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Chapter Text

September 1981

The dirty white pickup truck rambled into Collinsport, Maine, at 20 miles over the speed limit and farting black smoke. From the rolled down window one could see a cigarette and accompanying arm clad in a rust colored jacket, and one could hear loud—a stretch of the imagination might call it singing—and accompanying music on the radio:

'Cause little Willy, Willy won't go home
But you can't push Willy ‘round—Willy won't go!
Try tellin' everybody but, oh no,(
Little Willy, Willy won't—go home (1)

The screeching brakes startled a haggard housewife on the sidewalk. She was pushing a baby carriage while trying to carry groceries with two small children in tow. Willie Loomis stuck his head out the window.

“Hey, lady!” he called to her. “Where’s Popham Street? Can’t find it on this damn map.”

The woman’s first instinct was to ignore him and keep walking, but her five-year-old daughter ran up to the truck.

“I know that street! My friend, Jessica, lives there. She goes to the same school with—“

“Polly, come back here!” Her mother grabbed her by the arm. The little girl yelled to the truck driver as she was being hauled back to the sidewalk, “You turn that way at the corner, then go down that street and then the one after that—!” The little family hurried away.

On Popham Street Willie located the boarding house and moved in, as per Jason’s instructions. He used Elizabeth Stoddard of Collinwood as a reference to get in the door. The proprietors, a fat old man and his fat old wife, looked suspiciously at the scruffy stranger, wanting to know where he was from, what he was doing in town, and how on earth he would know someone like Mrs. Stoddard. They were also displeased when Willie gave them only six dollars down payment on the week’s rent and used the telephone.

Willie called his partner, making arrangements to meet later at some bar. He then got settled in his tidy little room and treated himself to a long overdue shower and shave.

When he came downstairs, Mr. and Mrs. Landlord were sitting down to supper with two other lodgers. Willie was famished, and the meatloaf and mashed potatoes smelled damn appealing, but grumpy old cow informed Willie that meals were provided only to tenants whose rents were paid in advance. The young man assured them that he was getting cash tonight and excused himself to get a drink of water from the kitchen. There he helped himself to an apple and a handful of change from a jar on the counter.

The autumn sun was setting as Willie approached a waterfront tavern called the Blue Whale, taking in the familiar sights, sounds and smells of a harbor. Most docks looked the same, and he and Jason had put in at ports all over the world. Of course, there were no tramp steam vessels in this dinky dive, just fishing rigs and tugboats. If the Irishman’s new deal fell through, maybe they could ship out again. That wouldn’t be so bad.

Willie sat at the bar and counted out enough dimes, nickels and pennies to pay for a beer. He could nurse it until Jason showed up to buy more booze and, he hoped, some dinner. Bob the bartender gave him a weary, disgusted look and silently delivered his brew; he was nothing like his buddy Bob from Capri Lounge in the old neighborhood. At least the guy hadn’t carded him. All his forged documentation was confiscated at his last known address, when he was a guest of the North Carolina penal system.

Willie turned around to check out local talent among the other patrons. Not bad for a hick town; Collinsport had some fine looking women, and he could go for some female companionship. Seaman Loomis was used to some long stretches onboard ship, but four months in prison had been torture. There were no single girls there, though—just couples.

For the moment, however, putting cash in hand was a priority. Once he had dough in his pocket, the rest would take care of itself. So Willie scanned the room for a mark who might be willing to donate his wallet. There was a bearded, middle-aged dude at the bar yakking at two old guys, some men with dates sitting at tables eating and drinking, and a couple with delusions of dexterity on the dance floor. Except for one suit, they were all working class stiffs and not worth the effort.

He observed the big man in a suit—upright-citizen type courting a lovely girl with long brown hair. Lucky bastard. Willie had to get that guy to stand up in order to make the hit, so a diversion was in order.

Willie stuck out his foot, nearly tripping an old coot on his way to the restroom. He jumped off his stool, grabbing an empty beer bottle by the neck with one hand, and the startled gentleman by the lapel with his other.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, asshole!” Willie shouted. That worked. Big Man was on his feet to break up the scuffle. He pried the bottle from Willie’s raised hand as the boy nimbly reached for the inside of the guy’s suit jacket. Suddenly, he was grabbed from behind and pulled away.

“There you are!” Jason secured his arm around Willie’s shoulder. “Now, don’t go losin’ your temper like that.” The Irishman flashed his blarney smile at the other two men. “The lad didn’t mean anythin’ by it. Let me buy you both a drink.” he cooed.

“Your friend better watch himself, McGuire,” warned the big man, adjusting his shirt cuff, “or I’ll do it for him.” Willie sneered at Mr. Upright Citizen and was about to accept the challenge when Jason pushed him aside and spoke confidentially to the others.

“Please forgive my friend; he’s havin’ a rough time of it. Just learned today that his dear sister is not well and needs a rather serious operation.” Jason shook his head sadly and continued in an even softer tone. “I’m afraid it looks bleak.”

Willie picked up on the story because those were the rules. “What? What’d you hear?” He turned Jason around. “Is it about . . . ?”

“Coleen.”

“Yeah, Coleen.”

“Excuse us, gentlemen,” Jason latched himself once more to the young man’s shoulder as Willie wiped his sleeve across his face and hung in head in despair. “Come along, son, let’s sit at a table and we’ll talk.” The Irishman retreated, taking his troubled companion with him. “Good evening, Miss Winters!” He called over to big man’s date across the room as they traveled to the other side of the bar.

“Let go ‘a me,” Willie shook him off as Jason pushed him into a chair. “Whadja do that for?”

Jason motioned for the bartender and in a jovial voice ordered a round of drinks, then continued to the boy in a warning tone that did not match the smile on his face. “Now, listen up, mate. This is a small town where everybody knows everybody else, so there’s goin’ to be a different set of rules here—and you need to follow them. That was Burke Devlin you almost pinched back there. I don’t recommend you offend the likes of him.”

Willie watched Mr. Devlin who had returned to his dinner companion. “Big Man’s starin’ at me; well, I can stare right back.”

“Pay attention.”

“Who’s that Good-Evening-Miss-Winters? Ya know her?”

Jason grabbed his arm. “Turn around. She’s from Collinwood and you are to steer clear,” he hissed, pointing doggedly at the boy to emphasize the statement.

Willie turned back to the table. “Get your fuckin’ finger outta my face, will ya?”

“Then listen to me: You’ll be keepin’ your sticky fingers to yourself; there’ll be no cons and no griftin’. We need to keep our noses clean for the duration of this visit.”

