1 Take the Monkeys and Run

by Karen Cantwell

  Howard stayed with me, sitting next to my bed, holding my hand. He told me that when Viviana had unleashed her weapon on me, the only agent able to react fast enough was Smith, who wounded her with several hits, but not mortally. Viviana Buttaro would live long enough to die in jail from lung cancer. Maxine, on the other hand, was teetering precariously in the ICU. She had lost a lot of blood. Even the monkeys made it out alive, he said, after Colt and Peggy released them during their own escape. Although, according to Colt, they didn’t go easily. The monkeys, that is.

  When he felt sure I was well enough, he said he really needed to get back to the scene—there were reports to make and interviews to be done. He could be out the rest of the night.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Go get it done.”

  “You sure?” Guilt was still written all over his face.

  “Does it matter if I’m sure? You’d have to go anyway, right?” I had a new understanding of our lives at present.

  He nodded.

  “So,” I said, “I don’t know which to ask first: How? Or why?”

  Howard didn’t blink. He also didn’t answer up immediately. “They’re both big questions with complicated answers,” he finally said.

  “Can you at least give me an abridged version of the ‘How,’ just to tide me over? I feel like the world’s most clueless wife, here.”

  He pulled his hands away from mine and ran them through his hair like men do when they don’t want to confront something difficult. He took a deep breath before speaking. “My mother owns a condo near our house. I use it to store my gun and my badge. Park a bureau car there if I’m driving one. If I’m on a tough case, I tell you I’m on travel and I stay there.”

  “Your mother?” I asked, unable to believe she had been in on the years of deception.

  “That gets into the ‘why.’ It’s . . . can we do this later?” He looked at me ashamed, but at least he was looking me in the eyes.

  “Obviously,” I said, “we have a lot of talking to do. I’ll see you when you get home?”

  He smiled a very relieved smile. “See you at home.” He kissed me tenderly on the lips and walked away, those ‘FBI’ letters again obvious on his back.

  I called after him. “Hey!”

  He turned around with a show of concern on his face.

  “You look pretty sexy in that jacket,” I teased. “You should’ve let me see it a long time ago.”

  He smiled brilliantly and then disappeared behind the sterile curtains that separated me from the rest of the hospital.

  Roz was admitted overnight for observation, Peter sitting vigil by her side. They released Peggy and me. Since I didn’t have a husband available to take me home, I got the next best thing—Colt. He’d driven over in Howard’s Camry after a de-briefing by Agency officials.

  “Your mother wants to see you,” he said warily in the car.

  “No! No, not tonight. I just want to sleep. Please.”

  “Got it,” he said, relenting.

  “How long have you been in on this?” I asked finally.

  “Only since today. Swear. Howie clued me in at your house earlier.”

  “The backyard chat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you known he was with the FBI all this time?”

  He shook his head immediately. “No. Not until today. Really.”

  “So why did he tell you today?”

  “He wanted my help keeping you safe. He was driving me to pick up a rental car when you and Roz got yourselves kidnapped. What were you thinking?”

  “Well, you weren’t doing a very good job of keeping me safe, now were you? Besides, why couldn’t you just keep me safe by staying at the house?”

  “Well, the original plan was to keep you from worrying by keeping a distance, watching the house and making sure Viviana’s crew stayed away. But then when they showed up, we decided to stow you away at the hotel while I stayed at the house in case they came around again. You were supposed to stay safe at the hotel, remember?”

  Embarrassed by my actions, I tried to explain myself. “We had a plan.”

  Colt didn’t respond to my excuse.

  We stayed quiet for a while until I decided to change the subject to Howard’s alias. “How about his name—he’s Italian? Did you know that?”

  “We were very tight in college—he told me everything years ago. It’s a wild story. His name, his old man.”

  “His dad was in the Mafia?”

  Colt shook his head. “He was an honest businessman. Too honest, too much integrity for his own good. Tito, as far as I understand, was working under a guy who ordered him to make the hit.”

