HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout

by Bill Orton

  December and Gina scooted their way to Larry, Gina holding his bloodied face in her arms. December stood over him, protectively. “Dey’re gonna send you back, Sitko, and never let you out!”

  Sitko Bladich laughed. “We’ll see baby.”

  The movement of the boat picked up.

  “You all do like this guy here,” said the man with the knife, pointing to me. “Hands up, like him, all wimpy and stuff. C’mon! All of you.”

  Sitko pointed to the couch. “All of you, onto the couch. Mr. Soda Cans and Surfer Boy, you too!” Sitko yelled as he instructed the man with the knife to watch the group. He stepped out of the cabin. Several moments later, a third, equally giant, man entered, also carrying a knife.

  The engines of the yacht began to whir in a high-pitched sound, and it felt as though the boat was speeding along, but not yet in unprotected water.

  “So what will you be an accomplice to?” I asked one of the knifemen. “Kidnapping? Murder? Are you willing to take a strike just because….”

  “Shad’dup,” said the first knife-wielder, kicking me in the lower leg.

  Sitko stepped back in. “We’re going for a little ride, everybody, so I can see my girl.”

  “I am not your girl, Sitko!”

  “Shut up, bitch!” yelled Sitko, stepping to December and striking her with the back of his hand. “Mr. Magnum’s lonely and you’re gonna make him happy.”

  “Don’t hit the lady, scumbag,” said Ed.

  Sitko motioned for the second knifeman and the two closed in on Ed. Sitko moved behind Ed’s back and held his arms, as the knifeman put the blade against Ed’s throat.

  “No blood, man,” said Ed. “No blood.”

  The knifeman made a short, quick motion, slicing open a small slit, from which a steady trickle of blood oozed out. The knifeman let blood pool on the blade, which he raised in front of Ed’s eyes.

  “Do it now, Surfer Boy,” whispered Sitko. “Make it easy for us.”

  Ed stopped struggling against Sitko’s hold. The knifeman stepped back to join his counterpart, and Sitko shoved Ed forward, sending him to his knees, blood splattering all around him.

  I watched Ed on his hands and knees for a moment. He appeared to have something in his hand, which he cupped close to his shorts.

  Sitko crossed to December, grabbing her tank-top collar and yanking violently downward, ripping the shirt into pieces, letting it fall open as December grabbed the pieces she could save. “That’s what I’m talking about,” said Sitko, the sound of raw lust in his voice. “You’re gonna make Mr. Magnum very happy tonight.”

  Sitko stepped to Gina and Larry, putting his crooked index finger under Larry’s chin, slowly lifting Larry’s face. “You shouldn’t rub money in someone’s face,” said Sitko, before spitting directly into Larry’s eyes. “That just makes people mad.”

  “Dis’ll be your third strike, Sitko,” yelled December. “Dey’ll never let you out.”

  The whirring of the engines increased. From the flickering of lights outside the windows, it was clear we were still within eyesight of land. We could have been off Palos Verdes or San Pedro. It still felt like we were within the protected waters of the harbor.

  Sitko stepped to Gina and moved his hand to her cheek. She recoiled, as he touched her. “Then all of us are gonna have a good time tonight.” The engine cut out.

  The two knifemen looked at one another and then to Sitko, who did not appear concerned. Sitko leaned in to Gina. “Stand up. Let’s see what you got, girlie.”

  Gina sat frozen.

  “I said, get up!” yelled Sitko, his hand open and cocked back to slap her, but Larry, alongside Gina, reached up and grabbed Sitko’s wrist. The more Sitko tried to move his arm, the more it appeared that Larry would win a battle of strength. “Stupid,” said Sitko. “Cut him, boys.”

  There was silence, and then bright light shined into the cabin.

  Sitko turned and saw his knifemen raising their arms, their weapons falling from their hands. “What the fuck?” said Sitko.

  At the instant that Sitko turned his head, December and Gina each leapt up, Gina sending her knee crashing between Sitko’s legs and December hurling herself upwards, knocking the mountain backwards, just as Larry released his grip. Ed jumped on top of the fallen giant, flipping Sitko onto his face and grabbing an arm, pushing it high into Sitko’s back and doing the same with the other.

