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Fashionably Late (For My Funeral)

By: Cromagnonman



This is essentially a romance story set against a background of international drug dealing with the occasional side plot of the usual mayhem.





Paranoia: (Pron. para-noya) noun; a mental disorder marked by the unjustified belief that one is being persecuted, usually accompanied by megalomania and insane distrust.

Paranoid (Pron. para-noyd) adjective; also called paranoiac of, relating to or affected by paranoia. A person affected by paranoia.



CHAPTER 1

I do not suffer from paranoia. I am not paranoid. I am not a paranoiac. I do not have any mental disorder that leads me to believe, wrongly or not, that I am being persecuted. I am not a megalomaniac and I don't distrust everyone. But I AM being followed.

Let me explain. Ever since the police discovered that my business partner didn't commit suicide by using a semi-automatic rifle to turn the contents of his skull into spaghetti sauce all over my penthouse apartment, and ever since they discovered that my wife, with whom he, my business partner, had been having an affair, had not committed suicide by jumping naked from the balcony of the same apartment, I have been followed.

The main contestants in the 'follow me' stakes are, in no particular order, the DEA and the CIA because I had proof of their involvement in drug importation, the office of the New York District Attorney because the DA wanted, among other things, a conviction in a high profile murder case, and the New York branch of an organized crime syndicate who believed that I had some money that they thought of as theirs. I could probably toss in the FBI for good measure, but you get the message. I have already ruled out the Columbian drug cartels because they don't give a shit who they sell their drugs to, and if one organization can't come up with the money they'll just find another buyer.

Once I'd eliminated the NYPD from the list of followers (I was able to prove my innocence), I for the life of me haven't a clue which of the above is the follower. Actually that's not entirely true, it could have been any one or more of the above, but more about that later. Initially I confused the police, you see they couldn't find me mainly because (a) I didn't know that they were looking for me and; (b) even if I did, it was convenient for me not to be found.

At first the police assumed that a woman found naked and dead on the pavement below her penthouse in which was the body of a man with his brains decorating the wall opposite where he sat, could reasonably be a case murder/suicide. The fact that the male deceased was discovered not to be the husband of the aforesaid female deceased led them to believe, reasonably they thought, that they now had a case of double homicide, and that the person who caused them both to become deceased persons would be the husband of the aforesaid female deceased (me).

When their autopsy investigations proved that she had recently had sexual intercourse with two men, one of whom was splattered around the room and the other wasn't me, a new dimension was added to their enquiries.

What made it even more interesting is that over the last few years I have spent a lot of time at my local precinct and was well known to them, and after the above mentioned incidents they have asked me a lot of questions that I have been able to answer. The obvious suspect when they had identified that the male deceased was not me, was of course, me. The fact that I was, by occupation, a mystery writer given to inventing bizarre and ingenious ways of committing murder and mayhem, similar to the above mentioned murder and mayhem, only served to reinforce their belief in my guilt. What initially looked to them to be an easy collar turned out to be anything but easy. This could have had something to do with the fact that I could prove that I was nowhere near either of the two when they became deceased persons. When I turned up with irrefutable proof that I couldn't possibly have precipitated the deaths of my wife and business partner they were, to say the least pissed.

The thoughts however, that are currently occupying my every waking moment are; if the DA catches me I will spend the best part of the rest of my life in jail, if the mob catches me my life expectancy will be severely diminished, and if the CIA and DEA catch me I'll probably end up as fish food somewhere. The other worry for me is how the hell am I ever going to get out of this?

CHAPTER 2

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Wilbur Smith, a name that I inherited from both sides of my family, the Smith from my father, it was originally 'Schmidt' but had been Anglicized, and the Wilbur from my maternal grandfather, one Wilbur Wright. Now before you jump to conclusions, this Wilbur Wright had nothing to do with Kittyhawk and airplanes, and he didn't have a brother named Orville and wouldn't know a bicycle from a baseball bat. He and I were both the victims of our ancestors' uncanny knack of giving their offspring the name of a famous person before that person became famous. 

Because my literary agent, Felix Weisman, (not his real name either but he thinks it makes him sound more important) decided that this name wouldn't sell books, the fact that there is another author using that name might have caused a problem, I write under the name of Jason Feldham. I hasten to add that professionally at least, there are no similarities, in either the content, style or success, between myself and the other Mr. Wilbur Smith.

Unlike that Mr. Smith I have only been moderately successful, but I make more money writing crime fiction than I could if I were a professor of English Literature at some Ivy League college, and enough however, to need a business partner to look after my investments. Actually, again that is not entirely true, I didn't need a business partner or manager, I was quite happy with my finances the way they were, but in deference to my wife I acquired a partner to look after my affairs and as it turned out, my wife. 

In case you have reached the wrong conclusion, I'm really not bitter about that particular turn of events, believe me.

As I said before, I write crime novels, not the type with a bullet-proof action hero who drives a fast car, romances a bevy of similarly fast women, gets beaten up and shot at, only to emerge unscathed at the end with the crooks under arrest and a beautiful woman in his bed. 

The hero of my more popular series is a flawed character who is at odds with authority, whose marriage has evolved, over the space of several novels, from unsatisfactory through miserable to non-existent. He is handed the worst cases to investigate in the hope that he will fail, attracts trigger happy thugs, or those with a penchant for physical violence, and spends as much time in hospital Emergency Rooms as he does at work. He drinks too much and smokes incessantly, his love life is existent enough to confirm his heterosexuality, and he drives a beat up old car that spends as much time in the repair shop as he does in ER.

Because I try to insert as much realism into my work as possible I have spent a lot of time around various police stations talking to 'innocent' criminals to gain information as background for my work. 

When I first started writing I was amazed at the number of these 'innocent' people who had been charged and convicted of crimes that they 'didn't commit'. I could only assume that the police force is either extremely incompetent or corrupt. Of course all was seldom as these people would have me believe. 

I suppose that by now you have decided that I am a totally cynical person and in this you couldn't be more wrong. I admit that there are moments when my natural cynicism breaks free of the constraints that I have placed on it and I have made observations that would appear to be of a cynical nature. My experiences with life have unfortunately allowed me to accumulate a number of examples where my view of my fellow man has taken on a particularly jaundiced aspect.

A result of my research is that I have something of a fan club around the 5th precinct. The men and women in blue are never backward in pointing out any errors, as they see them, in my books. On the other hand they are fulsome in their complements when they feel that it is deserved. The feed-back is generally more positive than negative.

I thought, for want of evidence to the contrary, that I was happy right up until the wheels fell off my life. 

I had been married for three years to Melissa who I met at a book signing in one of the more prestigious book stores in Manhattan. She had stepped inside to avoid a heavy downpour and had browsed through the books on display. She picked up my latest work, the one that I was promoting, and glancing at the back cover, realized that I was the author and that I was sitting in front of her.

We had been talking, Melissa Blanchette and I, ignoring the line of people waiting for the scrawl that passed as my signature for several minutes before I worked up enough courage to ask her out for dinner. I was surprised, my analyst would have said amazed, when she accepted.

Melissa Blanchette came from a family that believed that appearances and position were the most important attributes that a young person could have in this world. The appearance that she projected was inherited from a long line of appearance projectors. The position that she held was a somewhat new phenomenon, stemming from her desire to overcome her father's total lack of business acumen. 

The person that she knew as her father was not her biological parent, but a person into whose arms her mother rebounded following the sudden and unannounced departure of Melissa's real father shortly after the wedding, and the announcement of his impending parenthood.

It wasn't the fathering of children to which he objected; rather it was the thought of the responsibility of showing affection to the smelly, continuously crying products of his sexual prowess. This was not the first time that James Craigmore II had abandoned his new wife when she was pregnant, he had had two previous short term marriages and would have another two before meeting his untimely, and little lamented, demise at the hand of an irate and unwilling future father.

Henri Blanchette had the advantage of an obscure connection to impecunious European aristocracy and a willingness to accept his wife's child as his own, providing that the financial reward was sufficiently large. The timing of her birth so soon after their marriage, that followed hot on the heels of his wife's previous marriage being annulled due to a 'lack of consummation', hardly raised any comment in the rarefied and moneyed circles of Long Island. It was something of a practice in those days for young ladies in a certain condition to travel to Europe in search of a conveniently accommodating husband to cover what could have been an embarrassment for the family.

Blanchette, being at that time the last of a long line of poor business managers, and having no money of his own and no real skill with finances, had managed to take the fortune that his father had managed to save from the great depression and convert it, through a series of business ventures that proved to be more unsuccessful than successful, into a multi-million dollar loss in a matter of years. In one of his more successful moments, before he left his wife for another woman, the first of many, he left her with just enough funds to see their only child, Melissa, safely through the 'right' college where she made enough of the right connections to enable her to find a position with an advertising agency at a level that provided her with the right image and income.

She made the most of this situation and she, by the means of the right discreet alliances, (read affairs) and by allowing her company to use the family name, had ascended to the position of Partner in the firm of Bronson, Fielding and Blanchette. Her parents were individually and separately most impressed, and their disappointment with her reluctance to provide them with a son and possible grandchildren was put to one side, for appearance sake.

That dinner was a painful experience for me. I am by nature a shy person who finds an outlet for his expression in writing. I have never, until I met Melissa, had a serious relationship with anyone. 

*    *    *

At high school and college I was considered a nerd because I was always reading and could recite great expanses of other authors' work ad nauseam. I was hell at the few parties that I attended and the only people, apart from my parents (I hoped) that thought that I had any redeeming features, were my English Literature Professors. They saw in me some bright future for the youth of the day. 

If you were to assign a color to describe me it would be, beige.

My parents were both doctors and it was assumed, by them at least, that I would follow them into the medical profession. In this area I was a bitter disappointment to them because I had no aptitude for medicine. This became clear to me during my high school Biology class when I was supposed to dissect a rat. Not only did I faint at the thought of cutting up what, until a few minutes before had been a living, breathing animal, but I covered it with a regurgitation of what had recently been described, with misplaced optimism, as food in the school dining hall.

My parents encouraged my scholastic ambitions and discouraged anything that involved physical exercise as they were vicarious hypochondriacs, imagining in me all manner of ailments. I was not a sickly person, just one suffering from a surfeit of love, patent medicine and a lack of exercise.

It wasn't until I entered college that I actually sat down and watched television, something frowned on by my parents because they thought that this medium would be too distracting for me. In this they were right, and my first semester at college was spent catching up on what I had missed earlier in life.

It was this interest in television that led me to begin moonlighting as an author. My first literary endeavors were in the college newspaper where, using a variety of pseudonyms to avoid any unwanted pressure from the victims, I wrote satirical articles that prodded several sacred cows including the pretensions of the professors, in particular the English professors who thought that if you couldn't understand a writer it must be art.

At University, I, when not studying or attending lectures, was inclined to further my education by observing other students. This involved sitting in a darkened corner of a student bar watching and making mental notes of the students as they progressed from normal through various stages to very drunk. 

The males could be categorized as; Jocks, those pre-occupied with scoring on and off the athletics field. They were usually large and loud, surrounded by Cheer Leaders and those females who thought that there was some advantage by being seen with a Jock.

Semi-serious students, these were those that took their studies semi-seriously but didn't mind getting wasted at the bar on a regular basis. These were usually neatly dressed, in jeans and college sweaters. They attracted females of a similar disposition to whom appearances were the most important aspect of student life.

Nerds, that group of serious, and often self important students, who universally sported nerd cloths and dark rimmed glasses. They usually sat by themselves frowning at the antics of their fellow students and discussing such lightweight topics as differential calculus. They were oblivious to their total lack of dress sense.

The females could be categorized as;

Cheer Leaders whose raison d'être in life was to contribute to the Jocks' score sheets. They were, on the most part, blonde, slim with, in proportion, large breasts, real or enhanced.

Wannabes, these students regarded an education as a secondary consideration to being in the right crowd and working towards a suitable marriage to a successful graduate. They usually dated a year or two above their own status, seeing this as proof of their attractability.

Serious students: These were the female equivalent of the nerd. These had a similar lack of fashion sense, and narrow range of conversation topics. 

On one afternoon, when I wasn't at the bar, I had one brief, if one afternoon could be described as brief in an era where one night stands constituted a long term relationship, close encounter with a member of the opposite gender.

It was my senior year and I had taken to tutoring freshman students as a way of gaining some form of social contact outside my close circle of friend (read room-mate).

She had all of the appearances and attitudes of someone who lived in the late sixties or early seventies and the unlikely name of Serendipity Sorenson to go with her appearance. She wore a long skirt over which she wore something that was a cross between a huge knitted sweater and a short knitted dress. Its main purpose in life, I thought, was to conceal from the public gaze the shape of the body beneath.

Her hair was long and, despite the Nordic heritage suggested by her name, brown and curly, tumbling over her face in a mass, almost hiding her features. These facial features were further hidden from view by a pair of glasses that had started life as the bottoms of soda bottles.

She wore no makeup and her skin had a freshly scrubbed look that was somehow appealing to me. 

My room-mate was, on my promise of doing an assignment for him, off at the nearest bar displaying his beer consuming prowess when she came to my room for her regular tuition. I was explaining to her the beauty in the imagery of Keats' poetry and before I realized what was happening she was sitting close enough for me to smell her body. 

We kissed. My experiences of the art of osculation were confined to the few instances where my parents allowed any show of affection to intrude on their otherwise cool existence and the face powder and lavender encounters with my grandmother. It surprised me to learn that she also had limited experiences of anything like this.

Talk about the blind leading the blind. We fumbled and groped at each other with more enthusiasm than skill until we found ourselves naked on my bed. I realized that the all encompassing knitted tent that she wore did its job extremely well, she had a very well formed body that, to my inexperienced eye, was the most beautiful that I had ever seen. The fact that it was the only one that I had ever seen naked is beside the point.

The mood came to a screeching halt as soon as I attempted, clumsily, to enter her. When she realized what was happening her self-imposed puritanical up-bringing galloped to the fore and she pushed me, unfulfilled, from her. "What am I doing?" She asked. The question was more rhetorical than real.

"What am I doing?" My question was an exploration of my lack of knowledge. We decided that we should both, individually and collectively, do nothing.

I was relieved at this turn of events although I didn't think so at the time. She explained with clear logic her reasons and I had to accede to her wishes.

I continued to tutor her and dream about what almost was, hoping that she was also having the same dream. I was left to wonder, losing contact with her after I graduated from college.

*     *     *

The reason that I remember the dinner with Melissa being a painful experience for me was that, almost for the first time ever, I had realized that I was with a person who might actually believe that I could be interesting. I discount the stated views of my agent, Felix, who continued to tell me, with the sincerity of a seller of pre-loved automobiles, that I was the greatest author to have ever trodden this earth.


Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 02



CHAPTER 5

My work finished in Hollywood, I sadly bade farewell to Sendi and returned to a chilly New York. Melissa wasn't home when I got there so I rang her office to be informed that she was in a meeting but had left a message for me that she would be home no later than seven.

Shortly before seven she breezed in. "Hello Darling! How was Hollywood? Did you see much of Sendi?"

"Terrible, and yes I saw a bit of her. I have some news for you."

"Me first, me first! I have wonderful news, Darling we're going to have a baby! Now you tell me yours."

I was shocked. "It pales into insignificance compared with yours. That's wonderful. And when can I expect to hear the pitter patter of tiny feet?"

"My Gynecologist estimates that I am about two months pregnant."

"And you have waited this long to tell me?"

"I wanted to be sure before I told you and then it was all I could do to stop telling you over the phone. I wanted to see the look on your face when I broke the news."

"Did I disappoint you?"

"No. It was how I expected you to react." (I must have been around actors for too long.) "You are happy with the news, aren't you Darling?"

"Of course I am! What can we do to celebrate?"

"I thought we could order in something special and I have had this bottle of champagne on ice for just this moment."

We ordered a meal for two from a gourmet take out and sat down to our celebratory feast with the champagne. It was a pleasant meal and the evening only got better.

Melissa had already started making plans to convert the second bedroom into a nursery for the impending addition. She was so happy that I couldn't bear to break the news that I knew that she must have been having an affair, I suspected that it was with James, and that I could not be the child's father.

I broke the news to Sendi and she was suitably supportive, offering her shoulder for my tears. I declined the offer, choosing instead to make the most of the situation.

I immersed myself in a new book that revolved around the conversation that I had overheard before I went to Hollywood. My research showed that the drug trade between Colombia and the US was much bigger than I had imagined it to be, and while the estimates were huge, the general consensus was that this was just the tip of a very large iceberg.

One method of importing the drugs was by air. There were almost daily flights of light planes at low level over land and sea bringing the stuff into the country. The pilots were taking huge risks during these flights. At first they ran the risk of crashing by taking off in overloaded planes in the rarefied atmosphere of the Colombian highlands. They carried long range fuel tanks but if they ran into strong headwinds they would have to put down in some remote area to refuel. This was not a real problem until Noriega was deposed as the President of Panama. Then they had to fly low under the radar screen until they arrived in the US where they then had to run the gauntlet of the DEA as well as the Border Patrol who were always on the lookout for illegal immigrants crossing from Mexico.

Once on the ground in the US it had to be shipped to its final destination and this could prove to be a problem for any number of things could go wrong and often did. The risks were high but the profits from a successful shipment more than justified any risk.

Then there was by sea. Much larger quantities could be moved by sea. Some of it was concealed in legitimate cargoes and cleared through customs, usually with some inside assistance, or dropped off the coast and picked up later by fishing boats or private yachts.

The money for these operations came from a variety of sources, some 'legitimate' some not. Here again there were risks, if the right palms weren't greased the dealers ran the risk of being busted. If a dealer muscled in on another dealer's territory he could find himself floating in the Hudson River or as part of a landfill somewhere.

My research named names although it made itself clear that these names were rumors, but there was little hard evidence to support the allegations. Some of the names surprised me, some didn't. Some were well known for their criminal involvement, and had bobbed up in my research before. Some were well known for championing the anti-drug cause, and their involvement came as a complete surprise.

One name that stood out was that of James Craigmore. I was not at all surprised at this but I was concerned that he had, against my explicit instructions, used my money in this way. If he had then I would have to take my money back and distance myself as far as possible from him.

"James, Jason Feldham here. I would like to arrange a meeting with you as soon as possible. I want to discuss finances with you." I told his answering machine, "Could you ring me to arrange a meeting, soon, very soon."

The very soon was the next day. We met at the bar that was his habitual meeting place. There were different almost naked waitresses, all of whom seemed to be on close terms with James, they all knew his name and he tipped them extravagantly. We sat in a corner booth away from the normal hustle and bustle. "You sound serious, what is the problem?"

"I am researching a new novel about the drug trade and as part of that research I came across your name in connection with the alleged financing of drugs. Now what you do with your money is your business, what you do with other people's money is your business and theirs, but what you do with my money is my business. I want my money back plus of course the interest that you have earned on it and I want it back today."

"I can't do that."

"Why can't you?"

"It is tied up in an investment and I won't be able to access it until that investment matures."

"And when will that be?"

"In a week or two, should be no more than a month."

"What sort of investment is it?"

"Let us say it is in agricultural futures."

"In other words you have used my money against my instructions to finance the importation and distribution of drugs."

"You wanted maximum return on your investment, this gives you maximum return. Do you know how much that million dollars that you gave me is worth today?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing?"

"Until the crop arrives in the market place, and is paid for, the investment is worth nothing. Am I the only investor in this venture?"

"No. There are other investors."

"How much profit do I stand to make out of this?"

"Your share of the proceeds should be around four million."

"Am I the biggest investor?"

"No."

"Christ it must be a huge shipment. Aren't you and your other partners worried that the price will drop when you flood the market?"

"No, of course it won't. The goods will be placed in cold storage and fed into the market to meet the needs of the customer. We are hoping to corner the market by having the product instantly available. Other importers will still have to wait for the next shipment to arrive while, by doing it this way, we will have a buffer in case one shipment doesn't make it. If that happens then we can arrange another shipment immediately."

"Let me get this straight, what you are telling me is that you have some scheme that has the return on the initial investment being available as soon as the drugs are in storage, how does that work?

"I don't know the finer details but it seems as if the dealers have lodged a deposit on their order up-front that is more than enough to cover our outlay and our profits, so our return happens as soon as the drugs arrive and are ready for distribution. The money that is paid to us after that is our profits and the up-front for the next shipment."

"What happens if the dealer can't come up with the rest of the money?"

"He forfeits his deposit along with his allocation and we find another buyer. It has never been a problem now that demand is much greater than supply. The dealers are queuing up for our coke. 

"I don't want any part in this venture. I want my money back and I want it now."

"You're telling me that you want the full amount and I'm telling you that there is no way that I can do that."

"How much can you give me?"

"I can give you half but that will be leaving me over- stretched."

"You'll just have to approach one of your other investors to see if you can get him to up the ante."

"There's little chance of that happening. If they hear that one investor is pulling out then they will get cold feet and want to pull out themselves. I can't afford to have that happen."

"That my friend is your problem. You tell me that my return from this enterprise is five million, half of that is two and a half million give or take, I want to see that money this time tomorrow."

"Half tomorrow the rest in four weeks, that's the best that I can offer."

"I guess that will have to do."

I left him seated in the cubicle talking to one of the waitresses who, as I walked through the door, scurried off to talk to a man in the office upstairs from the bar. She returned a few minutes later. "Mr. Costanzo will give you five minutes."

James walked through the door at the rear of the bar and climbed the narrow stairs to the next level. As he approached the office a large person dressed in a not as large suit stepped in front of him. "Lou it's me, James Craigmore."

"That don't matter. The boss says I'm to frisk everyone, so I frisk everyone. Turn around."

James did as he was told and suffered in silence the indignity of being frisked by this heavy handed thug.

"Okay you can go in." Lou stepped aside.

James opened the door and walked into the cloudy office. The haze from countless cigars and poor ventilation hung in the air. The voice was raspy, also from the same countless cigars. "I'm told that you have a problem."

Guido Costanzo sat in a large chair behind a large desk trying hard to look and act like Marlon Brando in 'The Godfather'. In this he failed mainly because he had neither the physical or psychological stature to carry it off. He was a small man with a dark complexion faded by an almost continuous lack of exposure to the sun. His expensive suit didn't fit and, although it was clean and immaculately pressed, still managed to give the impression that the wearer was a person trying too hard to be someone he could never be.

His empire, which he had inherited from his father, was based on what was seen as the typical Mafia core business of protection, gambling, drugs and prostitution all now positioned behind the 'legitimate' facade of a topless bar.

Guido thought of himself as a benevolent dictator, distributing largesse to his lieutenants and soldiers in return for loyalty and unquestioned obedience to his every command.

James Craigmore had acquired a pivotal role in this empire. His duties were to attract legitimate investments in the empire's pharmaceutical enterprises, in particular the importation of heroin and cocaine, while at the same time laundering the profits through legitimate investments. The investors came from a broad cross section of the New York establishment and some well connected people were included in the list of contributors.

"It could be a problem, I don't know." James was facing, for the first time, the real threat to his involvement.

"Well?"

"One of my investors wants to pull out of the venture."

"So?"

"He wants his money back tomorrow."

"So?"

"I can't give him his money, at least not the full amount."

"So, give him what you can and pay him the rest later."

"I can't even give him half and that's what I promised him."

"So don't give him half, what's your problem?"

"If I don't give him half he might do something stupid like use the information that he has and we could be in very big trouble."

Guido was suddenly more interested in the conversation. "What information does he have?"

"He knows where his money is invested."

"You told him this? Are you stupid or something?"

"I told him nothing that he didn't already know. It seems that in the course of some investigation he is doing he came across my name, and probably yours, in connection with our enterprise. He put two and two together and came up with the fact that I was using his money to finance the operation."

"Is he complaining about the return that he gets on the money?"

"No."

"Then what's his problem? If he goes to the police he loses the same as we do, if he wants his money back, and I mean all of it, he'll have to keep his mouth shut."

"It isn't that easy. He is one of those people who would make sure that he wasn't implicated in any dealings that we have had with the Colombians. I don't know how he can do that but, knowing him I'm sure that he can. The simplest thing would be to pay him his share and get him out of the system. I can always find another investor, one with fewer scruples."

"You're going too easy on him, why?"

"If anything happens to him the police will probably suspect me."

"Why would this be? It wouldn't be because you have been indiscreet with his wife now would it?"

"What do you know about this?"

"I know it all. You are stupid letting your dick get you into trouble like this."

"But Melissa and I have known each other much longer than we have known him."

"Could it be that the police will see this as a scam?"

"Why do you say that?"

"She meets with this guy, he's loaded and she marries him, then she introduces him to her lover who, she tells him, will be able to turn his money into a lot more money. He finds out about where the money is invested and demands his money back and if anything happens to him the police will suspect that this has been a setup from the start."

"Something like that."

"Is there anything else that I should know about this affair?"

"No."

"There had better not be. If I hear that you have been even stupider than you already have I might just get very angry with you. Tell me now, how much of my money do you need to cover what you have promised him?"

"Two million will be enough."

"Okay." Guido scribbled a note on a slip of paper and signed it with a flourish before handing it to James. "Take this to my accountant and he will give you the money. Make sure that nothing else goes wrong."

On that note James left the office. As he walked through the bar the waitress came over to him, "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, couldn't be better."

"Will I see you later?"

"What? Oh, I suppose so. When do you finish tonight?"

"That depends on what happens, if I get a customer who is paying well it could be very late."

"I'll pay you better than any customer will. Come around to my apartment when you finish."

"Sure lover."

As he left the bar the waitress told the barman that she was going for a short break and walked through the back door to the dressing room. She picked up the receiver of the wall phone and rang a number. "Hi Honey, I think something is about to go down."

Ruiz at the other end of the phone was instantly alert. "What is happening?"

"I'm not sure but our friend James Craigmore has just left here after a conference with one of his clients followed by a short talk with Guido. He just left with a very worried look on his face. He's asked me to make myself available for him tonight."

"You be careful now. I'll see you when you get home."

"It could be an all night effort."

"I guess that's the price we have to pay for the information."

Guido picked up the phone as soon as James had left his office and issued a simple instruction to the person at the other end, "I want you to find as much information as you can about James Craigmore and Melissa Feldham. Go back as far as necessary but I want it all. While you're at it I want a complete run down on Jason Feldham, I want it all yesterday."

James walked the short distance from the bar to the office of Guido's accountant. It was on the third storey of a small untidy office building set among other small untidy office buildings that made up a block of small untidy office buildings.

"I don't know about this." Paulo Prinzi looked over the top of his pebble glasses that gave him the look of an ancient school teacher. His suit was old, crumpled and not very clean because he resented the cost of suits even more than he resented the cost of getting his suit cleaned and pressed. He had no wife to do this for him because he resented the cost of marriage. His father had taught him that the money that was paid to the priest for the marriage ceremony was only a small part of the cost. The money that you had to pay in alimony when the marriage failed was the straw that breaks the camel's back. Paulo decided to spare himself the financial and emotional ruin that he saw his father go through by not getting married, all the money that he earned was his and his alone.

"You don't have to know about this. Guido has authorized the payment to me. I want the money."

"You will have to wait until tomorrow for it, I don't carry that amount in cash with me."

"What time can I expect it?"

"When does this man want his money?"

"By three o'clock."

"Then you will have it by two-thirty."

"Very good. I'll see you then."

"I hope that you will bring someone with you because I don't want to see anything happen to you or the money."

"What could happen? I'm just calling on my accountant, who would suspect that I'm carrying a large amount of money?"

"Who would do that?"

James left and walked back to where he had parked his car. He drove in silence to his office. He might have driven in silence but he wasn't alone, several car lengths behind him as he drove down the street was an unmarked police car.

The unmarked police car wasn't the only vehicle that followed James. The other was an insignificant van, operated by an insignificant company manufacturing an insignificant product through an address that was a vacant building and listing a phone number that didn't exist. It contained a driver who was dressed in a workman's uniform that carried the logo of the company. In the rear of the van sat a man dressed in no particular uniform seated in front of a huge array of electronic equipment. This equipment was designed to look and/or listen to a target from a distance of up to one hundred yards. It was designed to record conversations and if vision was available, to video record these conversations.

The occupants of the vehicle had become very interested in the conversations between myself and James, James and Guido and James and Paulo. While the initial reaction to my meeting with James had resulted in them deciding that I was merely an innocent party caught up in the operation they decided that they should see if I had any other contacts with the operation.

The equipment operator in the back of the van dialed a number. "We could have a problem."

"What's happening?"

"It looks as if one of the other investors has gotten cold feet and wants out. He's demanding the return of his investment."

"Is there a problem with that?"

"I don't know but I get the impression that Craigmore is about to do something stupid. If he does we may have to go into damage control mode."

"Thanks for the heads up, keep me informed."

It was dark by the time that James left his office. He knew this because he had sat thinking for several hours in his darkening office before leaving. If he hadn't been so deep in thought he would have noticed that he was followed from his office to his apartment building. He prepared a light meal of whisky and a cigar and settled back in front of his television set. It was turned on but he wasn't watching it.

He had no sooner sat down when a man walked from his bedroom.

"How did you get in here?" James was incredulous.

"I have my ways. Now, let's get down to business." His tone re-enforced his intent on business.




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 02



"Who are you?" Again there was a look of incredulity.

"My name is of no importance to you. My organization has invested a significant amount of capital in your venture and we have a vested interest in making sure that we get a just return on our investment."

If James had pressed the point the man would have given him a name that wasn't his. His boss, Marshall Griffin was the Area Director of the CIA and was heavily involved in finance and procurement. To this end he had continued the work established during the Vietnam War (read Police Action) and used to finance, covertly, the operations of the Covert Operations Group (COG). Apart from several brief periods when operations were curtailed due to increased breast beating by the Administration in Washington about the drug problem, the operation had run smoothly and profitably.

Griffin had overseen the expansion of the operation into the trade in cocaine from Colombia. They had negotiated with the important people in Medellin to ensure that a consistent supply would always be available. They had established a processing plant in the Colombian jungle where the coca leaf was converted into pure cocaine. They had established a coffee processing and packing plant to process the cocaine for shipment. They had pressured the Colombian government to ensure that the necessary customs clearances were expedited. They had gained the assistance of key personnel in both the US Customs Service and the DEA to ensure the unhindered arrival of the shipments into the US.

Griffin had enlisted the services of the Costanzo organization to arrange the financial side of the venture. He had, rightly, assumed that the additional finances necessary for such an operation would not have been as readily forthcoming if the potential investors were aware of the CIA involvement. He also assumed, rightly again, that the CIA would not have been able to cover such a large amount of money if they had to finance the venture on their own.

For this reason he had dispatched his most trusted lieutenant, Frank Mumford, to speak to Craigmore. The last thing that he wanted was for his plans to be placed in jeopardy.

James' brain was travelling at a previously unheard of speed as he tried to come to terms with this development. He had no knowledge of this man so he presumed that he had worked through an intermediary, but which one, there were several large investors. His mind raced through the list before settling on the likeliest suspect. "You are connected in some way with the government, aren't you?"

"The brain works. Yes, but you don't need to know just how. Any information you get from me will be strictly on a need to know basis."

"What do you want?"

"We have been led to understand that one of your investors wants out of the operation. What we want to know is how much he is in for and how will this affect the overall operation."

"His potential return is five million but that won't affect the project much because we can find other people to invest if he pulls it all out."

"How much does he know?"

"He suspects more than he knows."

"Okay then, what does he suspect?"

"He suspects that this is a huge operation and it involves the importation of cocaine. He doesn't know how big or who else is involved. I get the impression that he wants only to cut his ties with the operation and won't be going to the authorities with his theories."

"You realize that if he can prove any of this and does go to the authorities your ass will be well and truly in a sling. We will use whatever it takes to get out of it but don't expect us to save you, because we won't."

"Don't worry, everything is under control. He won't be going anywhere with his money."

"I hope you aren't planning anything stupid."

"No, I'm not planning anything stupid. His money will remain in the equation but it will no longer be his."

"You aren't planning to kill him are you?"

"No, I just want to ensure that he is relieved of his money before he can do anything with it."

"Be warned that we will be watching over you to make doubly sure that this thing doesn't get out of hand."

Mumford left, leaving James deep in thought. This was a major new development, he was indirectly working for the government and the ramifications of a foul-up were enormous.

At eleven-thirty, some five minutes after Mumford left, his buzzer sounded waking him from his trance. Walking to the door he pressed the intercom to hear his waitress friend's voice from below. "Hi lover, its Phoebe can I come up." James pushed the button that opened the door and she let herself in.

"What's the matter?" They were lying in bed, their passions un-relieved.

"Oh it's just some business problems that I'm having."

"Forget them! We're here to have a good time, and I'm here to help you forget." She moved to him once more, her hands stroking his body. James lay back with his eyes closed trying to take his mind off his problems but the more that he tried the more that he thought about it, and the more he thought about it the less co-operative his penis became. "I give up!" Phoebe moved to get out of the bed.

"No don't go. I know that I haven't been very good tonight but I just need you here with me. I need your company more than I need your body right now. Please, stay with me."

"All right I'll stay." She moved back into the bed and snuggled against him.

The men watching from the apartment building across the road hoping to see through their night vision glasses an evening of unbridled passion were bitterly disappointed. They were even more disappointed by the lack of information that came from the conversation. It had taken Phoebe Travers almost two months to win James' confidence and become his lover. It was a part of her job that she had found distasteful when it was first proposed to her but she had, once the first contact had been made, rationalized her role in the apprehension of criminals.

The next morning brought with it sex for Phoebe and James and nothing else. It brought some moments of voyeuristic pleasure for the watchers across the road and nothing else. 

For me and Melissa it brought a few problems.

They started for Melissa when James rang her. He sounded agitated. "Why does Jason want his money back?"

"What do you mean?"

"We had a meeting yesterday and he wants all his money back."

"I don't know anything about this, he certainly hasn't mentioned it to me."

She rang me straight away. "Darling could you come down to my office, I need to talk to you."

I arrived at her office to find James there. "Now Darling, what is this James tells me about you wanting your money back?"

"I don't like what he has been using it for, his instructions were that he was not to use it for illegal purposes, but he did, so I want out of his schemes."

"How do you know that he has been using it for illegal purposes?"

"I found some information that linked him with something pretty nasty and when I spoke to him about it yesterday he as much as admitted it."

Melissa didn't have to tell James that she thought his telling me about the operation was possibly the stupidest thing he could have done, the look she gave him said it all.

"Look, in a month or two this money will have grown to an amount that we will be able to invest in legitimate enterprises and live comfortably on the income from it (the investment). Why not wait a little longer before you pull your money out?"

"I never wanted to get involved in this in the first place, I was happy with my income from my writing and my savings. I invested this money with James to please you because you saw it as necessary for our future together. Our future is established. I want my money back."

"Look Jason," James leaned towards me, "Melissa and I were only doing what we thought was best for you. You have to admit that when it comes to the real world you didn't have much of a clue, did you?"

"I might not have had, as you put it, much of a clue, but I do know the difference between right and wrong. I resent being told that I don't know much about the real world by someone with as few scruples as you seem to have."

"Darling, please don't get angry." Melissa put her hand on my arm. I brushed it aside.

"I have every right to get angry. I gave explicit instructions to your friend here and he disobeyed those instructions. What would happen, just say, if something went wrong with this deal and we didn't get the return that we are expecting, what happens to our future then?"

"Nothing can go wrong."

"I find that hard to believe. If the police suspect your involvement and decide to act on that suspicion, everything could go wrong."

"The police can suspect as much as they like, proving it is another thing and without proof they can do nothing. They will never have any proof, at least none that will ever get to court."

"You seem sure of this."

"I'm very sure and for good reason. Part of this type of investment is to make sure that other strategic investments are made."

"Do you mean palms greased?"

"You're not wired are you?"

"Wired?"

"Don't you come the innocent with me; you as a crime writer are very much aware of the term 'wired'. You don't have a microphone and transmitter on you, do you?"

"Good heavens no. Hey, I write mystery novels, I have done a lot of research and I have a vivid imagination."

"Even if they confiscated the shipment we would have it back in no time."

"How?"

"You sure you aren't wired?"

"I'm sure." I wished right then that I was.

"We have friends in positions of power that can ensure that what is confiscated is returned and all records of its existence destroyed."

"Darling, would you think twice about pulling your money, at least leave it there for another couple of weeks, just until this deal is finalized?"

"No. James knows the terms of my demands and I expect him to live up to them."

"Please Darling, don't be unreasonable."

"What have you two got planned between you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why this sudden need to ensure that my money stays in the system for a little longer?"

"If you must know," James, it seemed, was about to become honest with me, probably for the first time. "I have made other investments in other areas that have not been successful and I need the extra money to cover my losses."

"What you are trying to tell me without telling me is that you have invested money in an equine Endeavour and the candidate for the knackers' yard let you down. Now your turf accountant is leaning on you for money. You are stalling him until this shipment arrives and then you'll be able to repay him. He is getting concerned at the lack of money and if I pull my funds from your investment you won't have enough to cover what you owe. Am I getting close?"

"Yes."

"Now if you can't cover what you owe your bookie he will send a couple of very large gentlemen around to your place to be less than gentle with you, right?"

"Yes."

"And rather than face that prospect you have invested everything in this one shipment?"

"Yes."

"You bloody fool!"

"Darling," Melissa started to intervene but the look that I gave her stopped her mid intervention.

I stood up, "Three o'clock this afternoon at the First National Bank down the road, with my money." I walked out of Melissa's office leaving them staring after me.



Chapter 6

I walked around the city looking in shops for nothing in particular and looking at people for no particular reason. If I was so inclined I could have done any number of things to while away the time but I thought that I should put it into good use. I found myself walking past the 5th Precinct. Then I found myself not walking past the 5th Precinct.

I went inside to speak to the duty officer, who I knew very well. Captain Ruiz is a Puerto Rican who was brought up in a cold water apartment in one of the less well to do areas of town. He had gotten into the usual scrapes as a juvenile but at the same time had managed to survive a high school system that couldn't have cared less if he had or not.

His progress in the police force was steady but not spectacular until the night that he had seen what appeared to be a normal mob hit going down. He stepped in and arrested the two hit men and won the admiration of the victim who just happened to be the friend of the brother of the cousin of the mayoral candidate and when that person was elected Ruiz found himself elevated up the ladder fairly smartly.

What upset his few detractors more than anything else was that they had to admit that he was one of the more competent officers on the force.

I sat in Ruiz's office with a cup of coffee in my hand. "I have come across something that might interest you. There is going to be a massive shipment of crack cocaine arriving in the next three or four weeks. It would not harm your career to set up the bust."

"How do you know this?"

"Let me say that I have become peripherally involved in this operation, without my knowledge."

"If we bust this shipment you could be caught up in the bust."

"I have asked for my money to be withdrawn from the operation. I am to get half this afternoon and the rest in two weeks. This leads me to believe that the shipment is due around then."

"Do you have any idea where and when it is coming in?"

