“Not all of it’s liquid. A lot of fixed or near-liquid assets. He’s transferred a significant portion of his company stock to you. Several properties that he owned. A couple of golf courses…shares in a casino…villas…you get the idea. As well as a big chunk of his portfolio, which was diverse. Let’s see… Treasury Bonds… Bearer Bonds… Promissory Notes… Money Market accounts… Commodities...” I could almost hear Fred’s mental calculator spitting paper out.
“And interest in several businesses that he owned pieces of. Hi Tech, Aerospace, Pharmaceuticals, Bio-Engineering. Stuff like that. Hey! You’ll be happy to know that you now own a half-percent of Microsoft.”
Silently, I moaned. But I don’t know if it was an orgasm of the mind or one last twinge as Jack laughed at me. One final irritating wink before he slipped into the Gates of Hell.
“Hang on. I’ll try to give you a rough calculation…”
“Uh-huh.” The flipping of papers never sounded so fucking frustrating.
“Still sitting down?”
“HOW FUCKING MUCH?”
“All told, close to two-point-seven billion. Give or take. I’ll know better when Phyllis emails me the final tally.” Too bad I wasn’t sitting down, because I landed so hard that I nearly broke my Coccyx.
“Oh yeah…I have the bank draft. I’ll give it to you when I see you.” I had dropped the phone when I landed on my ass, so I barely managed to capture these words. Nursing my tailbone, I limped to the couch and flopped onto it.
“You got it? But I thought…” He said he was going there to pick up the draft. I figured after what he saw, that never happened.
“It was on the kitchen counter when I got there. I didn’t notice it until I went back inside with the cops. The second time. Obviously, I was preoccupied the first time. But I grabbed it anyway. Not much use in a Crime Scene Evidence bag. It had nothing to do with anything.”
“How much?” I wasn’t demanding anymore. All frustration had morphed into meek astonishment.
“This one’s for a hundred million. The rest of the money will be transferred when we finalize the paperwork and you sign it. Probably another four or five hundred million.”
Ohmigod. I tried to digest Fred’s words, but so much had happened in the blink of an eye. Father’s company might have been worth twenty or thirty million, when all was said and done. I owned a portion of it and if he ever decided to retire – finally – then I’d be doing okay.
I pulled down a low six-figure salary and had a pretty descent investment portfolio. All told? Before that day, on paper I was probably worth a million, give or take. But it was all tied up in paper. I got nice things and I could afford them. But I was nowhere near ready to retire.
“Still there?”
“Two-point-seven…” The number kept rolling around in my head. Billion. A thousand million. Ten thousand times my annual salary, give or take. Times two-point-seven.
Before that day, I could modestly tell people that I was a millionaire. Barely. But I didn’t, because I couldn’t write a check for a million dollars.
Suddenly, I could write one for a hundred million.
Suddenly, I was a billionaire.
Like Jack.
“Still there?” The pause was real-time. Seriously. Fred was listening to static for as long as it took you to read the last seven paragraphs.
“Uhm, I think. I can’t feel my legs, but I’m still breathing.”
“You are one lucky son-of-a-bitch, you know that? You, my friend, just won the lottery.
“So who’s doing your legal work?” I chuckled softly.
“I guess you are.”
“That’s the right answer. Listen, there’s one other commission that I have to perform. The other reason why I had to come to Montreal.”
“Oh?”
“Well, this is the other thing that’s crazy, Malcolm. A month ago, Jack gave me a parcel for you. He instructed me to hold onto it until he died or went missing. The words he used were ‘unusual circumstances.’ It’s as if he knew something like this was going to happen.
“Anyway, I’m legally obligated to give it to you.” I wondered what it could be. I wondered how Jack knew that this was going to happen. I bit my lip and sighed.
“Fine. Do you want to ship it to me?”
“I’d rather not. I’ve been instructed to hand-deliver it.”
“Okay, so when are you in Montreal?”
