Cheated By Death

by L. L. Bartlett

  The ballpark was located on the opposite side of the city. The holiday shopping season was officially underway. It seemed like all of Buffalo had hit the road, heading for the malls. The stop-and-go traffic didn’t help my rising anxiety. Confronting Willie might not be smart, but I couldn’t blame Richard for wanting to protect his wife—especially now.

  Richard stared pensively out the car window, his face a concentrated frown. I can’t read him at all, but I didn’t need empathic insight to know his anger was building.

  “Rich, this doesn’t feel right.”

  He looked at me across the bench seat. “What am I supposed to do, let someone hurt or kill Brenda? That letter’s proof she’s being targeted, not me.”

  “You can’t exactly call it a campaign of terror. I mean, it only started last night. And we don’t have any proof it’s Willie. Not even circumstantial evidence.”

  “I realize that. But if we don’t at least ask—”

  “We shouldn’t ask. I should. I’m trained to do this. You shouldn’t even be there—you’re too upset.”

  “Don’t you think I have a right to be?”

  “Yes. But we don’t want to antagonize someone with a history of violent behavior.”

  “I don’t intend to antagonize him.”

  “Oh, yes you do.”

  Richard turned his guilty gaze back out the window.

  We drove the rest of the way in stony silence.

  I parked the car in the ramp garage closest to the stadium. The place was nearly empty, although prominently parked near the exit on the first level was the blue Nissan Altima with Pennsylvania plates.

  “You were right,” I said, pointing the car out to Richard. “Now all we have to do is get into the office.”

  We headed down the sidewalk toward the stadium’s main entrance. Not being much of a baseball fan, I’d never been to Dunn Tire Field, although Richard and Brenda had gone to several games over the summer. The place seemed deserted. Dried leaves, styrofoam cups, wadded fast-food wrappers and other trash had blown against the grandstand’s locked gates.

  “This way,” Richard directed.

  As expected, the doors to the business offices were locked, but the lights were on inside. Richard hammered on the glass until he got someone’s attention.

  “We’re closed,” the woman mouthed. She pointed to the office hours stenciled on the door.

  “We’re here to see Willie Morgan,” I said. I had to repeat myself several times, but eventually the woman understood. She unlocked the door, ducked her head outside.

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “No. But it’s important.”

  She considered it for a moment. “Wait here. I’ll get him.” She locked the doors once more and disappeared down an aisle.

  I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets, stared at the floor, trying to figure out a tactful way to approach the impending conversation.

  Richard tapped the glass with his knuckle, and pointed to the equipment at the receptionist’s station. “Here’s proof he’s got access to a computer and laser printer.”

  “So have about a million other people in Erie County.”

  Richard ignored me, and strained to see down the aisle.

  A minute later, Willie appeared from around the corner and unlocked the doors.

  “Let me do the talking,” I reminded Richard.

  Willie gave us the once-over. If anything, he looked several sizes larger than when I’d met him days earlier. And he had to be at least two inches taller than Richard.

  “Jeff, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  His gaze went to Richard, instantly sizing him up. “You must be Brenda’s husband. What can I do for you?”

  “This is kind of an awkward situation,” I explained. “But Brenda’s been—”

  “She’s not hurt, is she?” Willie asked, concerned.

  “Now why would you think that?” Richard demanded.

  I raised my hand to stave off more comments. “No, but she’s being bothered. Telephone calls. Threatening letters.” It sounded silly—even to me. What the hell were we even doing talking to the guy on such flimsy evidence?

  “Are you accusing me?” Willie asked.

  “Of course not,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Richard said over me.

  “Now wait a minute,” Willie started, “I’ve only been in town a week.”

  “And the harassment started after you got here. Isn’t that a coincidence?” Richard taunted.

  “Richard!” I glared at him, but he didn’t back down. I tried again, struggling to hold onto my patience. “Mr. Morgan—Willie, we know that you and Brenda didn’t part under the best circumstances, and—”

  “Did Brenda ask you to come here?”

