by Andrew Price
“Just ignore him.”
“If I wanted defeatism, I wouldn’t have brought the issue up.”
Corbin shrugged his shoulder. “I got nothing for ya, sorry. But I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Fine! I’ll figure it out myself.” Molly stepped off the chair and slid off the desk.
“Where are you going now?”
“I’m going to give this toothpaste a whirl. Then I’m going to plan a murder.”
She didn’t return the chair.
Corbin returned the locked attaché case to his hallway closet, next to the three duffel bags. The case contained the remaining documents and cell phones. The duffel bags contained the money. Corbin hadn’t thought about the money since giving Beckett his share. On the one hand, they agreed not to touch the money for six months. On the other, he still had no idea what to do with it.
The phone rang. It was Alvarez. “You got the stuff ready?” Alvarez meant the checks. He was driving those to Philadelphia in the morning, so they could be mailed with Philadelphia post marks.
“Yep. Just finished,” Corbin replied, stepping onto his balcony. The balcony was bathed in orange sunlight as the sun touched the horizon.
“I’m pulling up to your building now.”
“I see you.” Corbin watched Alvarez’s white two-seater pull up to the curb. “I’ll be right down.”
Two minutes later, Corbin climbed into Alvarez’s car. He placed the envelopes into the glove box. “Those are the last ones until we do the change of address bit. Remember, no tickets and don’t use anything traceable, like a credit card.”
“Got it. You up for dinner? You can tell me all about this mystery chick again.”
“Yeah, why not.” Corbin reached for the seatbelt.
“I want to spend some of the money,” Alvarez said cautiously, once they were out in traffic. “Have I mentioned that?”
“Nope, that’s news to me.”
“I need a new dishwasher. Mine’s not working. It just dry humps my dishes.”
“Sounds unpleasant.”
“It is. That’s why I need a new one. . . which I can’t afford on my current salary.”
“This isn’t going to become a habit is it?”
“No. It’s only a couple hundred bucks, that’s it.”
“All right,” Corbin agreed.
“You heard anything yet at work?”
“Not much, just something about a three-state manhunt for someone named Nobody Alvarez,” Corbin deadpanned.
“That would suck,” Alvarez laughed.
“I assure you, if I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.”
“How’s work treatin’ you?”
“Haven’t really noticed. I’ve been busy thinking about my music, so I haven’t paid much attention to work. Fortunately, Kak doesn’t want us working, so he leaves me alone as long as I don’t do anything.”
“Must be nice. My boss works me to death.”
“Actually, it’s demoralizing, but what do I care? I’ve got other things to keep me busy. So tell me again, what is it you do?”
“Associate supervisor.”
“I know that part. What does that entail?”
Alvarez shrugged his shoulder. “I-dun-know. It changes. I do whatever I’m told.”
“When your boss tells you, ‘you’re the worst blank I’ve ever seen,’ what does she fill in the blank with?”
“‘Son of a bitch.’”
Corbin laughed. “Ok, I give up!”
“I’m not trying to be evasive, well not too evasive, but I really don’t do anything in particular. Today, I worked with the marketing reps. Yesterday, I watched the tech guys install new phones. That’s my life, at least until I can start tapping those beautiful duffel bags.”
“I take it you’ve got plans for the money?” Corbin asked.
“I’m gonna buy a villa. Then I’m going to spend my days cruising the net and my nights cruising for hookers. I’m going to get a straw hat and demand that everyone call me el Presidenté.”
“Sometimes I worry about you. Where is this villa going to be?”
“Either back in Arizona or somewhere in Mexico, down by the sea. I’ve always wanted to live on the ocean.”
“Hold the phone Pancho Villa, you don’t even speak Spanish.”
“Yes, I do,” Alvarez insisted.
“Ok, say something Spanish.”
Alvarez looked around for a moment. “Ok, you don’t think I can speak Spanish. How about this, ‘puede contener mani cacahuate.’”
“That doesn’t sound Spanish, that sounds Hawaiian.”
“It’s Spanish.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means stop insulting my ancestors.”
“What was it again?”
“Puede contener mani cacahuate,” Alvarez repeated.
“You sure that doesn’t mean, ‘may contain nut products’?”
“You speak Spanish?”
“No, but I can read.” Corbin picked up a McDonalds cup from the floor of Alvarez’s car. Written on the side of the cup was: “puede contener mani cacahuate” just below “may contain nut products.” Corbin dropped the cup back to the floor. “I’d rethink the Mexico plan, amigo.”
“It’s a work in progress. What are you gonna do with your share?”
Corbin shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I don’t have any plans for it.”
“What do you think dipshit will do with his?”
“Don’t know. . . don’t care.”
Chapter 18
Blue set a beer down in front of Corbin when Corbin returned from the stage. Blue was grinning, which made Corbin suspicious.
“This beer come from the young lady over your left shoulder. Brunette. Very pretty,” he said in his deep, raspy voice.
“Which one?” Corbin asked, scanning the crowd.
“You know who Jean Simmons is?”
Corbin squinted at Blue. “From KISS?”
