Falafel Jones - The Kewpie Killer

by Falafel Jones

  “Of course not. Look around. I can’t afford those kind of rates.”

  “And Burke didn’t mind that you were competing with him?”

  “We did not compete. For me, it is about the money.”

  “… and helping people?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he smiled, “that too. Burke, he loaned people money so he could hurt them. For him, it was always about the violence.”

  “Mr. Fallinger, did you know a farmer named Morgan Finley? Did you ever loan him money?”

  He removed the cigarette from his mouth and grinned. “No farms on Third Avenue.”

  “Is that your way of telling me the information is confidential?”

  “In my business, a man must be discreet.”

  “I don’t want to know about your business, only Burke’s. He’s dead and his killer is still loose. No one knows why someone killed Burke. Maybe you’re next on their list?”

  “If I help, what do I get?”

  “Protection. Answer my questions or I’ll do a story about your, ah, enterprises. I’ll park a Chronicle photographer in front of your shop and shoot everyone that comes in.”

  “My clients prefer to be private.”

  “Then answer a few questions.”

  “What you want to know?”

  “Ever loan Finley money?”

  Fallinger lifted a notebook from behind the counter and thumbed through it. “No.”

  “Ever loan any money to a carnival?”

  “Not a bank. No business with businesses, only people.”

  “How about Burke? He ever loan money to Finley or to a carnival?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Any idea how I can find out?”

  “Check his ledger. Everything goes in ledger.”

  “Geez, where am I going to find that?”

  “I have it. When he died, he owed me vault space rental and mail. I keep his things for payment.”

  “You have Burke’s ledger? Can I see it?”

  “Yes, you pay me what he owed, it is yours.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty dollars… cash.”

  It was a good thing I didn’t eat lunch yet. My purse contained only fifty-three dollars. I said, “OK.”

  Fallinger went into his backroom and came out with three books. An old leather book and two black and white marbled composition notebooks like those that kids used in grade school. We swapped my money for Burke’s books.

  I opened the leather bound one. “These are names and phone numbers, Amber, Ashley, Agnese, Bambi, Bette…”

  Fallinger raised an eyebrow. “I think I keep this one. Is pleasure, not business.” He reached out his hand and leered.

  I gave it to him and looked at the two remaining books. Somebody wrote a year on the cover of each one. Burke made the earliest entry around two years before his death. I pointed this out and asked, “What about older records? Say, 20 years ago”.

  Fallinger laughed. “No need past two years. Burke’s statute of limitations. Two years,” he shrugged, “…you paid or you disappeared.”

  “Do you know? Did Burke ever spend any time in Florida?”

  “Yes, Burke from Georgia… in US, not USSR. Hated snow. Used to winter in Florida. Go someplace warm a few months in winter… also take heat off in New York.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do svidaniya.”

  When he saw my puzzled look, he said, “Means ‘Good bye’… is Russian”.

  Back in my car, I opened the earliest ledger. Each page listed dates, names, dollar amounts and a fourth column that contained either a check mark or a dash, mostly checks. I didn’t want to guess what the dashes meant.

  Finley’s name did not appear in the first book. I was near the end of the second when my phone rang and the screen displayed Eddie’s number.

  Chapter Eight – Time Flies and so does Eddie

  “Hi.”

  “Miss me?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Still at the airport, wanted to thank you for last night.”

  “You probably say that to all the girls.”

  “Only the ones I sleep with.”

  “Guess what I’m holding?”

  “We’re about to board. Not enough time for phone sex.”

  “No, really, guess.”

  “No clue. Tell me.”

  “Breaker Burke’s ledgers.”

  “Wow, any loans in Florida?”

  “Yeah, he wintered there but the ledgers only go back two years.”

  “Anybody we know listed in there?”

  “I looked for Finley but he’s not in the first book, almost done with the second.”

  “Will it take long? My flight…”

  “Done. No mention of Finley. He must have some different connection to Burke.”

  “Or he’s not connected to Burke at all. Could be they’re both connected to someone else and not each other.”

