Play Dead

7

Stan found a pay phone near Filene’s Basement. He dug deep into his pockets and pulled out a roll of quarters. He dropped a few into the slot and dialed. After three rings, a receptionist answered the call.

‘Charles Slackson, attorney-at-law. May I help you?’

‘Let me speak to Charlie.’

‘Whom shall I say is calling?’

‘An old friend,’ Stan snapped.

‘I’m sorry. I’ll need – ’

‘Just put him on, sweetheart, or I’ll rip your tongue out of your air-filled head.’

There was a stunned silence. Stan listened to the click as she put him on hold. A few seconds later, a man picked up the line.

‘Hello?’

‘Charlie? It’s me, Stan.’

‘Jesus, Stan, did you have to scare my secretary half to death?’

‘Sorry about that. I didn’t want to give my name.’

‘I don’t blame you, old pal.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The B Man is looking for you. And he is not in a very good mood about it.’

‘So I figured.’

‘Where the hell are you, Stan?’

‘Don’t worry about that. I need to ask you a legal question.’

‘A legit one?’

‘Yes.’

‘I normally don’t do legit cases. Scams are my specialty.’

‘As I am well aware.’

‘Don’t tell me you’ve come up with a legitimate way for us to make some money, Stan. I prefer you as the sleazy con man that you are.’

‘I’ll try not to change.’

‘Okay, what’s the question?’

‘You know of course that my brother kicked off in Australia.’

‘Are you kidding? It was all over the news for weeks.’

‘My question is about his estate. He didn’t have a will so who gets his dough?’

‘It depends. Is it true that your brother eloped with that Laura Ayars a few days before he drowned?’

‘Yup.’

‘Man, is she gorgeous or what? I used to have one of her calendars in my kitchen.’

‘Super, Charlie. Now what about my brother’s money?’

‘Right. I got off track a little there. So they were officially married before he died?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then the news isn’t too good for you, Stan.’

‘What do you mean? I’m his only living blood relative.’

‘Courts don’t care much about blood. It’s what we call the intestacy statute.’

‘In layman’s terms, Charlie.’

‘In your case, it’s simply this: no will and the widow gets everything.’

‘Everything?’

‘Everything.’

‘Even if she’s already loaded?’

‘Even if she’s the Aga Khan.’

‘Shit!’

‘Sorry, pal. How deep you in the hole to B Man this time?’

‘Six feet under,’ Stan muttered.

‘You better think up a good scam in a hurry or learn how to become invisible. B Man doesn’t like those who owe to hide from him.’

‘I know, Charlie.’

‘You held up well?’

‘Well enough I suppose. All I need is a few more days. Listen, Charlie, there’s a sure thing today at Aqueduct – ’

‘I’ve heard that before.’

‘No, really. Just place this bet for me and – ’

‘No way, Stan. B Man has spread the word. No one is going to cover you.’

‘But, Charlie – ’

‘Look, Stan, just keep me out of this. You’re on your own. I gotta go now.’

Charlie hung up the phone. Stan thought for a moment. Then he smiled. He took out another quarter and made a second call.

Gloria Ayars felt light-headed as she walked down the stairs. She couldn’t help it. For the first time since David’s death, there was a reason to smile. True, she and her family were still in mourning. She still wanted to cry constantly for their loss. But something nice had finally happened and there wasn’t anything wrong with being happy about it.

Stan had just called her and asked her out for tomorrow night. It was not really a date, she kept reminding herself. It was just a friendly dinner. Nothing more. There was absolutely no reason to build it into something that it wasn’t.

So why did she feel warm inside?

Gloria had not been with a man for so long. She had not even had a date, had not wanted to be near a man in a year. Not since… She closed her eyes. Why must she be reminded of that now? Why must she be reminded that she was not fit to be with someone like Stan? Why must she be reminded that she was only fit to be abused by filth and scum?

No! I’m not scum! That was in the past. That Gloria Ayars no longer exists. She’s dead and buried, thank God…

‘Just tell me what happened!’

