Bruce Wagner - Memorial

She turned off the faucet.

It simply couldn’t be true that she had no money in her accounts! The agent and the Wells lady made her write a series of checks because they said it was absolutely necessary, in order to catch AKA Mr Weyerhauser in the act, that was the way the Bureau did it so the charges would stick. The Bureau insisted it be done like that or else the gang would “strike again.” Besides, there was always the chance it was an inside job and they said that if the money was in their hands, there would be no question of its being safe. Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there. So she wrote out the checks and they gave her receipts and told her what time to go to the bank because they would need her to identify AKA Mr Weyerhauser — they always called him that, AKA Mr Weyerhauser — they said exactly when to come because she was “critical” to the arrest, the eyewitness who would seal the ringleader’s fate. They needed her to ensure this would never happen again.

(She remembered the agent had said, “You are my hero.”)

Marj climbed in the tub, along with her soiled slip and underwear. That was dumb, she thought, she should have washed herself 1st, but what was done was done. They floated around her like flotsam from the Titanic. She soaped up her itchy behind. The phone rang and she leapt from the bath, and barely caught herself from falling, thinking it was someone from the bank. Trudy, from the Travel Gals, was on the line. She’d put together a wonderful “mother-daughter package” at a phenomenal rate — a 2 week trip that took in Bombay, Delhi, and Agra. Marj stood there sopping and shivering and said that she couldn’t talk just now. She was on her way back to the tub when the phone rang again.

“Mother?”

“Who — Joan?”

“Mommy, it’s me! I was in an accident!”

“Joan! Where — where are you? My God—”

“I — it was my fault. Oh God, Mother! The woman — she’s hurt! I’m going to miss my plane. I’m going to lose the job! I’m going to lose the entire fucking job and all the work I’ve done!”

“Where are you? Baby? Baby! Are you all right?”

“Yes!” She took a moment to pull herself together. “I’m — I’m OK.” She started to whimper. “The man says it was my fault and he — he wants to talk to you…”

“Hullo?”

“Hullo?”

“Hello, who’s this?”

“This is Arnold Mathers, who’s this?”

“ Marjorie Herlihy. I’m her mother. Is she all right—”

“Well, I’m the guy whose car your daughter just hit! My wife is having a fuckin miscarriage! Your daughter hit my wife! I think she’s drunk, or on drugs!”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean—”

“We are very badly shaken up. The paramedics are here and my wife is bleeding from between her legs!”

The man started choking back tears.

“We’re going to lose the baby!” cried a woman.

“Take deep breaths, darling. It’s gonna to be OK.”

“What can I — how can I—”

“Hello? Who is this?”

“This is Marjorie Herlihy! May I please speak to my daughter?”

“This is Antonio Borgosa. I’m a lawyer — I saw the whole thing. Your daughter was clearly at fault. It’s Joan Herlihy, correct?”

“Yes—”

“We’re calling from the County of Marin. Did you know your daughter was up north?”

“Yes…”

“Well, she’s in trouble, big-time. The woman she ran into was 6 months pregnant.”

A man said over and over, “I have to go with my wife! I need to go with my wife to the hospital!”

“Listen,” said the lawyer. “There’s something you can do and the gentleman said he won’t press charges.”

“What is it? Tell me—”

“Hullo?”

“Hello? Who is this?” said Marj.

“The father of the baby your hopped-up daughter just snuffed!”

“Oh God!”

“That’s right— killed. Now you listen to me —”

Joan cried out, “Mommy, do what he says, do what he says!”

“Oh Lord Lord Lord Lord.”

Marj sat on the floor, the shit pouring out of her. She was cramping and blanching, her eyes watery from pain. She put a fist in her mouth and bit down.

“Just listen to me. I don’t want to deal with the insurance companies. I hate insurance companies.”

“Mommy!” Her daughter grabbed the phone. “Mama, I think my insurance lapsed. I don’t even think I have insurance! Oh God, am I going to lose my job? The job up north? And the condo? Mama, if I can’t get on the plane I am going to lose everything!”

“But they said you already — that they were calling…”

The nasty man got back on the line.

“I want you to get your jewelry and put it in a little suitcase— everything you have. That means wedding and engagement rings, necklaces, pins, all the crap that dead prick husband ever gave you, understand? Put it in a bag, get in your car and bring it — now!”

“Please! I don’t know where — I don’t I can’t I—”

“Bring it to me now, you hundred-year-old monkeycunt, or you will regret the day you were born! My wife is bleeding internally and our baby is dead! Because of your fucked-up daughter! You spawned her! A junkie pig who turns tricks in Porta-Potties!”

“Mister, please! She’ll do it! She’ll do it! Mommy!”

“Get the jewelry.”

“Mama, I’m so scared! There’s blood, everywhere!”

“Get the jewelry and don’t forget the opal! You are human garbage, do you understand? Get the rings and the diamonds and the everything, put em in a bag, and sit your skinny terminal gullible ass in the car and wait. In the fucking driveway. And don’t fucking talk to anyone or I will dig the eyes from your daughter’s head and fuck her skull with doggie-dicks. Am I making myself clear?”

“Mommy!”

“The baby’s dead! The baby’s dead!”

“I will lock little Joanie in jail with maggots and animals. Do you hear me, you deaf and dumb geriatrical cunt? I’ll be there in 5 minutes, OK, senile shithole? 5 minutes —or I will kick your daughter in the stomach till she bleeds from her ass and her eyes!” He started to sob. “My baby is dead! Do you understand, Mrs Herlihy? Your daughter killed my little girl!”

“Mommy! Help me! Help me! Help me!”

“Let me talk to my daughter! Let me talk to her!”

“Hi! This is Antonio Villaraigosa again! I am a personal injury attorney with many, many years experience. Listen, this gentleman is agitated, he is very emotional, but I think it is best from the legal point of view that you do as he says.”

There was a muffle of laughter and sirens and shouting before a breathless Joan got on the line. “Mommy, are you going to help me? Are you going to do as they say?”

“Yes! Of course,” she said, already struggling to remove the ring, the ring she hadn’t taken off in more than 30 years. Her finger was swollen and she went to get soap. “I will, baby! Hold tight! Hold tight!”

“Hurry!” screamed Joan.

The line went dead.

SHE deliberately hadn’t packed the vintage hippo-hide Velextra suitcase he bought her at auction, the one that belonged to Maria Callas. She said, You’ve really got a thing for carry-ons, huh. Well, it wasn’t actually hippo but “the skin of Ari O’s testes”—typical gross-out-mode Lew.

Her plan was to stay overnight then rush home to Mom. Maybe Pradeep could help with a referral, but the woman at the bank seemed on top of it. She wasn’t exactly sure what a lawyer would do other than steal more money.