Chapter 5 A Heavy Confused Sea
Musical Theme; Roads to Moscow by Al Stewart
Will came back from the office. He had done the usual stuff. He went into the house.
Marcy was there, entertaining Hank, Chrissie and Marie with some sort of story. There were cameras all over the table, extension cords plugged into battery chargers, packing material and such everywhere. Marcie picked up a large Canon camera, and dropped a battery in it. “This, I think is going to be your favorite. That big grey box is the accessories. Lenses, filters all that kind of stuff you like. Phillipa got it at a discount. We’ve already insured all this stuff with that strange guy you buy your car insurance from. This one is the star of the show, and we have just enough light outside to try it out.”
Will put the cord around his neck, and put the camera itself under his shirt. It would be safest there. “I won’t have time to read the manual. We’ll just pop off some shots for the heck of it.”
She was wearing tight black Capri pants and a white cashmere sweater that was probably reasonably priced at about the net worth of Ethiopia. The pants you could have picked up at a factory outlet for the price of a small car. She was wearing some high heeled sandals, and looked quite fetching. She posed them, and Will shot a dozen frames. She went in and changed shoes, and came back out, and they did it again. She put on some suede boots, and they kept at it. She got some thong sandals and they took some more shots. She posed on the chaise lounge, on the lawn, standing up, laying on her back playing with the straps, and looking over her shoulder at the camera with playful poses. She dangled pumps from her fingertips, and mules from her feet. She pretended to be very pleased opening a box with some sling backs in it, and admired over some of the the knee boots as she wore them. She inspected a pair of shoes with her knees just far enough apart to let the viewer think it was his idea that she might be ready for some sex. She doodled around with a dozen boxes of shoes, accidentally showing the Phillipa label with each of them. The light failed, and they went in.
Will loaded a viewer, shamelessly overpriced. It did what the Windows fax and photo viewer did in the same way a full race Ferrari does what the bottom of the line Chevy does. They looked at the pix. Marcie sat behind Will, resting her arm on his shoulder in the strange intimacy models and photographers have. It’s not necessarily sexual, although models often expect photographers to jump their bones on demand. If they need to have verification that they are foxy, they may want to get it from the photographer.
Marcie was not playing that game. Hers was more complicated. She could lay on Will, rest her arm on him, or whatever, because of their professional relationship. A photographer can smooth out a model’s bra because the pic needs it. A model can take the bra off, and ask for another size because he’s her photographer. Her body is something they are using to make pix. Marcie pretended that was what was going on. Oh, sure. As if a woman vain enough to want to to be called the most beautiful woman in the world would not want admiration.
Will zoomed in on her feet. If there had been an aphid on her toenail, Will could have looked at its antennae. “This looks pretty good. Maybe we should touch up your toenails for tomorrow.”
“You don’t mind doing it?”
“No. Take too long to go to the salon. You know, Marie could probably do it as well as me.”
“Well, Marie, you have the job. $200 sound all right? “I do want your best work.”
Marie, who had not seen $200 in the last month, stared in disbelief.
“Marie, I will want them just so. I’m very fussy. But I’m sure you can do it.”
“I am, too, Marcie.”
Marcie leaned over. “Will would do it because I asked, but he doesn’t, uh, you see? He shoots us, but he doesn’t understand us. He knows kind of what we need to look like, but there is a special thing a woman can see, and it goes into the pic. Women buy these shoes, not men. So.”
“Well, Will, I need to call in. Jaqueline? Marcy. We’re playing with the new camera. Want to see some pix? Oh, like half an hour. He has several hundred, and I want to just send them all, not sort.”
She nodded at Will. He made a zip file and sent it.
“It’s coming, but it’s a huge file. All those high resolution pix. They did? Well, that is good for Phillipa, isn’t it? We do. It’s a great line. Will loves them. His girlfriend is a size 9. Just by mistake? Well, the boots, you can’t tell if they are loose. Really? Uh, 1123, 1134, 1145, 1254, 1307, 1450, 1455, 1457, and 2204. The knee high knit stockings and maybe some of the ones that have patterns like embroidery. You’re sure Paul is cool with this? I will, and Will is not going to fuss over the frame count. We love the Canon. We haven’t even tried them yet. Well, get the stuff from the Canon. We did a twilight rush shoot. Well, I want to be Imelda Marcos and keep them all. We’ll puff Phillipa, believe it. It’s easy when they have such nice stuff. Love you too. Bye.”
