. No need to blow your cover. Speaking of cover, is that wire still on?”
“I think so.”
“And you’ve been standing around talking to me?”
Closing his eyes, Otto let out a soft groan. He’d forgotten all about the wire in his excitement of escaping Maloney’s table unscathed. He stood with his eyes clenched shut, wondering how he was going to explain the one sided recorded conversation he just had with himself, when he heard Maloney’s voice echo across the dining hall in an angry shout.
“What the fuck is this supposed to be!”
Otto spun in place to find his own clothes spread across the table in front of an irate Maloney. The mobster clutched the empty duffle in one hand, while his other formed a shaking fist.
“Walter?” Otto whispered, never taking his eyes off of Maloney. “Why are my boxers in Maloney’s spaghetti?”
“Because,” Walter said, “your dirty laundry was about the size and weight of a quarter million. I had to put your sneakers in there too. I’m sort of ashamed you couldn’t tell the difference between the two. I thought I raised you better.”
“Where is the money I promised the mobster?”
“Where you can’t give it away.”
“You!” Maloney shouted as he pointed again at Otto. “You’re going to pay for this, you motherfucker!”
“I think someone needs a lesson in manners,” Walter said.
A silver pie pan whizzed past Otto’s ear, sailed across the dining hall, and landed square in Maloney’s face. The man’s jaw went slack in shock as the pan slid down his chin and plopped onto the table, coming to rest on Otto’s boxers. A sea of curious faces turned to peer at Otto and Walter standing at the dessert cart.
Though, no one else could see Walter, which complicated matters for Otto quite a bit.
“Did you just throw that?” Otto softly asked from behind a forced smile.
“Yup,” Walter said.
Otto groaned as the weight of the moment settled on him. Toney Maloney—mob boss and drug lord—took a pie to the face, and thanks to the ghost’s invisibility all evidence pointed to Otto as the pie flinger.
Maloney wiped at his eyes, scooping away custard and crust shrapnel and flinging it to either side of him. Some struck Penny, landing in a wet slop across her ample cleavage. She hardly seemed to notice. Penny sat staring wide eyed at Otto. She also sported the most beautiful smile Otto had ever seen in his life. It was a candid sort of smile, the kind you made when you thought no one was watching. It was a smile of surprised delight, and Otto’s actions brought it upon her.
Well, his apparent actions.
Seeing her smile so freely reminded Otto why he thought he loved her in the first place. It dawned on him at that moment that while Penny may have been a whore, Otto was a hypocrite. That huge speech he gave her last night about your work not defining you, and the first chance he got, he judged her based on her profession. Even worse than realizing how he treated her was the knowledge that he would never get a chance to apologize for it. Shame settled on Otto in a thick, uncomfortable fog.
Once Maloney cleared most of the pie from his face, he glared across the dining hall at Otto. The man clenched his teeth, balled his fists and snorted not unlike an angry bull. His nostrils flared in two symmetrical red rimmed rings of rage, from which poured a heavy, angry grunt. Maloney inhaled deeply a few times, snorting on each exhale, then opened his mouth to speak.
He didn’t get the chance.
Just as Maloney was about to speak, about to surely declare Otto a dead man walking, Penny jumped up from her seat, grabbed her plate and tossed the contents of it at Mr. Banjo. Lasagna slithered down the length of the man’s suit, filling his lap with sauce and meat and cheese.
The entire room held its breath, the diners looking at each other in uncertainty. Jones and the other security men glanced back and forth at one another. Otto imagined they were trying to discern if this was all just some prank or misunderstanding or the beginning of a serious beat down. Truthfully, Otto wasn’t sure either. He held his breath along with everyone else. Even Walter’s trademark wheeze had come to a stop.
With a look of utter seriousness, Banj
o stood from his seat and leaned across the table to pick up Maloney’s plate of spaghetti. He pushed the pie pan and Otto’s boxers aside and grabbed a handful of the warm pasta beneath. Banjo reared back, pausing a moment to grin wildly at Miss Lane. She closed her eyes as Banjo tossed the handful of food at her, covering her in saucy noodles.
“Food fight!” Marvin declared.
