Counting to Infinity

by J. L. Abramo

  Most of Sally’s personal belongings were gone. There were basic furnishings, including the sofa I had passed out on the night before, but the walls were bare. Missing was the assortment of multisized framed photographs that Sally had scattered throughout the house. Opposite a large glass-topped coffee table, which ran the length of the sofa in the front living room, sat the weary reading chair from my own apartment. On the floor beside the recliner were a number of cardboard boxes, which held all that remained of my humble possessions. And a small metal safe box.

  The coat tree from my apartment stood just inside the front door, looking very much as it had the last time I saw it. My three-quarter-length leather coat, my City College of New York bomber jacket, and my father’s Harris Tweed topcoat had survived the blast. As had most of my shoes, which I customarily removed and left sitting at the front door of my apartment at the foot of the coat tree.

  There were also two baseball caps, Giants and Mets.

  All of Sally’s clothing, shoes, and accessories were gone. The closets were bare, except for the two new suits that Joey and Sonny had afforded me. All but the bedroom dresser’s bottom drawer were empty. That drawer held some of my own things, kept handy for those times when I spent the night with Sally—a few pairs of casual slacks, polo shirts, socks and underwear. There was enough on hand to throw together a marginally presentable post shower outfit.

  The bathroom was also cleared of everything belonging to Sally. It was instead supplied with an unopened toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, a package of disposable razors, and shave cream.

  The kitchen was equipped with a toaster, a coffeemaker, and the espresso pot from my place. The cookware, plates, glasses, and eating utensils Sally had accumulated remained. Much of it had been with us when we were married and shared the house and the domestic duties. The kitchen dry-goods cabinets were bare, with the exception of a few essentials such as salt, pepper, coffee, and the bottle of George Dickel that I had located and put a good dent into the night before.

  There was a carton of Camel Non-Filter cigarettes, a bottle of Excedrin, and an Entenmann’s raspberry Danish ring on the counter beside the kitchen sink.

  The refrigerator had been cleaned out and restocked with a few basic items. A dozen eggs, a quart of half-and-half, a half gallon of orange juice, a loaf of sliced whole wheat bread, and two sticks of unsalted butter. I put up a second pot of coffee, prepared a few slices of toast, and took my breakfast into the living room.

  I sat in my chair and began going through the boxes that Joey and Sonny had delivered from storage.

  The contents were primarily books, both paperbacks and hard-backs, mostly classics. There was a photograph album; I put it aside. There were videotapes and compact discs. Joey and Sonny had not delivered any electronic components, so I had no idea about the fate of my TV and stereo. But the house was already well equipped for sound and video.

  I threw a disc into the CD player, Wang Chung, To Live and Die in L.A., and went back to the boxes.

  The rest was odds and ends, dust collectors.

  The small safe box was badly battered; it had been in my bedroom. On a shelf under the table near my bed, below the telephone. The box was unlocked, but the contents were intact. Personal documents, ranging from little to moderate importance, including the titles to both the Impala and the Toyota, my birth certificate, marriage and divorce papers.

  And a baseball autographed by Sandy Koufax.

  I needed to do some shopping and I needed company.

  I went to the kitchen wall phone to call Darlene. Joey Russo had taped a note across the keypad, letting me know that phone calls to my number on Fillmore Street were being forwarded here to Sally’s and calls to Sally’s phone number were being forwarded to her mother.

  Darlene answered on the first ring.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Sitting by the phone waiting for you to call.”

  “Want to go food shopping?”

  “Sure. I can pick you up,” she said.

  “Do me a favor, swing by the office and grab whatever I have for neckties from my desk drawer.”

  “Jake, I thought you were going to have those ties dry-cleaned and burned.”

  “I need more time.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour,” Darlene said.

  Darlene insisted we do some clothes shopping before we hit the grocery. She helped me choose a few pairs of pants, a couple of shirts, new socks and underwear, a wool sweater, and a cotton blazer. She twisted my arm until I agreed to choose at least one new tie to have handy for “when the time was right.”