  “No.”

  “And she wouldn’t, either. Look, I’ve done nothing wrong. I visited an old friend. That’s all.”

  “How can you call yourself a friend after what you put her through?” Richard challenged.

  Willie’s gaze was menacing. “I think you’d better leave —now. Before I call the police.”

  “I’m the one who should be calling the police!”

  Willie stepped forward, pointed his finger in Richard’s face. “I know about rich folk like you. Think you can shove everybody around—take what you want. You got money and now you got my woman.”

  “Brenda divorced you years before she even met me. Your former woman is now legally my wife. And she’s carrying my child,” he threw in as fuel for the fire.

  “I’m surprised you got it in you, old man.”

  I grabbed Richard’s arm as he drew back to throw a punch. “Let’s not get crazy,” I said, hauling him away. Willie could’ve pulverized us without breaking into a sweat. I wasn’t used to playing the sane, rational brother. This role reversal was downright scary. “Rich, why don’t you wait for me downstairs.”

  Richard glared at Willie for endless seconds. I’d never seen such fury in him. Finally he tore his gaze away, stalked over to the exit, let the fire door slam.

  I turned back to the angry man. “Sorry, Willie. My brother’s a good man. He loves Brenda and he’s worried someone’s trying to hurt her.”

  Willie exhaled a long, deep breath. “Yeah, well, I guess I can understand that. She’s a very special lady.”

  I offered him my hand. “No hard feelings?”

  He frowned, but we shook on it anyway.

  “Sorry to have bothered you,” I apologized again.

  He nodded, looked back at the door where Richard had disappeared, then turned, went back into the office. I watched as he locked the doors, then vanished into the corporate landscaping.

  I stepped off the elevator, but Richard wasn’t around. None of the bars in the area looked open this early, so I headed back for the parking garage. Sure enough, Richard leaned against the passenger side of my car, an air of defeat surrounding him. I opened the doors and we got in.

  I paid the parking attendant and drove off before Richard finally spoke.

  “Sorry, Jeff. I don’t know what came over me back there.”

  “It’s okay. I probably would’ve done the same thing in your shoes. Of course you realize we’re no closer to knowing who’s behind all this.”

  “That’s what’s making me crazy.”

  “You can’t afford to be crazy. Brenda needs you. Besides,” I said, lightening my tone. “I’m just some little pipsqueak, remember? I can’t keep bailing your ass out of trouble from giants like Willie.”

  “Am I ever going to live that down?”

  “Unfortunately, we failed to consider the piss-off factor. If Willie is the one bothering Brenda, our visit could provoke him into something more dangerous.”

  “And if it isn’t him?”

  “Then we’ve annoyed an innocent man, and we’ve still got a problem.” I made a right, palming the wheel. “It doesn’t even have to be someone she knows. Someone could’ve just picked Brenda at random. It happens.”


  “Do you think Willie’s responsible?” he asked pointedly.

  “I don’t know. I don’t get any kind of vibe, aura—whatever from him.”

  Richard looked even more depressed.

  “What next?” I asked.

  “Go home. I don’t like leaving Brenda alone. Besides, you need to get ready for your family reunion.”

  “You’re my family.”

  “Don’t be so negative. Sometimes you have to leave your comfort zone.”

  “Now you sound like some corporate asshole.”

  “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

  “Admit it, bro,” I said. “It’s a shitty day, and it ain’t going to get better.”

  CHAPTER

  7

  “Let’s go home,” I said to Maggie, as I parked the car behind a rusty Toyota in front of my Aunt Ruby’s house.

  “You made it this far,” she said.

  I switched off the engine and looked at the well-tended, white frame house with its neatly pruned shrubs. Though located in one of Buffalo’s older neighborhoods, it had never fallen into decay. Cars lined the narrow driveway and were parked along the road in front.

  “What if it’s smoky? You know how your allergies—”

  “I took an antihistamine before I left home.” She studied my face. “Come on, Jeff, what’s the worst that can happen?”

