Celilo's Shadow Page 7

  Tony sipped his martini quietly for a few moments. “You know,” he said, “two years ago, I’d never even heard of The Dalles. When Uncle Sol told me he wanted to open a branch office here, I said to him, ‘The Dalles? What kind of name is that?’ The old fart snapped back, ‘A name that’s going to make us very rich, that’s what kind.’”

  “And has it? Made you rich, I mean?”

  Tony popped an olive in his mouth. “Listen,” he said as he munched, “when I got to town I couldn’t believe how bad it was. Nothing but cherry pickers and fish flingers everywhere I looked. And the wind! It came howling through the gorge, whirling dust from the orchards until everything you owned was covered with it. Unbelievably cold in the winter—and as you’ve seen so far—hot as Hades in the summer. If that didn’t get you there was always the stench from Seufert’s fish cannery. It clung to your clothes like a whore’s cheap perfume and no amount of soap could wash it out.”

  Tony signaled their waiter for another round. “By nine o’clock at night the town might as well have rolled up the streets because nobody—I’m talking not even an Injun or Chink—was out and about.”

  “Considering everything, though, you’ve done pretty well here. Haven’t you?”

  “I have to say one thing about our uncle. He was on the mark about The Dalles becoming a boom town. When I opened the doors of Rossi Realty, the influx of government workers arriving to work on the dam had already begun. I sold two houses the first day and it’s been smooth sailing ever since.”

  “Then Uncle Sol’s prediction has come true. You’re very rich now.”

  “You believe that, kid, and you’re as stupid as Sam Matthews and all the rest of them government types.”

  When the waiter brought his second martini, Tony took a couple of sips before continuing. “Let’s get something straight right now. There ain’t nobody getting rich here except Uncle Sol. I do all the work and he gets all the dough. He’s never even set foot in this God-forsaken town. Leased the office space sight unseen. I mail the checks to him at the first of every month and if I’m so much as a day late, our greedy old uncle is on the phone to complain.”

  “Is that why he’s always calling?”

  Tony’s fingers tightened around the glass stem. “Hell, yes! And to tell me how to run things like I’m his stupid little puppet.” He shook his head. “But all that’s about to change.”

  “Oh? How’s that?”

  “Baker Bluff.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Later,” Tony said, “Here comes the waiter with our dinner.”

  When they’d finished eating and were drinking after-dinner coffees, Nick steered the conversation back to Tony’s deal with Feldman. “This property that you’re buying, does Uncle Sol know about it?”

  Tony choked, spraying coffee onto the white linen tablecloth. “Of course, he doesn’t know about—”

  “Hey, Antonio, my man!”

  Tony groaned as he spotted the person who’d hailed him.

  “Who’s that?” asked Nick tracking his cousin’s gaze.

  “A certified idiot I used to work with in Portland.” Tony threw his linen napkin onto the table. “Shit! Harvey Greenberg is the last person I need to run into right now.”

  Greenberg strode purposefully to their table and, without waiting for an invite, slid his wiry frame into their booth. He ignored Nick as he greeted Tony, “What the hell are you doing at the Carlton, old boy? Last I heard, your uncle got a bug up his ass and shipped you off to the boonies. How’re you doing?”

  “Fine, fine,” Tony said, making a show of consulting his watch. “Say, Harv, I’d like to chat about old times, but I’ve got an important meeting in a few minutes.”

  Greenberg waved to a waiter hovering nearby and ordered a gin and tonic. “Why do you think I’m here? Got an important meeting of my own,” he said, launching into a story about the deal he had in the works.

  Tony’s attention wandered until he spotted Feldman standing next to the hostess station, scanning the room. “You’re gonna have to stop jaw-boning now,” Tony said. “My appointment has just arrived.”

  Greenberg half-twisted in his seat to look at the man signaling Tony. “You’re meeting with Stan Feldman?”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “You better watch that guy, Tony. I heard he was trying to dump some property the government has been looking at.”