"No I don't, at least not at this stage. I could possibly find out."

"No. I don't want you to take any chances. No, what I think we should do is to wait until you get the first half of your money and then lean on your person to see where that will take us. How much is involved?"

"He has invested a million dollars of my money and he has told me that I am not the biggest investor in this deal."

"Shit! They will need a convoy of trucks to bring that into town. How do they expect to get away with this?"

"I don't know. My contact is desperate for the money to come in because he owes his bookie a lot of money and unless he can clear the debt you will probably find him in the river."

"Who is your contact, off the record at this point."

"James Craigmore."

"I thought as much, I already have someone on his case, I'll talk to her to see if she can't find out more than he has let on up until now."

"Who have you got on him?"

"She is an undercover operative who works as an exotic dancer at the bar that he frequents. Her name is Phoebe, so if you run into her don't let on that you know of her real role in this."

"Is she the gorgeous blonde about twenty-five with legs up to here and the most amazing breasts imaginable?"

"I think that they are all like that but yes she is. Keep your hands to yourself, I'm married to her."

"Doesn't she get propositioned in that place?"

"All of the time. She manages to keep them away, but with James it is a different story, she has had to get involved in order to get close to him."

"And you don't mind this?"

"I wouldn't go that far. In this case it was her call. She has to play it the way that will get results and if that means going to bed with him then she is prepared to do it."

"Isn't she scared that if something goes wrong with this operation she will no longer be able to work under cover?"

"That's the risk that we all take in this job. She has decided that it is about time that she gave up that line of work and did something a little less stressful."

"Like what?"

"She talks about store security, but I think that she'll miss this and want to come back into the force."

"What can I do for you? What if I wear a wire and try to get him to admit his involvement in this operation?"

"You said that he has already admitted as much to you, if you try to dig deeper he will suspect something and you could blow the whole operation for us. No, you've done more than enough already, you've got him worried and worried men end up doing stupid things and men who do stupid things end up either getting caught or end up dead. Whichever happens we get them off the streets."

I made a statement to him outlining all that I knew of the operation and left it at that.

At a quarter to three I walked into the First National Bank for my rendezvous with James. He was five minutes late and I had used the time to arrange for a safety deposit box. I had completed my transaction when he walked in.

"Do you have all of the money?"

"Of course." He thrust a black leather attaché case onto the desk in front of me. "I suppose you want to count it?"

"Would you be disappointed if I did? I have never really trusted money men and you have done nothing to make me change my opinion. I have arranged with the bank for the use of a cubicle so that I can count it. After that I am going to take the money with me and place it in an account at my own bank."

"Then why did you ask me to bring it here?"

"Because this is the closest bank to your office and there would be less chance for some unscrupulous person to knock you on the head and steal my money. This way I walk out of here looking for all the world like a successful business person who is heading back to his office after transacting some business in the bank. Now who would suspect that I could be carrying as much money as all of this."

"How do I know you won't just transfer the money into your account from this bank?"

"Because large electronic transfers of funds like this will draw too much attention and is traceable. Now my bank is used to me depositing large sums of money into my account, sometimes in cash other times by bank draft, but the transactions are processed in such a way that the source of the funds don't cause any problems." I was sure that James had already found that out and was just fishing for confirmation.

James left, his mind was working overtime. I had given him the perfect opportunity to recoup his money.

As soon as he had left I walked down to the vault and took the money out of the attaché case and filled it with newspaper that I'd brought with me. I put the money into a large container and placed it into my safety deposit box. Taking the key and putting it into an envelope that I had already addressed to Sendi with a note asking her to keep the key safe, I left.

I walked to the nearest mail box and posted my letter and then caught a cab back to my apartment building. I never made it. A car swerved in front of the cab forcing it to stop. I pulled a ten dollar note from my pocket and threw it onto the seat beside the driver. "Call Captain Ruiz at the 5th Precinct and tell him that Jason Feldham is in trouble, give him a description of the car and get the hell out of here as soon as you can!" I yelled at him as the cab screeched to a halt.



Chapter 7

Three men jumped from the car and dragged me out. I was thrown unceremoniously into the back of their car and it took off in a cloud of tire smoke. It was all very dramatic.

I was taken to a warehouse where my wrist and ankles were tied and I was strung up by the wrists. The attaché case was thrown onto a table, pushing the pile of rubbish already there onto the floor. The locks gave up the ghost with nary a struggle and when the men looked inside they were confronted by newspaper, old and lots of it, and nothing much else.

"Where is the money?" His face was inches from mine and his breath was an unsavory combination of garlic and rotten teeth.

"What money?" I saw the fist coming but there was nothing I could do about it. My breath escaped as the fist hit me in the solar plexus.

"I'll ask you again, where is the money?"

"And I'll ask you once again, what money? The contents of the case is exactly as it was when it was given to me, I haven't even opened it. If you want to know where the money is then ask your friend who was supposed to give it to me." The fist arrived at roughly the same speed as before, my breath left me at roughly the same speed as before.




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 02



"A third time, where is the money?"

"For the third time, I don't know." I now know how those unfortunate third rate boxers feel who a pitted against the world champion heavyweights in one of those lopsided matches that you see from time to time. The difference being that they were being paid handsomely to take that sort of punishment.

"We're not gettin' nothing outa him, let's talk to the boss and see what he wants us to do." And he was the smart one of the trio. They left me there while they went off in search of further instructions. 

I have seen these escape artists who can be trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey and get out in nothing flat. I couldn't do that, try as I did, I couldn't break loose from the ropes that bound my wrists.

I must have hung there for several minutes before I heard someone enter the building. Here we go again. "Look at you, I turn my back and you get yourself into trouble again." Ruiz stood in front of me.

"Don't just stand there get me down, they could be back any minute." He took a flick knife from his packet and cut the ropes. I chaffed my wrists to restart the circulation to my hands.

"Now let's get out of here before they come back, then you can tell me what happened to you."

We drove back to the precinct. "James brought the money as arranged and we exchanged it in the bank. I told him that I was going to count it and then take it to my bank so that I could deposit it in my own account. He was so excited by that news he couldn't wait to set his plan in motion and that was to relieve me of the money before I had a chance to get to my bank with it. I placed the money in a safety deposit box in the vault and sent the key to a friend in Hollywood, and then I caught a cab to go home. The goon squad arrived in numbers and I found myself in the warehouse being beaten up."

"What did you tell them, assuming that you told them something?"

"I suggested that they should be asking James where the money was seeing as how there was none in the attaché case when he gave it to me. There was no reason for them to doubt me because they saw me leave the bank with the case and, apart from posting a letter I didn't have a chance to get rid of it."

"You surprise me. Here I was thinking that you were some insignificant little man who writes B grade mystery novels and you come up with this scheme, I'm impressed."

"What do I do now?"

"Go home, get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

I went home, I didn't get any sleep and I didn't see Ruiz in the morning, in fact by the morning I was in Hollywood.

"What have you done?" Melissa's greeting was not the same as I have been used to receiving.

"What do you mean 'what have I done'?"

"I just had a phone call from James, and he claims that you double-crossed him."

"I double-crossed him?" I hope that my incredulity was not too strained, otherwise she might get the impression that I was putting it on. "Next time you speak to the wonderful James ask him who it was that arranged for me to be kidnapped and beaten and the money stolen from me."

"James wouldn't have done that."

"You have a lot more faith in his character than I have. I find the man sleazy and someone that I can't trust."

"But look at all that he has done for you."

"Okay, let's look at what he has done for me. He has used my money to finance drug importation, he has implicated me in an illegal activity that could see me spend a considerable number of my future years in jail. He has arranged to have me beaten and robbed, and while I'm at it, it wouldn't surprise me to find that he has taken my place in your bed while I've been working in Hollywood."

"What! What are you saying?" I knew that would wind her up. "How dare you accuse me of having an affair with James!"

"What was it that Shakespeare once said, 'methinks he, or in your case she, doth protest too much'. I know that you have been having an affair with someone, I assume that it is James, and that the two of you have been lovers for some time. I think it more than likely you were lovers before we met and that you continued that affair after we married."

"How can you be sure that I have had a lover anyway?"

"Because my darling you are pregnant and I know that I cannot possibly be the father."

"How do you know that?"

"Simple, I have had a sperm count done. I thought that I should have a check up when nothing seemed to be happening in the family stakes after years of trying. The count showed that it is impossible for me to father a child. I am sterile."

"You bastard! How could you do something like that without discussing it with me?"

"I wanted to test whether I was the problem or not before I discussed it with you. I didn't want to be one of those macho types who couldn't accept the possibility that he was the problem and order you off for tests before I checked my part in the problem first. I thought that I was doing the right thing."

"How long have you known?"

"I found out shortly before you told me that you were pregnant."

"And you never said anything. How could you!"

"Why are you so angry? Don't you think that I should be the angry one here? How do you think I feel knowing that the woman that I love has been making love to someone else behind my back? Do you think that I am going to wear my cuckold's horns proudly? No I'm not!"

"What about you? Are you going to stand there and tell me that you have never made love to Sendi?"

"Yes. Sendi and I have enjoyed a platonic friendship for the simple reason that neither of us wanted any involvement in something that would jeopardize my love for you and our life together."

"So you say! I read the newspapers, and she has a reputation for jumping into bed with anyone who might be able to further her career. You could be screwing yourself stupid with that woman and, unless you were caught in the act who would know? You can never have children, so you say, so you would never find yourself having to cover an unplanned pregnancy."

"You can't possibly believe everything that you read in the tabloids, can you? You've met her and spoken to her, she would never come between us and you know that."

"Well that is the impression that she was trying to give when I spoke to her last. But then she is an actress and from what I've seen of her a good one."

"Do you doubt my statement that I'm sterile?"

"I haven't seen any evidence of the fact."

"In case I found that you didn't believe me I have gotten a copy of the medical report." I took an envelope from my attaché case and handed it to her.

"So you can't have children. What do we do now?"

"What would you like me to do? Do you want me to continue on knowing that I'm not the father of the child? What?"

"What about James and the money? You can't just leave him to fend for himself, can you?"

"What else can I do? I suppose that you think that your wonderful James had any qualms about sicking the goons on to me? No, I think that he would sell his mother to cover his debts. Now I'm going to ask you one question and I want an honest answer."

"What is it?"

"Was your marrying me part of some plan that you and James cooked up to get your hands on my money or was that something that occurred to you later? Did you really love me in the beginning and do you still love me now?"

"You said one question. No, it was not part of a plan and yes I did love you in the beginning and I still love you now. You infuriate me, but I love you."

"If you love me would you still ask me to support James knowing what I know about him?"

"What do you know? I know that you suspect a lot of things but do you know anything about him?"

"I know a lot more than is safe for me to know. I know that he owes a lot of money to a lot of people who are getting a little concerned about ever seeing any of their money back. He has been stalling them like mad, but their collective patience is fast running out. It is only a matter of time before the police fish him out of the river or something equally drastic."

"And you don't want to help him?"

"It's not a matter of don't want to, it's more a case of can't. I can't because the police know about him and his involvement with these and other unsavory people. If I tried to help him I would be telling the world that I support what he has done and is doing. I do not support him and his endeavors. I cannot condone the misery that drugs such as cocaine bring into this world and I need to distance myself as far as possible from James and his friends. I love you still but I find your loyalty to be misplaced and if it continues, love or not, I would be forced to leave you."

"You? Leave me! I think not!" She was starting to get desperate. "Where do you think you'd be without me? Writing books with no soul and living on the interest from the banks in that horrid little apartment that you used to call home! Look at what I've given you." Very dramatic this, she waved her hand around the room so that I could see the worldly goods that we had acquired. "I have taken you from obscurity and groomed you for the stardom that you now enjoy."

"My talent as a writer has nothing to do with this I suppose?"

"Your talents were wasted, and they were being exploited by your agent and the banks. You were getting nowhere and would most likely have ended up some writer of pulp fiction eking out a miserable existence in some pokey little apartment, afraid to go outside for fear of being mugged by schoolchildren looking for drug money. Until I met you, you were nothing, nothing do you hear me! Now look at you. I did that for you because I loved you. I still love you."

"Do you know what I think? I think that in the beginning you recognized my potential as an interesting appendage to your ambitions, someone you could take to parties and your friends would say 'how interesting he is and hasn't Melissa done wonders with him? Do you remember him when she first found him? What a weedy little man who had no concept of the real world'. I was some kind of project for you. Oh you loved me, in your own way, but it wasn't the all encompassing love and affection that I had for you." 

"You said 'had', does that mean that you don't love me anymore?"

"I still love you but not in the same way that I did in the past. I love you as a friend, I love you as a person, but I am finding it difficult to believe that I can still love you as a wife and lover."

"So where do we go from here?"

"I need time to think, time to get my thoughts together. I'm going off to some secluded place where I can relax and enjoy life for a while."

"I suppose that you're going to Hollywood to see your friend Sendi and get her help."

"I am going to spend time on my own. Sendi will not be with me." This wasn't entirely true but I didn't want to put her in any danger by announcing to everyone that I would be going to her for comfort.

"And when is this going to happen?"

"I am leaving tonight. I have booked a flight to Seattle and I'm going to spend some time in a cabin in the Rockies." The first part of this was true, I had booked a flight to Seattle, but I wasn't going there. I walked into the bedroom and came out again carrying a soft bag with my clothes.

"If you walk out of this door I will file for divorce and take you to the cleaners! You will end up with nothing, do you hear me? Nothing!" 

I walked.

The cab took me to Kennedy where I checked in for the flight to Seattle. I then walked over to another airline counter, I can't remember which one it was, and bought a standby ticket to Los Angeles. 

The flight to LAX was uneventful, uncomfortable and boring. I tried to read without success. I tried to sleep with even less success. I thought about getting plastered but decided that would not be a good idea if I wanted to arrive un-noticed.

I rang Sendi from the airport, she was expecting my call. "Where are you? I've just had a phone call from Melissa, she sounded weird, said something about you walking out on her. She wants me to contact her if I hear from you. What's going on?"

"I'll explain when I see you. Don't tell Melissa that I'm here. I've booked into a motel near the airport, can you come over? I'll tell you all about it when you get here. Be careful, there may be interested parties around."

"I will, see you soon."

Soon wasn't very long but it wasn't soon enough. It didn't take long to fill her in on the whole story. "This house that we've bought in Maine, how do I get there?"

"I'm coming with you."

"No, I don't think that will be safe."

"Look, I haven't pushed the point until now, but I love you, in the real sense of the word not the shallow sense that's expected around here, and I have loved you for a long time, since college, I realize that now. Do you realize how hard it has been for me to have that love for a man who is, or has been, beyond my reach? Not being able to show my love for you in a physical way for fear of your wife finding out. Not being able to get close to you because you haven't allowed it. Now is my chance. Do you remember that conversation we had the last time you were here? The one where I talked of the hint of an opportunity, well my love, I have got the hint. Now I can be the woman that you need. I want to be your woman, forever." 

By the time she had finished saying this she had taken my head in her hands, and her face was inches from mine. I think she kissed me to stop my protest but, by the time the kiss was complete, I had complied with her wishes, I had allowed her totally into my life.

We left Los Angeles that morning. Not by plane because we figured that there would be people watching the airport and, as Sendi was easily recognizable, our chances of getting through would be minimal. I know that I sound paranoid here but I couldn't be sure that Melissa hadn't told James that I had walked out on her. If she had I could bet that he would have passed the word on to Costanzo who would have assumed that I was absconding with all of the money and he would have put the word around to other branches of his organization to look out for me.

We had thought about renting a car and driving but also decided that there was a risk involved. We eventually decided on train. We spent the time between LA and New York in a sleeping compartment, having our meals in the compartment, and not being seen by anyone other than the cabin attendant.

From Grand Central we caught a cab to a small airfield in New Jersey where we hired a light airplane to take us to Bar Harbor, and from there we rented a car and drove to the house.

It was small, rustic and hidden among the coastal sand dunes. The access road was unsealed and, unless you knew exactly where it was, you could easily drive past without noticing it. From the main coastal road the house remained invisible unless we had a fire burning in the living room, then a small wisp of smoke could be seen by the alert motorist.

A short walk took us onto the beach where we could stroll, alone, being showered by spray from the pounding surf and listening to the gulls squawking overhead.

Sendi and I grew closer together in that first few days and became lovers. 

Technically Melissa was a very good lover. She knew moves and positions that I had read about in books such as 'The Joys of Sex' but had never experienced. The physical act of sex had been the most enjoyable experience, but something had been missing. Because of my lack of experience in this area I wasn't aware of the missing link until Sendi and I made love for the first time.

While Melissa made love with her body Sendi made love with her heart and the difference was amazing. I could feel the emotions in the way she caressed me and the soft way that she spoke to me. It was a gentle love that told me that she was giving herself to me entirely. It was a powerful and passionate love that told me that she was mine without reservation or condition. The bond that we formed in our little house on the beach was an all encompassing physical and spiritual bond that only people truly in love can achieve. Even if we were to be physically separate in the future the spiritual bond would keep us together.

A week saw us separated, only because she had to return to Hollywood for a film shoot that would last for at least two months. I missed her greatly the day after she left and that feeling only got more intense as the time dragged on. I endured thirty four hour days missing her, I endured ten day weeks of wanting her, desperately. I walked the beach, I talked to the gulls and began to recognize individuals in the regular flock.

I tried with little success to immerse myself in my writing. I was having more success in changing my image. I had returned to my comfortable corduroy trousers and plaid shirt, I had resurrected the tweed coat complete with leather patches and my hair and beard were well advanced.

Three days after Sendi returned to Hollywood I was in the village getting provisions. "Where are you staying?" The 'eyes and ears of the world' disguised as the storekeeper was a jovial type who wanted to know everything about everyone in the district. 

"A friend is letting me use her house on the coast a mile down the road."

"Would you mean you're a friend of the famous movie star that bought that place a month or so ago?"

"Yes."

"Then I have a package for you, it arrived this morning with instructions that I should hold it for you and give it to you when you came in for supplies. You don't look much like your photograph." He took an envelope from under the counter and showed me the letter that Sendi had written with a copy of one of the press photographs of us taken some time ago. "You're the famous author aren't you?"

"I suppose that you could say that I am famous, yes."

We chatted for several minutes while I replenished my stocks of eggs, milk, coffee and bread along with some cereal and fresh fruit and vegetables. He handed me the package as I left and I felt that he was disappointed that I hadn't opened it in front of him. I was glad that I hadn't. I was also glad that the news that I was about to receive hadn't filtered down to this part of the world just yet.

Apart from a long letter telling me how much she loved and missed me, there was a copy of the New York Times with the story on the front page that shook my whole world.

"BIZARRE DEATHS. COUPLE LINKED IN SUSPECTED DOUBLE MURDER. MISSING HUSBAND SOUGHT.

Police are anxious to interview the husband of a woman who plunged to her death from their Manhattan penthouse. Police sources have linked her death to the shooting death of well known financier James Craigmore III."

Staring at me from just under this screaming headline was a picture of me looking very guilty. I wondered two things, the first was where did they get that picture and secondly, what do they do to pictures of people who police wish to interview in connection with something to make them look so guilty. 

The news was days old when I first heard about it. My first guess was that the police would contact Felix to see if he knew of my whereabouts. Of course he didn't know where I was and he would probably be having several of his usual heart attacks when faced with bad news. In his opinion the bad news wouldn't be so much that Melissa was dead, and I'm sure that he would feel that deeply, but that his client who earned him a large amount of money for virtually no work, was missing. He would brighten somewhat when he realized the wealth of unpaid publicity that this would generate.



Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 03



8

James had responded to Melissa's phone call and rushed over to our apartment. "What do you mean he knows about us?"

Not for the first time they were locked in each other's embrace. They lay naked on the bed, the product of their love forgotten in a sticky puddle on the sheet. Melissa's head rested on James' shoulder and she idly played with his limp penis. The fingers of his left hand traced lazy circles around her erect right nipple. For both of them sex was an act that was not affected by any outside influence.

"Well he knows that I have been having an affair with someone and he suspects that it is with you."

"How can he know? We have been careful where and when we have been together?"

"We made one mistake. Do you remember the night that I let you make love to me without a condom? That night was enough for me to get pregnant."

"So? Weren't you trying to get pregnant? How do you know it was me?"

"Because he found out that he is sterile. He had tests done without telling me and when I broke the exciting news to him he was less than pleased. We had an argument about the money and he accused me of having an affair, I denied it of course. That was when he told me about the test, he even showed me the test report so that I was in no doubt that it was real."

"What happens now? I suppose that this has blown any chance that we had of him helping us get that money back."

"What about me? Do you realize that this could be the end of my career. One of my biggest clients is one of those fundamental Christian Churches that believes in fidelity and chastity. When they hear that I have been less than trustworthy in my marriage do you think that they will trust me with their business?"

"Forget your career! What about my money? If I don't get that back soon it will be the end of my career and I'll have nothing. Not only will I have nothing but I may not even have a life, then I won't be able to support you. We are in this together so you have to help me before I can help you."

There was not so much as a knock on the front door of the apartment, the door crashed into the room following the pressure from the size sixteen foot of the six foot nine, two hundred and eighty pound monster.

There was no need for the same pressure on the bedroom door. Three men walked into the room. James and Melissa sat up, scrabbling for the sheet to protect themselves from the gaze of the three men. 

"Who, who are you?" Melissa stammered from behind the sheet, her eyes wide open in fear.

"Shut up lady. We are here to see your friend. James we have come for our money, where is it?" The first name terms used to address James belied the menace behind the voice and the glare from the man.

"I keep telling you I don't have it. That bastard Feldham double-crossed me and he still has it."

"There was nothing but old newspaper in the briefcase. He says that you didn't give the money to him. Now who are we to believe?"

"I'm telling you the truth! I don't have it! Tell them Melissa, tell them that I don't have it."

"That's right I tried to persuade my husband to give it back but he won't. He's the one that you should be looking for. I think that he has gone to be with that bitch he's been fucking in Hollywood, I've spoken to her and she has promised to let me know when he gets there."

"You're his lover," pointing to James, "and your husband has a lover, whatever happened to the sanctity of the marriage vows?"

"That's rich coming from someone with such little regard for the law." James wished he hadn't said that almost as soon as the words were out. It took a short time for the hand to push him in the face and for the back of his head to hit the wall behind him.

"Now let us get down to serious business. If you don't tell me where the money is your little friend here will suffer some severe pain." He walked over to the bed and pulled the sheet from it revealing the naked bodies of James and Melissa. Melissa tried to hide herself behind her hands with little success. She crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest. The man who appeared to be in charge walked to the side of the bed, reached out and dragged Melissa to her feet. She tried once more to hide herself behind her hands, this time with even less affect.

The biggest of the men walked over and stood in front of her, his massive paw reached out and stroked her surprisingly gently on the breast, "Pretty, pretty." Melissa cringed back as far as she could which was as far as the wall and wasn't far enough. The paw continued stroking.

"James, do something!" Melissa made an ineffectual swipe at the massive hand.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know and I don't care! Just do something!"

"What are you going to do? Are you going to tell us where the money is?"

"I can't because I don't know."

"James, help me!"

"Sorry Darling I can't."

The big goon transferred his attention to her lower body, his hand exploring between her legs. "Pretty, pretty." His fingers had found their target and were exploring deeper into her body.

"Are you going to tell me where the money is or do I let him loose on your lover?"

"James! Please help me!" Melissa had moved along the wall and was backed into a corner, unable to move away from her assailant.

"I can't." His voice was little more than a whimper.

The leader of the group nodded to the big man, who needed no second invitation. He pushed Melissa to the floor and, pulling his trousers down placed himself over her. 

"My God, no! You can't possibly expect to shove that monster into me!" Melissa was staring wide eyed at the huge penis that was being waved in front of her face. It hadn't reached its full size and yet it was bigger than anything she had ever seen.

The size of the penis waving inches from Melissa's face was the reason that this man was known as 'the horse'. It had been said that his size in centimeters is roughly the equivalent of his IQ which was a generous assessment of his IQ. 

The Horse was born Luigi Costanzo, the son of one of Guido's cousins. It was an incestuous relationship between Maria and Luigi Senior. She was fourteen at the time that the thirteen year old Luigi had made love to her. He was big and she was keen and neither of them gave any thought to the consequences of their actions until her mother noticed that her periods hadn't arrived as expected.

At first she had refused to tell her parents who the father of her child was, but a mixture of coercion and punishment broke her resolve. Luigi senior was sent to the Miami branch of the family where it was hoped that he could be kept away from the family women. It was only by supplying an almost endless stream of prostitutes to satisfy his appetite that they were able to succeed in their mission. 

Maria's parents explored the possibility of a quiet abortion so that their shame could be kept from the family and the local priest. She proved to be as stubborn and headstrong as they were and little Luigi arrived yelling and screaming into a world of hate and mistrust.

Maria was shunned by her family and had to resort to earning a living that also satisfied her own sexual appetite so that she could bring up her son on her own. The Costanzos made sure that she entered the control of the best of their pimps and was kept away from the heroin that many of their prostitutes used to deaden the sordid reality of their lives. This part was relatively easy because Maria embraced her career with enthusiasm and found pleasure in the tricks she turned.

Young Luigi showed no academic aptitude right through his school days and only graduated to high school at fourteen because he was getting too big for the grade school football team. In high school his success on the field was in direct contrast to his academic performance. 

The rumors of his prodigious member reached the ears of one of the cheerleaders who had boasted to her friends that she had laid the whole senior offensive line-up after one memorable game. Luigi almost ended her career. She was admitted to hospital bleeding internally from her encounter with the young stallion and Maria was asked to remove her son from school and any situation where he could be tempted to repeat the episode. She reluctantly approached Guido Costanzo who took him into the family business as an apprentice stand-over man. 

Luigi proved ideal for this task because he was able to carry out the job of beating up on those stupid enough to cross the Costanzos with ease and dispatch and didn't have the thinking power to question any order given. For his efforts he was paid a small salary and his living expenses were paid out of the family funds. He was also allowed to use any of the family whores who would allow him, few did and he had to resort to masturbation to fill the gap in his appetite.

The rape was brutal. He spread her legs apart and kneeled between them, all the time stroking his penis which was responding to his manipulation. The action of forcing it into her unprepared body was painful to her, he used no form of lubrication and she was dry from fear. Holding her hips, he rammed the full length of his massive cock into her, ignoring her cries until her sobbing ceased, at around the same time he flooded her with his huge load of cum. By the time he had finished Melissa lay unconscious and bleeding on the floor.

He got to his feet and wiped himself on Melissa's blouse before packing his huge penis back into his trousers.

"Now do get more co-operation from you?"

"I can't tell you any more because I don't know any more."

Luigi picked Melissa's unconscious body from the floor and carried her over to the balcony.

"What are you going to do to her?" James was concerned, a little.

"You should be worried about yourself, you don't seem to care much for her and because she means so little to you we didn't think that you'd mind if we disposed of her."

"But that's murder!"

"Is it? Oh well, if you say so." He nodded to Luigi and Melissa disappeared silently over the edge.

The second man, who had remained passive throughout the whole episode to date, produced an attaché case and placed it on the bed. From this he took a disassembled rifle, a ball of string and two rolls of gaffer tape. He put the rifle together with experienced ease and taped the barrel to the back of the armchair in which James sat. Pushing the chair closer to the wall he taped the stock to it so that it couldn't move. He then tied the string to the trigger and feeding it back through the sling mount, he draped it over the back of the chair. He tied the end of the string to James' thumb.

"Are you getting the picture? Neither of you are any use to us anymore. You can't or won't help us get our money back, either way you've outlived your usefulness, so we end it. The police will come and find that you have had an argument with your lover and pushed her over the balcony, then, in a fit of remorse, committed suicide by shooting yourself with this rifle."

"You can't do this!"

"We can and we will." He nodded to the second man who placed a full ammunition clip into the rifle. The man pulled the string and the full magazine and bits of James' head were splattered over the wall opposite.

The three men left the apartment.



9

Ruiz led the investigation into, firstly, Melissa's death. Her body had plunged through the canvas awning at the front of the building before smashing onto the pavement narrowly missing a couple walking their poodles. Their first instinct was to walk on and leave the job of reporting the incident to the next person to arrive. A passing taxi driver witnessed the happening and radioed his base and alerted the police.

Ruiz recognized Melissa from a photograph that I had shown him and entered the building. The security guard didn't like the look of the police as they approached. 

"We would like to get into the Feldham's apartment."

"Can I ask why?"

"You can ask all you like, but one way or another we are going to get into that apartment. You can make it easy for us by giving us the key or you can make it hard on yourself by not giving us the key. Now what is it to be?"

He gave them the keys and they rode the elevator to the top floor. The mess that they walked in on was enough to turn the stomach of even the most hardened of police officer. "Nothing is to be touched, call Forensics, I want that blouse tested, DNA on any fluids, that patch on the sheets, I want it matched with DNA from him," pointing to James, "I want everything fingerprinted, a photographer and the meat wagon, tell them they'll need a shovel for this one." The orders shot around the room and the team reacted as they had been trained.

Ruiz took the elevator back to the ground floor and the security guard liked the situation even less when he asked to view the tapes from the surveillance cameras.

"Can anyone enter this building without being seen on these tapes?"

"No. All doors except the front door can only be opened from inside. We have cameras covering all doors including the basement car park access."

"May we look at the tapes?"

"Why?"

"I don't suppose that you happened to notice the people milling around outside?"

"Yes. I was curious but I can't leave my post."

"I wouldn't suggest that you do unless you've got a cast iron constitution, it's not a pretty sight. Now, can I have the tapes?"

The security guard was even less impressed when the tapes were replayed. The camera monitoring the fire door at the rear of the building was working all right but the tape was blank.

"You haven't noticed this?" Ruiz was getting just a little concerned.

"No. As you can see the monitor is working fine, I have no way of checking if the recorder is working from here. We apparently had some servicemen here earlier on today checking the cameras out so I didn't think it necessary to go to the office to check the tapes to see if they were working okay, I just took the word of the guy on duty before me that it was okay." He shoved the service log over the desk to Ruiz. "See, here is the service report and the signature of the duty guard. That tells me that the system was working when the serviceman left. We run regular checks but haven't checked it since it was serviced."

"The other guard, you know him?"

"Yes, he's been on this job for several years."

"I don't suppose that you know the name of the service company?"

"No the receipt is at our office."

Ruiz walked to the fire exit and wasn't surprised to find that there was no evidence of forced entry. He went back to the penthouse.

"Interesting." The finger print expert had just finished checking the rifle. "Someone has gone to a lot of effort to make this look as if it was a suicide and then wiped all the prints from the gun."

"So you don't think that it was a suicide?"

"I wouldn't bet on it, but I don't think it was?"

Ruiz looked closely at the corpse. "Now this is interesting too."

"What?"

"This is not the owner of this apartment. I know the owner and I will bet that this isn't him."

"Then who is it?"

"Too early to tell but I would guess that it's probably James Craigmore."

"What makes you say that?"

"I know that Feldham was acquainted with him, he has mentioned that he met him through his wife. Both of them are dead and Feldham is missing and this looks like something that a mystery writer could think up. I think I will have a little talk to our friend. I want an APB on Jason Feldham. I want him found and quickly before he has a chance to leave the city." 

Ruiz wasn't to know then that I had left days before.

I tossed it over in my head whether to ring Felix and put him out of his misery or let him suffer. I drove back to the village and made three phone calls, two short and one long. The first of the two short calls were to Felix telling him that I was safe and would contact him soon, the second was to Ruiz telling him that I had nothing to do with either death.

Ruiz wanted me back in New York immediately so that my involvement could be cleared up. I wasn't so sure that it would be a good thing for me to be seen around town so I told him that I would write down everything that I knew and post it to him.

He wasn't pleased with that suggestion but, as I told him, I wasn't about to let him or anyone else know where I was for the time being.

The third and longer call was to Sendi. She was on location in Baja California. "Darling, how are you? I'm sorry it had to be me that broke the news to you like that but I thought that you might not want anyone to know where you are."

"Thank you for that. Look Honey, I need to see you, would it be safe for me to come to where you are now?"

"At the moment the media seem not to have linked me to you. The studio has told them that we were friends who got together for publicity purposes and nothing else. I don't know how long they will keep to that story, if they think that they can gain some publicity mileage from exploiting the situation it might be a different matter entirely."

"If I fly down to Tijuana can you arrange to meet me?"

"You didn't even need to ask, of course. Do you want me to make reservations for you at the same hotel that I'm in?"

"No. Do you think that you can rent me a house for a week?"

"You a house, you mean rent us a house don't you?"

"Look I'm sorry Darling but I think that your present arrangements should be kept to, that's not to say that you couldn't spend the nights with me, in fact I hope we can arrange that."

"So do I. Let me know when to expect you. I love you." She hung up and I drove back to the house to make arrangements to fly to Mexico. I would have to cover my trail pretty well because I got the feeling that James' partners wouldn't rest until they found me. I hope that Melissa hadn't mentioned Sendi to anyone.

Covering trails is something that my heroes never had any problem managing. In real life it was somewhat more difficult. I drove to Bar Harbor and checked into a motel telling the clerk that I would be staying around a week while I carried out some research and not to be too concerned if I hadn't used my room for a day or two. I left the renter in the car park and walked to the bus station where I caught a Greyhound bus south.

From New Orleans I mailed my letter to Ruiz, flew to Los Angeles where I rang Hertz and told them where they could pick up their car, rented another car and drove down the coast to Tijuana. After passing through the border checkpoint I stopped at a gas station and rang Sendi, telling her that I would meet her there rather than at the airport.

An hour later we were in a small cottage, in each other's arms. "It's great to see you, I've really missed you." That was about all that was said for at least an hour. We lay beside each other on the bed under the slow moving fan that was trying desperately to move air around and provide some cooling effect. It succeeded merely in upsetting the flies that were used to sitting on its blades.

"What are we going to do?" Sendi asked.

"The first thing that I'm going to do is to indulge in some unbridled lust for a week or two and then let the world know that we are madly in love and plan to marry."

"Be sensible." She was concerned for me and my attempt at levity wasn't helping.

"All right. I posted a letter from New Orleans to my friend Captain Ruiz in New York outlining what I knew about the operations and who I thought might have been responsible for the deaths. From what I gathered in the press the police are not convinced that either death was suicide. The forensic report showed that someone went to a lot of trouble to make James' death look like suicide. They used a semi-automatic rifle gaffer taped to the back of his chair. The butt was taped to the wall behind him so that the rifle wouldn't move when the trigger was pulled. They then attached a string to the trigger, ran it down the stock and through the sling mount at the base, it was then pulled forward and placed in his hand."




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 03



"It was made to look as if he wanted to be sure that he killed himself when he pulled the trigger. The rifle was set on automatic and the whole magazine passed through his head. There was nothing left."

"What whoever did it was hoping would happen was that it would appear as if, at least initially, that it was me that was dead. When it was discovered that it wasn't the dead me they would assume, and with some justification, that I had killed him and set it so that it looked as if he had committed suicide after throwing Melissa from the balcony of our apartment. It was made to implicate me because the bad guys knew that I was involved with him and that we had a falling out over that involvement."

"The media has also made much of the fact that Melissa was two months pregnant. What has made matters worse for me is that, somehow they have found out that I am sterile and that has added another dimension to the story. My reluctance to come forward isn't helping my cause but in my letter to Ruiz I have asked for police protection to be in place before I even think about going back."

"He doesn't know where you are does he? How is he to contact you?"

"Now this is the clever part, I have to be able to get a message from him without him knowing where I am so I have arranged for him to place an advertisement in the New York Times. If he has been able to get protection the ad will read 'Personal protection dog for sale, has preference for single owner.' If he hasn't been able secure protection the ad will read 'For sale insecure dog looking for owner willing to provide a loving environment.' The ad will run for three days starting from tomorrow and I'm to wait until the third day before I act on them because the first ad could be for the insecure dog while the third can be for the personal protection dog."

"So we have four days together."

"Yes. And I, for one, am going to make the most of the opportunity." I rolled over facing her and reached for her body. I liked the way that she responded, with great passion, and we were soon making love again.

Four days of sun and sex, bliss. Sendi was given the time away from shooting so that we were not interrupted for the entire four days. Each day we would walk to the nearby village and buy a copy of the New York Times, they had them brought in for the film crew, and looked firstly at the classifieds and then at the latest reports on the police investigation. These reports made interesting reading and I kept a mental note of the developments, figuring that one day I could incorporate them into one my novels, they were that unbelievable.

The one thing that was clear was that the real criminals were not being investigated and it was with some surprise and trepidation that I saw the personal protection dog ad in the fourth day's paper. If the real bad guys weren't being investigated then there was still some danger.

Sendi had to stay behind after I left to finish the film shoot but said that she would go to our, doesn't that sound great, our house in Maine and I would meet her there as soon as I could.

I rang Ruiz from San Francisco telling him that I was flying into New York on an American Airlines flight due to land at Kennedy at around seven that evening. He agreed to meet me there. I caught a different flight to Chicago and rented a car from Hertz and drove into New York.

I went to our, Melissa and my, apartment and rang Ruiz. "Where the hell did you get to?"

"I chose a different route just in case there is a leak in your department and I had a welcoming committee waiting for me at Kennedy. You didn't by any chance see any goons waiting for me did you?"

"No, I was not aware of anyone. You don't trust anyone do you?"

"Well they went to a lot of trouble fitting me up for the death of James and Melissa didn't they?"

"Yes. When can you come in? I need to talk to you desperately."

"I can be there in thirty minutes."

I wasn't there in thirty minutes, or thirty hours for that matter.

They must have had someone keeping watch over the apartment building because I had a reception committee of three waiting for me as I left. I found myself elsewhere, where that elsewhere was I wasn't sure, but I was sure of several things, it was dirty, smelly, cold, damp and extremely uncomfortable. My hosts didn't make it any more comfortable, they were a persistent lot, asking me the same question over and over again. "Where's the money?"

My answer, until I was in no condition to answer, was the same, "I don't know." I wonder why they didn't believe me.

I was thrown onto a bed that had seen better day's centuries ago and a smelly blanket was thrown over me. I didn't sleep, appearances to the contrary, I was unconscious until I started to regain my senses and then they rebelled and the pain took command and I lay on the bed tossing and turning for what seemed like an eternity.

Daybreak, at least I assumed it was daybreak. The light in the room turned from black to bleak, there was movement outside the door and eventually an alleged woman came in with a plate of reject slops from the local piggery. She smiled her broken toothed grin at me and proceeded to force the crap through my teeth with a plastic spoon. It was all that I could do to stop myself throwing up all over her.

"I need to use the bathroom."

"Do you now? What if I was to tell you that there ain't no bathroom here?"

"Then I'll just have to crap on the floor. Where would you like me to do it?"

"Can you hold it for a minute." She got up and left the room to return a few minutes later with this huge thug. "Primo here will take you to the bathroom. Don't even think of trying anything stupid."