Witnessing the great bull of a man throw around food like a kid broke the tension of the moment. No sooner had Banjo released his handful of pasta than the room erupted in an all-out food war.
Men and women alike joined in the fun, throwing everything edible at anyone in their way. Spaghetti sailed from port to stern. Great gobs of chicken alfredo splattered across the tables. All manner of condiments rained down along the walls and floor and every diner in the place.
“What a great idea!” one woman shouted.
“Brilliant!” a man yelled. “I would’ve never suspected the surprise entertainment was a food fight!”
No one was safe. A few of the patrons even attacked the band, dumping a giant bowl of Cesar salad on the drummer. Otto took a few bread missiles to the back and a banana cream pie to the left shoulder before he could duck behind an overturned table. He squatted low, trying to keep out of Maloney’s line of sight.
“You need to boogie, son,” Walter said.
“I know,” Otto said. “I can’t get past Maloney’s men.”
“Hang on.” Walter stood upright and stared out across the dining hall for a moment. Despite the food flying all around him, Walter somehow managed to keep clean. “Maloney is arguing with that woman of his. Boy he’s giving it to her good.”
“What do you mean?” Otto tried to raise his head, but Walter held him down.
“Calm down, lover boy. He’s got her by the wrist and is shaking her a bit. He ain’t hitting her or nothing. Those greasy idiots are leaving out the side door. Maloney is dragging your girl out the side door too, so you should be good to go out the front.”
“Where is that Banjo man?”
“I don’t see him.”
Otto made to stand, and Walter pushed him back down.
“Hold up,” Walter said. “That rent-a-cop is just over there. Wait. Maloney has motioned to him. I think he’s leaving with the other idiots. Wait. Wait. Okay, go!”
Otto leapt to his feet, lowered his head down, and tried his best to avoid a frenzy of flying food on his way to the exit. He swerved and skidded, dodged and ducked, all the while keeping his focus tight on the door ahead of him. His retreat promised success, until Otto came to a forced and sudden stop mere feet from his goal. He tried to keep going, only to comically run in place atop a slick layer of sauce and pie. Otto looked over his shoulder to find someone had snatched him up by the collar of his jacket.
“I need you to come with me,” Banjo said.
In a moment of panic, Otto folded in on himself, nearly passing out at the sight of the big bully so very close to his tender person. This move proved to be either a stroke of unintentional genius or just outright luck, for the moment he crumpled, he slipped out of his coat, leaving Mr. Banjo holding nothing but a handful of limp fabric.
Banjo looked down at the jacket, then to the floor at Otto.
“What are you waiting for?” Walter yelled. “Get out of here!”
Otto gasped when he realized he was free, then scrambled to his knees and crawled to the door. Banjo reached down for Otto’s retreating foot, to which Otto kicked like a mule. It did little good, for Banjo eventually landed a hand on Otto’s right ankle. He latched on tightly, flipped Otto onto his back and proceeded to drag him across the floor toward the side door. Otto rolled and flailed about, unable to get himself free.
“Stop wrestling this idiot and get the hell out of here,” Walter said.
“I’m trying my best,” Otto said. He scooped up a mix of foodstuffs from the floor and flung it at his assailant.
The food slapped against Banjo’s thick neck and sloughed away. The mobster didn’t even flinch. Otto proceeded to toss everything within reach at the man—food, plates, silverware, turned over trays, bowls, even napkins—and each time Banjo ignored the assault as if he were strolling through a park on a spring day rather than the subject of a culinary onslaught.
“You should really try harder,” Walter said.
“I said I was trying my best!” Otto shouted.
“Your best sucks.”
“Then help me!”
“Right, hang on.” Walter snatched a candlestick from one of the buffet tables and swung it at Mr. Banjo.
Banjo reached up and grabbed the base of the candlestick seconds before it connected with his skull. He stopped in his tracks and stared at the space where Walter stood. Leaning forward, Banjo glanced slowly up and down, as if trying make out the presence of the ghost. Walter released his grip on the candlestick, allowing a confused Banjo to take control of it. The mobster looked to the metal candlestick in one hand, then turned back to stare at Otto still hanging from the other. All about them the food fight raged on.
