HOME REPAIRS

 

 

The developer didn’t look like Donald Trump.

He was older, for one thing – mid fifties, at least – and fat and balding to boot. And nowhere near as rich. One of the biggest land developers on Long Island, as he was overly fond of saying. Rich, but not Trump rich.

And he was sweating. Jack wondered if Donald Trump sweated. The Donald might perspire, but Jack couldn’t imagine him sweating.

This guy’s name was Oscar Schaffer and he was upset about the meeting place.

“I expected we’d hold this conversation in a more private venue,” he said

Jack watched him pull a white handkerchief from his pocket and blot the moisture from a forehead that went on almost forever. Supposedly Schaffer had started out as a construction worker who’d got into contracting and then had gone on to make a mint in custom homes. Despite occasional words like venue, his speech still carried echoes of the streets. He carried a handkerchief too. Jack couldn’t think of anyone he knew who carried a handkerchief – who owned a handkerchief.

“This is private,” Jack said, glancing at the empty booths and tables around them. “Julio’s isn’t a breakfast place.” Voices drifted over from the bar area on the far side of the six foot divider topped with dead plants. “Unless you drink your breakfast.”

Julio came strutting around the partition carrying a coffee pot. His short, forty year old frame was grotesquely muscled under his tight, sleeveless shirt. He was freshly shaven, his mustache trimmed to a line, drafting pencil thin, his wavy hair was slicked back. He reeked of some new brand of cologne, more cloying than usual.

Jack coughed as the little man refilled his cup and poured one for Schaffer without asking.

“God, Julio. What is that?”

“The smell? It’s brand new. Called Midnight.”

“Maybe that’s when you’re supposed to wear it.”

He grinned. “Naw. Chicks love it, man.”

Only if they’ve spent the day in a chicken coop, Jack thought but kept it to himself.

“Is that decaf?” Schaffer asked. “I only drink decaf.”

“Don’t have any,” Julio said as he finished pouring. He strutted back to the bar.

“I can see why the place is deserted,” Schaffer said, glancing at Julio’s retreating form. “That guy’s downright rude.”

“It doesn’t come naturally to him. He’s been practicing lately.”

“Yeah? Well somebody ought to see that the owner gets wise to him.”

“He is the owner.”

“Really?” Schaffer mopped his brow again. “I tell you, if I owned this place, I’d–”

“But you don’t. And we’re not here to talk about the tavern business. Or are we?”

“No.” Schaffer suddenly became fidgety. “I’m not so sure about this anymore.”

“It’s okay. You can change your mind. No hard feelings.”

A certain small percentage of customers who got this far developed cold feet when the moment came to tell Repairman Jack exactly what they wanted him to fix for them. Jack didn’t think Schaffer would back out now. He wasn’t the type. But he’d probably want to dance a little first.

“You’re not exactly what I expected,” Schaffer said.

“I never am.”

Usually they expected either a glowering Charles Bronson type character or a real sleazo. And usually someone bigger. No one found Jack’s wiry medium frame, longish brown hair, and mild brown eyes particularly threatening. It used to depress him.

“But you look like a...yuppie.”

Jack glanced down at his dark blue Izod sports shirt, beige slacks, brown loafers, sockless feet.

“We’re on the Upper West Side, Mr. Schaffer. Yuppie Rome. And when in Rome...” Schaffer nodded grimly.

“It’s my brother in law. He’s beating up on my sister.”

“Seems like there’s a lot of that going around.”

People rarely sought out Jack for domestic problems, but this wouldn’t be the first wife beater he’d been asked to handle. He thought of Julio’s sister. Her husband had been pounding on her. That was how Jack had met Julio. They’d been friends ever since.

“Maybe so. But I never thought it would happen to Ceilia. She’s so...”

His voice trailed off.

Jack said nothing. This was the time to keep quiet and listen. This was when he got a real feel for the customer.

“I just don’t understand it. Gus seemed like such a good guy when they were dating and engaged. I liked him. An accountant, white collar, good job, clean hands, everything I wanted for Ceil. I helped him get his job. He’s done well. But he beats her.” Schaffer’s lips thinned as they drew back over his teeth. “Dammit, he beats the shit out of her. And you know what’s worse? She takes it! She’s put up with it for ten years!”

“There are laws,” Jack said.