  Three state Fish and Game wardens, each holding a rifle aimed towards the knifemen, entered the cabin, as other park rangers and game wardens rushed in behind them, moving quickly to handcuff Sitko Bladich and the two knifemen.

  Ralphie followed the wardens into the cabin. “He’s the owner,” said Ralphie, pointing to Larry. “And these people are with him,” pointing to me, Ed, Gina and December.

  The game wardens moved the trio of kidnappers out of the cabin, each with a rifle aimed at their head. Larry took off his shirt, and offered it to December, who timidly accepted it and let the pieces of her tank top fall to the ground. Gina sat Larry on the couch and looked closely at where he had been kicked. She shucked her own blouse and wearing only a brassier above the waist, used her top to soak away the blood from Larry’s face.

  “You don’t look well,” I said to Ed, as he watched Larry and Gina. I guided Ed to a chair near the window. Once he was seated, I stepped out of the cabin. Circling overhead were helicopters from local news stations, from the Coast Guard, from State Fish & Game, from the LAPD, and each shining a spotlight onto the yacht. In the pilothouse stood two armed wardens. Sitko and the other kidnappers were taken to the side of the yacht and shackled to one another and then to the railing, while wardens stood guard, never lowering their rifles.

  A rope ladder was unfurled from one of the helicopters, and three men in olive green uniforms climbed onto the yacht. They moved towards the cabin.

  “Mr. van der Bix?” said one, as I reentered the cabin. “Larry van der Bix?”

  Larry looked up.

  “There’s no way you’d remember me,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded photograph, which he handed to Larry. “I’m just so glad we got here in time.”

  Larry looked at the photo and then handed it back to the warden, who set it on the countertop. I picked it up, and there was the Governor of California with Larry, and all around him were uniformed game wardens and park rangers, standing in front of a blue backdrop and a podium bearing the seal of the Governor of the State of California.

  “You’re glad,” said Larry.

  .

  “No, baby,” said December, into the phone. “Everything’s fine. Why?”

  The helicopters overhead continued shining their spotlights, as the yacht was brought in to LAFD Firehouse #5, next to the battleship USS Iowa. The spotlights filled the cabin, like a lightning storm, coming and going, illuminating all and wiping out all shadows, and then, just as suddenly, leaving the cabin in near total darkness.

  “On the TV? Dere? In Colorado?” said December. “Man, the news don’t fool around.”

  Larry lay his head, wrapped in a towel, on Gina’s chest, as she gently stroked his hair.

  Ed looked up from swivel chair he sat in near the front windows, waving at times to the helicopters.

  December sat on the other side of Larry, telling Lori the order of events, missing no detail, adding commentary and cooing towards Larry wherever he was part of the story. She smiled sweetly towards Gina, who seemed not to notice, as she tended to Larry.

  The state game warden who had given Larry the photo stepped back in to the cabin. Ralphie followed him in. “Mr. van der Bix, we’ve transferred the attackers to local police custody and your employee has given us what we need to proceed with arrests. But we will need to hold your vessel as part of the investiga.....”

  “Keep it,” said Larry, not moving from Gina’s embrace. “I don’t ever want to see it again.”

  “That’s very generous, Mr. van der Bix, but I’m not empowered....�
�

  “Tell the Governor,” said Larry, as four Los Angeles city paramedics entered the cabin, carrying large plastic cases, which they swiftly set down next to Larry, pulling them open to reveal gauze, bandages and medical supplies. “Maybe the Parks need a boat.”

  “Him, too,” I said to a paramedic, while pointing to Ed. “He took a knife cut across the neck.” The paramedic quickly examined Ed’s neck.

  The three paramedics tending to Larry gently eased him away from Gina’s hold. One peeled away the towel he held pressed to his face, now soaked with blood, and cleaned Larry’s wounds with sterile pads and rubbing alcohol, followed by an antibiotic ointment. As one worked on Larry, another began questioning Gina and the third questioned December, each asking calmly “Are you okay? Do you feel faint? how does your breathing feel? Do you want someone to hold your hand?” As each question was posed, the two paramedics looked closely at Gina and December, checking their faces, ears, eyes. “You’ll be okay. Your friends will be okay. You did a good job.”

