The Game 255o5q

© 2020

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information stored in a retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

Print ISBN: 978-1-09831-212-1 | eBook ISBN: 978-1-09831-213-8

Website: the-game-novel.com

Email: [email protected]

For La Spinetta (a.k.a. Trofea), without whom…

Episodes

Prologue REVERSE REACTION REINVENTION REASSURANCE REFOCUS REGRET REPRISAL RECRIMINATION REBOUND REBOOT

Prologue

The box arrived on a Saturday morning. It had been stamped “Book Rate” on all sides. I did not recognize the return address, which looked more like a code than an address. The box contained a stack of file folders, each stuffed with hundreds of hand-written notes. On top of the folders was a letter from my Aunt Ginny. Aunt Ginny was my favorite relative when I was a child. That might seem odd, since I did not know her well. She visited us once a year, at Christmas. She would arrive in the early afternoon, stay a few hours, and leave before dinner. It was clear that Ginny was not a welcome guest. Accepting her into our home, however briefly, was some sort of obligation the adults in the family understood. There was always a sense of relief among them upon her departure. Ginny’s visits were never discussed in my presence. Neither was her exact relationship to the family. Why did I feel such a strong affinity with Ginny? Several clichés come to mind: free spirit, larger-than-life personality, movie-star good looks. Most of all, I felt that Ginny liked me and accepted me without conditions or qualifications, which my parents certainly did not. She also brought me great gifts – matchbox cars, hundreds of them, which I still have. I was disappointed when her Christmas visits stopped. At the time, I thought I might have been responsible for that. After her final visit, I asked my mother what color Ginny’s hair was going to be the following year. My mother told me I did not need to be concerned about Ginny. She would be too busy to visit us again. As I sorted through her notes, I began to realize that Ginny had handed me a true insider’s of her world – the world of working girls. Every incident in her story could have happened. I expect that many of them did. I found it interesting that Ginny had not divided her story into chapters. Each folder was labeled as an episode and the episodes were divided into scenes. Clearly, Ginny had hoped her story might become a television series.

In each episode, I found a strong story line, plus an abundance of authenticsounding dialog. Ginny had a natural talent as a story-teller, but for reasons suggested in her letter she had been unable to complete her project. In completing it for her, I have organized the narrative according to her plan, as best I could determine that. I have kept the dialog exactly as she reported it. The return address on the box of material turned out to be a prison and an inmate number. When I ed the prison, I was told that the inmate had completed her sentence and had been released. No further information would be provided.

Ginny’s Letter

My Darling Nephew, This is your Aunt Ginny. I understand if you don’t me. We only saw each other at Christmas, and the last time I was there you were about ten years old. That’s when your parents told me to stop coming. They said I was “a corrupting influence.” So the “black sheep” of the family stayed away. Whether you me or not, I want you to have the notes for the novel I was trying to write. Maybe you can finish it. People are always interested in stories about the oldest profession. By the way, I don’t know why the work I do is called “the oldest profession.” Wouldn’t you think that would be farmer or hunter or shepherd? How about warrior or pyramid builder or philosopher or prophet or even beggar? Or how about Messiah? Anyway, getting back to the book, it’s something I was working on for quite a while. I kept adding to my notes, but I never got around to putting it all together. When I finally had some time on my hands, I went to work on it. I laughed, I cried, as the saying goes, but I couldn’t get the job done. Maybe that’s because I can’t face up to who I am, or who I was, or whatever. Anyway, now it’s yours. You can do whatever you want with it. Good Luck. G

Episode 1

REVERSE

“How the fuck did you end up in Portland, Maine?” Several of the children giggled, reminding Tom that he was talking to himself – again. Did he care if people heard him? Not really. Well, maybe he did. A small fleet of yellow 16-enger school busses was lined up in front of the 1930s brick grammar school with the new sign above main entrance: “Portland Faith Academy.” The busses were quickly filling up with children. Stragglers hurried to board, as teachers conducted head counts. Tom’s bus was last in line. Show up early? Why should I? I get here and I do the job. That’s what counts. No reaction from the children. Good. None of their friggin business, what I’m thinking. Not the worst gig in the world. Pretty good wages. Work in the morning. Work again in the afternoon. Kids are well-behaved – not like those wise-ass little shits in the public schools. You know, I’m gonna miss it. And I’m gonna miss her, too. Tom had spotted Sheila, his bus monitor, a popular teacher in her mid-twenties and a total knock-out as far as Tom was concerned. She rounded up the last few children in her charge and shooed them onto the bus. Tom and Sheila exchanged smiles as she climbed onboard. He couldn’t resist watching her knees as she did so, and she didn’t seem to mind the attention. She directed the children to be seated. Sheila. Now there’s a thought. You’d like to dive on that, wouldn’t you, Tommy? You could have a party there. No doubt about that. With a nod from Sheila, Tom closed the door of the bus. As he checked all angles for safety, he caught his reflection in the rearview mirror. The eyes in the mirror were unforgiving. Yeah, yeah. I know. She’s gotta be thirty years younger than you. And she’s one of those born-again Christians. Except for that…

Following the afternoon run, Tom returned his bus to its assigned parking space at the school. The teachers and bus drivers had completed the ritual of clocking out and were departing in cars or on foot. Tom and Sheila walked together in the direction of Tom’s old brown Dodge. This had not happened before. “So, Tom, you’re off from what I hear.” “First thing in the morning. Memorial service tomorrow. We’ll start working on getting the estate settled either tomorrow or Thursday. There’s a big house to sell…” “These things can be complicated.” “There’s just me and my brother to deal with everything. We’ll sell the house, look at my Mom’s investments and so on, and then divide up the assets. After that I’ll probably take a long vacation on some island where it’s warm. Looks like I won’t be back here for a while. Can I give you a lift home?” “No thanks. I usually walk. I like the exercise.” “I just thought, my car’s right here, so…” “If I correctly, I’ve heard you say you don’t have a girlfriend right now. There’s a website you might want to look at. I have a couple of friends who met their partners there. I think it’s called BELIEVERS-IN-LOVE.com.” “BELIEVERS-IN-LOVE.com. Sounds good.” Sheila took a copy of the Bible from her bag and offered it to Tom. “It’s the King James Version. This is the one we read at our church. You should start with the Book of John. I believe you’ll feel the spirit of the Lord if you do that.” “The Book of John. Okay. I’ll read that first.”

Now several blocks from Portland Faith Academy, Sheila made a call on her cell phone as she walked. Her call went to voicemail. “This is Ginny. You know what to do.” The expected beep followed. “Hi, Ginny, it’s me, Sheila. I was wondering…” “Sheila! It’s been a while. How are you doing?” “Doing great. Thanks for asking. Hope you are too.” “Keeping busy. What can I do for you?” “Quick question: You still working the marriage deal?” “Absolutely.” Ginny was in her Las Vegas apartment, a suite carved out of two rooms in a former downtown motel. She was in mid-session with a pudgy middle-aged man. Still shapely at thirty-five, she was dressed in studded black leather, including mask and spike-heeled boots. The man, wearing a pink see-through teddy, lay prostrate on the floor, spread-eagle, rump exposed, as he received the abuse he craved. Ginny’s whip had already raised a pattern of welts on her client’s backside. She continued to ister punishment as… “I may have a prospect for you. Mid-fifties. Mother just died. Looks like there’s money there. You interested?” “Absolutely. What kind of number are we talking about?” “Don’t know. But he carries on like it’s a lot. Name’s Tom Murphy.” “Okay. Put the info together and send me a text.”

The next morning, on his way out of town, Tom stopped by the school to pick up his paycheck. As he pulled into the parking lot he noticed that his bus was not parked in its usual spot. Apart from that, the school seemed to be functioning normally. Since this was not the regular pay day, and since Tom had failed to give notice, his check was unavailable. His supervisor, Alfred Pratt, the school’s Vice Principal, refused to be of assistance. “What’s the problem? Everyone knows I’m going.” “I did not know – officially – until you informed me of the fact moments ago.” “Why can’t you just write me a check?” “Mr. Murphy, that is not the way we do things at Portland Faith Academy.” “But I’m leaving today – right now.” “Then we wish you bon voyage. Your check will be mailed to the address we have on file.” Mr. Pratt marched confidently into his office and closed the door, leaving Tom alone in the school’s reception area. He managed to suppress thoughts of mayhem as he left the building with barely enough cash in his wallet to pay for gas to Boston and a burger on the way.

Tom was used to traveling in the right lane. Even at 50 mph, his twenty-year-old car shook like a carnival ride. He had no idea that, at the precise moment he was annoying truck drivers with his slow speed, Sheila was on the phone with Ginny, laying the groundwork for his future. “Should be pretty easy to put this together. We’ll snag him with a dating website called BELIEVERS-IN-LOVE.com.” “I gotta hand it to you, Sheila. BELIEVERS-IN-LOVE.com!” “I know. Hilarious, right? But it works. I know some girls who’ve scored big with it. I told Tom about it. You can on the site and let him find you.” “By the way, you looking for anything on this?” “No. You can owe me one. Better start brushing up on your Bible verses.” “Will do. And I’ll take a look at that website.”

Tom ed the familiar road sign: Boston 22. Add a couple of miles to Dorchester. Find the funeral home. Done. The burger he had bought in Portland was still slightly warm. He had shown considerable foresight, he thought, by leaving it tightly wrapped. He tossed the sandwich wrapper onto the accumulated rubbish on the enger-side floor. He glanced at the Bible on the enger seat as he chewed the first bite of the burger, speaking as he chewed. “Yeah, you’ll get around to reading the Bible. That’ll happen. And you’ll find some nice middle-aged church lady on that website.” He turned on the radio, rejected several stations playing country music, finally landing on a song by THE FABULOUS THUNDERBIRDS. “Holy crap! Haven’t heard that in a while.” Tom bopped to the music and sang along – badly. Then… “Fuck! That’s my exit!” As he jammed on the brakes, the Bible flew off the enger seat and settled amid the trash on the floor.

“Let’s see. Sullivan’s. Big white house. There it is. Not much activity.” The sign on the front lawn read “W. H. Sullivan & Sons, Funeral Directors.” Parked under the portico were a white hearse and a white flower car. A white limo was parked nearby. The large parking lot was empty except for a late model silver Lincoln. Tom parked next to the Lincoln. The New Jersey license plates identified it as Ted’s. “Hey, big shot. Looks like you’re doing pretty good.” The rattle in the driver’s side door of the Dodge seemed extra loud as Tom emerged with the thought that he might “key” the Lincoln on his way to the entrance. Instead, he re-parked the Dodge around the corner out of sight and prepared a jolly greeting for the reunion that was about to take place. “Ted, good to see you. How long has it been? Quite a few years, right? And this must be – what the hell’s her name? – looking lovely as ever.” Tom approached the front door and started to open it. He stopped when he heard Ted’s voice. “Why couldn’t you just put her in a simple shroud?!” “Sir, as we explain in detail in our printed material and on our website, in this establishment cremation is simply not conducted in that way.” Tom peeked in and scoped out the spacious lobby, tastefully furnished in dark woods and leather. Ted’s wife – Trish, that was her name – a trim and attractive woman in her mid-50s, was sitting in a club chair on the right side of the lobby. Tom noticed a white cardboard box on a table just to the right of the door. It was labeled “Agnes Murphy.” The word “Cremains” was lightly embossed below his mother’s name. A slender man Agnes Murphy would have called “dapper” sat behind a large desk at the rear. Ted Murphy, an imposing presence who seemed more imposing when angered, stood in front of the desk, staring in disbelief at the document in his hand as “Mr. Dapper” spoke. “The decedent is embalmed, dressed, groomed and placed respectfully in a cremation container, which is then rolled into the crematorium. With the

exception of bone, everything is consumed in the cremation process.” Tom entered the lobby and remained near the door. Trish recognized him and they exchanged polite smiles, as Ted proceeded with his tirade. “Well, that’s just goddamn stupid! For this money you could’ve given her a Viking funeral, boat and all, right Trish?” Ted saw Tom as he turned to Trish. “Hey, how’s it going, buddy? We’ll meet back at the house, okay?” Ted gave Tom a knowing look – “the hairy eyeball” they used to call it – and nodded in the direction of the box of “cremains.” Tom immediately recalled the stunt he and Ted had pulled countless times when they were kids. The neighborhood pharmacy had been their usual target. Ted returned his attention to “Mr. Dapper,” using his bulk to block the funeral director’s view of the entrance area.

Ted distracted the store clerk with that day’s version of the usual pretext. “My Mom wants some of that… what the heck to you call it?” “I don’t know. What’s it for?” “It’s for when you don’t feel good – like when you got a stomach ache or something. She said it’s pink and it comes in a bottle.” “Pepto-Bismol. You’ll find it…” “I don’t think that’s what she said. I gotta go ask her. How come you don’t have Baby Ruth no more?” Tom slipped several candy bars into his jacket pocket and casually exited the store. “Baby Ruth? Right there, next to the Almond Joys.” “Where? I don’t see them.” “Right there. You can’t miss them.” “Oh, yeah. There they are. I gotta go ask my Mom about that medicine.”

Tom brought his thoughts back to now and prepared to make his move. Ted was in top form. “I’d like to know where you guys get off charging this kind of money.” “Sir, we did send you the standard email outlining our menu of final expenses.” “I didn’t pay any attention to that boiler-plate crap! Our family has done business with the Sullivans for years. I expected fair treatment!” Tom snagged the box and slipped out. “Sir, the Sullivans have retired. This business is now operated by NSFD – the National Society of Funeral Directors.” “That may be. But the Sullivan name is still on the sign out front, and I expect Sullivan rates. How the hell are we supposed to know that you bandits are in charge?” “Sir, if your beloved mother had thought to invest in post-mortem care on a preneed basis…”

The debate in the lobby continued as Tom carefully placed the box on the enger seat of the Dodge and drove off. “If only you or some other relative had purchased a post-mortem program…” “Look, she didn’t and we didn’t. So why the hell are we discussing it? The subject is this bill. What are you going to do about it?” “We are going to accept payment, of course.” “We had my wife’s father cremated a year ago, and it only cost eight hundred bucks. I expect you to match that.” “Our fee structure is public knowledge and absolutely in line with industry standards. We couldn’t possibly adjust…” “In that case, we’ll be on our way. Our lawyer will be in touch.” Ted dropped the cremation bill on the desk. Trish got to her feet as Ted crossed the lobby to meet her. With his sight line no longer blocked, the funeral director saw that the box had disappeared. He got up quickly. “Just a moment! Your mother’s cremains – they were on the table by the door!” “Really? I don’t see anything there now. So I guess that’s pretty much it. Let’s go, Trish.” As Ted ushered Trish toward the door, the funeral director moved from behind his desk as if to pursue. Ted paused and stared him down. The funeral director backed off and reached for the telephone on his desk.

The box of ashes bounced on the seat as Tom closed in on the old neighborhood. He did not notice the grey powder leaking from one corner of the box. Things looked pretty much the same, despite reports of so-called “gentrification.” Rows of three- and four-family houses still prevailed, some in good repair, others not. The streets were tightly lined with parked cars of various ages and conditions. “Well, Mom, you always said you wanted to bring the family together. We’re here and you’re in a cardboard box. Cheap pricks put you in a cardboard box!” The Murphy home, built in the 1930s, featured three apartments, one per floor. The family had always lived in the top-floor apartment. The driveway, located on the right side of the house as seen from the street, led to a separate one-car garage at the rear of the property. It appeared to Tom that the house had not been painted since he was a boy. Otherwise, it seemed to be in good condition. Tom maneuvered between the parked cars encroaching on the driveway and bounced across the two familiar bumps on the sidewalk. “They never did fix that sidewalk, did they Mom.” Tom picked up the box of ashes and saw the accumulation of powder on the seat. “Aw, shit! Mother-fuckers couldn’t even get that right!” He put the box back on the seat and got out of the car. Slamming the car door did help him to settle down. At length, he gathered himself and surveyed the house from several angles, framing imaginary photos with his hands. “Let’s see… ‘Income property for sale – excellent Dorchester location. Must sell – family moving from area.’ That sounds about right.” Tom retrieved the box of ashes via the enger-side door and placed it on the roof of the car. He attempted to brush the grey powder from the seat, but the powder, being slightly moist, became paste as he rubbed, smearing the seat and adhering to his hands. “Son of a bitch!” He grabbed a fast-food wrapper from the car floor, wiped his hands, tossed the

wrapper over his shoulder, slammed the door, and snatched the box as it started to slide off the roof.

Tom entered the house through the side door next to the driveway – the only door the family had used when he was growing up. Immediately, he heard TV audio – some kind of game show – coming from the second-floor apartment. He located the wall switch that turned on the low- wattage lights above each landing. “Twenty-five watts is plenty enough,” his Mom used to say. “Somebody’s gonna break their neck one of these days,” was his Dad’s usual reply. “Hasn’t happened yet.” This was said as his Mom walked out of the room, or dropped a pan into the kitchen sink, or slammed the bathroom door, or in some other fashion ensured that she got in the last word. Tom climbed the stairs, feeling the treads give under his feet as he heard the old squeaks and squawks that had kept him and his brother from sneaking in or out when they were kids. The back door of the third-floor apartment was locked. He placed the box of ashes on the small table next to the door. “I bet it’s where it always was.” As expected, the key was under the door mat. “Yup. Well, Mom, there’s something to be said for consistency. I’ll give you that.” In the Murphy kitchen, various shapes were made visible by the light coming in through the partially-closed blinds on the two windows to Tom’s left. Musclememory allowed Tom to flip on the wall switch near the door without a glance. He was surprised at the general clutter – not his Mom’s style, as he recalled. The kitchen had always been Agnes Murphy’s command center. The difference now was a matter of quantity rather than theme. On the wall behind the kitchen table, and on the table itself, numerous religious icons had been added to the few he ed from his childhood. Among these were four representations of the Stations of the Cross and four Nativity scenes. Roughly a dozen individual statues of the Blessed Mother were in evidence, in a variety of sizes and styles.

High on the wall, in a representation large enough for a small chapel, a crucified Jesus leaned forward as if to begin His flight to Heaven. Secular items included a bulky TV set from the 1980s, surrounded by piles of mail-order catalogs and magazines. The red wall phone that had been there since time immemorial was partially hidden behind stacks of shoe boxes and small plastic drawer units on the table. There were several study lamps, all connected to a power strip. The focal point of all of this was a heavy-duty beauty-salon chair, complete with hydraulics. Tom placed the box of ashes on the TV and made himself comfortable in the beauty-salon chair. Under the table, amid yet more piles of magazines, was a plastic waste basket containing several of the extended-reach devises commonly known as “grabbers.” As he experimented with one of these, attempting to pluck the baby Jesus from one of the Nativity scenes, Tom heard squeaking footsteps on the back stairs.

Trish began speaking as she entered. “Your brother had quite a set-to at the funeral home about the cremation bill.” “Yeah, he’s tighter than a clam’s ass when it comes to money. Anyway, we got Mom. Did Ted ever tell you about the time when we went to the T-BIRDS concert – you know, THE FABULOUS THUNDERBIRDS?” Trish opened the blinds on one of the windows. “He did. Many times. Best band ever, according to him.” “They were on the radio this morning – in the car.” “Five thousand dollars. Don’t you think that’s a lot to pay for…” “I suppose we could’ve done it here. You know, chop her up in the bathtub, get the oven heated up to full blast, then put her in piece by piece. Might have been a little messy, though.” “Tommy, you’re terrible. But what if Ted and I get stuck for some of that bill? You’re okay about contributing a little from your end, right?” “I guess so. Haven’t thought about it.” Loud squeaking on the stairs announced Ted’s arrival. “Got a parking space down the street. Some piece of shit is blocking the driveway.” “That car’s a classic, I’ll have you know.” Ted grabbed his crotch. “This is a classic. That car’s a piece of shit.” “Ted!” Trish indicated the box on the TV.

“Oh. Hi, Mom. You never looked better.” “You could say, ‘Hey, Mom, you look good on TV.’ You see, the humor would be…” “We get it, Tommy.” Trish feigned a disapproving look. “You know, if there’s a Hell, you’re both going to spend eternity there.” “Hey, Ted, guess what. The T-BIRDS were on the radio this morning. There’s a blast from the past.” “Uh-huh. Okay, here’s the plan. Me and Trish are getting the hell out of here. You’re gonna stay and sort things out.” “What if I have something else to do?” “Come on, kiddo, get real.” “Well, at the moment…” “Right. Your first job is to find the insurance policies. There’s one for each of us. Not big dough – twenty-five hundred each. But what the hell, a buck’s a buck. While you’re looking, you should come across Mom’s copy of a trust document. A few years ago, I had Mom set up a trust. The house is ours – no probate – along with the contents and Mom’s car. You got that?” “Sure. Whatever.” Ted ignored Tom’s lack of enthusiasm for the project. “You’ll get the house cleaned up, then we’ll sell it and split up the proceeds. I can handle the real estate end from a distance. We should do okay. We’ll probably end up having a garage sale, to dump the crap furniture and pictures and whatnot. You’re in charge of that. We’ll split whatever we get out of it fiftyfifty.” “Of course.”

“You’ll live here until everything’s done.” “Hey, Ted, you’re sticking me with a big mess here. Getting this place in shape to sell is a huge job. It’ll take months, and we don’t even know what the story is with Mom’s tenants, or the condition of the apartments downstairs, or… anything.” Trish made an attempt at mitigation. “You’ll have an allowance to cover your food and expenses.” “Thanks, Trish. Thanks for your contribution. We can decide on that later. For now, Tommy can put his expenses on a credit card.” “I don’t have a credit card.” “Okay, okay. Here’s a couple of hundred to keep you going for a while. So, we’re squared away for now. Come on, Trish, we’re already behind schedule.” Tom watched through a kitchen window as Ted and Trish got into their car. He looked at the stacks of boxes on and under the table. “Where the hell do I start, Mom? I mean, where the hell do I start?”

Ginny’s computer screen displayed the colorful home page for “BELIEVERSIN-LOVE.com – where people of faith find true love.” Short video clips of happy couples enjoying various wholesome activities rolled behind the expected verbiage. Ginny phoned Sheila and put her on speaker. “Can you hear me okay?” “Loud and clear. By the way, you’ve got some head shots in your computer, right? And when I say ‘head shots,’ I don’t mean…” “You’re funny. Not to worry. I’ve got a couple of demure girl-next-door pix, with just a hint of come hither.” “Then let’s get this done. Romance is calling.” “Yeah, I’m all aglow.” How many times had Ginny pulled off the marriage scam? Was it seven or eight? Whatever. It was always an adventure and a welcome break from business as usual. Lately, business as usual for Ginny had been S & M – reliable income but basically a cliché. This project was a good development. “You’re on the ‘Sign Up’ button, right?” “Right there. Ready to go.” “Go ahead and select that.” “Done.” “I’m going to set you up with a pitch that works every time. Headline: ‘Seeking Mature Gentleman.’” “Got it.” “Then: ‘Hi, my name is Ginny. I’m in my mid-thirties. My friends say I’m quite attractive, but I think my sunny personality is my best feature.”

“That is so fucking dippy I can’t believe it.” “Just keep typing.”

It seemed completely natural to Tom to grab the old teapot from the stove, remove the detachable whistle, fill the teapot with water from the tap, put the whistle back on and return it to the stove. When the burner wouldn’t light, it seemed natural to light it with a wooden match from the drawer nearest the stove. A supply of teabags – plenty of Lipton but no Tetley for some reason – was in the stoneware crock, as always. He placed two teabags in the mug he pulled from the rack in the sink. On one side of the mug, the image of Ted Williams – the immortal Number 9 – stood ready to pound yet another homer over the “Green Monster.” Tom sat in the beauty-salon chair and turned on a study lamp. He removed a stack of credit card bills from one of the shoeboxes on the table. He laid the bills out and pointed at each one as he counted. There were fourteen. He was so focused on the bills that he failed to hear the teapot whistle as it rose to a highpitched squeal. He snapped back to reality, turned off the stove and returned to the table without making tea. His words were hardly more than a whisper. “Holy fucking shit.” Tom searched his pockets for the slip of paper with Ted’s cell phone number. He pushed several items aside to clear a path to the wall phone.

“Okay, bride-to-be, we’re going on. ‘I’m not proud of everything I’ve done in my life, but it all changed when I accepted Jesus as my personal Savior. Do you want a loving wife who will be yours forever? Are you kind and patient and loving? Maybe you are my Mr. Right. Please connect with me right away so we can get to know each other better.’” “I think my computer’s about to throw up. I know I am.” “You can mock this all you want, but I’m telling you it works. Just : When the dick gets hard…” “Yeah, I know. When the dick gets hard, the brain gets soft.”

Ted’s Lincoln moved through the streets of Boston, guided by the car’s GPS. “Continue to the next intersection, and then turn left.” “What a fucking loser. If you can believe it, way back when Mom and Dad expected him to be the big success in the family. What the fuck has he done with his life? I mean, really.” “Turn left here. You have reached your destination.” A customer of Ted’s had recommended this restaurant as one of Boston’s best for a relaxing lunch. The cars double-parked in front of the converted town house bore no resemblance to the miscellany of vehicles lined up in the old neighborhood. “Pretty ritzy, huh Trish. Valet parking. The whole deal.” Ted’s cell phone rang as he stopped at the entrance. He pressed the answer button on the steering wheel. “Ted Murphy speaking.” “Ted, Tom. You need to get back here. We have an issue. There are bills, many bills.” Tom’s voice sounded juvenile and whiney on the car’s speaker system. “Of course there are bills. It’s a house. Houses have expenses.” “No. I mean there are bills, credit card bills, fourteen of them, in a box on the kitchen table. The one I’m looking at right now has a balance of seven thousand, four hundred and thirty-two dollars and eighty-seven cents.” “Did you say seven thous…?!” “Yeah. Seven thousand, four hun…” A parking attendant approached the Lincoln.

“Stand by, Tommy.” Ted lowered the enger-side window. “I’ll just be a couple of seconds. Important call.” “Yes, sir. Please pull ahead. I’ll be right over there when you’re ready.” “Okay, Tommy, I’m back. Forget about the small change. Give me the bills in round numbers.” “All right. Seven thousand – that’s the one I just told you about.” With a glance from Ted, Trish popped the glove compartment and took out a pad and pen. She began to write numbers. “Keep going.” “Six thousand. Another seven thousand.” “Son of a bitch!” “Four thousand. One thousand. Three thousand. Another four thousand.” Trish showed Ted the running total. “That’s over thirty grand!” “There’s a bunch more. Each one is between two and three thousand. Some of them have big late fees, it looks like. All together it’s over forty thousand dollars.” Ted thought for a moment. “Let’s settle down here. Mom’s estate is responsible for the bills. But there really is no estate. I took care of that with the trust. We own the house and everything else. Mom didn’t own anything at the time of her ing. We should be in the clear. There’s probably a checking someplace. We can kiss that dough good-bye, but I’m sure it’s small potatoes. Just put those bills back in the box and forget about them. Look for the insurance policies and the trust document.”

“Okay.” “Me and Trish are gonna to grab a quick bite someplace. You know the old saying, ‘Don’t hesitate to call?’” “Yuh.” “Well… hesitate. Just kidding, Tommy. You can call me any time. Now, get cracking on finding those papers, okay?” “On it.”

Tom assembled the bills and returned them to the shoebox. He heard creaky footsteps on the stairs, followed by a tentative knock on the door. “Come on in. It’s not locked.” A wiry-looking man, most likely in his 70s – and not young for his age – stood in the doorway. He was holding a stack of mail-order catalogs and several pieces of first-class mail. He spoke with the standard working-class Boston accent of a past era. “I live on the second floor. Heard somebody walking around up here, so…” “Come in, come in. It’s fine.” Tom stood and accepted the stack of mail. “Thank you…” “Bill – Bill Kelly.” “Thank you, Bill. I’m Tom. I’m here to take care of my mother’s affairs and so on.” “Oh. I didn’t know she had a son.” “Well, two, actually. Me and my brother grew up here in this house.” “I used to bring the mail up to your mother. She didn’t go out, you know. There’s a letter there I had to sign for. Came maybe about a week ago. Your mother always had me sign for things.” Tom took note of the ed letter as he put down the mail. “Okay. Thanks.” “Can I talk to you for a minute?” “Sure.”

“Well, I was wondering if I would be able to stay on here… in my apartment… with the same, you know, arrangement I had with your mother.” “I haven’t thought about the tenants, Bill. I just got here today. What arrangement did you have?” “Well, I lost my pension, you see, when the company I used to work for went out of business. I worked there thirty-six years. Never missed a day of work, rain or shine.” Tom had a sense that Bill had told this story many times. “The company went broke, you see, and there was no money for the pensions they were supposed to give to us workers. After that happened – it was about five years ago – your mother let me stay on… without paying any rent. I do some handy-man work around the house, but that’s about it. Your mother said it was okay. I could stay as long as I liked.” “What about the apartment on the first floor?” “Oh, nobody lives there. So, is it okay if I…?” “I’ll think about it. And I’ll have to talk to my brother.” “Okay. Thanks. God bless you, son.” After Bill had left, Tom sorted through the mail, tossing the catalogs and assorted ads in the trash. Finally, he opened the ed letter. “What the fuck is this shit?!”

Ted and Trish were enjoying coffee as they waited for their lunch. Ted’s cell phone rang. He pulled the phone from his jacket pocket. “Mom’s number. Tommy again. Probably can’t find his dick.” Ted set the phone aside. The message light started blinking. “Maybe you should listen, just in case.” “Yeah. I suppose.” Ted retrieved the message and put the phone to his ear. “Ted, you gotta call me right back! Big problem! Call me back.” Ted put down the phone. “Anything?” “Who the hell knows? Bullshit drama, as usual, I expect.” As their waiter served lunch, Ted’s cell phone rang again. “Oh, for chrisakes!” Patrons at nearby tables exchanged disapproving looks. In their view, Ted and Trish did not belong here. The message light on Ted’s phone started blinking, and within moments the phone rang again. “Guess you’d better…” Ted grabbed the phone. “Kiddo, this shit has got to stop!” Tom tried to collect his thoughts. “I just opened a ed letter, addressed to Mom’s heirs. No names. It just says ‘heirs and assigns.’ I don’t know what to make of it. It’s an eviction notice.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” “An eviction notice – a notice to vacate! We’re being ordered to surrender this house! It says here Mom had a reverse mortgage – took out a big loan on the house and kept adding to it. They say the house belongs to them. We have sixty days to…” “Probably bullshit. Don’t worry about it. We’ll come back there in a little while. Okay?” Tom hung up the wall phone and sat staring at the ed letter. His cell phone rang and he searched his pockets to find it. “Ted?” “Tom, it’s Sheila. Just calling to see how you’re doing.” “Oh… doing fine. Working on family stuff.” “It must be hard to face all that.” “Yeah, there’s a lot to do.” “And being there must bring back a lot of memories. Oh, by the way, I noticed something interesting on the website I told you about. There are some women there – about my age – who are interested in meeting a slightly older man. Maybe you’d like to take a look.” “I just got here a little while ago. My Mom was old school. I doubt there’s a computer around here.” “You can do it on your phone. You have internet on your phone, right?” “I think so. Never tried to use it.” “I can walk you through it. It’s very easy.” “Sheila, right now, I’m…” “I’m sorry. I’m not pushing you. I just thought you might be happy to meet someone who...”

“Well, yes. I’ll get to it as soon as I can.”

Sheila was alone in her classroom at Portland Faith Academy. She auto-dialed Ginny’s number. Ginny answered on the first ring. “Hey, Sheila, what’s up?” “Just spoke to your next husband.” “He on board?” “Not quite. He’s involved with estate matters. How are you doing with the website?” “Up and running. Already heard from a couple of dipshits. I can peddle my perky ass from coast to coast if this Tom bozo doesn’t come through.” “He will. Guaranteed. One more call, maybe two, ought to do it.”

Tom was sitting on the steps to the back door of the Murphy home with the ed letter in his hand. He had been waiting for Ted and Trish for more than an hour. Ted nosed the Lincoln between parked cars, then flashed his lights and pointed at the Dodge, which was still blocking the driveway. Tom pulled his car forward, allowing Ted to park. Ted and Tom met in the space between the two cars. “Let’s see it.” Tom handed over the letter. Trish got out of the Lincoln as Ted read it. “Son of a bitch! How could this be?!” Ted handed the letter to Trish. She read it quickly. “What about the trust you set up?” “Well, Mom was the trustee. I became trustee upon her death, with Tommy next in line. The house was in the trust. She must have changed it. How she did that I don’t know. I thought it was set in stone.” “Looks like it wasn’t.” Trish returned the letter to Ted. He gave it a final scan. “The bitch figured out a way to totally screw us, didn’t she? So what are we left with? The insurance policies, her car and the crap that’s in the house. Tommy, you get to work finding those insurance policies – if they exist. Come on, Trish, let’s get the hell out of here. I don’t want to see this shit hole again.” “What about her ashes?” “Fuck it, Tommy. Throw them in the trash can for all I care.” Trish pressed Ted’s arm. “I think we should go to a hotel, enjoy a relaxing evening, come back here tomorrow, and go through this place from top to bottom.”

“My wife – the voice of reason. You’re right. There must be at least a few items of value up there. I’m too pissed off right now to start looking. Tommy, you hold the fort. We’ll be back in the morning.” “I don’t want to stay here. I haven’t eaten since… I don’t know when. I mean, fuck it, man. What am I, the fucking slave?” “Okay, grab your shit. We’ll go in my car. I’ll front the hotel and whatnot. Don’t worry. You can pay me back.”

Staff and guests – mostly business people – ed through the generic hotel lobby as Ted handled the registration. “Thank you, sir. Would you like to have me schedule a wakeup call for the morning?” “No thanks. Not needed.” Tom noticed a placard stating the availability of WIFI in the rooms. “Is there a computer in my room?” Ted and Trish exchanged glances. Was Tom really this inexperienced with hotels? The desk clerk was polite. “Sir, you will find several computers in our business center. Just go through the lounge. It’s right there. The is your room number.”

The hotel dining room operated with freeze-dried, portion-controlled efficiency. Earlier, in the lobby, Ted and Trish had considered trying the ribs t across the parking lot and decided against. They knew they had made the wrong decision as soon as their limp-leaf, wrinkled-tomato salads landed, accompanied by packets of chemicals labeled “salad dressing.” Now, with the experience of chain-hotel entrees complete, the waitress cleared their dinner plates and utensils. “Would you care to see the dessert menu?” Ted was sure the waitress had given him an inviting look. For the briefest of moments, he considered the idea of trying to figure out a way to maybe… “No. That’s okay. We’re good.” The waitress slotted the check between the salt and pepper shakers and departed. Ted resisted the temptation to grab a look as she walked away. The check provided the necessary distraction. “Let’s see. I had the road kill special. Trish, yours was the mercury salmon, and Tommy had the embalmed chicken cutlet. I could use some coffee. How about you, Tommy?” “No, thanks.” Trish got up from the table. “Be right back.” Tom seemed puzzled. “She’ll get it from the lounge. Why pay for coffee in here when it’s free out there?” After a few seconds of dead air, Ted picked up the conversation. “Well, here we are, buddy – just you and me. What do you want to talk about?”

“I dunno.” More dead air. “We had a pretty good time when we were kids, right? Raised a lot of hell.” “I guess so.” “ the shit we used to pull in church? I still get a charge thinking about it. Seems pretty innocent now.” “That was a long time ago.” “You Mr. Scalese, the janitor? It was worth being in the choir just to screw with him. Every Sunday, he’d stand by the door of the sanctuary. As we went by, we’d say words the Italian kids told us – you know, like ‘stoo-gatz.’ He’d go nuts. the time we…?”

Tom knew Ted was speaking. He could hear the steady buzz of Ted’s voice in the background of his thoughts, something about pranks the boys had perpetrated on the church’s volatile Sicilian janitor. Those thoughts took him to the choir room at “St. Obnoxious” (as the kids used to call it), with its dark wood ing hung with the customary reminders of perpetual guilt. Choir practice was in progress. A young priest, Father Bruno, was playing the piano. Father Manahan, the church’s music director, was conducting. Tom, age eight, stood in front of the group. It was time for his solo. “…Ave Maria / Mater Dei / Ora pro nobis peccatoribus / Ora pro nobis / Ora, ora pro nobis peccatoribus / Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae / Et in hora mortis nostrae / Et in hora mortis…” Choir rehearsal ended. Amid the pandemonium of children scrambling to put on their coats and escape to more interesting pursuits, Father Bruno collected sheet music from music stands. In the center of the room, observed disapprovingly by Father Bruno, Father Manahan patted Tom on the head – too affectionately. “You’re a good boy, Tommy – a very good boy.”

The boys’ lavatory at “St. Obnoxious” was in the basement and had no windows. The florescent lighting always seemed to flutter. Tom was at a urinal. Father Manahan came in and approached him from behind. The priest pressed his body heavily against the boy’s and reached around to fondle him with both hands. Why couldn’t he stop peeing?! Why couldn’t he break free and run?! Why couldn’t he even cry out?! Father Bruno burst in and glared at Father Manahan. Father Manahan calmly moved away from Tom and methodically washed and dried his hands. He did not look again at the boy frozen at the urinal, staring at the cracked white tiles in front of him. Father Manahan left with Father Bruno following. Tom heard their voices as they moved off down the corridor. “How dare you interfere with my…!” “Shut up! Just shut up, you pathetic son of a bitch!”

“Tommy, are you with me? What the hell – I guess we can just sit here.” In his mind, Tom was still frozen at a urinal in the church basement, struggling to come to with an event that had taken place almost half a century ago. Trish returned with two coffees in take-out containers. She saw Tom’s distress. “What’s going on?” Ted got up from the table. “Nothing much. We were talking about when we were kids. Come on, let’s head on up. We had a long drive today, and we’ve got a busy day on tap for tomorrow. Hey, Tommy, eight o’clock sound good?” Tom appeared to nod agreement. “Okay. See you then.” Tom did not move as Ted and Trish left the dining room.

Tom sat at a computer in the hotel’s business center. He was alone in the room. After several failed attempts to connect to the Internet, he phoned Sheila to ask for assistance. She was happy to provide step-by-step instructions – which Tom dutifully wrote down – finally leading him to BELIEVERS-IN-LOVE.com. After walking him through the process of sending emails through the site, she led him to the form, wished him luck and left him to proceed on his own. Under “First Name,” he entered “Tyomas,” quickly correcting it to “Thomas.” He deleted “Thomas” and entered “Tom.” He deleted “Tom,” entered “Tommy” and immediately deleted that. He paused for a few seconds, re-entered “Thomas,” deleted that and exited the site.

Tom found sleep impossible. Why the hell did Ted have to bring up the church shit? Now he couldn’t shake the memory of Father Manahan’s crime. Most of all, he was tortured by his own helplessness – at the time and many times thereafter. He had engaged in countless revenge fantasies over the years but had never taken action. His most satisfying fantasy – shoving Manahan into a well and crushing him with a shower of bricks he ripped from the walls of the church – often helped Tom to get to sleep. He indulged that fantasy now and finally drifted off. However…

Having just disclosed the molestation to his parents, young Tommy was standing in the middle of the living room, looking every bit the hapless defendant on trial for his life. Michael Murphy, then in his mid-thirties, was planted in his easy chair, beer bottle on the small table at his right hand. Agnes was standing at Michael’s shoulder. Michael gripped the arms of his chair, trying to control his temper. Agnes appeared to be more fearful than angry. Michael was shouting at his son. “What did you do?!” Tommy was silent. Now Agnes was shouting. “What did you do to bring that out in him?!” Tommy’s answer was barely audible. “I didn’t do nothing. Just went to the bathroom.” “You must have done something! People don’t just act that way!” Again, Tommy’s words could barely be heard. “I just want you to tell him don’t do it again.” Agnes was wringing her hands. “We will do no such thing! That man is a man of God!” Then it was Michael’s turn again. “Why don’t you try and act normal for a change?! That would be good!”

Now awake, Tom struggled to drive away echoes of the dream. “What did you do?! What did you do?!” “That man is a man of God!” “Why don’t you try and act normal for a change… act normal for a change?!” Tom heard himself scream into the darkness. “I just wanted you to tell him not to do it again!”

In the room next to Tom’s, Trish spoke quietly to her husband. “You heard that, right?” “Of course.” “So…?” “Long story. Not for the middle of the night. Go back to sleep.”

Episode 2

REACTION

The hotel breakfast room was packed with guests. Tom sat alone, eating variously from two plastic plates of factory-made hotel breakfast fare. Ted and Trish filled take-out cups at the coffee station. Ted looked disdainfully at the scene. “I don’t feel like a plastic omelet this morning. We’ll ditch Tommy at the house and find a place that has a decent breakfast.”

Tom was sorting papers at the kitchen table in the Murphy home. He paid scant attention to the slow footsteps on the back stairs. A petit woman – elderly and wearing too much powder and rouge – entered without knocking. She held out her arms for an embrace. “Teddy! My beautiful Teddy! How are you?!” Tom’s impulse was to laugh. Hers was the wildly-accented, whiskey-baritone voice of Boston comedian Steve Sweeney, legendary for his routines mocking the Boston-area working-class. “I’m not Ted. I’m Tom.” “Little Tommy! My beautiful boy! Now a handsome man! How are you?!” Tom stood but did not respond to the invitation to embrace. The woman lowered her arms. “I’m okay. I didn’t hear you knock.” “I don’t have to knock! I’m family! I’m you Aunt Gert. You me, don’t you… Tommy?” “Uh-huh.” “Oh, Tommy, I miss your mother! She was my best friend, not just my only sister. I miss her terribly!” Gert saw the box on the TV. “Is that her?! Oh, Mary, Mother of God, help us!” Gert blessed herself. “Did you love your mother?!” “Aunt Gert, I have some things to do.” “Did you love your mother?! If you did, you wouldn’t have burned her up. Our

people bury their dead. We don’t burn them. That’s for God to decide, not you!” “Cremation is what she wanted. She left a request. Aunt Gert, I really do have…” “…things to do. I know. It’s alright. There are some items your mother wanted me to have. I’ll just walk around the house and pick those up. I’ll be out of your hair in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” “Aunt Gert, I’m not sure you should be going through…” “She wanted me to have her car. Do you have the car keys?” “No.” “You can look for them while I get the other things.” “Aunt Gert, you’ll have to wait. We haven’t found her important papers yet.” “What does this have to do with papers? She was my sister. She told me what she wanted me to have. Now you just hop to it and find those car keys.” “That’s not going to happen.” Gert waited a few moments before responding. “You ruined your mother’s life. You know that, don’t you? Do you hear me?! You ruined her life! It was because of you that your father left. He abandoned his family – all because of you!” “He did not abandon his family.” “Did he live here?” “He stopped living here, but he took care of everything, including this house, for the whole time us kids were growing up.” “He left because of you – because of the lies you told about your mother!” “I did not tell lies.”

“Are you going to find those car keys, or not?” “No.” “Then I’m going to find them myself.” “Gert, you’re going to leave now. We’ll be in touch if we find any mention of gifts for you.” “So now you’re going to throw me down the stairs. I don’t know how you can treat your Aunt Gert this way, after all I’ve done for you, after all these years…” “Oh, the years when you took every opportunity to tell my mother how bad off she was? Are those the years you’re talking about?” Slow footsteps on the back stairs were followed by a tentative knock. “Your mother wanted me to have her car, and her jewelry, and her cashmere sweaters, and…” At Tom’s invitation, Bill Kelly entered. Gert immediately went into action. “I’m his mother’s sister, Gertrude.” “Hello, Gertrude. Nice to meet you.” Gert was encouraged by the respect apparent in Bill’s voice. “My sister wanted me to have her car. Do you know where the keys are?” “Gert, please.” “She didn’t have a car. She used to have a car, but she gave it away – last summer. She gave it to a kid from the neighborhood. He was going off to college. He needed a car so…” “She gave away my car?!” “You can look in the garage, if you want to. Nothing in there now but old tool boxes.”

“After all these years…!” Bill turned to Tom. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” “It’s fine, Bill. Don’t worry about it. We’ll speak later, okay?” Gert waited for Bill’s footsteps to fade away. Still, she spoke quietly. “I don’t trust that man.” “Gert, my mother gave the car away and that’s it.” “You are just like your father – miserable! And you’re a liar! You ruined your whole family with your lies!” “Gert, I did not lie. I was a kid. I came home from school and walked in on my mother, rolling around half-naked on the living room floor with a man I didn’t know. I’m sure you understand a child might be confused by that.” “Liar! You’re a liar!” “I asked my Dad who the man was. He said he didn’t know, but he would try to find out. There was some discussion between Mom and Dad, and Dad left that night after me and my brother went to bed.” “Do you know how much that hurt your mother?! Being deserted like that! He left her high and dry.” “My Dad didn’t leave anybody high and dry. He chose to stop living with a woman who betrayed him.” “You think you’re so smart. There are lots of things you don’t know about. We are all sinners, Tommy, every one of us. In my day, we confessed our sins. We prayed to God and begged to be forgiven. And we were forgiven!” “So you could sin again and be forgiven again, right?”