“Right. Sure there are. But you’ve got to sign a complaint. Ceil won’t do that. She defends him, says he’s under a lot of pressure and sometimes he just loses control. She says most of the time it’s her fault because she gets him mad, and she shouldn’t get him mad. Can you believe that shit? She came over my place one night, two black eyes, a swollen jaw, red marks around her throat from where he was choking her. I lost it. I charged over their place ready to kill him with my bare hands. He’s a big guy, but I’m tough. And I’m sure he’s never been in a fight with someone who punches back. When I arrived screaming like a madman, he was ready for me. He had a couple of neighbors there and he was standing inside his front door with a baseball bat. Told me if I tried anything he’d defend himself, then call the cops and press charges for assault and battery. I told him if he came anywhere near my sister again, he wouldn’t have an unbroken bone left in his body to dial the phone with!”

“Sounds like he knew you were coming.”

“He did! That’s the really crazy part! He knew because Ceil had called from my place to warn him! And the next day he sends her roses, says how much he loves her, swears it’ll never happen again, and she rushes back to him like he’s done her a big favor. Can you beat that?”

“Nothing to keep you from getting a bat of your own and waiting in an alley or a parking lot.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought of it. But I’ve already threatened him – in front of witnesses. Anything happens to him, I’ll be number one suspect. And I can’t get involved in anything like that, in a felony. I mean I’ve got my own family to consider, my business. I want to leave something for my kids. I do Gus, I’ll end up in jail, Gus’ll sue me for everything I’m worth, my wife and kids will wind up in a shelter somewhere while Gus moves into my house. Some legal system!”

Jack waited through a long pause. It was a familiar Catch 22 – one that kept him in business.

Schaffer finally said, “I guess that’s where you come in.”

Jack took a sip of his coffee.

“I don’t know how I can help you. Busting him up isn’t going to change things. It sounds like your sister’s got as big a problem as he does.”

“She does. I’ve talked to a couple of doctors about it. It’s called co-dependency or something like that. I don’t pretend to understand it. I guess the best thing that could happen to Ceil is Gus meeting with some sort of fatal accident.”

“You’re probably right,” Jack said.

Schaffer stared at him. “You mean you’ll...?”

Jack shook his head. “No.”

“But I thought–”

“Look. Sometimes I make a mistake. If that happens, I like to be able to go back and fix it.”

Schaffer’s expression flickered between disappointment and relief, finally settling on relief.

“You know,” he said with a small smile, “as much as I’d like Gus dead, I’m glad you said that. I mean, if you’d said okay, I think I’d have set you to it.” He shook his head and looked away. “Kind of scary what you can come to.”

“She’s your sister. Someone’s hurting her. You want him stopped but you can’t do it yourself. Not hard to understand how you feel.”

“Can you help?”

Jack drained his coffee and leaned back. Past the pots of dead brown plants hanging in the smudged front window he could see smartly dressed women wheeling their children, or white uniformed nannies wheeling other people’s children in the bright morning sunlight.

“I don’t think so. Domestic stuff is too complicated to begin with, and this situation sounds like it’s gone way past complicated into the twilight zone. Not my thing. Not the situation my kind of services can help.”

“I know what you’re saying. I know they need shrinks – at least Ceil does. Gus...I don’t know. I think he’s beyond therapy. I got the feeling Gus likes beating up on Ceil. Likes it too much to quit, no matter what. But I want to give it a try.”

“Doesn’t strike me as the type who’ll go see a shrink because you or anyone else says so.”

“Yeah. But if he was hospitalized...” Schaffer raised his eyebrows, inviting Jack to finish the thought.

Jack was thinking it was a pretty dumb thought as Julio returned with the coffee pot. He refilled Jack’s but Schaffer held a hand over his.

“Say,” Schaffer said, pointing to all the dead vegetation around the room, “did you ever think of watering your plants?”

“Wha’ for?” Julio said. “They’re all dead.”

The developer’s eyes widened. “Oh. Right. Of course.” As Julio left, he leaned over the table toward Jack. “Is there some significance to all these dead plants?”

“Nothing religious. It’s just that Julio isn’t happy with the caliber of his clientele lately.”

“Well he’s not going to raise it with these dead plants.”

“No. You don’t understand. He wants to lower it. The yuppies have discovered this place and they’ve been swarming here. He’s been trying to get rid of them. This has always been a working man’s bar and eatery. The Beamer crowd is scaring off the old regulars. Julio and his help are rude as hell to them but they just lap it up. He let all the window plants die, and they think it’s great. It’s driving the poor guy nuts.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind you.”

