She retained many strobe-enhanced photos of Ace: waking up to him driving her car, him tying her to a bed in preparation for what she assumed would be a brutal rape, his rape of Cathy Kenney, his obscene dance, the evil smile on his face just before he rushed them into the car trunk containing a dead man, and his final threats in the parking garage.
Carmen had little memory of her time in the trunk, as if her mind went into pause mode. When Ace opened the trunk, Carmen remembered gasping for air, as if she’d held her breath the entire time.
The biggest and brightest photo in the memory slide show — the one surrounded by extra intensive lightning — was her purse and the blue gun bag visible inside, lying on the backseat floor of the car. She brought forth the image many times, not to celebrate or gloat about how she was able to use it eventually to free everyone from evil by killing the devil, but just to wonder how serendipitous events happen. Are they simply fortuitous accidents, or possibly foreordained? The difference was very important to her, because she sensed it had wider applications to everything that happened in life. However, no answer was forthcoming.
The slide show resumed in the garage when she saw Richey and Marshon standing near the stairwell, wearing parkas. She laughed again in confusion. They were worried about getting wet outside! That was true optimism. Carmen had never expected to get out of the garage alive.
Ace had pushed her out to the side. Up to that point, everything that happened was muted. The gunshots added sound and motion. From that point forward, she remembered more details. She had been exhilarated after shooting and killing Ace, but that feeling turned to panic when the police began to shoot at Richey and Marshon!
Thereafter, utter confusion reigned. She dropped the gun as ordered, but a uniformed cop grabbed her arm and jerked her around, as if she were guilty of something. Then, a man in a suit had intervened. In the background, James Kennedy shouted and screamed, seemingly madder than hell at everyone. Two detectives in suits stood on each side of her and peppered her with questions. They became exasperated by her confusion as she tried to listen to both of them. “Who are you!” one demanded and she just stared blankly at him, not sure how to answer.
A scuffle broke out between Kennedy and the police as he demanded an ambulance for his wife, while the police were equally adamant that everyone stay at the scene until they understood exactly what had happened — who the players were and what roles they had played.
Carmen finally just sank to the floor. Someone yelled that she’d fainted, but she just went into pause mode once again. It was her only form of escape. Later, she wondered if it had always been in her personal repertoire.
An EMT materialized to take her blood pressure. He gave her a bottle of water. Kennedy’s lawyer arrived about the same time as a man everyone deferred to and addressed as captain. He eventually sat on his haunches and talked to her in a very soft voice while another man took notes on a pad, which seemed startlingly old-fashioned to Carmen. Couldn’t they afford an iPad? Kennedy and his lawyer demanded to be present, but a uniformed officer initially barred them. The captain simply waved his hand and allowed them to listen to the interrogation, if that was the proper word. Carmen tried to reconstruct the events.
When she got to the point where Ace brought Cathy Kennedy into the motel room, she looked at James Kennedy, who breathlessly awaited her account. Carmen suddenly remembered the proper phrase, the one she’d used on the phone to Richey to convey the horror of that point: “Ace brutalized her.” When a detective asked, “What do you mean?” the captain looked at his colleague as if he were a total idiot.
They weren’t satisfied with many of her answers. She didn’t know Jemmy Shoemaker; had never heard his name. Yes, Richey and Marshon Johnson were friends. They’d met at a production of Showboat. Richey worked for him sometimes. She’d met Marshon once, but didn’t know much about his business activities or personal life. He had a girlfriend named Gail, whose last name maybe was Thomas. Did Richey, Marshon, and Ace know each other? She wasn’t sure if Marshon knew Ace. She had no idea if Marshon had hired Ace to kill two other men. No, Richey hadn’t told her anything about that. Sure, she knew Kandie Givens and, yes, Kandie was Ace’s girlfriend. Yes, Richey, Ace and Robert Long all worked at Biederman’s, but they were not friends. Yes, she knew about Hank Hendricks and his friend, Melvin Lucas, although she didn’t know them personally. Kandie told her that Hank had sexually abused her, and slapped her around. Yes, she’d heard on the news that Hank and his friend had been murdered. She had no idea if they were involved in the kidnapping. She didn’t tell them that Richey suspected that Ace killed Hank and Melvin.