Her father’s authoritative shout jarred her back into reality. He was on the phone, angrily lecturing someone – probably one of the new interns at the hospital. Gloria began to move down the hall and away from his study so that she could not listen in.

‘Did she kill David or didn’t she?’

Gloria froze.

Her father’s voice grew angry. ‘Couldn’t you stop her?’

He was silent now, allowing the whoever was on the other end to answer his question. When James spoke again, his voice was calmer, more in control.

‘I know. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled like that.’ Pause. ‘I agree. It was probably suicide.’

Gloria felt her heart slam into her throat. She stopped breathing.

‘No, that wouldn’t do any good now,’ he continued. ‘Do you think she was telling the truth? Uh-huh. Right. I guess there is nothing we can do.’ Pause. ‘Don’t talk that way.’ His voice was angry again. ‘Do you hear me? I said don’t say that. It’s not true. Not a word of it.’ Pause. ‘Never!’

Dr James Ayars slammed the phone down. Gloria continued to hold her breath, her back pushed up against the wall. There must be a million people named David, she reminded herself. Her father must have plenty of patients with that name.

The details of death.

Laura held her sister’s hand tightly. Her eyes moved about the wood-paneled law office. The chairs were large and plush. Paintings of fox-hunting adorned the walls. The large desk in front of her was beautifully polished oak, the bookshelf behind it neatly arranged with law journals.

Clip was there. So was T.C. and Earl and Timmy and her father. Her mother, of course, had not been invited. Laura had however asked Stan to come. She was puzzled that he had not shown up.

Mr Averall Thompson, the Celtics’ lawyer and long-time friend of Clip Arnstein, leaned forward. ‘Let me make this as quick and simple as possible. Will that be okay, Mrs Baskin?’

Laura nodded to him.

‘First, please accept my most sincere belated condolences on your loss.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And second, let me apologize for the delay in settling these matters. Whenever the deceased does not execute a will there is always some degree of confusion.’

‘I understand, Mr Thompson. No apology is necessary. ’

‘Fine.’ The senior law partner put on his reading glasses. ‘In cases such as this, the widow is left all of the deceased’s property. According to our study, you two already have most of your assets in joint accounts, so that should expedite matters. You both bought the house in Brookline. You have three joint accounts, two at banks and one at a financial institution. On top of that, David left a few mutual funds and stocks, his condominium in Boston, and that’s about it.’

‘And his account at Heritage of Boston Bank,’ Laura added.

‘Excuse me, Mrs Baskin?’

‘David had an account at Heritage of Boston. There’s about half a million dollars in it.’

The older man looked puzzled. ‘Are you sure that wasn’t liquidated?’

‘Quite sure.’

Mr Thompson looked over the file in front of him. Laura glanced around the room. T.C. was looking straight down at his shoes. Most of the faces were mildly puzzled, more curious than concerned. The exception was her father. James Ayars’s face drained of color, his eyes frightened and confused.

‘I don’t see anything about that in the file. Do you have the account number?’

‘The statements are in David’s condominium.’ Thompson leaned forward and buzzed his secretary. ‘Beatrice?’

‘Yes, Mr Thompson.’

‘Call our contact at Heritage of Boston. See if they have an account there for a Mr David Baskin.’

‘Right away, Mr Thompson.’

He leaned back. ‘I’m very sorry about this, Mrs Baskin. I don’t understand how we could have made a mistake like that. I am really very embarrassed.’

‘I’m sure we’ll straighten it all out.’

‘I’m sure too.’

A moment later, the phone on the desk buzzed. ‘Mr Thompson?’

‘Yes, Beatrice.’

‘I called the Heritage of Boston. There is no record of any account for a Mr David Baskin.’

Laura sat up. ‘That’s not possible.’

Averall Thompson smiled understandingly. ‘Perhaps if you could come back with the bank account number…’

Maybe it was just her father’s expression or the way T.C. kept staring at the ground, but Laura suddenly felt very uneasy. The money meant nothing to her. She already had more than she knew what to do with. But this was all very odd. Something was very wrong.