“We go back a long way.”

“Really? How–?”

“Let’s get back to your brother in law. You really think if he was laid up in a hospital bed for a while, a victim of violence himself, he’d have a burst of insight and ask for help?”

“It’s worth a try.”

“No, it isn’t. Save your money.”

“Well, then, if he doesn’t see the light, I could clue his doctor in and maybe arrange to have one of the hospital shrinks see him while he’s in traction.”

“You really think that’ll change anything?”

“I don’t know. I’ve got to try something short of killing him.”

“And what if those somethings don’t work?”

His face went slack, his eyes bleak.

“Then I’ll have find a way to take him out of the picture. Permanently. Even if I have to do it myself.”

“I thought you were worried about your family and your business.”

“She’s my sister, dammit!”

Jack thought about his own sister, the pediatrician. He couldn’t imagine anyone beating up on her. At least not more than once. She had a brown belt in karate and didn’t take guff from anyone. She’d either kick the crap out of you herself or call their brother, the judge, and submerge you to your lower lip in an endless stream of legal hot water. Or both.

But if she were a different sort, and somebody was beating up on her, repeatedly...

“All right,” Jack said. “I know I’ll regret this, but I’ll look into it. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”

“Hey, thanks. Thanks a–”

“It’s half down and half when I’ve done the job.”

Schaffer paused, his expression troubled.

“But you haven’t agreed to take the job yet.”

“It might take me weeks to learn what I need to know to make that decision.”

“What do you need to know? How about–?”

“We’re not practicing the Art of the Deal here. Those are the terms. Take it or leave it.”

Jack was hoping he’d leave it. And for a moment it looked as if he might.

“You’re asking me to bet on a crapshoot – blindfolded. You hold all the aces.”

“You’re mixing metaphors, but you’ve got the picture.”

Schaffer sighed. “What the hell.” He reached into his breast pocket, then slapped an envelope down on the table. “Okay! Here it is.”

Without hiding his reluctance, Jack tucked the envelope inside his shirt without opening it. He removed a notepad and pencil from his hip pocket.

“All right. Let’s get down to the who and where.”

 

 

* * * * *

 

Jack rubbed his eyes as he sat on the lawn chair and waited for the Castlemans to come home. His third night here and so far he hadn’t seen a hint of anything even remotely violent. Or remotely interesting. These were not exciting people. On the plus side, they had no kids, no dog, and their yard was rimmed with trees and high shrubs. Perfect for surveillance.

On Monday, Ceil had come home from teaching fifth grade at the local suburban Long Island elementary school. She entered their two story, center hall colonial, turned the TV on, and poured herself a stiff vodka. A thin, mousy, brittle looking woman whose hair was a few shades too blonde to be anyone’s natural color. She watched a soap for an hour, during which she smoked three cigarettes and downed another vodka. Then she started slicing and dicing for dinner. Around five thirty, Gus Castleman came in from a hard day of accounting at Borland Industries. A big guy, easily six four, two fifty; crew cut red hair, round face, and narrow blue eyes. A bulging gut rode side saddle on his belt buckle. He peeled off his suit coat and grunted hello to Ceil as he went straight to the fridge. He pulled out two Bud Lights and sat down before Eyewitness News. When dinner was ready he came to the kitchen table and they ate watching the TV. After dinner there was more TV. Gus fell asleep around ten. Ceil woke him up after the 11:00 news and they both went to bed.

Tuesday was the same.

On Wednesday, Ceil came home and had her vodkas in front of Santa Barbara but didn’t slice and dice. Instead she changed into a dress and drove off. When Gus didn’t show up, Jack assumed she was meeting him for dinner. Almost eleven o’clock now and they weren’t back yet. Jack hung on and waited.

Waiting. That was always the lousy part. But Jack made a point of being sure about anyone before he did a fix. After all, people lied. Jack lied to most people every day. Schaffer could be lying about Gus, might want him laid up for something that had nothing to do with his sister. Or Ceil might be lying to her brother, might be telling him it was Gus who gave her those bruises when all along it was some guy she’d been seeing on the side. Jack needed to be sure Gus was the bad guy before he made a move on him.

So far Gus was just boring. That didn’t rate hospital level injuries.

At the sound of a car in the driveway, Jack slipped out of the lawn chair and eased into the foundation shrubbery around the garage. The car parked on the driveway. He recognized Gus’s voice as they got out of the car.