  “Frankie and Elvis told me that Tito felt bad about it and took care of him financially—even paid for his college.”

  Colt seemed impressed. “No kidding! Really?”

  “Did Howard know that?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I grew quiet once more, exhaustion rolling over me like a tsunami. I dozed off in the car and had a vague recollection of making it as far as the couch once we reached home. The stairs to my bedroom just seemed too monumental.

  When I woke up, my chest still ached and my right arm burned like someone had marked me with a branding iron.

  “You okay, Mommy?” Amber’s sweet voice whispered in my ear. I smiled and turned my head to find her, bedecked again in her fairy paraphernalia, waiting for my awakening.

  “I’m okay, Sweetie. You?”

  “Oh, I’m great! We’re having tacos!”

  The air was, in fact, filled with the aroma of Mexican spices, and my stomach growled an expectant growl. Food! Finally!

  “Come on, Mommy. We’re waiting.” Careful to grab me by my good arm, Amber pulled me to a sitting position.

  “What time is it?” I asked her with only a slight wince of pain.

  “Daddy!” she yelled to the kitchen, “what time is it?”

  “One forty-five!” Howard’s voice rang back.

  Bright, glorious sunlight streamed in through all of my windows. It was a new day, after the scariest night of my life. I pulled my sorry butt off the couch and made my way to find that Colt had chopped and stirred up a fabulous Mexi-feast. My stomach growled again at the colorful sight of it all—tomatoes, lettuce, guacamole, black olives.

  Howard was sitting in front of a newspaper with a Corona, and the table was set for three. Looking out the sliding glass doors, I could see Bethany and Callie setting up three places at the table on the deck.

  “Who’s eating outside?” I asked Howard.

  “The girls wanted to eat out on the deck, but I wasn’t really up for it. You okay in here?”

  “Sure.” I nodded, just glad to have him back again.

  When I sat down across from him, he put his paper down and gave me a sort of hangdog look. The atmosphere was awkward. I just didn’t quite know what to say. Evidently, neither did he.

  “So,” Colt said, breaking the silent moment while pulling taco shells from the oven, “wild night, huh?” After another brief moment of silence, we all started laughing.

  “Hey.” I perked up, remembering something that had been gnawing at me. “I still don’t know what happened at House of Many Bones thirty years ago that had everyone so scared. Viviana wouldn’t answer that question.”

  Howard explained that little story for me while Colt put bowls of taco condiments on both tables. As bad luck would have it, Viviana and Tito hadn’t owned the White Willow house very long when Tito, a known philanderer, had decided to invite a couple of paid girlfriends over for a kinky threesome. Unbeknownst to Viviana, he had outfitted it with furniture for just that very purpose. Only thing was, when the girls showed up, they were actually men. Undercover cops, disguised as ladies of the night on a routine prostitution sting. The cops had no idea Tito was a wiseguy. When the bust went down inside the house, all guns came out, and while Tito only got grazed in the leg, one cop was shot dead. The other managed to escape out the back door
, but Tito chased him down and snuffed him with an axe.

  Problem was, said Howard, several neighbors heard the gunshots and came out to investigate. No one had called the police, because Rustic Woods, being what it was in the seventies—quiet and practically country—they all thought it was just someone shooting at a wild animal.

  “Needless to say,” said Howard, “they were shocked to find Tito Buttaro holding an axe, standing over a dead man dressed as a woman. Tito, thinking he had no other recourse, told them who he was and what he did for a living, and warned them if they wanted to live to see another day, they’d all go back to their houses and keep quiet.”

  “Which they did?” I asked.

  “All of them. The Perkins, the Rhineharts, and the MacMillans. Tito and his soldiers came back the next day and made a personal visit to each family, just to push home the point. ‘Don’t talk.’”

  “What about the cops?” I asked.

  “Their bodies were found in a dumpster in Manassas a few days later. Investigations went nowhere. They never considered that the Mafia was in this area at that time.”

  “Wow.” The only word I could muster.

