21 Tales Read online

  A giddiness took me over and I had to sit down to keep from blacking out. My heart felt like it was going to explode. What I had wanted most for so long, at least part of it, had finally happened. I was no longer sharing an identity with two brothers. I was no longer split into three pieces. Now it was just Dwight and myself.

  The giddiness faded. It was still Huey and Dewey. I still wasn’t whole.

  I got up and searched Lewis’s pockets and had my first real surprise when I found Dwight’s wallet. It had his license, some credit cards and a small amount of cash. I pocketed it, along with a hotel key I found for the Winston.

  Before leaving I checked to make sure Lewis was really dead. It may have seemed foolhardy of me to have shot Lewis before trying to talk to him, but I knew my dear brother as well as I knew myself, and I knew I wouldn’t have gotten anything from him. I said a silent prayer over his corpse and nodded farewell.

  It was two in the morning before I got to the hotel room that matched Lewis’s key. I stood outside trying to listen for anything useful. Finally, I sucked in my breath and opened the door. The lights were on and sitting facing the door was a round soft-looking man. He nodded at me, “Hello Lewis,” and then squinted and shook his head. “My mistake,” he acknowledged, amused, “how are you, Hugh?”

  I moved closer to him. I have a full head of hair and he was practically bald, but other than that he seemed to be almost a caricature of myself. His features were similar to mine, but were bloated and heavy. “Hello Dwight,” I said, “looks like you put on a few pounds.”

  “More than a few,” he corrected me. “And what can you tell me about our brother Lewis?”

  “I’m afraid he’s no longer with us.”

  “I see,” he said. “Could you please give me a minute?” A single tear appeared in his eye and started to snake down his cheek. He brushed it away with a finger.

  “Maybe, brother,” I said, “you could tell me what’s going on?”

  Dwight had my eyes, but being buried within the extra flesh made them seem dull. A thin smile pulled his lips up. “I’ve run into some trouble,” he began, his hands fluttering in front of him as he talked. Like the rest of him, his hands were bloated and exaggerated. I couldn’t help noticing they were the whitest hands I’d ever seen.

  “About a year ago,” he continued. “I had the opportunity to take some money from an associate. Unfortunately, he’s been entirely unreasonable about it.”

  “How much money?”

  “Six hundred thousand dollars,” he said without any change in expression. “To tell you the truth, brother, I wish I had never taken it.”

  “Go on.”

  “I was working in Chicago,” he explained. “Laundering money for Manny Vassey. A very nasty individual. I’ve come to believe he’s insane. What I took was only a small chunk of what he had, nothing he should’ve gotten upset about.”

  Agitation had pushed his lips into a bitter frown. “He’s been after me ever since, Hugh. I’m really quite worried about it. His boys almost picked me up in Los Angeles and I’m afraid they’re still on my trail.”

  “So you’ve been trying to get them off your trail, huh?”

  “I’ve been trying, brother,” he sighed. “I’ve had my hair removed with lasers and I’ve been eating myself sick, but I haven’t been able to shake Manny.” He lowered his voice into a tone of confidentiality. “I’m afraid to see a plastic surgeon; word’s out on the street he’s watching for that. The only way to stop him is to give him what he wants.”

  I stared at him until he shifted his eyes from me. “Pretty convenient,” I said, “to have identical twin brothers.”

  “Very convenient,” he agreed. “You have to look at it from my point of view. I can’t sleep at night. I’ve been getting the most godawful migraines. Have you ever had one?” I shook my head. “Well, you should thank Jesus you haven’t,” he continued, his face shiny with perspiration. “Nothing’s worse in the world, Hugh.”

  “So why was I the one chosen to be sacrificed? I’m deeply hurt. You obviously like Lewis more than me.”

  “That’s not fair.” A softness flushed over his face. “Lewis had a close call with Manny in Philadelphia, and immediately saw the urgency of the matter. He also had an issue with Ms. Carlson that needed to be dealt with. And of course, he wanted a part of the six hundred thousand dollars, so we worked out an arrangement. But I didn’t play favorites. It was my idea for her to put the sulfur in the Dewar’s scotch. If you caught the tip off, which you did, Lewis would die instead of you. I gave you a fifty percent chance.”