“But Jason, I’m broke. I spent all my dough to get here and slept in my truck for four days.” Willie grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl on the table. “And what took you so long? I been here for over an hour, and there was nothin’ to do.”

“I was havin’ dinner at Collinwood.”

“Yeah, well, I hope you brought me a doggy bag; I’m starvin.’”

“It’s not a restaurant, ‘tis Liz Stoddard’s estate where I’m stayin’.” Willie gave him a look. “Oh, stop it; I’ll buy you some grub, and here—here’s some cash to get by.” Jason pulled out his wallet and handed his partner a ten dollar bill.

“It’s twenty-five bucks a week at that hole in the wall ya sent me to, and if I don’t pay up, they won’t feed me.”

Jason reluctantly fished out another five. “Give them this on deposit. I’ll get more to you soon.” The bartender delivered two beers. Jason ordered an oyster po’boy sandwich for his friend.

“How come I can’t stay with you at that big fancy house? You got some goods on your Miz Lizzy friend, right? So, just tell her she’s gotta let me stay too.”

“Things are a bit precarious at present.”

Willie popped more peanuts in his mouth. “Should I pretend to know what that means?”

“It means you wait ‘till the time is right. Good things come to those who wait, lad, and this woman is rich. We can take her for a bundle.”

“What kinda dirt ya got on this old broad?”

Jason didn’t think of her as old or broad. Younger than he, she was. True, she was not the knockout he remembered from 18 years ago, but Elizabeth still possessed many fine assets, both personal and financial.

“Never you mind; you needn’t be concerned with that.” Willie slumped in his chair; Jason was keeping secrets again. “Look, we have to play our cards very carefully or this whole deal could go south.”

“Yeah, like Panama.”

“Belay that. We don’t talk about Panama.”

Willie could understand his partner’s scowl. For years, Panama had been Jason’s dream for the big score that would secure their fortune for rest of their lives, and it got kicked right out from under them. They were ripped off, hunted by gangsters and forced to run for their lives. Back in the states, Willie disappeared by going to prison for using stolen credit cards. Jason disappeared into a crippling depression from which it took months to recover.

Elizabeth Collins Stoddard was their last chance. Many years ago the woman had paid Jason to keep some big, dark secret and never return. But, that’s the thing about blackmailers: they’re never satisfied and they never completely go away.

After Willie’s meal and another round of beer, Jason and his buddy left the bar and headed for his shiny black Cadillac. It wasn’t really his car—it was Mrs. Stoddard’s—but he felt free to borrow it whenever he pleased. The Irishman opened the trunk and retrieved Willie’s old duffle bag, which he had saved for him since the day his mate was arrested down south.

Willie hoisted the bag over his shoulder. “Man, am I glad to get this back. I been carryin’ my stuff around in plastic bags, like some bum.”

Jason smiled. “You stay out of trouble, now, and sit tight. If all goes well, this could be over in a few days, and we’ll be on Easy Street.”

“Gotta be better than Popham Street.”

Willie looked at Jason for a moment. The duffle slipped to the ground as he, with an outpouring of uncharacteristic emotion, hugged his partner, his mentor, his best friend.

“I missed you, Jason,” he said into the man’s trench coat. “I’m glad we didn’t split up. I wouldn’t know what else to do.”

Then the boy abruptly released him, turned and ran to his truck, threw the duffle bag in the back and climbed into the cab.

Jason smiled sentimentally as he watched Willie speed off into the night in a cloud of backfire smoke. As the Irishman reached for the car keys, he realized his wallet was missing.

Chapter Text

Boring. Boring. Boring. Willie wandered the perimeter of the boarding house, kicking stones at the foundation. He was reminded of childhood summers in the old neighborhood when there was nothing to do. Sister Anastasia used to say something about idle minds and devil playgrounds. The delinquent pitched another stone with too much force, and it broke the little basement window at the structure’s base. Mr. and Mrs. Landlord peered out the door at their temperamental tenant as he set off down the street in search of a devil playground.

There were many who admired Collinsport’s small-town quaintness and scenic shoreline, but to Willie it was little and ugly—and boring. There was one television in that whole boarding house, and certainly not for use by lodgers whose accounts were in arrears. The village boasted one bar, one barbershop, and one coffee shop. There was no movie theatre, and, from what Willie could tell, no hookers. If he didn’t get a girl soon, he was going to bust.

Willie sat on the dock, smoking too much, until the sun set, whereupon he headed for the Blue Whale, sat alone at the bar and proceeded to drink too much. The other patrons had drinking buddies; they all knew each other, patted each other on the back, told jokes. The place seemed friendly enough, but it was wary of strangers; and Willie was indeed a stranger. The more he drank, the more he felt like one.

Finally, opportunity presented itself. He spotted a very pretty girl sitting at a table without a date. She was probably not a hooker—he could see evidence of a waitress uniform beneath her coat—but she was looking to get picked up. Why else do girls come to bars alone? Willie told the bartender to give her a drink, but she declined without even acknowledging her would be benefactor.

Okay, playing hard to get. Willie slid off his stool and tried to swagger, not stagger, as he approached her table.

“Can’t a guy buy ya a drink?

“No, thank you.”

“I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I just thought, hey, you’re alone and I’m alone, so maybe we could do it together.” He planted himself in the chair next to hers.

“Please don’t sit here. I’m waiting for someone.”

“I’ll wait with you.”

“Look, I don’t know you—“

“Willie Loomis; I’m new in town and I dunno anybody to talk to, so I’d like it to be you, ’cause you got the prettiest brown eyes I ever seen.” He leaned in.

“I want you to go away,” She said deliberately, but the intruder did not move. The young woman was about to ask the bartender for assistance when her date entered the bar.

“Joe, over here!” she called out instead.

The young man approached the table. “Sorry, I’m late, Maggie. I got hung up—” he kissed her, sat down and extended his hand with a friendly smile. “Hi there, I’m Joe Haskell.”

Willie was immediately intimidated by the man’s good looks, movie star teeth, bright blue eyes—and tall, of course, very tall. He was pissed off and did not accept the handshake. This pretty boy just ruined his chances of scoring with Maggie and her big brown eyes. Now it was obvious that he was expected to move on.

“Well, bully for you.” Willie retorted and stood with his beer. “I’m leavin’, ’cause your date here’s bein’ a fuckin’ bitch.” Actually, the young hood still thought she was pretty nice; he just wanted an excuse to take out the boyfriend’s lights.

Joe jumped up in defense of his girl, but Maggie grabbed his arm. “It’s alright, Joe, don’t bother. You can see he’s drunk.”

