Boca Mournings

by Steven M. Forman

  “I’m not signing anything,” Solomon said. “We’ll have our lawyers look into this. It’s always about money, Mr. Perlmutter.”

  “Don’t confuse your motives with mine,” I said. “If you read the document you’ll see that I volunteered to be Sylvia’s guardian free of charge and that upon her death all money remaining in her estate will be donated to charity.”

  They both turned their attention to the document and read it thoroughly.

  “Why are you willing to do this?” Solomon asked, confused.

  “I love your sister like she was my sister and I want to take care of her,” I said. “She needs a legal guardian and you two are her only family. Either you assume responsibility or sign this document.”

  They processed the facts.

  “What if we refuse to sign?” Solomon asked.

  “You can become her guardian and be responsible for her,” I said.

  “Maybe that’s what we’ll do then,” Solomon challenged me.

  “That’s fine.” I shrugged. “That’s your right. And it’s my right to protect my friend’s interests by watching every move you two make.”

  “Is that a threat?” David asked.

  “It’s a promise,” I told them.

  “I see.” Solomon looked at me. “Well, there’s no point in arguing, is there? If you’ve deceived us, you’ll be hearing from our lawyers.”

  Solomon stood up and walked to a desk. He returned with a pen and signed the document without saying another word. He handed the pen to David, who also signed. They were emotionless. I found it hard to believe that these people came from the same parents as Sylvia.

  I returned the signed documents to the folder and stood up. The twins stood and walked toward the front door. I followed them.

  I walked toward my rental car. When I didn’t hear the front door close behind me, I turned to face them. They stood like twin statues at the door.

  “That paper is worthless,” Solomon announced. “It requires a notary.”

  “No problem,” I assured them as I opened the car door.

  “You may be hearing from us,” Solomon said.

  “That would be your mistake,” I said. “And by the way, your father was right. You are infected.”

  “It sounds like Shaken Baby Syndrome,” Dr. Ronald Cohen said.

  I phoned him from JFK airport, while waiting for my flight back to West Palm Beach.

  “Where have I heard that before?” I wondered aloud.

  “It’s been in the news,” Cohen told me. “A baby boy died a few months ago from SBS. If your friend’s mother shook her repeatedly there’s a very good chance the child suffered brain damage. The red eyes indicate a rupture to the retina.”

  “Is the damage permanent?” I asked.

  “It can be permanent,” Dr. Cohen confirmed. “It can be temporary, and it can be fatal. It’s hard to predict.”

  “So, my friend could have suffered brain damage as a child.”

  “Especially during the 1930s. SBS wasn’t really understood until the seventies.”

  “Can SBS be reversed?” I asked.

  “The injuries can heal, if that’s what you mean,” Dr. Cohen said. “The time lost from the injury is often irretrievable.”

  “Permanent memory loss?”

  “Technically, no. With SBS there would literally be no memories to lose,” he said. “You can’t forget what you never experienced.”

  I heard my flight being called. “Thanks, Doc,” I said. “I gotta go.”

  “Mr. Perlmutter,” Dr. Cohen said quickly before I hung up. “I know I’m not your favorite doctor. Why did you call me with this question?”

  “I’m offering a special on second chances this month,” I told him.

  After a good night’s sleep and a good morning for Mr. Johnson, I left Claudette asleep in my apartment and drove to my 9:00 a.m. appointment with Sylvia’s lawyer, Sanford Kreiger, at the St. Andrews Club House.

  “Hey, it’s da Boca Knight,” Tito the gate guard said in his singsong voice while he flashed a big smile. “You’re becomin’ a regular at St. Andrews, munh.”

  “I have a lot of people here bidding on my car,” I told him.

  “I’ll give you five bucks for it,” he laughed, raising the gate.

  “That’s the highest bid so far,” I told him.

  I saw Santos take a break from trimming the hedges.

  “Hey, Santos, you missed a spot,” I shouted to him.

  “Mr. Boca Knight,” Santos waved. “Come here and I’ll trim your MINI.”