“...just wish you hadn’t said that, Ceil. It made me feel real bad in front of Dave and Nancy.”

“But no one took it the way you did,” Ceil said.

Jack thought he detected a slight quaver in her voice. Too many vodkas? Or fear?

“Don’t be so sure about that. I think they’re just too good mannered to show it, but I saw the shock in Nancy’s eyes. Didn’t you see the way she looked at me when you said that?”

“No. I didn’t see anything of the sort. You’re imagining things again.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Y…yes. And besides, I’ve already apologized a dozen times since we left. What more do you want from me?”

Jack heard the front storm door open.

“What I want, Ceil, is that it not keep happening like it does. Is that too much to ask?”

Ceil’s reply was cut off as the door closed behind them. Jack returned to the rear of the house where he could get a view of most of the first floor. Their voices leaked out through an open casement window over the kitchen sink as Gus strode into the kitchen.

“...don’t know why you keep doing this to me, Ceil.

I try to be good, try to keep calm, but you keep testing me, pushing me to the limit again and again.”

Ceil’s voice came from the hall, overtly anxious now.

“But I told you, Gus. You’re the only one who took it that way.”

Jack watched Gus pull an insulated pot holder mitten over his left hand, then wrap a dish towel around his right.

“Fine, Ceil. If that’s what you want to believe, I guess you’ll go on believing it. But unfortunately, that won’t change what happened tonight.”

Ceil came into the kitchen.

“But Gus–”

Her voice choked off as he turned toward her and she saw his hands.

“Why’d you do it, Ceil?”

“Oh, Gus, no! Please! I didn’t mean it!”

She turned to run but he caught her upper arm and pulled her toward him.

“You should have kept your mouth shut, Ceil. I try so hard and then you go and get me mad.”

He saw Gus take Ceil’s wrist in his mittened hand and twist her arm behind her back, twist it up hard and high. She cried out in pain.

“Gus, please don’t!”

Jack didn’t want to see this, but he had to watch. Had to be sure. Gus pressed her flat chest up against the side of the refrigerator. Her face was toward Jack. There was fear there, terror, dread, but overriding it all was a sort of dull acceptance of the inevitable that reached into Jack’s center and twisted.

Gus began ramming his padded fist into Ceil’s back, right below the bottom ribs, left side and right, pummeling her kidneys. Her eyes squeezed shut and she grunted in pain with each impact.

“I hate you for making me do this,” Gus said.

Sure you do, you son of a bitch.

Jack gripped the window sill and closed his eyes. He heard Ceil’s repeated grunts and moans and felt her pain. He’d been kidney punched before. He knew her agony. But this had to end soon. Gus would vent his rage and it would all be over. For the next few days Ceil would have stabbing back pains every time she took a deep breath or coughed, and would urinate bright red blood, but there’d be hardly a mark on her, thanks to the mitten and the towel wrapped fist.

It had to end soon.

But it didn’t. Jack looked again and saw that Ceil’s knees had gone rubbery but Gus was supporting her with the arm lock, still methodically pummeling her.

Jack growled under his breath. All he’d wanted was to witness enough to confirm Schaffer’s story. That done, he’d deal with dear sweet Gus outside the home. Maybe in a dark parking lot while Schaffer made sure he had an air tight alibi. He hadn’t counted on a scene like this, but he’d known it was a possibility. The smart thing to do in this case would be to walk away, but he’d been pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to do that. So he’d come prepared.

             

Jack hurried across the back patio and grabbed his duffel bag. As he moved around to the far side of the house, he pulled out a nylon stocking and a pair of rubber surgical gloves; he slipped the first over his head and the second over his fingers. Then he removed a .45 automatic, a pair of wire cutters, and a heavy duty screwdriver. He stuck the pistol in his belt, then used the cutters on the telephone lead, and the screwdriver to pop the latch on one of the living room windows.

As soon as he was in the darkened room, he looked around for something to break. The first thing to catch his eye was the set of brass fire irons by the brick hearth. He kicked the stand over. The clang and clatter echoed through the house.

Gus’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

“What the hell was that?”

When Gus arrived and flipped on the lights, Jack was waiting by the window. He almost smiled at the shock on Gus’s face.

“Take it easy, man,” Jack said. He knew his face couldn’t show much anxiety through the stocking mask so he put it all in his voice. “This is all a mistake.”

