PILLOW TALK

PILLOW TALK 

“Can you please check again?”

“Sir, I’m sorry but I have the bookings right here on the screen in front of me. Your booking is for next Sunday, the 15th. Not, today, the 8th”.

“But there must be something you can do. You surely have other cars available”.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but it’s Easter Sunday, one of our busiest days of the year. All of our cars are in use”.

The man held his head in his hands in frustration. This could not be happening. How on earth he had entered the wrong pick up date when booking his car was just beyond him. He traveled for a living; on the road every damn week. He had never screwed up dates before.

“Sir, can you please step aside? I need to serve this gentleman. Then this desk will be closing down until next Tuesday. Once again, I’m truly sorry”.

Turning, he saw the man waiting patiently behind him, the only person still to be served but, in a last effort at salvaging his trip, he turned back to the car hire representative who was eager to organise the last booking of the weekend and get away so that she could enjoy her holiday with her family.

“Look, you must have back up plans for this sort of screw up. I mean, surely, you could borrow a car from another hire company”.

Patiently, the middle-aged woman, name tagged "Dolores", tried to make this man understand, one last time.

“Look around you, sir. All the other car hire desks are closed. Everybody went home thirty minutes ago which is what I would have done if you hadn’t made an error when booking. There is nothing that I can do. Now, please, step aside so that I can attend to the gentleman behind you who has been waiting, very calmly, I must say”.

Finally, accepting defeat, unsure of his next move, the man turned away and walked over to a seat in the almost deserted Canyonlands Field airport.

The man who had been stood behind him, listening to this sorry tale, approached the desk.

“Jeez, poor guy. He sure picked the wrong weekend to mess up his booking, right?”

“Yes sir. You must be Mr. Stanley? I have your paperwork all ready for you. Your car is in the lot; the only car we have left”.

Stanley signed where he was told, opted for extra insurance, collected his key and a copy of his paperwork.

“Say, where was that guy headed, anyway?”

Dolores, already half way out of her booth, stopped for a moment to recall what the man had told her.

“I do believe he said he was visiting family in Salt Lake City”.

As Dolores headed for the exit door, she passed the man, still sitting, head in hands.

“Happy Easter, sir”.

Stanley gathered his bags, turned and, seeing the dejected man, thought for a moment, before, finally, approaching him.

“Hey, I couldn’t help overhearing your story. Bummer, huh? Look, uh, if you’re interested, I’m actually going to Salt Lake City myself. Maybe you could ride with me. I don’t know, maybe figure out something for the car hire and fuel. What do you say?”

The man’s eyes opened wide. Was this guy on the level?

“Are you sure? I mean, yes, of course. I’d be delighted to drive with you. Hell, I’ll even reimburse you the full cost of your car hire. My name’s Carlo; Carlo Mancini”.

The two men shook hands.

“Carlo, I’m Don Stanley. Pleasure to meet you. Let’s get the hell out of this place before some schmuck locks us in”.

“That’d be just my luck, Don. I can’t thank you enough”.

The car that Stanley had hired was a Range Rover Dynamic-top of the range. Mancini was impressed. As they headed towards Moab before hitting the US-191 highway, he praised the driver.

“Boy, you sure know how to travel, Don. Great wheels. I’m thinking that, maybe, I struck lucky screwing up my booking, otherwise, I’d be heading to SLC in the Toyota Corolla that I booked, or thought I had booked”.

“No problem, Carlo. I believe in traveling in style. I get out here several times a year so, you know, I’d prefer to have a good, reliable ride in the desert. Anyway, my client covers my travel costs. You get out here much?”

“No. First time, actually. My sister married a Mormon, a year or so back and this is my first trip out here”.

“Okay, well, word of advice, they like to be addressed as members of the Church of Latter Day Saints. You religious, at all?”

“No. I mean I was raised Catholic but I can’t remember the last time I went to church, or even prayed. You?”

“Me? No way. I’m a Jew but I don’t believe in religion. I’ve seen how it’s used to control people. What line of business you in?”

“I’m a contractor; build houses, you know”.

“Oh yeah? That’s great. Got your own company?”

“I sub-contract when I need to but I prefer to work alone”.

“Great".  

By this time they had reached Moab and were heading west on the highway. The conversation continued in the same vein until Stanley asked a pertinent question.

Hey, do you mind if I ask you a leading question? How much can a contractor make in a year? Just curious, you know?”

“Oh, well it depends. Last year wasn’t so good with Covid and that but I cleared about $200k”.

“Hell, that wouldn’t even cover my taxes. Hey, don’t get me wrong, Carlo. I’m sure you do a great job but, hey, no wonder you booked a Corolla right?”