Willie smirked. “Yeah, Joe, don’t bother. You might get hurt.” He and Joe each took a step toward each other when Jason grabbed his partner from behind.

“This way, mate, your reservation is at another table.” He shoved Willie aside and addressed the couple. “Sorry, folks, about me friend. He shouldn’t be drinkin’ with his medication—makes him delirious . . . let me buy you a round.”

Jason walked his besotted pal to a table in the far corner. “Oh, I wish there was a pill for you. Drivin’ me to bankruptcy, you are, buyin’ drinks to placate these locals. I told you to keep quiet.”

“I was there first. That pansy was tryin’ to horn in.”

Jason pulled out a chair, pushed Willie down and gave him a hard smack on the head. “That’s for liftin’ me wallet.”

The young man howled with laughter and socked him back. “That’s for lettin’ me. Yer gettin’ soft, old man.” Willie tossed the billfold on the table. “Here. Fill it up again.”

Against his better judgment, Jason bought another round of drinks. “You need to be findin’ somethin’ else to occupy your time besides gettin’ tanked.”

“Like what?” Willie took peanuts from the bowl and lined them methodically on the table. “Let’s see: don’t get drunk, don’t get in fights, don’t talk to women, don’t make any money—Tell me, what’s left? ’Cause I’m ready to jump off a cliff.” Jason started to speak but his partner continued, “I know, I know, sit tight and wait for the score. Well, I’m sick a’ waitin,’ and I hate that cutesy little room with no TV and those assholes who stare at me and follow me all over the house like I’m gonna steal their stuff.” He slumped in his chair. “Why’d you even ask me to come here? This is your game; there’s no part for me.”

“I guess I missed your belly achin.’ Here I am, givin’ you a free ride, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Willie tossed a peanut into the air to catch it in his mouth. “But if I can’t earn any dough, you gotta give me some so I can eat. I don’t get served fancy meals like you do up at Collin-castle.”

“It’s Collinwood, and trust me, the dog stew in Korea is better than what passes for cuisine up there. I don’t know how they stand it; their taste buds must have all rotted and fallen out.”

Willie laughed, too loudly, at the thought of a bunch of rich people huddled around a hot pot with chopsticks; other customers looked in their direction.

“I like dog stew, could go for some right now. What’s it called, the spicy one?”

“Gaejang-guk.” Jason pulled Willie close and continued in hushed tones. “But seriously, Liz is makin’ this much more difficult that it need be—always gettin’ her knickers in a twist, forcin’ me to use harsh words, then she backs down.” His frustration was evident. “Every time, it’s the same routine. Meanwhile, I’ve barely seen a dime.”

“Calm the fuck down. You gotta new suit; looks nice.”

“Willie, me boy, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Wait and see.” He clinked the other’s glass and sipped his whiskey.

Outside the bar, Willie, suddenly quiet, watched as his friend slide neatly into the big black Caddy. It was a beauty, and Jason felt quite at home behind the wheel. Elizabeth traded up her vehicle every year, although she never drove or even rode in the vehicle herself. It was a pity to see such a fine car being used by the housekeeper to haul groceries or get dented by Roger’s drunk driving. Jason looked up to see his young partner still standing next to the car, looking like a mutt abandoned by the side of the road. Jason pushed a button to slide down the power window.

“Where’s your truck?” the Irishman asked.

“I walked.”

“Well, do you remember how to get back?”

“ . . . Yeah. I think so.”

Jason took out his money clip and handed Willie a $5 bill. “Take care of yourself. I’ll see you soon,” he said and drove away.

He could have offered his pal a lift, let him play with the cassette deck and feel the fine leather upholstery. The solitary young man remained for a minute on the sidewalk, then stuffed the money in his jeans pocket and walked back to Popham Street in the dark. Music from the Blue Whale’s jukebox followed him down the street.

Willie returned to the boarding house to find the all lights off and the door locked. His duffle bag was on the porch, and pinned to it was a note which read Your kind not welcome here. The old geezers were sitting in the dark watching him through the window. Willie rapped loudly on the glass pane as he passed and yelled “Boo!” making them scurry back into the shadows. He climbed into the cab of his truck, calling over his shoulder, “Screw you, too!”

Even if there was someplace to go, Willie was too drunk to drive. He sprawled out on the vinyl bench seat and fell asleep, dreaming about the precocious prostitute he once met in a bathhouse in Korea.

Chapter Text

Willie woke up the late the next morning, stiff and shivering cold. He revved up the engine to get the heater working and thumped on the steering wheel, weighing his options. The young man repressed his first instinct, which was to take a morning piss on the boarding house porch, but instead relocated his truck to a different street before Mr. and Mrs. Landlord called the sheriff. Next, he retrieved the fold-out map from the passenger-side floor and scanned it for some place called Collinwood. It was time to storm the castle.

Holy shit. Willie drove through the gates of the estate and looked up the tree-lined driveway which stretched for almost a mile to the mansion. The entrance was not in the best condition, but pretty damn impressive nonetheless. Willie went left at the fork and drove through an overgrown, wooded area which opened to a white Georgian manor. Well, perhaps it had been white once upon a time. The stone was pitted and the paint was peeling. Ivy crawled across the porch and climbed the columns. It looked like Tara after the Civil War.

Willie jumped down from the truck and knocked on the front door, which fell open of its own accord. He broke the spider web spanning the entranceway and cautiously stepped inside. This couldn’t be where Jason lived; it was colder than outside and covered with cobwebs and dirt. A rat strolled down the stairs, sniffed in Willie’s direction, and disappeared around a corner. In the first room, tree-filtered sunlight streaked through filthy, broken windows, and the plank floor was covered with mouse droppings and shattered glass. Wind whistled down the chimney with a wailing moan as the broken metal damper flapped in the chimney flue. A young woman in the faded portrait over the fireplace gazed down at him.

“I think I took a wrong turn somewhere,” he said aloud. The sound slightly echoed in the hallway, followed by heavy silence. It occurred to Willie that this was the appropriate time for a monster to jump out, or a masked guy with a chainsaw. He carefully backed out to the foyer, then to the porch and closed the door.

This time he went right at the fork.

Collinwood, in contrast, was more like a castle. And in the castle lived a beautiful blonde princess who answered the door. Willie felt certain was going to be much happier there.

Jason cordially escorted the young stranger into the drawing room and closed the double doors behind them. Willie recognized his expression—the one where his face was smiling but his eyes told a different story entirely. He ignored it and flopped onto the couch.

“Thanks for invitin’ me to come stay here. This is a really nice place.” He gestured toward the door. “And I like your friends.”

