The Big Get-Even

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The Big Get-Even Page 21

by Paul Di Filippo


  I must have watched about forty minutes of that game before I found the resolve to pull myself out of the nostalgic fantasy. I ran the shower on cold and eventually came around to my normal self.

  Ray was still watching that old game or another.

  “Ray, what can I bring you for supper?”

  “Will there be pizza tonight?”

  Ray had asked for pizza every night for the past week, without success. I suddenly felt extra sad for the boy, although he surely would have questioned what he could possibly find to be sad about in his own life. “Ray, pizza is not on the menu, but I will have a special order made and sent to you.”

  “Could you please have any pepperoni sliced extra thin, Mr. Glen? I don’t like it too thick.”

  I did not think I had ever seen pepperoni on the provision invoices, but I knew we had several kinds of Portuguese sausage. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  * * *

  The dining hall that night was a considerably quieter place, never more than half full at any given hour. I was present throughout, including when Vee and Nancarrow dined. They leaned into each other, touching and laughing and necking, while the Dom Pérignon flowed.

  Rushlow and Digweed scarfed down their meager perch apiece, accompanied by a goodly heap of coleslaw, then sated the rest of their hunger with three mushroom-and-cheese burgers each and a bucket of onion rings.

  Nellie and I dined together with the kitchen staff after the dining-hall doors were closed. I listened with half an ear as she described her day, and then we parted for our separate, celibate quarters.

  Ray had demolished his special-order pizza with gusto, although several slices of chorizo, apparently just a millimeter too thick, had been neatly discarded in the nearest receptacle: the basket for his dirty laundry.

  I undressed and got into bed and went under as fast as if I had never napped on that warm hilltop earlier in the day, during what seemed another lifetime.

  * * *

  Sunday dawned colder than any previous day of the month, and I knew that our little arcadian extension of summer was at an end. I doubted that anyone but the hardiest would be swimming today, and when I stopped in at the front office, two couples were turning in their keys before an early departure, even though our generous checkout time was not until 2:00 p.m.

  For a moment, a few entrepreneurial schemes raced through my brain as I speculated on what we might offer by way of new amusements to encourage autumn visitors. But then I kicked myself. This whole charade would soon be over, one way or another.

  Out in the yard, seeing Nancarrow without Vee was almost jarring. She had glued herself to his side so effectively, and he had seemed so taken with her, that her absence seemed to hint at some kind of falling-out, which would do our scheme no good.

  But Nancarrow showed no sign of a lovers’ spat. Quite the opposite.

  “Good morning, Glen. Brilliant weather, isn’t it?”

  I looked at the shimmering birches. “Yep, time to dig out the long underwear soon.”

  “Or fly south for the winter.”

  My guilty conscience made the commonplace joke sound too close to our plan to flee for the tropics after skinning this suave jerk. But Nancarrow seemed to intend nothing oblique with his pleasantry.

  “You must be wondering why I’m uncommonly single this morning, without the vibrant company of Miss Pomestu. And by the way, I really should thank you for being the agent, however accidental, of our meeting—you and that imagined snake. She has been a very, ah, stimulating companion. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, of course, but with a certain rough intelligence and verve and no end of enthusiasm. To reward what is, in all likelihood, the start of the end of our little assignation, I’ve sent her out with my other companions. They’re on a shopping trip to various boutiques some miles away—the best this backwater can offer.”

  “I don’t generally comment on the doings of our guests, Barnaby, but I will say that it seems a classy move. I’m glad the lodge proved congenial for your, um, impromptu liaison.”

  “Ah, yes, your rough-edged jewel of an establishment. Now that I have my hands free, so to speak, let’s talk about this place.”

  Nancarrow leaned in closer, as if to share a confidence.

  “I know everything about you, McClinton, so you might as well just lay all your cards on the table.”

