Antenna Syndrome

by Alan Annand

  Jack had stopped coughing and risen to his hands and knees. I got out of my chair, came up behind him and gave him a field goal kick in the nuts. He squealed like a pig and rolled onto his side, gasping for air and shrilling again as soon as he’d filled his lungs.

  “That’s for what you did to Marielle, you miserable piece of shit. You were her caretaker and you abused her father’s trust. Thank your lucky stars we live in a civilized society, else we’d cut your balls off, grill them on the barbecue and eat them in front of you.”

  I gave him another kick in the groin. He scrabbled away from me and fell over the rim of the pool. He thrashed around until Major fished him out with the pool scoop.

  “Don’t judge,” I said to Major.

  “Never saw a thing,” he shrugged.

  ~~~

  Major and I were still sitting pool-side when the police arrived to take a teary-eyed felon off our hands. Once Jack and Tatiana were cuffed and locked in a patrol car, I gave the police my statement. Jordan and Vivien corroborated their sides of it. The police wanted to exercise my arrest warrant too but Jordan called the Commissioner and negotiated my voluntary surrender later today. The police departed.

  We went upstairs to survey the damage to Jordan’s office. The ventilation from the open windows had made the air breathable again. Jordan’s file drawers stood open. A panel had been removed from his computer. A small gym bag lay on his desk. In it were dozens of files and a computer hard disk.

  Jordan leafed through the file folders. “Policy papers, ward demographic analyses, campaign strategies, sources of financial support… If Jack had delivered this to the Russians, it could have provided their people a huge advantage in the elections.”

  “You never thought to keep that stuff locked up?” I said.

  “It was. But I guess Jack found the key.” Jordan laid the files back on his desk. “The wonder is, why didn’t he do this earlier?”

  “Maybe he was never so desperate,” I said. “Once he and Tatiana were on the run from the cops, he probably sought refuge with his handlers. My guess is, they forced him into one last job.”

  We went back downstairs. Someone had unleashed the dogs from the front steps. Samantha was in the back yard, tossing a frisbee back and forth for the two Dobermans to catch. Vivien stood at the bottom of the garden with her back to us, but even from this distance I saw her shoulders were shaking. After everything that had happened, she must be heartbroken.

  Jordan produced glasses and a decanter of scotch. We tapped rims and toasted each other’s health. Major bolted his and helped himself to another.

  “I really appreciate what you did,” Jordan told me, “coming to find me on Hunter Mountain. You risked your life without a thought of compensation, when many a lesser man would have run away.”

  “I considered that too.”

  “But you didn’t cut and run. I admire that. Once my election campaign swings into gear, I’ll need capable people on my security team.”

  “I’d be happy to join your team.”

  “Hell, man, I want you to lead it.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it.” A salaried job in a bug-free environment sounded good.

  “Anything I can do for you in the meantime?”

  “I put my car in the ditch on the I-87 while chasing your would-be assassin. Could you lend me one of yours to get back into town?”

  “Take the Tesla. In fact, you can keep it. It’s been to the body shop three times and they still can’t give me the shade of yellow I want.”

  “What’s wrong with it? Yellow is yellow.”

  “It’s just wrong.”

  “Listen to you, talking like an artist. Maybe you have more in common with Marielle than you know.”

  Jordan looked thoughtful for a moment. “What was silent in the father speaks in the child.”

  He walked us out to the driveway and retrieved the registration from the car’s glove compartment. He signed it over to me and dropped the keys in my hand.

  Major went to fetch his dog from the Mercedes. “Hey, Werewolf’s gone!” he shouted.

  “I thought he was conked out.” In the back seat of the Mercedes, the towel he’d lain on was stained with a few spots of blood. But the windows were open and the dog was gone.

  We heard a scream from behind the house. We broke through the hedge and onto the pool patio. There we found Werewolf behind the cabana, draped over Gretel and going at her full piston. Vivien stood watching aghast. Nearby, Samantha had leashed a growling Hansel.

  “Do something,” Vivien said. “Make him stop.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Major said. “Last time I interrupted something like this, I needed a dozen stitches in my hand.”

  “Come on.” I shooed everyone back toward the house. “Nature will take its course. This’ll be over in a minute.”

  Jordan came out with another scotch in hand. “What’s all the excitement?”

  Before anyone volunteered any salacious details, Gretel trotted out from behind the cabana and went to Vivien. Moments later, Werewolf ambled out. I could have sworn he was grinning jowl to jowl. He went to a water dish near the back door and noisily drained it.

  Major clucked his tongue and led Werewolf away. I said goodbye to everyone and followed him to the Tesla.

  “Sweet!” Major sat Werewolf on a towel in the rear seat, then slid into the front passenger seat. He ran his hand over the skin-colored leather interior. “Soft as the down on a prom queen’s belly.”

  I disengaged and stowed the charging cable. The car started with barely a hum, a stark contrast to the throaty rumble of my Charger. I put it in gear and drove off. Its silence was deceiving. The Tesla’s electric drive was rated at over 400 hp, taking less than five seconds to go from 0-60. I kept a light foot on the pedal.

