Death Will Pay Your Debts
Page 23
"I wonder what will happen to Miriam's big project," I said.
"You'll have to ask Jimmy about that," Cindy said.
"Not today," I said. "Not till after their honeymoon."
"They're going away? How did she talk him into it?"
"She had help. His new boss offered him a week at a Great Camp in the Adirondacks as a wedding present."
"I don't see either Jimmy or Barbara going camping on their honeymoon, not to mention that she's almost ready to pop."
"You never heard of the Adirondack Great Camps? They were rich folks' summer houses built in the nineteenth century. This one is a luxury resort. I think it used to belong to a Rockefeller."
"That's incredibly generous of Costello," she said. "He obviously values Jimmy."
"And he has money to burn," I said. "I'm glad they're getting some time away. They've both been so stressed out."
"You really love them, don't you?" Cindy flashed her raffish grin at me.
"Yeah, I do," I said. "You can't imagine how they've stood by me."
"When you were drinking?"
"No, they steered clear while I was self-destructing," I said. "I don't blame them. But when I was getting sober, they were amazing. I deserved to lose them, but they stuck."
"They're both pretty crazy," Cindy said, "and neither of them is quite like anyone else."
"Right," I said. "Thanks for reminding me. I knew I had a better reason for liking them than that they give good tough love."
I didn't see the newlyweds for a day or two when they got back. The luxury resort encouraged guests to order champagne and truffled popcorn from room service at four in the morning, but its atmosphere of peace and serenity depended on an absence of electronic amenities. The lovebirds had clearly enjoyed each other's company, but Jimmy was suffering from cyberwithdrawal. He also had to go back to work. Still, Jimmy was always ready to go to a meeting. We picked a his-and-hers church basement, AA and Al-Anon, so the three of us could have dinner together before our meeting and Barbara's.
"How's everyone at your job reacting to the news that Miriam's a murderer?" I asked Jimmy.
"I had a meeting with my boss and Thea and Francine this morning," he said. "It was about reorganizing her workload, not a grief counseling session."
"I'm glad to hear the ladies are speaking to you," I said.
"When you work for Costello," he said, "the work comes first. Everybody there knows that."
"You can't beat creative freedom and unlimited financial backing," Barbara said. "It looks like Jimmy gets to live happily ever after."
"Thanks to you, petunia," Jimmy said, "not just Costello."
"Note that 'just,'" Barbara said, laughing.
"We all hated to let Miriam's big project go," Jimmy said. "It was a great idea. Costello said if we released it at the same time as the murder trial, it would go viral in no time."
"That's horrible," Barbara said. "Was he joking?"
"Just stating the facts," Jimmy said. "Don't worry, pumpkin, we're not going to do it. He left the decision to the three of us, and we all agreed it would be a nightmare. In fact, we had a better idea. Well, I did, but Costello's on board, and Fran and Thea are excited about working with me on it."
"Spit it out, dude," I said. "What is it?"
"I'm not supposed to talk about it," he said, "especially before we get the patents."
"Barb? You must know. You've just had seven uninterrupted days of pillow talk."
"He didn't have the idea till after we got home," she said. "Love and idleness were obviously good for his powers of invention, but he won't tell me either."
"C'mon, bro. It's us. Your nearest and dearest. Give us a hint."
"Guess," he said. "It's like the other idea, but different. And even if I didn't make it up myself, I'd love it. That's all the clues I'm going to give you."
Barbara looked at me, eyebrows raised. I shrugged.
"What does Jimmy love?" I asked.
"Me!" she said. "But he wouldn't create a game called Virtual Barbara. Or Virtual Honeymoon— though that wouldn't be a bad idea, would it, Jimmy?"
Jimmy chuckled.
"I said you could guess. I didn't say I'd confirm or deny your guesses. Though I'll do it this once and say, no, it's not Virtual Barbara. What else do I love?"
"New York," I said. "Manhattan. Virtual New York? Travel destinations, planning your trip, or taking it virtually if you can't get there, with holograms and avatars and 3D whatever? I don't know. You know I'm not a techie."
"Too obvious," Barbara said. "I bet it's been done."
"It has," Jimmy said. "Multiple times. Google it and you'll see. Okay, no more hints. You get one more guess, and then we're through here. I don't want to be late for the meeting."
He picked up his coffee cup and drained it while Barbara and I frowned at each other.
"Something he loves," I said. "Something he loves. History? No, he had his fill of online history and reenactments while he was working on his own."
"I know!" Barbara bounced up and down in her chair. "Virtual Program!"
"Shush! Don't bellow! I mean—don't break our anonymity," he said.
"Too late, dude," I said. "You gave yourself away. She got it right, and now you're scared somebody in the restaurant will steal your brilliant idea."
"That was your last guess," Jimmy said. He tossed his napkin on the table and stood up, pushing back his chair. "Discussion's over. Let's get to the meeting."
The church was only a block away. Barbara danced the whole distance, babbling softly.