“None of that.” Jason snapped; Willie’s leering grin irked him. “That was Mrs. Stoddard’s daughter, Carolyn—Get your feet off the furniture!” He pushed the boy’s shoes from the coffee table. “What are you doin’ here? Do you want to blow this whole deal?”

“I’m not gonna blow anythin’. I just need a place to sleep.”

“What’s wrong with the boardin’ house?”

“It sucks.” Jason glared at him. “Actually, they—threw me out. I told you they hated me. Those fucks took all my money and then tossed my stuff out the door! So, what am I supposed to do now, Jason? I don’t wanna live in the truck. It’s too cold.”

The Irishman crossed to the bar and poured himself a stiff one, but did not offer refreshment to his guest.

“It’s not fair,” Willie continued. “You’re the one who told me to come to this stupid place to begin with, and ever since, you been givin’ me the bum’s rush—you and everybody else.” He looked at the brandy with interest. Not just now. But definitely later.

“It’s just that they aren’t your kind of people, lad. You wouldn’t feel comfortable here or get along.”

“I’m not good enough for your new friends.”

“Quit yer whinin’.”

“No, fuck you.” Willie jumped up and trailed his pacing partner. “I think ya wanted me to come up here just because next to me, you look good. And ya don’t haveta lie to me all the time and put on a big act, ’cause I already know what a thievin’ crook ya are.” Jason glared at him but did not respond. “Okay, fine, I’ll go, and you can get yerself a pet dog for company. But if you won’t give me some cash, I’m gonna get it the way I know how, and you and your small-town rules can stick it.” He shoved the Irishman, causing his drink to spill.

“You selfish little ingrate.” Jason turned and shoved him back. “I’m up to me neck workin’ this scam for the both of us, and you come bargin’ in and threaten to blow me cover.”

“Then make me a player. I’ll do it with ya.”

Jason set his glass on the coffee table and took out a handkerchief to wipe his hand. “And I’m tellin’ ya, you’ll not be happy here. It’s very quiet and formal, and there’s no television. I’m only thinkin’ of you.”

“Bullshit. You don’t care about me.” Willie flopped once again on the sofa. “All that time when I was in prison, I never heard from you once. You coulda found me and tried to help. That’s what friends do; it’s what I woulda done.” He looked up with his biggest, round eyes and forlorn expression. “’Cause I thought you were my friend.”

Jason gave the boy a stern look. “That’s quite enough. Don’t you dare be pullin’ the sad little orphan bit with me, when I’m the one who taught it to ya. I guess you’re goin’ to cry next.”

Willie stood and grabbed the nearest object, which was the empty brandy snifter, and was about to hurl it when Jason caught his arm.

“That’s exactly the type of behavior that will not go down at Collinwood. How would ya expect me to conduct business with you flyin’ off the handle at every little thing?”

Willie pulled his arm away and crossed the room, carefully replacing the glass on the bar. “I won’t do it again if ya lemme stay.”

“Why should I, then?”

“Because . . .” the boy looked away and spoke softly, “I was s’possed to be somewhere else, but I never showed up, and now it’s too late. I got nowhere else to go.”

Jason sighed. “Even if I wanted to, it’s not up to me. This isn’t my house.”

Willie dropped the pity play and smirked. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Ya little bastard,” the Irishman laughed. “Sometimes even I don’t know when you’re scammin’ and when you’re sincere.”

Willie shrugged. “Me neither.”

The older man hesitated before speaking. “Well—I’ll see what I can do.”

He definitely questioned the advisability of this decision, and was about to act against his better judgment. But it would be interesting to see just how much influence he had with dear Elizabeth. After all, sometimes you needed to push some buttons to get a motor started.

Willie’s hand wandered over the things on Elizabeth’s desk with devil playground curiosity. He held up an emerald and diamond brooch with a broken clasp, watching the light reflect in its facets.

“Now you’re talkin’.” His mood brightened immediately. “Mrs. Stodgy’s gotta do everything you say, right?”

“You will please call her Mrs. Stoddard. Now, don’t make me regret this.” Jason pointed a finger in the young man’s face. “If she does let you stay—if—you must be on your best behavior.” He snatched the pin from Willie’s hand and returned it to its place. “And actin’ like a proper guest. I’ll not have you ruinin’ my plans at this stage of the game.”

“No, I promise. I swear. On a stack of damn Bibles.” He slapped Jason on the back. “My bag’s in the truck.”

Willie swung open the double doors to reveal the housekeeper crouched by the keyhole. She quickly pulled a dust cloth from her apron pocket.

“Excuse me, Mr. McGuire,” she said hastily. “I was just polishing the knobs. I didn’t realize you had company.”

“Ah, Mrs. Johnson, just the lady I wanted to see. This is Mr. Loomis; he’ll be stayin’ with us for a brief while.”

The housekeeper looked skeptical. “Mrs. Stoddard didn’t say anything to me about another houseguest. I better—”

“No!” The Irishman guided her into the drawing room. “Please don’t bother yourself. I’ll make the arrangements, and you just wait here.” He sprinted out the door and up the stairs.

Willie and Mrs. Johnson regarded each other for a moment, then the housekeeper busied herself by dusting furniture.

“Didn’t hear anything about a guest . . .” she muttered to herself.

“I hear that Mrs. Stoddard is a fine lady,” Willie piped up. “When you came in, I thought you was her.”

Mrs. Johnson blushed. “That’ll be the day.”

“Here. Lemme do that.” Willie took the dust cloth and pointed to the sofa. “You sit there and take a rest.

“Young man, I can’t—”

“It’s okay, I’m good at cleanin’; My first job was as a wiper on the Bremerhaven. You take care of this whole big house by yourself?”

“I certainly do. And the cooking.”

Willie stopped in his tracks. “You’re roastin’ a chicken, aren’t ya? I can’t tell ya how good that smelled when I came in the door. I bet you’re a wonderful cook.”

“You’re trying to flatter me, though I can’t imagine why.” She smiled.

“No, ma’m. It just that when you live on the road like I do, you really appreciate a home cooked meal.”

“How did you and Mr. McGuire get to be such good friends?”

“We go way back, do everything together.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Johnson raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. He was my dad’s best friend. Looked out for me when I was a kid after my parents died. Made sure I got a good education and got me my first job.”

Once more the double doors swung open and Elizabeth Stoddard stormed into the room, glaring at the intruder. Jason followed at her heels. Mrs. Johnson, not wanting to be caught idling, jumped to her feet.

“Oh, Mrs. Stoddard, what a good Christian you are to take in this poor homeless boy,” the housekeeper gushed. “I’ll get his room prepared right away. I’ll have to wash up the linens, so dinner will be late.” She scurried out the door.

