SOLITAIRE

By Ellie Watkins

Joe Mannix struggled to a sitting position in his bed, pulling away the twisted corner of the sheet that was snaked around his neck. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, wiping the sweat from his forehead, than rubbing his stiff neck. It had only been a couple of nights since the last whopper like this one. The frequency of the dreams was increasing, and they were becoming more disturbing.
            His father had passed away nearly a year ago from a massive heart attack suffered while working in his beloved vineyards. He had died alone, and had lain in the field for nearly three hours before anyone found him. However, in the past several weeks he had inhabited Mannix’s dreams. Joe and his father had gotten along well the last few years of his life, having made amends over the fact that the only son did not want to carry on the family’s grape-growing business. But in these nightmares things between them had not been good. The hands of the angry father that Joe had felt around his throat turned out to be the tangled sheet, but it still didn’t make him feel any better. It was all beginning to wear on him and on top of that, he’d overslept. The day was not starting out well.
           “Good morning, Joe.” Peggy Fair, Joe’s secretary, smiled brightly and handed her boss a cup of coffee after he descended the stairs from his living quarters.
            “Morning, Peg.” He went directly to his office and set the cup on his desk. He turned to her. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to take a couple of weeks off.”
            “I’m just finishing up a little paperwork. Won’t take long.”
            “Oh.” Joe went around the desk and sat down.
             Peggy didn’t dare mention that she had told Joe yesterday she was going to come in for a little while. She was sorely tempted to ask what he was doing in the office, since he had been the one who had decided they both needed some time off. She was beginning to worry about him, especially since yesterday when he’d snapped at her for commenting that he looked tired. He had apologized, and seemed as upset as she. Peg loved Joe dearly, and wouldn’t trade him for any other boss, but lately there were days when she would have gladly rented him out. Right now, a long-term lease would be very tempting. Even Joe’s longtime friend, Art Malcolm, had noticed. Recently, the police lieutenant had remarked to her that Joe seemed preoccupied.
            She figured the mood swings might have something to do with his father’s death. If that was the case, than Joe was going to have to deal with that in his own way, in his own time. She knew this from personal experience through the loss of her parents and later, her husband. She also knew better than to broach this particular subject with Joe. If he felt it needed any discussion, he would say something to her. In matters of the heart, that was the Mannix way.
            Peggy managed another smile. She was beginning to feel as if she were in a parade, having to keep a perky look on the outside even though she was worried sick on the inside. All that was missing was the marching band. “I’ll be out of your hair in another hour.”
            Joe nodded, than turned his attention to the coffee.
            What the hell am I doing here, he wondered. After coming down the stairs, he should have kept right on going...out the front door, into his car and God knows where after that. Deep down, he knew exactly where he should go spend some time. He hadn’t been back to Summer Grove since the funeral, and even though he was sole heir and executor of his father’s large estate, any dealings had been handled by phone and mail through an attorney there. He knew that wouldn’t work much longer.
             It had been recommended that he sell part of the land. His father’s right-hand man, Luis Negrete, had agreed. It had really become too much for his father, Luis had told him, and it would be the same for the current caretaker. The grape market hadn’t been that great the past couple of years, either. A fair offer had already been made for part of the vineyards, so it appeared a decision was needed soon.
             The clickety-clack of the typewriter in the outer office continued as Joe’s thoughts began kicking into high gear. One of his closest friends was a real estate developer, and during a friendly foursome golf match a week ago, Joe had mentioned the possible land sale. Benny Wickes had immediately brightened. He had pulled a soggy cigar from between his oversized teeth and looked at Joe, one eye in a perpetual squint. The vision of a deranged chipmunk came to mind. Benny jabbed at the air with the cigar.
             “Have I got a deal for you, Joey!”
             Benny was the only person that could get away with calling Mannix “Joey”.  Anyone else would have risked having the five iron wrapped around his neck and tied in a knot, but he made it all sound so fitting. Art, who was Joe’s partner for the day, had managed to keep a straight face, only a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth any indication that he had heard. George Hartman, Benny’s partner, visibly cringed.
             Benny forged ahead. “You know I’ve been working on a new development. There’s some places along the waterfront that have great potential. The buildings look like hell right now, but they’re solid. Everything’s a go. The Planning Commission was almost rolling on the floor licking my shoes by the time I finished with them. Ya know, I probably could have talked them into buying me dinner. In Hawaii.” Benny calmly sank an eighteen-foot putt while chattering on. “You know if you sell that land you’ll need to invest that money, Joey. You can either jump on this or pat the asses of those nice greenbacks as they waltz past you right into the waiting arms of Uncle Sam. Taxes are going to eat you alive. Your pappy should have deeded all that over to you long ago, but hell, who would have known?”
     “I know, Benny.” Mannix shrugged. “But you’re right. Some of the bases weren’t covered well. Anyway, I’ll sure think about it.”   
     The four men walked to the next tee box.
     “It might not be any of my business, Joe,” said Art as he fished around in his golf bag for a tee, “but what is there to think about?”

