by Angela Dews
She was a psycho, for sure. But she was no longer my problem. Now, I was only worried about Virginia.
“What I will do is take Virginia when they arrest you for shooting Obie. And the house is mine. Do not mention it again.”
She was struggling to get up.
“You don’t have to tell?”
It occurred to me that I wouldn’t be called an accomplice since I was on the other side of the room when she shot a New York City policeman.
“No. I won’t tell.”
But I needed to ask her some things while she was free to talk, before she was arrested or worse. “Wait. Tell me something,” I said.
She sat back down. “Can we make it quick?”
“It needs to be quick now. I’m not sure I’ll get another chance to ask. You were here when I was not. You spent all that time with Daddy. I want you to tell me some stories. What was he thinking? What was he doing? How was it? Did he still make his little sunny-side up egg breakfast with sausage and toast and jam almost every day? Was he disappointed that I wasn’t here?”
“Oh, my lord. Please don’t doubt that he loved you. He was proud and happy that you were following your dream. Although he thought you might take some roles that were more serious.” She smiled, but saw something in my reaction. “No. He liked what he called your early career. He missed you all the time. But that’s the love.”
We held each other for a moment. I was stiff as a stick to her attempt at cozy suffocation.
Then we took a gypsy cab from Jackson & Robinson to her house.
During the silent ride, I practiced what I was learning to touch her suffering and mine. I said to myself, “May you be free of danger, both external and internal. May you meet the changing nature of your heart with equanimity. And may I too find equanimity and peace.”
Practice. It takes practice.
C H A P T E R • 50
* * *
While Viola was fumbling with her keys, a pair of muddy red sneakers caught my eye, sitting on top of a plastic shopping bag lined up so neatly, the way we do in the city, in case somebody barefoot came by. It seemed odd to me.
“What’s that?” Viola said.
“Looks to me like sneakers in a Barney’s bag,” I said.
“You’re not bringing that garbage into my house. Put it back.”
Mr. Bell came to the door. “Viola told me you might be coming.”
I moved the sneakers behind the cans before I followed them inside.
Mister Bell said, “I’m Virginia’s favorite babysitter. She’s upstairs. She fell asleep. Tell me what happened.”
I let Viola tell the tale: “Charlie didn’t leave me anything but an insurance policy. He only left enough to finish the bar.”
Mister Bell whistled and we walked into the kitchen where she started making drinks.
And I did some reporting.
“How much money laundering cash do your partners already have, Viola? Bobby got some from Al’s. And you gave him money that was in duffel bags in Gary’s office Saturday after the funeral.”
“You’re good,” she said. “With the $400,000 Cecelia left, I don’t think we’re so far off.
Mister Bell turned to me. “Pearl. You told her about the money?”
“And you didn’t?”
“No,” Viola said. “He didn’t say anything about having money when I have been frantic trying to figure out what I was going to do.” Then she turned to Mister Bell. “You should have told me,” she said. “You know I need that money.”
“Tomorrow, we’ll give them the bank bills I’m holding. And if there’s some different figure they have in mind, I think our story is it’s stuck in the bank,” he said.
“You know, that’s the truth,” I said. “Even if the bank’s still in business tomorrow, nobody’s going to give you any money out of an account called Louis Armstrong.”
Mister Bell smiled. “Those company names were silly. Are silly. But the fallout is no joke. This is very dangerous. Viola, you don’t want to face your hooligan partners alone.”
“They’re coming here?” I asked.
“Later. I thought we would talk tomorrow,” Viola said. “But they decided they wanted to make sure I didn’t leave town or some such foolishness before they got their money. I won’t be alone. Bobby won’t let them hurt me.”
The name of the man she was cheating on my father with was one more thing that fell into place.
“Let me take Virginia. She does not need to be here with Bobby’s people,” I said.
Viola said, “She stays with me. You don’t know. She’s a real trooper. She wants to be with me.”
Mister Bell looked from one to the other of us. “Viola, I can’t imagine you are going to get all of Charlie’s money you want. Not now or in the long term. I think you all are going to be in court for a long time.”
“If you fight me, I’ll win,” Viola said to me. “In New York, the wife is entitled.”
“Not after you get arrested for shooting Obsidian,” I told her. “I won’t be the one to tell. But you’re not getting out of this one. There won’t be any fight over the house. And Virginia will come to live with me.”
Mister Bell put on his hat and coat.
“I’ll be back,” I said. “Don't wake her up. I have people waiting to give me a goodbye drink at the Kat.”
When we got outside, I said, “She’s quite mad.”
He tipped his hat. “I’ll owe you that drink.”
And he walked away.
C H A P T E R • 51
* * *
I went across the street to the Kit Kat Klub. Al, Adrianne and Samantha were all there. A piece of Miles’ “Sketches in Spain” was on the jukebox.
“Sam said. “You look frazzled. Al told us what was in the will.”
“I get the house and instructions about money for the bar and the newspaper. He gave me a way out. But not any time soon.”
“You had to be an outsider to go after those stories. And you had to be a badass to walk across the no trespassing signs,” Adrianne said. “I like that in a person.”