Elizabeth folded her arms and frowned at the young man. Willie smiled politely.

“Thank you, m’am, for lettin’ me stay. I won’t be no trouble.”

The mistress started to speak but just let out an exasperated sigh and stalked out of room.

“She didn’t like the idea,” ventured Willie.

“Not at all,” replied Jason.

Chapter Text

Collinwood was crawling with beautiful women, and they were all up for grabs because Jason was only interested in the old one with the money. The little blonde reminded Willie of Princess Curley (2), who would return to his memory whenever he smelled hot sun oil.

He also liked the brunette. She was dating Big Man but, come on. Burke Devlin was way too old for her and looked like a caveman. Willie seized the opportunity to become better acquainted with the young woman when he spotted her entering the study in search of a book.

“Hi, I remember you from the bar.”

“Yes, and I remember you.” She returned dryly and resumed her task.

“Guess what, I’m stayin’ here now.”

“Mrs. Johnson told me.” She moved to another shelf. He trailed after.

“The maid? Yeah, she’s real nice. I'm Willie; who ‘r you? Are you a Collins?”

“My name is Victoria Winters,” the girl replied matter-of-factly. “I’m Mrs. Stoddard’s companion and the governess to her nephew.”

And a virgin. Definitely a virgin.

Miss Winters made her selection and headed for the door, but the young hooligan blocked her path.

“Hey, you wanna go out sometime—get a drink?”

“No, thank you.” Vicki tried to sidestep him but was prevented again. “Please, let me leave.”

“Uh uh. Not until ya say the password.”

Victoria detested bullies and had no sense of humor when it came to teasing, but Willie didn’t understand that. He wasn’t trying to upset the girl; he just wanted to flirt, poke her enough so she would come back at him and have some fun. The young woman was close to tears when Mrs. Stoddard entered. The lady always seemed to throw open doors and stand there like she was the Queen of England.

Vicki was further distressed to think her employer might misinterpret her being alone with this ruffian. “Excuse me,” she said softly, her eyes downcast as she hurried from the room.

Liz glared at Willie. “What are you doing in here? Are you antagonizing my—Miss Winters?”

Willie nodded. “Yes, m’am, I think so.”

+++++

Princess Carolyn was a party girl, the new houseguest decided. According to gossip, she had dated every eligible bachelor in Collinsport, so she was probably a better target than Virgin Vicki. There was only one problem: Willie disgusted her. Not because he was poor or lazy or rude—because he had invaded her home, and he associated with that parasite who, for some reason, was permitted to torment her mother.

Carolyn was not unassuming and shy like Vicki Winters; she was a firecracker, and this situation between Elizabeth and McGuire was shortening her fuse with each passing day.

Willie wanted to make a move on her in the breakfast room but couldn’t decide what to say. The princess was obviously ignoring him as she helped herself to grapefruit and toast at the buffet. He slid out of his chair and joined her.

“So, what’s good to eat here?”

She took a seat at the table without responding. Willie filled a plate with scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon and sat next to the young lady. “I thought rich folks would have steak for breakfast, or eggs benedict. When ya go to a diner, they’re always the most expensive things on the menu. I usually get Frosted Flakes.”

Carolyn sipped her tea, looking uncomfortable and irritated at the young man who would not stop staring at her. Willie tried to imagine how that beautiful platinum hair would be all messed up in bed, with his face buried in it, and what the rest of her looked like without that pink quilted housecoat, again with his face buried in it. Perhaps he should have worn his terrycloth robe from the Hilton. He didn’t know it was fashionable to eat breakfast in your pajamas.

“Ain’t ya gonna talk to me at all?”

“No.”

Willie laughed. “You just did.”

That just further pissed the princess. “Stop bothering me and crawl back into the sewer you came from. No one wants you here.”

The boy dumped a boatload of sugar into his coffee cup while thinking of a response. “Why can’t ya be friendly to me? I hear you’re friendly to every other guy in town.”

Carolyn picked up the half grapefruit from her plate, shoved it in his face, and stormed out of the room. The young man smiled to himself as he wiped the pulp off his kisser. She got that move from James Cagney in Public Enemy, and that was his favorite movie. Willie took that as a sign that maybe they had something in common, and was encouraged. Boy, she was a live wire. Getting her in the sack wasn’t going to be easy, but it would be definitely worth it.

Willie changed his shirt and again stalked his prey, this time tracking her to the drawing room, where she was blowing the polish dry on her fingernails as she replaced the cap. The boy stole silently up behind her, but was again at a loss for words. If he had had a couple of drinks, Willie felt he could think of something clever, but it was only nine in the morning, and it was never a good idea to get smashed before lunch. If she only realized how bad he wanted her right now. How was a guy supposed to just sit around and watch her toss that hair—that beautiful, pampered hair—he reached out and touched it.

Startled, the young woman leapt to her feet and spun around. She smacked his hand away, then swung her arm back and slapped his face, leaving a streak of pink polish on the scoundrel’s cheek. The diversion afforded her just enough time to run to mother’s desk and pull a revolver from the drawer. Carolyn held the gun in both hands and aimed it directly at his pecker.

“Go on, touch me again. Try,” she said in a deliberate tone. She circled right as Willie circled left.

“No, I won’t. I-I was just lookin’ for . . . never mind,” he replied, backing toward the exit. He turned away, swiftly swung open the double doors and gave a startled yell when he saw Mrs. Stoddard standing there. Carolyn quietly slipped the pistol back in the drawer.

“What is going on?” Liz demanded. “Stop harassing my daughter.”

“No, ma’m—I mean, yes, ma’m.” Willie sidestepped the lady and sprinted into the foyer, coming face to face with a portrait hanging in the entry. It caught his eye for a moment because the man in the painting seemed to look back, observing him. Willie vaulted up the stairs, two at a time.

Elizabeth spoke to Jason. Jason spoke to Willie.

“It’s not my fault,” Willie protested as the Irishman closed the door behind them in the upstairs library to afford the two some privacy. “All these hot babes everywhere and they treat me like dirt. I can’t get a date. What’s wrong with me?”

“Well, I’ll tell ya: You’re a belligerent, fallin’-down drunk, and no woman finds that attractive.” His mate was hoping for a little sympathy, not a lecture. “Anyone who didn’t witness your shenanigans at the Blue Whale has certainly heard about them by now. Straighten up, bucko, or the only date you’ll have will be with your trusty right hand.”

Willie was issued a restraining order—he was not allowed to go anywhere near Vicki or Carolyn, not even in the dining room. Henceforth, he was to eat his meals with the help.