  Tony searched Greenberg’s narrow face. “What property?”

  “Not sure,” he said, taking a quick sip of his drink. “Something to do with the Indians and a cemetery.”

  “Cemetery?”

  “I’m a little fuzzy on the particulars. Hell, I could be all wrong, but I’d watch my backside just the same.” He took his drink and slid out of the booth. “Nice seeing you again, Rossi. And good luck with Feldman.” A snide smile played at the corner of his mouth. “You’re gonna need it.”

  Chapter Six

  “Hello?” Clarice’s voice sounded raspy when she answered the phone.

  “I need to see you,” pleaded Tony.

  “Who is this?”

  “Don’t tease. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Where do you think? Monty’s.”

  “Goddamn it, Tony. I’ve called you half a dozen times lately and I’ve never heard back.”

  “You’re hearing from me now.”

  “It’s after midnight! You’re lucky Warren’s a sound sleeper.”

  “Are you coming or not?”

  “You don’t sound so good. What’s wrong?”

  Tony snickered. “Nothing that a little pussy couldn’t cure.”

  “Is that any way to sweet talk a girl”

  “I thought you liked it rude and crude.”

  Her laugh was soft and low. “And rough. Don’t forget rough.”

  “Oh, baby, you’re killing me.”

  “Good. You deserve to suffer a little.”

  “Clarice?”

  “What?”

  “Please.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  Monty’s Motel was a run-down excuse for lodging on the outskirts of town. Tony and Clarice found the raunchy atmosphere titillating; but most important, the location afforded their clandestine coupling a modicum of secrecy. The owner was an out-of-town slumlord who didn’t care about the property’s upkeep or what went on in its rooms. The on-site manager didn’t care either, so long as he got paid “a little something” for looking the other way about what happened on the premises.

  After he hung up the phone, Tony lit a cigarette with trembling hands. He had a headache and his gut felt like he’d been sucker punched. All thanks to Harvey Greenberg. With his so-called warning about Stan Feldman, the meeting had been jinxed before it even got started. Injuns and cemeteries! Who knew what the hell Greenberg meant by that? He probably didn’t even know himself. Nothing had changed since they worked together in Portland. Greenberg would cheat his grandmother out of her last dime if he thought he could get away with it. It would be just like him to start a rumor for his own benefit. Still . . .

  Tony eyed the nearly empty Jack Daniels bottle on the battered nightstand. He’d felt so lousy after the meeting ended at the Carlton that he’d dumped Nick at his apartment, rescued the bottle from Mildred’s desk, and headed for Baker Bluff. The sun had set by the time he’d arrived, but there was a full moon and enough light to appreciate the view of the river. Tony had thought the sight would calm his jangled nerves, but it had the opposite effect. All he could think about was how his dream was starting
to look more like a nightmare. He’d stayed at the bluff for a couple of hours, drinking and trying to talk himself out of his dark mood. When it finally became apparent that he was feeling worse, not better, his thoughts turned to Clarice and he drove straight to Monty’s.

  Tony and Clarice had a standing reservation for Room Six and met there at least once a week or oftener if Clarice could get away without her husband knowing. Warren was a sharp banker but without a clue when it came to his wife’s sexual needs, which were considerable. He was on the downhill side of fifty with a gaunt and sickly look that caused small children to stare and old ladies to offer him a good home-cooked meal. He’d lost the ability to do much more than a little cuddling and groping every Saturday night. Clarice found it frustrating but tolerable—so long as he continued to lavish her with jewelry and kept her checking account substantially funded. Her appetite for shopping was as insatiable as her sex drive.

  Tony had never given Warren much thought until the banker had become vital to the plans involving Baker Bluff. Fooling around with Clarice had been all fun and games until then. Money had upped the risk considerably and Tony wondered, not for the first time, if old Warren had finally gotten the picture. Hadn’t Mildred said he’d been popping by the office a lot lately? Not that Tony was worried. If I can’t deal with someone like Warren, I might as well cash in my chips and call it a day.