Why’d she have the gun and why hadn’t she used it before? Carmen found it such an amazing and stupid question that she stood and said she was done answering questions. More than an hour had passed. She wanted to go home and see her daughter. When the captain objected, Kennedy’s lawyer asked Carmen if she wanted legal representation. Before Carmen could answer, the captain abruptly changed his mind and said Carmen could go, but that they’d resume the interview at some other time.
About that time, police radios began to crackle and the captain’s cell phone rang. Two uniformed police officers raced across the parking garage.
They escorted her out of the garage and across the street to the mall, then down a hallway toward the Westin hotel. All they would tell Carmen was that they had apprehended one of the “kidnappers.” She was very confused since both Ace and Country were dead. Who were they talking about?
The hallway outside Rumors was crowded with hundreds of gawking spectators. A small army of uniformed cops stood shoulder-to-shoulder to keep everyone at bay. Other cops were arguing vociferously with a cameraman and reporter from KMBC.
The phalanx of cops created an opening for her, the captain and the two policemen. As they entered the bar, two EMTs wheeled out a wounded man whose white shirt was soaked in blood. Two cops questioned a red-haired young woman who seemed traumatized. Another one of the ubiquitous men in suits waved the captain toward the end of the bar. There, he whispered in his ear.
The captain maneuvered her ahead of him down the narrow aisle behind the bar. “Can you identify this man?”
Her knees began to buckle and she grabbed the bar and said, “Richey … Willy!” She began to kneel beside him, but someone grabbed her, and pulled her away. Carmen reached out her hand and Richey seemed to respond, but two men came between them. They loaded Richey onto a gurney, pushed by Carmen, and raced toward a hotel exit. Once again, Carmen sank to the floor and sought unconsciousness. She woke up later in a hospital emergency room.
∞ ∞ ∞
Days and weeks passed. Carmen went back to work and Marisa went back to school. They stopped talking about Richey. Carmen spent less time staring out the patio doors trying to figure it all out. There were plenty of others who were just getting started, however. A reporter for the Star received a book deal to reprise his detailed reporting, and reveal the inside story about what really had happened.
Carmen didn’t expect to escape the news media’s finger of blame. James Kennedy’s lawyer, who now also represented her, held a news conference and threatened to sue the Star and the city if the journalists and politicians even hinted that Carmen was anything other than a victim — and a hero. The newspaper responded with an editorial that vaguely apologized if any of their reporters had erred in reporting the facts in a case everyone agreed was extremely confusing. Mayoral candidate Benjamin Dewhurst criticized the incumbent mayor for botching the police investigation of the kidnapping, and promised to sweep house if he were elected.
Actually, Cathy Kennedy suffered the most from the gossip about what had happened to her in captivity. Just what did “brutalization” mean? It turned out to be a bad word, because it implied even darker things to some people. Carmen refused to comment beyond her initial statement to police, and she never understood exactly what people wanted to know. If she had reported the exact details of the rape, as
if she were a radio announcer covering a baseball game, how would that have increased the public’s understanding? They still wouldn’t know the fear and pain either woman felt, or imagine the nightmares that plagued both of them. It wouldn’t yield any understanding of the kind of monster that Ace Semanski represented.
One of the few telephone messages that Carmen returned was from Gail Thomas, who she’d met once at The Stadium. She and Richey, and Marshon and Gail, planned to have dinner together, the second night of the play. Maybe Gail knew part of the story that even Carmen didn’t know.
They agreed to meet shortly before Christmas on the lawn in front of the stage at the Starlight Theater in Canyon Park. It was an unusually bright, sunny day. A half-mile away was the lake into which Ace had driven Hank Hendricks’s car with Hank and Melvin Lucas in the trunk.
Carmen held a bronze urn with both hands. A lanyard around her neck held her smart phone, which played several of Richey’s favorite songs. This was Richey Stanton’s funeral, per his last will and testament. Carmen had put it off for over a month.
