Wonders Never Cease (15 page)

“I needed some time, that's all.”

“Eight years? That's a lot of time.”

“I'll get you your money, Tino. I just need a little more time.”

“More time? Eight years is not enough?”

“I'll get the money, okay? I've got a deal I'm working on right now. I just need a couple of months. Just be patient—don't do anything crazy, okay?”

“What do you think I'm going to do? You insult me. I'm a businessman, remember? Dead men don't repay their loans, and all I want is my money—with interest. That's another thing, Bobby—the interest has compounded a little.”

“What?”

“Our deal was fifty percent on two years. It's been eight years—plus my time and trouble tracking you down. I'm afraid a hundred and fifty won't do it anymore. It's half a million now.”

Kemp's mouth dropped open. “Are you out of your mind?

Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?”

“That's your problem.”

“You can't just change the terms of the agreement!”

“You did.”

“But—it's impossible! There's no way.”

“What about your old man? I hear he's pretty well off. Maybe he's had a change of heart.”

“Never. He wouldn't even consider it.”

“Have you asked him? Sincerely, I mean. I'll bet you haven't.”

“Believe me, I've asked.”

“Maybe he hasn't been properly motivated.”

“Now wait a minute—”

“Look, Bobby, we need to put our heads together and come up with some creative repayment options. See, at this point I'm exactly like a bank. When one of my clients defaults on a loan, I have to find a way to recover my losses. We need to review your assets, your income, your other obligations, and see what we can do. We have to work something out, Bobby, because if we can't I'll have to foreclose.”

“I don't own a house.”

Tino looked at him without expression. “Who's talking about a house?”

Kemp's throat went dry. “Look—I have a girlfriend. She has a daughter.”

“Has your girlfriend got any money?”

“No. She's as broke as I am.”

“So?”

“Don't hurt them, okay? That would devastate me. I couldn't bear it. I'd blame myself forever.”

Tino almost smiled. “You think I would hurt your girlfriend as a way to punish you? What kind of man do you think I am? I would never have thought of such a thing—but you did. Shame on you, Bobby—this is between you and me.”

Tino was sitting so close that their legs were almost touching. When Kemp tried to slide his chair farther away Tino said to him, “Don't even think about it.”

“We're the only ones at the table,” Kemp said. “People are looking.”

“Get used to it. You're into me for half a million dollars, and I'm not leaving until I get it back. No more running, Bobby. I'm going to stay so close to you that when I fart you'll say ‘Excuse me.'”

“But where am I going to get half a million dollars?”

Tino shrugged. “Tell me about this deal you're working on.”

17

M
att Callahan sat in the back of the classroom and pretended to listen as each of his students stepped up in front of the blackboard and shared about a favorite family member, the soccer team, or some recent experience that he or she thought the class might find unusual or interesting. Matt graded papers as he listened, throwing in a question or comment from time to time to let the class know he was still tuned in. “See & Say” wasn't a graded activity anyway—it was just a weekly opportunity for the kids to develop their verbal skills and gain confidence speaking before a group. A little boy with sandy hair was just wrapping up his presentation.

“So, my brother and me, we launched the rocket and the cat went way up in the air just like we planned, only the cat came down safe and sound because we put a parachute on him before we shot him off. It was cool.”

“Thank you, Larry, that was quite a story,” Matt called from the back. “Tell me, this cat of yours—is it full grown?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“How much does it weigh?”

“Um.”

“If it's full grown, it must weigh a few pounds at least. This rocket you used—did you buy it at a hobby shop? Because most of the model rockets I've seen, they only have a few ounces of thrust. I wonder how that rocket managed to lift that cat?”

Larry stopped to ponder this point.

“Tell me, Larry, did you and your brother really put a cat into orbit, or were you just entertaining us with a tall tale?”

Larry grinned sheepishly.

“Class, let's thank Larry for a very imaginative story.”

The students reluctantly applauded.

“Only next time, Larry, let's stick to a real event for See & Say and save the imaginary stories for Creative Writing—okay? Who's next?”

Leah raised her hand.

“Leah Pelton, the floor is yours. What do you want to tell us about today?”

Leah walked to the blackboard and turned to face the class. “I saw an angel,” she said.

Matt put down his papers. “Leah—you already told us this story.”

She shook her head. “That was a different angel. I saw another one.”

Larry's hand shot up. “How come she gets to tell about angels, but I can't launch my cat into space?”

Leah glared at him. “Because that's just stupid, that's why. You just made that up, but I really saw an angel.”

“Liar!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Everybody calm down,” Matt said, rising from his chair.

“Now Leah, you just heard me tell Larry that See & Say is for real events. You understand that, don't you?”

“Sure I do.”

“Then you're not just making this up. Right?”

“Right.”

Matt paused. “Okay, then go ahead. Tell us what happened.”

Leah looked at her classmates. “My mom is a nurse at UCLA. Right now I have to sleep there at night, 'cause Mrs. Rodriguez—that was our babysitter? She can't stay with me at night anymore. I'm supposed to stay in the nurses' room, but I get bored in there—so the other night I went up and down the hallway and looked in all the rooms.”

“Did you see any dead people?” one of the boys asked.

Leah narrowed her eyes at him. “No—that's not what happened. In one of the rooms there was an old man who looked real sick. There was this beautiful woman standing beside his bed, and she was holding her hand out over his head—like this.” She held her right hand out, palm-down.

She smiled at the class as if her story was finished and started to return to her seat.

“Hang on a minute, Leah,” Matt said. “I have a couple of questions for you.”

“Me too,” Larry said.

“Thanks, Larry, I think I can handle this. Leah, what makes you think this woman was an angel?”

“She just was.”

“But how do you know?”

“I could tell.”

