Baril de Singes [Barrel of Monkeys]

  ***

  I stood in the driveway holding my battered rucksack, appreciating the fact the household staff washed and ironed my coveralls prior to Forrest Sherwood's dictum ousting me from the Kose kingdom. Without fanfare, I excused myself from the pool party, fetched my belongings and -- all the while -- worked on options for returning to Faithful Hill by morning, praying the Fed Ex package would arrive at approximately the same time. The first leg of my journey home, however, necessitated reaching the airport.

  I approached one of the limo drivers practicing yoga near the rear fender of his extended chariot. "Say, sport, how about a lift to LAX while the band's playing out back?"

  "No, no, no!" Another driver approached, waving a finger in the air. "Stay in your downward dog, Leonard. This is von dek Corn. If you help him, you'll be working at a car wash in San Pedro next week. Part time."

  "It's von dek Horn! I don't grow on a stalk, imbecile."

  "Minor point. The infraction remains."

  "My word, fellows, I'm not an oomycete on a spud. Far from it." I regretted not following my first inclination to phone Mia and arrange for transportation home. At the same time I realized the futility in attempting to distance myself from being a fungus on a potato. "I'll have to walk down the driveway, hop the front gate and thumb my way to the airport."

  "Avoid the four oh five," Leonard said, straightening up to a series of audible cracks in his spine before entering the reverse warrior pose.

  "Thanks for the tip," I replied, doffing my now shabby cowboy hat, "it will stay right under here." The lengthy paved drive, lined on each side by rows Irish yews, curled gently to the left. As I reached the far side of the bend, beyond view of the Kose castle, an arm thrust through the thick covering of branches and locked around my throat. "Neeyuk!"

  "For Christ's sake, Baron, act like you've been mugged before," Joe Kose said peevishly, dropping me to the dank floor of the tree's undergrowth, "after all, I'm the one in real danger here!"

  "Right. Look how close you are to receiving a branch in the eye."

  "Or worse. Look at the dirt on my Guccis, dammit! Purchased in Italy, so you know."

  "That's all part of the peril, one supposes. By the by, muddied shoes aside, you're not doing much in the way of assisting me to exit the premises."

  "I'm not supposed to help you, remember? I only want to make sure our Simpatico deal stands. We shook hands on it, Baron. That makes you legally obligated to do the project."

  "Obligated? I think not. When Sherwood gets wind of such a thing, he'll take it straight to Bridgework, don't you think?"

  "And? So?"

  "What are you going to film it with? A Sony Betamax? And distribute it from the trunk of a used rental car?" I hurriedly dusted off my overalls. "Bridgework will ruin you, Joe."

  "Bullshit! This is nothing but a grandstanding power play by Sherwood. That old bastard somehow got wind that you were onboard --"

  "Your plane."

  "Simpatico! The project. Just watch, he'll be lining up Johann Depth for the lead, the lousy son of a bitch."

  "Sherwood was here on other business, Joe." I pushed my way out onto the drive and took a few steps toward the gated entrance. "Truly he was."

  "Embarrassing me in front of everybody! In my own home, too. You'd better not be in league with him, von dek Horn!"

  "Be calm. I'm trying to save your livelihood, friend."

  "We had a deal. You're going to bring Simpatico to life if it kills me!"

  "Joe! Collect yourself. Let me deal with Bridgework first, then we'll have a chance to discuss other plans. Right now, I've got to --" Headlights appeared from the direction of the house as a buzz issued from the security fence, followed by the harsh click of the gate unlatching. "I've got to go, Joe. I'll be in touch, right?"

  "You asshole!" He grabbed the straps of my overalls and shook me around. "There's a taxi outside waiting at the curb for you."

  "Why, thanks, Joe." I was touched by his sense of abusive loyalty in the face of such intimidation. We were alit when the vehicle rounded the bend, its tires crunching to a halt on the pavement as its passenger door swung open.

  "What's going on here?" It was Moeziz. "I told you not to have anything to do with this guy!"

  "I'm tossing the son of a bitch out, sir!" Kose wrangled the overall straps in both hands, dancing me around helplessly in a full circle. "Never again do I want to see you!"

  "Hey, Joe --"

  "Let these jugheads pass, then take the cab to the airport," he whispered, "my pilot's on the lookout for you. He'll take you wherever you want to go." The final twirl brought me to rest against the grill of the car, where Kose began repeatedly slamming my head on the hood. "And that's for Sherwood! And one for Bridgework! Sherwood! Bridgework!" He stopped for a second and looked to the bewildered Moeziz. "And your name, sir?"

  "Get the hell outta our way!"

  "You are never to set foot on this property again!" Mildly stunned, I posed no problem for Kose in wrenching me to one side, permitting the vehicle to pass. "Get out of my sight!"

  "Give me a chance to do just that, Joe," I sputtered while attempting to keep my footing.

  Kose ignored my plea and tossed me over the threshold. "Remember Simpatico and our deal, Baron," he called out. "We're going to make an awesome team together." The gate clicked shut and the director disappeared back up the drive.

  "Over here, my cowboy country friend."

  I glanced to my right and spotted a tall gaunt man keeping himself tight to the ivy-covered brick retaining wall. "And you would be?"

  "Maneesh. Your LAX ride tonight."

  "Maneesh," I greeted the driver wearily, "let's haul freight."