Me and My Manny (10 page)

A Hit Man

As soon as I opened the letter addressed to Wolfgang Kin, I trashed it in the can under the mailboxes in the wall of Whitehall’s lobby. Since having his identity stolen, Wolf had been offered a preapproved home loan, a preapproved car loan, and now, a preapproved life insurance policy, requiring no medical exam.

Each time Wolf received anything in the mail, preapproved or not, Harry went ballistic. Not about to mention the latest, I shuffled through an envelope full of coupons and chose one promising a deal on business cards if I acted now. I had discarded the rest and was about to start back upstairs when I heard a trio of recognizable male voices coming from the office across the hall.

“Those women are up to something,” Whitehall’s handyman said. “It’s strange, I saw that Judy from up on the fourth. She was in the back alley, building this coffinlike box. Next thing you know, different women are going in and out of her apartment. And it always seems to involve the same guy.”

“Who is he? Does he live around here?” Jason asked.

The handyman, whose job familiarized him with many of the residents in the buildings on the block, said he doubted it. “He’s a shady-looking character with slick-back hair like a foreigner. Your wife, Ruthie, knows him,” the handyman said to Jason. “Leastwise she’s been talking with him over drinks under an umbrella by the pool.”

My ears perked, the comment seemed to confirm the rumor I’d heard from the bank teller some weeks back.

“You know something, Ern,” Jason said to Whitehall’s owner, “that could be the same guy I heard Lisa whooping it up with to tango music down the hall from my place.”

“Lisa? My Lisa?” Ernie sounded surprised.

Hearing that two of my best friends were sharing the same guy hit me hard. And here I was, an innocent pawn, turning my manny over to a couple of fem fatales probably as a stand-in to throw the hounds off the scent.

“Now that you mentioned it, that tango dancer coulda been the same guy I saw out back—black shirt, white tie, white straw hat. Dressed like he’s right outta
Miami Vice”
the handyman said.

I jerked to attention. A tango dancer who ends up under the garden umbrella in the backyard began to sound like Wolf on loan. Client confidentiality, of course Lisa and Ruthie’s husbands don’t know about Wolf.

“I’m out there clipping a few hedges,” the handyman went on, “and I hear Ruthie saying something about taking somebody apart piecemeal.”

“Taking apart! Is that what she said?” Jason asked.

“That’s what it sounded like, but it was hard to hear from behind the bushes with the clippers on.”

“So what’d the guy say?” Ernie asked.

“Well, here’s the interesting part. The guy never moved a muscle, never said a word. He just sat there, taking instructions.”

“Instructions?” the other two men repeated in unison.

“Ruthie was doing all the talking. Seems she was concerned about her time running out and forking over more money.”

“So the issue of money came up?” Jason asked.

“Did it ever. Then and there, midway through the conversation, Ruthie produces a checkbook and says they got to hurry to the bank before it closes.”

“I’d better look into this month’s cancelled checks,” Jason then said.

The handyman sucked in a breath and, after a brief pause, said, “I’ll tell ya, when they made this guy, they broke the mold. He was one cool fella. Like he never touched a thing so as not to leave any fingerprints around.”

Jason issued a thoughtful hum. “Ruthie
has
been kinda dissatisfied with the way things have turned out, what with me all cooped up.”

“Lisa’s fairly confined, herself,” Ernie said, “her helping run this place twenty-four, seven.”

“You don’t think they’d be into anything fishy?” Jason asked.

“Nah,” Ernie answered. “I don’t see where either of them would have the time.”

Jason must have agreed as he said, “Likely not, he’s just a casual acquaintance.”

“Though it is kinda curious that Judy what’s-her-name up on the fourth’s been seen with a guy who fits that description, a shady character with his hair slicked back,” the handyman informed the others.

“It could be Harry,” Jason said in a confidential tone.

“He’s bad-tempered, too,” the handyman added. “Word is one day he’s out running in the park. These two sisters get in his way, and he assaults them. They hoof it back to that high-rise over on Parkway. Right away they tell the whole story to the building manager.”