  I could feel my lips stretching into a tight grin. “Much obliged,” I forced out. “Tell me about Gloria.”

  “Now don’t act hurt,” he admonished.

  “I’m not hurt. Tell me about Gloria.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” he shrugged. “Probably pretty much what you’ve already guessed. She had been making life miserable for Lewis for about a year now. A very obsessive, high-strung individual, and in my opinion, borderline schizophrenic. For the past three weeks, I have been convincing her to murder Lewis.”

  There was a bathroom off to the side from where Dwight was sitting. I walked into it and started to wash my hands. Dwight’s voice droned over the water, explaining how he had approached Gloria and filled her with dreadful stories about Lewis, most of which were true. He had her so worked up she didn’t know her ass from her elbow. She was convinced if she didn’t get Lewis first, he’d kill her. Dwight had planned every detail of the murder for Gloria.

  I took a towel and walked back to my brother, carefully drying my hands. He asked me how I handled Gloria.

  “I had her beat it. I figured she’d be as good as anyone else to take the murder rap.”

  “I suppose she would. How did Lewis die?”

  “I shot him.”

  “Not in the face, I hope?”

  “No, not in the face.”

  “Everything should be fine then.” His face melted into a broad smile, but it failed to reach his eyes. They stayed as lifeless as a mannequin’s. “I had given Lewis my wallet to plant on your body. Instead, the police will end up finding it on him. Of course, I’ll send Manny copies of the newspaper accounts, anonymously.”

  “I took your wallet from him.” I said.

  He stared at me, his mouth opening slightly, his eyes widening but staying lifeless. “I wish you hadn’t done that,” he said at last. “Do you think anyone heard anything?”

  I didn’t answer him. He continued, a desperation pushing his voice. “This isn’t good, Hugh. I need the wallet on him. Most likely no one knows about the shooting yet. You could go back and plant the wallet. Of course, I’m planning on splitting the money with you.”

  “You have the six hundred thousand here?”

  “No,” he answered hurriedly. “I’ve got about ten thousand cash with me. Why don’t we talk about it later when you come back, okay?”

  I was still holding the towel. I took a step towards him. “Sorry, brother,” I said, “but there’s something I want more than money.”

  A mix of annoyance and confusion flooded his face.

  “Are you crazy?” he sputtered. “What’s wrong with you?” But at the last second he had an idea of what was coming. He tried to get out of the chair, but I shoved him hard back into it and jammed the towel into his mouth. His arms flailed weakly at me as I choked the life out of him. During it all, I explained myself to him, and at the end, I’m sure he understood.

  When it was all done, I fell to the floor exhausted. I couldn’t move. Slowly the realization hit me that I was all alone. It made me dizzy, understanding that I was no longer split apart. I looked over at Dwight; he was nothing but a sad mockery of me. But he no longer existed. I was really all alone.

  The adrenaline pumping through my body was too much to bear. I had to get moving. I had to celebrate. It was three in the morning, but hell, I was in the city that never sleeps, right? I gave the hotel room
a quick search and found forty thousand dollars in a briefcase. So Dwight had lied to me. I couldn’t hold it against him; I was feeling too good for that. I took the briefcase and headed to Times Square.

  Out on the street thoughts started rushing at me. A buzz ran through my body, almost like I was electric. There was no one in sight. As I got nearer to Times Square, I could make out people scurrying to different establishments. I went into one place and ordered champagne all around. I had to keep moving. I couldn’t sit still. The streets seemed to be alive now. I had to step aside to let two people pass. But they stepped right into my path.

  “Excuse me,” I said, trying again to step out of their way.

  “That’s all right,” one of them remarked. But they again moved in front of me. All at once I felt my breath pushed out of my body. I couldn’t move. They were holding me up.