Gert left the house via the side door, trudged to the garage and looked through the window. Ted’s Lincoln pulled into the driveway. As Ted and Trish got out of the car, Gert hurried to meet them. “Teddy! My beautiful Teddy!” Ted greeted his aunt without enthusiasm. “This is a surprise. Trish, my Aunt Gert.” “Oh, Teddy, I’m so happy to see you! That brother of yours just threw me out of my sister’s house!” “You been upstairs? What did you talk about, exactly?” “No deep, dark family secrets, if that’s what you mean. Just about the things your mother wanted me to have. She told me I could have her jewelry, her cashmere sweaters, and her car. Now I find out the car is gone. Some old man showed up and said she gave it away. I think he took it. Anyway, you’re here now, and I can get my things.” “We’ll have to see about that. But it won’t be today.” “You and your brother. You don’t care what your mother wanted. Selfish – the both of you. Just like your father.” Gert scurried away toward the bus stop at the corner. Trish watched her go. “Well, now, there’s a character.” “Self-righteous old whore. Never married. The official party line was she was such a knock-out back in the day that no man was good enough for her. Truth is, damn near any man was good enough for her. She broke up a few families, that bitch did.”

Tom was surprised, to say the least, when he entered the family dining room. It was now furnished as a bedroom. Wear patterns on the walls showed where dining room furniture once stood. The room was sparsely furnished with familiar items from the house – a twin bed with no headboard, a plain dresser with no mirror, an old-style wardrobe, a wooden kitchen chair and a tall stool ing a gooseneck lamp. The only wall decoration was a simple wooden cross above the bed. Next to the bed were a walker and a portable commode. Located in the center of the apartment, the room had no windows. The only natural light source was spill from the kitchen windows. Tom tried the ceiling light – not functioning. He opened and closed dresser drawers – empty except for a few clothing items. He looked in the wardrobe – empty except for a few hangers, a pair of worn slippers and a box of adult diapers. At length, he sat on the bed and tried to imagine his mother’s life in her final years. He did not hear Ted and Trish enter the apartment. Ted called from the kitchen. “Tommy!” “In here! You’re not gonna believe this!” Ted and Trish entered from the kitchen and remained near the door. Ted was the first to speak. “So she made this into her bedroom.” “Easier for her, I guess. Downstairs tenant said she never went out.” “She must have been pretty well crippled up, huh?” “Guess so. Anyway, there’s nothing much here – just some clothes.” “Two crummy rooms and a TV set. No wonder she hated us.” Trish went to the dresser and pulled out a sweat shirt – very large – with a faded Red Sox logo. She held it up for Ted to see.

“Size triple-X. I don’t your mother being a big woman.” “She wasn’t. She was skinny, like Gert. Maybe she just got crazy and wore big shirts. Who the hell knows with old people? By the way, Tommy – Gert. I can’t believe you let that old bag in the door.” “She’s my aunt. What was I supposed to do?” They were interrupted by the ringing of the kitchen phone. It took a few seconds for them to process the sound. “I’ll grab that. Tommy, you and Trish can check out the rest of the house.”

Tom and Trish began the exploration. A double-pocket door, opening to an archway, connected the former dining room to the living room, suggesting that the home’s builder had believed the residents would engage in graceful dining and entertaining. The shades were drawn and the living room appeared to be empty. That it was, except for a table in the shadows at the far end to their left. On the table sat a large cardboard box. With Tom leading, they ed through the living room without noticing those objects. Ted could be heard, speaking on the phone. “Hello… Yes, we have the letter.” The hallway where the bedrooms were located had a small window at the far end. All three bedrooms were on the left side. Tom and Trish could see that all of the doors were open. The same was true of the bathroom, which was located on the right at the far end of the hallway. “Yes, we understand that we are required to vacate the premises.” Tom and Trish looked into the first bedroom, occupied at one time by Agnes and Michael Murphy. The room was empty. The second bedroom – Ted’s room when the boys were growing up – was empty as well. “No, there will be no issues or difficulties.” The third room – empty as expected – had been Tom’s. He stepped inside and stood silently in the center of the room. Trish remained in the doorway. “No, we would not be interested in buying the house.” Moments later, Ted appeared at the entrance to the hallway. Trish moved to meet him. “How about that?! The mortgage company asshole wanted to sell us the house. What did you find?” “Nothing. Just dust. On the bright side, there’s not much for us to do.” “Thanks, sweetheart. That makes me feel a lot better. Let’s go tear the kitchen

apart. She’s got to have files someplace. And maybe there’s a bonanza in a coffee can.”

Ted stepped into the living room with Trish following. “Hey, what’s that box about?” “Don’t know. Didn’t notice it.” “Let’s get some light on the subject.” Ted raised the shades in two of the windows. He and Trish moved to the table at the end of the room. Ted opened the top flaps of the box and removed an artificial Christmas wreath. He tossed the wreath aside, picked up a tree-top star, tossed it aside, picked up several small boxes of tree ornaments and tossed them aside. “Fuck a duck! Christmas decorations. Wouldn’t you know it? That’s what she saved.” Ted picked up several strings of Christmas tree lights and added them to the pile. Then something attracted his attention. “Hang on a second. Maybe, just maybe…” He removed a fully-stuffed legal-size manila envelope from the box. “Let’s hope it’s not her final ‘fuck you.’” He ripped open the envelope. “Here you go – insurance policies. Finally. Hey, Tommy, get your ass in here! Okay, let’s see what we got.” Tom entered the room as Ted removed a document from a white envelope with an insurance company logo. “Blah-blah-blah. Beneficiary… Thomas Murphy. Amount… twenty-five thousand dollars! Twenty-five grand, Tommy! How about that!” Ted handed the policy to Tom.

“Now, let’s see if Teddy s the party.” He removed a second document from the envelope. “Beneficiary… Theodore Murphy. I like the sound of that. Amount… twentyfive thousand dollars! Well, well, well.” Ted presented the document to Trish with ceremonial flourish. He mimicked the voice of a TV pitchman: “But, wait! There’s more!” He removed a letter-size envelope from the box. “Let’s see what other nice surprises we have.” The envelope contained a hand-written letter. The letter was ed from hand to hand and read silently. It is unlikely that any of the three people in the room could have imagined the obese woman squeezed into the beauty salon chair in the Murphy kitchen as she wrote it.

Dear Thomas and Theodore, I hope you are smiling right now. I have had a long time to think about those years we were trying to be a family. I can only tell you I did the best I could. Your father used to say there was very little that could not be fixed if you throw money at it. Well, maybe that is what I am doing now. But it makes me feel good to know I am giving you something you can use. I do have one request. I want you to scatter my ashes at Fenway Park – on the base path. You know I was always a Red Sox fan. Through good times and bad times, I loved my Red Sox. This way I will always be there rooting for my team. Thank you.

Agnes Murphy

After a silence that seemed unduly long, Trish, the last to read, was the first to comment. “Fenway Park? Do you think they’ll allow you to do that?” Ted avoided eye . His voice was slightly hoarse when he answered. “Of course not. It’s nuts. Let’s see what else we got here.” Ted returned his attention to the box. Tom had wandered off after reading the letter. He was looking out a window some ten feet away from the others. “Her letter was kind of formal, don’t you think? Like she didn’t know us.” Ted removed a large piece of cardboard from the box, revealing a layer of small silver bars, each sealed separately in plastic. Trish picked up one of the bars and noted the engraving. “Ten ounces. You don’t suppose…” “I don’t know. Let’s find out.” Ted started removing silver bars from the box and stacking them on the table. “It’s silver all the way to the bottom. No question. This is… I mean, this is… amazing!” “What’s it all worth?” “No idea, sweetheart. Must be at least fifteen or sixteen bucks an ounce. There’s a ton of it here.” “How did she…?” “Over a period of time, I would imagine. Years, maybe. Tommy, you don’t look very happy. Hey, man, get over here! This is a home run!” “I know. It’s just the way we talked about her…”

“That’s the past. This is now, kiddo. Mom took care of us. That’s what counts. How about we have some lunch? Tommy, you that place, Sal’s?” “The burger place?” “It’s still there. Come on, Trish. We’re gonna get some of Sal’s famous burgers. We’ll bring them back, and after lunch we can divide the swag.”

Tom sat quietly at the kitchen table for several minutes, studying the box containing his mother’s ashes. Satisfied with his decision, he emptied the shoebox with her credit card bills into the trash and carried the box into the living room. He counted out twenty silver bars, taking some from the box and some from the stacks on the table, placed them neatly in the shoebox and arranged the remaining bars to conceal the change in inventory.

The back door to Bill Kelly’s apartment opened onto the second-floor landing. Tom was the first person to call on Bill since he moved into the house. “Bill, the letter that came – the one you signed for – well, it turns out my Mom had a big loan from a mortgage company. Me and my brother don’t own the house.” “Oh. So… I gotta to move out.” “You can stay here for about another month and a half, but then…” “Where will I go after that?” “I don’t know. But you have a little time to figure it out. I have something here to give you. My Mom wanted you to have it.” “What is it?” “It’s some silver bars. She was saving them for you. I don’t know what silver is going for right now, but I’m pretty sure you can get a good price for them.” Bill accepted the box, momentarily surprised by its weight. “I don’t know what to say.” “You don’t have to say anything, Bill. My Mom wanted to help you out a little bit, that’s all. One more thing: Please don’t mention the silver to anyone. It’s better that way.”

Once again in the kitchen of the Murphy apartment, Tom leaned back in the beauty salon chair, put his feet on the table, pulled out his cell phone and tapped an auto-dial number. “Sheila! Guess what! I’m rich!” “Congratulations. It’s what you expected, isn’t it?” “Well, it was touch and go there for a minute – you know, real estate people and lawyers and everything. But I got it all worked out. Sometimes you gotta stand up for yourself.” “That’s for sure. And now that everything’s settled, I’ll bet you want to get serious about finding the right girlfriend. How did you do on the website?” “Not great. I need to start over. You said there might be a few women who’d like to meet somebody like me?” “That’s right.” “Can you help me with what to say?” “Sure. Of course, Tom. I’ll be happy to do that.” “I’m gonna go out and buy a computer. I need one anyway. Then, we can…” “I just had an idea. I can get you signed up. I’ll be you for a few minutes and it’ll be done.” “Can you do that?” “No problem. I’ll write your profile. All I need is a photo. Wait a sec. I have pictures from the school picnic. I’ll bet I can find a picture of you and cut it out with the computer. Tom, can I give you some advice?” “Sure.” “Don’t let people know you have money – especially on a website. You want a woman to be interested in you, not your checkbook. You want her to focus on

your good qualities – your personality – that kind of thing.” “Yeah. Makes sense. Don’t want to attract the wrong people.” “That’s right. And I’ll let you know when everything’s done.”

Ginny was taking a break between masochists when her private phone rang. She grabbed it when she saw Sheila’s name and number. “Hey, Sheila. Talk to me.” “Game on.” “Excellent. I’ll be on the lookout.”

“Thank you, Mom. Thank you for… everything. Maybe now I can have a future.” “Tommy, I do have one request…” “I know, Mom. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way. You’ll be in Fenway Park forever.” “That’s good. But there won’t be much of me left if you don’t patch up the hole in my bag. I’m leaking all over the place in here.” “Mom, I’m sorry. I completely forgot…” “That’s why I’m here, Tommy – to remind you about things you need to do.” Tom was surprised by the arrival of Ted and Trish. “Hey, kiddo. Burgers from Sal’s. And some of Sal’s great fries. Got some coffee, too. After we eat, we can do a little counting.” Tom cleared table space as Ted brought in the wooden chair and stool from the former dining room. Trish distributed the burgers and fries. Ted was the first to speak. “I’m thinking we’ll head out after we finish dividing up the haul.” Trish emptied a bag of condiments onto the table. “Ketchup or mustard, Tommy? We got plenty of both.” “Both, thanks.” After taking a couple of bites, Tom continued. “A family meal – just like Mom would’ve wanted.” “Let’s not get too corny, okay? These burgers are pretty good. Takes you back, right? Now, practical shit. I’ve got the death certificate. I’ll get it to the insurance company.”

“Then, what?” “You the insurance company and tell them where to send your check. They’ll tell you how long it’ll take for processing.” “So… it’s not right away?” “Hell, no. Probably thirty days.” “What about the silver?” “I’d hang onto that if I were you. So what’s your next move – after you get your dough?” “Not quite sure. Probably quit my job. After that…” “Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll think of something.” “What about Mom’s ashes? You know – Fenway Park?” “I dunno. Fly them in on a drone. Hire a crop duster. Toss them over the fence like a Frisbee. How the fuck should I know? Here, have some coffee.”

As Ginny checked the BELIEVERS-IN-LOVE website for a message from Tom Murphy – nothing yet – her first marriage came to mind, probably because her first husband’s name was also Tom. Sometimes she thought of her first marriage as her first marriage scam, since she had married an older man for financial security rather than love. But, really, was that so unusual? Whether it was a total scam, partial scam, or no scam at all made no difference at this point. At age eighteen, it was her first marriage and, as things turned out, her first murder – well, her only murder so far. Or was it manslaughter? She really wasn’t sure. But she was amazed that she had gotten away with it so easily, amazed that she had gotten away with it at all – a true case of beginner’s luck. Giddy though she may have been as days without consequences turned into weeks, and then into months, there was no question in Ginny’s mind that killing husbands on a regular basis would not be a great idea. The only person she had trusted with her secret was Lillian, her mentor in the game. “Get paid. Get laid. Get out.” That’s what Lillian used to say, and that was exactly what Ginny intended to do with Tom Murphy, though perhaps not in that order. She had already made arrangements with the Egyptian regarding the documents needed for the identity she would use. The Egyptian, who was actually an Israeli of Russian heritage, was the principal resource for working girls in Las Vegas who wanted to establish multiple identities. His standard package included a genuine driver’s license from a state chosen by him, along with a fake birth certificate and social security card, plus a checking and debit card from a national bank. He also included several harmless documents such as a library card, health club hip, etc. The cost of this package was $5,000, plus the cash deposit to open the checking – pricey to be sure, but worth the investment when applied to a major score. Ginny always used her correct first name, Virginia, partly out of concern that she might forget her assumed name at a critical moment, and partly because it

contained the word “virgin,” which she found entertaining. This time her name was “Virginia Winters.” She was thinking that, after the Tom Murphy score, her colleagues in Vegas might say things like “Virginia winters in Palm Beach at her newly-acquired ocean-front estate.”

Tom and Ted counted and stacked silver bars in the living room while Trish emptied shoe boxes in the kitchen. The final tally was three hundred and six bars. Tom stepped back from the table. “Why do you think she did all this?” “If I had to guess, I’d say she got the idea from TV commercials about companies that sell gold and silver. She probably started buying silver with money she got from the reverse mortgage. When she knew she was going to die soon, she figured fuck it and started running up her credit cards.” “So three hundred and six bars means…” “… a little over three thousand ounces – three thousand and sixty to be exact.” “Wow.” “Yes, wow. At sixteen dollars an ounce – and I’m just guessing on that number – we have about forty-nine thousand dollars in front of us. With the insurance money and this, we’re in pretty good shape.” Trish came into the living room carrying a stack of shoe boxes. “Looks like you’re done counting.” “Perfect timing. Let’s get this silver boxed up and get the hell out of here. Tommy, you going back to Maine today?” “Well, there’s nothing much to keep me here, but we haven’t decided what to do about…” “Look, Mom’s ashes can go with you, and you can figure out what to do with them.” “I’m going to carry out her wishes.” “More power to you if you can do that. Just don’t get yourself arrested. I’d hate to see your inheritance go to a legal defense.”

To make the silver manageable to carry down the stairs, roughly thirty bars were packed into each shoe box, resulting in five boxes each for Tom and Ted. While Ted and Trish made trips to their car, Tom slipped into the bathroom to make a call on his cell phone. “Mr. Pratt, this is Tom Murphy. I’m just calling to let you know I’ll be back to work on Monday morning.” “Mr. Murphy, I think there may be some confusion here. You no longer work for Portland Faith Academy. You resigned your position without notice.” “Well, no, I didn’t mean to…” “Mr. Murphy, you failed to appear for work. When we finally met, you informed me that you were leaving Portland immediately. You made no mention of returning. In fact, your former position has been filled.” “But I need the…” “We have sent your final check to the address we have on file. Incidentally, since you left voluntarily, you will not be entitled to unemployment compensation.”

With their silver neatly packed in the trunk of the Lincoln, Ted and Trish were in the driveway preparing to leave. “You were going to tell me about Tom’s screaming last night.” “I can’t explain it in ten seconds. We’ll talk about it on the road. Where the hell is he, anyway?” Tom came out of the house carrying a box of silver. Ted helped him force open the trunk lid of the Dodge, which was hopelessly sprung. They shoved the jack and spare tire to the side to make room for the box. “You want me to help you bring the rest of it down?” “No thanks. I got it.” “I guess we’ll take off then. Wait a couple of days before you call about the insurance payment. We’ll send the death certificate and whatever else they want. Well, kiddo, it’s been real. We used to say that all the time. ?” “Ted, can I talk to you for a minute?” “If it’s only a minute. Me and Trish have some ground to cover.” “Let’s say I wanted to sell some of the silver. What should I do?” “Like I told you before, the best thing to do with silver is keep it. Save it for a rainy day. But I suppose you could take it to a pawn shop. They’ll probably give you spot price – what it’s selling for that day.” “I’d like to hang on to it. But I need a little cash to tide me over, you know, until the insurance money comes.” “You still have the two hundred I gave you, right? And you got your bus driving job.” “Sure. But, you know, I still need a little help.” “Oh, for chrissakes, Tommy.”

“Just until I get the insurance money.” “Alright, I’ll lay another hundred on you. But that’s it. And it comes back to me when you get your dough. Don’t forget that.”

Tom placed his remaining four boxes of silver under his mother’s bed in the dining room / bedroom and locked up the apartment. He returned to the hotel where he, Ted and Trish had spent the previous night. He was surprised to learn that the hotel was fully-booked. He was only able to secure a room because a business traveler called to cancel a reservation while he was standing at the registration counter. He was also surprised to learn that the room would cost $144.09 for the night, plus $25.00 for early check-in. He paid the bill in cash. He lost no time heading to the hotel’s business center to log on to the BELIEVERS-IN-LOVE website. After a moderate amount of figuring out and searching, he found the profile Sheila had created for him. He was “Tom from Maine.” He wasn’t thrilled with that, and he wasn’t thrilled with the photo Sheila had posted, which showed him stuffing his face with a hot dog at the school picnic. On the plus side, the photo did show a Portland Faith Academy banner strung between two trees in the background, and the profile – which included words such as “enthusiastic” and “fun-loving” along with “kind” and “patient” – met with his approval. The gallery of born-again female mate seekers, however, was for the most part a cure for concupiscence. From eighteen to eighty – or maybe ninety – BELIEVERS-IN-LOVE.com was not a place where attractive Christian women hung out. And then… And then… Tom fell in love. He had discovered “Ginny from Maryland.” By some miracle, “Ginny from Maryland” was seeking a man whose attributes closely matched those assigned to him by Sheila. Tom responded to the sensation of blood rushing to his groin by pecking out a message. “Hello Ginny from Maryand. This is Tom frm Maine. I’m not really from Mane. I’m from Boston. That’s where I am right now. But I live in Maine at the precent time. How do you lik living in Maryland? Maybe I could come an visit you so we can meet and get to know each other.” Tom deleted the message. “What a pile of crap. You sound like an idiot. Maybe that’s what you are, asshole.”

He ed that he was in a public space. Luckily, no one else was in the room.

Ted and Trish were past Hartford, heading south toward I-95 when Ted finally broke silence. “Okay. Here goes. Some shit happened when me and Tom were kids – serious shit. Everybody knows about the Church bullshit in the Boston area back in the day. Went on for years. There was a priest at our church – Father Manahan. We used to call him ‘Father Many Hands,’ because he was way too touchy-feely with us young boys.” Trish looked straight ahead. She spoke softly. “My God. I think I know what’s coming.” “Pretty obvious, I guess. Tommy was eight years old. One night, after choir practice, ‘Many Hands’ caught him in the boys’ bathroom. Tommy clamed up after it happened. When we got home, he told Mom and Dad. As if the molestation wasn’t bad enough, Mom and Dad turned on Tommy like a couple of rattlesnakes. They blamed him. He was never the same after that.” “Shameful.” “Yeah, but pretty typical at the time.” Ted remained silent for several minutes. Then… “I felt like a piece of shit. I was right there and I didn’t protect my little brother – from ‘Many Hands’ and from Mom and Dad as it turned out. It was after that he started having nightmares.” “You were a kid. How could you be expected to…?” “I should’ve stuck with Tommy and never let ‘Many Hands’ get him alone. As for Mom and Dad, I knew they were superstitious morons – scared shitless they’d be struck by lightning if they dared to say anything bad about ‘The Church.’ I was old enough to know that – Tommy wasn’t. I could’ve talked him out of telling them if I’d stepped in.” “But he didn’t tell you.”

“Yeah, but I knew something was going on with him. I just let it go. Look, when we were little kids, Tommy was the fair-haired boy around the Murphy house. Tommy was the clever one. Tommy was the smart one. Tommy this, Tommy that. If I’m completely honest, I didn’t mind seeing him get knocked down a peg. But I didn’t figure their reaction would be so over the top like that.” “Not an easy thing to it.” “itting it to myself is one thing. I did that a long time ago. itting it to my wife is a different ballgame. But I’m not gonna beat myself up about it. Anyway, the shit really hit the fan for Tommy a couple of years later. He walked in on Mom screwing some guy she knew from high school. I was at football practice, so I wasn’t there. Freaked him out totally. He started having nightmares pretty much every night from then on. I guess he still has them. I’m pretty sure that’s what the screaming in the hotel room was about.” “Makes sense.” “What I don’t get is why he let that crap ruin his life. Everybody has a story, right? By the way, Mom’s little romp on the living room rug is why my Dad moved out.”

Sheila’s cell phone rang as she was enjoying a quick coffee between classes. “Hi, Sheila. I’m ready to answer the mating call. I’ll have the documents with my new identity by tomorrow.” “From the Egyptian?” “Of course. There’s no one better in Vegas than our international man of mystery. And he doesn’t look for sexual favors.” “I know. Refreshing, isn’t it?” “Name’s Virginia Winters.” “Cold as ice. I love it.” “So, you’ve done business with the Egyptian?” “Sure – for my teaching documents. Master’s degree diploma and transcript, certification in two states, letters of recommendation, the whole deal. All bogus, but the timmies here didn’t check.” “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Hope you don’t mind. How come you quit the game? I always thought you were perfect for it.” “Honestly, I needed a break. I got into it on a very part-time basis, really just to pay the rent when I was in school. I was young and fresh, and I did okay turning a couple of tricks a week – a couple more if I needed cash. But after I graduated it got to be pretty much a full-time occupation. And I wasn’t quite so young and fresh anymore.” “That’s when most of us start to branch out.” “I was pretty conventional with the whole thing, frankly. Knees and back. That was about it. And toward the end I had a couple of johns jump bad on me.” “We’ve all had that – unfortunately.” “I got the message – time to get away for a while.”

“If you ever want to…” “You’ll be the first to know.”

Trish thought about the molestation discussion as they ed exit signs for Milford and then Bridgeport. “You know, quite a few men who were molested by priests when they were kids have come forward and sued the churches where it happened. There have been some big pay days, as I understand it.” “Well, yeah. The church we went to had to close down because of it, along with a bunch of other churches around town. They all ran out of money paying settlements. So, you’re barking up the wrong tree, if that’s what you’re thinking about for Tommy.” “I was thinking of something else. I wonder if anyone has gone after the higherups – you know, the monsignors and bishops, and so on, who moved the perv priests around. In the big picture, they were the enablers of the whole mess.” “They were probably pervs themselves. Anyway, they’re all dead by now, I would imagine.” “The organization is still in business – the archdiocese. Worth looking into, I think. A victory there might help Tom get rid of his demons and put a few bucks in his pocket.” “That’s been done – quite a lot, from what I hear. But I doubt Tommy would go for it. He never actually fessed up to me that it happened in the first place.”

In his hotel room, staring at the ceiling, Tom considered his options. Masturbate. Watch TV. Masturbate while watching TV. Masturbate while thinking about Sheila. Masturbate while thinking about “Ginny from Maryland.” “Ginny from Maryland.” Good choice. We have a winner! No! Fuck that! You need to get down there and send that young lady an email. Or are you gonna be a loser your whole life? You gonna be a fucking loser your whole fucking life?! Girl like that. Hundreds of guys will be writing. She can pick and choose. What the hell does she want with you?! The Bible. Talk to her about the Bible! Fuck it. She might answer. You won’t know unless you try. You gotta suck it up and try.

Intending to retrieve the Bible Sheila had given him from the floor of the Dodge, Tom put on his shoes and started for the door. Then it occurred to him. Didn’t hotel rooms have Bibles? Sure enough – there was a Bible in the drawer of the bedside table. How long had it been since Tom dipped into the Bible? Forty-five years? At least that. He followed Sheila’s advice and opened to the Book of John – “The Gospel According to St. John” to be precise. There was something about John telling people how Jesus came after him but was “preferred” before him. And something about a lamb. And something about a “latchet,” whatever that was. Couldn’t make sense of it when he was a kid, with a priest explaining it. Couldn’t make sense of it now, on his own.

Ted and Trish confronted the traffic jam on the Cross Bronx Expressway with equanimity. For many years, Trish had been mystified by Ted’s insistence on ing through New York City en route to their home in New Jersey. Alternate routes were available, but Ted always chose this one. Finally, she understood. It was the trucks. This was Ted’s world. The sounds. The smells. Real men – and these days a few women – sitting tall in their eighteen-wheelers, moving real goods to real places. And it was fine with her. Their home in Mahwah would sell for over two-million dollars in today’s market, and they held a significant portfolio of blue-chip stocks. Not bad for a truck driver with only the most basic education. Well, Ted was a truck driver when they met more than thirty years ago. And a truck driver he was for the first few years of their marriage. But Ted had abilities and ambitions that few truck drivers can claim. He moved up though his company’s hierarchy – from over-the-road driver to dispatcher and then to several “inside” positions, culminating in Managing Director. He was appointed General Manager on his 50th birthday, and his performance over the past ten years had proven that his promotion had been deserved. There were no diplomas from top-tier universities – or from any universities – on his office walls. There were, however, numerous awards for efficiency and safety from the most respected trade organizations in the trucking industry, along with photos of Ted with well-known athletes, business executives and politicians. From time to time, someone might mention that Ted did not always “go by the book.” He had no difficulty responding. “You can’t go by the book unless you can read.” Trish had never cared if her family considered it a disgrace for a Smithy to marry a “plebian.” That was her father’s word: “plebian.” By the time she graduated, Trish had had enough of Smith College and the other six “sisters,” as these “exclusive” women’s colleges smugly self-identified.

She was especially offended by the Smithy sluts who screwed Leroy and Mario at every opportunity, while they held out like convent girls on the stock brokers they were reeling in as husbands. When these all-female colleges started accepting male students, Ted called them “the seven hermaphrodites,” which Trish found hilarious. With the exception of the molestation discussion, Ted had been silent for most of the trip from Boston to New Jersey. Trish was happy to hear his voice. “You know what we haven’t done for a while? We haven’t had a fire in the fireplace. We used to do that all the time. When we get home, I’m gonna build a fire in the fireplace.” “Because?” “Because… there’s just something about it that makes me feel good.”

The back-and-forth by email between “Tom from Maine” and “Ginny from Maryland” took place that evening, with both affirming they had been “saved” – without mentioning specific details. They agreed that The Book of John had inspired them – with neither mentioning any particular verses. The exchanges were mostly about how “spiritual” they were and how “Divine guidance” must have put them together on BELIEVERS-IN-LOVE.com. Ginny took a couple of minutes between clients to hold up her end of the dialog. Tom waited patiently in the hotel business center and responded immediately to Ginny’s emails. After several exchanges, they agreed to have their first phone conversation at noon the following day. Ginny gave Tom the number for one of her burner phones. After g off, Ginny pulled an alarm clock out of a suitcase in her closet. She set the alarm for 9:00 AM. That would be noon for Tom in Boston. This was perfect for Ginny. She could build the relationship with Tom by phone without disrupting her regular schedule of afternoon and evening clients.

Friday morning, Tom spent a solid hour in the hotel breakfast room, rehearsing lines for his first phone conversation with Ginny, while consuming several plates of mushy cantaloupe cubes and reconstituted scrambled eggs and pretending to read THE BOSTON GLOBE. He also considered his current cash position. With less than half of Ted’s $300 remaining, he needed to act on that without delay. This would involve the box of silver in the trunk of the Dodge. Tom had bought and skimmed through numerous books by success gurus over the years. He ed a key point made by all of them: The first step was to make a list. After checking out of his room, Tom set himself up in the business center with pens and paper provided by the hotel. His immediate goal was to impress Ginny with… impress her with… what? His good looks? Yeah, right. His achievements? What achievements? His wealth? Sheila had warned him about that. He felt his anxiety level rising to near panic. The pen in his hand and the paper in front of him yielded no new information. Why fight it? His course of action would have to be the Bible. His relationship with Ginny would be based on acquiring knowledge of Scripture and faking religious belief. This is what he would have to do to get laid without paying cash for it. “And that’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Pussy.” “Everything’s about pussy, my friend.” The voice belonged to a business man about Tom’s age who was working at a computer on the opposite side of the room. Tom scrambled to his feet. “Shit. I didn’t mean to…” “Don’t give it a thought. We’ve all been there. Sounds like you’re on the edge of a break-through. Sit down. Make your list. Go with it and see where it takes you.” Tom began writing with a new sense of purpose. The business man gave him an encouraging pat on the back as he left a few minutes later.

THOMAS MURPHY – ACTION PLAN – call Ginny noon today – sell silver – find pawn shop – get book explaining Bible – buy new car (Lincoln?) – open bank / get credit cards – call insurance company – place to live until insurance $ comes (Mom’s? Portland? Motel?) – call Ginny every day (plan to meet)

Tom called Ginny from the hotel parking lot at exactly 12:00 noon. The phone rang several times before going to voicemail. “Hello. I’m not available to take your call. Please leave a message. Thank you. And have a blessed day.” “Hello. This is Tom… I was hoping…” “Hi, Tom. This is Ginny. I’m really happy to hear from you.” “Oh. Great! I didn’t think you were going to pick up.” “I’m on my lunch break right now, so I can only talk for a minute. But I’m glad you called. Nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you too. So, you’re on your lunch break. What sort of work do you do?” “I’m a manicurist. I work for a very nice beauty salon.” “Sounds like it keeps you busy.” “Between that and taking care of my Mom, I keep pretty busy. I count on the Lord to give me the strength to do everything I have to do.” “Yes. We depend on the Lord to give us strength. So… you live in Baltimore?” “Well, near there. What sort of work do you do, Tom?” “I was working for Portland Faith Academy. It’s a school up in Maine. I was in charge of the transportation department. I gave up my position recently to come back here to Boston. There’s a family business with some problems that have to be straightened out.” “Whoops. I have to go. Duty calls. Let’s talk again very soon. Maybe tomorrow? Same time?”

After finishing their phone conversation, Ginny wrote Tom’s cell phone number and the letter “T” on a mailing label, cut the label to size and applied it to the back of the burner phone she would continue to use with Tom. Her intention then was to enjoy a light breakfast and relax for a couple of hours before preparing for her first client of the day. She was about to brew coffee when there was a tap on her door. “Ginny. You awake? It’s Me, Tippy. I need a favor.” Tippy was Ginny’s next-door neighbor – a petit blonde from Arkansas, farm fresh and neotenic. Tippy had arrived in Las Vegas a few weeks earlier with the intention of earning large coin in the game. Discussing it with no one, Ginny had been considering possible ways to exploit Tippy’s obvious assets. “Hey, Tip. What’s up?” “What’s up?! Don’t ever say that to a hooker.” “You can skip the lame humor. Too early for that.” “Okay. Sorry. I brought you a coffee.” “Thanks. So, what’s the favor?” “I need to borrow some cock rings.” “You don’t have any?” “They’re all in the dishwasher. Don’t have time to run it. Got a john showing up in a couple of minutes for a hot breakfast.” “Okay. What size?” “Don’t know. He’s a new guy. Can I have a full set? I’ll bring them back when I’m done. And can I borrow a couple of strings of Chinese beads, just in case – maybe size four or five?” “You want me to fuck him for you, too?”

“Now that you mention it, it’s always good to watch an old pro in action.” Ginny’s inventory of sex toys, S & M devises and costumes was well-organized and housed in a large wardrobe next to her kitchenette. She assembled the items Tippy had requested. “Here you go. And you can eighty-six the ‘old’ shit. It’s a good thing I don’t have feelings. They might be hurt.” “Sorry. I get a little nervous when I’m talking to you.” “Yeah, I’m scary alright.” “You’re a legend in the industry. I mean, I’m working next door to a legend!” “Oh, come on.” “Everybody says you were the first one to say, ‘It’s been business doing pleasure with you.’ That’s epic.” “I’ve used that line for years, but I’m sure I wasn’t the first.” “What about the five-some? Everyone knows about a three-some or a four-some. But a five-some? You definitely invented that.” “Not really. Do the math. There are just so many hours in the day. Add-ons go right to the bottom line. It’s good business. Simple as that.” “Is that what led to the way you do gang-bang videos?” “Sure. They’re just the five-some idea with lots of rotation. That’s really all it is.” “Yeah, but someone had to think of it. That’s the amazing part.” “If you say so. I appreciate the complement.” “If you ever need a fluffer, you know where I am. I’ll fluff for you anytime. You’re an inspiration. I gotta go. Thanks for the gear.” “Be sure to sterilize the cock rings before you bring them back. The beads you

can have. Better call first. My schedule’s pretty full.” “That ain’t the only thing.” “You’re lucky I like you. Now get the hell out of here.”

Episode 3

REINVENTION

Tom ed seeing in success books that, when you have your plan written down, you begin to recognize opportunities. Accordingly, as he stopped at a traffic light on his way to the Murphy home, he saw the sign: “We Buy Gold and Silver.” The young man in the pawnshop was happy to talk to Tom about the box of silver bars he placed on the counter. They counted the bars together. “Okay, so you got thirty bars here – three hundred ounces.” The young man performed a series of calculations on a small calculator he carried in his shirt pocket. “I can pay you ten dollars an ounce. That’s three thousand for the lot.” “Is that what you call the spot price?” “The spot price is a little higher. We have to make a profit, so we give you a little less than spot.” “My brother said I should get the spot price.” “I guess you can sell it to him then. I’ll pay you ten dollars an ounce – three thousand cash.” “I can use the money. So… okay.” “The only other thing is, there’s a processing fee of ten percent on all precious metal transactions. So the net amount to you is twenty-seven hundred. You good with that?” “Twenty-seven hundred. Okay.”

Ginny’s text message to Sheila was unequivocal. “Email last night. Voice this morning. Lame-ass dope all the way. I’ll have this turkey plucked in five minutes flat.”

Bill Kelly heard Tom’s car squeak and thump across the sidewalk as it entered the driveway at the Murphy home. He came down from his apartment to meet Tom at the rear entrance of the house. “Two men came by this morning. Said they was here to inspect the house for the mortgage company. I told them they couldn’t come in unless Mr. Murphy was here. I hope that was alright.” “Thanks, Bill. You did the right thing.” “They poked around outside for a while. Then they went away. And the old woman came back – the one that was here the other day.” “My Aunt Gert.” “Said she had to talk to you. Very important, she said.” “Yeah, I’ll bet.” “She wanted to know where you were. I said I didn’t know. She wanted your phone number. I told her I don’t have it. She said she didn’t believe me. Then she went away.” “Good. It’s none of her business what I’m doing.” “I got something else to tell you. The first-floor apartment. I think maybe you might want to see it.” “Why? What’s so special?”

Bill led Tom around to the front of the house. Tom recalled that he had never entered the house he grew up in through the front door. Bill oiled the outside lock from a small spray can of WD-40. After some effort, the lock clicked and the door squeaked open. The entrance hall was ed in dark wood. It appeared that the same wood had been used for the staircase leading to the upper apartments. Bill opened the apartment door without difficulty, using the master key he had used for the front entrance. They entered the living room. Tom was amazed at what he saw. “Bill, why didn’t you tell me about this?!” “With so much going on…” “It’s okay. I can’t believe it, that’s all.” The room was beautifully decorated in traditional Chinese style. The walls, painted a glossy red, were dominated by elaborate wall hangings depicting scenes ranging from royal courts to peasant farms. Elegant black lacquered furniture was surrounded by large urns and dramatic statuary. Everything in the room was visible through the plastic drop cloths utilized as dust covers. Tom and Bill walked through the rest of the apartment. Every object was Chinese and every object was neatly covered in plastic. Clearly, great care had been taken to preserve the contents of the apartment. “To find something like this in Dorchester, Massachusetts. Bill, can you explain this to me?” “Well, your mother told me a very nice lady from China used to live here. The lady went away on a trip to China. She told your mother she was coming back.” “When was this? How long ago?” “I don’t know. But your mother used to say she expected the lady to come back very soon.” “I’ll tell you something right now: I’m moving in here. We got a few weeks until

the mortgage company bastards kick us out of the house. I’m gonna call this place home until that happens.”

Early afternoon, Las Vegas time, Tippy visited Ginny to return the items she had borrowed that morning. “You cleaned them up, right?” “Didn’t use ‘em. That bad boy stood up just fine all by his lonesome. Might need some oxy though. I let him in the back door.” “I don’t have anything like that. Don’t believe in it. Looks like you can still walk. You don’t need any pills. By the way, what’s your real name?” “Catherine – with a ‘C.’” “So, where did ‘Tippy’ come from?” “High school. I’m very small, you know, down there. When boys tried to fuck me, most of them could only get the tip inside, so…” “Got it.” “The doctor back home said there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m just small. Guys love it. Most of them are done almost before they get started.” One of Ginny’s cell phones rang. The ring tone was the presidential salute, Hail to the Chief. “That’s my trick line.” Ginny picked up the phone from her bedside table and put it on speaker. “This is Ginny.” “Ginny, this is… well, you know. I have to cancel our… appointment.” “Oh, is that so? You know what happens when you cancel.” “Yes, mistress. I know.” “Go ahead and tell me.”

“I have to pay.” “That’s right, bitch. You have to pay. It goes right on the card.” “How else do I have to pay?” “I think you know.” “Why don’t you tell me?” “No.” “Please, mistress. Tell me how I have to pay.” “Who the fuck are you to give me instructions?!” “I’m nobody, mistress – a worthless piece of shit.” “That’s exactly right. And what do I do with a worthless piece of shit?” “Please tell me.” “I smack its ass… until it’s black and blue.” “And then what?” “I smack it some more, until it bleeds.” “Thank you, mistress. Thank you.” Ginny snapped the phone off, returned it to the table and stretched out on the bed. The expression on Tippy’s face was nothing less than worshipful. “Wow!” “Four hundred bucks in one minute. It pays to have a credit card on file.” “Four hundred from a john who cancelled! That’s amazing!” “That’s how it’s done, young lady. And I don’t have a sore rear end.”

“So, he’s a regular? Does he cancel a lot?” “Every time. I’ve never met him. He makes an appointment every week and then cancels. I get him off over the phone and charge him big time. Now get out of here. I’m expecting company. By the way, how old are you?” “Eighteen.” “Okay – you’re twenty. But you look young. And you’re a tight fuck. This is a good thing. I’ve got a project in mind for you. We’ll talk about it when I have more time.” Ginny’s “trick line” rang again. Tippy took that as her cue to leave.

For the next item on his list, Tom called Sheila. “I been reading the Bible. Having trouble understanding what it says. Do you think you can help me?” “Sure. There are hundreds of books that explain Scripture. They’re not hard to find.” “I don’t know if I told you, my family is in the import / export business – mostly antiques.” “Oh, really? I had no idea.” “They do a lot of business with China. I’m not too interested in all that, so I’m thinking about getting rid of it. Oh, I quit my job at the school, by the way.” “No kidding. Any other news?” “You could say that. I found a woman on the website. Her name is Ginny. She comes from Maryland. We spoke on the phone a little while ago.” “Well, well. Maybe something will come of it.” “I hope so. She sounds really nice. But I need to know more about the Bible. I’m pretty sure that’s important to her.” “I’d like to think it’s important to you, too.” “Oh, well, it is… it is… yes.” “There’s a book called What the Bible Means. I have a copy. I can send it to you.” Tom gave Sheila the address of the Murphy home, and she agreed to send the book immediately by express mail. Tom’s next task would be shopping for a new car.

Tom was not prepared for the experience he would have at the Lincoln dealership. The term “sticker shock” best describes his reaction. The cost of a new Lincoln exceeded the total of Tom’s new-found wealth. The sales staff remained at their desks and showed no interest in speaking with him. After several minutes, Tom was approached by a gentleman who reminded him of the funeral director at Sullivan’s. As he applied gentle pressure to Tom’s left elbow and led him to the door, the gentleman spoke in pleasant tones about the “fine selection of pre-owned vehicles” available at the used car lot down the street. The used car lot was called “Beacon Auto Sales.” The gentleman did not mention that the sales people at the Lincoln dealership referred to that particular operation as “Be A Con” Auto Sales.

In Tom’s absence, Bill Kelly undertook to prepare the first-floor apartment for its new resident. He did not need to be asked. With the plastic drop cloths removed, the furniture, statuary and wall hangings were beyond impressive. Bill was surprised to discover that the electricity was connected, or, more amazingly, apparently had never been disconnected. He spent the afternoon polishing and vacuuming. By five o’clock the project had been completed.

Tom did stop at Beacon Auto Sales, but only for a couple of minutes. The lineup of tired old iron at the used car lot was a depressing step down from the beautiful new machines on display up the street. The salesman – likely a descendent of rubber-face comedian Joe E. Brown – trotted out to meet him. “Yes, you do.” “I beg your pardon.” “Yes, you do need a new car. And this is the place where you’re gonna find it. Big, small, we got ‘em all. You look like a big car guy. Am I right? Big car guy?” “Well, yeah, I guess so.” “I got a Benz right over here. Brand new. Just came in. Check it out. This is your ride. You can leave your clunker right where she sits. We’ll tow her to the junk yard – no charge. And don’t worry, we’ll fix you up with financing right here. This magnificent automobile will run you only about six-twenty-nine a month.” “I was thinking about a trade-in on the Dodge.” “I may be able to slip you a little discount – as long as my boss don’t find out. He ain’t here today, so we’re good on that. Come on inside. We’ll get started with the paperwork.” The used car salesman guided Tom toward the trailer which served as the Beacon Auto Sales office, using the same elbow technique the Lincoln salesman had employed to usher him out the door. Tom felt uncomfortable enough to break away. “I have to think about it.” “What’s there to think about? This Benz is one of a kind. She won’t be here an hour from now. A guy called about this automobile a little while ago. I thought you was him when you showed up. So, let’s step inside and…” “I’ll let you know if I’m interested.”

As he yanked open the door of the Dodge, Tom heard the word “loser.” An image of the rubber-face salesman flat on his back and bleeding hovered in his mind. He fought off the image and its accompanying surge of adrenalin as he slid into the familiar sag of the driver’s seat.

“Hey, Sheila, what’s going on?” “So, Ginny, get this: Your new husband tells me his family runs a big-time import / export business, dealing in Chinese antiques.” “That’s rich. Any chance it’s true?” “Highly unlikely. Anyway, I have his address. I’m sending him a book explaining the Bible. It’s called What the Bible Means.” “The address. Upscale area?” “Can’t say. Dorchester, Mass. Used to be all working class. Pretty far down the food chain. But some of the crappy neighborhoods around Boston are more upscale now with gentrification and so on.” “Whatever. Go ahead and text me the address. I’ll add it to my research file.”

With the banks now closed for the weekend, Tom had to delay the next items on his list – opening a checking and arranging for credit cards – until Monday. He returned to the Murphy home and found the first-floor apartment prepared for his arrival. He stopped by Bill Kelly’s apartment to thank him. Bill accepted his invitation to go out to Sal’s for burgers. Before leaving for dinner, Tom returned to the third-floor apartment to confirm that his four boxes of silver were still safely in place under his mother’s bed. He then carried his mother’s ashes down to the first-floor apartment, where he gave them a place of honor in the center of the mantelpiece.

That evening, as he sat alone, in comfort, in the red-painted living room, surrounded by exotic luxury, Tom considered the recent uptick in his life. He had cash in his pocket and a lot more to come, a great place to live – at least for now – and a potential girlfriend coming down the pike. He enjoyed one of the beers from the six-pack he had bought on the way back from Sal’s and mapped out his plan for the weekend. “You know what, Mom? I think I’ll go to Maine tomorrow.” “What for? You’re home now.” “I need to pick up my TV, grab some clothes. And my check from that school should be there. I’m thinking about writing “Fuck You” on the check and sending it back to them.” “Why bother when you won’t be there to see their reaction?” “That’s right, Mom. No point without being there when they open it.” Before going to bed, Tom made a final trip to the third floor to check on his silver and to pick up the insurance policy, which he placed in an urn in the corner of the bedroom he would be using.