I was led, not too gently from behind, to a small, somehow smellier room that contained Mr. Crapper's prototype toilet pan sitting amid a clutter of rubbish and auto parts, this room was obviously multi-purpose. Gingerly I sat on the bowl, there wasn't a seat to sit on, and the porcelain was freezing cold. I didn't stay long. I pulled the chain and this brown liquid slurped around the bowl and disappeared slowly around the 'S' bend. So much for mod cons.

Leading me back to the torture chamber the goon was positively sociable, "You'd better tell them what they want to know, they'll beat it out of you otherwise." With a gentle push that propelled me to the far corner of the room he left me to the devices of my hosts.

A hospitable looking bunch they were. The leader was a small, dapper looking man of Southern European origin who chain smoked Havana cigars. The interrogator was a much larger person of similar origin to the leader who sat in the chair in front of me cracking his knuckles threateningly. The back-up interrogator was a slim, smartly dressed woman who leant with what looked to be contrived nonchalance against a part of the wall that she had wiped as clean as possible with a cloth.

For good measure there was a third man, a huge man of indeterminate origin who had the look of a rather stupid gorilla and a vocabulary to match. I realized that, one way or another, I was in for an interesting time of it. I was hauled to my feet and a rope tied to the rope around my wrists and thrown over a convenient beam, I was left hanging with my feet an inch off the floor.

"We are about to start where we left off last night. Where is the money?"

"I don't know." This answer was followed by a sound that is hard to write, but it went something like 'hhunffuuh', as the fist slammed once more into my stomach.

"Once again, where's the money?"

"I don't know. Hhunffuuh!"

"We can keep this up all day. Where's the money?"

"I can keep this up for as long as you." This of course was a huge bluff. I had seen movies where the hero, a six pack for abs, gets the crap beaten out of him and he not only remains conscious, but is able to free himself and take out anything up to six fit and healthy thugs in the process. Let me tell you right up front, this is total crap, it takes a long time to recover from even a moderate beating, and that's when you're fit. Fit is one thing I'm not. My idea of exercise is to leave the remote control on top of the television. "I tell you, I don't know, hhunffuuh!"

This was starting to get a little boring. "Where's the money?"

"I don't know, hhunffuuh!"

"I'll put the question differently, the money, where have you hidden it?"

"I'll answer differently, I know not where it is, hhunffuuh!"

"Let me try Boss." The back-up interrogator asked. Just the look on her face filled me with fear and trepidation, I had a feeling that this was going to get ugly.

"See what you can do."

She moved in front of me unbuckled my belt and opened the zipper of my trousers, they hit the floor, followed in rapid succession by my shorts. Taking my penis in her hand she held it an inch from her face. I couldn't see this but I could feel her breath on it and then I felt the tip of her tongue. Given a different time and place what she did next might have pleased me, but in this time and this place, and in this context, I was utterly terrified. 

She took my penis in her mouth and began to work on it with her lips and tongue. In spite of my resolve not to allow anything to happen, it slowly stood erect. She pulled her head back and it left her mouth with a pop. "Now, if you don't tell us where the money is I will bite your dick off." To re-enforce her threat she took it back in her mouth and her teeth applied pressure to the base of my penis.

"I don't know where it is." More pressure. "I still can't help you." Even more pressure, it was starting to hurt but I wasn't going to give in. "I don't know where it is, believe me, if I did I would tell you."

She spat my penis out. "I believe him."

"You're sure?"

"I'm as sure as I can be. Can I finish this?"

"Go ahead." I had this horrible feeling that if I managed to survive this experience Sendi would have to make do with a prosthesis. I was wrong. "This is her reward." The thug told me. Melissa had given me what I had heard termed a 'blow job' but expert as she appeared to be, she had nothing on this one. It would have taken the will power of a celibate saint not to respond to her ministrations and I wasn't one of those. I heard "Mmmm," from her after she had brought me to a climax, followed by the sound if it leaving her mouth. I wasn't home free just yet. 

"Allow me." The big thug wanted the opportunity to show that he was better than the more subtle methods of his female counterpart. He reached up and took my little finger in his huge hand and started bending it back with his finger on the top of the knuckle. It hurt heaps. It broke easily but I didn't feel the pain because I had lost consciousness somewhere between badly bent and broken.

I came around slowly. I looked around me to find the room deserted. I was relieved but relief is a sometime thing. The goons returned and my pain returned shortly after. It wasn't long before my consciousness left me again.

I was getting sick of this and vowed that if I was to ever get away from this I would exact my revenge in a most painful way.

I read once that homeless men sometimes slept in dumpsters. I wouldn't recommend them as a form of accommodation. They were smelly and often crawling with all sorts of obscure creepy crawlies, and they had this habit of being emptied at odd times on a semi-regular basis. I was just regaining my senses when I heard this monster truck roar to a stop right next to the dumpster Hilton. I just managed to scramble out before the forks picked it up and loaded its contents onto the truck.

It was daylight, I didn't know which daylight it was because I had lost all track of time. I staggered out into the street and looked around me for a public phone. Just as I was about to use it I realized that I had no money, I had been cleaned out, not that I had a lot.

I got my bearings and walked slowly and painfully down the street towards the 5th Precinct and some sort of safety. I must have looked a treat because the wonderful people of New York City reached out to help me in my time of distress, like Hell! They, as one, avoided me like the plague. As I shuffled along the streets I was aware that everyone that I met along the way had gone out of his or her way to avoid me, stepping from the pavement onto the road, crossing the street to return after I'd passed.

It got no better at the Precinct, my reception was not what I was used to. As I walked past the desk I was challenged, "What do you want ya no-good bum?"

"I'm here to speak to Captain Ruiz."

"Does he know you?"

"It's me, Jason Feldham." Recognition came slowly for him. His expression went through the whole range from studious, hard for him, to friendly, a little easier.

"What are you doing in those filthy clothes? Don't tell me, you are researching a novel about the bums that live in the subway and you wanted to blend in."

"Whatever. Can I go in now?"

Ruiz was not happy to see me. "Where have you been? You said that you would be here in half an hour over thirty hours ago and what is that smell?"

"I believe that it's called Eau du Dumpster. I don't know where I have been or how long I've been there, you say I was missing for over thirty hours then I suppose that they had me for that time. I have been beaten and tortured yet again. They are getting desperate for their money."

"I'm not surprised. The word on the streets is that the deal they have with the suppliers is that because you wanted out several investors are getting cold feet. They are losing faith in Costanzo's ability to deliver the promised returns and are threatening to follow your example. Guess what? Costanzo is running around trying to cover his ass before they pull out, He needs to get your money back so that he can reassure the others that all will be sorted and their investment is safe. If they don't have the money the shipment will be split up and sold to the highest bidders and they could lose out on the entire deal. No wonder they are running around madly trying to find out what happened to the money. James was supposed to have given it to you then ripped it back from you and paid it back to his partners. That didn't happen because of you."

"So what happens now?"

"We keep you in protective custody while the DA puts together his case. After the trial we can relocate you to anywhere that you want and you can start a new life for yourself."

"I hope that when you say protective custody you don't mean that I will be sharing some sleazy cell with one of the low-life's that you have as a guest."

"I have taken it on myself to put you up at my place. Phoebe can look after you."

We talked for a couple of hours while he tried to piece together the whole scenario. It was a painstaking operation and there were a number of stops for coffee along the way. After we had finished Ruiz took me to a nearby emergency room where my finger was set in a splint and wrapped in an enormous bandage. It looked most impressive.

Phoebe opened the door as Ruiz slid the key into the lock. She was even more beautiful than when I had first seen her at the bar. "Honey this is Jason Feldham the man who has thrown the cat amongst the pigeons. He will be staying here with us until after the trial."

I would have shaken her hand but for the bandage on my right little finger that didn't quite stop the throbbing pain I was feeling in that hand. "I am very pleased to meet you." I was. I felt safe with these two, I had built up a trust and respect for Ruiz, he was one of the straightest and most competent policemen that I have ever met and, if what he told me about Phoebe was even half true, she wouldn't be any less straight.

"I've seen you in the bar with James, haven't I?"

"I was with him a couple of times, yes."

"I almost felt sorry for him you know. He was stupid to get himself in as deeply as he did, but he didn't have to go along with what they wanted him to do. You stirred up a lot of agro, you know that, don't you know." Ruiz said.

"Would you like a coffee or maybe something a little stronger?"

"Do you have any local anesthetic?'

"The best that we can do is a beer."

"That will do fine." It did. I can't remember what brand it was, but it tasted great.

Phoebe had prepared us a feast. "How do both of you stay skinny with all of this food?"

"This is a special occasion." Phoebe said, "We have been working on this case for the best part of two years and you have achieved more in the short time that you've been involved than we have in all of that time. So this calls for a celebration. Now I can't do you champagne and caviar but I'm a damn good cook and, on certain occasions, beer tastes just as good as champagne."

"This is definitely one of those occasions. Do you have another, I intend to get numb to pain tonight."

"I don't blame you." She got me another beer and we set about tackling the meal in earnest. It consisted of a sort of stew that had a lot of beans and chilli in it that we ate with tortillas and a fresh green salad. There was a Hispanic influence to the meal that I enjoyed and the ingredients were mostly fresh and more flavorful than the heavily processed junk that I had been used to in my single days. While Melissa and I were together we went to many high class restaurants that provided ethnic cuisine from all over the world, but nothing compared to this simple meal.

I slept on the sofa. Well I didn't so much as sleep as close my eyes and lie as quietly as possible. I could hear the others talking on the other side of the thin wall but couldn't hear what they were saying.

I must have eventually dropped off to sleep because the next thing I knew was that someone was fussing about in the kitchen. I sat up to see Ruiz making breakfast. "Oh hi, sorry to disturb you. Breakfast is my thing. Because Phoebe is often working late I have been given the breakfast shift and I'm good at it. What would you like? We have coffee and donuts from the stall down the road, cereal from the supermarket, or, if you are a health nut you can have fresh fruit and yoghurt."

"Just coffee will be fine. How much did I drink last night?"

"Obviously not enough, you took forever to get to sleep." I wondered how they could have known that, but let it slide.

"I am in pain, I don't think that anyone in the medical profession has ever damaged a finger or else they would have given me something stronger to kill the pain. I think that I'll have to go to a drug store and get something for it."

"You're not going anywhere. If you need anything Phoebe can get it for you. You are not to leave the house unless one of us is with you."

"Yes boss."

Phoebe walked slowly into the room still looking tired but beautiful. She walked over to Ruiz and kissed him. "'Good morning my Darling." She poured herself a mug of coffee and leant against the cupboard cupping it in her hands for warmth.

"Mornings aren't her best time of the day."

"They wouldn't be yours if your body clock was used to the hours that I've been keeping lately."

"What's happening about you other job at the bar?"

"I had a blazing row with the manager and told him to shove his job up his arse. He said that I would never work in the industry again and I told him that I had an offer from Vegas so there! We are still good friends."

"Phoebe is on leave as of a couple of days ago and she will stay out of sight for as long as it takes to re-establish a cover for her. She will be of no use to us until then."

"Do you enjoy this type of work?"

"It sure as hell beats working Times Square busting whores and pimps."

"And the danger doesn't bother you?"

"Of course it does. I'm not a robot, I have feelings like most other people and I admit to being scared shitless on a number of occasions."

"Have you ever thought about giving it up?"




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 03



"Constantly. We have another year or so to go before we have enough set aside so that we can retire and do something less strenuous like raising a family."

My mind went back to Melissa and our plans for a family, plans that went horribly wrong. This was something that I would probably never experience, ever. My thoughts then went to Sendi, could I ask her to commit herself to me knowing that we could never have children of our own? While Sendi was on my mind I wondered what she was doing, had she finished the shoot and gone to our house or was she still in Mexico?

"Where are you?" Ruiz was snapping his fingers in front of my face. 

"I was in Mexico."

"What or who is in Mexico?"

"Sendi Soren."

"Not the actress Sendi Soren? How do you know her?"

"When I was in Hollywood writing scripts for the studio they made sure that Sendi and I were seen together, often. They were hoping that a romance would develop and that they could score some publicity mileage out of it."

"And did it?"

"Not initially, no."

"Are you telling us that you and she are now an item?"

"You could say that. I am going to have to talk to her soon and let her know the latest. We were planning to get together soon."

"You could ring her from here." Ruiz pointed to the phone.

"Not yet, do you realize what time it is out there, they don't get out of bed until lunchtime."

"Whenever you need to, just call her. If she is ever in New York we'd like to meet her."

Ruiz left for work soon after, it would have been sooner except that he and Phoebe took forever to say good-bye to each other. After he left I sat and watched as she fussed around the house tidying already tidy rooms and chatting non-stop about anything and everything. I got the impression that she was pleased to have company and that she would be unhappy to be alone. Her chatter was clever though. 

I was being interviewed without being interviewed, she steered the conversation around my problems and then steered it away again only to bring it back from another direction. Phoebe was very clever at her job.

At around tweve I rang Sendi's Hollywood number only to get her answering service who told me that she was out of town until further notice and could not be contacted. When I identified myself the tone changed, "Mr. Feldham, Miss Soren left a phone number that will get a message to her for you." I was given a number that turned out to be the village store in Maine.

Thirty minutes later the phone rang. My world took on a new light to hear her voice on the other end of the line, "When can you get here? Please say soon." Phoebe moved a discreet distance away.

"Sorry Darling but I'm stuck in town for the time being, you see I'm being kept on ice until the trial."

"Can I come and see you?"

"I don't see why not, on fact my friends would be delighted." I raised my voice a little so that Phoebe could hear and she nodded her head vigorously. "How soon can you get here?"

"I can be there by this evening, now where are you?"

"We'll meet you at the airport. Let us know when you expect to get there and we'll be there with bells on." We said our good-byes to each other, very quietly because neither of us wanted to be overheard although I suspected that both of us were.

Phoebe spoke to Ruiz who arranged that he would go to the airport with us. The waiting was dreadful, I willed the clock to speed up but it defied me and seemed to slow down even further. Phoebe tried hard to keep me going with no great success.

At last the time arrived and we left, I seated in the back of the car, a position that I was to maintain. Ruiz was to meet Sendi and bring her to me. We waited in the car park for years while he went inside.

As she emerged from the line of passengers, looking around her for some sign of me, Ruiz sidled up to her. "Don't look, don't ask any questions, Jason is outside in my car waiting for. In case we are being watched I want you to act as normal as possible. I want you to walk from here as slowly and as naturally as possible. I will walk beside you as if I was a member of your family that you don't like terribly much. Nod your head if you understand what I have said."

She nodded her head and said in a quiet voice that even the person walking no more than a yard away couldn't hear. "Is he in that much trouble?"

"Yes. He has been beaten up by some people who aren't about to give up on him. I think that they are hoping that if they cut him enough slack he will lead them to the money."

"They don't know him very well do they?"

"No." Eventually emerging together, Sendi almost broke into a run, striding in front of him while he was trying to restrain her. She threw herself into the car and my arms. Bliss.

"Oh Darling what have they done to you? Let me see you." I let her see me and she was not impressed with my condition. 

"I'm alright. I see that you have met my friend Captain Ruiz from the NYPD, he is one of the good guys, and this is his wife, Detective Phoebe Travis, also a good guy."

She held me in her arms for the entire journey back to Ruiz's apartment, murmuring sympathetic noises to me and listening to Ruiz while he narrated my experiences to her. "We have to get you away from here. It isn't safe."

"No. He stays here until after the trial. As long as he doesn't go wandering around the city on his own, or with anyone for that matter, he'll be safe. If you need anything Phoebe will fetch it for you. He is to stay inside the house and recuperate and the best thing that you can do for him is give him all the love and attention that he needs to help in that process."

"Consider it done. I am going to enjoy this role."

"I hope that you are genuine and this is not another part for you." I mumbled from the vicinity of her neck.

"Shut up silly and sit back and enjoy the attention while it lasts because, believe me, when you recover from this and after the trial is over you are going to have to earn my love and respect or I won't marry you."

"I haven't asked you yet."

"You are going to, aren't you?" She took my injured hand in hers and squeezed it threateningly.

"I give in. After this is over we'll get married and live happily ever after and raise a huge brood of adopted children as if they were our own."

"Thank you Darling for that proposal. You know what? I've been thinking that, not being able to have our own children will have a bonus for me in that I won't lose my figure carrying all these kids."

"Stop it you two!" Phoebe almost shouted at us. "You are in serious trouble and you're behaving as if nothing is wrong. Get serious will you."

"We were never more serious. We just don't want it to get to us and upset our happiness at being with each other. You two are in love, surely you can understand that?"

I could tell by the exchanged glance that they knew what I was talking about.

I slept easier that night. I somehow felt safe with Sendi beside me, comforting me and loving me. I needed to catch up on a lot of sleep and she had allowed me to do that so that in the morning I woke feeling much more alive.

The four of us breakfasted together and Ruiz left for work. Sendi helped Phoebe with the housework while I scribbled notes to be used when I could return to writing. I rang Felix who had just about given up on ever seeing me again. He wasn't thrilled at the news that it would be some time before he saw another manuscript but his mood picked up when I explained the publicity benefits of my present situation.

At around eleven Phoebe left to meet Ruiz for lunch. Before she left she warned us against leaving the house (again) and told us that she would call in to the supermarket on her way home to pick some groceries. This left Sendi and I alone. We had a lot of catching up to do love-wise, so we caught up.

We were just coming off an orgasmic high when the telephone rang. I debated for several rings whether I should answer it and the affirmative argument won. It was Ruiz. "Get out of there now! Don't wait for a cab! There's a subway station just around the corner get to it fast and get as far away from there as possible. When you have found somewhere safe ring me at work and we'll sort something out. Now move it!"

We moved. Sendi took only enough clothes for a couple of days and left the rest behind. I took what I had, which wasn't much. We walked as calmly as possible to the subway station and caught, just, a train to the station nearest the First National bank where I had the safe deposit box. I am pretty sure that I wasn't seen walking in or out of the bank. 

I took the money from the box, kept ten thousand for immediate use and transferred the rest into an account that I set up that would allow me to access the money electronically. My intention was to transfer the money into an account that I would set up in the Cayman Islands, then transfer it into a Swiss Bank Account which would effectively hide it from scrutiny and then transfer it back to another Cayman bank. This way I would have easier access to the money and it would not be traceable.

We caught another train to Grand Central and then took a train to Hartford where we rented a car to drive the rest of the way to our house.

We bought enough food for a couple of weeks, telling the shopkeeper that we would be staying for three months at least.

Our first morning was glorious. We walked for miles along the beach sharing the vastness with no-one, just a large flock of seagulls hovering overhead anticipating food from humans. It was a wonderful time for us, quiet, intimate and relaxing. We grew closer together and our bond was, as now firmly established.

Over lunch we planned what we would do if we were discovered by the bad guys. We needed to contact Ruiz and find out what happened to force him to change his plans so dramatically.

"Phoebe was attacked right outside the precinct by someone wielding either a flick knife or a razor. They have carved her face up pretty badly. I have just come from the hospital and the plastic surgeon has done a good job on her but it will take a lot of makeup to cover the damage."





10

"I hope that the damage isn't going to change the way you feel about her?"

"No, but I think it may change the way that she feels about me. She will think, at least at first, that I won't love her as much and I'll need to give her all the love and support that I can to overcome that thought."

"Do you have any idea why this happened. Is it to do with me?"

"Yes. The person that did this told her that this was a warning and that, if they didn't get the money from you soon there would be further trouble. They know about your friendship with Sendi and hinted that she will be the next target. Keep close to her and don't let anything get to her."

"I will, on that you can count."

Sendi was quiet for some time after I told her of the latest events. "I want you to stay close to me. I want to feel safe with you and I know that I can. If, and this is a big request, if something should happen to me, don't blame yourself, it isn't your fault that you're mixed up in this, but if something does happen and I am unable to function normally or I'm disfigured like Phoebe, I don't want you to feel guilty about leaving me."

"Don't even think of me leaving you. You have supported me unconditionally and I will do the same for you in the unlikely event that anything bad should happen to you."

I wish that we had been together under different circumstances. Sendi and I were never able to fully relax, every sound at night woke us, every car driving past on the road half a mile from the house had us listening to see if it stopped. Even when we went for a walk along the beach we were on the lookout for strangers, not that there were any this time of the year. We only went into the village to collect supplies and make necessary phone calls. Any messages were relayed on to us by the storekeeper who was quite thrilled to be involved in our drama.

He thought, and we did nothing to dissuade that thought, that we had gotten married and were in hiding from the media on our honeymoon. He treated us that way, giving us discounts on goods and once, in a magnanimous gesture, throwing in a bottle of champagne.

The messages we got came from three sources, Ruiz keeping us up to date with happenings, Felix begging for a new manuscript and Sendi's agent touching base.

Ruiz's news was a mixed bag of good, bad and worse. The good news was that Phoebe's scarring would be hardly noticeable and she was feeling much better. The bad news was that the DA was putting pressure on him to bring me in and the worse news was that pressure was being exerted from a much higher level for him to be taken from the case because he was 'too closely involved' with it.

The man that they wanted to put in his place had a reputation for acceding to the demands of organized crime. Ruiz felt that the pressure from the DA's office could be because some of the money used to finance the drug operations came from the establishment and they didn't want an investigation that could get too close. I'm afraid that, having met some of the establishment, I tended to agree with him. Some of the richest people in the city got there because they were ruthless when it came to protecting their investments, even to the point of taking the law into their own hands.

Whatever direction this whole mess took it didn't look good for my safety and that of anyone around me. As I saw it I had two choices, the first would be to sit and wait for them to find me and to come and get me, not my choice. The second option open to me would be to meet them head on. Open confrontation just might throw them enough for me to take the advantage and succeed.

I put this to Sendi as we lay curled up on the huge stuffed sofa in front of the open fire in the living room. "Are you sure that there aren't any more options open to you?"

"I can't think of any, can you?"

"No, but both of yours seem so dangerous and I don't want to lose you, not now."

"And I don't want to lose you." I could see by the expression on her face that she was trying hard to find either another option or a way that she could help me.

"One thing that I have to insist on and that is as soon as I am ready to make my move I want you to go back to Hollywood and stay close to your work and friends."

"No, please Darling don't ask me to leave you."

"I'm afraid that I'll have to do that. It's better that we do this separately, if we try to do it together they will be able to use you the same way that they did to Melissa and I don't ever want that to happen to you."

"But Darling I can protect myself, I come from Hollywood remember, one has to be adept at fighting off unwanted attention. I've found that when all else fails a swift kick in the balls works wonders."

"But you may not get the chance."

"I would rather go down fighting that let some goon take advantage of me."

"I'm sure that you would but I don't want to put you in that position."

"And I'd rather go down fighting with you beside me than on my own. Can't you see that the two of us would make a great team and together we can lick the world."

"There's nothing that I'd like more than to have you with me but.."

"No 'buts'. We are in this together or not at all." The nerd in me gave in to that, the lover in me gave in to that, but the realist in me was outnumbered. I gave in. 

"All right. We'll go out to Hollywood, if they want to get to us then they will have to come to us there." This was the start of the most amazing journey I have ever been on, which wasn't really saying much because, apart from my trips to Hollywood and Mexico, I hadn't been anywhere.

The renter went back to Hertz. We pooled our resources and bought a Winnebago and started south. We didn't travel in that direction for very long before turning West through New Hampshire and Vermont where we spent the night in a trailer park near Rutland. Leaving Rutland we moved through to upstate New York. We bypassed New York City looping through Buffalo and Cleveland, where we again stopped for the night, before once more turning South through to Pittsburgh.

We weren't in any hurry to get to Hollywood so we kept as close as possible to the Atlantic Seaboard. I had it figured that if the bad guys wanted to find us they would have to work at it. 

I had kept a regular watch in the rear view mirror for suspicious looking vehicles without noticing any and I was beginning to relax when I noticed a black Ford sedan that seemed to be following us. I first noticed it as it passed us as we crawled up a hill outside of some small town that didn't rate a mention on the map that we had. 

It disappeared in front of us but was waiting in the next town as we drove through. Several miles out of town it once more passed us and was waiting just past the intersection where we turned towards Charlotte.

Around ten minutes after turning off the car passed us. "There it is again." Sendi said as it passed.

"I know, I've been watching it for some time. He doesn't seem to want to do anything to us so I guess he is just keeping tabs on us."

He kept tabs on us for several days, stopping where we stopped and driving when we drove. The beauty of the Winnebago is that we didn't have to check in to a motel or hotel each night. If it was a lonely stretch of road we could pull into a lay-by and sleep. Sometimes we pulled right off the road and slept by a stream. We would have enjoyed it much more if it wasn't for the constant presence of the black Ford. 

We tried to confuse the driver of the Ford. We waited until he passed us going up a long hill and, seeing a convenient side road, turned off. 

The dirt road snaked along a valley that would have been beautiful under different circumstances until it passed through a small village. A few miles beyond the village it petered out beside a small, clear creek. It was a perfect site to spend the night, so we spent the night. 

I didn't sleep well, listening for the approach of the black Ford. It didn't.

Regaining the main road we snaked our way through Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee and Mississippi before arriving at New Orleans. The trip through these states was interesting to me as a writer and observer of people. I had seen the movie Deliverance that depicted the inhabitants of that part of Tennessee and Mississippi as in-bred idiots. The people that we saw sitting on their front porches, living in slow motion watching the world go by in fast forward, certainly fitted into that category. 

The townsfolk were a little more intelligent looking but they all had an underlying suspicion in their eyes that we found uncomfortable. I remember reading a book once that described the in-bred inhabitants of the backwoods as having the facial features of a chipmunk, I don't know about that but the universal appearance was one of prominent ears sticking straight out of a small head dominated by a large pointed nose close set eyes and a very small chin. I have also read the description of the in-bred British aristocracy as having all nose and teeth and no chin or brains. I guessed from this that in-breeding, no matter where, resulted in similar dominant features.

We stayed in New Orleans for three days, taking in the sights of the French Quarter, the Cajun music and cuisine. It was a great time for us, we had checked in to a hotel so that we could take advantage of the room service, bathrooms and huge beds. I especially liked the huge beds.

We didn't see the black Ford or anyone following us but I still had the feeling that he was there. I was looking over my shoulder constantly for a sign that he was still there, but no sign of him.

While we were enjoying ourselves exploring the sights I took advantage of the respite to make some interesting purchases. I was concerned that, while we were only being followed at this time, things could change.




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 03



After three days rest we once more headed west, pausing briefly fifty miles out of New Orleans while I fitted my purchases. 

"What are you doing?" Sendi had picked up what appeared to be a tube of lipstick.

"What you have there is what is known as a lipstick camera. It's a small video camera that can be hidden just about anywhere and the image is transmitted to a video recorder located somewhere else, in this case under the driver's seat. In this way we can monitor if anyone breaks into the van and someway tampers with it or hides something in it."

"You sound as if you think something is going to happen to us."

At one o'clock we stopped at a truck stop for lunch. The Winnebago was parked in the parking area at the side of the diner, out of sight. The opportunity for someone to do something was perfectly presented.

The black Ford cruised through the filling station and disappeared round back. Several minute later the driver entered the diner and studiously avoided eye contact with us. He ordered a burger with fries, coke and a piece of pie before sitting in a booth where he could see us without trouble while we would have to turn around to see him.

Replete we headed out to the motor home. I quickly removed the tape from the recorder under the seat and placed it into the VCR. The screen was filled with a split image of the interior of the motor home. A man entered carrying a plastic bag that he placed under the mattress of our bed. I suppose he assumed that we would keep moving until nightfall and wouldn't notice the package for some time. I assumed that whatever was going to happen would happen between now and nightfall. I was right.

I retrieved the package and substituted it for one that I had prepared earlier. Making sure that the planted package was not ruptured in any way I asked Sendi to throw it as far as she could from the motor home.

We had just passed through what was little more than a fly speck on the road map when we came across a Highway Patrol cruiser parked across the road with the patrolman waving us to stop.

"What's the problem officer?" I asked as we stopped.

"Just a routine check Sir. Do you mind if I have a quick look through your vehicle?"

"Surely, be our guest." He clambered aboard and after making an extremely cursory search through the front part of the vehicle he ran his hand under the mattress and came up with, surprise, surprise, the bag of a white powder.

"What is this?" He asked holding the bag towards me.





11

"I really don't know. I've never seen it before and it certainly wasn't there when we made the bed up this morning." He was about to poke his finger into the bag and taste the contents when I stopped him. "If you don't mind I want that bag to remain intact until we can have the contents examined in a proper laboratory with a lawyer present who represents us."

"Then I guess you had better come with me."

"Do you want me to leave this motor home here and come with you in your car, or me come with you while Sendi drives in our vehicle, or we both follow you into town in our vehicle. We won't try to run for it, we wouldn't get far in this anyway."

We followed him. He must have been talking on his radio to his superior in town because no sooner had we followed him into the Sheriff's office than a young lawyer came panting in behind us.

He identified himself as Franklin Mint, a newly graduated from the University of Texas Law School. He was overweight, out of condition and dressed in crumpled, sweat stained, once white shirt, loosely knotted tie over grey trousers with railway lines where the creases should have been.

Looks can be deceiving. He listened while I explained the predicament that we found ourselves in. "How much time can you spare in our metropolis?"

"We would like to be on our way as soon as possible."

"I need a little time to organize for an independent laboratory to test the contents of that bag. I should be able to arrange the test in no more than an hour. After that it's up to the judge. He has a reputation for being severe with any form of drug dealing."

"I also want the test to be carried out in court, with the judge present. I also have here a video tape, which I will not let out of my sight, and that may just interest the judge."

"What's on it?"

"I'd rather keep that as my surprise. We have been set up here, that patrolman hardly searched the rest of the motor home. It was almost as if he knew exactly where to find the package."

"You may just be right. I'd better get to work if you want to get away from here this evening." He clambered to his feet and lumbered out of the room.

It was around ninety minutes later that we found ourselves in the small wood paneled courtroom. The clerk announced the judge's arrival and we all rose to our feet.

"Your Honor, in the matter of the State versus Feldham, the prosecution alleges the possession of narcotics."

The judge sat behind his bench and we all sat facing him. He nodded briefly at the prosecutor, "Well Mr. Macmillan what do you have for me today?"

The prosecutor rose to his feet. "Your Honor, the defendant was stopped for a routine search just East of Black Plains. The officer found a plastic bag containing a white powder that we allege to be cocaine."

"You allege to be cocaine, haven't you tested it?"

"Not yet Your Honor, the defendant requested that his lawyer be present when the contents were tested and that the testing take place in this courtroom."

"Is this correct?" He looked closely at me. Mint rose to his feet, "Yes Your Honour. My client is alleging that this bag does not contain narcotics of any description."

Looking back at MacMillan with a puzzled expression on his face the judge spoke. "Do you want to produce your evidence before we test this substance or after?"

"Your Honor we feel that we should produce what evidence we have so that this hearing is conducted as speedily as possible so that we take up no more of Your Honor's valuable time than we have to."

"We agree with the sentiment but not the sequence of the hearing. We, the defense contend that Your Honor will be delayed less by having the tests conducted first before any evidence from the patrolman is called, because we contend that his evidence is not necessary because my clients are innocent of any wrong-doing."

"I am inclined to agree with you. But, as you know I prefer to leave nothing to chance." He looked at the prosecutor, "You may call your first witness."

The patrolman was sworn in. "You were conducting routine searches of vehicles on the highway this morning?"

"Yes Sir."

"Tell me in your own words what transpired this morning when you stopped the defendant."

"I requested permission to carry out a routine search for illegal substances."

"And what did you find during that search?"

"I found a plastic bag that I believe contains an illegal substance."

"You Honor I submit peoples' exhibit N13, MacMillan held aloft the plastic bag. 

"Do you have any idea what this substance could be?"

"I believe that it contains pure uncut cocaine."

"Thank you, your witness"

Mint rose and walked slowly over to the patrolman. "You are sure that this bag contains cocaine?"

"Yes sir."

"What experience do you have in the matter of drugs?"

"The identification of narcotics was a large part of my officer training and I have been involved in several drug apprehensions in the course of my career."

"Thank you, now I want you to take a look at that bag." Mint held the bag out. "Is this the bag that you found in the defendant's motor home?"

"Yes sir."

"Now look closely, has the bag been opened or tampered in any way?"

"No sir, it's exactly as I found it."

"So there is no way that the contents of this bag could have been substituted for anything else?"

"No sir, this bag was held secure at all times."

"At whose request?"

"The defendant requested that it not be opened except in court and in the presence of a lawyer representing himself and the judge."

"Thank you, that will be all." Turning to the bench he addressed the judge, "Your Honour I suggest that at this point the best interests of this court would be served by conducting the chemical analysis."

"I agree. Who do we have to conduct these tests?" 

"Your Honor," the prosecutor said, "we have had flown down from Houston Dr. William Henderson who is a forensic pharmacologist with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. His area of expertise is in the field of narcotics." He sat down looking tremendously pleased with himself.

"Your Honor, we have called on the services of Mr Henry Murchison who you probably know is the druggist down the street. He is a competent pharmacist who has an interest in narcotics, and who has published several papers on the constitution of a whole range of street narcotics. We are confident that he will be able to verify or not any findings of the prosecution's expert witness."

"Then shall we begin." A table was wheeled into the courtroom. On it were several flasks and test tubes and a variety of bottles containing testing agents.

Dr. Henderson opened the plastic bag and placed a small quantity on his tongue. A puzzled expression crossed his face. He placed a small amount of the powder into a test tube and added a few drops of a liquid from his test kit. Nothing much happened. The powder mixed with the liquid but remained the same color, the only reaction was that it effervesced.

"Allow me." Murchison took some of the powder from the bag and placed it in a test tube. He took a small phial from his bag and inserted an eye-dropper into it. He squirted a small amount of a bright red liquid into the tube and the reaction was immediate and spectacular. The contents frothed up and spilled out of the tube onto the table. "Gentlemen, what I just added to the powder in this test tube was a mixture of white vinegar and cochineal, which is a common enough and inert red food colorant. While the results were spectacular, it served to prove the innocence of the defendant. I can tell you without any doubt at all that the contents of that bag is nothing more or less than sodium bi-carbonate, a common compound found in any good kitchen and used for all sorts of things from cooking to putting out fires."

"But it couldn't be!" Henderson grabbed the phial from Murchison's hand and sniffed the contents.

"You were expecting something much different weren't you?" Mint was beginning to enjoy himself.

"What do you mean?"

Mint took the video tape from his brief case and inserted it into the VCR that he had placed on the table in front of him. The monitor burst into life to reveal the man entering our motor home and placing the bag under the mattress. "As you can plainly see, a bag containing a white powder was placed under the mattress of my client's vehicle. What the officer and the prosecutor didn't know was that the interior of the vehicle was under constant video surveillance. My client disposed of the original bag and replaced it with his own bag that contained the harmless substance bi-carbonate of soda."

"You can't admit this as evidence!" MacMillan was on his feet.

"We don't intend, nor do we have a need to submit this as evidence. My client has been a victim of a crude attempt to frame him for a crime of which he is entirely innocent. As far as we are concerned this is the end of the matter. I request that all charges against my client be dismissed and that he be allowed to resume his travels in peace."

"I so rule!" the gavel almost broke from the ferocity of its blow on the block. "Mr. MacMillan I want to see you in my chambers, now!"

We said our farewells to Mint and pressed on, this time to Houston. From there we headed through Austin to El Paso. We were both on the lookout for trouble as we drove across the wide open space that was Texas. We figured that the perfect place for anyone to bring harm to us was the vast open Texas plains. But trouble never came to us although the black Ford was back in position escorting us cross country.

From El Paso we headed through Tucson across to San Diego before turning north to Los Angeles and home, at least Sendi's home, well I suppose, given our relationship I could consider it my home as well.

I rang Ruiz as soon as we had settled in. "Where have you been?"

"Obviously you had nothing to do with the black Ford that has been our constant companion these last couple of weeks."

"What Ford?"

"A black four door with New York plates has been following us since we left Maine."

"Give me the license number and I'll check it out. Now what are you planning to do?"

"Sendi has a re-shoot on some scenes from her last film so she will be busy for a couple of days. I'm going to stooge around here to see if there are any script writing jobs to be had that will keep me occupied. I guess that I'd better ring Felix and let him know where I am."

"Please do, the man has been driving me bananas trying to find out where you are. Why did you have to give him my number?"

"There is no phone at the house and while we were on the road we didn't know where we would be from one day to the next. We thought that if we were unpredictable in our movements then whoever it was that was keeping their eye on us wouldn't be able to plan in advance if they wanted to do something nasty."

"That sounds like the sort of thing that one of your heroes would do. Writing the type of books that you do has its advantages."

"Getting away from me, how is Phoebe?"

"Driving me almost as crazy as Felix. She wants to go back to work so that she can help me catch those responsible for the attack on her face."

"Are you going to let her?"

"I might not have much say in the matter, she's threatened to go over my head to the police medical officer. If she does that then there'll be no stopping her."

"Tell her to take it easy. I want her to be still around when Sendi and I get married. Sendi wants her to be the Matron of Honor."

"That's great news! When's the big day?"

"We want to get this mess cleared up first. We are having some difficulty in concentrating on us at the moment."

"I look forward to it. Take care and keep in touch."

I rang Felix. To hear him answer the phone one would have been excused for thinking that I was some sort of long lost relative, wealthy of course. "Jason! Where are you? Where have you been and why haven't you been in touch. I worry so much about you, you're some mensh you know. If I don't keep my eye on you I find that you've gone off and done something stupid like killed your wife and best friend and have the whole police force out looking for you. What have I ever done to you to deserve such a lack of respect? Am I not like a father to you?"

"Felix, shut up and listen to me!" My interjection made no difference to the torrent of words.

"You should speak to me like that? You wouldn't speak to your parents like that. Have some respect for your elders my boy. Now to business, I have the publishers screaming to me for your next manuscript and they want to take advantage of your present situation, this sort of publicity you can't buy. When can we see something from you?"

"When I find the time and the peace to write. It may be some time, when this is over I plan to take a couple of months off and laze around on a beach in the Bahamas enjoying life in the company of a beautiful woman."

"How can you say that? Your wife's body isn't even cold and you are talking about another woman, who is she?"

"Nothing. My lips are sealed. As to my beautiful wife, I don't suppose that the press reports mentioned that she was pregnant and if they did they probably wouldn't have mentioned the fact that I am sterile."

"You, sterile? But you and she, I can remember the first time that you did it, like the cat that ate the canary you were, now you tell me that you are sterile?"

"Sterile yes, impotent no. My libido is as good as anyone else's, it's just that I can't father children and that's how I knew that she had been having an affair with James Craigmore the whatever, sleazy bastard."

"James couldn't have done that, he comes from such a good family."

"Not only could but did and it wouldn't surprise me if the two of them were lovers before I came onto the scene."

"Away from this topic! What can I tell the publishers?"

