Die on Your Feet

by S. G. Wong

  Lola shrugged. “I hope she’s right. Only gets tougher once you jump over thirty. Da Silva’s a decent Joe.” She waited for a derisive remark in reply, but Aubrey remained silent. Lola parked the Buick on the curve, just at the corner of the five-car garage.

  Martin Lee III wasn’t a pretentious man. His was a modest house that sat halfway up the Hills, facing the expansive ocean. It had only ten bedrooms and six baths, barely acceptable for a supposed real estate baron. North Hills was an exclusive area; one had to keep up appearances. The fact that Martin had a tennis court and outdoor pool barely met the minimum standards for the area. Lola thought it was perfect. She’d always loved this house.

  Lola had barely gained the top step to the front door when it opened. A trim man with ebony skin smiled at her with genuine affection.

  “Lionel,” she exclaimed. She swept into his outstretched arms and was greeted with a crushing hug.

  “Lola, you don’t know how glad I am to see you.” He released her just far enough to take a good look, keeping his hands on her arms.

  “You say that to all the girls,” she said.

  “But I only mean it with you.” He smiled back. “I’d waste another ten minutes telling you how stunning you look and all that, but Martin would impale me if he found out I’d kept you to myself so long.”

  “What are you doing here?” Lola asked as Lionel linked arms and led her into the grand entryway. A vaulted, twenty-foot ceiling played host to parquet flooring and a double stairway that hugged the walls. An enormous floral arrangement sat atop a round marble table in the centre of the space. Lionel walked Lola around the table, through a large door.

  “Just trying to get Martin to sign some papers.” Lionel eyed Lola. “Have you met Chandra yet?”

  Lola nodded. “At a Science Foundation fundraiser. Last month. Lovely girl.”

  “But strong-willed. And smart. Martin seems to have a taste for women like that.” A grin played along the tall man’s lips.

  Lola grinned. “The only ones worth marrying, Lionel.”

  “Worth keeping.” He stressed the last word. “But hard to keep.”

  “Is he having any luck with this one?”

  Lionel shrugged. “Time will tell. It’s been four months. Honeymoon’s still going strong.”

  “I’m happy for him, then.” She placed a hand on his arm. “And you? Still keeping yourself to yourself?”

  Lionel nodded emphatically. “Too young to get married.”

  “Too busy, you mean.”

  “That too. It’s either me or Martin. Someone’s gotta run the business.” Another shrug. “And we both know who’s got the better head for it.”

  “‘Real estate empires don’t run themselves.’”

  “Spoken like Martin Lee the Second himself,” laughed Lionel. He squeezed Lola’s arm. “You know, he still asks after his ‘favourite daughter-in-law.’”

  Lola laughed. “It’s a shame my former mother-in-law didn’t feel the same way.”

  “Yes, well,” replied Lionel. “If she had, my father might still be married to her and I’d never have been born.”

  “That’s me,” said Lola, “rabble-rouser and annoyance to traditional Chinese ladies.”

  “From your lips to the gods’ ears,” said Lionel with a smile.

  They’d come through a parquet-floored, wainscoted hallway with framed photographs lining the walls. Doors led off toward the library, the kitchen wing, guest rooms, the salon. The end of the hall connected with another corridor, at right angles. Lionel and Lola turned left and continued toward an open doorway, its glass-paned doors standing at attention to either side. Lola heard the rhythmic splashes of someone swimming.

  Lionel gave her arm another squeeze, then released her and walked on, toward a cluster of tables and chairs. Lola shaded her eyes with a hand as she neared the pool. Someone was indeed swimming, in steady strokes to the far end of the water. Lionel picked up a pair of sunglasses and slid them on as he sat down. He motioned Lola, who’d stopped, to come on forward.

  The swimmer surfaced and exited the shimmering water. Lola turned to face him, her smile widening with genuine pleasure. Martin faced away from her, towelling off with vigour. Sunlight glinted off stray beads of water on his taut body, bronzed from hours in the sun. Water beaded on his jet black hair. She crossed her arms, waited with a grin. Her ex-husband was rubbing roughly at his hair as he began walking toward her, but he wasn’t looking up. Rather, he was busy drying an ear and had his face turned away.