“Who the hell are you? And what’re you doing in my house?”

“Listen, man. I didn’t think anybody was home. Let’s just forget this ever happened.”

Gus bent and snatched the poker from the spilled fire irons. He pointed it at Jack’s duffel.

“What’s in there? What’d you take?”

“Nothing, man. I just got here. And I’m outta here.”

“Oh…my…God!” Ceil’s voice, muffled. She stood at the edge of the living room, both hands over her mouth.

“Call the police, Ceil. But tell them not to hurry. I want to teach this punk a lesson before they get here.”

As Ceil limped back toward the kitchen, Gus shook off the mitten and the towel and raised the poker in a two handed grip. His eyes glittered with anticipation. His tight, hard grin told it all. Pounding on his wife had got him up, but he could go only so far with her. Now he had a prowler at his mercy. He could beat the living shit out of this guy with impunity. In fact, he’d be a hero for doing it. His gaze settled on Jack’s head like Babe Ruth eyeing a high outside pitch.

Talking to a psychiatrist was going to turn this guy into a loving husband. Sure.

He took two quick steps toward Jack and swung. No subtlety, not even a feint. Jack ducked and let it whistle over his head. He could have put a wicked chop into Gus’s exposed flank then, but he wasn’t ready yet. Gus swung the poker back the other way, lower this time.

Jack jumped pack and resisted planting a foot in the big man’s reddening face. Gus’s third swing was vertical, from ceiling to floor. Jack was long gone when it arrived.

Gus’s teeth were bared now; his breath hissed through them. His eyes were mad with rage and frustration. Jack decided to goose that rage a little. He grinned.

“You swing like a girl, man.”

With a guttural scream, Gus charged, wielding the poker like a scythe. Jack ducked the first swing, then grabbed the poker and rammed his forearm into Gus’s face with a satisfying crunch. Gus staggered back, eyes squeezed shut in agony, holding his nose. Blood began to leak between his fingers.

Never failed. No matter how big you were, a broken nose stopped you cold.

Ceil hobbled back to the threshold. Her voice skirted the edge of hysteria.

“The phone’s dead!”

“Don’t worry, lady,” Jack said. “I didn’t come here to hurt nobody. And I won’t hurt you. But this guy – he’s a different story. He tried to kill me.”

As Jack dropped the poker and stepped toward him, Gus’s eyes bulged with terror. He put out a bloody hand to fend him off. Jack grabbed the wrist and twisted. Gus wailed as he was turned and forced into an arm lock. Jack shoved him against the wall and began a bare knuckled work out against his kidneys, wondering if the big man’s brain would make a connection between what he’d been dishing out in the kitchen and what he was receiving in the living room. Jack didn’t hold back. He put plenty of body behind the punches, and Gus shouted in pain with each one.

How’s it feel, tough guy? Like it?

Jack pounded him until he felt some of his own anger dissipate. He was about to let him go and move into the next stage of his plan when he caught a hint of motion behind him. As he turned his head he had a glimpse of Ceil. She had the poker, and she was swinging it toward his head. He started to duck but too late. The room exploded into bright lights, then went dark gray.

An instant of blackness and then Jack found himself on the floor, pain exploding in his gut. He focused above him and saw Gus readying another kick at his midsection. He rolled away toward the corner. Something heavy thunked on the carpet as he moved.

“Christ, he’s got a gun!” Gus shouted.

Jack had risen to a crouch by then. He searched for the fallen .45 but Gus was ahead of him, snatching it from the floor before Jack could reach it. Gus stepped back, worked the slide to chamber a round, and pointed the pistol at Jack’s face.

“Stay right where you are, you bastard! Don’t you move a muscle!”

Jack sat back on the floor in the corner and stared up at the big man.

“All right!” Gus said with a bloody grin. “All right!”

“I got him for you, didn’t I, Gus?” Ceil said, still holding the poker. She was bent forward in pain. That swing had cost her. “I got him off you. I saved you, didn’t I?”

“Shut up, Ceil.”

“But he was hurting you. I made him stop. I–”

“I said shut up!”

Her lower lip trembled. “I...I thought you’d be glad.”

“Why should I be glad? If you hadn’t got me so mad tonight I might’ve noticed he was here when we came in. Then he wouldn’t have took me by surprise.” He pointed to his swelling nose. “This is your fault, Ceil.”

Ceil’s shoulders slumped; she stared dully at the floor.

