Fall Guy

by Carol Lea Benjamin

  “Find it,” I told Dash, expecting to see him rush around the way I would have, looking everywhere for the phone. Instead, he ambled over to the couch and pushed his nose under one of the side cushions, flipping it up onto the arm of the couch. When he turned around to face me, the phone was in his mouth. Not only that, there were other things stuffed in the corner of the couch, as if Dashiell had uncovered a magpie’s nest.

  I hung up Tim’s phone to stop the ringing, taking the cell phone from Dashiell, telling him he was a good and handsome dog, indispensable and efficient as well. I glanced at the stash in the corner, but wanted to know Parker wasn’t coming before doing anything else. His cell phone here, right in my hand, I wondered how I’d get in touch with him now. Without thinking, I opened the phone, thinking I’d call Irwin, ask if he had a number for Parker. I reached for Tim’s address book, but it occurred to me that Parker might have Irwin’s number on his cell, which was already in my hand. But before I got the chance to see if he did, I saw something else. Parker had two messages.

  I knew I had no right to listen to Parker’s messages, but that had never stopped me in the past and it surely wasn’t going to stop me now. What I found might not be admissible in court, but I wasn’t trying to make an airtight case. I was only trying to find out what the hell was going on. And when I saw that the first message was from Elizabeth Bowles, there was no way on earth I would have closed the phone and put it back where I found it, where Parker would expect to find it the next day if I couldn’t reach him before to tell him not to come.

  “Parker, it’s Elizabeth again and the answer is still no. Under no circumstances will I have you living in my home again. If my brother were alive, he’d be telling you the same thing. And don’t come asking for money either. Been there. Done that. It’s over.”

  The message had been left after Tim had kicked Parker out of the house. He hadn’t heard it. No matter. This was obviously not the first time Elizabeth had told him that he couldn’t move back in with her. He’d made another plea anyway. Just in case. But he was more than likely expecting exactly what he got, another rejection.

  Was that why he hadn’t retrieved his phone when the cops were here? Was this the reason he was in such a rush to get his things back? Because if anyone heard what I’d just heard, there’d be no doubt that Parker hadn’t been given permission to stay at his aunt’s apartment.

  I played back the second message.

  “P, it’s me, Andy. See you in hell” was all it said. Caller unknown. At least to the phone and to me.

  There was a wallet stuffed in the corner, too, with about eighty dollars in it. Two watches, both expensive. A man’s silver ID bracelet with the name “Christopher” on it. Magpie indeed. I wondered if Parker had been sitting on his stash when the cops were looking around. I wondered, too, how much they’d looked around once they’d determined the death to be a suicide.

  I made one more call, this time using O’Fallon’s phone, and then got back to work. I dumped the plastic bag with the contents of Parker’s pockets in it onto the kitchen table, not wanting to get his things mixed up with the things on Tim’s desk. I picked through the pile: pens and pencils, tissues and handkerchiefs, a folded-up scarf, a pair of leather gloves with the price tag still on them, a comb, a man’s gold bracelet, matches, opened packs of cigarettes and change. I couldn’t make much of anything new out of what I’d found but thought the stuff should go to the same person I was going to give the cell phone to, Michael Brody. Parker was his problem, not mine, unless of course he was somehow the cause of Tim’s death. But the cops didn’t seem to think so. As far as I knew, he wasn’t even questioned at the precinct, only at the apartment. While they did suspect him in connection with the disappearance of Elizabeth Bowles, no one seemed to think him culpable in Tim’s death. No one except me. I was pretty sure that Parker had helped Tim down the long path to suicide, that he beat him down, that he’d made it more and more difficult for Tim to feel there was any point to his life, any saving grace to cling to, any reason to live. But if that was prosecutable, the jails would be far more crowded than they already are, souls pressed as tightly together as subway riders during rush hour.

  I began to put everything back in the bag when I read one of the matchbook covers. Hell. The message hadn’t said, “See you in hell.” It had said, “See you in Hell,” a bar on Gansevoort Street.

