Say Uncle

by Benjamin Laskin

  “Jesus, really?”

  Doreen nodded. “Jim said he should have seen it coming. He said that’s what changed him.”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “They were best friends. Jim said he knew Craig had been acting a little differently—moody, depressed—but Jim just shook it off. Looking back, he sees now that Craig was reaching out to him, but Jim refused to acknowledge it. He blames himself for not being there for his friend.”

  “Did he say why Craig would do such a thing?”

  “He thinks Craig was gay and he couldn’t face up to it, Craig’s dad being macho and all, and his best friend, you know, kind of a ladies’ man.”

  “Craig Wilkinson a fudge-packer?”

  “Guy, that’s—”

  “Right. Sorry. But in high school he used to beat up gays.”

  “Jim said that was just his way of denying his own homosexuality. He saw in them what he hated in himself. I guess it’s fairly common…”

  “I don’t know, Doreen. I find it hard to believe that he was gay.”

  “Well, Jimmy was his best friend. He ought to know.”

  “Jimmy?” I said, holding a sparkling plate in my hand like a mirror. I was tempted to stick it in front of Doreen’s face and make her repeat that name so that she could see how stupid she looked, but I didn’t. “Still, I can’t imagine Craig Wilkinson hanging himself over anything.”

  “What, you think he was murdered or something?”

  I shrugged. “A couple of months ago I wouldn’t have, but the world looks a lot different to me today.”

  “No way. Jim said the police determined it was a suicide. He even left a note.”

  “Okay, whatever. So after seeing his best pal die, Jimmy took a good hard look at his life and decided he had better mend his ways.”

  “You don’t have to make it sound so trite, but, yeah, something like that. It was a very painful time, I’m sure. On top of that, his college girlfriend dumped him, and for the first time he got to feel what that was like.”

  “Poor Jimmy…” I dabbed my eyes with the dishtowel and pretended to blow my nose into it.

  “Stop it,” Doreen scolded.

  “Okay, okay. I get the picture. He did all the talking and you got to sit and nod along in commiseration.”

  “Not at all, wise guy. He said he wanted to know more about me, that he regretted he didn’t take the time to get to know me better. It was refreshing. Most guys just talk about themselves.”

  “Not Max,” I said. “He wasn’t that way.”

  “Yeah, well, Max went to the opposite extreme. He never talked about himself.”

  “He had his reasons, you know.”

  “Yeah, yeah…”

  “So did Fielding’s confession bring out any of your own?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like your little fling with Max.”

  “It wasn’t a fling, Guy. Max never even laid a lip on me. But, yeah, I mentioned him.” She smiled as she scoured the inside of a coffee mug. “I think Jim was a little jealous.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He wanted to know what Max had that he didn’t. He said it like a joke, but I think he was trying to find out what kind of man I’m looking for.” Doreen giggled. “He said he wants to become worthy of me.”

  Oh, gag.

  He played her like a violin, just as Hennes said he would. Though it sickened me to think Doreen was so easily flattered and deluded, I kept my mouth shut. I wondered just how much about Max she had revealed to him. I said, “You couldn’t talk about Max without bringing up Aidos.”

  “Just a bit, in passing, you know. He found it hard to believe such a girl existed.”

  “She’s not supposed to, remember? And neither is Max.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s only Jim. What use could he possibly have knowing they were alive? He said he never even heard of them.”

  Holy crap, Doreen! What kind of stupid pill did he slip into your cappuccino?

  Of course he heard of them. Everyone at school had. I saw Aidos’ picture in his damn locker.

  I didn’t have to ask any more questions. It was clear to me that she had told Fielding plenty about all of them, the whole crew. It was hard not to show my anger, or my panic. No doubt Mongoose was yucking it up with Piranha as we spoke.

  “Well, Doreen,” I said, “maybe I was wrong about the sleazebag. God knows it wouldn’t be the first time. I still don’t have to like him, though, do I?”

  “I only ask that you keep an open mind, like I did.”

