All this went through his head as they sat waiting, waning, wondering what their next move should be. Ask for their friend’s personal things? Hey! Where were his wallet and cellphone? Still in the locker at the spa? (The paramedics brought him to the ER in a Sage robe.) There might be important numbers they could access from his Treo, not that Chess knew how to use it, maybe Laxmi did, but the cops had probably thought of that, maybe not, maybe it didn’t warrant it, they weren’t really all that efficient, but still, the Man could be at Sage this very minute, the chick he bribed could be opening up the locker — maybe Chess and Laxmi should just go back to the hotel and see if Maurie had something in the room, maybe there was even weed or other contraband that needed to be flushed or stowed or eaten. When Chess brought that up in a whisper, Laxmi said he should go back, she wanted to wait till she could at least see Maurie or talk to a doctor or something, and Chester suddenly quietly freaked at the idea of being alone, leaving her alone, being alone, and panicky, back at the hotel, Laxmi sensed his distress and placed a hand on his, and the cycle of guilt revved up again, the terror and remorse, the worry that his life had ended just when he thought he had a chance to begin again, what with his imminent fortune and budding affair with Maurie’s presumptive ex. Why did I do it? Why why why? Motherfucker—
AT midnight, they drove to Morongo in relative silence, with Laxmi, her face gone puffy, snorting and snuffling. They sat in the hotel parking structure before leaving the Benz 500 cocoon. She told Chess what she saw.
Maurie’s eyes were open but didn’t “track.” When she leaned over he seemed to focus, but couldn’t, and didn’t try to speak. His eyes welled up but Laxmi said she wasn’t sure if that was related to anything. She wiped them with a Kleenex. “The ducts might just have been leaking”—Chester, he looked so awful! Then she said she thought for a second that he may have been looking at her and asking for help…trapped in his body…Oh! Oh God! Oh God!—
Chess heard himself say, No, involuntarily.
He didn’t want to hear any more.
They went to the suite but couldn’t find his wallet. Laxmi said she’d go down and get everything from the locker. Chess said the place was closed and they could do it in the morning. She started to cry again. She said that while they were waiting in the ER she read an article about a 35 year old African elephant called Wankie who died after being transferred, over the objections of animal rights people, from the San Diego Zoo to Salt Lake City. The article said she “collapsed in a metal crate somewhere in Nebraska”—the 3rd elephant to die after being moved from the Wild Animal Park. Laxmi sobbed, screaming about how Wankie’s last hours were spent surrounded by 20 zoo workers and vets as she rested in a sling and they massaged her legs, warming the helpless animal with water.
“Then they executed her!” she said, almost gleefully, her face crushed and distorted, the grin fractured and perverse.
Chess was stoned — on top of the pills, they smoked a roughly rolled joint right when they got to the room — and before he knew it, Laxmi stripped off her clothes. He thought she was going to take a shower but instead she began to unbuckle his belt. They shagged on the shag, abrading themselves.
He split the cicada, mounted the tortoise, fluttered the phoenix, and monkey-attacked—
In praising unions of the left hand, the Chandogya Upanishad says that the woman’s call is the prelude, lying beside her the invocation, penetrating her sex the offertory, and ejaculation the final hymn.
LX.Marjorie
RUDDY Marone was a lot like his name. His silver hair and polite, cowboy demeanor reminded her of the movie star Jeff Chandler. She told him so, and Marj thought he’d probably never heard that. There weren’t too many people left who remembered Jeff Chandler.
Agent Marone said that the FBI, in cooperation with “LAPD Fraud,” had been tracking “ ‘Mr Weyerhauser’ and his gang” for well over 10 months. (Of course Weyerhauser was an AKA.) He told her she hadn’t been the 1st victim of the Blind Sisters lottery scam and probably wouldn’t be the last, bluntly adding that he wasn’t sure how much, if any, of her “funds” could be recovered. He was still confident they “had a pretty good shot” because the “noose was tightening on Mr Weyerhauser and his merry band of thieves.”
Bonita Billingsley — another alias — was part of the group, and Marj found herself strangely fascinated. Malone showed her a book of deglamorized mugshots, photos taken from earlier arrests in different states. They looked like common criminals. They had “played this game before,” he said, and were good at it. Over the next few days, the agent got a wealth of details from Marjorie about the gang’s MO. She showed him the ornate check that had been issued to her, Lucas’s business card (she still called him that; couldn’t help herself), and the various papers she had signed, papers with personal information the agent said had actually given them open access to her banking accounts. The old woman wanted to know about the original draft she had made, for more than $11,000. It was written to the State of New York — how could they have cashed it? He told her they probably hadn’t, and that it was “bait.” For them, it bought their trust and at the same time “gave them further insight to your liquidity.” Malone assured that he had already been in touch with the folks at Wells Fargo. She was finally able to tell him about the shopping trip with Bonita and the fiasco at Spago. She felt so ashamed, but it was good to be able to talk to someone. He had heard it all before yet retained his sympathy and compassion. He said that his mother was around her age.
The scenario she described was basically the same they employed with other victims. One thing puzzled him, though. Usually, “Mr Weyerhauser, et al” pressed their “marks” for more money — if the well hadn’t run dry, they’d find a way to “dip their bucket.” In Marjorie’s case, it seemed the gang stopped short, which seemed “irregular.” They were outrageously bold, almost recklessly so, and in the agent’s experience, grew bolder upon sensing the law closing in — almost a way of tweaking their noses at Marone and his men.