  We returned to the house and filled the cupboards and the refrigerator with enough food to suggest that someone lived in the place. Darlene had brought a bottle of wine along and enlisted me to uncork and pour while she prepared dinner.

  All afternoon I had been trying to coax information from Darlene. Joey Russo had announced that we would be “getting to work” first thing Monday morning, and I wanted a clue as to what he had in mind. Darlene kept begging me to be patient.

  As much as I hated torturing her, I couldn’t stop myself from giving it one more try over dinner.

  “Please, Jake,” Darlene pleaded, “I can’t talk about it. Joey has a plan, but I don’t know all of the details. None of us do.”

  “None of us?”

  “Joey is putting a team together; I have no idea who exactly is included. Joey said that he was bringing us all together tomorrow morning and that he would lay it all out. He asked that we keep our shirts on until then,” Darlene said. “Don’t you trust Joey?”

  “Of course I do,” I said.

  “Good, then stop bugging me and eat.”

  “I’m impossible, right?”

  “Unbearable is more like it,” Darlene said.

  “Give me something, Darlene, anything.”

  “And you’ll leave me alone?”

  “I swear,” I said.

  “Joey mentioned that the biggest challenge to his plan would be getting Ralph Battle out of the picture.”

  “Jesus, Darlene, without knowing a thing about what Joey has planned, I could have told you that.”

  “Jake, I’m warning you, one more word about it and I’m out of here.”

  “Have some more wine, Darlene,” I said.

  I didn’t say another word about it.

  After dinner we watched a repeat of The Sopranos.

  “Darlene?”

  “Yes, Jake.”

  “Do you find Tony Soprano attractive?”

  “Are you kidding? The guy is as appealing as a garden slug.”

  “So why do women fall all over him?”

  “Because they are all morons, Jake, including his idiot wife.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I need to get going; we have a big day tomorrow.”

  I walked Darlene to the door. I stood on the porch and watched her drive off before going back into the house.

  A few minutes later the doorbell rang.

  “Forget something?” I said as I swung the door open.

  Ralph Battle stood in the doorway with his right arm extended, the large gun in his hand pointed at my chest.

  “Before I kill you, Diamond, I want you to know that I never intended the woman any harm.”

  “That’s very sensitive of you, Ralph,” I said.

  “What I’m telling you, Diamond, is that I don’t work that way. I’m very careful not to hurt innocent bystanders. I don’t hurt women or children, no matter who’s giving the orders. I had nothing to do with the bomb in your place; I was in Detroit all that weekend playing cards.”

  “Jesus, Battle, just fucking shoot me and get it over with,” I said. “You are some piece of work. I can’t decide what’s worse, someone who would continue to lie right up to his last dying breath or a piece of crap like you who would lie to someone he’s about to kill.”

  “Fuck you, Diamond. I said I was in Detroit, Friday afternoon through Sund
ay night. You can decide to believe me or you can decide not to. I really don’t care all that much, now that I think about it,” Battle said, “but you’ll need to decide quickly—your time is about up.”

  I really couldn’t make up my mind; I prepared myself to take a bullet.

  I caught sight of a shadow moving very quickly behind Battle and suddenly he was violently knocked to the floor. Battle tried to rise. I clobbered him with the metal safe box and he went still. I looked up at the figure standing over me.

  “Vinnie Strings told me where I could find you, Jake. I came by to return this; you left it in the glove box of my truck. I suppose that it could have waited until Joey Russo’s big powwow tomorrow morning, but it seems that my timing wasn’t too bad.”

  Willie Dogtail stood there with my .38 in his hand.

  I picked up Battle’s weapon from the floor and handed it to Dogtail.

  “Cover him, Willie,” I said. “Shoot him in the leg if he moves.” I went to the kitchen to telephone Joey Russo.

  Joey’s wife, Angela, answered and called Joey to the phone.

  “Jake, is everything all right?” Joey asked.