‘Thank you, Mr Thompson.’

Laura managed to find the key with a shaking hand. T.C. had volunteered to accompany her but she had thought it would be best if she went alone. Now, standing in front of the door to David’s apartment, she wondered if she had done the right thing.

She placed the key in the lock and turned. The door opened into the darkened apartment. Laura hesitated. She was afraid to turn on the lights, afraid to face the painful memories readying to leap out at her.

She and David had spent many happy moments here, moments of pure joy that she knew she would never again experience. It wasn’t fair. Blasphemous to say, but God had cheated her. Cheated her and hurt her in the worst way possible. He had made her happy, brought her up to the highest high. Then He tore her wings off and let her plummet back down to the hard surface below. One minute her David was alive and strong. The next minute he was gone. How could someone like David just be snatched away like that? How can everything suddenly be worth nothing?

It was all a cruel, sadistic trick.

She stepped in but still did not turn on the lights. She suddenly remembered the last time she had entered his apartment alone.

She and David had been going out for about three months and were already hopelessly in love:

She had stopped by to visit him on her way home from work, knocked on the door, and waited. No one came to the door.

Strange.

She had spoken to David only a few minutes earlier. Why would he have gone out? She tried the door and to her surprise it was unlocked. She smiled. He would never leave the door unlocked if he had gone out. David was too compulsive when it came to that kind of stuff. He must be in the shower.

She opened the door. The apartment was dark, just like it would be two and a half years later when she opened it to search for his bank statements from the Heritage of Boston. Her eyes surveyed the darkened room. No one was there. She listened for the sound of the shower, but the apartment was silent.

That was when she heard the muffled scream.

The sound ripped into her stomach. She sprinted toward the bedroom where the anguished cry had originated.

‘David?’

The next scream, though still muffled, was louder, more hideous than any sound Laura had ever heard.

She reached the bedroom. Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. David was huddled in a corner of the bed, his head clasped hard between his hands, his body writhing in agony. He released another scream into the pillow.

She ran to him, her heart pounding like a sledgehammer in her chest. ‘David, what is it?’

His face was contorted into a frightening picture of absolute agony. Laura had never seen pain like this, had never known it could exist. David’s teeth were gritted, his color terrifyingly red as though his head were about to explode. He struggled, but he could not hold back. He dug his face into the pillow. The smothered shriek punctured Laura’s heart. Panic filled her.

‘I’m going to call the hospital.’

She tried to reach for the phone, but David’s grip on her arm locked her into place.

‘No!’ David managed and then, once again, he turned his mouth into the pillow.

He released her as he once again screamed, his hands going back to the sides of his head. The effort of uttering that one word had cost him. He looked up, his tortured eyes finding hers. He worked up enough strength to say two more words:

‘Hold me.’

She did. She held him, hugged him, soothed him, stroked him. She cried with him, and he hung on to her like a life-preserver. It took almost two hours before the pain began to loosen its strangle-hold on him. But Laura would not let go of David, would not risk allowing whatever had attacked him to come back and hurt him again.

‘It’s all right now, Laura.’

She still held on.

‘I guess I should explain,’ he said.

‘Only if you want to,’ she whispered, shaking.

‘I do.’

She cradled his head. ‘Do they come often?’

He shrugged. ‘Once is often enough with these things. My doctor describes them as a combination of very bad cluster headaches and some sort of inoperable brain dysfunction.’

Dread washed through her. ‘Brain dysfunction?’

‘Like a cyst… or a tumor. But it’s not that serious. I mean, it’s not lethal. It can never do more than cause tremendous pain. My doctor said I was born with it, even though it never bothered me until my first year of college.’

‘Can’t medication control it?’

‘Not really.’

‘David, how bad do they get?’

He forced a smile on his worn face. ‘I was never very good at feigning bravery. To be honest with you, that was probably the mildest attack I’ve ever had.’

Laura felt her heart sink at the thought.

