Just Deserts

“That bitch, I slashed her tires! She had it comin'! She's cheating on me, the lying slut!” “What? What the hell did you do?” Beth yelled back at the screeching that was coming from her phone. “You slashed her tires?” she yelled incredulously. “Oh my God, what is wrong with you! She is gonna get you for this!”

“I couldn't help myself! I couldn't just let her get away with lying to me like that!”

“First of all,” she took it down a notch “what proof do you have that she is cheating on you? And even if she is, how does that give you the right to slash her tires? Man-oh-man Gregory, you fucked up this time. You are screwed!” she admonished. “She knows enough about you to get you put away for a good long time! Well, no use crying to me over spilt milk. There's no going back now. If I were in your shoes, I'd think about leaving the country. I mean it. She's gonna go to the cops, Gregory. And they are gonna be only too happy to listen to the tale she has to tell.” Beth's prediction was grim.

Beth made the big move from the Big Apple to California's golden coast. Her niche was Ocean Beach. O.B.---as it was affectionately known by its residents, fit Beth's vibe like a glove on her pretty little hand. It was just two weeks after moving in, while strolling down Newport Ave, she did an about-face to address the voice that came from behind. “Hey, good lookin' what's your name? You look like you are new in town,” he surmised. Feet firmly planted not moving in either direction, her gaze focused on her admirer. “As a matter of fact I am,” she volunteered. “I just moved here from New York City.”

“Well honey,” he took a step closer, “You should be livin' up the road about 90 miles from here. You should be in Hollywood. I know people there. I could hook you up.” “Excuse me,” she cut him off . “What did you say your name is?”

“Gregory, my name is Gregory. And may I ask, what is yours?” he volleyed.

Not answering his question, she smacked him with her retort. “Well, Gregory..sweetie, I said that I just moved here from New York City, not bum fuck Egypt! Do I look like I fell off the potato truck yesterday?”

He was taken aback but amused “No you do not, most certainly, you do not!”

“All right then,” she picked up the thread. “It looks to me like you wanna be friends. So,

like I said, I'm new in town and I could use a friend. So—friend, let's be friends.”

That was just how their relationship began, as simple and uncomplicated as that. Oh Gregory was a most colorful character. Even after living in New York City for 12 years, she'd never met anyone like him. In his mid-fifties, he thought his swarthy Greek looks could pass him off for someone in his 40s. Yeah, in his dreams. Not to say that he wasn't attractive with a certain kind of European savoir-faire, kind of charm. But he was old- world, old school. Yeah, he was Richard Nixon-walking-on-the-beach-in-a-black-suit, old school. Those Kewpie-doll hair plugs didn't help his pitch either. But, the stories that he could tell. Gregory grew up in Greece and immigrated to the US at the age of 10. He became a member of the Chicago Police force at 20. At 28 he made detective. He retired from the force at the ripe old age of 45. During those 25 years he met many and every kind of gangster in the book. After hanging up his badge, he made the next logical career move. He went to the other side. There's something to be said for networking the right channels that make for a nice feathering of one's retirement nest.

Oh it was clear that he had paid some dues along the way. There was the 3 years that he spent in a Turkish prison for hustling hashish. To hear Gregory tell it, it was all the fault of his “mo-mo” son, Phillip. “I told him over and over,” he recited “to never, never use the hotel phone for any business communication. And what does the lazy fuck go and do? He gives the drop off directions using the phone in our room! That's how the cops got on to us. And that's how we both ended up with a 10-year sentence.”

How Gregory and his son Phillip got out in just 3 years involves some complicated explanation. It had something to do with some “higher-ups” in D.C., pulling strings. All of that business lead to the coining of his favorite phrase, “Let me tell you something kid, every night before you go to sleep, say a prayer to God that he should keep you from lawyers, doctors and the tax man!”

Even---even after all of that, it wasn't enough to keep him out of trouble for long. Trouble came in the form of lots of wheeling, lots of dealing. Enough of it went the right way. Enough of it went south to the point where in order to stay ahead of the feds,

Gregory ended up exiling himself to his native Greece for nearly 5 years. During that time he would get a break from his trove of aliases. There was Marc Michaels and Gregory Barkley and who know what others there might have been. His real name was Christopher Ellis and that's who he was during those comparatively relaxed years in exile. It was just one month after his return to the U.S., while out for breath of fresh air in laid back, hippy-dippy O.B., that his path crossed with Beth's for the first time. There was the usual dance of Beth's never wavering insistence that she just wanted to “be friends”, entwined with Gregory's undaunted romantic overtures. Eventually, Gregory had to be satisfied with the deeper value of Beth's friendship. “You are the sister that I never had.” He said it often, because he meant it.

That being said, he never did fess up to his real age and he kept hitting on women that were barely half his age. Beth would listen to his stories, reliving the details of “the chase”. Often was the time she'd roll her eyes while doing daily tasks while his prattle animated the phone that was tucked between her ear and shoulder.

Then there was the day that he called to tell Beth that he wanted to come by with his latest conquest. Her name was Christine. She was French, from Marseilles. She was gorgeous and she was married. And, oh yeah, she had a 3 year old daughter. According to Gregory, her marriage of convenience was to some fat slug who drove a Frito-Lay potato chip delivery truck. She was working on getting her green-card that would hopefully lead to citizenship someday. The husband, knowing full well that she'd bolt when that day came, blocked her every move toward reaching her goal.

