After unloading the sound equipment in Chinatown, Johnny drove the van to the rental garage and Bobby Vacca raced up 6th Avenue in the Lincoln. The Village was empty and Macy’s shut in Herald Square. A junkie lingered at the front of Bryant Park and no one walked the chasm of glass skyscrapers above 42nd Street. Bobby turned on the radio to WABC News.
The newsmen discussed the new president, the snow in Buffalo, ten more shopping days till Christmas, and the Knicks. There was no reference to a kidnapping, however this good news was trumped by his passenger’s silence. Charles had seen Tammi leave with Sean. The gamble with Caroline had seemingly failed, but Bobby had to clear the organist’s mind for the bad news to come. “Don’t be so down. Tammi went with her friends.”
"She did?" Charles Ames straightened from his slouch with inflated expectations.
“Johnny was angry she left so early, so I didn't want to say anything at the bar.”
Telling part of the truth made the lie more believable and Bobby drove into the underground parking lot. “And Sean left by the rear door with Caroline. Tammi must have gone with that black girl, Josie. We can go to her place, if you want?”
Charles settled into the seat. “No, it can wait, till tomorrow.”
Everything wasn’t lost after all. They had performed a great show. Johnny had been offered a record deal. Sean was with Caroline and Tammi was with her girlfriends.
“You’re the boss, Mr. Ames.” Bobby parked the car in their reserved spot.
Caroline Ames’s absence after the show indicated Louie had successfully pulled off the kidnapping and Sean's motorcycle outside CBGBs pointed to the bassist being the first casualty. He probably was nursing an aching head in the East Village, but Bobby had more pressing worries than a thickskulled Mick. Louie’s call was due in ten minutes and he hurried the millionaire into the private elevator.
Its doors opened on the top floor and Charles shambled into the expansive living room.
A Balthus painting of a young girl hung over the English country sofa upholstered with antique silk. Tibetan carpets were scattered on the teakwood floor and a profuse floral explosion graced the mahogany coffee table. Tammi had been awestruck by none of it. She was a runaway. A wild child and Charles asked, "Bobby, can I ask you a question?"
“Shoot.”
“Why doesn’t Tammi want me?” Charles leaned heavily on his cane, his left leg having gone partially numb from standing behind the organ for so long.
If Charles Ames III and Bobby switched places, he'd be dining at the best restaurants, flying to Vegas weekends, and buying champagne for statuesque showgirls, instead of moping after a skinny teenage runaway worth $20 from Times Square. "It’s pretty simple. She loves someone else."
"You said my sister would stop Tammi from loving him."
"Your sister is with Sean right now. She’s doing her part, but it’s not enough.”
"So I have no chance with her?" His heart was defenseless against the truth.
"No chance?" Bobby had to give this kid a lifeline to prevent his withdrawing into his cocoon of the past two years. "Tammi needs a man to help her."
"Then it's impossible."
"No, it isn't. You just need is the right opportunity to convince her that you care for her."
"You really think so?"
"Hey, I'm Italian. All we know is pizza and amore. That's Italian for love." Bobby had not anticipated giving romantic advice in the middle of a kidnapping, but adaptability had kept him one step ahead of the law of probability. Thankfully the phone rang on time and Charles ordered optimistically, "If it's Tammi, ask her where she is.”
“Sure thing.” Bobby answered the phone. "Ames residence."
"It's me."
"You must have the wrong number." Bobby muttered indecipherably to anyone outside of Bensonhurst and Louie said, "We have a problem."
"Yes, this is the Ames residence." Bobby feared that his idiot friend had killed Caroline Ames. Charles waved that he wasn’t in and disappeared into his bedroom, as Louie explained, "It was dark and this blonde was talkin’ to that guy from the band. We snatched her and I discover she was wearin’ a wig.”
“This girl is a redhead?" Bobby instinctively understood their error.
"Yeah.”
Taking Tammi was a colossal fuck-up. "This is no good."