  “We’ve been looking for you, Dewey,” one of them whispered into my ear.

  “You got the wrong guy,” I tried to explain between gasps. “Sure we do,” the other one chuckled. Out of the corner of my eye I caught the glimmer of brass and then felt the second blow to my kidney.

  Nausea welled within me, forcing a flood of hot tears. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time, Dewey,” one of them was saying. “We had given up for the night and was having ourselves some relaxation when who do we see?”

  I tried explaining to them what had happened but I was breathing too heavily. The words weren’t coming out. Through the tears I could make out their hard marble features. The one who had hit me had taken out a hypodermic needle. The other one was still talking.

  “I’m mad at you, Dewey,” he was saying. “You had us running around the whole damn country.” I felt a needle jab into my neck. Then I couldn’t feel anything. Sounds started to fade away.

  Then darkness.

  # #

  I woke up hog-tied and gagged. It didn’t take me long to figure out I was in the trunk of a moving car. I didn’t know how long I’d been under, but the muscle cramping within my body was unbearable. Whatever stuff they had shot me with left my head pulsating like a raw nerve.

  I knew I had to figure out where the rest of the six hundred thousand was. That was the only chance I had. I tried to concentrate and get into Dwight’s mind and was shocked to find I couldn’t. With Dwight’s death the connection was gone.

  They stopped once during the next two days. I was left hog-tied as they poured water down my throat. “We don’t want you dehydrating on us,” one of them told me.

  The next time they stopped, they untied me and pulled me out of the trunk. We were in a small private garage. “Welcome back to Chicago,” one of them laughed. My muscles were cramping too much to walk. They dragged me through a steel door and then down cement steps into a small windowless room. Most of the room was taken up by a furnace and a butcher’s table. The butcher’s table had steel rings attached to its side.

  They tied me to the table, securing the wire through the steel rings. They then left me alone. Shortly after that, a wide heavyset man entered the room. He was wearing a purple running suit and about five pounds of gold chains, and had a broad smile stretched across his face. His complexion reminded me of chipped glass. The other two men joined him. One of them was carrying a large metal case. I heard the heavyset man addressed as Manny Vassey.

  “Hello, Dewey,” Manny Vassey crooned in a high tenor’s pitch. “Whatsa matta? You don’t look so hot.”

  “I’m not Dwight. I’m his twin brother and –“

  “Yeah, you’re his twin brother.” His top lip curled up. “That’s why you’re carrying around a license saying you’re Dwight Jones.” He reached into his running suit and pulled out Dwight’s wallet and flung it at my face. “And the forty grand in the briefcase you were carrying is mine!” he exploded. “It’s got my mark on it! You don’t remember that I mark all my money?”

  “If you check in New York, you’ll see that –“

  “Shuddup!” he barked, his face livid. “You always trying to take me for an idiot, huh?” He gave a nod, and one of his men turned the furnace on, the other opened the metal case. I couldn’t tell what was in it, but it glimmered.

  “Look,” I tried to explain, “I’ll tell you where the rest of the money is—”

  “I’m sure you will,” he interrupted. “I’m sure by the time I’m done you’ll tell me everything you know. But you know what? I don’t care. I don’t want the money. You know what I want?”

  I tried to talk but I couldn’t. My tongue felt like it had swelled up to the size of a salami. One of the men forced my fingers apart. The other handed Manny Vassey a meat cleaver from the case. In one easy stroke, Vassey brought the cleaver down against the table, sending my little finger dancing away.

  He moved his face inches from mine, leering at me. I could see the furnace fire reflected wildly in his eyes.

  “What I want,” he said softly. “Is to cut you into pieces. Hundreds of tiny pieces.”

  And I screamed through it all.

  Next Time

  Next Time is a riff on the Cab Calloway song, Kickin’ the Gong Around, and is Manny’s second appearance. I just liked using him too much in Triple Cross not to bring him back.

