Hashimoto Blues

by Sarah Dupeyron

  “Shit. Vinzetti.”

  “Don’t answer!”

  “What do you want me to do? I’ve got to face the music at some point.”

  “Yeah, but it might get back to Hashimoto that we’re not dead.”

  “Vinzetti isn’t going to tell. Why would he call up Hashimoto and brag that he was the one who was going to buy his stolen painting?”

  “Good point.”

  He flipped it open and answered.

  “Hello? . . . Yes.” There was a long pause as his expression changed to something I couldn’t quite read. “No, I had a bit of a problem . . . Yes, sir, let me explain.” He rested his head in his hand. “Yes, I know . . . I’m really sorry about that . . . No, that isn’t good. I’ll make it up to you.” He paused again while the voice on the other line talked. His face paled, and his body tensed. “I understand . . . That’s -- . . . Right now? . . . No, wait!” He took the phone from his ear and flipped it shut. “Shit.”

  “What’s he want?” I bit the corner of my lip, already knowing the answer.

  “He wants his painting,” Max said. His voice was calm and steady, but his fingers furiously tugged the front of his hair. “He was sending someone to pick it up today.”

  “Oh, shit.” I suddenly felt nauseous.

  “Apparently, he was going to use it as a down payment on a huge shipment of cocaine.” He sighed heavily. “I am so fucked.”

  We were interrupted by the sound of tires crunching across gravel. I looked up expecting to see Jillian coming to fetch us early. Instead, a black Mercedes sedan with Massachusetts plates pulled into yard and parked a few feet from us.

  “That’s not Jillian, is it?” Max asked.

  “No, it’s not.” A cold feeling settled in my stomach.

  Two men got out of the car, both dressed in black suits with sunglasses, like caricatures of mobsters. They had driven up from Boston to get Vinzetti’s prize.

  The larger of the two pulled a baseball bat out of the back seat of the car and, carrying it over his shoulder, made his way over to where we were. His nose was flat and tilted slightly to the left, the result of meeting an angry fist sometime in his past. The smaller one followed, but pushed past him to stand in front, clearly taking the leadership role.

  “Vinzetti sent us to collect something from you. Heard you don’t got it, so I guess we’ll be takin’ payment some other way.” The smaller man spoke. He was wiry and looked like a ferret.

  “Looks like somebody beat us to the punch!” The big one laughed at his own pun.

  Max stood and crossed his arms over his chest with an air of defiance. It would have been impressive if he weren’t facing a few degrees in the wrong direction.

  “Go ahead and get it over with,” he said.

  “Max,” I started.

  “Ellie, stay out of it.”

  “But --”

  “Stay out of it.”

  The big one turned to Ferret-face. “He’s blind. I ain’t hittin’ a blind guy.”

  “I’m not blind,” Max retorted. I couldn’t figure out why he said that. Was it just macho bullshit? Even if his eyes were in perfect shape underneath, the bandages covering them made an impenetrable blindfold. I wanted to tell him to shut up and sit down, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  “Oh, yeah?” The Gorilla stepped forward and put his fist an inch from Max’s nose. He slowly extended the middle finger. “If you ain’t blind, how many fingers am I holdin’ up?”

  “Three.” He answered with confidence like he knew.

  “This is pathetic. I ain’t hittin’ him. I got integrity, ya know. I don’t beat up women, children, or cripples.” The Gorilla declared this proudly.

  “I’m not crippled!” Max protested.

  “You want to go back to Vinzetti without doin’ anything?” Ferret-face said to the Gorilla, an evil note creeping into his voice. “I don’t. Gimme the bat.”

  “His face is so busted it won’t make no difference.”

  “I ain’t gonna hit his face. Gimme the bat.” He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers with impatience.

  “Let’s just come back later, do it proper like.” I could tell the Gorilla was uncomfortable with the situation, but he was itching for a fight. He wanted a good one, though, not some half-assed beating to someone who couldn’t even throw a punch.