So the young man spent most afternoons in the kitchen stuffing his face while Mrs. Johnson, who didn’t mind the company, gossiped incessantly about everyone and everything. Occasionally, she would ask him to peel potatoes or shell peas. Willie had never been assigned to a mess hall, but didn’t mind helping out someone who was constantly putting food in front of him.

Willie didn’t think Mrs. Johnson’s culinary skills were that bad at all. Home cooking was a rare treat for someone who, up until now, dined almost exclusively on prepackaged meals, institutional grub, street vendor fare and the occasional garbage can. So, as the housekeeper chatted away, filling him in on who said what to whom and what it really meant, Willie listened and ate.

“I like a man with a good appetite,” she remarked. “Like my Harry. You remind me of him.”

“He your husband?”

“Oh, no, my husband died a long time ago. Harry is my son.”

Willie grinned. “Is he a fine, upstandin’ guy?”

“Actually, he’s in prison right now. Maybe you’ll meet him some day.”

God, I hope not, Willie thought.

+++++

When Willie wasn’t eating, he was usually drinking—sometimes with Jason, but often alone. The Collins’ liquor cabinet consisted mostly of sherry, port, some liqueur that tasted like oranges, and expensive brandy, all of which Willie consumed with alacrity if not skill.

Late one afternoon, as he slid from a comfort-zone state to that of semi-consciousness on the drawing room couch, Willie discovered someone staring down at him. His fuzzy focus eventually revealed a tall, blond, stern-faced man holding a briefcase in one hand and a suitcase in the other.

“Good afternoon, young man. May I ask what you’re doing here?” the gentleman asked with a sardonic tone. “You were taking a rest from cleaning the chimney, perhaps?”

Willie rolled over and fell off the couch as the man dropped his bag and picked up Willie’s brandy glass from the floor. Before he could reply, Jason and Liz appeared in the doorway.

“Ah, Roger!” Jason said cheerfully, patting the man on the back. “Allow me to make introductions: This is me good friend, Willie Loomis, to whom Liz has graciously extended an invitation to visit for a short while. Willie—you can get up off the floor now, Willie—this is Mrs. Stoddard’s brother, Roger Collins.”

“Welcome back,” Liz said in a quiet voice.

“Elizabeth.” Roger looked askance at the newcomer.

“How was your trip to Boston?” Jason chirped as Roger shot a disdainful sneer in his direction. The Irishman ignored the look but took the hint nonetheless. “Ah well. You and Liz probably have business matters to discuss. We’ll be leavin’ you in peace.” Mrs. Stoddard moved away when he tried to peck her cheek. The Irishman smiled graciously and took Willie out by the arm.

“You’re ain’t gettin’ any either, are ya?” Willie indicated the lady behind the closed doors.

“It’s like tryin’ to get cozy with an iceberg.”

+++++

Later that evening, when the rest of the household was tucked in for the night, Roger sat somberly, if not soberly, in the drawing room sipping his second nightcap—maybe it was his third. Willie skipped carelessly down the stairs, into the room and headed for the bar.

“Please, make yourself at home, and do help yourself to more of my good brandy,” Roger muttered with the deep-throated sarcasm with which he was often associated.

“Okay, thanks.” Willie poured himself a tall one and sat in a chair across from the other man, eyeing him with curiosity.

Mr. Collins looked vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn’t place the face. Boston? Philadelphia? Was he someone Willie had conned? He probably just recognized the type; his radar had always been keen in that respect. Roger regarded him with a heavy lidded gaze.

“Of course, that is not my brandy, as I was reminded today in no uncertain terms; it is my sister’s brandy, and it is her house, her holdings and her business, as my contributions merit no recompense whatsoever. Consequently, she has the privilege of inviting whomever she likes as guests in this house.” Roger sipped his drink. “She’ll be taking in vagrants next, I suppose. We should install a revolving door in the foyer.” He addressed Willie as if answering an unspoken comment. “Me? I have nothing to say in the matter. I am nothing but a guest here myself. If displeased with the arrangements, I can find other accommodations—that’s what I was told. What do you think of that?”

“Um, I got lost after it’s not your brandy.”

Roger sighed, shook his head and crossed to the mantle where the cigarette box was kept. “Dear lord, Are you in fact a complete imbecile, or is this some act you’re performing for my benefit?”

Willie didn’t have to know the meaning of each word to recognize an insult when he heard one. The young man was about to share some of his favorite vocabulary when another thought occurred to him. As Roger searched for a lighter, the boy scampered over to him, matches in hand. He lit one and held it out at arm’s length. Roger took his hand and drew it closer to light the cigarette.

“All for you, Mr. Collins,” Willie said with a little smile. He slowly blew out the match but kept his eyes on Roger, who returned his gaze. There was a long pause, ripe with subtext. “Can I call you Roger?”

The older man stepped toward Willie and closed his eyes, swaying slightly. Willie in turn moved in until Roger could feel his breath, their lips almost touched, and Roger’s expression was one of soulful expectancy.

“HAH!” Willie clapped his hands in the startled man’s face and spun away. “I knew it! You creepy old fag—I could always smell you guys a block away. You go to Boston a lot, do ya? Shoppin’ for little boys on LaGrange Street. Oh yeah, I remember you. ”

“No! I don’t know what you’re—what do you mean, little? I never—” Roger sputtered indignantly.

Willie ran for the exit, but paused briefly in the doorway. He grinned. “From now on, I’m gonna call you Jolly Roger! Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. . . I guess.” He romped upstairs to bed as the sound of his laughter resonated down the hall.

Roger stood smoldering by the fireplace momentarily. He threw his cigarette with disgust into the grate, followed a moment later by the snifter of brandy. Flames burst and exploded up the flue. That Loomis had made an enemy for life.

Chapter Text

October 1981

With the exception of Mrs. Johnson, only ten-year-old David enjoyed spending time with the otherwise unwelcome houseguest. Roger’s son had been labeled by teachers as difficult, destructive and misunderstood; because of that, he was removed from school and privately tutored at home. The kid seemed perfectly normal to Willie, though, except maybe for the prissy wardrobe.

Mr. Loomis was the only one, besides the boy’s governess, who paid any attention to him. His father, whom he often resented and sometimes hated, was rarely home. His absentee mother was a mysterious factor and never mentioned, much like Willie’s father had been.

“Not surprised that didn’t work out,” Willie smirked. “Your mom prob’ly got burned in that marriage, kid.”

On one uncharacteristically warm day, Willie and David threw a football on the front lawn, then played newly invented game with a volleyball on the tennis court. It was difficult to determine the winner because, according to the rules, the rules could change without warning.