“I’m here now. Flew in this morning. I gave the Police all the information I could and there was no reason for me to hang around. Jack’s estate is in limbo at this point, until the Police finalize the investigation.”
Fred told me that he was at the Le Centre Sheraton Montreal. I replied that I’d drop by and get the bank draft and the parcel in an hour. Hanging up, I sat and contemplated.
Being filthy rich should feel better than this.
My contemplations gave way to a single tear which seeped out of an eye. I thought about Jack and the end that he must have met. But I didn’t know. I had no clue about the true circumstances of his disappearance, and I wondered if I ever would.
Easy, mate. This can only be touched by me.
***
I sat around and wondered if I wanted to see what was in the parcel. I even debated picking it up. But intense curiosity and a bank draft for a hundred million dollars overcame reluctance and I finally pulled on my coat and drove downtown. It was a beautiful day and while snow still laid piled on the sides of streets, a hint of spring was in the air and a few birds even twittered and cackled. I doused my cigarette and got out of the car. I took a long, deep breath.
Fred was waiting for me in his room. There was a half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey sitting on the night table. A large parcel wrapped in brown craft paper sat on the bed. He pushed it toward me, and I picked it up. It was heavy. Slowly, I placed it back on the bed and sat down.
Almost as an afterthought, Fred produced an envelope and shook my hand. He congratulated me for my newfound status as a billionaire. As I took it, curiosity got the better of me and I peeked inside. My name and a one followed by eight zeroes. Trembling, I placed it in my breast pocked and sighed. It was exhilarating, but it was also bitter-sweet.
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Fred acknowledged my statement with a nod and offered me a drink. I gratefully accepted and for several minutes we spoke about the man we both knew. But I knew him much better, and I think Fred was trying to find some explanation that would satisfy his mind and help him make sense out of this.
“You knew him better than me, Malcolm. What the Hell was going on inside his head?” I weighed the question for a few seconds and shook my head. I couldn’t go there.
“No-one knew. I don’t even think Jack knew, Fred. He was fighting demons that nobody else saw. Once in awhile, I’d get glimpses, but then he’d flip back to his normal, jovial self for awhile.” I frowned and thought about every encounter that we had over the past several years.
“Do you think it was the medication?” I was visibly surprised but I shouldn’t have been. After all, Jack didn’t hide it well and Fred still had memories of pissing his pants when Jack put a fake gun to his head. But I never spoke about it to anyone. Except for Elizabeth and Jack. So I guess it was odd to finally have this conversation with him. I shook my head and sighed.
“I don’t know. From my understanding, the doctors had him on a different meds, and when those didn’t work, they tried something else. It was a constant battle to try to find the right combination. But he fucked around with them. Once, he told me that he missed the ‘edge’ that he had when he wasn’t on them. After that, I could tell when he was or wasn’t taking them. It wasn’t hard to tell.” Fred nodded. I pondered my last statement and continued.
“But I saw a change come over him the past year or so. Almost as if he had managed to fight the monkey off his back.” Fred nodded in agreement.
“I know. I saw a change too. It was around the time that he began to build the
house.” Fred was right. I had seen it, and I thought it too. It was as if the house became his grounding force. The thing that settled him, once and for all. Until this.
Fred looked at me. He was pale and obviously shaken by his grim discovery. He wiped the hair away from his eyes gave me the look of someone who needed to talk, with someone who could relate.
“Do you want to get together tonight? Dinner and drinks? Celebrate your newfound wealth?” I shook my head. I wanted to get the box back to my house.
“No. I don’t think so. Raincheck, okay?” He bit his lower lip and nodded. I got up and shook his hand. I hefted the box off the bed.
“Hey, Malcolm?” I was halfway out the door and I stopped. But I didn’t turn around.
“I’m really sorry about what happened to Elizabeth.” I nodded, but I didn’t turn to look at him. I just nodded and left.
