To Sleep... Perchance to Die Read online

  Larry moaned and lost control of his bladder, soiling himself and Jake’s pant leg. His tears flowed onto the Persian rug.

  Jake’s exhale came out ragged, and he leaned to within six inches of Larry’s face. “You ever contact Mai Faca, I’ll kill you. You got that?”

  In spite of the pressure from the hand over his mouth, Larry nodded. His breathing was labored and his eyes bulged.

  A picture of Mai under this man, at the mercy of his abusive ministrations, brought an uncontrollable rage from the pit of Jake’s stomach to his strong arms and hands. He wanted to tear Larry apart. Jake plunged the knife into Larry’s neck slashing to the ear. Blood gushed as if from a fire hose. Larry went into a spasm that ended with his open, unblinking eyes fixed upon Jake.

  As if in a dream, Jake removed the knife from the neck and stared at the crimson blade. A lifetime passed before he blinked. Drenched in blood, he ran a forearm across the wet on his face, and stained his sleeve red. With both arms he pushed off Larry’s body and stood keeping his feet in place. It occurred to him to check for a pulse, so he leaned and pressed a finger on the neck. A glop of dark blood oozed from the wound.

  Grabbing the dead man’s collar and shaking it, he said, “Shit. I didn’t mean . . . ” but couldn’t finish.

  What do I do? Call the police, say it was an accident. No. No one would believe me.

  Mai’s words came to him. She had wished Larry dead. Had it been his intention from the beginning to follow her command?

  He forced the thought from his mind and panic rushed to fill the void. Instinct urged he bolt for the door. Think before you run . . . think. He considered his predicament and formed a plan. Lifting his right foot, the puddle of blood covering the sneaker made a sucking sound. Bringing his right leg over the body, he put it behind his left leg. Bending without moving his feet, he searched the body and found a Rolex, phone, wallet, and keys. Jake put them in his jacket pocket. He took off his left sneaker, leaving it in place, and stepped onto a clean area of the carpet. He did the same with the right. Both stockings were free of blood.

  Got to wash. He picked up his sneakers and went into the kitchen where he removed his bloody clothes at the sink. He ran the sneakers, clothes, knife, and the things he took from Larry under cold water. A crimson swirl flowed into the drain. When traces of red were gone, he dried everything with paper towels and left them on the counter.

  Jake needed to cover his hands. He looked under the sink and found plastic garbage bags. They’ll work.

  After covering his hands and feet, he went into the bedroom and searched the closet. The pants were short and big at the waist, but wearing them low on the hip with a belt solved the problem. A shirt fit although his wrists protruded beyond the sleeves. Keeping his hands in his pockets would take care of the same problem with the trench coat he confiscated. No one would notice, assuming anyone he met was sober.

  Returning to the kitchen, he put on his sneakers before stuffing his wet clothes in a plastic bag. Although the sink looked clean, he let the water run for a few minutes before towel drying the basin. After wiping down the light switches, the used paper towels were placed in another plastic bag. The bags were flattened and hidden under the trench coat. The knife and effects taken from Larry went in the left coat pocket, and his own wallet and keys went into the right. He saw no one when he exited the building.

  Public transportation was risky so Jake decided to walk the four or five miles to his apartment. He threw the wallet and its contents into several garbage cans. The rest went into a dumpster. He was tempted to keep the Rolex, realized it would be unwise, and chucked it with the other items.

  Two and a half hours later Jake stood before the open incinerator chute in his apartment building. He pushed the plastic bags and his sneakers into it. After changing into fresh clothes, he did the same with what he had been wearing. They went down in plastic grocery bags Rachel had saved. Good thing she sleeps with the door closed.

  Jake was satisfied no evidence of his involvement in Larry’s death would be found. He felt euphoria that might be termed a murderer’s high. He had done what needed to be done. What in her heart Mai wanted him to do.

  In the living room, Jake danced a quick jig. He went to the window and opened it, wanting to shout to the world that Mai was his. He didn’t. Rachel might hear and come to see what the commotion was.