Saturday morning, on the way to Portland, Tom had an epiphany. He could use his pay stubs from Portland Faith Academy as proof of employment to finance a new car. He pushed the Dodge to exceed its normal fifty mph top speed. “Silver. That’s the color I want. Silver, with black leather seats. And those skinny tires they have now.”

Tom’s furnished apartment in Portland seemed remote in time – odd, because he had been away for a scant three days. Without dwelling on that point, he wrapped his TV in a couple of sweat shirts and placed the bundle near the door for later pick-up. Car shopping would come first. Locating his pay stubs turned out to be a time-consuming project, given Tom’s habit of simply tossing things aside.

At noon, Tom took time out to call Ginny. His call went to voicemail. “Hi. Sorry I missed your call. If this is Tom from Maine – and I hope it is – Saturday is our busy day at the salon. I won’t get a break all day. I hope you’ll call me tomorrow after church. About 12:30 would be good.” Not surprisingly, Tom was disappointed at being unable to speak with Ginny. But he was elated to hear her say his name. He was tempted to leave a long message. He changed his mind when he heard the beep. “Hi Ginny. Yes, it’s me, Tom. I’ll call you tomorrow after church.”

It was mid-afternoon by the time Tom had assembled his pay stubs for the past year, shaved, showered and dressed in his best jacket and corduroys. He had entertained himself throughout this process with running commentary on the matter at hand. “That’s right, Tommy, you’ll call her right after church. ‘Tell me, Ginny, how was the service? Did the preacher say all the right shit? Did everyone feel fucking good about themselves? Oh, that’s great! How was our service? It was great, as always! Our preacher said all the right shit, too. And now we’re getting together with friends to have cake and coffee and talk about how fucking great the service was. Why don’t you drop by if you’re not doing anything? Oh, that’s right – we haven’t met yet. Well, maybe next time.’”

If the salesman at the Lincoln dealership thought he might be wasting his time with Tom, he gave no indication of it. Discreetly avoiding any mention of new cars, he showed Tom several lightly-used silver Lincolns, all of which had been leased to local business executives, according to his . Tom had no difficulty making a decision. Tom was pleasantly surprised at the trade-in offer of $1,500 for the Dodge, and the salesman seemed pleased that Tom had $2,000 in cash as a down payment. The pay stubs worked the necessary magic with respect to both employment and a current local address. Regarding ability to pay – since the modest salary of a school bus driver would by no means allow for the purchase – Tom explained that his late mother’s estate was worth several million dollars, to be divided between himself and his brother. After a discussion with the sales manager, Tom accepted the dealership’s offer to handle financing and insurance. With that, he would be paying $752.18 per month on a seventy-two-month contract. The financing manager was curious as to why Tom seemed to have no credit history. Tom explained that he had always been “old school” and preferred to live on a cash basis. However, in view of his inheritance, he expected to be spending quite a lot of money and was now interested in establishing credit. Fortunately for Tom, the reporting period with respect to his several past bankruptcies had expired. If by some chance, the nice people at the dealership discovered that he no longer worked at Portland Faith Academy, Tom would be more than a hundred miles away, enjoying his Lincoln in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. Since he intended to make the monthly payments, there was nothing for them to be concerned about anyway. After brief instruction on the Lincoln’s various “bells and whistles” – most of which he did not retain – Tom was on his way.

Never had Tom driven a vehicle of this quality. He stopped in the parking lot of a big-box store a quarter of a mile from the dealership, simply to sit and enjoy his good fortune and the opulence of this car. His enjoyment was short-lived. An SUV displaying the dealership’s logo pulled up beside him. The driver was the salesman with whom he had just done business. “Fuck! I knew it was too good to be true.” Tom’s impulse was to duck out of sight. Too late for that. The salesman approached the Lincoln on the enger side. “Mr. Murphy – your Bible! You left your Bible!” With the salesman’s assistance, Tom located the correct button to lower the window. “Right there – just to the left. That’s it.” “My Bible. Well, thank you.” “It was on the floor of your old car. I’m glad I caught up with you.” “Yeah – me, too. Thanks again.”

Tom’s Aunt Gert was not the least bit concerned that she had interrupted Bill Kelly’s afternoon nap. “Why won’t you tell me where he is?” “Because I don’t know where he is.” “Mr. Bill Kelly, I don’t believe you.” “He left this morning. Didn’t tell me where he was going.” “I’ll wait. You can let me into my sister’s apartment.” “Gertrude, I need Mr. Murphy’s permission to do that.” “Then I’ll wait right here on the stairs.” “Would you like a pillow to sit on?” “Oh, you think you’re so clever, don’t you?” “No. I mean it. I can give you a pillow to sit on.” “Never mind. I’ll come back later. And I have not forgotten about my sister’s car.”

“My dear Virginia, would you care to speculate as to the identity of the gentleman who appeared unexpectedly here in Portland today, perched proudly behind the wheel of a smart Lincoln automobile?” “Well, my dear Sheila, since you present your inquiry in this circuitous manner, I expect it must have been one Thomas Murphy, soon to be Mr. Me – however briefly.” “Precisely. The gentleman telephoned and we enjoyed a lovely over-priced latte together. He is currently motoring to Bean Town, where he has important business interests to manage.” “Did he, per chance, mention any romantic interests?” “In point of fact, he did. It appears he is enamored of a certain young lady who resides in the Baltimore, Maryland area – a manicurist, I believe. They are in regular communication, apparently. Imagine! Thomas Murphy, scion of the Boston Murphys, courting a manicurist.” “This manicurist would be well advised to advance the relationship, I fancy. It would be tragic to see Mr. Murphy squander the family fortune without benefit to her.” “Well spoke, my dear Virginia. Well spoke.”

Immediately following her phone conversation with Sheila, Ginny called one of her favorite colleagues in the game. “Molly Ballingall speaking. How may I hump you?” “Now, that’s funny. Molly, this is Ginny. Got a minute?” “For you? Of course.” “Couple of things. First of all, I’m going out of town. I need a sub for my S & M trade. All regulars. Everything on plastic. So, it’s just squeeze into leather, push up your tits and provide the smacks.” “Sounds doable. What’s the split?” “Eighty you, twenty me.” “Fair enough. You got a time-frame?” “Can’t say exactly. Depends on how it goes. I’m guessing two or three weeks max.” “Okay, so what’s the other thing?” “I’ve got a prospect for a S. Kid from Arkansas.” “Cherry pop scam. Lucrative if you do it right. Some risk, of course.” “Do you have time tomorrow morning to come and see me?” “Sure. About eleven o’clock okay?” “See you then.”

Ted and Trish were returning home from their customary Saturday trip to Costco. As usual, Ted reviewed the experience. “Pretty good buy on the bagels today – half price.” “I’m guessing they had to do that. Their bagels aren’t as good as they used to be since they changed vendors.” “They’re still good enough for me. Great buy on the wine. That red wine from Chile is terrific.” “No question there.” “They must over-produce or something. Whatever it is, I’ll take it. It’s worth the gas just for the wine.” After a silence of several minutes, Ted continued. “I was thinking, after we unload the car, maybe we could go and visit your Mom. We haven’t done that since she went into the assisted living t. She might appreciate the visit.” “I’ve never known her to appreciate anything. And she’s certainly not a fan of yours.” “Well, maybe. But she’s your Mom and she’s not going to be around forever.” Trish studied Ted’s face. Okay, so tough guys aren’t tough about everything.

Tom marveled at the operation of the trunk on his new car. When he pressed the release button on the key fob, the trunk lid floated silently to the open position. Another press and the trunk lid closed, sealing itself with an electric motor. He observed with some satisfaction that his TV and clothing occupied only a small part of the trunk space available.

“Tom, how nice of you to call. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again so soon. Are you back in Boston already?” “No. I’m still here. I was thinking I might stay overnight and go to church with you in the morning – sort of get into the swing of things. I haven’t gone to church very much lately, so…” Self-preservation being paramount, Sheila needed no time to run the scenario and understand the certain consequences of showing up at Portland Faith Baptist Church with a toxic former employee of Portland Faith Academy. Not only was the pastor one of the school’s founders, a large percentage of the congregation were PFA teachers and staff . “Oh, Tom, I can’t. I’m so sorry. Some friends and I are going mountain climbing in the morning.” “I thought you never missed church.” “Right. I do attend church pretty much every Sunday. We all know how important it is to have the spiritual uplift that church attendance gives us. But tomorrow morning I’ll have that same feeling of being closer to God when I’m climbing Mount Katahdin.” “I guess I’ll take off then.” “You should find the book I sent when you get home. If it’s not there, I’m sure it will come on Monday. And how are things going with your young lady?” “Moving along pretty good, I think.” “If you like what you’re hearing, maybe you should suggest getting together.” “I’m planning to do that tomorrow.” “That’s good. And you know you can call on me if you need help with anything.” “You can do me one favor. The people at the Lincoln dealer said they’d have my

license plates around one o’clock on Monday. Can you pick those up? I’ll call them and tell them you’re coming.” After a brief hesitation, Sheila answered. “Sure. Why not? I’ll pick them up after school and mail them to you.”

On the road to Boston, liberated from the limitations of the old Dodge, Tom took his rightful place in the center lane, cruising at a comfortable speed of 65 mph. He was expecting the Lincoln to draw iring glances from fellow motorists. When this did not happen, he explained to himself that they were “jealous bitches” who were “pretending not to look.”

That night, Tom settled into the comfortable bed in the red bedroom. He awoke at about 1:00 AM for his usual trip to the bathroom. When he turned on the light, he was slightly startled to see a small spider making its way up the wall to the right of the sink. Reflexively, he deprived the spider of its life with a section of toilet paper and dropped it in the toilet. A short time later he revisited the incident in a dream. The spider cried out in agony as it squirmed under Tom’s efforts to crush it. Tom looked in the bathroom mirror and saw an enormous spider in the doorway, blocking his escape. The spider spoke calmly in a sonorous voice. “You murdered my child.” “I didn’t mean any harm!” “That’s always your story, Agnes. You never mean any harm.” “I’m not Agnes. I’m Tom!” “I’m going to fuck you, Agnes, and then I’m going to kill you.” “I’m not Agnes!” The giant spider had hundreds of spiky segmented arms, all of them embracing Tom and pulling him into its soft body. The spider smelled like his mother’s corned beef and cabbage. Tom choked on the smell as he tried to catch his breath. He knew he was dreaming but could not wake up. Finally, he was awakened by his own screams. The image of the spider gathering him in stayed with him. “Holy fucking shit! What is wrong with you?! Everything’s going great! Why can’t you just relax and enjoy it?!”

In planning his Sunday call, Tom considered telling Ginny about his new car. He also considered figuring out how to take a photo with his cell phone to send her a picture of his red living room. In short order, he chose to stay with Sheila’s advice against showing signs of wealth. He did decide to make the call from the Lincoln, reassured by the expansive rush of self- confidence he felt sitting in the driver’s seat. He punched up Ginny’s number at exactly 12:30 PM. She answered immediately. “Hi. Is this Tom?” “Hi, Ginny. Yes, it’s me.” “And how are you today?” “Doing great, Ginny. How about you?” “Just came from church. Great service. Our pastor had a totally inspiring message. How was yours?” “Well, I didn’t go to church today.” “No?” “I was planning on going with a friend of mine, but she couldn’t make it, so…” “She? I didn’t know there was a ‘she’ in your life.” “Oh, it’s nothing like that. She’s a teacher at the school where I used to work. Just a very nice lady – that’s all. She’s the person who told me about the BELIEVERS-IN-LOVE website.” “Okay, then. So… what would you like to talk about?” “I was thinking… maybe we should get together. I mean, you’re there in Maryland. That’s only about a couple of hundred miles from where I am. I can be there in no time flat.”

Although it was only a matter of moments, when Ginny did not answer immediately the furnace of Tom’s anxiety kicked in full tilt. “Tom, I’m sorry but we really can’t meet today. I have issues with my mother, and…” “Well, no, I didn’t mean today. I mean, you know, soon – as soon as we can.” “Yes. Sounds good, Tom. We should meet very soon. Maybe I can jump on a bus and come to Boston. How does that sound?” “Sounds great. Whatever you say.” “Let me work on getting some time off and some help with my Mom.”

Molly knocked on Ginny’s door shortly after 11:00 AM Las Vegas time. Both women had devoted extra effort to hair and make-up and both were smartly dressed for the meeting. “Molly, come on in. It’s been awhile. You look good.” “You, too. You’ll have to tell me your secret.” “Clean living. Lots of exercise. Plenty of protein of course.” “Right. Same here. I brought coffee. Hope it’s still hot.” They got settled opposite each other in the small lounge area next to the kitchenette. “Thanks for the coffee. So, Molly… everything’s good?” “No complaints. A few minor adjustments. I used to shave because the johns like it. Now I shave because I can’t find a coloring product that doesn’t give me a rash. But that’s okay. I’m doing more with management these days anyway.” “So I heard. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about my S prospect.” “Good. We can talk. You know Lillian died, right? Couple of months ago.” “I knew she retired.” “Yeah. Living with her son in Florida.” “She had a son? I didn’t know that.” “Oh, yeah. Lillian started straight. Husband making good money, nice house, kid. The whole deal. Something happened with the husband. Got himself in trouble. Anyway, Lillian wound up alone with the kid. Made a place for herself in the game.” “Sure did. Talk about stamina.” “She was the champ, no question.”

Ginny raised her coffee cup in a toast. “To Lillian. At last they’re together.” “She wasn’t buried with her husband.” “I meant her legs. At last they’re together.” Molly guffawed and almost choked on her coffee. “You got me, Ginny. I forgot that old gag.” “We had plenty of gags when we hung out with Lillian.” “Oh, yeah – non-stop. She was the best when it came to that.” “Hey, Molly, do you the ‘Me, neither!’ jokes Lillian used to come up with? She had hundreds of them.” “Sure. Did you hear about the john with the huge dick?” “No!” “Me, neither! Did you hear about the john who wasn’t married?” “No!” “Me, neither!” After a brief pause, Ginny took over. “Did you hear about the mob guy who turned down free sex?” Molly pretended to be terrified. “Muh-muh-muh-mob guy? I da-da-don’t know any muh-muh-mob ga-guys!” “Muh-muh-muh-me, neither!” They exchanged high fives across the table.

“Okay, Ginny, so tell me about this S deal.” “Well, she’s a kid from the sticks. Nickname Tippy. Twenty years old. Looks twelve. Cute as a button. Small body. Super-tight pussy – or so she says. Chipper personality. Fearless and eager to learn.” “Sounds promising. And you’re managing her?” “That’s the idea. I haven’t given her any specifics. She lives next door. You can check her out while I’m away and let me know what you think.”

Monday was a busy day for Tom. His first stop was the pawn shop, where he sold his second box of silver bars. This time he left with $2,150 in his pocket, rather than the $2,700 he had received for the first box. The young man behind the counter explained that the price of silver had fallen and the shop was overstocked owing to low demand. Tom promised himself that he would not sell any more silver until the market improved. For the moment, he would enjoy the buoyant feeling associated with the possession of more than two thousand dollars in cash. The big decision of the morning for Tom was whether to visit the bank of his choice before or after the noon phone call to Ginny. He decided to give priority to preparing for and executing the phone call, leaving the bank matter for the afternoon. This turned out to be a good choice, since opening a checking and making a cash deposit in today’s world was a more intrusive and timeconsuming process than he had imagined. Rather than welcoming Tom as a new customer, the bankers were more interested in his qualifications as a potential of their services. At length, Tom was granted customer status, this after returning to the Murphy home to fetch Agnes Murphy’s life insurance policy as proof of financial stability. With that established, Tom was handed a colorful pocket folder containing a supply of temporary checks and several brochures outlining the bank’s services and policies. He was impressed with the fact that the debit card for his carried a “Visa” logo and was produced instantly on site. With his created and entered into the bank’s computer system, Tom left the branch feeling that today had been a really good day. He was sure Ginny would be impressed by his ability to buy things with plastic and pull cash from automatic tellers anywhere in the United States. His was, of course, “Ginny!!!”

After an innocuous Monday conversation with Tom, on Tuesday morning “Virginia Winters” was on her way to Baltimore with no particular joy in her heart. Before leaving Las Vegas, Ginny purchased a worn-looking Bible from a second-hand book store. She also purchased a copy of What the Bible Means – the book Sheila had sent to Tom – which she skimmed during her flight. She was not concerned about becoming an expert on Scripture, since she knew Tom had very little knowledge of the topic. Ginny was more concerned about the potential value of the score. Based on emails and phone calls, Tom Murphy did not seem like a man who was sitting on a pot of gold. Maybe Sheila had been a little hasty in pushing the deal her way. Thinking of things more optimistically, since she was in motion one week to the day since Sheila called to suggest Tom as a possible target, the project might at least do well in of efficiency and simplicity. She estimated that her stay in Baltimore and subsequent stay in the Boston area would be brief. In truth, despite becoming a companion to several wealthy men over time, Ginny had never successfully completed a large score. She had learned that rich people live in a special world governed by complex financial arrangements and vigilant gate-keepers. She had never been able to negotiate the maze of ants, lawyers, stock brokers, trust-fund managers and family that served as buffers between a wealthy man’s impulses and his cash. Ginny was not averse to facing facts. Her success in picking the pockets of a few middle-class men had been only marginally more lucrative than her regular activities in the field of whoring. Would the Tom Murphy experience change all that? Ginny expected that it would not. She was already calculating her expenses to establish the lowest possible break-even number in her mind. The one exception to Ginny’s mediocre record as a “player” was her ownership of the gang-bang videos she had made ten years earlier. And this she owed to the late Lillian. Lillian had understood trends in the sex industry with perfect clarity. She determined that the porn business was peaking as a profit center, and that the moment had arrived to be in the market with extreme product – the more extreme the better.

At Lillian’s suggestion, Ginny – then in her mid-twenties – became “Ginny the Gang Bang Girl.” The “GGBG” concept was to produce the wildest examples of the gang-bang genre the law would allow. Rather than following the usual procedure of peddling the idea to established agents and production companies, Lillian suggested that she and Ginny produce the videos themselves, with Ginny retaining ownership and Lillian onboard as adviser on a short-term contract. Their first effort – GINNY GOES TO PRISON – was a spectacular success. Direct sales via magazine ads and online marketing soon evolved into bulk sales to wholesalers for distribution to dealers. GINNY GOES TO PRISON was followed by GINNY GOES TO COLLEGE and four additional titles. The videos were released at six-month intervals, putting Ginny in her first BMW and providing her with a substantial stock portfolio. Eventually, as predicted by Lillian, sales declined and distributors declared “GGBG” a “one-trick pony.” Although the business cycle had been completed in of major distribution, Ginny continued to sell her videos online. She ran this business herself out of a storage unit located a few blocks from her apartment, packaging and shipping a few orders each month. She now included a personal note – sealed with a kiss – along with each order, a touch Lillian would have endorsed. Looking at her immediate future, Ginny asked herself what Lillian would have done to exploit the Tom opportunity to full advantage.

Ginny’s decision to stay at an airport hotel was influenced by the likely presence of business executives far from home. Although she had no specific intention to search out tricks, she had no objection to throwing her legs in the air to cover hotel expenses if opportunity came calling. Ginny’s room overlooked the general aviation terminal, providing her with the opportunity to observe the movement of corporate jets and various types of smaller private aircraft. What impressed her most was the number of privatelyowned planes she could see from her window. And this was just one airport, in one city, on one afternoon. Clearly, many people had something figured out that she would very much like to understand. She often entertained this thought in the presence of affluence. She wondered if she would ever acquire the magical power that led to the possession of private planes and other luxuries. Reflecting on recent events, Ginny was pleased with herself for remaining composed when Molly informed her of Lillian’s death. In fact, the ease with which she and Molly had engaged in badinage around the subject of Lillian was no surprise. Emotional detachment is a matter of routine for working girls. Survival in the game is impossible without it. Now, however, Ginny was free to indulge the grief – or was it guilt? – she felt over Lillian’s ing. Once Lillian had retired from the game, Ginny made no effort to remain in . In retrospect, she could not provide herself with a satisfactory excuse for this obvious slight. She found herself sobbing at the thought of the disrespect she had shown toward her mentor. Somehow this was connected to her desire for wealth and fear of never attaining it. Without warning, Ginny started slapping herself in the face alternately with both hands – slowly at first, then with increasing velocity. She could see this action as a flickering reflection in the window overlooking the reminders of her underachievement. The slapping was satisfying. The image was not. She moved to the full-length mirror attached to the opposite wall. Her face was already numb. She could see that her cheeks were red. The slapping resumed.

Suddenly, she was shouting. “Why?! That’s what I want to know! Why?!” And then, in sync with each slap: “Why?! Why?! Why?! Why?!”

Tom’s Tuesday call to Ginny went to voicemail, with no cute message directed to him. Several additional calls over the next few hours produced the same result. Ginny had assured him that she was making arrangements to visit him in Boston. How was it possible that she could not be reached? With each unanswered call, his concern spun closer to the paralyzing fear that he would never hear from her again. Finally, he thought to call Sheila for advice, using the pretext of thanking her for sending the Bible book and the license plates for the Lincoln. After the niceties related to his gratitude had been exchanged, Tom moved on – casually, he thought – to the real purpose of his call. “By the way, I’ve been trying to get in touch with that young lady, Ginny. She doesn’t seem to be answering her phone.” “When was the last time you spoke to her?” “Well, yesterday, but…” “In that case, I doubt there’s anything to worry about.” “It’s just that we’re in the middle of making plans, you know, to get together.” “She’s probably working. You said she works in a beauty salon, I believe. Those people work hard, and they put in long hours.” “So you think it’s nothing, I mean, that I can’t reach her?” “I’m sure she’ll get back to you as soon as she can.”

Sheila phoned Ginny immediately to report on Tom’s call. She left a message when Ginny did not pick up. “Ginny, this is Sheila. Just heard from Tom. He says you’re not returning his calls. I think he’s having a melt-down. Better get on it to keep him on course.” Ginny heard the message as it came in. She laughed at the irony of it, the first laugh she’d had since trading “Me, neither!” jokes with Molly a couple of days earlier. She sat up in bed, grabbed a pillow, held it up in front of her and put on her best “wise guy” voice as she punched it repeatedly in the “stomach.” “Melt down?! Ya wanna see melt-down?! I’ll give ya melt-down!” She delivered one last punch to the pillow and tossed it across the room.

Ginny had decided against informing her regular clients in advance that Molly would be standing in as whip mistress in her absence. She told Molly that the surprise was “part of their punishment.” The written instructions she left were simple: “You know what to do.” Client files were stored on a flash drive kept in a small file box labeled “Different Strokes for Different Fucks.” The information on the flash drive included Ginny’s daily schedule and folders labeled with her nicknames for the clients. There was a garment bag containing costumes and props for each client in Ginny’s wardrobe. The first client on Molly’s roster for the day was “Snitch Bitch,” a former member of the Las Vegas City Council who had avoided jail time by betraying several colleagues with whom he had engaged in a fraudulent real-estate scheme. “Snitch Bitch” would be ordered to strip off his clothes and grab his ankles for a cavity search, which would be accomplished by the insertion and manipulation of a large dildo, after which he would be ordered to his knees and commanded to suck the dildo until his mistress told him to stop. This activity would be accompanied by humiliating quotations from the client’s plea-bargain agreement, recited by his mistress and punctuated by serious smacks with a garrison belt. As she waited for the client’s arrival, Molly practiced reading highlighted sections of the agreement while punishing a sofa cushion with the belt. “Snitch Bitch” arrived at precisely the appointed time. Molly put on her leather mask and opened the door. “You’re late. You kept me waiting.” “No, mistress, I’m…” “Are you contradicting me?” “No, mistress, never. Um… you’re not Ginny.” “That’s right, bitch. Now get in here before I shove your sorry ass down the fucking stairs.”

Episode 4

REASSURANCE

Ted and Trish always conducted important family discussions at the kitchen table, generally over coffee. Such was the case this evening. Ted was resolute. “I think we should do it. It’s the right thing, plain and simple.” By no means was Trish in accord. “You don’t really know her, Ted. I escaped her clutches as soon as I could, and my Dad always said that leaving her added years to his life.” “Judging from the other day, it seems she’s mellowed, don’t you think?” “Don’t kid yourself. There would be no end to the problems she’d cause if we allowed her to move in here. And you can be sure of that.”

Tom made every effort to reassure himself that Sheila was right. There had to be a logical explanation – most likely work – for Ginny’s lack of . He distracted himself by strolling through his magnificent apartment, by gazing through the window at his equally magnificent automobile, and, presently, by trying to find something he could use to advantage in What the Bible Means. Overlooking the fact that he had not given Ginny his address, the light knock on his door caused Tom to hope for a moment that she had decided to surprise him with a visit. “Mr. Murphy, it’s me, Bill Kelly. Can I talk to you for a minute?” Since returning from Portland, Tom had run into Bill several times, with Bill always offering his assistance in the event that it was needed. Tom thought it unusual that Bill had failed to comment on the Lincoln. He felt a degree of coolness toward Bill as a result. When he opened the door, he saw that Bill was holding a slip of paper. “The phone in your mother’s apartment was ringing off and on all day.” “Probably the mortgage guys. Don’t worry about it.” “Well, the phone kept ringing tonight – lots of rings each time. I figured it might be important, so I went up and answered it.” “Okay. And…” “It was some hospital. They told me they needed to talk to you right away. They said it was about your mother. Anyways, here’s the number and the person who wants to talk to you.” “Okay, Bill. Thanks. I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably a scam. There’s lots of crap like that when somebody dies.” After Bill left, Tom realized he did not know whether Agnes had ed away at home or in a hospital, or whether she had received medical treatment toward the end of her life. If there was a hospital attempting to collect payment for services his mother had received…

“They can kiss my ass.”

Ginny was finishing a surprisingly good room-service steak when Sheila called again. This time she answered. “Okay… what?” “I’m a little concerned. I just want to be sure the fish stays on the hook.” “Oh yeah? Concerned, are ya? Don’t you worry, Sheila. He’s on the hook, and he’s gonna stay there. It doesn’t hurt a thing to have him squirm for a day. When I talk to him again, he’ll think he won the fucking lottery. Incidentally, I’m in Baltimore. Came in today. If you catch the vibe that I’m not in the mood to take any shit…” “Okay, Ginny. Take it easy. So… what’s the plan?” “For a while today I was thinking the plan was going to be jump on a plane back to Vegas.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” “You don’t need to patronize me. I had a little tantrum. You know why? Because I’m bored out of my mind with this Tom bullshit. Now I’m over it.” Ginny pressed the “End Call” button on her phone.

After a reasonably restful night, and before heading out to a nearby Burger King for coffee and his favorite sausage, egg and muffin combo, Tom visited the thirdfloor apartment to confirm the security of his remaining silver. As he was ing through the kitchen on his way out, the wall phone rang. His first thought was to ignore it. But then… “Mr. Murphy?” “Who is this?” “My name is Charlene. I’m a social worker here at the Dorchester Clinic of the Greater Boston Hospital for Women. Are you Mr. Thomas Murphy?” “Well, okay, yes.” “Mr. Murphy, we have your mother here in the hospital. She fell in her apartment yesterday morning and fractured her hip.” “My mother is no longer living. You’ve got the wrong Thomas Murphy.” “She gave us this phone number to you, so…” “Well, there’s a mix-up someplace. My mother ed away a few weeks ago.” “Our patient, Gertrude O’Rourke, has identified you as her son.” “Gertrude?! She’s not my mother! She’s my aunt – my mother’s sister! What the hell’s going on here?” “I’m by her bedside. She would very much like to speak with you. She has shared her entire story with me. Won’t you please speak with her for a moment?” There was a pause, during which Tom heard the sound of Gert trying to clear her throat. “Tommy, my sweet boy, I’m so very sorry you had to find out this way. I wanted to sit down with you and explain everything.”

“Gert, I don’t know what drugs they’ve got you on…” “It’s not drugs, Tommy. Please come and see me in the hosp…” A bout of coughing prevented Gert from continuing. After a brief pause, the social worker returned to the call. “Mr. Murphy…” “Look, I don’t know what this is all about. Gert is my aunt and that’s it.” “A visit from you would mean a lot to her. Will you please consider it?” “Okay. Fine. I considered it. I’m not coming.”

When Tom returned to the first-floor apartment to collect his car keys and cell phone, he discovered that he had missed a call from Ginny. There was no message. “Son of a bitch!” “Maybe you should go and see Gert. Don’t you feel even a little sorry for her?” “Come on, Mom. Gimme a break. Or should I call you Agnes now?” “You don’t need to be cruel. I would fix things if I could. But I can’t do much from here. So it’s up to you.” Tom called Ted’s cell number. “Ted, there’s something very…” “Hey, buddy, good news. The insurance payout can happen at any time. All you need to do is submit a little paperwork and let them know where to send the check.” “I’m not calling about that. Gert’s in the hospital. Broke her hip. She told the hospital people I’m her son. That’s bullshit, right?” Ted was silent for a few seconds, then… “Tommy, I’m not in a position to answer that question. The fact is, I don’t know.” “For crissakes, Ted, what does that mean, you don’t know?!” “It means I don’t know. Look, when we were little kids, I used to hear Mom and Dad arguing. I never heard them spell it out exactly, but there was some issue about you, and sometimes Mom brought up Gert.” “That’s it? Some issue? What am I supposed to do?! I’m trying to figure out my life! And now this?!” “It sounds like maybe Gert wants to make amends or something.”

“So, it’s true?!” “Come on, Tommy.” “You prick! You knew and you never told me?!” “Tommy, this was never part of anything for me – just parents arguing.” “Yeah – arguing about nothing important.” “Tom, listen to me. Tom? Shit.”

Tom sat in his Lincoln, trying to feel something other than rage. It was almost noon. He had not eaten breakfast, adding physical discomfort to emotional distress. At least in the car he could have a conversation with the rearview mirror. “One step forward and two steps back. Tommy two-step. That’s who you are, my friend. Only this time it’s not just two steps back. It’s… I don’t know how many. How many steps back is it when you find out your Mom isn’t your Mom? And Gert! Gert of all people! Holy fucking shit! And Ted, that prick! Goddammit! Fuck ‘em all! Just… fuck ‘em!” Tom’s cell phone was in the cup holder to his right. He had not heard it ring. He saw that the message light was blinking. “Tom, it’s Ginny. Please pick up if you’re there. Tom?” Although he was in full crisis mode, Tom pressed his mind to focus on the requisite daily conversation with Ginny. He could not let her think he was losing interest. She answered on the first ring. “Tom, is everything okay? I was getting worried.” “No. Everything is not okay.” “What’s going on? Tell me.” “I can’t. It’s too… I feel like blurting it out, but I can’t.” “Sharing it with me will make it better – I promise. Whatever burden you’re carrying, there’s no reason for you to carry it alone.” “I found out about some stuff this morning that threw me for a loop. You won’t want me if I tell you.” “That’s not true, Tom. It won’t make any difference in the feelings I have for you.” “I don’t know where to start.”

“Take your time and tell me everything.” Ginny was in her comfort zone. Her years of whoring were by no means limited to the istration of physical arts. She had been the sympathetic listener to troubled men on countless occasions – before, after, and often in place of the sex they had paid her for. She waited patiently for the avalanche of information that was sure to come, expecting of course that all or most of it had already been ed along to her by Sheila. “My Mom died a few weeks ago.” “I’m sorry to hear that, Tom.” “We haven’t been close for a long time.” “I understand.” “Anyway, me and my brother came here last week. We expected things to be pretty simple – sell her house, split up the money, that’s it. Have you ever heard of a reverse mortgage? Do you know what that is?” “More or less.” “It turned out she had one. The house belongs to the mortgage company, not us.” “So, you were disappointed.” Ginny was disappointed as well. This was new information. Evidently, Tom had not informed Sheila that the “big house” he had bragged about was not actually his. “Then we found out she had life insurance – $25,000 each for me and my brother.” “That’s good news.” “And she also left us a bunch of silver bars – worth about $25,000 for each of us.” “More good news.”

“I already sold some of the silver to make a down payment on a new car.” “So why are you feeling upset?” “Because my family’s a bunch of liars.” “How do you mean?” “I found out today that my Mom wasn’t my real mother. Her sister, my Aunt Gert, is. The whole family lied to me all along. That includes my brother. How could they do that to me?! This only came out because Gert is in the hospital with a broken hip. She told some social worker. “That’s quite a shock, isn’t it?” “She wants to see me – to fix things up. Do you think I should go?” “Tom, I was planning to come to Boston to meet you at the end of this week…” “I knew I shouldn’t have…” “Wait a second. It’s not what you think. I’m coming today. We’ll handle this together. I’m sure there’s a bus I can catch. I’ll let you know what time I’ll be there.”

Ginny made the decision to spend nine hours on a bus – as opposed to opting for a more pleasant form of travel – to ensure that she would arrive suitably bedraggled for her on-the-ground introduction to Tom. And bedraggled she would be. In fact, that word described nearly everyone on board this prime example of lowest-cost mobility. She wondered if any of her fellow engers appreciated the irony in the name of the bus company: Peter Pan. Had they ever dreamed of having fairy dust sprinkled on them and flying off with Peter to a land of eternal childhood? From the look of things, most of them certainly were in another place, the result of dedicated involvement with grape, grain and various products derived from the opium poppy. As the bus rumbled along I-95 on its way to Boston, Ginny put Sheila in the picture – to a degree – via text message. “Got the skinny on TM’s stash. Will be there tonight to begin extraction.” She switched to the dedicated burner phone and left a voice message for Tom. Hi, Tom. This is Ginny. I’m on the bus. Left Baltimore a little while ago. We’re supposed to arrive at a place called South Station at 10:50 PM. I hope you know where that is. Please meet me there. Thanks.” For the rest of the trip, Ginny dozed and repeated her mantra for the day: “50k, 50k, Tommy’s good for 50k.”

Although aided by cell-phone communication, visual for Ginny and Tom was delayed by his inability to guide her through the district around Boston’s famous South Station as she searched for the silver Lincoln. “It’s a big place, isn’t it?” These were Ginny’s first words to Tom as she approached him from behind. Tom rushed to grab her suitcase. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at giving directions.” “It’s okay. Good exercise after the long trip. So… where do we go from here?” “To my house, I guess. You must be tired. Are you hungry? We can find a place.” “Sounds good. I haven’t eaten. This is quite a nice car you have here.” “Thanks. Watch this.” Tom opened the trunk lid remotely and placed Ginny’s suitcase in the trunk. Ginny was duly impressed. “That’s really something.” “It closes the same way. Watch.” “It must be nice to have a car like this.” “It’s not paid for. I still have to figure that one out.” Tom surprised himself with his candor. He realized that he wanted to be truthful with this woman. After so many years of defending himself with bullshit, he wondered if he could come clean with her on a consistent basis.

Ginny and Tom’s first meal together – a fast food breakfast at midnight – was a quiet affair. Tom felt comfortable simply being with Ginny, and Ginny relaxed into her role as Tom’s significant other. They arrived at the Murphy home at about 2:00 AM. Seeing the Chinese furnishings, Ginny immediately understood Tom’s nonsense to Sheila about an antiques business. She found it interesting that he did not continue the pretense with her. “So, this is your mother’s apartment?” “No. My Mom lived on the third floor. She had a Chinese lady as a tenant. She left but she was supposed to come back at some point. Did I just say ‘my Mom’? Anyway, Agnes Murphy. She’s right there – on the mantelpiece. I hope it doesn’t creep you out.” “Tom, I know you’re upset about the news you received today – I mean yesterday. Why don’t we sleep on it? We’ll talk it through in the morning. Can you show me where I’ll be sleeping?” Tom had prepared for this question. “We have three bedrooms. I’m in one of them. You have your choice between the other two.” Ginny touched Tom’s cheek with a practiced delicacy. “I’ll take the one next to yours. And I believe our sleeping arrangements will change in the near future.”

Ginny was not surprised at waking up refreshed after only four hours’ sleep. She was on the hunt and that was always exhilarating. This particular hunt was also exhilarating because she planned to go for the kill very quickly. Her first task of the day was to send photos of portable items in the apartment such as urns and wall hangings – taken on her cell phone – to an auction house owner in Las Vegas she called “Bid Buddy.” “Bid Buddy” was an antiques expert and occasional client. She was looking for a ballpark appraisal, and, allowing for the time difference between Boston and Las Vegas, thought she might hear from him sometime in the afternoon. In anticipation of Ginny’s arrival, Tom had bought a few basic grocery items. Ginny was pleased to take note of his thoughtfulness. While coffee was brewing, she looked without success for Tom’s silver hoard in the most obvious places in the apartment. She had several objectives in mind for the day, in addition to locating the silver and determining the value of the Chinese items: keep Tom away from Gert; poke holes in Gert’s claim of being Tom’s mother; learn the status of the insurance payout Tom had received or was about to receive. Tom was grateful to have slept peacefully – his third or fourth night in succession without bad dreams. Ginny was in the living room, enjoying her third cup of coffee and apparently reading the Bible, when Tom appeared shortly after 8:00 AM. “I see you found the coffee. Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” “No problem. I’m about done. I always read the Bible in the morning. I find it gets my day off to a good start. I’ll get you some coffee.” “That’s okay. I’ll get it.” Ginny and Tom had been in each other’s company for only a few hours. “In each other’s company” was a stretch, since much of that time had been spent sleeping in separate rooms. It was clear to Ginny that Tom was uncritical in his acceptance of her. This was

business as usual. One of the essential skills of practitioners in the game is the ability to lead foolish people where they want to go. Her management of Tom would emphasize kindness, openness and simplicity. It would do no harm to have him feel some sense of power, even though he was obviously not the type who needed to believe he was in command. If she guided him skillfully, he would allow her to run his life. When Tom returned with his coffee, Ginny invited him to her on the sofa and encouraged him to talk about whatever was on his mind. Very little prompting was required, and he was resolute beyond her expectations. “There are some things I want to get straightened out.” “Okay – if you want to.” “To begin with, I lied to you. I told you I ran the transportation department at the school in Maine. That wasn’t true. I was only a bus driver.” “It’s good to clear the air. I’m glad you told me.” “If you want to go back to Maryland, I’ll pay for your bus ticket. No, that’s wrong. I’ll drive you there.” “Tom, I’m not the least bit interested in going back to Maryland. Please don’t even think about that.” “There’s something else. I don’t know anything about the Bible and I don’t belong to a church.” “I think I understood that.” “But I’m willing to learn.” “That’s good. I have something to share with you. It’s not about a lie. But it is something you’re entitled to know.” “Okay.” “I haven’t always been a manicurist. Do you my profile on the

website?” “Sort of.” “I said I wasn’t proud of everything I’ve done in my life. Well, for a time – a few years ago – I worked as a paid escort.” “Oh. Uh-huh.” “Do you know what that means?” Ginny watched the blood drain from Tom’s face. What had she hoped to accomplish by going down that path so early? When Tom didn’t answer, she pivoted to damage control. “Tom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. You’re probably thinking of the ‘p’ word – prostitute. But that’s not what I was doing. Mostly, my job as an escort was about getting dressed up and going with someone nice to a show or a dinner party – things like that.” “Uh-huh.” “If something more happened, it was because I really liked the person. But it wasn’t part of the job. Even though the work was pretty harmless, I was using my looks to make money. That’s the part I’m not proud of. Now I’ll bounce the question back to you. If you want me to go back to Maryland…” “No. I want you to stay.” “I guess the old expression is right: ‘Confession is good for the Soul.’”

Tom drove Ginny around Dorchester, showing her the principal landmarks associated with his childhood. He skipped the building that used to be “St. Obnoxious,” which held too many bad memories and which was now a mosque. Ginny waited patiently for Tom to raise a gateway issue that would allow her to riff on the subject of Gert. It happened in due course. “I can’t believe my brother. He knew about Gert since we were kids and he never told me. I’ll never forgive him for that.” “What makes you so sure he knew?” “He told me. He itted it. Yesterday. On the phone.” “Can you his exact words, exactly what he said?” “Well, no. Not exactly. He said he heard Mom and Dad fighting, and there was some issue about me, and Gert’s name came up. And he said he couldn’t say for sure Gert was lying about being my mother.” Ginny waited a few seconds before responding. “Tom, honestly, that doesn’t sound so definite to me. It sounds more like you caught your brother off guard and he was being careful about what he said.” “Anyway, Gert wants to see me…” This time there was no delay in Ginny’s response. “Tom, I think that’s a very bad idea. You’re upset enough as it is. I’ll go and see your Aunt Gert and try to get to the bottom of this.”

With Tom her constant companion, Ginny had her private cell phone set on vibrate. Three text messages had come in during their tour of Dorchester. She paused in the hospital lobby to read them. The first was a one-word message from Sheila. “Update?” Ginny was about to delete the message, since Sheila had no contribution to make at the moment. Then she changed her mind. If Sheila were left entirely out of the loop, she would probably Tom. Ginny needed to keep Tom’s focus onehundred percent on herself with no distractions. “Hi Sheila. Things are moving along. More later.” The second message was from Molly, in response to an inquiry from Ginny regarding the state of business. It was vintage Molly and it made Ginny smile. “Going great! Zip, whip and flip.” The final message was from “Bid Buddy,” regarding the Chinese objects in Tom’s apartment. “As best I can judge from the pictures, they are all recent reproductions. Decorative value only. Sorry I couldn’t give you better news.” Ginny was disappointed, but only slightly. She had inquired about the value of the objects from the standpoint of “leaving no stone unturned,” rather than envisioning a significant profit opportunity.

Gert was in a semi-private room in the hospital’s geriatric wing. The second bed was unoccupied. Ginny observed Gert through a glass in the door. As she had expected, Ginny recognized the set jaw and hardened eyes of an avaricious tart. She put on her best “effortlessly charming” face and entered the room. “Hello, Gertrude. My name is Ginny. I’m Tom’s fiancée.” “Fiancée? I had no idea. And so beautiful.” “Thank you, Gertrude.” “But I was expecting to see Tommy.” “I know. I’m so sorry. He feels terrible that he wasn’t able to be here. He had some important business to attend to, so he asked me to come in his place.” “What’s more important than visiting his mother in the hospital?” “You’re absolutely right. What could be more important than that?” “I hope Tommy appreciates you more than he appreciates me.” “Tom hopes you understand that he’s a little confused about certain things right now.” “Look at me. I’m helpless in this bed. I fell and broke my hip, you know.” “Tom wanted me to tell you he’s concerned about you.” “I’m in a lot of pain. If they don’t fix it soon, I’ll never walk again. When is Tommy coming to see me?” “This is a difficult time for Tom. Along with everything else, he’s trying to get used to the idea that his Aunt Gert might be his natural mother.” “Not ‘might be!’ I am his mother! He needs to understand what happened. I promised my sister I would explain everything to him after she was gone.” “I’ll tell Tom about our visit. Is there anything you need, anything I can bring

you?” “You can bring my Tommy. Tell him I expect to see him right away.”

Ginny processed her visit with Gert as she waited for the elevator. She was certain that her decision to come to Boston on short notice had been the right one. The old woman in the hospital bed – a true piece of work in Ginny’s estimation – reeked with the sort of self-pity that justifies all manner of larceny. Without “boots on the ground,” Gert’s scheming, in combination with Tom’s profligacy and weakness of character, would likely have zeroed out Ginny’s payday in short order. Ginny imagined that Gert had every detail of her mother story worked out, and she was clever enough not to bust it all at once. Would the mother story turn out to be total shit? Not known, but likely. Had Gert injured herself deliberately? Not known, but possible. In any case, it was clear that Gert intended to exploit her injury, most likely with the goal of becoming Tom’s dependent for life. This was not going to happen.

Tom was waiting for Ginny in the hospital parking lot. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. I had trouble finding the room.” “What’s going on with Gert?” “She was sleeping. I didn’t think it was right to wake her. I can come back later, either today or tomorrow. By the way, I was thinking about your Mom’s reverse mortgage. Don’t we have to move out of the house at some point?” “They gave us sixty days’ notice. I think there’s something like a month left.” “So, we’re good for the moment. I noticed there’s a microwave in the apartment. Why don’t we stock up on some food? No point in eating out all the time. We can get to know each other better at home.” “Stop ‘n’ Shop here we come.”