  “That’s about it,” agreed Howard.

  “What happens to Frankie and Elvis?”

  “They’re cooperating and filling in the gaps of information we were missing. They’ll get full amnesty. A couple of funny guys—they’ve never liked killing. That’s why Tito wanted them around—figured he was safe that way. When Viv gave them the order to whack Tito, they cut a deal with him—he stays in hiding, they don’t kill him. And they’re telling us everything about Viviana, down to her shoe size.”

  Howard laughed a weak sort of laugh, and shook his head lightly. “She was cooking up a half-baked scheme to sell her houses and bankroll the production of a screenplay she wrote about her own life.” He started digging in his back pocket. “Here, Barb, I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget—I thought you’d get a kick out of this.” He produced a small bit of paper that looked as if it had been torn from a bigger piece. He read from it, laughing. “Misunderstood—A Mafia Wife Unshackles the Chains of Bondage.”

  Colt had been sitting and feeding himself tacos by now. “Too bad she’s going to jail for a long time—that sounds like a box office winner,” he laughed.

  “She claims she was on to us at the end—that’s why she so easily gave up the names to Tito. She’s asking for a deal as an informant.”

  “Will she get it?” I asked.

  “Is the Pope Jewish?” Howard laughed, grabbing a taco and slapping on a dollop of guacamole. He ate half, then put it down. “I’m too tired to eat.”

  He did look done in. A day’s worth of stubble had grown on his face, and the circles under his eyes told me he hadn’t slept at all the previous night. His gorgeous hair looked like it had been through a car wash. He pulled his exhausted body slowly out of his chair. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait,” I said, “you owe me an explanation.”

  “Now? Can’t we do this when we’re alone?”

  “Last night—if you had your vest on when No Toes shot you, why weren’t you wearing it later?”

  Howard smiled a weak but satisfied smile. “After that numbskull pulled me behind the shed while I played dead, I waited until the coast was clear, then crawled to the back of the house—I found a basement window that was unlocked, but I couldn’t crawl through it with my vest on.”

  “How did Officer Brad know to throw you the gun?”

  “I lost mine crawling in the mud. I was able to access a land line in the house and patch through to Smith.”

  “Geezie Louisie—I’m married to a real life action hero, aren’t I?”

  He smiled again and walked out of the room and up the stairs.

  “Boy,” said Colt after Howard left, “you guys have been married, what? Ten, twelve years?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Wow, has it been that long? Well, anyway, I gotta tell you, after all these years, that guy is just as crazy about you now, as he was back in our first year of college. C-R-A-Z-Y. You gotta love it.” He said.

  I smiled.

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding his head and finishing his thought, “I know how he feels.”

  “So,” I said, deciding to move quickly away from the topic of long-lost love, “do you have a return ticket to L.A.?”

  “Of course not. In fact, do you mind if I stick around a little while longer? This place is starting to grow on me. Pretty exciting around here.” He smiled.

  “Sure,” I said, “stay as long as you want.”

  I polished off at least six tacos, and they were yummy in my tummy. Finally feeling satiated, I decided to go see how Howard was doing. He had pulled the curtains shut and was under the covers on the bed, out like a light. I looked at his peacefully sleeping face. I wondered about the man I didn’t seem to know now. How would we move forward from this? Could I forgive the years of lying? I didn’t know. I decided not to worry about it. There would be the time for the questions and time for the answers. Time, possibly, for understanding. Or not understanding. Another time, though. Another time.

  I took off my shoes, crawled under the covers and curled up cozy like a spoon next to my husband, who was finally back where he belonged, in our bed. It felt nice to be safe again, basking in the warmth and comfort of a space that was ours and ours alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  HALLOWEEN CAME AND WENT. I spent the first two weeks of November finessing ChickAtTheFlix.com, but was still working up the courage to put it up live on the web. Now, just two days before Thanksgiving, Roz, Peggy and I were sitting in chairs, dressed in white uniforms, watching a master class at Master Kyo’s Tae Kwon Do.