David was pleased to have a companion who really played with him, listened to his opinions and treated him like an equal.

Willie hung out with the boy, he said, because he had a half brother back home whom he missed.

“That must be great, to have a brother. Is he like me?” David hit the ball to him with his head.

“Yeah, looks just like you, too. Same age and everythin’.” Willie returned the ball with his knee and elbow.

After exhausting the possibilities of that enterprise, the two invaded the equipment shed and pulled out two badminton rackets with which they chased each other around the court sword fighting as Captain Hook and Peter Pan—until one of the rackets broke.

They discarded the apparatus and took off in search of new adventures. David wanted to take his friend to the old house on the other side of the woods. There were ghosts there who spoke and played with him, but Willie declined. They walked back across the terrace towards the house.

“You couldn’t pay me to go back there. It’s not a safe place. Ya know, there’s broken glass all over, and rats everywhere. Ya ever been bitten by a rat?” David shook his head. “Well, I have. On ships, they hide under your bunk, and when you put your feet on the floor in the mornin’, gotcha! Right on the ankle!”

“What did you do?”

“Well,” Willie confided with an air of experience and wisdom, “the best thing was to have tall rubber boots. Keep ‘em next to your bunk, and slip right into ’em when ya get up, but—and this is important—always shake yer socks out first; gotta check for spiders. They got monster spiders in Africa that can suck yer blood and kill ya. If the pirates or the scorpions don’t getcha, the spiders will.”

David was suitably impressed but said he would miss his spectral companions if he never returned to the haunted house.

“Ya got enough scary stuff at home,” Willie said as he and the boy entered the foyer. “Like this guy.” He pointed to the centuries-old portrait in the foyer. “This here’s my buddy. Talks to me all the time—or maybe just when I’m drunk; I’m not sure.”

“That’s Barnabas Collins; he’s my cousin 10 times removed, something like that.”

“Well, I call him Barney Baby.” David laughed heartily. “Check out the shiny trim.”

“That’s family heirloom jewelry. There’s a lot of pictures like this in a history book upstairs. Do you want to see it?”

“Yeah, sure, kid.” Willie looked at the painting once more before retreating to the upstairs library. The portrait looked back. It approved.

The helpful houseguest retrieved a large, leather-bound tome from the top shelf and together the young men paged though photographs of portraits of each of David’s ancestors for the last three centuries. Willie was more curious about their ornamentation, which were prominent in the paintings—were they rubies or emeralds, fire opals, diamonds or pearls?

David pointed to the picture of a sad-faced woman in Colonial dress. “This is Naomi Harthorne Collins; she was the mother of the man in the painting downstairs.” Willie pointed to her choker. “Oh, that’s a star sapphire; it was made in Burma and stolen by pirates off a ship in Martinique. They gave the necklace to Naomi—when she was younger. I think the pirate was in love with her, but she had to marry Joshua Collins because he was a rich shipbuilder.”

“Are you makin’ this shit up?” Willie grabbed a magnifying glass from the desk to get a closer look.

“You have to know all these things when you’re a Collins,” the child replied matter-of-factly. “They’re a record of our history. Don’t you have any history?”

“Yeah, I got plenty of history, and I got a record, too.” Willie returned to the book. “Where’re all those jewels now? Some safe deposit box, prob’ly.”

“I don’t think so. Aunt Elizabeth has a few things, and someday she’ll give them to Carolyn. But all the old stuff was buried with the people who owned it.”

Willie looked up. That was the stupidest thing he ever heard. “What for? Ya can’t take it with ya.”

“It’s tradition. You can’t take someone else’s jewelry after they’re dead, or it’ll be cursed.”

“Buryin’ jewels in the ground—you people have way too much money. I wouldn’t mind bein’ cursed like that.”

Miss Winters appeared in the doorway. “David! I have been looking for you all afternoon. I said you could take a rest break for one hour.”

“Willie and I were doing physical activities, so now I won’t need to take my afternoon walk,” the boy cheerfully replied. “And we made up a game.”

The governess looked disapprovingly at the disreputable young man. She closed the family history with a thud and replaced it on the shelf, addressing Willie Loomis. “I don’t know what you’re doing in here, but it is highly inappropriate for you to spend time alone with a boy half your age. Also, I don’t appreciate your influencing David to be disobedient. I’m responsible for him.”

Willie rose from his chair and snapped back, “Then you shouldn’t let him go wanderin’ around outside by himself, where he could get in trouble. He’s just a little kid.” He left the room, slamming the door behind him.

The young man headed back downstairs, figuring David would now be added to the list of people he wasn’t allowed to talk to. Jason was nowhere to be found and someone had locked the liquor cabinet. That was unfriendly. He borrowed two dollars (on an unlikely pretext) from Mrs. Johnson and headed out to his truck, waving at his buddy’s portrait as he passed. “See you later, Barney.”

Yes, later.

Willie found his pal at the Blue Whale tavern and, for once, the young hoodlum’s behavior was not the topic of conversation. Princess Carolyn was there, drunk off her gourd in the afternoon, with a young man sporting a green Mohawk and multiple body piercings. Gossip of Willie’s previous misdeeds paled in comparison to Carolyn falling down on the dance floor, laughing hysterically.

“The young lady does not approve of my relationship with her mother. I’m afraid she’s actin’ out,” Jason explained.

“Well, shit,” the boy replied. “She coulda done that by datin’ me. What the fuck.”

“I’m afraid, matey, she considers you to be a member of the enemy camp.”

For once, Willie considered the logic of his statement and changed the subject. “Jason, when’re we gonna hit this score and cut out?”

His partner was quiet for a long time, weighing carefully what he had to say, then ordered another round of doubles straight up.

“Willie,” he began carefully. “I’m not a young man anymore—”

“You’re old as dirt.”

“Shut up, I’m tryin’ to talk to you. I’ve been thinkin’ now, for a while, that, well, it’s time I settled down.”

“Whatcha mean, stay here? But you said this town was no good to do business.

“I’m talkin’ about retirin’. Cash in me chips and get meself a lovin’ wife.”

Willie looked over to check what Jason was drinking, shot a suspicious glance at his partner, then burst into laughter. “Whadda you, crazy? You mean—Mrs. Stoddard? She’ll never marry you.”

“Yes, she will, because she has no choice—and neither do I; it’s the only way for me to get at that money.” He paused to light a cigarette. “But, there is one condition. There is a general consensus, led by Roger for some reason, that you need to ship out.”

