The Many Aspects of Mobile Home Living

by Martin Clark

  “Well said, Evers.” Pascal nodded his approval. “You could pay for our breakfast if you wanted to, Reverend Jackson. You could do that.”

  Several birds landed on a table next to Evers’. They began to jump and cry and pull at a piece of bacon.

  “Judge Wheeling, I do not intend to be taken advantage of, and in that regard I am prepared to do whatever it takes to protect my interests. You and your brother are being sold short. If you are going to continue in this pursuit, might I suggest that you inquire of Ruth Esther the true nature of her search? I might further suggest that despite your fairly clumsy efforts to camouflage your trip here by using your friends’ names, the North Carolina Bar Association could be easily convinced that you’re involved in an unseemly mess; in fact, your attempt to conceal your identity only makes matters worse.”

  “Might I suggest that you get the fuck out of our faces,” Pascal said, mimicking Jackson’s careful speech.

  “Mr. Jackson, you can tell anyone anything you want. You can tell the bar that we are here. It’s a big city. Our travel agent screwed up our tickets; originally four of us were going and two canceled. The agent voided the wrong two tickets, and we didn’t discover this until the day we left, a Sunday. It was easier simply to pick up our friends’ driver’s licenses, since I don’t think we could’ve changed the tickets at the last moment. Who knows? And I’m sure you’ll have an excellent explanation as to why you’re here and what you’re trying to find. In short, Mr. Jackson, no one wins a nuclear war.” Evers glared at him.

  “Gentleman, I’m not a bad person. I’m simply trying to recover my property. I certainly do not wish to alienate either of you.”

  “So what’s everyone after besides the money?” Evers asked. “Perhaps we could be more helpful if we were enlightened.”

  “As I said, this entire trip is simply a matter of principle for me. The money is secondary.”

  “That’s not what I asked you.”

  “Then I’m sorry that I am unable to provide you a satisfactory response.” Jackson reached under the stack of money and took out Evers and Pascal’s bill. “I would be honored, Pascal, to buy breakfast for the both of you. I’m staying at the Red Lion. Give me a call. Let me know if you change your mind or would like to propose some terms.” He folded the check in half and stood up. “Enjoy the day. Salt Lake is an exciting city, isn’t it?”

  “What a fucking creep,” Pascal said after Lester Jackson walked away.

  “I wonder what’s going on?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Perhaps we should press Ruth Esther a bit.”

  “Good idea,” Pascal agreed. “Should we tell her about Jackson?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  When Evers and Pascal got back to the hotel, Pauletta and Artis were sitting on a sofa in the lobby, facing the entrance to the building. Evers saw Ruth Esther standing at the counter, talking to a clerk. Evers sat down next to Pauletta, very close to her, and put his arm on the cushion behind her.

  “Good morning, Miss Qwai.”

  “Good morning,” she answered. “Why are you putting your arm around me? Have you and your brother been drinking? Lost track of time and place? It’s ten in the morning. This is a hotel lobby, a public place. I’m not your girlfriend.”

  “It’s a conspiratorial gesture, not an amorous one.” Evers lowered his voice. He looked past Pauletta at Artis, sitting on her other side. “I didn’t plan on including Tiny Don Ho there in our conversation.”

  “I see.”

  “What conversation?” Artis asked.

  “Here’s our question.” Evers ignored Artis and looked right at Pauletta. Pascal was standing in front of the sofa, his hands in his pockets. “What is it that we’re here to find?” Evers almost whispered.

  “Money. A hundred thousand dollars.”

  “I think there’s more to it than that.”

  “Well, then, I guess you’ll find out when we go to the bank, huh?”

  “We have some bad news, Miss Qwai. Lester Jackson stopped by to break bread with us this morning. It’s an extremely safe bet that his being here is not just coincidence. He bought our meals and sat there like Himmler on holiday, dropping hints about how we’re being duped and fooled and misled. We have always figured we were, too, but we had hoped to find out what’s behind door number two at least a few moments before the curtain’s pulled back.”

