Wish List Page 7
I lean my head back in the limo and say, “I never caught your name.”
“Pete and Jinny call me Rudy.”
“Why would Rossman let me have sex with his wife?”
“That’s their business.”
“Fine, don’t tell me. I already know.”
He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner, like a teenage girl being lectured by her father. “I sincerely doubt that.”
“Somehow you guys turned Jinny Kidwell into a mega star. She’s paying you back by granting my wish.”
He laughs. It starts as a chuckle, but keeps building. It isn’t a fake laugh. Finally he says, “Pete said that?”
“Jinny told me,” I say, indignantly.
“Yeah? Well, she lied.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What, two hours in the sack, you think you know her character?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“I hate to burst your bubble, Chachi, but she’s an actress, remember?”
“If Jinny lied, then what’s the real wish you granted her?”
“Maybe she put fucking you at the top of her list.”
“Right. Look, I’m serious. What was Jinny’s wish?”
“It’s not my job to tell you.”
“And just what is your job, Rudy?”
His eyebrows arch, but his voice remains even. “Collecting payments.”
“Payments for what?”
“The wishes you get.”
I’m standing in Louis Challa’s restaurant parking lot, leaning into a limo, talking to a guy who is as far from a fairy godmother as a choirboy is to a congressman. There are people milling about the parking lot, so I straighten up and look around to make sure no one can hear our absurd conversation.
I lean my head back in the car and ask Rudy, “What did you do to her?”
“Who?”
“Jinny. To make her have sex with me.”
“It’s not like you think. I don’t force people to do a certain thing.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“You’re telling me Jinny didn’t have to sleep with me? She chose to?”
“Yeah, more like that. See, I give people two choices, sometimes three. We try to be accommodating.”
“And of all the choices you gave Jinny, having sex with me was the least objectionable?”
He made a gun out of his thumb and index finger, pointed at me, and pretended to shoot.
“So she’s paid up?” I say.
“Her payment has four parts.”
“Sleeping with me was one, right? She paid me a million dollars, that’s two. What are the other two?”
“That’s between her and us.”
“She’s rich, so the money was no big deal. Sleeping with me probably wasn’t that huge of a sacrifice…”
“Says you. But remember, her husband had to sit in the car and wait while she had sex with you. Can you imagine how hard that must have been for him?”
No. I couldn’t imagine it. Didn’t want to, didn’t try to imagine it.
“So that was her third thing?”
“No. That was one of his things.”
“Holy shit!”
“Exactly.”
“Am I involved in her other repayments?”
He shrugs.
“When will you tell me? After I help you bury the body?”
Rudy gestures at the open air around me. “I wouldn’t speak so loud, if I were you.”
I look around again, but no one is within hearing distance.
“Are you riding home with me?”
“No. Perkins will drop me off before picking you guys up for dinner.”
“How do you know I won’t drive straight to the cops?”
“It wouldn’t be prudent.”
“Why’s that?”
“There’s a dead body in your trunk.”
Chapter 20
I look at my car. I want to run to it, open the trunk and prove him a liar. But customers have started arriving at the restaurant, and I can’t take the chance someone might see. Then I think of something.
“The car keys,” I say, holding them up, jingling them in my hand.
“What about them?”
I show him a smug smile. “You couldn’t have put anything in my trunk. I had the keys with me the whole time.”
He reaches into his pants pocket and tosses me a set of keys on a key ring that looks exactly like mine. I hold them next to each other, starting with my car key.
Identical.
I try my house key.
Identical.
My office key.
Identical.
“Where did you get these?”
“You’d better get moving. Don’t want to be late for the concert.”
“You’ve been inside my house?”
“I’ll see you later tonight, in your garage. One a.m. Don’t be late.”
“What if I refuse? You can’t just make me bury a body.”
“Climb back in a minute, and close the door.” He sees the look on my face and adds, “Relax, we’re just going to have a little chat.”
I do as he says. When I’m settled in, he says, “I didn’t kill your boss.”
“What?”
“I didn’t kill Oglethorpe.”
“So what, this was all a joke?”
“No, he’s dead. It’s just that I didn’t kill him.”
“Who did?”
“A housewife from New Albany.”
“Indiana?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to commit a perfect crime.”
“She wished it?”
“There’s a guy from Kansas City, name of Jansen. You don’t wanna know his first name, trust me. Guy’s a sick degenerate, violent, done some prison time at ADX.”
“What’s that?”
“Toughest prison in America. Anyway, we’re in the middle of granting his wishes.”
“So?”
“He wants to barbecue a living man, and eat him.”
I can’t see my face, but I’m sure he can tell I’m concerned. He continues: “We’ve already picked out a victim for him, a homeless guy in St. Louis. But we can easily make it you.”
I’m shuddering as I speak, so my voice comes out weird, and stuttering: “A-a-all I’ve g-g-got to do is b-bury a b-body?”
