No Good Deed

NO GOOD DEED …

Remy walked down the stairs to the subway platform. It was rush hour, and there was a lot of jostling, and unintentional shoving. Everybody was on their way somewhere after work — to meet friends, off to a show, drinks, dinner. The work day was finished, and the exodus had begun. 

Remy just wanted to go home. He was tired, and his day had been pretty crappy, what with being fired, and all. Fired wasn’t the way his boss had phrased it. He’d said “laid off,” with two weeks severance pay. Whoop-de-do, two weeks for what, three years employment?

“Remy,” his boss Tony had said, “I got some bad news. I’m gonna have to lay you off. We just don’t have the business to keep you on. You understand, right?”

No, Remy did not understand. But he had just nodded his head, not wanting to get into it with Tony. 

He’d been working at Tony’s garage for three years. It was usually just the two of them, Tony and Remy. That was, until Tony’s idiot nephew got paroled from prison, and Tony’s sister, Angela, begged Tony to give Junior a job. So Tony had. That was a month ago. 

Junior knew nothing about working at a garage. He couldn’t even be trusted to do an oil change the right way. The one that he had done, he hadn’t tightened the oil drain plug, and the customer had driven away, the plug had come undone, and the motor had seized. A thirty dollar oil change turned into a new motor, at Tony’s expense. So, Junior didn’t do oil changes any more. But he also didn’t get fired.

And, Remy noticed, Junior didn’t actually do that much. He started arriving later and later, every day. And he started wearing clothes that were not suitable for working on cars. Nobody wears a track suit to work in a garage — forget about big gangsta chains and the diamond stud Junior was flashing in his ear. Nope, things were different since Junior arrived.

Remy had noticed the changes right from the beginning. Sure, Tony tried to show Junior how to do things, but Junior wasn’t interested. He spent most of his day on his phone, scrolling and making calls — private calls that he had to leave the service bays for. And Tony never said a thing. No one ever said why Junior was in prison, but once Junior started working at Tony’s lots of new customers started showing up at the end of the day, driving big fancy cars. And these cars were never there the next morning. Remy was pretty sure that Junior wasn’t staying late working on them, changing their oil. 

Once, when he forgot his phone at work, Remy went back later that night to get it. He looked in the window, and realized right away what was going on. Tony — rather Junior — was running a chop shop out of Tony’s garage. Remy didn’t bother going into the shop. He didn’t need that hassle. He picked up his phone the next morning.

Maybe it was best, rationalized Remy. There was no way he wanted to get mixed up in anything that could bring the cops. No thank you. He figured that he could get another job. Remy didn’t get a “paycheque” per se — instead, Tony paid him cash every week. No taxes, no paper trail, no questions. Remy did a good job, and Tony paid him well for his skills. Well, Tony used to pay him well for his skills. Not any more. Time to find a new Tony. He had packed up his tools and headed out at the end of his shift, not looking back.

Remy was thinking about his next move as he walked down to the platform. There were so many people waiting for the train. Remy hoped that there wasn’t a breakdown — he’d be here forever.

Finally, the train arrived. There weren’t any seats, so Remy stood at the front of the car, leaning against the door, his bag of tools at his feet. He casually scanned the car, taking in all the people. Most of them had earbuds in, and were listening to something — music, podcasts, books. Some people were reading on their devices, others were sleeping, or pretending to sleep. He could never understand how someone could fall asleep on the train, especially with all the scumbags and perverts on the train. They’d rob you as soon as look at you. Speaking of scumbags, Remy saw a guy lean into another man, and his hand go towards the other guy’s pocket. 

Remy picked up his bag, walked up, grabbed the first guy’s arm, and said, “Don’t.”

The train was pulling into the station.

“What the fu—“

Remy looked him in the eye.  

“Just don’t.”

The train stopped, and the doors opened. The would-be-thief left the train.  

The intended victim turned to Remy eyes wide. 

“Was that guy trying to rip me off?”

“Yup.”

“And you stopped him?”

“Yup.”

“Thanks man!” He grabbed Remy’s hand and shook it. “I really appreciate it. That guy could have been armed, or something. He could have hurt you.”

“It’s all good.”

The next stop was Remy’s, and he got off the train and headed up to street level. On the shortcut through the alley, on the way to his apartment, Remy passed by the back of the bodega. He was trying to decide if he had enough milk for the morning. He decided that he didn’t. He walked into the store and started towards the cooler where the milk was kept. He glanced towards the front. Rita, the owner, was standing with her hands in the air. Across from her was a man holding a gun on her.  

“All the money in the till! Now!” Screamed the man.

Rita looked at him, terrified, unable to move.  

“Don’t make me use this gun, bitch! Move it! Now!” said the robber, shaking the gun in her direction.

Without pausing, Remy walked up behind the gunman, pulled a wrench from his bag of tools, and whacked the man across the back of his head. Down he went.