Given this little piece of information lead Beth to conclude that for Christine's part, her clandestine relationship with Gregory was for the purpose of working around the husband's road blocks. Gregory was nothing, if not clever, when it came to conjuring up very legal looking documents. In the years since their friendship, Beth had even helped Gregory with some of his projects in altering documents to fit his customer's needs.

So, she knew that Gregory could make a believable pledge to provide the help that Christine needed. In return for his efforts, Christine would provide Gregory with all the

sex that he could handle. Oh yeah, and surly all that sex came with her proclaiming her undying love for him. Beth could just see it.

“So, I want to come by and have you meet her. I want to know what you think.”

“Sure, bring her by, why not?” she agreed.

Well, she was certainly pretty enough, in a poor-man's Bridget Bardot-kind-of-way. And that accent of hers—alluring, sexy, charming. “Dee skwee-rel stole my zhewl-ree and ran up a chree veez eet.” Translation: The squirrel stole my jewelry and ran up a tree with it. She was talking about losing her favorite necklace on her first American camping trip. It might have been her first and last camping trip ever.

“So, what do you think?” he prodded the next time they talked. “Pretty hot little piece don't ya think?” he was chest thumping now.

“I think the only way to keep her straight in my mind is to call her Fee-Fee. She just looks and acts and strikes me as a Fee-Fee. I will tell you one thing about Miss Fee-Fee, Gregory. Keep your mouth shut about who you are and who you've been. I'm as serious as a heart attack when I say this to you. Fee-Fee will turn on you if you mess with her. And I know you. You like to brag about your exploits. Hell, how long was it that I knew you before you blabbed more than I even wanted to know? You've got a big ego, Gregory. I'm tellin you, with this one you better rein it in—a whole hell of a lot!” Sometimes no matter how clear the message is delivered, it falls on deaf ears. In hind sight this had been one of those conversations that was meant take root. This was the conversation that came to Beth's mind about a year later when she picked up the phone and heard a pre-recorded message. “This is a collect call from –(the recording was interrupted by Gregory's voice saying his own name) at the San Diego Metropolitan Correction Center. Do you accept the charges?”

She picked her chin up off the floor in time to answer, “Yes”. Gregory was on the line. “Gregory, where in the hell are you?”

“I'm down on Union Street, 808 Union Street, in FBI custody.”

It was about a month later when Beth was at a concert with her new budding romance.

Hector Berlioz was not her favorite composer by any stretch of the imagination. But Norris loved his music and that was good enough for her. What happened next was beyond her imagination. While walking out and mingling in the lobby during the intermission, Beth's eyes set upon a certain someone that sent a shock wave through her entire system. Standing at an exit dressed in a usher's uniform was non-other than Fee- Fee! She couldn't believe her eyes. She had to get closer to be certain it was her. She told Norris to wait out on the terrace. As she approached, Fee-Fee's eyes met hers. Without hesitation Beth laid into her. “You bitch! You whore! You ratted on my friend! What the hell are you doing here in a uniform? All of a sudden you work here? All of a sudden you have a green-card? You slut—you ratted out Gregory didn't you! You went to the feds didn't you? Now he's in prison and you are the one who put him there! I hope you rot in hell!” Beth's rage was neutralized by the realization that people were starting to stare. Before anyone could call security, she made her exit to the terrace where Norris had been watching through the glass door.

“What's goin' on Beth? Who was that woman, how do you know her?”

“Oh Norris it's a long story. But that woman sent a friend of mine to prison. I know it was her. But let me ask you something. You have some experience with criminal law. Can the FBI offer an immigrant a green-card in exchange for information on someone who is a...how shall I say, a person of interest?”

“Oh yeah, sure they can,” Norris confirmed. “They can even do better than that. The FBI can sponsor the informant for a S Nonimmigrant Visa. In the trade, it's known as the “snitch visa”. It serves as a temporary stepping stone. Once the informant successfully fulfills their cooperation agreement, the law enforcement agency can petition U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services to adjust the informant's status to a lawful permanent resident.”

“Your kidding! You mean if your information is good enough, they will basically clear the path for you to become a full-fledged citizen, just like that?”

“Yup, just like that,” he assured. “But your friend must be someone that they really

want. I find it interesting Beth, that you would know someone like that well enough to call him a friend.”

“Oh that's a long story for another day, Norris. But it just pisses me off to think that she hit the jackpot to citizenship like that,” lamented Beth.

The intermission was over and they went back to their seats. Beth barely heard the music as it only served as background for the whirling gears grinding in her brain.

Fee-Fee figured it all out. Why go on “servicing” Gregory in hopes of getting a green- card when all she had to do was turn him in? Yup, she waited long enough until she had enough on him to interest the feds. That's probably who she was with when Gregory saw her and thought she was cheating on him. She was into a whole other level of cheating. He slashed her tires—and BINGO---the dominos fell.

Who knows how long Gregory would be in there. It had been a little more than a month since he was arrested. There he was, sitting in the Union Street clink. I guess with a guy like Gregory sooner or later he would come up against his match. Eye-candy was his weakness. Youth and beauty fed his insatiable sweet tooth. Now here he was alone, a solitary gangster fermenting in his just deserts.