  Pauletta tapped Artis on his leg. “Go tell your sister to come over here, please.”

  “How come? I ain’t afraid of no Lester Jackson.”

  “Please, Artis. Go get her.”

  “Why?”

  “Artis?”

  “Okay.”

  Pauletta pivoted on the sofa so she was facing Evers. “We are here to get one hundred thousand dollars in cash. That was your deal. Assuming for the sake of argument that we’re here to get a million dollars or a lost da Vinci manuscript, it shouldn’t matter to you. We have an agreement. You get twenty-five thousand. Period. That’s what was offered and what you accepted. If you don’t like those terms anymore, leave. Or go cast your lot with Lester Jackson and spend the day wearing sunglasses, ducking behind newspapers and trailing us in a midsize rental.” Pauletta had raised her voice and narrowed her eyes.

  Pascal had been standing in front of his brother and Pauletta, listening. He crouched down next to Pauletta and rested his elbow on the arm of the sofa. “Listen, Pauletta, we’re not trying to hold you guys up or get more money or anything. We just want to know what’s going on. We didn’t come here for the money; you know that. At least I didn’t.”

  “Exactly.” Pauletta’s tone was more pleasant when she spoke to Pascal.

  “So what is going on?”

  “We’re going to go to a bank and pick up the money if all goes well. That’s about it.”

  Ruth Esther walked up behind Pascal. Artis was beside her. “So where did you see Lester, Judge Wheeling?” She looked down at Pascal. “Good morning, Pascal.”

  “Good morning.” Pascal stood up. “He was about two or three blocks down, at a restaurant on the sidewalk.”

  “I see.”

  “We were just asking Pauletta why he would fly across the country for money he knows he won’t get. Perhaps you could let us know why. There’s got to be more to this than the money.”

  Ruth Esther put her index fingers together and pointed them toward the sky. Her hands were near her chest, her other fingers wrapped around one another. “For you … I thought you understood. There is more to it, there is the satisfaction of traveling here and finding the money. We talked about that. We did.” Ruth Esther’s voice was faint, almost too muted to hear.

  “Pascal just told Pauletta—right before you and Artis came over here, in fact—that we’re not trying to change the bargain or make new demands or renege or back out or screw anyone over. We just wanted to know why we’re here and what’s going on. You guys can keep the Holy Grail, okay?”

  “You’ll know a bunch more in a few minutes. I got directions from the hotel clerk. I called the bank and they said that we could come any time. We don’t have to wait until tomorrow. We might as well go now. The man I talked to before we left North Carolina isn’t working today, but he left word with another man. It’s definitely the right bank—Wells Fargo—and right address. I’m gettin’ excited.”

  “What about Lester? There’s a pretty good chance that he’ll be watching us, don’t you think?”

  “I thought about that,” Ruth Esther said.

  “So did I,” Pauletta agreed. “Let me make this suggestion. We should all leave separately. One at a time, about five minutes apart. Those of us left behind can see if Lester’s following or if there’s anything unusual. We all meet at the same spot. I would suggest the temple in Temple Square, in front of the entrance. If Lester is following us, or if someone else is, we’ll know it when we all get there, and it should be easy to lose him in the crowd. And if we can’t lose him, at least we won’t have led him t
o the money.”

  “What about the key?” Artis wanted to know. “Who keeps the key?”

  “Judge Wheeling keeps the key, Artis. That’s not open to debate. We can trust him.” Pauletta turned to Ruth Esther and rolled her eyes.

  “Which one is the temple?” Pascal asked. “The one with the dome or the one that looks like Notre Dame?”

  “It’s the big building, the tallest one,” Ruth Esther answered.

  “Oh, okay. Right. That’s good. I wanted to see it up close before we left anyway.”

  “So we leave separately, all meet there and keep our eyes open along the way?” Evers repeated.

  “Right.”

  “You know, that temple really has a lot going on all at once—arches and points and spires. And it’s huge.” Pascal took a piece of gum out of its wrapper, folded the stick in half and popped it into his mouth.

