Truths of the Heart (22 page)

Gus pulled the limo into the High Five parking lot and drove up to the closed
garage door. The door opened, he drove inside. Carl told Gus he knew the
routine, got out, was buzzed through the inside back door and went up the
stairs.

Half way up, Carl noticed standing at the top, a fireplug Asian male
dressed in white karate garb, a black belt tied at his waist. His bald head
shined like polished brass.

Climbing the stairs, Carl:
Is this a bad imitation of a TV show or
what?
He arrived at the top and noticed the fireplug had a gold earring the
size of a quarter hanging from his right ear.

Carl said with a sneer, “When’s the show begin?”

Fireplug didn't smile.

“Just joking, I'm here to see....”

“I know.” Carl did a double take at hearing fireplug's thin falsetto
voice then said, “You have a name?”

Fireplug almost sang, “Peter. Follow me.”

Following, Carl noticed Peter oozed a fruity cologne odor.

Arrived at Tommi's familiar living room, fireplace roaring, Carl
noticed there seemed to be more candles burning than the last time he was
there. Then he saw Tommi standing at the end of the bar—now a platinum blond,
saucer-like silver rings dangled from her ear lobes, and her softball-sized
breasts bulging from the top of her V cut red sequined dress. The dress was
ankle length and red high-heels matched the color. She took a drag from her
silver cigarette holder and coed over exhaled smoke, “Hi there doll, come in,
come in.” She moved toward him and extended her right hand. Inch long
fingernails were painted like little American flags.

As they shook hands, she kissed Carl on the cheek. Peter made his way behind
the bar.

Tommi said, “Rum and Coke, Mr. Carl?”

“Yep.” He lit a Kool.

Peter mixed.

Tommi's slivovitz sat on the bar in a brandy snifter the size of a
small fishbowl. She picked the snifter up, sipped, then said, “Gonna be one
hell of a Super Bowl this year, huh Mr. Carl.”

“Eagles and 49ers, I'd say.”

“Point spread 49ers by six. Think that will hold?”

“At least.”

Peter shoved a drink in front of Carl.

Carl sipped.

Tommi dragged, inhaled, blew smoke in the air. She looked to Peter, “We
need to be private sweetie.”

Peter nodded and left.

Tommi went to the sofa and patted for Carl to join her, “Come, join
me.”

Carl hesitated then went and sat on an easy chair opposite her.

She said, “Afraid of me, big boy?”

“Yeah.”

“Stinker.” She chuckled, “Isn't that just fabulous news.”

“What's that?”

“Dent is going to be officiating the Super Bowl this year.”

Surprised: “He is?”

“You didn't know?”

“That sorry son of a … no. But then, I haven't seen him for a few
weeks.”

“Neither have I. That bugger has been busy, I bet.” She smiled, paused,
played with her cigarette holder, took a drag, blew smoke in the air, “Carl,
how well do you know Dent?”

“Who you ragging, Tommi?”

She rolled her eyes. “Listen to this stinker.”

“You know I know him, he's my best friend.”

“Old pal from your Irish Notre Dame days, right?”

Pausing, he detected something in the air, like a linebacker might be
going to blitz on the next play.

Tommi chuckled deep in her throat, sipped, dragged her cigarette, held smoke
in her lungs, then exhaled thick words, “Carl, how can I say … some people are
having a few problems with Mr. Dent.”

“Oh, how's that?”

“Arithmetic, you know, two plus two is coming up zero.”

Carl shrugged. “I'm not following you.”

She tapped ashes in a silver ashtray. “I've been working with Dent for
a few years now.”

“I know, he told me, he invests for you?”

She batted her eyelashes, “Other way 'round, honey.”

Tilting his head, “Ms. Gilmour, I lost you back at the ten yard line.”

“Ever hear of a beard?”

He smirked, “Yeah I used to grow one, in college, before the Michigan game.”

She laughed, “Smarty pants. I'm talking 'bout gambling, dear.”

Disdainful: “Tommi, are we getting at something?”

She stared into his eyes, “I am Dent's beard, honey pie.”

Carl tipped his head like an end had just dropped one of his touchdown-
winning passes, “Tommi, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I place gambling bets for Mr. Dent.”

With a puffed sneer and much finality: “Bullshit.”

“No dear, true shit.”

“Bullshit.”

“You are such a stinker.”

Carl stuck his right index finger toward Tommi's heart, “You telling me
YOU place gambling bets for Dent Ruffin?”

She nodded her head slowly, “Mm ha.”

“You're a goddamn liar!”

“Honey, believe me.”

He stood, “I'm getting the out of here.”

Peter appeared.

She inhaled, smiled a cap-tooth smile, blew smoke in the air, said to Peter,
“Was this stinker a quarterback or what?”

Carl threw his glass at the fireplace. It shattered.

“Ahhhh, Carl, you disappoint me.”

“Disappoint your giggy, I'm getting out of here.”

Peter stepped toward Carl.

Carl stared at Peter and fisted his right hand. “You want a piece of
this, mother fucker, come on.”

Tommi said, “Carl, Carl, please, no violence.”

“Then tell this prick to back off.”

Tommi waved her hand.

Peter left.

Carl sat.

“That's better.” Tommi lit a fresh cigarette. “Carl, I know you are
best friends with Dent, but believe me, that bad boy has got his Willy Wonka in
a wringer.”

Carl jabbed the air with his right hand, “I suppose the next bullshit
you'll be giving me is that Dent bets on NFL games.”

“Likes to play the ponies too.” She inhaled deeply. “Trouble is he
don't know a pony's dick from a telephone pole.”

“Listen you bitch, you got the wrong address. I know Dent, he fucks around
a little but he's no gambler.”

“Wrong, dear.”