“Oh, Remy! Thank you! Thank you so much! You … you saved me!”

“No problem, Rita.” He put five dollars on the counter for the milk. “You better call nine-one-one.”

He turned and left the store the way he had come in.

When he got home, he climbed the stairs to his apartment on the fourth floor.  There were only two apartments on each of the floors. Remy’s neighbour, Janice came running out of her apartment just as Remy reached the landing.  

“Help me, Remy! He’s going to kill me! He’s got a knife.”

Justin, her on-again-off-again boyfriend threw himself out of the apartment, tearing after her, knife in his left hand.

“Get back here now, or I’m gonna kill you!”

As Janice tore past him, Remy stepped in front of Justin, the heel of his left hand up at face level. Justin just ran into it as Remy lifted his hand to meet Justin’s nose. Remy’s forward motion, combined with Justin’s forward motion resulted in Justin’s nose breaking and being pushed into his face. He dropped the knife, grabbed his face and fell backwards, as blood spurted from where his nose should have been. He hit the ground, unconscious.

Remy walked over, kicked the knife away, and put his foot on Justin’s chest, looking down at him.

Janice crept back towards Remy, looking at Justin on the floor.

“Is he dead?”

“Nope,” he said looking down at Justin. “Just unconscious. He’ll be fine.” He looked up at Janice. “I think you need to call the cops and the EMTs. And he needs to move out. And away. Get a restraining order.”

Janice looked up at Remy. “You’re right,” she said nodding her head. “He needs to go.”

Remy took a closer look at Janice. Her right eye was black, her nose was bleeding, and her lip was split. “You should have the EMTs look at your face, too.”

He turned and unlocked the door to his apartment, and walked in, shutting the door behind him.

*****

Detective Terry Waits knocked on the door of apartment 4B, and waited.

Her partner, Carlos Ito stood on the other side of the doorframe.

“You think he’s home?”

“Janice said that she didn’t see him leave, so I suppose so.” She knocked again. 

“He could be sleeping,” said Ito. “From all accounts our boy’s been busy single-handedly saving the world today. That’s got to be tiring.”

The door opened. Waits stepped forward.

“Mr. Martin? I’m Detective Terry Waits, and this is my partner, Carlos Ito. We’d like to talk to you about your day.”

Remy said nothing, just opened the door wider, and ushered Waits and Ito into the apartment. Waits looked around.  

Nice, she thought, looking around. 

It wasn’t a horrible building, but Waits was a little surprised by the interior space of the apartment. Quality pieces, expensive art, good lines, neat, clean. She wished that every apartment she entered was half as put together as this one. Zero chance of getting bitten by bed bugs here.

“Have a seat.” Remy pointed to the couch. Waits and Ito sat down.

“Nice place,” said Ito. “You live here alone?”

“Yup.”

“So, Mr. Martin,” said Waits. “Tell me about your day.”

“I went to work. Got laid off. Came home.”

“Anything happen on your way home?”

Remy, said nothing, just looked at Waits.

“Did you, maybe, have a run-in with your neighbour—“ she looked at her notebook. “Justin Toews?”

“Yup.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Sure. Toews was beating on Janice. Again. I stopped him.”

Waits looked at him, skeptically. “Mr. Toews’s nose is mostly on the inside of his head now. How’d that happen?”

Remy shrugged his shoulders. “He literally ran into the heel of my hand.”

“Your neighbour, Janice Blaine, said that Mr. Toews had a knife.”

“Yup.”

“And you weren’t concerned about him using it on you?”

“No.”

“Why is that, Mr. Martin?”

“Because Justin Toews is a bully who only targets women, and the weak. I am neither.”

“But,” Waits persisted, “He could have stabbed you.”

“He wasn’t watching me, he was too busy trying to catch Janice. He ran right into my hand.”

“And you just happened to be in the right place at the right time?”

“Yup.”

“Tell me Mr. Martin, did you happen to be in the right place at any other time today.”

Waits watched him as he watched her.”

“Yup.”

“Were you at the bodega on Crenshaw at the right time today, as well?”

“Yup.”

“Tell me about it, please.”

“I walked in the back of the store, the way I usually do, to get milk. Some punk was trying to rob Rita. He had a gun. She didn’t. I didn’t think it was a fair fight. So I smacked him with my wrench.”

“But you left the scene before the police arrived. Why?”

“I’ve got no desire to talk to the police.”

“Why is that, Mr. Martin.”

He looked at Waits. She held his stare.

“I value my privacy.”

“Okay,” she said, breaking eye contact to look down at her notebook. “How about today on the A-Train. Right place at the right time, as well?”

“The guy was a punk. He was trying to rip off some tourist who was completely oblivious. I told him to stop.” He paused to look at both Waits and Ito more closely. “How’d you know about that? I just told some scumbag to not rob the tourist. No harm, no foul.”