“Sounds like he was crazed on steroids—’roid rage,” Ernie said.

“I tell you, it’s not safe to go outside anymore.” This came from Jason, who hadn’t been outdoors in years.

“More than likely it’s just talk,” Ernie suggested. “If our wives were fixing to get rid of us, you’d think we’d get a warning sign.”

“Not if they had something more permanent in mind,” the handyman said.

I strained my ears, inferring that, from their muffled voices, they tightened their huddle. I inched closer convinced that the person in question could not have been Wolf. My manny might be something of a loony cartoon, flinging himself into women on the jogging path and flirting while on loan to the girls, but he could hardly be mistaken for a hit man involved in a conspiracy to get rid of unwanted husbands. However if, as Jason assumed, anyone happened to think the stranger was Harry—

Zikes! I swung around and darted for the elevator just as the doors opened and Sarah Crumble doddered out.

“Oh good,” she said, focused on the coupon in my fist. “Has my poster come yet?”

“Check with the office,” I told her, looking at the waiting elevator.

“What rushed times we live in,” the hump-backed old woman said. “Everyone is always in a hurry, pushing and shoving.”

“I’d love to stay and talk, but—” I raced by her and caught the elevator just as the doors started to close.

On reaching my floor, I unlocked the deadbolt, flew back inside, and slapped the coupon on the console. “Harry,” I yelled, running into the bedroom. “We’ve got to leave here,” I said, when he appeared in the doorway. I yanked my suitcase from under the bed. “We’ve got to pack up and hide out for a while.” I caught my breath and explained. “Jason and Ernie are gunning for my manny. They think he’s been fooling around with their wives, two at a time, and that he, maybe, agreed to bump the both of them off, one at a time. Jason and Ernie, that is.”

Harry’s jaw dropped as he fixed me with a troubled stare.

“I know it’s kind of confusing,” I said, “but you remember I told you that Ruthie and Lisa rented my manny. While on the job, different people saw him at different times with the both of them.”

“Hold on.” Harry raised his hand like a traffic cop. “The dummy can no more have a fling with real-live women than he can contract to whack their real-live husbands, so what’s the problem?”

“The problem is people think you’re the dummy. I mean, they already suspect you, and as soon as they talk to that big-mouth bank teller, they’ll know for sure that you’re the gigolo under contract.”

Harry in a pronounced slump shook his head. “I’d better clear this up.” He did an about-face, marched into the living room, and reached for the door.

Coming from behind, I grabbed his wrist. “Don’t go down there, not right now. It’s best to give them a chance to chill. Later, when things calm down, you can talk to them rationally and sort it all out.”

“You’re right.” Harry backed up. “I shouldn’t go down there.
You should!
You’re the one got us into this.”

“Okay, I will.” The ball being in my court, I figured I’d dribble for a while. “Just… let’s not do anything crazy. Let’s just wait and see what shakes out.”

Manny Manufacturing

Confident that my perfect record for screwing up was intact, I went to the door and engaged the deadbolt. That done, I headed for the kitchen, sniffing the air. “Doesn’t dinner smell good?” Gaily I chortled, hoping to dispel the tension. Harry, a meat-and-potatoes man, would appreciate tonight’s fare. At the table, I looked down at the empty platter pooled with meat drippings. “But where is dinner?”

Harry, in the doorway, shrugged. “Don’t ask me; you said you’d fix it.”

“I did. I took the roast out of the oven, set it on the plate to cool, and went down for the mail.” I scanned the room, and then inspected Harry’s lips for telltale signs. Baffled, I asked, “Harry, you didn’t eat the entire roast, did you?”

“Yeah, sure, I swallowed it whole.”

The roast was only about three and a half pounds, enough for tonight with leftovers for tomorrow. I couldn’t have been gone more than fifteen minutes. When I left, Harry was in the shower, singing, and since he couldn’t hear if a stranger came in, I locked the door behind me.

“If you didn’t eat it, where’d it go?”

After checking the refrigerator and the trash, just in case, I went into the living room and examined Wolf in the recliner. The little circle in the red bow of his mouth was clean.

