Mystery Tribune / Issue Nº14

Santo Next Door-2

“There’s not a deal in the world that’s going to help me.” Brian looks around the kitchen. Several boxes are packed, labeled, and neatly taped shut. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Packing,” Catherine says, turning a shoulder to blow her nose. She stifles a sob. “You said to pack. I’ve been working very hard. Very, very hard. Like you said.”

“For Christ sake, we ain’t moving to a new house. Clothes, a toothbrush and a razor. That’s all we got room for.”

Confused. Catherine looks around the kitchen. Cabinet doors hang open. A bucket sits on the counter, a damp rag draped over its side. A mound of old news papers sits on the floor, and the whole place smells of pine cleaner and bleach.

“A razor?” Catherine says. “A toothbrush?”

“I. Owe. Money.” Brian drains the whiskey and pours another. “They’re thugs, Catherine. I can’t help that they’re heathens.”

“The FBI are thugs?”

Brian rubs his forehead. “I’m not talking about the FBI.”

“But on the television... all the boxes they were taking.”

“Just bad timing. The FBI is nothing. I been telling you things are bad, you just haven’t been listening.”

“I listen,” Catherine says. “I always listen, but you get angry when I don’t understand.”

“Well, I sure as hell don’t have time to explain now. We have to go. Get us packed. We leave tonight.”

Catherine stands in the middle of the kitchen, not moving.

“I have to see my mother,” she blurts out. “I don’t even know where we’re going or when we’ll be back. I don’t... you have to let my mother come to say goodbye.”

“It’ll take her an hour to get here.”

“I could go to her, then. You pack.”

Brian takes another drink, the whiskey finally starting to loosen the stiffness in his chest.

Brian takes another drink, the whiskey finally starting to loosen the stiffness in his chest. He’s had no more calls on his cell phone, and when he last checked, the driveway at Giordano’s place was still empty. It’ll take Catherine’s mother an hour at least to get here, another hour to say goodbye, and then they’ll be off. There’s plenty of money in the account under Catherine’s name to get them started somewhere new. They’ll buy a small place, a bungalow. Yes, that would work. Missy can start up her bookkeeping business again, and he can start that landscaping company he always dreamed of starting. Yes, they’ll be okay.

“Call your mother,” he says. “Do it now. And get her here quick. We are not spending another night in this house.”

◆

Smugglers is nothing like the joints Santo went to up north. Its plank floor is actually laminate. The bar signs are cheap knockoffs, and the mugs are plastic. And it sure as hell isn’t as nice as his favorite spots over in Ybor. Those were some classy joints and served up the best damn Cuban food around. Smugglers is in a strip-center, for God’s sake. But as for places where Santo can have a few drinks and then walk home if necessary, Smugglers will do.

He parks his golf cart in his usual spot, and Missy parks nearby. As she climbs out of her cart, she’s hanging up from a call. He likes that, too. She keeps busy, has ambitions and goals. It means she wants him instead of needs him. That’s another thing he’d teach his son if he had one. Don’t bother with a woman who needs you. You’ll like it for a time, but God almighty, she’ll drive you crazy in the end.

“You know the rumors, don’t you Santiago?” Missy says, as she walks toward Santo.

Standing in the shade, Santo takes off his ball cap and smooths a hand over his sweaty head. “What rumor do you have for me now, Missy Wallingford?”

When Missy reaches Santo, she loops a hand around his arm, and they walk side by side up a few stairs onto the boardwalk. Their footsteps are loud but slow as they cross the wooden walkway. They both walk with the same tempo. Another good sign. At the 50-gallon drum outside Smuggler’s door, Missy smacks it on top twice. The noise echoes.

“They say your oldest brother is tucked up inside this drum,” she says. “And that you put him there because you were in the Mob. Is that true, Santiago Giordano?”

She stretches out his name in a way that stirs something in Santo that hasn’t stirred in a good long while. He pulls open the heavy door. The cool air from inside spills over them.

“Would it trouble you if it was true?” Santo asks, and as they walk into the dark bar, he rests a hand on the curve of her back.

Missy pauses, places her hand lightly on Santo’s chest and leans in so she can whisper. “Wouldn’t have asked if I found it troubling. Now, come... let me buy you that beer.”