“No, the actress. . . 1950’s. She was in that movie with Brando and Sinatra. She kind a’ look like her.”
“Sounds temping, but I’ll pass.”
“You ain’t gonna wanna pass on this one.”
Corbin started to protest, but Blue grabbed his arm.
“I promised I’d send you over if I had to carry you. You gonna make a liar outta me?”
Corbin chuckled. “All right, but just because we’re friends.”
It took Corbin only a few seconds to spot the woman. She would have stood out in any crowd. She was sitting at a small table with her back to the bar, wearing a green vintage dress from the 1940s. The dress had an hourglass shape and was cut tightly around the knees, where it flared out before finishing mid-calf. Her auburn-brown hair was held up in a twist, exposing her neck. One hand gracefully stirred a martini glass with a straw. The other rested in her lap.
As Corbin approached, he suddenly recognized her as the woman with the pink flower, though she didn’t have the flower with her tonight. “Blue, you sneaky dog,” he said to himself. He pulled back his shoulders and said, “May I join you?”
“Please do,” she said confidently, though she began nervously shaking her crossed leg.
“Thanks for the beer.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Did you like the performance?”
She smiled. “You’re very good.”
“Thank you.”
Neither seemed to know what to say next. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds. Both of their hearts were beating faster.
“Can I ask you a question?” Corbin finally said, as he tried to suppress the grin slowly taking over his face.
The woman lightly brushed a stray hair from her face before nodding.
“Why the pink flower?”
“Pink flower?” Now she too struggled to suppress a grin.
“I’m pretty sure you had a pink flower on your table when I first saw you,” Corbin said, resting both ar
ms on the table.
“Fascinating,” she replied breathlessly.
“That’s not a denial.”
“It’s not a confirmation either. Why the change in your music?” she countered.
“Change?”
The woman looked down at the table. She ran her fingers up and down the stem of her martini glass. “You haven’t noticed?” she said, with a hint of disappointment.
“I take it, you mean more than just the playlist?”
“Don’t tell me you really haven’t noticed?”
Corbin reluctantly shook his head.
“You haven’t heard the incredible passion in your music lately?”
“Passion?”
“For the past month or so, in everything you’ve played.”
Corbin raised an eyebrow. “Wow, no one’s ever told me that before.”
The woman tilted her head to one side and half-squinted one eye. “You’re kidding?”
“No, honestly. I’d love to hear more.”
She smiled. For the first time, she noticeably blushed.
“I’ve just had a thought,” Corbin said. “I noticed you haven’t eaten, and I’m pretty hungry myself, and it sounds like this could take some time. And as much as I like Blue, he’s not the best cook. But I know this wonderful Mexican place in Ballston. They’re open until three in the morning. Want to join me for some very late dinner?”
“What should I say to that?”
“Say ‘yes.’ No one can resist Mexican food after midnight.”
Molly lounged more than sat on Corbin’s desk with her legs crossed at the knee and one foot propped up on the extra chair. The other foot bounced around in the air out in front of her, with her high-heeled sandal dancing from the ends of her toes. Her hands were on the desk behind her, balancing her body as she leaned backwards. It was high-summer and Molly was as skimpily dressed as the dress code would allow. Above her tan stockings she wore a tan miniskirt and a white silk blouse with rolled-up sleeves and a wide open collar. A silver chain hung around her neck with two intersecting hearts. This was a gift from Shoe Guy, whom she was still dating.
Corbin slumped in his chair. His light-gray suit looked wrinkled and his tie rested loosely around his neck. The top button on his shirt was unbuttoned.
“What happened to you?” Molly asked.
“What do you mean?” Corbin asked through half-open eyes.
“You look like you haven’t slept, you’re grinning like an idiot, and no offense, but you smell like a Mexican restaurant. Beyond that everything seems normal,” Molly added sarcastically. She pushed her hair back over her ear. It was blonder than it had been in the past, but was still brunette. “Wait a minute, you’re hung over, aren’t you?!” She grinned mischievously and leaned toward Corbin. “I’m not giving you a headache am I?!” she said as loudly as she could without yelling.
“Sorry, no such luck.”
She leaned back again. “So, what happened? You get a night job in a taco factory?”
“No, haven’t been to bed yet.”
“Really, what gives?” She sat up straight, bringing both feet to rest on the chair and folding her arms across her knees.
Corbin smiled.
“Come on, spill.”
Corbin shook his head.
“Come on, just between us girls.” She tapped him lightly on the shoulder.
Corbin just smirked.
“Tell me!” she commanded, as she shoved his shoulder.
Corbin chuckled.
“I’ll forget the cookie you owe me,” she offered.
“I don’t owe you a cookie,” Corbin objected.
“Yes, you do. . . tell me!” she pleaded.
“All right,” Corbin finally relented “I met this woman last night.”
“All this,” Molly said, waving one hand at Corbin’s disheveled suit and his sleepy eyes, “for a woman? Is she the first one you’ve met or something?”
“It seemed that way last night.”
This caught Molly by surprise. “Wow. Go on.”
“She’s amazing. . . smart, witty. . . wickedly funny. She’s one of those people who’s thought about a million things in detail and can discuss any topic intelligently. Wide range of interests.”