"Tell them whatever you like but don't make them any guarantees that I can't keep. I'll talk to you later."

The studio rang to see if I could do some urgent rewrites on a script. It seems that the original author had refused to compromise his art by making any changes, said that the proposed changes altered the ambience of the piece and he wouldn't do it. I understood how he felt, but agreed nonetheless.

The rewrite was an easy task and I made a token attempt to maintain the original ambience and I thought that I'd succeeded. The studio were happy enough and the author, when he saw the changes that I had made rang me. "Can we meet? I'd like to talk to you about what you did to my script."

"I hope I haven't offended you in any way. I tried to keep to your original feeling."

"That's what I want to talk to you about. I have done creative writing courses and script writing courses and I couldn't get it right."

We met in a downtown coffee lounge. "Look, with anything that the studio wants you have to compromise. It can have the greatest artistic merit, but art doesn't necessarily sell. The studios want formula writing because they know that the formula sells. If you want to preserve the integrity of your piece you should take it to one of the independent producers. It's a lot more risky and the returns are usually not as great because art house films do not get wide distribution. If you are in this for the money, compromise, if you are in it for the art you will probably never get rich or famous."

"Did you feel this way the first time one of your books was made into a film?"

"I could have lynched the producers. I wrote what I thought was a magnificent screenplay and when I went to the preview I hardly recognized much more than the central characters and the title. When the credits scrolled through I was listed as having written the screenplay along with a couple of other writers that I hadn't even met. You see how it works? If the studio doesn't like what you've done and you won't change they just employ some hack who knows what they want to make the changes."

"Is that what you are now, some hack?"

"No. I'm just doing this to keep busy for a week or two while the creative juices are being used on another project."

We left each other on good terms, he to explore the hidden meaning of his future life and direction and me to go home and make life easier for Sendi when she got home. I made a mental note to trade the Winnebago in on something a little more appropriate to this life. It did one's image no good at all to be seen driving along Rodeo Drive in a mobile home.

While we hadn't become recluses, we stayed in that night. Sendi was tired from a long day. Starting at five in the morning and working for fourteen hours re-shooting the one scene over and over again because the director wasn't happy with it was frustrating for her, especially as the male lead kept blowing his lines because he'd been blowing something else, what was left of his mind.

The next day Sendi had to be at the studio at five again so we had an early night, that is we went to bed early, we didn't go to sleep that early and when we did we were physically exhausted. It was much better than I ever imagined it would be.

At four thirty the studio limo picked her up to take her to the studio. I was just about to take the Winnebago to a car lot to exchange it for something more in keeping with our lifestyle, I had in mind a Porsche, when the phone rang. It was the studio looking for Sendi.




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 03



"She left in the limo at four thirty."



12

"Well we haven't seen her or the limo." The producer even sounded concerned. "We've tried contacting the driver on his cell phone but he has it turned off. We don't have a clue where they are, do you?"

"No and I suggest that you contact the police immediately. I think that she's been kidnapped!"

"Kidnapped? How can you be sure?"

I gave him an edited version of what had happened. "If anything happens to her we stand to lose millions, we haven't finished our re-shoot and we can't shoot around her."

"Gee it's nice to know that you care about the well-being of your stars."

"There's no need to be sarcastic. We are one big happy family here and we are feeling this deeply."

"Well then I suggest that you get your deep feeling arse into action and get onto the police. I have to make a couple of phone calls." I hung up the phone and immediately dialled Ruiz's number. "Have you found out who belongs to that car that followed us?"

"No, I didn't think that there was any rush on it as long as you were out of harm's way."

"It's time to change your thinking, Sendi's gone missing."

"When, How?"

"This morning, the studio limo picked her up at the normal time but neither she nor the limo ever got to the studio."

"Shit! Leave it to me, I'll get back to you in a couple of minutes, what's your number there?" I told him.

True to his word he rang back in less than five minutes. "You aren't going to believe this, that car belongs to the DEA."

"That news doesn't surprise me greatly. They are either following up on a lead and keeping an eye on us or trying to protect their investment."

"What are you telling me? You aren't suggesting that they are in some way involved in this are you?"

"Let me run something past you and then you tell me. If you had invested as much money as the people behind this have invested then wouldn't you take steps to ensure that your investment is protected right down the line. If you have to bring stuff into the country wouldn't it be so much easier if you had some sort of leverage over the Customs Service at the designated entry point? If you wanted to ensure that your market is un-compromised by other suppliers wouldn't you make sure that you had leverage over members of the DEA. You could feed them information about your competitors so that they could arrest and prosecute them."

"Yes, but how do we find out? Every time that I start to get close either something happens or I'm asked to back off."

"Is there anyone at all in the DA's office that you can trust?"

"There are a couple of prosecutors that are straight up and down. But I have the feeling that where the decisions are made things are not as straight."

"In one of my books I covered a similar scenario. What our hero did was to gather as much evidence as possible and to build up a strong case. When the DA wouldn't act on it he took it directly to the Governor. He got action."

"That might work in fiction but I don't see it working in real life."

"Do we have an option?"

"No." He promised to contact me as soon as he had some information and if he heard anything on the streets as to Sendi's whereabouts.

I turned on the answering machine and went to do business with the used car dealer. James' handshake was like shaking a dead fish, this guy's was like shaking an eel. Honest Bob was slippery as they came. "This, thing," he waved disparagingly at the Winnebago. "I'll never be able to move it."

"It drives extremely well, you just put the key in the ignition and start the motor, then you put it in drive and away you go. Easy." I knew what he meant but I was giving him the impression that I didn't know what he was getting at. I had dressed for the occasion in my best nerd suit complete with three different colored pens in the pocket protector. I was for all intents and purposes the nutty professor.

"What I mean is that no-one around here drives these things. You will never get anything near what you paid for this."

"As a trade in on that car," I pointed to the gleaming red Porsche 911. "How much is it worth?"

"I could take it as a down payment, but you would still have a substantial balance to pay on it."

"When you say substantial, what numbers are we talking about?"

"The Porsche has very low mileage. It is almost brand new and driven only on weekends by a very careful driver. Have a look inside, the ashtray is clean and smell the new car smell."

"Probably a spray." I muttered just loud enough for him to hear. "The mileage, I can have your guarantee that it is genuine?"

"Of course. We haven't touched the speedometer and the only miles that it has done since it arrive on the lot has been on demonstrations."

"Can I take it for a drive?"

"By all means." He sat beside me as I crunched the gears, deliberately, and frog-hopped the car around the streets. He was white beneath his fake tan by the time we got back to the yard.

"Do you have the pink slip?"

"Yes."

"And if I was to contact the previous owner he or she would confirm the mileage on this car?"

"Wah Hell yes." 'Honest Bob' said in his best good ole boy accent. "You aren't suggesting that I don't live up to my name of 'Honest Bob' are you?"

"It probably wouldn't surprise me if your name isn't even Bob." I knew that it wasn't, he was a bit actor moonlighting as a car salesman between jobs. We struck a deal that was somewhere between what he had originally planned and my expectations. I drove from the yard, pausing for a break in the traffic before taking off in a wheel spinning, tire smoking, back sliding, head snapping skid, leaving two black lines on the road and Honest Bob with a puzzled expression on his face.

The light on the answering machine was blinking at me as I walked in through the front door. I pressed the button and heard Sendi's voice. "Darling, they want their money and if they don't get it they have threatened to kill me. They want you to stay by the phone and wait for their next call" I got the impression that the house was being watched because I didn't have long to wait for the call. Within minutes it rang and a voice full of menace came through the earpiece. "Where is our money?" 

"We have been through this before; I don't have your money." I heard Sendi cry out in pain in the background. "Look can we meet? I'm sure that we can do some sort of deal."





14

"What sort of deal are you looking at?" The voice at the other end of the phone didn't sound too sure of his ground here.

"While I don't have your money I'm sure that I can lay my hands on a considerable amount of money that you can have in exchange for Sendi's freedom." I was hoping that the studio would part with most of this offer in exchange for the publicity that the incident would generate for the film.

"What makes you think that's good enough?"

"My guess is that you don't really care where the money comes from as long as you get in the next week or two. I'm guessing again, but I think that the shipment is almost ready to ship and will soon be on its way to New York and if you don't have the money by the time it gets there, you will not only lose the shipment that could be worth millions, possibly tens of millions to you, but you'll lose the up-front payment that you made."

"Smart aren't you?"

"Give me until three this afternoon to raise as much as I can, If I can't match the figure that you're looking for we could consider it a down-payment while I figure out some other way of getting more. Now put Sendi back on." At first I thought that he wouldn't comply, but eventually I heard her voice. My adrenalin was rushing. "They haven't hurt you have they?"

"No, not really."

"What do you mean 'not really'?"

"I didn't allow them to take me without a fight. One of them is talking with a squeaky voice."

"What did they do to you?"

"Nothing a bit of makeup wouldn't fix, they slapped me around a little. I've had worse from my previous boyfriends."

"I'm sorry darling, I'm sorry that I've gotten you into this mess. Be patient and don't try to fight your way out while I try to get you away from there. Will you do that for me?"

"I will do anything for you, you know that."

"As I would for you. Be brave my Darling. I will have you out of there in no time."

I rang Ruiz and filled him in on the latest. He promised to contact his counterpart in the LAPD to see if they would approve the exchange of marked money for Sendi. The theory behind this suggestion was that if the bills were marked in some way or the serial numbers recorded then the police would be able to track the movement and hopefully this would lead them further up the trail to the top.

I then rang the studio to let them know what had happened and ask if there was any way they would be prepared to assist. "We don't normally do this sort of thing for actors, after all we might end up with a whole spate of phony kidnappings on our hands."

"But you stand to lose a lot of money if she doesn't finish the film."

"We are very much aware of that situation."

"You could also make money on the free publicity that this would generate for the film. That sort of publicity doesn't normally come cheaply."

"Do you think that we would sink so low as to cash in on this situation?"

"Hey! I work for you too you know."

"I'll have to talk to our legal people. How much time do we have?"

"It's eleven thirty now, we have until three. We may not need your money but it would be good to have it available if we need it."

"Leave it with me, I'll see what I can do and get back to you no later than two o'clock."

I went to the local branch of my bank. The teller had a startled look on her face when I asked how much money I could draw from my account in one transaction today. "I'll have to speak to Mr Thorenson, our manager." She hurried off to do that while I stood at the counter waiting, a line of restless customers standing behind me. 

"You might try another line this could take some time". I advised the young man standing behind me. He moved to the next line followed by the rest of the queue.

The teller returned several minutes later with a middle aged man. He was tall and well built, his tan was fake as probably was his hair. He fitted the image of the successful banker, and in this town image is everything. "Would you step this way." He held open the counter for me and I followed him to his office.

I could contemplate taking up banking, if I could be sure of an office like this one. "I have to ask you why you would want to withdraw so much money."

"I need it for an urgent transaction, any more than that I'm not at liberty to discuss."

"I'm relieved. I thought at first that you might be closing your account because you are unhappy with the service that you have received from our bank."

"Far from it. I've always been happy with your service, both here and in New York."

"How would you like the money? Would you like a bank draft for the amount or would you like it in some other way?"

"I want it in cash. I want it in sequentially numbered bank notes."

"I was hoping that you wouldn't say that. This will take some time to transact."

"I don't have a lot of time. Isn't there some way that you could arrange the transfer of funds from other branches. I need the money or at least to have it available by three this afternoon. Can you do that for me?"

"We can try."

"How much money do I have in my account at present? I have left my account records back in New York."

"In your savings account," He was looking at the computer screen in front of him. "You have just under one million. In your investment account you have two and a half million, give or take the odd thousand here and there."

"So I could raise close to three and a half million on those accounts?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean 'not exactly'? Is the money there or not?"

"Yes the money is there, but if you surrender some of your investments there is a penalty to be paid."

"Just give me the bottom line. How much will I be able to get in total?"

"You have three million, one hundred and eighty thousand, in round figures."

"And if I require it you can have it ready no later than three this afternoon?"

"If you require it to be ready for you then it will be ready."

"Thank you, you have been most helpful, I will be sure to use your bank in the future." I left him to work through the mechanics of getting the money ready.

I was just entering the apartment building when a car pulled up out the front and suits approached me. "Are you Jason Feldham?"

"Who is asking?"

"I'm sorry, I should have identified myself. I am Lieutenant Shapiro and this is Detective O'Connell from the LAPD."

"Then I'm Jason Feldham. What can I do for you?"

"Would you be so kind as to accompany us to the station. Captain O'Reilly would like to speak to you." I accompanied them and spoke to Captain O'Reilly. I had expected him to fit the mould of the archetypical Irish American policeman, big, dark and dull but he fitted none of these. O'Reilly came by his name by legitimate means, his great grandfather was from Ireland, but by reason of his policemen father and grandfather's intelligence he had risen up the ranks of the police department on talent rather than breeding.

"I have had a long and interesting discussion with a Captain Ruiz. He tells me that you are mixed up in some nefarious doings that are linked with murder and drug importation. Now you don't need me to tell you that these things are frowned on in this city, rumours to the contrary of course."

"Believe me, if I had my way I would never have gotten involved in this mess, but I had little choice. I gave some money to a friend of my wife to invest in legitimate projects and I found out later that, because he was into his bookie for an obscene amount of money he had invested it in the importation of a huge shipment of drugs into America. When I found this out I asked for my money back. That is when it hit the fan, so to speak."

"I understand that you think that this deal is being bankrolled by legitimate as well as mob money and that they have bought protection from the authorities."

"It stands to reason. If you have outlaid the amount of money that is involved here the odd couple of hundred thousand in the right packets wouldn't be missed especially if you stand to make the sort of profit that these people are."

"What sort of figure do you think is involved?"

"I wasn't the biggest investor and I don't know how many are involved, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if the shipment had a street value of around a billion dollars."

"A shipment that size could hardly get into the country undetected."

"That's what led me to believe that the customs people had to be involved. It could come in as a legitimate shipment of goods from overseas and be cleared as such. It could enter under cover through one of the many entry points that are used by drug runners, and the sort of money that is being paid would cause some interesting cases of selective blindness. It could even be routed through Los Angeles."

"I know that with the possible exception of New York and Miami, LA is probably the biggest market, so it stands to reason that some of the drugs could come directly here, but to suggest that this is a major player in the pipeline is stretching it a little."

"I didn't say that it here was a major entry point, I just suggested that it was one point. Probably the biggest would have to be Miami, with the next biggest the aerial route over Mexico and through Texas."

"I don't suppose that you have proof of all this, do you?"

"No. This is all evidence that is part of the public domain, it has emerged from a range of prosecutions in the past. I have not come up with anything in my research to suggest that the routes have changed, just that the methods have become much more sophisticated."

"What about your present dilemma?"

"Some wise guys, and I don't know who at this point in time, have kidnapped Sendi Soren and will release her if I can come up with several million dollars."

"That much Captain Ruiz has told me, but where do you fit into this scenario?"

"Whoever is involved has accused me of relieving them of the money and they are desperate to get it back and quickly. Sendi is a very good friend of mine and they have decided, rightly, that they can get to me through her."

"Did you take their money?"

"I took money that they thought of as theirs, technically it was mine and all that I was doing was retrieving it."

"Explain."

"I gave the money to a friend of my wife to invest in legitimate investments. I found out that he didn't, choosing instead to maximize his return by supporting this drug shipment, so I asked for it back. It appears that he did a deal with his 'associates' to give me the money but they would relieve me of it before I could get it to a safe place. I managed to get it to the safe place before that happened and they are pissed off. They have already killed the alleged friend and my wife. I don't want them to kill Sendi."

"Where does she fit into the overall scheme of things?"

"I met her again some time ago while I was working for a studio in Hollywood, you could say that the publicity machine threw us together. We became friends, good friends in the real sense, and only became lovers after Melissa, my wife, was killed."

"You said 'again'."

"Yes, I first met her in college, she was in her freshman year and I was tutoring her in English Literature. We almost became lovers at that time. I lost contact with her after I left college, but that was until I came to Hollywood and the studio threw us together."

"I get the picture. Now, Ruiz tells me that you can be trusted but you'll have to forgive me here, we are reluctant to trust anyone that we don't know with a huge amount of money, so we will send you in wired for sound."

"If it makes life easier for you I can have a cashier's check made out to the LAPD for the full amount to cover you just in case something does go wrong."

"That won't be necessary at this point but we may seek restitution if it does go wrong. The money has been imprinted with black light identification, to the naked eye it appears perfectly normal, Ruiz has a good idea who is involved and will arrange for any money that they are spreading around to be scanned. If the marked money shows up then we have them with the evidence and it will hold up in court, we hope."

"Would it also be possible to fit a tracking device to the case that the money is in?"

"We could but if they go over the case and find it they might react in a way that you won't like."

"I have an idea, what about getting your people to fit a tracking device to my car. I don't know where the exchange will be made yet."

"That has already been done. Your car was taken to the police garage and has been fitted with a satellite tracking beacon, we can pinpoint you to within a gnat's appendage at any time, so we can follow you from a distance. As soon as your car has stopped we can move in on it. We will also monitor the radio that you'll be wearing so all that you have to do is to give us a running commentary to let us know when you want us to close in, but that is only in case things get ugly. We don't want to spook them just yet, we want them to think that they have gotten away with this."

I left the police station and walked to my car I had the feeling at that point that I was being followed. I drove home and parked the Porsche outside the apartment building while I went inside to await further instructions. What happened next was straight out of a Hollywood film script. My phone rang. The instruction that I received, relayed by a voice that had obviously been electronically distorted, that told me that I was to go to a public phone booth and wait until it rang, I was to pick up the phone after the third ring and hang it up immediately. I was then to wait until it rang again and pick it up on the fifth ring. I would be given instructions as to where to go next.




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 04



14

Sendi and I sat at the edge of a steamy jungle clearing in the mountains forty miles out of Medellin and waited. Our clothes were sticking to our bodies and the deodorant had given up the fight hours ago. The shirt clinging to her body took my mind off my job for several minutes.

I had checked and rechecked the camera settings to make sure that when I took the pictures they would be perfect. Under cover of the dense foliage I had set the Nikon with its telephoto lens on its mini tripod. We were tourists on a photo safari taking pictures of the many spectacularly colored parrots that lived in the jungles of South America and the developed photos in our luggage supported this cover.

***

Our journey had been interesting to say the least. We flew into Bogotá on an airliner that should have been, and probably was, pensioned off years ago. It struggled in the thin atmosphere of the high altitude, we struggled with the livestock that seemed to part of the local aviation tradition. Scant regard was taken for air safety in this part of the world and it was with a large dose of relief that we found ourselves safely on the ground.

The vehicles available to rent at the airport were equally as ancient as the airplane. We chose one of the two ancient Land Rovers that comprised the fleet and ground our uncomfortable way through the jungle to Medellin. Our journey was one of stops and starts. If it wasn't a stop to allow the ancient and tired motor to recover from the rigors of the long mountain climbs, it was to allow the local military to pull the car apart looking for whatever they were looking for.

***

We heard, before we saw, a convoy of light trucks winding its way up the rough mountain road. They pulled up in front of the group of ramshackle buildings at the edge of a small clearing that we had been watching for the last hour and a half.

The drivers got from the trucks and helped the local workers to load bags onto the backs of the trucks. I exposed a roll of film before we walked over the ridge to our waiting Land Rover. As we walked I slipped the exposed film into an envelope addressed to Ruiz back in New York. The envelope also contained a letter explaining that the film was important evidence and that he should ensure its safety and that of subsequent films that I would send from time to time.

I knew, from my research, where the trucks would be headed, so Sendi and I drove away from the drug processing plant and set up our camera in its next location. The Natividad Coffee Company was the perfect cover for the drug pipeline. Cocaine sealed in plastic packages and placed in bags of coffee beans are not likely to be detected by the usual methods, even supposing that the customs officers were conducting anything more than a cursory search. Sniffer dogs were unable to pick up the scent of the cocaine over that of the coffee beans.

Our task was to photograph the process of transferring the drugs to the bags of coffee and making sure that the photographs contained the labels on the bags for further identification.

I had thought of climbing onto the roof of the plant and taking the photos through a skylight but decided against that because I didn't have a lot of faith in the strength of the roofing material. We chose a position that overlooked the plant and gave a clear shot through one of the windows. In this instance clear was a relative situation, the window wasn't the cleanest that I had ever seen but it would suffice.

The trucks rolled down the hill to the plant. At either end of the convoy was a jeep loaded with men loaded with guns. The convoy was now valuable and protection was increasingly apparent.

The lead jeep stopped and a man stood up in the front with a pair of binoculars with which he scanned the area. I hoped that the hide that Sendi and I had taken great pains to build would pass scrutiny. It did and the rest of the trucks pulled up in front of the plant.

Many men emerged from the building and unloaded the trucks, the operation taking no more than fifteen minutes. The bags of cocaine were carried into the plant and stacked beside the bagging machine.

The coffee beans spilled down a chute, the operator stopping the machine when the bag was about one third full. He then packed two of the plastic bags of cocaine into the bag before restarting the machine. When full, the bag was sealed and placed on a conveyor. This took it to another part of the plant where it was weighed and labeled, the number noted on the cargo manifest before the bag was taken to the loading dock.

The full bags of coffee were loaded onto large covered trucks that bore the Natividad Coffee Company name. When the shipment was completed the trucks rolled away from the plant. The next stop was a warehouse on the docks at Barranquilla. 

As we drove through the port of Barranquilla I mailed the two envelopes, each containing a roll of film and an explanatory note, to Ruiz.

Barranquilla had been chosen as the exit port for a couple of very good reasons. The first was that it was one of the closest to the US. The second reason was that the local customs officials had been paid well not to check too closely the bags of coffee from the Natividad Coffee Company. In a world where money talked the voices were raised.

It was just after daybreak and the humidity was still at a bearable level as we walked from the wharf. I had taken pictures of the bags of coffee being slung aboard a rather tired looking freighter and had taken the film out of the camera and reloaded it. I placed the exposed film in one of my socks so that I could transfer it to one of the envelopes in my suitcase when we got back to our car. The film in the camera I used to take pictures of not a lot in a place where there was a lot of not a lot. I reasoned that if we were stopped and the camera checked, an almost fully exposed film would raise fewer eyebrows than a new film.

We approached the car to be confronted by three men in military uniforms. "What has Senor been doing on the wharf at this time of the day?"

"I have been taking pictures of your beautiful port and the birds that enjoy their lives here." This sounded almost as bad as it was and I wasn't confident that he would buy it. He didn't.

"Would Senor like to show me his camera?" Senor wouldn't but did as he was told. The soldier took the Nikon and opening the back pulled the film from it. "Senor should be careful where he takes pictures in future."

"Senor will." I assured him. The soldiers marched off towards the warehouse and Sendi and I both breathed a lot easier.

The Columbian phase of our operation was complete, at least it would be when the last envelop was consigned and we left the country.

The next phase was to find out where the Panamanian registered Enterprise Endeavour would make landfall in the US. We reasoned that Miami would be the first port of call, given its reputation for being a staging point in the cocaine line. (All right that's a terrible pun, and I make no apologies for it either). 

Our plane landed at Miami and we checked into a hotel on the beachfront. We had a couple of days to spare while we waited for our ship to come in and we made the most of it. We were the normal tourists, walking along the beach and shopping in the malls, dining in the fancy restaurants and in Sendi's case, occasionally being recognized by some avid movie fan. Most of all we made sure that people noticed us wandering around the docks taking photographs of anything and everything. When it came time to photograph the Enterprise Endeavour we needed to been doing what we'd been doing for days so as not attract too much attention.

The local newspaper contained a list of the shipping arrivals and departures so we drove to the docks and were waiting for the Enterprise Endeavour as she steamed into port, camera at the ready.

"Do they still call it steaming when ships are diesel powered these days?" I asked Sendi.

"You're stressing bout this aren't you?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Because my love, you always make some inane comment or ask a silly question when you're tense."

"You know me too well."

"I'll never know you too well and that's what makes us perfect."

We watched from a safe distance as the stevedores started to unload the vessel. The crane swung backwards and forwards over the hold and the crane hook dropped into the hold to emerge with a sling loaded with goods. We kept a watch on the slings as they emerged, trying to keep a tally of the number of bags of coffee that were unloaded. It wasn't an easy task but one that was helped a little by the long lens on the camera that enabled me to get a close up of the slings. As far as I could tell, when the unloading had stopped, only about one third of the consignment was on shore.

We walked from the shore where we were photographing back to our car. In the car I was just about to place the film in the next envelope when I noticed a familiar looking car approaching. It wasn't the same black Ford that had followed us around America before but it was similar. It pulled to a stop beside us. I just had enough time to put the film in my sock and the envelope back in my bag when the men from the car approached. They both held out ID's that identified them as members of the DEA.

"May I ask what you two are doing here?"

"I am photographing your beautiful city." I once more hoped that the statement would work. Once more it didn't. I would have to think of a new line.

"May I?" He held out his hand for the camera. Another wasted blank film waved in the breeze. "Would you mind if we had a look at your vehicle?" I minded, not that this was any concern of his.

The search was quick. Long enough to find the envelope addressed to Ruiz and to discover a small bag containing a white powder that he opened and proclaimed to be cocaine. "Can you explain the presence of this?"

"No. We rented this car no more than an hour ago and drove it straight from the rental agency to here. If, as I expect you have, you've been following us you would have realized that there is no way that we could have bought that between then and now."

"You could always have had it on you before you rented the car."

"And the drugs could also have already been in the car, or newly arrived in the car as part of an elaborate frame."

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"What are you thinking I'm suggesting?"

"That we are part of this devious plot to discredit you?"

"I would never think that of a loyal employee of the DEA that may or may not have had anything to do with an incident in Black Plains Texas designed to do that very thing."

"I think that you should accompany us back to headquarters."

"Are you arresting us, if so what are our rights?"

"We're not arresting you, you are merely helping us with our enquiries."

We didn't have any choice in the matter so we followed them to the DEA headquarters where we were ushered into a small room.

The two men who had invited us to attend this session were joined by two other men. "What were you doing photographing the ships at the docks?"

"I thought that it would make an interesting series of photographs. Now of course, I am going to have to take them again tomorrow and hope that the light is the same. You have no appreciation for art or you wouldn't have destroyed the film."

"You didn't happen to think that the photographs of one particular ship could be important?"

"I wasn't interested in any particular ship, just the general shipping scene." (The polygraph would have really flipped at that one.)

"The DEA is interested in all shipping that passes through this port, especially those that come from South America. Now when we see someone else that is interested in these ships we are, of course, curious."

"Of course you are."

"Now I ask you again, why were you interested in that ship?" Repetition questioning seemed to be a favored method of interrogation.

"What ship?"

"The Enterprise Endeavour."

"I repeat, my interest is in general shipping."

"Then how do you explain this?" He pushed the envelope across the table to me.

"Captain Ruiz is a friend of mine and he shares my interest in shipping. I send the film to him because he can get it processed a lot cheaper than I can."

"We are very much aware of your friend Ruiz and his carrying out some sort of personal vendetta against some people who may, in some way, be connected with one of the ships that you photographed this morning?"

"I wasn't aware of that, although I would hardly blame him after what these people did to his wife."

"We don't mind as long as he doesn't get in the way of our investigation, in fact he is doing us a favor by keeping the bad guys looking over their shoulder to see what he is up to. I strongly urge you, if you are involved in any of this, to cease and desist."

"And if we don't? That is assuming that we are involved?"

"Then we will have to take you both into protective custody."

"We will be leaving then." He made no attempt to prevent us from leaving so we left.

We flew to Hollywood and picked up the Porsche, mobility now becoming something of a concern to us. We drove to New York and checked into a hotel. There were two reasons for this, I didn't want to use the apartment in which Melissa and I had lived (far too many bad memories) and the hotel had a parking garage attached to it and a valet service so that all we had to do was to pull into the forecourt and leave the car.

Ruiz was pleased to see us. "I know where you've been and what you've been doing there, but why didn't you tell me where you were going and why?"

"Because you would have tried to prevent us from going."

"True. Where are you staying?"

"The Imperial."

"Why don't you come over and stay with us, I'm sure Phoebe will love the company."

"Because I won't be able to get a park anywhere near your place and I'm not leaving my car in the street."

"You've bought a car? What is it, a Volvo?"

"Why would you suggest that? Do I look like a Volvo driver?"

"At the moment you look like a jeep driver. I hope you're going to change that image."

"If you're going to be insulting I won't tell you our news."

"I have your first two rolls of film. While I was waiting for you to send the next roll I made a few enquiries as to who the local importers of coffee from the Natividad Coffee Company were."

"It wouldn't surprise me to find that it is a legitimate company owned by one Guido Costanzo and used as a front for his more interesting enterprises. They are waiting for a ship called the Enterprise Endeavour to arrive with the next shipment. They have already off-loaded some of the cocaine in Miami and the rest is still on board."

"I have tried to interest the DA in the concept of raiding the warehouse when it is off-loaded but his office is making noises about jurisdiction and corroborating evidence. You see until it is cleared by Customs it's officially a Federal matter and we can't just go into a bonded warehouse with guns blazing unless the Feds invite us. He isn't interested in the pictures that you sent from Columbia."

"What if we had pictures of the ship off-loading some of the drugs in Miami?"

"It's out of our jurisdiction, and also a case for the Feds. He is worried that any evidence that we have already will never be admissible in court so he isn't willing to pursue the matter too strongly."

"What if we were to wait for the drugs to be moved from the bonded warehouse to their distribution point and stop the shipment on the road?"

"We would have to get a warrant and as soon as we apply for one the word will get around and we'll miss out yet again."

"I seem to remember something called 'probable cause' that's used to prevent a felony being committed."

"I would have to build a strong case, something a little stronger than we have at present before I could use that otherwise they could claim I was persecuting them."

"You feel that the DA is under pressure not to follow up on this don't you?"

"Yes."

"What about tipping off the DEA and the Customs?"

"Part of what I want to do is to catch the links in both of those bodies and if we tip our hands too soon they will disappear into the woodwork back-filling their trails as they go."

"So what are we to do?"

"We nothing, you've done enough it's up to me now. I'll get the evidence somehow, and when I have it, and I can then present a water-tight case that will hold up in court, there will be no escape for the guilty. Meanwhile are you and Sendi coming around for dinner tonight, I know that Phoebe will want to see you, both of you."

"Of course, what time do you want us?"

"Seven for seven-thirty. Does Sendi have any preference for food?"

"She's not fussy. I hate her because she can eat anything and everything and not get fat as a result."

We caught a cab and at seven we were dropped outside Ruiz' apartment block. We walked along the passage to his door to be met by Ruiz, who was obviously waiting for us. "Hi come in." He stood back and let us to enter. Phoebe came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a cloth. She had an apron over her dress but there was no mistaking the slight bulge at the waist.

"Hi Jason, how are you?" I got an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

"Fine and I must say that you look great. Not planning to go back to work I see."

Sendi kissed Phoebe and Ruiz. "How long before the baby is due?"

"I've another five and a bit months to go yet, I've only just started to show but I think that he's going to be a monster."

"I'm afraid that we'll have to adopt when we want a family, Jason can't father any children."

"Wasn't Melissa pregnant?"

"Yes and I'm almost certain that James was the father."

"Darling," Phoebe said to Ruiz, "Our guests must be dying of thirst, why don't you get us all a drink while I check on the food."

"Can I help?" Sendi was on her feet and walking towards the kitchen. She was going to help whether Phoebe liked it or not.

"What would you like to drink?" Ruiz asked her as she walked towards the kitchen.

"Do you have any white wine?"

"I think there's some somewhere." He answered looking in the bar fridge.

"Don't bother, I'll have a scotch and ice thanks."

He poured a scotch for Sendi, a bourbon for himself and Phoebe and looking to me poured one for me in response to my nod.

"You two seem to be getting on well." Ruiz said looking after Sendi.

"I think so. She has a much more open personality than Melissa had. When I think about it, if it wasn't for Melissa pushing me to change I would never have been asked out to Hollywood and I would never have met Sendi. So I suppose that I owe her a debt of gratitude for that at least."

"When did you find out that she had been having an affair?"

"When I found out that she was pregnant, you see I already knew at that time that I was sterile."

"If you're sterile, how do you..?"

"I might not be able to father children but I can still perform, it's the same as if I had a vasectomy."

"Just curious that's all."

"Sendi hasn't had any complaints in that area. I enjoy it better with her than I did with Melissa. Oh, she was creative and we did it in so many ways we could have written a book about it, but I had the feeling, in the end when I knew more, that she wasn't putting everything into the act. Sendi is different, she is just as creative but she does everything with feeling."

The women came out of the kitchen. "Have you got around to sex yet?" Phoebe asked.

"What makes you think that we were talking about sex?"

"I know my husband. When he and another man get into conversation the topic turns almost immediately to sex."

"We did touch on the subject, briefly."

"You know that I am a little envious of you two." Sendi said, a distant look in her eyes. "You are having your own child and much as I want a baby or several with Jason, it's not to be. Jason will have tests done to determine if his condition can be reversed by an operation or not. If there is no joy there we have already decided that as soon as we get married we are going to adopt."




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 04



"You two are getting married? What does the studio have to say about that?"

"What can they say, they don't own my contract and they certainly don't own me."

"That's great news. I bet this lug hasn't gotten around to asking you yet."

"You'd win that bet. We've talked about quite a lot and have reached agreement as to where and when it will happen, but he hasn't actually asked me yet."

'Darling," I got down onto my knees in front of her in a dramatic gesture. "Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Oh, I'll think about it." (Pregnant pause) Of course I will, stupid." We kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

"Alright you two, time for dinner."

Dinner was great, the food was spectacular, the wine excellent and the conversations, there always seemed to be at least two conversations running simultaneously, were interesting and they didn't touch on our mission at all. It was a very pleasant, relaxing evening and one that took everyone's mind off the problem at hand.

The next day, after recovering from the surfeit of the night before, both culinary and physical, the problem returned with a vengeance.





15

Leaving Sendi stretching and purring like some contented cat, I walked out of the front door of our hotel. The doorman held the door for me, "Car sir?"

"No Henry, I feel so great today that I think I'll take a walk."

"We had a good night did we sir?"

"I don't know about you, I certainly did." I headed in the direction of the 5th Precinct. It was a great day, apart from the smog haze that was settling onto the road causing a dryness in my throat. For the first time in a long while I looked around me and took notice of my surroundings.

The frenetic bustle of the early morning peak hour had passed and the later rush of business was in full swing. Delivery trucks delivered, cabs scurried around like yellow beetles, darting here and there, picking up and setting down passengers. Private cars of all shapes and sizes cruised by, private cars with owner drivers looking for a parking space near to their destination, limos looking for the most effective place to set down their wealthy passengers.

Shoppers stopped, shoppers shopped, packages carried to waiting cars. The wealthy were out and about displaying their wealth for the plebeians to envy. I mustn't have been one of the plebes, I hope that's the right word, my spell checker has failed to recognize it, because I didn't envy them their wealth. I had wealth beyond money. I'm going to have to give this up, I'm starting to get philosophical.

As I walked along the street I became aware that, while I was interested in other people and their foibles, I was the object of someone else's interest. I had seen in the movies how the hero who wanted to shake a tail was able to walk into a shop through the front door and exit through the rear, thereby losing the tail. It doesn't work that way in real life, none of the stores that I went into would allow me to leave through the back door.

I had just about given up on losing my follower when a large, black, shiny limo pulled into the kerb beside me. The rear window hissed down and from the depths of the car issued a cloud of cigar smoke and a gravelly voice. "Mr. Feldham, you have caused us some grief in the past and I'm pleased to say that you have eased that grief. Our business transactions are about to go ahead and when they are completed we will be happy to return the money that you so kindly loaned us, with a substantial interest of course. There is however one condition on the return of the money and that is that you take no further interest in the business transactions. If you do we will be forced to retain your investment as a form of penalty for your failure to comply with our investment terms. Do I make myself clear?"

"What do you mean?" I hadn't been invited to join him in the limo, I would probably have declined because I don't like the smell of cigars, not even expensive Havanas, so I stood at the kerb looking at the occasional red glow from the cigar tip and the smoke haze that obscured his face through the window.

"I am aware that you have expressed objections to the use of your money in these transactions, and I am aware that you have expressed those objections to the police. I am aware that the police officer in question has tried on a number of occasions to interest the DA in pursuing these matters, without success I might add. I feel that it is in your best interests to forget all about what is about to happen. I'm sure that you are aware of what can happen to people who don't do the right thing when dealing with us."

"I think so. I seem to remember that some people of my acquaintance met an untimely end because of me not doing the right thing."

"The man yes, he was no longer trustworthy. The woman was irrelevant but she was punished because she was involved with the man, we regretted having to do it but he didn't leave us with any alternative."

"You've made your point."

"Good. My accountant will contact you to arrange for the transfer of funds back to you." With that the window hissed up and the limo purred away.

As I walked away from the meeting I had visions of what had happened to Melissa and James, and Sendi's beautiful face kept appearing in place of Melissa's. The men meant business. I meant business. I surprised even myself with the clear resolve that emerged. I was going to bring these people down, how I didn't know exactly, but they were down.

Ruiz didn't look all that bright when I walked into his office. "Hard night?"

"It didn't end when you left." He looked in disgust at the coffee that had gotten cold in the bottom of his mug. "Phoebe made me do the dishes and I'm going out later today to buy a dishwasher. Then when I got to bed I found that she was ready for more action. She was insatiable, and a pregnant woman at that."

"I remember reading somewhere that pregnancy can increase a woman's libido. At least in certain cases that is."

"This is one of them."

"Listen, I have just had the most amazing conversation with a person in a limo. I could only just make out his face but I'm sure that I could recognize him if I saw him again. He smoked this huge cigar and when he was putting it in his mouth I saw the most enormous pinkie ring that I have ever seen."

"One problem with that is that we can't get a positive ID on a ring, anyone could put on a ring and smoke a cigar. It won't hold up."

"Any way, what he said to me was interesting. He promised me that I would have my money plus interest soon but only on the condition that I don't rock the boat. He as much as admitted that he was responsible for the deaths of James and Melissa and that a similar fate awaited me and Sendi if I persisted."

"But it's not your money."

"He isn't to know that. Now if the shipment is due to arrive soon we will need to be prepared for it. We have to have evidence of the money changing hands and we have to follow the people that have the cocaine so that we can arrest them in possession of it. We have to keep an eye out for the DEA and Customs links. If we are lucky they will be paid with the marked money and if that is the case we will be able to arrest them as well, if not we can still arrest them but it will be harder to make the charges stick."

"You've really gotten carried away with this. Look when you say we you mean me. You're out of this, it's not one of your books where the hero co-operates with the police and gets a pat on the back from the Commissioner at the end of it. This doesn't work that way. The last thing that we want is for some well meaning amateur getting in the way of our investigation."