  There was a soft knock, silence, and then a frantic banging. Bill opened the door and saw his brother Joe standing in the hallway. Joe’s face was so pale and shiny wet with perspiration it looked as if he was wearing a plastic mask.

  Joe said, “Where’s Jeanie?”

  “What?”

  “Jeanie ran out on me.”

  Bill stared at his brother and then moved aside. “Come on in,” he sighed. His brother moved slowly, sluggishly into the room and collapsed into a chair. His hands were noticeably shaking.

  “She ran out on me,” he moaned. “She took all the junk and split.”

  Bill shrugged. “Maybe it’s for the best. You got to get off that stuff, Joey.”

  Joe rubbed a thick hand across his eyes. “Man, you don’t understand. I need to find her. Oh, man, look at me shake. You got anything?”

  “No. You know I’m not a user.”

  “How about a drink?”

  Bill nodded. He walked to the kitchen and poured a glass three-quarters to the top with gin. When he handed it to his brother, Joe spilled some of it on his shirt, then gulped down the rest of the gin before coming up for air.

  Wiping a dirty jacket sleeve across his lips, Joe offered a sickly smile. “I don’t know why she did it. I always treated her right.”

  “What about that shiner she was wearing a couple of weeks back?”

  “That wasn’t me,” Joe said, shaking his head. “We’re in a biker joint and Jeanie walked right up to this ape and smacked him in the face with a bottle. Before I could do anything, she’s sitting on the floor with a black eye. Did she say I hit her?”

  Bill shook his head.

  “I never hit her.” Joe squeezed his eyes shut and moaned heavily. “If I don’t find her I’m a dead man.”

  Bill looked around uneasily. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”

  “Yeah, it is. I didn’t tell you how much junk she took. Or who it belongs to.” Joe looked away from his brother and stared instead off into the distance at nothing in particular. “I’m distributing for Manny Vassey. She took his stuff. Eighty grand worth.”

  Bill sat down across from his brother. Joe started crying, a soft, whimpering type of cry. “He’ll kill me. If I don’t get the stuff back I’m worse than dead. You know anything? She say anything to you?”

  Bill shook his head. “Vassey’s bad news. We have to get you out of town, maybe out of the country. How much money do you have?”

  Joe smiled sadly, showing yellowed, cracked teeth. “She grabbed everything, man.”

  The two brothers sat quietly. Bill got to his feet, left the room, and came back soon afterwards. “I had a big score last week,” he said. “Here’s ten thousand. It’s everything I have. Go to Mexico. I’ll try to find Jeanie
and Vassey’s property.”

  Joe stumbled to his feet and took the money and embraced his brother. His body had a sickly dampness to it.

  “I loved her so much. I always treated her right. She shouldn’t’ve done this to me.”

  Joe turned and moved slowly to the door, dazed, unsure of his footing. Before leaving, he turned to his brother.

  “When I find the guy she’s doing this with I’ll kill him,” he promised, and then he closed the door behind him.

  Bill stood silently. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and puffed at it slowly, his hard blue eyes staring into space. He lit another one. The bathroom door opened and Jeanie walked out.

  She was thin, and the robe she wore opened to reveal long, sensual legs. She lay down on the sofa and her eyes transfixed to a spot on the wall. Her eyes had a glazed, vacant look.

  Bill put down his cigarette, and slowly looked her over. Her face was oval, cat-like, fringed by red frizzy hair that went past her shoulders. Her lips large and soft. His stare lingered at her narrow waist and then followed her long legs down to her bare feet. He gulped involuntarily on thinking about what that body had done to his over the past three months. He turned away from her and picked up the phone and called Manny Vassey.

  Jeanie listened vacuously, then took off her robe and left the room. When she came back she was wearing jeans and a tee shirt.

  # #

  Manny Vassey sat in the living room sifting through a large purple vinyl suitcase. He was a short, heavyset man with black oily hair and a complexion that looked like chipped glass. A jagged white eight-inch scar ran down his left cheek. Standing behind him were two of his employees, thick-necked wise guys with frozen, humorless smirks.