She had been surprised when Richey’s lawyer called and said Carmen was mentioned in Richey's will. He’d left the house, car, and all of his material possessions equally to his ex-wife, Shirley, and their son, Ethan, to divide as they saw fit. He’d left ten thousand dollars to Carmen, which she figured was about all the cash he had at the end of his life.
Richey asked that his remains be cremated and that Carmen Salazar dispose of the ashes. When Carmen questioned the lawyer, she had been stunned –– even spooked –– to learn that Richey changed his will only a few days after he’d been fired from Biederman’s. Richey wrote that she should spread his ashes in “an appropriate place,” read the Desiderata, and play several of his favorite tunes. All were love songs by such recording artists as Linda Ronstadt and James Ingram, Bette Midler, and Rod Stewart. Carmen liked best the old lyric sung by The Stylistics: “You, you make me feel brand new … .” It seemed to sum up the way Richey had made her feel, especially toward the end when she thought they were about to begin a new and exciting life together.
Blinking back tears, Carmen reached into the urn, took out a handful of ashes and held them up to the sky. The wind whirled them away only a short distance before the fine dust covered a clump of crisp, brownish-yellow leaves. It seemed so anticlimactic.
“You are a child of the universe,” Carmen said, taking some literary license, “no less than the trees and the stars you had a right to be here, and live your life as you chose.”
In the background, Barbra Streisand sang about “ … misty, water-colored memories of the way we were.”
“I hope this is what he wanted,” Carmen said hesitantly. “This seems like an appropriate place. One way or another, it will always be here.”
“I think so,” Gail answered confidently. “Richey acted in several plays here, including Showboat and Camelot. It’s a good choice, Carmen.”
Carmen felt better. After all, Gail had known him longer than she had. “He used movie analogies a lot to explain his feelings and thoughts about life,” Carmen said. “This reminds me of scenes from Stealing Home, when Mark Harmon doesn’t know what to do with Jody Foster’s ashes. Finally, he decides to throw them off a pier in Atlantic City. I think it had something to do with a performing horse and freedom.” She looked at Gail. “I really didn’t have any such inspiration. I’m not even sure I knew everything about him.”
“I don’t think we can ever know someone else totally,” Gail said, “especially the men we love.” She looked as sad as Carmen did.
Richey was dead; nothing but ashes on the wind. It seemed to Carmen that there should be more to be said, more to learn — more meaning. “I don’t know what the lesson is,” she said to Gail. “What to tell my daughter. I’m not certain I should say anything to her. Would I say, ‘There are unpredictable things is life that can just sweep you up against your will, and sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it.’”
“I know. It’s hard to admit we don’t — can’t — always control our lives. Maybe we’re never really in control, we just convince ourselves that we are, even if we don’t believe it. On the other hand, maybe there are exceptions. Marshon always seemed in control. On the few occasions when unforeseen events overwhelmed him, he maneuvered himself into a position of control. There’s more than a little bit of luck involved, too.”
“Yes, there’s bad luck out there, and good luck,” Carmen responded. “I wonder if some people are a magnet for certain kinds of luck. It seems that way, to me.”
The two, young beautiful women wearing long coats to protect against the cold walked back to the concession stand, which was closed for the season. They sat on a bench slightly sheltered from the wind.
“You should have seen him as Willy Loman in Death of a Salesman,” Carmen said. She didn’t have to add that the nightmare began that opening night. It didn’t make any sense, but she’d wondered several times how the understudy did during the remaining performances. Carmen had read and re-read the reviews raving about Richey’s performance. Why didn’t the media mention that? It was what Richey’s life really was about.
“We’d planned to see the play Saturday night, and then have dinner with you and Richey,” Gail said, “but that was before the Williams thing, after which Marshon went into hiding. I spent all my time trying to decide whether to run away with Marshon. He was planning to leave before the trouble began. St. Thomas, he said. I’m sorry Richey and I grew apart over the years. Once, he and I and Marshon were like the Three Musketeers.” Gail laughed genuinely at the memory.