  “It’s already been done,” I told him. “A long time ago.”

  I left them laughing.

  Sanford Kreiger read the brief document and looked at me across the table. “This will never hold up in court, Eddie.”

  “You wrote it, Sanford,” I reminded him.

  “Yes, but I told you it had to be notarized,” he refreshed my memory.

  “I was lucky to find their house, never mind a notary,” I said. “Plus, I never expected them to sign it right then and there.”

  “I just want you to be aware that they can contest this document.”

  “They won’t,” I said confidently.

  “You didn’t threaten them, did you?”

  “Not by my standards, I didn’t.”

  “We’d be much better off if Sylvia had a will.” He put the agreement in a folder.

  “So, write one.”

  “She has to be mentally competent to sign it,” he told me.

  “She has her moments,” I said. “We have to catch her at the right time.”

  “I’ll write something up fast,” he agreed. “I also have to petition the Probate Division of the Circuit Court to have you appointed her guardian.”

  “Do you anticipate a problem?” I asked.

  “You’re like a saint around here,” he told me. “The judge will probably want you as his guardian, too. We also have to make a public announcement in the newspaper, but it’s all procedural.”

  “So, we’re almost done,” I said.

  “The only real problem I can foresee is if she dies without a will. She has a few million between her house and insurance. What do we do with that?”

  “I’ve already worked that out,” I said.

  I told him about Sylvia’s father’s letter and the plan I had developed.

  “It’s a great idea, Eddie,” he said when I had finished explaining. “But she has to sign the will to make it work.”

  “Write the damn will, and let’s get this show on the road.”

  I went to the hospital to look in on Sylvia. I sat next to her bed for two hours, but she didn’t wake up.

  I was at my office checking messages when my cell phone rang. It was Edik Davidavitch.

  “Kuznetsovs will release Dietrichs May sixth in Frankfort,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said quickly then realized I had a conflict. “Wait, I can’t go on that date. I have to transport a prisoner a long distance.”

  “Change your plans,” he told me.

  “I can’t,” I said, thinking of all the complications.

  “There is an open window first week of May and then it closes. It has to be then or delayed till August.”

  “Why so long?”

  “It’s not easy to move two kidnapped people out of Russia,” Edik said. “It takes much planning and payoffs.”

  “I’ll have to get back to you,” I said, frustrated.

  “Don’t fahk this up,” Edik advised me.

  I called Howard Larkey and gave him the bad news.

  “Howard, I can’t change my plans,” I told him. “I’m moving a prisoner on the fourth of May and need to stay with him for a while.”

  “The Dietrichs can’t wait two more months in Ekaterinburg,” Howard decided.

  “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “I have an idea. Let me call you back,” he said.

  Howard phoned me two hours later.

  “Pro
blem solved,” he told me. “Derek and I will get the Dietrichs on the sixth.”

  “No, I can’t let you do that. It’s too dangerous,” I warned him.

  “Danger is my middle name,” Howard announced.

  “You didn’t say anything about danger,” I heard Derek protest in the background. “You said we were going on a cruise.”

  “What is he talking about?” I asked Howard.

  “We already booked an excursion,” he told me. “We’re flying from Miami to Hong Kong via Hawaii, then to Vietnam where we board a cruise to China. We fly from Beijing to Vladivostok where we board the Trans Siberian Railroad to Ekaterinburg. We’re not going to meet them in Hamburg.”

  “Frankfurt,” I corrected him.

  “Whatever.”

  “This is not a game, Howard,” I told him. “This is the Russian Mafia, and I’m told this particular Mafia family hates gays and Jews.”

  “So, who’s gay and Jewish?” he asked, feigning a gruff, macho voice.

  “You are!”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he reverted to his normal voice. “Well, no matter. We’re going. Tell that bitchy bartender to change the rendezvous to Ekaterinburg.”

  “I can’t let you do this,” I protested.