  The guiltless elation had evaporated by the time Jake arrived for surgical rounds the following morning. Sweat covered his forehead and his hands were shaking.

  “You okay?” Bret asked.

  “No big deal. Haven’t been feeling a hundred percent last day or so.”

  Lainey and Tuttle became interested in their smart phones.

  Bret said, “I tried to get you last night. Kept going to voice mail. I thought about stopping by, but Rachel . . . well, you know how it is with her and me.”

  Jake’s reply was curt. “Turned the phone off. Wanted to sleep.” After a moment he added, “What did you want me for, anyway?”

  “Fellow jumped from three stories. Too much Columbus Day celebrating. Friends said he told them he could fly. Seems he couldn’t. Lainey pitched in with the repairs.”

  Tuttle turned his back to the group.

  “Didn’t need you after all. Hope you’re feeling better.” Bret said. There was a hint of sarcasm.

  It was a violation of On-Call protocol not to be available when summoned. Jake had risked he wouldn’t be needed since he was on second call, and Bret was on first. It was rare for Bret to require help. He asked, “How’d it go?”

  “There were four of us working on him, orthopod, general surgeon, Lainey, and me. Died on the table.”

  Lainey nodded.

  Jake apologized, “Sorry. Won’t let it happen again.”

  “You were sick,” Bret said with false sympathy, “Couldn’t be helped. Just sorry I wasted my time trying to get hold of you.”

  The tone angered Jake. “Like I said, won’t happen again.”

  Bret assumed Jake’s not being available had something to do with the new woman in his life.

  That afternoon Jake waited in Mai’s apartment for her to return from her new job as executive secretary at a Lower Manhattan law firm. It was critical to tell her what he did before she learned of it from the media. In a few days, the principals at Larry Reid’s investment firm would wonder why he wasn’t showing up for work and attempt to contact him. When that failed, the police would be sent to his brownstone. If not, odor emanating from his apartment would alert neighbors something bad had happened. The media would spread the news. Although informing Mai of Larry’s murder carried risk, he had no choice and was counting on her to protect him. He gambled she would not call the authorities.

  When Mai opened the door and saw Jake on the couch, she said, “Hi, angel. Didn’t expect you. Have you eaten?”

  “No, but that’s not why I came.” Patting the couch, “Come. Sit.”

  Jake’s somber expression caused Mai to hesitate before approaching. Her eyes fixed on his face as she lowered herself to the couch.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  He put an arm around her shoulder and turned to her. Heart beating fast, he thought it best to get to the point. “I killed him.”

  “Killed? . . . What? Who?”

  “Larry Reid.”

  Mai’s hands flew to her face covering her eyes.

  Jake noticed that as she raised her hands, the corners of her mouth betrayed a fleeting smile.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Jake wanted to say, “Because you wanted me to.” Instead, in a stern but calm voice, he said, “Let me tell you what happened.”

  Mai left the couch and began to pace.

  Jake knew she had to digest what he told her. Hell, he was still trying to digest it.

  After taking a deep breath, Mai returned to his side, composed and prepared to listen to what he had to say.

  Minimizing gore and exaggerating Larry’s anger, he relat
ed the details of ex-lover’s death. His hope was Mai would conclude he had killed in self-defense, a misconception he cultivated.

  Her emotions were under control as she responded, “Sounds like you did all you could to reason with him. I’m surprised he tried to strike you. Other than hitting me, he avoided physical confrontations. I remember some guy cut in front of us when we were on-line for a movie. Larry asked him to go to the back. The guy said he wouldn’t and wanted to know if Larry was going to make something of it. Larry took my arm and we walked away. He never gave the impression of being the macho type who would get into a fight. Especially, with a man like you.”

  Mai sat tall, “From what you told me, he deserved what he got.” She looked into Jake’s eyes, “I have to admit in some small way, I’m happy. Now he’s out of my life . . . our lives . . . for good.”

  Jake exhaled a breath of relief. By siding with him, Mai made herself an accomplice to the murder. He hoped she wouldn’t change her mind. At that moment he decided to agree to the scheme she had proposed. He didn’t want to, but it would keep her on his side.