"What investigation! You have your hands tied on this one. I, at least, have the opportunity and the time to work outside the confines of the legalities that are stopping you, I don't have to break the law to do this, I can get the evidence that you need to prosecute."

"I can't ask you to do this."

"You can't stop me, especially if I don't break the law in the process."

"If, and this is a big if, I give you permission to do this you will have no official status, if something goes wrong don't come running to me to bail you out. All that I ask, in an unofficial capacity, is for you to keep me informed of what you're doing and what evidence you've uncovered."

"I would ask for nothing more than that."

"I think it will be best if this whole investigation has no official status. My boss has been pressured from above to drop the whole thing. It seems as if the Commissioner has been copping it from the DA's office about the wasting of public money on investigating something that won't see the inside of the courtroom. I think that what they don't know won't hurt them so I'll keep it all quiet until we have enough to work with."

"Another thing, Sendi is to be taken right away from this. It is too dangerous for her. One thing that I haven't told you and that is the forensic report on Melissa showed that she had been raped by someone who wasn't James. There were signs of forcible sexual penetration, there was considerable bruising in the vaginal area and traces of semen that didn't belong to James. If it was who I think it was, he works for Costanzo. It has been rumored that he has never been able to put it all the way into a woman and even Guido's whores don't want anything to do with him. You know that joke about the guy who won $500 by flashing his dick and making the donkey cry, well this guy would make the guy who made the donkey cry sob in his beer. She would have been stretched to the limit and in considerable pain while this was happening. I don't think that you would want Sendi placed in the position where she could be subjected to similar treatment, would you?"

"No, but how will I convince her of that. She has flatly refused to leave me in the past and I don't see any reason for her to change her mind."

"Would you get her to come down here. I think I might be able to convince her that she shouldn't be around here. Phoebe can help."

I rang Sendi and asked her to come down to the precinct. Ruiz rang Phoebe and asked her to come down as well. When all four of us were settled around the desk drinking coffee Ruiz started. "Sendi, I have sort of given permission for Jason to continue his work on this case on one condition, and that is that you should leave New York and return to Hollywood. If you are not prepared to do that both of you are out of this as of now."

"No!" She turned to me. "How could you do this to me? Haven't I already been of assistance? I don't want to leave you for any reason, where you go I go, do you understand that?"

"I understand that, but the answer is still no and that's final."

"I can't and I won't do it. You can't make me. If he's allowed to stay I am staying with him."

"I've always wanted to say this, Sendi, read my lips, the answer is 'no', now what part of that word don't you understand?"

"Honey let me." Phoebe cut into the conversation. She stood up and crossed to the desk, she turned the desk lamp around so that the light shone upwards. Placing her face close to the light she said to Sendi, "Have a close look at this. Now when I put my makeup on in the morning I'm faced with this mess. If you look closely you can see the scars. Do you want your face to look like this. It would be the end of your career."

'That doesn't bother me at all. My career will be finishing as soon as Jason and I get married, I will have everything I need then, so my looks are no longer a consideration. You can't use that argument on me."

"There is one other argument that may get you to change your mind." Ruiz took from his desk drawer a file, he handed it over to Sendi. "That is the forensic report on Melissa, Jason hasn't even seen it, but I've summarized it for him and that has forced him to rethink your involvement. I want you to read it. I also want you to look at the photographs in particular those taken during the autopsy. The Pathologist clipped the hair from the vaginal region so that he could get some close up shots of the extent of the bruising caused during the brutal rape."

Sendi's mind changed along with the color of her face. "The bastards." Her voice was a whisper. "How could they do that?"

"They hold little respect for the value of human life, especially when that life is connected with someone who has wronged them. You got a small taste of that yourself and lucky for you the hoods in LA are a little better than those here. These guys don't think twice."

"I think that I'm going to be sick, where's the bathroom?"

"I'll come with you." Phoebe followed her as she rushed from the office.

"That was a bit rough wasn't it?"

"Not as rough as they would get with her if she stayed around here, I think that she will go."

An ashen faced Sendi came back into the office leaning on Phoebe's arm. "I think I get the message that you want me out of the way. I'm inclined to agree with you but that isn't to say that I like the situation because believe me I don't. I don't want Jason here either. I feel that if I am to be removed from danger he should as well."

"We have had a long discussion about that this morning. Jason will be able to help us in a way that we can't help ourselves. He'll be able to do things that we can't and go places that we aren't able to go."

"Oh you've discussed this without me have you?"

"Look, don't blame Jason for this, I tried to get him to drop right out of this but he came up with this solution and I have to agree that it's our one chance of getting the bad guys. What also happened this morning was that he had a conversation with the big bad guy who wants him out of it. He made several threats that only served to harden his resolve to bring these men to justice."

"Can you leave us alone for a few minutes?" Sendi asked Ruiz and Phoebe. They complied with this request and left the office.

Sendi came over to where I was standing, placed her arms around my neck and pulled my face to hers, there were tears in her eyes, "Darling, I love you so much it hurts. It hurts even more to leave you here in danger. I know that you are only thinking about my safety and I love your for that, I don't love you for wanting to get me away from here, but I understand your reasons, and love you for that as well. If this sounds confused to you that's because I'm confused, and my emotions are confused. Now don't say anything." 

I was about to say something, I don't know what. My mouth opened and shut without a sound coming from it.

"I'll go, I'm not happy about going. This will probably be the saddest day of my life. I wasn't even this sad when I buried my parents, I most certainly wasn't this sad saying goodbye to any previous boyfriends. Remember this, I love you and I won't be happy until we are back together, even if that is in the afterlife. Now you take very good care of yourself, and if you let anything happen that keeps us apart any longer than possible, I'll never forgive you, I'll probably kill you." Her light laugh at her attempt at humor hurt me. She kissed me with a hard passion that I'd never experienced before, "I'll see you at our house when this is over." She turned and quickly left me standing, staring after her, in Ruiz' office.

***

Sendi had left the hotel by the time I got back late in the afternoon. She left me a long letter in which she poured her heart out to me and let me know in no uncertain terms what she would do to me if I got myself killed pursuing this investigation. She said that she would wait at our house for as long as it took to finish the business. Her closing made me have some doubts about my actions but then she gave me her total support and I felt better. 

I had been busy. I leased a small office in a seedy block opposite that of Costanzo's accountant Paulo Prinzi. In this office I set up my camera on a huge tripod and with an even huger telephoto lens that could take full head shot at one hundred feet. I also bought from one of those stores that specialize in electronic gadgets, a directional microphone that the sales clerk assured me could pick up a fly farting at fifty feet. When I plugged it into my recorder and played back the resultant tape I had no reason to doubt his assertion.

I was prepared to wait, and wait I did until Paulo went home for the night. At least I thought that he went home for the night but it turned out that he went to Costanzo's bar. He spent some time in the office before leaving and, this time, going home to his lonely apartment and his collection of interesting video tapes.

The next day was more exciting. A steady procession of men appeared at Paulo's office. One of them, dressed in seafaring clothes left with what I identified through the telephoto lens to be the same attaché case that I had handed over to the thugs in LA. I assumed that it carried at least some of the money that I gave them, so I called Ruiz on my cell phone. "Someone and I assume that it's the captain of the Enterprise Endeavour, has just left with the same briefcase that I handed over to the kidnappers in LA."

"What does he look like?"

"He's wearing a sea captain's uniform and he's about six feet tall with a full gray beard."

"I've got him." Ruiz was waiting a hundred meters from the office and the captain was walking straight towards him.

As the captain approached the police car Ruiz stepped out and flashed his badge. The captain made no attempt to flee and was led to the police car and transported to the precinct house.

The other visitors fitted into two groups, those collecting money for services rendered and those buying large bags of coffee. All of them were photographed carrying out the transactions and a recording made of the conversations.

While the second group was buying bags of coffee and the invoices that they had supported that these transactions actually took place, the money that they handed over was far in excess of the wholesale, even retail, value of the goods purchased and they didn't take the coffee with them. Instead they drove to the warehouse where the physical part of the transaction took place.

This group was followed by investigators that I'd hired, from the warehouse to the places where the cocaine was to be further processed before hitting the streets through the extensive network of dealers. They were photographed at every step in their journey. As they left the warehouse they were arrested by the police called in by the investigators. The case was building up into one that not even the DA could ignore.

Each hour I would package the film and tapes and send them by courier to Ruiz's office. This would form the basis of the police case against those responsible for bringing this huge shipment of drugs into the country. 

It came as no surprise when I saw a familiar black Ford pull up outside the office and a man go in. Well, when I say it came as no surprise, the reason that it was there was the surprise. The driver was alone, 'interesting' I thought to myself, 'if he is there on official business he should have at least one other person with him.' It was obvious that he was not on official business. "I want out of this business." The voice came through to the recorder.

"You have no choice. You're in too deep now."

"But it's getting too hot. If I stick around any longer I'll be of no use to you. Haven't I done enough for you?"

"And you've been paid very well for your assistance, you've been able to support that expensive mistress of yours while at the same time keep your wife in the style that she has grown to love. Tell me how do you expect to continue without the money that you get from us to supplement your DEA salary?"

"I'll just have to find a way. There's a strong rumour going around headquarters that some cop has gotten his hands on a whole bunch of evidence that will see them cracking down on this operation."




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 04



"Any evidence that they have will disappear before they can act on it, we have made sure of that."

"No, this isn't going through the normal procedures. This Captain Ruiz has it all in his office and I hear that if the DA won't support him he's taking it straight to the Governor."

"Ruiz. That bastard should have backed off when we cut his wife. Where is this evidence coming from?"

"I'm not sure, all I know is that it isn't part of a police investigation but they are following up on what they have already. There are cops running around the place bringing guys in from everywhere. The cells are full and the place is crawling with lawyers trying to get to their clients. The official story is that they are helping with enquiries."

"How do you know that these raids are connected with us?"

"One of the first people brought in was the captain of the Enterprise Endeavour. He has been charged over the importation of the shipment of Cocaine. The Miami police want him as well. The NYPD arrested him as he returned to the ship with an attaché case full of money that had been marked in some way and came from a kidnapping in LA."

"That money was clean."

"No it wasn't. Whoever paid him that money is no longer a friend. The captain is spilling his guts hoping to plea bargain his way into a lighter sentence. He has said that if he goes down everyone else goes down with him."

"My guess is that it's Feldham, the bastard. I bet it is him that is providing the evidence. I wonder where he is?" Money changed hands and the man left. 

I hastily stripped the film from the camera, the tape from the recorder and packed them into the envelope along with a note to Ruiz telling him that I was out of there and would contact him when I could. I wished him luck and suggested that Phoebe should be moved away to a safe place immediately. I also asked if he could get a message to Sendi asking, no telling, her to be very careful.

***

In Paulo's office things were beginning to get interesting. "You had better start covering your arse, the captain of that ship is under arrest and is spilling his guts as we speak."

"How do you know this?"

"Our friend from the DEA has heard about it on the police grapevine, he came here wanting out of the operation. He's running scared and I think we should take care of him before the cops get to him."

"I'll see to it. Now what else did he tell you?"

"The cops have been busy dragging people in to the police station and questioning them. They haven't charged any of them yet and they are keeping their lawyers away from them. I think they might be trying to cut a deal with them to squeal on us."

"How did this happen? I thought we had our backs covered?"

"It must be that writer Feldham, you know the guy that wanted his money back from Craigmore, the guy whose wife Craigmore was fucking. I said that your goons went a little too far with him. Anyway the money that we gave the ship's captain was marked in some way that we didn't notice and he was picked up before he could get it to the ship and safety. They have him cold, and if they have him they will most likely be moving on us. I'm moving any incriminating files out of my office and I'm getting lost for a while. I hate to tell you this but for the time being you're on your own."

***

I packed my camera into the carry case and left the building via the rear exit. I had the Porsche parked in the laneway at the rear. I loaded the camera bag into the trunk and walked across the road. Pushing my way into Paulo's office I walked over to the computer desk. He watched in amazement as I flicked through the floppy disks until I came across the back-up copy of his accounts. "I think this will do. The police are on their way so I suggest that your best bet will be to tell them as much as you can. They have other witnesses who are giving them enough information to incriminate all of you so if you bullshit them they will know." I put the disk into my pocket and left him still with his mouth open.

I drove back to my hotel. Thinking ahead, I didn't park at the hotel but a block and a half away in a parking station.

***

Costanzo was starting to panic. He was no longer imitating Marlon Brando's Godfather but was doing a creditable imitation of someone who had lost his grip on life. No longer was the cigar in his mouth, instead he used it to emphasize the point he was making, stabbing the air with it.

He called for his lieutenant. "Rocco, I want for you to find this Feldham guy and put him out of business, permanently. Then, when you have done that I want you to go over and pay a visit on that whore Phoebe, only this time don't cut her up. This time you should let Luigi have his way before you dispose of her as a lesson to that cop husband of hers. Now get out of here and don't come back here until this job is done."

He picked up the phone and dialed a number. "It's me, what are you doing to me? I hear that this gung-ho cop of yours has gotten himself a lot of incriminating evidence and that he plans to go to the Governor with it."

The man who was on the receiving end of the line, sat bolt upright in his leather chair. "What! I thought that he'd given up on this. I told his station commander that we would never get enough solid evidence to get to court. I ordered them to drop the investigation."

"Well he's got the captain of the ship and he's squealing like a stuck pig. If you want continued contributions for your campaign funds you'd better do something about this and fast!"

"Leave it to me." The District Attorney was on his feet and walking as fast as he could to the Police Commissioner's office. He was thinking as he went. For years he had relied on the money that Guido Costanzo had contributed to his campaign funds and to other worthwhile causes like his retirement fund. He had turned a blind eye to the source of those funds, he had to ever since Guido approached him with photographs of him with a prostitute. His wife, who came from one of the oldest and most respected families would never have understood that his needs were stronger than hers and that he was merely satisfying those needs.

Perry Markham had long ago rationalized that, if as rumored, it was alright for J Edgar Hoover to turn a blind eye to organized crime to prevent his cross dressing and homosexual activities becoming public knowledge then it followed that it was alright for him to do the same. 

He had been a competent enough student at law school but wasn't sufficiently well connected to gain a place with one of the establishment law firms so had to settle for a job with the DA's office. He worked solidly but not spectacularly for many years before the opportunity for advancement presented itself to him.

A prominent public figure had been caught up in a raid on one of Guido's establishments and had, in return for the loss of evidence, introduced Perry to his daughter who was on the rebound from a messy divorce and looking for another man.

Realizing an opportunity when it presented itself, Perry courted the rather unlovely Felicity Jamieson. Rather unlovely was Perry's description of her, to her family she was beautiful in a fragile way. She had been unlucky in her first marriage to Clement Jamieson Junior, the wealthy son of a wealthy family, who, on his return from their honeymoon, proceeded to gamble away his fortune and as much of hers as he could get his hands on.

The divorce was a messy one in which he claimed that the marriage was never consummated and that she was a lesbian and unable or unwilling to share the matrimonial bed with him. She countered with the allegation that her unwillingness stemmed from his bizarre sexual perversions.

Perry had been a thoughtful suitor and had not pushed her into sex, he had little need to do so to satisfy his needs because they were being satisfied elsewhere. They had married and his professional star commenced its meteoric rise until he found himself in the DA's chair and Guido's clutches.

That was the start of a long association that had been a very profitable one for him. He was almost in the position where he could at long last get rid of the frigid bitch that he married and set himself up with someone more amenable to his sexual needs. He had been repatriating the money to a bank in the Cayman Islands, out of reach of the IRS and her lawyers. I could, he thought, move to the Caymans and live in luxury there for a fraction of what it would cost him in New York. His mind started to choose his companion from the many easy women that had taken his fancy in Guido's establishments.

Pushing his way past the Commissioner's startled secretary he stormed into the office. "What the hell is Ruiz playing at?"

"What do you mean?" The Commissioner sat calmly behind his desk.

"He is pulling a whole lot of people in off the streets for questioning. If this has anything to do with this idea he's had about a huge shipment of drugs coming into this country I want him taken off the case. I've told him hundreds of times that this is out of our jurisdiction and that we would never be able to make any evidence that he could get stick in court. What has he got?"

"Marked money, the captain of the ship had in his possession, and he has a whole mess of photographic and recorded evidence of drug transactions taking place. Now this evidence will stand up in court and we are going to use it to prosecute everyone connected with this operation and that will probably include those that put up the money to bring the drugs into the country."

"How do you hope to get that sort of evidence?"

"We have just arrested the man who was in charge of all of the financial transactions. Now we believe that there were some high profile people who invested in this enterprise and they had better see to it that they have good lawyers or they could be looking at ten to twenty years inside. He was attempting to remove some files when we arrested him. Now before you ask, yes we had a warrant for his arrest as well as one that enabled us to carry out a thorough search of his office, we weren't relying on probable cause."

The DA went very quiet and left, that is he tried to leave, his exit was barred by two large and formidable policemen. "I'm sorry but I can't let you go. I'm arresting you on a charge of attempting to pervert the cause of justice. Read him his rights and book him. He has one phone call and that had better be to his lawyer."

Guido was just getting the impression that he had regained some sort of control over his world, he had men scouring the city for me, his friend the DA was taking care of the police side of things, what more could go wrong?

Three suits walked into his office followed by one of the waitresses. "I'm sorry Mr. Costanzo I tried to stop them."

Guido was about to say something when the leader of the group beat him to the punch. "You aren't coping very well are you?"

"What do you mean? Who are you?"

"What I mean is that you have half the population of New York running around like blue arsed flies looking under rocks for someone who is probably right under your very nose. You have the other half running around looking for someone who isn't around the place, she's gone, out of sight, and you'll never find her. As to who we are, let us just say that apart from money from operations such as yours the taxpayer pays our wages."

"What am I supposed to do, I've got a lot of money riding on this and it looks as if I'll lose the lot, all because of the Feldham bastard."

"And who's to blame for that?"

"What do you mean?"

"He asked for his money back and instead of giving it back to him and coming to us for more you cook up some sort of deal with Craigmore to give him the money and steal it back. When Feldham outsmarted you, and that wasn't real hard, you beat him up to try and find out where the money was. Now Feldham outsmarts you again by having you believe that Craigmore had double-crossed you. So what do you do? You send a couple of very unsubtle thugs over to rape and kill Feldham's wife and kill Craigmore. What did that achieve? I'll tell you what it achieved. It achieved making a smart person very mad, and looking for revenge which ended up placing the whole operation in danger."

"But how was I to know that this Feldham would react the way that he has?"

"You didn't know because you didn't think. Now I want you to call off your goons and leave Feldham to us."

"What will you do?"

"When we find him we eliminate him, permanently. And when we do this we will send a message out to the world at large that it will not be safe for anyone to fuck up any operation that we're involved in. It will be spectacular. Have you ever heard of a 'French Kiss?'"

"Yeah I tried one on a girlfriend once when I was young and she slapped my face."

"This particular version is a little thing that we've developed. Do you remember seeing footage of the destruction caused by napalm during the Vietnam War? Well the devious little men in our organization decided to experiment with adding an ignition source and white phosphorous to the mix. This mixture of a small amount of plastic explosive as an ignition source, napalm and phosphorous, when it blows there will be carnage in the streets."

"A little over the top isn't it?"

"The decision is ours to make and we have made it, Feldham and anyone associated with him will be taught a lesson."



Phoebe left to stay with her mother several hours before a fire bomb tore through their apartment destroying it and the adjacent apartments totally. 

As investigators sifted through the burnt out shell of the building looking for clues and remains they reluctantly reached the conclusion that neither would be found. 

"Have you ever seen anything like this?"

"Once, a couple of years ago, I was out on a practice range."

"What do you mean, a practice range, we have never had anything like this."

"I had a brother once, he was a Navy SEAL. He took me to a range where I saw something that could cause this sort of devastation, he asked me if we could cope with a blaze of that intensity. I had to say that we'd have a snowball's chance in hell. What he told me next scared me."

"What was that?"

"That it was something that was developed by a government agency. I thought that they were developing something that they could use in another war if necessary but he told me that they had developed it for use by a government agency for use in its covert operations. There are two versions, both deadly, they can be timed to burn quickly or slowly, either way the heat is intense. One version, used to spread fire over a wide area is the white phosphorous version, it uses C4 as a trigger and dispersant. The other uses thermite to confine the blast and the very intense heat. It can liquefy steel, so you can imagine its potential. But there is another wrinkle to these devices, they suck oxygen into the fire core from the surrounding area, anyone in that area will not be able to breathe."

"You mean the CIA thought this up?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that, if you get my drift?"

"Then how come it was used here?"

"I didn't say that it was this stuff, I just said that it had the same effect."

"If we can't find any bodies here we'll just have to try and find a list of who lives here and see if there is any reasonable way that we can tie this in to the bombing."

Sometime later Ruiz was interviewed by the investigators. He had been expecting the visit since he had heard that his apartment building had been fire-bombed. 

"Was anyone in your apartment at the time of the blast?"

"No, I have spoken to my wife and she wasn't at home at the time."

"Do you have any idea why anyone would target your apartment?"

"I suppose that it could have some connection with the case that I'm working on at present."

"And what is that?"

"We have been investigating a couple of murders that may be connected with the importation and distribution of cocaine."

"Shit that'll do it. Do you realize that if you start in on these guys they will cut you to shreds and feed you to the sharks. I hate to tell you this but you may just be in way over your head."

"That's what I've been told, but I've got too much riding on this to stop now."

"You know that you could be dealing with the firm, don't you?"

"You mean the spooks from Langley?"

"Yes."

"Fuck! I knew that they had set up a huge operation working in the Golden Triangle but I thought that they were working to stop the trade from Colombia."

"I could say that it's exactly like when they were supposed to be working towards stopping the heroin trafficking out of South East Asia."

"Fuck!"

"You've already said that."

"I know. I've got something to do. I have to find someone and tell him to get the hell out of town and fast."



Guido had located where I was staying through a contact in the 5th precinct. 

"We've found Feldham!"

"Where is he?"

"He's staying at this hotel. We don't know if he's actually there so we have someone watching both entrances. We have people looking out for his car because that isn't in the hotel garage."

The phone rang. "Speak to me." The voice on the other end of the phone spoke.

"We've found his car and it looks as if he left it in a parking garage and walked to his hotel. It also looks as if someone else is interested in his car."

"Leave them to it, just stick around the hotel and make sure that he leaves, don't follow him because when the shit hits the fan I don't want any of you anywhere near it, It is out of our control now and is going to get very messy."

His men watching the hotel missed me as I left to walk to the car. They saw but didn't recognize me with my changed appearance. I was no longer the studious nerd that I had become over the last few weeks, instead I was the young trendy person in designer clothes, clean shaven and sporting a colorful bandanna. I took a circuitous route to ensure that I wasn't followed so it took me some time to arrive at where I had parked.

The other men had done their work on the car and left, they didn't want to be anywhere near it when I returned. There was no-one watching me as I walked toward the car and no-one watching the car.

I was still a long way from it when I noticed a man standing beside it. He had what looked to be a long flat piece of plastic that he was feeding down inside the door. It looked as if I was going to be Porsche-less. He scrambled inside and fiddled with the ignition. Within ten seconds he backed out of the parking space and accelerated rapidly down the ramp to the exit. Within another thirty seconds the car stopped rolling as it was engulfed in a fireball that lifted it several feet from the ground before crashing back to earth a fiery mass of twisted metal.

The Porsche had just crashed through the boom gate and was turning on to the street when the bomb exploded. The fireball engulfed everyone and everything within a radius of fifty feet, people were alight, clothes burning as they writhed on the ground. 

I walked out of the pedestrian entrance to the parking garage to be confronted by chaos. I had seen similar images from the Vietnam War and it turned my stomach then, just as it did now. There were screams from the injured and just plain frightened, people running to the aid of the injured and chaos everywhere.

I decided that it was time that I wasn't anywhere to be seen and in the confusion I walked away from what was meant to be the end of my present life into my future life, whatever that was.



Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 05



16

The Avenger is about to strike.

Not for the Avenger the skin tight outfit with underwear on the outside, designed to show the world at large and in particular the female population, everything that he had to offer, instead the Avenger looked for all the world like a Stock Broker, in a dark suit and neatly trimmed beard and hair, and as such was able to mingle inconspicuously with the Wall Street crowd.

One of the things I missed out on in my youth was the comic books that people of my age devoured voraciously. I missed such superheroes as Superman and Batman, those caped crusaders who fought for truth, justice and the American way. The Avenger was the 'Capeless Crusader'.

The thing that these heroes had in common was that they had an identity behind which they could withdraw when duty wasn't calling. I was about to follow in their illustrious footsteps.

So that I can carry out my task and make sure that those responsible for this operation receive the justice that they deserve, I will have to allow everyone to believe that I was killed in the car explosion. I was aware that those closest to me, Sendi, Ruiz and Phoebe would suffer un-necessary grief in this belief, but there was nothing else for it.

What remained of the flaming red Porsche now sat surrounded by sheer chaos. It was now a blob of molten metal that had sunk into the charred remains of the bitumen road surface. There could be no human remains in this funeral pyre, not even a tooth. Anything flammable within a fifty foot radius was engulfed in flames, bodies lay on the pavement, some still, some writhing in pain. Some of the still bodies would soon join the writhing in pain bodies while others would remain still. Every window in that same fifty foot radius was shattered and those people standing behind the glass were now bleeding from multiple wounds.

Those people not affected by the carnage divided themselves into two groups, the helpers and the spectators. The helpers attempted to treat the wounded with what little equipment was available to them until the paramedics arrived, while the spectators got in the way. I decided that I form a third group of one, and get the hell away from the scene, after all if the person or persons that planted the bomb in the car saw me hanging around he or they would know that the mission had failed and have another attempt at killing me. Much as it hurt to leave the suffering behind me I simply had to.

I was getting good at leaving scenes undetected. It was made easy by the attention of the people at the scene being focused on the sirens and flashing lights that announced that the cavalry had arrived. I walked quickly and unobtrusively to the nearest subway station, I was just another tourist stupid enough to catch the subway instead of a cab.

I caught a commuter train to my old neighborhood. I would be able to lease a small apartment that will serve me well as a base of operations.

First of all I needed to secure my money. The way I had it figured, the bank, when it heard that I had been killed in a car bomb would freeze access to my safety deposit box and I wouldn't be able to access my funds. I caught a cab to the bank and taking the money from the box I walked a short distance to another bank and opened an account under my real name, I still carried papers that identified me as Wilbur Smith.

"Not the author Wilbur Smith?" The clerk asked as she filled my details into the computer.

"I'm an author and my name is Wilbur Smith," I said for the thirty thousandth time, "But I'm not that Wilbur Smith. He beat me to the punch so I have to write under a pseudonym."

"Oh." She lost interest completely. 

Leaving the bank I walked to a letting agent and took out a lease on the smallest, least obtrusive apartment I could find and in this I stashed my few remaining possessions. I then went to a small gun shop and bought, without having to show ID, a Browning automatic complete with silencer, (He didn't even ask why I wanted that) and two spare magazines along with several boxes of ammunition. I then bought a computer and printer, I needed to access the records on the disk I had taken from Paulo's office to see if there was some way that I could use it to achieve my goals. I loaded all of this into my latest rental car, leased in my real name of course, and headed for my new home.

In New York Ruiz had been acting quickly. He used all of the resources at his disposal to make as many arrests as possible before the criminals had a chance to escape. Those arrested made their preliminary court appearances as soon as the paper work had been completed.

The judge was enjoying himself immensely, there were some prominent names among the steady stream of clients. He was taking it on himself to ensure that he gained the maximum publicity for himself. "Next!"

"Antonio Pellegrino!" A small dark man stood up.

"What is the charge?"

"Trafficking in Cocaine."

"How do you plead?" Judge Smithson asked the defendant.

"My client pleads 'not guilty'." A tall and distinguished man dressed in a dark suit stood at the defense table.

"Thank you Mr. La Bianchi." The judge showed no surprise at the appearance of the defense counsel who was well known as the reason that so many organized crime figures were not gracing the state's penitentiaries. 

"The evidence?" He addressed the prosecutor in his own style of shorthand questioning. He was a firm believer in 'cutting to the chase' and eliminating any unnecessary legalistic 'bullshit'.

"Your honor, the defendant was apprehended in an operation that was the culmination of months of investigation. At the time of his arrest he had on his person a considerable quantity of cocaine. When a search was made of his home the police found equipment that could be used to cut, process and package the cocaine for distribution. The quantities seized, ten kilos were significantly more than that we would expect the defendant to have had for personal use. This amount constitutes trafficable quantities of cocaine and we will oppose bail in this matter. We will be able to prove beyond doubt that the defendant is part of a much bigger operation."

"Has bail been discussed?"

"As I just indicated the prosecution strongly opposes bail in this instance."

"Does the defense have any submissions in the matter of bail?"

"We are applying for bail. We feel that if our client was incarcerated pending the trial he will be significantly disadvantaged when it comes to mounting a defense."

"While I can't see any reason why he can't be released on bail, I feel that I should issue a warning to anyone else who contemplates the course of action that the defendant has embarked upon. I set bail at one million dollars." He banged the gavel on the bench.

"That is ridiculous! Where can my client possibly find that amount of money?"

"Not my problem. Next!" 

It was a big day for the local media. Not only did the arrest of the DA grab the interest of the local population who had little idea that he was as corrupt as it now appeared, but the syndicates were clamoring for any news they could get.

This news was being overshadowed by the news that the well known crime writer Jason Feldham was thought to have been incinerated in an explosion that had totally destroyed his Porsche. The explosion had also caused considerable human and property damage, the extent of which was yet to be determined.

Ruiz rang Phoebe when the news broke that I had been blown up. "Listen, I have some bad news."

"What?"

"Jason is dead. Now get your things together, I'm picking you up in twenty minutes and we're going to drive to their house in Maine. I want to be the one to break the news to Sendi."

Twenty minutes later he walked through the door into her arms. Five minutes later they were driving away from New York.



Life was not going to get any easier for the DA. He appeared before the Judge Smithson, who didn't really like him, for his arraignment hearing. "It gives me no pleasure" (It was lucky that the judge wasn't himself under oath.) "to see you here before me charged with these very serious offences. I have reviewed the evidence and have found there to be sufficient evidence to warrant you standing trial for these crimes. Your lawyer has put forward an application for bail. For a respected public official to be involved in such matters defies comprehension, and so that you will have ample time to ponder your future I have set you bail at five million dollars."

"What! Where am I supposed to get that sort of money?" 

"That is not my problem." Markham was escorted from the courtroom as his attorney scurried through the front door in search of a bail bondsman who could raise that amount.





I sat in front of my new computer scrolling through the columns of names and figures before me. To suggest that I was amazed was an understatement, some of the most respected members of the establishment were involved.

I couldn't be sure if they were involved with their knowledge or not, so I was about to find out, and the first person I would call on would be Perry Markham. Finding his address was not a real problem, getting there by car was. Traffic at that time of the night was heavy and cars were running red lights. It appeared that one didn't stop at red lights unless it was impossible to avoid it.

Felicity Jamieson-Markham was a still stately woman in her forties, I guessed, she didn't answer the door but allowed the butler to admit me when she heard the nature of my visit. "I'm interested in what you have to tell me, I know so little of my husband's work."

"I wonder if you are aware that the police have made several arrests this afternoon in connection with the importation of cocaine into this country." She nodded her affirmation. "Well it appears that your husband was a significant contributor to this enterprise."

"I was not aware of that. You have proof of your allegations?"

"Of course. This was taken from files belonging to the accountant who ran the financial side of the operation. He has been arrested and will most probably be divulging this information to the police. Now your husband has invested a considerable amount of money in this, I need to know whether you were aware of his involvement and whether you, with or without your knowledge, contributed to it."

"I most certainly did not give him any money for this. We had separate bank accounts and the terms of our pre-nuptial agreement were that what was mine before the wedding stayed mine and vice versa. I don't know the terms of his will but I assure you that if he leaves me money that has been gained illegally I shall most certainly give it to charity rather than tarnish my, or my family's hands with it."

"Very well I accept your explanation. As for your husband, I think that his disgrace will have a profound effect on all of those around him. Do you know any of his close friends or business associates?"

"Not too many, I recall being introduced to a James Craigmore, a man to whom I took an immediate dislike, but I understand that he is dead."

"Do you recall him talking about a Guido Costanzo?"

"That name rings a bell but I can't be sure why."

"It doesn't matter. Will you be going to see Mr. Markham in jail?"

"I suppose that I should just to keep up appearances, although, after what he has put me through over the past couple of years I could be tempted to hope that he rots in Hell."

"What sort of things has he done to you?"

"He has cheated on me with many, many whores, so many that I no longer care about it."

"Then why don't you divorce him?"

"After my first divorce I vowed that I would never put myself through that pain again."

"Then why the pre-nuptial agreement?"

"It was more of a marriage contract, just to ensure that he would never be able to get his hands on my money should I pre-decease him."

"One of the first things you should do is to contact your Attorney and to distance yourself as far as is possible from this mess."

"I think that I shall take your advice. In fact I won't even wait until morning."

I left her to her thoughts and went to visit the next person on my list, Felicity's father Jonathan Jamieson. 

Now this man had presence. He was one of those men described as 'larger than life' by those in the business of placing labels on people. He came from a line of wealth stretching back several generations to the slave traders, and with that lineage came power that he wielded with great authority.

I was ushered into a room that was lined from wall to wall and floor to ceiling with thousands of leather bound books. I could safely bet vital body parts on many of them being valuable first editions while the others were such light reading as legal tomes and other reference works. I calculated that at my pace of reading I would need at least three lifetimes to wade through this lot.

"With what can I help you?" I gathered from his tone that helping me would sit comfortably low down on his list of priorities.

"I am investigating the financing of illegal activities and have managed to obtain a list of people who have put money into a venture that is involved in the importation of cocaine from Colombia."

"And just how do I fit into this investigation?"

"Your name appeared on a list of contributors that I obtained from the accountant in charge of the operation."

"Can you be sure that I was aware of my involvement?"

"No I can't. In fact I would hazard a guess that your involvement was through a third party."

"You mean James Craigmore?"

"Yes. Were you aware of the nature of the investments?"

"Are you investigating this in an official capacity? If so I would like to see some form of identification."

"I am not acting in any official capacity, in fact I am in the same situation that you could be in, and I was unaware of my involvement until recently."

"Did you have anything to do with his death?"

"No."

"What would you do if I were to inform you that I was very much aware of where my money was being used?"

"Were you?"

"Yes but I challenge you to prove it."

"I don't think that I need to prove anything."

"Oh? And just what are you intending to do about this?"

"I would have to ensure that you get your just rewards."

"How do you propose to achieve that?"

"Answer me one thing, did you knowingly contribute to the financing of the importation and distribution of cocaine into this country?"

"Are you recording this conversation?"

"No."

"Of course I did. Do you think that I'm stupid or something? I knew from day one that James was using my money to finance drug shipments. What can you do about that?"

"Plenty." I took my pistol from its holster in the waistband of my trousers. "Would you be so kind as to lie face down on the floor with your hands behind you back."

"No."

I backhanded him across the face with the barrel of my pistol and he fell in an untidy heap on the floor. I turned him face down and, using a roll of gaffer tape, bound his ankles together, pulling them as far up his back as I could. I then gaffer taped his thumbs together, then his forefingers and finally, his wrists. I then took a cord from my pocket and looped it around his neck and, pulling both hands as far up his back as I could, I tied the cord to the tape at his wrists and ankles, he wasn't about to move and if he struggled he would choke himself. Satisfied I rolled him on his side and gagged him with more tape. I then pinned the account sheet that I had printed out from the disk, and that I had signed 'the Avenger' onto his chest. I fired a shot into the floor beside his head, I then crossed to the telephone and dialed 911.

When the 911 operator answered I said quickly that I was walking close by this house and heard a shot. I gave the address and left. He was stirring and the look in his eyes spoke of the fear that he was now feeling.

A siren wailed in the distance as I drove away.

**    *

Guido was on the warpath. "What do you mean you can't find that bastard Ruiz?"

"He's disappeared. Our contact at the station doesn't know where he is. The official explanation is that he has gone on vacation to Puerto Rico but we don't buy that."

"Why not?"

"Because he hasn't left the country in the last twenty four hours. He moved his wife before the apartment was bombed and now we can't find either of them."

"Don't stand there telling me that you can't find either of them! I want them found and I want them dead do you hear me!"

His men left for two reasons. The first was to carry out his orders while the second reason was self preservation.



The Avenger was on the warpath. I worked my way through those of New York's society whose name appeared on the sheets. My methods were the same in each case, I established, as far as possible, the guilt or otherwise of the person. If I was convinced that the person didn't know of his or her involvement, I would suggest that they contact their attorney in the morning and file an action against the deceased James Craigmore for fraudulently using their money for illegal purposes. If I felt that they were guilty I would truss them up and dial 911, always leaving the printouts signed 'the Avenger'.

The prominent on the list included doctors and business executives, professional educators, members of the religious hierarchy and socially prominent party goers, the one common denominator in all of them was greed. Some were not aware of the means by which their wealth was expanded and most of this group didn't really care as long as they saw a steady increase so that they could maintain their chosen lifestyle.

Those that were aware of the source of their wealth ignored the pain and suffering that the drugs caused to those addicted. One of those summed up the prevailing attitude when he said that the only way that these people could be kept from rising up in force to challenge the wealth and status of the few, was to keep them continually under the influence of drugs. I enjoyed leaving this one for the police.

I had worked well into the night and was about to make what I had decided would be my last call for the evening. This one would be interesting, her name was Judith Craigmore.

She was in her thirties and attractive and I wondered if she fitted into the life of James Craigmore. "No I am not aware of how my money was being used. I gave it to James and he assured me that it would be used legitimately. I think he felt a little guilty because a few years ago I gave him money and he lost it in that huge stock market crash and he saw this as his opportunity to repay me for that loss."

"What is your relationship with James?"

"I'm his wife. I kept very much in the background of his life."

"I wasn't aware that he was married."

"Oh he chose not to reveal that fact, he said that it was beneficial to his business enterprise for his clients to continue to believe that he was single. He said that it allowed him to considerable status with his clients, the males were jealous of his freedom and saw the acquisition of wealth as giving them the option of pursuing that lifestyle. He introduced them to business associates that operated clubs and bars where they could live out their dreams and fantasies."

"The fact that he was 'single' allowed him to get close to the women as well. I think he saw himself fulfilling their dreams as well. I'm sure that he slept with many of them because he used to stay out all night at times, claiming that he had an apartment in the city that enabled him to save the journey home after late business meetings. I didn't care, really, he was a good provider for me and our children. I didn't ask questions."

"Why not? Surely you were curious as to how he could live that lifestyle."

"I used to ask but he would either say it wouldn't interest me or that he played the horses or something like that. I could never get a straight answer from him so I gave up asking."




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 05



"One final question. I know that he was close to Melissa Blanchette before she was married to Jason Feldham, what exactly was their relationship?"

"James and she were brother and sister."