Jack didn’t know what to make of Ceil. He’d interrupted a brutal beating at the hands of her husband, yet she’d come to her husband’s aid. And valiantly, at that. The gutsy little scrapper who’d wielded that poker seemed miles away from the cowed, beaten creature standing in the middle of the room.

I don’t get it.

Which was why he had a policy of refusing home repairs. Except this time.

“I’ll go over to the Ferrises’,” she said.

“What for?”

“To call the police.”

“Hold on a minute.”

“Why?”

Jack glanced at Gus and saw how his eyes were flicking back and forth between Ceil and him.

“Because I’m thinking, that’s why!”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “I can smell the wood burning.”

“Hey!” Gus stepped toward Jack and raised the pistol as if to club him. “Another word out of you and–”

“You don’t really want to get that close to me, do you?” Jack said softly.

Gus stepped back.

“Gus, I’ve got to call the police!” Ceil said as she replaced the poker by the fireplace, far out of Jack’s reach.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Gus said. “Get over here.”

Ceil meekly moved to his side.

“Not here!” he said, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her toward Jack. “Over there!”

She cried with the pain in her back as she stumbled forward.

“Gus! What are you doing?”

Jack decided to play the game. He grabbed Ceil and turned her around. She struggled but he held her between Gus and himself.

Gus laughed. “You’d better think of something else, fella. That skinny little broad won’t protect you from a forty five.”

“Gus!”

“Shut up! God, I’m sick of your voice! I’m sick of your face, I’m sick of – God, I’m sick of everything about you!” Under his hands, Jack could feel Ceil jerk with the impact of the words as if they were blows from a fist. A fist probably would have hurt less.

“But – but Gus, I thought you loved me.

He sneered. “Are you kidding? I hate you, Ceil! It drives me up a wall just to be in the same room with you! Why the hell do you think I beat the shit out of you every chance I get? It’s all I can do to keep myself from killing you!”

“But all those times you said–”

“Lies, Ceil. Nothing but lies. And you’re such a pathetic wimp you fell for them every time.”

“But why?” She was sobbing now. “Why?”

“Why not dump you and find a real woman? One who’s got tits and can have kids? The answer should be pretty clear: your brother. He got me into Borland ‘cause he’s one of their biggest customers. And if you and me go kaput, he’ll see that I’m out of there before the ink’s dry on our divorce papers. I’ve put too many years into that job to blow it because of a sack of shit like you.”

Ceil almost seemed to shrivel under Jack’s hands. He glared at Gus.

“Big man.”

“Yeah. I’m the big man. I’ve got the gun. And I want to thank you for it, fella, whoever you are. Because it’s going to solve all my problems.”

“What? My gun?”

“Yep. I’ve got a shitload of insurance on my dear wife here. I bought loads of term on her years ago and kept praying she’d have an accident. I was never so stupid as to try and set her up for something fatal – I know what happened to that Marshall guy in Jersey – but I figured, what the hell, with all the road fatalities around here, the odds of collecting on old Ceil were better than Lotto.”

“Oh, Gus,” she sobbed. An utterly miserable sound.

Her head had sunk until her chin touched her chest. She would have fan folded to the floor if Jack hadn’t been holding her up. He knew this was killing her, but he wanted her to hear it. Maybe it was the alarm she needed to wake her up.

Gus mimicked her. “‘Oh, Gus!’ Do you have any idea how many rainy nights you got my hopes up when were late coming home from your card group? How I prayed – actually prayed – that you’d skidded off the road and wrapped your car around a utility pole, or that a big semi had run a light and plowed you under? Do you have any idea? But no. You’d come bouncing in as carefree as you please, and I’d be so disappointed I’d almost cry. That was when I really wanted to wring your scrawny neck!”

“That’s about enough, don’t you think?” Jack said.

Gus sighed. “Yeah. I guess it is. But at least all those premiums weren’t wasted. Tonight I collect.”

Ceil’s head lifted.

“What?”

“That’s right. An armed robber broke in. During the struggle, I managed to get the gun away from him but he pulled you between us as I fired. You took the first bullet – right in the heart.

In a berserk rage, I emptied the rest of the clip into his head. Such a tragedy.” He raised the pistol and sighted it on Ceil’s chest. “Good bye, my dear sweet wife.”

The metallic click of the hammer was barely audible over Ceil’s wail of terror.

Her voice cut off as both she and Gus stared at the pistol.

