Ill Gotten Gains: Diary of a Gentle Grifter, page 26
Jesus Christ on a cracker! I’d put their impending trip completely out of my head. A parental visit was the very last thing I had time to deal with. But I didn’t know how to stop it from happening without creating a whole new set of lies. “Yes, of course I’ll pick you up. Email me the airline and flight number. I’ll meet you at baggage claim.”
“What kind of clothes should we pack? It’s hot there, yes? Do people dress up for supper? Does your father need a dark suit and some neckties or can he get away with a blazer?”
Wear black plastic trash bags for all I care. “Pretty much anything goes here, Mom. But a blazer for the evening is never a bad idea. Absolutely no need for a tie, even at the nicest of places. Just be comfortable. Everything is air conditioned and I know you get chilly, so having a light sweater would be a good idea. I almost always wear long sleeve shirts at the resorts at night. Even when it’s over one hundred degrees outside.”
“That’s good to know. I’m writing all of this down.”
“Of course you are.”
“Okay, honey, drive carefully—you better be on your speaker and not holding the phone to your ear—that’s frowned upon here in Virginia. Anyway, your father and I cannot wait to see you next week.” She sounded so damned excited and cheery, until she suddenly said, most somberly, “And don’t worry, your brother isn’t coming.”
I almost laughed at her. “Thank God for small favors.”
“That’s not nice. I know you love him.”
“Hardly. But you keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. But I do love you. And Dad, too. Goodnight, Mom. See you soon.”
I drove in silence the rest of the way to the south valley. I knew I had to redouble my efforts to wrap everything up in the next four days. And I hoped to hell the bandages could come off before Tuesday. An accidental upper arm bullet hole wasn’t something I could ever explain to good old Mr. and Mrs. James Lence of Proper Town, U.S.A.
After a very late, casual dinner with my temporary roommates, I hopped on Drucilla’s tablet and checked my emails. And there it was, a true hallelujah moment. Mitch had forwarded confirmation that he’d wired three million dollars to Lucia’s numbered bank account in Grand Cayman.
“The guilty dude came through with part one,” I informed Dru.
Her face lit up. “Mitch?”
“Yes indeedy. I’ll live to see at least one more day.”
34
KNICKKNACKS & BRIC-A-BRAC
When I woke up on Friday morning, my arm felt worlds better. Flo had offered up a bottle of antibiotics left over from a recent surgery, and those little suckers seemed to be just what I didn’t give the Palm Springs doctor a chance to order.
I checked the digital clock on the bedside table. Two minutes after nine. It wasn’t like me to sleep so late, but my bruised body and burdened mind apparently needed the shuteye; I never once woke up in the night, as was usual.
If the women of the house were sticking to the plan they made over our Chinese delivery the night before, they’d be getting ready to go on a training mission of sorts at a shopping mall.
I took care of some personal business then padded barefoot down the hall. A shower was running somewhere over my head. Then, clanging in the kitchen confirmed everyone was awake. I found Flo putting away glasses and silverware from her dishwasher. There was a dry, NPR-sounding news show playing on a small transistor radio, but the lady of the house switched it off when she noticed me enter the room.
“Hey, sleepyhead. I’ve been up since five. I feel like you’ve missed half the day.” That made me feel like a teenager again. I didn’t hate it. “And it’s gorgeous outside,” she continued. “They say it’ll only reach eighty degrees today.”
“That’s nice, Mom.” I took a seat at the table. “What’s for breakfast?”
Florence turned and put her hands on her hips. “I am not your mother, and this is not a twenty-four hour diner. I’m not a short order cook, young man.” Yet she softened quickly. “But there are homemade blueberry muffins on the counter and some fresh joe in the Mr. Coffee. There’s half and half in the fridge. Have at it. I need to go get changed for work.”
“Work,” I repeated with a few ounces of sarcasm. “Does it pay well?”