"What? How could that be?"

"They had the same father but different mothers. James' mother divorced his father and a couple of years later he married again. This marriage lasted a matter of weeks before he left her and she divorced him but not before she found out that she was pregnant. His wife quickly married Henri Blanchette and Melissa was born, several weeks premature. Why do you ask that?"

Wow, this was a development. Melissa pregnant to her half brother. I would need some time to absorb this news.

"Prepare yourself for a bit of a shock, Melissa was pregnant to James. The only reason that I tell you this is because it will most probably come out as part of this investigation." Judith Craigmore sat with a look of stunned disbelief on her face.

"You, you're sure of this information?"

"Yes. They had been lovers for some time."

"I don't know what to say, this has really come as a surprise. I would have been prepared to accept his many frailties but not this. That's incest isn't it?"

"Technically yes. I have heard of cases where half brothers and sisters have fallen in love and had children before they found out that they were closely related, usually one of them had been adopted by the non-biological parent, but in this case I don't think that they were aware of the relationship."

"Oh yes they were! When I first met Melissa she was introduced as James's sister."

"I'm sorry that I have to be the one to break this news to you."

"Don't be. It is better that I know now before it all comes out in the media. James must have hurt you very much."

"More than you will ever know. I have to go now, this and that to do."

"Can I contact you after this is over?"

"No. I will contact you and arrange for us to meet but it is better that you don't know who I am. Just call me 'the Avenger'."

"Good-bye Mr. Avenger. I wish you all the luck in the world."

Driving home I began to wonder what sort of sick people I was dealing with. I don't want to sound too sanctimonious, but what kind of person takes advantage of his family and has an incestuous relationship with his own sister. I knew right from the first time that I met him that there was something very wrong about James Craigmore the whatever.

I needed to unwind after my busy evening so I poured myself a large scotch and sat down in front of the TV. I was greeted by the news anchor leading into a story about me."

"Police in New York are tonight anxious to talk to a person or group of people known as 'the Avenger' who have been going around the city and carrying out citizens arrests on prominent citizens who are alleged to be involved in the multi-million dollar importation of cocaine into this country."

"A police spokesperson has revealed that they have received a number of 911 calls stating that a shot has been fired in the residence of these prominent people and when squad cars have arrived at the scene they have found the person tied up with a computer printout pinned to their clothing, that it is alleged, shows their complicity in this scheme to import drugs. These printouts have all been signed 'the Avenger'.

"The police spokesperson stated that they are waiting to play back the 911 tapes to ascertain if this is the work of one person or a group."

"Just who is the Avenger? This is the question that has the media and the police buzzing. The police claim to have no idea who this person could be, if in fact it is the work of one person. Police have warned against any person taking the law into his or her own hands and have asked this person to come forward with any further evidence so that they can continue out their ongoing investigations."

"This network, while applauding the resourcefulness of this person, echoes the police concerns. Whoever you are, give yourself up."

"Having said that, we are curious as to what type of person would go to all of this trouble and why. We have asked prominent Forensic Psychiatrist Dr Melvin Thorsen to give us a profile of this person. Dr Thorsen, what sort of person is the Avenger?"

"Well, firstly I believe that it is the work of more than one person. Why I believe this I am not sure, but I feel that one person alone could not have achieved the results that have been achieved."

"So you feel that this is an organization of some sort?"

"It may not be a formal organization, in fact it is more likely to be a group of citizens who have a common interest in tracking down these people who are involved in the drug trade and making sure that they are brought to justice."

"Why wouldn't they have compiled the evidence and handed it over to the police?"

"I can't believe that you asked that question. They are probably of the opinion that the police are as much involved in the drug trade as these individuals. Given previous experience I feel this is not an entirely unreasonable opinion."

"Is there a place in society for a vigilante group such as this?"

"No. Flawed as it might be, the police force is still the best chance we have of fighting crime. If we allowed everyone, who took it on themselves to operate in this manner, free rein we would find ourselves completely over-run with millions of these people tripping over themselves. A city full of bounty hunters is not my idea of the perfect world."

"Has the Avenger asked for any reward for the work that he has done?"

"Not that I am aware of, but don't be too shocked when they do."

They crapped on for several more minutes, going round and round in circles, and saying not a lot else, before the interview closed and the service moved on to some totally boring item about the likelihood of war in the Middle East. (Sorry, just me being sarcastic.)

I have certainly stirred up a hornet's nest. How much I wasn't aware at the time.

Sometime around eleven that evening Felicity Jamieson-Markham presented herself at the police station where her husband Perry Markham was being held pending the raising of bail. She was shown into an interview room and a few minutes later her husband was shown in. "May we speak alone?" She asked the policeman who escorted her husband.

"I'll wait just outside the door, when you have finished just knock."

"Thank you." He left the two alone.

"How could you do this to me?" She hissed at him.

"Do what? I have done nothing to you."

"Don't lie to me! At least not this time. I have lived with your lies for years, this time I want you to be honest with me, please. Why did you use my money to bring drugs into the country. What sort of hypocrite are you? You continue to tell the world that you are taking a hard line with drug dealers and here you are one of the worst of them. How could you?"

"You will never know."

"Won't I? Does it have anything to do with that Guido Costanzo that you have been dealing with for years?"

"What do you know about that?"

"Probably not everything, but enough to know that you are an evil man. You have betrayed me with other women, that I can forgive, but to betray your principles in this way I can't forgive. You have brought shame to my family."

"Me, bring shame to your family, that's rich! What about your sanctimonious father, now there's a hypocrite for you?"

"You leave father out of this. He is twice the man that you'll ever be."

"Your precious father is just as heavily involved in this as I am. He has money invested in this scheme and knows exactly how that money is being used. If I fall he falls with me."

"No, you are lying to me! Father would never do anything like this."

"Just how do you think that he recovered so quickly from the stock market crash in '87? He and many others put their scruples behind them and found some more lucrative forms of investment."

"No, I don't believe this, I can't believe this, and I won't believe this! Stop telling me this. You're lying to make me feel bad. Stop it!"

"You can't take this can you? You have always thought that you were better than I, now where do we stand Mrs. High and Mighty? Where is your precious image now? I want you to suffer the loss of dignity that I have suffered over the years. I have had to sit through your family gatherings and hear myself being talked down to. It was almost as if they were doing me a favor allowing me at the table and not forcing me to crawl around under it while the fed me the scraps."

"We have always treated you with respect."

"With the same respect that you treated the servants and you only treat them with respect because you know that if they were to leave you wouldn't be able to replace them. No, come to think of it, your family treated me worse than the servants and I aim to have my revenge on the whole sanctimonious lot of you."

"No you won't! I'll find a way to prevent you. The first thing in the morning I will talk to my lawyer and as well as filing for divorce I will get him to find a way that I can distance myself from you as quickly as possible."

"While you're talking to him, why don't you ask him about his investments and about that young lady who acted as his secretary when he went to that legal conference in Atlanta last month, typing is not one of her skills, believe me."

"You are showing yourself in a whole new light to me. I have known about the young ladies that you have been seeing over the last several years. It was through one of these liaisons that Costanzo managed to get his claws on you and be able to have so much power over you."

"If you have known so much about this why haven't you confronted me with it before this?"

"Because I chose not to, I do however have copies of many photographs taken of you and these women and they will make interesting reading in the tabloids."

"Where did these come from?"

"Your friend Costanzo. He initially sent them to me to see if I would exert some influence on you in return for keeping them out of the press. I told him that he could do whatever he liked with them. I did however put some pressure on you to speak to him. In return for this favor we arranged that he should provide me with photographs as he acquired them so that I have evidence that I could use should I need it. I would like to thank you for not trying on me the positions and man oeuvres that I saw in those pictures, disgusting."

"You obviously enjoyed looking at them."

"No I didn't! I found them sickening in the extreme. Now I want you to, for once in your life, do the right thing and save me and my family from the embarrassment of having our name dragged through the mud."

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

"You can start by signing this paper in which you confess to your sins and absolving myself and my family from complicity in your wrongdoings."

"And then what?"

"You will use this." Felicity took from her purse a small chrome plated pistol.

"What is to stop me from killing you?"

"There is only one bullet in it and if you kill me you will have to face a murder charge on top of those that you already face."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not that I can see."

Perry reached for the paper and the pen that she held out to him. He signed and dated the paper. "Satisfied?"

"Almost, now for the final act in this scenario. I'll knock for the guard and while he takes me out of this building you will finish it." Felicity stood and walked to the door where she waited for the guard to respond to her knock. "Could you lead me out of this building, I'm afraid that I got quite lost on the way in?"

The guard locked the door behind them and led Felicity to the front door. On his return to the interview room he found Markham slumped over the table, a small gun in his hand and blood pouring from the gunshot wound in his head. He rushed over and checked the carotid pulse to find it non-existent. He ran from the room and called for assistance.



17

I woke at seven thirty the next morning and strolled to the corner to buy a newspaper. 

DRUG RING SMASHED!

The banner headline caught my attention. I bought a paper. 

The news was interesting, the headlines screamed that the Avenger had assisted the police in making several high profile arrests overnight and that those arrested had been released on bail following arraignment and were to appear in court at a date to be determined by the legal parties involved.

The story, under the by-line of the police rounds person told of the huge shipment of cocaine that the police had intercepted the previous day. The amount was estimated to be several tons of high grade cocaine with a street value of in excess of several billion dollars.

The story also mentioned that the Miami police had confiscated a smaller amount of the drug from the same shipment. The reporter stated that the police were surprised at the amount that had been found and made the assumption that the importers were gearing up for a major drug war with other importers for market dominance.

The editor weighed in with a 'hard hitting' comment on the insidious nature of this trade and the wide spread devastation that as caused as a result of it.

The second major story of the day was the suicide death of District Attorney Perry Markham in the interview room at the police station where he was being held in connection with the alleged importation of drugs. Questions were being asked about how he could have gained access to a pistol in a police station. The most likely theory put forward was that somehow his wife could have slipped one to him when she had visited him just prior to his death although a police spokesperson denied allegations that the couple had been left alone in the room and the television monitoring camera had been turned off. It was stated however that there had been a malfunction in the tape used to record the visit.

There was a comment from a representative of a prominent Civil Liberties group decrying the emergence of vigilante groups and the role that they played in the arrests. A legal opinion was put forward that the evidence gained by the Avenger would not be admissible in a criminal trial. A spokesperson from the DA's office stated that this was not the case and that the evidence provided by the Avenger merely confirmed evidence already held by his office.

The editorial hailed the Avenger as a new folk hero in the fight against organized crime and, while it cautioned against anyone else assuming a similar role, it praised the ingenuity of the Avenger and invited that person to come forward and be identified. I thought to myself when I read this that the newspaper editor had to be either naïve or stupid. Naïve to expect that I would come forward and risk what could be a trap set to catch me. Stupid to open the floodgates for every crackpot and attention seeking lunatic to present himself. I leaned more to the latter.

My attention was drawn to a small news item somewhere near the sports pages that announced that a funeral service would be held for the well-known author Jason Feldham, who had been so tragically killed in a car bombing the day before. The funeral was for 10 am the next day. I assumed, even hoped that Sendi would appear for the service. The article quoted Felix as saying that the funeral service would be open to the public so that they could pay their last respects to an accomplished author and that there would be a small private memorial service for his immediate friends and associates to be held at a secret location and time. 

I had some final arrests to make and then I would be free to reveal myself to Sendi and Ruiz, but until then I will remain incognito.

The next series of arrests would be the most difficult because those who I was after were now forewarned and would be prepared for a visit from the Avenger.

I drove my car over to the State Legislature. The Governor's Personal Assistant was cautious when I identified myself by my real name and asked for identification before he agreed to see me. "You are not the Wilbur Smith are you?"

"My name is Wilbur Smith but I'm not the one that you were obviously expecting."

'How can I help you?"

"I am undertaking research into the involvement of organized crime in government and thought that you might be able to give me some insight into the current thinking here about the subject."

"Our policy is one of Zero Tolerance, that we will do whatever is necessary to stamp out organized crime."

"Are there any situations where those steps are found to be difficult, if not impossible, to achieve?"

"If you mean is it difficult to penetrate the entrenched attitude of the general public towards these criminals then, yes that is a problem that we have had, and are still having difficulties overcoming."

"Does the fact that the former head of the FBI had turned his back on organized crime for so many years, have anything to do with this?"

"It hasn't helped that's for sure. The man in the street has become used to seeing the police and authorities powerless to act on organized crime at the local level, but we are making advances in this area."

"I'm pleased to hear that. Now you have a certain amount of power and influence when it comes to policy decisions, what are your personal feelings towards organized crime?"

"The same as the Governor's, the same as this administration's, I abhor organized crime at any level and will do whatever is within my capacity to help stamp it out."

"Does that mean that you would go to the police and confess your involvement in organized crime?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" He suddenly realized that I had sprung the trap that I had set for him, and he had effectively backed himself into a corner from which there was to be no escape.

"I'm talking about your involvement in the scheme to import several tons of cocaine into this country. The same scheme that has led to the arrest of the New York District Attorney, and of several other prominent public figures. I would suggest that you leave your hands on top of the desk where I can see them." I had taken out my gun and was pointing it at his chest. "The same scheme that has resulted in the deaths already of James Craigmore, Melissa Feldham, Jason Feldham, several innocent bystanders and Perry Markham. The same scheme that would have resulted, if it had come off, in the deaths of many hundreds, thousands, of drug users over time and countless robberies and muggings carried out by those people to support the habit, from which you and others like you, have made a considerable profit over the years."

"You must be crazy! There is no way that I would be involved in something as immoral as this." He wasn't going to give up without a fight, but then I had been getting a lot of practice in what was to follow. He had no real chance at all.

"Really?" I took the printout from my pocket and laid it on the table in front of him. I pointed to a name. "That's your name isn't it?"

"What does that prove?"

"It proves that you had dealings with this organization and stood to profit from the venture."

"Where did you get this?"

"From the accountant who handled the finances of this organization."

"You're not, you're the Avenger aren't you?" He was beginning to get worried.

"You could say that. Now I want to know something, and I want an honest answer from you, I am seeking verification of facts here, so I'll know if you are lying or not, is the Governor involved in this?"

"Not directly."

"What do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is that I have been using his campaign funds and investing them in this scheme. He knows nothing of this and would be shocked to hear of it. As long as the account books don't show that the money comes from questionable sources it will stand scrutiny. The entries appear as donations from prominent citizens."




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 05



"How many of these are also investors in the scheme?"

"I suppose that some of them would have been involved."

"I suppose that you didn't stop to think of the ramifications of the current series of arrests on these donations did you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Money obtained from illegal activities and donated to campaign funds is just as dirty as if it had come directly from the sale of drugs on the street."

"I hadn't thought of that, in fact the possibility of this situation arising never occurred to me, or to anyone else for that matter. There seemed to me to have been a very complex immune system in place."

"In what way?"

"If I was to turn and supply the prosecution with certain information would it be possible for my involvement in this to be minimized?"

"That's between you and the prosecution. I'm only involved in seeing that those involved are caught."

"I can name names and very important names at that."

"I believe you."

"There have been government agencies involved."

"Keep going."

"I want my lawyer present."

"I think I can allow that."

He picked up his phone and started to dial. "Stop."

"What's wrong?" 

"What is your lawyer's name and phone number?" It was given. I dialed and when the receptionist at the other end identified the correct law firm I asked to speak to the lawyer in question. "I am calling on behalf of one of your clients. He wishes you to be present when he is arrested, can you be here in fifteen minutes?" I gave directions and received an affirmative response.

"Now, you were about to name names and organizations. Let's start with the CIA. I had reason to believe that the Area Director, Marshall Griffin, has a considerable interest in this operation."

"That I can confirm."

"I know of the DA's involvement, what about the DEA?"

"I suppose that you have already reached the conclusion that an operation of this magnitude could not possibly have any hope of success without the involvement of the DEA at a high level."

"Yes, and I have reached the same conclusion about the Customs Service."

"The same applies there. You could probably add the Coast Guard and Border Patrols to your list but I haven't proof of that."

"What about the FBI?"

"Yes."

Not a bad list there. "Thank you."

"What happens next?"

"You are to become the latest victim of the Avenger." I took a pen from the desk and signed the printout before tying him to his chair and gagging him. "I suggest that when your lawyer gets here he should take this tape," I took the tape recorder from my pocket and placed it on the desk. "And use it to plea bargain your way into a lighter sentence." I then called the security office in the building telling them to come to the office and to bring the Governor with them.

I left him to his fate. It caused something of a sensation in the afternoon and evening media. The shock waves were being felt right through the halls of power.



In Maine Ruiz, Phoebe and Sendi sat and talked. It was all that they could do at the time, all of them felt a little helpless under the circumstances. Ruiz had spoken to Felix who told him that the funeral arrangements were well in hand and that all that they had to do was to turn up at the funeral parlor.

Sendi was again crying. "Why did this have to happen?"

"He was aware of what could happen to him when he undertook this task. What you have to think about is that what he has done is bigger than all of us put together. What he has done has taken a lot more guts and determination than I have ever shown in my lifetime on the force."

"I know that what he's done was important, but why did he have to do it? Wasn't there someone else that could have done it?"

"No. Officially we had our hands tied. It took someone working outside the legal system to achieve what he has achieved."

"I know that. But all of that won't bring him back to me. You don't realize how much I have lost here?"

"I think we do." Phoebe was speaking quietly, seated beside Sendi and with her arms around her. "We have found ourselves in similar situations, not where we have lost a partner but where the potential was there to lose a partner. We know what you are going through. That doesn't make it any easier for you to handle, but it does make it easier for us to understand the pain that you are suffering right now, and to be able to give you the support that you need to get you through this most difficult time."

"Thank you. I don't know where I would be if it wasn't for the pair of you. Actually I do know what I would have done; I would most likely have attempted, hopefully successfully, to commit suicide. I don't know how I'll be able to live without him. I have never loved anyone as much as I've loved Jason."

"We know that, we only had to see the two of you together to see how much you loved each other. Your lives together would have been as perfect as ours is."

"I know that. You guys are an inspiration to me; you have so much strength for each other that you can overcome any situation."

"Almost any. I don't know what I would do if I lost Phoebe, probably the same as you."

"What are we going to do tomorrow?"

"We'll drive into New York early in the morning and go straight to the funeral. There can be no cremation or burial because there are no remains, so it is more ceremonial and symbolic than an actual funeral. I think that there will be an urn to signify the purpose of the ceremony and we are going to bring the urn back here, go down to the beach and scatter his, for want of a better term, ashes on the sea. He would have liked that."

"That's beautiful. I should be the one to do it."

"If you don't mind, I thought that we could each take part. There will be just the three of us here. It will just be between the three of us, no-one else within miles."

"I don't mind, in fact I think that Jason will approve. Thank you both for all of your support."

"It is what we came here for; it wasn't just to break the news to you although we wanted to do that before anyone else could. The main reason that we came was to support you, you are Jason's friend, and his lover, and his life, and we are privileged just to be part of that life."

"You said 'you are' as if he's still alive, do you think that it could be possible that he is?"

"No."

Ruiz told them stories about how I had first approached the precinct to seek permission to get background for my work. It had been granted and the patrols had made sure that I had been taken out on the messiest job, the rapes and brutal murders, so that they could witness me throwing up at the sight of the victims.

I had won their admiration by the way that I had persisted with my research and they had eventually begun to respect me. I wasn't one of those authors who sensationalized situations, choosing instead to portray the stark reality of the crimes in a factual way until they had experienced difficulty in differentiating between fact and fiction.

*     **

It was a wet and miserable morning in New York City; the cynics among you would say 'what's new?' It was a perfect day for a funeral, so why should the weather be bright when the mourners needed to be miserable.

The room at the funeral parlor was packed to the rafters with my friends and the media, mostly the latter. Sendi and Phoebe both looked superb in their black long coats over black stockings and shoes with black hats and veils. The flash guns and TV camera lights were their constant companions as they made their way from the parked limo, black, into the building. There was a constant clamor for comment from them and Ruiz as they muscled their way through the crowd. "What was your relationship with Jason Feldham?" Sendi was asked a thousand times in the space of the two minutes it took to walk fifty feet. "No comment." Was the standard response to these thousand questions.

Inside Felix bustled around like a bride's mother at a wedding trying to make sure that everything was going to plan. He rushed over to Sendi as the three of them eventually broke free of the scrimmage and walked through the door. "Thank God you made it. I was so worried that you wouldn't. Isn't it murder outside? I had hoped that the media would have stayed away from this. (This was a lie; both Felix and the studio had conspired to ensure that the media was well represented.) Now Sendi are you sure that you want to speak here?"

"Yes. I want the world to know about how much he has affected my life and what a wonderful person he was."

"And you Captain Ruiz?"

"I'm ready."

"Then let's get this over with." He scurried off to tell the funeral director that the time had come to begin.

I arrived fashionably late, reasoning that the less time I spent there the less likely that I would be recognized. I mingled in the outskirts of the crowd outside the building. Even my best friend would not have recognized me, I had dyed my hair and promising beard red before cutting my hair short, leaving a stubble a quarter of an inch long all over my head.

I wore a long dark coat with the collar pulled up around my ears and my black hat, trousers and shoes completed the picture of a man in mourning. The funeral parlor had set up a public address system outside so that those like me could hear the service. I was moved by what I heard; I never thought I was that important.

Soft funereal music swelled up announcing that the service was to commence.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today, in this place, to pay our last respects to a great man. Jason Feldham was more than an author, he was a man who embodied the qualities that we all admire, and to which we aspire. I am going to call upon Mr. Felix Weisman, his agent to say a few words. Mr. Weisman."

Felix hesitated, looking at the crowded room. "Jason was to me the man I should have been, the son I didn't have, the brother I would have loved more than life itself, and the friend I would have liked to have been. It could be said that the world deserves more Jason's and if we could have more of them it would be a better place. We often spoke of the afterlife and the spiritual reward that awaited us when we left this world. Jason was convinced that he would never be able to go to meet his maker with pride because, in his eyes he had not achieved his full potential as a writer, or as a man. I wish that I could go to meet my maker and boast half of his accomplishments."

"As a writer he had few peers. He researched his books with minute attention to detail and wrote them with utmost realism. Not for him the blazing guns of modern police literature. His world was one where the spirit that we all have in us emerged to overcome the worst that this world could throw at us. It was one in which the despair that we could all succumb to if we allowed ourselves to, was a springboard from which we could achieve our goals."

"His life was not one of wealth and privilege. He was from a middle class family. His parents were doctors who believed that medicine was for all and not just those who could afford it. His parents died before their time and were not around to see their son use the character attributes that they instilled in him from a child, achieve his fame."

"He has suffered in his life. It wasn't all that long ago that his wife of three years, Melissa, died so tragically and I for one had thought that he would have been devastated by this. He was at first, but this devastation did more to strengthen his character than it did to drag him down. His work didn't stop in fact he attacked it with renewed zeal. I just wish that I could be half the man that he was."

"I consider myself fortunate that I have known Jason Feldham, and consider myself fortunate that he was my friend. What I consider to be most important in my life is that he considered me to be his friend. This was a privilege that I didn't deserve, and one that I will treasure to the end. Jason, if you can hear me, Thank you."

Outside I was feeling humble. More was to come.

"Jason Feldham was an author who considered reality to be more important than sensationalism and integrity to be the most important attribute that a man could have. In his quest for these he spent a great deal of time at the 5th precinct. Captain Ruiz is the officer with whom he was most closely associated. Captain Ruiz."

Ruiz walked to the podium. "What can I say that hasn't already been said? I have known Jason Feldham for some time and initially I thought that he was some kind of geek who was trying to find out what the other half did with itself. It was only after I had known him for some time that I realized that, in this man was the idealism that the world had almost succeeded in driving from my life."

"In this world of crime that I inhabit there are few truly meaningful things that remain and I am fortunate that I have those, or at least I had until recently when he was so cruelly and needlessly taken from me. No, that is being very selfish; he was taken from us, all of us. We are all poorer for this loss. He is, and I will talk as if he is still with us because I feel that his presence will stay with me forever, one of the most caring people that I have ever met. We, that is those of us that he associated with in the force, were skeptical at first so we made sure that he saw the lowest common denominator of life. We expected that he would put up with it for a short time and then find an excuse not to come back. Not only did this not work, but in reading the books that he wrote as a result of his research with us, we realized that not only did he have an acute understanding of life as we knew it, but that he had a way of making us realize that, what we had previously considered to be the flotsam and jetsam of humanity actually had a life and a dignity."

"Jason came to me recently with a problem. He had found out that he had become involved, without his knowledge, in something that he considered so evil that he sought my advice as to how to resolve the matter. We discussed it for some time and I tried to persuade him to leave it to the authorities. When the authorities couldn't or wouldn't act on the information, he took it on himself to get so much information that it would force the authorities to act. He didn't have to do it, and he was aware of the dangers in his actions, but he persevered. But before he began he made sure that those who were important to him were removed from the scene and to a safe place."

"He has known Sendi Soren for some time and has recently revealed to me that he and she have fallen in love. This has happened since his wife died, because it was totally out of character for him to betray his wife while she was alive. Sendi at first refused to leave him here, because she wanted to be with him no matter how dangerous the situation, but we were able to persuade her to leave and go to a place that they knew to be safe. My wife and I have spent the last few days with Sendi and we have come to realize just how much the love that they have for each other meant. Phoebe and I have also realized that we can only aspire to such a pure and driving love. We will, in memory of Jason continue in that aspiration."

"On our way into town we couldn't help notice the newspaper banners about someone called the Avenger. I can only assume that someone has been inspired by the work that Jason did and has decided to carry on where he left off. Go the Avenger. And Commissioner, if you don't like those sentiments, I resign."

Sendi moved to the podium. "I will try to get through this without collapsing in tears. I don't know if I will succeed, and I'm sure that I won't, so please bear with me."

"I have known Jason as a friend for some time. I met him in College and we almost became more than friends. We lost track of each other when he graduated and it wasn't until recently that we met again when we were thrown together by the Hollywood studio publicity mill. I have been around that particular scene for some time and have had some pretty horrendous experiences when these things go wrong."

"You can imagine my surprise when I was confronted with a man who thought so much of his wife that he didn't want to jeopardize his marriage by going to bed with me. At first I was angry and disappointed by this because I liked him, but then I was glad because, here was a man who I could go out with, and who I could spend the night with and know that we would do nothing more than talk, and support each other. I had some pretty serious problems back then and Jason helped me through them."

"Imagine how flattered I felt when, after his wife died he came to me for support. Even in his grief he was a tower of strength, and much as I would have liked to have been able to have done more for him at the time, I knew that this was to be neither the time nor the place for such things."

"In time we became even closer and have become lovers. We had planned to marry as soon as this mess was over, but that isn't to be . . . that isn't to be. I'm sorry." She paused to regain her composure. After a couple of minutes, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she started again. "It would have given me a great sense of satisfaction to have announced at this service that I was carrying his child, and that child would become a living reminder of my love for him, but that also isn't to be."

"What I will take with me on the rest of my journey through this life, is the knowledge that I have been privileged to have loved an amazing man, and had that love returned, totally, unconditionally. I feel sorry for those of you who have not been so touched by this man. Jason, my Darling, my eternal love, I will love you until the day that I can join you in Heaven. But for now my love, good-bye." 

The representatives of the media were scribbling notes like mad and the enclosed atmosphere of the funeral parlor had become white from the lights of flash guns and television lighting. Here was something to write about. The tabloid headings were being written in the minds of the Journalists. 

"Actress announces love for slain author." 

"Actress' distress at not carrying author's love child."

"Actress to star in slain lover's films."

"Studio announces purchase of movie rights to all of slain author's work. Lover to star." 

"Ghost of slain author to guide lover in movies."

I was not the only one moved by Sendi's words. People all around me stood silently in contemplation. I had the feeling that they had come expecting to hear the usual eulogies about how sad everyone was that I had died, they didn't expect the speakers to emphasize how they had been uplifted by having known me. I only hoped that when I did eventually go they would say the same things a second time.

I walked away from the funeral parlor deep in thought.



18

I had one final duty to perform. Life around the Costanzo Empire was not one of pleasant contemplation. Guido had the air of a person who was about to see the demise of the empire that he had worked so hard to build. 

"What do I pay you imbeciles for? You come to me and tell me that everything that we have worked for over the years is falling down around me and that there is nothing you can do about it!" His voice went up several notches, "Get out there and find that bastard Ruiz. I want to hear from you that he and that slut of a wife of his is dead! Some of you were at that funeral and you come here and tell me that Ruiz was there. Now tell me why you didn't also tell me that he was dead?"

"But boss, it was a funeral." One of the men whimpered.

"Funeral! I can't think of a better place for someone to die than at a funeral!. When a sworn enemy is visible he becomes invisible. What could be simpler than that? Now get out there and find him before he disappears again."

He had sent men out and about to try to stem the tide of evidence that was building against him but these men were always a step or two too late. Those closest to him were moving further and further away from him, even his mistress who had pledged eternal loyalty was missing.




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 05



Luigi was the only person to stick by him, not from any sense of loyalty but because his mental capacity was insufficient to enable him to think of an alternative occupation. 

"Luigi, where's Rocco?"

"He didn't come back from the funeral."

"The bastard has probably skipped with the rest of them. Go and look for him, and when you find him tell him I want to see him. If he doesn't want to come, bring him."

"Where do I find him?"

"If I knew that I wouldn't need you to look for him would I? Try his house."

Luigi shambled out the door. I was waiting for him.

"Hey Luigi, you don't know me, but you knew a friend of mine."

"What?"

"You were, I understand, the last person to see Melissa Feldham alive."

"Yeah, her. Pretty, pretty."

"You raped her."

"Pretty, pretty. Good fuck."

"Do you realize that if the police were to find out that you raped her before you threw her off the balcony they would put you in jail for a long time, and you do know what they do to rapists in jail, don't you?" He stared dumbly at me and it was then that I realized that he would never be aware of the consequences of his actions. He had been following orders. He would continue to blindly follow orders, and although it was possible that the police may be able to gain a conviction against him, he would never realize why. There was one way and one way only that the enormity of his actions would be brought home to him. I took the gun from my belt and taking aim shot him between the legs. He would rape no more. 

Luigi lay on the ground, a look of total disbelief on his face, the first time his expression had changed. I took a wad of cloth from my pocket and told him to press it firmly into his groin to stem the bleeding and rang 911 from a call box on the corner. When the operator answered I said, "This is the Avenger and this should be my last call. There is a man who has been shot in the groin and is losing a lot of blood. He is wanted for the rape and murder of Melissa Feldham." I gave the location and left. I had a rendezvous to keep.

"Hey!" The voice came from behind me. I turned to be confronted by the biggest, most lethal looking gun barrel I had ever seen. (It wasn't really but I'm trying to build suspense here).

I was also confronted by Rocco, one of the men who was so gentle with me while I was a guest of the Costanzo organization. "I thought that I recognized you at the funeral. Pretty smart hey, turning up at your own funeral. Now what are you going to do?"

"What I'm going to do is to get the hell out of this sleazy city and find some peace and quiet somewhere."

"And how do you intend doing that?" The gun threatened me almost as much as the confidence in his voice.

"Well, I figured that I would walk down the road here and catch a subway train to Grand Central and get on the first train that leaves. I don't really care where it takes me as long as it's away from people like you."

"You think you're a smart guy don't you? And what if I was to try to stop you?"

"Then I would have to do this." The arrogance of the man was obvious and it was about to become his undoing. He had, for years, been able to intimidate people by the sheer weight of his reputation and it was beyond his mental capacity to believe that anyone, least of all someone he considered to be a soft target, would be stupid enough to stand up to him. I wasn't stupid but I was angry enough to try it.

Without him being aware of it I had managed to move my hand around to my back. I had stashed my gun in the back of my trousers and in my hand it felt comfortable, I was surprised just how comfortable, with it in its grasp. My hand whipped forward and flame shot from the muzzle as soon as the gun had cleared my side. It wasn't a mortal wound, the bullet grazing his temple, but it was enough to prevent him from carrying out his threat. 

Rocco managed to fire a shot, probably a last dying twitch of his finger. I recall reading a description of an approaching bullet as having the sound of an angry insect. I don't know about that because the distance between Rocco and me was that small that I didn't hear the bullet arrive. I had also read that the impact of a bullet hitting a body is akin to a blow by a sledge hammer, this one I can vouch for. I have also read somewhere that the path of a bullet passing through the body had a burning sensation. I knew that the bullet had hit me in the arm; I couldn't feel anything immediately except for the warm sticky feel of blood running down the inside of my sleeve.

I took a handkerchief from my pocket and wrapped as best as I could around my arm. I used the clip of my pen to hold the ends together because I couldn't tie a decent knot in it. I couldn't see any blood on the outside of my jacket so I put it back on, hoping that the casual glance of passersby wouldn't notice that I'd been shot.

Rocco lay on the pavement, eyes open in disbelief, his mouth mouthing words that never came out. He was losing consciousness as I took his gun from his hands and replaced it with mine. The police, when they found him would associate the gun with the wound to Luigi, particularly as I left a note on his shirt to that effect, and even if he tried to convince them that I had shot him they were unlikely to believe him based on the evidence before them. How could a dead man shoot someone, especially after his funeral?

I made it to my car okay, relieved that it was an automatic that I could steer with one hand.

I was home free; at least that's what I thought until I became aware of the car following me. It wasn't one of Guido's, of that I was sure, just as I was sure that it wasn't one of the DEA Fords. It didn't look like any of the unmarked police cars that I'd seen so that left either the FBI, CIA or some other interested party.

I drove as if I hadn't noticed the car hoping to lull them into a false sense of security. It was time to see if a plan that I had thought of, and used in one of my books, would actually work.

I had prepared for this eventuality and had laid out an escape route that I was sure would work. I drove slowly down the street until I reached the next intersection. There were three cars between mine and the followers. As I reached the intersection the lights changed to red and I put my foot down hard on the accelerator, sliding around the corner and out of sight of my tail. It was important that they didn't see the next maneuver.

I quickly drove into the entrance of a parking garage, took a ticket from the dispenser and headed for the top floor. I needed to gain as much time as possible. I figured that they would overshoot the parking garage entrance and have to double back. If they decided that I was in the parking station they would set up a watcher at the entrance and exits and send a car in to see if they could find my car. In my thoughts I wished them good luck.

Parking my car I locked it and walked to the far end of the level where I had left another, totally different car. This was a Jaguar sedan, gleaming in its British Racing Green splendor. From the trunk I took the long haired wig, the magenta tinted pebble glasses, and the flower power jacket that I had bought from a theatrical costumer. I was an eccentric former hippie who hadn't quite let go of his past.

I drove slowly down the ramp towards the ground level. Half way down I passed the car that had followed me slowly working its way up. I had just reached the lower level when they found my other car. One of the men raced over to it to find me gone and the car locked. "Have you seen Feldham come out?" The other man yelled into his radio to the two men watching the exits.

"No-one has come out." Was the response from both.

The car did a tire smoking and screeching one hundred and eighty degree turn as the man scrambled into the passenger seat. It sped back down the ramp. "Has any car come out in the last five minutes?" He asked the watchers.

I was right, there was a man standing, trying hard to look inconspicuous, on the pavement opposite, checking each of the cars coming from the parking station. I didn't stop at the boom gate, raising it with the remote control I was given when I rented the parking space for six months.

As I left the man watching spoke into a hand held radio. "No-one except some long haired type who's just pulling out in a Jaguar."

"That's him! Keep your eye on him and we'll be down as soon as we can!"

Their arrival at the exit was as spectacular as I had seen in the movies. Without hesitation they drove through the boom gate, splintering it and leaving it scattered across the driveway. The attendant raced out and yelled something at them that was lost in the sound of tortured rubber as they left. The attendant memorized the number and raced back to his cubicle to call the security company that would investigate the incident. It would do no more about it when the identity of the car's owner was revealed.

I had just turned the corner when they emerged from the parking station and pulled briefly to a halt beside the watcher. "Which way did he go?"

"He turned left at the next corner."

The car sped away from the kerb, pausing just long enough for the second watcher to scramble into the back seat before the driver gunned it down the road.

I hadn't wasted any time once I had gotten out of sight, accelerating down the road to the next intersection hoping to be able to turn right before the others reached the first corner. At most they would have seen the rear of the car as I disappeared. "I want any available operative to look out for a dark green Jaguar sedan being driven by a person with long hair and a weird colored coat. When you see him radio in a location and wait for us to reach you. Under no circumstance are you to approach. I repeat, do not approach!"

Out of sight of my pursuers I removed the wig and glasses, the coat could wait until I reached my destination. By turning right and right again I was headed in the opposite direction to that which I first took. A few minutes later I pulled into the office of the car rental agency that specialized in foreign makes. Leaving the car there I caught a cab to another rental agency and leased another car. I was hoping that by the time the first car was located I would be well clear of New York and headed for Maine.

Within minutes of leaving the car at the agency it had been leased to another client. 

Billy Green (it was actually Greenbaum but Billy preferred just Green) was as happy as he had ever been in his twenty two years. He had promised Rachel that he would have something special for their honeymoon and this was it. He was going to drive her to the Niagara Falls in a Jaguar. During their courtship he had often expressed the desire to own one, but economic prudence had meant that this was just a dream.

"I don't want a BMW or a Mercedes, or even an Audi, I want a Jaguar. You advertise that you have Jaguars for rent so why can't I have one?"

"Because we have none available at this time."

Billy was just about to concede defeat when I pulled into the forecourt. "What about that one?" He said pointing as I got out and headed for the office.

"But Sir, we have to detail the car first and ensure that it is fuelled and ready before we can allow it out of our yard."

"I don't care about all of that. I just want that car, and I'm prepared to take it in its present condition."

I walked in and handed the keys over and caught a cab to the other rental agency. The car that I'd arranged to rent was different, it was plain looking Audi A4.

As I left the Jaguar behind clerk had just decided to allow Billy to take the Jaguar.

Billy had many dreams that he shared with Rachel. They had attended the same High School and Rachel had worked evenings in Billy's parent's 711 supermarket, she a cashier and he a stock boy. They had dated through High School and during college vacations. Billy had studied Business Management while Rachel had studied Economics. They had visions of expansion when Billy inherited the business from his father. In the meantime he was working in the market office while Rachel worked as a journalist with a local television station, doing analysis of the stock market and world trade.

Now Billy was driving home in the Jaguar to marry his Rachel and make his parents happy. Rachel would meet him just outside the town and they would drive in together, imagining themselves to be some kind of important people.

So lost in his dreams was Billy that he almost didn't stop at the toll booth at the beginning of the toll way. The Jaguar screeched to a halt just in time for him to fish in his pockets for the toll.

So lost in his thoughts was Billy that he was unaware of the toll booth supervisor picking up the telephone. "That car that you are looking for has just passed through the gates and is heading north."