“The guy who didn’t get robbed reported it to the police because he wanted to thank you. He’s a big deal in tech — Tim Apple. Apparently someone filmed the whole thing, and Mr. Apple bought the footage, and posted it. The story’s blown up on social media. You, Mr. Martin, are a big deal.”

Waits looked at Remy. He did not look happy to be trending online. In fact, he looked downright pissed.

“Rita knew your name, and Janice knew where you lived. We managed to tie the three incidents to you.

She looked at him.

“Mr. Martin, we ran the prints on the wrench. No match.”

“That means that I don’t have a criminal record. So? Is it against the law not to have my prints on file?”

“No, but it also means that you’ve never been in the army, navy, air force, or marines. You’ve never worked for the DOD or Homeland Security, or any government job. You’ve never needed security clearance, and you’ve never worked in the private sector for a government agency. You’re not a foreign national. And your fingerprints have never been found at the scene of a crime. Until now.”

Remy just looked at her. He said nothing. Waits looked back at him, tapping her notebook on her leg.

“So, my partner and I thought, We should see what we can find out about our city’s newest super hero. So we looked into you. You are no where online — no Facebook, no Twitter, no Instagram, no TicToc. Not even a LinkedIn profile. Nothing. It’s like you’re a ghost, Mr. Martin.”

Remy said nothing.  

“So we looked at the one thing we knew about you — where you live. Your rent is paid by a numbered company. In fact, the entire building is owned by that same numbered company.”

Waits looked at Remy. He held her stare, but still said nothing.  

“Mr. Martin, you’ve done nothing wrong. In fact, you seemed to have done nothing but good things today. But, I’m curious, who are you?

Remy looked at her. “Remy Martin.”

“I don’t think so.”

Waits held his stare until he looked away. He looked up to the ceiling before he started to talk.

“I’m rich. My family is rich. I have more money than I will ever be able to spend in my lifetime. In my children’s lifetime. In my children’s children’s lifetime.” He looked at Waits “We have what is called ‘old money.’ And I didn’t earn a cent of it. So I walked away, five years ago. I went back to school, learned a trade, got a job, moved here, and started another less …" He paused. "... fiscally centred life. I used to have my picture in the society pages all the time — most eligible bachelor nonsense, dating this one, dating that one. I had cars, apartments and houses all over the world. I had my own jet. And I had people. People who did everything for me. But not too many friends. Mostly hangers-on, and sycophants. Yes-men and -women. I could, literally, have anything I wanted. Except happiness. So I chucked it.”

“What’s your real name, Mr. Martin?”

“Dumas, as in the family behind Hermes. Remy Martin Dumas.”

Waits looked surprised. “Like the scarves and designer bags?”

“Exactly,” he said.

“But why all the secrecy?” asked Ito, looking closely at Remy.

“I wasn’t doing anything. I was useless. No better than a parasite.” He sighed. “So, I learned a trade, got a job, and became Remy Martin.  

Ito dropped his head, busy Googling Remy Martin Dumas on his phone.

“Whoa!” he said, looking up at Remy. “Your family is the fourth richest family in the world.” He looked back down at his phone, then back up at Remy. “Dude! You’ve dated everyone!”

Waits turned to look at her partner, her face expressionless.

Ito looked contrite. “Sorry, I got a little carried away.”

Waits was looking at photos of Remy on her own phone, her eyes jumping from her screen to his face, repeatedly, as she scrolled.

“So, being a mechanic is how you define yourself?”

“Yes. And donating all of my income from my family’s investments and dividends to a portfolio of global charities. I live off of my income from this building, and my salary.”

Ito looked up. 

“It says here that your family is offering a reward for anyone who can direct them to your current whereabouts. Why?”

“Because not only are they very rich, but they are also control freaks. My mother especially. She needs to control every aspect of every situation. I phone her regularly, we FaceTime. But I refuse to tell her where I am. She hates not being in charge. Ergo, the reward.”

Waits understood that need for control, and nodded her head. Her own mother may not be rich, but she did have those same control issues.

“Now everyone will know,” Remy said, shaking his head sadly.

“The press knows where you are, and your image is out there on social media. I’m afraid you’ve been outed — but only as Remy Martin, not Remy Dumas.”

“Do you think your family will see you on social media?” asked Ito.

“Probably. They have people whose sole job is to collect media reports pertaining to the family.”

“But they don’t know your real name,” said Waits. “And we won’t be sharing that information with anyone. There is no reason for any of this information to make it to the report, now that we understand the circumstances surrounding your identity.”

Remy looked somewhat relieved, but still skeptical.

They left Remy’s apartment, and headed downstairs. When they got to the front door of the building, they were met by a wall of reporters. Waits and Ito were both shocked at the response to Remy’s acts of bravery -- how one lead the next, which lead to the next, which lead to the scrum at the front door.

“Wow,” she said looking at the mob. “No good deed goes unpunished.”

They opened the door, and headed into the melee.