“Pauli Nathan Phillipa is going to let me keep all the shoes from the job.”
“You have like 300 pairs, at say, $100 a pair, so thirty thousand.”
“You got the wrong figures. About 1,000 pairs at like, $250 a pair.”
“You make a phone call, and you get a quarter of a million dollars worth of shoes.”
“Welcome to the big time, Will. You deserve it. If it wasn’t for your push when I was a little girl, I would be a drive in carhop today.”
“I doubt that.”
“I don’t.”
They went into the living room.
“Well, Chrissie, Phillipa made a boo boo. They are sending some boots in size nine. I’ll have to wear two pairs of socks to shoot them. Fortunately they are sending lots of those, too. And they will not want them back, because they never sell used stuff. So there there will be nine pairs of designer boots, and I’m going to have to ask you to get rid of them for me.”
“This sounds like there is something wrong with it. Thanks, but.”
“Pauli Nathan Phillipa said it was fine. Know who he is?”
“The old man.”
“He let me have a thousand pairs of shoes. The entire line in every color. You know what we are going to do for him?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“We’re going to go to New Orleans and I’m going to put on hundreds of dresses, and Will is going to take tens of thousands of shots of his shoes, and we are going to sell them like hotcakes.”
Will called Sharon Isabel, the lawyer he knew from school. She agreed to take on the added tasks of going to his office and having her calls forwarded there. She would take care of routine business. He would be in New Orleans for a few days, and if he was not back that soon, she would take his work or let some other lawyer do it.
As he packed, Marcie informed him that they would not be taking his car. Phillipa would take them to the airport in a car, and then to the jet she really did have. They got to her place in New Orleans, and he shot thousands of pix. He shot Marcie in pumps, mules, boots and sandals. She wore shorts, skirts, negligees, pantsuits, business suits, jeans, overalls, bikinis and leotards. They got so bored with the outfits that she started changing right in the studio. Will was so tired of looking that he could ignore the most beautiful woman he had ever seen as she changed her underwear. Marcie’s agent had promised 4,000 shots. Will took 6,451 pix. Phillipa was ecstatic. Pauli Nathan Phillipa said “We have several hundred pix that are at the masterpiece level. It’s like Michelangelo and Leonardo got together to photograph our shoes.” He told Chrissie that she could order anything from the catalog. Every time it came out she could order any item she liked, and it would be free.
Phillipa’s sales doubled in the next month.
* * *
Will went home and went to sleep. He awoke groggy, and saw Marie sitting on the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, just about everything.”
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “What happened?”
“You went to New Orleans with a high priced whore. Chrissie is here, but she is sleeping in the living room. Hank won’t even talk to me.”
“Looks like everything is fucked up.”
“Hank? Why won’t you talk to Marie? What’s going on?”
Hank came out. “Marie was just saying the same things over and over. I will talk to her. They think you took off with Marcie Della.”
“I did a job with Marcie Della. I’ve known Marcie since she was a chickadee. She got a hot job with Phillipa. She’s sending a bunch of fashion boots to Chrissie.”
Chrissie came in. “That must be what is at the post office.”
“I suppose it is. She got them to send them in size 9 so you could wear them. Then we shot her in them, and she sent them to you.”
“I wish I could believe you, Will, but a private detective gave me some pictures. Of you sitting around and Marcie in her birthday suit.”
“Doug. That son of a bitch.”
“He is, but it doesn’t get you off.”
“She is as modest as the cat. Where is the cat?”
He went to the door and called her. She came in. “Poly. At least I have one friend left.” He fed the cat.
“We shot six thousand frames. I shot her in bikinis, lingerie, underwear. She was trying to get the job done. She got tired of pretending modesty to a photographer who knows every detail of her body. Did you ever do figure drawing? Artists and photographers see it, and yeah, they might like it. But after a while it becomes banal. It’s like trying to get a gynecologist interested in looking at pussy. Marcie is as close to perfect as any woman I have ever seen. But I’m tired of looking at her, Chrissie. It isn’t even that I want to look at you. I want to hold you, cuddle you and caress you. If that’s not what you want, then leave. Marcie and I made a completely ridiculous amount of money from Phillipa in the last few days. So if you want to leave, I’ll give you ten thousand dollars. You can find another apartment with that. And when I take Doug’s job, you’re fired.”