  “Lionel,” he called out.

  “Yes, Martin?” replied his brother.

  “What time did Chandra say she was—?” Martin’s upward gaze was met with a dazzling smile from Lola. He threw his towel onto the deck surface. “Lola! What the devil are you doing here?” He snatched her up into an embrace and planted a solid kiss on her lips before letting her go. His eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze to Lionel. “All right, spill. Why’s the muscle here? Are you trying to get me to do something I won’t like?”

  Lionel sighed. “Sadly, I hadn’t thought of that. No, Lola’s here on her own business. Which, I must point out, she hasn’t let on to at this moment.”

  Lola brushed a stray hair behind Martin’s ear. “You need to visit your barber, Martin. Or does your wife prefer it like this?”

  “I am in most things malleable to a fault when it comes to my wife’s wishes. However, one must allow oneself some small recourse of rebellion, Lola. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Lola countered his mischief with a stern expression. “Now, now, Lionel has informed me confidently that you and the lovely Chandra are still mooning over one another. I shan’t let you make me think different.” She hugged him again. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Then you should see more of me, my sweet.”

  “Seeing you more often shall suffice, I think,” replied Lola.

  “And Aubrey, how are you?” asked Martin.

  “Tell him I’m dying of boredom and would you please get on with it, Lola.”

  Lola grinned. “Can’t complain, thank you for asking.”

  Martin pulled Lola with him to the chairs and sat her down before taking his own seat. A rotund middle-aged maid came out with a tray of tall iced beverages. Martin thanked her expansively and she returned to the shadowy interior of the house without a word. Everyone took a grateful swallow of the icy tea.

  “Look here, Martin,” began Lionel, “I just need you to sign off on this contract. It’s for our new director of marketing.”

  “Have I met him?” Martin asked.

  “Her,” corrected Lionel, “and yes you have. Delia Quon.”

  Martin made a face. “That one? She hated me.”

  “All the more reason to hire her,” replied Lionel. “Now sign and I’ll get out of your hair and you can catch up with your beautiful former wife until your beautiful current wife comes home.”

  “Oh what a tangled web I weave,” said Martin gleefully. He took Lionel’s pen and attached his name to the document with a flourish. “There. Your duty is now fulfilled. Go hence with my blessings, dear brother.”

  “Idiot. I’ll be at the office until six tonight. Chandra will collect you at seven and we’re meeting at The Supper Club. Got it?” Martin nodded solemnly. Lionel kissed Lola on the cheek. “You would complicate things much too much, so I shan’t invite you, dear girl.” Lola laughed at his conceit. Lionel gave Martin one final stern glare and turned away, walking briskly to the house.

  “It’s easy to forget you’re older,” laughed Lola.

  “I try all the time.” Martin set his glass down forcefully. “Now, I know you’re still madly in love with me, so in order to save you face, why don’t we pretend you’ve come for some other reason than to glance upon my handsome face with longing and ardour?�
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  “I need information.”

  “Ah yes,” Martin steepled his fingers.

  Lola suppressed another laugh. “Do try to be serious, Martin. I need to know everything you can tell me about AJ Copenhagen.”

  He gave an exaggerated shiver. “Well that’s a sure fire way to give a man a shrivel.” The grin returned quickly as he registered Lola’s reaction. “It’s a short tale, but none the less sweet.

  “I was at their wedding. Barely remember it. I was with Noelle, wife number three. She made sure I didn’t disgrace myself more than usual. I don’t even know if Teddy Marshall noticed me. I may have kissed the bride, though. Forward five years and we met again at a fundraiser for Teddy Marshall’s latest philanthropic gesture, some children’s charity. We were at the Museum of Modern Art for an auction, that’s right. She was a knock-out, the belle of the ball. That glorious red hair. Those calculating emerald eyes. She was the picture of the devoted younger wife, in a tastefully alluring number, hanging on his arm, making eyes at him. I was hooked. Noelle was onto husband number three and I was single once more. Late into the event, she cornered me in that niche for Antiquities, you know the one, Lola, by that statue of the Han boy. I admit, I was surprised, but she was quite...convincing. I’m not proud of it, but I went to her home the following night. Teddy Marshall found us together. The next week, they were officially separated and then divorced by the end of the year.”