  44

  Before my brain could unfreeze and offer even a lame-ass reply, Nancarrow continued. But, astonishingly, instead of the threats or accusations I half expected, he offered confidences and reassurances. I began to relax a mite, my pulse hammering less fiercely in my temples with every word. Maybe our plan was still on track.

  We continued to walk across the yard in a kind of automatic reflex of motion, heading randomly toward the lakeshore.

  “To encourage absolute candor between us, Glen—and I hope you’ll pardon my wielding your last name a minute ago in that jarring manner, but I couldn’t resist, strictly for dramatic effect!—I am going to disclose a few facts about myself before we turn to an analysis of your current condition.

  “First, I did not come here on a pleasure trip. That is, not entirely for pleasure, although I anticipated some and actually got more than I hoped for, as you know. But there was always a business side to my trip. I sent my men up here last week with the express purpose of checking out your place and reporting back on it.”

  “But why?”

  “Simply because I had heard rumors that the lodge was reopening and that it was showing some potential for success.”

  “But exactly how does that concern you?”

  Nancarrow eyed me piercingly as we strolled. “You really don’t recognize my name? It has some prominence back in the city we once shared. And in fact, I think I might even have had occasional dealings with your old employers. Ghent, Goolsbee, and Saikiri, that is, not the federal institution that deployed you on its highway work crew during your stint as its guest.”

  I winced—convincingly, because those memories of hot, sweaty days whacking weeds, with the armed guards never far removed and the driver and riders of every passing car eyeing us as if we were animals in a wildlife safari, still hurt. But I said nothing.

  “Well, no matter. Perhaps you once knew my name but had its relevance purged from your mind by your troubles. I can appreciate how that might happen. But be that as it may, all you need to know now, Glen, is that I am a real estate developer—one of the biggest in the region. And I am always on the alert for any properties that hold the potential for a good return on investment. Here, let me show you some of my bona fides.”

  Nancarrow took out his phone—the latest, sleekest model, of course, as opposed to my flip-top hunk of junk—and mounted a slideshow of many of his properties, each with the hallmark bronze plaque proclaiming the building to be under his reign.

  “Rather impressive, if I may allow myself to say so. Perhaps you agree?”

  We had paused in our stroll around the edges of the property to look at Nancarrow’s CV. I manifested a sudden interest in a sagging fence post before responding to his boast. “Well, sure, absolutely! That’s a pretty awesome portfolio and track record, Barnaby.”

  “I’m glad you concur. So I think you’ll admit that I have a good instinct for valuable properties, Glen. Especially if a property is underperforming. That’s when I’m able to turn it around and maximize profits even more. I like to zero in on such deals. And my gut is telling me that the Bigelow Junction Motor Lodge is just such an opportunity.”

  “You really think so? I mean, I’ve gotten kinda fond of the place, but I never really had the sense that anyone else thought much of it.”

  “Well, I do. But at the rate you’re going with your very limited resources, both financial and managerial, you’re doomed to failure. Bankruptcy or worse. And then that disaster will taint the lodge, and even someone of
my reputation and skills will not be able to relaunch it successfully. I think that would be a shame. Don’t you?”

  “Sure. A lot’s riding on this place. My future, the jobs of the employees …”

  “Totally. And to be frank, Glen, you’re just not the fellow to bring it off. I know you’re doing it to help your uncle, who was the actual purchaser of the lodge. I’ve done my research, you see. But you’re just not fitted for the assignment.”

  I tried to look hurt. “I think I’m doing a pretty decent job up here. What makes you feel I’m wrong for the place?”

  “Let’s have a little tour of your past, shall we, Glen? All the facts I alluded to possessing a few minutes ago.”

  He then proceeded to document my entire sordid career in painful detail. Not even the prosecuting district attorney had laid out the case against me so thoroughly. Nancarrow named all my victims, all my maneuvers, all my profits and restitutions. He even guessed fairly accurately at the amount I had socked away on the sly. It took a crook to know one. Then he chronicled my miserable prison years and the lackluster, hangdog existence I had led since getting out, right down to my arrival at the lodge in a new role that I was singularly ill suited for.

