do,” Mason responded.
“If I
go into your store to make a purchase, do you expect me to pay you with
money? Or will love and compassion do
the trick?”
Mason
stared at Charles. “That’s not the same
thing, and you know it!”
“How
much of your inventory,” Charles continued, “do you give away for free? How much love and compassion do you show to
these struggling families around here and let them go into your store and have
the run of the place? And when it’s time
for them to pay, do you simply forgive the debt with love and compassion?”
Mason
stood up. “I will not be insulted this
way,” he said. “It’s not the same and
you know it! I’m leaving,” he said, and
he turned to leave. Then he turned back,
grabbed that name and number Charles had written on a pad on his desk, and
left.
Charles
leaned back and ran his hands across his face. He needed a break. A nice break
away from this madness. But it didn’t
happen. He didn’t even get a chance to
so much as reflect on Joe Mason’s hypocrisy before his cell phone buzzed. It was Tony. They had a problem.
Charles
sped his Jaguar through the streets of Jericho as if there was no speed limit,
negotiating turns along the mountainous roads like a downhill racer, until the
final turn turned into the driveway of Donald Sinatra’s suburban home: a
wedding gift from his father. And it was
his father who got out of the Jaguar and walked steadily across the lawn to the
front door. His next-oldest son Tony,
who had phoned him with the news, opened the door.
“You
got here fast enough,” he said as he opened it. “A plane could not have gotten you here faster.”
“Where
are they?” Charles asked as he entered the home.
“She’s
in the bathroom. I made Donnie go in the
guestroom.”
Charles
walked swiftly down the narrow hallway that led to the bathroom, with Tony
closing the door and following close behind.
When
they entered the sizeable bathroom, they saw a blond-haired young man sitting
on the side of the tub, with Donald’s pregnant wife Susan standing over
him. She had a compress in her hands and
was nursing the young man’s numerous facial bruises. He had been in a fight, it was obvious to
Charles, and had lost. They both looked
at Charles when he walked in.
“It
wasn’t my fault, Big Daddy,” Susan quickly said.
“That’s
what you heard?” Charles asked her. “That’s not what I heard.”
“But
it’s not the truth!” Susan insisted. “Donnie beat up Paul for no reason. I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He could have killed him, Big Daddy!”
Charles
ignored her histrionics. “What was he
doing here?” he asked her.
Susan
and the bruised man exchanged a glance. “He was visiting me,” she ultimately said. “But Donnie came home and took it the wrong
way.”
“You
and Blondie here,” Tony pointed out, “were in the bedroom. In fact, you were in the bed. I don’t know what way you expected him to
take it.”
“Paul
wasn’t feeling well, and I let him lie down. That’s all I did. He came over to
say hi, and then he started feeling really bad. I didn’t know what else to do, so I let him lie down.”
She
had one of those grating voices that annoyed the shit out of Charles. But he maintained his cool. He never wasted his energy on idiocy, and he
wasn’t about to start now.
“I
wasn’t in that bed with him,” Susan continued her nerve-grating tirade. “I was just sitting there talking to
him. We were talking. I was just sitting on that bed, that’s all I
was doing. I was sitting. But Donnie took it the wrong way! I was just sitting.”
Charles
knew exactly what kind of sitting she was doing, and it was more on that man’s
face than on any bed, but that was what happened when children played grown-up
games. He moved over to the young man
who, like Susan and Donald,