  He gazed hungrily at the nearly empty whiskey bottle and lit another cigarette. He’d already had far too much booze but the urge for more was as strong as his need for Clarice. At thirty-six, Clarice Nestor was the oldest woman Tony had ever bedded but she was also the hottest. And the only female he didn’t have to slap around from time to time. He’d met her at a fancy charity event at the local country club soon after he’d hit town. Ordinarily, he would’ve avoided such a function like the plague, but he was trying to establish himself back then and needed to be seen out and about in all the right places. He was bored out of his skull and itching to leave, which he planned to do as soon as he’d shaken enough hands and distributed enough business cards.

  A beautiful woman hardly ever escaped Tony’s radar, but he hadn’t noticed Clarice until he approached her table to introduce himself. She was with a group of the town’s most prominent leaders and looked as bored as Tony felt. She was fashionably dressed in sparkling diamonds at her neck and wrists but seemed out of place among the other women at the table. While nicely attired themselves, they were the type of matrons you’d expect to see married to a bunch of mucky-mucks. In contrast, the bottle-blonde Clarice Nestor was a dressed-up tart with luscious tits who’d apparently landed herself a sugar daddy.

  Tony got the impression from the way Clarice smiled at him that his arrival had caught her interest. She’d certainly caught his. After he’d introduced himself to everyone, the orchestra struck up “The Autumn Waltz” by Tony Bennett, and Clarice started swaying to the beat. Tony took the hint. “May I have the honor of dancing with your lovely wife?” he asked Warren Nestor. Warren was deep in conversation with the editor of the local newspaper and oblivious to the spark that had just ignited between Tony and his wife. He waved them off without a word. Tony led Clarice to the dance floor and forgot all about leaving early.

  Tony soon realized that his affair with Clarice was more than just sexual. She was a lot smarter than she appeared. He’d come to depend on her for advice and while he appreciated her insights and contacts, he sometimes felt that she had too much control in their relationship. He had to give her credit, though. She’d managed to set herself up as an independent real estate appraiser and had hatched a sure-fire money-making scam for them. A little control wasn’t always a bad thing.

  It’d been her idea to buy the Baker Bluff property. Tony had long dreamed of opening a big-time luxury resort complex that would rival the Carlton Hotel in amenities, prestige, and popularity. Clarice had dreams of her own. An able singer, she’d always wanted to pursue a musical career. They’d been just dreams until the bluff property came on the market. Its location overlooking the Columbia River was perfect for what they envisioned for themselves. Yes, Baker Bluff was perfect. The perfect ticket out of Uncle Sol’s greedy grasp.

  Clarice introduced Tony to Stan Feldman and the negotiations began in earnest. The asking price was an outrageous sum but doable with Clarice’s help. She’d arranged for the loan that was needed to finalize the sale by convincing Warren that it was a good deal for the bank. Tony had set aside several thousand for the down payment which came by way of skimming Uncle Sol’s share of the realty business.

  Convincing Mildred to “cook the books” in his favor had been easy enough, but keeping his uncle in the dark took some fancy footwork. Uncle Sol had a good nose for business and it was especially good at sniffing out monkey business. Tony had to get this deal finalized before Uncle Sol figured out what was really going on with his cash flow. When construction of the resort began, the sums needed could escalate into the six-figure range. As usual, Clarice assured him that that was doable as well. After all, she reminded him often enough, she’d set up the profitable Destiny Group scam for them. Tony had no doubt she was capable of just about anything when it came to money. That was before Greenberg showed up. Now everything suddenly seemed in jeopardy.

  Man, oh man, what a mess. The whole enterprise was fast becoming a disaster and he didn’t know what to do about it. What he did know was that he needed another drink. He finished his cigarette and reached for the Jack Daniels. His hands were still trembling as he unscrewed the cap and sucked the last drops of liquor from the bottle. With a belch, he fell backwards onto the bed and passed out.