  “Was he violent? Angry?”

  “Not in the slightest. It was most...unmanly, if you ask me. He was perfectly composed. Grave.”

  “He didn’t threaten you?”

  “Nothing like that. He asked me to leave immediately, so he could speak with his wife. He turned on his heel and left. We dressed. She was done first and left the room. Didn’t say a word, didn’t even look at me.”

  “Was she embarrassed? Remorseful?”

  “She wasn’t surprised, I’ll tell you that. I’d venture I was the only one who was.” Martin looked thoughtful. “I think she’d been expecting Teddy Marshall all along. They were both so calm.” A grin Ghosted along his lips. “And she,” he shrugged. “Not passionate enough. And at the same time....” Lola waited him out. Finally, he said, “Damned if she didn’t look sad as well.” His grin burst out again. “Well, if a viper can look sad, that is.”

  * * *

  “It’s like prying a pearl from an oyster without any of the satisfaction,” harrumphed Aubrey in the car. “Slimy and smelly.” When Lola didn’t respond, he said, “Other than confirming that your ex-husband is a despicable cad, that story doesn’t help us.”

  “Even stray puzzle pieces fit somewhere.”

  “Oh, now you’re speaking in riddles. Please,” said Aubrey.

  Lola was content to let him stew in silence. She found a drugstore ten minutes away and pulled over. The telephone was occupied so she bought herself a cup of coffee and waited. Eventually, a large woman wearing an eye-searing floral print dress emerged from the booth. Lola made it to the telephone just in front of a pock-faced boy in a soda jerk uniform. She waited until he backed off before picking up the receiver and speaking to the operator. There were the usual clicks and static before she was connected.

  “City Desk, Monteverde.”

  “What’ve you got?”

  “A headache and a raging thirst. Meet me at Arty’s in a half hour.”

  “Make it an hour. I’m down the way from North Hills. I’ve got to stop into the office.”

  “You’re buying,” said Ria and rang off.

  Lola went back to the counter and asked for a glass of water. The kid in the soda jerk uniform shot her a dark look and slid into the telephone box. Lola just barely kept from laughing and drained her glass. She exchanged nods with the counter man and left. The street was moderately busy and she spotted no one familiar as she walked back to her car.

  “Good chance they’ll be waiting for you,” said Aubrey. Lola pulled the Buick into traffic and sped through the intersection just as the light turned amber.

  “I can lose them again,” she shrugged.

  “Waste more time.”

  “I’ll put it on her bill.”

  Lola drove alertly through late afternoon traffic and arrived at her street in under twenty minutes. She found a spot behind a grimy farm truck, two blocks and a corner from her building. She sat for a few minutes after the car settled down and watched the street. Then she got out and slowly made her way on foot. She crossed at the corner and approached from the other side of the street.

  “There,” exclaimed Aubrey.

  “Be more helpful if I could see you pointing,” remarked Lola, but she made them too. The big black hearse of a car was squatting half a block west, on the same side of the street. They were parked perfectly to see the entrance to her building. She asked Aubrey to run ahead as far as he could and get a better angle. He assured her that both hooligans were inside the car. Lola grinned and increased her pace up the sidewalk. She passed them without a glance and stopped at the corner, waiting for the crossing light. It changed and she surged forward with the crowd. On the other curb, she turned left and walked back down the block toward her building. As she did so, she looked deliberately at the black car. Thick was at the wheel and as she expected, he showed no alarm, merely watched her with dark eyes. She smiled a small smile and went inside.

  Up on the third, it was quiet. Lola wondered if she were the only occupant. Until she saw a shadow flicker behind the windows of her waiting room. The door was ajar. She smelled the familiar aroma of Egyptian cigarettes.