  “If I have to drive all the way out to East Bumfuck again, I’ll be expectin’ payment with interest.” I wasn’t sure what Ferret-face meant by that, but it didn’t sound good.

  “How ‘bout we give him a choice?” the Gorilla said. They were discussing the whole thing like we weren’t sitting there.

  “Okay.” Ferret-face turned to Max. “What do you want us to do, mister? Throw a few punches now or come back and really kick the shit out of you later?”

  “Do it now. Get it over with and stop arguing about it.”

  “Alright.” Ferret-face yanked the bat out of the Gorilla’s hand, swinging it in lazy upright circles while he decided the best target. Finally he stepped forward, letting the momentum of the bat carry it on the upward curve right into Max’s crotch. He squealed in pain, a high-pitched sound like a pig being tortured, and dropped to the ground, clutching his injured balls. Ferret-face kicked him, rolling him onto his back. He took the bat in both hands, plunging it down hard into in Max’s abdomen, knocking the air out of him. He dropped the bat, knelt over Max, and with a quick and practiced jab, punched him in the nose. Max took his hands from this crotch and pressed them against his face. A small trickle of blood seeped out from behind them.

  Ferret-face looked at the Gorilla with a triumphant expression and spread his hands to show how easily he had completed his task. “See? That ain’t so hard.” Then, he turned back to Max. “This is just a friendly reminder. Vinzetti don’t like to be disappointed. You disappoint him again, it won’t be so friendly.” He got up and walked back to the car.

  The Gorilla looked at me, his own disappointment at not getting in on the action written on his face. “You have a nice day, ma’am.” He nodded and followed his nasty companion. They pulled out of the driveway, spraying dirt and gravel in their wake.

  I knelt in the grass next to Max. He was gasping for air.

  “Are you okay?”

  He wheezed and coughed, then said, “Fuck.”

  I reached out, placing my palm on his shoulder. He slowly sat up, squeezing his hand to his nose.

  “I didn’t think this could get any worse,” he said, indicating his face, “but I think he just broke my nose.” He shifted a bit then added, “Never mind my balls.” His voice was clogged and nasally as blood seeped between his fingers. “Good thing Jillian gave me something really strong this morning.”

  “Why did you let them do that?” I asked. After what I had seen him do to Hashimoto’s thug at Laurent’s house, I couldn’t imagine how he ever got himself beaten up.

  “Sometimes it’s just easier to get hit a few times than to try and fight back.” He sounded resigned and his shoulders slumped. “And it would have been worse if they waited.”

  “You could have killed them,” I suggested. Now that I knew he did that, it seemed like a good solution to me.

  “Brilliant idea, Ellie,” he said sarcastically. “In case you didn’t notice, I can’t see a fucking thing.”

  I was taken aback by the nasty tone of his voice.

  “Do you ever think ahead?” he continued. “Let’s just say I was capable of that. Vinzetti might wonder where his douche bags went, and under the circumstances, he’d come to me. That’s just what I need, another gangster on my ass. You know, for someone who’s supposedly a genius, you can be really fucking stupid sometimes.”

  “Yeah, well if I’m so fucking stupid, you must be a goddamn retard!” I yelled back. I turned on my crutches and limped away as quickly as I could, hiding myself behind the barn.

  I sought out my thinking spot, a large granite stone that sat like a giant tortoise, its shell emerging from the gro
und in a great dome. I sat on it and looked out over the view of the distant mountains, my vision blurred from tears. He’d never spoken to me like that.

  About twenty minutes had gone by when Jillian arrived. I heard her talking to Max out front for a moment before she marched around the corner and found where I had secluded myself. She sat down next to me but didn’t speak.

  Finally, I broke the silence. “Why was he so mean to me?”

  “This hasn’t been easy for him,” she said, trying to excuse him.

  “Yeah, well, it hasn’t been easy for me either. And it’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever been beaten up. He’s always just shrugged it off.”

  “It goes beyond that, Ellie. Frank’s dead, you got hurt, and he’s responsible. This whole thing got out of his control. He’s vulnerable since he can’t see, and those guys just did that to him in front of you. He couldn’t even throw a punch. He feels emasculated.”