‘I guess that has something to do with you comforting me,’ David continued. ‘The attacks usually start out like someone is using a trip-hammer on the sensitive nerves in my head. Then the pain grows until it feels like a thousand volts of electricity are being hurtled through my brain. Sometimes, I wish I could reach into my skull to stop it, but it’s like trying to scratch an itch in a cast. And then sometimes the pain hits certain nerves that paralyze my body.’

‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’

‘Just what you did. Hold me when it happens.’

‘Do your teammates know?’

He shook his head. ‘Only T.C. and my doctor know. I haven’t even told Clip and Earl. I can usually sense when an attack is starting to come on so I make myself scarce. It helps to sit in a dark room. A lot of times I call T.C.’ He swallowed and then looked up. ‘T.C. can’t help with the pain but sometimes it gets so bad I’m afraid I’ll do something I may later regret. I don’t mean to scare you. I just want you to understand the severity of these attacks.’

She was crying now, gripping him even tighter. ‘I love you, David. I love you so much.’

‘I love you too, Laura.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I need you so much.’

David’s final attack came in October of 1988. During the last eight and a half months of his life, the torturous headaches never bothered him. David had been sure that Laura was somehow responsible, that she had somehow chased away whatever demon had been living inside of his brain. Even his doctor was amazed to discover that his cyst or tumor had died. Somehow, they had conquered David’s demon.

Or had they?

Had the evil demon really been killed or had he just been waiting for the right time to strike? Had he merely faked his own demise until David was vulnerable in the rough water? Had he then decided this was his opportunity to finish the game once and for all, to destroy David by paralyzing him in the treacherous ocean, to force him to go underwater until his lungs exploded?

T.C. had said no. Laura was not so sure.

She flicked on the light. Her eyes were wet. Even when David was alive, the thought of the agony he was forced to bear always made her tear.

She went into the bedroom half expecting to find him huddled on the bed, but of course, the room was empty. Then she headed into his study and over to the file cabinet she had bought him last year. The neatly labeled manila files gave the illusion at least that David was a somewhat organized individual. The illusion, however, was merely surface. He still lost bills, financial statements, important documents. David had always hated paperwork of any kind. He knew nothing of finance and wanted to know even less. ‘You make both of our monetary decisions,’ he had finally told her. ‘You’re the financial genius.’

The second drawer contained the financial statements. She pulled it open. She knew that his bank book and monthly reports from Heritage of Boston were filed behind the Gunther Mutual folder. She thumbed through the manila folders. Catalyst Energy, Davidson Fund, Equities with Recovery Corporation of America, Fredrickson and Associates, Gunther Mutual…

There was no Heritage of Boston.

She checked to make sure that it had not been placed out of order. Then she checked the other drawers. There was nothing on the Heritage of Boston.

She stood up. Her whole body was shaking. She needed to find answers and she needed to find them now. It was time to pay a visit to the Heritage of Boston.

T.C. and Laura parked the car and walked toward the entrance of the Heritage of Boston Bank. T.C. always felt odd walking with Laura. Here was one of the world’s most beautiful women walking with a pudgy, nondescript shmoe in a wrinkled suit who was a good three inches shorter than she was. It must have made some spectacle.

‘So you couldn’t find the statements,’ T.C. said. ‘Big deal. Maybe he moved the account and got rid of them.’

‘We’re talking about David, remember? You know how bad he was when it came to financial matters.’

They waited for about ten minutes before a secretary ushered them into an office.

‘I’m sorry for the delay,’ the man behind the desk said. He stood and shook Laura’s hand. ‘I’m Richard Corsel, one of the bank’s vice presidents. Please come in.’

He was young – no more than thirty – and something in his manner told Laura that he was not very happy to see them. ‘Laura Baskin,’ she said.

‘I recognized you right away, Mrs Baskin. I’m very sorry to hear about your husband.’

‘Thank you. This is Terry Conroy with the Boston Police Department.’

‘Police? Is something wrong?’

‘Nothing that I’m sure we can’t work out,’ Laura replied. ‘It involves an account my husband held here.’

‘Yes?’

‘I can’t find the statements and I was hoping you could tell me what the current balance is.’