Ginny parodied the role of dutiful housewife, pausing to select several bottles of moderately-priced wine as she pushed her shopping cart stacked with frozen entrees toward the checkout counter. She entertained herself in this process by imagining a chorus of her colleagues in the game jeering from the sidelines. In Ginny’s imagination, their catcalls were obscured by a familiar voice broadcast through the store’s PA system. “Attention attractive shopper in aisle seven. Never mind them. Eyes on the prize.” Lillian, ever the wise counselor and stabilizing influence, had intervened again. Tom paid for the groceries with his debit card, providing Ginny with the name of his bank – a useful piece of information. She would now make an effort to locate the checkbook that went with the card. With the transaction at the cash complete, Ginny accepted the bag boy’s offer to assist in loading the car. It appeared to Tom that the young man was duly impressed with the Lincoln as he hurried to open the car door for Ginny and observe her gracefully positioning herself in the enger seat. Returning to the rear of the car, the bag boy took the liberty of offering a comment. “Wow, man! Your wife is really something! She is H-O-T.” It did not occur to Tom to be offended by the bag boy’s presumptuousness. He was preoccupied with processing the combination of trophy wife and expensive car as the source of iration from others – too preoccupied to notice that the bag boy was waiting for a gratuity. The bag boy, assuming his comments had annoyed the rich guy with the sexy wife, returned without gratuity to his post within the store. Ginny of course understood the value of the bag-boy encounter as a bonding step in her “relationship” with Tom. It would be a mistake to let it cool. She attacked it as soon as Tom was in the car. “I thought you handled yourself very well with that kid. He was very rude. I’m proud of you for not punching him in the nose. We should probably go home and get the food in the freezer. I was thinking about your insurance money. Do you

have someone to help with investments?” “Not yet. First, I have to get in touch with the insurance company and tell them where to send the check.”

Was it really going to be this easy? Step 1: Have the Egyptian get Thomas Murphy added to the checking he had opened for “Virginia Winters.” To make this happen, Ginny would need Tom’s Social Security number. Step 2: Convince Tom to have the funds transferred electronically rather than asking for a check. Step 3: Provide the insurance company with her number and routing information for the transfer. Step 4: Cash out and close the as soon as the funds were available. By the time Tom figured out that the funds had not been deposited to his , Ginny would be a ghost. All of this was clear in Ginny’s mind within thirty seconds of their departure from the supermarket parking lot.

Time being a critical element in Ginny’s plan, she decided to take a run at settling Tom’s mind on the mother issue. That accomplished, she would deal with Gert directly and in no uncertain . She gave herself the assignment of solidifying the Tom end of that issue – to the greatest possible extent – before they reached the Murphy home. “I was thinking about your Mom.” “Which one?” “Tom, that’s not fair. You know which one. The Mom who raised you – the Mom who showed her love for you by leaving you money for your future.” “What about the lies?” “First of all, I think you’re looking in the wrong place for lies. Does your Aunt Gert know about the reverse mortgage on your mother’s house?” “I don’t know. She didn’t say anything about it to me.” “So, as far as she knows, the house is yours, which means you’ll sell it, which means you’ll have money in your pocket. Tom, your Aunt Gert cooked up a story to get at that money. That’s what’s going on here.” “If you put it that way…” “I do put it that way. Don’t you?” “Well, I guess so. It could be.” “I mean, really. The time to clear this up is now.” “But she’s still my aunt. She’s still family.” “She may be family, but she’s not your problem and she’s not being honest with you.” “My Mom would still want me to help her.”

Ginny considered arguing the point further and goading Tom with the expression, “The Lord helps those who help themselves.” But persuasion has its limitations, especially with people of weak character who vacillate on every issue. She would find a way to dispense with the Gert matter without Tom’s acquiescence and certainly without his participation. “With the Good Lord’s guidance, I’m sure we can figure out the best way to go about this. I’ll go and see your Aunt Gert tomorrow. It will all be fine, I promise you.”

Tom was not happy at seeing the “For Sale” sign in front of the Murphy home. “They couldn’t wait, the bastards.” Bill Kelly left the yard work he was doing and approached the Lincoln. Tom lowered his window and assumed an attitude reminiscent to Ginny of the many times in her childhood when she had seen “The Man” drive across dusty fields to keep an eye on his farmhands. ed the age of thirteen, Ginny, herself, was not required to work in the fields. She had learned that she could be given light work to do at the “big house,” provided she bent over for “The Man” on a regular basis. Tom was by no means “The Man.” “The Man,” the first for Ginny, had set the standard by which all others would be judged. He enjoyed being known as a farmer, when in fact he owned a dozen or so thriving agri-businesses. With Ginny, he had presumed without being presumptuous, recognizing that she wanted to give what he wanted to take. And Ginny knew, absolutely, that she was never to speak of it – not even to her father, who had arranged for it to happen. Ginny’s relationship with “The Man” ended when she was approaching fifteen. Her family relocated when “The Man” sent Ginny’s father to manage a grain storage business he owned in a far corner of the state. That the timing of her father’s promotion occurred because she had “aged out” as a sex toy was of no concern to Ginny. Her principal emotion was gratitude. No one else of her childhood acquaintance had experienced life beyond the faded grey farm houses and dusty dooryards of rural poverty. With “The Man,” she had been given the opportunity to relax on imported leather sofas, enjoy music played through a state-of-the-art sound system, and wrap herself in prima-cotton towels after showering in marble-walled luxury. And she had promised herself that the tedium of subsistence living would never be a life sentence for her. Most important of all, she had experienced the thrill of being dominated by a

man who knew what he wanted and knew how to take it. This was an experience that had not been repeated in the twenty years since she watched the “big house” disappear in the distance. And there was no chance that it would be repeated with a snowflake like Thomas Murphy of Dorchester, Massachusetts, as pathetic an example of human inadequacy as she had seen. Ginny assumed – correctly, of course – that Tom’s posturing with Bill Kelly was for her consumption. In relative , the old man’s hat-in-hand humility elevated Tom, however tenuously, to “lord of the manor” status. “They brought the sign a little while ago. I told them they had to get your permission to put it up. They said they didn’t and put it up anyways.” “They should’ve asked me, but it’s not your fault, Bill.” “And a woman came by from the hospital where your aunt is. I came out of my apartment when I heard her knock on your mother’s door. She started asking questions. I told her she had to speak to you.” “That was the right thing to do.” “She said she put a paper under the door up there. Didn’t say what it was for. Do you want me to get it?” “That’s okay – I’ll get it later.” Bill returned to his work. Ginny took note that the old man might be approachable for information. Of more immediate interest was the document left by the representative from the hospital. “He seems like a nice man.” “Bill? Second-floor tenant. Been here for years.” “And he’s cleaning up the yard, even though he won’t be living here much longer.” “Got nothing else to do, I guess.” “We should find out what the hospital wants, don’t you think?”

“No. I don’t care.”

On a wall in the dressing room of Ginny’s Las Vegas apartment was a piece of embroidery set in a gilt frame, a gift from one of her clients, the middle-aged man she called “Teddy Boy.”

“Everything in the world is about sex, except sex which is about power.”

– Oscar Wilde

To this point in their “relationship,” Tom had made no sexual advances – or even suggestions. Ginny considered possible explanations. Most likely, it was because of his preoccupation with family and financial matters. Silly thoughts he might have about her supposed religious devotion could be a contributing factor. Or maybe it was simply a lack of self-confidence. Whatever. The time had come to consolidate her power. She would utilize humankind’s most reliable means of persuasion to override Tom’s issues, whatever they might be. The matter would be settled as soon as she reminded him of “what goes where and why,” as Lillian would say.

Ted and Trish were having a family conference at their kitchen table. “You need to call Tom.” “Come on, Trish. I really don’t want to be up to my ass in this Gert shit. He’s fifty-something years old. Why does everything have to be a crisis?” “That kind of news would rattle anybody’s cage.” “So, he’s going to blame me for the rest of his life because I didn’t say exactly the right words when he asked me about Gert. He’s a fucked-up mess and it’s always someone else’s fault. This is just the latest excuse.” “Ted, he needs someone to trust.” “I can’t believe you’re laying that on me.” “You can clear things up with a phone call. Tell him Gert is delusional and be done with it.” “He’ll think I’m lying, which would be true.” “It may start out like that, but he’ll convince himself to believe you because he needs to believe you.” “You want me to feed him a line of bullshit to make him feel better.” “You can see it that way if you want to, but don’t you think it’s the humane thing to do?”

Ginny had selected the living room as the venue for Tom’s first opportunity to foray where so many had forayed before. They completed their dinner of micro-waved chicken entrees, accompanied by a reasonably good super-market chardonnay – one glass for her and three for Tom. While Tom carried their dinner dishes and utensils to the kitchen, Ginny strolled gracefully from the dining room to the living room and relaxed on the sofa. The Chinese sofa – being slightly lower than the Western style – allowed her to lean back comfortably against the cushions while keeping her feet solidly on the floor. This was perfect for the proceedings she had in mind. When Tom entered the room, he saw that Ginny’s shoes had disappeared. Ginny invited him to her on the sofa by patting a spot close beside her. Now seated with barely an inch between them, Ginny wiggled her toes and started the conversation. “Do you think I have sexy feet? Some people think I have sexy feet.” She extended her legs and raised her skirt slightly. Tom cleared his throat. “I think you have sexy everything.” “Well, now. Could it be that I have a closet Lothario setting next to me?” Tom had no idea what she meant, but he knew he had to say something. “I’m a little rusty at this kind of talk. I think you’re a very sexy woman.” “Thank you. Would you like to know what I’m thinking?” Tom nodded, yes. Ginny took his hand and placed it gently on her leg. “I’m thinking we have come to a very important moment in our relationship. And I’m thinking something wonderful is about to happen. What do you think?” Tom managed to respond. “Yes. Something wonderful.”

“Tom, do you have any difficulty accepting that I have been with men before you?” “No.” “There is something I have never done – a physical and spiritual gift I have held in reserve for the man who would be the love of my life.” Ginny spoke softly and with the greatest conviction. “I’m going to allow you to satisfy me… orally. This is something I have never allowed a man to do.” Did Tom believe Ginny’s claim? In fact, it barely ed. He was about to go down on a beautiful woman who was sitting beside him in his living room. Her personal history could not have mattered less. “I want you to get on your knees in front of me and raise my skirt all the way up.” Tom followed Ginny’s instructions. “You see? I’m not wearing underwear. I’m going to open my legs, so you can see what you want to see. But don’t go there yet. I want you to start with my feet. Use your tongue. Take your time. Work your way up my legs. Lots of kissing would be nice. Think about what I’m going to let you do next. “Now put your hands under me and pull me up. I want you to explore every corner with your tongue. Find the places that give me the most pleasure. I want you to do that until the gift is complete.” Tom had no way of knowing that Ginny was giving a rote performance of a routine she had repeated on occasions beyond counting. And he was so committed to his task that he failed to notice Ginny picking up her phone and tapping out a text message. “The pig is at the trough – at this very moment. Wheeeeee!” The message was to Sheila. Ginny stifled a laugh, which Tom assumed was an utterance driven by arousal. Ginny now focused her attention on delivering a

dramatic conclusion to her performance. Working girls frequently use a concoction they call “Fool’s Gold,” a crème that simulates female ejaculate and carries a slight fragrance derived from pheromones. “Fool’s Gold” can be applied in small amounts as a lubricant or “injected” in greater quantity using a device known in the game as a “turkey baster.” With the “turkey baster” method, the crème can be induced with muscle contractions to flow freely, simulating orgasm. Ginny’s “orgasm” on this occasion was so generous that she could declare to Tom: “Now you know how long I’ve been waiting to share that with you.” Tom seemed surprisingly self-possessed. “You won’t have to wait again.” “I want you to stretch out on the floor. I’ll take care of you now. This will be your reward for taking such good care of me.”

“You’d better wipe off your face. I bet you look like a kid who just ate an ice cream cone. Don’t act so surprised. I couldn’t exactly leave the room, you know. She’s a clever girl, that one.” “I like her, Mom.” “Sure. You like eating pussy, and she’s got one.” “Mom!” “What? Oh, I said ‘pussy.’ That’s just terrible, isn’t? Why don’t you stop being shocked for a minute and think about important things?” “Like?” “Like Fenway Park. Like being nice to Bill Kelly. Like thanking me for keeping this apartment so you could live here and chew on your girlfriend’s clit.” “Mom!” “Right now, it’s Gert you need to think about. Get your ass upstairs and find out what the hospital sent over. Get going, before what’s-her-name gets out of the shower.”

Tom sat in the beauty salon chair in the third-floor apartment reading and rereading the document rom the Dorchester Clinic of the Greater Boston Hospital for Women. The document was a consent form giving Tom power of attorney for medical decisions on behalf of Gertrude O’Rourke if she became incapable of making her own decisions. There was no mention of a mother-son relationship. The document simply referred to Tom as “next of kin.” For the POA to go into effect, Tom was required to sign the form in the presence of a notary and return it to the hospital. Ginny’s arrival was telegraphed by the usual squeaks on the back stairs. In Tom’s absence, she had conducted a detailed search of his bedroom on the first floor. She had been unable to locate his checkbook or the other information she needed to divert the pending insurance payment to her . With no success there, she welcomed this opportunity to inspect Tom’s childhood home and Agnes Murphy’s sanctuary during her final years. Her pretext was a message on Tom’s cell phone. She had listened to the message and determined that it was an important step in putting the Gert nonsense to rest. Tom had no reservations about allowing Ginny access to his mother’s living quarters. Why shouldn’t Ginny know that Agnes lived for years as a housebound invalid, ignored by her two sons as she assembled thousands of dollars for their benefit? This was the “new” Tom, lover of a trophy woman who gave him self-confidence and from whom he would keep no secrets – well, not too many anyway. Ginny surveyed the room, making no reference to the purpose of Tom’s visit to the third floor. “Quite a shrine your mother had here.” “Yeah, she was always pretty devout.” “May she rest in peace. Oh, by the way, you had a phone call.” Ginny produced the cell phone and played the message on speaker without offering the phone to Tom.

“Hey, Buddy, it’s Ted. Listen, I think I gave you the wrong impression the last time we spoke. I didn’t mean for you to think Gert was telling the truth about the whole mother deal. Anyway, give me a call and we’ll talk about it.” Ginny handed the phone to Tom. “That about settles it, wouldn’t you say?” Tom did not answer immediately. He leaned back in the chair and looked up at the over-sized crucifix on the wall, which, illuminated only by a study lamp on the table below it, appeared disturbingly realistic. “Do you believe Jesus died for our sins?” Now it was Ginny who hesitated. The limits of her cynicism were being tested. “Of course. And I’m sure your mother did, too.” Tom’s eyes never left the crucifix. Soon he was sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Mom! I’m just so damn sorry!” “I’m sure she understands, my love.”

The morning after their first sexual encounter, Ginny and Tom had breakfast together in the kitchen of the first-floor apartment. They had decided to continue sleeping in separate rooms for the time being, ostensibly to ensure a good night’s sleep for both of them. They agreed that they wanted to reserve their lovemaking for special moments. Ginny had promoted this idea to give herself time alone to maintain communication with Molly, Sheila, the Egyptian, and other s as necessary. As they finished their meal, Tom left the kitchen and returned with the POA form. Ginny listened quietly as Tom reiterated that Agnes would want him to help Gert – no matter what. “She’s family, Ginny. I can’t just walk away.” With her patience running thin, Ginny decided to play the relationship card. “Tom, if your Aunt Gert wasn’t in the picture, what would we be talking about right now?” When Tom failed to answer immediately, Ginny continued. “Wouldn’t we be planning nice things to do… with each other? We’re trying to build a relationship, aren’t we?” Tom felt the old anxiety threatening to return. “I’m afraid this is not going to work out with your aunt in the middle of it. You have a choice to make. The time has come to make it, and I’m going to help you.” Ginny picked up the POA form. “Say good-bye to this silly piece of paper. I’ll go and see Gert today. I’ll explain to her in the nicest way possible that you and I will not be able to help her, and we’ll put an end to this.” Tom watched Ginny tear the form in quarters and toss it in the trash.

“What about my brother? Should I call him?” “Why? You heard his message. What else is there?”

Tom stopped for gas on the way to the hospital. While he was occupied at the pump, Ginny went into the station’s convenience store to buy bottled water. The clerk behind the counter – a young man recently arrived from Vietnam – reacted in spectacular fashion to her presence in the store. “I know you! You famous! You name Ginny, right?!” “Well, maybe.” “You big star! You make many video!” As Ginny approached the counter, the clerk shouted in the direction of the stockroom. “Khiem! Khiem – you come quick! You no guess who in store! Ginny from video!” “Ginny?! Ginny gang bang?! She no in store! You bullshit me!” “No! She here! She buy water! Ginny, you take water free. I no charge you.” The clerk named Khiem came out of the stock room and ed his colleague behind the counter. “Son of bitch! Me and Duc big fan!” “I’m glad you like my videos. Which one do you like best?” The two clerks spoke excitedly to each other in Vietnamese. Khiem answered. “We like GINNY GO PRISON. You do many guy! Then you do guard! You busy!” “We get hard! Then we…” “Duc no want say what he do!” The two clerks grinned and poked each other, reminding Ginny of boys she knew in junior high school.

“That’s okay. I think I know.” Khiem and Duc exchanged high fives. Khiem continued. “You got picture with you?! You sign for us?!” Ginny thought for a moment before answering. “Maybe I have something better.” She smiled broadly, unbuttoned her blouse and unhooked her bra. Duc chattered to Khiem in Vietnamese. Khiem explained. “He say he tell friend Ginny show tit in store! They no believe.” “Wait! We make picture cell phone! Ginny, okay?!” “Sure. Why not?” The clerks grabbed their cell phones and dashed out from behind the counter. Each stood respectfully next to Ginny for his photo as the other circled to get the best angle on her profile. The “photo shoot” complete, the clerks exchanged high fives again. Duc got in the last word. “We show picture friend! Now they believe!”

Episode 5

REFOCUS

Ginny stopped in the hospital lobby to make a phone call. The call was to Sheila. “Got a minute?” “No problem. The kids are taking a test.” “I need you-know-who’s social security number. Any suggestions?” “Sure. Personnel file.” “Can you get into it?” “Easy. Right down the hall. Everything’s on paper in a file cabinet. We’re not exactly in the twenty-first century here. School lets out in a couple of minutes. I’ll do it then.” “Excellent.” “This being Friday, everybody’ll be scooting out the door. No one will even look my way. I’ll send you a text.” “Great. I’ll sit tight and wait for it.” “Consider it done.” Within ten minutes, Tom’s social security number appeared on Ginny’s phone. She immediately sent it to the Egyptian, instructing him to add Thomas Murphy to the “Virginia Winters” checking . His answer popped into her phone as she entered the geriatric wing. “No problem. Monday – 12 Noon (LV time) latest. Billing $1,000 to your personal .”

“She’d really be pissed if she knew.” Tom was speaking to his image in the Lincoln’s rearview mirror, as he waited for Ginny in the hospital parking lot. He was recalling his thoughts during the cunnilingus experience of the night before. Simply put, the past had trumped the present as his primary focus. “Oh, yeah. She’d be pissed alright.” While performing the act on Ginny, Tom had enjoyed a protracted flashback to his first experience with cunnilingus, an experience that had caused him to be in permanent pursuit of opportunities to engage in that practice. The girl was Mary Ann Scalese, granddaughter of the janitor at “St. Obnoxious.” Tom had known her since kindergarten, where she had gained boys’ attention by inviting them to watch her pee. This had taken place behind a tree in the schoolyard. At age twelve, Mary Ann set up shop in her family’s basement, where she entertained boys after school. Her “hut,” as she called it, was a cubbyhole she had created under a ping-pong table by arranging suitcases and storage boxes as walls. For a fee of one dollar, a boy was permitted to watch Mary Ann raise her skirt and spread her legs. This ritual was illuminated by a flashlight she provided. The fee for touching her “special place” was two dollars additional. Tom was a regular customer for these delights, a habit he ed by stealing change from his mother’s purse. One day in school, Mary Ann whispered an offer to Tom: “For five bucks you can kiss it.” She delivered on her promise that afternoon. Tom expected this to occur every time he could scrape together the price of ission. Unfortunately, adolescents being the indiscreet little gossips they are, word of Mary Ann’s cottage industry reached the ears of parents and school officials. The enterprising young lady of the afternoon vanished, and, according to community opinion, her parents were

fortunate to have avoided jail time for contributing to her delinquency. More than four decades after his first taste of female genitalia, memory of that event remained as one of Tom’s favorite masturbation fantasies. And it had commanded his attention on the previous night. “Mary Ann… I wonder whatever happened to her.”

Gert’s hospital room was unoccupied when Ginny arrived. Staff at the nurses’ station informed her that Ms. O’Rourke was in the recovery area. Surgery to repair her hip fracture had taken place early that morning.

Ginny returned to the parking lot and reported this development to Tom. In typical Ginny style, she recognized an opportunity in the news. “I didn’t see Gert. They operated on her today. She’s in recovery. So, we know she didn’t need that power of attorney thing. It was nothing but a trap to get you involved.” “Did they say when we can visit her?” “We? That’s been decided. I’m taking care of it.”

Molly was preparing costumes and props for her Friday evening clients when she heard a commotion in the next apartment. Tippy was squealing, and they were not squeals of delight – mock or otherwise. In moments, Molly was pounding on Tippy’s door. The command voice she had learned from her father, a career soldier, served her well in her role as dominatrix. It served her well now. “Open it!” Tippy’s voice was shrill. “Lemme go, you son of a bitch!” Amid the muffled sounds of struggling, punctuated by several thumps against the door, Molly heard the lock snap open. Both Tippy and her john were fully undressed. The john was twisting Tippy’s arm behind her back. Molly now spoke in a quiet but firm manner. “You can let her go now.” The john complied and Tippy quickly moved into the zone of Molly’s protection. Molly had witnessed many altercations of this type over the years. She always marveled at the immediate authority granted the arriving “cavalry” by the nude people in the room – the power of being clothed versus the vulnerability of nakedness. The intimidation factor on this occasion was enhanced by Molly’s studded black leather costume. Tippy and her john may have separated, but they did not remain silent. Each began a tirade against the other. Molly silenced them with a series of commands. “Shut up! Get dressed, both of you! Tippy, give the man his money back!” “No! It’s my money! I’m not gonna…!” Tippy was stunned by the slap across the face she received from Molly. Molly again spoke quietly. “Return the man’s money. Do it now.”

Two minutes later, Molly and Tippy were alone. Tippy was weeping and whining. “You should’ve been on my side.” “Shut up! Do you think for one second I can’t figure out what happened with you and that john? You made some big promises, he gave you that chunk of cash, and then you tried to finish him off fast with a lick and a jerk. Tell me different and I’ll smack you again.” “I thought the idea was to get as much as you can.” “Are you that fucking green? Don’t you know the difference between hooking and scamming? Hooking is a straight-up business transaction. You promise to swallow, you do it. You promise him shit-shoot, he gets it. Do your business that way and johns won’t jump bad on you. Mess with people and you’ll have no end of trouble – just like tonight. “Scamming is another thing. And it takes training and experience. Behave yourself and Ginny and I will teach you. So wise up. Next time I won’t come running.” “You gonna tell Ginny about this?” “Right now, no. When she gets back, we’ll see. We’re thinking about a scam that’ll make you a ton of money. Another stunt like tonight and you can forget it.” “I won’t let you down. I promise.” “Don’t tell me. Show me.”

Midday Saturday, Ginny and Tom were sitting at a rusted metal picnic table outside Sal’s burger t, enjoying a lunch of “Sal’s Specials” with “the works.” “This place has been here since I was a kid.” “I can see why. The burgers are terrific.” “This might even be the same table they had back then. I hope you don’t mind being out here. One thing about having a new car is you don’t want to spill anything in it.” “It’s fine. The main thing is we’re together.” When they had finished their burgers, Ginny picked up the conversation. “I’ve never felt this close to anyone before. Why do you think that is?” “Well, we made love last night, so…” “What happened last night was… I don’t know how to explain it. How do you explain being transported? I was transported to another place, a heavenly place far away. It’s how I imagine Heaven must be. You did that for me. I’ll never forget it.” “I was wondering…” “What?” “Are you wearing underwear right now?” “What do you have in mind? As if I didn’t know.” “There’s plenty of room in the back seat.” “Didn’t you say something about not spilling anything in your new car? I’ll tell you what. Let’s get the hospital out of the way. Then we’ll head on home. I bet something very nice will happen when we get there.”

Gert was sitting in a wheel chair when Ginny entered her room. “Hello, dear. Don’t look so surprised. This is how they do things nowadays. They get you out of bed and moving around right away. In a week or so I’ll be walking on my own. Come here and fix my pillows.” Ginny understood the ploy for what it was – a manipulator’s effort at manipulation. “I think that’s the nurse’s job.” Ginny moved a chair into position opposite Gert and made herself comfortable, as… “I guess Tommy didn’t sign the paper.” “No. He decided not to.” “That’s fine. I was thinking of leaving him my estate…” “That’s very generous of you, I’m sure.” “Since he doesn’t want anything to do with me, I guess I can donate everything to charity. Is he planning to come and see me at least?” “At the moment, I don’t think he is.” “You know, it’s pretty interesting how people are. A couple of days ago I was, you might say, hysterical. I kept a certain secret for more than fifty years. I thought I might die during the operation to fix my hip, and I couldn’t stand the idea that Tommy would never know the truth about how he came into this world. Now… well, now I just don’t care. What I mean is, if he doesn’t care, I don’t care.” “Do you think he might care if he knew a little more about it?” After a pause of some thirty seconds, Gert responded. “Back in the day, us kids didn’t know much… except how to fuck. And we

didn’t waste time getting started. Twelve years old. Thirteen, maybe. There was no such thing as birth control. Not for us. We were good Catholics. And the boys always said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll pull out.’ But they never did. So a lot of girls got knocked up. That’s what we called it – getting knocked up. Are you listening to me?” “I’m riveted. Can’t wait for what comes next.” “Anyway, I made it to the age of seventeen. Then it happened. I got knocked up… by my sister’s husband.” “Well, now. That’s an interesting wrinkle – your sister’s husband.” “That’s right. He could have gone to prison.” “If you ratted him out. So, your sister, Saint Agnes of Dorchester, agreed to accept your bastard child and raise him as her own. Quite a soap opera you had going on.” “You may think it’s funny. But it wasn’t funny back then. They kept me hidden – right there in the house Tommy grew up in. When it was almost time for me to deliver, they took me at night to St. Margaret’s – that’s the home for unwed mothers. Tommy was born there. He was adopted at birth by Agnes and Michael Murphy, and I became his Aunt Gert.” “You’ve got your story down. That’s for sure. I wonder what you’d say to someone who thought you were nothing more than a teen-age tramp who fucked her sister’s husband.” “My sister forgave me. And she forgave her husband. But that son of a bitch couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive her when she made a mistake with an old boyfriend.” “Let’s say you’re telling the truth about all this. Now what?” “I think Tommy should know where he came from.” “What’s in it for him?” “I told you. My estate…”

“Speaking of estates, did you know that Agnes had a reverse mortgage? Tom and his brother have no house to sell. They inherited nothing.” “Why should I believe you? You’re probably just lying to get his money.” Ginny withdrew a document from her purse. “This is a ed letter from the mortgage company that owns your sister’s house. Would you like to read it?” “No. It’s probably a fake.” “Do you still want to see Tom? He’s outside, in the car.” “Maybe tomorrow. Right now I’m tired. Go tell the nurse I want to go to bed.” “Sure… if I see her on my way out.”

As they drove in the general direction of the Murphy home, Ginny provided Tom with her version of her meeting with Gert. At length, Tom responded. “So, it was a lie… the whole thing?” “Yup.” “Did she say why?” “We know why. It was about the money she thought you were going to have. I showed her the reverse mortgage letter and that was the end of it. Case closed.” Ginny and Tom were startled by the police car’s lights and siren. “Sir, do you know why I pulled you over today?” “No, sir, I don’t.” “You failed to stop at that last intersection. It’s a four-way stop.” “I believe I stopped – a rolling stop at least.” “Sir, we either stop or we do not. I’ll need to see your driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance.” “Ginny, would you…?” When Ginny opened the glove compartment, she realized she had caught a break. This was the repository for Tom’s banking information and a variety of other documents. She noted the presence of the life insurance policy as she searched for the car’s insurance card and registration. Tom removed his driver’s license from his wallet and presented the three documents to the officer. “Is this your current address – Portland?” “Yes, it is.” “What brings you to Dorchester today?”

“I grew up here. My mother died recently, so…” “I understand. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m going to let you go with a warning today, sir, and ask you to be sure you obey all traffic signs. Fair enough?”

Ted and Trish had returned from their Saturday Costco run. Observing their usual routine, Ted was carrying boxes from the garage to the kitchen as Trish put groceries away. Trish’s mother, their weekend guest, pushed her walker into the kitchen. “Patricia! There’s something wrong with my toilet!” “Did you drop your pad into it?” “No. I didn’t drop my pad into it. Why can’t I have a toilet that works? All I want is a toilet that works!” “Mom, we told you that you cannot flush your pads down the toilet. You have to put them in the plastic bags we gave you.” “Sometimes they go down, so it’s not me – it’s the toilet’s fault. I want an egg.” “We’re going to have dinner in a little while, Mom.” “I want an egg. Sunny side up. And a piece of rye toast with lots of butter. I love butter. And salt and pepper.” “We’re having dinner in a little while. You don’t need to eat anything right now.” “Why are you mean to me? I want an egg – over easy, just like I always have it. And whole wheat toast. Why don’t you listen to me? You never listen to me.” “I’ve been listening to you since you got here, Mom.” “Don’t you sass me.” “Why don’t you read your Bible lesson? It’s right there on the table.” “Where? I don’t see it. Come and find it.” “It’s right there in front of you. Just sit down and read it.” “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“You just went, Mom. Two minutes ago.” “No, I didn’t. Bathroom! Do as I say! My house. My rules.” “Mom, this is my house, mine and Ted’s.” “No, it isn’t.” “Mom, you are a guest in our home… until tomorrow night.” “Where’s my egg? I want it soft boiled, the way I like it. On a toasted English muffin, like they have at… what’s the name of that place I like? Why don’t you have English muffins? You never have anything I like.” Ted entered from the garage carrying two six-packs of beer. “Drink. That’s all you do. Drink, drink, drink. No wonder you never amounted to anything.” Trish spoke quietly to Ted as he placed the beer in the refrigerator. “Great idea you had, bringing her here.” Trish’s mother thumped her walker on the floor. “No secrets! No secrets in this house!” Trish ignored her. “Your brother left a phone message.” “Ah, shit! What did he want?” “Language! I won’t have that language in my house!” “The Gert saga is over. She told Tom she was lying.” “That’s an interesting development. We get the outcome we wanted without having to keep up the bullshit with Tommy.” “I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap, young man! I will not have that

foul language in my house!”

Ginny’s thoughts were directed at the glove compartment of the Lincoln. Her main objective for the weekend was to secure Tom’s insurance policy and prepare for a distribution request on Monday. That document, along with Tom’s checkbook, was located a few inches from her knees. The silver stash remained on her mind as well, with the assumption that a pathway to locating it would reveal itself in due course. The opportunity to transfer the items in the glove compartment to her purse was created by the simplest of ruses. She asked Tom to stop and make a purchase for her – a couple of candy bars to satisfy a craving she had invented. To allow the process to be marginally interesting, Ginny made the request as they approached the gas station and convenience store where she had posed topless with the clerks. She was intrigued by the risk of placing Tom in the company of people who knew exactly who she was. She was tempted to follow Tom into the store simply for the excitement of finding out what would happen. He returned with her candy as she was considering this possibility. She was both relieved and disturbed that the decision had been made for her. As they rolled through the streets of Dorchester, Ginny broke off squares of chocolate and handed them to Tom, being careful not to drop any crumbs. Tom did not seem to notice that Ginny was not eating any of the candy. If his mind was focused on concern about keeping the interior of the Lincoln pristine, hers was focused on a conversation she ed from her past.

The setting was a hotel suite in Scottsdale, Arizona, with a beautiful mountain view from the terrace. Lillian was discussing careers with several girls – including Ginny – who were new to the game. Lillian had brought in the newbies to provide services to attendees at an insurance agents’ convention. Since she commanded respect as a long-term success in the sex trade, the girls were attentive. The early part of the conversation was dedicated to some basic best practices for working girls on the road. At the top of the list was knowledge of the city in which they were operating. “Is it hot, warm, cool or cold? ‘Hot’ means the vice cops are active and aggressive. Don’t you believe they won’t lie to you about being cops or any other such crap. Your best defense is to avoid working in a hot town, or even a warm town. The one we’re in right now is fairly cool. “You’ll be okay if you keep a low profile – conservative dress, reserved demeanor, ginger ale instead of booze, that sort of thing. By the way, when you order ginger ale at a bar, you’re giving a signal that you’re available for a date. Quite often bartenders will push traffic your way if you over-tip a little for your drinks.” After answering a few questions, Lillian moved on to a broader topic. “You come from different places, different backgrounds and whatnot. But you all think of yourselves as survivors. Fair enough. Every one of you went through some shit. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You survived whatever the shit was, and now you’re surviving in the game. “That’s fine… for now. But after a while you’ll see that surviving isn’t enough. If that’s all you’ve got, the game will wear you down, and you’ll end up in the gutter. “So, what can you do? Change the story you tell yourself. Forget ‘survivor.’ Tell yourself, ‘I’m an achiever.’ Tell yourself that story all day long. When your mind set is ‘achiever,’ you create opportunities for yourself way beyond strip, suck and fuck. Those opportunities are where the real money is. That money is your friend – maybe your only friend. That money is your future and your ticket to emotional

stability.”

That conversation with Lillian – training session, really – took place… how long ago? Fifteen years? No, more. Ginny ed being about seventeen at the time. Emotional stability linked to making money and holding on to it. Pretty obvious. Did Ginny need a reminder? Apparently, she did. A few minutes earlier she had been ready to jeopardize the Tom project with a stunt at the convenience store. Why would she consider doing such a dumb thing when she was only two or three days from completing a project with income of at least $25,000 – considerably more if she could obtain the silver stash and clear Tom’s checking of whatever funds she might find there. Then the moment of insight came: Tippy. With good management, the Cherry Pop Scam with Tippy promised to produce a significantly greater return than the mundane adventure in Dorchester, Massachusetts. Ginny had put the Tippy matter on the back burner… at Sheila’s suggestion… without adequate research on Tom… and possibly opening the door for Molly to work Tippy without her. The contempt Ginny felt for Tom was compounded by the contempt she felt for herself for pursuing a low-ball score unnecessarily. Now she understood her bout of self-abuse at the airport hotel in Baltimore. She understood why she had been annoyed with Sheila for getting her involved. And she understood the selfdefeating stunt she had contemplated at the convenience store.

During their few days in Arizona, Lillian had spoken privately with Ginny. “I’m sorry to say it but most of the girls we’re working with this week won’t make it in the game. Too damaged. But you’re not. You could be a player. For that to happen you need to think like a player. Make it your business to know your world and how it works down to the last detail. Learn to spot trends before anyone else does. Most of all, understand people, especially yourself. Know what drives you. Learn to control it. That’s the key.”

Ginny was back on track. She would be counting the hours until Monday afternoon, or perhaps Tuesday morning, when she could make her move on the insurance payout. Until then, she would use her time judiciously. There were paperwork matters to be attended to, and there was the issue of the silver. On that front, her searches of the first-floor apartment had revealed that the silver was definitely not being stored there. She was certain a search of the thirdfloor was in order. She would also have to estimate the weight and volume of the stash. Her goal was to leave with all of it in her possession. There were several obstacles in her path to that goal. Most likely, escaping with the silver would require a large suitcase with wheels. That would have to be bought and concealed. Or maybe it could be justified by a little shopping spree. That solved, she would have to address the squeak factor on the stairs. Sneaking out in the middle of the night was out of the question. She would need to dispatch Tom on a fool’s errand and perhaps deal with the second-floor tenant. Transportation by car service would be simple to arrange. She would ship the silver to Las Vegas. No big whoops there – car service to UPS, have them box and ship the suitcase, then on to the airport. She was confident that practical matters could be brought under control.

Ginny and Tom were delayed in their return to the Murphy home by Tom’s impulse decision to have the Lincoln washed and detailed. Suffice it to say that car detailing in Dorchester is not exactly the same as car detailing in, say, Beverly Hills or Palm Beach. It’s more like kids raising money for a school trip. In fact, in this case it was exactly like kids raising money for a school trip. A generous merchant had allowed a class of tenth graders to use a large section of his parking area for their weekend project, even providing a water supply directly from the store. The corner location was ideal for the students to draw attention to their enterprise. A half-dozen cute girls in short-shorts and tee shirts waved placards and shook their booties at ing motorists. In Ginny’s mind, these girls were small-time S-I-Ts – sluts in training – just a couple of short years away from lap dances and back-room blowjobs at some titty bar. Ginny observed that the chubby girls in the group were busy vacuuming cars the boys had finished washing. She also observed that all of the customers were middle-aged men.

The booty-inspired car wash provided Ginny with the opportunity to slip into the store – a women’s clothing store as it turned out – for a quick call to Molly. “Got a minute?” “Sure. By the way, did you hear about the hooker who wanted to be called a sex worker?” “No!” “Me, neither!” “Alright – business. I don’t have a lot of time to talk. I’ve got eyes on a certain checking . On Monday, I expect to overnight a check and deposit slip to my Vegas address. It’ll be for Tuesday morning delivery. You’ll run, not walk, to the bank on the deposit slip. Okay?” “Will do – the moment it arrives.” “Good. It’ll be a personal check made out to ‘Virginia Winters.’ I’m hoping it clears before the whole operation folds. With any luck, the Boston end will wrap on Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning. When I get back, we can start prepping Tippy for the S.”

Ginny crossed the parking lot to the Lincoln. “The car looks nice. The kids did a good job.” “They’re doing this to pay for their trip to some science place on Cape Cod. I forget the name of it.” “It’s educational. That’s the important thing.” “I gave them a little extra money to help out.” “I’m sure they appreciate it. I wanted to ask you something. Have you noticed I’ve been wearing the same dress every day since I got here?” Tom took note of Ginny’s dress as he opened the car door for her. Ginny remained standing outside the car. “I guess I noticed. I didn’t really think about it.” “Tom, do you care how I look?” “You look great. You’re beautiful.” “Does the dress I’m wearing go with this car? If you saw an ad for this car in a magazine, would the model standing next to it be wearing this dress?” “Maybe not.” “I want you to be proud of me. Since we’re here anyway, why don’t we look at some clothes? I’ll let you pick something out for me.” “Okay. But I’m not gonna carry your purse.” “Don’t worry. I won’t make you do that. When we get home, I’ll model everything for you and you can practice taking them off.”

It would be no stretch to assume that a women’s clothing store in Dorchester was unlikely to stock many items of interest to Ginny. So, she was relieved to find several outfits she could wear without embarrassment among the dowdy remnants of another era. This was germane only to the extent that she needed a sufficient volume of clothing to justify the purchase of a rolling suitcase, soon to be utilized as transport for Tom’s collection of silver bars. That purchase was made in the store’s luggage department, where Lillian Vernon and Vera Bradley were engaged in an epic battle for dominance in the field of tacky floral, leopard and polka-dot bags. Ginny was pleased to discover a tasteful navy and green suitcase with a strong handle and sturdy wheels.

Despite its slogan – “The Garden State” – few people think of New Jersey as farm country. In fact, New Jersey has extensive rural areas. Truckers have been known to use the roads through these areas to avoid weigh stations on the interstate highways. As a former over-the-road truck driver, Ted was familiar with these handy – though time-consuming – detours, and he enjoyed the “memory lane” aspect of driving them. Trish was happy to be included on this occasion. “You know, I’m glad you pushed inviting my mother for the weekend.” “It was an experiment.” “So, you really were thinking about having her live with us.” “Guilty, as charged. I had a moment of weakness over my Mom. I’m done with that now. Your mother’s visit ends tomorrow as scheduled.” Trish knew Ted would not welcome an abundance of chit-chat. She waited several minutes before mentioning the other matters that were on her mind. “Why do you suppose Gert put the kibosh on the mother thing?” “Who the hell knows? Another crazy old broad. Guilt, maybe. There’s a lot of that in the Murphy family.” “I was thinking Tom might ask for a DNA test.” “That’s way too sensible. He’d never think of it.” “What do you think will happen with his insurance money?” “He’ll go through it like shit through a goose.” “Isn’t there some way to…?” “No. A loser is a loser.”

With Ted and Trish out of the house, Trish’s mother was in full geriatric overdrive. “This is 9-1-1. What is your emergency?” “I want them out of my house!” “Ma’am, 9-1-1 is for emergencies.” “This is an emergency! They’re trying to put me out of my house!” “Who is doing that, ma’am?” “My daughter and that truck-driver boyfriend of hers. I want you to get over here right now!” “Ma’am, may I speak to your daughter?” “They broke my toilet. And they won’t give me any food. And now they’re throwing me out into the street!” “Ma’am, the phone you are using is listed to Theodore and Patricia Murphy.” “No! It’s my phone! I have to go to the bathroom. Call me back in five minutes.”

The mechanics of Ginny’s scam on Tom were about to be advanced. Upon their return to the Murphy home, she secured some private time under the pretext of removing tags and hanging up her new wardrobe. There was one small disappointment. Tom’s checking showed a balance of slightly more than $2,000. Ginny knew that even this modest figure was no longer accurate, since Tom had used his debit card at the clothing store. The decision to skip the pilfering of the checking came easily. She sent a text to Molly. “Not sending check. Bigger fish to fry.” Focused now on the main chance, Ginny placed a deposit slip for her “Virginia Winters” in Tom’s banking folder. This would provide the routing and information needed to transfer the insurance proceeds to her. The process would go smoothly, assuming that Tom allowed her to handle the transaction. A quick perusal of the insurance policy led Ginny to believe that it might be possible to accomplish the payout with a phone call followed up by a fax. One glitch could be the number of days required for the transfer to be executed. Regardless of any other considerations, she would have to babysit Tom until that $25,000 was securely hers. Returning the checking folder and insurance policy to the glove compartment of Tom’s car and learning the exact location of the silver were all that remained on Ginny’s immediate agenda.

After pouring all the beer in the refrigerator down the kitchen sink, Trish’s mother was back on the phone. “This is 9-1-1. What is your emergency?” “Are you the person I spoke to last time about my daughter and her truck-driver boyfriend?” “I don’t know, ma’am. What is your emergency?” “I want to speak to the person I spoke to last time. I told her everything and I don’t want to repeat it all again.” “Ma’am, unless you have an emergency…” “Of course I have an emergency! What are you… a moron?!” “Ma’am, I am going to end this call now.” “Oh, no, you don’t! I’m a tax-paying citizen! I pay your salary! I demand to speak to…”

After enduring hours of soporific small talk on Saturday night, Ginny was thankful for the arrival of Sunday morning. Had they actually spent forty-five minutes discussing Pizza Hut versus Papa John’s? At the earliest possible moment, Ginny had escaped to her room, supposedly for her evening Bible study. She now occupied her usual morning spot on the red sofa, where she was drinking coffee and pretending to read the Bible. Such was her impatience to see an end to Tomscam – as she now thought of it – that she had to fight off a fantasy in which she was behind the wheel of Tom’s Lincoln, powering the car off a high bridge into deep water, with Tom flopping around and screaming in the enger seat. Pulling her thoughts back to the present moment, Ginny reminded herself that a payday of at least $25,000 was at hand. When was the last time she had enjoyed a return on that level for the efforts of a couple of weeks? She didn’t have to think about it. Never. And yet she had doubted herself – and even punished herself – for delaying the Cherry Pop Scam. Thinking objectively, the S would require investment. Proceeds from Tomscam would be available as seed funding. Working the two projects in sequence this way was good business. True, Ginny had been tempted to sabotage Tomscam on several occasions. But she had not done it. She reflected on this victory with some satisfaction. Lillian’s words of advice from their time in Scottsdale came to mind: “Know what drives you. Learn to control it. That’s the key.” Ginny recognized that she did not understand her self-destructive impulses, but she was learning to control them. Her thoughts on this topic were cut short by a text message alert on her phone. The message was from the Egyptian. “Just heard from my bank . He’s on vacation. Will not be able to add TM to Winters tomorrow. Will refund $1,000 charge.” “This sucks! This truly fucking sucks!”

Ginny looked up. Tom was standing in the doorway to the living room with a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked puzzled. “Sorry about that. It’s not like me to speak that way. Problem with my Mom.” “She okay?” “She will be. Just a touch of food poisoning.” Tom ed Ginny on the sofa. “We could jump in the car, you know. Be there in no time flat, if she needs help.” “We don’t have to let it ruin our Sunday. My sister is there to take care of her.” “Oh. Okay. So, what’s your sister’s name?” “Molly. Her name’s Molly.” “Older or younger?” “A couple of years older.” “Like me and my brother. He’s two years older than me.” “What do you want for breakfast? I was thinking about making a frittata.” “Sounds great. I wish I knew what it was.” “I’ll surprise you. I think you’ll like it. More coffee?” “No. I’m good.” “Okay. This will take a few minutes. You’ve got time to check out a few things in the Bible, if you want.” The idea of preparing a frittata had occurred to Ginny because it would take time, and she needed time alone to respond to the message from the Egyptian.

