Chapter 34
The Happy Hour being newly launched, she'd drained the first of her half-priced scotch and ordered another when a call came through on her cell phone. The caller ID identified Dr. Black.
"Dr. Black?"
"Hi, Rickie. I'm not calling you in my capacity as your therapist; I'm calling you as your friend, and as a member of WE. After you left this morning, the ladies and I agreed we'd like to help you get through this. The way we do it is to have one of us stay close to you until the crisis has passed."
"Crisis?"
"Your escape from Hirschfeld. We consider it a crisis."
"Dr. Black, I'm at R.J.'s. I just finished my first scotch rocks, and I plan to have a great many more, so many, in fact, the bartender has been instructed to pour me into a cab headed for the Marquis as soon as my forehead hits the bar. This probably isn't the best time for Women Empowered to be watching over me."
"This is the most dangerous time," Black said. "You're making your escape from your abusing husband. The risk of severe assault, and even homicide is high. What you're forgetting is battering has a life of its own. Even as we speak, we don't know what unseen forces are at work in the background. We do know they're at work."
"I know what's at work. It's Hershey's evil brain juices, fermenting inside his overheated, diseased skull, deciding what he's going to do to me. I tried to fight back. I tried to terminate my husband with extreme prejudice. This afternoon, I tried again. I asked my friend Shank to kill Hershey. Shank wanted no part of it. The only thing he's willing to do is go to his Mafia on my behalf, which I don't want him to do--Hershey is more evil than Shank. I don't want Shank to die. So I'm going to die instead. Therefore, the only unseen force at work right now is this fresh scotch the bartender just put in front of me. I'm sorry, Dr. Black. I really want to be alone tonight."
"This is not a time to get drunk. This is a time to tread lightly and be vigilant."
"I need to get drunk. Life has gotten much too complicated."
"Your husband is going to kill you. That seems simple enough."
"I'm sorry, Dr. Black. I'm not up for a heroic struggle tonight. Besides, Hershey is in the hospital. He's going to let me live a few more days."
"Are you up for a friend? I'd like to swing by. Why don't we have a drink together? I promise we won't talk about problems."
"Please don't come by here. I really want to be alone." Call waiting beeped. "Excuse me, Dr. Black. I've got a call coming in."
"Mom?" It was Jesse Edwin.
"Hi, baby. You should hang up. Mommy's busy. She's getting drunk right now, and she's got her shrink on the other line."
"Mom, I called because I have some news for you. Very important news."
"Honey, can it wait?"
"Why are you getting drunk?"
"You know why. I'm an alcoholic. I went to a meeting with Shank today. It's obvious I'm one of you people. I couldn't get the words out. I couldn't admit it. That's why I'm getting drunk. That, plus the fact your stepfather has hired a couple of hit men. They showed up today to warn me. I'm getting drunk so I won't feel too much pain when they start in on me."
"Hit men? That son of a bitch! Mom, where are you?"
"R.J.'s. Don’t come here. I want to get drunk by myself."
"Mom, you're making no sense. Nobody's going to hurt you. We won't let them. Mom, I wanted to tell you this in person, but I guess I'll have to do it over the phone. Mom, I found my father."
This statement took the long way around her brain, stopping at every major point in her emotional history.
"Jesse Edwin? Can you repeat what you just said?"
"Mom, I found my father. I found Bobby Q. Or I should say he found me after my private investigator found him. He's been living right here in L.A. all this time."
"Bobby Qumayousie? Here in L.A.?"
"He's a street person. For years, he's lived in a tunnel under Union Station. We've been together all day. He's here with me right now at Sony Studios. We both have braided hair. Mom, did you know he spent almost 2 years in Vietnam and never wore a shirt the entire time? They called him the Montagnard Monster. He used to roam the mountains naked armed with only a hunting knife. He killed hundreds of VC. That's why he ran away when he found out you were going to have me. He said he had too much blood on his hands to serve in the sacred temple of a family, to be a husband and father."
Rickie's emotions did a little back spring as she hastily drained her second scotch.
"Mom? Are you there? Look, I'm putting Bobby Q. on. He wants to say something."
With shaking fingers, Rickie switched the call back to Dr. Black. "Dr. Black? I need you. My son called. He found his father. I hung up on them both. I couldn't face it."
Nobody was listening; she was talking to dead air. Apparently, Dr. Black terminated the connection. Feverishly, she switched back to her son. "Jesse Edwin? Bobby?" Nobody there. She speed dialed Judy.
"Judy, I need you. I'm at R.J.'s. I'm drowning. Jesse Edwin found Bobby Q. I think they're coming here. Hershey has hired a couple of hit men. They quite literally scared the pee out of me this morning. I was going to let them kill me. But things have gotten complicated. I think I'm in love with Shank. Now I want to live. Meanwhile, I've gotten drunk and I feel exposed. I just now realized what a stupid fool I've been."
"I'm coming," Judy said. "Thirty minutes. Hang on."
She closed the phone and signaled for a third round, catching sight as she did so, of a tall man with a proud bearing in a Lauren suit peering over the throng through the shadows across the bar. The man's eyes connected with her own. Shank. Something was wrong. He wasn't coming over, instead signaling the bartender, who quickly poured Shank a shot.
There were no suspects in the crime which was next committed. Without a word, pausing only briefly to make unbreakable eye contact with her, Shank raised the whiskey to his lips and downed the shot. That done, he slapped the glass on the bar, received another shot from the bartender, and started moving toward her. He saddled the stool and sat staring straight forward.
"Now I remember what it tastes like," he said.
"At first I didn't recognize you," she said. "Standing there in the middle of that jostling, chatting crowd. There was something about you. You looked different."
"Everybody looks different in a bar. That's because in a bar, people can be whatever they want to be."
"Shank, you just broke your sobriety."
He nodded. "I blew off eleven years of my life. Not only that, I drove down the hill in a car by myself. I darn near spun out at that hairy bend near the bottom of Laurel Canyon." He looked at his watch. "The Godfather told me to go to hell."
"He did?"
"Those were his very words. Don't worry. I'm still going to help you. If everything goes our way, in the morning, I'll be driving out to the Valley to that big furniture warehouse on Sepulveda and ordering myself a houseful of furniture. After that, I'm going to see Father Larry and make a good confession. You see, I've never confessed my mortal sin of murdering that child. Once I'm finished confessing, I'm going to call you and take you for a drive, perhaps up the coast, to Santa Barbara or someplace, where I'll feed you a good Italian seafood dinner, after which we'll walk along the shore and I'll propose marriage in the proper manner--"
"Shank! Stop it!"
Rickie felt her higher consciousness receding, her thoughts and emotions melting into a blur. "When life is finally over, it's the important things you remember. My last memory when I was drowning in the surf was the smell of leaves in my son's hair. Shank, what are you going to do? What sin are you getting yourself drunk enough to commit? What's going to be your last memory?"
"I can't tell you that. It might make you a party to conspiracy."
"You've changed your mind. You're going to kill him after all, aren't you? You're going to kill my husband."
/> It was then she saw the gun butt inside his waistband. An old gun, an automatic, the handle worn shiny from constant use in a long ago war.
"Answer me. Are you going to kill my husband?"
He nodded. "I'm going to shoot him. But first I'm going to light him up like a torch."
With a smooth motion that suggested great familiarity with the practice, he tossed off his second shot and stood up. "There was no way I could drive the limo," he said. "So I rented a car. A Ford Taurus of all things. It was all they had available." With a nod and a shrug he turned and left the bar.