Mannix grinned and waved a hand in Benny’s direction. “Think about? Dealing with that little weasel, that’s what.”

With that, all four had had a good laugh. Art and Joe both knew that Benny Wickes was one of the most honest, hard-working men around, and it seemed that everything he was involved in was certain to be a huge success. A Midas touch. Mannix would most likely be the envy of investors at actually having been asked to participate in one of Benny’s projects.

But the decision that Joe was balking at was not Benny’s project, but whether or not he should sell any of the land in the first place. Deep down he felt it would almost be like selling a part of his father.

That’s a ridiculous notion, Joe thought as he finished his coffee. That was when that little irritating voice inside reminded him that the dreams hadn’t started until the question of the land sale had come up.

Peg came into the office with a handful of papers. “I can officially get out of your hair now, Joe.” She hesitated. “You really are going to take some time to relax, right? If I have to, so do you, you know.”

“Now, don’t be worrying about me, Peg...”

“It’s my job. Somebody needs to worry about you. You don’t do a very good job of worrying about you.” Peggy tried to keep the mood light. “Besides, sometimes I deserve hazard pay.”

“Maybe so.” He smiled. “Anyway, I was thinking of going to Summer Grove for a few days.”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

Joe held up his right hand, and cleared his throat. “And, I solemnly promise to not get into any trouble, to relax, to get caught up on my sleep, and to thoroughly enjoy the next two weeks.”

Peggy laughed and shook her head. “I’ll hold you to that. Remember, I’ll be home if you need...”

“Peggy?” Joe pointed to the door. “Get!” He looked at her and softened. “Thanks, I’ll be fine. You and Toby enjoy your time off.” Joe waited until she was nearly to her desk before adding, “with pay.”

“I’ll definitely hold you to that.” Peggy felt better about leaving. Joe’s mood had improved quickly this morning and she felt the visit to Summer Grove would work wonders. School would be starting soon, so the time off would be perfect for her and Toby. They really hadn’t been able to spend much time together this summer. Things almost seemed normal. “Except for the paid vacation,” she murmured as she closed the outer door and headed for her car.

After Peggy was gone Joe poured himself another cup of coffee. I’ve got to quit drinking so much of this stuff, he thought, maybe that’s why I’ve been having these screwy dreams.  He glanced at his watch. It was nearly eleven. Maybe he’d grab some lunch and drive to Summer Grove today. There really was no reason to put it off any longer. Time to face those so-called inner demons and maybe slap them around a bit.

Joe jumped slightly at the ringing of the phone. He was glad Peg wasn’t around to see that.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he eyed the phone and leaned back in his chair, “shop’s closed.” He let it ring again before picking up the receiver. “Mannix.”

“Joey? It’s Benny.”

“Hey Benny, I was just thinking about you...”

“Just shut the hell up and listen to me.” The voice on the other end was strained.

Joe sat upright. “What’s wrong?”