‘One moment.’ Richard Corsel tapped a few keys on his computer terminal. ‘Your husband no longer has an account here, Mrs Baskin.’

‘I’m sure he had one before we left for Australia a few weeks ago.’

‘That’s very possible, Mrs Baskin, but the account is closed.’

‘Was the money withdrawn or transferred?’

Richard Corsel coughed into his fist. ‘I’m not allowed to say.’

‘By whose authority?’

‘Your husband’s.’

She sat forward. ‘What?’

‘When your husband cleared out his account, he left very specific stipulations. One of these was not to give out any information involving his funds.’

‘But he’s dead.’

‘That does not alter his request.’

She glanced over at T.C. to make sure she was hearing right. ‘When did he close the account?’ she asked.

‘I can’t tell you that either. I’m sorry.’

‘Mr Corsel, the money is missing. No one has any idea where it is being held.’

‘I’m sorry. There’s really nothing I can do.’

She peered into his eyes. They darted away from Laura’s glare like scared birds. ‘I want to know what happened to that account.’

‘I can’t tell you.’

T.C. stood. ‘Let’s go, Laura.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Laura raged. ‘I’m not leaving until I find out what happened to that account.’

‘Mr Corsel already said it’s confidential.’

Richard Corsel nodded. ‘Please, Mrs Baskin, I am only obeying your husband’s wishes.’

‘His wishes? He told you not to tell his wife what happened to his account?’

‘I… I can’t reveal that.’

‘Mr Corsel, you are forcing my hand.’

His voice cracked. ‘There is really nothing I can do.’

‘Well there is something I can do,’ Laura snapped. ‘May I borrow your phone?’

‘Of course.’

She dialed, waited, had the call transferred, and then she spoke. ‘Sam? It’s Laura. Thank you, it’s nice to hear your voice too. I need you to do something for me. How much is Svengali holding in Heritage of Boston? I know it’s a lot but can you give me a good estimation?’

Richard Corsel was turning white.

‘Jesus, Laura,’ T.C. interrupted, ‘what the hell are you doing?’

‘Wait outside, T.C. I don’t want you to get involved in this.’

‘But – ’

‘Please just do what I say.’

With a shrug T.C. stood and headed out. He slammed the door behind him, leaving Corsel alone to confront Laura.

‘What’s that, Sam? How many millions? Fine. Transfer it to First Boston. Tell the board of directors at Heritage of Boston that I was annoyed by the service of one of its vice presidents, a Mr Richard Corsel. Tell them I also suspect he’s involved in a scheme to rip me off. Right, that’s C-O-R-S-E-L. Got that?’

‘Wait!’ Richard Corsel interrupted. ‘Can’t we talk about this?’

‘Hold on a second, Sam. Excuse me?’

‘Please, Mrs Baskin, just hang up and let’s discuss this rationally.’

She turned back to the phone. ‘Sam, if you don’t hear from me in the next ten minutes, go ahead with the transaction.’ She hung up. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Mrs Baskin, you are using blackmail.’

‘I want to know what happened to that account, Mr Corsel, and believe me, I’ll find out. This is no idle threat. If you still won’t tell me after I transfer the Svengali funds, I’ll have the press and my lawyers swarming all over the place. The media should love a story about a widow who wants to donate her late husband’s earnings to charity and the bank that may have stolen the money.’

‘Stolen?’

‘The bank’s reputation will be somewhat compromised, Mr Corsel, but eventually I will get the information.’

Richard Corsel looked like he had just lost a boxing match.

‘By the way,’ Laura added, ‘Sam is very precise. I only have a few minutes left to stop him.’

Corsel lowered his head. ‘I don’t know where the account is exactly. You have to believe me.’

‘Go on.’

‘Your husband had me transfer the money to a bank in Switzerland.’

‘When?’

He paused. ‘Please, Mrs Baskin, I can’t tell you.’ ‘Which bank in Switzerland?’

‘Bank of Geneva. But I know it didn’t stay there long so you can’t make a claim there. And you may be able to threaten Heritage of Boston, but there’s no way to budge a Swiss bank.’