  So open that all your brains spilled out!

  “When are you going to see him again?”

  “Tomorrow,” she chirped. “At the Coffee Cantata again.”

  “Yeah? What time?”

  “Six. Why?”

  “Can I tag along?”

  “Actually, how about another day? He and I still have a lot of catching up to do.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Thanks. He wants to talk about my pictures from the trip and some of the cool stuff I picked up. You’d be bored anyway.”

  Pictures…?

  “Doreen, you didn’t by any wild, crazy, stupid chance snap a picture or two of any of our friends, did you?”

  Doreen slid me a mischievous grin.

  “Burn ‘em! Burn them right now!”

  “No! They are my only memory of them. I don’t want to forget them. I told you that.”

  “But they explicitly told us no pictures.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Doreen, you have to believe them. Having those pictures puts their lives in big danger. This is not a game. After all you’ve seen and been through, how could you—? Give them to me.”

  “No.”

  “Doreen, just let me see them.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I just want to see them. We’ll put them in a safety deposit box or something, okay?”

  “I-I already gave them to him.”

  “No, no, no, you didn’t!”

  Doreen nodded and I buried my face into my dishtowel.

  “I’ll get them back tomorrow. What’s the big deal? What are you so paranoid about? Jeez…”

  “My sister the traitor. I can’t believe it.”

  “I’m not a traitor. I’d never—tomorrow. I’ll get them back tomorrow. I promise.”

  “Tomorrow is too late. Shit.”

  “Guy, what’s the matter with you? Make sense.”

  “What you did was very, very wrong.”

  “I’m sorry, okay? Boy, if I knew you’d get this upset I’d never have told you.” Her eyes welled and a tear raced down her right cheek.

  How do girls do that? I thought. They can crack a tear faster than I can crack a beer. “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not a traitor. I love them.”

  “I know, I know. Forget it…” I put my arms around her and petted the back of her head. Then the floodgates really opened. I stroked her head for a minute and then it was over as fast as it had begun. Doreen wiped her tears with her forearm and turned back to the sink and picked up the last dish and sponged it clean.

  “I’m not a traitor,” she said again, rinsing the dish and setting it aside for me to dry.

  “You’re not, I know. I’m sorry I said it.” I dried the dish and put it away in the cupboard. “I understand you taking those pictures,” I said. “I mean, I don’t have anything to remember them by either. Johanna almost gave me one of her bullets, but then decided it would be tough to explain if I got stopped at customs. I guess you didn’t get anything either.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “If they didn’t give you anything why would they give me something? You were their favorite.”

  “That’s bull. Don’t even start with that.”

  “Well, that was my impression. It’s okay. I understand…”

  “You’re wrong. They liked you a lot. It was so obvious.”

&nbs
p; “How?”

  “Heck, Melody said as much.”

  “Melody? What did she say?”

  “She said you were a riot, and that except for an abominable taste in men—her words, not mine—you were one together broad.”

  “You’re making that up just to make me feel better.”

  I held up my hand. “Scout’s honor.”

  “Yeah?” She smiled. “Coming from Melody that’s, well…nice. Thanks.” She dried her hands on my dishtowel and kissed me on the cheek. “And I think you’re one together dude, Guy. I’ll get those photos back tomorrow, I swear. We’ll burn them together, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m gonna take a bath now. Wanna play Tomb Raider later?”

  “Sure.”

  She pranced off to the back of the house, conscience cleared, heart aflutter, and utterly clueless as to the awful damage she had done, and the danger she had created for everyone she cared about.

  I took the dishtowel and ran it across the kitchen counter to mop up the water and heard a ting-ting. I looked in the sink and picked up Doreen’s ring. She must have taken it off before doing the dishes. It was the silver band that Zeeva had given her as a token of her friendship. I absently put it back on the counter and turned away.

  Zeeva…?

  I whirled and picked the ring back up. I held it up to examine it. Of course! On the inside was an inscription, but it was too tiny to make out.