"Virtual Recovery. Virtual Twelve Steps. Virtual Meeting. Virtual Sponsor—the sponsee could choose between having a live sponsor, who could live anywhere, with avatars, or an Artificial Intelligence sponsor. They already have AI therapy, don't they?"
I flung my arm around Jimmy's shoulders.
"Easy does it, man," I said. "One day at a time. Don't worry. We won't tell a soul. And if we're lucky, having a baby to run after all day long will slow her down."
About the Author
Elizabeth Zelvin started writing the Bruce Kohler mysteries after developing and directing a treatment program for homeless alcoholics on the Bowery, New York's legendary Skid Row—a place that no longer exists. Liz is also author of two historical novels, Voyage of Strangers and Journey of Strangers. Her short stories have appeared in Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, and a number of anthologies and e-zines. Her stories have been nominated three times for the Agatha Award and once for the Derringer Award. Another story was listed among 50 top stories in Best American Mystery Stories 2014. Liz is a psychotherapist who lives in New York and works online with clients all over the world. Her publications include a book on gender and addictions, two poetry books, and, as Liz Zelvin, an album of original songs, Outrageous Older Woman.
To learn more about Liz, visit her website at http://elizabethzelvin.com
You can friend Liz on Facebook at http://facebook.com/elizabeth.zelvin
You can find all of Liz's fiction at http://tinyurl.com/zelvin-amazon
The Bruce Kohler Mysteries
Novels
(in order of publication)
Death Will Get You Sober
Death Will Help You Leave Him
Death Will Extend Your Vacation
Death Will Save Your Life (novella)
Death Will Pay Your Debts
[Note: e-book editions of the above works appeared briefly in 2015 under the alternate titles of Dead Sober, Dead Wrong, Dead in the Hamptons, Dead Guru, and Dead Broke.]
Short Stories
(in order of publication)
“Death Will Clean Your Closet”
“Death Will Tie Your Kangaroo Down”
“Death Will Trim Your Tree”
“Death Will Tank Your Fish”
“Death Will Fire Your Therapist”
Readers have occasionally asked about anomalies in the chronological order of the books and the p
rogress of Bruce's sobriety. This was not due to any desire on my part to frustrate or mystify the reader but rather the uncertainties of publishing. For example, Death Will Save Your Life was originally a novel, Death Will Improve Your Relationship, that I intended to be the second in the series. My editor at St. Martin's rejected it. A few years later, I cut 50,000 words and turned it into an e-novella for booksBnimble. They changed the title because they said my original title was too long to fit on a thumbnail cover jpeg. For this new edition, when I could do whatever I wanted, I had to admit they were right about that.
For readers who absolutely have to read the extended story that we call a mystery series in the order in which it happens and don't mind shifting back and forth between novels and short stories, here's my best estimate of the chronology of Bruce's journey toward recovery. The timeline is less crucial in the short stories, so you could take a short cut: read Death Will Save Your Life right after Death Will Get You Sober, and save the short stories till after you've read all the novels.
Death Will Get You Sober
“Death Will Clean Your Closet”
Death Will Save Your Life
“Death Will Tie Your Kangaroo Down”
Death Will Help You Leave Him
“Death Will Trim Your Tree”
Death Will Extend Your Vacation
“Death Will Tank Your Fish”
“Death Will Fire Your Therapist”
Death Will Pay Your Debts
Other Works by Elizabeth Zelvin
Historical Fiction
Voyage of Strangers
Journey of Strangers
“The Green Cross”
“Navidad”
Kingdom of Strangers (forthcoming)
Urban Fantasy/Mystery
Shifting Is for the Goyim (novella)
“A Shifting Plan”
“Stalker” (forthcoming)
Crime Fiction
Breaches & Betrayals: Collected Stories
“The Man in the Dick Tracy Hat”
“Girl Feeding Birds”
“The Saxon Hoard”
“The Silkie”
“Choices”
“Dress to Die”
“The Emperor's Hoard”
“A Breach of Trust”
DEATH WILL PAY YOUR DEBTS
OUTSIDER BOOKS
Copyright © 2015 Elizabeth Zelvin
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Death Will Pay Your Debts was first published under the title Dead Broke as an e-book in 2015 by booksBnimble Publishing.
This e-book is part of a special 2016 edition of the entire Bruce Kohler mystery series, newly edited by the author for Outsider Books.
Cover and book design by Elizabeth Zelvin
Chapter Two: Bruce
I breezed into Barbara and Jimmy's apartment, tossing my backpack on the table. I never used to carry more than I could fit into my pockets. No moss. But since our summer in the Hamptons, I had been seeing Cindy, who was, unbelievably, a cop. Her schedule was irregular, and when I stayed over at her place, clean socks and shorts and a toothbrush were de rigueur. So I carried them around just in case. I was halfway across the living room carpet toward the computer, where I knew Jimmy would be clinging to the keyboard until the last possible moment for us to get to the AA meeting on time, before I noticed that Barbara, who had opened the door for me, had been crying. Jimmy was not his usual cheerful self either. I glanced from her puffy eyes and red nose to his set jaw and grim expression. Jimmy has the square face and undersized features of a modern-day Henry VIII, so his little mouth can fool you. But this time, he definitely wasn't smiling.