◆

Sitting in the living room and drinking whiskey as Catherine scurries around upstairs and packs their bags, Brian declines a half dozen calls from his attorney and another several from his receptionist. He doesn’t give a s**t why the lawyer is calling, and his receptionist will be calling about tomorrow’s appointments. But he isn’t a dentist anymore, so he doesn’t give a s**t about that either. They’re going to head west to Texas. It’s warm in Texas, and he can start that business tending lawns. Of course, he won’t be doing the tending. He’ll hire men for that. There’s a fellow right here on the island who makes a damn good living doing the same. Catherine will b***h and complain about downsizing, but hell, he can do without her, too. He tips his face toward the ceiling and shouts.

“What the hell’s taking so long?”

Catherine appears at the second story landing where she leans on the bannister.

“Just getting us packed,” she calls down. “We can take more than a toothbrush. As much as will fit in the SUV, right?”

Her voice travels down the stairwell and echoes off the tile floors, bounces all around, making Brian dizzy.

“I told you once, I told you a hundred f*****g times,” Brian says. “We can’t take my car. We have to take yours.”

He lays his head back, closes his eyes and drains the whiskey in his glass. Hell, he’s still got a good head of hair. Plenty of women in a state as big as Texas. And after a little fresh air and dirt under his nails, he’ll be back in top shape, too. He’ll need an extra set of hands for the drive to Texas. But once they get there, and once he’s found a place and Catherine’s got it all hooked up and ready to go, he’ll send her on her way.

He listens, waiting for more of her caterwauling, but the house is quiet. No more sounds of her banging about. No more of her whimpering. He opens his eyes. Instead of hanging over the bannister, she is creeping down the stairs.

“What are you doing?” he says.

She startles. “I thought I heard Mother. I’ll check. I’ll let her in.”

“Fine,” Brian says. “Just make it quick. Probably good we waited for it to get dark before leaving. Safer this way.”

Catherine’s footsteps click across the landing and fade as she walks toward the entryway. Brian’s biggest mistake was buying this damn house, but in his defense, they’d have been fine if that God damn franchise hadn’t popped up down the street. And it isn’t like he borrowed that much money. It’s the damn interest that keeps getting piled on. What the hell kind of sense does that make? It’s just setting him up to fail. He pushes himself up and smooths his hair because he’s going to have to at least say hello to Irene. He’d normally hear her by now. She’s as loud as Catherine. Like mother like daughter. But there’s silence out in the entryway.

Brian’s biggest mistake was buying this damn house, but in his defense, they’d have been fine if that God damn franchise hadn’t popped up down the street.

◆

Santo pushes back from his table, stretches, and pats his stomach. He’s a good cook, and proud to say so, but dinner sure tastes better when someone else puts the food on the table.

“On top of everything,” Santo says, “you can cook, too. Thank you, Missy. That was a fine dinner.”

“You’ll cook for me next time,” she says, “yes?”

On the table next to Missy, Santo’s phone buzzes. Missy glances down and then immediately apologizes.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t being nosey. Just used to it being my phone going off.”

“Not at all,” Santo says, looking down to see a text from Catherine Keeper. “It’s just Catherine from next door. She’s just letting me know she’s ready.”

Here again, Santo is surprised and a little impressed. Missy gives a slight nod as if she completely understands. No annoyance at a text coming during dinner. No curiosity as to why Catherine would text him. No interest in what’s going on between him and his neighbor. It’s a trait Mrs. Giordano also had—a quiet knowing and a rigid indifference.

“I’ll just get these dishes out of your way...” she says, standing and removing the plates from the table. She leaves off the part where she says... so you can take care of whatever needs taking care of at the Keepers’ house.

◆

Catherine Keeper glances in the mirror before opening the door. She trails a finger under her lower lip, smoothing her lipstick, and tucks her hair behind her ears. She should have changed clothes when she saw it was getting dark, but that would have made Brian suspicious. Straightening her shoulders and drawing in a deep breath, she opens the door and immediately steps aside.

The men aren’t what she expected. They’re both scrawny, scarcely taller than Catherine. One wears a pale-yellow polo shirt and khaki pants like the ones Brian wears when they go out to dinner. The other wears cargo shorts with baggy pockets, a white t-shirt and a pair of flip-flops. They both wear baseball caps pulled low over their foreheads. When they step into the foyer, they wipe their feet and once the door closes behind them, they remove their hats and dip their heads in Catherine’s direction. She flicks her eyes toward the living room.

They move at a leisurely pace, the one man’s flip-flops whacking Catherine’s marble floors. Whack. Whack. Whack. It’s like a countdown. She pinches her eyes closed and can’t help but hold her breath. It’s happening. It’s really happening. And then the whacking stops. The entryway is silent. Catherine opens one eye and then the other.