“Hey, we're sorry."
"Sorry ain't gonna cut it with Gucci Cucci or Benny Bottles.” Bobby was furious. “What he say anyway?"
"Nothing. It’s dark and he can’t see shit, so he thinks the redhead is the right girl. What should we do?”"
"We keep the girl." His recent conversation with Charles Ames III had convinced Bobby that the millionaire's son cared more for the redheaded singer than his sister. "Call me in thirty minutes. If I say, "That's a lot of money." We're on."
"One more thing. She has a mole on the inside of her right thigh."
"This girl is my friend." He could profit from this mistake, but was also aware of how dangerous Benny could become. "Make sure she doesn’t get hurt."
"I’ll do my best, but it’s gonna be tough holdin’ back Benny."
“No excuses and next time you call, try and pretend you're a kidnapper." Bobby slammed the phone into the cradle and scratched his chin for several seconds. A runaway sold herself for $20 an hour on 9th Avenue. Charles Ames III’s love increased the young girl’s value and he contemplated about dropping a zero from the ransom. $50,000 wasn't worth twenty years in Ossining. $100,000 had a round ring and he walked to the bedroom to tell Charles a new version of the story he had concocted for Caroline.
He knocked on the bedroom door.
No answer.
Bobby tried the knob.
It was locked and he charged the door. His shoulder buckled the wood and he kicked his way into the bedroom. Charles Ames III held a bottle of pills. Bobby slapped them from his hand. "Everyone takes the easy way out, when a friend needs them."
"Easy way out?" Charles was only seeking relief from the pain in his back.
"Tammi's been kidnapped.” Bobby announced, setting the new plan in motion.
"Kidnapped?” As horrific as that sounded, Charles was elated to hear she wasn’t with Sean. “I thought you said she left with her friend.”
“I was saying that to make you feel better.”
“This isn’t a joke?”
“The caller sounded serious about the $100,000. And they want it tomorrow and no police or Tammi dies.” Bobby’s mouth was parched same as during his bank robberies. This was the moment of truth.
"$100,000?” Tammi was a nobody. “Is she all right?"
"I didn't speak to her.” This was going good so far. “They’re calling again in thirty minutes."
"Why Tammi?" Two people were privy to his obsession. Johnny and Bobby. The driver said, "They must have heard your band was signing a record contract."
"Why call me?" His conjecture sounded too contrived to be true.
"Those drug addicts, thieves, junkies and worse weren’t blind to your having money."
Bobby had to deflect any fingers pointing his way and cast Johnny as the potential fall guy. "The whole world is suspect; the owner, the phony Hell's Angels. Even one of us. Say Johnny."
As much as Johnny topped his list of suspects, the guitarist wasn’t throwing away a record contract. Sean’s having an affair with his sister didn’t eliminate a lover’s act of revenge. Frankie was too loaded to organize anything more complicated than scoring dope and his driver would have targeted Caroline or himself for a kidnapping. And that was just the people he knew.
The wheels were spinning and Bobby said, "No one is above suspicion."
"How can I be sure they have Tammi?" No one attempts their own kidnapping other than Frank Sinatra Jr.
"She have a mole on the inside of her right thigh?”
Hundreds of men at the Dollhouse had seen Tammi naked countless times and doubt seeped into Charles’ mind. “This is all happening so fast.”
“We should call the police.” He had to suggest this option, otherwise Charles might dial 911. “They’re experts at this business.”
“No police.” The young millionaire shook his head.
A friend of Charles had been kidnapped in high school. The father had agreed to a pay-off with the FBI. The local police had tapped the phones and bungled the rescue, killing an agent, the father, and seriously wounded his friend. Charles sat on his bed and envisioned Tammi in a room with a faceless group of people. In each variation Tammi escaped with his assistance and he was a hero, but then this could all be a trap to kidnap him. “Bobby, I need your help on this.”
“Me?” He had fallen for it.
