Artie and the Whack Job

© Bryan Zepp Jamieson
3/12/07
http://www.zeppscommentaries.com/Humor/artiewhack.htm

 

The phone rang, so I did something really stupid and answered it. It was Paulie Five Fingers. “I trust you are well,” he demanded.

“‘Bout the same. It’s snowing.”

“That is why I am in Florida.”

“Ugh. Hot and cold running cockroaches. You can have it. I’ll take honest winter in February over that any old time. So how are you? Taking a little vacation?”

“You did not know I was in Florida?”

“No. Should I have?”

There was a pause. “I told you I had property here, did I not?”

“Paulie, you have property everywhere. You might have said something at one time or another. I really don’t remember. What’s this about?”

“I got a call from your friend Artie at a hideously early hour this morning.” I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the unit incredulously. The phone rewarded my efforts with a noncommittal gaze from its data window. The idea that Artie would want to seek out Paulie for companionship seemed remote. Neither man had any deep liking for the other. In fact, Paulie acted in a way that in anyone else I might call fear around Artie. Not that I would ever say that out loud, of course.

“Artie called you.”

“That is what I said. Do you have any speculations as to how he might have gotten this number?”

Well, Paulie, Artie knows things no person could possibly know, and I sometimes think he can read minds.... Oh, I definitely wasn’t going there. “Maybe Jimmy gave him the number.”

Paulie made a rude noise. Jimmy used to be Paulie’s number one torpedo, gofer and vicious hitman. But then Artie did something to Jimmy, and Jimmy got gawdstruck and then went sort of seriously nuts. Mentioning Artie around Jimmy could send him gibbering up the curtains like a siamese cat on acid. OK, so Artie getting the number from Jimmy wasn’t a real likely explanation.

“Look, Paulie, I don’t KNOW how he got your number. He didn’t get it from me – I didn’t even know you were in Florida. And I wouldn’t hand information like that out anyway.”

Paulie’s breathing seemed a little uneven. “I believe you, my friend. Now, similarly, I will have to ask you to take it upon faith that what I am about to tell you is true.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Nothing good was going to come of this. “OK, I’ll bite. What did Artie want from you?”

“He wished to employ my services in order to arrange for the untimely demise of a third party.”

Whoa.

“He, um, wanted you to whack someone?” Despite myself, I was grinning. I had always wanted an excuse to use that phrase in front of my mafioso friend. And I figured it HAD to be a misunderstanding. Artie was about the gentlest, most peaceful, life-respecting man on the planet. The thought that leaves had to die in the fall distressed him.

“He wanted me to...” Paulie heaved a sigh, “...whack someone. Yes, that is correct.”

I didn’t do the painfully stupid and ask Paulie if he accepted the job. For one thing, Paulie was fastidious about not disturbing me with some of the less appealing aspects of the life of a mobster. “So what did you say to him?”

“I told him that he was suffering from some sort of misunderstanding, that I was a legitimate businessman who did not engage in such tawdry activities.” Which was quite true. Paulie would never knowingly be within 50 miles of a murder scene.

“Did he say why he wanted someone whacked?”

“We did not go that far into it. I did, however, get the name which he vouchsafed unto me.” There was a slight pause while Paulie scanned his characteristically cluttered workspace. “He wanted a contract on someone named Jim Cameroon.”

I shook my head, perplexed. I didn’t know anyone by that name. Or did I? “Paulie, what’s Jimmy’s last name?”

“His name is not Cameroon. No, This is supposed to be some Hollywood big shot.”

“Really? You sound like you’ve never heard of him.”

“I suppose it is possible.” I hadn’t heard Paulie make an admission in such grudging tones since the time I cornered him after watching “The Aviator” and forced him to admit that Leonardo de Caprio was a legitimate actor. Name a movie, and Paulie can usually rattle off who was in it, who directed, who produced, and who the Best Boy was. In fact, Paulie probably even knew what a Best Boy DID. It -couldn’t- be what my diseased imagination kept suggesting. Chances of a Hollywood big shot escaping Paulie’s notice were on a par with Rush Limbaugh failing to notice a bottle of oxycontin.