  “It is very impressive,” Ruth Esther agreed.

  “Well, I understand there’s always a crowd there,” Pauletta said. “Everyone be careful and pay attention to what’s happening.”

  “So we’re going now?” Pascal asked.

  “Yes.”

  Pascal touched Evers on the arm. “Could you give me some money for the cab? If it’s okay with everyone, and not too far out of the way, I might stop and let my new friend know that our plans have changed. I’ve got her address.”

  Evers handed his brother two twenties and a ten. “Make sure you get to the meeting point, Pascal. Don’t screw around.”

  “Who goes first?” Artis asked.

  “Ruth Esther,” Pauletta said. “She’s the one most likely to be followed.”

  “See you at the entrance to the Mormon castle,” Pascal said to Ruth Esther.

  “Okay.”

  Evers was the last to leave the hotel. When he got out of his cab at Temple Square, he stopped on the curb and let an older man and woman pass in front of him. The man had a long gray beard and was dressed in a plain white shirt. He held on to the woman’s arm right behind her elbow, and they shuffled along the sidewalk. The woman was wearing a simple silver cross around her neck, and she was stooped enough that the cross hung down and dangled in front of her without touching anything. Evers walked into the square and found everyone else standing in a group near the entrance to the temple. Pascal was reading a guidebook he’d bought from a vendor, and Ruth Esther had her back turned and was looking up at the tall, solemn building.

  “No sign of Lester,” Pauletta said when Evers walked up. “Everything looks clear. Did you see anything?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “Let’s wait a few minutes and head to the bank.”

  “Okay.”

  Pascal looked up from his book. “We ought to come back, Evers. I like it here. It’s cool and still, and I like all the trees that somebody took the trouble to plant. To put this thing up took a shitload of effort and commitment, huh? If we’d been the first settlers, there’d be some tents and pop-ups and a couple doublewides with the nice tin skirts around them.”

  Evers had expected that it would take several meetings, managers and garbled inquiries to get into the safe-deposit box. He was prepared to spend most of the day waiting in a stale lobby, looking over his shoulder, blowing into his palms, smoking cigarettes and staring at stories in Reader’s Digest. Right before he opened the door to the bank, it occurred to him that he and Pascal and the three others must look like a carnival troupe, conspicuous and mismatched, and all of them, except Ruth Esther, as nervous and fidgety as a pack of teenagers in bulky army jackets trying to steal beer from a 7-Eleven. And then there was Artis, the crown jewel of the clan, a runty, sloppy ball of a person who drew stares and turned heads everywhere he went.

  As it happened, the receptionist took the group to an older, gray-headed man in a small office. He looked at the key Evers handed him and took a ledger from his desk. He asked to see Ruth Esther’s driver’s license and had her sign two forms. The banker was wearing a tie but not a jacket, and he didn’t seem very interested in Ruth Esther or her request. When she signed the last paper, he turned the book toward her so that she could read it. The entry for Box 303 listed three names: Ruth Esther English, Artis English and John English.

  The banker led everyone into a drab room behind a door made out of bars. There were no tables or chairs in the room. A fluorescent light was hanging from the middle of the ceiling, and it had started to hum and flicker, so much so that it almost turned completely off several times. Evers followed the banker to Box 303, and the two men inserted their keys at the same time and opened the door to the deposit box. The container was black and about two feet long when Evers slid it out of the space in the wall. Evers could feel his palms sweating; he looked up at the light above his head and then at his brother. The box was made of metal, and it felt heavy when Evers got it completely removed from the cavity in the wall.

  “Thank you,” Ruth Esther said to the banker, who smiled and bowed and walked out of the room. He pushed the door shut when he left, and everyone was locked in, behind bars, looking at the box in Evers’ hands.

  Artis took several rushed, clumsy steps toward Evers and tried to open the box. He got both hands on it and pushed himself up on his toes, tugging and pulling and twisting as soon as he touched the lid. Pauletta and Pascal grabbed him, and Pascal jerked him away from Evers by the arm.