  During all this spilling of my past, I had been holding my breath against any mention of Stan Hasso. That was the key secret that had to remain undiscovered. If Nancarrow had ever connected me to Stan, the game was surely lost. But we had done all we could to keep him in the dark about our affiliation.

  Back in the city, my December Good Samaritan turn, dosing Stan with the Narcan, had gone unrecorded in any media report, occurring only in the police log for that night. Three people back home knew of our joint business venture: Uncle Ralph, Suzy Lam, and Anton Paget. I could not imagine Nancarrow had access to any of them, or that they would aid him if he reached out.

  In Centerdale, of course, Sheriff Broadstairs and Wilson Schreiber could connect Stan and me. I deemed them equally closemouthed, even should Nancarrow seek them out. And that was all the people up here who could link us. We had wisely kept Stan in the background with all the contractors and suppliers. I had conducted all the dealings and negotiations with the locals. If they had ever seen or noticed Stan, it was probably just as some nameless guest or hanger-on at the lodge, a wastrel cousin, or a drinking buddy. Probably, they all had been too busy ogling Sandralene even to note her boyfriend’s existence. We had even kept Nellie unclear on his true status. She thought he was something like a silent investor. And now, despite politely sharing Nancarrow’s champagne on Friday night, Nellie was still under the belief—ultimately correct—that he wanted to do Stan some harm. There was no way she would spill the beans.

  Nancarrow was warming to his peroration, and without once mentioning Stan. I smelled success! As an ex-attorney, I admired the clarity of his closing arguments. As the subject—or, rather, miserable object—of his wrap-up, I was less pleased.

  “I said I’d be frank, Glen, and so I intend to be. You are a washed-up ex-lawyer and ex-junkie with very few useful life skills in your quiver. You’re still constrained by the terms of your parole and can’t even leave this place for a break. Somehow, you’ve fallen into this job, and you’re giving it your all. But your all is not enough. And you know what else? I don’t think your heart is really in this venture. I think you’re doing it to please your uncle, who probably just wants to see you become a useful member of society again. But be honest with me, Glen. Is your heart really in this gig? You once knew a pretty lush life—more like what I experience, if not quite so glamorous. Moving with the people who really matter, who are smart and hip and who can show you a good time. Even if, by some miracle, you were to succeed with this, is that the limit of your vision? Are you really going to be content owning a lousy little motel in East Nowhere, hanging out with these losers?”

  We had arrived at the beach. As I had predicted, no one was about in the autumn chill. A few early colored leaves floated on the wavelets. I stayed mute, as if contemplating the sharp, painful wisdom of Nancarrow’s speech.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said at last. “But what are you offering me instead of this place, which is at least some honest work?”

  “Let’s say almost three times what you paid for it. Half a million dollars. And something else: a chance to be a lawyer again.”

  45

  I certainly wasn’t Jesus. And Nancarrow, despite his egomania, avarice, dangerous outlaw behavior, and disdain for those weaker than he, was no Satan. And yet, I couldn’t avoid likening this to the temptation of Christ. The lodge was my wilderness. I hadn’t been fasting forty days and forty nights like the Son of God, but my stomach was a little growly from skipping breakfast.

  Nancarrow and I seemed to be enclosed in an invisible bubble, some private universe or force field activated by his words. I couldn’t even really hear the lapping waters of Nutbush Lake or the breeze in the trees, so focused was I on this new, unconsidered possibility.

  “How … how the hell could I be a lawyer again?”

  “The relevant laws offer reinstatement after disbarment, after sufficient rehabilitation. Didn’t you know that? Not every state has that option, but we do. You have to jump through a lot of hoops, of course, and there’s only a 10 percent approval rate. But I do believe that if you had a sponsor such as myself, and if I were to call in certain favors, those odds would increase significantly in your favor. In fact, they would approach certainty.”