“Something weird is going on in the apartment,” I said to Harry, still watching me from the kitchen doorway.

“Can’t argue with that.”

I shot him a look of irritation.

He then sounded more contrite when he said, “You’re sure you didn’t take it with you when you went out?”

“Now, why would I do that?”

“Please, Judy, you’re talking to a guy who wonders why you do most of the things you do.”

Exasperated, I placed my hands on my hips. “If this is a joke, it’s not very funny.”

“I did not touch the roast. In fact, I don’t even recall seeing one after I got dressed.”

As I stood there, brooding on the mystery, a rapid thudding occurred in the space behind Harry. It was the colossal Spike using his body to beat the opposite wall like a kettledrum. Only tonight I guessed that Spike wouldn’t be all that hungry. The missing-roast antic had his paw prints all over it.

“Harry, while I was gone, did you hear anything, any odd noises like bumping and such?”

Harry grinned. “Spike can work a door handle, but he couldn’t use a key, even if he had one.” He strode closer to me and gave me an easy hug. “It’s been a long day and I’m starving. What do you say I pick up Chinese?”

Since it was too late to enjoy eating out, I agreed to take-out. The fortune cookies might cheer us up too. Shortly after Harry left, taking the Volvo because his antiquated Chevy needed service, I slid the hassock closer to the recliner and sat down.

Trying to make contact with the manny’s off-center eyes, I spoke in earnest. “When you and I first got together, I never dreamed we’d end up in this much trouble. My marriage is shaky, my friendships are rocky, and when it comes to you… well, two clients are hardly a winning streak.

“That leaves only the part about mannys being lovingly handcrafted one at a time. Still there’s the problem that in a world where materialism holds sway, it makes no monetary sense.

“I hate to break it to you this way, Wolf. But I’m afraid I’ll have to limit my operation to manny manufacturing. I’m talking mass production, Wolf. The idea might not sit well with you, being an idol and all, but in this neck of the woods, I call the shots.

“So, I’m figuring a manny manufacturing plant could be run along lines similar to Santa’s workshop. I’d get me a small industrial facility, a conveyer belt, and all the low-level pixies necessary to make, package, and ship mannys en masse.

“Mannys Inc. Operators are standing by to take your calls. Major credit cards accepted. Soon as the money starts rolling in, I’ll do it smarter. I’ll outsource the manufacturing end of the business to some foreign country. Possibly Italy, using Mr. Gippo’s contacts. Then I’ll import the end results and charge all that the market will bear.”

Feeling a pang of hunger, I again thought about the missing roast beef; it was a nice cut, too. But, until Harry returned, I resumed my one-sided discussion.

“Because you’re the prototype for the entire manny-line, it might be assumed that you’d have a say in the overall process of things, but, since I’m your spokesperson, I do the talking.”

Back at the drawing board, that being a scratchpad in my makeshift office off the kitchen, I began work on a revised business plan. A manufacturing business meant I’d need money up front, in turn meaning I’d have to get the backing of venture capitalists. But I wasn’t deterred. The manny’s inability to speak or move on his own had presented little drawback. Ever the optimist, I was sure the lack of hard currency could be handled.

In the interim, I would tackle what I could. I’d already started to lay the basis for a manny’s proper maintenance, things such as the right clothes, the right conveyance, and the right furniture polish. But, as I learned more about the drawbacks of manny ownership, such as flipped-out husbands gunning for adulterers, I realized that a manny had to come with an owner’s manual.

Just as I scribbled a few notes on the start of a manual, I heard Harry return. “Sorry I took so long,” he said as, from different directions, both of us entered the kitchen. “I stopped by the manager’s office on the way out.” While Harry removed the takeout cartons from the bags, I got a few dishes. “Jason and Ernie were still there,” he went on. “And guess what, I won’t be facing a firing squad after all.”

“Really? How’d you manage that?”

“I just requested that they give a little thought to what they know about
you
.”

Falling silent, I sat down, heaped moo goo gai pan onto my plate, and snapped open a fortune cookie. It read, “Look before you leap.” Good advice, even if somewhat overdue.