BREAKDOWN

— Chapter IV —

A big black town car had been waiting for us outside MODE. I paid the driver for his pains and walked the few blocks distance downtown to the deli.

"Finalmente!" Mauritzio welcomed me as I arrived. "Ecco il mio capo!"

I heard laughs and giggles. He happened to be sitting amidst a group of underage high schoolers. They were still wearing their uniform —that was Mauritzio for you.

"So, Gio," he continued smiling at one of the girls. "The construction paper you asked is on your desk. This pretty lady here got some for us."

The prettiest of the girls spoke to me in a sweet voice. "Is it for a scrapbook project?"

"That little man there" Mauritzio said, apparently annoyed for the attention she was addressing me, "He's quite the craftsman. He likes doing all these cute little projects, you know, like scrapbooking, building with lego blocks, plasticine sculptures..."

I heard more giggles. I really wasn't in the mood for Mauritzio and his lame jokes.

"Dai! Dai! We've got a lot of work to do" I yelled and went to the backroom "Do I have to do everything here? I should have left you driving tourists in Central Park."

"Hey! Tutto il lavoro e' finito!" Mauritzio complained. "At least I'm not the one that spends the whole day sleeping."

I glared at him. The phone rang in my pocket.

"Gio Rossi?"

"Yes." I was puzzled by the warm voice that just called me. "Who's this?"

"It's Beth. You still have my bag?"

I just answered. "Yes, it's here with me."

She sighed across the line. "I'm sorry for being such a load. I hope you don't mind safekeeping it for me." She paused for a while and then said in a soft voice. "I don't know why… but I just feel I can trust you. You're such a gentleman. Will you wait for me?"

As expected, I agreed.

Mauritzio yelled something at me in the front so I put on my apron and washed my hands. I had a lot of things to do and, as always, taking care of my business kept me busy for the rest of the day. I wanted to forget the briefcase, my encounter with Betty and all The Hartleys, including Beth.

And it had proven to be impossible task: Calvin Hartley's death was mentioned on the evening news. They barely covered the incident and there was no mention of murder or any investigation been conducted. Just a brief account of all his achievements and several words about his only survivors: his ex-wife and son Matt.

The image of a very spruced up Victoria Hartley showed up on screen and spoke something. It gave me chills; she was one cold iceberg of a woman.

"That's her widow?" Mauritzio asked.

"I wouldn't call her his widow" I said. "They've been divorced for a few years."

"She'll be getting probably everything. All that money. Lucky her."

"Ah, come on! Have some respect. Someone died."

"I was meaning to ask you, Gio. Do you remember Manolo?"

"Manolo? Nope, doesn't ring a bell."

"He went to high school with us: Manolo Torres, two years our junior. His mother taught geometry."

"Yeah, yeah. I remember, now. That little annoying brat. Never liked him. I did know his older sister, Zoraida, very well."

"Of course you did, dawg" Maurizio turned off the TV. "Well, he passed away several days ago."

"Really?"

"You've been staying here for God knows how long and you miss the world! It was such big deal back in Queens" he said. "Suicide."

"I've never heard Manolo was suicidal."

"Neither did I. He'd no debt, no problems, apparently, but ended up jumping off a bridge. Tsk, tsk. Sad business for the family. Tonight is the final mass. How about closing early and pay our respects?"

Now these things, tragedies from the neighborhood, they didn't show on TV. Life meant nothing but a number in a statistics when you weren't born a big shot, like a Hartley.

"Nah! You go. I'll stay here tonight. I got too much in my head. Give my condolences to Zoraida from me."

Mauritzio shook his head but said nothing.

I barely noticed the hours go by until I found myself alone in the restaurant and sank on the chair of the back office. The briefcase was lying on a corner of the desk. Why had Elizabeth Leigh been so concerned about that briefcase?

Curiosity hit me and I remembered the look on her gray eyes as she begged me to carry this to a safe place. What was inside? Why was she so desperate to bring this out of the office?

I touched the metal brooch. It felt cold against the palm of my hands. But I stopped and didn't venture further. It was none of my business —or was it?

I felt the weight of the day and of sleepless nights fall heavily on my shoulders. I scratched my stubble, let out a huge yawn and, resting my forehead in my arm, I closed my eyes.

A soft whisper echoed in my ears. But I didn't wake up.

"Gio" the voice repeated. I opened my eyes.

Betty Suarez. Her voice was so different and yet my heart believed it was her. Her image started forming in front of me. She was all covered in blood. The red stain fell from her hands and spread, like a living being, all around the floor and the walls. Between her fingers she held a pair of scissors.

She looked at me with sadness. Everything else turned fussy.

"I did it, Gio". Tears started flowing like diamonds from her eyes. She looked at me. She saw through me.