  “The investigation will be unbelievable. Is there any way they can connect you to him?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. He was adamant to the point of obsession that we be secretive. No one in the office knew about us. It would have ruined his career, and his career was the most important thing in his life.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Jake replied. “The commotion surrounding his death will eventually blow over. It looks like we’ve gotten rid of what I thought of as our minor problem.” He paused before saying, “If you’re up to it, we can get to work on the major one. The one we talked about?”

  “I’m ready if you are.” Mai leaned into Jake and put her arms around his neck. Soft breasts pressed against him. “There’s something smoldering inside you. It’s a turn-on. Even more than your good looks. With you, I sense danger and feel alive.” She let go one arm from his neck and slid her hand low. She felt his response. “Care to get started on something else first?”

  When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past …

  Lower Manhattan: Mai sat on a park bench a block from her apartment. She was thinking about her encounter with a police detective who had called and asked if he could discuss the murder of Larry Reid. He said he was interviewing everyone who worked at Larry’s firm, including ex-employees. She agreed to be interviewed, as it was best to appear helpful.

  Detective Abdow was older than his phone voice, and his shaved head didn’t hide the stubble of male pattern baldness. Purplish cheeks and a large nose cluttered with veins betrayed a fondness for a nip.

  While she poured coffee, he said as if making conversation, “The murder appears to be the consequence of a robbery.” He took a sip, “Good coffee.”

  Mai noted his scrutiny of her apartment. Nothing remained to connect her to Larry.

  “Probably committed by someone who followed Mr. Reid home,” the detective offered. “Judging by the injuries, we’ve determined the assailant was larger and stronger than Mr. Reid.” Giving Mai a close look followed by a smile, “Much bigger than you, I’d say.”

  He took another sip of coffee, “A neighbor across the street may have noticed a suspicious character in the area at about the time of the crime, but can’t be sure it wasn’t her imagination.” He shook his head in disappointment, “In any event, she couldn’t give an accurate description of what or who she saw. It’s hard to distinguish things on the streets if a light or two isn’t working.”

  From his pocket, the detective removed a crumpled envelope with a list of questions written on it and began his interrogation. Mai was sure Abdow’s unsophisticated manner was a purposeful deception.

  Jake had prepared her for the expected questions. Answers such as, “Yes, I knew who Mr. Reid was when I worked at his firm, but I’ve had no contact with or knowledge of him since leaving the organization,” were given in an honest and forthright manner. The absolute secrecy of their relationship that Larry insisted upon meant no one at the office was aware they were dating. Fellow employees knew she was in an abusive relationship, but would not have suspected the office poster boy.

  When the interview concluded, Detective Abdow handed her his card, “Call me if you remember anything. Even if you think it’s unimportant.”

  “I will,” she said with what appeared the utmost sincerity.

  “Thanks for your help.” He brought his coffee cup to the sink and placed it in the basin.

  Mai followed, “I hope I was of service, but I can’t imagine my answers have been terribly helpful.”

  He faced her, “You never know. Something that seems trivial may turn out to be important when all the evidence is put together.” He lowered his voice and spoke as if she were a colleague, “Between you and me, we’ll be lucky to solve this one.”

  When she closed the door, she breathed a sigh of relief and shook off the nerves she had kept hidden. The process wasn’t as difficult as anticipated, and she doubted the detective would return. Grabbing her coat, Mai decided on a walk to the park to get some fresh air to clear her head.

  A light breeze crisped the sunny autumn day. She pulled her collar around her ears then stuffed her hands in the pockets. The park was full of children with their mothers or their nannies. Happy voices contrasted with the impatient honking of vehicles.

  Mai smiled as she recalled the childhood joy of playing in a park. She had played in them in Macao and the U.S. It had been sixteen years since she, her parents, and two uncles emigrated from Macao via San Francisco to Staten Island. Although six-years-old at the time she left, she retained memories of life in her native land.