Tom remained on the sofa, sipping coffee and listening with pleasure to the homey sounds of food preparation coming from the kitchen. “Well, la-di-da. Fancy breakfast she’s making. Something normal people never heard of.” “Mom, please.” “You forgot about me, didn’t you?” “Mom, I didn’t forget about you. It’s a busy time for me.” “You’re busy alright – busy wasting money. First it was a car. Now it’s that girl.” “I love her, Mom.” “Oh, good. You love someone. What are you doing about Gert?” “Nothing.” “I’m sure you have your reasons, if you’d care to explain them.” “No, I wouldn’t.” “What about Fenway Park? Take care of that and you won’t have to put up with me anymore.” “I don’t know how to do it.” “You’ve got money to burn. Why don’t you just pay off a groundskeeper? Doesn’t seem too hard to me. But then I’m just sitting here in the dark all day with nothing to do but think.”

This was the first time in her dealings with him that the Egyptian had failed to deliver on a promise. Her text message was simple and direct. “Is there no way?” His response was immediate. “No way.” As she chopped onions for her frittata, Ginny could think of only two clear courses of action. Option No. 1: Have Tom order a check, intercept it upon arrival, sign it over to “Virginia Winters,” ship it off to Las Vegas for deposit, stay with Tom until the float was removed. Option No. 2: Have Tom order an electronic deposit to his , then drain the with a series of withdrawals, transfers, checks, whatever. Both of these options were odious in that both involved risk plus additional time with Tom. The additional time seemed unavoidable. But could the risk be reduced? Ginny sent a message to the Egyptian. “When does your return?” Again, the response was immediate. “Don’t know. Will try to find out.” Ginny wondered why the Egyptian had agreed to add Tom to the “Virginia Winters” without first clearing it with his bank . At a minimum, he should have provided the date of the banker’s return from vacation in his first text message of the morning. Was he losing his edge or was there more to it? No matter how this played out, she would the slipup. The frittata turned out perfectly and they shared it at the kitchen table. As they finished their meal, Tom expressed his appreciation. “That was great! What do you call it, again?”

Concealing the disappointment of the morning was no small challenge for Ginny. That she could manage it was a tribute to her acting ability and her determination to succeed. Or was it a tribute to Tom’s obliviousness? Either way, the silver quest was next on Ginny’s agenda. She decided to keep it simple. “You know, I’ve never seen a bar of silver. I’d like to hold one in my hand.” “No problem. I’ll show you. It’s upstairs. Do you want to do it now?” “Sure. And while we’re up there, I noticed a box under the kitchen table that has a label on it: ‘Tommy’s Awards.’ What’s that all about?” “Don’t know. Don’t care. But I can tell you, when I was a little kid, Mom and Dad had high hopes. They thought I was going to amount to something.” When Ginny had no immediate comment, Tom continued. “They saved everything that made me look smart – you know, report cards, papers with gold stars, that kind of stuff.” “They must have been very proud of you.” “Until I was about eight years old, sure. After that, no. I bet whatever’s in that box stops at the third grade.” “Why is that?” “That’s when I stopped caring what they thought of me.”

Ginny’s phone vibrated as she and Tom walked around the house to the side entrance. She hoped the message would be from the Egyptian. She would sneak a look at the first opportunity. To Ginny’s delight, when they arrived at the door to his mother’s apartment, Tom retrieved a key from under the door mat. Future access? No problem. Tom led Ginny into the room which had served as his mother’s bedroom during the final period of her life. Ginny took note of the starkness of the room in contrast to the clutter in the kitchen – especially the simple cross on the wall above the bed. Did Agnes Murphy die in this room with her mind on a vision of the Blessed Mother? Or did she die in the kitchen in the company of her collection of plaster saints? In fact, Agnes died on the back stairs. She had decided to venture out of the house for the first time in years. With Bill Kelly in attendance, pleading with her to return to her apartment, and catching her when she collapsed, Agnes died almost instantaneously from a blood clot that had migrated from her leg to her lung. Tom, on his hands and knees reaching under the bed for a box of silver, presented a familiar image to Ginny – that of a masochist client waiting for his mistress’s lash. Ginny thought she might enjoy giving Tom a playful slap… or two. Maybe later. For now, she had to think about making conversation about the silver. “This is pretty amazing. All these different designs. They’re like little works of art.” “Every company has their own designs. I like the one with the miner and his horse.” “And the bars come in these little plastic envelopes?” “Right. If you take them out they get dull. Keep them sealed and they stay shiny.” Ginny’s phone vibrated again as Tom was sliding the box of silver under the bed, and again as she and Tom left the apartment.

In the first-floor apartment, with the sound of the shower as cover, Ginny read the three text messages on her phone. All three were from the Egyptian. “Good news. Got a lead. We may be able to go ahead tomorrow. Details to follow.” Then: “Found someone to do it. More info shortly.” Finally: “We’re all set. Done by 3:00 PM tomorrow (your time). His fee – $2,000.” Good news? Really? There was no question in Ginny’s mind. This was a stunt to rip her off. It deserved an immediate answer. She composed a text message. “Nice try, mother fucker. Do you really think you can play me?” She deleted the message and started again. “After all the business I’ve thrown your way, you’re pulling this shit?” She deleted the message. “I don’t mind that you’re trying to play me, but you really don’t expect to get away with it, do you?” She deleted the message. “Go ahead as planned. But 2k is too much. You can pay 1k. Use the same 1k you promised to refund earlier today.” Ginny was concerned when the Egyptian did not respond quickly to her text. After showering, she selected one of the outfits Tom had bought her the previous day. She took her time dressing and was about to Tom when the Egyptian’s text came in. “Good to go.” Ginny spoke quietly to herself.

“Fucking A, you greedy son of a bitch.” She confirmed with a brief text. “Thanks. Text me when done.”

Trish was speaking to her mother through the bathroom door. “You have to unlock the door. It’s time to go.” “No! I’m not going!” “Mother, the attendant from the residence is here to pick you up.” “Kidnap me, you mean. That place is a living hell. I’m staying right here.” “It’s a very nice residence, Mother. The best there is.” “Then you go there, if you like it so much.” “Please don’t make us regret that we invited you for the weekend.” “Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow.” “Mother, the attendant is here. You are leaving now. Open the door.” “Ten minutes! That’s all I want! Ten minutes!” “I’ll ask him to wait five minutes.” “No! Tell him to come back tomorrow!”

Ted returned from his Sunday golf game, hoping to spend an enjoyable afternoon and evening with Trish, sans the pain in the ass he had stupidly brought into their home against his wife’s wishes. He intended to spring for the most delicious meal available between Mahwah and Paramus, followed by the chick flick of her choice, through which he would make every effort to remain conscious. The presence of the transport van sitting idle in front of their home suggested trouble. This was confirmed by the driver, a young man late of India, or perhaps Pakistan, who approached Ted in the driveway. He spoke in a high-pitched voice and delivered his message rapid-fire. “Old lady won’t come. I cannot force her. She must agree. I can only touch her to help her into van. Very sorry.” Ted assured the driver that he was in no trouble and entered the house. He followed Trish’s voice to the standoff at the bathroom door. “Mother, this conversation is over.” “Leave me alone! You have no authority over me!” Ted put his arm around Trish. He spoke quietly. “I’m sorry. I really am. Let me take it from here.” Trish nodded agreement and stepped away. Ted waited for about half a minute and then began to speak. “Eleanor, this is Dad. You can come out now. Your date is here. You don’t want to be late for the prom.” There was no response. “Ellie, you don’t want to keep your date waiting.” “I don’t have a date for the prom. Nobody asked me. I’m not going.” Ted answered immediately.

“Don’t you ? It’s a father-daughter dance. You’re going with me. I ordered a limo – special treat, just for you, my princess. The car is waiting. We’re going to have fun!” Within moments, the door opened and Trish’s mother pushed her walker into the hallway. Ted continued the prom narrative as he guided her out of the house and down the front walk to the van. Trish had elected to disappear. Ted could hear her laughing in a distant corner of the house. “That’s right, Ellie, let the nice young man fasten your seat belt. We want to be safe on our way to the prom.” Once the van door was closed, the driver spoke to Ted. “Thank you, mister. You did good.” As the van pulled away, Trish was already out the door and half-way down the walk. “How did you know to do that?” “Honestly, I have no idea.”

Episode 6

REGRET

Ginny and Tom finished their Sunday lunch and returned to the Lincoln. Tom being a creature of habit in the extreme, lunch had been burgers at Sal’s. Since they had no particular plan in place for the rest of the day, Ginny decided to pursue one of her secondary goals. “I was thinking we might go to Maine – to Portland where you used to live. I’d like to meet your friend – the one who told you about the BELIEVERS-INLOVE website. How far away is it, anyway?” “Not far – a couple of hours. The only thing is, Sheila goes away sometimes on the weekend. She likes to go mountain climbing.” “You have her phone number, right? Why don’t you go ahead and give her a call? She might be interested in meeting your girlfriend.” “Are you my girlfriend?” “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

Over the years, Ginny had noticed that road conversations could be quite informative. People traveling together were likely to reveal information they might normally keep to themselves. Was this because people are uncomfortable with silence and feel obliged to talk? Whatever the reason, in Ginny’s experience people cooped up in a car tend to babble. Tom Murphy, gabby under any circumstances, was likely to babble more than most. Whatever dread that idea inspired in Ginny was mitigated by the prospect that a few useful nuggets of information might be dropped. “A lot of nice cars on the road today. Looks like some people have things figured out pretty good. You know, I used to have an old car – twenty years old. It always started, but that was about it. You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but that old car reminded me of me. It had ‘loser’ written all over it.” “Tom, I don’t know why you say things like that about yourself.” “Why not? I was a loser my whole life. Anybody could see that. But I don’t feel like a loser now. This car makes me feel like somebody. I got money in my jeans and lots more to come. I look over and my perfect girlfriend is sitting next to me.” “I’m not perfect, believe me.” “You’re perfect to me. Okay, so you work in a beauty parlor. I don’t even have a job right now. I don’t care about that. What I care about is we found each other. And I think it’s great you want to meet Sheila. She was my bus monitor at that phony-baloney school where I used to work. Didn’t have to be nice to me, but she was. So I’m glad you’re gonna meet her.” “I’m looking forward to it.” “Maybe we’ll stay overnight in my old apartment. Technically, I still live there. You can see how I used to live. Maybe we’ll ride around town, see if we run into anyone I know.” There was nothing useful in Tom’s conversation, except a reminder that his interests were entirely self-centered and superficial. Ginny was no longer

listening. Instead, she thought about a more interesting conversation she could have with Tom. “By the way, I killed my first husband. I was a kid, but I was already a whore. The son of a bitch knew he married a whore, and he thought that made it okay to beat me up whenever he felt like it. “He had a boat – a pretty nice one. The boat had two motors. They call that ‘twin screw.’ I thought ‘twin screw’ was funny, because that’s what he liked to do on it. He’d bring a guy along to fuck me so he could jump on for seconds. Afterwards, he’d drop the guy off and take the boat back out into the bay and beat me up for being a slut. “That last night, he came at me on deck, not in the cabin. I shoved him overboard and backed over him with the boat. Boy, did he scream when those two propellers started chewing him up! He was still splashing around when I drove off. I think maybe he was still screaming, but I couldn’t hear it over those two big motors. “They never did find him. I’ve only ever told this to one other person. She was my mentor in the whoring game and she’s dead. Don’t worry. I didn’t kill any of the other men I married. I just skinned them alive, like I’m going to do to you, Mr. Murphy. And I won’t have to marry you to do it.”

Sheila was not pleased to have heard from Tom. She had slept late and had planned to spend the rest of the day at home in her sweats. Her agenda included exercising in her living room to a newly-purchased video, preparing her classes for the week ahead at Portland Faith Academy, catching up on a few magazines, and coloring her hair right before going to bed. Now she had to drop everything, color and style her hair, give herself a manicure and steam her one drop-dead outfit – all to waste an hour or so with Ginny and Tom. What was the point of their visit, anyway? Curiosity on Ginny’s part to see how the ex-whore was doing in her new life? A contest for the best actress award when Tom introduced them? Knowing Ginny, it was probably just straight-up whore perversity with no specific aim in mind. Still, Sheila knew she had to look great and present herself as completely happy with her decision to live straight. She also knew that Ginny was annoyed with her for over-selling the Tom deal. Ginny had marginalized her for a brief time because of that. Although she did score points by securing Tom’s Social Security number, she doubted Ginny had forgiven her for the initial screw-up.

In her phone conversation with Tom, Sheila had suggested meeting at a coffee shop they both knew. She had no interest in showcasing her modest home to her former colleague in the game, and it would be impolitic for her to be seen with Tom. Even though the coffee shop was located in the vicinity of Portland Faith Academy, it was unlikely that any PFA people would be in the area on a Sunday. Sheila was happy to see Ginny and Tom waiting for her in a booth, allowing her to make an “important” entrance. She was not happy to see Ginny in a tee shirt and jeans after she had made a special effort to impress. Sheila was sure that Ginny was letting her know the meeting was of no importance. The expected pleasantries and platitudes presented no challenge to the two women. These were shuffled, dealt, played and re-played until Tom understood in a vague sort of way that he would not be included in the conversation. At that point, he made an effort to influence the discussion. “So, Sheila, I was thinking we might cruise around Portland and show Ginny the city’s main points of interest.” “Oh, you mean the Eastland Hotel and the clock tower on top of City Hall?” Ginny took over from there. “Tom, you go ahead and cruise around. Sheila and I will stay here and get to know each other. You know – girl talk.”

This being late on a Sunday afternoon, Ginny and Sheila were now the coffee shop’s only customers. Sheila watched Tom do his best V. I. P. impersonation as he strutted across the parking lot to the Lincoln. “He really is a fool, isn’t he?” “Fraid so. But that makes it easier to do what I came here to do.” “Have you checked the BELIEVERS-IN-LOVE website lately?” “Hell, no. Been a little busy with the Tom project.” “As of today, you have 237 responses.” “Well, they’ll all have to jerk off. I won’t be using that resource again. So, Sheila, here we are. Let’s catch up. It’s been a long time.” “It has.” “Why don’t you start by telling me what brought you to Maine? You’re a long way from Vegas. I have to it I’m interested. When a girl like you skips out on the game…” “I didn’t skip out on anything.” “I apologize – poor choice of words. Look, when we knew each other in Vegas, you were super-popular, clean, careful, great earner…” “I was all those things.” “Something happened.” “Right – something happened.” “You told me on the phone a couple of weeks ago that you left the game because you got roughed up by a couple of johns.” “I did say that.”

“I don’t think it’s true. A girl like you doesn’t give up so easily. Why don’t you tell me what really happened? It’s not healthy keeping things bottled up. I know all about that, believe me.” Sheila looked past Ginny and remained silent for two long minutes, sipping coffee and organizing her thoughts. As she waited for Sheila to speak, Ginny was pleased to note how easily she could create the impression of feeling concern for another human being. She saw that Sheila’s nose was running and offered her a napkin across the table. Sheila smiled, blotted her nose and shook her head. “Yeah, I do get emotional. Some tough whore I turned out to be. What the hell, huh? Okay. I hope I don’t regret this.” “No chance.” “It happened in New York. I was there to work the big car show. For some reason, the cops decided to hot up that event. I got busted for soliciting. What really pisses me off is, it was entirely my own fault. Rule Number 1: You don’t tell johns what they’re going to get when you’re sitting on a bar stool. “Thinking back on it, I noticed the hooker traffic was a little light, but I didn’t pay any attention to that. And the bartender kept giving me looks when these two guys sat down. I guess I was so used to Vegas…” “You’re not the first girl to make a mistake like that.” “No… but it changed everything. You’ve heard of Rikers Island, right?” “Of course. Notorious.” “That’s where they put me for pre-trial detention and my thirty-day sentence. You really can’t imagine how awful that place is. It seems like the whole idea is to remind you every minute of what a sub-human piece of shit you are. And then, on the day of my release, came the final indignity. A fat guard made me suck his cock to get my street clothes back.” “Scum bag.” “I was on my knees in that filthy cell, with his sweaty belly draped across my

face like some disgusting water balloon. His cock stank like beer piss, and I had to hold up his belly with both hands to suck him off.” “You couldn’t check out?” “I tried like hell, but I couldn’t. The best I could do was imagine the bugs in my hair jumping across to him and giving him fits. When he was done… when he was done, Ginny… he pissed on my face… he pissed on my face and walked away. Turned out the son of a bitch had nothing to do with returning clothes to people.” Sheila stared at the table top. Ginny had nothing helpful to say. She found herself thinking about her first gang-bang video, GINNY GOES TO PRISON, in which she portrayed a young nurse who relished the opportunity to have sex with at least twenty “inmates” and “guards,” all of them young and muscular. She entertained herself with the notion that art was definitely not imitating life that day. The waitress took their silence as her cue to re-fill their coffee cups. Although Ginny and Sheila had been speaking quietly, it was about to become clear that the waitress had overheard their conversation. As she re-filled Sheila’s cup… “You’re a teacher at Portland Faith Academy, I believe. My ex-husband works there. I used to attend meetings where the teachers were introduced.” The waitress was a slightly over-weight woman of about forty whose face displayed lines of bitter experience that makeup could not conceal. Ginny and Sheila recognized her as a sister in the game. The waitress watched Sheila crumble and then begin to regain her composure. “No need for concern, honey. Your secret is safe with me. That’s a promise.”

Ginny and Sheila strolled along a pleasant residential street. After a long silence, Sheila picked up the conversation. “I’m, sorry – I had to get out of there.” “No problem. We’re having a nice walk. And don’t worry about the waitress. She’s got her own story to think about.” “I hate it when people have something on me.” “I know. Me, too.” “What’s Tom going to do when he gets back to the coffee shop?” “He’s got a cell phone. He can use it. So, when we started our conversation, you were going to tell me…” “…about why I came here to Portland. It’s not complicated. I saw a job posting for teachers. When I was a kid, my family used to come to Maine for vacations. Good times. Good memories. So, I jazzed up my background and applied. And the truth is I’m okay about being here. Among other things, I like the privacy. Big state. Small population. Lots of woods if you feel like getting away and being alone.” “That’s a plus, for sure. So, what do you think should happen to that piece of shit guard who fucked you over?” “What do you think?” “Do you know his name?” “I can’t forget it.” “I know guys who’d put that mother fucker out of business for the asking.” “That would be nice, but I’m still not going back into the game.” “Don’t worry – I’m not recruiting. There’s enough competition already. But I want you to , you were helpless in the slammer, but you’re not helpless

now.” “You know what’s funny, Ginny? We think we know ourselves. But we really don’t. We think we can handle anything. But we can’t. A thirty-day sentence? What the hell’s thirty days? Nothing, right? The truth is, we don’t know anything until we’re tested. I was tested. And I didn’t make it through in one piece.” “You’re pretty hard on yourself.” “Maybe so. But I couldn’t survive another experience like that.” Their conversation was interrupted by the expected call from Tom.

Tom’s Lincoln rolled up next to Ginny and Sheila. Tom lowered all of the windows simultaneously and shouted a greeting. “Hey, Teacher Sheila! Look who I found!” This was followed by cheers and shouts from the group of ten- and eleven-yearolds in the car – all students of Sheila’s and former engers in Tom’s school bus. Each one had something to say. “Mr. Tom bought us ice cream!” “But he wouldn’t let us eat it in the car.” “I had a orange popsicle!” “Mr. Tom’s gonna drive us all home, like he did in the school bus!” “Teacher Sheila, why can’t we have Mr. Tom drive us to school?!” “We hate the new guy! He drives all jerky! We want Mr. Tom!” This was followed by cheers and then by a group chant. “We want Tom! We want Tom! We want Tom!” Sheila feigned good humor. She had little choice. “Well, Mr. Tom, you’d better get the kids home. Tomorrow’s a school day, and I’m sure they all have homework to finish.” The students groaned in unison at the mention of the dreaded “h” word. For some odd reason, as he drove off Tom felt compelled to repeat something his Dad used to say whenever the family left home in the car. “‘And… we’re off,’ the Captain shouted!” The familiar hip-hop base line – thump, thump-thump / thump, thump-thump – could be heard as the Lincoln accelerated to an unsafe speed, screeched around a corner and disappeared.

Ginny was the first to comment. “Was there ever anyone more clueless?” “Not in my experience. All I can do is apologize for getting this whole thing started.” “Well, we’ll see how it turns out. Big day tomorrow. Insurance company payout. Once that’s done, I’m in the wind.” The two women walked for several minutes without speaking. It was Ginny who broke the silence. “I guess we can say good-bye here. It was good seeing you.” Sheila needed a few moments to recover from the shock of being dismissed. “Sure. I can walk home. I don’t live far from here.” “Stay in touch, okay?” “Right. No problem.” “And, by the way, take me off that frigging website.”

“Really, Tom? I have to leave a message?! I’ll be waiting at the coffee shop, and you’d better show up damn quick.” Ginny walked the several blocks to the coffee shop, which was now closed. “Tom, this is beyond unacceptable. If you expect to see me again, you’d better be here within the next five minutes.” Ten minutes later Ginny’s burner phone rang. “Well?” “Ginny, I’m sorry.” “Not good enough.” “I had the music turned up for the kids. I’ll be there in a minute.” “Don’t bother. I called a cab… to take me to the bus station. Do you honestly think you can leave me waiting for you in a parking lot?” “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just, the kids…” “I don’t care about those stupid kids.” “Ginny, I’m here. Look! Just look down the street!”

“Who the hell do you think you are, leaving me stranded?!” Tom pounded the rim of the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “And who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?! Ginny was stunned into silence. Tom continued. “You had to wait a couple of minutes. So what! I was having fun. I was enjoying myself. You don’t get to ruin it. People have been giving me shit my whole life. I don’t need a girlfriend who does that. If you want to go to the bus station, just say the word. I’ll take you there right now. Your choice. Okay?” Ginny’s answer was low-key. “No, thank you.” “Good. Then let’s get this straight: If you want me to treat you with respect, you can treat me with respect. Are you interested in seeing my old apartment?” “No, thank you.” “All right, then. I’ll gas up and we’ll head back to Boston.” While Tom was occupied at the gas pump, Ginny took the opportunity to return the banking and insurance documents to the glove compartment. Her thoughts were now focused entirely on being done with Tom and jumping on a plane to Vegas. Money, money, money – one more day! Money, money, money – I’m on my way! One more day! One more day! One more mother-fucking-mother-fucking day!

The trip from Boston to Portland had seemed to take no time at all. The return trip was another matter, partly because of Sunday-evening traffic, but mostly because of the pall of silence in the car. Ginny assumed that Tom was still stewing over the respect issue. He was not. In fact, he was preoccupied with a number of questions surrounding the day’s proceedings. Tom did not mention to Ginny that, on his way to pick her up at the coffee shop, he had come across Sheila sitting on a bench, sobbing. She had declined Tom’s offer of a ride home, refused to discuss her emotional state and ended their brief conversation with a warning: “Be careful who you trust.” Tom was at a loss to understand why a get-acquainted chat between two women could have upset one of them so seriously. Why had Ginny been so eager to meet Sheila in the first place? And Sheila’s warning – obviously referring to Ginny – was disturbing to Tom in view of yet another question. While he was pumping gas for the return trip to Boston, he had seen Ginny put the banking and insurance documents in the glove compartment. What was that about? This he was determined to discuss. “Ginny, do you think it’s important for people who are planning a future together to trust each other?” Ginny had no choice but to answer, even though she knew she was being set up. “Yes, I do.” “Okay, then. What were you doing with the papers in the glove compartment?” Ginny struggled to conceal her relief. That was it?! That was the big-deal issue on Tom’s mind?! “Tom, we’re going to the insurance company tomorrow. I wanted to be sure we have the information we need.” “How did you know the papers were there?”

“I’m truly sorry if you don’t trust me. When the police officer stopped us yesterday, you asked me to get your registration and insurance card from the glove compartment. That’s when I saw the insurance policy. I figured I should look at it so I can help you collect your money. Do you have any more questions?” One more day! One more day! One more mother-fucking-mother-fucking day!

Having scored a fresh victory in the arena of subterfuge, Ginny now enjoyed Tom’s silence as he drove. Her thoughts settled on the term “mother fucker,” a term that was finding its way into her consciousness with some regularity of late. For a brief period, at the beginning of her career, Ginny had operated under the guidance of a pimp whose vocabulary was centered on those two words. She smiled as she ed a phone conversation she had overheard, her only positive memory of that association. “Hang on one mother-fucking minute, mother fucker! Mother fucker, you mother-fucking telling me that mother fucker mother-fucking paid you?! If that mother fucker mother-fucking paid you, you be the only mother fucker that mother fucker mother-fucking paid in the whole mother-fucking year!” The pimp’s name was Roi (pronounced “Roy”) and he liked to be known as “the King of Companionship.” New to the whoring trade, Ginny had believed that representation by a pimp was the only way business could be conducted. She soon learned that, by the commonly understood definition of the term, Roi was an absolute mother fucker. Representation by him was of value only to girls who required daily beatings, forfeiture of their cash and a reliable supply of narcotics as motivation to continue working.

For Ginny and Tom, Monday began with a call to the insurance company that had written Agnes Murphy’s policies. The claims agent located the necessary file in a matter of moments. “Mr. Murphy, we can go ahead now. I have it on my screen. Let me explain the procedure. First, we need a certified copy of your mother’s death certificate.” “You have that already. My brother sent it in.” “I don’t see that we have received it. Do you know when he sent it?” “Well, he has a policy, the same as me.” “Now I understand. He must have submitted the death certificate on that policy. We will need to have you submit the death certificate on this policy.” “Can’t you just make a copy?” “We are not permitted to transfer information from one file to another. You need to send us the death certificate, a notarized request for benefits and a photocopy of the insurance policy. Send these items by ed mail. Be sure you include the address where you would like to have us send the check.” “He wants payment by wire transfer.” “I’m sorry. To whom am I speaking?” “I’m Mr. Murphy’s fiancée. We have you on speaker. He wants the payment to be deposited directly to his bank .” “Ma’am, I can only speak to the beneficiary.” “That’s alright – he’ll tell you. Go ahead, Tom.” “Yes – wire transfer.” “Just include that in your request, along with the bank’s routing number and your number.”

“What about this? Ask her about this!” Ginny was pointing at a line in the insurance policy. She tapped the line several times and continued tapping as Tom spoke. “Ma’am, it says here we can submit everything by fax.” “Yes. That used to be possible. However, there were some instances of fraud, so the company had to institute the procedure I explained a minute ago.” “Ask her how long it will take.” “Can you tell me…?” “Once we receive the necessary documents, we will initiate the payment process within two business days. If there are no difficulties, you can expect payment within thirty business days.” Thirty days! Thirty days! Thirty mother-fucking-mother-fucking days!

Tom was alarmed at seeing the open suitcase on Ginny’s bed. “What are you doing?” “Packing a few things. I’m going home. I won’t have a job unless I get back to it.” “You don’t need that job anymore.” “Maybe not. But I’d better keep it going for now. And my Mom still isn’t feeling well. She’s been asking for me. And I need to get to the gym. I haven’t exercised since I got here. You can take me to the bus station.” “I’ll take you to Maryland. We can pick up the death certificate at my brother’s on the way. He lives in New Jersey. We can…” “Tom, there’s something I need to say. Maybe we’ve gotten too close too fast. I need to think about where this is going. As soon as I finish packing, I’ll help you write the letter to the insurance company. You can call your brother and have him overnight the death certificate. Tomorrow we’ll get the letter notarized and send everything out. It will all be done before I leave. If we still feel the same way about each other in a week or two…” “We will. I’m sure we will.” “Yes. I believe that’s right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to spend a little time alone with my Bible.” Tom seemed to be mollified for the moment. He left Ginny alone in her room.

Ginny’s thoughts were once again in disarray. She had put Tom on the phone with the insurance company before receiving confirmation from the Egyptian that Tom had been added to the “Virginia Winters” bank . Obviously, she had been too eager to get the payment process started. Even though it made no difference in view of the thirty-day delay in payment, a blunder so basic was seriously disturbing. How often had Ginny heard Lillian make the point that success in the game depends upon thinking clearly and remaining focused at all times? Why is it so mother-fucking hard for me to keep my mother-fucking mind on what I’m mother-fucking doing?! Ginny was grateful for the bursts of clarity she experienced from time to time. On this particular Monday afternoon – as she waited for a confirmation text from the Egyptian – she was thinking that such a burst would be most welcome. A text message appeared on Ginny’s phone – from a phone number she did not recognize. The message was brief. “PROTOCOL” The text was from Molly. “PROTOCOL” was Ginny and Molly’s agreed-upon code word for trouble. Following procedure, Molly had used a fresh burner phone to send the message. Ginny immediately used a fresh burner phone to call the number associated with the text. Molly wasted no time getting to the point. “The client you call ‘Choke Bloke’…” “Yes?” “Dead.” “Where?” “Here.” “Too bad – he was a regular. Can’t say I’m surprised. He liked to push it close to the edge.”

“Too close as it turned out.” “Sounds like he died happy.” “Oh, yeah. Big grin. I’m looking at it right now.” “Have you made the call?” “Not yet – him being your client and all.” “Do you the old story about the Lone Ranger and Tonto?” “Don’t know. Try me.” “The Lone Ranger and Tonto are surrounded by hostile Indians. The Lone Ranger says, ‘Well, Tonto, looks like we have a problem.’ Tonto says, ‘What do you mean we, white man?’” “I get that. I’ll take care of the removal. The only question is what to do about the clients I’m expecting.” “Can you handle dragging him into the dressing room?” “Sure. I just wanted your green light to keep him here until I’m done for the day.” “You got it. No point in losing business. What about inventory?” “Wallet. About a hundred there. Credit cards, of course. Nice watch. Couple of rings. Nothing unexpected.” “Tuck all that away for now. I doubt he told anyone what he was up to, so there shouldn’t be any blowback there. Did you charge his credit card for today?” “No. I figured…” “Good. Much as I’d like to get one last taste…” “Best to skip it.” “And we don’t need to speak about this again unless there’s an issue.”

Actuarial data on the number of men who die in the company of prostitutes is not readily available. However, common sense suggests that, as with any population, there are some. We can assume that very few of these deaths are reported promptly or accurately to the authorities, the death of “Choke Bloke” being an obvious example. “Yes, officer, the man on the floor died of strangulation. I did it with this belt. I’m sure there’s no problem. You see, he requested it. I simply followed his instructions.” “That’s alright, miss. Happens all the time. Just sign this form. We’ll have the body removed and be on our way.” Immediately after speaking with Ginny, Molly called a trunk man known as “Hocus” (as in “hocus-pocus”). For a very reasonable fee of $2,000, “Hocus” agreed to remove “Choke Bloke” from Ginny’s apartment and provide him with discrete entombment under several feet of desert sand. Although it might seem counter-intuitive to the inexperienced, “Hocus” preferred to execute his pick-ups in the light of day. A delivery-service driver bumping a heavy box down steps on a hand truck at 10:00 AM attracts no attention, whereas the same activity at 4:00 AM could result in a flurry of 9-1-1 calls. So it was that “Choke Bloke” took up residence some fifty miles from Las Vegas, in a spot with a lovely mountain view he would never see. A missing person report would be filed several days later by his employer. There was the natural suspicion that his wife might know something about the disappearance. She was said to be visiting relatives in another state and unaware of her husband’s movements in her absence.

The death of “Choke Bloke” might seem like a minor event – which it was, since there were no subsequent complications. But it did have significance for Ginny. The incident focused her attention on the work in Las Vegas and reminded her about how much she missed it. If she could accept the idea of giving up the silver bars under the bed on the third floor of the Murphy home, she could put Tom Murphy behind her immediately. The insurance payout had always been the main goal. All she had to do was arrange for the transfer of funds and string Tom along by phone until it happened. Setting up the process turned out to be astonishingly straight-forward. By late Monday afternoon, the Egyptian had notified Ginny that Tom was securely attached to the “Virginia Winters” checking . Ted – actually Trish, with Ted’s permission – acted immediately, arranging for Tuesday morning delivery of Agnes Murphy’s death certificate to Tom. By noon, Ginny and Tom had visited the store-front office of a neighborhood lawyer, where, in the presence of a notary, Tom had signed the payment request Ginny had written. Shortly thereafter, the package of documents was on its way to the insurance company by ed mail.

With hugs and the promise of frequent communication, Ginny boarded an earlyevening bus – destination Baltimore, Maryland. She had no intention of suffering through the complete trip. She planned to leave the bus at the first reasonable stop – probably Worcester or Springfield – and work out her travel to Las Vegas from there. To Ginny’s surprise, Tom did not stay for the bus’s departure. He waved and left as soon as she was seated. After waiting a few minutes to be sure he would not return – perhaps with coffee and snacks for her trip – Ginny asked an attendant for her bag.

Ginny was prepared to be disappointed if there were no flights from Boston to Las Vegas that evening. Logan Airport was quiet, suggesting that her immediate future would probably involve a hotel room. She was close to ecstatic to learn there was a 9:30 PM flight – non-stop – with available space. She stretched out in her business-class seat as the plane took off on schedule and climbed to altitude. In a few hours she would be back in black leather, smacking ass and making money. In thirty days – more or less – she would have $25,000 in her kick and Tomscam would be history – Tom along with it.

As Ginny was enjoying her flight and contemplating the completion of Tomscam, Tom was also in motion – or preparing to be. He was about to execute a plan that had been on his mind for the previous couple of days. With Ginny on her way to Baltimore, he would return to Portland to get some answers from Sheila. He would spend the night in his old apartment and pin Sheila down the next day. He picked up a change of clothes at the Murphy home and stopped for gas at his usual place. The clerks Duc and Khiem were on duty. Khiem was collecting trash from the containers located between gas pumps. Duc came out of the convenience store with a handful of fresh trash bags and approached Tom. “You Ginny boyfriend, right? You lucky. How come Ginny not in car?” “She’s gone to visit her mother. How do you know her name anyway?” “Many people know Ginny name. She big star. She make many fuck video.” Tom was frozen at the gas pump – as he had been frozen at the urinal the evening he was molested by “Father Many Hands” – as he had been frozen when Ted brought up the subject of “St. Obnoxious” in the hotel dining room – as he had been frozen on so many occasions in the half-century between those two events. Tom did not hear the gas pump click off. He remained frozen, staring at his distorted image in the Lincoln’s rear window, hardly able to see it, much less identify it. Sounds in the background – traffic, music from the convenience store, Duc and Khiem speaking in Vietnamese – melded into one loud and prolonged “whoosh.” Khiem approached, replaced the gas nozzle in the pump and closed the car’s gas tank cover. After speaking again with Duc, he spoke to Tom. “Duc say he sorry. He think you know Ginny big whore. He very sorry.” When Tom was finally able to speak, it seemed like someone was speaking for him. He spoke slowly and mechanically.

“I didn’t know Ginny is a big whore. What else can you tell me?” “You come in store. We show you.”

Tom forgot about driving to Portland that evening. Simply put, he had a more urgent matter to address. The convenience-store clerks showed him the cherished photos of Ginny – topless and friendly – stored in their cell phones. His knees buckled – quite literally – at the sight. The clerks seemed genuinely concerned about Tom’s state of mind. Duc spoke to him as Khiem brought out a stool from behind the counter. “Bitch no tell you she big whore. You kill her now, right? You want coffee?” “No, thanks, I need to…” Tom sat on the stool for several minutes as Duc and Khiem attended to customers. Finally, with the store empty, he spoke to the clerks. “I would like to see the videos. Do you know where I can buy them?” Duc headed for the stock room. Khiem spoke to Tom. “We have. We give you look at. You bring back when you done.” Tom left the convenience store with three examples from Ginny’s oeuvre – GINNY GOES TO PRISON, GINNY GOES TO COLLEGE and GINNY GOES WILD. There could be no doubt about the videos’ content. Cover art and liner photos made it clear. With stores now closed, viewing the videos would have to wait. Tom would buy a DVD player in the morning.

The first-floor apartment in the Murphy home was quiet that night, with the exception of Agnes Murphy’s voice, which followed Tom as he moved from room to room trying to escape it. “I told you. I told you about her. You wouldn’t listen.” “I was happy, Mom. I was a happy man!” “Fool’s paradise – that’s what I call it. I knew she was a tramp the minute she walked in the door. I warned you. But you were too busy going downtown to pay attention!” “You need to leave me alone, Mom. I know all about her now.” “You wouldn’t listen to me! You had to learn the truth from a gas-station attendant! And now you bring those filthy movies into my house! I suppose you’re planning to beat off all over my tenant’s nice furniture!” “I’m gonna watch those videos until…” “Until what?” “Until I get what’s going on… until I don’t care anymore… until… I don’t know!” “I always thought you might wake up someday, but that was too much to hope for!” “Okay – I’m a fucking loser… a total fucking loser! That good enough for you, Mom?! That good enough for you?!” “Well, at least she didn’t get your money.” “Shut the fuck up!” “Doesn’t matter. You’ll just piss it away anyway.” “Mom, if you don’t shut up, you’re gonna find yourself in the trash can!”

“That’s okay. I’ll be quiet. I won’t say another word. But I will say this…”

Girls in the game know a lot about power. The smart ones understand its permutations. The balance of power between a working girl and a john can change in a flash – most times not to the working girl’s advantage. This is rarely the case with a dominatrix. For that reason, she is at the top of the food chain in the game – at least in Ginny’s estimation. As her flight from Boston prepared to land in Las Vegas, Ginny thought about the quotation hanging in her dressing room, the gift from “Teddy Boy” on the occasion their first “anniversary.”

“Everything in the world is about sex, except sex which is about power.”

– Oscar Wilde

That was five years ago. Imagine! For some six years, “Teddy Boy” – owner of a chain of successful bakeries and a major contributor to political campaigns – had been putting on a frilly pink nightie and paying Ginny to whip him raw at least once a week. And he was by no means her only long-term client for heavy service. For several years, Ginny had held the power of life and death over “Choke Bloke.” But it was Molly who exercised it. Ginny felt cheated. Molly – Ginny’s fill-in for a couple of weeks – had accepted from “Choke Bloke” the gift that was rightfully hers to receive. She resented being denied the satisfaction of bringing about the joyful moment when he realized he had finally gone too far. Ginny had not experienced the death of a john for… how many years? Must have been eight or nine. It happened at a teachers’ convention in St. Louis. The trip had been organized by Lillian, and both Ginny and Molly were working. Lillian always said she loved teachers’ conventions because of the fast turn-

around. “Teachers are a quick pop, so there’s a lot of volume. It’s like Mickey D’s. Get ‘em in. Get ‘em off. Get ‘em out.” Lillian had a term for that: “Hump and Dump.” On that occasion, an official from the teachers’ union approached Lillian with a deal – free sex for him in exchange for not shutting down her operation. Lillian agreed and sent Ginny and Molly to “take care of him.” Ginny reported the outcome to Lillian shortly after the fact. “We took care of him alright.” “I think it was nice of you to call 9-1-1 when he keeled over from the… exertion.” “Well, you know, comion… human kindness. We couldn’t just book and leave him there.” “Certainly not.” “We did help ourselves to a little taste from his wallet.” “Naturally. What else could you do?” “And you’ll take…? “Twenty percent will be enough.”

Prior to viewing the DVDs borrowed from the store clerks, Tom Murphy’s experience with true pornography had been limited to a couple of so-called “French films.” Ted discovered these silent 8mm reels – probably dating to the 1950s – after the boys’ father, Michael, had moved out of the house. Primitive though the films may have been, Ted and Tom viewed them many times as puberty approached and through its onset, often sharing the experience with their friends in gatherings adolescent boys refer to as “circle jerks.” Tom was aware that “adult” entertainment was now widely available and regarded by many as “mainstream.” He had seen countless highway signs advertising “adult” book stores, but had never found the courage to stop, walk in, state a preference and buy. From time to time, he had bought “men’s” magazines, but always with at least some anxiety at the check-out counter. With the purchase of a DVD player on that Wednesday morning, Tom became an unhinged viewer of material that approached the outer limits of legal “adult” fare. For nearly forty-eight hours, he binge-watched, in rotation, GINNY GOES TO PRISON, GINNY GOES TO COLLEGE and GINNY GOES WILD. These videos centered on performances by “Ginny the Gang Bang Girl,” a slightly younger version of the woman Tom knew as “Ginny from Maryland.” Especially disturbing was GINNY GOES WILD, which featured a team-effort golden-shower finale preceded by a protracted five-some – a double insertion performed simultaneously with both oral and manual maneuvers – ending in money shots all around. A mailing address for “GGBG Prods.” was printed on the jackets for the DVDs. The city was Las Vegas and the street address included a suite number. Tom reasoned that the address was either Ginny’s home or an office where “GGBG Prods.” did business. He determined that he would go to Las Vegas and pound on the door until Ginny opened it. What he hoped to gain by confronting Ginny in this way was not part of his thinking process. In addition, he failed to consider that the suite number might be a mailbox, and the street address might be a photocopy shop, which was in fact the case. Further to that, Ginny had given up the mail drop several years earlier. Her current video business was conducted entirely online.

Apart from the “Choke Bloke” matter, putting Molly in charge of her S & M business in her absence had been a successful play on Ginny’s part. Molly was talented enough – good but not great – and cash flow had remained steady. But Ginny’s regular clients were universally grateful to feel Ginny’s strong hand and respond to her snarling voice once again. Ginny, herself, was happy to return to the status quo of “zip, whip and flip,” as Molly had expressed it. Tomscam was on Ginny’s mind only to the extent that a holding action was required until it was completed. With the thirty-day count-down on the insurance payment barely under way, Ginny knew she had to remain in regular with Tom. It was unlikely that he would suspect her of skullduggery with respect to the funds transfer. The point of keeping up lovey-dovey communications was to prevent him from doing something foolish – like showing up in Baltimore to track her down. Ginny was hoping to re-establish the pre-Dorchester pattern, with Tom calling her every day at noon – 9:00 AM in Las Vegas. She had been thinking that she could get away with actually speaking with him approximately every second day. Now, however, she was concerned because three days had ed without a call. Clearly, she would have to reach out first.

“Mr. Murphy, our fraud department picked up an inconsistency in the request for payment you sent us. Would you please tell me the name of your bank in Las Vegas?” “Excuse me? I don’t have a bank in Las Vegas. What’s this all about?!” “The routing information you provided is for a bank in Las Vegas.” “No – that’s a mistake! My bank is in Dorchester, Massachusetts!” “That is what we would expect to see – a bank in the Boston area. There’s nothing in your personal information to a connection to Las Vegas.” “So, what do I do now?” “You’ll need to send us a deposit slip for the correct . Include a notarized statement confirming that the original information was incorrect. Send those two documents by certified mail. Your request will be processed as soon as we have the correct information.” “I don’t know what to say, except… thank you.” “Mr. Murphy, we’re happy to be of service. No matter how this error may have occurred, we caught it in time. You have nothing to be concerned about.”

Shortly after his conversation with the insurance company, Tom received a call from Ginny. He had to fight off a compelling impulse to grab the phone and blast her for attempting to steal from him, not to mention her phony Bible thumping and those videos! Ginny left a message. “Hi, sweetheart. It’s me. Give me a call when you have a minute.” Tom deleted the message.

Tom was searching through the trash can behind the Murphy home. “I knew you’d come crawling back.” “I’m not crawling, Mom. I’m correcting a mistake.” “Same thing.” “Whatever you say.” “That’s more like it.” “Mom, I’ve decided something. Whatever it takes, I’m going to make sure you get what you want. I’m going to find a way to get you on the base path at Fenway Park.” “Oh, no need to do that. Fenway Park isn’t important to me anymore. I think I’d better stay with you. You need me more than the Red Sox do.” “You’ll always be with me, Mom, Fenway Park or not.” “Okay, okay. Just get me the hell out of this trash can.” “We need a new urn.” “My tenant left quite a few, as I recall.” “It’s a good thing your bag didn’t break wide open.” “No thanks to you. You were pretty pissed off.” “Look. I was wrong, okay? Everything’s different now.” “It’s about time.”

Tom placed Agnes Murphy’s ashes in an urn beautifully-decorated with traditional Chinese wedding scenes and restored them to their place on the mantel piece in the first-floor apartment. He then went to the third floor to check on his stock of silver. To his disappointment – but not to his surprise – the silver was no longer under his mother’s bed. He sat on the bed and stared at the floor. “I wonder how she did it. The bitch goes after what she wants, that’s for sure. Gotta give her credit for that.” Tom heard the familiar squeaks on the back stairs, followed by the familiar knock. “Come on in, Bill. I’m back here.” Bill Kelly appeared in the doorway to Agnes Murphy’s makeshift bedroom. “That girl’s gone, right?” “That’s right, Bill. She’s gone.” “Well… okay, then. I took it – the silver. I took it away – just in case. It’s in my apartment.” “Well, how about that! Thank you, Bill.” “That’s okay. Don’t take this the wrong way, but when a pretty girl shows up right when a man gets his hands on some money, maybe it’s the money she’s after.” “Simple as that, isn’t it?”