‘But why would David do something like that?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Did he handle this transaction in person?’

‘No, I spoke to him on the phone.’

‘Are you sure it was David’s voice?’

‘Positive. I know your husband’s voice very well – even with the static. Plus he used a code number only he knows.’

‘784CF90821BC,’ Laura stated.

‘And obviously,’ Richard Corsel replied, ‘he trusted you with it.’

‘David always told me everything, Mr Corsel,’ she said. ‘Now would you please hand me the phone? I have to call Sam.’

Laura recounted the conversation to T.C. as they headed back to the car.

‘I can’t believe you did that, Laura. I arrest people for doing that sort of thing.’

‘Okay, guilty. So what do you think?’

‘About Switzerland? I think Corsel is right. I’ve got a few friends at the FBI’s office but I doubt we’ll find out what happened to the account after it reached the Bank of Geneva.’

‘But why would David do this?’

T.C. shrugged. ‘Maybe he wanted to have some money stored away in case the bottom fell out.’

‘And not tell me about it?’

‘Maybe he was going to and didn’t have a chance. You said he had the Heritage account recently. Maybe he made the transaction right before you eloped and decided a honeymoon was not the place to discuss finances.’

‘Wait a second,’ Laura began. She concentrated hard, trying to remember exactly. ‘David came here to get some cash right before we left for Australia.’

‘Then that’s your answer, Laura. He made the transfer when he picked up the cash and just decided to tell you about it later.’

She shook her head. ‘Something is still not right. David could barely balance his checkbook.’

‘That’s true, but – ’

Laura stopped suddenly. ‘Hold on.’

‘What?’

‘Corsel said that David made the transfer over the phone, not in person. He mentioned that there was static on the line.’

‘So?’

‘Don’t you see?’ Laura almost shouted. ‘That means that David must have transferred his money while we were in Australia.’

Stan sat up and watched the television. Nothing on. Fat Oprah (or was she skinny this week?) was talking to some group of slobs who sexually assault their plants or something like that. Stan wasn’t really listening. He was thinking. He needed to think up a score. A big one. And he needed to think of one in a hurry.

He was also thinking about the B Man.

The solution to his current money problems was obvious: get the money from David’s estate. But how? Everything was left to Laura. He could ask her for it but that would arouse her suspicion. She may be a bit naive, but she was far from stupid. Plus Stan was sure that fucking T.C. was filling her head with all kinds of nonsense about the past. No, Stan decided, he could not ask her directly. He would have to make her offer the money to him.

But how?

Knuckles rapped on the door.

Terror ran through Stan. He had used a fake name when he registered. No one knew he was here. He closed his eyes as the knock came again. Maybe it was just the maid. Maybe it was -

‘Open up, Stan. I want to talk to you.’

– B Man.

Stan stood as though hypnotized. He was on the fourteenth floor so a window escape was out. But what the hell, he and B Man went back a long way. B Man had never hurt him before. He knew Stan was good for the money, and once Stan explained that he had a chance of getting his hands on serious money, B Man would give him more time. Stan turned the knob and opened the door.

‘B Man!’ Stan greeted him with a smile. ‘How the hell are you, man? You look great.’

B Man stood in the doorway and smiled coolly. ‘Thanks, Stan. It’s nice to see you, too.’

Stan was always surprised by B Man’s appearance. He hardly looked the part of a rough gangster. He had long, bleached-blond hair, a year-round tan, and teeth that were white enough for a tooth-polish commercial. His height and weight were average, maybe even a little on the small side. Even more unusual, the B Man had an ivy league education and had lived for three years in Korea, where he trained six hours a day in Kung Fu or some shit like that.

That was his specialty: hand-to-hand combat. You could put three bruisers twice his size against him and B Man would slaughter them without breaking a sweat.

‘Come in, B.’

‘Thank you.’ He stepped in and closed the door. His voice remained pleasant. ‘What are you doing in Boston, Stan?’

‘I told you I was going to go to my brother’s funeral.’

