"This woman, the one you been trying to get to cut you loose, she know about the break-in at the yard?"
"Uh huh, she knows. Why you ask?" Jake wondered, all wide-eyed and innocent-like.
"She know about the cell phone?"
"Yeah. Had to tell her. It's the one she always calls me on."
I didn't have to look in the bar mirror to feel that self-satisfied grin on my face. "Man, I do this you're gonna owe me. All you gotta do is follow along and I'll saw right through that ball and chain like it was butter."
"How's that?"
The plan was simple. I would go to a payphone in the town Jake lived. I'd call his girl's cell phone number, wait till she picked up, said hello, and hang up. She call back, I'd pick up and slam the phone down in the cradle. I'd do it for a few days in a row, making sure that Jake was at work. This way if she suspected it was him and called the office number, he'd be there. The second step was the charm, but only if Jake could play it cool. I was a little worried about that. What an idiot I was to worry.
Just like I said for him to do, he took his family up to their timeshare chalet in the Poconos for a few days. Nothing unusual in that. Jake does that stuff once or twice a year. The delicate part came next. Everything, as far as the plan working, hinged on this next part and for it Jake was on his own. Didn't stop me from writing a script for him, even filling in stage directions. I guessed at her responses. Like I said, I needn't have worried.
Jake (whisper): It's me.
Girlfriend: Jake! What are you whispering for?
Jake (whisper): Listen, I don't have much time. I snuck out of the cabin for a few minutes. I made an excuse about running to the store for beer.
Girlfriend: What is it? What's wrong?
Jake (louder): The damned phone company sent my cell phone records to my house instead of my office. She got hold of them.
Girlfriend: Your wife? Oh God!
Jake: Yeah, she confronted me about all the calls to your number.
Girlfriend: Oh God! What did you tell her?
Jake (nervous): That it was my driver, Tony, sneaking into the office and using the phone. He has keys to the gate and the office and she knows he's not above being, you know, sneaky.
Girlfriend: Did she believe you?
Jake (urgent): No, but it did put some doubt in her mind, enough to make her stop talking about divorce for the minute. The crucial thing here is if you get any calls from a number you don't recognize, don't pick up. No matter what, don't pick up!
I told Jake that this was the crucial part. If there was silence on the other end of the phone, he had her. Silence meant she was scared, that she had bought it. She'd be thinking about those hang-up calls she had gotten earlier in the week. My guess was, all she'd want was to get out of the relationship. Apparently, there was a whole lot of silence at the other end of the phone.
"Man," Jake said, when I saw him the day he got back, "you are shrewd. I did just what you told me. I underplayed it, saying how we had to back off for a while given how suspicious my wife was and how nuts her ex-husband could be."
"And …"
"'Back off,' she said. 'No, Jake. I'm sorry, but we can't see each other anymore.' I owe you, man. I owe you. When I called her from up there, you'd swear the woman was reading from your script too. She said almost everything you wrote, word for word. You're the fixer. That ball and chain almost all gone from my life."
"Almost?"
"Yeah, almost. See, me and the lady, we exchanged some jewelry and stuff over the years that … Well, let's just say I did too good a job selling your plan. Now she wants to give this stuff back."
"Why not just tell her to flush it?"
"Nah, man, that's just it. I tell her that, she'll think I didn't care and she'll get all suspicious-like."
"I'll get it from her."
Talk about hook, line, and sinker. Let me tell you something, I bit on his bait so hard, took that hook in so deep, he couldn't have thrown me in back if he wanted to. That's something else I needn't have fretted over. He wasn't going to throw me back. Throw me to the wolves … Now that was a different story altogether.
Jake called me the next day and told me where and when to meet her. He could not have been more gracious and profuse in his thanks. I was the King Fixer, Sultan of Solutions, Maharajah of Manipulation, Lord of the … You get the picture. Hell, after that phone call, my head was so big it tilted to one side. So I didn't get suspicious when he told me I was going to meet her in the parking lot of the Windjammer Motel up on Old Wells Road. All I had to do was pull my car next to hers. She'd hand me the jewelry and I'd be gone.
Meet her I did, in a manner of speaking. The parking lot was pitch dark and near empty when I pulled my car alongside hers. I waited for her to make a move, even tapped my horn to get her attention. No luck. I got out of my car and put my knuckles to her window. Nothing. The glass in her car was fogged up, I tried wiping it away from my side. I could just make her out. Looked like she was sleeping. I had that wrong.
When I pulled her door open, she fell out onto the asphalt, her head making a sickening thud against the pavement. Didn't seem to bother her much. She had other concerns, like that slice across her throat. She wasn't quite dead yet, a slow, feeble spray of blood barely reaching her chin. The surprise in her dying eyes was probably no match for the surprise in mine. I think she might've managed a smile if she'd had more blood to give.
You see, the solution to what was really going on popped right into my head. Even in the midst of my panic, in the milliseconds before the baseball bat caught me that first time, God's gift was in fine working order. She hadn't expected to see me at all. It was Jake she thought would be pulling up alongside. The whole thing: the robbery, the stolen cell phone was all a setup. It occurred to me that almost nothing Jake had told me was the truth.
My guess was that Jake had in fact tried to dump her and she had threatened to go to his wife. He'd just have to string her along until he found a sucker to take the heat off him. That's where I came in, the King Fixer. The rest of it about her being divorced and not wanting to break up his happy marriage was bull. No doubt, from the minute I left him at the Cinderella, he had a detective on my tail; snapping photos of me making the calls, lifting my prints off the phone, getting the phone records from the girlfriend's cell phone. And then, just before he set up this little rendezvous, he sent the PI's report to the jealous ex-husband with a desperate letter from my wife. Too bad I ain't married. But the ex wouldn't know that, would he?
Bang! The first smack of the bat caught too much of my neck. At best, it was a single to the opposite field, maybe a weak ground ball to the right side of the infield. But it did throw me off balance. I thought about pleading, denying my part in this, but no. I was the King Fixer, the Sultan of Solutions, the kid who knew to let the air out of the bus tires. I knew I had been dethroned. Jake was King. Long live the King.
Bathead Speed
When I kill for the kikes, I call meself Hank Greenberg. For the niggers, it's Hammerin' Hank. Don't love it that Hank is so popular amongst those two races, but let's face it, how many Jews were great home run hitters? Yeah … I'm waiting, boyo. You can count the number on the thumb stuck up yer arse. Bonds stays healthy a few more years and the problem'll be solved. For the wops, it's Joe D. The spics, Roberto Clemente. When the contract is white bread, I go with Mickey Mantle. It appeals to me own sense of vanity. Like I put the Mick in Mickey. Sorry, Babe. Fook, McGuire, the cheatin' cunt. Don't kill for the Irish. No profit in it.