“You are so full of shit I can't believe it.”

“Listen to this stinker.” She crossed her legs allowing the slit in her
dress to open wide.

Carl looked at her legs. “You got bony legs.”

Smiling, “I like Dent, Carl, but there are some very nasty people who would
like to see his head in a gunny sack.”

“Yeah, send 'em to me.”

“Carl, my impetuous one, don't be no asshole, I'm taking serious. Dent
is in deep do do, honey pie.”

“You sure we're talking about Dent Ruffin?”

“Sure as you gets hard at closing time.”

Carl leaned back, “I don't believe it, never.”

“Believe it dear. Mr. Jet-setter Dent has been living high on the hog
and now the little piglets is coming home to roost.” She smiled.

“Last time I heard, pigs don't roost, but you should know.”

“Listen to this stinker.” She adjusted her breasts, blinked her half
inch eyelashes, and stood, “How 'bout a fresher upper.”

Drinks freshened, Carl somewhat calmed, Tommi said, “What I'm saying Carl,
I don't give a shit what Dent does with his clients' money. What they don't
know won't hurt them. But darling, some nasty people do care what Dent owes
them.”

“This doesn't make any sense, Dent's got money coming out his kazooka.”

“Wrong dear. Dent don't have enough cash to wipe his kazooka. It's all smoke
and mirrors … yachts, Cayman condos, jet planes, ladies du jour, gambling, he's
robbing Peter to pay Paul.”

“I don't think I want to hear any more of this.” He started to stand.

Tommi snapped her fingers.

Peter appeared.

Carl said to Peter, “Come on prick, let's rock and roll.”

Tommi held up her hand, “Carl, don't be no knight, no knights,
especially dead knights.”

Carl took a step toward Peter but before he could blink he was on his
back looking up at a smiling Peter.

Tommi said, “Carl dear, are you all right?”

Carl got to his knees then stood.

Tommi said, “Sit Sir Carl.” She motioned to Peter, “Get Sir Carl
another drink.”

Carl sat.

After serving Carl a fresh drink, Carl ruffled but cooled, Peter was dismissed
and Tommi said, “Carl, we've come up with a way to save Dent much distress.”
She lit a fresh cigarette and puffed it. “We want you to talk to him.”

“You claim to be his beard, why don't you talk to him.”

She laughed huskily, “I did honey, I did, but he told me to eat it.
Makes me sad. Bad boy is in denial, and between me and you, I think he's
sniffing a little white stuff, too.”

“This is unadulterated bullshit.” Carl set his drink on the coffee
table, “I'm getting out of here.”

“I think there is something you should see before you leave.”

Carl stood, “You have nothing I want to see.”

“Oh I think I do, my handsome prince.” She snapped her fingers and
Peter appeared. She nodded to Peter, the lights dimmed, and she pressed a
button. Video played on the motion picture screen:

Dent enters Tommi's office. Tommi greets him. “Hi there ol Denty pie,
what are we doing today?” They sit on the sofa. Dent sits next to Tommi, hands
her an envelope. She opens it. Counts cash, says. “My my, we're bold tonight.”
He gives her several bets to make. She makes notes. He stands, “I could use a
drink.” She says, “surely.” They exit the office and the tape ends.

Lights up, Tommi waved Peter away.

In catatonic silence, Carl stared at the blank screen. Tommi lit a
fresh cigarette. Carl wiped his face with the palm of his right hand and shuddered
like he had fumbled on the one yard line, “Shit.”

Tommi: “I'd say.”

“Did Dent see that video?”

She nodded, yes.

“Shit.”

After a sinking-in pause, Tommi said, “Carl, you need to talk to Dent. He's
in la la land and the beasty fellows want his head on a platter.” She smiled,
“They really do play for keeps. Talk to him, have him make something happen in
the Super Bowl. You know, a judgment call, make that San Francisco six point spread
happen.”

Carl shot up. “I'm outta here.”

“Sit down!”

He started for the elevator.

Tommi pressed another button and the triple X rated video of Carl,
Mindy, and Pearl began to play on the screen.

Carl stopped. The fireplace fire crackled. The candles flickered.

After threats and counter threats, an accommodation with Tommi was arrived
at—both video tapes would be turned over to Carl for cooperation from Dent. If
any copies showed up, Ms. Tommi would wish she had never been born. Immediately
after leaving Tommi, Carl called Dent and invited him to lunch.

CHAPTER FIVE

Tuesday, January 21 turned up another gray day with light snow
flurries.

Just after 11:30 A.M., Carl drove to Martin Lang & Ruffin and
pulled to the curb beside the entrance. Dent exited the lobby and got into
Carl's BMW. Stoically silent, Carl pulled away.

After a block, Dent said, “What a matter big buddy?”

More stoic, Carl made his way to the inter-belt, shot up an entrance
ramp and, zipping in and out of traffic, headed west on I-94 toward Ann Arbor.

Dent said, “Rachelle shut you off or what?”

More stoic. Miles zipped by. Carl said nothing. A large green overhead sign
indicated Ann Arbor, 33 miles.

Dent sucked on a Dunhill cigarette, “Where we going for lunch, Carl,
Ann Arbor?”

“Great news you going to be officiating the Super Bowl.”

“Hey, yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Why didn't you?”

“Hey, is that what you're pissed about, hey, I haven't seen you, just
found out.”

“When are you leaving for New Orleans?”

“Thursday, meetings, what about you, you going?”

“I'm staying in Detroit, doing a special noon to six
Playing for
Keeps
show, leading into game coverage.”

“Wish you could be there, we'd hit a few joints.”

“Donna going with you?”

“Hah, she's history.”

“Too bad, what's with your divorce?”

“Hah, now Penny wants ten grand a month, the house, all the furniture, everything.”