  Mai had been told that Lam Jia, her mom, was considered rebellious for wanting to marry Pablo Faca, who was Portuguese and a foreigner by Chinese standards. Jia’s parents, with the approval of her two older brothers, threatened to banish her from the family if she married outside her culture. Although the familial discord carved deep scars in her psyche, Jia stood her ground and married Pablo. The Lam patriarchs didn’t ostracize her, but it was years before they gave their reluctant approval of the union between their stubborn daughter and the outsider.

  Pablo and his pregnant wife started a water taxi business ferrying passengers from Macao to Hong Kong. It was a mom-and-pop affair that struggled to stay competitive with the large ferry companies. They managed by offering cheap fares and surviving on small margins.

  On the day of Mai’s birth, her parents had returned with a fare from Hong Kong when Jia’s water broke. To people of meager means, summoning a doctor for anything but critical medical conditions was unthinkable. Boat women delivered each other’s babies, and they brought her into the world. Because of the circumstances of her birth and the significance of the South China Sea to the young family’s existence, she was given the name Mai, meaning Ocean. In spite of the uproar her parent’s marriage had caused, Mai was welcomed into the Lam fold and raised to respect Chinese cultural customs and principles.

  After Jake became her lover, she visited her parents to tell them about her new beau. The three were drinking tea in the main room of their Staten Island apartment. As she was speaking, her mother’s face displayed uncharacteristic anger Mai didn’t recognize. Jia looked at Pablo, who nodded.

  “There is something we have to tell you,” Jia said. “It is time for you to learn the full story of our taxi business.”

  In some way it involved her relationship with Jake, and Mai began to fidget.

  Jia slipped into her native dialect. She spoke excellent English, but her habit was to revert to Chinese when discussing important matters. “As you remember, we had one boat. It had many hours on its engine and was owned by our so-called partner, an old Jew.” Jia spit into the glass she was holding. “I get angry thinking of him,” she said as an apology for her uncouth act.

  Jia’s words poured from her mouth, “We’ve never told you about the man. He demand
ed fifty percent of our income for the use of his boat. For that, he promised to maintain it. He did nothing.” Jia’s voice cracked, “Your father did the maintenance that kept the boat afloat. For five years we worked seven days a week to build a business that could support us.” Hatred filled Jia’s eyes. “Then, without warning, the Jew told us he was selling our boat . . . our livelihood . . . to one of the large taxi companies. For health reasons, he said. We knew better. He saw a way to make a profit. He didn’t care about what happened to us. Only about his money.”

  Jia caught a sob, “We couldn’t afford another boat.” Pointing to Pablo, “That man, that wonderful man, spent the next year going from one menial job to another with little help from the family because he was not Chinese. That’s why we decided to come to the U.S.”

  “So you can see what a Jew did to us, and what marrying an outsider can do to you.” Jia’s anger threatened to overwhelm her, “That’s why you are forbidden to consort with this Jake Warden. He will hurt you and, through you, us. You can no longer be part of this family if you refuse to let him go.”

  Mai tried to reason with her mother saying that this was America, not Macao, and that Jake was a good man. But in the Chinese custom, her mother’s words had the strength of law. There was no challenging them without consequences.

  A cloud hid the sun and the breeze freshened, scattering leaves about the brown grass. Mai turned her head from the wind.

  It wasn’t until her mother told her the story of the Jewish partner that she realized he was the person murdered by her uncles and thrown overboard by her father that day on the boat. A smile appeared on her face, The old Jew and Larry . . . They got what they deserved. Mai wondered what her mother would think if she knew Mai witnessed the killing of the Jew.

  What about Jake? I saw him sitting alone that day on the ferry and pretended I was going to jump. Had a feeling he was the type that would rescue a lady in distress. Not proud of beginning a relationship on lies, but they were necessary. Told him it wasn’t the first time I’d tried to end my life. Someone had to save me from that beast, Larry. Glad I found Jake, but he’s a man. Like Larry, and my uncles, and my father. He’s also a Jew. Mom says I can’t trust him-that he’ll turn on me. Despite what she says, I hope she’s wrong. I’m beginning to love him.