“Yeah, that’s all,” he says. Then adds, “For now.”
Chapter 21
Lissie’s enjoying the dinner more than me.
I’m trying to make it a special night, but all I can think about is the fine print and what I have to do in a few hours. I keep looking around the restaurant for Rudy, or Pete Rossman, or even Perkins, the limo driver. But if anyone’s watching us, it’s no one I know. Hell, maybe it’s everyone in the room. For all I know, there could be hundreds of people involved. If the fine folks at Wish List can grant all these wishes and force people like Rossman and Jinny Kidwell to participate, they must be incredibly well-funded and staffed.
They might be invincible.
“Cheers,” Lissie says, clinking my glass with hers. “This is amazing! Dinner at Guiseppi’s, the limo, the concert��tell me the truth: how big was the raise?”
“Huge.”
Her eyes are sparkling. “I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks.”
“No, seriously, Buddy, this is a dream come true. After all this time, you’ve finally made it!”
I wonder if I’ve made it. Specifically, I wonder if the hundred dollar bills in my pocket are counterfeit.
They’re not, I learn, after paying the bill.
Much as I dread the idea of burying my boss in a few hours, I like giving my beautiful wife a well-deserved night on the town, and watching her eyes light up when I pay the tab with hundred dollar bills. I like the way I’ve suddenly become more powerful in her eyes, proving the adage that nothing hides a man’s flaws like success.
In the l
imo, after the concert, her hands are all over me. She wants to put up the partition, but earlier, when I went to meet Perkins in our driveway to tell him Lissie was running a few minutes late, he’d said, “No hanky panky in the limo tonight,” so I tell Lissie she’ll have to ravage me when we get home.
“Don’t think I won’t,” she says.
We pull up in the driveway and Perkins lets us out, saying, “Lissie, it’s been a pleasure. Might I escort you to the door?”
Tipsy, giggly and adorable, she turns to me and tries to adopt a dignified, snobbish accent: “Perkins wishes to escort me to our abode, Charles. Does that meet with your approval?”
Perkins signals me to stay behind. “Of course, dahling,” I say, attempting to match her accent. “Go on in. I’ll settle up with the good man and join you momentarily.”
They walk to the front door and Perkins waits for her to enter. As she does, Lissie gushes, “Perkins, this has been the most wonderful night ever. Thank you for driving us. It’s been such a pleasure to meet you!”
“The pleasure’s all mine, Miss.”
She looks at me, standing by the car. “I’ve got the greatest husband in the whole world! What do you think, Perkins? Is he a keeper?”
“He’s certainly one of a kind, Miss.”
Perkins watches her enter the house and close the door. Then he approaches me.
“You think I’m scum, don’t you?” I say.
“We’re all scum,” he says. Then he points at the front door. “Except for her. A girl like that? She deserves better.”
“What happens now?”
He reaches into his pocket and removes a white capsule and hands it to me. “You’re going to pull the capsule apart and empty the contents into her drink. You’re going to stand over her and make sure she drinks every last drop.”
“What is it?”
“A sedative.”
“Is it safe?”
“Of course it’s safe. A word to the wise, make sure she’s in bed when you give it to her.”
“Why’s that?”
“Look, you’re running out of time, so don’t screw this up, okay? No long-winded toasts, no love talk, no sex. Get this into her system immediately. You do that, she’ll be zonked by one o’clock, and she’ll stay that way until you return.”
“You going to be here when Rudy comes?”
“No.”
“He said there’d be another guy here.”
“So?”
“You know who it is?”
“No.”
“You seem a nice guy, Perkins. Why are you involved with a guy like Rudy?”
He pauses a moment, then says, “Buddy, look at me.”
I look into his impassive face.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t make the mistake of thinking you and I are friends, because we’re not. Personally, I don’t give a shit what happens to you.”
“Okay. It just seemed like you were trying to help.”
He gestures to the house. “Her, not you.”
“Story of my life,” I say.
“She deserves better.”
I can’t argue the point, so I look at the capsule in my hand, and say, “Lissie doesn’t really drink at home.”
“You better hope she does tonight.”
“Why’s that?”
“If she’s awake, Rudy will make her participate.”
Chapter 22
Lissie says she’ll be happy to toast to our new success after slipping into something more comfortable, which turns out to be a sexy nightie she’d purchased for the occasion.
“You like it?”
“Love it!”
We’re in the bedroom. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, holding two glasses of wine. She’s standing in front of me, lifting the nightie, offering me a peek at her matching see-through panties.
“Wanna test drive?”
I do, but I remember what Perkins said about getting the drug into her system immediately. He made a good point about not giving Rudy an excuse to involve Lissie in the whole Jinny Kidwell and Ed Oglethorpe situations. Jinny said Lissie would never believe what we did, but Rudy strikes me as the type of guy who’d have proof. Lissie might also wonder what type of monster could escort her to dinner and a concert while knowing he had a dead body in the trunk of his car the whole time.