  “But why did he take it out on me?”

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. What did he say to you, anyway?”

  “Oh, he meant it. He said I was stupid.”

  She laughed a big throaty laugh. “That’s it?”

  I nodded.

  “Did you say something stupid?” she asked, giving me a look that clearly stated she knew I had.

  I nodded again.

  “You can’t get mad with him for calling you out on that. Look, you’re one of my best friends, but you can be the biggest dumb-ass I’ve ever met.”

  “What?” My jaw dropped open in shock. I thought she was my ally.

  “Don’t get your panties all in a bunch,“ she said, trying to diffuse me before I got mad with her, too. “I think you’re absolutely brilliant, but you have no common sense at all. I’ve never met anyone who could understand the workings of things like you, but you completely miss everything else. And you could do so much more with that brain of yours. I don’t know exactly what you do for a living, but my guess is that my brother isn’t the only thing you’ve smuggled into this country. Any idiot could do that.”

  “Yeah, I guess I know I’m stupid. I just don’t like hearing it.”

  “No, you’re not stupid. You just don’t think about anything that isn’t in front of you.”

  We sat on the rock as I let her words sink in. She was right; I could never see the consequences of my actions. I took a deep breath and allowed the cool autumn breeze to blow away the tension.

  “Is that job offer still on the table?” I asked. It suddenly hit me that we had no place to live, no income, no plane, and no one to arrange jobs for us. I needed to make money somehow.

  “You don’t want to work for me. Think about what you’re asking, and we’ll talk about it later when you’re in a better state of mind.”

  She was quiet for a moment, then put her arm around me and gave me a little squeeze. “Come on, let’s go home.” She got up, and I followed her to the front of the barn.

  Max was still sitting in the grass where I had left him, looking depressed, his head in one hand, the other hand holding a bloody tissue to his nose. As I passed by, he reached out and grabbed my leg. I stopped and waited. He wound the front of his hair around his finger, pulling it outward nervously, then turned toward me.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you.” His voice was low and quiet, but he meant it.

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. I am a retard.”

  “No, you’re not. Let’s just forget about it.” I moved away and got in the back seat of the car.

  Jillian helped Max to his feet and led him to the passenger door. I took one last look at the farmhouse as she drove away.

  On the way home, the cell phone rang again.

  “Can you see who it is?” Max said, and held it up for me to look at the tiny LCD screen.

  “For fuck’s sake! Just answer it!” Jillian said. “I can’t stand letting a phone ring.”

  Before either of us could react, she snatched the phone from his hand and opened it. “Hello? . . . Yeah, just a sec.” She handed him the phone. “It’s for you.”

  He grabbed it away and snapped it shut. “Jillian! What the fuck?”

  “What?”

  “What do you think? I’m in a shitload of trouble. I need to be off the grid.”

  “Oh.”

  “Ellie, can you see who that was?” He tossed the phone into the backseat, nearly hitting me in the face. I caught it and flipped it open to look at the list of previous callers.

  “It’s a Montreal number but I don’t recognize it.”

  “Shit.” He swore through clenched teeth.

  “He wasn’t Japanese, was he?” I asked Jillian.

  “No, he sounded French,” she answered.

  “Okay. Maybe it’s not so bad.”

  “Look who’s being optimistic now,” Max said. “You didn’t want me answering it before when it was Vinzetti.”

  “Who’s Vinzetti?” Jillian asked.

  “Never mind,” we both said at the same time.

  I looked at the number again. “Let’s not panic. We’ll look it up when we get home.”

  I was trying to sound calm so Jillian wouldn’t worry too much about answering it, but we couldn’t trust anyone at that point. Even the slightest hint to anyone in Montreal that we weren’t dead could prove disastrous to us.

  Upon arriving at Jillian’s house, I went inside and turned on the computer to look up the number. When I saw the name appear on the screen, my heart stopped for about 5 beats, then started again with a pounding trip hammer rhythm.