  I phoned my lawyer on the way back into town. For once, Lutz wasn’t too busy to listen for more than a minute. I caught him up on the last four days and told him I’d volunteered to turn myself in to the NYPD. He agreed to rendezvous with me at the precinct in an hour.

  After dropping Major off in Hell’s Kitchen, I met my lawyer at Midtown South and surrendered to the police. But Lutz, armed with a carefully worded statement and the knowledge that the Police Commissioner was already apprised of my case, was able to secure immediate bail on my own recognizance.

  We’d just come out of the hearing room when I got a call from Major. “You won’t believe what just happened,” he said.

  “What?”

  “When I got back to the office, the postal carrier was opening the mail boxes in the lobby. Just as I arrived, a huge red spider jumped out of your mail slot, right onto his face. The guy collapsed on the spot, froth pouring out his mouth. The spider made a jump for me too, but Werewolf snapped it out of mid-air.” Major’s voice broke. “He went into convulsions right away. There was nothing I could do.”

  “Major, I’m so sorry.”

  Major cleared his throat. “He was getting old. But when you look at today, he sure went out in a blaze of glory.”

  “How’s the mailman?”

  “Tongue swelled up like a sausage, almost choked him to death. I had to clear my Beretta and stick the barrel down his throat to keep his air passage open until 911 arrived. Imagine what that looked like when the medics walked in.”

  I thanked him for the warning and promised to check in later. I recalled last night at the clinic, when I’d overheard Globik telling the Russian that Buzz had planted spiders in my nest. I got a police escort home, accompanied by an exotic-pet handler to look for the assassins Buzz had left for me. He found two giant spiders – one in my medicine cabinet, one under my bed – and took them off to the gas chambers. I was told again not to leave the building until my lawyer advised that I was free to do so.

  I downed two shots of scotch after which, emboldened by the powers invested in 12-year-old whiskey, I found Darcia’s number and phoned to ask if she’d join me in a dinner of take-out from a restaurant of her
choice. One thing led to another, and the night passed in a blur of sensations pleasant enough to make me forget most of what I’d seen in the past 24 hours.

  SATURDAY

  Chapter 57

  I woke up to the smell of fresh-brewed coffee, after which I was dragged from Darcia’s bed and given an X-rated shower. House arrest was an insult to my dignity, but with a warden like Darcia, who was I to question the court’s judgment?

  After breakfast, I checked the news. Front page of The Confidant pictured Jordan holding Marielle in his arms, the headline proclaiming Father-Daughter Team Crushes Underworld Operation. It stretched the facts a bit, but that’s what tabloids did. The story told how Marielle had infiltrated an organized crime ring engaged in illegal organ transplants, industrial theft, extortion and terrorism.

  It was implied that Jordan had masterminded the whole operation, assisted by a private investigator who wished to remain anonymous. Fine by me. I could live without vengeance-seeking Russian mobsters kicking down my door in the middle of the night.

  Later in the day I got a call from Lutz regarding my status with the NYPD. “The CSU went nuts over the head and body parts you gave to the upstate cops. They’d never seen anything like it. Preliminary forensics are in, and your story’s looking good. The bodies of Walker, Boyle and Mundt all had wounds unique to the claws and jaws of that thing you killed. They’ve fast-tracked the DNA evidence to seal the deal but, unofficially, you’ll be cleared in a day or two.”

  “What about Jack and Tatiana?”

  “The DA’s weighing multiple charges against the pair of them – rape, blackmail, grand theft, extortion, influence peddling and murder – either as primary, co-conspirator or accessory. Thirty years apiece, easy.”

  He told me the story Jack had spilled. Race track debts had long ago forced him into working for the Russian mob as a courier of hot goods between thieves and Vladimir Rossikoff. The art dealer had funneled over a million dollars’ worth of stolen paintings, objets d’art, gold coins, rare stamps and antique furniture into the art market.

  But instead of escaping debt, Jack’s continued love affair with the ponies had sunk him even deeper. Enlisting Tatiana, he’d developed a racket to blackmail her wealthy paramours. At the request of his Russian handlers, he’d planted electronic bugs in Jordan’s cars and home so the bratva could eavesdrop on the mayoralty candidate.

  After Marielle had executed her disappearance with the help of Buzz and Crabner, Jack had seized the opportunity to double down by issuing his own ransom demand. He’d faked a Russian accent pretending to be the kidnapper, and Tatiana had supplied the scream in the phone call I’d overheard with Vivien.

  But the bugs planted in Jordan’s house had alerted the Russians to the scam right from the get-go, and they’d wanted a slice. Pulling Globik’s strings, they’d assigned Buzz and the hornet swarm to complete the ransom exchange at Ronkonkoma lake.

  Hoping to salvage something from a scam he’d lost control of, Jack had suggested stealing Marielle’s paintings while Vivien was out of the house. The Russians agreed, and tapped Crabner for the job. Rossikoff would fence the paintings, and Jack would split the take with the bratva. It was a win-win all around.

  But with Jack’s confession in hand, the police had since arrested Rossikoff and recovered Marielle’s paintings. The art dealer was going to prison too.

  “Hey, another call incoming,” Lutz said. “Gotta go. I’ll call you when I get the official word.”