It takes some urging, but I finally get her to sit beside me and drain her glass. Perkins was right about making sure she was in bed first, because the minute I get our empty glasses on the night stand, Lissie falls sideways and slides off the bed. Fortunately, I’m within three feet of her, so I’m able to catch her before she hits the floor. She seems twice as heavy as she should, and I remember reading a novel once about how carrying “dead weight” is much harder than people think.
In any event, I manage to get her on the bed, and push her far enough toward the middle to keep her from rolling off again. She’s snoring lightly, so I put a pillow under her head and turn her sideways. I kiss her cheek and change into some clothes I hope are appropriate for burying a body.
According to my watch, I’ve got about twenty minutes. I wonder if I should have another drink, to fortify myself for the grave digging, but decide that between what I consumed at dinner, and the wine just now, I’ve had enough. I turn out the bedroom lights and stand by the window that faces the front yard. I’m worried about the meeting for several reasons. One, Rudy scares the shit out of me. Two, though it’s hard to imagine, the guy Rudy’s bringing might be worse. Three, what if I get caught? Four, poor Mr. Oglethorpe. Sure, he was a bastard of a boss, but he has a wife and kids who probably care for him. Now he’s dead, and for no better reason than I wished it—and I wasn’t even referring to him in the first place! If anyone from work should die a horrible death, it’s Hilda. Five, digging a grave is bound to be strenuous work. I wonder how long it’s going to take. Six, I wonder if maybe the grave I’m digging is really for me. I never saw Oglethorpe’s body in my trunk. I wanted to open the trunk and look when I got home, but I also wanted to hide my money in the garage, and jump in the shower before Lissie could pick up Jinny’s scent on me.
I turn to look at my wife. If the grave is for me, I’ll never see her again, and she’ll never know what happened to me. I wonder if I should leave a note of some kind. Then decide that’s a terrible idea. If they can grant impossible wishes they can certainly destroy Lissie’s life. I wonder if they’ll let her keep the money after I’m dead. It seems the decent thing to do, if they’re going to kill me. I wonder how long it will take her to find it.
I can’t leave her a note saying there’s money hidden in the garage. Knowing Lissie, she’d report it to the cops. I don’t know what to do about the money right now, so I decide to do nothing, except hope they won’t kill me.
I’m still standing there, looking out the window, thinking I should bring another set of clothes and sneakers, so I can change afterward. It wouldn’t be smart to drag dirt from the crime scene back into the house in the event something goes wrong.
Jesus, listen to me: crime scene!
I’m in way over my head.
It’s dark outside, but there’s a streetlight on the corner that offers enough light for me to make out the forms of two people dressed in black, emerging from Bill and Norma’s back yard. I watch them cross the street and walk down my driveway. The river of ice in my veins makes it hard for me to move, but I force my way out of the bedroom and close the door carefully, praying Lissie sleeps peacefully until my return. I get down the stairs as quietly as possible, and enter the garage, making sure to lock the door that leads from the garage to the house before acknowledging the two men who have just entered my garage.
The first one to get his mask off is Rudy. But you could have knocked me over with a feather when I see who the other guy is.
Chapter 23
“What the hell?”
The guy standing beside Rudy is Richie, my best friend in the world, with the possible exception of M
ike. Richie’s usually pretty lively, but tonight he looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“What’s going on here?” I ask.
Richie turns away, and Rudy motions me to be quiet. “Buddy, you’re driving. Richie, shotgun. I’m in the back. Let’s go.”
I fire up the car and ease out my driveway before switching on the headlights. As Rudy directs me where to go, I try to make eye contact with Richie. But he’s looking out the passenger window.
“Where are you taking us?” I ask.
“Shut up.”
We take I-71 toward Cincinnati about thirty miles and get off at Exit 31. We bypass the small town of Talmadge, and work our way deep into the countryside. After passing a dozen nondescript dirt roads, Rudy says, “Turn left at the next one.”
“Are you planning to kill us?” I say.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“If you keep talking, I will. Jesus, do you ever shut up?”
I turn where he said to, and we’re in the middle of a hay field that’s taller than our car. The road is nothing more than two tire tracks heading God knows where.
Throughout the trip, Richie has said nothing, hasn’t even looked in my direction. A chilling thought strikes me.
I push his arm to get his attention. “Richie, are you in this with Rudy?”
Rudy’s fist crashes into the back of my head, causing me to jerk the car off the road, into the hay field. The tires are spinning, fighting for traction.
Rudy says, “I told you to shut up, asshole. Now get back on the road, or I’ll make the next punch hurt.”
Was he kidding me? The first punch hurt like hell! I wouldn’t be able to handle a harder one. My eyes are crossed so badly I can barely get back on the tire tracks. Once there, I keep drifting to the right. Each time I do, Rudy cuffs the side of my head to get me back on course.