“You betcha. If you finally come through for me. I really want you to get my haul to your fence fellow. All that expensive loot is piling up back there.”
I nodded. “I’ll get on it today, I promise. Box it up for me?”
She patted the top of my head lightly then walked out of the room. “Thank you, son.”
I found my FedEx package sitting on the counter and immediately ripped into it. The newest iPhone model was larger than the old one, but it looked like it would fit nicely in my pants pocket. And best of all, it was secure. I could talk to, text, or email anyone, and nefarious folks wishing me harm wouldn’t be able to track my whereabouts or hack into my sensitive communications. At least that’s what Moxie promised. The first thing I did was to disable the face recognition feature so said nefarious persons couldn’t unlock the device the way I did at Mitch and Christopher’s house. No one was going to use my face without my permission, damn it.
I then decided to spend a few moments focusing on my parents’ impending visit. (Insert big fat sigh here.)
While online, I discovered the vacation rental house—that I had told my folks was my place—was still on the short-term market and was, miraculously, available the following week. I booked it for seven nights starting the next Monday. I then made a list of things I needed to retrieve from my storage unit to scatter around the joint in order to make it look like I actually lived there—framed snapshots, a few refrigerator magnets I’d collected over the years, some books, that big fish bowl filled with old matchbooks, the vase that used to belong to my grandmother, and other random knickknacks and bric-a-brac they might remember. I’d have to fill a closet with clothes, too, because I knew my mother would inspect every square inch of the place soon after her arrival.
When I’d completed my list and was pouring my second cup of coffee, the burner phone rang in my robe pocket. “Speak,” I commanded when I picked up.
“What kind of a fucked-up greeting is that?” she barked. “Don’t ever answer the phone like that—it’s rude.” She paused a moment to suck on her cigarette. “It’s Mother.” She coughed loudly. “I’ve memorized three telephone numbers for you, kid—is this the secure line I’m calling?”
I chuckled. She sounded like someone from the CIA. “Yes, ma’am. Tight as a drum.”
Her demeanor then abruptly changed. “I got confirmation of the monetary transfer. You really came through for me when I needed it most and I can’t thank you enough.”
“Why would you thank me? You’re the one who insisted I get it done.”
“Nevertheless, thank you, Macon. Or is it James today?”
“Macon is fine on a secure line, I guess,” I said with a sigh.
“Come have lunch at my house today. One o’clock sharp.” And she hung up before I could even open my mouth to respond.
And all of a sudden, I had a mandatory lunch date.
I supposed it was a good thing—I had to go anyway and really wasn’t looking forward to inviting myself. I had been planning to steal away to Luke’s Lobster again, but going to Mother’s was more prudent. Plus, I’d been dying to see the inside of her storied fortress for years.
I was about to go put myself together when Mitch called.
“Thanks for coming through again,” I said after the usual stilted pleasantries.
“Uh huh. Sure. Listen, I have two pieces of good news for you…and some for me, too.”
“Do tell.”
“I’ve accepted an offer on Peter’s hotel, pending the closing of his estate, of course. It’s generous.”
“How generous?”
There was silence for a few moments and then he said, slowly, “I shouldn’t tell you.”
“Come on, Mitch. I’ll find out anyway. It’ll be public information. Spit it out.”
“Thirty. All cash.”
“That’s a pile of dough. Congratulations,” I said. “See? This didn’t turn out so bad for you.”
“I guess not. But I still don’t like you and your sister, strong arming us and taking advantage of a situation that has absolutely nothing to do with you. I think you two are dirty opportunists.”
Indeed. “Perhaps. But everybody wins. My client will get the money Peter borrowed from her, and I’ll get mine. Very, very good news, man.” And then I decided to go for it. “Mitch, baby, why don’t you throw an extra two million my way and I will forever forget you and your deceiving ways ever existed. Sound good?”
He was silent for a few agonizing moments.
“Mitch? Did you hear me?”