  “I’m touched by your concern, but you can’t stop us. Someone has to rescue our friends,” Howard said. “Just call that Cossack closet case and tell him we’ll be there on the fifth to pick up our friends on the sixth. We have tickets from Ekaterinburg to Moscow and for our return flight to the States. They have to arrange the paperwork for the Dietrichs.”

  “I’ll have to make some arrangements,” I told him. “Don’t go anywhere yet.”

  “Derek,” Howard said to his partner, “Eddie is so sweet. He’s concerned about us.”

  I phoned Edik and told him the new developments.

  “This is bad,” he sighed. “I call my seester.”

  Within an hour Natasha called my cell phone.

  “Kuznetsovs say no problem with your friends coming,” she said. “Will arrange meeting in Ekaterinburg.”

  “Do the Kuznetsovs know these two guys are gay?”

  “Yes. No problem,” she said.

  “I thought the KKK hates gays and Jews,” I said.

  “You misunderstand me,” she said. “Kuznetsovs don’t hate gays and Jews. They just don’t allow them in gang.”

  “Why not?”

  “Boris doesn’t trust them,” she clarified.

  “I thought Boris was anti-Semitic and homophobic?”

  “No, Boris is psychotic and bisexual,” she announced. “He doesn’t believe in any religion and he would fahk anyone. He would fahk a cheeken I think.”

  “I don’t understand,” I told her. “If Boris doesn’t hate gays, why did you lie to him about your brother? I thought you were afraid Boris would kill him if he knew.”

  “No, I lied to Boris about Edik so Boris wouldn’t try to fahk him,” she said.

  “Now I’m lost.”

  “Boris had a gay lover named Vasily in gang many years ago,” she explained. “Vasily was nice-looking Jewish boy but he screwed Boris more ways than one. He left Boris for rival gang leader also gay and Jewish . . . and they tried to take Boris’s business away. Boris never trusted Jews and gays after that. Issued an order, no Jews and gays ever in KKK. Fahking is okay but no business.”

  “What happened to Vasily?” I asked.

  “He lost his balls,” she said.

  “Boris scared him away?”

  “No, Boris cut his balls off and threw them in meat grinder,” she said. “The other guy’s balls, too. So, when Boris tells me he wants to fahk my little brother I don’t want Edik to go near him. Too dangerous. I tell Boris that Edik hates homos and Boris should fahk me instead.”

  “Did he?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I told you, Boris fahk anyone.”

  “So, you lied to your boss and told him your brother was straight to protect him,” I said.

  “Duh. Is that so bad?”

  “In a sick way, it makes perfect sense. And now if Boris ever finds out you lied to him he’ll kill both of you,” I summarized.

  “Now you know everything,” she said. “You take care of my brother; I take care of your friends.”

  “Deal.”

  Two days later, “Howard and Derek’s Great Adventure” began.

  The night Howard and Derek departed I took Claudette for dinner at the Cheesecake Factory in Boca. There was a waiting line for a table and the hostess estimated it would be forty-five-minutes. We found enough space to stand at the bar.

  Before we could order drinks, I heard someone call my name and felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see the smiling faces of Mo Myerson and Izzy Fryberg. We shook hands and I introduced them to Claudette.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said. “I’m Claudette, Eddie’s friend.”

  “Any friend of Eddie’s is a friend of ours,” Mo said enthusiastically. “He saved our community.”

  “You could have fooled me,” I said. “The last time I saw you two together you were trying to give each other tonsillectomies.”

  “That’s in the past,” Izzy smiled. “We’re all friends again, because of you, Eddie.”

  “What happened after I left the meeting?”

  “That little assistant of yours who looks like Elvis with buck teeth-”

  “Lou Dewey,” I said.

  “Yeah, Lou,” Izzy confirmed, “He left us a DVD copy of your presentation on the front table. Old man Paretsky and his wife . . . did you meet them?”

  Noah’s father and mother, I thought to myself. “No,” I said to protect the not so innocent.