  The man smoking wore a well-cut beige number with a salmon-coloured shirt and striped tie in red, brown and gold. His brown trilby, accented with a strip of gold around its base, sat on a chair while he paced, staring at the floor. His head snapped up as soon as he heard Lola in the doorway.

  “Mr. Arbogast,” she said.

  “You are supposed to update me regularly,” he replied.

  Lola nodded agreeably as she crossed the small room to her inner office door. “This is the first time all day I’ve been here,” she said. She unlocked her door and pushed it open, gesturing for her client to precede her. Arbogast nodded curtly and passed her. Lola stooped to gather the mail in the small wire basket attached to the door just below the slot. She gestured for her client to sit as she walked behind her desk. She set the mail on a low cabinet and sat down to face him. Arbogast threw his hat on the vacant chair and stubbed his cigarette in her ashtray.

  “What have you found?” he asked. His green eyes were intent on her face.

  “A Ghostly nun who claims to have seen Mr. Josephson two weeks ago.” Lola iterated Aubrey’s interview with Sister Amelia, curious about Arbogast’s reaction. His mouth tightened when she mentioned the missing man’s Ghost, but he remained silent. He stayed that way for several moments after Lola was done. She said, “Seems Lucille is more of a leader than you thought.”

  “Who did you say this Ghost was? This nun?” Arbogast squinted through the smoke of a new cigarette.

  “She had no reason to lie.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I trust the source that spoke with her.”

  “Mm-hmm. And that’s all you have?”

  “I also spoke with Sammy Lu at Lucky Bamboo, a mah-jongg place on—”

  “I know it,” said Arbogast.

  “They—his niece and nephew as well—saw Mr. Josephson a couple weekends ago. They recognized his condition readily enough.” Lola paused, then added, “They had no reason to lie, Mr. Arbogast.”

  Arbogast sat unmoving, save for his eyes. They scanned Lola’s expression for something, some hint or scrap of something that Lola knew wasn’t there. She had more to say, but held her tongue. The next move was his.

  The cigarette trembled in his fingers, its smoke wafting
up to tinge the silence. He seemed to remember it suddenly and brought it up only to stop short and stare at it. After a moment, he took a deep drag, closing his eyes until he’d exhaled. When he looked at Lola again, his green eyes had darkened almost to black.

  “Do you know a lot about Ghosts, Miss Starke?”

  “I wouldn’t call myself an expert.”

  “I do. I forced myself to learn. Since I met Sunny, it seemed important to understand, you see.” He studied his cigarette once more. “Most people think it’s impossible to get rid of your Ghost without dying, but that’s not true. There are people—very special Spell Casters—who can Disperse Ghosts without harm to the Host. It’s not common, of course. Too expensive for most people. Too heartless as well. But if you’re motivated enough, it can be done.”

  “And was Mr. Josephson motivated, Mr. Arbogast?”

  Arbogast shook his head. “Sunny was a twin, Miss Starke. In the way of twins, the two children made a pact. They begged their parents to make it possible and in the way of doting parents, it was done. Lucille died when they were sixteen. I met Sunny five years later. He’d been a heroin addict for three of those years, driven to it by that horror he called his sister. You see, Miss Starke, Lucille was an addict before her death. Ironically, she didn’t die of an overdose. She was hit by a bus. But death is no match for a Ghost with a heroin habit. And if not Death, then how was poor Sunny to contend?”

  “Did she know you had a marker on her head? Did he?”

  Arbogast shook his head. “Impossible. I spoke only to arrange the details and I was alone with the...person. Sunny would never have gone along with it, of course.”

  “Lucille must have had contact with other Ghosts. They’ve got a community, a grapevine, just like the living. She might have heard a rumour and convinced her brother to rabbit. It sounds as though Mr. Josephson was susceptible to her persuasion.”

  “He’s been clean for three years, Miss Starke. That took courage and strength beyond your imagining. He learned to depend on himself. And he learned to mistrust his sister’s motives. I know he wanted her gone too. But I couldn’t discuss it with him without her knowing as well.”