  ~~~

  I spent the rest of the day lying low with Darcia, subsisting on a diet of nutritious snacks, multi-vitamins and languorous sex. Ultimately, it became too much of a good thing and I grew anxious for some fresh air.

  “Honeymoon’s over already?” Darcia pretended to pout, but it was hard for her to look sullen when she was glowing.

  “I need to go see somebody.”

  “You can’t leave. You’ve got a court order that says so.”

  My iFocals hummed with an incoming call. It was my lawyer. The Assistant DA, who’d been monitoring my case at the Commissioner’s request, had just phoned Lutz to say they were dropping my bail conditions. I was free to leave my building.

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” Darcia said. “What if that guy Buzz had friends? Worse yet, relatives…”

  “I’ll take my chances.” I dressed, pocketing my keys and pistol. The thought of Buzz with a large family of cousins was too frightening to entertain. I gave her a cavalier kiss. “Keep the home fires burning.”

  “Sure. Maybe I’ll take a cold shower.”

  I took the elevator down to the garage, got confused for a minute looking for a Charger that wasn’t there, and climbed into the Tesla. The Charger had been towed from the I-87 to a body shop in Newburgh for a little work and would be back in my hands in due course.

  I stopped at a liquor store and bought a 40-ouncer of Black Bush on the way to the office. When I showed up in the Tesla, Mr. Kim frowned upon my new electric car, probably thinking of the gas he’d no longer sell me. I crossed the street to my building, keyed myself in and went down to the super’s office.

  Major had his feet on the desk, watching TV as he rolled a joint the size of a cigar. His expression was somber. He looked like a man who’d lost his best friend.

  “I’m really sorry about Werewolf.” I gave him the Black Bush.