Episode 7

REPRISAL

Sheila had been beating herself up all week – for agreeing to meet with Ginny and Tom, for confiding in Ginny, for allowing the waitress at the coffee shop to know her secret, and for giving Ginny the opportunity to dump her on a street corner like a ten-dollar cocksucker. For reasons perhaps mysterious, Sheila’s present self-chastisement did not include thoughts related to one key fact: She was responsible for connecting Ginny with Tom for the purpose of grand larceny. Despite lack of sleep and a prevailing urge to jump off a bridge or perhaps strangle someone, Sheila had managed to teach her classes at Portland Faith Academy with no difficulties. That job was her only anchor. She wanted to keep it. Now, with no distractions planned for the weekend, Sheila was free to torture herself to the limit. Or could she make a better choice? Of course. Obvious. She could put the pain where it belonged – on the wanna-be queen of con herself. Shouldn’t be hard to do. Spill a few beans to Tom. Let him be the agent of payback. Tomscam – as Ginny called it – was hanging by a thread anyway. A couple of tugs and… snap.

“Hi, Tom. How are things going?” “Sheila! Everything’s great! I’m glad you called. I was gonna call you. You know how to do those messages you type on a cell phone, right?” “Text messages? Sure. It’s easy.” “So how do you do it?” “Get something to write with. I’ll give it to you step-by-step.” Sheila instructed Tom on the fine art of text-messaging, after which they exchanged messages by way of confirmation. “hi sheela its me tom” Sheila’s return message was intended to start the process of unraveling Tomscam. “Hi, Tom. Do you what I said to you on Sunday? Call me. We’ll discuss it.” Tom called immediately. “So, you’re all set on text messaging?” “Thanks for showing me. You’re right. It’s easy.” “Tom, do you what I said about trusting people?” “Sure.” “Why do you suppose I said that?” “Because you don’t want me to trust Ginny. I appreciate it, but the truth is I was on to her from the get-go.” Sheila hoped Tom had not heard her catch her breath.

“No kidding.” “Let’s face it. When a woman who looks like Ginny goes out with a man like me, you can be pretty sure she’s after money. Ginny was after mine – my insurance money. She’s a pretty good schemer. But I knew she was full of shit – you’ll pardon my language. Anyway, I dumped her a few days ago. Put her on a bus out of town.” “I have to say I’m quite surprised. When you were here last Sunday…” “I was done with her at that point. On the way back to Boston I told her – not that I knew what she was up to, just that we should give it a rest for a while.” “So… it was about your insurance money.” “For sure. And she thought she had the rip-off all nailed down.” “And you didn’t tell her anything to correct that impression?” “No, I did not.” “Then she may still believe it’s a done deal.” “No reason why she wouldn’t. Looks like the joke’s on her.”

Loyalty. Much is made of it. A cynic might suggest that loyalty is nothing more than a string to be plucked to ensure compliance by the weak to edicts from the strong. Objectively, loyalty has few absolutes in the world at large. In the game, there are none. Ginny had alienated Sheila. The dial had dropped to zero on any sense of loyalty Sheila may have entertained for a sister in the game. The only question now was personal benefit. Would sharing the information she had acquired from Tom benefit her? She believed it would not. In view of that, there would be no heads-up to Ginny on the impending collapse of Tomscam.

There was a flurry of communications that Saturday between people connected with Tomscam at all levels. It began midday (Eastern Time). Tom and Bill Kelly were having lunch at Sal’s when Ginny called. The call went to voicemail. Tom played the message on speaker. “Hi, Tom. I miss you. Call me any time.” Tom deleted the message without comment. Shortly thereafter, Tom received another call from Ginny’s Tomscam burner phone. Again, the call went to voicemail. “Hello, Tom. My name’s Molly. I’m your fiancée’s sister. I’m a little concerned about Ginny. She seems unhappy. I think it’s because she hasn’t heard from you. A few men have asked her out on dates, but she tells them she’s engaged and says no. It’s pretty important for you to call her. You really should do it today.” Tom responded to Molly’s call with a text message to the same phone number. “Hi Ginny. This us Tom. I hipe you are doing wel. Please ggive me your address there in merryland. You left some close here. I wantt to send them to you.” Upon receiving Tom’s text message, Ginny called Sheila. She tried to sound relaxed. “Sheila – quick question. Have you heard from Tom?” “Yes. He called me. He wanted to learn how to send text messages.” “That explains the text I just received. Anyway, something’s up with him. He’s not returning my calls. You wouldn’t know anything about that, I suppose.” “No. He just asked me how to…” “Yeah. Got it. And you’ll let me know if there’s anything I might be interested in.” “Sure. Of course.”

Ginny was certain that Sheila was lying. As soon as they had completed their call, she sent a text message to the Egyptian. “I want to know status of TM insurance claim. What do you suggest?” The Egyptian answered quickly. “Expert available who can secure information without delay. Send company name and policy number. Fee – 2K inclusive.”

Ginny maintained her work schedule that afternoon and evening, checking between clients for text messages from the Egyptian. By mid-evening, she knew the fate of Tomscam. “Claim ‘red flagged’ by fraud dept pending receipt of revised disbursement order. Recommend rabbit-holing project. Green light?” Ginny responded instantly. “Yes. Do it now.”

It was 3:00 AM. Ginny and Molly were sharing a booth at the Change of Scene, a backstreet downtown bar popular with prostitutes and lounge acts from the Strip. The Change of Scene was one of the few businesses in Las Vegas that offered no gambling opportunities, allowing patrons to enjoy conversations without being tormented by the endless “bing-bing” of slot machines. Ginny was skirting the fringes of irrationality. “Who did this to me?! Who fucking did this to me?!” “I expect you’ll find out in the long run. Right now, you need to move on. You may recall that we’ve got work to do.” “I’m out major coin behind this! And I was counting on the Tomscam jack to front the S with the newbie. How the fuck do we go ahead now?!” “We’ll figure it out. Think, Ginny. You might not like it, but knowing is a lot better than not knowing. This thing could’ve dragged on for weeks – with the same result. With the Egyptian deep-sixing all traces, you’re set to get out clean. Be thankful for that. There’s always money to be made. You’ll just have to make it somewhere else.” “The new Lillian speaks.” “You could do worse.” “I’ll tell you one thing. Somebody fucked me. This Tom guy doesn’t have the brains to…” “You gotta get off this. By the way, where’s the phone you used for Tomscam?” “I don’t know. Back at the apartment, I suppose.” “Bullshit. Give it to me.” “I’m gonna hang onto it for a while.” “Then it’s been nice working with you.”

“Come on, Molly…” “No. Right now, you’re a liability. I don’t do business that way. Face it. You fucked up the scam. Or somebody fucked it up for you. Either way it makes no difference. It’s done. Sometimes you win, and sometimes…” “Yeah, yeah! Spare me the platitudes, okay?” “If you think they’re platitudes, you’ve got a lot to learn. Give me that phone. I’ll trash it for you. And get over this shit. Really.”

The end of the school day came quickly that Monday, and Sheila was feeling buoyant as she put her desk in order. After completing her responsibilities as bus monitor, she would enjoy a jog in the park and a yoga session at home. As she was leaving the building, Sheila ran into Mr. Pratt, the school’s Vice Principal. “Oh, Sheila, I was hoping to catch you before you left. Could you come to my office when you have completed your bus duties?” This was not good news. Based on staff scuttlebutt, it was Sheila’s understanding that, whenever Mr. Pratt asked to see a teacher after everyone else had left for the day, the likely purpose of the meeting was something unpleasant.

“Sheila. Come in. Be seated, won’t you?” “Thank you.” Mr. Pratt remained standing for a few moments and then leaned against his desk. He made no effort to conceal the unmistakable twitch in his tros. “You enjoy working here, do you not?” “Yes, I do… very much.” “It seems the students like you. And we have not received complaints from parents.” “I’m happy to know that.” “However, there has been a development. Information has come to my attention, unfortunate information… that is to say unfortunate for you.” “Oh? May I know what the information is?” “The exact nature of the information and the source, or sources, of the dossier will remain confidential. I can tell you that it involves your background prior to securing your position here at Portland Faith Academy.” “Can you be more specific?” “I really cannot.” “This information, whatever it may be…” “Preliminary inquiries suggest that the information in the dossier is correct. The only question now is whether I take the next step. Once a formal investigation is started… once the information is shared with others… I will have no control over the result.” “So, the idea is to find a way to prevent that from happening.” “Well, yes.”

“And what do you have in mind?” “I think you may have some idea.” “Sure. If I blow you, you won’t blow the whistle.” “I wouldn’t have put it so crudely.” “Of course not. But that’s what you want, isn’t it?” “In a word – yes.” “Well, then, since this is a faith-based institution, I expect you’ll want me on my knees when I suck your dick. And maybe we should have a special code. When you want me to blow you, you can ask me to ‘kiss Reverend Johnson.’ How does that sound?” “You have a sardonic sense of humor. I like that. By the way, I will not take undue advantage of our arrangement. I will invite you to my office no more than once a week.” “Just a second – I haven’t agreed to this.” “I was expecting you to take care of me this afternoon.” “So I noticed. But I need to think about it.” “I do require a quick decision. I hope you understand that.”

Sheila sat in her Volkswagen in the school parking lot, laughing about what had just taken place. “Kiss Reverend Johnson?! Where the hell did that come from?!” As for the merits, Sheila assumed that someone had in fact ed Mr. Pratt with damaging information about her. There were only two suspects – the waitress at the coffee shop and, of course, Ginny. The waitress knew about her whoring conviction and prison experience in New York. Ginny knew everything – whoring, fake master’s degree, fake teaching background. Considering the current status of their relationship, Ginny was the odds-on favorite as rat of the moment. No matter who the culprit was, if Sheila were exposed as an ex-whore or fraudulent teacher, or both, she would be back in touch with the Egyptian for an expensive re-boot. Luckily, this would be unnecessary. Sheila’s newly-acquired cell phone was equipped with an audio-recording feature. She had not tried to use it prior to that day, so she wanted to be sure she had used it correctly. The recording was perfect. She made the call. “Mr. Pratt, this is… well, you know. I’m calling you with my answer.” “In the affirmative, I assume.” “Oh, it’s affirmative alright. You can take your fucking dossier and shove it. By the way, I recorded our meeting. You fuck with me, I’ll fuck with you. And I think you have more to lose. I look forward to continuing our harmonious professional association. Have a nice evening, asshole. And say hello to Reverend Johnson for me.”

For Sheila, the rest of that week was comfortably monochromatic. She was thankful not to hear from either Ginny or Tom. Her classes at PFA rolled out smoothly, and she and Mr. Pratt appeared not to notice each other when they ed in the hallways. There was no question that Pratt would be concerned about the recording Sheila claimed to have made of their meeting. So, the idea that he had dropped the matter that brought her to his office was a non-starter. She awaited the opportunity to strengthen her position.

On Sunday at about 11:30 AM, there was a knock at Sheila’s door. She answered cheerfully. “Who is it?” “It’s Mr. Pratt… from school.” “Well, Mr. Pratt from school, what can I do for you?” “You can open the door and let me in. I’d like to have a chat with you.” “Really? What about?” “You know perfectly well. Open the door, please.” “I think not.” “I don’t like it when people defy me.” “Is that so?” “Open this door or…” “Or what? You’ll huff and you’ll puff and you’ll blow my house down?” “Listen, you sleazy bitch…!” “Could you say that a little louder, please, just in case some of my neighbors are skipping church this morning?” “I’ll give you exactly ten seconds…” “Go ahead. And, while you’re counting, look up. Oh, what’s that? Is it a video camera? Why, yes, it is. Huh. Imagine that. You’re digitized making threats at my front door.” “Goddamn you!” “Keep talking. I love it! I wonder how long it will take you to figure out you’ve

been out-maneuvered. And, at the risk of sounding like a bad movie, the recordings will be safely tucked away for release if anything nasty happens to me.” “This is not over!” “I guess we could stay here – with the door between us – shouting every threatening cliché we know. But I have a better idea. Tomorrow, you will write me a letter thanking me for my outstanding record at Portland Faith Academy and offering me a five-year teaching contract, with a ten percent pay raise each year.” “I cannot possibly do that.” “Your problem. Not mine. You will present me with the letter tomorrow afternoon.”

Sheila expected Pratt to produce some sort of written offer and attempt to use it as a bargaining chip to obtain her recordings, with the intention of finding an excuse to renege on the deal later on. She would graciously decline the Vice Principal’s generous offer, keep the letter and voice recording as leverage against any future threats, and allow Pratt to continue believing she had video. She would happily continue teaching at Portland Faith Academy on a year-to-year basis, with reasonable increases in pay.

The two weeks since her return to Las Vegas had not been pleasant for Ginny. The failure of Tomscam had left her in a funk not unlike the meltdown she experienced at the airport hotel in Baltimore. Despite her inability to sleep – or perhaps because of it – she maintained a demanding work schedule, generally finishing her day at 3:00 or 4:00 AM. She was thankful that the dom’s standardissue leather costume included a mask, allowing her to conceal the ravages of worry-filled days and sleepless nights. The newbie Tippy had knocked on Ginny’s door a number of times and had been turned away. Ginny was always “too busy” to chat. Molly had maintained by phone, but had not suggested meeting to strategize on the S. Clearly, Molly had no intention of moving ahead on that project until she was confident regarding Ginny’s emotional stability. As she tried to rest in preparation for a busy work week, Ginny, herself, was by no means confident on that score.

Since Ginny’s departure, a friendship had developed between Tom and Bill Kelly. The two men spent time together each day. On this Monday morning, they were in a booth at Denny’s, source of their favorite steak-and-eggs breakfast. “Bill, you’re not eating a lot this morning. Something wrong with the eggs?” “Just not hungry. Don’t mind me. I don’t care much about food these last few days.” “I been thinking. You know, I really got lucky on the whole Ginny thing. Could’ve lost everything my Mom left me – boom, just like that. And I’m lucky to have it in the first place.” “Luck is a good thing.” “My Mom used to say it’s better to be lucky than good.” “I heard people say that before. I don’t know if I’d count on luck to get me through life.” “I talk to my Mom all the time, by the way.” “I know. Sometimes it’s pretty loud.” “So, you think I’m nuts, right?” “Depends on whether you think she talks to you.” “Well, just to put your mind at rest, I know she’s not here to talk to. I think about what she’d say if she was here.” “I talk to my Mary – my wife. She died young, you see. Her folks took her back to Ireland when she died – to be with her family and all. That was a long time ago.” “I didn’t know that, Bill. I’m sorry to hear it – I really am.” “I talk to my Mary every day – just like she was still here. Makes me feel better – not so lonely, you see – and not so mad at what them bastards did with my

pension money.” “Yeah, I you told me about the pension thing.” “Don’t know how they did it. That money was supposed to be safe. But they used it to try and save their company when they was going broke. Didn’t work and us workers got screwed.” “I guess it was good you were living in my Mom’s house.” “Mrs. Murphy felt sorry for me. I don’t like people feeling sorry for me. If I had a chance, I’d shoot them bastards.” “I understand. I’ve got a few people I’d like to take care of.” “I should’ve killed them bastards right when it happened, instead of walking around mad all this time. You know what? If I had my life to do over again, I wouldn’t take shit from nobody – not them son-of-a-bitches, not nobody. But I waited too long. If it’s okay with you, you can drop me off at the house when you’re done with your breakfast.”

“I owe you an apology, Mom. I lied to Bill. Told him you don’t really talk to me.” “That’s okay. We know the truth. When are you getting rid of those filthy movies?” “Right now, Mom. I’m taking them back right now.”

Duc was at his post behind the counter when Tom entered the convenience store. Tom waited for the store to be clear of customers before approaching the counter and handing Duc the large envelope he was carrying. “Ah, I bet you bring back Ginny porn. What you think?” “I didn’t really watch them. Once I got the general idea…” “You say you not look?!” “Not really.” “I think you look but you not like. She fuck too many guy. Make you mad.” “Something like that.” “I sorry. But I tell you truth.” “That’s right. You told me the truth. And I thank you for it.” “So, you not mad at me? You still buy gas?” “I have no problem with you, and I will always buy gas here.”

Tom returned to the Murphy home – to an unexpected silence. Late morning was Bill Kelly’s time to listen to the radio. “If you’ve got ten minutes, we’ve got your news.” How many times had Tom heard that slogan blasting from Bill’s apartment? But not today. The door to Bill Kelly’s apartment was open. Bill was sitting in his favorite chair, incidentally the Morris chair that had belonged to Michael Murphy, Tom’s Dad. Bill appeared to be dozing. His hands rested in his lap. They held a small framed picture. “Bill… you okay? Bill…?” It was obvious that Bill was not okay, although… Bill’s face – relaxed in death – appeared to be at peace. The framed picture he held was a faded photo of a lovely young woman and a handsome young man. They were sitting on a low wall, smiling at each other. At least fifty years ago, a snapshot camera had captured a magical moment, an unmistakable picture of true love. “I talk to my Mary every day – just like she was here. Makes me feel better – not so lonely, you see.” There was a note on the floor next to Bill’s chair.

Mr. Murphy, you can have back the silver you gave me. Don’t spend it all in one place. Ha ha. On my kitchen table next to the silver is instructions. Everything is paid for. I don’t have no family. So I guess you’re it. Hope you don’t mind.

William Patrick Kelly

Tom found the silver and a receipt for cremation services. He was slightly concerned when he noticed that Bill’s pre-need cremation program had been purchased from W. H. Sullivan & Sons, scene of the recent dispute regarding the cost of his mother’s cremation. Tom reported the death of Bill Kelly to the police by calling 9-1-1. While waiting for the police to arrive, he moved Bill’s shoebox of silver to the thirdfloor apartment. He also decided to keep the photo of a young Bill Kelly and his beloved Mary. It just seemed like the right thing to do. When the authorities had pronounced Bill’s death to have been from natural causes, Tom called Sullivan’s to arrange for Bill’s removal to the funeral home. By the slightest distortion of truth with respect to his surname, Tom was able to schedule the removal without revealing himself as one of the thieving Murphy clan who had given Sullivan’s a write-off the company did not want.

Tom was pleased at his calm reaction to the death. He wondered if it would hold up when he informed his mother of Bill’s ing. He was doubly pleased when it did. “Mom, there’s something I have to tell you.” “I heard some coming and going. What’s happening?” “Well, Bill Kelly ed away this morning.” “I thought that might be it. You can hear when something is being carried down the stairs. I think he was ready.” “Yes, I believe he was.” “Do you want to say a prayer together?” “No. Not really.” “That’s okay. I can do it on my own.” “Mom, about this prayer thing…” “I was wondering if you’d ever ask me about that. Frankly, I don’t know. It’s all pitch black where I am. I haven’t heard any trumpets, and I haven’t met St. Peter. But I keep hoping.”

Tom’s cell phone rang. He did not recognize the number on the screen. “Tom, it’s me, Ginny. Please don’t hang up.” “Why would I hang up? I’m going to enjoy this. By the way, is this your new phone number?” “Tom, I’m calling to apologize. I know you will never trust me again, but I want to explain.” “Let me guess. You needed the money to take care of your sick mother.” “No, Tom, it’s nothing like that. I thought we would be spending the rest of our lives together. I opened a checking in both of our names…” “…without telling me. And in Las Vegas, where you really live.” “Tom, I was not completely honest with you. But there was a reason why I did what I did. It was to protect you. I was worried that your Aunt Gert might show up again and tell you a bunch of lies and convince you to give her money.” “And you thought I was dumb enough to believe any crap someone told me and weak enough to give my money away. Dumb and weak – that’s what you thought.” “I didn’t think of it like that, but I understand why you might see it that way. There was another reason. I was selfish. I it it. I thought you might spend all your money and there wouldn’t be any left for… us.” “Nice stories. Complete bullshit, of course. Well, it’s been nice talking to you…” “Don’t hang up – please! I understand that you don’t trust me, even though I meant well. I have to live with what I did. But I want to know who told you. I think I’m entitled to at least that much.” “No problem. It was Santa Claus… or maybe the Tooth Fairy.” “You’re not being fair. Someone I know didn’t understand that I meant you no

harm. They betrayed me. I need to know who I can trust and who I can’t. Please.” “I have an idea. We can trade information. Fair enough?” “Yes. We can do that.” “Okay. You tell me why you were so interested in meeting Sheila and I’ll tell you who told me you were trying to rob me.” “Tom, that’s easy for me to answer. The affectionate way you spoke about Sheila made me think you were interested in her romantically. I thought you might be using me to make her jealous. I had to meet her and make sure it was really me you were interested in.” “I don’t believe a word of that, but I’ll keep my part of the bargain anyway. Nobody told me anything. They didn’t have to.”

Normally, Vice Principal Pratt was a conspicuous presence at the beginning of the school week, as he attempted to promote the impression that his leadership was essential to the efficient operation of the school. His absence on this Monday was of some concern to Sheila in view of their altercation the previous day and the contract offer she had demanded. When Pratt had not been seen by the end of classes, Sheila visited his office. The school’s academic director was sitting at Pratt’s desk. “And your business with Mr. Pratt would be…?” “We’re discussing my employment here. Can you tell me when Mr. Pratt will be available?” “He’s taking a couple of days of personal time – family matter. I would imagine he will be available to meet with you when he returns. Thank you for stopping by.”

“Good Afternoon, Sheila. You can put your groceries on the table, and then we can talk.” “You fucking creep. Get out of my house.” Pratt was sitting at Sheila’s desk. The condition of the desk and the rest of the living room suggested an extensive search had taken place. “That’s not much of a welcome, considering we have business to discuss.” “We can discuss it at school… during school hours… in my classroom… with the door open.” “Teacher Sheila, it sounds like you don’t trust me. How can this be? I’m trying to prevent your termination. Let’s begin by having you remove your clothing. When I see that what you present is satisfactory, I will give you further instructions.” “You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to…” “Put the bag on the table, Sheila, and get your clothes off. Do it now.” When Sheila failed to move, Pratt stood and approached her – slowly at first. Then, in a series of quick moves, he grabbed the bag of groceries, tossed it into the clutter created by his search, and slapped her face with a force that left her stunned. Before she could recover, he slapped her again, harder. “Now, bitch!” From time to time, when she was in the game, Sheila had seen this level of volcanic rage. First came the calm, then the rage, then the violence. She was disappointed at her failure to recognize it here. She had lost her edge on that score – no question. The man now in her living room was dangerous – no question about that either. To mollify him, she would have to follow his lead. She shifted to slut mode. “Do you want it fast or slow?”

“Never mind the bullshit. Just do it.” Sheila removed her clothes, making no attempt to be provocative. Pratt locked the front door and lowered the window shades as she undressed. “Well, now, I must say I’m impressed. Get down on your hands and knees.” Sheila complied. “Walk around me in a circle on all fours. Swing your tits. I want to see how your tits swing. Very nice. Good girl.” Pratt patted Sheila’s head. “Kiss my hand.” Sheila complied. Pratt moved to the sofa and sat. “Now back up to me and spread your cheeks. Show me what you’ve got.” Sheila complied. “Beautiful. Smooth and clean. Hygienic even. Can’t be too careful. But, then, you’d know that, wouldn’t you? Turn around and face me.” Sheila complied. Pratt removed his belt, looped it through the buckle to form a collar and leash, and presented it to Sheila. “Put this on.” Sheila sat back on her haunches, accepted the belt, and raised it above her head. “Man, do you have a great set of tits! And I’m gonna chew on those beauties until you beg for mercy!” Without conscious thought or hesitation, Sheila dropped the collar around Pratt’s neck, pulled it tight with both hands, and scrambled to her feet. Adrenalin and tunnel vision took over as she jerked Pratt forward with the belt. She reached for the closest object, a travertine sculpture of a rabbit sitting on an end table, and

slammed it against the top of his head. Pratt sprang back up to a sitting position and stared up at Sheila, allowing her second blow to land squarely on his forehead. She saw the disbelief on his face as her third blow rendered him unconscious. Her fourth – or perhaps fifth or sixth – rendered him lifeless. Although it seemed to roll out in ultra-slowmotion, all of this had taken no more than twenty seconds.

“Hi, Sheila! Always glad to hear from you. What’s going on?” “Tom, I have a very big problem. I need your help.” “Sure. What?” “Can’t tell you on the phone. I need you to come right now!” “You mean right this minute?” “This can’t wait. How long will it take you to get here?” “I don’t know. Maybe two or three hours.” “Okay. About 8:00. This is definite, right?” “Don’t worry. I’m on my way.” “Meet me at the coffee shop – the one where we met last time. Call me when you get there. I’ll run right over.”

Sheila’s first thought with respect to Pratt-related cleanup and disposal had been to handle the entire operation without assistance. She quickly realized the impracticality of this idea. For starters, vehicle logistics would require two people. She gave brief consideration to ing the Egyptian in Las Vegas. He would have s in New England who could take care of everything. However, the cost of this service would be at least $10,000 – probably more. This was beyond her reach. Her only option was Tom. She ed a quotation often cited by one of her professors at UNLV: “The absence of alternatives simplifies decision-making.” She had made the call. With a little persuasion, Tom would become her partner in an enterprise with pitfalls too numerous to count and an upside of nil.

Immediately after speaking with Tom, Sheila showered thoroughly and put on her oldest sweats. She recovered her groceries and stored them in their proper locations in the kitchen and pantry. She then returned to the living room and began to pick up the books, documents and personal items Pratt had tossed around the room. “You left me quite a mess, Mr. Pratt. And you didn’t find jack shit, did you?! I wonder why. The recording is on my phone, asshole – my fucking phone! By the way, there is no video! The camera above my front door is a fake – a dummy! What do you think of that, dummy?! “Hey, look! I’m on my hands and knees, just the way you like it! Woof-woof! You having a good time over there, bleeding all over my landlord’s nice sofa?! I hope so, because I’ll have to replace it. But guess what. It’s worth it. I had a great time bashing your fucking head in! “You should see the expression on your face, Mr. Pratt! Is it the mask of comedy or the mask of tragedy?! Hard to tell. I think I’ll grab a couple of pictures. Maybe I’ll send them to our friends at PFA. Maybe I’ll make one of those online memory albums. No? Camera shy? Well, okay, I guess we’ll skip the pictures. But I’ll always have the sweet memory of your smug face looking not so smug anymore!” It took Sheila roughly an hour to restore the room to reasonable order, the exception being the island of gore consisting of Pratt, the sofa, the area rug beneath it and the bloody sculpture on the floor nearby. “Well, Mr. Pratt, you’ll have to excuse me for a few minutes. I’ve got to put together the materials I’ll need to deal with you. Which trash bags would you prefer, clear or black? I think I have both. Can’t decide? I’ve got some lovely green leaf bags in the garage. Maybe we’ll use some of those. How does that sound? “What else do we need? Let’s see. Towels, of course – got plenty of those. And tape. I’m afraid the best I can do is electrician’s tape. But it’ll work just fine. Don’t you dare run off. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

The coffee shop was closed for the night when Tom pulled into the parking lot. Sheila arrived within five minutes of his call. She ed Tom and sat in silence. “Well, I’m here, so why don’t you tell me…?” “Tom, this is serious. I can’t ask you to get involved unless you understand exactly what happened.” “Okay.” “Mr. Pratt… from PFA. You him, right?” “That prick. Sure. Wouldn’t give me my paycheck when I quit.” “He broke into my house today… waited for me… tried to rape me.” “I’ll strangle the son of a bitch!” “That won’t be necessary. He’s dead.” “Holy shit!” “I fought him off and hit him with something heavy.” “What about the police?” “I didn’t report it.” “Why not?! You didn’t do anything wrong!” “There’s more to it. Pratt was trying to blackmail me. When I applied for the job at PFA, I lied about my background – master’s degree, teaching certification… the whole deal. The bastard found out. He wanted sex in exchange for keeping quiet. I turned him down.” “Okay. He was gonna fire you if you didn’t have sex with him. I get that. But he still broke into your house and tried…” “Tom, he said he had a file – proof that I’m a fake. That gives me a reason to

wish him harm. Don’t you see? If I get in the clutches of the law on this, I’m in prison for the rest of my life.” “Could happen. I can see that.” “Pratt has to disappear. It’s that simple.” “You’re talking about a very risky thing here. Did you ever see those cop shows on TV? People always make mistakes and get caught.” “Tom, I understand if you won’t help me. Look, I’ve got to go.” “Sheila, I am going to help you… but let’s make sure we’re thinking straight.” “I’m thinking straight, believe me. First, we find his car. I have the key. It’s got to be near my house. We’ll ride around and press buttons until something lights up. There’s one piece of good news. My garage is attached to the house, and there’s a door right from the kitchen.” “What about neighbors?” “Bunch of old people. They’ll be plopped in front of the TV until they go to bed, if they’re not in bed already. If they’d seen him break in, they would’ve called the police.” “Makes sense.” “Okay, let’s get this done. We’ll leave your car here for now.” “Sheila, I have to ask you something.” “No, you don’t. I’m not the Sheila you thought you knew when you worked at PFA. The goody-goody born-again Sheila was bullshit. Go along to get along – that’s really all there is to it. But the fact is I’m a good teacher. I enjoy the work and I want to continue doing it.” “And Pratt thought nothing of ruining it for you… and taking away your selfrespect to boot. Fuck him! The son of a bitch got what he had coming!”

Ginny was not happy at being summoned to the Change of Scene bar for a meeting with Molly. “So, Mistress Ginny, where’s my twelve grand?” “Molly, listen to me. Right now, I need cash for the S project.” “My cash is not on the table. You’re welshing on me, Ginny. As my Daddy used to say, ‘Girl, you ain’t gettin’ past me with that one.’” “I’m not welshing. This goddamn Tomscam thing…” “I’ll tell you something: I’m beyond bored with hearing about that. I covered your schedule while you were away. You got paid on the work, and I haven’t seen my end.” “I’ll pay you interest, but right now…” “Bullshit. You’ve got your zip, whip and flip trade, and I’ll bet you’ve got some stocks you could sell. If you need more cash, you can look at the opportunities staring you in the face.” “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” “You have video equipment in your apartment. Is that correct?” “Yes. I record my sessions… for security purposes.” “And you save the recordings – I’m sure you do. Can you tell me why you don’t use those to generate income?” “You mean blackmail.” “That’s exactly what I mean. You go after past clients. If they gave you plastic, you can find them. Ten seconds of video, or a couple of stills, and you’re in business. Work it right and they won’t know who they’re paying. If they were seeing you, at some point they were seeing other doms or whatever. The demand for payment could come from anywhere. Any questions?”

The search for Pratt’s car produced a late-model mini-van, tucked in a corner of the parking lot at Portland Faith Baptist Church, founding institution of Portland Faith Academy. Unfortunately, the search had taken in excess of two hours. It was past 10:00 PM by the time Pratt’s van was safely under cover in Sheila’s garage. Sheila led Tom into her kitchen. “Tom, before we start this… have you ever seen a dead body?” “Yes. My Mom’s tenant just died. He was an old man. I found him.” “Well, I’m not sure that would prepare you for…” Sheila began to laugh. “What? What’s funny? Come on, Sheila! What the fuck!” “Okay, okay! Give me a second.” “This is nuts! I mean… Jesus!” “You’re right – it’s nuts. I’ve got a fucking dead guy in my living room with his head bashed in, and I was wondering if you can handle what we have ahead of us.” “We’re gonna find out if either one of us can.” “I’m okay with the dead body part of it. I saw plenty of those when I was a kid. My Dad drove a hearse for a mortician and I used to hang around. What’s in my living room is nasty. But I’ll tell you something: I wouldn’t change what I did no matter what.” “I get that.” “We’d better get cracking. I’ve got to show up at PFA in the morning. Everything’s normal – just another school day. Supposedly, Pratt is taking time off for some personal business. So we’re not under the gun to finish everything tonight. Job one is to get him wrapped, sealed and ready to travel. I’ve got everything we need in the living room.”

With the window shades drawn – one of Pratt’s final acts on this earth – there was virtually no ambient light in the room. Sheila clicked on the study lamp on her desk, making the contents of the room visible in silhouette. “He’s over there… on the sofa. We need the ceiling light. It’s kind of bright. Sorry.” There was nothing in Tom’s life experience to prepare him for the scene on the opposite side of the room. Suddenly, his mind was flooded with visual information it could not process. The body was seated on the sofa with the head lolled back against the cushions. Apart from being bathed in blood, the business suit, dress shirt and striped tie were in perfect order, giving the impression of a department store mannequin dressed for display. The head was an incongruous addition to the picture – like a Halloween ghoul mask placed on the mannequin as someone’s idea of a joke. The eyes and mouth were wide open, and the eyes appeared to be directed at the ceiling fixture, as if Pratt’s attention had been drawn to it when the light was turned on. Most alarming were the arms, which were raised and outstretched as if to welcome an embrace. Tom was frozen – regrettably his typical reaction to highstress situations. “Tom, you still with me?” Tom spoke very softly. “Jesus H. Christ.” “I know. It’s a mess.” “But… his arms! Look at his arms!” “Creepy, right? Sometimes dead people move into positions like that. It’s from rigor mortis setting in. Every now and then in a funeral home, one of them will sit right up on the embalming table. At least that’s what my Dad told me. I never

saw it happen.” “Yeah… okay… okay… Sheila, I gotta…” Tom rushed out of the room. Moments later Sheila heard him retching at the kitchen sink.

Tom was sitting at the kitchen table with his forehead resting on his arms. He raised his head when Sheila entered. “Better?” “I’ll be okay. It’s a good thing I forgot to have dinner.” “I don’t have any mouthwash, but there’s toothpaste in the bathroom.” “Sorry I’m such a…” “It’s fine. I’ll get him covered up. You’ll need to help me move him. Do you think you can do that?” “Sure. It’s just… well, yes… I can do that.” “I’m not going to try to straighten him out – rigor mortis and all. And I would imagine there’s still a lot of blood in the body – especially in the lower part. Gravity takes over when a person dies.” Tom quickly got up from the table and returned to the sink.

Sheila worked on Pratt’s corpse without engaging in the banter that had helped her relieve tension earlier in the day. She was quite sure that clever discourse with the deceased would operate against Tom’s assistance through the night and beyond. Her first step was to cover the head with several small trash bags, sealed individually with tape stretched tight around the neck. Despite the onset of rigor mortis, with some effort she was able to fold the arms across the chest. She secured the arms to the body with several tight loops of twine. Finally, she covered the body as completely as possible with large trash bags pulled down from the head. These were secured with tight wrappings of tape at the neck, shoulders and waist.

When Sheila returned to the kitchen some thirty minutes later, Tom was sitting at the table. “He’s ready to be moved. I have a cedar chest big enough for him and a bunch of towels – just in case. We’ll pack him up and put the chest in his van. Then we’ll pick up your car. You still have your apartment here in town, don’t you?” “That’s right.” “We’ll spend the night there. Tomorrow – after I finish teaching – we’ll take the chest to a very private location about forty miles from here. After that, we can decide what to do with the van.” “What about the living room?” “We’ll take care of that on Wednesday. We’ll try… but we both know you can never get rid of all traces. Frankly, if it looks like I’m a suspect in Pratt’s disappearance, I’ll burn the fucking house down before any forensics people have a chance to look at it.”

Sheila’s meticulous wrapping, tying and taping proved beneficial. She had produced a solid package which she and Tom were able to grip at the elbows and ease forward until it tumbled into the cedar chest. Once there, they folded the body into the fetal position necessary for the top to close. Both Sheila and Tom experienced adverse reactions to the gasses released by the body during this maneuvering. The result was a foot race to the kitchen sink.

After a stroll around the neighborhood for some fresh air, Sheila and Tom were ready to undertake moving the chest to the garage. They accomplished the move without difficulty. They folded the van’s rear seats forward to create space for the chest. The van was empty with the exception of a steel file box located in the rear cargo area. The box was equipped with a built-in dial-lock and appeared to be fairly heavy-duty. Tom raised the van’s rear hatch and attempted unsuccessfully to move the box. Together, Sheila and Tom removed it from the van. Sheila spoke what they both were thinking. “Tempting, isn’t it? We’ll pry it open when everything else is done.”

Sheila and Tom rediscovered their appetites for food in the parking lot where they had left Tom’s car. Although restaurant choices in Portland, Maine were limited after midnight – not to mention generally – that city had long since conformed to the national trend of twenty-four-hour fast food. Burgers, fries and coffee it was – and welcome at that. “You know, if you’re ever in the Boston area – maybe visiting or something – I’ll take you to the best burger place in the world.” “I’d like that.” “Sheila, now that we’re getting to know each other better, would it be okay if I asked you a question?” “Sure. Why not?” “Well, the day me and Ginny came up here to see you… when I found you crying…” “Uh-huh.” “What was going on with you? I’d really like to know.” Sheila took a sip of coffee and concentrated on maintaining eye . “Did you tell Ginny about finding me that way?” “No. But that whole day was weird. Ginny was all gung-ho about wanting to meet you. Then the two of you got rid of me. The next thing I know you’re alone crying on a bench.” “What did Ginny say about me?” “That day? Nothing. But she called me… I’m losing track of time with all the stuff that’s going on. Anyway, Ginny called me and I asked her why she wanted to meet you. She said she wanted to find out if I was interested in you as more than a friend. She was thinking maybe I was using her to make you jealous.”

Sheila responded quickly. “Yes. That’s right. That’s what we talked about.” “So, I guess Ginny told the truth for once.” “I assured her that you and I are just friends.” “Why were you crying?” “She didn’t believe me. She pushed pretty hard. I suppose it upset me.” “I’d like to believe… Well, here goes… Do you think you would ever consider being my girlfriend?” “Yes, Tom. I would consider that. But you understand it’s not a decision I can make tonight. I’m sure I don’t have to explain.” “No… no, of course not. I just wanted to kind of put it out there… for the future.” “That’s okay. I’m glad you did.”

Episode 8

RECRIMINATION

Tuesday started early for Sheila and Tom. Sheila had set the alarm on her phone for 6:00 AM. This proved unnecessary since she was awakened at about 5:45 by the welcome aroma of coffee. She had slept on the sofa, having declined Tom’s offer of his bedroom. Surprisingly, she had been able to set aside the stress of the day and sleep through the night – short night though it was. Sheila propped herself up with a couple of pillows, as Tom entered the living room. “I’ve got some coffee for you.” “Great. Thanks.” As they both worked on their second cup, conversation became more fluid. “There’s no food here. Do you have time to grab a little breakfast out?” “No. I have to scoot over to PFA and prepare my classes. I’ll meet you back at my place at about 3:30. Between now and then, I need you to pick up a few things we’ll need. I’ll give you a list before I go. I think you should nip down the road to Massachusetts to buy the stuff.” “Okay. And I’ll buy it in different places – you know, for security.” “Yeah – that’s the smart thing to do.”

Tom imagined himself the master criminal as he prepared the various “looks” he would need for his supply run to the neighboring state. As a man who rarely threw things away, he succeeded in providing himself with a different jacket and cap for each purchase on Sheila’s list. He was disappointed that his wardrobe of sunglasses consisted of only one pair. He decided that some purchases would be made with and some without the sunglasses.

kerosene (5 1-gal containers) axe (heavy) shovel (heavy) hunting knife box of wooden matches household cleaner (spray bottle) paper towels (2 rolls)

Being careful to avoid cameras in parking lots and stores – or so he believed – Tom undertook his mission methodically and completed it in time to meet Sheila on schedule.

Tom drove Pratt’s mini-van and followed Sheila in her Volkswagen. Some forty miles northwest of Portland, Sheila pulled into a restaurant parking lot and ed Tom in the van. “We’ll keep going along this road. We don’t want tire tracks from my car at the dump site. Dump site – I think that’s what it’s called.” “Uh-huh. That’s what they call it on TV. I don’t know if it’s official.”

Sheila directed Tom to turn onto a dirt road. He was surprised at the sign attached to the cross beams of a rustic entry arch:

Portland Faith Academy Camp Grounds & Retreat Center

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” “It’s only used in the summer. And it means something to me to incinerate him here. I can’t tell you why – but it does.” “What if somebody sees…?” “In the middle of the woods? There’s no one around for miles – really.”

Their final destination – actually Pratt’s – was a large open area surrounded by raised tent platforms. In the center was a barbeque pit lined with well-charred stones. They tipped Pratt’s body into the pit, along with the towels that had performed to perfection their function of absorbing fluids. Tom knocked the cedar chest apart with the axe he had bought and split the pieces into firewood. He was disturbed to a degree by Sheila’s activity with the shovel. She used it to smash Pratt’s skull to mush under its plastic coverings. “Remind me to stay on your good side.” “Just an extra precaution. Why make identification too easy?” Sheila used the hunting knife to slice open the trash bags covering the upper half of the body. Tom covered the body with firewood and doused the pyre with kerosene. He offered the box of matches to Sheila. “Would you like to do the honors?” “With pleasure.” “How long will this thing take?” “Honestly, I don’t know – quite a while, probably. But we’re not going to hang around beyond a certain point. The main thing is to make sure there’s nothing here to connect this little barbeque to us. With any luck, animals will find what’s left and have a nice roasted pig dinner.”

Sheila and Tom monitored the destruction of Pratt’s earthly remains for the better part of an hour, attempting to accelerate the burning process by adding kerosene every few minutes. Remnants of a woodpile left by campers provided additional solid fuel. As dusk became darkness, they added the last of the kerosene to the fire, along with the five plastic containers and the last of the firewood. It was now impossible to distinguish between the corpse and the charred firewood employed to destroy it. Their final task at the campgrounds was to clean the tools they had used and return them to the van.

On the return trip to Portland, Sheila formulated her plan for their next move. She thought it would be imprudent to abandon Pratt’s van that night. It might be needed to transport the “soiled” items in her living room. They would leave the van at the Downstate Medical Center. She theorized that a car parked at a medical facility would be left undisturbed for a few days. She informed Tom of her decision at a roadside rest area as they transferred their tools to her car.

With Sheila parked several blocks away from the medical center, Tom proceeded with the drop-off. Feeling again like the master criminal, he pulled the van into a slot shielded by a pickup truck in a quiet corner of the parking lot. As a precaution – in the event that the van was identified and impounded – Tom utilized the household cleaner and paper towels he had purchased to spray and wipe the steering wheel, dashboard, rearview mirror, seatbelt hardware, door handles and all knobs and controls. Once outside, he sprayed and wiped the door handles, mirrors, and any surfaces he and Sheila might have touched. With his jacket zipped up and his cap pulled down, Tom left the parking lot carrying a shopping bag the containing cleaning supplies – both used and unused. He circled the block before casually slipping into Sheila’s Volkswagen.

Sheila left Tom’s apartment at about 7:00 AM on Wednesday, with the intention of stopping at her house to change clothes before proceeding to PFA. Since they had agreed to meet mid-afternoon, Tom was surprised to hear from her. “I need you to get over here!” “What’s going on?” “My living room – I damn near jumped out of my skin! It looks like a huge black snake going across the floor!” “Jesus!” “But it’s ants – millions of ants! Other bugs, too! They’re coming out of the heating grate on the floor! They’re all over the rug and the sofa!” “Okay. I’ll deal with it. You go about your business. As soon as the stores open, I’ll get a ton of bug spray and take care of it.” “I’ll leave a key tucked under the garage door.” “Don’t worry about a thing. See you this afternoon. We’ll finish our little project.”

“Sheila, this is Tom. Sorry I missed your call. I was outside, getting rid of a few pounds of dead ants. Anyway, the bugs are history, and I’m going ahead with the rest of our project. Enjoy your lunch. See you when you’re done teaching.”

Once the army of ants and their fellow travelers had been dispatched, cleaning the living room was not as disgusting as Tom had expected, especially in view of the tasks he and Sheila had performed in recent days. It soon became apparent that disposal of the debris would be the larger issue. The sofa was now seven extra-large trash bags stretched beyond capacity with blood-saturated cushions and broken pieces of frame. The area rug was four bags of cut-up squares, most with significant blood stains. The end table showed only small traces of blood spatter, which were easily removed. Tom washed the rabbit sculpture Sheila had used as a bludgeon and placed it on her desk. “She can decide if she wants to keep you, Mr. Rabbit. I bet she does.” Tom dragged the eleven trash bags to the garage. He had no idea how he and Sheila would make them disappear. It was then that he ed Pratt’s file box.

For the next hour – using all available tools – Tom worked on opening the box. It was pretty well battered – but still unopened – when Sheila arrived. The tire iron from her car provided the necessary leverage. The contents of the box were nothing less than astonishing. Pratt had kept files on nearly all PFA employees – not ordinary personnel files, but files of careerending or at least embarrassing information. “Tom, do you realize what we have here?!” “Do I realize?! This is a ‘holy shit’ moment if there ever was one!” “That son of a bitch didn’t screen out job applicants who had something to hide. He hired people because they had something to hide! And you can be sure he victimized plenty of them. Many victims means many enemies, and that means many suspects. This is the best news imaginable!” “Hey, Sheila, look! Here’s a file on you.” “Thank you, Tom. I’ll take that.”