I felt a void inside my chest, sucking the air out of me.

It was asphyxiating. I tried to move, to help her, to find a way to rescue her. But I couldn't.

And then she looked at me with pity.

My heart stopped pumping.

Something pulled me away and I abandoned my own body. I saw myself in front of me, as if it were a mirror. And it scared me. I was standing there cold, indifferent. Then my stoned face slowly evolved into a vengeful mask, and my lips slowly formed a demonic grin that distorted my features.

Betty gave a loud cry of horror.

I woke up all sweaty. My heart was threatening to jump off my throat. In my hands were tightly clutching a pair of scissors. I threw it to the floor as if it was contaminated.

Then I looked at the piece of paper at my desk, right where I've been sleeping, and my fingers caressed the rough surface of the newspaper.

Then I jumped again.

I heard a loud banging at the front door.

It was half past seven on my wristwatch.

"They finally let us go." Beth said as she entered the Deli. "I tried to get an explanation. I talked to the police and everyone that is anybody at MODE. It was all a misunderstanding, they say. I think they're trying to silence everyone. The press, all of us. They want a close case. She wants to shut us up. I don't think I can take it."

I didn't say a word and went to the backroom for a minute. She continued her nervous chatter.

"I can't believe it: heart stroke, natural causes. Can you believe that? This is insulting. Somebody killed my uncle. It was murder."

I placed the briefcase on the table.

"And the news. All lies. Nothing but lies. I shouldn't have—," she sat dramatically in a chair. "Now I can't. I can't—"

I stood by her side and said gravely:

"Why you lied?"

She looked at me. She didn't seem to have registered what I've said.

"Why you lied," I repeated, "about the briefcase?"

She took the leather attache into her lap and surveyed me for a moment as if trying to read my mind.

"I couldn't let the police get hold of this," she spoke with the same cold voice I've heard her speak in the office. "I'd been working on my own magazine at work. It's forbidden. I couldn't let anyone find out. I would end up being fired" She had a sad smile on her lips. "You all think I have privileges. You think I'm Hartley. But I am treated no different than any other worker at MODE."

I didn't trust a single word she said.

She sensed my incredulity and opened the briefcase, took some papers from it and placed it on top of the desk. There were drafts from magazines and notes. I gave a quick glance at it. I wasn't an expert; she could have fooled me with anything.

"I trust you" she said, pulling her hair back in a ponytail. "Do you trust me?"

I didn't.

"I'll take you home. My van is parked right there."

I helped her enter the van. I was about to start the engine when she touched my arm with her hands.

"My purse, I think I left it inside. My keys, everything is in it."

I grunted and swallowed a curse. Like she said, I was a gentleman so I decided to unlock metal door of the deli and search for her purse. I found it on the table she'd been sitting. Then, once again, I started the tedious process of securing the entrance of an establishment in the middle of Manhattan.

I drove her uptown.

"You know" she started after a short moment of silence. "Nobody liked me in my family, except Uncle Cal. He was so good to me. I can't believe he's gone."

I don't know why people just kept telling me things. They say I'm a good listener. I have no idea. I just know they open to me. They always had.

"I never met my father. He was a nobody. I've been hearing that since I have memory. My mother, she was a Hartley. She got me when she was too young. They never accepted my father. So he left me."

I gave her a quick glance. She spoke sadly but she wasn't crying.

"I had so many spare-fathers, I can't count them. She never loved me. The funny thing is that she couldn't have any more children. I think that made her hate me even more… I used to be sent to spend all summers with the Hartleys. I guess she wanted to get rid of me somehow. Not to see me. She died last year."

"I'm really sorry for your loss" I dared to say, feeling really awkward.

"I didn't care much about my mother."

"I mean your uncle… Mr. Hartley."

She nodded and thanked me silently.

"Pull over there. This is it" we stood by a small modest three-store hotel. Amidst protest, I accompanied her to the locked front door. She tried to find the keys inside her purse. The briefcase fell from her shoulder to the floor making a dry sound.

I quickly picked it. I would've sworn it was a lot heavier when I carried it the first time.

"Thank you" she said and kissed my cheek. "You are a nice guy, Gio. Not many men like you left in Manhattan"

"I'm from Queens." I said. She smiled and went inside.

I drove back to 'Gio's Deli' with the memories of the day hammering my temples. Like I predicted, I couldn't get any sleep. I opened a drawer on my desk and found a scotch. I didn't need ice. I wanted it to burn me. I wanted to drink until my head explode.

To be continued… surprisingly soon

Notes:

Finalmente!= (it.) Finally.

Ecco il mio capo! = (it.) Here's my boss.

Dai! Dai! = (it.) Come on!

Tutto il lavoro e' finito = (it.) All the work is done.