Fidelity

            by Ian Flanagan

 

            The rain made a continuous cacophony of mocking pitter-pats as it struck the polished oak coffin. With the exception of the priest and the rain the place would have been dead silent. Woodhill Cemetery was the last small cemetery in New York, the mob was having its way, people were dying everyday. The sky was dark and not a single leaf found life upon the gnarled branches of the trees.

            I watched her, Lucile LeBronz, through the whole proceeding. She was in obvious contemplation of the entire situation, she looked tired and worn out. Yet, there was not a shimmer of remorse or mourning for her late husband. Even as the preacher read Thessalonians 4.13, “For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died,” her grey eyes remained fixed, not on the grave where her husband will spend the rest of us his decaying years, but on some irrelevant point in space or time where she might find answers to questions yet to be asked. “For this we declare to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will by no means precede those who have died.”

             I was here not to put an old friend to rest, but for her. For her in the context of a favor for an old friend. Robert LeBronz, “Big Bobby”, had lived a fast life and it caught up with him. Nothing came fast enough for Bobby, death not excluded - obviously. Bobby had been a hardworking auto-mechanic, he was good at it too. People came to him specifically. But he wasn’t bringing in the money fast enough to satisfy his need to gamble, drink, and whore.

            He started off small, running moonshine in the back of his car. But still the money just trickled in. He left the world of auto-repair and signed on one hundred percent. Soon he was running the booze, as well as laundered money. Then he was making the two, then he was overseeing operations. With each step up came more money. Bobby was still a man of morals, never much cared for the life of crime, but the money was too good. It wasn’t too long before Big Bobby LeBronz had a respectable mid-center mafia employment spot for himself.

            The prayer finished and the few people that cared to show walked silently past his coffin. Neither Mrs. LeBronz nor myself walked over to say our last silent good byes to the dead mobster. She stood, fixated on whatever it was she was concentrating on.

            Lucline LeBronz was beautiful, even through the dismal weather she glowed bright and warm. Her choice of clothing for this funeral, though black, was a little less than appropriate. A slender black dress that held snug to every curve of her body, cut low from the neck, exposing her full breasts and smooth back. There are two colors blondes look good in, black and red.

            I walked over to her, soaking wet and miserable, with a chip on my shoulder I couldn’t seem to shake. I had a living to make, but what is a friendship if death nullifies the favors? She appeared to take no notice of me until I stepped under the cover of her umbrella. “That’s close enough Mr. McCourt.”

            “Well then,” I said without stepping back, “I see we’ve established two things already. We know each the other’s name and there is a feeling of mutual hostility.”

            “Mr. McCourt I just lost a husband. I have a reason to be upset. I don’t believe that you do.”

            “No, Mrs. LeBronz, I haven’t lost a husband, and I don’t plan to. My car is this way.”

            “Your car?”

“ Yes, my car. Its damned cold out here and a tad bit damp. Now since sharing your parasol is a little too imposing, I thought that I could explain a few things in the dry comfort of my car.”

She turned to me then, and her breath was hot against my face. “Explain what to me?”

Her eyes were excited and gleaming, not downcast and pleading, like every other dame I’ve come across in my line of work.

“A favor, just come with me.” I stepped out from under the umbrella, the rain returned to beating down on me. I walked towards my car, reaching it at the bottom of the hill. I never turned around to see if she was following, I knew she was. I was too important for her to let me go.

“Actually, you know what? This car is a little cramped, and I left my smokes back at the office. Think we could hold this conference there?”

“How did I know you were gonna’ say that, knowing that I would have no choice. Very well I could go for a drink and a cigarette anyway.”

*          *          *          *          *          *

I opened the door to my office and the air inside came rushing out. A scent of wood polish and Lucky Strikes; it was more comforting than the smell of any woman. There was only one light in the room and it resided on the desk. Most nights I read the police reports and autopsy files by the light of my cigarette.