As I placed the parcel in the trunk, I noticed one word, written with thick black marker in Jack’s bold hand:
Malcolm.
Chapter 61
This is the maiden all forlorn,
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
I lugged the box inside and gingerly placed it on the coffee table.
As I stared at it for several minutes, I wondered what it was. Possibly a message from beyond the grave, possibly an indication of what had happened to Jack. No doubt his final ‘fuck you’ from beyond the grave. I wondered – truly wondered – if I should open it or just burn it. I didn’t want to know what was in that box. But I had to know.
I tugged at the taped edges until they gave. They peeled off, a condom containing seminal matter that had outlived its usefulness. Carefully, I pulled the paper away to reveal the contents. It was a large lockbox that sat before me like an uncooperative epitaph. It was dull grey and replete with a four-number combination lock. I pressed the open button and tugged at the lid. It didn’t give.
Locked. No big surprise there.
I scratched my head and looked at the box for a moment. This was a cruel joke by Jack. Even dead – for I had come to accept that he probably was – he was toying with me.
Easy, mate. This can only be opened by me.
I imagined him saying the words and grinning at me, from whatever Heaven or Hell he finally found.
I thought about trying to break into it, but it was sturdy. There was no way I was going to bust into this safe, even though I already knew that something wanted to bust out.
I had to figure out what the combination was. The numbers were lined up at 0666. Cute, Jack. Really cute. I laughed and shook my head. He was definitely toying with me.
I got up and retrieved a bottle of Scotch from the kitchen, picked up a soiled glass from the sink and ran water over it. Returning to the living room, I sat and poured myself a glass. I sipped while I stared at the lockbox. Suddenly, I remembered.
Jack told me there were 1,111 steps in the house.
Sure it’s contrived. But forgive me for being a little superstitious. I like nice neat numbers.
I dialed the numbers to ‘1111’ and pushed the button. The lid didn’t give. It was still firmly locked.
“Dammit!” I fumed and took another sip. I looked out the window and thought about the events that transpired during our lives. It began to snow quite heavily, and I peered at the millions of tiny flakes as they fell in an almost straight line to the ground. It was going to be a long night. What significant number would Jack use? What four-digit code had significance to the both of us? I knew the man. It would have to be a number with meaning. Wouldn’t it?
I tried his birthdate and then mine. Then the last four digits of every phone number he ever had. Nothing. I looked at the numbers and briefly considered trying all remaining 9,987 combinations. I wondered how long that would take. Taking a puff of a cigarette I’d just lit, I looked back at the window and falling snow. So much for the early hint of spring.
I have time.
I sighed and dialed the combination back to ‘0000.’ I pushed the button. Nothing. I tried ‘0001, 0002, 0003,’ and so-on. After a good half-hour I swore and threw my hands up in frustration. I had only reached ‘0160.’ I stood up and paced around the room, turned up my stereo and drained my Scotch. I butted out another cigarette and peered out the window. The snow was accumulating quickly. I could barely see across the street.
When the phone rang, I lunged at it. It was Bill. I was relieved to have a diversion – any diversion – and I hadn’t talked to him for awhile. I hadn’t even thought to call him about Jack.
“Hello?”
“Malcolm. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, why?” He knew.
“I just had a visit from the Police.” He waited for me to respond. As if he expected me to be shocked that the Police visited him.
“I’m not surprised.” I sighed and lifted my drink to my lips. “If nothing else, they are thorough.”
“What happened? Jack disappeared…is he dead?” I closed my eyes and thought about the question. I didn’t know.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. I don’t know. I don’t know.” Tears welled up in my eyes and I fought them back. Elizabeth and Jack. I didn’t need to show him or anyone else my weakness. He waited and listened for several moments, as if I had some wisdom to parlay.
“Look, are you okay? Do you want me to come over?” I pondered the question for a second. I shook my head. Like he could see my sad eyes.
“No! Thanks for the offer. I need to be alone with my thoughts right now. Look, I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
“Malcolm?”