“I take it you want me to talk to Artie.”

“That would be a kindness. Assure him that I am not in the ‘whacking’ business, and see if you can find out who this Jim Cameroon is.”

And find out why a gentle soul like Artie wanted him dead. Yes, this was a chore for Paulie I would be happy to carry out. I got Paulie’s number – I really didn’t have it before – and headed out in search of Artie.

Priscilla the Flying Saucer – Artie’s 1973 AMC car – wasn’t in front of Artie’s walkup, so I went in town and examined both blocks. I found Gabriel napping on a bench in front of city hall. After I assured him I wasn’t a policeman and didn’t want to rape him, Gabriel sat up and regarded me, pulling his trumpet close to his chest protectively. Gabriel knows that any old day now, the Lord is going to contact him to blow the final trump of doom, and he sleeps with that trumpet, and gawd help anyone who tries to take it away from him. He and Artie like to trade music CDs and theology.

“ Maha Shivaratri” was Gabe’s answer to where Artie was. “Who’s she?” I demanded.

“It. It’s a holiday for Shivaratri or the Night of Lord Shiva. Arthur observes it by ascending the mountain.”

“The Indians have a holiday that demands you scramble up the highest mountain in sight in the dead of winter?” Hard to believe they had a population problem.

“Well, no. That was just Arthur’s interpretation. He expects to be back this evening.”

The peak of Shasta peered through a break in the clouds, 11,000 feet above. No snow, and nearly up to freezing. At least he picked a good day for it. I sighed and started trudging back to my place. Whatever it was could keep a day.

It was midnight and I was sleeping in front of my television when the knock came. I barked something or other at the door, flicking off the TV as I dd so. Artie came in, looking vaguely tired and frostbitten . “Hot chocolate?” I suggested.

“That would be lovely” Artie replied. “It will help me sleep later on.” As if climbing a 14,000 foot mountain in the snow wouldn’t. I made the chocolate, including one for myself, and exchanged pleasantries.

“So what brings you by, Artie?”

“Gabriel said you were looking for me.”

Oh. Right. Still waking up. “Artie, Paulie tells me you called him yesterday.”

“That probably wasn’t a well-advised move on my part.”

“Probably not. Who advised you to do it?”

“My inner guidance. It spoke to me at five o’clock yesterday morning.”

Hmm. Thank gawd it was eight o’clock in Florida. Artie really needs a hard and fast personal rule: don’t act on anything the inner guidance comes up with until after day break. “Artie, did your inner guidance tell you to arrange for someone to be murdered?”

Artie looked austere. “I have concluded that what I heard that night was not my true inner guidance, but rather a impersonator from the dark side.”

Now, I don’t care how early it is in the morning. If someone showed up at my place impersonating me, I think I would know which was the real Zepp. Of course, I lead a reasonably uncluttered spiritual life, so I’m sure that helps.

“So you no longer want to have anyone killed.”

“Nobody on this plane, anyway.” A sudden look of horror crossed his face. “Your friend Paulie – he didn’t change his mind on my suggestion, did he?”

“Um, no”, I said, hiding a smile. “In fact, he called me, wishing for me to remonstrate with you that he is not in the business of killing people and to please not call him on such matters again.”

“He wanted you to remonstrate?”

“He wanted me to remonstrate. And when Paulie remonstrates, it is wise to pay close attention.” Dammit, I was starting to talk like him.

Artie looked a little unconvinced about my description of Paulie’s genial nature and respect for human life but was, I hoped, convinced that he should not make any more phone calls to Paulie.

“So who was this guy, this Cameroon or whatever, that you wanted killed? And since when did you get into the business of meting out death?”

Artie looked embarrassed. “It was a foolish thing. I am now very sorry that I let myself be persuaded to even consider such a course of action. James Cameroon is doubtlessly a fine, if deluded human being, and a brilliant director.”

James Cameroon? James CAMERON? Titanic? Abyss? OK, I was pretty sure Paulie would have heard of this particular big shot. As big shot Hollywood directors go, he’s right up there with Scorsese and Spielberg.