  “Do your sides hurt?” whined Peggy. “My sides hurt.”

  “Only your sides hurt?” I moaned in response. “My whole body hurts. My fingernails hurt.”

  “What are you all complaining about?” Roz piped up. “You should try this stuff with one of these on.” She held up her right hand presenting a very fashionable plastic wrist guard. Turns out, Frankie hadn’t broken her hand, but had wrangled her wrist into a fairly nasty sprain.

  Having recovered from our various wounds, both physical and mental, we had resolved to learn ourselves some self-defense. We had strolled into our first class the previous week, full of excitement and eager willingness to tone our bodies and minds, while gaining the valuable skill of chopping a piece of wood in half with our feet. We figured if we could splinter wood with our feet, we could bring down any man, woman, or medium-sized animal that might seek to harm our middle-aged bodies. After two days at the back of the line as peon “No Belts” and suffering excruciating physical pain in every possible muscle in my body, my mind was now telling my body to skip this joint and go next door to Joe’s Bar for a cold one.

  “So,” asked Peggy, “Have you heard anymore about Viviana? Is she being sent up the river?”

  “What does that even mean?” asked Roz.

  “I don’t know. Don’t they say that?” she said, grimacing as she lifted a knee to cross her legs.

  “No,” I said, groaning. “I don’t think Howard is allowed to tell me anymore. Or else he won’t. Don’t know which. You know, we’re all witnesses. We’ll be required to testify against her in court.” It was hard to tell if the worry on their faces was from fear of court, or fear of the upcoming hour of cruel Korean torture.

  “What about Howard?” asked Roz. “Looks to me like he hasn’t moved back in yet. What’s the deal?”

  I grinned an evil grin. “I’m making him date me again. Told him he had to work to win me back.”

  “Will he?” asked Peggy, “I mean, you will forgive him, right? Right?”

  “Maybe . . .” I said.

  “What about Colt? I saw him at your house yesterday—he hasn’t left yet?”

  “He’s moving out here—says he likes the area. Evidently DC is a great place for PIs. Congressmen cheating on their wives
and such.”

  “Where’s he staying?”

  “Howard’s condo. They’re roommates again.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. Roz and Peggy bugged out their eyes in response. “Oh, yeah,” I said. “It’s very interesting. Funny too, because they have a new pet. A dog.”

  “A dog?” asked Roz.

  I nodded, smiling. “Puddles. In a cast from the waist down.”

  Roz and Peggy laughed, both grabbing their waists and grimacing from the pain that even a mere giggle could cause after a week of never-ending, sadistic sit-ups.

  The master class had been dismissed, and energized boys and girls with important colored belts dashed onto the mat after making their requisite bows. I always forgot the bow. Certainly, the discipline and respect it represented were important. I didn’t disagree in theory, I just always forgot. Roz bravely stood up first, followed by Peggy. They looked at me, still sitting in my chair, every muscle aching and throbbing.

  “Maybe we should bag this and learn to shoot a gun instead,” I proposed. “It wouldn’t hurt so much. And we’d probably all look really sexy holding one.”

  Roz shook her head violently. “Forget it. This was your idea, remember? Besides, I’d be afraid to tell your mother we were quitting. She scares me.”

  I acquiesced and rose slowly from my chair, making ouchy noises with each pain. Hobbling to the mat, I made the same darned mistake I made every time. I forgot to bow. I cringed as my foot touched the mat, realizing too late that the law had been broken. A booming roar sounded from the front of the room. “Mrs. Marr! Did you fail to bow?”

  Roz and Peggy hid giggles from the instructor who was reprimanding me.

  Damn!

  “Yes, sir,” I mumbled, ashamed and embarrassed while all of the obedient little boys and girls stared at me.

  “Mrs. Marr! I don’t think I heard you!”

  I looked to the front of the class, finding my mother, the black belt instructor who was chiding me mercilessly. “Yes sir.” I repeated loudly enough for her to hear.