Fletch Reflected (4 page)

“Seven.”

“Seven what?”

“I think it’s considered there are only seven deadly sins.”

“In Wyoming, they got twelve.”

“It is a big state.”

“I can’t figure out whether Wyoming is big or just empty.”

“Mister Mortimer, you turned state’s evidence after your best crack at a world middleweight championship got impaled on an iron railing in Gramercy Park.”

“I did take that hard, yes. I loved that boy.”

“You can write letters to your friends you put in jail.”

“I do. A few of them. The good guys, you know? Those crooks who say, ‘No hard feelings for ruining my family and sending me to jail for the rest of my life.’ Those I trust not to send a hit man after me. With those I correspond weekly. Tell them all about my great life spent watching the mountains in Wyoming not move.”

“So what’s so bad about semiretiring to the beautiful state of Wyoming? You’re seventy two.”

“Seventy four. Thanks to you. If I never met you, I’d still be forty seven, probably.”

“Not likely. Jake Burger tells me you’re training two new contenders.”

“Beef cattle. Two legged beef cattle. That’s all they have out here: beef cattle. Four legged beef cattle, two legged beef cattle.”

“If you don’t have hope for them, you wouldn’t be training them.”

“Beef cattle marked U.S.D.A. In this case, U.S.D.A. means You Should see how Dumb they Are.”

“Maybe they’ll win at the county fair.”

“Not even in their weight class.”

“How old are they? Twenty?”

“Sixteen. Eighteen. I won’t live long enough to see either of them snooze on the canvas for the count of ten.”

“I’ll bet they’re good.”

“The older one, the eighteen year old, Haja, he calls himself, thinks gettin’ mad at himself is the point of the game. He’d knock himself out, if I ever showed him how. The other one, the sixteen year old, Ricky, actually thinks his muscles are pretty, if you’d believe it.”

“Doesn’t every sixteen year old?”

“The only opponent that interests him is in the mirror. And he likes him too much to get close. Even though they’re both wearing deodorant. Can you believe that? Ever hear of a boxer who insists on wearing underarm in the ring?”

“Sounds like a good idea to me.”

“I keep saying, ‘Why do I smell petunias in here? Phew!’”

“Sparring, which one usually wins?”

“Neither of ’em. The young one keeps dancin’ like a city boy barefoot on a hot pavement so his pretty face won’t get hit. The other one keeps gettin’ so mad at himself for not
connecting with the younger one that he bursts his own blood vessels. I tell you no lie.”

“I’d like to drive out to look at them.”

“No, sir! Don’t waste my time.”

“And bring a lady with me.”

“Don’t waste your time driving out here, from wherever you are. Even if you’re at my front gate. I won’t have you.”

“She’s a heavyweight.”

“No, sir! Not at my camp!”

“She needs training.”

“No, sir. I’m not ready for that. I never will be! Not in my camp! I’ve seen those magazines. Uh, uh.”

“We’ll see you in a few days.”

“You will not. You show up here, Fletch, and I’ll sic my two fighters on you, both Haja and Ricky, at the same time.”

“That’s no threat.”

“You’d better believe it is.”

“Naw,” Fletch said. “You’ve already told me their flaws.”

•

Fletch remained in the van’s driver’s seat.

The two attendants he had tipped rolled Crystal Faoni in an oversized wheelchair onto the hydraulic lift on the side of the van. He listened to the sound of the lift raising Crystal. The van tipped with her weight. In the back of the van they helped Crystal onto the large bed. The head of the bed was behind Fletch’s seat. They rolled the wheelchair back onto the lift and Fletch lowered it, and them, then raised the lift again and folded it within the van. They slid the van’s side door closed.

One of the attendants looked through the van’s open window. “Okay, buddy. Get her out of here.”

Slowly, Fletch drove the van along the driveway of Blythe
Spirit. There were still many vehicles in the driveway. Entering the road, he turned right toward the highway.

He heard Crystal sniffing. She blew her nose. Somewhere she must have found a box of tissues.

On the highway he accelerated.

Crystal asked, “Where are you taking me?”

“Wyoming.”

There was a long pause. “Fletch? Is that you, Fletch?”

“You were expecting Charon maybe?”

“I thought you left.”

“I said I wouldn’t return to your room. Argue with you anymore.”

