Identity Thief (27 page)

“Any more what?”

“Nothing, just that I haven’t heard anything more about it.”

“Maybe the whole island hated Biff so much they hushed it up.”

Randy laughed, in spite of himself. “Or maybe they don’t want bad publicity. It would hurt the tourist trade. Or maybe his parents hushed it up. Who knows?”

We sat there and watched the rain. After a little while, it let up some. “Guess I should go home,” I said. “Randy, you know I’ll never tell, don’t you?”

“I know,” he said quietly. “You’re the only person I trust.”

“Same here. I mean, I guess I trust Melanie, but that’s different, you know?”

“Trust me, I know.”

I laughed. “You look like a motherfucking piece of shit.” It was true. He was still sopping wet, and with his scrapes and bruises he looked like some street derelict.

“So do you.”

It probably sounds crazy, but I felt very close to Randy in that moment. “This has to stop. All my best memories are of getting beaten up.” He reached across the car, and we gave each other a bear hug. It kind of hurt, given the bruises we gave each other, yet it didn’t matter.

“You’re the best friend I ever had, Randy.”

“Same here.”

I drove straight to Betsy’s. My old home. I couldn’t do anything else until I knew if she was involved in more bullshit. This lack of patience was my weakness as a crook. I knew the best thing to do was sit back and wait, to play it cool. But sometimes I couldn’t. As far as Betsy was concerned, the only thing I could think of was that she had the money to pay for a Biff look-alike, whom she now would marry and save face. And a lot of people had offshore accounts on the island, so maybe the guy was there, waiting for her. Still, what about the murder trial? Surely even Betsy would realize that by producing a fake Biff, she could be indicted for interfering with a criminal investigation or whatever the charge would be. Did Biff mean so much to her that even a fake Biff was worth it? Whatever. If Betsy wasn’t involved, then I figured it would’ve been Biff’s parents because there was no one else it could’ve been. At least I’d know that much.

I was hoping Betsy would’ve been too stupid to change the locks on the doors. I still had my old house key, but the one time I actually wanted Betsy to be stupid she was smart. My key wouldn’t open the door. I picked up a garden stone and smashed it through the front window. It set off an alarm. I couldn’t believe that I’d forgotten about the stupid alarm system. It was a dumb mistake, the kind that gets criminals caught but which you were bound to make sooner or later because . . . because nobody’s perfect. I had to move fast and think fast.

Betsy had always been the heaviest sleeper I’d ever known, so I wasn’t surprised when she was still asleep despite the racket. I took a mean pleasure in noting that she was sleeping alone. I almost turned on the light but realized that would be stupid, too. I crept over to her. Looking around the room, I saw a fancy glass lamp I had always hated that cost me a whole lot of money. I smashed it to the floor. Betsy slightly stirred. I picked up a sharp-edged shard of glass and shook her awake. As always, she gave the impression of waking up as being the most difficult task in the world. She sounded drunk and drugged whether she was or not.

“What the . . . Fuck you.” She tried to go back to sleep, and I shook her again.

This time she noticed the sharp glass in my hand. The house alarm grew louder. It sounded like a psychotic cat in heat. Or maybe a bomb about to destroy the world.

“Look, I’m done with you. Why are you killing me?” Betsy started crying, something I didn’t know she was capable of doing, since crying required feelings and feelings required a heart. She was such a loud crier that she competed with the alarm for being the dominant sound. What was it about me that made people shocked to see that I got angry just like anyone else?

“I don’t want to kill you. But I will if you don’t tell me the truth about Biff and tell me now.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she shrieked. “You’ve always been crazy, but my God, this is a new world’s record.”

“The cops will be here any second. Talk.” I twisted her arm so she couldn’t move. The glass was a millimeter away from her pride and joy—her face.

“It’s that detective I hired, isn’t it?” she replied, with unusual accuracy. It wasn’t at all the main point, yet for once she intuited something that had something to do with something. “He put you up to it. I bet he controls your mind. Like some sort of shrink.”