  “Joey, I heard you were looking for a way to get Ralph Battle out of the picture.”

  “Can’t this wait until tomorrow, Jake?”

  “I don’t think so, Joey,” I said, taking a quick peek to check the situation in the front room.

  “What about Battle?”

  “Battle is lying here unconscious on the living-room floor.”

  “Keep him there, I can’t wait to meet him, I’m on my way,” Joey said, quickly ending the conversation.

  I walked back into the living room to join Willie and our honored guest.

  Willie found clothesline in his vehicle and was using it to immobilize Battle while I started a pot of coffee.

  “Do you have any duct tape, Kemosabe?” Willie called. “I know there’s a roll somewhere in the back of my truck, but it would take me a week to find it.”

  “I’m not sure, Willie, what do you need to do?”

  “I thought we should gag this guy, unless you want to have to listen to his bullshit when he wakes up.”

  “Absolutely not. There are some socks in the Kmart bag on the sofa. Use a pair of those.”

  When I walked back into the front room, Ralph Battle was roped like a rodeo calf. Two athletic socks, knotted together, were tied around his head, with the knot in his mouth. Battle was beginning to stir, but he wasn’t going anywhere. I invited Willie Dogtail into the kitchen for coffee and Danish.

  Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang.

  “You might want to take one of these along, Wyatt,” said Willie, indicating the two handguns on the kitchen table as I rose from my seat.

  “I’ll look out the window before I open up this time,” I said. “Wait here.”

  I glanced at Battle on my way through. He seemed very uncomfortable. He stared back at me without affection.

  I checked the porch through the window and opened the door to Joey Russo. Sonny and LAPD lieutenant Ray Boyle stood behind him. I moved aside to let them in. Joey walked directly over to Ralph Battle to take a look.

  “I wasn’t expecting you, Ray,” I said. “How did you get up here so fast?”

  “I came up earlier this evening, for the meeting in the morning.”

  “The last time we spoke you said you would put me in touch with a certain character nicknamed for a shellfish, Ray. That was two months ago.”

  “Lay off him, Jake,” Joey said. “Ray is here to help. He’s been helping us out all along. Try to be friendly. Offer Ray a cup of coffee while we wait for the others.”

  “The others?”

  “I decided we may as well take care of the meeting tonight,” Joey said. “We need to decide what to do about Battle and how his visit affects our game plan. Who is that in the kitchen, Jake?”

  “Willie Dogtail,” I said.

  “He showed up early,” said Sonny.

  “Actually, not a moment too soon,” I said. “How would you like your coffee, Ray, buddy?”

  “Sonny, help me get this gorilla out to the garage,” Joey said. “I don’t want to have to look at him when the others arrive, and I don’t want him taking notes.”

  Joey and Sonny got to work moving Battle; I invited Boyle to join me and Willie for coffee.

  A few minutes later, Sonny came into the kitchen to make it a quartet.

  “Where’s Joey?” I asked.

  “In the garage, having a little man-to-man talk with your friend Ralph.”

  “Are you sure Joey’s all right out there, alone with Battle?”

  “No problem,” Sonny said. “We didn’t untie the guy, we just removed his socks. Any of that coffee left?”

  “Plenty,” I said, as the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get that,” said Sonny, “and save me a piece of the Danish ring.”

  I poured coffee all around and put up another pot.

  Sonny returned with Tom Romano and Vinnie Strings.

  I looked around the room, which was getting very crowded.

  Boyle, Willie, Sonny, Tom, Vinnie, me. And Joey out in the garage.

  “Joey put together quite an impressive crew,” I said.

  “No shit,” said Vinnie, doing the math. “We’re like the Magnificent Seven.”

  “More like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,” Darlene said, suddenly appearing at the kitchen doorway.

  “Maybe we’d better hi-ho it out to the front room before we all suffocate in here,” I said.

  “I’ll go check on Joey,” Sonny said.

  The rest of the crew began the exodus out to the front room.

  We waited for Joey and Sonny.