  I went back to the couch, the one with the nest of goodies, the couch, I was sure, where Parker had slept. Only this time, I tore it apart. I took off all the cushions, finding more treasures hidden in corners. Why not? The couch had been both his bed and his nightstand. Where else could he put his things? And things of Tim’s he meant to remove from the apartment, seeing first if they’d be missed before taking them to a local hockshop or selling them in the street.

  When I’d finished poking into every corner, I unzipped the worn pillow covers and reached inside. In one, wrapped in a dishtowel, there was cash. I sat down and counted it. Parker had hidden $3,235 there, Parker who, as far as I knew, did not have a job. Another reason why he was so anxious to retrieve his possessions.

  I spent another three hours at the apartment, packing things up. I had personal effects, photos, some books and valuables for Maggie. I put those things on Tim’s bed after pulling that apart to make sure there wasn’t a bird’s nest in that one, too. I had a huge pile of things, packed in shopping bags, suitcases, and just loose, for Housing Works. I’d call in a day or two, ask if they’d come and pick up everything at once. Ironically, the charities were nearly as fussy as the heirs. There were always things no one would want, things you’d eventually have to pay someone to come and haul away. I had a third pile, neatly folded and packed in plastic bags: Parker’s clothes, everything from his closet except the shrine and the small purse. When I finished, I left everything as it was and went upstairs to Irwin’s apartment.

  “You’re early, doll.” His hair was gelled flat and the gel made it appear darker. “The game doesn’t start for another hour. I’m glad you’re here. You can help me make dip.”

  “I don’t make dip,” I told him, “and I didn’t come to play.”

  “Alas,” he said. “I thought that might be so when you showed up without the obligatory six-pack, but c’est la vie. What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if you called Parker yet, to invite him to the memorial on Saturday.”

  “Not yet, doll. It’s on my list.” He tapped his temple and I thought of Tim holding the gun to that very spot on his own head, then squeezing the trigger. Jin Mei was right. I needed some quiet time.

  “Will you give him a message from me? I told him he could come and collect his things tomorrow afternoon, but it turns out, he can’t. I have a dentist appointment I’d forgotten about.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.” He was squinting up at me, his face a study of cynical disbelief. Irwin had good radar. I decided I’d better stop bullshitting and stick to the business at hand.

  “I packed up his clothes. He said he needed them. If I can leave them with you, he can…”

  “Sure, doll, sure. No problem.”

  I went back downstairs and brought up the shopping bags and one suitcase full of clothes. It took me three trips to get everything upstairs. Irwin never touched a bag. He just pointed at where he wanted me to put everything. Fair enough, I thought. It wasn’t his job in the first place.

  “There are a few other things I’ll give him after the memorial. Will you tell him that, too?”

  “You can tell him yourself. He’ll be here for the game.”

  “Sorry,” I told him, “no can do. I have an appointment tonight, too, and I don’t like to keep a gentleman waiting.” I checked my watch as if I had to rush, but the truth was, I wasn’t meeting Brody for several hours. I thanked Irwin again and told him I’d see him on Saturday.

  He motioned for me to bend closer. I did. “It’s going to be a sad one,” he whispered. “But you can always cry on my should
er. Don’t forget, doll, I’m here for you, whatever it is you need.”

  CHAPTER 15

  I was halfway home before I changed my mind. I stopped into one of the ubiquitous Korean delis that never close and, amazingly, has everything you’d ever think to ask for crammed into a space the size of a country kitchen. I bought a six-pack, a large bag of corn chips and two containers of ready-made dip. I strongly suspected that Irwin was kidding about the dip. Still, as I told him, semper paratus was my motto. Or one of them.

  If Irwin was surprised to see me back at his apartment, he didn’t show it at all, not a man I wanted to play poker with under normal circumstances, which mine never seem to be. Anyway, I was nothing if not a good sport. In fact, in keeping with said motto, I’d made one other stop on the way to the game. I’d stopped at O’Fallon’s apartment and dropped off his briefcase. I didn’t want any curious eyes seeing that I had O’Fallon’s notebook or, worse, Parker’s cell phone, and I thought it might look pretty hinky taking the briefcase with me if I went to the bathroom. I took off Dashiell’s leash and left that on top of the briefcase. I also picked something up, my poker money. I took three hundred of Parker’s stash, stuffed it into my pocket, and Dashiell and I headed up the stairs. If Irwin was as good a player as Brody had indicated, I was going to lose for sure. Losing Parker’s money wouldn’t be nearly as painful as losing my own.