“If they see me, they might opt for bigger game.” Charles was blind to anything other than rescuing Tammi. “In the wrong hands I am worth ten Tammi.”
“That’s all.”
It was more like a thousand. "You’ll be handling the money.”
"Me?" Bobby had been waiting to hear those words. "It’s not my money."
“And if I give you $10,000?”
“$10,000?” He had just received a raise.
“Okay, $20,000.”
“It’s not the money.”
"I, eh, I-I__ Charles stammered for a few seconds and Bobby showed his most sincere face, "I’ll do it, but only to help you and Tammi.”
"Thank you." Charles hadn’t thanked his driver for anything. “And now?”
"We wait for their phone call." Bobby sat on the sofa and Charles joined him. “You heard about my fall.”
“From the nurses. They said you were trying to be a wise ass.”
“They did?”
“Hey, that’s their opinion, not mine.”
“They might be right too.”
“How so?”
“I rarely spoke to anyone like you or Johnny or Sean and certainly Frankie before. It wasn’t a question of racism or snobbery, although I’m not stupid enough to believe anyone is born equal.”
“We’re all Americans.” Bobby agreed no matter what was written in the Constitution.
“Do know anything about Goethe, trust funds, or summer estates?”
Charles had thrown three strikes and Bobby answered, “About the same as you about the infield fly rule, penne pasta, or the Hail Mary.”
“We are all equal in our ignorance of each other.” Bobby and he had spent each waking moment for the last three months together. They hadn’t argued once, mostly because Bobby was hired help. His father was constantly saying that his servants were family and now Charles knew why. “Anyway I was happy this way. The future was bright. I was captain of the football team. My family had wealth and power. It was a perfect world for a teenager.”
“You have friends?”
“Plenty.”
“Girls?”
“I had a ragtop Porsche.” Charles understood that Bobby was trying to find an advantage to balance the Ames’ wealth. He told himself there were none and said, “One day I saw this blonde behind the soda counter at the drugstore in town. She was pretty. I asked her for a date the night before the football game. I hadn’t expected her to say ‘no’, but she refused saying she didn’t date preppie boys. I was angry and sought to get back at her, so the next day I opened the gates of the town reservoir.”
“You flooded the town?” Bobby was impressed.
“Yeah, they were pissed. Send the police for me. I hid on the roof.”
“The roof?”
“I guess it was a stupid place to hide.”
“A lot of things seem stupid after the fact.” Bobby had a long list of dumb mistakes and Charles said, “I’d like to say it was all for the best____”
The telephone rang and Charles nodded, his face weary with stress, “Answer it.”
His driver listened for several seconds before saying, "$100,000 is a lot of money for a singer in an unknown band."
Charles restrained Bobby by the arm. “What are you doing?”
"Just trying to knock them down a little."
"You're bargaining with Tammi's life. They'll have their money. Tomorrow.”
His words were poetry to his ears. "We’ll have the money.”
He hung up and Charles asked, "What they say?"
"If they have the money by 5 O'clock tomorrow, she’ll be fine.”
The concern on Charles' face blossomed into a naïve heroism. "I'll save her."
“You sure about this?”
"Get some sleep," Charles ordered to demonstrate he was taking charge.
“Sure, we’ll be having a long day tomorrow.” Bobby shut the door quietly and entered the living room fighting an urge to dance.
Several stars shone in the night sky and a single light from windows of the surrounding penthouses. Most of the city was asleep. A few thousand policemen, firemen, taxi drivers, cooks and waiters in late-night restaurants kept order in the slumbering metropolis for people leaving clubs and bars, drunks wandering the streets, and bums searching a warm place to lie their bodies.
The wicked seldom rested, for he had yanked this one from his ass, although once he had the ransom, Gucci Cucci’s and Benny Bottles would try to stiff him, only they were about to discover that the balance of power had shifted with the realization that $100,000 was too small a sum to share with anyone other than friends and neither of them were even close to friends.
No comments:
Post a Comment