“You always leave.”

“Not if anyone really wants me. You didn’t really want me to leave, did you?”

“No.” She laughed. “What’s in Wyoming?”

“Not much, according to Mister Mortimer.”

“Who’s Mister Mortimer?”

“A cranky old man named Mortimer who has always insisted everybody call him ‘Mister.’”

“A friend of yours?”

“Yeah. He hates me. He’s sure to hate you, too.”

“Then why are we going there?”

“Best idea I’ve got. He probably doesn’t realize it, but he’s been adjusting people’s weight all his life. He’s a trainer. For boxers.”

“A boxing coach?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re taking me to a training camp for boxers?”

“Yeah. I thought we’d try it. If that doesn’t work, we’ll try something else. You wouldn’t mind developing your upper-cut, would you?”

“What’s an uppercut?”

“A slash over the eyebrow.”

“I don’t want any of those.”

“The head of your bed raises and lowers.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He heard the electric motor raise the head of her bed.

“You can see out the windows. Nice scenery?”

“Yeah. The back of billboards.”

“All the fronts say is KEEP AMERICA BEAUTIFUL.”

“Jeez,” Crystal said. “He wants to turn me into a boxing champion.”

“Hey, lady,” Fletch said. “In your weight class, you’re a shoo-in.”

“Fletch? Can we stop so you can get me something to eat?”

“Sure,” Fletch said. “I’m hungry, too.”

“If I’m going to take up boxing,” Crystal said, “I’ll need to keep my strength up.”

T
he woman in the black bikini who came to swim in the Olympic-sized outdoor pool kept glancing at Jack.

Dressed only in the white shorts with vertical blue side stripes he had been given and told to wear as a condition of his employment. Jack was cleaning the pool.

At each end of the pool as she swam laps, she managed to roll her eyes up for another look at him.

Jack had been told there were many conditions of his employment at Vindemia.

Arriving in that area of Georgia, he was surprised to learn that the village of Vindemia was on the estate of Vindemia itself, and one needed a pass to visit even the village. The three thousand, five hundred acre estate was entirely surrounded by chain link fence. There was only one entrance, and that was guarded.

Before he left Virginia, spending some of his earnings from Global Cable News, Jack bought some clothes, and, a used blue Miata convertible. On his way to Georgia he had stopped at Subs Rosa in North Carolina for Eat-in and Take-out.

The town nearest Vindemia was Ronckton. There he had lunch in a coffee shop. He asked if there were any jobs to be had in the area. The woman behind the counter said, “Only on the estate, really,” and sent him to an accountant’s office down the street.

“You should just fit the bill,” the estate’s accountant, Clarence Downes, said at first sight of Jack. He had just returned from lunch. “Come in and sit down. Let’s talk.”

In his office, sitting behind his desk, Downes’ first question was, “Ever been in prison?”

“No, sir.”

“We’ll check on it.”

“Sure.”

“Any diseases?”

“I had chicken pox when I was a kid. I’m better now, thank you.”

“Can you swim?” Smiling with approval, the heavy man had already surveyed Jack’s body.

“Yes, sir.”

“Sure you can. Play tennis?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any good?”

“I’m very big with the racquets.”

Downes grinned. “What are you, takin’ time
off
from college?”

“Trying to raise some money, sir.”

“Sure. I’ve got two kids of my own in college. Good thing I’m a Certified Public Accountant. Damn-all, the bills never stop. I’ve never had to juggle my personal accounts before I had two kids in college at the same time. Where are your folks, John?”

“My mother has a medical problem, sir. My father has a small farm.”

“I see. And you’re not much on farm laboring, I expect. It’s dry work, all right. I escaped a farm when I was a kid.” The man slapped the side of his stomach. “I wanted to wear a white shirt and have a gut.” He laughed. “See? I’m a success!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hmm.” The man frowned a little at Jack’s agreement. “So the job’s on the Vindemia Estate. You know about it? Owned and closely operated by Doctor Chester Radliegh. So big it just about drives the whole economy around here.
They need a young man—‘presentable’ is the description I was given—to keep the swimming pools, tennis courts, gymnasium clean, act as lifeguard when necessary, you know, if there are little kids around, be able to partner at tennis when someone who wants to play doesn’t have a partner, help the gardeners out when necessary, help patrol the grounds when necessary—”

“‘Patrol the grounds’?”