“I’m not as outside as I like to be. I’ve made a point of not getting involved in Miss Viola’s business. Until tonight. I’m not sure Daddy would want her dead unless he could do it himself.”
“Damn. You’re full of surprises,” Al said.
“I know. But she was here when I was not. She made him laugh. And they did business together—music business with this bar—his second favorite thing after the newspaper.”
“She is not the helpless victim, you know,” Samantha said. “The sister knows how to get into trouble, for sure. But she can also get herself out of it or find someone who will.”
“She asked me to help,” I said. “I’m not sure what that means and whether I want to do it or can do it from the coast—even if that’s where I want to be. This trip has reminded me that there are places to go and things to do besides making the same movie over and over.”
“Shhh.”
Viola came in the front door and we watched her glad-hand the groups of drinkers as she walked through her bar towards us.
I said, “And I’m really interested in finishing the bar makeover.”
People welcomed Viola into the rather wide circle of their personal space, and she must have held court for ten minutes before she finally almost got to where we were. She was jumpy, wired, like she was on something. Is panic a controlled substance?
A large fierce woman stepped between us and her attention slid back and forth. Sometimes she eyed me while she continued her conversation with Viola.
“You know we always have a nice spread. I want to let them know you’ll be there. I want my youngsters to see a woman doing business for herself and not for some man. I did call your office number and the bar. But I know they don’t tell you things.”
It came out all in a rush as if to keep her from being interrupted.
“You know I love your dinners, but I think I’m out
of town next weekend. I’ll check and someone will call you.”
She was being dismissed and she didn’t mind.
“And Pearl. You need to put the story in your daddy’s paper.”
“We put in the announcement. Did you see it?”
“Little bitty mention. I saw it.” She looked like she smelled something bad. “We get a big crowd. You should send somebody.”
“Send a photo and they’ll print it.”
She sniffed at me, thanked Viola again and again, and backed away, actually bowing a little.
“You’re good.”
“She’s been giving those dinners since I was one of her youth. That plaque’s going to cost me some money.”
“Cheap at twice the price if the money really goes to the children.”
She waved her hand as if to swat my words away. “It does. But I didn’t come here to talk about her young people. You left before you said good night to Virginia. She wants to say good night.”
I said, “Viola, I really need you to get Virginia out of there. She could get hurt.”
“She’s staying with me.”
To slow her down and make the point that I don’t respond well to being summoned, I finished my new martini slowly before I followed Viola outside. We stepped off the curb as allowed by the traffic light and I did the thing we all do as I checked to establish I had the light as I continued across the street. The car kept coming. I jumped onto the sidewalk in front of me and turned around to see Viola back up. But she couldn’t turn in the heels, so her movements were jerky and awkward, like she was waving at the car. It kept going after she went down.
I took off running down St. Nicholas Avenue as the Chevy dodged the cars blaring their horns when it took the light. Lt. Knight would have had her gun in her hand by then, ready to shoot out the tires. In fact, she probably would have outrun the fool. But I didn’t have the gun in my bag. As it was, I only got close enough to see there was no rear plate before he sped away, leaving me to go back and face the second real life traffic death I’d witnessed off-screen in my whole life and all in the same week.
But when I got through the few people who obscured her, I found Viola alive and sitting on the curb, dabbing at her eyes and smoothing her clothes and hair.
“What’s broken?” someone asked. “You done really pissed somebody off.”
“Nothing’s broken,” Viola told him. “I fell. He didn’t hit me.”
I stared at her and allowed the short breaths left after the run to land and settle. And from the place in my gut, the awareness turned into a clear understanding of what had just happened.
A witness got my attention when he pointed at me and said, “Did you see her run down the street like she was going to outrun that Impala? Damn. Go ahead on Lt. Knight.”
I gave him the thumbs up.
The witness helped Viola get up but the rest of the group who had gathered around her were already dispersing. She didn’t have to convince the police to let her leave the scene because they never came.
“This is serious now. They’re trying to kill me,” she said to me. “Or, scare me like they tried to scare Ceel. We need to talk about how you can help me get out of this terrible mess.”
“Oh, hell no,” I said. “I’m not helping you do anything. That car was aiming at me.”
“You’ve always thought too much of yourself,” she said.
C H A P T E R • 52
* * *
When I got to the Kit Kat, Sam asked, “How’s Virginia?”
“I never got there. A car just aimed at me. Viola said they, whoever they is, was trying to kill her. But, why would they? She’s the one with the connection to the cash.”
Al said, “And nobody’s going to kill the owner of a bar who owes them money.”
“Exactly. She must have decided she needed to get everything my father left, and with me out of the way, she would.”
“That was a short détente,” Sam said. “And, by the way, she needs to find a new weapon. This car shit is getting old.”
“Why don’t you tell Captain Bailey?” Adrianne asked and motioned to Obsidian who was walking over to us.
“He thinks I’m making up a case against Viola because I’m jealous. The jealousy thing has been true. But at this point I would not want to be in her stilettos.”