‘That was quite a while ago.’

‘I know that, B Man, but I’m very close to scoring big.’

‘I’ve heard that from you before.’

‘No, really.’

B Man stood directly in front of Stan, their faces no more than six inches apart. ‘You wouldn’t be trying to avoid me, would you, Stan?’

‘No way,’ Stan argued. ‘I would never do that.’

B Man just stared.

‘Wh… What brings you to Boston, B?’

B Man strolled around the room. ‘I have a little business here. One of my wrestlers is in town.’

‘Roadhouse Rex?’ Stan asked.

B Man nodded.

‘Roadhouse is great,’ Stan continued, trying to keep B Man’s attention on the gruesome wrestler and off of himself. ‘He can take a dive like nobody’s business.’

‘Roadhouse is the best,’ B Man agreed with a hint of a smile. ‘You should see him backstage. His trunk is filled with blood capsules, phony casts for whatever ailment he plans on faking, you name it.’ B Man turned and moved toward Stan. ‘But we’re getting off the subject, aren’t we?’

‘Off the subject?’

B Man just smiled. ‘Stan, have you been trying to hide from me?’

Stan swallowed. ‘You know me better than that, B Man. Like I said before, I told you I was coming to Boston.’

‘True,’ B Man agreed, ‘but you forgot to mention that you were going to use an alias.’

‘I just needed a little time. You see, my brother – ’

‘I know all about your brother.’

‘Well, he was loaded. I’m going to get some of his money.’

B Man laughed. ‘Who do you think you’re talking to? I know what you did to him. I was there, remember? Your brother would never leave you a cent.’

‘I know that, B Man. I’m going to get the money from his widow.’

‘That model?’

‘Yeah, B Man. She’ll give me the money.’

‘Fifty thousand dollars?’

‘Right. No problem.’

B Man calmly walked toward the bed. ‘But Stan, you’re already very late.’

‘Just tack on interest.’

‘Oh I will. But you’re past that now.’

‘Come on, B Man. You know I’m good for it.’

B Man shook his head slowly. ‘No, that’s where you’re wrong. I think you’re good for it. But I don’t know for sure. Perhaps a little incentive would help.’

‘Incentive?’

There was no time for Stan to react. With frightening speed, B Man’s hand shot out. The blow landed in the center of Stan’s belly. The breath whooshed out of him. Stan fell to the ground, struggling to put oxygen back in his lungs.

B Man watched Stan writhe in pain. He calmly reached down and grabbed Stan’s right hand. For a minute or two, he held the hand and waited for Stan to begin catching his breath.

‘I’m sorry about all this, Stan.’

‘Please…’

B Man clamped his hand over Stan’s mouth. Then he pulled Stan’s middle finger back until it nearly touched his wrist. The finger snapped like a twig. Stan felt the jagged edges of the bone rip into his skin. His head swam.

‘One week, Stan,’ the B Man said quietly. He held Stan’s finger for another second and then gently placed the hand on the floor. The finger was already swelling, the bone nearly puncturing the skin.

‘Do you hear me?’

Stan managed a nod. The pain was staggering.

‘And you’re not going to hide from me again, are you, Stan?’

He shook his head.

B Man smiled down at Stan. Then he raised his heel and slammed it with expert accuracy onto the broken finger. Again, B Man had to cover Stan’s mouth to muffle the scream.

‘I guess we understand each other now,’ B Man said matter-of-factly. He turned toward the mirror, fixed his hair and then walked toward the door. ‘Always a pleasure to see you, Stan. You have one week to come up with the money. And now it’s sixty thousand dollars.’

Later that night, Laura sat in Serita’s spare bedroom and looked out the window. What had happened? One moment the world was perfect and then she was suddenly thrust into Hell. What had she done? She hated the whole world right now. She hated everything about it. Sometimes, she even hated David for leaving her here alone when he knew that she could not survive without him.

Time limped by but it did not heal any wounds. Every time she felt like she was getting stronger, she would drive past a playground with kids playing basketball, or see lovers holding hands by the Charles River, or see a family taking a Sunday drive in their station wagon, and then the wounds would reopen and gush fresh blood.