  He cradled the bottle in his arms a moment like a long-lost baby. He fetched glasses from a cabinet and poured us each two fingers. We had a taste and then he lit his joint and blew a near-fatal cloud of secondary smoke my way. He drained his glass and poured another.

  “Nothing like an Irish wake to see an old pal off. I don’t suppose you knew Werewolf was part Irish wolfhound.”

  “I did.” He’d told me so, dozens of times. And if you could believe Major, some of Werewolf’s great-great-ancestors had driven the snakes out of Ireland, survived the Potato Famine and invented Guinness.

  He clinked his glass against mine. “A fighter to the end, God bless the old hound. I hope to go down swinging myself.”

  “I’m sure you will.” We hoisted a few more in Werewolf’s memory and shared the rest of that hemp cigar. By the time it was gone, so were we. I hadn’t been this anaesthetized since I’d gone under for surgery.

  I stayed with Major until he passed out around eleven. I slung him over my shoulders, carried him down the hall to his efficiency apartment and dumped him on his bed to sleep it off. I didn’t trust myself to drive so I left the Tesla at Mister Kim’s and took a cab back to my condo.

  There was a note under my door from Darcia. Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite. Some sense of humor. Did she not want me to sleep at all? But after I’d gone though the apartment, pistol in one hand, can of DDT in the other, I satisfied myself that I was home alone.

  I took three aspirin, drank a gallon of water and went to bed.

  MONTHS LATER

  Chapter 58

  I woke up in a cold sweat, something crawling on me. I flung the covers off and sprang from bed. I stood in the door of my bedroom, pistol in hand, looking around the empty room, feeling foolish. A ramp of sun slanted in from the window. Tiny motes of dust, evidence of my poor housekeeping, floated in the silence.

  I showered away the residue of the bad dream. Ever since my episode in the cave with Buzz, I’d had recurring nightmares. Later that day, when Darcia came off her shift at the pharmacy, I told her about it.

  I thought she might suggest a remedy, but all she said was, “You’ve got an over-active imagination.”

  “Is there a cure for that?”

  “No, but there’s a channel.” She gave me a look.

  Later in the day we crawled out of bed and drove out to Long Island for dinner at the home of Harris Jordan, AKA, the Mayor. Last month’s election had given him a landslide victory. Political pundits around the country were calling it a tectonic shift in New York municipal politics. They cited Jordan’s vision of the city’s future as being the best of pr
evious administrations – Koch, Giuliani and Bloomberg – all rolled into one.

  A dozen cars filled the driveway. Jordan met us at the door, took our coats and led us into the living room. Vivien was there in a cocktail dress, and although she directed the activities of the caterers, it seemed pretty obvious she was more the lady of the house than an employee. Or was I just reading too much into the large engagement ring on her hand, and Jordan’s adoring gaze?

  Jordan introduced us all around. Natalie’s date was a handsome young attorney named Bret from the Mayor’s office. Marielle came wheeling up in a motorized chair and pulled up the cuffs of her slacks to show me her state-of-the-art prosthetic limbs. Her companion was a scientific type with an unpronounceable Czech name, one of the Harvard medical team who’d given her new limbs. She pulled my head down to her level and kissed me.

  “Thank you for saving my life.”

  “Behave yourself, sweetheart, or I’ll be kidnapping you next.”

  After the other introductions – a couple of Jordan’s financial supporters and some key council members – Jordan opened bottles of Moet & Chandon and announced his engagement to Vivien. A round of congratulations swept through the room, after which we moved to the dining room for a six-course meal and fine wine.

  Later in the evening, after coffee, cigars and cognac, Jordan drew me aside. “Come with me.”

  He took me to a room at the rear where Gretel lay on a cot. She raised her head and gave a low growl, then flopped her head back down and sighed. Between her sprawled legs, three pups jostled for position at her teats. I picked up the biggest of them.

  “This one doesn’t look like a Doberman at all.” I stroked the pup’s nose and he chomped his gums onto my finger. “But he’s a feisty little thing.” He gnawed away like a beaver at my finger.