  “Just when you thought you were out…” he said.

  “You pulled me back in.”

  And so he did, his hand on the waist of my jeans, walking backward and tugging me along. He stopped short of the poker table, standing on tiptoes to try to get a look inside the bag I was carrying.

  “You’re not Greek, are you, doll? You never mentioned your last name?”

  “Not Greek. A Jew bearing gifts. I believe that’s considered kosher.”

  He smiled.

  I handed him the bag.

  “Six-pack, chips, dips. You’re a find, doll.”

  The bell rang. He handed the bag back to me. “In the kitchen. Anywhere there’s room. Beer in the fridge.”

  I carried the beer and chips into Irwin’s kitchen, seeing the stool at the sink and a folding stepladder leaning against the wall adjacent to the kitchen door. I put the beer in the fridge. There was already a whole shelf of beer in there. I opened the cabinets until I found a large bowl and dumped the chips in there. I was taking that back to the living room when the door opened and there stood Parker with three other men.

  “Rachel,” he said.

  “Hello, Parker. Nice to see you again.”

  He looked at Irwin, then back at me.

  “I invited her,” Irwin said. “At least she brought something.”

  I held the bowl of chips aloft. “A six-pack, too. Thirsty work, playing poker.”

  Now they were all squinting at me, Parker because I was there, Irwin because he thought he’d caught me in a lie—he had, too, at least one—and one of the other three because he had a cigarette dangling from his mouth, the smoke making him squinch up his eyes. I guess the other two were just waiting to be introduced, hoping the mark had a ton of money to lose. And that she did.

  “Enough chitchat,” Irwin said. “Let’s play cards.”

  There was a light hanging over the poker table, the wire running across the ceiling and down the wall. Irwin shut off the rest of the lights and we took our seats, all except one of Parker’s friends, the one with the cigarette, who went to get the first round of beer. I thought about going back to the kitchen for the dips, but didn’t bother.

  “We’re still on for tomorrow, right, Rachel?” Parker asked, fidgeting with the money in his pocket. Or maybe he’d found the set of keys he’d lost because whatever it was he was fooling with was making a jingling kind of noise.

  “As a matter of fact, you’re not,” Irwin told him. “Rachel here was kind enough to pack up your stuff and leave it with me. You can take it tonight when you go.”

  Parker looked betrayed. “But you said—”

  “Dog has to go to the vet,” I said. I turned to smile at Irwin. He smiled back approvingly, one con artist appreciating another.

  “But you said—”

  “You said you needed your clothes,” I told him. “They’re right there.” I pointed to the stash of things against the wall.

  “But there’s other stuff that’s mine.”

  “I can give you the rest on Saturday, after the memorial.”

  “What memorial?” Rattled now.

  “I was going to tell you all of this, in due time.” Irwin picked up the deck and began to shuffle. “Everything in due time. But first introduce your little friends to Rachel.”

  “Bill, Ricky, Ape, Rachel.” Not telling me who was who. Though I had a sneaky feeling the one with hair on the backs of his hands might be Ape.

  “Gentlemen.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Irwin said. “Now, you told me you’ve never played poker before. Shall I go over what beats what?”

  “Nah. I’ll catch on,” I told him. “Anyway, I can’t stay too long. I have this appointment.”

  “With a gentleman,” Irwin told the others, “a real one, I suspect.”

  “So why can’t we get the rest of my stuff now if you can’t do it tomorrow? I’m here. You’re here.”

  “Right. I’m here. I’m not there.”

  “Bitch.” It was the one who was smoking. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and bent it into the ashtray, leaving it only half out so that the smoke kept coming and coming. It sounded like the voice from the answering machine, but that person had said his name was Andy. Maybe they all used as many names as Parker did.