  “Well, they took the disc to their apartment to replay it. We all stopped arguing long enough to follow them to their apartment and watch the thing again. The second time was a charm. The room melted like an iceberg in the Everglades. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”

  “That’s great,” Claudette clapped her hands. “And you thought you failed.”

  “I’m as surprised as anyone,” I admitted.

  “We were going to call you,” Izzy said, “but we wanted to be sure the peace would last. It’s been great.”

  Claudette looked so proud of me, and I felt like a world-class schmuck for all the whining I had done about my changing personality.

  “We made copies of the DVD,” Mo enthused, “and everyone got one. We had some of the pictures framed and hung them in common areas like the card room-”

  “And the elevator,” Izzy chimed in.

  “As reminders of what you all mean to each other,” Claudette gushed.

  “It’s too bad we had to be reminded,” Izzy said.

  “It’s human nature,” I said. “Where are your wives tonight?”

  “In the card room at Delray Vista,” Mo said. “It’s canasta night.”

  A buzzer vibrated in Izzy’s hand. “Our table’s ready,” he said. “We’ve been waiting fifty minutes.”

  Mo paused before leaving. “I’ve been trying to think of who you remind me of,” he said to Claudette.

  “Halle Berry,” I said confidently.

  “No, not her.” Mo put his index finger to his lips and closed his eyes. “I got it,” Mo exclaimed. “Eartha Kitt.”

  Claudette thanked him politely and giggled when they were gone.

  “It must be a generational thing,” I apologized for Mo’s comparison.

  “Eartha Kitt is beautiful,” Claudette said. “I’m flattered.”

  My cell phone rang. There was no caller ID on the screen when I answered.

  “Wait a minute,” I said when I couldn’t hear the caller and went outside. “Hello, this is Eddie,” I said with the phone pressed to one ear and my finger plugged into the other ear.

  “Hello, Mr. Perlmutter. This is Minister Kane,” I heard. “Is this a bad time?”

  “No, no, Minister,” I said. “I’m having dinner in a noisy place. I couldn
’t hear you so I went outside.”

  “Sorry to interrupt your dinner,” he said. “I’ll be brief.”

  “That’s alright, take your time.”

  “Your travel arrangements have been confirmed,” he told me. “You depart the fourth of May at two thirty in the afternoon.”

  I had a little more than two weeks to get ready.

  On Monday of the following week I appeared before the Probate Court with Sanford Kreiger and, by Friday, I had been verbally approved as Sylvia Goldman’s guardian. The probate judge was a big fan of mine.

  Sanford Kreiger had given me the will he’d prepared for Sylvia and I took it to the hospital, hoping she would be alert enough to sign the document. She was asleep when I got there.

  I sat in the chair next to her bed and looked at her tiny face. Her skin was pasty, and her mouth was shrunken. She looked ancient. I stared at her features and tried to picture the younger Sylvia, the one I had seen in the old photos at her house.

  What could you have been if you had the chance? I wondered.

  I touched Sylvia’s forehead with my fingers.

  “I visited your past, Sylvia,” I told her. “Your father and your husband loved you very much.”

  Her eyes fluttered and opened. This had happened before and occasionally she would visit for a while. But not this time. She sighed and her eyes closed again.

  “I love you, too, Sylvia,” I said.

  I never cry but if I did, that would have been a good time.

  I took her hand in mine and held it for a while but I felt the need to be closer to her. There was barely enough space on the bed but I managed to lie next to her on her right side and put my arm under her head. Unexpectedly, Sylvia turned on her side and put her left arm across my chest. She never spoke and I don’t think her movement was a deliberate action. It seemed more like an instinct to be closer and to be held.

  I thought about telling her more about her past but I decided I had already told her all she needed to know.

  We fell asleep holding each other.

  I woke up an hour later but Sylvia didn’t.

  When I realized she was gone, I placed her head on the pillow and called for a nurse.

  I called Sanford Kreiger after Sylvia’s body had been removed from the room. I told him she had died in her sleep.