And nothing made sense anymore. Their new house had been broken into but nothing was stolen. David’s account had been mysteriously transferred to the Twilight Zone. Her father was acting peculiarly. And what was going on with T.C.? Since when had he been against using pressure tactics to get information?

Serita stepped in the room and turned on the light. ‘What are you doing, Laura?’ she asked.

‘The usual,’ Laura answered. ‘I guess I just want to be alone.’

‘You’ve been doing a lot of that the last couple of months. It’s starting to get on my nerves.’

‘I’m going to move out tomorrow, Serita. I think it’s time I took care of myself.’

‘Brave words, girl. So what are you going to do at your own place?’

Laura shrugged.

‘If you’re just going to mope around you might as well just stay here.’ Serita tossed a newspaper onto Laura’s lap. ‘Read this.’

Laura glanced at the top of the page. ‘The financial section? I didn’t think business was your bit.’

‘It’s not,’ Serita agreed. ‘But I think you should read it.’

She did not have the strength. ‘Why don’t you just give me a quick rehash?’

‘Okay, it’s like this. Svengali slipped two points yesterday. That means it has dropped over ten points in the last two weeks. The reason it keeps sliding is because there is speculation that you don’t have it anymore, that you’re not going back.’

‘I really don’t care, Serita.’

‘You listen to me. If you no longer give a shit about yourself, fine. But you have stockholders to protect, people who believed and invested in you. You can’t just abandon them.’

Laura did not say anything. Her eyes never left the window.

‘What the hell is the matter with you, Laura?’

Laura turned her gaze toward her friend. ‘What’s the matter with me?’ she repeated. ‘Don’t you read the papers? My husband is dead, Serita. Can’t you understand that? David is dead.’

‘Of course I understand. But you’re not dead, are you?’ Serita crossed the room and sat on the chair next to her friend. ‘Let me tell you something,’ she continued. ‘I remember everything there is to remember about you. I remember how you told me all about those snotty little kids who picked on you because you were ugly, but you survived and showed them what you were all about. And I remember how those assholes from all the big companies laughed when you first started Svengali. They kept trying to knock you down, remember? But you stood up to them, Laura, and again you survived when everyone else counted you out. And me? I just sat back and cheered you on. You fought to make that company what it is today. You fought hard. It’s your baby, Laura. Svengali is yours. Don’t just give it up. David wouldn’t want that. And he wouldn’t want you to give up on yourself like this.’

David. Just hearing his name again pricked her eyes with tears.

‘Honey, I know it’s hard, but it’s time to live again before everything you have – everything you worked so hard for – falls apart.’ Serita stood and looked down at her friend. ‘Besides, I happen to be your highest paid model. If Svengali goes under, I’m going to lose an important customer. You wouldn’t want that.’

‘Heaven forbid,’ Laura replied with a hint of a smile. ‘You know something?’

‘What?’

‘You’re a good friend.’

‘The best.’

Laura wrung her hands in her lap. ‘Serita?’

‘I’m right here.’

‘I don’t know what to do. I… I’m scared to go back.’

‘I know, honey. I don’t want to push you. Take one step at a time.’

Laura nodded but the doubts and fears remained burrowed in her mind. With a long and painful sigh, she sat up and reached for the phone. She dialed the number of Svengali’s Director of Public Rlations.

‘Hello?’

‘This is Laura,’ she said, her voice quaking. ‘Make an announcement that I will be back in the office tomorrow morning.’

‘Line five, Dr Ayars.’

‘Thank you.’

James Ayars picked up the receiver and pushed line five. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘Out.’

‘I’ve been trying to reach you all day.’

‘I’m not at your beck and call.’

‘I didn’t say you were.’

‘What do you want?’ the voice asked.

‘I was at the settling of David’s estate today,’ James said.

‘And?’

‘Something rather odd came up about David’s finances. ’

‘So?’

Dr James Ayars leaned forward. ‘I’m no longer convinced that David committed suicide.’