Shelia sat at the kitchen table and flipped through the folder’s contents. The file was complete – including the record of her conviction for soliciting in New York. Stapled to the inside of the folder was a small envelope. The envelope showed an impression of the key it had contained. Clearly, Pratt had used the key to gain entrance to her house on Monday. She ed that it was Pratt who had been so helpful in locating a house for her to rent when she arrived in Portland. That he had held onto a key was obvious. Idiot! Sheila ed ending her pat-down of Pratt’s pockets when she located his car key. Her house key was probably with his corpse. Pratt could have used his key when he came to her door on Sunday morning. Why hadn’t he done that? Idiot! He was playing games with you! How could you be so blind?! Sheila’s self-flagellation ended as abruptly as it had started. Wait a second! That mother-fucker got himself dead behind this shit! That’s how smart he was! Okay, so they find the key. What are they going to do, stick it in every lock in the state? I’ve got his so-called “dossier,” so I’m out from under that bullshit. All that’s left is getting rid of the trash bags and the van and I’m home free on this whole goddamn… Sheila’s thoughts were interrupted by… “Well, he had a file on me in there too. There’s stuff here I forgot about years ago.” She had not noticed Tom entering from the garage. She closed the folder in front of her. “We’ll have plenty of time to go through all this. Right now, we need to get on with what we have left to do.”

Sheila was waiting in her Volkswagen two blocks from the Downstate Medical Center when Tom walked out of the parking lot. What had taken place was no mystery. She made her decision while Tom was walking toward her car. “Okay – we knew this could happen. It would be great if it was stolen, but we have to assume it was towed, which means we have no time. We need a selfstorage unit – like right now.” Luckily, the first self-storage company they visited had available units. Tom entered the rental office barely ten minutes before the end of the business day. Over the next several hours, Sheila and Tom transported the bags of living-room debris from Sheila’s garage to the storage unit in the trunk of Tom’s Lincoln – one or two bags per trip. Their final trip included Pratt’s file box, which they moved after transferring its contents to shopping bags. The remainder of the evening was taken up with additional scrubbing in Sheila’s living room, followed by the arrangement of furniture to compensate for the missing sofa and area rug. Obviously, those would have to be replaced quickly, with the replacements resembling as closely as possible the items supplied by the owner of the property.

The pop quiz – what a marvelous invention! School teachers all over the nation can show up for work unprepared and buy a half-hour or so of prep time simply by saying those two magical words. After an adventurous three days, the pop quiz was teacher Sheila’s refuge on that Thursday morning. However, Sheila did not use her time for academic purposes. Her mind was engaged with two more urgent lines of thought – reassuring herself that she and Tom had made no major blunders in Pratt’s disposal and devising a way to dispose of Tom without risking the loss of his silence going forward. Her thoughts were interrupted by the delivery of a note from the istrative office. The entire staff was instructed to attend a meeting in the school auditorium during the lunch hour. Sheila was sure she would be the only person who would arrive at the meeting fully-informed.

On the stage of the auditorium was the set for a student production of LITTLE RED RIDINGHOOD. A banner above the set carried the show’s message:

Danger! Danger! Don’t talk to strangers!

Reverend Clyde Matthews, PFA’s Principal and one of its founders, came on stage as if exiting Grandma’s house, eliciting random chuckles and a smattering of mock applause. The Reverend’s composure cracked but did not break. “Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for coming. We are here to address a situation of grave concern to the PFA community – a situation that may even prove to be tragic. Let us bow our heads in silent prayer as we ask the Lord for guidance.” The silence was punctuated by the clearing of throats and squeaks caused by bodies shifting in seats. After a respectful thirty seconds, Reverend Matthews raised his head. “Amen. My friends, it appears that Mr. Alfred Pratt, our beloved Vice Principal, is missing.” Sheila heard a sotto-voce comment somewhere behind her. “Beloved, my ass.” “On Monday morning, Mr. Pratt informed us by telephone that he would be absent for a day or two in order to attend to an urgent family matter. He has not been seen or heard from since that time. “This morning, we learned that the police have impounded a vehicle which was left without authorization in a certain parking lot, apparently on Tuesday evening. The vehicle has been identified as Mr. Pratt’s mini-van. The police have

determined that it was abandoned. They are now searching for Mr. Pratt. “We ask for your assistance in this matter. Please share any information you may have regarding Mr. Pratt’s possible whereabouts with our office staff. They will it along. Now, we are grateful to have Mrs. Gloria Pratt, Mr. Pratt’s former wife, with us today to offer her for our efforts.” Sheila recognized the woman who ed Reverend Matthews as the waitress at the coffee shop who had overheard her conversation with Ginny. Mrs. Pratt spoke calmly. “I can tell you a lot about Al Pratt. Al Pratt is a cruel, evil son of a bitch.” “Gloria… Mrs. Pratt… I don’t think we…!” “Oh, be quiet, Clyde – you know the score. He’s the Devil incarnate. I bet some people in this room already know that. Frankly, I hope the bastard’s dead. And if someone here is responsible, I hope they get away with it.” With that, Mrs. Pratt left the stage. A few moments later, the audience heard a door slam. Sheila made a mental note to look for Clyde Matthews in Pratt’s files. “Well… I’m sure we understand that people in a state of shock often say things they don’t mean. We must pray for Mrs. Pratt to return to a rational state of mind as quickly as possible.” Someone in the audience coughed loudly. The cough sounded very much like the word “bullshit.”

“Ginny, this is Sheila. I don’t know if we can patch things up between us, but I’m willing to try. I swear that I did not out you to Tom. If someone did, it wasn’t me. It just wasn’t. I had a little trouble with my job recently. I thought you must have outed me to the school to get back at me. I found out who it was. I apologize for thinking it was you. And I hope you will accept my word that I absolutely did not…” (beep) Sheila’s voicemail to Ginny was answered thirty minutes later with a text message: “Whatever.”

Tom was in his apartment, waiting to hear from Sheila. He had left her an urgent phone message at about noon. Earlier in the day, Tom had gone through the pile of mail on the floor in his front hallway. The only items of interest were a bill for a car payment and a follow-up letter stating that the payment was past-due. Tom had forgotten that, in addition to his down-payment and the trade-in allowance on his old car, he was required to make the first installment payment on the Lincoln within five business days following delivery. He called the Lincoln dealer to explain that he had left his checkbook at his second home in the Boston area. The nice lady on the phone informed him that he could drop by the dealership and use his debit card to bring his up to date. He did this immediately. Unfortunately, his checking lacked sufficient funds to cover the payment. Considering his sketchy credit history, and this being the first payment, Tom was asked to leave the Lincoln at the dealership until the payment had been made. On the cab ride to his apartment, Tom ed that he had used his debit card to buy a suitcase full of clothes for Ginny. He had also been using the card to pay for gas and meals. With his checking balance at $96.27, he could gas up the Lincoln for the return trip to Boston, but the issue of the car payment loomed large.

Sheila returned Tom’s call at the end of the school day. “Tom, I’m sorry… I don’t have $750 to give you.” “It’s not ‘giving.’ It’s only for a couple of days. I go to Boston, sell a little silver… and boom, there’s money in my to pay you back. You have credit cards, right?” “I have one credit card.” “Okay – problem solved… unless you don’t want to help me.”

“Finally – you’re back. I was worried.” “Sorry, Mom. I had to leave in a hurry.” “How long were you gone? There’s no time here.” “A few days – that’s all.” “And you were doing what?” “Helping a friend. A teacher where I used to work killed a guy who tried to rape her. I helped her clean things up.” “Good for you. People need to stand up for themselves.” “That’s why I did it. I respect her for fighting back. But I don’t know if she appreciates it.” “That’s okay. You did the right thing and I’m proud of you, son.” “Thanks, Mom. You know, Bill Kelly talked to me about that the day he died.” “I always liked Bill. I helped him out as best I could.” “And he was thankful. But he hated needing it. He told me things would be different if he had his life to live over again. He said he’d stand up for himself and he wouldn’t take shit from anybody. He was mad at himself for not fighting back when people fucked him over. He died feeling that way.” “A lot of people do, I’m afraid.” “Not me. I won’t be one of them, Mom. You can be sure of that.”

The Change of Scene bar was crowded with lounge comics engaged in their usual practice of swapping punch lines. There was no need to tell complete jokes. They all knew the jokes. Three comics in the booth behind Ginny and Molly were engaged in a lightening round on the topic of the Jewish woman’s behavior at the moment of orgasm. “She stops buffing her nails.” “She says, ‘Dahlink, the ceiling needs paintink.’” “She says, ‘Mom, I’ll call ya right back.’” Ginny and Molly had heard the jokes a hundred times. They listened to the punch lines and smiled. As the comics segued to seduction lines by nationality, Ginny pushed an envelope across the table. “Your end – twelve grand.” “Great. Thanks.” Molly pushed the envelope back to Ginny. “What’s this?” “My buy-in on the S. I wasn’t gonna let you stiff me – that’s all.” “Okay, then. I’ll start prepping the newbie right away.” “What about the other thing we talked about?” “I’ve got the first one picked out – TV actor, pretty well-known. I call him ‘Triple D.’” “Which means?” “’Dirty Diaper Danny.’” “Oh, my God! T-M-I. Anyway… you got his agent?”

“Oh, yeah.” “That’s the way to go. Talent agents have deep pockets stuffed with hush money these days, what with all the noise about – dare I say the words? – sexual misconduct.” “Well, I’ve got some ‘sexual misconduct’ on video that would make ‘Triple D’ the laughing stock of Hollyweird if it got out.”

Even though Tom had silver to sell and banking to do, he gave top priority that morning to a bit of business at W. H. Sullivan & Sons. He entered the funeral home via the same entrance he had used when he came from Portland to meet Ted and Trish. He noticed that the small table near the entrance, where the funeral director had placed the box containing Agnes Murphy’s ashes, had been replaced by a short column topped by a plant. No longer were angry relatives provided with the opportunity to depart with the “cremains” of their loved ones without settling s. The funeral director – the same “Mr. Dapper” who had been in charge at the time of Tom’s previous visit – looked up from the paperwork on his desk. He recognized Tom immediately. “Well, this is interesting. Have you come to pay the bill for the services we provided for the late Agnes Murphy?” “You’ve got me confused with somebody else. I’m here to pick up my uncle’s ashes. Name’s William Kelly. It’s paid-for already.” “Yes. That’s right. The work for Mr. Kelly was pre-paid. The issue, however, is the work we performed for your mother. When that bill is taken care of, we will be happy to accommodate you with regard to Mr. Kelly.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Mr. Murphy, let’s not play games. There is a balance of… let me see… a balance of $5,000 that needs to be cleared up for services performed here in good faith. Will that be cash, debit or credit card?” “You can’t do this.” “Oh, but we are doing this, as you see.” “I’ll put it a different way. You’re not doing this. You will give me William Kelly’s ashes right now or I will break your fucking teeth. I will slam you around this room like a fucking ping-pong ball. That clear enough?”

“Do you think I’m afraid of you? Look around. You will see that we have security cameras everywhere.” “Here’s a hot tip: I don’t care. I don’t give a shit. I don’t give shit one about your fucking cameras. Here’s another hot tip: You’re about five seconds from being on the floor begging me to stop kicking your ribs.”

“Good job in there, Mr. Murphy. I’m proud of you.” Tom nearly lost control of the Lincoln. “Uhhh… okay. Thanks, Bill.” “I wish I would’ve done more of that when I was living.”

“Mom, I’ve got Bill Kelly in the car. I’m thinking about keeping him here if it’s okay with you.” “Tommy, it’s so thoughtful of you to ask. Of course it’s okay. I’m happy to have the company.”

Tom discarded the cardboard “cremains” box provided by the funeral home. He placed the plastic bag containing Bill Kelly’s ashes in a black vase decorated with harvest scenes. “Mom, I’m putting Bill just to your left.” “Mrs. Murphy, it’s good to see you… well, I don’t mean ‘see’ exactly…” “Don’t worry, Bill. It takes a while to get used to… this – whatever this is. Welcome to the mantel piece. That’s where Tommy says we are… on the mantel piece in the first-floor apartment. You the first-floor apartment.” “Yes. I cleaned it up for Mr. Murphy.” “That was nice of you.” “And he was kind enough to let me him there… here… quite often.” “I know. I used to hear you talking. I don’t mean to check up on him, but Tommy told me he was getting rid of those filthy sex movies.” “Yes. He took care of that on the day I died.” “Good. It’s not that I ever doubted…” “I can hear you, Mom – both of you.” “We don’t mind. We have nothing to hide. Isn’t that right, Bill?” “Right. Fine with me.” “You know, Bill, I don’t get the whole idea of those movies. I never had sex movies to look at. All I ever had was your regular private fucking. That was good enough for me.” “Me, too. And, believe me, I was glad to have it! Of course, I only ever had relations with my Mary.” “Too bad. You may have missed out on… Oh, well, too late now.”

“Okay, okay. I really don’t need to hear this. I’m going out. I’ve got some errands to do.” “We’ll be right here, won’t we, Bill?” “Right here. That’s where we’ll be.” “Tommy, could you move us a little closer together?”

The young man at the pawn shop where Tom had sold his first two boxes of silver offered a net $2,000 – less than $7.00 per ounce – for the box of thirty tenounce bars Tom placed on the counter. “You’re way too low. I checked the spot price this morning. You’re offering me half.” “If you think you can do better…” “Yeah, I know – I can take it someplace else. You think I won’t?” “Your choice. You have my offer.” “You know… if somebody got pissed off enough, they could come around behind that counter and smack you.” “That would be a very bad idea.” The young man’s right hand crossed his body and slipped under his shirt-jac. Tom considered his next move and realized he didn’t have one. Okay, so he was one-for-two on the day in the take-no-shit derby. That would have to do for now. “Fine – I’ll take the two grand.”

Tom’s experience at the bank was considerably more rewarding. The receipt for his cash deposit of $2,000 showed a checking balance in excess of $27,000.

“I’m off to Portland, Mom. Got some business to attend to.” “Well, at least this time you’re telling me you’re going.” “Big day, Mom. The money from your insurance policy came. It’s in the bank.” “That’s where it belongs. It’s a good thing you got rid of that terrible girl.” “Had to, Mom. She was a thief… among other things.” “You don’t need to tell me. I heard everything that went on. Bill, you wouldn’t believe the things they…” “Mom, that’s enough.” “Okay. My lips are sealed. That’s more than I can say for…”

At last, the Cherry Pop Scam was underway. Molly was scouting hotels and Tippy was beginning her training sessions with Ginny. These were set to take place from 1:00 – 2:00 PM each day. Ginny’s goal was to have Tippy ready to work in one week. “So, Tippy, you ready to make more money than you ever dreamed of?” “Sure am.” “Okay, then. Have you ever had sex?” “No! Never!” “Good. Why now?” “Um… I don’t know what to say if he asks me that.” “Don’t worry about it. The main thing is, once the john is in the room, he’ll be so focused on getting at that sweet little pussy he probably won’t ask too many questions. But if he starts to go that way, your aunt – that’s either me or Molly – will take care of it. One of us will be in the room right up to the magic moment you say it’s okay for you to be alone with the nice man. And we’ll be close by after that. So… how do you feel?” “Scared.” “That’s right. You’re scared. Why are you scared?” “He’s gonna fuck me and it’s gonna hurt.” “How about this: You’re not quite sure what’s going to happen.” “Okay – I’m scared ‘cause I don’t know what’s gonna happen.” “You’re scared, but you’re also excited. You’re a tiny bit shy, but…” “I’m a shy little girl.” “And you’re a little flirty – but just a little. Before she leaves, your aunt will

remind the nice man to be gentle and patient. Okay, now let’s talk about the legend.” “The…?” “The story we tell the john. We keep it close to the truth so it fits the girl he meets. You’re a kid from a small town. You’re thirteen years old. Your family is poor and they really need money. Your aunt is in the game. She sold you on the idea of giving up your virginity to help your family out.” “Got it.” “The legend helps the john convince himself that what he’s doing is okay. I bet you can’t wait to get started.” “For sure.” “I think you told me your real name is Catherine.” “Right. Catherine with a ‘C.’” “Your name for what we’re doing is ‘Cathy.’ We’ll get you fixed up with the right look and everything else we need to present you as a thirteen-year-old. By the way, are you shaved?” “No, I never shave it.” “Good. We’ll give it a nice haircut – make it look like it’s just starting to sprout.”

Gloria was about to close the coffee shop for the night when Sheila entered. “Am I too late to get a coffee to go?” “It’s been sitting awhile.” “No problem.” “Sheila, right?” “That’s me.” “Why don’t you have your coffee here? I’ll make a fresh pot. Go ahead and grab a booth. I’ll be there in a sec.” After setting up the coffee, Gloria turned off the coffee shop’s exterior lights, flipped the sign hanging on the inside of the door to “Closed” and ed Sheila in the booth. “Coffee will be ready in a minute. So, Sheila, besides the lure of my worldfamous special roast, what brings you here this evening?” “Honestly?” “Well, yeah.” “You surprised everyone at the PFA meeting.” “To say the least. But I meant what I said. My ex-husband was a rat bastard. I say ‘was’ because I’m sure that’s the case.” “What do you think happened to him?” “Oh, I know what happened. He went too far with someone and they offed him. My best guess is it was you… with some help from Tom Murphy.” “Wow! You get right to the point, don’t you?” “I assume you came to the dance to dance. And you’re dying to find out what I

know about Pratt’s nasty little racket. I’ll tell you. I know everything. You were next on Pratt’s ‘Tit List.’ That’s what he called his list of women he intended to exploit for sex. How do I know Pratt was coming for you? The sick fuck told me.”

Gloria was fresh from her shower after a long day in the coffee shop. She enjoyed a few sips of red wine as she started to heat water for the pasta dish she was about to prepare. She heard the key enter the lock on her kitchen door and wished she had a gun in her hand. Al Pratt stepped into the kitchen, flaunting his customary pre-abuse leer. He turned off the stove. “You won’t need that. Lose the robe. On your knees. I’ve got a tasty treat for ya. And I know you can’t wait to hear the latest dish about what’s going on in my world.” This particular form of abuse had occurred on a regular basis since their divorce. Pratt would arrive unannounced, compel Gloria to perform sexual acts according to his commands, while he provided commentary about his latest sexual adventures. “That’s it. You know what you’re doing. Nothing like a blowjob from an old whore, that’s what I say. Oh, yeah, speaking of whores, I’ve been saving that hot bitch Sheila for… what is it, a couple of years now? Well, this is the week. She’ll be the next bitch to suck my cock. Then maybe I’ll bring it back to you and tell you all about it.”

Gloria poured two cups of coffee and returned to the booth. “There must have been a good reason why you put up with that shit.” “Sheila, when I was in the game, I had a goal from day one. Save money and buy a business. It took a few years, but I did it. I bought this coffee shop here in my home town. Then Al Pratt walked in the door… that door right over there. “He was a teacher at this new school, Portland Faith Academy. Blah, blah, blah, and we got married. Right away he started talking about how he could be Vice Principal if he got a master’s degree. Blah, blah, blah, and I paid for his program. “Two weeks after getting his promotion he dumped me. A man of his stature in the community could not be associated with an ex-prostitute. He knew from the get-go what he was going to do, of course.” “You never caught a vibe?” “I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t. He was that good… or I was that dumb. It’s such a fucking cliché, but he threatened to destroy me and my business if I made a fuss. And he couldn’t leave it alone… kept showing up… forcing himself on me… threatening me with his so-called ‘dossier’ if I tried to end it. Truth to tell, I couldn’t see a way out.” “So you were stuck with him and everything that went with it.” “But that’s old news. Let’s fast-forward to this week. I live in the apartment upstairs, and I don’t miss much that goes on in my parking lot. You and Tom Murphy were doing a car ballet out there at the same the time Pratt was falling off the radar.” “What if I told you Tom was spending time with me at my house, and I didn’t want my neighbors to talk?” “I’d say it was bullshit.” “Just checking. So, where do we go from here?”

“I want you to be rock-solid certain that I will never – and I do mean never – tell what I know to a soul. Frankly, I don’t want you thinking I’m a threat to your freedom.” “I don’t want that either.” “I’ve already heard from the cops. Obviously, they’re looking at me first. No matter what they dig up, there’s no way they can tie me to Pratt’s disappearance. Even if there was, I would never bring you into it.” “Okay – what’s next?” “Pratt’s files. You have those.” “If I do?” “You promise to destroy them. I don’t need to explain why.” “Anything else?” “You and I will have no after tonight. I don’t need to explain that either. Are we clear on all points?” “We’re clear.”

Sheila returned home after her meeting with Gloria. Tom was waiting in his car. When Sheila ed him, he presented her with a check for $750 and followed up with his take on the previous day’s loan request. The exchange of ideas on this matter lasted for several minutes and failed to satisfy either party. “Yes, Tom, I see it. For the umpteenth time, I see it. The receipt says you have more than $27,000 in your checking .” “So there was never a problem about paying you back, was there, Sheila?” “No. There was never a problem.” “But… but… for some reason… for some reason, Shelia, I had to beg you for a few dollars… a few dollars to get my car back so I could go to Boston and straighten things out with the bank.” “Tom, you surprised me when you asked for money – that’s all. How many times do you expect me to apologize?” “It shouldn’t have happened in the first place. That’s the point. It shouldn’t have…” “Okay, okay… I get it. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again – I promise.” “By the way, I have something else for you.” Tom pulled a piece of fabric from his pocket. “I cut this off the sofa when I was breaking it up. You can use it as a sample when you look for a new one.” “Tom, thank you. That was a very thoughtful thing to do.” “Looking out for you – that’s what I was doing.” “And I appreciate it – believe me.” “Uh-huh. It gives me a nice warm feeling to know that.”

It was past midnight when Tom returned to his apartment. His plan was to drink one beer and get a good night’s sleep. He would leave Portland in the morning – probably for the last time. The only loose end was the storage unit. He had paid for the first two months. He would have to remind Sheila to pick it up from there. After that, he would not her again. For Tom, being alone wasn’t so terrible. In fact, it was a big plus. For one thing, he knew who he could depend on. And he had his mother and Bill Kelly for company when he was in Dorchester. He would keep them close at hand when he moved out of the Murphy home, which would be – when, exactly? – well… soon, anyway. The night terrors that had tormented Tom throughout most of his life had vanished with the arrival of Ginny. Despite the difficulties associated with the Ginny adventure, they had not returned following her departure. Tom felt an expansive sense of freedom and power as he finished his fourth beer, tossed the can across the room for a perfect “swish” into the trash and stretched out on the sofa where Sheila had spent two recent nights. The idea of sharing the sofa with Sheila inspired thoughts of masturbation. But then, again… “Forget her, Tommy. She’s a bitch like all the other bitches.”

Two hours later, Tom was awakened by his own screams. He struggled to catch his breath as he watched every detail of the nightmare play out in the darkness above him. He was sucking Ginny’s toes. Her toes, then her feet, and finally her legs melted into black ooze as he sucked and swallowed. He was drawn toward his goal by the scent of her ejaculate – actually the scent of the “Fool’s Gold” preparation Ginny had used in the red living room at the Murphy home. Tom extended his arms and gripped Ginny’s hips in preparation for the oral plunge. He glanced upward, expecting to see an expression of approval and desire on Ginny’s face. Instead, he saw the distorted ghoul-mask of Al Pratt. The contents of Tom’s stomach flew up to meet the image of Pratt’s head and torso on Sheila’s sofa. The image dissolved in a storm of sour beer and stomach acid. For just a moment before the nightmare evaporated, Tom saw an image of Sheila, dressed in Pratt’s business suit. She was holding his, Tom’s, severed head, raising it in triumph.

Tom was barely conscious of his actions as he punched up Sheila’s phone number. The same was true of the message he shouted at her voicemail. “I dropped everything and ran up here to help you when you killed a guy! Then you made me beg you for money! What is there about me, Sheila?! What is there about me that makes people think they can take advantage?! You know what?! Forget it! I don’t care! I’m done! Don’t even try to call me back! I’m done! Got it?! Done!”

Episode 9

REBOUND

“Okay, Cathy, what if he wants to kiss you?” “I let him do it and I kiss him back – like he’s my boyfriend.” “And if he wants to go downtown?” “He has to tell me what he wants to do… because I don’t know about stuff like that.” “Perfect. And if he sucks your tits?” “I’m shy at first… but then I like it.” “And what about your Teddy Bear?” “I reach out for it when he starts to fuck me. Then I drop it and make little noises.”

There are specific venue requirements for a Cherry Pop Scam. The perfect hotel is presentable but not upscale, since part of the thrill for a pedophile john is the power he feels over a poor girl in desperate circumstances. Anonymity is also key – and not only for the john. Molly had scouted several modest properties, each one reassuringly ordinary and comfortably distant from the Strip and its blanket video surveillance. Ginny and Molly were meeting at the Change of Scene bar to settle on the venue for Tippy’s – now Cathy’s – first S encounter along with related matters. After a review of several possible hotels, Molly put forth her choice. “I think we should go with Casa de Argentina. Right off the interstate. Clean property. A few slots but no tables. Hooker-friendly as long as things are kept low-key.” “Ading rooms?” “Yup.” “?” “Cash up front – rate plus twenty-five percent.” “Pretty standard. Do I need to see it?” “Up to you.” “I’m sure it’s fine. Okay – facts and figures.” Ginny took a note pad from her bag and laid it on the table. Molly studied the figures before commenting. “Looks like you’ve covered everything. If we do this right, we’ll be under water for the first couple of months. Even so, I say we do it right.” “I agree. We keep it harmless at first. Get the act down tight. Then move up the food chain for bigger coin.”

“What about Tippy? You sure she’s with this for the long haul?” “Only if she wants to keep breathing in and out. And we’re calling her ‘Cathy’ now.” “Okay – price point. We’re starting at two grand.” “We do the first couple that way and then step it higher. The Egyptian thinks the max is ten. My projections are based on that. He’s the big cost item, of course. Says his s in the tourist industry will have no problem providing johns.” “And Cathy takes five hundred?” “To start. She’ll top out at a grand.” “And you got the ‘hymen intact’ letters?” “I do – from the Egyptian. Twenty of them. Real doctor. All originals – with the girl’s name blacked out.” “What are we waiting for? Go ahead and set it up with the Egyptian and get our little virgin slut ready for her debut.”

In response to an urgent message, Molly arrived at Ginny’s apartment shortly after 3:00 AM on Sunday. “Molly, I’m truly sorry to drag you down here at this hour.” “Well, if it’s important…” “It is. I got a text from the Egyptian. He’s pulling a stunt – non-negotiable, he says. He wants to be the banker on our S deal.” “Meaning what, exactly?” “Meaning he wants to handle the transactions and pay us our net.” “And he claims it’s for security reasons… to protect the johns. Right?” “Of course.” “Bullshit. Ginny, we’ve been in the game how long? He knows we’ll be recording. He wants to have the john IDs, so we have to bring him in on future money grabs.” “Exactly. Plus… we won’t know for sure what the johns are paying.” “He could be thinking about screwing us majorly on that.” “So, should we tell him to shove it and do this on our own?” “I don’t think so. On the up side, we’re looking at steady business here. And for the future, we’ll own the recordings.” Molly considered the situation for a few moments, then voiced her approval. “Right. He needs us as much as we need him. And we can always pull the plug if he low-balls our end too much.” “What the fuck. Let the prick nickel-and-dime us if it gives him a hard-on.”

Sheila raised her garage door expecting to jump into her Volkswagen and scoot off to Portland Faith Baptist Church for the eleven o’clock Sunday service. She thought it would be politic for her to attend. This was not to be. Her driveway was blocked by a pile of extra-large trash bags – the eleven trash bags containing broken pieces of blood-stained sofa and cut-up squares of area rug from her living room. These were garnished by Pratt’s file box. She called Tom immediately. “Tom! What are you thinking?!” “Oh, hello, Sheila. How are you this morning?” “What the hell’s the matter with you?!” “Nothing’s the matter. I can’t keep your stuff in my storage unit anymore. I’m moving soon and I need the space.” “Tom, you’re in this up to your eyeballs! You know that, right?!” “Well… here’s the thing… I don’t much care what happens to me.” “Tom, you’ve got me blocked in. I can’t get out of my garage. You need to get over here and…” “Oh, gee, gosh. I just don’t have time to do that. I’m on my way to church and I don’t want to be late. Good-bye, Sheila.”

Sheila entered the sanctuary of Portland Faith Baptist Church a half-hour late. A group prayer, led by Reverend Matthews, was about to conclude. “…and may we all live a Godly, righteous and sober life. Amen.” Tom was sitting alone at the rear of the church. Sheila ed him, prompting turned heads followed by whispered exchanges in a number of pews. Several heads leaned in Sheila’s direction as she whispered in Tom’s ear. “How could you do that to me?” Tom did not respond. He glanced at Sheila and pointed for a moment in the direction of Reverend Matthews, who was about to speak. “Friends, as we gather this Sunday morning to worship here in the Lord’s house, we take note that one of our own, Mr. Alfred Pratt, has been missing for one week. At this time, Mr. Pratt’s former wife, Gloria, also a cherished member of our congregation, is being interviewed by the Portland Police Department. “I have been assured that the interview is standard procedure, and I am confident that – despite some unfortunate recent remarks on her part – Mrs. Pratt will be cleared of any wrongdoing in connection with Mr. Pratt’s disappearance. “This being a highly-unusual day, there will be no sermon this morning. We will end our service now. Please meet your children at the entrance to the Youth Center, as we are ending Sunday school early as well. “I will proceed immediately to police headquarters, where I will offer my personal – and, indeed, the of our entire congregation – to Mrs. Pratt. Go in peace, and may the Lord be with you.” Sheila pressed Tom’s hand. “Please stay with me. We need to talk.”

Sheila and Tom remained seated as the congregation shuffled out. People who worked at Portland Faith Academy acknowledged the couple sitting in the last pew, although they appeared to be uncomfortable as they did so. When she and Tom were alone in the church, Sheila spoke. “That was a dirty trick you played on me this morning.” Tom made no comment. Sheila continued. “Okay – you made your point. Now I’ve got a garage full of shit that could put me in prison for life.” “If you say so.” “I thought we had… I don’t know… a bond… friendship… something.” “Well, let’s see. We burn dead bodies together. That’s something, right? And we puke in the same kitchen sink. It doesn’t get much better than that.” “Do you think you can get past being mad at me?” “I wish I knew.” “I had quite a wake-up call this morning – the message you left me in the middle of the night.” “I don’t .” “Let’s go to my place. I’ll make you a nice breakfast… or lunch… or whatever.” “Sheila, I don’t know where I am anymore.” “Tom, you’re here with me.” “That’s right… Sheila. I now. You had my head in your hands.” “Come on. I’ll drive. We’ll pick up your car later.” “At the coffee shop?”

“Here… at the church.” “In the church parking lot – like Pratt’s van. Are you gonna kill me, too? That’s okay. Being dead might be fun. My Mom doesn’t seem to mind it. Are you gonna do it with a bunny?” “Tom, please…” “Is there anything that isn’t bullshit?” “Yes, I think there is – survival. And I intend to survive. I’m truly sorry if you don’t.”

Sheila was sitting at her kitchen table, trying to enjoy a cup of her favorite herbal tea. Before leaving for church, she had dragged the trash bags in her driveway to the side to open a pathway for her car, and then dragged them into her garage to get them out of sight. Her next moves seemed obvious. Rent a self-storage unit. Rent a mini-van. Store the bags. Rental offices being closed on Sundays, this would be a project for Monday, requiring her to call in sick for the day. Once, again, the absence of alternatives… Sheila jumped to her feet at the sound of her garage door being raised. Her impulse was to rush to the kitchen door to be sure it was locked. Why bother? If this shit was over – then what the fuck – it was over. She moved to the living room window for a look. Tom’s Lincoln was parked at the end of her driveway with the trunk lid raised. She watched Tom drag trash bags around her Volkswagen, load them into the trunk, close the garage door and drive off. This process was repeated several times over the next two hours, with Tom showing no interest in making . The last item to be loaded was Pratt’s empty file box. With that, Tom lowered the garage door and drove off not to return. Sheila itted to herself that the finality of Tom’s beau geste left her feeling seriously adrift.

Cathy’s final training session with Ginny concluded with instruction in the application of a combination referred to as RFC / FG (red food coloring and “Fool’s Gold”). “The john wants to see some blood. The idea is to keep the RFC far enough inside so you can squeeze it out with the cream pie. And of course it’s no problem if he sees a little ‘blood’ when he’s fucking you.” “Got it.” “Your first pop is all lined up. So, Cathy, do you feel thirteen?” “Ma’am, would you like to buy some Girl Scout Cookies?”

Cathy was relieved to see nothing obviously disgusting about the middle-aged john Ginny brought into the room at Casa de Argentina. A working girl’s quick assessment suggested she would need to be careful not to disturb his hairpiece. “Cathy, this is Uncle Bob. He wants to meet you.” “Hello, Uncle Bob.” “Hello, Cathy. Well, your Aunt Ginny was right – you’re very pretty.” “Thank you.” “Why don’t we sit together on the sofa and get acquainted?” “Okay.” Ginny moved toward the door to the ading room. “Cathy, if it’s okay with you, I’ll leave you two alone.” “Yes. It’s okay.” “I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.” “Okay.” As soon as the door clicked shut, Cathy crossed quickly to the sofa and fell onto the cushions, as she thought a young teen might do. “Uncle Bob” watched her short skirt slide up as she reached out to pick up the Teddy Bear next to her. “That’s a nice Teddy Bear.” “I got it when I was little.” “Uncle Bob” ed Cathy on the sofa. “Cathy, you can put down your Teddy Bear now. Here, sit on my lap.” As soon as she did so, “Uncle Bob” slid one hand up her leg, held her head with

his other hand and forced his tongue into her mouth. “Good girl. You’re going to make your Uncle Bob very happy. Do you know how you’re going to do that?” “I think so.” “Tell me how.” “I’m gonna let you do what you want.” “And what’s that?” “You’re gonna teach me what to do… with a man.” “That’s right. What’s the first thing we do?” “I don’t know.” “The first thing is you take off your clothes.” “Should I do that now?” “Yes. Stand in front of me and take off your clothes.” “What should I take off first?” “Whatever you want. I’ll just watch. Take your time. There’s no hurry. That’s right. Just like that.” “Should I take off everything?” “Yes – everything. And what a beautiful little body you have. So, Cathy, your aunt tells me you’re thirteen.” “That’s right – thirteen.” “What year were you born?” When Cathy failed to answer, “Uncle Bob” continued.

“As I thought.” “I’m a little nervous.” “Most of us can what year we were born, Cathy. Cute as you are, I’d say you’re about eighteen or nineteen. Go tap on the door and tell your so-called aunt to come in here.” Being that Cathy’s Teddy Bear was rigged for audio, Ginny had been monitoring and recording the conversation. She waited for Cathy’s knock to avoid revealing that fact. “Sir, is there something wrong?” “You might say that. Do I need to explain what it is?” “I suppose not. Cathy, you can get dressed. So… what now?” “You have two choices. I can inform the police about the fraud you bitches are trying to perpetrate – a felony, by the way. That, along with solicitation within the city limits, puts the two of you in the slammer for quite a few months, I would imagine.” “The other choice?” “You get on the horn with your and tell him to take two grand off my credit card. Then I play games with both of you bitches until I’ve had enough fucking and sucking to last me a good long while.” Ginny answered quickly. “I’ll tell you what, mother-fucker. You’ll get your refund. But that’s it. If you want to get yourself involved with the cops, go ahead and try to make a problem for us.” Ginny opened the door to the corridor. “Uncle Bob” left the room without offering any further comment. Ginny waited for the elevator doors to close before closing the door to the room. “Come on, Tippy, let’s get our gear packed up.”

“You gonna get the john his money back?” “Are you fucking nuts?”

The Change of Scene bar was jammed with the usual late-night crowd of working girls and Strip entertainers. With no booths or tables available, Ginny was waiting for Molly at the bar. She was sipping her second Scotch when a bartender placed a small envelope before her. The envelope contained a note card with a single hand-written line.

You’re dead bitch!

Ginny attempted to remain calm as she quickly scanned the room for someone whose attention appeared to be focused on her. She saw no one. As she tried to flag down the bartender who had delivered the envelope, her trick phone vibrated in her jacket pocket. She did not take the call. A minute or so later she checked the phone for a message. The man’s voice was guttural and subdued. “Is today the day? Will my brakes fail? Will something heavy fall on me? Will it be a hit- and-run? Will it be something I eat? Will I hear the shot that kills me? That’s what you’ll be thinking about, from now on, every moment of every day until…” (Beep.) Ginny screamed when Molly touched her arm. Her scream was lost in the laughter and general hubbub in the room. “Jesus, Ginny, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…” “Take a look at this. It was handed to me a couple of minutes ago, and then this call came in.” Molly listened to the phone message. “What do you think? S john? Tomscam guy?” “No – can’t be. This is my trick line. Those guys never had this number. It’s got to be a regular client.”

“So, it’s…” “Right – ‘Triple D.’ I sent a video to his agent. He must’ve figured out where it came from.” “People who are serious usually don’t threaten. They just go ahead and do it.” “I’d like to believe that.”

As she entered her apartment, “Triple D” greeted Ginny by shoving her forward and slamming the door. He waived his pistol in the direction of the straight chair he had placed in the center of the room. “Sit.” The chair was facing the large wall mirror through which two video cameras in the adjacent dressing room were pre-focused to document activities in the main room. Ginny watched “Triple D” in the mirror as he paced behind her. “Quite a video set-up you’ve got on the other side of that wall. And I found a couple of other cameras in here. Everything’s rolling as we speak.” “Danny, can’t we…?” “Shut up! I paid you good money! If you wanted more, you could’ve asked me for it! But blackmail?! I had a career, Ginny! Recurring roles! Guest shots! You name it! I had two nationals running for crissakes! Now I’m a fucking punch line!” “I don’t see how that’s possible.” “You stupid cunt! You sent that video to my ex-agent – my ex-agent! I fired that asshole a year ago! The son-of-a-bitch is sending it to everyone he can think of!” “Danny…” “Did I tell you to shut up?! Okay, so I like to kiss Mumsey’s nippies and make poopy doody in my di-dee. So what?! That’s private! It’s nobody’s goddamn business!” “You’re right. It’s private. We can do it right now if you want.” “And that’s supposed to make it all better?! I’m a pathetic joke because some dumb whore couldn’t get her information straight!”

“Danny, I was an idiot! I was trying to be a player and I thought…” “Really?! Do you honestly believe this goes away?!” “I guess not.” “At least you got that right! Now here’s something for you to think about. The last thing you’re gonna see in that mirror is me putting this gun to your head. You’re gonna know something most of us don’t get to know – exactly when you’re gonna die! It’s my gift to you… to thank you for serving my fantasy so well… and for fucking up my life!” Ginny had lost track of the rant. She had “checked out,” as working girls do when living in the moment becomes too disgusting or painful. “And after I splash your brains all over that mirror, I’m gonna smile pretty for the camera, and then I’m gonna send this little snuff video I’m making to that mother-fucker of an agent and everybody else who thinks I’m a joke – to put them on notice that I’m coming after them! “Get ready, Ginny. Your existential moment is coming right up! In exactly one minute you will cease to exist. Fifty-nine… fifty-eight… fifty-seven…” Ginny heard none of it. Her thoughts had carried her far away. She was thirteen years old, joyfully surrendering her virginity to “The Man” – her father’s employer, who had introduced her to the luxury of fine Italian leather sofas, flawless stereophonic sound and ultra-soft bath towels. She fought off returning to the here-and-now when a police officer exploded into the room. “Triple D” turned toward the door, pistol in hand. His existential moment came and went before he had time to recognize it.

Sheila noticed that, since Al Pratt’s disappearance, Reverend Clyde Matthews had been unusually cordial to everyone employed at Portland Faith Academy. She inferred – quite correctly – that the Reverend was worried about who might be in possession of a certain file. Having read the file, she knew why. As she thought about Tom Murphy’s reliability with regard to the Pratt matter, Sheila recalled a famous line from a gangster movie – the line about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. Calculating that she might succeed with relative ease, Sheila approached Reverend Matthews with the idea of rehiring Tom. Again, she was correct. “A fine fellow, Tom Murphy. I would be happy to have Tom re- our community.” With Tom comfortably under her purview, the only possible loose cannon would be Gloria Pratt. Being a former practitioner in the game, in all likelihood Gloria was tough enough to weather repeated police interrogations, especially since there could be nothing to connect her to her ex-husband’s disappearance. Should she waver in her resolve, Gloria would recall the file Pratt had on her, which was now in Sheila’s hands.

When Tom returned to the Murphy home in Dorchester, among the various demands for payment from credit card companies he found two pieces of mail from the mortgage company. One was a final move-out notice. The other was a letter informing Agnes Murphy’s “heirs and assigns” that there were “no residual funds” in her for them to inherit. The letter explained that the amount of principal advanced to Mrs. Murphy, along with interest and a variety of fees charged by the company, exceeded the current value of the property. “Fucking rat-bastard crooks. Take the fucking house. Who gives a shit, anyway?” Tom tossed the letters aside and entered the red living room. The two urns on the mantel piece appeared to be as he had left them. “Hi, Mom, I’m back.” There was no response. “Mom… it’s me… Tommy.” Silence. “Mom – can you hear me? Bill?” Silence. “Mom – wake up! I’m here!” Tom crossed the room to put himself closer to the urns. He was startled by the ringing of his cell phone. “Tom, Sheila. I wanted to…” “Sheila, I’m kind of in the middle of…” “Oh… sorry. I just wanted to thank you for taking the trash bags away.” “Yeah… okay. No problem.”

“I spoke to Reverend Matthews today. There’s an opening for a bus driver. He said you can have your old job back.” As Sheila was speaking, Tom thought he heard… “There you have it, Bill. Plenty of time for his little girlfriends…” “Tom, are you there? That’s good news, isn’t it?” “Sheila, I gotta go.” “Thinks he can show up whenever he feels like it.” “What should I tell Reverend Matthews?” “Tell him… I dunno. Just…” “Well, he’s got another think coming.” “So… I’ll tell him you’re coming back, okay?” “Sure… I guess so.” “He’s got another think coming. I can tell you that much.”

Sheila screamed when she was awakened by someone pounding on her front door. It was barely dawn. Her heart was racing and she assumed she’d had a bad dream. When the pounding continued, her mind jumped to a logical surmise – Gloria had flipped and the police were outside. So much for burning down the house before the police could search it. Gloria! Snowflake bitch couldn’t stand the heat! Well, plenty of people – including her – are gonna be up shits creek when the cops find Pratt’s files. Screw it – might as well get this over with. Sheila threw on a pair of sweat pants and a sweat shirt. She opened the door and stepped aside, expecting a forensics team to brush past her. Instead, she saw a red-faced and panting Tom Murphy. Tom began shouting as soon as he saw her. “She won’t talk to me!” “Tom, you scared the crap out of me. What in the world…?” “She won’t talk to me!” “Alright… let’s settle down. Who won’t talk to you?” “My Mom, of course! Who else?!” “You wake me up at the crack of dawn at hit me with this?!” “Everything was fine! Now she won’t speak to me!” “Tom, listen to me. Your mother ed away.” “That’s right. She did.” “Well, then?” “We talk to each other – at least we did. She warned me about Ginny, but I had to find out the hard way.”

“Tom, I’m half-awake here, so I’m not at my best. But I can tell you we all things people said… or things we think they might say – people who have ed on, I mean.” “No! It’s not like that! Me and Mom had conversations! Bill, too – the old man who lived in her house! Now I hear them talking – sort of in the background. They talk to each other, but they won’t talk to me! I got nobody, Sheila!” “You have me, Tom. We’re friends. I think that’s why you came here.” “No! That’s not right! You’re the reason she won’t talk to me!” “Really?! So… not only are you nuts, now it’s my fault! Do you hear yourself?!” “She thinks you’re my girlfriend! She heard me and Ginny doing things! She thinks I’m doing the same things with you! She’s in the car – her and Bill. You gotta tell her you’re not my girlfriend!” Tom rushed to his car. Sheila watched him retrieve two decorated urns from the front enger seat. “Tom… you can stop right there. Go to your apartment and get some sleep. We can talk about all this later in the day.” “Like I never did anything for you! Like I didn’t come running up here to help you when you were in trouble!” “You love to play that card, don’t you?! You just played it for the last time!” Sheila closed the door. “You see? Just like I told you. They’re all the same. Take, take, take. But when it comes time to give…”

Tom arrived at Portland Faith Academy at about 7:00 AM. He parked on a side street opposite the school in order to observe the morning’s to-ings and fro-ings. The parking lot was deserted. He recognized most of the two dozen or so parked cars as belonging to teachers he knew. One of them was Sheila’s. At this hour, the morning run would be well underway, with teachers serving as bus monitors. There were two school buses that were not in service. He assumed one of those would soon be his. Tom had mixed feelings – mostly negative – about reing the PFA staff. He may not have known words such as “sanctimonious,” but he often experienced the emotions attached to them. And he was able to verbalize those feelings in his own way. “Snotty-ass pricks!” But as a practical matter, earning a paycheck made sense. The Murphy home was history – or would be in a matter of days. He had a place to live in Portland, and he could afford a better one if and when he felt like moving. He had money in the bank, which could sit there if he was working. And he still had some silver. He was not sure exactly how much silver he had, but he knew it was safely stashed under his mother’s bed in Dorchester. He could hang on to everything if he was working. The bus driver job was the way to go – no question. “Does that girl work here?” “Mom, I need the job. You told me to leave my money in the bank. I’m gonna do what you said.” “She works here, doesn’t she?” “Mom…” “Pussy – that’s all you think about.” “I can’t win with you, can I?”