There was an awkward silence. After all this time, Jason was dumping him. I’d like to meet the feller who could break up this team, the Irishman had once said. But, in the end, it wasn’t a guy or even a woman, it was for a payload. It would have feasible for the old lady to cough up a nice chunk of change to be rid of her crooked companion, but Jason was too greedy to settle for that. He saw a chance to grab it all, and it was everyman for himself. So long, Loomis. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.

Willie piped up with a sudden, cheery, “Can I have another drink?”

“You haven’t finished that one.”

The young man threw back his beverage in one gulp. “Yeah, I have.”

“Alright then.” Jason ordered yet another round, although he wasn’t sure if getting the kid sloshed would make what he had to say easier or more difficult. “You know, mate, we’ve been together a long time, what’s it been, ten years? Mother of God, I never could remember how old you were. I’ve never had a partner for so long, never met such a clever lad; they don’t come any—” He patted the boy’s shoulder affectionately.

“Christ, Jason, cut out the bullshit.” Willie pushed his hand away. “Stop talkin’ to me like I’m some patsy. It’s not that big of a deal. Look, I’m glad ya said somethin’, ’cause, well, I didn’t wanna hurt your feelin’s, but I got things I wanna do too, and I’ve hung around this dump about as long as I can.”

Willie put away another double shot as he watched Carolyn throw herself at crazy Mohawk guy, pulling him around the floor by the chains on his leather jacket.

“At least I’m not sendin’ you away empty handed,” Jason said, grinning. “Liz has $500 to help you get on your way; it’s back at the house.”

Willie ignored the older man. “I think I’ll go back to work. Only this time I’ll be the boss, and—maybe David will be my junior partner. D’ya think he’d like my old job?”

“Shut yer mouth. That’s disgustin’.”

They sat silently for a moment.

“You’re right; that was disgustin’,” he muttered with slurred syllables. “No decent person would ask a kid to do somethin’ like that.”

“Never mind, then,” Jason attempted to discretely maneuver his companion’s glass away, but Willie politely reached across the table and slid it back, wagging his finger in reproach. “So—what are these big plans of yours?”

“I dunno,” Willie returned with a cagey smile. “A couple a’ things. If they don’t work out, there’s a girl waitin’ for me in upstate New York, name’s Lydia.” Jason looked at him skeptically as the young man swilled his rum. “I don’t tell you everythin’.”

Willie knocked over his chair when he stood and raised his glass. “To good times and hard times.” He downed the drink like a pro. “Well, gotta pack my gear. See you back at the house—You got cash, right? Well, good . . .” He swayed slightly. “Good.”

“Wait, are you okay to drive?”

The young man slapped him on the back, laughing. “You know me; I ain’t cracked up yet.” And he was gone.

In the doorway, he ran into Burke Devlin who was about to enter. Willie shoved him hard with both hands. “Outta my way, big man!” Devlin was caught off guard and stumbled backwards into the street.

He recovered and grabbed the drunken delinquent by his lapel. “I thought I told you to watch yourself.”

Willie gave him a hard punch to the gut, forcing Burke to release him. The little punk advanced on him again, but his pummeling was uncoordinated and sloppy. Devlin sidestepped one swing that caused the kid to lose his balance. He staggered to one side, sizing up his opponent and guessed that Big Man had a good six inches on him and however many pounds. As he fumbled for his switchblade, Burke slammed his fist into Willie’s cheekbone. He reeled back, struck a parked car and rolled off, landing in the gutter.

After looking up and down the street for witnesses, Devlin took three long strides to his adversary, who was attempting to stand up, and kicked him in the flank, sending Willie face down in sodden leaves.

“I don’t want to see you here again,” Devlin said in a threatening low tone. “You’re leaving town, as of now.” He turned and entered the tavern. A brief flash of warm light, music and laughter spilled onto the sidewalk as the door opened and closed.

Willie pulled himself up by the car fender and clutched his stomach, ready to hurl, but nothing came. Goin’ out with a bang. He picked up his knife and keys from the ground and staggered to his car.

Five hundred dollars.

The white pickup weaved up the street, taking out a mailbox with painted seagulls and a bed of fall flowers. It sounded like a lot of money at first, but, spread out over ten years, and it was nothing really. It was shit.

Somehow Willie made it back to Collinwood without further damage to himself or others. The family was at dinner; he pictured them all gathered around the feast like a picture from Norman fucking Rockwell as he slumped on the foyer stairs, listening to snips of conversation, clinks and clatters from the dining room. Smelled like pork roast, and the young man hadn’t eaten all day, but there would be no more home-cooked meals for Ole Willie; all that sucking up to the housekeeper was for nothing. At least they hadn’t pitched his bag out the front door with a note pinned to it.

Finally, Willie pulled himself up and tapped the portrait frame before turning to head upstairs to pack. “So long, Barney.”

Stay. I want you to stay.

The picture was talking inside Willie’s head. It had a calm, soothing tone.

Willie paused, mesmerized by the figure whose eyes seem to glow with recognition. He could hear blood pounding in his ears, or was that a heartbeat?

Wow, I am really fucked up.

I see you. I hear you.

“Yeah, I hear you too. Whadda ya want?”

What do you want, Willie? More than that trivial compensation for severance. You deserve much more.

Willie smiled to himself. That sounded like a sucker line, but how could he get conned by a figment of his imagination? On the other hand, it seemed weird that his hallucination knew words he didn’t understand.

“Okay, Barney, I want that big black ring you’re wearing.”

Come to me and I will give it to you.

“Yeah? What do I haveta do?”

Go to the graveyard on Eagle Hill. In the mausoleum—behind the tomb of Naomi Collins.

Naomi—shit, the star sapphire. “Is that where all the jewels are buried?”

There are rewards beyond your imagination.

That would be a joke on Jason. This lackey could score his own fortune, and without the time and effort his partner had invested.

“Okay, but first I haveta—“

They will wait. Come now.

“But—” Willie hesitated. “But, I dunno. Jason said—”

You are afraid.

“I am not. It’s just . . . ”

I want to help you, Willie, but first you must trust me. Bring tools and a candle.

Less than an hour later, guided by the incorporeal instructions in his head, Willie was in a secret room in the cemetery crypt. He stood before a solitary coffin bound in rusty old chains. Poised in his left hand was a chisel and in his right, a mallet. The candle sticks remained in his knapsack, but his old flashlight served the purpose. The voice directed him to continue.

Willie suddenly had a flashback to a time 13 or 14 years ago. He stood in the bedroom of his friend Denny’s parents, about to dip his hand into Mrs. Malone’s jewelry box.

Sometimes your whole life can change in one night, based on one bad decision. If only you could go back later and tell yourself: Stop—think. That’s not what you want to happen.

Raise the lid, please.