“You aren’t lying.”
“I am not lying.”
“I was going to give up on you. And you weren’t lying. Oh, Will, please forgive me!”
She held him as close as she could, crying. When she was cried out, Will called the office, and found out everything was fine.
He called Jeff Alan, who told him the auto auction was on that day. “Will you take my gangstas to the auction? We have some money. We want a car for my niece, and we’ll put some money into a few others, my niece will detail them, and Jeff can make some commissions.”
“Music to my ears.”
“You have to look out for my little Marie, though. We can’t have her lose on this.”
“I have it. Your niece is my niece. No way does she end up on the wrong.”
“I have her, my girl, my dad. Can we fit in your car?”
“I have a van, so there that problem goes.”
“When do we go?”
“Not long.”
“We can buy you lunch.”
“I’ll be there real soon.”
The doorbell rang, and Marie let Jeff in. “You must be Will’s niece.”
“I am. The hot babe is Chrissie, the girlfriend. Hank is his dad.”
Will was on the phone to the elections commission. He was reading a credit card number to them.
“Doug fucked up. He hurt the princess’ feelings. That’s going to cost him his job. Do we need to get going, Jeff ?”
“Yeah.”
“Is everyone ready?”
They went out to the van. “Your call, my treat, Jeff .”
He was on the phone again. “Clara Hart please.”
“Hi Clara. Want an exclusive? I think they do. I’m declaring for DA.”
“Jeff , where are we eating?”
“Ron’s.”
“I am going to meet up with Clara Hart from Channel 2. So I can go out in the lot if y’all don’t want to be on TV.”
“I don’t want to be.”
They all shook their heads. “Clara, it’s Ron’s outside just me and your latest cute outfit. We’re going to lunch, so you set up and I will come out and stand where the light is right for you and all. We’ll be there in about 5. The haps is, Doug hired a private detective, it appears. And this guy told my girlfriend I was cheating on her with Marcie Della. I was working with Marcie. I’ve known her since she had to ask her daddy if she could pose in this short skirt. I didn’t cheat on the princess, and I would not. I can’t prove Doug did it, but it must have been him. Not for attribution.”
They went to the restaurant and ordered. A roadie from Channel 2 came in and told him they were ready. Will went out. Jeff went with him but stayed out of the camera.
Clara put Will in place, and the camera started. “Will, you have something to tell us.”
“I do, Clara. Earlier today, I filed as a candidate for District Attorney.”
“Rumor had it that you might. What made you decide?”
“Someone hired a private investigator, who spread a false rumor that I had been disloyal to my princess with Marcie Della. I did a photography job with Marcie, for a very fine shoe company, Phillipa. I did not have sex with Marcie, as much fun as that probably would be. I’ve known Marcie since she was about 16, starting out in modeling. This private investigator told his lies to my princess. That, you just do not do. I think I know who did it, and I intend to put him out of work.”
“Who is your princess?”
“I decline to state. She didn’t start this, and she will not finish it.”
“Is it true that you were a Marine sniper?”
“It is.”
“And that you were a company commander, a Captain, in the Marines?”
“That is also true.”
“And is it also true that you have a silver star?”
“I have some silver dollars, and some walking liberty halves. I do have some military medals. Ma’am, my lunch is probably getting cold. Thank you for your interest in the election.”
He went back inside, and they ate.
Jeff looked at Will. “You really have a silver star?”
“You know Cracker Jack.”
Chrissie gave an odd look. “There is so much that isn’t getting told here.”
“I told you I had no secrets from you, Chrissie, but it doesn’t mean you need to know everything.”
“A very finely drawn distinction.”
“We’re lawyers.”
“This might lead to black ops.”
“Oh, of course not.”
Marie looked at Will. “What’s a black op?”
“Remember in Men in Black, where the introduction says the file that doesn’t exist, about something that didn’t happen? A black op is something that wasn’t done for an agency that doesn’t exist by people who were never there.”
“You did those.”