“I...I should have talked to you about this a couple days ago. This new deal I’m working on, the one I told you about...I don’t know what’s going on.” Benny seemed nearly on the verge of panic. “I got this call saying I should back out of it. Then the guy gave me a number, said it would make things a little clearer. You know who’s number it was, Joe? It was the damned morgue!”

“Did you recognize the caller?”

“No.”

“Have you called the police? You know Art could...”

“No! They said if I brought the cops in, they’d kill us all. Not just me, but Katherine and the kids too. I’m probably taking a hell of a risk just calling you.” Benny’s voice was now a fierce whisper. “I think somebody’s been following me all morning.”

Joe could hear music in the background. “Where are you?”

“Some dive a couple of blocks from the warehouse site. Copper Lounge. I think that’s the name. I was over at the warehouse, but I thought I heard something, so I got out of there.”

“Whoever was following you, Benny, what were they driving?”

“Oh hell, I don’t remember.” Benny’s voice was getting higher pitched and he was nearly out of breath. “You know I’m not very good at this sort of thing. I’ve never been this scared in my life.”

“Okay, just try to calm down. Find a place to sit where everybody can see you, with your back to a wall. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Hurry, please. I can’t take this shit much longer.”

Joe hung up, reached into his desk drawer and retrieved his gun, tucking it behind into the waistband of his trousers. Grabbing a jacket, he exited the office, digging for the car keys as he slammed the door behind him.

It took Mannix the better part of an hour to reach the Copper Lounge. His patience was already worn thin, and between the traffic and the detours around construction areas, it was now nearly nonexistent.

 The lounge was a relatively small establishment, tucked in between two abandoned buildings that had huge “For Sale” signs plastered on boarded up windows, along with a liberal amount of graffiti. There were only three cars in the parking lot, and he took mental notes of every vehicle there. He reached the rundown tavern and entered.

If the exterior was considered to be in poor condition, the inside would have been termed a disaster. Feeble lights barely illuminated the interior, only managing a fitful spurt through the stale haze of cigarette smoke. A battered pay phone hung at a crazy angle on a dirty wall inside the door, the coin box covered with scratches and gouges. The clientele were not in much better shape, and the jukebox, with the bass pounding a constant “poom poom poom” could do no better than add depression to the already heavy atmosphere. No one was paying any attention to it. There was high-pitched laughter now and then, but its tone was not of spontaneous happiness.

Joe peered through the haze, trying to spot the familiar form of BennyWickes. He slowly walked the length of the long counter, glancing around. Well-worn tables and chairs sagged along the back wall. There were about a half dozen men and three women, including the barmaid. It appeared as if they and the furniture all had seen better days. But there was no Benny.

The barmaid stood at the far end of the counter, watching him through squinted eyes, taking long drags from a cigarette. A couple of the men looked at him suspiciously, and one woman almost hungrily, but most were oblivious to everything except the watered down drink in front of them.

The barmaid sidled towards him, still squinting. She was pencil thin, and from underneath the curly blonde wig several wisps of gray-streaked black hair waved about. Her red lipstick only added to the paleness of her heavily made up face. She flashed a toothy grin at Joe, but between the false eyelashes, the gray eyes were shrewd. She took another puff on the cigarette, her fingers trembling slightly.

“Can I help you?” Her voice was gravelly, but surprisingly pleasant.

Joe looked around again. The room had gone silent, and those patrons that weren’t too far-gone were now watching him. Even the jukebox had stopped playing.

“I’m looking for a friend.”

The woman rolled her eyes and slowly ground the cigarette into an ashtray. “Isn’t everybody?”

“He’s not your type, Stel!” An overly loud voice cackled from somewhere behind.

There were a few snickers and lewd remarks. Joe had the urge to find the loudmouth and shove him through the wall, and than enlarge the hole with the rest of them, one at a time.

“I suggest you listen to me.” Joe’s voice was low and even. He managed to keep his teeth unclenched long enough to continue. “He’s shorter than me, medium build, black hair with some gray through it. Thin mustache. I don’t know what he was wearing.”

Stel leaned against the counter, trying hard to look thoughtful. “Let me see...”