“There are lots of visitors in hospitals, Leah. Did you see any visitors in the other rooms?”

“Sure.”

“Then what was different about this woman?”

“She was an angel.”

The class began to snicker and Matt gestured for them to quiet down. “Was she dressed differently?”

“No.”

“Was she doing anything unusual—anything that might make you think she was different from everyone else?”

“She was holding her hand like this.” Leah repeated the palm-down gesture.

“Maybe she was stroking the man's hair. Maybe she was taking his temperature.”

Leah began to frown. “She didn't touch him. She just held her hand there.”

“Why do you think she was doing that?”

“I think it was making him better.”

“Did you see him get better? Did he get up and get out of bed?”

Leah didn't answer.

“Then you really don't have a reason to think this woman was an angel, do you?”

“She just made it up,” Larry scoffed.

Leah gave Larry a burning stare. “I did not! There's a nice old man who works at the hospital—he told me they get angels there all the time. He says some people can see things other people can't. He says I have a gift.”

Larry sneered. “I saw my cat take off, but nobody else did.”

“It's not the same!” Leah shouted.

“Larry, that's enough. Leah, please go back to your seat.” Matt looked at Larry. “Leah's right about something, Larry—her story is not the same as yours. You know your cat never left the ground, but Leah actually saw something and she told us what she saw. She thinks she saw an angel—I'm not so sure. But whether she's right or wrong, she was describing a real event—and that's what See & Say is for. Now who's next?”

Matt watched Leah as the next child stepped to the front of the class and began to speak. Leah sat slumped in her chair, staring at her desk and fighting back tears. Matt wondered if he had done the right thing. He couldn't just let the story go—not after he just gave Larry a slap on the wrist for an obvious fabrication. He was hoping that a few pointed questions might cause Leah to give up her story as a hoax, but she seemed as determined as ever to defend it. One thing seemed certain: Leah clearly believed that she had seen an angel—another one.

He took out a blank sheet of paper and began to write:

Natalie,

I told you in the carpool line that if I had any other
concerns about Leah I would let you know. This morning
she told the class she saw another angel—this time
at your hospital. We need to talk, Natalie. Please call
me at your earliest convenience.

I'm on your side,

Matt Callahan

18

K
emp shoved his key card into the door slot on the Century Plaza suite; when he pulled it out again a green light flashed and the lock made a clicking sound. He glanced down at the carpet beside the door and saw a room service tray littered with ketchup-smeared plates, forgotten vegetables, and translucent french fries left over from the night before. Beside that tray was a breakfast tray, apparently from just this morning—and beside that was an empty pizza box blotched with dark streaks of oil and tomato sauce.

“Your friends have healthy appetites,” Tino said.

Kemp shook his head. “If these guys could write half as fast as they can eat, we'd be done by now.” He looked at Tino. “Don't say anything, okay? Let me handle it. This is going to be a little bit of a surprise.”

Kemp opened the door and the two men stepped inside.

The suite had been trashed. There were sheets of paper from the easel pad plastered all over the walls and crumpled wads of legal paper dotting the floor like yellow snowballs. There seemed to be more socks and shoes than there were feet, and a wrinkled blazer hung on a coat hanger from a chandelier. There were half-eaten slices of pizza abandoned on tissue-thin paper napkins, and empty cups and water bottles were scattered everywhere.

“Hey,” Kemp called out. “Where is everybody?”

“What time is it?” Wes called out from behind the sofa.

“It's after eight,” Kemp said. “Look at this place. What are you guys, a couple of rock stars?”

“We were trying to stay focused,” Wes said.

“Obviously not on neatness. Did you do anything but eat?”

A toilet flushed and Biederman emerged from the bathroom. “McAvoy—how'd it go last—” He stopped.

Wes poked his head up from the sofa and looked.

Standing beside Kemp was an enormous man—a man they had never seen before.

“This is Tino Gambatti,” Kemp said. “Tino's from Baltimore—he's an old friend of mine. Tino, this is Mort Biederman—he's the talent agent I told you about. That's Wes Kalamar over there—he's the publisher.”

Tino nodded a greeting to each of the men, but neither of them returned it.

Biederman looked at Kemp. “McAvoy, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“
McAvoy
,” Tino said. “That's it—I never can remember that name.”

“I thought you two were old friends,” Wes said.

“I'm an old friend of Bobby Foscoe,” Tino said. “Bobby disappeared from Baltimore eight years ago; I'm just getting to know Kemp McAvoy now.”

“Who's Bobby Foscoe?”

Tino pointed with his thumb. “He is.”

Both men looked at Kemp.

“I need to explain,” Kemp said.

“You sure do.”

“My real name is Bobby Foscoe, okay? I changed it when I moved back to Los Angeles.”

“Why?”

“Because Bobby Foscoe got kicked out of medical school,” Tino said. “He had to change his name to get a job.”

“That's not true,” Kemp said. “I finished medical school. I just got kicked out of my residency, that's all—in my last year.”

“Kicked out why?” Wes asked.

“It's personal,” Kemp grumbled.

“Not if it affects us,” Biederman said.

“It doesn't,” Tino said. “I assure you, Bobby knows quite a bit about medicine—more than enough to pull off this little project of ours.”

Biederman looked at Tino. “
Ours
? Who invited you?”

Tino pointed again. “He did. Well, Bobby didn't actually invite me—you might say I invited myself. He didn't really have a choice.”

“I owe him money,” Kemp said, staring at the floor. “A lot of it.”

“Half a million dollars,” Tino said. “Bobby has no other way to repay his debt, so I was forced to consider alternate repayment options.”

“You're a loan shark?” Biederman asked.

Tino frowned. “I'm an investor—and I've decided to invest in this project.”

“Don't we have something to say about that?” Wes asked.