The person on the other end of the phone immediately picked up a radio microphone. He called in a helicopter to pick him up and then called in the Highway Patrol. "There is a Dark Green Jaguar heading North on the toll way. I want it stopped and the driver apprehended. Use whatever force is necessary."

The Highway Patrol placed a call to the nearest cruiser, ordering the crew to stop the car and detain the driver. Again the instruction to use whatever force was necessary was given.

Five minutes later a startled Billy was confronted by a patrol car. He was even more startled by the manner of the driver and his partner. "Get out of the car, now!"

"What is wrong?" Billy had been taught to always be extra polite to policemen.

"Shut up and get out of the car!"

Billy got out.

"Lay on the ground, face down!"

Billy lay on the ground. "What do you want?"

"Shut the fuck up! Hands behind your back!" The patrolman knelt beside Billy with his knee on Billy's neck. The handcuffs rasped closed, tightly on his wrists.

"What have I done?" Billy couldn't understand his position.

"I think this man is trying to escape arrest, don't you?" The patrolman asked his partner.

"I do believe that you are correct. I also believe that a certain amount of force is required to restrain him." The second patrolman kicked Billy in the side of the head, just hard enough for it to hurt without him losing consciousness.

"I still don't think he has learnt his lesson, do you?"

"No, I get the impression that as soon as our back is turned he will try to make his escape. I think a more permanent solution is required." The patrolmen had been told to use whatever force was necessary and took this to mean that whoever wanted this man didn't care if he was dead or alive when they arrived to pick him up, and a dead prisoner was much easier to handle than a live one.

The first patrolman grabbed Billy by the shoulder and rolled him onto his back. "He doesn't look all that dangerous, but you just never can tell with these young punks."

"Look he is trying to escape!" Billy's eyes had fluttered as he tried to focus on his captors.

The patrolman took his revolver from its holster and, placing it at Billy's neck, pulled the trigger. The bullet was a soft point, designed for the maximum amount of damage, it passed unhindered through the carotid artery and into the spine where it spread, taking the first and second vertebra with it and severing the spinal cord. If in the remote chance that he survived the damage to the artery and the damage to the spine, Billy would never be able to enjoy life again, fortunately for him he did not survive the passage of the bullet.

Several minutes later the sound of a helicopter was heard, approaching from the South. It landed in a cloud of dust and a man in a dark suit emerged and walked over to the waiting patrolmen. He glanced down at Billy lying on the ground. He looked at the patrolmen and then looked back at the body on the ground. "Who the fuck is this?"

"He was driving the car."

"How come he is dead?"

"He resisted arrest."

"So you shot him."

"We were ordered to use whatever force was necessary."

"That would have been fine if you had gotten the right man. This is not who we're looking for."

"But he was the only person in the car."

"Did you stop to ask for some form of identification?"

"We didn't know who it was that we were looking for, so what good would that have done?"

"You could have radioed in to confirm."

"What happens now?"

The man in the suit checked the body. The bullet had passed through and had emerged out the other side. "Find that bullet and dispose of it then radio in that you have come across what looks to be a gang hit. I suggest that you get rid of any form of identity to make it look like it could have been a hijacking gone horribly wrong. When this hits the media we will have to issue a statement decrying the level of violence in today's society.

He walked back to the chopper and disappeared in a swirling cloud of dust. As it became airborne he was on the radio to his base, "I want a check of all car rental agencies, I want to find if anyone remotely resembling Feldham has rented a car in the last hour. If you find anything I want to be told immediately!"

Marshall Griffin was in damage control mode and very angry indeed. "How the fuck could you let some pissant amateur get away from you?"

"We don't know."

"Fucking incompetent idiots! Now listen and listen closely, I want no further fuck-ups. Do I make myself clear on this?"

There was general agreement that his point was well made but none of the agents seemed terribly happy about it.





19

I had almost gotten clear of the city when I noticed a car following me. It followed me until I had cleared the traffic congestion of the city and was driving on a relatively deserted section of the highway.

To make sure that it was following and not just some coincidental meeting on the road I turned off onto a secondary road that was heading in the general direction of my destination. It followed.

It followed me into the hills and the narrow winding road. I felt safer here, there would be few opportunities for the driver of the following car to do anything stupid or dangerous, at least that was what I thought.

As I swept through a left hand bend the driver of the other car moved up close behind me. I could see in the rear view mirror that he wasn't alone. I was getting just a little anxious.

The next left hand bend and the car moved up beside me. I glanced anxiously across to see the barrel of a pistol pointing right at me. I thought quickly. If I was shot and the car crashed then there would be the possibility that whoever found the wreck and presumably my dead body would also find the bullet and come to the conclusion that it was not an accident. I came to the conclusion that the gun was to frighten me into trying to get away from them and maybe, just maybe, having an accident that didn't involve the intervention of a bullet.

My racing mind told me to keep driving as quickly and smoothly as possible and force them into some other plan. The other plan that they were forced to use was to try to run me off the road. Now I don't know about you but I have always thought that this sort of situation in the movies or on television lacked a little realism. You have huge trucks trying to run a small car off the road and the car manages to stay on the road with almost no damage. Now for mine, if a huge truck ran into a small car it would be totaled.

Two cars of similar configuration is a different matter entirely, especially if the driver of one of them hasn't had his opinion of the outcome clouded by watching too many movies.

I have read somewhere and don't ask me where, that if a driver tries to cut you off and you really want to do some damage to him you hit the brakes and when his vehicle swerves in front of you accelerate, hitting him on the rear corner where the least amount of weight and therefore traction is happening.




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral) Pt. 05



Guess what? My information was better than theirs. I watched the driver and the instant his hand started to swing the wheel I stood on the brakes. Tortured rubber would have been left on the road but for the ABS braking system standard on these cars. Instead it was the sound of my engine speeding up. This in turn was followed by the sound of the impact. I grasped the wheel with both hands and despite the pain managed to hold it on the road. It didn't feel all that much from where I was but the result was outstanding. The other vehicle slewed across the road and through the guard rail before sailing slowly, it seemed, into a steep ravine.

Half way down the hill was a large tree, the biggest one of several that was in the path of the car. The impact was devastating for both the tree and the car. The tree shook violently, startled birds fled in all directions and clouds of leaves drifted to the ground. The car burst into flames. I didn't stay long at the scene. I figured that there was little that I could do to help the men inside and my car wasn't fitted with a cell phone so that I couldn't contact the authorities and I wasn't going to use mine. I also figured that I would be better off if I didn't report it at all because my name would be on the report and someone that I didn't want to find me might be able to access the information and track me down, especially if the two recently deceased men were in the employ of that someone. I also figured that I would be implicated in some way if I was still at the scene when and if another vehicle arrived. 

I had other places to be and other things to do. 

I was nowhere near the scene when the next vehicle, a Volvo driven by an elderly former school teacher and his equally elderly wife arrived. They saw the gap in the railing and the smoke from the fire. "What do we do Henry?"

"Elizabeth, sometimes I think that you ask the stupidest questions. You use that car phone to contact a 911 operator and get help while I go down there to see if I can do anything."

"But I don't like using this newfangled contraption."

"You will have to use it whether you like it or not." He got out of the car. "Stupid bloody woman." He mumbled un-necessarily under his breath because she was as deaf as a door post, and scrambled down the slope as his wife took the phone in her hand and dialed the number.

"Hello." Her voice was tremulous.

"911 can I help you madam?"

"There has been an accident."

"Where are you madam?"

"In our car."

"Where is your car?"

"On the road."

"Which road?" The operator was getting a little impatient and trying hard not to allow that impatience show.

"The road from Danforth to Exeter."

"Where on that road?"

"We left Danforth half an hour ago."

"We'll send a crash crew as soon as possible." A fire truck and ambulance were dispatched from Danforth arriving within fifteen minutes of the call. There was little for the crew to do other than remove the charred bodies from the wreckage and arrange for a salvage truck to come and retrieve the wreck.

At the hospital the bodies were examined and when the identification was removed from their inside pockets the examiners were surprised to find that the men were both CIA agents. They were even more surprised at the short expletive laced response that the news brought from Griffin.

Three men in suits walked into Guido's bar. They all gave the impression that they wouldn't let anyone stand in the way of the job that they had been sent to do. As they walked through the bar the barman reached under the bar for the phone. He never got to speak into it as a hand reached out and grabbed him by the throat, fingers pressing hard against the carotid artery and windpipe effectively preventing blood flow to the head and air flow to the lungs. Realizing the futility of struggle he relaxed as much as was possible under the circumstance.

"Why don't you drop the phone." The voice was full of menace. The phone was dropped. "How many people in the office?"

"Only one."

"You sure about that?" The nodded response was enough for two of the men to walk through the back door to the stairway. The third man handcuffed the barman to the handy metal pipe that was frequently used by young ladies, and followed his friends. He followed them as far as the passageway to the stairs, instead of climbing the stairs he proceeded down the passage, kicking in doors and causing chaos among the clientele. Naked men and women screamed, naked men grabbed clothes and left, naked women hurled abuse at the man and scrambled to cover the earnings from their enterprise.

In Guido's office things were looking no better. "You have fucked up, my friend." The tone of the voice cast doubts on the term 'friend'.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"Who we are is of no concern. What we want is an explanation as to how the 'safe' venture into which we invested so much money happens to be no longer safe."

"I don't know what you are talking about. What money have you invested with me?"

"We have invested several million dollars on behalf of an organization that it would be safer you didn't know about, but we'll tell you anyway because we happen to know that you aren't about to mention it to anyone."

"What are you talking about?"

"Does the name Triangle Importing mean anything to you?"

"Fuck! You guys are from the CIA!"

"What did you go and say that for? Now we are going to have to kill you."

"No. I know nothing, I've never heard of you and I've never seen you."

"Too late. I'm really sorry about this but you've left us with no alternative." He took a large pistol made even larger by the silencer attached to the barrel and pointing it at the centre of Guido's forehead, pulled the trigger. Guido was dead before his body reached the floor.

The two men conducted a quick search through the office but found little of interest. "Where does he keep his records?"

"Not here. Even someone as dumb as him wouldn't be that stupid."

"Then where could it be?"

"Maybe his accountant has them."

"If that's the case then we are too late. We'll have to see what sort of pressure we can bring to bear on the police for the return of the records."

As they were about to leave the office a shot rang out. The two men ducked behind the desk as the third man entered holding a bleeding hand and followed by two other men who introduced themselves as detectives from the Drug Squad. "Who are you and why are you here in this office with the man that we have just come to interview? The man who just happens to look to be very dead."

"We are CIA."

"Is that supposed to impress me? Sorry if I'm not tugging my forelock at this news. You are in our jurisdiction and it appears as if you have just committed the crime of murder. Now this murder just might have jeopardized the case that we are working on and if that is the case then our boss is going to be pissed."

"You can't touch us."

"Oh can't we. Come in gentlemen." Three more men entered the office. "You have it all on tape do you?"

"You betcha. Video and audio evidence that implicates these men and probably the whole organization in drug importation. Now all we need is to find that the FBI has been in on this scam as well and we'll have a trifecta."

"You'll never get away with this. This operation has been sanctioned at the highest level."

"Really? Now I suppose that you are going to have us believe that the President of the United States knew about your involvement in this."

"Yes."

"Tell that to the judge. Come on."

The men left the office and walked through the shambles that was once a thriving bar and brothel. 

The phone rang in the office of the Managing Editor of the New York Times. "This is hot." The Managing Editor recognized the voice of the policeman who regularly, and profitably, fed them information that they would not otherwise be able to gain. "We have just arrested and charged with murder three men who claim that they are CIA working under direct orders from Washington. The Captain has called Washington and is waiting for a response but he's not really interested in what they have to say because the murders were committed on some of the prime suspects in this drug racket that we've just broken wide open."

The order was short and to the point. The police rounds person was dispatched to the precinct to get as much information about and, if possible some photos of, the CIA agents. Both the Managing Editor and the Police Rounds person had good reason to make sure that this got the maximum exposure. It would go out on the wire services as soon as the information was confirmed.

Washington was trying at the same time to place a total media blanket on the incident. The CIA Director was called to the White House. "Tell me that this isn't true."

"If you want to hear it, it isn't true."

"Now that statement isn't true is it?"

"Now that you ask, no."

"What the hell are you playing at? I know that I'm supposed to be ultimately responsible for the actions of those working under me but this has to be some kind of major snafu and I can't see me getting out of it unscathed. How did you manage to get yourself into such a mess?"

"It came about because of some money that we had invested in a certain enterprise."

"Presumably illegal."

"The return warranted the risk."

"I suppose that you are about to tell me that it is somehow involved with the importation of cocaine from Colombia."

"Yes."

"This is getting worse! Did you stop to think of the repercussions that this decision would have on my administration if it came unstuck? It would make Watergate look like a kids' tea party."

"It seemed a safe plan."

"What was it that Robert Burns said about the best laid plans of mice and men?"

"We've been actively involved in the drug trade since Vietnam and this seemed to be safer than that."

"So what went wrong?"

"An author named Jason Feldham somehow found out that the money that he had invested in what he had been told were legitimate ventures was in fact a small part of money being used to import coke. When he found out he went ballistic and demanded his money back. We of course weren't told of this until it was too late. Our financial broker, one James Craigmore took it on himself to solve the problem, only in the process he managed to fuck the whole thing up. We tried to fix the problem but it was too late."

"This Jason Feldham, has he been removed from the equation?"

"We thought that we had that covered but he's proving to be one smart person. You may have read of his funeral, well I'm afraid that the ceremony was a little premature. He was seen by our agents at his own funeral and was followed. He somehow managed to elude our people, the result of which was the death of an innocent person, but was later spotted again and followed once more. We are having another crack at him as we speak."

"And if this other crack proves to be as unsuccessful as the first, what then?"

"It won't."

"Just say for example that it does."

"We have another attempt."

"No you won't! We cut our losses. I have been copping a huge amount of flack from Congress about our efforts to date and the message that I've been getting loud and clear is that if we haven't fixed the problem now we go into damage control and cut our losses. If the shit hits the fan we deny and deny again and we keep on denying until the story eventually disappears."

In one of those coincidences that crop up in movies the phone rang. "This had better be good news."

"Sir, Mr. Griffin on the line, I think you should talk to him." The receptionist patched the call through.

"Shelby here."

"Director, I have just been speaking to the Sheriff at Danforth who has told me that his men attended the scene of a motor vehicle accident on the Danforth to Exeter road and the victims carried identification that linked them with our organization. I have been asked to arrange for someone to go up and carry out a formal identification. It must have been messy because we have been asked if it would be possible for who ever goes up to bring a copy of the men's dental records, you see there is very little left, not even fingerprints."

"How did it happen?"

"As far as their preliminary investigations go it would appear that the car was travelling at high speed and lost control on a bend in the road. They crashed through a barrier and down a steep ravine and hit a large tree. The vehicle caught fire and was totally destroyed before the first passer-by reached it."

"There was no evidence of another vehicle at the scene?"

"Not that we can make out. What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing. Thank you for letting us know. You have someone down there first thing in the morning to identify the bodies and make arrangements to have the bodies shipped back here for the funerals." He hung up.

"Let me guess. You have failed once more to catch this Feldham?"

"Yes, and it has cost us two good men. I want him."

"Somehow I don't think that would be appropriate under the circumstances. I want this whole mess left right alone, do I make myself understood?" 

"But Feldham isn't the only person. There's a cop involved as well."

"I seem to recall something in the briefing notes, something about some greaser of a cop by the name of Ruiz, what about him?"

"He's gone to ground somewhere along with his wife who's also a cop and involved in this. We can dig up some incriminating evidence that will discredit them and anything that they might say about this."

"No. If you do that the police will close ranks around them. The word that I have from the NYPD is that both of them are squeaky clean. They are very competent officers and are popular with other members of the force. I can't find anyone from the Station Commander down to the Janitor to say a bad word against either of them. Somewhere out there are three people who could potentially blow the lid off this administration. Now I don't ask much, just fix this mess and fast."

The fast fix required in this case wasn't fast enough. By the time the message had left Griffin's office the shit had already hit the fan. Three of his operatives were in custody and, while he was pulling all of the strings that he could, it looked as if they were there to stay, at least for the time being.

Griffin was on the phone talking to the DA's office. "I believe that the police have arrested three of my men. What do I have to do to see that they don't get to trial?"

"There is nothing that you can do." The Assistant DA was also in damage control mode. "We are in the shit big time and if we are in the shit over this then anyone, no matter how peripherally they are involved in this, that we can lay charges against, will have no way of wriggling out of this."

"The Agency is under a lot of pressure from Washington to ensure that a very tight lid is kept on this whole mess to ensure that the administration suffers no electoral damage from the fallout."

"I don't give a rat's arse about the pressure that you're under, we are looking after our own, and if that means that you and your operatives cop the flack then so be it."

"Can't we reach some sort of compromise?"

"No deals."

"If we can't do a deal then we will just have to dig into the background of anyone involved in this in your department and use that to discredit this entire enquiry."

"I take it that that is meant to be some sort of threat?"

"It's not so much a threat as a promise."

"You know what I think of your promise don't you. I wouldn't even wipe my arse on the paper that it was written on."

The next news to hit the streets was no better. It was reported that a car driven by two CIA personnel had been found at the bottom of a ravine and both occupants were dead. It appeared that they had failed to negotiate a bend in the road and had smashed through the guard rail and crashed down the ravine. The appeared to be no evidence of a second vehicle involved.

Griffin was furious. "This man is supposed to be some sort of wimp and he has killed two of my best men and sent three others into a remand cell. How can this be happening?"

To make matters worse the headlines in the evening tabloids screamed to the world that the CIA had been caught doing the very thing that it was supposed to stamp out.

The District Attorney's office was quoted as saying that, in order that it could recover some of the credibility it lost with the arrest and suicide of the DA, was pulling out all stops to tell the world that it wasn't the only organization that was involved. Any person arrested in relation to the charges arising from their involvement, however small, was charged with as many offences as possible, and if none were forthcoming they were invented (this was implied rather than stated). The DA's office was pressing for the maximum jail time.

The evening television news bulletin contained an interview with the Assistant DA. The news anchor sat stern faced in her chair. "Mr. Fitzgerald, your office has been implicated in the scheme to import a large amount of cocaine into this country. While we appreciate that it might just have been the work of your former boss and does not involve other members of your department, what guarantees do we have that this situation will never recur?"

"I'm glad you asked that. We have acted swiftly and decisively to ascertain how widespread this situation was and I can state with a great deal of confidence that our preliminary inquiries have shown that Mr. Markham was working alone and that no other member of our office was involved."

"What about members of the police force and other government agencies. It would appear to us that for this operation to succeed officials must have been coerced by financial or other inducements to allow the shipment to enter the country and be distributed."

"We have asked for the police Internal Affairs branch to investigate all members of the force who have had any involvement, no matter how minute with anything remotely connected with this. As for other departments and agencies, I have had meetings with the heads of the DEA, Customs and Coast Guard and they have assured me that there will be a full investigation into their personnel. We have also agreed on a full and candid exchange of any information that each of us gains that could assist the others in their investigation. One way or another we will get to the bottom of this."

"We also understand that three men, all alleged members of the CIA have been implicated in this, can you tell us more?"

"No. As this is part of our ongoing investigation we do not want to pre-empt or jeopardize the outcome of that investigation by releasing any information prematurely. I can confirm that three men arrested on an associated matter have identified that they are members of another agency working under direct orders, more than that I am not at liberty to disclose. Suffice it to say that questions are being asked and we are waiting for a response."

"What steps will you take to ensure that this situation doesn't arise in future?"

"We will look at tightening our screening of applicants for positions within our department and the police force. We will also institute regular and random evaluations of all operational procedures and personnel. In the case of personnel this will include their immediate families and their financial status."

The DEA was conducting its own witch hunt and several high ranking officers were under suspension and house arrest pending the outcome of the internal inquiry.

The Customs Service and the Coast Guard had each issued statements to the effect that neither organization was directly involved in the incident. I for one didn't believe them. I was heartened to hear later that public opinion supported my viewpoint.




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral)



I tried hard to stop myself from talking too much about my work, sensing that if I didn't, stop that is, she might get the impression that it was all that I was interested in. I must have been successful because we ended up in a small coffee shop where we talked for hours before I took her home.

The cab pulled up outside her apartment building. "Do you want to come up for a cup of coffee?" I thought that the question interesting because we had consumed several cups of coffee during the course of the evening and if I had another I wouldn't be able to hold on much longer. I learned later that this was something of a coded invitation for something completely different.

I paid the driver and we entered her building. There was a security guard seated at a desk just to the left of the entrance. His job was to monitor an array of video monitors and to log the comings and goings of the tenants. His eyebrow ascended his forehead and would have disappeared into his hairline if he had one, as he saw that Melissa was not alone. "Are you in for the evening?"

"Yes, we won't be going out again until morning." He wrote something in his log.

"Another lucky bastard." His whisper was just loud enough for me to hear without understanding.

Melissa of course ignored him, after all he was hired help and in her circles one just did not talk to hired help unless necessary or one could gain some sort of benefit from it. The elevator took us up to the top floor and we walked down the corridor to her apartment.

Melissa was at this time a successful business woman and her apartment reflected that success. It overlooked Central Park and was furnished in expensive but good taste. "Would you like a cup of coffee or something else?"

"Please, I don't think that I could face another cup of coffee."

She chuckled as if my fledgling career as a stand-up comedian had gotten off to a stupendously successful beginning, "Would you like something else to drink?"

"Before I answer that, do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

"Surely. It's the first door on the left."

I only just made it. Relieved, I walked back into her living room to find her changed, she now wore a house coat that was obviously intended to be worn only inside the house. She was seated on the sofa, her legs tucked up under her, with a glass of a brownish liquid in each hand. "I thought that you might like a cognac to cap off a really memorable evening."

"Really? Did you find it memorable?"

"Of course, didn't you?"

"Well yes, but then I have never been in the company of someone as beautiful and intelligent as you. In fact, as far as I can remember, this is one of the few times that I have been alone with a woman."

"Come now. I find that hard to believe."

"I'm afraid that it's true. Except for the students that I tutored in college and you could hardly count them. You see I have never really had the time or the inclination to contemplate anything that could remotely resemble a relationship, and because of that I have never missed not having one." I made a mental note to make an effort to sound a little less sanctimonious.

"I thought for a minute you were going to tell me that you were gay."

"Now of that I'm sure. I'm not. I've never really had what could be described as a close relationship with a man either." I sipped the cognac and winced as the liquid burned its way through my unprepared throat and dropped into my equally unprepared stomach. My digestive tract was churned up enough as it was, but now it positively rebelled.

"I'm glad." She sat right next to me and her hand brushed lightly through my hair. I took another, larger, swig of the cognac. I was feeling a little light headed.

She was close to me and her breath smelt sweet. Her hand had come to rest on the back of my head and she drew my face close to hers. Our lips touched and my stomach decided that enough was enough. Breaking free from her I rushed back to the bathroom where I spent several minutes with my head down the toilet bowl bringing up a uselessly expensive meal.

Eventually I went back into the room. "I hope that I don't always have that effect on you."

"So do I." I resumed my seat beside her and soon found myself kissing her. This time my stomach behaved itself.

We didn't make love that night. I couldn't have stood the excitement, but I did sleep with her because we decided that I wasn't in any condition to go home. If I was capable of such a thought I would have thought that the reason that Melissa asked me to spend the night was to preserve her reputation with the security guard. I could most likely count the number of her men who left early on one finger.

Melissa slept close to me, her body, naked by the way, touched mine, her arm around me. She made a futile attempt to arouse me but I was suffering from what I had read described as brewer's droop. She eventually gave up and we slept.

The next day, a Saturday, I spent entirely with her. We went to the museum, ate hot dogs, another new experience for me, and took in an opera that night. She took in the opera, I fluctuated between sleep and euphoria. That night she slept at my apartment with me. That night we made love and at least one of us lost his virginity in the process.

Melissa was interested and a little amused when she entered my modest apartment. It differed from hers in many ways, not the least of which was that the furnishings, which while not expensive like hers had taken on a functionality, (do you like that word? I think I'll use it more often), which differed from that originally intended. Chairs, tables and desks all served to keep my huge supply of books from the floor. Until the advent of the word processor that allowed a writer to correct the work in progress prior to printing, there would have been piles of rejected 'work in progress' scattered in the general vicinity of the waste basket.

There was just enough room in the kitchen to prepare my version of whatever I cooked. By stacking books in the corner of the dining room I was able to clear the table so that we could dine in relative comfort.

She was relieved to find that there were no books in the bathroom and, apart from three that I alternated between on my bedside table, none in my bedroom.

My bed had until that night served purely as a place of rest. I was unaware that a bed could be used in so many different ways. 

Melissa was very patient during the whole procedure. Oh I knew how it was done, I had read and written about it often enough, but this was the first time that I had actually done it. She had a great time putting the condom onto my surprised erection. She had provided the protection for the evening. "I'll do this, this once." She removed the condom from its foil packet. "But in future if you want to make love to me you'll have to take responsibility and supply the protection." She started to roll it over my increasing member, her hands caressing every erogenous area in the process, by the time that she had finished I was a mental wreck.

She led and I followed through the night. I couldn't believe her appetite or her passion. We used the missionary and several non-missionary methods during the course of our first night's passion. If I had been a strict 'Christian' I would probably have had feelings of immense guilt over some of the positions, I especially liked it when she sat on me and when she knelt on the bed and I entered from behind. I have read about women like this but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that this would ever happen to me.

There was another painful experience coming up, that of going into a drug store to buy a packet (of condoms). I almost resorted to paying a teenager to buy them for me. As it turned out, if the only reason was so that Melissa didn't get pregnant, the money was wasted. Tests would later prove that it was impossible for me to father a child.

Melissa inspired me to greater heights in my writing. I was now able to write about sex from personal experience, in the past this was implicit rather than explicit, and this was showing in my work. The reading public loved it but I do remember getting a rather caustic letter from one of my professors in which he berated me for stooping to sex to sell my work. Stupid old fart, he probably never had sex in his life, certainly nothing like the sex that I was having.

I was also learning more about life and living. My world expanded at an alarming rate, we attended a series of parties to which we always arrived 'fashionably late', and where I was introduced to a wide range of influential people all of whom hung off my every word as if I was some kind of latter-day guru. This hanging off improved my self confidence.

My image was changing. Gone, but not without a fight, were my comfortable corduroy trousers, plaid shirts and tweed jacket complete with leather elbow pads, that had, for years been my uniform. In their place appeared the tailored designer suits, silk shirts and shiny leather shoes. Contact lenses had replaced the black rimmed glasses and my hair was styled, not cut. I looked for all the world like a successful businessman and 'at home' in the inner sanctum of New York society.

Physically I was changing, gone was the comfortable cushion of fat around my waist, the culmination of years of politically incorrect food and a lack of physical exertion. Under Melissa's guidance I now attended the trendiest of gyms where my body was whittled into shape with a carefully designed program of exercises, diets, massages, saunas and designer gym clothes. I had to admit that I had never felt better in my life, and when I looked at myself in the full length mirror I was quite pleased with the result. 

Initially Melissa came to the gym with me but as I became used to the routine she reverted to her heavy work schedule, leaving me to press on alone. If I were of the type that took advantage of the situation that was presented to me I would have found myself falling victim to the attentions of the women who used the gym at the same time as I did.

I didn't feel at all comfortable with this metamorphosis but, in time, I sort of grew into it.

When Melissa and I married, it was only six months after we had met, the final stage of my renaissance was completed. I sub-let my comfortable apartment in the unfashionable part of town to move into Melissa's much more 'appropriate' apartment.

I was happy with my life. I now had a wife who loved me enough to want to see me succeed in my chosen career, who took an interest in what I was doing and whose physical love was the most sublimely wonderful experience in my life. 

Felix was also happy for me and it was in a quiet moment during the reception that he revealed to me that he had tried for years to match me up with many women. "You have to be joking!"

"It's true! Didn't you ever stop to think that there was always a beautiful woman or two at any of the literary functions I arranged for you?"

"I just thought that they were the usual crowd that attended those shows."

"Didn't you ever wonder why the most beautiful always managed to single you out from the crowd and strike up a conversation?"

"It never occurred to me that there was anything unusual about that."

"I always knew that you were naïve. I was sure that you would find at least one of them interesting enough to form a relationship with."

"I guess that I never gave it any thought."

"You can't imagine how pleased I was when Melissa came on the scene."

"Not as pleased as I."

Melissa came and dragged me off to meet some more of her acquaintances, some of whom I had seen briefly in the past and found un-interesting and others that I would meet again in the future and probably find un-interesting. There were few people there, on either side, who I would ever consider worthy of more than a passing interest. There seemed to be a universal shallowness in their personalities that I found, for want of a better description, un-interesting.

"Darling," Melissa was curled up on the sofa, her head in my lap, she wore her house coat and a smile, as she read the latest effort to emerge from my computer, "I have never pried into your finances, but how much money do you have?"

"I don't really know. Felix gives me the money that's left after he takes out his commission and I put it straight into my bank account. I draw out as much as I need to live on, the rest is still there but I wouldn't have a clue as to how much there is. Why do you ask?"

"I just thought that if you invested it in something that would bring you a higher return you wouldn't have to work for as long."

"What do you mean?"

"In my business we are always looking for ways of making the most of the money that we earn, maximizing our opportunities, so that we have more money to use doing the things that we do best."

"How do you see this helping me?"

"If you were to take some of your money and invest it somewhere that gives you a higher return for your dollar than the banks, you will become richer quicker."

"You mean something like the stock market?"

"Something like that, yes."

"But I know nothing about the stock market and besides I think that it's gambling. I am not a gambling person."

"It is only gambling when you don't know what you are doing. Now I can introduce you to someone who can explain how the system works and can make the right investments for you. It is as safe as the banks but the return is more than double what the banks are paying."

"I'll think about it." I had this uneasy feeling that there was something wrong with what she wanted me to do, I couldn't put my finger on it because I had no experience in this area, but it just didn't feel right.

As it was I wouldn't have wanted to put my finger on it because it and the other nine were busy elsewhere.

Melissa left it at that and continued to read. "Darling, this is brilliant."

"Thank you, I don't like parts of it and will probably rewrite those sections in the morning. Would you like a drink before we go to bed?"

"Thank you, I would."

I moved her head from my lap and getting to my feet I walked over to the bar and poured us both a fairly substantial cognac. Melissa leaned against my shoulder as we sipped our drinks. She was like a cat, you could almost hear her purr as she snuggled against me. I was in heaven.

It was some time before we made it to our bed. The journey was via the sofa, the floor, the dining table and the shower. I never realized the uses to which such places could be put.

At around ten thirty the next morning she rang me from her office. "Darling, I want you to get dressed up and meet me at the office at five thirty. I have arranged for us to have dinner with James Craigmore, the business adviser that I was telling you about last night."

James Craigmore III had an office just like any other office in his industry. It was slick, opulent and decorated in the latest corporate fashion down to the decorative receptionist (Felicity) seated at her desk leafing through the society pages of the latest fashion magazine.

There were several reasons for this interest, not the least of which was so that she could recognize the right people when she went to the right places. She also had to be able to draw James' attention to any new and well heeled players on the scene. When Melissa had first begun my metamorphosis it was Felicity who drew James' attention to it.

Actually James' attention didn't need to be brought to my existence as he already knew that Melissa and I were married, a subject that he raised at a meeting he had with another of his clients.

Marshall Griffin sat across the table from James, his eyes darting from side to side, checking the comings and goings of the people around him. He was used to being secretive because that was part and parcel of his trade.

"We have several million dollars to invest in the enterprise that Guido is putting together."

"Why don't you just take it to him, why come to me?"

"Because we choose to use a third party, this ensures that our involvement in this enterprise is not compromised in any way. No-one and I mean no-one is to know where this money has come from, understood. We are looking at total deniability."

"Sure. How do you propose that I do that?"

"You are to canvass as much money from your corporate and institutional contacts as possible. Intermingled with this money will be ours. If anyone should investigate the transactions they are only to find the other investors. If you must keep any records, and I strongly advise against it, they must be separate from your normal records."

"I get it, if someone invests, say a million, the entry will be for two million."

"Right."

"Why are you doing this, don't you get enough funds from Washington?"

"We get enough to run our up-front operations but that is just the tip of a very large iceberg. We need considerably more money than we get to be able to carry out our other operations, money that we have to find without any official record being kept."

A waitress, blond, beautiful, and surprisingly tanned given her occupation and the location, approached the table. "Do you want anything more to drink?"

"Sure Honey," Griffin placed his hand familiarly around her waist. "I'll have another scotch and my friend here will have a bourbon." He took two notes from his billfold, placed one on her tray and the other he placed in the waist band of her G-string, the only attire she was allowed to wear on the job. She tottered off on her high heels to fill the order.

"I'm surprised," James said, "That you are able to tell me as much as you have."

"Well Hell, why not. If you so much as breath a word of this it will be the last breath you'll ever take. If you have family and friends they will soon be paying a visit to Missing Persons in the forlorn hope of ever finding a trace of you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Perfectly."

Their drinks arrived at the same time as the already dim lights got even dimmer except for those over the long bar. Music crashed through the smoke haze announcing the arrival of a dancer incongruously dressed in a brief representation of cowboy attire of chamois leather bolero styled jacket and chaps with the addition of fish net stockings and high heels.

She strutted up and down the bar a couple of times before slowly removing her tasseled leather jacket and flinging it in the face of one of the patrons. Her breasts swayed to the music, their silicone enhanced perfection covered only by tassels on her nipples. These she presented, one at a time to another patron who removed them with his teeth.

Rising once more she strutted back and forth while she worked slowly at the waist-band of her chaps, they seemed to present a problem for her and when she indicated that assistance would be required the bar was almost swamped with eager potential helpers. She was now clad only in a bright red frilled garter belt holding her black fish nets, shoes and an extremely small G-string.

She sat on the edge of the bar while willing helpers removed her shoes and stockings followed after what seemed to be un-necessary fumbling around the tops of her legs, by the garter belt. She danced her way back and forth a few times before the G-string followed the rest of her clothes onto the top of the bar. 

Entirely and gloriously naked she danced in what, to the regulars, was a familiar and anticipated routine to the centre of the bar where there was a shining metal pole. Around this she proceeded to writhe, entwining her legs and moving up and down suggestively. Bent back with her hips and one hand the only part of her in contact with the pole, she slid up and down, her speed increasing with the tempo of the music and the sounds of ecstasy from her parted lips.

The patrons were focused on her movements as she and the music reached their almost simultaneous crescendo. The patrons, well almost all of them, didn't know or care that she had beaten the music to its climax by half a beat, all they were interested in was the fact that she had, they were convinced, orgasmed with the pole, and almost to a man they wished that they were a pole substitute. The crowd erupted when a girl dressed in the skimpiest French maid's uniform trotted onto the bar and proceeded, after slowly and deliberately sniffing the pole, to lick it where the dancer had been, to wipe it clean. 




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral)



There were two exceptions to this rule, the first were Griffin and James Craigmore, and both were deeply involved in their business negotiations and only occasionally glancing in the general direction of the dancer. The other exception was one of the waitresses. She had been watching closely but unobtrusively, the conversation between the two men. Her memory bank of faces was now stocked, she would only keep a casual watch on them.

At five thirty my cab, the one that I had almost came to blows with an umbrella wielding harridan over, deposited me outside the glass edifice in which Melissa worked. I always use cabs. I have learned to drive but, looking around me I have found the need to own my own car to border on the stupid. I have often chuckled to myself, when watching television, at seeing the hero's car racing down almost deserted streets and finding a parking space exactly where he needed one. He never stops to lock his car and then when he gets back to it it's still there and more to the point all the wheels are still on it.

Melissa met me with her usual enthusiasm, I didn't know whether it was for my benefit or that of her co-workers and quite frankly I couldn't care less. After an effusive kiss and hug she released me. "I won't be a minute Darling, I just need to tidy up this account before we go."

She walked back to her desk and spoke to the rather decorative young lady who was waiting for her. "Susie, would you ring Smithson's, and arrange a meeting for eleven tomorrow, so that we can go over the presentation with them. Then could you send the artwork to the printers and tell them that we want a dozen copies of the preliminaries here, on my desk, by ten thirty. When you've done that you can go."

"Yes Miss Blanchette, I mean Mrs. Feldham." She gathered up the papers and left the office.

"That's that, are you ready Darling?"

"Where are we going?"

"I thought we could try that new South American restaurant that I've read so much about."

James Craigmore had Roman numerals after his name and acted like it. "So pleased to meet you," he held out the dead fish on the end of his arm and I shook it with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. "Melissa has told me so much about you and I feel that I know you already." He sleazed around behind Melissa's chair and slid it under her so that she could sit down.

From this description you might have guessed that I have formed an instant dislike to James Craigmore the whatever, and you would be correct, he made my flesh crawl with his pretentious manners. 

We ordered our pre-dinner drinks from a waiter who graduated magna cum laude from the obsequious school of waiting. It was almost as if he was doing us a favor by recommending the most expensive drinks on the list. I couldn't wait for the wine service. James ordered the wine for us, assuring us that his choice would be to everyone's taste. The Sommelier arrived with a bottle that seemed to have been left in the dustiest corner of the cellar. He made a great show of dusting the label and showing James who nodded his head as if he was bidding at an auction, if I hadn't expected it I wouldn't have noticed it.

From his waistcoat pocket the waiter drew an implement that I have since learned was called a 'waiter's friend'. Opening the blade he cut the foil capsule at the top of the neck, and then he opened the corkscrew part and deftly removed the cork. When presented with the cork I expected James just to put it in his pocket as a souvenir but instead he looked at it closely and sniffed it.

The waiter splashed a small amount of the red wine into a tasting spoon and sipped it before pouring some into James's glass. James held it up to the light, swirled it around, sniffed it, picked up the menu and held it behind the glass, sniffed it again and sipped a small amount which he swirled around his mouth before declaring it, with a rapturous expression on his face, to be almost perfect.

"I think it needs a little air, if you'll allow it to breathe for about thirty minutes and then bring it back I'll be most pleased."

"Very good Sir." He oiled off to attend to other patrons' needs. Thirty minutes later, almost to the second, the waiter proceeded to pour some of the wine into all of our glasses. "This is arguably one of the best wines ever produced." James said knowledgably, "The Mouton has always been excellent and this year was no exception."

I looked at the label expecting to see 1988 but to my surprise it had 1975. "You don't think that this is a little old do you?" Melissa kicked me under the table. "Just joking." We all smiled, some of us genuinely. I sipped the wine and wondered what the fuss was about. I guess that my palate just didn't have the necessary sophistication, yet. 

The food waiter arrived to take our orders. For the first time I looked closely at the menu. My investments will have to be very profitable to meet the bill for this meal. I ordered a steak, rare, with a sauce based on peppers and brandy. Melissa ordered steak au poivre, medium rare and James, "Whip off its horns wipe its arse and chuck it on the plate, if it doesn't moo when I cut it, it's too well done, ha ha!"