“That could have been a dud,” Jack said. “Man, I hate when that happens.” He pointed to the top of the pistol. “Pull that slide back to chamber a fresh round.”

Gus stared at him a second, then worked the slide. An unspent round popped out.

“There you go,” Jack said. “Now, give it another shot, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

He pointed the muzzle at Ceil again, and Jack detected a definite tremor in the barrel now. Gus pulled the trigger but this time there was no scream from Ceil. She only flinched at the sound of the hammer falling on another dud.

“Aw, man!” Jack said, drawing out the word into a whine. “You think you’re buying good ammo and someone rips you off! You can’t trust anybody these days!”

Gus quickly worked the slide and pulled the trigger again. Jack allowed two more misfires, then he stepped around Ceil and approached Gus.

Frantically Gus worked the slide and pulled the trigger again, aiming for Jack’s face. Another impotent click. He began backing away when he saw Jack’s smile.

“That’s my dummy pistol, Gus. Actually, a genuine government issue Mark IV, but the bullets are dummy – just like the guy I let get hold of it.”

Jack brought it along when he wanted to see what somebody was really made of. It rarely failed to draw the worst to the surface.

He bent and picked up the ejected rounds. He held one up for Gus to see.

“The slug is real,” Jack said, “but there’s no powder in the shell. It’s an old rule: Never let an asshole near a loaded gun.”

Gus charged, swinging the .45 at Jack’s head. Jack caught his wrist and twisted the weapon free of his grasp. Then he slammed it hard against the side of Gus’s face, opening a gash. Gus tried to turn and run but Jack still had his arm. He hit him again, on the back of the head this time. Gus sagged to his knees and Jack put a lot of upper body behind the pistol as he brought it down once more on the top of his head. Gus stiffened, then toppled face first onto the floor.

Only seconds had passed. Jack spun to check on Ceil’s whereabouts. She wasn’t going to catch him twice. But no worry. She was right where he’d left her, standing in the corner, eyes closed, tears leaking out between the lids. Poor woman.

Nothing Jack wanted more than to be out of this crazy house. He’d been here too long already, but he had to finish this job now, get it done and over with.

He took Ceil’s arm and gently led her from the living room.

“Nothing personal, lady, but I’ve got to put you in a safe place, okay? Someplace where you can’t get near a fire poker. Understand?”

“He didn’t love me,” she said to no one in particular. “He stayed with me because of his job. He was lying all those times he said he loved me.”

“I guess he was.”

“Lying...”

He guided her to a closet in the hall and stood her inside among the winter coats.

“I’m just going to leave you here for a few minutes, okay?”

She was staring straight ahead. “All those years... lying...”

Jack closed her in the closet and wedged a ladderback chair between the door and the wall on the other side of the hall. No way she could get out until he removed the chair. Back in the living room, Gus was still out cold. Jack turned him over and tied his wrists to opposite ends of the coffee table. He took two four by four wooden blocks from his duffel and placed them under Gus’s left lower leg, one just below the knee and the other just above the ankle. Then he removed a short handled five pound iron maul from the duffel. He hesitated as he lifted the hammer, the recalled Ceil’s eyes as Gus methodically battered her kidneys – the pain, the resignation, the despair. Jack broke Gus’s left shin with one sharp blow. Gus groaned and writhed on the floor, but didn’t regain consciousness. Jack repeated the process on the right leg. Then he packed up all his gear and returned to the hall.

He pulled the chair from where it was wedged against the closet door. He opened the door a crack.

“I’m leaving now, lady. When I’m gone you can go across the street and call the police. Better call an ambulance too.”

A single sob answered him.

Jack left by the back door. It felt good to get the stocking off his head.

 

 

* * * * *

 

When Jack dialed his answering machine the next morning there was only one message. It was from Oscar Schaffer. He sounded out of breath. And upset.

“You bastard! You sick, perverted bastard! I’m dropping the rest of your money off at that bar this morning and then I don’t want to see or hear or even think of you again!”

Jack was on his second coffee in Julio’s when he spotted Schaffer through the front window. He was moving fast, no doubt as close to a run as his portly frame would allow, clutching a white envelope in his hand. Perspiration gleamed on his pale forehead. His expression was strained. He looked like one frightened man.

Jack had told Julio he was coming so Julio intercepted him at the door as he did all Jack’s customers. But instead of leading him back to the Jack’s table, Julio returned alone. Jack spotted Schaffer hurrying back the way he had come.