Silence. “Mom? Mom?! Dammit! Talk to me! Alright, I won’t take the job right now. I’ll think about it.” “That’s right – you’ll think about it.”

The visitors’ room in the Clark County lockup was exactly as Molly ed it – a dull grey reminder of the captivity behind the heavy steel door at the rear. This time, however, Molly entered the room through the door marked “VISITORS.” Molly always thought it curious that both visitors and prisoners walked as if their legs were shackled – in the manner known as the “jailhouse shuffle.” She made a conscious effort to walk normally as she approached the table where Ginny was waiting. Visitors and prisoners leaned forward, attempting to engage in private conversations across the barriers that divided the tables. Some glanced at the guards from time to time, taking note of the wall signs warning in large type that “NO TOUCHING” was permitted – a rule that did not apply in the corridors and cells beyond the steel door. “Well… looks like you’ll be sporting a jumpsuit for a while.” “Looks that way. Bail denied – flight risk. They checked my travel record. And my ass is smacked on the blackmail charge – which is inter-state. The cops found copies of the video and my note in his jacket.” “And with a fatality involved, you’re looking at…” “They’re talking plea bargain – two-to-five, medium-security.” “So, it’ll be a year – eighteen months at the outside – if you bend over once in a while. Not a bad outcome, considering.” “If you say so.” “Ginny… come on. If Tippy hadn’t been blowing a cop in the next apartment, you’d be laid out in a cold drawer right now. And if they’re looking to go light on the charges, it’s because they don’t want to dig into why the cop was there on the scene.” “And if I’d done my homework, ‘Triple D’ would be on a sound stage somewhere, making money for a down payment on my jet.”

“Well…” “’Well’, my ass. I fucked up… again. That’s my style lately. Face it, Molly, I’ve lost the touch… if I ever had it. My Dad had a saying: ‘The cobbler should stick to his last.’ I’m good in black leather with a riding crop in my hand. There’s a steady buck in that. And I’ve got my little GGBG video business…” “By the way, I can take care of that for you.” “Good. Just be sure you cover the storage unit and the little bit of advertising I do to keep the orders coming in. Anything above that is yours. And, by the way, I like to include a personal note with each order.” “Consider it done. You know Tippy has your active client file, right?” “I do now. I was wondering why that subject hasn’t come up.” “The kid’s on the ball. She snagged the thumb drive out of your laptop while the cop was trying to keep ‘Triple D’ breathing. Grabbed your cell phones, too.” “I guess I was pretty much out of it.” “Understandable. Anyway, Tippy’s too young and petite for S & M…” “You can pick up that business. Maybe give her a taste now and then.” “Sounds good. Look, Ginny, we need to talk about a certain matter…” “The matter of the twelve large you advanced on the S. It’s in my storage unit with all the GGBG stuff – in a box marked ‘Old Family Photos.’ Also in that box, you’ll find my john videos and the paperwork that goes with them. At least I was smart enough not to keep that stuff in the apartment.” “That’s all good news. On the john videos, what if I go ahead with…?” “Feel free to make a buck. Just don’t fuck up like I did.”

The entrance to Ginny’s apartment was still crisscrossed with police tape. The door – shattered in the run-up to “Triple D’s” final moments – had not yet been replaced. Molly considered slipping inside to see if the police had missed anything. She thought better of it and proceeded next door for her meeting with Tippy. Their conversation was a continuation of an earlier phone call. Tippy picked it up. “So… no more S?” “Not right now, at least. I never thought it would work – peddling a twenty-yearold as a thirteen-year-old.” “Then why…?” “It was Ginny’s project. She was stuck on the idea of thirteen. Her project, her call. I was just . I did my part. You did yours. Sometimes deals don’t work out. And that’s the end of it, Tippy. That’s it. So, what’s the story with the cop – the one who…?” “That’s Bobby. He’s a good guy. Busted me when I first came to town. But he didn’t run me in. Gave me the skinny on working Vegas.” “Which is…?” “Basically, keep it off the Strip and you’re okay.” “And for that, you…” “Freebees? Why not? Lucky he was here that night, right?” “Yeah. No kidding.” “Haven’t seen him since then.” “No surprise there. By the way, Ginny wants you to give me the thumb drive and her cell phones. And she says thanks for grabbing those. I’m going to work a

few of her johns, and you’ll be in line for a slice.”

Some two weeks after Al Pratt’s disappearance, most of the employees at Portland Faith Academy received a brief note – hand-written and photocopied. The few exceptions were the employees about whom there was no negative information in Pratt’s file box. One further exception was Tom Murphy. Another was Reverend Matthews, whose file contained information that might prove useful at a later date. Prior to reviewing the files, Sheila had decided that criminals such as child molesters, rapists and wife beaters would be outed immediately. But she found none. For the most part, her colleagues had been involved in white-collar offences such as embezzlement. There were several convictions for prostitution, including one for a popular male teacher, now in his fifties. The notes were mailed to the employees’ homes.

Dear Friend, The file you are concerned about no longer exists. Enjoy your day.

The PFA staff was transformed. For obvious reasons, no one mentioned receiving a note. After all the blah-blah – sincere and otherwise – about being “saved” and “born again,” without a doubt, those PFA employees shared those feelings on that day. And how simple it had been! With a few words, Sheila had given her colleagues hope that they were now free to live and work in peace. To have been the agent of their happiness engaged Sheila’s emotions in ways both moving and strange. She imagined herself marching into the staff lunchroom, bounding onto a table and shouting, “It was me! I sent the note! For once in my life, I did the right thing! And I feel great about it!” This of course she could not do. Several times that day, Sheila sought refuge in a ladies’ room stall to weep and

then sob in private. Her largess would remain anonymous. There would be no expressions of appreciation – no “street cred.” Whore or no whore, she was alone. Nothing had changed.

Sheila knew her thoughts were pushing her in an unhealthy direction. She absolutely intended to destroy Pratt’s files. Why, then, were they still sitting in shopping bags next to the shredder she had purchased for that purpose? She hesitated to reach out to Ginny. Their last communication had consisted of a voicemail from her attempting to “patch things up” answered by a one-word text from Ginny: “Whatever.” Even so… why not try? Maybe Ginny had cooled down enough to have a friendly conversation. Her call went to voicemail. “The mailbox for this number is currently full. Please try again at a later time.” Ginny’s private cell phone was the only number Sheila had. “The mailbox for this number is currently full. Please try again…”

Sheila had experienced panic attacks from time to time, but this one… this one was the mother of all. How many times that evening did she walk past Pratt’s files on her way to…? How many times did she rinse her coffee cup in the kitchen sink, open the refrigerator, check the pantry for spare light bulbs…?

“Hello, Gloria. This is Sheila. Just checking to be sure you received…” “I’m sorry – your name again, please.” “Sheila – Sheila from PFA.” “Well, I know PFA, but I don’t know anyone by that name. You must be confusing me with someone else. Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”

“Hi, Tom. It’s Sheila. I’m having a shredding party… if you know what I mean. Why don’t you come over? You can help me… and we can catch up.”

“Hi, Tom. Sheila again. I’m looking at some sofas online. I’d like you to help me pick one out. I’m home this evening. Okay?”

“Hi, Tom. This is Sheila… of course. We really do need to talk. So, give me a call…” “You’re gonna keep calling and calling… until what?” “Oh, hi. Thanks for picking up. I was just leaving you a message. We have a few things to discuss.” “Like?” “You know Pratt had a file on you, right?” “Yeah. I saw it… that day.” “And you left it here. You know, it would be too bad if somebody like Reverend Matthews got ahold of it.” “I don’t care. I don’t want to work there anyway.” After a brief silence, Sheila responded. “Tom, honestly, how long are we going to fight this? You and I are drawn to each other. We both know it. Isn’t it time we…?” “Who are you talking to? It’s that girl, isn’t it?” “Mom… please! Sheila, I can’t… my Mom…” “Tom, you need to face up to something, and you need to do it now. The voices you hear are not real. They’re in your mind. You imagine them.” “Liar!” “How can you say that, Sheila?! You don’t know…!” “I do know. And if you can be honest with yourself, you can beat this.” “Liar! Liar!”

“Think about it, Tom. Right now… at this exact moment… you and I could be here… in my bed… holding each other… comforting each other…” “Don’t you dare listen to that, young man! Do you hear me?!” “I hear you, Mom! I hear you! For crissakes! I hear you!”

Episode 10

REBOOT

All eye witnesses agreed. The driver of the silver Lincoln had attempted to cross the median on Route I-95 Southbound at high speed. He had accelerated to at least 80 mph and deliberately swerved onto the median, heading toward oncoming traffic. A enger in a car traveling in close proximity stated that the driver appeared to be shouting as his car lurched off the roadway. Because of its “valley” design, crossing the median would have been a challenge for a four-wheel-drive SUV proceeding slowly. A fast-moving luxury car had no chance. In addition, recent rains had turned the median into a bog. As one witness reported, the Lincoln “sailed off the highway and just nosed-dived into the mud.” The driver – Thomas Murphy of Portland – was transported by medevac to the Downstate Medical Center, where his condition was being evaluated. Early reports indicated that, although he was unconscious at the scene, he would survive the incident and might possibly recover completely. When they found two broken urns and two plastic bags of cremated remains in Mr. Murphy’s car, the State Police forensics team theorized that grief had likely been the motivation for his apparent suicide attempt. This was ed by the discovery of an old photo of a happy young couple, presumably Mr. Murphy’s parents. It was quite possible that Mr. Murphy would have no memory of the event – which was in fact the result of his most serious psychotic episode to date. A heated argument with his late mother had ended with an impulsive decision to reverse direction on the interstate and return to Portland, where he believed a school teacher named Sheila, with whom he would spend the rest of his life, awaited his arrival.

“Hello. Is this Sheila?” “And who is this?” “My name is Molly. I’m a friend of Ginny’s.” “I’m very happy to hear from you. I’ve been trying to reach her. I keep getting a message that says her mailbox is full.” “Ginny is hard to reach right now. Long story short… she’s incarcerated.” “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” “Ginny asked me to call. I don’t have details, but she wants you to know there’s no issue between you. That’s the message.” “I really appreciate that, believe me. Can you tell me what happened?” “Not really – just that she’ll be out of circulation for a while.” “She’s tough. She can handle it.” “I’m sure she can. So, you were in the game, I understand.” “I was… and I may be again.” “That’s what Ginny thinks. By the way, I have in my hand the keys to Ginny’s BMW. She asked me to give them to you – along with the title – if you happen to show up in Vegas.” “Good. I’ll be there tomorrow.” “Seriously?” “I’ll be there tomorrow – ready to work.” “I assume you have no issues with applying the lash, istering golden showers, and…”

“Try and stop me.” “Okay, then. There’s a bar downtown called the Change of Scene.” “I know it well.” “Call me when you land. We’ll meet there. I’ll get you started with some clients who require humiliation on a regular basis.”

“You gave her what?!” “You told me to pull Sheila back in. The Beemer was the magnet.” Seated at a corner table in the visitors’ room, Ginny and Molly became the center of attention. “That Beemer’s worth…!” “Nothing. That’s what it’s worth to you – nothing! You can’t use it.” A guard approached the table. He made eye with Ginny and Molly before returning to his post. Ginny folded her hands in front of her. Molly spoke softly. “Let’s be clear. Either I’m managing the business or not. If I’m not…” “You’re in charge. End of story.” “Okay, then. She said she’d fly in today. If she shows, she gets the car. By the way, I haven’t heard any noise about your case.” “Good. Turns out ‘Triple D’ was a family man – kids and everything. The wife, along with a bunch of producers and agents, are freaked out that publicity on the case would trash syndication of shows he appeared in.” “The Hollywood elite circles the wagons.” “His agent’s been earning his ulcers keeping it quiet.” “No small job. And you’re being helpful, I would imagine.” “Of course. Low profile all the way. For starters, I let the agent know I have no plan to pull a Stormy Daniels. And I agreed to give up my right to a jury trial.” “In exchange for which…” “The interstate part of the blackmail charge disappears.”

“Which means the whole thing can be handled locally.” “With luck, it might go that way.”

Sheila entered Reverend Matthews’ office at exactly 7:01 AM. Her plan was to obtain a leave of absence by claiming a family emergency, as a safety net but with no intention of returning. “Reverend Matthews, I’m sorry to barge in. I have bad news…” “Yes, I know. I just got off the phone with the hospital. Don’t worry about insurance. I confirmed his employment as one of our drivers. As far as I’m concerned, Portland Faith Academy agreed to his absence owing to the death of his mother.” After the slightest pause, Sheila found the words to continue. “That’s very kind of you.” “Not at all. I have to it there was a slight degree of awkwardness when they called. Luckily, you’re the only Sheila we have on staff. And please don’t be concerned that you kept your marriage a secret. I’m sure you had your reasons.” After another brief pause… “What did the hospital say about…?” “Just what you know, I imagine. He was driving pretty fast… lost control of the car…” “Guess I’d better get over there.” “We’ll be praying for him… well, for both of you.”

Obviously, Sheila could not ask Reverend Matthews for the name of the hospital where Tom was being cared for. She guessed correctly that it had to be the Downstate Medical Center. A volunteer at the information desk verified that fact and directed her to the critical care section. Tom was in a four-bed room. There was one other patient in the room, an elderly gentleman propped up in a reclining chair next to his bed. He spoke to Sheila as she entered. “Finally! I been pressing this button for twenty minutes! I can’t find my glasses. How do you expect me to read my paper if I can’t find my glasses?!” Tom smiled broadly. “Well, okay, then! Here she is – my lovely wife! Bob, say hello to Ginny.” “I can’t see her without my glasses.” “My name is Sheila, Tom.” “That’s what I said – Sheila. She’s a beauty, right Bob?” “I can’t see her without my glasses! Anyway, nice to meet you, Sheila. And now that you’re here, maybe you can get him to shut up. He keeps yakking about how you and him cooked up a crispy critter someplace on a barbeque.” Tom’s smile widened. “Yup. Crispy critter – killed by a bunny… big bunny… bunny, bunny, bunny. It’s fun to say ‘bunny,’ right Sheila?” “Tom, I think it would be a good idea for you to be quiet and rest. And no more talk about crispy critters, okay?” “Right. No crispy critters. No barbeque today anyway. I’m in the hospital. The lady told me why, but I forgot. And if you run into Father Many Hands, tell him I have to miss choir practice. No pee-pee for him today, either. And tell Ted the silver’s under the bed and the key’s under the mat, like always.”

Sheila stepped out of Tom’s room, looking for someone in authority. She approached a dark-skinned woman in a white lab coat who was working at a computer station. “Excuse me. I’m Thomas Murphy’s wife…” The woman answered without looking away from the screen. “My name is Eswari. I’m a doctor on staff. You’ve seen your husband?” “Just now. What can you tell me about his condition?” “There’s serious bruising but no fractures.” “Good. Then I’ll take him home.” “Mrs. Murphy, we’re concerned about his mental state.” “I’m concerned about that as well.” “Then… he is not exactly as you know him?” “He’s a little confused, that’s all.” “Through the night he was calling out for you and for his mother.” “His mother is deceased.” “Yes. His employer informed us of that. He knows you’re his wife?” “Of course. How do I go about getting him released?” “There’s a delicate matter involved here. The police believe Mr. Murphy may have intended to end his life.” “No. Never. He would never do that.” “We’ll know more after the psychiatric evaluation.”

“Hang on – I won’t agree to that.” “Mrs. Murphy, we follow protocol here. If a patient may present a danger to himself or to others…” “Tom’s not a danger to anyone.” “To himself, he may be.” “I say he’s not. And there will be no psychiatric anything. I’m going to stay with him until I get this worked out.” “You are free to do that, or course.”

Sheila called Molly from a nearby ladies’ room. “Molly, this is Sheila…” “Do you know what time it is here?” “Something’s happened. I’ve got a mess on my hands.” “Right. So, you’re not coming.” “I can’t right now. I’m sorry.” “We’ll survive. Don’t give it a thought. By the way, the next sound you hear will be this burner phone hitting the wall.” “No! Wait a second!” “Why? We’re done.” “Just listen. Are you still there?” “So far.” “It’s about Tom Murphy, the mark Ginny was working.” “I know very little about that.” “He had an automobile accident. For some reason, he thinks I’m his wife. I’ve just seen him in the hospital.” “And I’m supposed to give a shit?” “There’s at least twenty-five grand in his bank .” “Okay. Go for it. And good luck.” “Molly, I’m the one who brought Ginny into the Tom thing. This is a chance to get her even. But I don’t know how to crack the . If the Egyptian could…”

“Forget the Egyptian. He bailed when the deal got dicey.” “What can I do?” “Oh, for crissakes, Sheila. The mark’s alive, right?” “Yes.” “He thinks you’re his wife, right?” “Yes.” “Then get ahold of his checkbook and write yourself some checks. Grab his debit card and tickle his balls until he gives you the . You’re supposed to be a pro, are you not? How fucking hard can it be?” “Molly, I need help with this. Please.” “Okay, okay. Text me what you’ve got. But I’m telling you, the Egyptian won’t touch it.”

Ginny stepped into the sunshine, relieved that she was free, but not quite accepting the reality of it. Her impulse was to run and not look back. She took note of the dark blue Bentley limo angled between police vehicles in the parking lot. The identity of the portly man who stepped from the Bentley and approached her was not immediately apparent. Then, suddenly, it was. “Virginia. Good to see you.” “You’re fat.” “That’s it? That’s the way you say hello?” “You were expecting… what?... a big hug and a kiss?” “Probably not.” “Good. I guess I should ask how it is you happen to be here.” “The boss wants to see you.” “You still work for him. That says something. I’m not sure what.” “He’s the reason you’re free. He’s waiting for you.” Ginny took time to process this information. “Tell him I appreciate whatever he did, but I’ll on the visit.” “It’s okay, Virginia, he knows everything.” “Do you think I care about that, Dad? I’m a slut for bucks. I do what it takes to get there. That’s my story. And, by the way, he got me started – with some help from you, of course.” “He wants to make amends. We both do.” “There are no amends to be made. You guys did me a favor. If none of that ever happened, I’d be a bony-faced farm drudge with a kid on my hip, throwing down feed in front of chickens.”

“Why don’t you tell him that? It’s not far. I assure you the back seat of the Bentley is more luxurious than your most recent accommodations.” “Fancy talk for a hick.” “And I think you’ll find his generosity goes beyond financing you out of a prison sentence.”

Although Ginny had worked Las Vegas off and on for nearly twenty years, she had never cared to explore the populated areas outside the city limits. That lack of interest persisted as the Bentley rolled past farms that provided local produce and ranches that served as vacation resorts. “I thought you said it wasn’t far.” “We’re almost there.” “I think this is pretty funny. You delivered me to his door when I was thirteen and you’re delivering me to his door now. Nothing changes. Eddie the Enabler – what a fucking joke.” “If you say so. But I think you ought to show some appreciation… and respect.” “To you? For what? For pimping me to your boss so you could climb down from your tractor and get fat behind a desk? For kicking me out of the family so you didn’t have to face me at Christmas?” “At least to him for getting you out of jail.” “Do you honestly believe I needed help? I had a deal with the prosecutor to get me out for time served. No strings attached.” “I don’t believe that for a second.” Ginny chortled and flipped to her most outrageous country-girl drawl. “Well, now, Daddy, I don’t wanna say nothin, but it looks ta me like y’all bumkins done got took… Las Vegas style.”

Ginny’s attitude changed when the Bentley ed through the gate of the “C’mon In Ranch,” a massive, beautifully maintained property, and apparently the current residence of “The Man.” Eddie glanced at Ginny in the rearview mirror. “Well, now, sugar-pie, kinda looks like seein this here place done shut your mouth.” Ginny tried to estimate the cost of the crushed white sea-shells paving the halfmile road to the main house. The main house, itself, a world-class example of ranchero chic, stood in the center of at least ten fenced-in acres of meticulouslymanaged desert flora. Numerous barns and other out buildings were visible in the distance beyond the enclosed area. Ginny was hoping “The Man” would be waiting on the veranda to greet her. She was disappointed when he was not. Eddie saw her disappointment as he opened the car door for her. “Step this way, Miss, won’t you?” Eddie escorted Ginny through a series of spacious, perfectly-appointed rooms. Set against the memory of her recent incarceration, the experience of simply being in this house and walking through these rooms was breath-taking. At length, they arrived in the kitchen, which, as would be expected, was wall-towall stainless steel and equipped to be operated by a large staff. “You can fix yourself some coffee if you want. He’ll probably be here after a while. But you never know with him.” “You said he was waiting…” “I say a lot of things. He’ll show up when he’s good and ready.” “Then you can take me back to Vegas.” “Yeah… that happens.”

“You know, I really fucking hate you.” “And I really fucking don’t give a damn. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

The cell phone conversation between “The Man” and Ginny’s father was brief. “You left her alone in the house?! What the hell’s the matter with you, Eddie?!”

After fuming in the kitchen for a few minutes, Ginny decided to do some exploring. She imagined herself as the lady of the house, entertaining a delegation of editors and photographers from ARCHITECTURE DIGEST who were seeking permission to feature her home in their magazine. “And here we have one of our guest suites…” On a super-king-size bed positioned in the center of the room, a lovely, darkhaired girl, age thirteen or fourteen, dressed in a beautiful ivory-colored gown, lay gracefully posed against an assemblage of satin-covered pillows. She appeared to be dozing. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Ginny waited for movement, expecting to complete her apology and leave the room. The girl did not stir. Slowly, the incomprehensible became comprehensible. The girl on the bed was not alive. Ginny spoke quietly to herself. “How about that.” “I see you’ve met Lori. I’m sorry if she upset you.” Ginny recognized the voice. “The Man” had entered the room. “Not at all. I see dead teenage girls decked out in haute couture every day.” “She’s not a real girl. She’s a replica.” “That’s a nice way to put it. I assume she has… uh… anatomically-correct moving parts.” “No – no moving parts. I’ll explain if you’ll let me. But, first, I’d like to welcome you to my home. There are many things to do here. Do you still enjoy riding horses?” “Haven’t done much of that lately.”

“Maybe we’ll try it later, if you wish.” Unlike her father, who had aged badly, “The Man” appeared essentially as Ginny ed him – a solidly-built gentleman, rugged but somehow refined. Of greater importance, his personal magnetism – the quality which Ginny considered his most attractive feature – remained in full force. “Why don’t I show you to your room? You can freshen up… and you’ll find quite a nice selection of clothes waiting for you.” Ginny realized she had given no consideration to her appearance. She had expected to return to her apartment after being released from custody. “When you’re ready, we’ll head out to the pavilion. I’ve arranged for lunch to be served upon our arrival. Eddie can drive us.” “I’d prefer to walk, if it’s okay with you.” “I understand. I’ll drive us in the Jeep. We can go off-road and pretend we’re back home, bouncing across one of my corn fields.” “We did some bouncing, that’s for sure, but it took place indoors if memory serves.”

The “Jeep” turned out to be a top-of-the line Land Rover, and the off-road experience was anything but rough. “The Man” stopped the car at the top of a rise with magnificent mountain views. “I come out here sometimes… just to sit and appreciate what I have. I think of it as my solace spot.” “It’s beautiful.” “About Lori…” “You don’t have to…” “In fact, I do. As you know perfectly well, back in the day I had a certain obsession. Since I pretty much owned the county… well, you know how it was. And I justified what went on by taking care of the families financially.” Ginny lost no time in responding. “And those yokels were hoping their daughters would be cute enough to be your next ‘little girl.’ In other words, everybody got what they wanted.” “Some did, I’m sure. But then… there was Lori. She seemed to be relaxed about everything, but, when it came time for her to move on, she fell apart… killed herself… in my house… bled out in a guest-room bathtub. I had no idea… and then… there she was. “That day was the tipping point, Virginia. One way or another, I had to live with what I had done to Lori… and other girls before her. But there would be no more of it. I had a model-maker create an exact replica of Lori from photographs. She’s been with me for more than ten years, to remind me of the past and keep me on the straight and narrow.” After a few moments of silence and without further comment, “The Man” started the Land Rover and drove toward a large gazebo-like structure roughly a mile away. There was no conversation during the short ride to the pavilion, where a uniformed chef and two assistants awaited the instruction to serve.

Set on a slightly elevated spot, the pavilion was a spectacular open-air showplace, designed for entertaining in royal style. The color scheme – a carefully-selected palate of natural desert colors – harmonized perfectly with the surrounding terrain. The kitchen was located in an adjacent pavilion, positioned to allow guests to anticipate, via sight, sound and aroma, the dishes they were about to enjoy. The structure was fully climate-controlled – like riding across the desert in an air-conditioned convertible, Ginny thought. Although she had never considered living on a ranch, this was the level of luxury Ginny had dreamed about since her first experience with “The Man” as a thirteen-year-old farm girl. As soon as they were seated, one of the chef’s assistants arrived with a bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape, which he opened and served after “The Man” nodded his approval. “Do you know this wine?” “Actually, I do, strange as that may seem.” “Some people think it’s pretentious… and not very good. I happen to like it.” “I’m no expert, but I think it’s delicious.” After placing a variety of covered salads and entrees on side tables – both heated and refrigerated – the chef and his assistants awaited a signal from “The Man.” That given, they ed through the kitchen pavilion and drove off in an electric mini-car. “The Man” served Ginny and then himself – filet mignon (broiled just a few seconds beyond medium-rare) and broiled asparagus spears, which he arranged in neat rows. They were silent for a minute or two, enjoying the quiet and their meal. “The Man” was the first to speak. “Do you think presentation is important?” “In a place like this? I do.”

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” “Amazing. The perfect place to forget the rest of the world.” “Do you our first meal together?” “Honestly…” “Prime filet… just like this. And after each mouthful, you wiped your mouth with your hand. There was a napkin next to your plate, but you didn’t use it.” “I was pretty rough around the edges, I guess.” “I handed you the napkin and you thanked me… very politely.” “At least I knew enough to do that.” “Why do you think I brought up that experience?” “No idea.” “To suggest how far you’ve come since then.” “In years, maybe.” “Virginia, if you’re not happy with the path you followed, the responsibility is mine.” “Not at all. As far as I’m concerned, we’re responsible for ourselves.”

With the exception of bathroom breaks and a couple of trips to a nearby vending machine for snacks, Sheila remained in Tom’s room at the Downstate Medical Center for nearly twenty-four hours. Her immediate purpose was obvious – to filter potentially troublesome outbursts. Sheila was relieved when the elderly gentleman in Bed No. 4 was moved to another room, apparently in response to his non-stop complaining about Tom’s “yakking.” This gave her the opportunity to search the room’s drawers and cabinets for Tom’s wallet and other personal effects, none of which she found. The closet in which she expected to find his clothes was empty except for extra pillows and blankets. Stretched out in a reclining chair at Tom’s bedside, Sheila responded to his periodic rants as a loving wife might be expected to respond, assuring him that everything was fine and encouraging him to rest. Hospital staff appeared to be carrying on as usual. Tom was monitored, given medications, fed and allowed to use the bathroom (escorted by an attendant). He cooperated with staff but showed little interest. At one point, Sheila overheard a staff conversation in which the phrase “flat affect” occurred, but she heard no mention of a psychiatric evaluation. She wondered if staff had been instructed to wait for her to leave before acting against her wishes. In fact, she did not know the extent of a hospital’s legal authority in these matters.

Sheila was awakened at 4:15 AM by one of Tom’s rants. “Lies… lies… lies… nothing but lies! That Ginny – she was the one! Born again my ass! Bitch tried to steal my money! Insurance company caught on to her! Sent her ass packing – that’s what I did! Bang! Zoom! Sent the bitch packing – right out the door!” “It’s okay, Tom. We know what happened. Go back to sleep. It’s okay.” For Sheila, allowing Tom to remain in the hospital – where his rants might be taken seriously – was out of the question. Especially troubling, the rant she had just heard made complete sense. It was clear to Sheila that Ginny had been correct in her contention that Tom could not have figured out her attempt at insurance fraud on his own.

Molly was puzzled as she walked out of the Clark County lockup. She had arrived for a planned visit and been informed that Ginny was no longer in custody. Not being a family member, she had been denied further information. She took her position behind the wheel of Ginny’s BMW and processed the new status quo. Was it possible that Ginny’s hope of reaching an agreement with the prosecutor could have produced results so quickly? Not likely. To complicate matters, Molly was holding Ginny’s cell phones. She had no option but to wait for Ginny to her or show up. Fact: Ginny had been released. Fact: Ginny had not called. Question: Why not? Was it possible that…? No! An anonymous text from an unused burner phone with a one-word message: “Ginny.” Impossible to trace and meaningless to anyone except “Triple D.” There was no way Ginny could know that she, Molly, had provided “Triple D” with the name of his blackmailer. True, the scheme had not played out according to Molly’s plan. Her goal had been to create a small stir – at most a minor storm – to further solidify her position as Ginny’s business partner, confidant, and go-to problem solver. In Molly’s mind, this was a necessary strategic move. Now in her forties, Molly was on the cusp of a dilemma – the inevitable decline in a working girl’s popularity with age. The benchmark warning sign is a datebook with more white space than appointments. Despite the whore’s regulation bravado, Molly’s career in the game had ed that benchmark some two years earlier. Obviously, for Ginny, the “Triple D” adventure had been a failure – actually a disaster in which she nearly lost her life. But, in of net benefits to herself, Molly was entirely satisfied with the results. She was living in Ginny’s apartment, driving Ginny’s BMW and flogging Ginny’s clients for good money. Until ten minutes ago, Molly had operated with the comforting expectation that Ginny would be out of the picture for a significant period of time. Until ten minutes ago, she had felt solid, in control… even secure. Those feelings vanished with the news of Ginny’s release, replaced by their opposites.

Molly sat for several minutes, waiting for her emotions to settle. She had allowed herself to lose sight of one of the working girl’s most basic tenets. “You got too comfortable, didn’t you?” Molly reminded herself that she had work to do, beginning with the flailing of an overweight banker listed in Ginny’s client file by the nickname “Tits-n-All.”

Sheila felt cornered – which in fact she was. The futility of succumbing to the working girl’s inclination to bolt when presented with difficulties was obvious. At age twenty-five, becoming an outlaw for life – or until capture – was a nonstarter. Because of her intention to live straight and never return to the game, Sheila had used her true identity in relation to her employment as a teacher. This mistake in judgment had led directly to the Al Pratt fiasco and her presence at the bedside of a lunatic. Although liberating the cash in Tom’s checking remained a priority, the situation with respect to Tom, himself, had to be settled before she could move on that. Endorsing the hideously absurd fiction of being Mrs. Tom Murphy had kept Sheila in the picture. But she knew time was short. The marriage subterfuge would collapse under scrutiny – even the most superficial. Just after 8:00 AM, Sheila was standing in the corridor outside Tom’s room, sipping a bitter vending-machine coffee and coming to with several unpleasant realities. Any attempt to secure Tom’s release from care would be challenged owing to the hospital’s protocol identifying him as a possible suicide risk. What then? Go to the PFA Camp Grounds and deal with whatever was left of Pratt? Clear the storage unit where Tom had put the tell-all trash bags? Spend a few more hours scrubbing the floor in her living room? No, no, and no. The whole Pratt thing had to be about Tom. If the shit hit the fan, it had to blow all over him. So… Pratt showed up at her house and pressured her for sex. She locked herself in the bathroom and called her friend, Tom, for help. He rushed to her aid. Tom and Pratt fought. Tom killed Pratt. Yes, she did help Tom clean up her living room. But that was the full extent of her involvement. Her immediate plan would be to return to her job, visit Tom every day, and hope she would not be called to s. If she were, her story would be prepared. As Sheila continued to process her version of the Pratt matter, a middle-aged

couple stepped off the elevator. They spoke briefly with an attendant, looked in Sheila’s direction and then approached her. “I’m Ted Murphy, Tommy’s brother. This is my wife, Trish. And… apparently… you are Tommy’s wife.” Sheila made a snap decision. “Mr. and Mrs. Murphy, I am so happy… and relieved… that you are here. To set things straight, I am not Tom’s wife. I went along with it because I wanted to help him and I didn’t know what else to do. Tom woke up after his accident convinced of many things that are not true. You will see that right away when you speak to him. The doctors here think he’s mentally ill and probably a suicide risk.” Ted responded immediately. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Tommy’s had a screw loose for a long time – since we were kids, to be honest. Maybe the accident was the final… you know…” “The police think he crashed his car on purpose. Anyway, that’s what the hospital people told me. Mr. and Mrs. Murphy, I’ve been here since yesterday morning. I hope you understand…” Trish took Sheila’s hand. “We do, of course. You’re a great friend to Tom. I hope we see you again.”

Ginny sat on the steps of the veranda, sipping her morning coffee. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the boss is.” She cringed at the sight of her father. “He doesn’t report to me.” Eddie remained at a distance. “Well, Virginia, you seem to be enjoying your stay here at the ranch. Just don’t get too used to it. The boss gets bored pretty fast. You’ll be gone before you know it.” “That’s fine with me, if it means I don’t have to deal with you.” “I wouldn’t be so quick with that one. There’s something I been meaning to tell you.” “I doubt I’d be interested.” “I don’t know. You might be. They found Tom.” Ginny was silent. There was zero possibility that her father could know about her foray to New England and failed attempt to fleece Tom Murphy. Eddie continued. “You seem confused. I said they found Tom.” “Okay, I’ll play. Who is Tom and who are these ‘they’ people?” After a significant pause, which brought him significant enjoyment, Eddie responded. “Well, Virginia, Tom is your husband. I should say ‘was’ – as I’m sure you know. In other words, Tom was the man you married about fifteen years ago. A while back, the State Police back home surprised me and your mother with a visit. They were looking for you. Of course, at the time, we had no idea where you were. Hadn’t heard from you in years. And we didn’t know you were ever

married. Guess you didn’t think to tell us.” “I was never married, Dad.” “Well… that’s not quite right, is it? Scuba gear… great invention, unless you chopped up a body and dropped in it the bay somewhere. And how about that DNA! Pretty hard to get away with murder these days.” “I didn’t murder anyone, Dad.” “Of course not. Anyways, let’s – how do they say it? – let’s cut to the chase. From now on, Virginia, you will give me a cash payment of one thousand dollars per month.” “The hell I will.” “As long as the payments keep coming, I will not inform the police of your location.” “You really are a sleaze, aren’t you?” “A grand a month? That’s nothing for a busy girl like you. And I’m damn sure you’ll pay it to keep me quiet.” “Does your boss know what you’re trying to pull?” “That’s not part of our discussion.” “I don’t think he’d approve.” “That’s right. But it’s no problem. You’re not gonna tell him. There’s nothing he can do about it anyways. I got the goods on him from here to doomsday – including that cute little taxidermy project he drags around the country with him.”

Ginny rushed to the room where she had seen Lori. Lori was gone. The room had been refurnished. It was now a library with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and over-stuffed leather chairs. “The Man” was seated at a large table. He appeared to be reviewing an antique-looking folio, one of several laid out on the table. “Come in, Virginia. You may find this interesting. I collect old maps. This one’s a map of North America. It’s an original – hundreds of years old. It shows California as an island.” Ginny remained in the doorway. “This is where…” “Yes. This was Lori’s room.” “And suddenly…” “Not so suddenly. I’ve been meaning to make this room into a library since I bought the ranch.” “And Lori?” “I put her in storage.” “Because I saw her.” “That’s right. Lori was private – a totem, you might say, but a private one.” “My father knows.” “He does – to my regret.” “He told me she’s real. Your ‘taxidermy project,’ he called it.” “He said that to torture you, I’m sure.” “Well, it got my attention.” “I’ll take you to the storage. You can see for yourself.”

“Not necessary. I believe you.” “That means a lot to me, Virginia.” Ginny reflected briefly before speaking again. “There’s something I have to tell you.” “You can speak freely to me about anything. I hope you know that.” “Okay. I feel like I’ve had the shit kicked out of me just once too often.” “Uh-huh. My guess is, Eddie’s been running his mouth.” “So… you know.” “I do.” “And he’s trying to blackmail me.” “You don’t need to concern yourself with him. He’s a son-of-a-bitch… and a dumb one at that. Selling you his silence would solve nothing. I’ve got the wheels in motion to help you. I wanted you to have a few days to relax before bringing it up.” “I thank you for that.” “But, then, here we are, thanks to him. Let’s take a ride in the desert. We’ll breathe some fresh air and talk strategy.”

“The Man” stopped the Land Rover at the top of the rise he called his solace spot. He started the conversation immediately. “Virginia, the matter Eddie sprung on you… there’s a warrant for your arrest as a ‘person of interest’ in a murder investigation. Frankly, I’m surprised the Las Vegas Police didn’t catch it.” “I guess I am, too. It’s been a long time coming, truth to tell.” “I had people looking for you for years. You were nowhere to be found… until you got yourself arrested, which of course is public information. At this point, anyone can locate you quite easily.” “So… I’m toast.” “Not at all. Take me through what happened. We’ll go from there.” “I killed my husband.” “Virginia, when you say it like that, it sounds like you’re giving up.” “Maybe that’s what I feel like doing.” “Well, I won’t allow it. You’re a beautiful, healthy woman with more than half of your life ahead of you. You need to cooperate with me so I can help you. In other words, start talking.” Ginny took a few moments to prepare. Then… “Okay. I was still a kid… been in the game for a couple of years. This guy said he wanted to take me out of that life. I figured it might be a fun change of pace for a while. So I married him. “He turned on me right away. Slapped me around. Claimed he owned me. That kind of thing. He put my picture in swinger magazines. You can guess how it played out. His big thing was taking seconds and then beating me up for being a slut. His favorite place to do all this was on his boat.

“We had one of his tag-team boat sessions one night. Afterwards, he dropped the other guy off at the marina. When we were back out in the middle of the bay, he started the usual routine. I lost it and shoved him overboard. “What made it so stupid was, I could have driven off and left him there to drown. But I wanted the satisfaction of killing him. I started the boat and backed it over him. The propellers chewed him all to hell. Then I took off.” “Virginia, this is how I hear your story: Your husband beat you on a regular basis and forced you to participate in deviant sexual acts. After one such encounter on his yacht, he assaulted you. When you fled, he chased you around the deck. During this pursuit, he stumbled and fell overboard. “You panicked. You started the yacht’s engines, intending to put distance between yourself and the attacker. Being inexperienced at the controls, you selected ‘reverse’ instead of ‘forward.’ Unfortunately, your husband’s attack on you resulted in his death. “This looks to me like involuntary manslaughter. I believe my legal team will agree. With their in court, I would expect a sentence of a year or less.” “I don’t know if I can face going to prison.” “Oh, you can, I’m sure of it… especially when you remind yourself of where you’ll be going when you get out.” “Which is?” “Here. You’ll come back here. This ranch will be your home – permanently. If you feel like traveling, you can go anywhere in the world… at my expense. And your home will always be here, waiting for you.” “I don’t know what to say.” “Say it’s worth a few months of confinement to be free for the rest of your life.” Ginny was silent. She looked at the magnificent mountains in the distance, trying to imagine her place in the life “The Man” was offering.

Sheila’s meeting with Reverend Mathews was a breeze. Her explanation of the marriage ruse as an expression of comion for Tom – which obviously made more sense than the Sheila / Tom mismatch – ed muster without a blip. Moreover, Reverend Matthews continued to display a degree of appreciation for people other than himself that had been unknown prior to Al Pratt’s disappearance. They agreed that Sheila would return to her classroom the following Monday.

In contrast, the reception Sheila experienced upon her return to the hospital that afternoon was anything but cordial. The resentment on the part of hospital staff did not require explanation. Keeping discussion to a minimum, Sheila was informed that, as a non-family member, her visits with Tom Murphy would be limited to regular visiting hours, assuming the patient was fit to accept company. This was not the case at the present time.

Looting Tom’s checking was now at the top of Sheila’s to do list. She had two assets in this regard – the information on Tom’s check repaying her $750 loan and the key to Tom’s apartment he had given her when she was his guest. A would get her started. A search of the apartment might yield that. But without the of a clever confederate such as the Egyptian, any transactions she managed to execute would be transparent. That issue would have to be addressed. For the moment, the goal was access to the .

A silver Lincoln – identical to Tom’s but with New Jersey license plates – was parked in front of Tom’s front door. Cliché of clichés! Ted Murphy had a silver Lincoln, so Tom Murphy had to have one, too. After the briefest moment of levity – “Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah! I got a Lincoln!” – Sheila faced the realization that, with Ted and Trish on the case, Tom’s checking was beyond reach. They would find whatever information there was to find, and there was no logical pretext for her to them in Tom’s apartment. She ed the lyric of a popular country song and knew it was time to “fold ‘em.” Before she could drive off, Ted and Trish came out of the building. Ted was carrying a shopping bag – clothes for Tom? – and Trish had a large manila envelope. They appeared to take no notice of the yellow Volkswagen parked only a few feet away.

On the afternoon of her first day back at work, Sheila deposited Tom Murphy’s check for $750 to her checking . The check was returned to her bank two days later, stamped “ CLOSED.” When Sheila read the email notice from her bank, she dialed Molly’s phone number. The recorded message left no doubt. “The number you have reached is not in service. If you have dialed in error…” “So that’s who you are, Miss Molly. Got it. Looks like you win – at least for now.”

“The Man” had provided Ginny with a three-room suite at the end of the second floor in the main house. After showing her to the suite shortly after her arrival, he had not appeared again in that part of the house. Ginny itted to herself that she had been disappointed that first evening, when she understood that “Good night – see you in the morning” meant exactly that. She wondered where “The Man” spent his nights. Was he snuggled up with Lori in one of the ranch buildings she had only seen from a distance? Did he have a secret sweetheart tucked away somewhere? Was knowledge of that – among many other things, no doubt – the basis of her father’s continued employment? After dozing briefly, Ginny awoke in response to an imagined tap on her door. She noticed that she had posed herself as she had discovered Lori in the bedroom – now library – at the opposite end of the house. She also noticed that she was wearing the ivory-colored gown she had seen in her closet – strategically placed, she now thought – among the various outfits “The Man” had provided for her. She did not putting on the gown. She caught herself thinking that, if she waited long enough, “The Man” would have to come looking for her. In random slide-show fashion, Ginny’s mind flipped through her most recent failures: the S, Tomscam, “Triple D,” the S, Tomscam, the S, “Triple D,” the S… She knew she was dangerously close to repeating the Baltimore experience – the experience at the airport hotel, when she abused herself after watching the parade of private jets outside her window. Okay, Ginny-girl, what’s this all about? “The Man” is offering you everything you’ve always wanted. And your reaction is… what? If you didn’t fuck for it, you don’t deserve it! Well, kiddo, you did fuck for it… twenty years ago! And now you’ve got it. So… wake the fuck up! This is your break! And guess what! You’re gonna grab it! You’re gonna grab it and run with it! Do ya hear me, bitch?!

Ginny ed “The Man” for breakfast on the veranda. “Have you made a decision?” “I have one problem – Eddie.” “Eddie will not be here when you return. Neither will I. You will have ample staff to see to your needs. I will visit from time to time – alone.” “I am pleased to accept your generous offer.” “So formal.” “It’s a big step.” “In the right direction. All that remains is to get that court case cleared up. I have made arrangements with the jurisdiction in question to accept your surrender.” “Pretty scary.” “But necessary. I’m going to fly you there. We can leave today.” “Just like that.” “Might as well.” “I need to make one phone call.” “You can make as many calls as you like. This is your home.”

Molly was in Ginny’s apartment, reviewing her schedule for the day, when her trick phone rang. “Molly Ballingall. How may I hump you?” “I’ve been thinking about you.” “Ginny?! I’ve been thinking about you, too. You disappeared on me.” “Made my deal and walked. How’s business?” “Snap, crackle and pop.” “Sheila working out okay?” “Sheila was a no-show. You coming back here, or what?” “That’s why I’m calling. Just started a new project. Long story short, it’ll keep me busy for a while. You can have my Vegas trade on a permanent basis. And everything that goes with it – apartment, car, mail order – the works.” “?” “No . You can have it. How’s Tippy doing?” “She’s fine. Getting to be quite a good earner. I do the heavy lifting. She handles the rest.” “Good. Then you’re all set. By the way, Molly…” “What?” “Did you hear about the honest whore?” “No!” “Me, neither!”