  December burst into tears.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Team Lori

  The Long Beach Restaurant had only one table large enough for our group of eight, and space for the camera equipment that Tres von Sommerberg and Lena Martins had brought to capture the meal. There probably would have been more room if we had eaten in Ralphie’s Lincoln, which was parked across three spots in the narrow lot, right next to a dental office and a McDonald’s.

  The filmmakers sat at the far end of the table, each switching off with hand-held camera duties – at times standing, other times seated, always shooting. Ed and Gina sat across from one another, next to the filmmakers, and December and Emily next to Larry and me. Despite the director’s repeated verbal and hand motions that Larry sit at the head of the table, he held his place, across from me and next to December. Larry seemed to grow more annoyed each time von Sommerberg would wave his hand to the head of the table.

  “W’ull, okay,” said Larry, “so while we’re waiting for the soup – which is good, you’ll like it; kind’a hot, though – and I know, the whole kidnapping thing…, still, this is about Lori, okay?”

  “I’m sorry, but I sort of object,” said Emily Kashabara.

  “A lawyer objecting,” said Ed. “What next?”

  “Can it, Ed,” said Larry.

  Ed looked surprised. I looked to him and back to Larry.

  A pair of 20-something Asian servers, who easily could have been siblings, carried two orders of pad Thai, a bowl of rice, a platter of wonton and egg rolls and a tray of beverages to the table.

  “I know that you’re paying us as one-third-time workers and, really, it is closer to a full-time salary,” said Emily, “which, I, for one, really appreciate, but….”

  “Yes…,” said Larry.

  December reached across to the pad Thai and stabbed a plump shrimp with her fork.

  “I don’t particularly want to spend the July 4th holiday in Nebraska,” said Emily.

  “Is that because Nebraska is flat and you can’t go bombing with all the young guys?” asked Ed.

  “I beg your pardon,” said Emily. “Look, Larry, thanks for the job, and I hope I’ve been helpful, but, really, I didn’t sign on for a trip to Omaha. Maybe talk to me about London, but I am going to take a pass on the national swimming thing.”

  “Is it because of stuff at home?” asked Larry.

  “I’d prefer not to air personal business at the dinner table, thank you.”

  December’s fork crossed to the wonton.

  Lena lifted the pad Thai platter, spooned noodles, chicken, carrot slivers, egg, peanuts, tofu, sprouts and shrimp onto her plate and passed the platter to Gina, who was watching the back-and-forth at the table like a tennis match.

  “But your mom sold all her stuff, right?” asked Larry. “Didn’t you tell me that?”

  “Film people bought her out, but I don’t remember telling you that. Did I?” Emily looked to her right, towards Tres, with his enormous lens pointed at her face.

  Gina, having scooped very little from the pad Thai to her plate, passed the platter to me, as Emily stared at Tres and Larry.

  “Film people,” she said, quietly. “And, Ed, if I want to skateboard instead of going to Nebraska, frankly, I don’t see where that is any business of yours.” Emily turned to Larry. “So did you have any difficulty stashing all the big furniture, Larry?”

  “Most of it is in the basement of the mansion,” said Larry, reaching for an egg roll.

  Emily looked directly into the camera. “You’ve made my mom into an even bigger paranoid nut case then she already was,” she said slowly. “The Hollywood mafia put her out of business… she says that over and over, all day long.” Emily sputtered the next words, as she waved her arms about. “Why did you buy my mom out of business. Her complete inventory? Why? Now, all she has is money, which she is using to borrow more then she ever owed before.”

  Larry, stirring his iced coffee, lowered his head. He wore the same look of contrition that he’d have after me and Lori fought early in our marriage over how long to let him sleep on our couch. “You don’t have to go to Nebraska, Emily. And I’m sorry, okay.” He stirred his iced coffee. “I mean, I think Lori’ll have contract issues right up front, because who wouldn’t want a piece of Lori Lewis, but, yeh, no, fine. Sorry about your mom.”

  I passed the pad Thai to Emily, who held the platter, looked at it, and passed it across the table, to Larry.

  .