“Come on, Trace,” he finally said. “That wasn’t the deal.”
“There’s no deal, Mitchy. It’s a demand. Just make it happen, and I’ll promise to never ask anything of you ever again. Seriously. You have my word.”
“Ever, Trace. I mean it. I want to be done with you.”
“You got it. And you’re still going to make out like a freakin’ bandit, and you know it.” I was on top of the world—I felt like dancing. “Oh? Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”
“The Deepwater paperwork is complete, and you’ve got a June first closing date on the calendar. But I really don’t think I want you guys that close to us. Perhaps you’d like to reconsider? It’s not too late to back out. Maybe San Diego, or Santa Barbara, or somewhere like that might be better suited for you? We can call off the deal, and I can hook you up with another California realtor. Far away from us.”
Nice try. “The Coachella valley is big enough for the four of us, Mitchell. If my sister and I happen to run into you two fellas someday, we’ll just look the other way. How about that? But, on second thought, if that were to happen, Christopher would certainly have questions. Maybe we’ll have to stop for a quick ‘hidey ho.’ We don’t have to be best friends. It’ll all work out nicely, I promise you.”
“Kill me now,” Mitch said softly.
“No way, man. You still have work to do. Talk soon.” And I hung up.
Then I immediately texted Drucilla.
We close on PSCA June 1st!
Super. I just snagged a Tag Hauer.
Don’t get caught. More good news…
Don’t leave me hanging.
…I asked for $2MM more. The new house is covered.
I love you!!
I knew it!
I knew she wasn’t in love-love with me, but I was falling deeper, for sure. That was crystal clear to me that day.
I think, deep down inside, I’d known it for some time, but at that very moment—that I love you!! text from Dru—sealed the damned deal in my mind. And it put a huge, silly grin on my face and made me feel warm and mushy inside. It’d been some time since I felt that way about anyone.
I shaved, took a quick shower, and got into a pair of clean Dockers, boat shoes, and a pale pink short-sleeve polo. I looked like I belonged at a yacht club in Nantucket. It was an unusual look for me, granted, but I was digging it, because I felt like a new man.
35
THE GARDENER DID IT
Lucia dug my new look, too.
Not.
“What’s with the get-up?” she blurted out as soon as she answered the door. “You look like a fag.”
I grimaced, I’m sure. “That’s not very nice. This is my preppy disguise.”
“Ridiculous. Someone in your line of work should stick with muted, low-key colors, you dumb buffoon. Dungarees and a t-shirt. Or, better yet, a classic dark suit. What the hell is wrong with you?” She carefully locked and double-checked the front door’s three deadbolts, then led me into a cavernous great room that smelled exactly like my grandmother’s house used to. It was unnerving how that odor instantly transported me to when I was a little kid; I’d never experienced it as an adult until that day.
“What do you think? Takes you back in time, doesn’t it?” She had no idea. Or maybe she did, because then she said, “I know. It probably smells like an old pool hall in here. But it’s home.”
I walked past her and did a spin to take it all in. A towering wall of red brick dominated the space and the whole room was chock full of dated crap and furnishings. “Very homey.” That was all I could manage.
“Uh huh. I can tell from your face it’s not up to your hoity-toity standards. It’s not a five-star hotel, I’ll give you that. That’s not how I spend my dough.” Lucia lit a cigarette and pointed at some Styrofoam containers on the kitchen counter. “Reuben sandwiches from a great Jewish deli nearby—they’re just a tad shy of tasting like the ones back east, but you’ll love ‘em. Big kosher dills, too. My absolute favorite.” She took a long hit from the cigarette then spoke through the escaping bluish smoke, “But first, bub, I want to chat. Sit your pretty little ass down.”
I sat my pretty little ass on one of her worn, pleather-topped counter stools. She leaned against the avocado green stove then pointed the Virginia Slim at me. “I was talking about you to an associate of mine, and he’s interested in your services.”
