Don Winslow - A Long Walk Up the Waterslide

You don’t have to threaten me.

Jack Landis had Pedro bring him his breakfast in the den so he could eat and admire his performance as it was rerun on the morning news. He had pulled the thick drapes to ignore the mob of reporters out by the gate. Security wanted to chase them off, but Jack wanted them to get nice shots of Candy as she returned home-lots of footage of them hugging and shit. He already had the writers working on the big reunion show.

Things are going to change, he thought as he snipped the end of his cigar. I’ll eat crow for a little bit, then explain to Canned-Ice that this whole thing was her fault. Shit, she has lots of money, nice clothes, nice furniture… maybe I will take a belt to her just to drive the point home.

Teach any of these bitches to go up against Jackson Hood Landis…

He speared a strip of bacon, scooped a forkful of huevos rancheros under it, and turned on the television.

“I first met Jack Landis when I was a secretary in his New York office,” Polly was saying. “I thought he was handsome… and I guess he thought I was cute, and one thing led to another and-”

Oh shit, Jack thought.

“She looks great,” Ed Levine admitted as he watched the rented TV they had brought into Kitteredge’s office earlier for Jack’s performance.

“She seems to be a nice young lady, really,” Kitteredge agreed. “Fire Neal the next time you talk to him, would you, Ed? Sever all connections.”

“Yes, sir,” Ed answered, even though he knew it was easier said than done. No way was Joe Graham going to sever his connection with Neal.

But if this interview kept going the way it was going, Jack Landis would be toast by afternoon. “The Jack and Candy Family Hour” would be history, Candyland the world’s most expensive vacant lot, and there would be a whole lot of angry people in Providence, San Antonio, and New Orleans.

Ed’s stomach turned progressively more sour as he watched the whole carefully crafted deal go down the toilet.

Because Polly was killing them. In contrast to Jack’s bathetic posturing, Polly was coming across as soft, sincere, and… goddamn it

… truthful. Connie Kelly, one of America’s real sweethearts, sure believed Polly. She nodded as Polly answered, and lowered her voice, and there were tears in her eyes as she whispered, “Could you… if you can… tell us about the rape?”

The rape, Ed thought. Not the alleged rape, but the rape.

“Jack came over that night,” Polly began, “And I told him that I was ending our relationship.”

“So you told him, is that right?” Connie asked.

“Yes, and Jack got very angry and grabbed me…”

Polly’s description of the assault was devastating.

“We might as well turn this off,” Kitteredge said.

“There’ll be more,” Ed said. “Neal won’t stop at tit for tat. He’ll go one up.”

“But what does he have?” Kitteredge asked.

A piece of rye toast flew out of Jack’s mouth when Candy came on the screen, sat down next to Polly, and put her arm around her.

Standing over Jack’s shoulder, Jorge announced, “Look! It’s Mrs. Landis!”

“I know who it is,” Jack snapped. “Shit, I’m married to her, ain’t I?.

Not for long, thought Jorge.

“Connie,” Candy said, “I think it’s so important that the viewers out there understand that rape is not always committed by strangers in a dark alley. Sometimes it’s someone you know…”

Jorge handed Jack the phone.

“What!” Jack yelled.

“Are you watching this?” Joey screamed. “That’s your wife!”

“I recognized her.”

“What’s she doing on there?”

“Sawing my balls off,” Jack said. The world was starting to close in-black, hot and stuffy as an East Texas summer night. You want to get out, get away from the suffocating heat, and there’s no place to go but to more of the same.

“The bitch lied to me…” Jack mumbled, more to himself than to Joey. “She said she forgave me… coming home…”

“I find it incredible that the two of you have become such close friends,” Connie said. “How in the world did that happen?”

“Well, of course we had something in common,” Candy said.

As Connie giggled and shook her head, Jack handed Jorge the phone.

“Tell that son of a bitch I’m going to the Grand Caymans,” he muttered. “He can have fucking Candyland.”

The world was spinning.

“You’re a son of a bitch and Mr. Landis is going to the Grand Canyon,” Jorge said. “You can fuck having Candyland.”

Visions of a Caribbean beach, women with skin like cocoa butter, and a cool grass shack sparkled in Jack’s eyes as his arm went numb, his heartburn returned, and he felt as if someone was wrapping barbed wire around his chest.

“And then when someone tried to kill her…” Candy drawled.

Joey was trying to figure out why Jack was going to the Grand Canyon when he heard the bit about someone trying to kill Polly.

“Wait a second. That’s me!” Joey yelled indignantly. “Why the hell does she have to drag me into it? What the hell did I ever do to her?”

“You stole a boatload of money from her,” Harold suggested.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that!” Joey whined. “That’s not fair!”

“Why would someone want to kill you?” asked Connie breathlessly.

Please, please, please, please, please, Harold prayed. Don’t say it.

Please, please, please, please, please, Joey prayed. Don’t say it. Carmine will have me melted into a wax candle and burn an inch or two of me every day.

“I don’t know,” Polly answered. “There are a lot of crazies out there.”

Thank God, thought Harold.

Thank God, thought Joey.

“She’s a stand-up broad,” Harold said when he got his breath again.

“Yeah, she’s okay,” Joey said when he realized that it still wasn’t too late to knock her off.

If that numbnuts Overtime can get it right for once.

Overtime limped down the hallway and rapped softly on Withers’s door.

“Who is it?” Withers asked.

“Open the door before someone sees me,” Overtime hissed.

Walter cracked the door, Overtime pushed it open, shut it behind him, and grabbed Withers by the lapels.

“Listen, you drunken buffoon,” Overtime said. “You’re going to deliver the target the way you’re supposed to so I can get the job done.”

“Who are you?” Withers asked. “Do you work for Scarpelli?”

“Yeah, okay,” Overtime answered.

One more float, he thought, in this endless parade of idiots.

Why would they want to kill her? Neal asked himself as he watched the interview. What could she say that she hasn’t said already?

“It’s going great, isn’t it?” Karen said.

“Yeah,” Neal said.

“What?” Karen asked, picking up on his mood. Neal was such a damn perfectionist. Polly had probably dropped a t or an r or put a diphthong where there wasn’t supposed to be one or something.

What could she say that she hasn’t said already?

She talked about the affair; she talked about the rape-what else was there to Pollygate? Joey Foglio, obviously, but she didn’t even know about that until we found out that her good buddy Gloria was giving her up…

From the Book of Joseph Graham, book one, chapter one, verse one: Don’t look so hard at what’s there that you forget what’s missing.

So when you told Polly that Gloria ratted on her, she never asked, “Who’s Joey Foglio? How does Gloria know him? What does Gloria have to do with a mobster?” Nothing, just that same stupid, resentful acceptance that all men are shits, so it was no surprise Joey turned on her.

“What did Gloria owe Joey Beans?” Neal asked.