Mannix immediately recognized the look. He sighed and reached for his wallet. He placed a twenty-dollar bill on the counter in front of her. “That refresh your memory any?”

She eyed him appraisingly, taking in his good looks, nice clothes and possible fat wallet. “It might.” The twenty quickly vanished. She lowered her voice. “You a cop? I don’t like cops. Nobody here likes cops.”

Each “cop” was emphasized a bit more than the preceding one. The last was practically spat at him.

Mannix dropped another twenty down. “I’m not a cop.” He felt it best not to mention that he was a private. Things could easily self-destruct and he already felt as if he were balanced precariously on a slowly unraveling tightrope.

That bill disappeared even faster than the first one. She studied Joe for a moment. “Come to think of it, a guy did come in here a little while ago. Kind of like you described...wore a nice three piece suit.” She closely inspected a bright red fingernail. “Might have used the phone.”

“Where is he?”

The woman allowed a perplexed expression to temporarily replace the consuming look of greed. “Well, I don’t...”

Joe tossed another twenty toward her.

The obnoxious voice piped up again. “Hey fella, you can have her cheaper than that!”

There was more laughter. With difficulty, Mannix again kept his anger under control. He was beginning to weary of the game, and he gave the woman a look that clearly relayed the message. He leaned forward. “When was the last time a liquor dick came through to check this place?”

Stel straightened and looked over Joe’s shoulder nervously, glaring at the budding comedian in the back. She spoke in a low voice. “The guy you’re looking for...he hung around for a little bit. Two more guys came in, now they looked like cops. I think maybe they were after him. He said something to me about...hey, are you Mannix?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, okay. He mentioned you, said to tell you he’d be back over at the warehouse.  Anyway, he slipped out the fire door and it took those guys a good ten minutes to figure out he wasn’t in here anymore.”

Joe returned the wallet to his pocket. “Thanks,” he said dryly.

He stepped out onto the sidewalk, thankful for the fresh air and even more thankful good old Stel had finally caved in. That encounter had taken his entire stash of bribe money.

Inside the woman was smiling to herself. The money she had gotten from Mannix was now resting comfortably with the cash a couple of men had donated to her earlier. Now those two had given her the willies, but their money was as good as anyone else’s, and the amount she received was mindboggling. Enough to get the place out of hock, fix it up a little and her up a little more. Just to cook up a story for the guy that had just left. I shoulda been in the movies, she thought, that was a damned fine performance. She had been told it was all an elaborate practical joke, but earlier, the little guy with the mustache hadn’t looked happy at all when the other two had escorted him out the door. In fact, they had helped him out so well that she didn’t think his feet actually touched the floor more than once or twice. Oh well, she decided. Rich people’s games. It wasn’t her problem anymore. After all, it looked like some new businesses would be shaping up the area, and there was always a good possibility of attracting more people like Mr. Fancypants. She lit another cigarette. The future looked very, very bright.

Two blocks away, Joe stood in the shadowed doorway of a sagging, abandoned weigh station. He checked up and down the street. Nothing stirred except litter and dust swirling around on the deteriorating asphalt, pushed by a sea and rain-scented breeze. A new security fence surrounded the huge parking lot. The remains of the old fence were piled up in one corner, along with broken bottles and pieces of cardboard. A dump truck was parked nearby, loaded with more scraps.

The gate was open, and Mannix could see Benny Wickes’ white Cadillac parked by an open side door. He trotted across the lot. The gusts were rattling the sheet metal on the roof, and on the other side something was banging against the outside wall, its rhythm matching that of the wind.

Gun drawn, Mannix stepped inside, waiting briefly for his eyes to adjust to the dark interior. There was a cloying dampness to the air, testament to a building long empty. Against the far wall, halfway to the end, a single fluorescent light was on. There were small boxes of nails and neat stacks of lumber and sheetrock spread over the floor in preparation for the upcoming work. Benny wasn’t wasting any time on this one.

“Benny?” His voice sounded tinny in the huge room.