“What was it about them, that made them friends?”
Gail laughed. “We were an unlikely trio, for sure, and they were an unlikely pair! We first met in what we all came to refer to as the summer of Showboat. We all got roles in the show and began to hang around with each other, for different reasons. Marshon was trying to get into my pants and I was trying to learn acting skills from Richey. Richey, I don’t know for certain what he got out of it, other than he just seemed to like us. Enjoyed mentoring us about the joys of acting. Regaling us with his encyclopedic memory for movies. He could always recall a scene that reflected real life.”
“Richey genuinely liked most people,” Carmen said. “He didn’t discriminate against people because of their station in life. Not when he felt like he was always on the bottom.”
“Our friendship developed over time. We’d go out for drinks after rehearsals. Richey invited us to his home. At first, even Shirley was an enthusiastic member of our circle, although she cooled on Marshon after she found out what he did for a living. Can’t exactly blame her for that, since I had the same reaction. Even so, Richey went to work for Marshon at The Wheel. Why did they remain friends for so long? I’m not sure. Some people are just naturally attracted to each other, even if they come from different backgrounds, cultures, races. The two of them seemed to talk the same talk, think the same thoughts. It may have been that they were both on the outside, looking in. Their noses pressed against the glass of life.”
Carmen looked stunned, remembering a conversation she’d had with Richey after he first auditioned for Death of a Salesman. “They were marginal people,” Carmen said.
Gail smiled and then nodded, as if she hadn’t ever thought of their relationship that way. “Yeah, I guess. Marshon was a pragmatist. He found a way to make money, lots of money, but at some level — and this is just my pseudo-psychological opinion derived from too many conversations with my mother — Marshon regretted not having a more acceptable purpose in life. But, although he was conflicted about his lifestyle, he loved it, too. It was exciting, challenging and rewarding. A game he played, although it didn’t define his life. It was a means to an end — an ideal lifestyle in the Caribbean, I guess. Marshon admired Richey for his commitment, even if he didn’t make any money as an actor. On the other hand, Richey admired Marshon because Marshon had the guts, the intelligence and leadership ability t
o get what he wanted, no matter what stood in the way. Richey could never get around his roadblocks, some of which I think were a result of his personality. He waited for life to come to him. Maybe, when Richey and Marshon were together, they were whole — both practical and committed. Pragmatic and idealistic at the same time. I dunno. I could be wrong about everything. I just know that for part of one golden summer, Marshon and I and Richey lived in a fantasy world of the theater — a make-believe world — and had the time of our lives. I’ve never been happier, and I wish it had never ended. I hope you have some memories of Richey like that, Carmen.”
She did, thinking of how they’d been at the art fair the day they first met. Then, there was the day he auditioned for the part of Willy Loman. The day he agreed to go on the road with her and Marisa. His brilliant performance in Death of a Salesman. The memories she missed were the ones they hadn’t had time to make. She’d imagined so many of them.
“Do they bother you all the time?” Gail asked. “The news media bloodsuckers.”
“Yeah, but I don’t talk to them.”
“You should write the book.”
“I can’t imagine doing that, since I lived it. Words couldn’t capture the horror, the insanity of it all. And some things no one will ever know, like what really happened to Kandie Givens, and why?”
Gail pulled up the collar of her coat to ward off the wind. “For some reason, they think I know where the ransom money is. One reporter even asked if I would be taking the money to Marshon.”
“Do you know where he is?”
Gail laughed. “Obviously not. On the advice of my father, I told the cops and prosecutors that Marshon had talked about a condo he bought on St. Thomas. However, that apparently is not true, since the police investigated. He doesn’t own a condo there. Or, if he does, it’s in a different name that no one knows about. I still don’t know why he lied to me. Did he anticipate having to throw the police off his trail? Was he testing me? Did he not trust me? I don’t have the answers.” She looked at her fingernails, painted a brilliant purple decorated with silver flecks. “But, I think he has the money, just between you and me. He lied to me about that, too, maybe because he didn’t trust me. I try to understand. He was running to save his life.”
The Money Game Page 51