  “Oooo, you’re good. You should do this for a living.”

  “I do but I won’t if I miss this plane. Can I call you later?”

  “That would be great. What’s your name again?”

  “Ha, ha. Good bye, Raquel.”

  “Bye, Eddie.”

  Eddie phoned me again that night after he settled in at home, but didn’t call again for the rest of the week. On the other hand, I heard from Kara… daily.

  For example, Monday.

  “Hi, Raquel. How’s the apartment hunt coming?”

  “I’m finding a lot of toos.”

  “You mean two bedrooms?”

  “No. Everything is either too far, too much money, too noisy or too disgusting.”

  Tuesday.

  “Hi, Raquel, Find a place yet?”

  “No.”

  “Bet you’re not looking forward to moving back with your Mom, huh?”

  Wednesday.

  “Hi, Raquel. I was wondering if you needed any help packing.”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

  Thursday, I couldn’t take it anymore and hired a mover to take my stuff… to Mom’s.

  Friday.

  “Hi, Raquel. You didn’t have to rush out, but thank you. Is it all right if the painter comes by today to get started?”

  Saturday, I packed.

  Sunday, my last article on Kelly’s Carnival appeared as the originally intended fluff piece. I had nothing more to write on the Finley killing. Even the Police called it a cold case and dropped their investigation.

  Monday, I moved into Mom’s… my old room. Kara stopped calling and Eddie finally started.

  We spoke every night and then after a week, he said, “Gee, Raquel. Talking’s great but I really miss seeing you. Can we Skype?”

  “I didn’t know it was a verb. Yeah, I guess so, my laptop has a camera.”

  We set it up one night while we were each eating dinner alone at home… together.

  Eddie peered into his computer screen and asked, “What’s that you’re eating?”

  “Cottage cheese and peaches.”

  “For dinner?”

  “Yeah,” I enlarged his picture on my screen. “What’s that?”

  “Steak tidbits sautéed in onions and olive oil over brown rice with salsa and sharp shredded cheddar.”

  Despite our dietary differences, after a while our “dinner dates” became the highlight of my week.

  Every evening I could shake free from Mom, we Skyped while we ate and talked about our days, but after a while, either Eddie or I couldn’t make it and we spoke less often.

  Mom still drove me nuts so I kept looking for an apartment and left my boxes in a spare room. It didn’t help much.

  The day I returned Kara’s car, I started carpooling with Mom.

  “Put your seatbelt on, Dear.”

  “I was just about to, Mom.” I put my travel mug in one of the cup holders and reached for the belt.

  Mom waved her hand at my mug. “Oh, Dear. Not there, please. Use that other holder.”

&n
bsp; “What’s the difference?”

  “This one could spill on my dress.”

  “It’s got a lid.”

  “Dear, this is cashmere.”

  Later that day, Mom gave me a ride home from work. When she pulled into her garage, I noticed an empty spot formerly occupied by my dad’s old MGB. The tarp that used to cover it laid folded on a shelf next to maps Dad and I marked for the road trip we never got to take.

  “Mom. Where’s Dad’s car?”

  “What? Oh… I… needed the space.”

  “For what? You’ve got a four car garage and one car.”

  “C’mon, let’s go in the house. What would you like for dinner?”

  “What did you do with his car?”

  “C’mon. Let’s eat.”

  I didn’t know why, but I felt bad she got rid of it without telling me, especially since I had no wheels after returning the Kara-mobile. I wished I could talk to Eddie about it. He would have understood. At this point, I realized a week passed since he last called. Apparently, so did Mom.

  We sat in the dining room, eating dinner, when she said, “I’m so glad you’re home again. By myself, I’d often end up eating while standing over the sink. It’s nice to have a civilized meal together.” She reached across the table and patted my hand.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

  “I like cooking for you.”

  “Mom, microwaving two Lean Cuisines and dumping the food on plates isn’t cooking.”

  “What’s wrong, Doll? Are you upset because your boyfriend stopped calling?”

  “Mom. I’m not sixteen and I’d appreciate some privacy.”