“Of course not. There is actually no such thing, and the agency you’re talking about does not exist. I wasn’t there. I have no idea what you’re talking about. The Government of the United States, GUS for short, doesn’t do things like that, wouldn’t do things like that, never did, and would not be able to anyway.”
“I see.”
Chrissie asked, “Could someone with little in the way of principles use something like that to discredit someone who wasn’t there?”
“That would be a really stupid thing to do. You could meet all kinds of people who could neither confirm nor deny that the sky is blue. And if there were such people, who were there, speaking hypothetically, some of them might be real mean. And hypothetically, someone like that might have assets in Special Forces or the Seals or maybe someone you’ve never heard of. Maybe even the Wayfarers, if they existed, which of course they do not. And something unpleasant might happen, hypothetically.”
“We’d better get over to the auction.”
“Everyone ready?”
Will paid the bill, and Marie collected the cattables. The waitress gave her some extras. They got in the van, and went to the auction.
Jeff picked out a pot bellied man with grey hair. “Stan, can we use a check from Channel 2 to buy a car?”
“Your word is good for ten grand, Jeff .”
“I’m wanting something for this young lady to drive, clean up and sell, and we do it again next week.”
Stan nodded. “You see that orange International tow truck over there? I could put it down the lane and get four for it. This girl wants to go into business and work hard, she should have a tow truck. $2500 cash right now, do it or don’t.”
Jeff and Marie went to the truck to drive it around the track, try the brakes and all.
“You’re William Ames. I’m Stan Ikes. I own the auction. Jeff has three drivers. So you want three more cars, uh?”
“We might.”
“Got to be on Jeff ’s account. That girl wants to wash cars and change oil and stuff, she should buy Gates and Son used cars. The bankruptcy trustee would take $5,000 for the lot. The cars are all seized by an inventory loan. After we get done selling cars, we call and see.”
Jeff and Marie came in. “Hank, can you finance the 1500 she doesn’t have?”
“Done.”
They went out and drove some cars. Jeff made a list of the ones he wanted to bid on. They went inside, and cars started coming down the lanes, Stan auctioning them himself. He spoke clearly and firmly, no ‘bedeebedob’ in it. A Toyota pickup came down. “Hank, can I go two thousand on this one for you?”
“Yep.”
“So this nice little Toy truck. Do I hear a thousand to start?”
“You do.” Jeff said.
“Do I hear $1500?”
A dealer nodded. Jeff held up two fingers.
“I have $2,000. I have $2,100.”
Hank whispered “I’ll go 3 if you think I should.”
Jeff held up two fingers.
“I have $2,200 from Mr. Allen.”
The other dealer shrugged.
“I can’t get $2,300 for this nice little truck? Once. Twice. Sold. In lane one, we have an Impala. Good transportation car. Who wants to sell this car?”
Nobody answered.
“I’ll take $200.”
Marie whispered. “Hank, can we buy that car? Jeff , should we?”
Hank nodded, and Jeff gestured with his hand.
“Sold.”
They sold some more cars, Marie wired up by the action. Jeff smiled at her. She loved the car business. He was going to make her an expert at it.
A 1965 mustang came in. The bids were small, and the seller reserved it. Chrissie whispered in Jeff ’s ear. “That car won’t go for $2,000? It’s a 289 Mustang! I want that car, Jeff .”
Jeff waved to the seller. He pointed at the seller, Chrissie, and himself, and then to his lips. The seller smiled and nodded. “He’ll talk to us later, Chrissie.”
Some more cars went through. A ten wheel dumper pulled in. “I didn’t see this truck, Jeff .”
“Just another truck.”
Nobody would go the starting price of $5,000. Jeff waved to the seller, who came over. “Freddie, my buddy wants that thing. Anything wrong with it?”
“Nah. It goes, it stops, it dumps, it’s ugly and just about wore out. I'll sell it 10% nothing down but I hold you up for a thousand.”
“What will it take?”
“Here and now? Five.”
“If you really want a dumper, Will, he’s making you a very good offer.”
“Hey, let me open the hood, Jeff .”
He did so. “Know this mill, Will?”
“An International 549.”
“Air brakes. Sunstrand hydraulics. Very seldom does someone try to cut you off in traffic. Gets about 8 miles to the gallon. Two axle drive. In low range it climbs trees. Five on the floor Clarke. If you want an old dumper, you want this one.”