  Four of the fortune cookies on the table sat in their unopened plastic, as everyone rested in a satiated stupor, Larry picking at the Thai barbequed chicken with green chili and garlic and December picking at the last of the pad Thai with chopsticks.

  “Well,” I said, as Larry scooped the last of the chicken onto his empty plate, “if I am paying for airfare to Omaha, who is going with us?”

  “Me, you, Gina, December, Lori’s folks, Dave San Jose…,” said Larry.

  “Me,” said Ed, holding his arm up.

  “Emily?” asked Larry.

  “No, really…,” she said.

  “That’s okay,” said Larry.

  “Me,” Ed repeated, his arm still raised.

  “I’m not paying your way, Ed, so if you wanna go….”

  “Not... what?” said Emily.

  “No ticket,” said Gina, leaning across me to tell Emily, who looked to Ed and then to Larry.

  “Ed can have my ticket,” said Emily.

  “Non-transferable,” said Larry, assuming the look one might learn in a class dedicated to teaching how to cast steely glares.

  “Thank, Emily, but I don’t think we should be talking, quote-unquote, tickets,” said Ed. “Myself, I suggest we have Ralphie drive us, in his shiny Lincoln automobile. Gives us the freedom to pick up Lori in Colorado and make it in plenty of time to Omaha, which, I might point out, Barack Obama carried in the 2008 election.”

  “Dat’s a pretty good idea,” said December.

  I watched Larry for clues. He didn’t appear pleased, but Ed did win the argument. Larry kept his head down, as he dropped two hundred dollar bills onto the table.

  “It would be really great if we could go,” said Tres.

  “No TSA security,” said Ed. “No baggage claim and Lori gets to drive up in a stinkin’ Lincoln.”

  “Yeh, baby,” said December. “I like it.”

  “We’ll see,” said Larry, grimly. Larry grabbed one of the remaining fortune cookies. “Soon,” read the slip, “someone will make you very proud.”

  Looking up, animated, almost as though another person, Larry cheerfully thanked the two servers, as one collected the bill and Larry’s hundreds, and the other set down several empty cartons and began clearing the table. Larry thanked them for an incredible meal and everyone promptly chimed in, happily, as Emily and Gina transferred food to take-out containers.

  .

  “Farmor!” said Larry, as he entered the private room where Emma had been a
patient earlier, and now it was she who sat vigil in what was most likely the same chair Larry had occupied at Long Beach Memorial. “Gina!”

  “I could not just play along until you told me,” Emma answered in Danish. “No matter what is going on between you and him, Calvin is still my son.”

  “Should I stay?” asked Gina, in Swedish.

  “Neither of you have to stay,” said Emma. “You don’t know my son, and Larry here hates him, so why don’t you two just run off, and research burial plots. Sort of speed things along.”

  “Grandma!” said Larry,

  “Wait! A foreign word... just a moment. Oh, yes… grand-ma,” said Emma. “Stay if you’d like, but I would rather be here alone with my son.” Emma looked up, squinting at the cardiac monitor as one would try to read time from a distant clock. “Just send your driver here after you get home.”

  .

  “Larry?” said Gina, sitting directly across from Larry in the Lincoln.

  “Yes,” said Larry.

  “When I said that I would go to Nebraska with you, that means I am going to be with you.”

  “Uh, okay,” said Larry.

  “You understand, right?” asked Gina.

  “Um... I think so.”

  “I’m only there for you.”

  Ralphie pulled in front of the mansion and, a moment later, held the door for Gina, who stepped out first, and then Larry, who thanked Ralphie, as he closed the door. A gathering of kids swarmed around the car, and Larry reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of one dollar coins, which he handed out, one to each child.

  “Thanks, Mister.”

  “Sure,” said Larry.

  “Can I have two?”

  “No,” said Larry.

  Larry handed a coin to each open hand, and then turned to Gina. They said good night to Ralphie, who waved as Larry and Gina walked to the front door of the mansion. Larry and Gina walked in silence through the bottom floor, to the triple-bolted doorway. Larry pulled out his keys, unbolted each lock and pushed open the door. He threw on the light switch, filling the four-story marble stairway with a bright, warm glow.