I entered the dark, hazy room and flicked on the radio as I walked past it. The voice of Bing Crosby came floating into the room. The room was uncluttered by expensive over-bearing furniture. Two chairs faced the polished oak desk, and mine sat behind it. The only other furniture were two book cases, one housing papers, files of past cases and the like, the other harbored my booze. A couple of whiskeys were in order, I filled two glasses and sat down, handing one to Lucile. A hefty serving for a little lady, but I was sure she needed it.

She hadn’t spoken or even taken off her coat. Dames, sometimes you just gotta’ pry a little and everything comes out. “Alright Mrs. LeBronz, you’re here because Mr. LeBronz wanted you here.”

“What?”

“That’s right he wanted you to be here. See, me and Robert LeBronz go back a ways, college buddies. Never very close, but we’ve always kept in touch over a lunch and a scotch on the rocks every now and then.”

“That was Bobbie’s favorite drink.” No emotion, no tears, just the one fact, as if she was standing trial.

“Right, anyway, about a month ago I get a phone call from Bobbie. He says some weird shit is going down. Says that he thinks he might have gotten in too deep. Says he’s worried. The long and short of it is that he asks me to do a couple things if he should die. The first is to grab you and keep you safe till I know things have cooled down and you’ll be ok. The other is to investigate his death, says that the police don’t touch mob deaths - too afraid to start messing with the Mafia. I would have thought the same, thirty five years old is a little young to die of natural causes.”

“So you’re doin’ a good deed for an old buddy, is that it? Or am I a little side treat you get for helping find out who killed him?”

“Can’t a man be legitimately worried about his wife’s safety?”

“He was always worrying about my safety. For the seven years I was married to that man I practically lived a life of solitude. Take today for example, I knew none of the people at that funeral. They could have been Bobbie’s best friends and I never would have known.”

“You knew me.”

“Knew of you Mr. Jack McCourt, Private Eye, knew of you.”

“Fair enough.” Once they get rolling you gotta’ let them go, that’s when the best information comes out.

“Hell Jack, I never even saw his face after the authorities took him away. I phoned the police when I found him dead at the dinner table. A couple of men out of uniform, I assume detectives came and got him, and I never saw his face again.”

“ You’re sounding rather harsh. One might misconstrue what you’re saying, if you catch my drift.”

“If you’re fingering me as a killer you’re way out of line. I loved that man very much, and just because I don’t mourn his death in the conventional way doesn’t mean I don’t miss him.”

My glass was empty and my knees groaned as I got up to refill it. I heard the squeak of her chair as she stood. I turned, and through the cigarette smoke spiraling upwards I could see her sliding her coat down her back and off her arms. She looked so warm and beautiful, maybe under different circumstances….

“Jackyboy, tsk tsk, you know a stare like that can get you in trouble.” She was layin’ on the act. Layin’ it on thick.

“I wasn’t staring, I was studying. I study all my clients.”

“And you would study a fat old cow the same as you study me?”

“Yes, and that’s a fact.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” She started walking towards me.

Now I’m a man of morals, and I like to think that I can control my urges. Plus, when it gets really bad, I have Daisy to call, she comes over and gives me one night of heaven. But this is the kind of woman that takes more than a cold shower to get over.

            She’s close to me now, I can see her rosy cheeks on her tanned skin. She presses up against me, her breasts feel soft against my chest. “Jack, Jackyboy, am I pretty?”

            “Yes, ma’am, but this isn’t right.”

            “You want me Jack. I know you want me, I can see it. Hell, I can feel it.” She slips a dress strap over her shoulder and pulls me closer.

            “Look, this isn’t right and you know it.” I duck under her arm, walk quickly to my chair, and sit down.

            “Jack, there’s no reason to be afraid, Bobbie’s gone.” She’s coming over, my head follows her hips swaying from side to side. My heavy breathing and the sound of her shoes on the floor are the only sounds in the room.

            She sits down on my lap, straddling me. I drop my Lucky into the ash tray and wrap my arms around her. I’ve given up, but just as I’m about to say so something hard presses against my chest. I look down to see Lucile LeBronz, the gorgeous, blonde wife of former Mafia middle man, Robert LeBronz, pressing the barrel of a pistol into me. She stands up.

            “You stupid, horny old fool. I played you like a fiddle. Look at you, you’re as hard as a rock. You really thought I was gonna’ let you have me.” The gun is still traced on me.