“Deal.”
“My son Jeff will drive one of your cars home for $20. I will pick him up.”
“That sets us up.”
“Your wife can take the tow truck, but she can’t tow. And even Jeff does not have a CDL.”
“You know a lot of things.”
“I know who hired the P.I. to take your picture with Marcie Della, too. The same god damned son of a bitch you think did it. I can prove it, but you would be touching something poisonous if I showed it to you.”
“It will forever remain a mystery to me.”
They took the cars back to the house. They parked them all around, with the dump truck in the back. Marie put the Toyota in the driveway to wash it. The next door neighbor came over. “I’m Ethan. I live in the yellow house. I know you’re William Ames. I thought you were a lawyer. What’s with the cars?”
“My niece, Marie is going to be a car dealer. This is Jeff , her sales manager.”
“I’m in need of a car. Mine just died. Do you have one to sell?”
Jeff started to speak, but Marie held up her hand. “You can have that Impala for 600. It starts, it stops. I was going to clean it up a little.”
“Can I drive it around the block?”
She handed him the key. “Take it through the car wash on second street. I would like to sell you a clean car.” She handed him a $5 bill. He took off.
Jeff was on the phone. “They want us to look at the car lot real soon. “
“Within the hour?”
Ethan came back with the Impala.
“I want it. I only have $400.”
“Got a trade with a title?”
“It doesn’t run.”
“I have a tow truck. My uncle has a Class A CDL with air brakes endorsement. He can drive anything with wheels under it. That’s the trade there, the green Nova?”
“Yes.”
Jeff nodded.
“Give me four bills cash, and Jeff will do the paperwork. You’re an owner.”
He went to his house.
“You’ve seen the lot, Jeff . I buy it if I can?”
“Yes.”
“Hank, will you help me”
“Sure,”
“Will, If I buy the lot today we can incorporate tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“So Jeff stays here and makes his first of many commissions I will be paying him, and you guys go to the lot with me?”
“Fine.”
“We’ll take the tow truck. That says we are real car people. I would like to show up in an 18 wheel car carrier, but I don’t have that yet. The dumper is too blue collar.”
They drove onto the lot. The cars were already gone. They went into a ratty trailer. “Is the trailer part of the property you are selling?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“You have the property description?”
She looked at it as if she knew what it said. Will looked over her shoulder. “The lady in a hurry is Marie Estofan. She is in a number of lines of business. I am William Ames, general counsel. This is Hank, the Chairman.”
“OK, the title goes to the street corner, the alley in back, and that fence?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“It’s just what I want. I understand you’re asking five. I can close in 30 minutes at four and a half.”
“That’s pretty low.”
“I’m a hard ass businesschick.”
“I can take $4,500.”
“Let’s go to the bank and the recorder’s office then.”
They went, and everyone sort of stepped aside for hurricane Marie. She got a certified check, and then hit the recorder’s office at 190 knots, signed and recorded her documents, and went back to Will’s office where they incorporated, paying the fee with a credit card. Will bought a kit from Corporation Kits Northwest, so she would have a corporate seal and all. He knew she would like that. Will stayed and did some paperwork and returned some calls.
Several hours later, he came out, and two men in ski masks confronted him with baseball bats. He shot them both, and got in his car and drove to the harbor, where he threw the .357 as far as he could. He also threw a box of ammo. He went back to the house. The next morning, he went to a gun show and bought three Mossberg pump shotguns in 12 gauge, a 20 gauge Remington automatic shotgun, a 3” Smith .357 in Stainless, a Glock compact 9mm, a Smith .44 mag L frame, a .38 air weight, and a lot of ammunition.
He went back to the house. He put his new .357 in his holster and got back in bed. It was Saturday, and Chrissie was not getting up early. Eventually he did, and took a shower, and made some coffee.
The doorbell rang, and the Codfish was there with two uniforms behind him.
“Will, can I have your .357?”
“Sure. Why do you want it, Mel?”
“To check ‘ballistics’.”
“It’s in a small of the back holster.”
“Just hand it to me. We don’t need to play that crap.”
Will slowly took the piece out of the holster, and handed it to Mel.
“