“You got a lot ridin’ on this game, don’t you, Bernie?” Tristan said.
“You forced the issue,” Dewey said. “I have no choice. If it all goes sideways, the only good thing is, she can’t go to the cops about us without going to jail herself when the whole gag is busted wide open. Anyway, I’m willing to try it if you are.”
“You’re a cold-blooded little motherfucker,” Jerzy said. “I’m startin’ to like you a lot. So how’re we gonna go about kidnappin’ your old lady?”
“That’s gonna be easier than you think because you’re gonna kidnap both of us,” Dewey said.
“What?” Tristan said. “Both of you?”
“It’s the only way it can work,” Dewey said. “I have to be there as another kidnap victim to make her believe it. And I have to help persuade her to talk.”
“And you think you can do that?” Tristan said.
“Yes,” Dewey said, “because I’m a real actor, even if that bitch never gives me credit for it. When I perform, I can convince anybody of anything. Creole, I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon with a foolproof plan.”
“Somethin’ bothers me about this,” Tristan said. “If she gives up what you need to find her secret account, you ain’t gonna be able to slide on into her bank and pull out the cash. You’ll transfer the money to one of your runner accounts, am I right?”
“Yes,” Dewey said, surprised.
“Well, if I remember right from when I helped do the books at the dance studio where I used to work, there’s a ten-day waitin’ period at the banks for big transfers to clear. Am I right?”
Dewey hadn’t counted on Creole having a whole lot more between his ears than Jerzy, but now he could see how he’d completely misjudged his runner. If they suspected that Dewey was after Eunice’s hidden treasure chest of cash, this whole gag could explode in his face.
Dewey wore his mask of sincerity when he said, “The bank where I’ll transfer the funds to is a small independent bank that I’ve done lots of questionable business with. I know the manager exceedingly well. There won’t be a ten-day wait. In fact, it’ll take two days at most and we’ll have our money.”
Dewey figured that two days would be enough time for him to tie up loose ends and get the hell out of L.A. with Eunice’s “retirement fund.” He looked into Creole’s amber eyes for any hint of disbelief but saw none.
Dewey watched him nod to Jerzy and say, “Can we hold her for two days, wood?”
“That’s a long time to keep her,” Jerzy said.
“That’s a lot of money,” Dewey countered, touching his ribs and grimacing.
“Okay,” Tristan said, “but remember, if you decide to get outta Hollywood tonight, one of us will be campin’ out right near your crib.”
“I understand,” Dewey said. “Now you can go ahead and leave. I’m expecting the runner any minute. You’re welcome to sit out on Franklin Avenue tonight and watch my front door if you want, but I guarantee I’m going nowhere but to bed. If I can make it there. You boys have actually brought things to a head. I should thank you, and I will when it’s over. For now, take two hundred from my wallet and have a nice meal on me.”
“From what I saw of your woman, she’s older than you, ain’t-isn’t she?” Tristan said.
“Yes,” Dewey said. “Several years older.”
Tristan grinned and said, “I saw a story on Access Hollywood that claims older women with younger guys makes for married bliss in this town, Bernie.”
Dewey showed a crooked grin, adjusted his stick-on mustache, and said, “It’s true that we’ve got an age spread like some famous Hollywood couples. But Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher we are not.”
FIFTEEN
WHEN TRISTAN AND JERZY WERE BACK in the Chevy, heading to Pablo’s Tacos for Jerzy to buy a taste of crystal meth, Tristan said, “Dawg, that half a million ransom we’re gonna ask for means more than Bernie says it means.”
“So what’s it mean?” Jerzy asked.
“It means there’s a whole lotta money that the woman is in control of, and he don’t even know how much there is. He’s fishin’ to find out from her. He figures to game her for as much as half a million and only give us a measly forty grand. And another thing, I don’t believe his bullshit about a deal with some banker so he don’t have to wait ten days to draw out transferred funds. I think her money’s in cash someplace. She ain’t no different from dope dealers or anybody else on the game. She don’t want money where the state or the feds or the IRS can grab it if she gets busted. What we gotta do is figure out how to take the real money away from him after he gets his hands on it.”
Jerzy thought it over for a long while and said, “Damn, Creole, your daddy musta been a white man.”
Malcolm found the door partially open when he arrived. Still, he knocked on it and said, “Mr. Graham, you there?”
Dewey said, “Come in, Clark.”
Malcolm found Dewey still sitting in the chair where Tristan and Jerzy had left him. He was sweating and pale.
“Are you okay, Mr. Graham?” Malcolm asked.
“I had an accident,” Dewey said. “I fell. I think a rib is broken. Maybe more than one.”
Malcolm said, “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“No, I think I’ll be okay by tomorrow. But could you help me get up?”
“Sure,” Malcolm said, taking Dewey around the torso and lifting.
Dewey cried out in pain, and Malcolm said, “I better put you back down.”
“No!” Dewey said. “Just help me walk out to my car. And please carry my bag for me.”
Malcolm picked up the overnight bag and said, “You can’t drive a car, Mr. Graham. You better let me call you an ambulance.”
“Just help me, please,” Dewey said, putting his right arm around the young man’s neck, his left arm pressed close to his damaged ribs.
They weren’t halfway down the walkway before Dewey said, “You’re right. I can’t drive a car. I’ll give you fifty dollars to take me home in my car. I live on Franklin west of Cahuenga. I’ll have my secretary drive you back to get your car.”
“Mr. Graham,” Malcolm said before he helped Dewey into the passenger seat of the Honda, “you got a couple little bugs jumping all over your head. Can’t you feel them?”
“Oh, Christ!” Dewey whined. “I’m in too much pain to worry about fleas.”
When they got to Dewey’s security gate, he pointed to his remote and Malcolm pressed it and drove down below the apartment building into the parking garage.
“Put it in my space, number twelve,” Dewey said.
Climbing the stairs, one at a time, brought steady moans from Dewey punctuated by sharp cries when Malcolm moved too fast. After they struggled to the landing, Dewey was wishing he’d let the kid take him to the hospital. What if a rib punctured a lung or something? He wanted to plot some sort of revenge for what the slob did to him, but for now he only wanted to lie down in bed and remain immobile.
“Ring the bell, Clark,” Dewey said.
Malcolm pushed the button, and they waited. Dewey figured that Eunice was peering out through the peephole, so he said, “Come on, open the goddamn door. I’m hurt.”
The door cracked opened a bit, and Eunice peeked out, cigarette dangling, and said, “What the hell’s going on?”
“Open the door wide, for chrissake!” Dewey said. “I can’t walk without help.”
Eunice opened the door, stepping back, and she said to Malcolm, “I’ll take over. Wait outside.”
When Malcolm released his hold, Dewey’s knees buckled and he said, “Don’t let go of me, Clark! Take me to my bedroom. Hurry up.”