  I thought about it for a moment, remembering Patty’s tacky comment about Brenda. “You’ll judge me by them.”

  She frowned. “I’m not that shallow—and I doubt these people are out to hurt you.”

  I looked away. I’d changed my clothes three times before deciding on a sweater and Dockers. No point trying to impress anyone, this crowd probably knew I was only a bartender. But then, I doubted there’d be any nuclear scientists present, either.

  I faced Maggie. “I don’t know what I think.”

  “Then turn it around—what’s the best thing that can happen?” she said.

  I thought about it for a moment. “Maybe . . . I might like them.”

  Maggie reached for my hand, squeezed it. “Come on.”

  She opened the car door and got out. I hesitated. Like confronting Willie, this felt wrong. But I grabbed my camera and slipped out of the car anyway, took Maggie’s hand and led her to the house. Although it wasn’t quite dark outside, all the lights were ablaze. To anyone else the place would’ve looked friendly, welcoming.

  I climbed the concrete steps and rang the bell. In seconds the door swung open, banging into the wall behind it. “Yeah?” said a breathless boy of about ten.

  “I’m Jeff Resnick, and—”

  “Gramma!” He took off, letting the storm door slam in our faces.

  An elderly woman padded to the door. Her hair was dyed a brilliant shade of red—much too bright for her age of seventy-five or more. Thick cherry lipstick covered her lips, complementing her floral print dress and pink slippers. “Jeffrey? My God, you haven’t changed a bit!” she squealed. “Come in, come in!” She ushered us inside and kissed me on the cheek. “Remember me? I’m your Aunt Ruby, Chet’s younger sister.”

  “Sorry. I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time to get to know me and the rest of the family.” She touched Maggie’s arm. “Now, who are you, dear?”

  “This is my girlfriend, Maggie Brennan.”

  “My, what a lovely dress. Did you get it out of the Penney’s catalog? They have the nicest clothes.” She didn’t give Maggie a chance to answer, but took our coats and disappeared into a room off the hall.

  We waited in the entryway, taking in the small living room. Its pastel pink walls were sweating with condensation, seeming to glow in the incandescent light. The couch and every chair was occupied, with people engaged in lively conversation. I gave a self-conscious nod to those who’d noticed our arrival. One of them I recognized: the guy who’d driven Patty to my place a few days earlier.

  Ruby reappeared and turned toward the kitchen. “Everybody. Chet’s boy is here!” She grabbed my arm and tugged me along.

  Maggie and I were paraded in front of a long succession of cousins, aunts, uncles, and old family friends. I tried, without success, to attach a name to every face. My fears about being on display were vastly overblown. Dinner was a bigger priority.

  With no dining room, chairs were pushed back, making room for a folding table set up in the living room. Older ladies fussed with food preparation, setting out dishes and bowls. A haze of steam and cigarette smoke filled the kitchen, and I tried to hurry the introductions to steer Maggie clear. When I mentioned Maggie’s allergies to Ruby, she guided me to the family room tacked on at the back of the house, which was kept smoke-free for Chet’s sake.

  My father sat huddled in a recliner in the corner, looking like a sad, sick Jabba the Hut, still tethered to his little green oxygen tank. Ruby plunked me in a folding chair next to him, handed me a bottle of no-name beer.

  “Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?” a plump old lady asked me before I could even greet the old man. I’d met her less than three minutes before and couldn’t remember her name or her relationship to me.

  “Uh, yes, thank you. And you?”

  “The turkey was very dry this year.” She risked a glance at Ruby across the room, lowered her voice. “Some people don’t know what a baster is.”

  I nodded, not knowing what else to say.

  “I’ll get you a plate, Chet.” She patted my father’s hand, then waddled off in the direction of the kitchen.

  I glanced at my father. His skin tone was ashen, his lips were a blue line: oxygen starvation. “How’re you feeling?”