Carlo looked over at the driver. The man, he realised was a braggart. He knew plenty men who lived well, only the best being good enough but they didn’t go around boasting about it. This guy was a real smart ass.

“So what do you do for a living, Don?”

“I’m an accountant. I look after just a handful of clients”.

“My brother in law, the one I’m going to visit, he’s an accountant and he nets about the same as me after taxes”.

“Ha! I’m no ordinary accountant, I'm a special accountant, you might say. I am, how shall I say…creative? Get my drift? My clients pay very well for my services; very well indeed”.

Stanley couldn’t keep the smug look off his face.

“Hey, you cool enough. Must be forty degrees out there?”

“Yeah, I’m good, Don. Glad I’m wearing shades; that glare is something else. Wouldn’t mind a drink though. Any stops ahead?”

“Yeah, there’s one Pennywise gas station up ahead, then pretty much nothing for three and a half hours. I’ll pull over”.

Stanley parked the Range Rover in the shadiest spot he could find and the two men got out of the car.

“Hell, this heat. Man! Can you just give me a sec while I get a hat out of my bag?”

Carlo rummaged in his bag and pulled out a baseball cap which he placed over his bald head. Stanley looked on amusedly, slightly mockingly, as he, himself, needed no such protection for his thick head of curly hair.  

Inside, Carlo insisted on paying for the food and drink that they ordered and the two men took a seat away from the window, in the far corner of the food hall.

“Where you from, Carlo?”

“Born and raised in the Big Apple. Still there today. You?”

“I was born in Milwaukee but I got the hell out of there years ago. Now, I live in Vegas”.

“Oh, that where your office is at?”

“Office? I don’t work out of an office, my friend. I’m my office. Everything I need is in here”.

As Stanley tapped his head, Carlo could feel the bile rising but he stayed quiet and allowed Stanley to continue with his loudmouth boasting.

“I live in Vegas because that’s where most of my clients are based. Makes sense, no?” Occasionally, I have to come out here or fly into New York but Vegas is where it’s at, man: the bars, the casinos, the low taxes… the women”.

“Oh you’re not married, Don?”

“Sure, I’m married, two kids but, you know, a man has to play. Matter of fact, I’ll be catching up with a sweet little number out here and she’s got a gorgeous friend if you’re interested”.

“I might take you up on that, Don; after I see my sister, of course”.

“Sure, here’s my card with my cell. Just give me a call when you’re ready. I’m here for 48 hours”.

The two resumed their journey, any ice well and truly broken now, as far as Don Stanley was concerned.

“So, Don, you say you only have a few clients but what line of business are they in?”

“It depends, they diversify.  Casinos, this and that, you get my drift?”

“Yeah, say no more. I get it, brother. You mean the rackets, right?”

“You said it, not me”, Don giggled conspiratorially.

“What’s it like to work for guys like that, if you don’t mind my asking? They must be pretty scary”.

“Listen, these guys are my friends, we socialise. They’re great guys. I’ll tell you something. You ever here of Paulie Botti?’

“Paulie Botti? No I don’t think so”.

“Are you serious, Botti’s the most feared mob boss in America. Well, I played poker with him just two days ago-at his house. You know what that means? It means the guy trusts me like a brother; a brother, Carlo. He’d do anything for me”.

“That’s great, Don, but I guess if you ever crossed one of these guys, it wouldn’t be too good for your health, right?”

“What do you mean, cross these guys? Who’s talking about crossing? You crazy?”

“Hey, Don, I got to take a leak. Can you just pull over a second?”

“Seriously? We only left the gas station fifteen minutes ago. You couldn’t go there?”

Stanley pulled the Range Rover off the road. There was no traffic, just clear desert on either side of the highway. Carlo got out and walked into the sparse undergrowth. Thinking, hell, I may as well take one while I’m here, Stanley got out of the driver’s side and joined Carlo, only to find that he wasn’t holding his dick in his hands; he was holding a Glock 17, 9mm.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t sweat it, Your time’s up, pal. You screwed one broad too many and you bragged to her about your grift. She ran straight to Paulie Botti, She described you pretty well but she didn’t know your name so you were invited over to his house so she could positively identify you as the asshole that was boasting about how he could scam the scammers. By the way, that poker game is rigged, too. The ceiling mirror is really two way. 

Pillow talk, Don. It’ll be the death of you”.

Carlo Mancini, who wasn’t really Carlo Mancini, fired a single shot in the back of the head of Don Stanley, who was really Don Stanley. Then, with a regretful sigh, for he loved the Range Rover, he retrieved his bag, gave the car a wipe over and waited for his accomplice to collect him…in a Toyota Corolla.