“Did you hire someone to be Biff?”

“Fuck, no.”

I thought,
Shrink . . . Randy . . . Photo . . . Jesse Falcon . . .
Then everything got jumbled. It was hard to remember what really happened versus what I thought happened or maybe had a dream about.

You know those dreams where you never get to where you’re supposed to go or nobody hears what you’re saying? You can shout at them or push them off a cliff and still nothing penetrates the slow, gooey molasses we call life.

I realized that it was all the same. My life was no different from my bad dreams. Of course Betsy would never tell me the truth. Of course my mother would never change. Of course Jesse Falcon . . . I was stupid, I was noble, I was a crook, I was cruel, my enemy was my friend, I destroyed my friend.

I remember looking at Betsy, the pathological liar, as if she were an oracle of truth. I heard myself say, “I hate my . . . ” But I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. “I hate . . . ”

There was a heavy thud to my head and that’s the last thing I remember.

I
TOLD ESTHER I GOT MUGGED, changed out of my dirty wet clothes, and ran under a hot shower. Esther insisted on putting some ointment on my scrapes. I kissed her in thanks and fell into a deep sleep. I slept for a full day, and by the time I woke up, it was night again. There’s something weird about waking up at night. I suddenly remembered being a little kid and being upset when I woke up from a nap when it was dark outside. Though, of course, I didn’t cry now.

I couldn’t get a grip on anything. I was exhausted. I felt like I had woken up from a coma.

There was one obvious solution. I told Esther I had to go to the store for something. Yes, my excuse was that flaky. I went to where the whores hung out on the street. I couldn’t even be bothered with going to a hotel. Driving through the rubble and closed up storefronts, I thought,
What a shitty neighborhood. What a
shitty world.
I noticed one very pretty girl with big tits, and I was about to pull up next to her. But then I spotted another girl who wasn’t nearly as hot to look at, yet for some reason captured my attention. I pulled up next to her.

“Hey, big guy,” she smiled. “Like to go for a ride?”

“Get in.”

She did as she was told. “You know, Mister, I . . . ” She paused for some reason. “I really like your kind of man. You seem so—”

“How much for a blow job? How much for a fuck?” I was in no mood for her perfunctory bullshit.

She told me her rates.

I pulled the car over on a dead-end street, where our only company was a couple of abandoned warehouses. The streetlamp cover had been smashed, so there was a bright glare from the big naked bulb. Right in front of us, on the street, I could make out a piece of roadkill. It was a pregnant rat. Little pink rat fetuses oozed from its dead stomach.

“Blow me,” I told her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to fuck?” she asked hopefully, like any salesperson trying to make more money.

“Nah. I don’t feel like looking at anybody.”

We positioned ourselves so that she could get to work. “Wait,” I decided, with a slight moan. “Don’t blow me. Let me do it. Hold still, and let me fuck your face. Like your mouth is just another fuck hole.”

After a moment, she said, “Sure. You’re the boss.”

I thrust into her mouth. “You’re nothing but a fuck hole,” I kept repeating, which really got me excited. In fact, to my profoundest disappointment, I had a premature ejaculation.

“I don’t suppose that gives me fifty percent off?” I joked, zipping up my pants.

She smiled. “A man with a sense of humor. I like that.” As she sat up in the car, her face got caught in the brightness of the light bulb high above.

“Hey, wait a second.” I took her face in my hands and moved it side to side.

“Are you by any chance a Hollywood talent scout?” she said, though I could tell she was nervous. “My real dream is Broadway, because that’s where the great acting is.”

I fumbled for my reading glasses, then remembered they were in my shirt pocket. “Put these on.”

“Uh, sure.” She smiled wanly as she put on the glasses.

I grabbed her hair and pulled it back. “Holy motherfucking shit. You’re Melanie.”