  ****

  When Clarice opened the motel room door, she surveyed the scene and shook her head. Tony had shed everything except his boxer shorts and lay sprawled on his back, legs and arms akimbo, snoring loudly. His clothes were scattered about the room like toys carelessly left behind for mommy to pick up. Clarice was no mommy and Tony was a big boy who could pick up after himself. The cramped room and its shabby furnishings reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. The stale air was oppressive, as if broken promises and despair had used up all the oxygen in the room. Clarice quickly opened a window and inhaled deeply. Although it was after midnight, the temperature hadn’t dropped below 80 degrees. Still, the fresh air had a cleansing effect on their love nest.

  After chucking the empty liquor bottle in the wastebasket, she slipped out of her sandals and sundress. She sat down on the lumpy bed next to Tony and removed her lacy lingerie. Leaning close to his ear she whispered, “Wake up, Romeo. It’s pussy time.” When Tony didn’t stir, she gently pulled his shorts down to his knees and stroked his flaccid penis. Tony moaned and shifted slightly, but despite her efforts, failed to awaken. “Okay, Rip Van Winkle,” she said, re-positioning herself, “it’s on to Plan B.” This time she took him in her mouth.

  “Oh, baby, Tony murmured. “That feels so-o-o good.”

  Clarice stopped and said, “It might feel good, but nothing much is happening.”

  Tony propped himself on his elbows, looked at her a moment, and then fell back onto the bed. “I’m drunk.”

  “No foolin’,” she said, sitting upright. “What happened today? I haven’t seen you this bad in a long time.”

  Tony moaned and covered his eyes with a forearm. “Turn out the light, will ya? I’ve got a raging headache.”

  “You need some coffee.”

  “No, I need you.” He patted the bed. “Lay down with me.”

  Clarice frowned. “What for? You’re too drunk to get it up and it’s late.” She snatched her bra off the nightstand. “I didn’t come all the way over here for the same useless dangle I get with Warren.”

  Tony struggled to a sitting position again, made a grab for her bra and missed. “Leave it off,” he slurred as he encircled her in a
clumsy embrace and tried to fondle her exposed breasts.

  Clarice twisted away from him. “Don’t.”

  “Listen, baby, I need you. I met with Feldman at the Carlton tonight and the deal ain’t looking so good.”

  Her brown eyes narrowed. “I thought the negotiations were almost over.”

  “Yeah, I did, too. So far, the give and take has been predictable: he jacks up the asking price, we counter, and then he’s back with another offer, and on it goes.”

  “Right,” she said, “but I told you he was manageable if given enough time.”

  “The thing is, he’s suddenly anxious to sell at our original, low-ball offer. In fact, he had the papers all prepared and ready for our signature. He hinted that he’d lower the price even further, if necessary.”

  “That sounds terrific. So, what’s the problem?”

  Tony rubbed his aching temples and told her about his chance encounter with Harvey Greenberg. “He ruined the meeting with a mysterious rumor about the Injuns and some property that Feldman owns. Every time I looked up, there was Greenberg smiling at me from across the room like the smug-faced Mona Lisa. He got me so rattled that I stalled Feldman and said I’d have to think about his new offer.”

  “How’d he take that?”

  “He said I was putting him in a tight spot and that he couldn’t hold the property for us much longer—especially at that price. Supposedly he has other buyers waiting.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Tony thought a moment and then asked, “You know why the government is gonna move the Injuns’ burial grounds, don’t you?”

  “Of course. They’re located on those islands right in the middle of the river. As soon as the dam is finished and the flood gates are opened, goodbye bones.” She shrugged. “What has that got to do with the Baker deal?”

  “I may be drunk, but it’s obvious even to me. I think the real reason Feldman is so all-fired anxious to meet our offer now is that he’s got wind of where the government plans to relocate the Injuns’ cemetery.”