Mannix kept his back to the wall, making his way toward the other end. Except for the rattling outside, there was not another sound, save for his own breathing. Nonetheless, Joe was beginning to feel even more uneasy. He reached a large stack of two-by-fours, going around it with caution.

Suddenly the door slammed shut, the sharp echo skipping over the walls. Joe whirled around and was instantly struck in the face by an outstretched arm that seemed to materialize out of thin air. The gun was knocked from his fingers. Eyes watering, he staggered sideways into the pile of lumber, holding his nose as blood began to trickle between his fingers. The clattering of the gun as it skittered along the cement floor brought with it an ominous sense of doom. A powerful arm encircled his neck and began pulling him backwards. Mannix tried to loosen the arm with one hand, at the same time ramming the elbow of his free arm back several times in search of the solar plexus or floating ribs. There was a grunt as the elbow found its mark, and he managed to wriggle free. Vision still not clear, he immediately threw a wild, roundhouse punch and felt his fist connect with a jaw. The attacker collapsed to the floor, holding his face and cursing. Mannix turned, ready for another confrontation, but drew up short.

A bound and blindfolded Benny Wickes was dragged out from behind the lumber, a gun held against his temple. The goon holding onto his collar turned to Mannix. “Just give me an excuse.”

It was only a whisper, but the menace in the voice screamed at him. Mannix couldn’t get a very good look at the huge man, he was wearing dark clothing, gloves, and a stocking hat pulled down right to his eyes.

“God help me, Joe, I’m sorry...”

“Shut up!” It was still only a whisper as Benny was shaken like a rag doll.

By now, Mannix could feel the presence of someone moving silently behind him. Probably the one he had decked. Probably in a bad mood, too.

“Sorry to get you into this...” Benny blurted out. He winced as the gun was pressed harder against his head.

“Oh, but you didn’t really get him into anything, Mr. Wickes. As a matter of fact, it’s the other way around.” Now a third man emerged from the shadows - thin, white-haired, impeccably groomed and limping along with an elaborately carved cane. “Truthfully, Mr. Mannix is the one we’re really interested in. You’re just a bit player. We’ve just been having, shall I say, some added fun with all this intrigue and extracurricular activity. The carousel ride is just beginning, but this is where you get off, Benny.”

“Why involve him at all?” asked Joe angrily as he wiped the blood from his face.

The old man leaned on the cane. “Only one reason, really. I knew he’d never say anything to the cops if he were ordered not to, and he’d eventually come running straight to you.  I very much enjoy seeing how people react to different situations. Here you are, Mannix, so calm and collected on the outside, but trying to think of a way to take on all three of us without getting Benny hurt. Now, good old Benny, confused and scared shitless, is wondering when he’ll get a bullet through the head and fervently wishing he’d taken that vacation to Bermuda a week early.” He brought the mahogany cane to eye level and looked at the carved lion’s head. “You remind me of a saying I once heard, Mannix. ‘Always behave like a duck. Stay calm on the surface but paddle like the devil underneath.’  I strongly suggest you quit paddling. It’ll be the only thing that keeps your friend alive. You know the routine, no heroics.” Sarcasm seeped into the voice. “We all know you’re a tough guy.”

“Let’s get right down to the brass tacks then. What is it you want? And another thing, who the hell are you? My nose really wants to know.”

A wry smile from the distinguished gentleman who was no gentleman at all. He now held the cane near the bottom, hefting it much like a baseball bat as he limped toward Mannix. “What I want I can never get. What I get will be a great deal of satisfaction. Who I am, well, I’ll just have to start jogging your memory.” He stopped and cocked his head to one side, never taking his gaze off Mannix.  “As far as all your plans for the developments go, Benny, more power to you. I suppose I should apologize for the unnecessary twisting of your tail feathers, and for this.”

The old man snapped the cane back, catching Benny above the ear. He crumpled to the floor, out cold.

Mannix turned to grab the man behind, hoping to use him as a battering ram, and was immediately knocked to his knees by the force of the cane striking him across the back. It was then driven into his ribs and after that, he lost count of the blows as he sank into darkness.

*******

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