Julio smiled as he handed Jack the envelope.

“What you do to spook him like that?”

Jack grabbed the envelope and hurried after Schaffer. He caught the developer as he was opening the door to a dark green Jaguar XJ 12.

“What’s going on?” Jack said.

Schaffer jumped at the sound of Jack’s voice. His already white face went two shades paler.

“Get away from me!”

He jumped into the car but Jack caught the door before he could slam it. He pulled the keys from Schaffer’s trembling fingers.

“I think we’d better talk. Unlock the doors.”

Jack went around to the other side and slipped into the passenger seat. He tossed the keys back to Schaffer.

“All right. What’s going on? The job’s done. The guy’s fixed. You didn’t need an alibi because it was done by a prowler. What’s the problem?”

Schaffer stared straight ahead through the windshield.

“How could you? I was so impressed with you the other day. The rogue with a code: ‘Sometimes I make a mistake. If that happens, I like to be able to go back and fix it.’

I really thought you were something else. I actually envied you. I never dreamed you could do what you did. Gus was a rotten son of a bitch, but you didn’t have to...” His voice trailed off.

Jack was baffled.

“You were the one who wanted him killed. I only broke his legs.”

Schaffer turned to him, the fear in his eyes giving way to fury.

“Don’t give me that shit! Who do you think you’re dealing with? I practically built that town! I’ve got connections!” He pulled a sheaf of papers from his pocket and threw it at Jack. “I’ve read the medical examiner’s report!”

“Medical examiner? He’s dead?” Shit! Jack had heard of people with broken legs throwing a clot to the heart. “How?”

“Aw, don’t play cute! Gus was a scumbag and yes I wanted him dead, but I didn’t want him tortured! I didn’t want him... mutilated!”

It was time for Jack’s fingers to do a little trembling as he scanned the report. It described a man who’d been pistol whipped, bound by the hands, and had both tibias broken; then he’d been castrated with a Ginsu knife from his own kitchen and gagged with his testicles in his mouth. After that he’d undergone at least two hours of torture before he died of shock due to blood loss from a severed artery in his neck.

“It’ll be in all the afternoon papers,” Schaffer was saying. “You can add the clippings to your collection. I’m sure you’ve got a big one”

“Where was Ceil supposed to be during all this?”

“Locked in the hall closet. She got out after you left. And she had to find Gus like that. No one should have to see something like that. If I could make you pay–”

“When did she phone the cops?”

“Right before calling me – around three a.m.”

Jack shook his head. “Wow. Three hours...she spent three hours on him.”

“‘She’? Who?”

“Ceil.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Gus was trussed up and out cold with two broken legs but very much alive on the living room floor when I left. I opened the door to the closet where I’d put your sister, and took off. That was around midnight.”

“No. You’re lying. You’re saying Ceil–” He swallowed. “She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Besides, she called me at three, from a neighbor’s house, she’d only gotten free–”

“Three hours. Three hours between the time I opened the closet door and the time she called you.”

“No! Not Ceil! She...” Schaffer stared at Jack, and Jack met his gaze evenly. Slowly, like a dark stain seeping through heavy fabric, the truth took hold in his eyes. “Oh...my...God!”

He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. He looked like he was going to be sick. Jack gave him a few minutes. “The other day you said she needed help. Now she really needs it.”

“Poor Ceil!”

“Yeah. I don’t pretend to understand it, but I guess she was willing to put up with anything from a man who said he loved her. But when she found out he didn’t – and believe me, he let her know in no uncertain terms before he pulled the trigger on her.”

“Trigger? What–?”

“A long story. Ceil can tell you about it. But I guess when she found out how much he hated her, how he’d wanted her dead all these years, when she saw him ready to murder her, something must have snapped inside. When she came out of the closet and found him helpless on the living room floor, she must have gone a little crazy.”

“A little crazy? You call what she did a little crazy?”

Jack shrugged. He handed back the ME’s report and opened the car door.

“Your sister crammed ten years of pay back into three hours. She’s going to need a lot of help to recover from those ten years. And those three hours.”

Schaffer pounded his mahogany steering wheel.

“Shit! It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this!” Then he sighed and turned to Jack. “But I guess things don’t always go according to plan in your business.”

“Hardly ever.”

Jack got out of the car, closed the door, and listened to the Jag roar to life. As it screeched away, he headed back to Julio’s. A new customer was due at noon.