  I ran into my dad’s office and opened the top drawer of his desk where I remembered having seen a magnifying glass a few weeks back when I was snooping around his office. I flicked on his desk lamp and examined the ring. An inscription, all right. But it was Greek to me. No, wait, not Greek. Hebrew, maybe? Was this what Hennes was looking for?

  I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet and the slip of paper with Hennes’ number. In my excitement I picked up my dad’s phone and dialed the first few numbers before remembering Hennes’ warning about the phone being tapped. And the old mountain goat had trashed the cell phone. Damn!

  I checked my front pockets: a dollar ninety-five in change. That ought to do. I dashed outside, jumped into my truck and sped off to the nearest pay phone, about a mile away at the Biltmore Fashion Square, the same mall that housed the Coffee Cantata Cafe where Doreen was to meet Mongoose Jimmy the next day.

  Face Slap

  “Guy, what’s wrong? I tried calling you. What did you do with your phone?”

  “I, ah…lost it. I’m at a pay phone.”

  “Lost it?”

  “Sort of…”

  “My boy, that’s—”

  “Irresponsible, I know. Don’t worry. I know where it is…sort of. I’ll get it back first thing in the morning.”

  “There may not be time. It seems Piranha and Mongoose are up to something. My contacts say there’s been some sudden redeployment of Organization agents. What can you tell me?”

  “I talked to my sister. It’s bad, Hennes.”

  “How bad?”

  “Pictures and all. I think the only thing she didn’t give him was locks of their hair.”

  “Pictures? Oh my…”

  “But I’ve got something for you.”

  “The key?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Where was it?”

  “On Doreen’s finger.”

  “A ring? What does it look like?”

  “Nothing fancy. Just a plain silver band.”

  “And there’s an inscription?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t read it. I think it’s in Hebrew.”

  “Hebrew?”

  “Pretty sure, yeah.”

  “Hmm. There’s no time to get it translated.”

  “You know Hebrew. You can do it, can’t you?”

  “Me? Yes, of course, but Hebrew or not, it’s probably encoded. That’s not what I’m worried about. When will Doreen see Mongoose next?”

  “Tomorrow at the Coffee Cantata at six.”

  “Okay, that’s when we’ll make our move.”

  “What move?”

  “Doreen will hand the ring over to Mongoose, and—”

  “No, she won’t. She’s not going to give it to him. It’s hers. It’s precious to her.”

  “Not knowingly, of course. But Mongoose will find a way.”

  I knew that the ring had originally belonged to Aidos’ grandmother, that it had been a gift from Chaim before he left her to go to Palestine. She passed it to her daughter, Aidos’ mother, who handed it down to Aidos. Aidos gave it to Zeeva as a token of her friendship, and Zeeva to Doreen. The very thought that Doreen, willingly or not, would hand it over to Mongoose struck me as, well, profane—a slap to the face of Chaim’s spirit, and to Aidos and Zeeva’s memory and friendship.

  “I’ve got it right here in my pocket, why don’t you just come and get it?”

  “If Doreen doesn’t show up with that ring, Mongoose will know something’s up. We can’t risk that.”

  “But he doesn’t even know about it.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “If he did, he’d have it already, wouldn’t he?”

  “No, no. He’d want to get it without her knowing so, and that would take a little planning. A plain silver band, you say?”

  “Yeah. So what do we do?”

  “You don’t do anything. Your work is done.”

  “Done? But—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it from here. You just make sure your sister shows up tomorrow with the ring and that she’s kept in the dark. Okay?”

  “But—”

  “There’s nothing left for you to do, Guy. I’ll take care of everything.”

  “But how? You’re no match for a big, strong guy like Fielding. He’s a pro, and you, you’re…a Spinoza scholar.”

  Hennes laughed. “I’m not going to arm wrestle him for it, Guy. You’re a funny kid. No, Guy, I have friends who will be handling that. They are pros too. Your sister will be safe, we’ll get Mongoose and the ring, and then, well, how about you and me having dinner together tomorrow?”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Cool. I’d really like that.”

