Material things, p.26
Material Things, page 26
“Could we stop and buy a six-pack?” Logan says.
“We’ll be there in less than an hour and Gina has prepared us a brunch.”
Logan makes a blanket statement—he only drinks Beck’s German beer. Anything else is unacceptable. They stop at the first liquor store and wait while Logan jumps out and grabs his brew. This would be the first of many apologies Matthew would make to Tom.
“Is he always this, you know, wound so tight?” Tom asks Matthew.
“Tight? This is him on a laid-back day.”
Just as Logan comes out of store, already drinking a beer, three unmarked cars screech into the parking lot and surround them like covered wagons on the prairie. Half a dozen men in blue nylon jackets with FBI stenciled on the back exit the cars in what appears to be a tactical maneuver. It literally becomes a shouting match as they instruct the guys to raise their arms in the air, and assume the position against the liquor store wall. Position? What position? It’s not like they’re familiar with their vernacular.
Matthew attempts to get answers but is abruptly told to keep quiet and follow instructions. They go into a standard pat down, checking for weapons and any sort of contraband.
Logan is irate. “We’ve done nothing! We’re old enough to buy beer. And we’re rich enough to buy and sell you guys twice over. This is fucking harassment!”
An agent spouts off: “There’s always one guy who thinks he can ignore the rules.”
“We’re U. S. citizens. We have rights!” Logan insists.
“Oh, please, spare us the histrionics and just shut the fuck up, till we’re done here.”
Neither Logan nor Tom was in the dark about what this was all about. They knew. Tom looked a little scared.
“Okay, which one of you gentlemen is Matthew Street?”
“You would think by now,” Matthew says with chilling equanimity, “you guys would know who I am—my height, weight and what I had for breakfast.”
One of the agents sidles up close behind Matthew. “Okay, smart guy, where is he?” he demands.
“Where is who, the Lindbergh baby?” Matthew says.
“Your friend Lewis—and cut the wisecracks.”
Matthew becomes frustrated and angry. He’s had enough of their interrogations, their insinuations, and their being on his heels for the past two years. He loses it and spills his guts.
“You want Jon Lewis. I’m gonna give him up, so maybe you’ll leave me alone. Last I heard he was in Palm Springs to bury his mother, Agnes. Probably lowering the casket as we speak.”
“He’s lying,” Logan interjects. “Actually, Jon’s in Pamplona, running with the bulls. I swear it!”
His smart-ass remark is not taken lightly. The guys are cuffed and detained at the scene for another half hour until a Special Agent shows up. He’s not formally introduced, but he’s a fireplug of a man, intense and all business. This Special Agent pulls Matthew aside and, speaking in a stage whisper, very straightforward telling him that catching up with Jon Lewis is imperative. A number-one priority. His testimony is an important component in taking down Vincent Longo.
“It appears that while Jon was making a drug run early one foggy morning on the Vincent Thomas Bridge in San Pedro,” the Special Agent confides to Matthew, “he witnessed a woman being tossed into the briny deep by two unidentified men and failed to report it to the authorities.”
“And how does that concern me?” Matthew argues. “And who reported Jon being a witness? Another witness? Certainly not the dead woman or the guys who tossed her off the bridge. A fish that was swimming by, perhaps? Or are you guys just guessing that Jon saw this?”
“Look, Street, the important thing here is that we need his testimony. The unfortunate lady who took a header was an assistant district attorney who had evidence that could put Longo away for tax evasion. Almost a carbon copy of the Al Capone conviction in 1931. And being that Jon Lewis was the only witness, Longo is willing to go to great lengths to shut him up and take him down. Even if it means screwing with your life until he does. Trust me, this dude will not rest until he finds Lewis and cuts off his balls.”
The San Pedro bridge incident was the turning point for Matthew. Jon had gotten in deeper than any of them had imagined. Drug running, embezzlement, and now witness to a Mafia hit of a Los Angeles district attorney. At this juncture Matthew had an obligation to help track down Jon and bring this case to an end before someone else died—like himself.