  We ate in silence for a bit and then I asked, “How long do you think it would take to get used to a landfill smell?”

  “What’s that, Darling? Landfill smell?”

  “Nothing, Mom. Enjoy your cooking.”

  After more time went by without hearing from him, I tried to put Eddie out of my mind. I liked him and thought we connected, but there was too much in my life for me to dwell on him.

  One night, I helped Kara plan her wedding menu. Her caterer invited her and Tommy to taste various food options. Tommy begged off claiming he had to work late so Kara invited her bridesmaids to help.

  Oddly enough, none of the other girls were free any night that week except for me. I suspected gown shopping had taken its toll on the group but Kara, bless her, probably thought they were all just very busy.

  I borrowed Mom’s Mercedes and met Kara at the River Lodge where she and Tommy rented the ballroom for their reception. Andre, the Banquet Manager, greeted Kara warmly, inquired after Tommy and graciously accepted me as his surrogate. Absent grooms-to-be didn’t seem to be anything new to him.

  Kara and I sat while Andre summoned waiters to bring us samples and she asked me, “You have a date for the wedding yet?”

  “I’m not bringing one.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, when you invite someone to a wedding, you’re kind of making a statement about your relationship… and I’m not at that point with anyone.”

  “You sure? It’s just a party.”

  “Positive.”

  “Well, you change your mind last minute, we’ll fit him in.”

  “Thanks.”

  Kara said, “I’ve got a question for you.” Then she sat without saying anything.

  “Uh huh?”

  “Crystal wanted me to ask you. She’s too shy…”

  When Kara’s question trailed off and she avoided eye contact, I knew she expected I might not like the question.

  “Go ahead, Kara…ask me what?”

  “Well, Crystal’s always had a thing for Robby Carlyle and she hears you’ve been seeing someone else. She was wondering if it’d be OK with you if she asked Robby to the wedding.”

  “Crystal doesn’t have to ask my permission. I’ve got nothing going on with Robby. We’re just friends.”

  Kara took a deep breath and then let it out loudly. “I’m so glad. We, I mean, she was concerned because all of you bridesmaids’ll be at the same table. She didn’t want it to be awkward.”

  When a waiter brought out various appetizers, the tray included tiny hot dogs wrapped in dough. They reminded me of Eddie and how much he wanted one when we first met. Kara, Andre and I worked our way down the menu until we came to dessert. Kara chose the house specialty, the same as Eddie when he took me here for dinner. To make matters worse, on the way out of the restaurant, I passed the table that Eddie and I shared. A happy couple sat holding hands and laughing in the candle light.

  We exited the restaurant where Tommy waited in his car to drive Kara home. He got out to greet us and when he hugged and kissed Kara, I decided I couldn’t be more miserable.

  I focused on my job to keep Eddie and Mom off my mind. As a result, I made important contacts and wrote some good stories. Robby and Crystal started dating and we spent less and less time together. Then in July, Robby phoned to tell me he passed the Detective exam.

  “Didn’t they post the results of that a while ago?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t want to say anything till I got my gold shield.”

  “Robby. That’s wonderful. Congratulations. I’m very happy for you. You deserve this.”

  “Thanks. Last year, a lot of guys scored high but got nowhere because there were no openings. Cavanaugh’s retiring so there’s a slot and they needed someone to pick up his cases.”

  Robby’s career wasn’t the only one advancing. The week before, the Boss summoned me to her office. When I arrived, I found an open door. Mom and Uncle Bill sat inside talking.

  “Am I interrupting something?” I asked

  Uncle Bill waved me in, “No. C’mon in. Shut the door. Have a seat.” He patted the chair next to him, facing Mom’s desk.

  I did as he asked and looked at Mom. She didn’t look upset. I could tell. I’d seen her that way often enough.

  “Raquel,” she said, “Uncle Bill and I have been reviewing your work.” Then she paused for effect. Mom was nothing if she wasn’t dramatic. I knew her act by now so I just sat there expressionless. She knew me well enough to know that I would react this way but sometimes, you just have to play out your role.