  “Me too. Now, go home, son, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “All right. You be careful.”

  “Don’t you worry about me. Goodbye now.”

  “Hennes?”

  “Yes?”

  “Sorry about the phone. I’ll find it, I promise.”

  “I’d really appreciate that.”

  I hung up and stepped back from the phone and looked around. The parking lot was emptying, and soon many of the stores in the mall would be closing.

  I hopped back into my truck and started a slow drive around the perimeter of the plaza. I passed Macy’s, The Cheesecake Factory, The Apple Store, Häagen-Dazs, some small eateries and clothing boutiques, and a jewelry store. Then I came upon the Coffee Cantata, where, if Hennes was right, my little adventure would come to an end.

  The main entrance to the restaurant faced the south parking lot and was separated from it by a large, open-air patio cooled by a misting system. The tables had big umbrellas open over them. Along the east side was a breezeway with eight smaller tables. The breezeway led into the main shopping corridor of the mall.

  I wondered what Hennes and his men would plan for tomorrow. Most likely, I figured, his friends would be at the cafe waiting for Mongoose and then tail him from there. I thought it funny that such spy stuff would be going on in broad daylight right in my own backyard, and no one had a clue about it.

  Surely, Hennes and his friends knew what they were doing. Still, it seemed too simple. There was nothing wrong with simple, but after all I had witnessed, simple never seemed to be the method of choice.

  Did Hennes have a back-up plan? I wondered. The consequences of a failed interception were too disastrous not to have one. I checked my watch. Many of the shops would be closing in ten minutes. I parked my truck and jogged into the mall. I
ntuition can be a dangerous thing.

  Mitzvah, Brother?

  Sunrise found me stumbling about the steep, rocky backside of Piestewa Peak Mountain hunting for Hennes’ cell phone. After an hour I gave up in frustration. I had promised Hennes I’d find it, and failed. I didn’t think he’d be too upset, but I had let him down and that made me mad. I clawed my way to the top of the mountain to take the trail back down.

  When my head peeked up on top I was glad to see that the old mountain goat wasn’t there. I was in no mood for his smirking face, and the temptation to stick one of his lousy trees up his ass for all the trouble he had caused me would have been too great to withstand. The sunrise regulars were there, though. I knew them to be a much more cheerful group than the sunset gang.

  “Good morning,” greeted a forty-something black woman in a shimmering blue trainer and sunglasses.

  “Hi,” I said, pulling myself up the final foot. I stood and brushed my palms together to knock out the embedded pebbles.

  “I’ve heard of choosing the path less taken, but it looks like you’ve taken it to another level. You got prickly pear stuck on your shoe.”

  I looked down and saw a chunk of cactus clinging to the laces of my right boot. I kicked it away with my other boot. “Thanks.” I nodded towards the spot where the old man always sat. “I see that Johnny Appleseed didn’t make it today.”

  “Oh, he’ll be here,” she said. “It’s gonna be a scorcher and he’ll be worried about his trees. You’ve got to hand it to the guy, I never would have bet those trees would still be alive after the summer we’ve been having.”

  “Yeah, well, lunatics often possess an enviable single-mindedness of purpose that would be inspiring if only the person wasn’t…well, a lunatic.”

  “I prefer the word eccentric,” she said. “But you’re right, it is inspiring. In fact, I’m thinking of planting some roses right over there.” She pointed to a stark, flat patch of hard dirt. “And Marshall over there, he’s talking clover.” She shouted to him. “Aren’t you Marshall?”

  “Huh?” Marshall called back. He was a short, pudgy fellow of about fifty, fair-skinned and balding. He looked like a cue ball in Bermudas.

  “Clover,” the lady said.

  “Oh, yes. Nitrogen for the soil. Prevents erosion and keeps the rain from sliding off. Clover, that’s what I’m thinking!”