They watched only about five minutes worth, just enough for the lawyer to get the gist of it. Joe explained about the DVD being sent to Tina, about how he had checked out the motel, about his visit to Frank in jail and about how someone had apparently tried to run him off the road. Then he described the message written on his apartment wall in Mulligan’s blood.
“It’s deplorable, all of it, but I don’t see what I can do to help,” Mann said.
Joe went and got Tina.
“Well, it all adds up to blackmail, but so far Tina can’t find any unusual bank activity in any of their accounts. That leaves the business.”
“Not necessarily,” the lawyer countered. “Frank could have some accounts you don’t know exist.”
Tina spoke up. “No. Frank and I don’t have the greatest marriage, but I know in my heart that he wouldn’t keep money away from his family. It’s just not something he would do.”
“Tina… Need I remind you what is currently in my office DVD player? I’m certain there are many things you believed Frank incapable of, but.”
Joe didn’t like the way this was going. Mann was trying to turn the conversation away from where they needed it to go.
“Okay, maybe you’re right, Mr. Mann. Maybe Frank kept a slush fund or something. But you could help us eliminate the business as a possible source of money for the blackmailers. If he-”
“I don’t mean to cut you off, Joe,” Mann said, cutting Joe off, “but why come to me? Why not go to Frank’s accountant? I’m sure he would-”
“Not to cut you off, Mr. Mann, but the accountant won’t talk to Tina about the business.”
“That’s right,” Tina said. “I called him yesterday and he said he wouldn’t discuss any aspect of the business with me.”
“Tina, it hurts me to have to say this to you, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you the same answer. You have no legal standing when it comes to Mayday Fuel Oil, Inc. Now, if Frank should, god forbid, be convicted or if he should not recover from his injuries, then-”
Joe was out of his seat. “Are you nuts? This woman’s husband is facing second degree murder charges, he’s tried to hang himself in jail, it’s pretty clear he was being blackmailed, and you’re gonna stand on some legal technicality?”
“I don’t think I like your tone, Mr. Serpe.”
“You don’t?” Joe asked, grabbing one of the intricate model yachts that decorated the office. “Well, I don’t like a lot more than your tone.”
Snap! Joe cracked off the mizzen mast of the model ship. “What are you-”
Snap! Another mast fell prey to Joe’s strong hands.
“Listen, asshole, let’s forget about Frank for a second here. Apparently, someone tried to kill me, my cat’s been slaughtered and my girlfriend’s been threatened. So, I’m not in the mood for legalese and bullshit,” Joe said, sending the model crashing to the floor and grabbing a big golf trophy. “Club championship, I’m very impressed.”
“Tina… Please!” the lawyer implored.
“You should be ashamed of yourself, Steven. I wonder if the state bar would be interested in the story of a lawyer who promised to get a minor her big start in modeling if she would only suck his-”
“That was once, almost twenty years ago, and I was very drunk,” Mann argued half-heartedly. “How many times do you want me to apologize for that? And I did make calls on your behalf.”
Tina was a bulldog. “What about the business, Steven?”
“All right,” the lawyer surrendered. “All right, but if you had just waited a few days this would have all been moot.”
The lawyer buzzed his secretary and asked her to bring in the Mayday file. Joe put the golf trophy back in its niche and took his seat. As the secretary entered the office, she gazed at the smashed model in the middle floor to which no one seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention.
“Leave it, Lois. We’ll see to it later. The file, please.”
She laid it on his desk and left, shaking her head as she went. Mann opened the file, grouped certain papers together, skipped others. When he was satisfied that he had things just so, he spoke.
“Frankly, Tina, I can see how it might appear to you that Frank was being blackmailed. For all I know, he was. However, the business would not appear to be the source of funds for extortion payoffs.”
“Why’s that?” Joe asked.
Mann turned the document of sale so that Tina could clearly see it. “Because the business no longer exists.”
Marla remembered being in therapy herself and how her therapist would sometimes ask her to give voice to her tapping fingers or toes. “What we do,” her therapist would say, “is often more revealing than what we say.” Marla never forgot those words, always making a point to note not only what the residents said, but what they did, how they moved. There is nothing less valid about physical expression than verbal expression. This was especially true of the population she treated, which could sometimes be almost completely non-verbal.
Donna slouched in the seat, twirling her hair, not making eye contact with Marla. Usually, her face was like a billboard, an uncomplicated message for all the world to see. It was one of the things about doing therapy with this population that Marla so enjoyed. Most people wasted so much of their energies building complexities, masks and defenses meant to hide the truth of their natures from the world and themselves. Getting to the residents’ feelings was often not a problem for Marla. At times, their feelings were all they had. But there was a real downside to this proposition. With Cain, for example, his feelings were almost too raw, too much at the surface. Impulse control was frequently the issue that would bring people to her office.
“So, Donna, I hear you’ve been having some trouble lately. You want to talk about it with me?”
“I miss Cain.”
There it was, that immediacy and honesty, but it wasn’t lost on Marla that the Downs’ girl still couldn’t or wouldn’t make eye contact.
“I miss him too. He was one of the most special people I ever met.”
“He was more special to me.”
“You’re right. I think he was closer to you than anybody in the world. It’s very hard for any of us to lose-”
“He loved Frank more. He wanted to be like Frank.”
“Donna, I can’t speak for Cain, but maybe I would say that he felt one kind of love for Frank and one kind for you. Maybe the way you feel differently about Ken and about me.”
“I don’t love Ken or you.”
Point well taken.
“All right,” Marla said. “It hurts very much to lose someone we love, but I think it’s supposed to hurt. It’s a way for people to understand how much the dead person meant to us. We all understand how much pain you’re in, even the people at McDonalds know.”
“You don’t know!” Donna shouted, looking right at Marla for the first time. “I’m mad at him.”
“You’re mad at Cain? Are you mad at him because he died?”
“That’s stupid. He didn’t want to die.”
“So why are you mad?”
“The secrets he made me promise not to tell nobody.”
Tina stared at the documents in disbelief, but she was certain that was Frank’s signature on all the paperwork. Steven Mann, she thought, might be a lecherous old bastard, but he would never have been party to anything too shady. He made a few bucks from his dealings with Frank, but that was nothing in comparison to what he and his partners netted from the bigger, full service companies that pumped more oil in one month than Mayday had pumped in all the years it had been in business. Those big oil companies swallowed up their smaller competitors all the time. It was more cost efficient for them to buy out their competitors’ customers than to fight for them. “Are you sure this is right?” Joe asked. “He sold out to Black Gold Fuel, Inc., Steve Scanlon’s company?”
“That’s right. Mr. Scanlon and his lawyers sat with Frank and myself in the conference room right next door to this office. Why, does that surprise you?”
