C H A P T E R • 49
When we got outside, Viola was sitting on the bench, waiting.
“Pearl! Come. Sit down next to me,” she said and patted the seat with her glove.
Al waved and kept walking.
I sat down next to her. What the hell. It was at least some part curiosity to see what she was going to get up to next. And it was the opportunity to get at some of what was on my mind.
“We didn’t use your name in our money laundering story,” I told her. “You were the cash business the dirty money was funneled through to Cecelia to deposit in the bank.”
“I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out.”
“When did she start withdrawing money from the bank?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I found some,” I said.
“When I found out, I stopped depositing the money they brought to the bar. Then she nutted up on me. Started giving information about the bank to Samantha for the newspaper. She said she was doing it to alert the community to save the bank. But she alerted our partners as well. And she said I was the one who was reckless. I spent some. It’s true. But not enough for her to nut up on me like she did. I didn’t trip on it too tough. She was spending money too and she had more reputation to protect than me.”
“How much are we talking about?” I asked.
“Tell me how much you found,” she asked.
“Over $400,000 in bank-wrapped bills.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s safe,” I said, which was a half-truth based on trusting Mister Bell.
“Good. That’s good. But she said she couldn’t get it all out the bank without raising an AML alarm.”
“AML?”
“Anti-Money Laundering. But she didn’t write down any balances on the list you gave me or those insider lists, only withdrawal amounts. So, I don’t know what we’re talking about as you put it.”
Funny how things land. “You saw the other insider list? That was in the safe. You broke into my office. That was you who shot Obsidian.”
“I didn’t mean to shoot your man, Pearl. I was shooting to miss you and he was just there.”
She turned on the tears again which gave me a minute.
“I need your help,” she said. “It was an accident. And Obsidian’s going to be okay. Can you forgive me? I need your help. I need that money.”
She was a psycho, for sure. But she was no longer my problem. Now, I was only worried about Virginia.
“What I will do is take Virginia when they arrest you for shooting Obie. And the house is mine. Do not mention it again.”
She was struggling to get up.
“You don’t have to tell?”
It occurred to me that I wouldn’t be called an accomplice since I was on the other side of the room when she shot a New York City policeman.
“No. I won’t tell.”
But I needed to ask her some things while she was free to talk, before she was arrested or worse. “Wait. Tell me something,” I said.
She sat back down. “Can we make it quick?”
“It needs to be quick now. I’m not sure I’ll get another chance to ask. You were here when I was not. You spent all that time with Daddy. I want you to tell me some stories. What was he thinking? What was he doing? How was it? Did he still make his little sunny-side up egg breakfast with sausage and toast and jam almost every day? Was he disappointed that I wasn’t here?”
“Oh, my lord. Please don’t doubt that he loved you. He was proud and happy that you were following your dream. Although he thought you might take some roles that were more serious.” She smiled, but saw something in my reaction. “No. He liked what he called your early career. He missed you all the time. But that’s the love.”
We held each other for a moment. I was stiff as a stick to her attempt at cozy suffocation.
Then we took a gypsy cab from Jackson & Robinson to her house.
During the silent ride, I practiced what I was learning to touch her suffering and mine. I said to myself, “May you be free of danger, both external and internal. May you meet the changing nature of your heart with equanimity. And may I too find equanimity and peace.”
Practice. It takes practice.