She tried to act dumb. “My name’s Amber, Mister. Amber La Rue. I mean, it’s not my real name, but it’s the name I use for . . . like, this stuff. I have different names I use as an actress. I think I’d better get going. I can walk back.” She reached for the door handle. But I grabbed her by the throat. I reached over to my glove compartment and took out the handgun I’d bought after coming back from the island. I’d figured I should be on the safe side, in case anyone came after me about Biff. I pulled back on her hair, and as her mouth opened in reflex, I stuck the gun inside it. She was whimpering in terror.

“Are you going to tell me everything?”

She frantically nodded her head.

“Okay, then.” I slid the gun from her mouth, which made her say ouch. “Talk to me.”

She stopped sniffling and grew calm, in the manner of someone accustomed to talking her way out of trouble. “I don’t know much, I swear. This guy and his wife asked me to pose as his wife a couple of times. No sex, just a performance. I’m a drama major, you know.”

“I’m sure you’ll win many awards.”

“They say that’s how a lot of big stars began . . . you know, like me.”

“If that’s true, I’m sure they at least knew who to fuck. Enough of this bullshit. Go on with your story, and I’ll decide whether or not I believe you.” I looked at her with all the intimidation in me, which I must admit was considerable.

“That’s really about it. They didn’t tell me why I had to do it, and I didn’t ask. The only times I did were when you came over. I didn’t recognize you at first, not until I got up next to you in the car. And by that time, it was too late. I had to hope for the best. Your name is Robby, right?”

“It’s Randy,” I said, with a conviction that took me by surprise.

She gave a wry grin. “I meet a lot of guys. Say, do you by any chance know anyone in show biz? You seem like an important man. No bullshit. You really do.”

“Yeah, I’m the fucking President of the United States. Now get out of my car. And if you say anything to that couple—”

“Don’t worry. I know when to shut up. Oh, and thanks. It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Whores could be so sarcastic.

“My pleasure,” I replied with equal sarcasm. But as she was about to leave, I told her to wait. I had one more question. “What did this guy’s actual wife look like?”

“She was gorgeous. The most beautiful long hair I ever saw. A face like an angel. And she had this way about her. It’s hard to describe. Like a princess.”

“Shit.” I saw she was staring at me. “Will you just
go
?”

I drove around aimlessly for a while, trying to figure out my next move. Then I remembered Esther. I called her from the car and said that I couldn’t explain now, but I had to do something. She started asking about million questions at once. I told her I loved her and hung up the phone. When she called back, I didn’t answer.

I mentally beat myself up about Astronaut, the bulldog. I thought he looked like Jeremy, and he was nuts about me. True, when I saw Jeremy at Sabrina’s studio, he ignored me. Of course, a dog’s emotional response to a human being can be unpredictable. And I should’ve realized that. Anyway, I had a lousy memory even for people, let alone a dog. I was so angry at myself for not noticing this that I literally punched myself in the face.

I couldn’t believe that I’d let myself be betrayed again. By my own daughter. She’d married the guy at the bank robbery. How did he convince her to lead such a complicated double life? Of course if it was Biff, he could have paid her off or something. Or maybe he threatened her. Yes, that was the nicer possibility to ponder. She was doing all this to protect Esther and me.

But what about my so-called friend? He was in on it with Biff from Day One. No wonder he knew so much. When he hacked into those bank accounts, he’d been doing it all along. And
he
certainly was not trying to protect me. He took advantage of my daughter to keep her from coming forward. He even let Biff’s thugs beat him up on the island to make it look good. All to keep me away from Biff. He was, after all, Biff’s impoverished best friend for all those years, so it wasn’t hard to see that he could be bought. Besides having some insane loyalty to Biff. Of course, super-rich people sometimes have that sort of power over people. I should’ve thought of this much sooner. Instead, I stupidly assumed he was living off of Melanie’s money. What a numbskull I was. And
me
, a shrink.