  And waited.

  Darlene and Tom Romano played five hundred rummy at the glass-topped coffee table.

  Ray Boyle paced the room.

  Willie Dogtail browsed through my photo album.

  Vinnie Strings scouted my videotapes. I watched as he put one aside, as if we might have the time to get in a screening.

  I shuttled back and forth from the kitchen, keeping the coffee coming.

  Finally, Joey Russo came in from the garage. I had since been dealt into the rummy game.

  “So, what did you decide to do about Battle?” I asked, laying down a four-card straight in hearts.

  “We decided that we would allow him to help us out,” Joey said. “Come in and join the party, Ralph.”

  Battle walked into the room, unbound and unhappy, Sonny close behind him.

  Joey asked that we all find a comfortable seat.

  Nineteen

  Ralph claims he didn’t kill Harry Chandler and had nothing to do with placing the bomb in Jake’s apartment,” said Joey Russo when we were all settled.

  “And you believe him?” I asked.

  “If I didn’t believe him, he wouldn’t be sitting here with us, cracking his knuckles,” said Joey. “Relax, Ralph.”

  Battle sat in my reading chair, apart from the others. Sonny stood silently behind him. Ralph was the center of attention. Darlene glared at him unlovingly.

  “I checked it out, Jake,” Sonny said. “Battle’s alibi is airtight. He was in Detroit all that weekend, no doubt about it.”

  “It doesn’t change the fact that he came here to kill me,” I said.

  “I never killed anyone,” Battle said. “I was sent to put a good scare into you, maybe to find out what you know or think you know. Lansdale uses me to scare people. It’s my looks, I’m intimidating. I might rough somebody up once in a while, but I don’t kill anyone. Lansdale has someone else for that, who probably looks more like a choirboy.”

  “Who?” I said.

  “I don’t know, I only know he calls himself Tucker.”

  “How does it work?” asked Joey. “How is it arranged?” “Lansdale calls a phone number, leaves a message. An hour later, Lansdale takes a call at the phone booth in the bagel shop across from his office. Max names the mark and wa
its. When the contract is complete, Lansdale receives a flower delivery. A card is included, with information on how to make payment.”

  “And you’re sure you have no idea who Lansdale calls?” asked Ray Boyle.

  “None,” said Battle. “Lansdale doesn’t even know who the guy is.”

  “I suppose you know nothing about what happened to the medical examiner down in Mexico or to the Chicago newspaper reporter, Cochran,” said Tom Romano.

  “I’m told only what I need to know, but it’s a pretty good bet that they’re both as dead as Stan Riddle,” Battle said, “and Max Lansdale put out the contracts, obviously. I have no clue exactly who iced any of them or where the bodies are buried.”

  “So what do you know that can help us hurt Lansdale?” asked Ray Boyle.

  “Not very much, really.”

  “So how are you supposed to do us any good?” I asked.

  “Russo has an idea or two,” Battle said.

  “And why would you help us?” asked Darlene.

  “Because I shared these with our new friend,” said Joey. “I apologize for borrowing these without letting you know, Jake.”

  Joey Russo reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the letter and the metal ball that I had taken from the Chandler murder scene, and placed them on the glass table.

  Ralph Battle rose from the chair and slowly moved to the table, Sonny watching him like a hawk. Battle picked up the metal ball with one hand while he reached into his pocket. He came out with two more, exactly alike, and began rolling them between his fingers.

  “Someone wanted to make it look as if I was Chandler’s killer, wanted Diamond to find this,” said Battle. “Russo helped me put two and two together. I’m stating it mildly when I say that it makes me very angry. If Lansdale wanted you killed that day, you’d be dead, Diamond. Lansdale left you alive to finger me, and because he couldn’t be sure if you really had anything on him.”

  “So why would Lansdale have a bomb set in my apartment the next day?”

  “Lansdale realized that you had kept the evidence from the cops. He decided to gamble that you were sitting on it and that anything you knew would be buried with you.”