“How did you do that?” Banjo asked.
“Very carefully?” Otto said.
Banjo considered the candlestick for another quiet moment, then said, “Listen, we don’t have to do it like this. Can’t you just come with me quietly, and save us all this trouble?”
“Seriously?” Otto couldn’t help a snort of amusement. “If offered the choice, would you just go quietly with the likes of you?”
“Probably not.” Banjo sighed as he tapped the candle stick against his thigh. “Still, it doesn’t make this any easier.”
“I don’t think this kind of thing is supposed to be easy.”
“It never is. Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to see me do this.”
Banjo reared back with the candlestick and swung it at Otto.
Chapter Twenty
A Slight Case of Murder
Sometime later
Otto raised his head and opened his eyes, wincing with a soft groan at the aching invasion of light. The space about him seemed familiar, a copy of his own first class quarters; the outline of an unmade bed through the far door, a well-stocked bar in front of him, and a dimly lit bathroom to his right. To his left lay a layer of spent nut shells across the coffee table, circling a bowl of walnuts. Otto knew the nuts meant something special, though he couldn’t remember what.
He tried to raise his hand to his aching head, tried to stretch his arms, yet he couldn’t. Panicking, he wriggled in place, wondering why in the hell his hands were stuck behind him.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Walter said from behind him.
Otto attempted to turn about. His movement remained constricted.
“You’re tied up,” Walter said.
“Waa?” Otto slurred.
“That bulldog dragged you up here and tied you to a chair.”
“Why?”
“I imagine it’s because you couldn’t walk being all passed out like that.”
It all came flooding back to Otto then—the money, the mob, the FBI, the food fight, the being knocked out with a candlestick. He groaned once more and hung his head. “Good gravy. And the recording equipment?”
“Gone. He tossed it overboard.”
“Things are pretty bad, eh?”
“It’s worse than that. The other two idiots have the fed’s locked up too.”
“Oh dear. Things are about as bad as they can get.” Otto slumped in his seat as much as his position would allow. “What have you gotten me into?”
“Me? I wasn’t the one who wanted to fuck the mob with a strap-on.”
Otto recoiled in disgust. “You’ve been paying too much attention to that foul mouthed maniac.”
“Sorry, son.” Walter sighed in that double exasperated way only a slit throat could provide. “I’m just frustrated because I can’t help you this time.”
“You can help by untying me.
”
“I can’t.”
“Don’t be silly. Untie me and we can find a place to hide.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure we can. This boat is awful big. There should be a place for us to—”
“You ain’t listening to me, Eightball,” Walter said as he moved into view. “I can’t.”
Otto looked up to Walter, or rather through him. The low light of the room shone through the ghost with ease, leaving Walter semi-transparent. “What’s happened to you?”
“I don’t know. I think maybe those last few tricks may have pushed me a bit too far.”
Otto didn’t want to know where it was pushing the ghost.
“It’s weird, ya know?” Walter said. “I can feel myself unraveling.”
“What about your ashes?” Otto said. “You can’t leave until I spread them over the water. And I don’t have them. I can’t finish your last request.”
“I know, though I don’t think it matters now. I don’t have much longer in this world.”
“No,” Otto said in a slow exhale. “You can’t leave me now. I’m not ready yet. I still need you.”
“I know, son. I don’t think it’s up to me.”
Otto nodded. “I don’t think anything is up to either of us at this point.”
“I’ll try and stay as long as I can. I’m sure I still got some life left in these old bones.” Walter winked at Otto. It was a move meant to set Otto at ease, yet the familiarity of it left Otto more sorrowful that soon he would never see that wink again. “I’m sorry I got you into all of this.”
“Don’t be,” Otto said sincerely. “Thanks to you, I’ve lived more in the last two days than I have my whole life. I’ve taken risks. I’ve told lies. I made love to a beautiful woman. Over and over. I mean a lot of love. A lot. Like, we had tons and tons of sex.”
“Quit yer braggin’. It was only one night.”
“Yes, and what a glorious night.”
“Okay, okay. The point is you got laid. Good for you. About damned time if you ask me.”