  “Well, open it,” Artis yelled. “Why are we waiting?” Pascal did not let go of Artis’ arm. Artis looked like a recalcitrant child being dragged through a store aisle by his father. Pascal had his hand wrapped around Artis’ wrist and was holding the tiny man so his feet just barely touched the floor.

  Evers put one hand under the bottom of the box, opened the lid with the other hand and looked inside. Pauletta was standing next to him, peering over his shoulder. Lying in the box was an envelope, and the first thing Evers noticed was that it wasn’t sealed; the flap was not stuck to the front. Underneath the envelope there were stacks of one hundred dollar bills wrapped in red rubber bands. Evers knelt down and set the box on the floor. He took out the envelope; it was yellowish, made of thick paper and addressed to Ruth Wright at a street in New York. The script on the envelope was elaborate; the letters had tails and curls, and every word was written with a flourish. There was no zip code and no return address.

  Artis was trying to get his arm free, and Pascal had lifted him completely off the ground. Artis’ legs were kicking in the air, and he was screaming. Spit came out of his mouth. “Let me see. Let me go, Pascal. I want my fucking money. I want to see.”

  Ruth Esther turned to her brother, and for the first time since Evers had met her, she sounded angry. “Artis, be quiet.” She took several steps toward him. “Quit kickin’ your legs. Do you hear me?” She pointed at him with her index finger. “Do you?”

  “I want to see in the box.”

  “The money’s in the box, Artis. You’ll get your money.”

  “Is it in there?” He stopped kicking, and Pascal lowered him back onto the floor. “Is it?”

  “It is,” Evers said. “The money’s in the box, Artis. Calm down.”

  “Is there a letter for me, Judge Wheeling? An envelope with ‘Ruth’ written on it?” Ruth Esther was calm again.

  Evers picked up the envelope and handed it to her. She reached for the letter and when she touched it, it occurred to Evers that something important might be in it and he held on, clamped down on the envelope with his thumb.

  “What is it, Judge Wheeling?” Ruth Esther asked.

  “What’s in here?” he asked.

  “It’s not any of your concern, and the letter is mine.” Ruth Esther was polite.

  “Perhaps—”

  “I want to get my fucking money, Ruth Esther,” Artis shouted. “Why are we talking about your stupid letter?”

  “Artis, shut your mouth,” Evers snapped. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to have Pascal drag you outside, kick your ass and go give all the money in this box to
the Mormon kids over in Temple Square.” He and Ruth Esther still had the envelope between them, each holding an end.

  “Why don’t you let me have the box,” Pauletta suggested, “and your brother, Artis and I will divide the money and stack it into our bags. I’m sure Pascal will let you know if something is hidden in the box or if anything’s out of the ordinary, Judge Wheeling. There would be the added advantage of gratifying Artis.”

  “Sure. Go ahead. That’s a good idea.”

  Pauletta slid the box across the floor and opened her briefcase, and Pascal let go of Artis. Pascal had brought a gym bag with him, a nylon giveaway from Sports Illustrated, and Evers heard him pull open the zipper.

  Ruth Esther took her hand off the letter. “You’re welcome to look in the envelope and read anything in there. Go ahead. I just, you know, would like to have it back when you get through. It has … a lot of meaning to me.” Ruth Esther put her head down. “Go ahead.”

  “It could have more clues. Or it could have—I don’t know—it could be something valuable.”

  “In which case you’re not entitled to it.” Pauletta stopped counting and looked up from the stacks of money. “It’s none of your business at all. Your money is right here. That’s all you should be concerned with. Why are you being such a lout? Such an asshole? Why?”

  The banker came to the door. He had put on a blue blazer. He looked through the bars at the people in the room and the money on the floor. “Is everything well?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Ruth Esther answered.

  “Good. Very good. I thought I heard some noise.”

  “Noise?”

  “Some loud talking,” the banker replied.

  “No, everything’s fine.”

  “We have a private room, if you would like to go in there. A lot of people take the box from here to the private room. You wouldn’t have to be on the floor that way. You’re welcome to use the other area.”