            “Lucile, I don’t understand.”

            “You simpleton. You’re living in the glory days, when everyone had morals, and no one was corrupt. It was so easy Jackyboy, Bobbie thought I was the stupidest thing he’d ever come across. Thought he ran things, thought he was safe. He had no idea I even knew what the Mafia is. But I’d been working him since we got married. I was the safety catch. If he fouled up, I would step in and take his life away.”

            “And that day came?”

            “You idiot, of course it came. Why do you think he’s dead? It was so easy, just a drop of poison in his wine. He never suspected a thing, no one suspected a thing.”

            “And me?”

            “Well, he contacted you. We knew he had phoned some one, but we didn’t know who. Then you were stupid enough to not only show your face, but tell me the entire story.”

            “Tying up loose ends?”

            “That’s right, tying up loose ends. Sorry Jackyboy, in another life maybe we could have been something.” She raises the gun, her long, slender arms extending right down to the barrel. A trained marksman. I close my eyes, I’ve had a good forty some odd years, a nice run. I wait for the gunshot.

            A scream pulls my eyes open. The dark figure of a man is tussling with Lucile. He has her mouth cupped and is reaching for the gun. I bolt from my chair, snatching the gun. I say a silent prayer to the beauty gods before swiping her across the face with the butt of the pistol. She crumples to the ground crying.

            The dark man kneels down, taking her face in his hands. The light from the desk lamp strikes his face. Robbert “Big Bobbie” LeBronz. He wipes a spot of blood off her cheek where I struck her and she opens her eyes.

            “Bobbie? Bobbie is that you? Oh my god Bobbie, it is you. I’m so happy – ” Bobbie cuts in.

            “Save it babe. You’re as evil as Satan himself, and there ain’t nothin’ you can say to make me want you again. Damn it baby, in that little speech you gave to Mr. McCourt right there you just confirmed my worst fears. Fears I’ve had for some time now.”

            “I don’t understand, you’re supposed to be dead.” Between sobs and a quickly swelling jaw it is hard for Lucile to get the words out. It was my turn to talk.

            “It seems you’re the fiddle now doesn’t it.”

            She looks horrified and furious. LeBronz jumps into to explain my quip.

            “Lucy, baby, I heard you talkin’ to one of your mob buddies. Sayin’ somethin’ about putting poison in my food, I even heard the date you were gonna do it.”

            “Bobbie, called me,” I say, “we set up an escape plan.”

            “That night I didn’t touch my steak, wine, anything. Instead I feasted on two little pills Mr. McCourt gave me. Said they would make me appear to be dead, and they worked. We called in a few favors down at the police station, set up for a few buddies to intercept the call, pose as detectives, and take my seemingly dead body away.”

            “You said it yourself Lucile, you never saw his face again. Where had the body gone?” I say, “Everything was staged, remember how you didn’t recognize a single soul at the funeral?”

            And just like that she knows she’s been had. “Bobbie, I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry. They made me, you have to believe me. You must believe me!”

            “Lucy, Lucy listen to me.” He shakes her. “Lucy, I heard everything you just said. We’re through, you’re through.”

            “What are you going to do to me?”

            “Nothing. I don’t need to do a damned thing. I don’t want you, and now the mob don’t want you, you’ve served your purpose. You’re over toots.” He turns to me, “Thank you, Jack. Thank you. Thank you.”

            “Well, it wasn’t a favor for an old friend. It was pro-bono work, like the lawyers have to do.”

            Bobbie LeBroz stands then, looks one more time at his wife, in a heap on the floor. And walks out into the night. She remains for a second longer, starring into that same point, looking for questions to the answers she already has. Then she too gets up and runs out into the night, a woman who is still breathing, but who’s life has already ended.

            I turn off the lamp and lean back in my chair. The whiskey burns as it goes down, but the fire in my belly overpowers the one in my head. The radio is still playing and the only light is from the end of my cigarette. I pick up the day’s paper, a header reads: “Mario Valentine, Mob Boss, Found Dead in Mansion.” I’ll be getting a call in the morning.