“Shhh.”
“I heard there was a bon voyage celebration going on.” He paused. “I don’t see celebration in your faces.”
“We were talking about Viola.”
“Daddy didn’t leave her anything in the will, because she had some boyfriend,” I said.
“That’s a shame,” Obsidian said.
“Pearl, don’t you have anything else to tell Obsidian?”
“Not yet.”
He said, “Pearl? I’m not going to buy you a drink. You’ve had enough. I just wanted to say goodbye.” He raised his glass of sparkling water and juice. “Until we meet again.”
Then he steered me away across the room.
“Pearl, can you avoid getting drunk tonight? I want to come over to talk about it, whatever it is you don’t want to tell me.”
“I’ll tell you this. I didn’t invite you here. How dare you show up trying to shame me in front of my staff.”
“I’m not trying to shame you. I’m telling you something you need to hear to be safe and well.”
I paused and let the thought form and how to say it.
“If you want to keep me safe, you should know Viola came after me just now. I’m not making this up.”
“Is that what you were going to tell me? And I’m supposed to arrest her on your hearsay?”
“I know better. I’ll get you the evidence you need.”
“You can’t say things like that to me.”
“Why? Because what? You’ll do your job?”
“No. Because I can’t let you get in the way of me doing my job.”
“Can’t let? What does that mean? Are you going to arrest me?”
“As far as I can tell you haven’t done anything to warrant arresting you.”
“Not yet,” I said.
∗ ∗ ∗
I waited for Obsidian to walk away, and, since Mister Bell had not come to the bar, I went to the pay phone. I retrieved the matchbook I guess I had stashed for just this moment and called Ruthie’s.
Mister Bell wasn’t there. When Riley came to the phone, I said, “I’m going to get Ginny out of Viola’s because I think she’s in danger. But I need a distraction. Can you set off some small explosive or something?”
“What makes you think we could do such a thing?”
“I don’t have time to play games. Your ordnance expertise is all over your van and I’ve heard your combat stories.”
“We won’t do anything until we hear from Marc. But if we did, what are you suggesting?”
“I was thinking, there’s an alley behind those houses. Can you make some noise like when the building partially collapsed? I’m remembering the shit-load of firemen who showed up at the property two doors from Vy’s the other night. And can you do it without putting that building or the garage at risk? I need less destruction. But I need confusion.”
“We could do that. We’ll wait for Marcus, but I know he wanted to get Viola out of trouble for Cecelia’s sake.”
“Viola is the trouble, actually,” I said. “I’ll need 60 minutes from now. I’m counting on you.”
C H A P T E R • 53
* * *
When I went back to the front of the bar, I told my posse, “I want Ginny out of there. Will you help me?”
“We ain’t Charlie’s Angels,” Adrianne said.
“There will be an explosion and I’m thinking I’ll get her out during the confusion. She and I can drop down to the alley behind Vy’s.”
Adrianne said. “That’s some comic book shit.”
“I know. But it’s the only thing I can think of right now. And it will work. I’m going in, but I need a distraction. H
er partners who are waiting to get their drug money out the bank will be there. I don’t have time for an elaborate carefully laid out plan.”
“Then they’ll try to kill you, and what? They do?”
“That’s not the plan. Here’s my keys. Right after you hear the noise, we’ll be in the alley. Take Ginny to my house. It will be the safest place for her.”
“Hell yes, you need a distraction,” Adrianne said. She stood up. “I’ll help you. But I’m not thinking about going in there. And neither should you.”
Al stood up beside her. “You need our help. Call us your fans. Call me one of the Angels. We’ll wait in front, in the shadows. If you need anything, make a sign at a front window.”
“The sign will mean to call Captain Bailey. Okay? Don’t come running in there after me. Promise me.”
Al made a noise that had no humor in it. “Something else you should know if you’re putting yourself in the middle of this. Heavy told me Viola is the one who paid him to aim that cab at Cecelia.”
I felt it drop. Cha Ching.
“He said she told him she had something for him to do she couldn’t trust anyone else to do for her. And he couldn’t tell it. He would want to because a boy brags. But a man holds his business close. Heavy said he told her he would show her how much man he is if she had a night or a weekend to give him.” He shook his head. “I’m going to miss that crazy brother.”
“Damn. I wasn’t even looking to solve the first murder. Money laundering was the trail I was following after I saw those bills from the bank at Ceel’s and then all those small bills at Al’s and at Gary’s.”
“I’m surprised it took you so long. You never did like Viola,” Al said.
∗ ∗ ∗
When I got outside, I looked both ways, all ways, as I crossed the street to Viola’s.
Standing at the street door with its wrought iron gate, I was thinking that the situation reminded me of Al’s the few nights before, except this time, as far as I knew, the folks inside were still alive.
I figured out which one of the extra set on Daddy’s key ring was to his girlfriend-wife’s house. When I got inside, I could hear her in the kitchen in the back singing. Loud. While the sound of a truck lumbering up St. Nicholas Avenue covered the old house protesting, I walked up the stairs.