Matthew assured the Feds the Palm Springs particulars were factual. After they were finally released, Matthew sat down, leaned against the wall, and felt a surge of guilt flow through him because he had given Jon up. But he figured by the time they send local agents to pick him up he may have already split the country. But you never know. They could break into his mother’s dingy house and discover Sheila and him having crude sex on that rickety old kitchen table with the cat looking on from the windowsill. Whatever the result, Matthew was, in the words of the bad guys, a rat fink/stoolie. But there’s a consequence to pay if they don’t catch Jon—Matthew would still be on their persons of interest list. So he wasn’t by any means in the clear. He was fucked. And the beat goes on.
§
Twenty minutes later, they were being served a platter of deli food, compliments of Gina and Tom. They of course explained why they were late and the whole unnerving ordeal with the FBI. This made both Gina and Tom anxious, thinking that now they’re on the FBI’s radar, and will be watched and have to sleep with one eye open until Jon Lewis is either apprehended or killed. Matthew apologizes, but he couldn’t promise them being kept under surveillance was not going to happen. Truth was, it was probably a sure bet that they would be under the FBI’s microscope until Jon was brought in. Not a great way to live for any of them.
As they sat on the veranda, Gina, noticeably on edge, changes the subject to something less sanguinary.
“So, Logan, what big plans are you hatching?” she asks.
Logan is caught off guard that the question is directed to him and not to Matthew. “Me? Hatching? You mean like formulating?”
“I guess I mean, what’s your future look like?”
“In the grand scheme of things, divorce, child support, alimony.” Whoa, that put the conversation under a dark cloud.
“Sorry to hear that,” Gina says.
“It happens. Can’t force happiness. And as far as the store, well, we’re here doing it. Formulating a plan to make a highly sought-after brand name for ourselves in the world of clothing, specifically pants.”
He gets up from the table, walks over to the edge of the veranda that overlooks the ocean. He watches the force of the waves crashing against the rocky shoreline. The sound is powerful. He’s bothered by it.
“How do you people live with the noise? I know you guys see this place as a tropical paradise but for my money, living on an island with the chance of being caught in a tsunami, and hot lava running through my kitchen, would keep me up nights.”
“Well,” Tom says, “we don’t think of it as noise as much as soothing music to our ears.”
“It beats the sound of sirens, car horns, and an occasional gunshot strafing through the night air, in our neck of the woods,” Matthew says with a slight laugh.
“I guess the sound of an occasional siren and a gunshot every now and then is music to my ears,” Logan says with his own muffled laugh. He seemed in good spirits. But sometimes with him that’s just a cover-up before all hell breaks loose and he launches into a tirade.
After lunch, it’s down to business, checking out the ads Tom drew up. This became an instant issue. Logan was noticeably baffled. Says he wasn’t aware that Tom had already been working on it. He presumed they were there to bounce ideas around. He obviously misunderstood Matthew when he said he gave Tom an early go-ahead, so that they at least had something tangible to see.
“Thing is, I expected to be involved from the start,” Logan remarks. “Not come in midway when all the creative work is already done. This is as much my idea as it is anyone else’s.”
“No one is disputing that, Logan. This is a total team effort from beginning to end,” Matthew says.
Tom jumps in. “In my opinion, the jeans thing you guys came up with is a great innovative idea. And I think I hit it on the nose. It says who you are and what you’re selling. Style plus an ongoing commitment. It’s clever, yet at the same time it displays a public image.”
“Sure. Public image. Style. Got it. Let’s take a look, why don’t we?” Logan says with a snap of his fingers.
They gathered in Tom’s home studio. It was an impressive area. Some of his best marketing artwork, framed in natural wood, hung on the teal gray walls. Also in evidence were advertising awards. Matthew was definitely in awe and confident they chose the right man for the job.
Tom tries to settle any nerves and offers them a joint. Logan passes, underscoring he didn’t want anything to interfere with his appreciation of the artwork.