“Yes?”
“Nothing. I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up and sipped Scotch. There was something strange in his voice. This situation had everyone off-balance. With a frown I turned back to the lockbox, hoping that trying to open it would focus me.
Over the next several hours I downed the half-filled bottle and opened another. I lay on the couch and let the music fill my senses. As it wafted over me and soothed my frustration, I looked at the bank draft. One hundred million dollars. It sat unpretentiously on the coffee table and I lamented.
What happened to him?
I sighed and thought about the days when all we cared about was getting a piece of tail. I thought about him and Elizabeth. Two people who were violently taken before their appointed time. I thought about the night we went to the bar in Detroit and picked up the three girls. The aftermath and insanity that had ensued. And I thought about the night in New York with Helen and Heidi.
I had been lying on the couch, inebriated and pleading with the music to soothe my tortured senses. But when I thought of the two girls, I jumped up and turned the stereo down. It was dark. The only light that peered into the room was from muted snowfall illuminated by streetlights.
The two girls. Manhattan. Heidi and Helen. I tried to focus. Tried to remember Jack’s words at the SoHo Kitchen. I closed my eyes and thought about that night, after the girls had gone to the washroom and Jack informed me that he was going to help me have a threesome.
“Think, think, dammit.” What did he say?
Mal, I told you earlier. You need to get your rocks off in a way you’ve never gotten them off before. And I’m just the man to help you do that. Believe me, if you want them they’re yours. I can make it happen.
Okay. If you can make it happen, then I’m in.
If you can make it happen, then I’m in. I sighed and thought even harder, focusing through Scotch that invaded my bloodstream like an army of fuzz-mongerers.
Consider it done. I’ll make it happen. Where are you staying?
The Gramercy Park.
No, no, no. That won’t do. Jesus. Same ol’ Malcolm. Always trying to save a buck wherever you can.
I replayed the conversation in my head and clenched my jaw and fists. As if that would have made it easier to remember. I was so close…
Four Seasons, Suite 5100. It’s the Presidential Suite. You’ll like it. I always stay there.
You’ll like it. I always stay there.
Four Seasons, Suite 5100.
I always stay there.
Nice neat numbers. I could barely see through the darkness, so I reached to the end of the couch and fumbled with the lamp. In the process I tipped over a full glass of Scotch and it fell to the floor with a crash as the glass shattered. I cursed aloud, but I didn’t care. I flipped the lamp on and squinted in pain as light assaulted my eyes.
I stared at the box, like it was an enemy I was trying to figure out how to defeat. Reaching toward it, I dialed the number: ‘5100.’
When I pressed the button I despaired for a moment, for it didn’t seem to work.
But suddenly, the button gave its virginity to me.
As the latch released, the lid sprung open.
Chapter 62
This is the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
I slowly lifted the lid and peered into the box.
It appeared to be nothing more than documents. A lot of them. There were thousands of pages.
A white envelope sat on top, something hard inside it caressing my fingertips like an unwilling lover. It was sealed so I tore it open at the side and cupped it so that its mouth opened up. Holding it over my right palm, I tilted the envelope and two metallic objects fell out. One of them was what appeared to be a key. The other, the Icarus amulet.
Disbelief. Reaching into my right palm with my left thumb and forefinger, I gently grasped the fine silver chain, and as I lifted it and held it, it dangled in front of me. The detailed image of Icarus, his wings melting off as he flew too close to the sun, the pain on his face, and small flecks of feathers and wax droplets which fell away from his naked frame…they were as real as they were the day I first saw them. I still marvelled that such detail could be crafted into such a tiny thing. While I held it I thought about the day that Jack found it.
I thought about Elizabeth.
I was raped.
Bitter hot tears welled in my eyes and I clenched my jaw as I carefully placed the amulet on the coffee table and let the chain drop to the surface with a muted jingle.
The House that Jack Built Page 41