  “That phone call was from Karl.”

  “Karl? What the hell does that little fucker want?” Max growled.

  “I don’t trust him, even if he wasn’t the one who told on us.” Somehow, I was sure he was involved in Laurent’s betrayal.

  “What should we do?” He started tugging on his hair, that neurotic habit manifesting itself again.

  “What can we do? Let’s just hope he doesn’t say anything to anyone.”

  “That’s a big risk.”

  “Well, what do you suggest?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have anything. I can’t think clearly.”

  “Then we wait and see what happens.”

  It wasn’t a good idea, but my brain wasn’t functioning any better than his was. We let it go, and by the time evening rolled around, we had forgotten the mysterious call from the bird man.

  29.

  We had been at Jillian’s for three days when Max’s cell phone rang for the third time. He was in Jillian’s office with her, getting his eye socket flushed out. I looked at the caller ID. I knew the number. It was Edward Anderson, Frank’s lawyer.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Hello. I’m looking for Mr. Maxwell Cameron. Is he available?” His deep voice was calm and educated, yet lacked emotion.

  “No, not at the moment. Can I take a message?”

  “May I ask with whom I’m speaking?”

  “This is Eleanor Fox.”

  “Miss Fox, I’ve been looking for you as well. I’m sorry to inform you that Frank Beauchemin was found dead.” He paused, giving me a moment to let the information sink in. “His body was discovered in Montreal two days ago.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know how to answer. Although I already knew, hearing it in an official manner felt like getting punched in the stomach.

  “You and Mr. Cameron are named as benefactors in his will. Do you know where he can be found?”

  “Yes, Max is here with me. He’s just busy at the moment.”

  “Could we meet in person? I have some papers for you to sign and a key to Frank’s safe deposit box.”

  “Sure.” We made arrangements to meet the next day.

  Max had regained the use of his right eye, the swelling having gone down, and could now see, but his vision was a little blurry. I wouldn’t be able to drive for a few weeks, so we continued to be a burden on Jillian. Sh
e drove us to Anderson’s office in Burlington.

  When we arrived, Jillian let us off at the front door and drove off to find a parking spot. She said she’d stay in the car until we were ready. We took the elevator to the third floor and came out into a plush reception area with leather seats and a mahogany desk. A proper looking middle-aged woman sat behind it. We told her who we were and she asked us to take a seat. She called Anderson to announce our arrival.

  A bald man in his early fifties, Anderson ambled out to the reception area, rotund body swaying, hand held out to shake ours. He had worked for Frank for a long time; he knew a lot of secrets. He greeted us and asked us into his office, gesturing for us to sit in the two seats in front of his desk.

  “I just have a few things for you to sign, then I can give you what Frank left.” He shuffled through a stack of papers then pushed the first one toward Max. “Sign your full name right here.” He poked a chubby finger at the bottom of the document.

  “Maxwell Ulysses Cameron,” Max said his own name as he signed with a flourish.

  “Your middle name is Ulysses?” I clapped my hands over my mouth and giggled. More like the Cyclops, I thought but restrained myself before saying it out loud. That would be mean.

  “Yes. It’s Ulysses.” He looked at me with a challenging gleam in his eye. “What’s your middle name?”

  “I don’t have a middle name,” I said with an air of cockiness. “It’s just Eleanor Fox.” When I changed my identity, I didn’t bother with a middle name.

  “Actually . . .” Anderson peered at me over his papers. “Frank thought it would be better to use your real name for legal reasons. I have it listed here as Eleanor Orange Kowalski.”

  I stopped, suddenly not finding it so funny. How the hell did Frank find out my real name?

  “Orange? Orange?” Max looked at me with incredulity. “You had the balls to make fun of my middle name when your middle name is Orange?”

  “Yes, it’s Orange. My parents were hippies.”

  “Are you telling me that all this time I’ve known you, I’ve been calling you Ellie Fox when I could have been calling you Orange Kowalski?”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “But it was funny when we were making fun of my middle name.”