"Hey, guys," I said, "what's going on? Who died?"
I expected a straight answer, or more likely, a convoluted one. Barbara is an open book, and it's more like one by Henry James than one by Hemingway. She always has plenty to say. Not this time. She hunched a pettish shoulder, folded her arms across her chest, and turned her back. I had a PhD in Barbara's body language. Was she mad at me? Let's see, had I done anything? I took a quick personal inventory the way the Twelve Steps recommended. Nope, my conscience was clear. A fight, then. My two best friends, who had been together for eons, didn't fight often. It must be awfully serious if Barbara didn't switch it off when I walked through the door. As she has explained to me many times, she's a world-class codependent who cares too much about what other people think to bicker in front of anyone, even me.
I looked from Barbara's back to what I could see of Jimmy behind the computer, which was mostly the top of his head. He sat curled into a crouch like a running back clutching a football. His arms weren't folded across his chest like Barbara's only because for Jimmy, hugging his technology was his most defensive stance, practically fetal position.
"Okay, dude," I said. "Barb? Guys? Somebody talk to me."
I counted to fifteen before Barbara caved, probably a record for her.
"Ask Jimmy," she said. "He's the one who's been hiding another addiction and managed to go broke just when he's about to become a father."
Jimmy lifted his head at that. His face was brick red and furious. He looked like Henry VIII about to give one of his wives the axe.
"And she's the one who's made a career of the disease, only now when I'm in trouble and need some support, all she can do is take my inventory."
"Whoa! I don't believe this! Who are you, and what have you done with my friends Jimmy and Barbara? Um, have you said the Serenity Prayer together? Have you done that sharing without crosstalk thing you do?"
They looked at each other.
"Of course we did!" Indignant is Barbara's default position.
"The process broke down." Bitter is so not Jimmy that it confirmed my opinion that he, at least, had been body-snatched.
I sat down in the middle of the sofa and patted the merlot leather on either side of me.
"Sit," I said. "You too, Jimmy."
They slunk toward me like a couple of kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Barbara bounced down on my right. More indignant body language. Jimmy lowered himself down like an old man on my left.
"Did I hear you say 'father'?"
They both twitched. It's not like I didn't know their issues. Barbara's biological clock had been ticking like crazy for the past few years. Jimmy had always shied away from having kids because he was afraid he'd be the kind of father that his alcoholic dad had been. I understood that part. I'd had the same kind of dad myself. Barbara was scared stiff of having babies, loving them, and then having to hold her breath while she waited to see if they'd inherited his alcoholism. Jimmy and I had started drinking at fourteen, and it had been love at first gulp for both of us.
"Okay," I said. "What other addiction?"
Barbara's lips parted. But instead of blurting, she clapped both hands over her mouth. Good. For Barbara, shutting up was a recovery skill.
"Jimmy? What addiction?"
"Compulsive debting," he said.
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“That's what Debtors Anonymous calls it," he said.
"I don't get it," I said. "Debt is the American way of life. You haven't been sneaking around to loan sharks, have you?"
"Of course not," he said, "but my credit cards are all maxed out."
“Nothing abnormal about that. What's the big deal?"
"Spending more and more money you don't have is a big deal," he said, "even if everybody does it."
"Like driving drunk on New Year's Eve," Barbara said, "if you want an analogy."
"But you've never had to worry about money."
"That's why I didn't see this coming
," Jimmy said. "I've been spending as if the money was still rolling in the way it did during the high-tech boom. But things have changed. When my income couldn't keep up, I used my credit cards. Now I can't take Barbara to California for her birthday the way I promised. And on top of that, she tells me we're going to have a baby. I can't be Marc Antony any more."
"Huh?"
"The King of Denial," he said.
Everyone's heard the one about Cleopatra, Queen of Denial, but only Jimmy could bring the ancient Romans into an admission that he'd hit bottom.
"So now you're not in denial," I said. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't call it good," he said. "I'm powerless over money, and my life has become unmanageable."
"Step One," I said.
"I hate it," he said.
"Yeah, it sucks. Okay, what's the next right action?"
"Listen to you," Barbara said. "Validating his feelings and talking like a sponsor."
"Hey, you don't have to go misty-eyed over my recovery," I said.
Jimmy's lip quirked up at the corner.
"Yeah, we've created a monster."
"Thank you for sharing," I said. "Answer the question."
"DA, I guess," Jimmy said. "Oh, God, I am going to hate being a beginner. But I have to. I am not going to let this baby down."
"Jimmy! You really mean it?"
"Barb, I swear we'll get through this."
I got up and went into the kitchen to get us all bottles of designer water and give them time to canoodle and make up. I'm not saying I didn't eavesdrop. She'd been afraid he'd want her not to have the baby. Barbara was a nice Jewish girl who'd come a long way from Queens, but Jimmy was an Irish Catholic boy. Deep down, he still had a guardian angel on his left shoulder and a Sister of Charity running his conscience. There was no way they were not having this baby.