  “You talk to a lady like that,” I told him, “you’ll go right straight to hell.” I watched for a reaction, but there was none. He just reached for a beer and pulled out the tab.

  Dashiell walked over to the window, poked aside the curtain and looked down at the street. The compressor of the air conditioner kicked on. Irwin picked up the cards.

  “Win or lose, I’m out of here in an hour. Agreed?”

  “You can leave right now,” one of Parker’s friends said, either Bill or Ricky or perhaps even Ape. “Who invited you, anyway?”

  “I did.” He had a big voice for a little person, deep and resonant. And he knew how to use it. I thought of what he’d told me, that he’d worked with the big cats, not a man to be pushed around. “Parker, your stuff is here, and if it’s still here when I wake up in the morning, it’ll be there”—pointing to the windows, his finger curved so that if he were actually at the windows, he’d be pointing to the garbage cans. “As for the rest of your things, there’s a memorial for Tim on Saturday, at four o’clock, in the garden. Rachel was kind enough to say you could get the rest of your things after that. Meanwhile, you have clothes.” He looked at Parker. We all did. He was wearing a denim shirt, the wrinkles from being folded on a shelf still visible. His jeans looked new, too, either that or dry-cleaned, the way they do it on the Upper East Side. “As for the rest of you deadbeats…Bill”—he was looking at the one with thinning blond hair, a short-sleeved plaid shirt, green pants, not a fashionista like Parker—“Ricky”—the one who was smoking, the one you wouldn’t want to be alone with on an elevator or in a dark alley, unless you had your pit bull with you—“Ape”—the hairy one, the tallest of the three, the beefiest one, too—“you drank enough of his whiskey and stole enough of his possessions to show your ugly mugs there, for decency’s sake, pretend you’re respectful of the dead, pretend you’re saying a little prayer for the good detective. But that’s up to you, of course. I imagine if I mentioned that Jin Mei will no doubt be preparing some food for the mourners, you might actually show. But I’m hoping you’ll come because it’s the decent thing to do.”

  “What would you know from decent?” Ape asked him. “How about you and Ella, was that decent?”

  Irwin turned to me to explain.

  “This is going to be good,” Ape added. He had a hig
h voice for such a big man.

  “He’s referring to a faux marriage I had at one time with a Miss Ella Vanilla, the fat lady in a circus I was with back then. He thinks I done her wrong, leaving the way I did, Ella still madly in love with me.” He turned to Ape. “Nothing lasts forever,” he said. “Except maybe death.”

  “No maybe about it,” Ricky said. He got up and went to the kitchen. A moment later I realized he’d actually gone to the bathroom because he’d neglected to close the door.

  “Comes from living in a tent,” Irwin told me.

  “He was with you in the circus?”

  “A rigger,” he said. “When sober. And not in jail.” He tapped the deck of cards on the table twice. “Where’s Andy? I thought he said he was coming.”

  Parker shrugged. “He did. Must be not. Or coming late. You know how he is.”

  “Time and poker wait for no man.” He was sitting on two pillows so that he could reach the table. He shuffled the deck and asked me to cut. I tapped the top card. Irwin announced the game and dealt. The conversation, if you can call it that, was clearly over. We anted, bet, folded, played the game. When an hour was up, I decided to stay another. When it was time to go, I was $175 ahead.

  Irwin gave me a pat on the ass when I got up. “It’s customary to tip the house before you leave,” he said. “You know, for the beer, the chips and the dips.”

  I dropped two twenties on the table. Easy come, easy go.

  “Next Thursday?” he asked.

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. See you gentlemen on Saturday, I trust.”

  None of the gentlemen at Irwin’s poker table got up when I did. Parker, in fact, even failed to say good-bye.

  As Dash and I headed down the stairs, someone was coming up. He was just at the age when hard living starts to show, his skin rough, his face deeply lined, his hair faded and dull, eyes as old as a cop’s eyes. Or a drifter’s. Hands deep in his pants pockets, he just kept coming, as if I weren’t there. I stood aside and let him pass. When I got to the first floor, I heard Irwin’s door open. I unlocked O’Fallon’s door, grabbed the leash and the briefcase and headed home.