Tom then breaks out the Jon’s Drawer ad. It fucking blows Matthew away. Two figures sketched in ink, a male and female in a sexy pose, with the words Wear Outs spelled out in a slanted rope font at the top of the page. Clever? No. Ingenious? Yes. They turn their attention to Logan for his reaction and comments. They assume he’ll love it too.
He pauses before giving them his critique. “Look, I can appreciate your expertise, Tom. You’re a helleva fine artist. Me, as a kid, I couldn’t even stay in the lines in my coloring book.”
A finger of doubt pokes Matthew. He felt like a bomb was about to explode. Call it a fearful premonition. Logan holds the rendering in his hand and studies it for a few beats. Then he looks up with trepidation in his eyes, his lower lip quivering.
“I’m gonna be honest. After all, I’m paying for this ad, and I think I have the right to be straightforward.”
Now Matthew’s lip started to quiver. Hold on, here comes the tirade.
“Yeah, you have a perfect right to be blunt,” Tom says.
“It leaves me flat. Empty. Hollow. Disconcerted. I’m skeptical about using words like bland and trivial—but it’s how I feel.”
Matthew could feel his jaw drop and hit the floor. Tom, who never had his work branded as trivial, is in a complete state of shock and doesn’t try to cover it.
Logan isn’t done. Without missing a beat, he turns to Matthew and says this was a fucking wasted trip. “Thanks for the deli,” he mutters right before he sails the rendering across the room like a cheap Frisbee. He then storms out like a wuss. This was more than just a tirade; it was a fucking temper tantrum.
Matthew thought about chasing after him. But why bother? You can’t fight stupidity. Without any means of transportation, Logan hitched a ride to the airport, then headed directly back to the mainland without checking out of the hotel. Left his clothes, left his maturity. Matthew felt sick inside.
Gina had witnessed the whole ordeal. Her evaluation? Logan Alexander needed someone to really love him and accept his flaws. Gina was a registered child psychologist who had seen this behavior many times in young children who lacked affection from their parents and tend to rebel when confronted by the enemy—the enemy being another adult who seems to be in charge of their feelings and their decision-making. Also, she’s pretty sure his pending divorce, and the abandonment that comes with it, was the spark that made him fly into a rage.
§
Matthew left for the mainland on the weekend, hoping to reverse the tension and quell the animosity. He thanked Tom and Gina for their hospitality and apologized (for the thousandth time) for Logan’s shitty behavior. And his equally shitty lack of appreciation of good artwork.
“Well, I’m off to try to bring this latest melodrama to a sensible and calm conclusion,” he said after bidding them goodbye.
He’s not Catholic or a religious guy, but he crossed himself as he said this.
CHAPTER 45
Logan Alexander and Matthew Street had known each other forever, longer than they’d known anyone else. In light of recent events they’d gone from being close friends to two guys with not much to say to one another. Matthew played the only hand he had left: swallowing his pride and reasoning with his estranged friend.
It’s sunrise, and Matthew decided to get an early start, hoping to catch Logan on his boat in the Marina. Still playing the angry card, he refused to acknowledge that Matthew was standing on the deck of his Italian yacht trying to make amends, with coffee and fresh bagels. He banged on the cabin door several times. Maybe too loud. Maybe too hard. He saw movement through a porthole, so he knew Logan was there, avoiding him. From inside he heard a woman’s voice: “He doesn’t want to speak to you and asks that you get off his boat.”
For the next few minutes Matthew tries to use common sense and sound judgment, suggesting they throw out what Tom did and start from scratch with an artist of his choice. Van Gogh if he wants. Humor didn’t help the situation. Made it worse. Again the same female voice comes from inside, this time carrying an obvious threat: “He’s calling the port authorities and having you arrested for trespassing and unlawful entry.” That remark was a little harsh, even for Logan. Matthew guesses the girlfriend came up with that warning.
Defeated, Matthew tosses the bagels in the water for the seagulls to feast on, then leaves the artwork on the deck, hoping Logan would keep an open mind and see the value of the ad. None of this made sense, as franchising the Jon’s Drawer name was his idea to begin with. Gina was right: Logan is rebelling against the people who always controlled him—the adult community he had to obey throughout his childhood. And unfortunately he now sees Matthew as the grown-up.