“Yeah. Doctor Radliegh is a nut on security.”

“You mean, with a gun and dog?”

“And walkie-talkie. Can you handle that?”

“I guess.”

“And, when required, if there’s a big party goin’ on, or somethin’, put on a white jacket and help serve drinks, whatever.”

“Do I get paid extra for smiling?”

More slowly, Downes said, “And report to Doctor Radliegh’s secretary anything you see that strikes you as out of the ordinary.”

“What does that mean?”

“I tell you, Doctor Radliegh is a nut on security. He likes to know everything … about what everybody is doin’, sayin’.” He shrugged his shoulders. “He’s just funny that way.”

“Spy on the guests? Family?”

“There are conditions to your employment.” Downes put on his glasses and referred to a list that seemed a permanent part of his desk top. “You will not be allowed to smoke, drink, or use other drugs, illegal substances, of course, or bring them onto the estate. Okay so far?”

“How about bubble gum?”

“The estate’s colors are blue and white. We give you the clothes to wear and you wear them. You don’t wear any other clothes while you’re on the estate, even if and when off duty. Got that?”

“Okay, but no tutus.”

“Old man Radliegh runs that estate like a nineteenth century British Man of War.”

“What happened to the last guy who had this job?”

“Two empty beer cans were found in the wastebasket in his room.”

“For that he was fired?”

“Instantly.”

“Not hung from the yardarm?”

“You are not to bring personal guests onto the estate. You are not to bring a woman to your quarters. Even if you help a woman guest in the gym, or play tennis with her, you are not to develop a personal relationship with her.”

“Phew. Why doesn’t old Radliegh run the estate with robots?”

“I think he would if he could. You’ll live in half of a divided cottage, your own room, bath and kitchenette. It is expected you will do all your food shopping at the estate general store in the village of Vindemia.”

“I’m expected to sell my soul to the company store?”

“It’s not a bad deal, really. The store on the estate is nonprofit. You buy retail at wholesale prices. Plus, Doctor Radliegh himself has checked the nutritional value of all the food sold, for example. It’s the best.”

“No junk food?”

“Potato chips. He likes potato chips himself. You may use the gymnasium, pool, etc., but not while a member of the family or guest is using them. Unless you have an explicit reason for being someplace, if a member of the family or a guest appears, you are to disappear. You have a car?”

“Yes.”

“When you arrive, you will park it in the locked compound, and turn over your keys. Radliegh doesn’t want unnecessary traffic on the estate. Bicycles are available. You’ll have from midnight Wednesday until midnight Thursday
off. If you choose to leave the estate during that time, of course your car will be made available to you.”

“This is Thursday.”

“So it is.” Downes told Jack the rate of pay. He began to hand Jack a closely printed sheet of paper. “Is all this agreeable to you?”

“Where do I sign?”

After a little more paperwork with Clarence Downes, Jack drove to the estate.

The erections holding the wrought iron gates to the estate were thirty five meters high. Stucco walls ten meters high extended out of sight in each direction. The gatehouse itself was as big as a suburban executive mansion.

“Is this The Magic Kingdom?” Jack asked the blue-and-white uniformed guard.

“You almost got it right,” the guard said. “You got a pass?”

“Yeah.” Jack handed the guard his laminated pass. “Winnie the Pooh dropped his.”

Jack’s pass was pink, Downes had told him, to identify him as an employee.

At least a mile ahead of him, on a rise, the roofs and other parts of the main house were visible. The roofs were blue tile. In the sunlight, the white walls of the house gleamed like an actor’s teeth. Several huge blue-and-white flags, visible even from that distance, flew in the breeze above the roofs.

The guard gave him directions to the car compound. “Go directly there,” he said. “I’m phoning ahead. They’ll expect you within six minutes. Do not drive over thirty miles an hour.”

“What do I do about the car’s exhaust?”

The guard grinned. “Bag it.”

Driving the smooth road, landscaped both sides, Jack remembered his conversation with Global Cable News’ Assistant
to the Chief Executive Officer, Alex Blair. Jack had said he was not married or otherwise entangled and was free to go abroad.

Entering Vindemia he felt as if he had entered a foreign country. Very foreign.