  Wisely, Nancarrow stopped talking then. Having made his pitch, he was not going to oversell it. He could see I was intrigued, and he was just going to let the seed of the notion flower within the dark, poisoned soil of my heart. So he just stood there, complacent in his head-to-toe Burberry gear—the devil in a thousand-dollar cotton field jacket.

  And I was intrigued. A scenario leaped entire into my head.

  Cut Stan, Sandralene, Ray, and Vee right out of the picture. They had no legal holds on me or the lodge. They could hardly sue me for violating the terms of our illegal conspiracy. Sure, they’d be enraged, hurt, pissed. But I doubted whether any of them, even Stan, would bother to come after me in the end. Nothing to gain. Maybe I could even use a hundred K of Nancarrow’s money to soothe them. Twenty-five thousand apiece. That would be a decent payoff for a few weeks’ work, right? Not five million each, true. But some modicum of revenge would still be had. Nancarrow would be out half a million. The hurt would not be as great as losing twenty million. But still, when the imaginary Prynne offer for the lodge failed to materialize, he would look and feel like a fool, which is what everyone really wanted.

  Uncle Ralph would let me do anything I wanted. After all, the lodge had been purchased with my money, not his. I could sell it to Nancarrow and just walk away with almost triple my investment—a bigger stake to relaunch my life. My new life as a lawyer. This time, though, I would skip the dope and the chicanery. Concentrate on the legit pleasures: the cars, the suits, the bespoke shoes, the fine restaurants and finer women.

  The women. What about Nellie? Maybe I could take her away into my restored paradise. Surely she would appreciate being with a successful lawyer. I could already see my new office, taste the rich cigars and fine liquor …

  Nancarrow shattered my fantasy by speaking. “I can throw a lot of business your way, too, Glen, once you’re practicing again. I can always use a guy who has proved that he’s not averse to taking a few shortcuts to get things done more efficiently. Someone who knows that rules were made to be broken.”

  Nancarrow’s words were the tipping point. Our little pocket universe fell apart, and the world I knew reasserted itself. He had pushed the sale too hard. I liked to believe that I would have discarded all my traitorous thoughts in the next second or two on my own after running through the scenario. After all, you had to consider all the angles before making a decision, didn’t you? I really hadn’t been about to betray my friends, had I?

  B
ut if I had been about to do something so vile, Nancarrow himself had swung me back to the other pole. The image of me sucking up to this creepy bastard for the rest of my life, having lunch with him and his bully boys, hanging out with him in clubs and at parties, giving forced laughter at his jokes, and false congratulation for his cheap victories—it turned my stomach and allowed me to reaffirm where my loyalties lay. I hadn’t entered this scheme with any notions of revenge—just money. After all, I had no grudge against Barnaby Nancarrow. But his cavalier sleazy treatment of Vee had started me down the same road of getting even that Stan and Vee had embarked on long ago.

  No way would I accept this offer.

  Which, of course, was why I had to sound positively giddy about it.

  “Barnaby, I—I don’t know what to say. I didn’t really think it was possible for me to practice law again. To have my career back, plus a profit on this dump—it’s almost like a dream come true.”

  Nancarrow dropped an avuncular hand on my shoulder. “Dreams can come true, Glen. If your vision and willpower are strong enough. And if you have good allies. My own life is proof of that, I think. So I take it that you find my offer at least mildly tantalizing.”

  “Why, sure, yeah, of course!” I thought to interject some note of caution or suspicion that it all was too good to be true. After all, anyone in my position would at least consider the possibility that he might be getting taken for a ride.

  “But maybe there’s something you’re not telling me. Are you really doing this out of the goodness of your heart? Is the challenge really so fascinating? I can’t really believe you can make this place so huge it will earn you back half a million over a reasonable time. Are there mineral rights here, or something crazy like that?”

 

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