“Artie, I have a question.”

“I rather thought you might.”

“Why on earth would you want James Cameron dead?”

“I don’t, now.”

I ground teeth and tried not to sigh. “Why DID you want him dead?” Artie wasn’t being a smart ass. He just has a bit of a pedantic streak, is all.

“He is spreading lies.”

“What lies?

“You know that he did a documentary about finding the tomb of Jesus and his family?”

“Yeah.” I even saw some of it, before the commercials started crowding out the content and I wound up playing solitaire instead. I figured the odds were decent that he really did have the right tomb, from what I saw.

But some of the religious folk around were disturbed about it. A lot of Christians believed that Jesus rose corporeally to heaven, and didn’t leave any bones lying about. And while the ossuary with his name on it didn’t have any bones, the fact that at some point someone felt a boneholder was needed for him was suggestive.

But that shouldn’t bother Artie. Artie believed Jesus survived the crucifixion, and moved to France, and then eventually to England, to Salisbury, and came back to Rome as an old man.

Of course, Artie believed that Jesus was buried under the Vatican, where Simon called Peter was supposed to be. (Cameron had them BOTH in the same cave under a block of nondescript apartments in Jerusalem, along with Mary, Joseph, Jacob – an unexpected son of Jesus–and Mary Magdelene, who Cameron believed was Jesus’ wife.) The Vatican probably wasn’t very happy about that, but Artie didn’t view himself as a friend of the Vatican.

“OK, so you were a little off on where Jesus was buried. What’s the big deal?”

“Yeshua ben Josef was supposed to be buried there, but never made it back. He died in Rome. That’s why no bones.”

“So you don’t have...”I grinned “a bone to pick with Cameron about Jesus?”

“No. He merely stumbled unawares upon a hidden truth. Revelation of truth is always a sign of enlightenment.”

“Then why...?”

“He claims that the bones of Mary Magdalene were in the ossuary next to Jesus’” Artie’s voice trembled a bit. “He claims that her mortal remains are in that cave.”

“Artie, you’ve said yourself that the stuff about her being a prostitute was probably just defamation by Augustine...”

“It IS!” Artie looked openly angry. “Mary of Magdaleia, daughter of the Pleiades, was an ascended master, and incapable of sin!”

I put my palms out. “Dying isn’t a sin.” I offered.

“No, but it is impossible for an ascended master. She returned to her home in the Pleiades, her work on raising earth to the next level of consciousness complete.”

Artie and I had differed on Christianity’s role in raising anyone’s level of consciousness before. I decided not to open that can of worms again. Nor was I about to point out that the Pleiades wasn’t a place, but just a direction.

“So you think that Cameron...”

“He denigrated the purity of her essence, he tried to pretend she was mortal!”

I decided to meet illogic with illogic. “Artie, how could the unenlightened Cameron have known she was an ascended master?”

Artie stopped in mid-declamation, finger pointed at the ceiling. His mouth hung open for a moment. Bulls-eye.

“He couldn’t have, could he?” Artie paused for a long moment, considering. I knew better than to say anything. His eyes snapped back into focus, and he looked at me. “Tomorrow, I will write him a long letter. He must learn the error of his ways and the truth. I have no doubt that when he has been suffused with this light, that he will make a new documentary, explaining his errors and omissions.”

Yeah. Cameron was reputed to be a real humble guy who didn’t mind being told when he was screwing up. I wondered if Paulie would next get a call from Cameron about Artie. That would REALLY make his day.

Artie looked cheerful, gave me a wave. “Zepp, I shall see you tomorrow. I will have much to offer, I expect.”

I watched the door close after him, grinning at his odd theologies and absolute certitude that the world would embrace his thoughts. Artie and reality exchanged nods at the bus stop, but that really was as far as it went. And I would have an amusing story for Paulie the next day.

Paulie.

Then I remembered that I was the one who had just told Artie to be nice and not remind a cold-blooded psychopathic killer that he was a cold-blooded psychopathic killer. Don’t want to make the man remonstrate, after all.

And, not for the first time, I wondered which one of the two of us was the further removed from reality.