  He shrugged. “Not good. But I’m still here.” He studied me, and slowly a smile crept across his puffy, wrinkled face. He held out his hand and I took it. Cool and dry, his grip was surprisingly firm. He held on tight, and I was flooded with a relentless fatigue. And yet, the old man felt happy because I’d come to his family’s party. Tears filled his eyes—and suddenly mine, too. But they were his tears—I was just a mirror of his emotions.

  I disentangled my hand, patted his arm and turned away.

  Maggie caught my eye and bent low. “Overloaded?” she asked.

  I couldn’t catch my breath, and nodded dumbly.

  She smiled. “You’ll live.”

  I wished I could be so cavalier.

  “You must be Maggie,” the old man said.

  She reached over to shake his hand.

  “You’re very pretty,” he said.

  Her smile was genuine. “Thank you.”

  “Are you going to marry my son?”

  I nearly choked on my beer. “Hey—!”

  Maggie smiled. “So far he hasn’t asked me.” She looked at me speculatively. “How ‘bout it, sport?”

  “I—I hadn’t thought about it yet today.”

  She leaned toward my father. “You just scared him silly.”

  The old man laughed and started to cough.

  “Jeffrey!”

  Patty shouldered her way through the crowd, with a beer bottle clutched in her hand. I stood, taking in her dark velvet slacks and the low-cut, clingy, gold lamé blouse that accentuated the contour of her full breasts. I felt like a pervert for noticing. She was my sister, after all.

  She hugged me. This time she smelled like perfume, cigarette smoke, and beer. “Glad you made it.”

  “Patty, this is my friend Maggie.”

  “Hi, nice to meet you.” She gave me the once-over, saw the camera beside me on the floor. “Oh good, you brought it. Take lots of pictures tonight. Can you do a portrait of me?” she said, showing off her profile.

  “They’re not my specialty, but—”

  “Dad, you should see the pictures in Jeff’s apartment. They are the best.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured.

  Patty tipped back her beer bottle, paused, squinted at it. “Damn. Empty. Are you ready for another?” she asked me.

  “I’m fine.�
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  “The food’s getting cold!” Ruby called from the kitchen.

  “I’ll be right back,” Patty said.

  Chet shook his head, his mouth drooping as he watched her stagger back to the kitchen. “She drinks too much.”

  “She’s young yet,” I defended her, instantly wondering why. Maybe because the old man looked so worn out. Like he saw his daughter on a collision course with a bad fate and was unable to steer her away from a danger he knew too well.

  “Who was the woman that went to get your dinner?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “My sister. Your Aunt Vera.”

  “Do you have any brothers?”

  He shook his head. “You’re the last of the Resnick line, boy. When are you going to have kids?”

  Not any time soon. I just shrugged.

  Vera returned with a plate of food, and set it on Chet’s lap. “You’d better get something to eat before it’s all gone,” she advised us.

  I looked back toward the kitchen, where Patty motioned us to join her. “We’ll be right back.”

  Most of the family sat on folding chairs at the table in the living room, while another group crowded around the kitchen table. Bowls and serving dishes heaped with meat and vegetables covered the worn Formica counter, buffet style. Several cakes stood waiting to be cut for dessert. We served ourselves and rejoined Chet in the family room. Vera had set up TV trays that wobbled precariously but made a better table than would a lap.

  Patty joined us, followed by her friend, Ray. He settled on a folding chair, with his plate on his lap. Patty set another beer down for me, sucking back one of her own. She ignored the half-empty plate on the tray before her. My father had no appetite either. He shoved the plate of food away, and leaned back in the recliner.

  Conversation stayed at a minimum. Ray didn’t join in, but alternately stared at me, my father and my sister. It was probably just my imagination.

  “Mr. Resnick, tell me what Jeff was like as a child,” Maggie said at last.

  The old man quirked a smile. “He was a good kid. Almost never cried. He never woke me up at night. Not like this one.” He jerked a thumb in Patty’s direction.