Matthew drove slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. Logan Alexander had lost it.
He couldn’t have predicted what came next if he was given ten thousand guesses.
Matthew arrives at the Marina store at approximately 7:15 a.m. Give or take a few minutes. Doesn’t matter because he’s in store for a rude awakening that will throw his day into more turmoil. In front, blocking the door stands a burly sheriff, with his arms folded across his barrel chest like he’s guarding the entrance to the Palace of Versailles. Matthew assumes he’s there to beef up the security in the mall. He gives the guy a friendly nod, then tries to walk around this hefty hunk of flesh. The man shifts, impeding his path.
“Excuse me,” Matthew says. “I can appreciate your commitment to keep this place safe from the bad guys, but I’m one of the good guys who just needs to get inside my shop.”
“You must be Matthew Street,” the sheriff replies assertively.
“I am. Nice meeting you.”
Matthew makes another attempt to enter the store and is once again stopped when the sheriff plants his Frisbee-sized mitt against his chest.
“I’m afraid you’ve been legally prohibited from entering the premises, sir,” he says.
Prohibited? What the hell is this fuck talking about?
“Wait. Stop. My name is on the lease. Doesn’t that count for anything? Doesn’t that give me the right to enter my own fucking store?”
The hulking sheriff, finally exhibiting a whiff of compassion, explains the horror of it all—that Logan Alexander ordered an injunction against him, violating a corporate agreement. He mentions James Alexander and his attorney but says he can’t—or won’t—divulge any other details. He was still in the dark and he wasn’t about to argue with this cartoon cop who was actually allowed to carry a gun. He needed more of an understandable, lucid reason that would stop him from shaking and sweating and convulsing and clenching his teeth, his hands balled into fists and his mind racing in all directions.
He rushes to a pay phone and calls James Alexander’s attorney. It was now 7:40 a.m. He didn’t care if he woke him or if he was in the middle of fucking his trophy wife. It didn’t ring fast enough.
“Jacob, it’s Matthew Street. What the fuck is going on with my store? They won’t let me in. Sheriff said it was because of some legal crap you and James Alexander drummed up. Pull your small dick out of your wife and give me answers.” There’s a pause. “No, I won’t calm down! There is nothing so far that gives me reason to be even-tempered!” He’s screaming to the point of almost rupturing his larynx.
The lawyer explains that when they drew up the original corporate papers, one of the stipulations was that any of the shares could be borrowed against or revoked at any time. Matthew used the money for his shares to fund the production of the jeans with Scott Howard. At the time, Logan wanted no part of this. He didn’t believe in the pants. Thought they were unattractive and that there was no market for them. So when things recently went south in Hawaii, Logan became more of a tyrant and a bully and called back the stocks to force Matthew’s hand, using the one weapon he knew would ruin him—financial recourse. Matthew’s only choice was to pay back the loan or he’d lose total interest in the corporation and the store. Logan knew he had no way of paying it back, so he ordered a restraining order to keep Matthew out. He was screwed. All this because Tom Sparks went ahead and designed an ad without Logan’s authorization. This was profoundly unscrupulous.
Matthew jumps in his car and speeds away, leaving the store and what appears to be his livelihood behind. There was nothing preventing him from taking out a loan with Longo, and reacquiring his corporate shares. But the more he thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. Why would he want to continue a partnership with a guy who hated him enough to ruin his life over a pair of denim pants?
This was not the end of Logan Alexander’s streak of destructiveness and Matthew’s angst. A more senseless act of aggression ensued. A week goes by and in the early misty morning the finance company hauls away Matthew’s green Mercedes. Never got a warning. Like a thief in the night, creeping in the underbrush, the repo man towed his lonely, isolated car to wherever they take possession of delinquent loans on people who are considered bad risks. He’s guessing the same chop shop across the Mexican border, where Logan’s gull-wing Mercedes would’ve met its dismantlement if the theft had gone according to plan.