I shook my head determinedly. “Oh no. That’s a big fat hell no, Mother. I’m a free agent these days. And you promised you’d leave me alone after the Palm Springs job. I work for myself and…”
“Will you shut the fuck up and listen to me? Don’t make me get the damned wooden spoon.”
I put my hands up in defeat. “Okay. Geez. You sound like my own mother. Wooden spoon. Seriously. I’m a grown man.”
“Will you please shut your pie hole and listen to me? It’s important. This fellow is going to step in to take over what I began here in town. Everything I built. He’s going to run Las Vegas when I’ve moved on. The whole valley. Maybe Laughlin, too. You need to know him.”
My heart sank. Was she telling me she was going to be replaced?! And that I wasn’t going to be forever off the hook? Damn it to hell, Mother. I knew things seemed to be going too well for me. “That’s not cool,” is all I could muster.
“Just calm the fuck down, will ya? This man is gonna want you to stay on and do some jobs for him, and I suspect the pay will be very, very handsome. He’s a lot more generous than me, I understand. At least hear him out. As a favor to me? It’ll be between the two of you; I won’t be involved after I set up the initial meeting…since I’m leaving soon.”
Despite my reluctance to stoop to violence when things didn’t go my way, I had an overwhelming urge to grab for my gun and put an end to the miserable woman’s life. How could you offer me up to someone else, old lady? But instead, I took a deep breath and calmly said, “It doesn’t sound like you’re giving me much of a choice in the matter.”
“Not really. And it’s already done, anyway.”
I glared at her as she blew out a puff of smoke. “This is so not cool,” I said.
Mother rolled her eyes. “So you said. I don’t know about cool or not cool. It is what it is.” She stubbed out the cigarette in an already overflowing ashtray. “And there’s another favor I need to ask of you, and I know you’re a delicate flower sometimes, so why don’t you take a moment to properly prepare yourself for what I’m about to say.”
I glared at her. “I just lost my appetite.”
She smiled back at me. “You are too much, you know that? You’ll eat this damned lunch because I paid good money for these damned sandwiches to be delivered to this damned house especially for you. I usually go pick them up myself, but I’ve been…”
“Lucia,” I snapped, cutting her off. “What else do you want from me? Don’t leave me hanging.”
Her eyes widened, but she didn’t immediately bark at me again like I expected her to. I could tell she was holding back from lashing out for my outburst. She squinted her eyes a bit, then said evenly, “I need you to help me fake my own death.”
I was sure I’d heard her wrong. “Say what now?”
She lit yet another cigarette. “You heard me, dummy. But that’ll keep until after we eat. I’ll be right back. I need to visit the head.” She waddled out of the kitchen. “I won’t be but a few minutes. Five, tops.” I heard a door close down the hall and then water started running.
That was my cue, so I sprang into action.
Despite the new, larger, possibly more deadly missiles Lucia kept lobbing at me, I still had a job to do for the other side.
I worked my way down the back hallway as quietly as I could until I came to what looked like a guest bedroom. And there was the ancient desktop computer as described, sitting on a small cluttered desk. It was a Tandy, the kind that had the massive metal CPU tower sitting on the floor, complete with now obsolete floppy disk drives. It brought back memories of my childhood, for sure. I pulled a small Phillips screwdriver from my pocket, got on my knees, and flipped the tower around. Four screws later, I had the hard drive in my pocket, and I replaced the machine exactly as I’d found it.
I could still hear water running, so I tiptoed into the walk-in closet and stood in front of an enormous iron safe. It was dusty, locked, and it looked like it was bolted to the floorboards. Since I had no earthly idea how to break into a professional safe, I took a quick photo with my phone and let it be.
Seconds later, I was perched back on the stool before I heard a toilet flush.
She walked into the kitchen a moment later. “Let’s dig in.”
“Did you wash your hands?” I asked with a smirk.
