Carol Clark - He Sees You When You're Sleeping

“Yes, it was.”

“What happens now?” Billy asked.

“The FBI will be here soon. They need to take statements from you. Your testimony directly implicates the Badgetts. When Kramer is well enough, we’ll get his statement. Then the feds will go for an indictment. Since you overheard Junior’s order to torch the warehouse, it looks like this time there will finally be a solid case against them. But I warn you, it’s absolutely imperative that no one knows you two are witnesses.”

Billy and Nor exchanged glances. “I think we both understand,” Billy said.

“I certainly do,” Dennis said grimly.

Sterling shook his head. The lawyer, he thought. The Badgetts’ lawyer, Charlie Santoli. He saw Billy and Nor coming out of the office. Do the Badgetts know that yet?

On Monday morning at 7:30, Charlie Santoli went downstairs to the kitchen of his home in Little Neck, Long Island. His wife, Marge, was already there preparing breakfast.

Hands on her hips, a worried frown on her face, she took a good look at him. “You look like you’ve been up for a week, Charlie,” she said bluntly.

Charlie raised his hand. “Marge, don’t start. I’m okay.”

Marge was an attractive, generously sized woman with short brown hair, a shade she preserved by regular visits to the local beauty salon. For years she had kept a standing appointment every Saturday for a wash, set, and manicure. Every fourth Saturday she had a seaweed facial and a color job.

Marge never allowed circumstances to quiet her lively tongue. She had a reputation for conducting conversations with fellow patrons of the salon while sitting under the dryer. Of course this meant that she had to shout to be heard, but, as Charlie had learned, Marge was born with her Irish ancestors’ gift of gab. Nothing stood in the way of her having both the first and the last word.

Now she continued to scrutinize her husband, studying his face, taking in the lines of fatigue around his eyes, the tightness of his lips, the faint quiver of a muscle in his cheek, and then began a familiar refrain. “You look terrible, and it’s all because those two are driving you crazy.”

A buzzer went off. Marge turned, and with her mittened hand, removed a tray of freshly baked corn muffins from the oven. “Did you get any sleep at all last night?”

Did I? Charlie wondered. His head was aching, his stomach was knotted and churning. He shrugged his answer.

Yesterday evening, when he arrived home at nine o’clock, Marge had pounced on him for details about the party, but he had begged off. “Marge, give me time to get over it.”

Mercifully she had done just that, helped by the fact that a vintage Christmas movie she’d always loved was about to start on an obscure cable station. A box of tissues next to the couch, a cup of tea on the table in front of her, Marge had cheerfully prepared herself for a good cry.

Immensely relieved to have a reprieve, Charlie fixed a strong scotch and buried himself in the Sunday papers.

It had nearly killed Marge to miss the Badgett party, especially with the delicious prospect of seeing Mama Badgett on satellite television. What kept her away was a long-planned, late-afternoon, holiday reunion of her classmates from St. Mary’s Academy. As chairperson of the event, she had chosen the date for it and therefore simply could not miss it. As Charlie had pointed out, she was hoist on her own petard.

Now Marge put a muffin on a plate and placed it in front of him. “Don’t stand there,” she said. “Sit down and eat like a normal human being.”

It was useless to protest. Charlie dutifully pulled out the chair as she poured him a cup of coffee. His vitamins were already lined up next to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

If only he could call up the Badgetts and tell them he wasn’t ever going to walk into their home or office again. If only he could just sit here in this cozy kitchen with Marge and have a peaceful breakfast without ever having to think about the brothers again.

Marge poured her own coffee and slathered jam on a muffin. “Now tell me,” she ordered. “What happened at the party? The way you dragged yourself in last night, it must have been awful. Didn’t the satellite hookup work?”

“Unfortunately, it came through loud and clear.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean, ‘unfortunately?’ ”

“Mama Heddy-Anna was plastered.” Charlie relayed the rest of the story, omitting nothing and finishing with a vivid description of Mama Heddy-Anna thumbing her nose at the North Shore social set.

Frustrated, Marge thumped the table with her clenched fist. “I can’t believe I missed that. Why do I only go with you to the boring parties? And to think I was the one who said Thanksgiving weekend was a bad time to have our reunion. What did I ever do to deserve this?”

Charlie sipped the last of his coffee. “I wish I had missed it! Those two are going to be in one foul mood today.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that it was now obvious to everyone present at the party that the Badgett brothers had not been back to Wallonia since they left it, and to relate to her Mama’s own words, “How much bad you do, you can’t come visit your mama?”

Charlie had never had the courage to tell Marge that it was only after he was in too deep to get out that he had learned the full extent of the situation in Wallonia. Junior and Eddie had been sentenced, in absentia, to life imprisonment there, for a host of crimes Charlie didn’t even want to think about. They could never go back, and he could never get away from them.

With something akin to despair, he got up, kissed the top of Marge’s head, went to the closet, put on his overcoat, picked up his briefcase, and left.

The Badgett office building where Charlie worked was in Rosewood, about fifteen minutes away from the estate. Junior and Eddie were already there when Charlie arrived. They were in Junior’s private office, and to Charlie’s surprise both men were in remarkably good spirits. He had expected them to be in foul moods and to somehow manage to blame at least part of the Mama fiasco on him.

On the drive there from Little Neck he had been preparing his defense: “I suggested you make the donation for the wing, give the party, and present the portrait. The satellite hookup was your idea.”

But, of course, Charlie knew that was the last thing he could say. Any hint that Mama’s appearance had been less than a delight would be unforgivable. By now the brothers would have figured out another reason why the party had been a colossal flop.

The entertainment, Charlie thought. They’ll decide that Nor Kelly and Billy Campbell didn’t cut the mustard. They’ll blame Jewel for suggesting them and me for hiring them. As he turned into the reserved parking area, he suddenly remembered how upset Kelly and Campbell had been when they came out of Junior’s office yesterday.

The brothers must have found fault with the way they sang “Happy Birthday” in Wallonian, Charlie decided. Reluctantly he turned off the ignition, got out of the car, and pressed the “lock” symbol on his key ring. Dragging his feet, he walked to the building and took the elevator to the fourth floor, which was entirely dedicated to the Badgett brothers’ quasi-legitimate enterprises.

The reason for the early meeting was that Junior was interested in purchasing a new car dealership in Syosset that was beginning to cut into the profits of his own operation. Junior’s secretary was not yet in. As Charlie murmured a greeting to a receptionist and waited to be announced, he wondered how long it would be before the deal closed, before the new dealer got the message that he didn’t have a choice not to sell to the Badgetts.