The man has stepped out of his sandals and stands barefoot, wrinkling his toes as he stares at Catherine. He keeps staring, as if to ask if it’s okay that he leaves his sandals in the entry. She shrugs and nods. The one wearing the yellow polo makes a flipping motion with his index finger, a reminder to Catherine that she’ll need to flip on the light when they give her the signal and flip it off when they’re done. She nods again as they continue into the house.

“Hey.” It’s Brian’s voice. He’ll have stood and puffed up his chest and c****d his chin in that way he does. “Who the hell are you? What the...”

The debts are all Brian’s. The business is in his name. She never signed anything, so that really shouldn’t be her concern. Fines. Penalties. Lawyer’s fees. She won’t have to pay any of them. Everything else is in her name. The bank accounts. The cars. Even the house. She’ll sell immediately, and with the equity, she’ll be fine. Not great, but fine. And fine is all she ever really wanted. Brian thinks she wanted this house because she cared about appearances, but it was just an insurance policy. She knew he’d eventually fail.

“It’s about that time, ma’am,” one of the men calls.

Catherine takes another quick look in the mirror. She’ll have to call the police and neighbors will come out of their houses to see what’s happened. She really should have taken a shower and put on some decent clothes.

“Coming,” she says.

◆

Santo ends the day just as he started it. He holds the railing as he walks down the stairs to the back-yard. He doesn’t even mind that Missy can see him leaning hard on it to take pressure off his bad knee. By the last stair, he struggles to get a decent breath. The sky glows with distant lightning but it has yet to rain, leaving the air soggy and tough to take in. Turning back to the house, he gives a wave. Missy disappears from the sliding glass doors that look out on the pool and the waterfront beyond, and the outside light switches off. The backyard falls dark.

By now, his efforts are likely wasted, but he can’t sleep at night, thinking about that sinkhole creeping toward his property line. Even with his new seawall, it’s as if Santo can hear the ground leaking out from under him. He always waits until after dark. The first night he did this, he tried carrying two buckets filled with gravel, but that put him flat on his back for three days. Now, he only carries one at a time, but he does so every night. Consistency and everything in moderation. That’s been the key to his success. His brothers were greedy and far too passionate. But here Santo is, toting gravel to dump in a sinkhole outside his million-dollar home while one of his brothers is at the bottom of the Gulf and the other is tucked in a 50-gallon drum outside Smugglers. He smiles, thinking about Missy giving that drum two solid smacks.

At the fence, Santo sets down the bucket and looks up at the back of the Keepers’ house because the light in their living room switches on. Their large picture window gives Santo a clear view into the house. Terrance stands to the side of the large window and squints as if trying to see Santo. And standing in the center, on full display, Simon has one hand wrapped around Brian Keeper’s chest and the other hooked around his jaw. Whereas Terrance wears baggy shorts and appears to be barefooted, Simon looks like he just stepped off the golf course. Both men are good at what they do, but Santo always sleeps better when he sees for himself that things are done right.

“In a single motion, Simon twists and yanks and up in the picture window, Brian Keeper’s body goes slack.”

Somewhere, out of sight, Catherine Keeper has her finger on the light switch. Santo needed to involve her in some small way. Call it an insurance policy. She had understood because she’d made sure she had an insurance policy of her own. She promised to pay Santo back as soon as she sold the house, and he agreed to forego all the interest that had piled up on what her husband borrowed. She’d have enough left over to begin again. Seeing as how he was having her husband Killed, Santo liked knowing she’d be all right.

In a single motion, Simon twists and yanks and up in the picture window, Brian Keeper’s body goes slack. If he would have answered one of Santo’s phone calls today, just one, Santo might have given him a chance to prove he could come up with the money he owed. Or maybe not. With the FBI involved, any money Brian had would go to solving that mess before it went to Santo. Poor guy, he didn’t even owe Santo that much. Somewhere, out of sight, Catherine Keeper hits that light switch, and the Keepers’ living room goes dark.

Santo turns back to his bucket of gravel. Tomorrow night, he might bring Missy with him. The two of them would have an easier time hoisting the bucket up and dumping it over the fence and into the sinkhole. He takes a quick look around to make sure no one is watching, stifles the groan that comes out when he lifts the bucket and dumps the loose gravel in the hole. Back at the house, he sets the empty under the stairs. On second thought, he’ll have a new neighbor soon, and they’ll have the money to fix the seawall and fill-in the sinkhole. He’ll sleep good tonight. Finally, for the first time in a long while. The outside light switches on. Missy stands at the top of the stairs. Yes, he’s glad he opened the gate for her this morning. He’s been alone long enough. /MT