"Very good sir." This waiter must have been trained in the same school as the wine waiter because he oiled off to get the meals.

The rest of the meal followed along the same lines with James trying hard to impress me and, I thought, Melissa. I decided that if he kept this up much longer he wouldn't get any of my business. I don't care how rich he was, and how naive I was when it came to the finer points of life, I have never like being the victim of condescension.

I said as much to Melissa when we eventually got home. "But Darling he is the best in his field."

"I don't care if he can walk on water, I do not appreciate being treated like that."

"Does it matter? As long as he does his job, does it matter how he treats you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it does. How would you like it if I talked down to people who don't have my knowledge of literature? I do not like 'superior' people and I do not like people who think that they are superior to me. I am a human being the same as everyone else, and like everyone else I have feelings."

"Of course you do Darling, but in business a 'superior' person gets the business while the quiet person starves."

Here ended our first disagreement. The next day, by way of apology, I received a phone call from James who suggested that we meet for drinks and to discuss business. I said 'yes' even though I was tempted to decline the offer, but in deference to Melissa I accepted.

The bar that James had chosen was not one that I would normally have frequented. It was smoke filled, which I hated, dark, which I didn't mind so much, and there were waitresses all of whom wore nothing but a fixed smile and a minuscule G-string, not so much for modesty purposes but to provide patrons with somewhere relatively hygienic to place their tip, usually in the form of large denomination bank notes.

James seemed to be one of the regulars at this establishment, "Hi Honey, can I get you anything?" She was blonde, slim, her tan probably fake as were her breasts. Her line of patter probably learnt at a school for topless waitresses because it showed about as much imagination as someone of her status in life could handle.

"I'll have the usual, Jason what will you have?"

"A scotch will be fine."

"Got that?"

"Got it." She tottered off in her ridiculously high heels that made her legs look as if they finished just under her armpits.

In the time that it took to get our drinks I was treated to the same intelligent line of patter from two other blondes with long legs and large breasts. In the dim lighting the only way that I could be sure which blonde was which was by the color of the sequins on her G-string.

When our drinks arrived and I was treated to a close up view of a pair of breasts that couldn't, I thought on closer inspection, have been natural, James got down to business. "Melissa tells me that you have a large amount of money sitting in a bank account and earning standard bank interest."

"Yes. I didn't know what else I could do with it and no-one that I've asked could tell me. I thought that it is better to have it in a safe place than to run the risk of losing it that is why I haven't thought of using a stockbroker."

"The stock market isn't the only method of investing money. There are better returns to be had by venturing into some of the more risky forms of investment."

"Such as?"

"Well you could invest in a Broadway production."

"What if it flops?"

"Then you take out insurance against that eventuality and let the underwriter take the fall."

"That doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"That's what they're about. They take the risks for you, they charge you a premium that you won't notice if it is a hit and if it isn't they pay out."

"Then why don't they invest in the productions themselves and cut out the other investors?"

"That would take all the fun out of the process."

"What other forms of investments are there?"

"Commodities."

"Like pork bellies. What the hell are pork bellies and why are they always appearing in the commodities reports?"

"Pork bellies are just one form of commodity investment. I don't really know what they are, I think it has something to do with bacon, but I'm not sure. Commodities are basically the goods that people want and can't produce themselves so they have to buy them from someone who can. The commodities market works on a supply and demand basis, the lower the supply and higher the demand the higher the price for that commodity. Take diamonds for instance, here you have a product that is almost indestructible, so you'd think that once all the people who wanted diamonds had enough of them the market would dry up. Not so. Almost all of the world's diamonds are marketed through the one clearing house and that is controlled by the De Beers Company, now they have the market cornered and can regulate the flow of diamonds so that they will always get the optimum price for them."

"What would happen if everyone stopped buying diamonds, wouldn't the price have to come down?"

"When you and Melissa went shopping for her engagement ring what stones did you look at?"

"Diamonds of course."

"I rest my case. There are other commodities that are in high demand, where the risk is higher but the returns are even greater."

"Such as?"

"Drugs. By financing the importation of cocaine from Colombia you could make three, possibly four times the profit in a much shorter time."

"But what happens if you are caught?"

"The investor never gets caught. The money is invested through an organization that is already set up to bring the stuff in, they make dozens of trips each year and the DEA will probably, if they are lucky, intercept one. When they do it is the couriers that get caught and they are paid extremely well to take the fall."

"I hope that you haven't thought of using my money to finance this type of operation." It wasn't a question but a statement.

"It was just an illustration of the sort of money that can be made if you invest in the right areas."

"Let me think about this." I was just about to tell him that I wasn't interested in anything that was even marginally illegal when one of the waitresses came over to take our drink orders. James ordered another couple of whiskies and she teetered off to fetch them. "Why do you come here? I wouldn't have thought that this would be your style."

"This is a good place to do business, most of the more astute players come here to carry out their transactions because it is one of the most private public places around town."

The waitress returned and James slipped the customary large note into her G-string while she was bent over me. It was difficult to concentrate beyond the flesh that was hanging not more than a couple of inches from my face. James patted her gently on the backside as she stood up to face him. They kissed affectionately and he whispered something about seeing her later. She smiled her agreement and walked away with an expression on her face that was something like the cat that had gotten the canary.

"If you would like me to handle your investments for you I can guarantee that you will treble you money in less than six months with no risk to yourself."

"I suppose I could. It would mean that I don't have to work as hard as I am now and Melissa and I could take time off to have a family and go on the odd vacation. Now can I be sure that the money is not used for anything illegal? That is my only stipulation."

"Leave everything to me. You don't have to know what the money is used for, I'll give you an accounting at the end of each month to let you know how much your investment has earned, and you can leave the rest up to me."





CHAPTER 3

"How much money have you raised?" The voice rasped its way through the cloud of cigar smoke and found its way to the opposite side of the desk where James sat.

"I have two million from my usual sources, five million from a government source and I am expecting a further one million from a new source."

"And all of this money is clean?"

"So clean it squeaks, well at least I can vouch for the private investors. No it's all kosher."

"Good, with what my friends and I have we have an investment capital of ten million. That will be enough for the next shipment, once we have that sold we can look to making a huge killing. What we have planned is to import enough cocaine into the country to last for at least a year, possibly longer. When we have it safely in cold storage we will then allow the DEA to find our opposition. Within a year or two we will be in a position of the sole supplier of cocaine in North America and when we have the market cornered we can dictate prices as never before, we will soon be wealthy beyond our wildest dreams."

I transferred a million dollars from my account to James and within a month I received a statement from him stating that this money had grown by a hundred thousand. I should have known that this wasn't possible through legal channels but I had other things on my mind.

A phone call from my agent Felix changed my immediate plans. "Jason I have good news for you."

"Tell me."

"You know 'Murder in the First', well Hollywood wants it. I've arranged for you to fly out to LA tomorrow to talk over the finer points and sign the contract. I've done all the ground work for you, the rest is a piece of cake."

"I don't know about that. Just about every book that I've read that has been turned into a movie had been bastardized beyond recognition."

Melissa and I decided that we could use a vacation so we both flew out to the coast. It was very confusing watching the screen writer hacking a perfectly good novel to pieces to produce a movie that bore little resemblance to the original, apart from the title.

We attended several industry parties where I was feted as the latest star of the movie industry. I got the impression that as soon as my back was turned I would be forgotten, but I was enjoying it while it lasted.

Melissa was also enjoying herself. By night she was my ever present wife, basking vicariously in my glory and by day she worked Rodeo Drive for all it was worth.

The studio had put us up in the Beverley Hills Hotel and Melissa soon became a familiar sight arriving back from one of her shopping adventures in this huge limousine that the studio had laid on for our convenience.

We were there for four weeks and I was hoping that James had increased my money by the same amount just to cover what Melissa had spent. I didn't discuss the question of money or how much she had spent until we had returned to New York and the credit card statement had arrived. "Darling, you seemed to have spent an awful lot of money while we were in Hollywood but our credit card doesn't reflect that amount."

"I didn't use our account silly. I used some funny money that I had set aside for the possibility of ever having the opportunity to splurge out there. I have had no trouble covering all that I have spent."

"That's a relief. I thought that I was going to have to prostitute my art to pay for it."

"I gather from that you don't like what they have done to your book."

"They have paid me over a million for virtually nothing more than the title. My hero was a normal person trying to survive as a policeman and not succeeding very well. They have turned him into some gun blazing, walk on water superhero. He gets blown away several times, beaten up at least once, survives several high speed car crashes and walks away without a scratch with this gorgeous blond on his arm. What could be further from the original? In my book the hero spends several days in hospital after one beating, doesn't even get to fire a gun let alone survive getting shot up, can't drive to save himself and his wife is leaving him for someone else. At the end of the book, apart from arresting the villains, he is nothing more than a sad and lonely man. I have tried to put as much realism as possible into my work. I hate what they have done to it."

I picked up the phone and rang my agent. "Felix, before you go off arranging to sell the movie rights to any more of my books I want one thing made very clear and that is I have final approval on any changes that are made to the original."

The voice at the other end of the line told me that I was committing artistic suicide with my demands and that none of the studios would go for it.

"I don't care. I have no respect for what they have done to my work. I would much rather commit artistic suicide than prostitute my art for a quick buck. If they want my work badly enough they will meet my terms, if not, so be it."

"I am your agent, you pay me quite handsomely to make the right decisions for you. I am telling you that Hollywood won't buy it."

"I don't care. I don't need the money that badly."

"It's you funeral."

I hung up. "What was that all about?" Melissa had just come back into the room.

"I was just telling Felix that I wanted final approval for any changes that are made to my work in future and he has just finished telling me that Hollywood wouldn't be interested on those terms."

"Do you think that you're doing the right thing, after all he is your agent and is supposed to know what's best?"

"That much he keeps telling me. No, I think I've done the right thing. We'll see what happens."

What happened was that I had to take a crash course in script writing because six months after that trip west I was again contacted through Felix with another offer to buy the movie rights for one of my books. It seems that despite the changes to the original of my first, the movie was a success and the studio was willing to meet any demands that I made just to secure the rights for more.

This time Melissa didn't come out to the coast with me. I found that working in the close confines of the room that the studio had set aside for me was better than trying to function out of the hotel. At the hotel I was forever receiving phone calls from the media trying to arrange interviews and attendance on TV chat shows. It took me a while to realize that this was all a part of the studio publicity machine.

I would have preferred to have stayed in my hotel room at night but they wanted me seen around the most fashionable watering holes, usually with some publicity hungry 'star' on my arm. Every night before I went out to one of these events I spoke to Melissa by phone. "You should be here, and then I wouldn't have to squire these shallow women around to these functions. I would love for you to come out, can't you get away from work for a couple of days?"

"Sorry Darling, we're in the middle of a very important campaign right now. Look, if I can arrange it how about the week after next?"




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral)



"Great! Look Darling I've got to dash. I'll speak to you tomorrow, love you and I miss you."

"I miss you too. 'Bye Darling."

The phone rang as soon as I had put it back on the receiver. It was the receptionist, "Your limo is waiting for you."

I walked through the foyer of the hotel still doing up my bow tie, to the waiting limousine. I couldn't wait to see who the studio had lined up for me this evening and this statement should be read with the appropriate amount of sarcasm.

The driver held the door open for me and as I slid inside I caught the smell of her perfume. She was blonde. She was stunning, at least in the dim light of the rear of the limo, and her voice was like, how can you describe a voice like that, like honey from the refrigerator, it was deep, throaty and oozed sexuality. I recognized her from the movie posters as Sendi Soren.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you. I have read all of your books and have wondered what you could be like, now. Was all of this just from your imagination or have you experienced it all yourself?"

"All of what?"

"What your heroes go through, all of it."

"If you mean the violence and the hard work, that is mostly from my vivid imagination. If you mean the sexual side of the story, in the beginning I drew from my imagination but lately that has been enhanced by personal experience."

"So you don't go around beating up on women?" She almost sounded disappointed.

"I most definitely do not! I would never hit a woman. In fact I would have problems getting up the courage to hit a man."

"Oh, that's fine." She moved across to my side of the car and leaned against me. "I want to be in the movie that you are writing now. I have read the book and seen some of the script and I think that it will be right for me to do this, career wise that is."

"And you want to see if I can use my influence on the studio when they are casting for it?"

"Of course I don't! I want to be able to get the part on my merits, not because I have been seen around with the author." Sincerity is a funny thing, it is extremely hard to fake and even the best actors have a problem appearing sincere on the screen. This one was either a very good actor or she was actually sincere.

She chuckled, "Actually the studio has promised me the female lead without me having to audition. I guess that I've made it when that happens."

"I would have thought that you didn't have to audition for any role these days."

"Sometimes I get the impression that producers put you through the pain and suffering of a cattle call just to assert their superiority."

"What about the 'A' list. Do the stars on that have to go through all of that?"

"Only if they want a part that they haven't been considered for, or else when several 'A' List players are going for the same part. In my case the studio has already made the decision."

The party that we went to was one of the usual industry bashes, full of 'darlings' and 'sweetys' coming from both sides of the sexual spectrum and directed at both sides. I found it un-nerving and if it wasn't for my partner for the evening and the studio expectations I would have slid out of there within half an hour of arriving.

Sendi stayed close by me all night, every time there was a camera in the vicinity she was there, hanging off my arm and looking longingly into my eyes. I was confused, I didn't know whether this show was for real and she really did like me or whether it was for the benefit of the clamoring media.

What I did know was that Melissa would probably see the pictures in the papers the next day. I would have to ring her first thing in the morning.

First thing in the morning, last thing at night. Time was a blur. Who knew which was which in this crazy place? After the party, Sendi suggested that we go to a night club that all of the right people frequented. "How can we get in, you have to be a member to get in and I'm not."

"They'll let us in."

They did. Sendi was a member and we walked past the line of 'wannabe's' waiting outside, through the rope that was held open by this huge man, and straight inside. "Isn't that Sendi Soren? Who's that she's with?" These were the questions that ran up and down the line. Everyone knew the answer to the first question but no-one knew the answer to the second. They would just have to wait until the tabloids came out in the morning.

We spent at least two hours there, drinking extremely expensive drinks and chatting to the famous and not so famous that stopped by our table. I was being introduced around the town as Sendi's latest conquest and I didn't have the energy to contradict that impression. All that I wanted to do was to get back to the hotel and get some sleep, I was bushed.

Bushed or not I didn't make it back to the hotel that night. After the night club we ended up at Sendi's apartment where we chatted for some time about all sorts of things. Even if I had wanted to get back to the hotel I wouldn't have been able to. Sendi had sent the limo away and even I knew enough to know that one doesn't call for a cab in this town unless he wanted the world to know where he had been.

The conversation was easy and relaxing. I almost fell asleep on several occasions but managed to stay awake so as not to disappoint her. I even got the feeling that she, at some time would have liked to have gone to bed, my feeling was that she wouldn't have objected to me accompanying her.

It was after nine in the morning when I left her apartment building only to be confronted by the assembled mass of Hollywood photographers, all trying to outdo each other and get the most incriminating shot of me. I didn't try to shield my identity after all I had done nothing to be ashamed of. I had just spent a considerable amount of time in the presence of one of the most beautiful stars around the place, the last four or five hours in her house, but I had done nothing wrong.

Actually I had done something wrong. I had opened the door to the gossip mongers to grab an innocent visit and turn it into a media circus. The fact that I was tired and a little disheveled added fuel to the gossip. When I eventually saw the shots even I had to admit that it looked as if I had been playing horizontal calisthenics with Sendi.

"Darling, I thought that I should ring you and explain that there will be some pictures of me in the tabloids with a lady by the name of Sendi Soren hanging off my arm and my every word. It isn't as it seems. I don't know whether it was the studio or her agent or both that arranged the media circus but all the media seemed to be there. I took her back to her apartment and, I swear that nothing happened, but it was several hours before I left and what must have been every camera and every photographer in the world was waiting outside for me to leave. I have the distinct feeling that I've been set up."

"I believe you. Don't worry, if anyone asks, you did it because publicity is part of your contract with the studio."

"Thank you for that. I'm lucky to be married to the most beautiful and understanding woman in the world."

"And I'm lucky to be married to the most honest man in the world. I love you Darling."

"I love you too. I must rush. Have you given any thought to coming out here next week?"

"Yes I have but I don't think that I can make it. I'll keep trying though. 'Bye Darling."

As I got into the limo to go to the studio the driver turned to me, "Had a good time last night did we?"

"Not as good as the press would have us all believe."

"What does your wife think of this?"

"She's comfortable with it. I spoke to her about half an hour ago and she understands the machinations of the Hollywood studios."

"By the way the studio asked if I could call by Miss Soren's apartment and bring her to the studio. Is that alright by you?"

I got the feeling that I had no say in the matter. "Do I have any say in this arrangement?"

"Not a lot, no."

"Then swing by. I won't be at all surprised if the paparazzi aren't laying in wait for us, especially since the studio is behind this." I made a mental note to hire a publicist to take care of the media.

I was right. The paparazzi were there and Sendi wasn't ready so we had to hang around outside waiting for her. When she did make an appearance it was in a dress that defied gravity and was barely decent. Of course when she bent down to get into the limo she was positively indecent. Also of course the paparazzi had positioned themselves to take advantage of the exposed flesh.

"Good morning Lover."

"Thanks a lot for that." I was, by this time, very angry at the whole episode.

"Don't be angry Darling. This is all a publicity stunt. At least that's the official version." I could see the smirk on the driver's face in the rear vision mirror. "Unofficially I think you are wonderful and I wouldn't be at all surprised if I'm falling in love with you, again."

The driver's smirk got even bigger. "Don't. I'm a happily married man and the last thing that I will do is anything that would compromise that relationship."

"I understand. Look Darling, it is my fate to always fall for the wrong man. If he isn't happily married like you he is a total bastard who only wants to beat hell out of me if another man so much as looks at me." There was a note of sadness in her voice, obviously she was talking from experience. I could never understand how a man could beat a woman.

"At least I won't beat you. I have to tell you that I spoke to my wife this morning and she is trying to get away from work and come over next week."

"That at least gives me a little time to dream, doesn't it?"

I didn't like the direction that this was heading. "I think that I'll have to speak to the publicity folks at the studio and see if there isn't a less painful method of gaining publicity."

"It won't do you any good. Look, they couldn't care less about our reputations as long as the movie gets as much publicity mileage as possible. Sad as it is, it won't do my career any harm to be seen as being an easy touch for any publicity hungry male, or female for that matter."

"You don't care about how this affects your reputation?"

"What reputation? Reputations are built on this stuff."

"What about your family? What must your mother and father think of all this?"

"My family are not in any position to think about this. My father and mother are both dead. He came home one day and found her in bed with another man so he shot them both and turned the gun on himself." 

"He shouldn't have been too surprised at that particular discovery, you see they were both hippies and free love was part of the hippy ethos. I got the impression that after the movement died my father's acceptance of mother's lovers died with it. She had many and he had few. He handled the situation badly and they were forever fighting over it. I guess he finally snapped."

"My family no longer exists. Oh I have a brother, but he couldn't handle what happened as well as I could. The last that I heard of him he was making yet another attempt to get off heroin."

"I'm sorry." I was, genuinely. I put my arm around her shoulder and she nestled against me. "By the way, what did you mean, way back when you first got in the car, by that comment about falling in love with me again? Have we met somewhere before?"

"I didn't think you'd remember. I have something to show you." She rummaged in her purse extracting a small note book. "I have been carrying this around for almost forever. I use it to remind me of a time in the past when I was happy. It has helped me at times."

She opened the note book at a dog-eared page and asked me to read a poem that she had written.

Tweed,

Corduroy,

Leather,

My love is all of these.

Rainy afternoons,

Warm summer days,

Cold winter nights,

My love is all of these.

Reading together,

Walking in the moonlight,

Silence, contemplation,

My love is all of these.

Being with you,

Listening to you,

Understanding your needs,

My love is all of these.

Dreams of you,

Dreams of me,

Dreams of us,

My love is all of these.

"It's crap I know, but I had to write something to express my feelings. I was in college and you were tutoring me in English. Does the name Serendipity Sorenson mean anything to you?" Distant memories were surfacing like a breaching whale, memories of us laughing at the absurdity of that name. Memories of her body once she had removed that huge thing that she wore. Memories of what almost happened.

"You remember that afternoon in your room when we ended up naked on your bed?"

"Yes. I had dreams for years after that about what might have been."

"I'm glad you did because I must have been having the same dreams. I wrote that to remind me of the purity of our relationship. I was desperately in love with you before that afternoon and even more desperately in love with you after that. Can you imagine what I was going through? I was rebelling against my parents' morals or lack of them, and my rebellion told me that I shouldn't be even thinking the thoughts that were going through my mind at the time, while at the same time my body was craving yours. What I imagined us doing to each other shocked me. Reality is a lot different."

"But you look nothing like the person that I almost lost my virginity to. I recall that you had long curly brown hair and wore these incredibly thick glasses."

"It's all down to the wonders of modern science, and in particular hair chemicals and contact lenses."

"I'm glad to see that you haven't seen the need to tamper with your body. It has the same shape that I remember."

"I wouldn't say that I haven't tampered with it. When you consider my life style I have to work hard to maintain this shape. What you see here is the result of a great deal of diet and exercise, but definitely no silicon."

Sendi was still nestled against me when the limo stopped at the studio gates for yet another round of publicity shots. I wondered just how many photographers there were in Hollywood. It was then that I realized that studio limos drove slowly for a reason, to allow the paparazzi a chance to be at the destination in time for more shots.

That night Sendi spent in my suite at the hotel. It was a purely platonic experience, but only just, we sat around and talked for several more hours. 

"Do you remember this morning when I told you about what was going through my mind at college?"

"Yes. How could I forget?"

"Well my mind has resumed where it left off all that time ago."

"Don't even think about it. I can't and won't compromise my marriage."

"Don't worry Darling. I suppressed those thoughts then and I can do it again now. Just the slightest hint of an opportunity to realize my ambitions and I will be there with bells on."

She was there when I rang Melissa and she kept quiet through the entire conversation as I again re-assured her that it was all a publicity stunt cooked up by the studio. 

"Look Darling I think that I might just be able to get away for a couple of days next week. I'll let you know tomorrow."

"That's great I look forward to speaking to you. 'Bye Darling." I hung up with a very pleased expression on my face.

"Don't tell me, let me guess, Melissa is going to come out next week."

"It looks very much like it. I'll know tomorrow."

"I won't hide the fact that I'm envious of the hold that she has on you. I wish that I could find a man that would love and respect me the way that you love your wife."

"I'm sure that the right man is out there somewhere, you'll just have to keep looking."

"It doesn't matter how hard I look I always end up with the wrong one."

"I find that hard to believe. You are beautiful, talented, intelligent and have a great personality, if I wasn't a happily married man you wouldn't be able to get rid of me."

"Thank you for that. If ever I find myself down and in need of reassurance I'll give you a call."

"Do that. I find talking to you one of the most pleasant experiences I have ever had."

"Sex with me would be even better." She saw the look on my face. "I'm sorry about that, I guess that I am just feeling like a frustrated old spinster at the moment."

"That's something that you'll never be."

In the early hours of the morning she made her discreet departure from the hotel and we somehow managed to maintain that discretion for the rest of the time until Melissa arrived in Hollywood.

I introduced Sendi to Melissa and they had a long chat, mostly about me. We arranged to have dinner together that evening. "You know that she's in love with you don't you?" Melissa asked after Sendi had left.

"I had the feeling that she could be, but we have an agreement, I'll go along with the publicity bullshit as long as she doesn't fall in love or suggest as much to the media."

That evening the meal that we hoped would scotch all the rumors about me and Sendi backfired on us. We were accused, by innuendo, of having a sexual orgy in the hotel, the three of us together. I don't know where they could have got the idea that this had happened but it was one of the hottest items of gossip around the studio the next day. I smelt the distinct aroma of studio intervention in this.

It was a pleasant meal, free from all pretence and pretension. We dined in one of the more exclusive restaurants, in full view of everyone, telling the world that we had nothing to hide, but still they got the wrong impression. We all ate sparingly and drank in moderation, nothing there for the media. 

Sandi's fame ensured that there was a steady stream of people stopping for a chat and photo opportunity. She was the gracious hostess entertaining friends from the Big Apple. If it hadn't been for the other photos that had appeared in the press and the vision on the TV news broadcasts we would have succeeded.

After dinner we went back to the hotel, the driver dropped us off outside and took Sendi back to her apartment. Nothing could have been more innocent, or so we thought.

The story that appeared in the tabloid media was that we had all arrived back at the hotel at around midnight, true enough, and that Sendi had gone up to our room with us and stayed until six in the morning. This part was far from the truth. A wise person once said 'never let the truth get in the way of a good story'. 

There was also a photograph that purported to show her leaving the hotel in a rather disheveled condition. It was left to the vivid imaginations of the viewers and readers to make up their own minds. In the way of all things in this part of the world, the worst scenario was accepted as the truth. I couldn't win.

At the studio the next day I asked Sendi how the photograph had happened to be in the press. "Simple. The dress that I wore was one that I used in my last film and the studio gave it to me. Some of the film was shot outside the Beverley Hills hotel and that looked very much like one of the publicity stills from the movie."

I couldn't see any reason to disbelieve her so I let it go at that.

Because of what had happened Melissa didn't see Sendi again before her return to New York. I saw her again of course, we got together several times, discreetly of course, to talk and support each other.

I felt sad and somewhat hollow as I said my good-byes to her at the end of my stay. I didn't think that I would ever see her again, for all that I knew she would be happily married and raising a family by the time that I went to Hollywood again.

We both promised to write and I, at least had every intention of doing that just as I was sure that Sendi would.



Chapter 4

"Darling," Melissa and I were seated on the sofa watching some talk show on the television. "What would you say if I was to suggest that we should start a family?"




Fashionably Late (For My Funeral)



I had only been back from the West coast for one day and Melissa's welcome was, to say the least, very warm indeed. I can remember thinking that my closeness to Sendi might have something to do with it. What better way to tell a suspected rival for your man's affections that you have a permanent hold on him than to announce publicly that you are having a baby.

We threw away the current packet of condoms that night. Sex without the raincoat was an even better experience than I had imagined, up until then I had to imagine this feeling of course, after all I had no firsthand experience to fall back on.

Life returned to normal, or should I say that a new normality took over. No longer did we attend the usual haunts, choosing only those public appearances that were important for either or both of our careers. I bumped into James at a number of these. "How is my money holding up?"

"You are an extremely wealthy man these days."

"I may need to get my hands on some of it in the not too distant future."

"Why? I thought that I was to be given total control of your finances."

"I may need to invest in some real estate out of the city."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Mel and I have decided that we can't stay in New York forever. If we think about having a family we don't want to bring up our children here."

"She's not pregnant is she?" I thought later that his interest could have been more than financial but rejected the idea as ridiculous.

"No she isn't, at least not yet."

"But you are thinking about it?"

"We are thinking about it and we'll let you know what the results of our deliberations are."

Melissa and I continued to try for a family. I somehow had the feeling that it wasn't to be, after all we took no steps to prevent it and we made love on every conceivable occasion, and that pun comes to you courtesy of an old English radio comedy series called the Goon Show that I had heard some years ago in college.

I was researching a new novel and was down at the 5th precinct when I overheard a conversation between two detectives that made me sit up and take notice. 

Both of them fitted neatly into the public perception of undercover drug squad members, long hair, ear and nose rings, scruffy clothes and the gaunt expression of the habitual user. "It seems as if there is some 'respectable' money being used to bring crack cocaine into this country." The more senior appearing person seemed to be thinking aloud.

"What do you mean?" The junior partner answered aloud.

"We have been keeping tabs on the usual bankers and they haven't been able to use their own money, so where is it coming from?"

"Who do you have in mind?"

"If I knew that I would have moved on it by now. I don't know but the money isn't coming from the normal sources and someone is doing a good job of laundering it."

"So what makes you think that it is, to use your words 'respectable'?"

"Think about it, the stock market is hardly buoyant at the moment and the profits from legitimate investment are not what they used to be. In the city there are several investors who seem to have a lot of money to throw around, so where is it coming from?"

"There must be other profitable forms of investment, the horses for instance."

"Sure, have you ever seen a wealthy punter? Bookie yes, punter no. Even the bookies don't seem to have much money these days."

"So what do we do about it?"

"We start probing. The first place I want to check out is a bar downtown that is run by Guido Costanzo, one of the usual importers. Maybe we'll get lucky and recognize some familiar faces there."

"If it's the one that I think you mean I doubt if you'll be able to see faces let alone recognize any. No-one looks at faces there."

It was all that I could do to stay calm. My mind went back to my first solo meeting with James at what could be that very same bar. Questions flashed through my mind, 'Could James be involved in the importation of drugs? Could he be using my money to finance this traffic? What would happen if he was found out, would his assets and my money be confiscated? What would become of my plans for the future? If I was one of the so called legitimate investors how many others were there and who were they? An operation of this magnitude would have to have some sort of protection, what form would that take? If James had invested a sizeable chunk of my capital and there were other investors, palms had to have been greased but whose?' There were so many questions with so few answers. I resolved to take matters into my own hands and find the answers.

Nothing happened for a week, I kept my ears open down at the precinct hoping to pick up some information that would either confirm or deny my worst thoughts. I let it be known that my next book would look at the drug trade and expressed the desire to go on one of their raids. This suggestion was strongly denied by all of the hierarchy from the janitor to the station commander as being too dangerous.

Drug raids were being carried out in increasing numbers but those arrested tended to be small time and from small networks. I got the impression that there was some method in what was happening. If I had been involved in these sort of operations and I wanted to control the market I would ensure that my competitors were either eliminated or they became too dangerous for the user to deal with.

I mentioned as much to Ruiz. "I haven't given it much thought because it isn't in my area but if what you say is true this has to be controlled from somewhere and by someone with some sort of authority. I'll ask a few questions and get back to you with the answer."

That was on the Tuesday. On Wednesday Ruiz called me at home. "You were right. The arrests are all small time operators. One of the larger players in the field hasn't been touched and he is my bet to be behind any large scale importation of cocaine. When I started to ask questions I was taken aside and told in no uncertain manner to keep well away from this. From this I have concluded that the operation has the highest of high protection."

Felix rang on the Thursday to tell me that the studio wanted me to come out the next week to start work on a new screenplay. "But they haven't bought any more of my books have they?"

"No. They are so impressed with your work on your last book that they want you to work on other authors' books. That is some kind of compliment."

Melissa had just come out of the bedroom, "Who is that Darling?"

"Felix," I said holding my hand over the mouthpiece, "It seems that the studio wants me to fly out next week to start work on a new screenplay."

"Are you going?"

"It's too good an opportunity to turn down. I shouldn't be too long on this project and I'll see if I can wangle weekend return trips. They are offering obscene amounts of money."

"That would be nice." The tone of her voice suggested that, in her mind it was far from nice. She went into the kitchen to put on some coffee.

"All right Felix I'll do it on certain conditions."

"I heard." So much for the theory of putting your hand over the mouthpiece in an effort to stop anyone at the other end hearing what you say. "I'll see what I can do for you, if they agree can you be on the plane first thing Monday morning?"

"That depends on what you call first thing."

"Six o'clock."

"You'll have to ring me around four to remind me."

"The things that I agree to do for you. All right I'll do it, at great inconvenience on my part I'll have you know. I'll get back to you and let you know what is happening."

The rest of Thursday, then on Friday, Saturday and Sunday Melissa and I never ventured from our apartment, much of the time was spent in the bedroom and that time that we spent in other rooms was spent on the pursuit of a family.

Four o'bloody clock on Monday morning the phone shattered a promising plot development that had been rattling around in my head for an hour or so. "Hello."

"Rise and shine! It's time for you to get your ass out of bed and head for the airport."

"How can you sound so cheerful at this hour?"

"Because I am just getting home and I am looking forward to spending the next ten hours in my lovely warm bed, some of it sleeping and some of it with a new client."

"Who is she?"

I heard him mumble through his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone "What's your name?" Her name is Desiree and she is an entertainer."

"Then I hope that she can keep you entertained. I'll see you when I get back."

Later that day, but actually earlier LA time, I got a phone call from Sendi, "How long were you going to be in town before you rang me?"

"I have only just got in and I've got to spend the whole day in script conferences at the studio, my bag is sitting unopened on my bed. I was just about to ring to see if we could have dinner tonight."

"If you had rung my number my service would have had to take a message because I'm not at home."

"Where are you?" 

"I'm downstairs, in reception."

"Come up."

She came up and greeted me warmly as she entered the suite. "How's Melissa?"

"She's fine. We are trying for a family you know."

"I guessed as much."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, if I was your wife, and I wish, and I came out here and found that you were very friendly with some floozy, I would stake my claim by starting a family. How soon after you got back to New York did you decide that it was time for a family?"

"We started straight away." So it appeared that my thoughts were right. "Melissa knows that I wouldn't cheat on her with you or anyone else. By the way, I don't look on you as a floozy."

"Thank you for that. She might tell you that but inside she will be a seething mass of jealousy. You had better ring her and reassure her."

I rang our number and got the answering machine, where could she be?

"Listen Sendi, I want you to do something for me."

"For you I'll do anything. What is it?"

"I'll give you some money and I want you to buy a house for me."

"You're not thinking about moving out here are you?"

"No. I'm looking for something out of New York, something in some remote and rugged coastal village in Maine or Rhode Island, or even Connecticut."

"I know just the place. I actually come from that part of the world and I know of a little village in Maine that would be just perfect. It has a superb coastline and in the winter there is nothing more exhilarating than strolling along the beach during a violent storm, all wind and spray, it's an amazing experience."

"That really sounds great. Now can you buy property there?"

"Yes."

"What I want you to do is to buy something in your name, I'll give you the money whatever it costs. The story is that you are looking for somewhere that you can use to find yourself after your hectic schedule in Hollywood. Somewhere that you can just sit around doing not a lot, or you can go for walks along the beach during a storm, just to recharge your batteries."

"I have a proposition for you. I'll go halves on the property. It will be our place where we can go, individually or together to recharge our batteries from our hectic schedules."

"I don't think that we can count on the together part of that scenario."

"I can dream can't I?"

"Are you still trying to tell me that you want to be with me?"

"What's so wrong with that idea? You may not realize this, but if it wasn't for a certain beautiful woman by the name of Melissa, you wouldn't be able to get away from me."

(Wow! What have I done to deserve this? I have a gorgeous wife and now, it would seem, I have another gorgeous woman telling me that she wants me.)

"I suppose that we can arrange it that way. I'll look for a lawyer who can draw up some sort of a contract so that everything is legal and above board in this partnership."

"That won't be necessary, I trust you."

Just the same, the next day I visited a lawyer and got him to draw up a partnership agreement on the basis of a joint real property venture and when Sendi came over that night she reluctantly signed it. My second appointment that day was at a medical clinic. "How can I help you?" The receptionist looked as if she was between roles, all blonde hair, tanned skin, breasts and teeth.

"Yes. I would like to see a doctor?"

"Do you have an appointment?" She knew that I didn't.

"No."

"May I have your name please?"

"Jason Feldham."

"Mr. Feldham, not the author Feldham?"

"Yes."

"Wow!" I didn't know if she was genuinely interested or if it was part of standard procedure with organizations such as this in Hollywood to express surprise when someone of note came to the clinic. "What is the nature of your complaint?"

"It is personal, man's business."

"No need to be shy here, we can keep secrets." I doubted that statement but let it slide. "You want an appointment with one of our Urologists. Let me see, Dr Burton can see you immediately. Is that convenient?"

"That will be fine." I got the impression that this clinic had doctors available for just such emergencies. 

(Why is it that Beverley Hills doctors all look alike, handsome, perfect teeth that they flashed at every opportunity, and a manner that was about as genuine as that of most of their patients?)

"I would like to have a sperm count done. My wife and I have been trying for ages now to have a baby and nothing is happening."

"Are you sure that it is you and not her that is the problem?"

"No I'm not. I thought that if I had a sperm count done and there was nothing wrong then that is one problem eliminated."

"That is a little unusual, but very well. I want you to go into that cubicle and ejaculate into this container. When you have done that seal it and leave it with the nurse. I'll have the results for you tomorrow. If you need them there are aids available for you in the cubicle to help you with the process."

The cubicle contained a pile of magazines the like of which I have never seen before, my education is sadly lacking, a VCR and a pile of video tapes that I assumed were never to appear in the local cinema.

I did my thing and left.

The next day brought me some good news and some bad news. I'll begin with the good news. "Darling," Sendi had begun calling me that in private as well as on those occasions decreed by the studio to be right for such displays of affection. "I have arranged it all!"

"You didn't waste any time did you?"

"Well I had a break in my shooting schedule today so I made a few phone calls. I have bought a small house on the coast about an hour's drive from Bar Harbor. I know the house and it is just perfect for our needs. We are property owners, isn't that wonderful?"

"Great, when can I see it?"

"When do you want to see it?"

"As soon as I get back to New York I thought that I would fly out and have a look at it."

"Can I come too, can I?"

"I don't think that it would be right for us to be seen together at this stage do you?"

"But we are seen together all of the time here."

"This is here, there is there, there is a difference you know."

"I suppose so." She was disappointed.

My other news wasn't quite so good. I sat in the office of the Beverley Hills doctor. "I have good news or bad news depending on what your expectations are. Now some of my clients are happy with what I am about to tell you while others aren't. I have the results of your tests, I'm afraid that, at present, you will be unable to father a child."

There was nary a swimming pollywog in sight. Zilch, zero, danada, whatever way you looked at it there was not one little swimmer to be seen in the entire sample. No lead in the pencil, I was shooting blanks, I could screw myself stupid and the end result would be a lot of pleasure and no paternity suits possible. I would have to have a long discussion with Melissa on the possibility of adoption. "Does this mean that I will never be able to father a child?"

"Not necessarily. I will have to carry out a whole batch of tests to isolate the cause of your problem. It could be a minor problem, some temporary thing or, then again it could be a much more involved problem that we can't do much about."

"When you say a temporary thing, what do you mean?"

"It could be a blockage in the Vas Deferens that can be cleared or cut out."

"If it is a temporary problem how long would I have had it?"

"Who knows? More than likely, unless you have suffered some form of trauma that caused the damage it is something that you have had from puberty."

"Wouldn't I have noticed something?"

"No. The ability to produce sperm has nothing to do with your ability to produce semen. When you have sex do you ejaculate normally?"

"I think so. What is normal?"

"A normal healthy person would discharge between a teaspoon and a dessertspoon each time."

"I haven't actually measured how much I produce but I would think it was in that sort of ballpark."

"Then you are normal in that way so, in the absence of evidence to the contrary there is another reason for your inability to father children."

"Where do we go from here?"

"That's up to you."

"I'll have to talk it over with my wife when I get back to New York. I'll make a decision then."