“Nice personality, huh?” Molly rolled her eyes.
“As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve never been so comfortable talking to anyone in my life.”
“Hoo boy, this sounds like trouble.”
“She’s beautiful too. . . gorgeous green eyes.”
“Does this goddess have a name?” Molly’s question contained more than a hint of derision.
“Penny.”
“Penny? Don’t tell me, her last name is Lincoln or Fromdamint?”
Corbin didn’t respond.
“So where did you meet her? Sidewalk? Bank? Numismatist convention?”
Corbin ignored Molly’s continuing sarcasm. “No, she showed up at the club. We talked for about an hour and then went to Cafe Rio over in Ballston.”
“I know the place. What happened next?”
“Nothing. We stayed there until they kicked us out about 3:30. We talked a little longer outside by the patio. Then I went home.”
“You went home. . . alone?!”
“Yeah.”
“Talked?”
“Yeah.”
“Just talked?”
“Just talked.”
“That’s one heck of a story, but the ending needs work.”
Corbin shrugged his shoulders.
Chapter 19
Over the next couple weeks, Corbin and Penny spent most of their free time together. Not only did they meet at the club whenever Corbin played, but they often went out afterwards. They also met for lunch several times, dinner twice, and caught a concert at the Kennedy Center. When they weren’t out on the town, they spent most of their time at Corbin’s apartment. Though Penny’s apartment in Old Town was equally nice, she lived with her sister, which limited their privacy, so they tended to end up at his place. Tonight, they were wandering through Pentagon City Mall. Ostensibly, they were waiting for a movie, but the movie had long since started without them.
“Let me get this straight. You liked my dress, but you didn’t want to tell me because of what some coworker told you?”
“I know, it sounds stupid. But it was one of those random thoughts that just hit me at the wrong time. Just as I was about to say something, I had this vision, and I didn’t want to become your version of Shoe Guy.”
Penny laughed and shook her head. “I would never do that. So you liked the dress?”
“Absolutely. You were stunning.”
“I got it at my sister’s shop.” Penny’s sister owned a vintage clothing store in Fairfax, where Penny got many of her clothes. Penny let go of Corbin’s hand and spun around, causing the skirt of her white polka dot dress to twirl around her knees. “I got this one at her shop too. You like?”
“Sure do.”
They joined hands again and kissed. Penny needed to stand on tip toes to reach his lips, despite the extra few inches her shoes gave her.
“You know, you never did tell me why you brought the flower?”
“Oh, we’re back to this pink rose mirage again?” Penny teased Corbin, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated motion while pulling away from him, though not letting go of his hand. “You know, I’ve never admitted to being this mystery girl that has you so fascinated.”
Corbin laughed. “Fine, don’t tell me.”
“Isn’t it more fun trying to figure it out?” She poked him playfully in the side.
“So you admit it then?”
“I admit nothing.”
As they passed a music store, Penny stopped again. “You know what we should do? You should let me photograph you for an album cover!” Penny was a freelance photographer and a graphic design artist. She worked for four local ad agencies on commission, though any one of them gladly would have hired her full time.
“An albu
m cover? There’s no album,” Corbin protested.
Penny grabbed the loops on Corbin’s brown corduroy pants and pulled him toward her. “There will be.” She stepped up to kiss him again. “Seriously, let’s do a photo shoot. I’ve done album work before. How do you feel about nudes?” she said as seriously as she could, but then broke into laughter.
“I’ll pass,” Corbin said, grinning with embarrassment. “But if I ever do an album, you can definitely shoot me, just not naked.”
As they continued, they came to a high-end jewelry store.
“Look at those diamonds,” Penny said, pulling Corbin toward the counter. Penny pointed to a diamond-encrusted silver necklace with a price tag in the mid-six figures. A sign said the necklace was from 1934. “They’re so pretty. I love the colors. The necklace is beautiful too.”
“Fine, I’ll buy it for you,” Corbin joked.
Penny laughed. “I had no idea you were so rich?”
“I’ve been putting my spare change into a huge jar in my kitchen. I think I just might have enough.”
“I thought maybe you were going to remind me that you’re a rich lawyer,” she teased him.
“Sure, rub it in.”
She smiled. “That’s ok, honey, I like you anyway, even if you are a lawyer.” She looked at the necklace again. “It is pretty, but I honestly wouldn’t want it. I love shooting diamonds, because they play some of the greatest tricks with the light, but they’re not my style. Now vintage clothes, that’s a completely different matter!”
“What the heck are you doing?” Corbin asked after hearing the clicking noise for a third time, followed by yet another “thunk.” He was sitting on his couch with the television on mute.
“I’m putting,” Alvarez responded through the phone.
“You’re what?”
“Putting.”
“As in golf?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d teach myself golf. So I bought a club and I’m learning to putt.”
“You’re indoors,” Corbin said skeptically.
“Yeah.”
“You’re playing on hardwood floors.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Golf is played on grass.”
“Hey, you’ve got your hobbies, let me have mine. Get back to the story. What happened next?”