  Uncle Bill said, “Oh, come on, Isobel. Get to it. This is Raquel.”

  Mom smiled and continued, “Raquel, your work is good, in fact, very good and not just for a new reporter. You’re holding your own with seasoned pros. We’re promoting you from probationary employee to full staff. You’ll no longer be limited to working on assignments and you’ll be able to start developing your own story ideas, not that this ever stopped you in the past. Oh, and you get a pay raise and an expense account.”

  Uncle Bill added, “But get receipts or the paper’s not paying.”

  This was nice news. I worked hard to prove myself. Probably harder than I would have had to work for someone who hadn’t known me since birth. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You’re welcome, Dear. As your mother, I’m very proud of you.”

  Uncle Bill said, “Me too, kid,” and patted me on my shoulder.

  Then Mom’s smile faded, “Raquel. This has always been a family paper. We’re glad to have you involved. You’re getting to be a good reporter and we know how much you like that part of the business, but Uncle Bill and I aren’t going to be around forever. We’d like you to think about learning the management end of things.”

  I always wanted to be a reporter, like Dad, but I didn’t think I’d be happy stuck inside an office dealing with the aggravation and nonsense like Mom and Uncle Bill. I wanted to say, “No, thanks.” Instead, I said, “Sure, Mom. I’ll give it some thought.”

  “I know that look,” she said. “I’ve been seeing it since you were three. It means that you don’t want to do what I asked but you don’t want to discuss it either. Do you really think I don’t know by now when you’re blowing me off?”

  I don’t know why but instead of getting angry, I laughed. Unc
le Bill gave me a puzzled look. So did my mother. Then she broke into a smile. “You’re right, Raquel. We’re both too old for this. I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to give up being your mother, your father and just being your boss.”

  “It’s OK, Mom. I’m sorry too. You deserve honesty. I enjoy reporting. I don’t want to sit behind a desk all day.”

  “Your Father felt the same way. That’s why he did stories when the mood grabbed him. Nice thing about being the Boss, you pick the ones you want to do.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Uncle Bill said. “When I was younger, I felt the same way. Reporting was exciting. Even when it was boring, it was exciting to be a reporter. Then, after you’ve lost count of the dead bodies you’ve seen, the crying witnesses to tragedy you’ve questioned, the repetitive nonsense of local politics, you yearn for a change.”

  “There are other reasons too,” Mom smiled. “After a while, you may decide that you know more about running paper than we do and knowing you, you’ll want to prove it – if not to us, at least to yourself.”

  “Maybe one day, Mom, but I’m not ready now and I’m not going to be ready for a long time.”

  “That’s fine dear. The more experience you get, the better the job you’ll do running things. Besides, Uncle Bill and I are too young to walk away just yet.”

  Uncle Bill stood up rubbed his lower back and said, “Speak for yourself, Isobel. Later, ladies, I’ve got to return a call.” He kissed me on top of the head on the way out.

  I got up too. “OK. Mom. I’ll consider it, and this time, I mean it.”

  “Thanks, Doll, that’s all I can ask.”

  A week later, I sat at my desk working on a story about a zoning controversy in the suburbs when my phone rang. I answered it and heard a familiar voice.

  “Hi, it’s Eddie Franklin.”

  I hadn’t heard from him in almost a month. He lived far away, but the way he spoke when we met made me think he would keep in touch. He didn’t. I had been disappointed for a while but thought I got over it. Now, I wasn’t so sure. I didn’t know what to say so said nothing.

  “OK, guess I deserve that. Sorry, should have called.”

  “That’s OK.” I wasn’t going to let him know I missed him.

  “No. It’s not. I really enjoyed being with you. So much so that I deluded myself into thinking we could have a relationship with me here and you there. When I got home, talking on the phone wasn’t enough. Even seeing you on video didn’t cut it. I was foolish and selfish to think I could make this work. I figured you’d be better off if I faded away and you had a normal relationship with someone you could actually touch once in a while.”