“You should forgive the back debt, and restructure that loan again. That’s how you help people. That’s how you can help me.”
“I’m not a social worker. I’m not in business to help people. I’m in business to make money.”
“So finally we hear the truth!” Mason proclaimed as if he had just unearthed something major. “The truth has come to light! That’s all it’s about for you. Money.”
Charles didn’t respond to that because there was nothing to respond to. Of course he was in business to make money!
“At least the truth is out,” Mason continued. “At least now I know that all of those horror stories I heard about you have been confirmed. It’s all about money with you. Not love. Not compassion. Money.”
“You own a feed store?” Charles asked calmly.
“You know I 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, weren’t even twenty yet. The young man flinched when Charles reached for his chin, but then he relaxed as Charles lifted the chin to check out the extent of his bruises. They were extensive, and bad.