SoMa Literary Review - The End of Benny

The End of Benny

By Thomas Larsen

Maybe she loved him, who knew with Kathleen? More likely she decided it was time to get married and Benny fit the connubial bill. He was a merchant marine with a healthy pension and a habit of being miles from home. So he wasn’t handsome like Scott, or the Asian mobster with the sliver Porsche. Benny had a house, a Harley and a cabin up the coast. His life was insured for a quarter mill!

I’m not saying Kathleen’s mercenary. She could have had richer guys, but richer guys can be a problem. They didn’t get flush by over-extending and spending’s her weakness, she’d be first to admit. The big shots had to learn the hard way. They might be wiser but they’re no longer as rich. Maybe it’s coincidence, but when the dust settles Kathleen’s usually on top.

So she married Benny and settled in the Sunset where we never saw her and could hardly imagine her. At first Benny bankrolled a hair salon - Hello Gorgeous – a Bay Area rage with the ego-impaired. Just the name spoken in that smoky purr was enough to keep the phone lines humming. Sadly, few of the calls had to do with hair and most went no farther than Kathleen’s greeting.

"Hel-lo Gorgeous."

Sigh. Click. Hum.

While Benny was at sea Kathleen was faithful in her way. There were other men, to be sure, or a woman if she was feeling that way, but she never brought them home and she didn’t let them kiss her. When Benny was around they stayed up all night smoking pot and fucking, sleeping in mornings until the fog lifted. Kathleen learned to keep house and work the appliances and she closed Hello Gorgeous for the week, then for good. After years in the fast lane she became a housewife. Likely as not it was just what she needed, but those North Beach nightclubs were never the same.

I only met Benny once. My wife, Andree and I rented a place up the coast for a weekend bash. Kathleen showed up with a short guy on a crutch with his nose in a splint. There was a story there somewhere but the details escape me. What I remember is Benny taking charge of the fireplaces, humping by all weekend in a striped bathrobe with a log under one arm and the crutch under the other. A goofy guy, not too sociable, the butt of a hundred weekend jokes. In the end Kathleen even got in some licks, but late at night those bedsprings were bouncing. Could be she loved him. With Kathleen,

who knew?

A month later she called to tell us Benny was dead. He’d been riding his Harley up on Twin Peaks when he lost control and hit a pickup. Make that double indemnity plus the house and pension and our girl was sitting pretty. A blinding bright side, if you ask me. Hey, I met the guy once. His nose was in a splint.

I don’t remember the funeral but I know she had him cremated. I was there the day UPS delivered the ashes. They came in a wrapped box with Kathleen’s address in thick magic marker. The box didn’t look big enough to hold all of Benny, but some of him would have to do. Kathleen said he talked about having his ashes scattered over the Pacific and invited us to join her in putting him to rest. We respectfully declined.

Weeks later the box was still there, on end, beside the sofa with an ashtray on top. Doubling as doorstop until she lost track of it, not what he’d wanted but not that bad. Still around, though not so you’d notice, turning up months later when the movers took the sofa. Coated in grime and tangles of hair, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

"Benny?" she held him in her arms picking at the dust bunnies. "Oh baby I’m so sorry. What must you think of me?" Then to me. "What must he think of me, Jack?"

"He’s dead kiddo. He doesn’t think anything."

"I didn’t deserve him. Benny was the best."

"A real prince."

"Finally gets his nose fixed and what happens? He breaks everything else."

"So what do you want to do?"

"Take me to the pier, Jack. Oh would you?" she pleaded. "If I don’t do it now I’ll never do it."

I held a hand up. "I don’t think so Kathleen. I’m no good with the dead."

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease," she hopped up and down to make her voice jiggle.

"It’s a phobia," I told her. "Nothing personal, you understand?"

"You never liked him, did you?"

"He was great. With the bathrobe and the crutch? Ask Andree, I was nuts about the guy."

"Give me your keys. I’ll do it myself."

Not much chance of that. The last time she took my car she and a girlfriend skipped to Tahoe for a weekend. With Kathleen you take your lumps, but I expected more from Andree.

"OK Kath, I’ll take you on one condition. I don’t get any of him on me."

"Its just ashes. The dead can’t hurt you."

"Hey, I didn’t want him on me when he was alive."

"Don’t worry. I’ll do the dirty work."

So off we went.

It wasn’t far to the Berkeley pier, but we got caught at a train crossing and I started to fidget. Kathleen beside me counting freight cars, Benny lengthwise on the seat between us.

"… 99 … 100 …101 …"

"Maybe this isn’t a good time, Kath."

"Don’t make me lose count."

A kid waved to us from the car up ahead. We could have waved back, but the train was endless and it started to drizzle, so we glared at him instead. The kid waved gamely, switching to the left when the right arm tired.

" … 167 … 168 … "

"We should have brought a spoon or something. How are you going to get him out of the box?"

" … 183 … I’ll just dump him out … 185 …"

"But that’s not scattering in the true sense."

"Why isn’t it?"

“That’s more like dumping. Scattering implies range. You can’t scatter in one spot."

"You made me lose count."

The kid was goofing now. Grabbing the waving hand as if trying to stop it, swaying wildly back and forth to our indifference, unmindful of the passing caboose, the gates rising. Head-first into the window when daddy hit the gas.

"So tell me Kath, … what are you gonna do with the money?"

"Hmmmm?"

"The money?"

"Hey Jack, I’m still in mourning here. Sheeesh!"

"I just wouldn’t want you to do something, … you know …"

"Stupid?"

"Yeah."

"You don’t have to worry. Ben’s sister is helping me out."

"His sister? Look, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but Ben’s sister might not have your best interest at heart."

Actually I did want to tell her what to do. There was a long shot running at Golden Gate Fields and rumor had it the fix was in. Word gets around for all sorts of reasons, but I would have bet the ranch if I had a ranch.

"I got a tip on a two year old for the third race tomorrow," I came right out with it. "Going off at sixty to one."

"Rita says to put it in bonds."

"Rita?"

"Ben’s sister."

"What kind of bonds?

"She says they’re safe."

"What could be safer than a rigged horse race?"

"Listen to you Jack! Hustling a grieving widow. Benny had a hunch about you."

"Benny-schmenny. The man was out of his league."

We made the turn onto University heading away from the campus. Kathleen scanned the Keystone marquee, tapping a nail on the box of Benny. For a time she knew all the boys in the band, but a year had taken her out of the loop. Past San Pablo and a trio of squad cars, over the bridge to Frontage road. The bay ran gray and choppy to our left, a wall of fog moved in at ground level.

"Pretty windy out there kid."

"We’ve come this far. I owe it to him."

"Me? I’d pick a warmer spot. Say, up on the mantel above the fireplace. Facing the television."

"Ben loved the water. You would have liked him, Jack."

"I don’t like anybody Kath."

With notable exceptions. In a highly charged but unconsummated way I’d had it for Kathleen since she was a sixteen. Ours was an older brother to sexpot sister sort of thing that seemed always on the verge of boiling over. Andree sensed my infatuation and assured me I would perish me in my sleep should we ever cross that line. So far it’s worked like a charm.

"What about Andree, huh Jack?"

"OK you got me there."

Fact is, I love my wife to a degree that is palpable. Our thirty-year marriage is the envy of neighborhoods coast to coast. I was as likely to cheat as I was to pluck an eye out and nobody knew this better than Andree. Married to a one-woman man, as it turned out. Sometimes it’s as simple as that. I don’t screw around and I hate deception, but I am real big on steamy flirtation.

"That Benny, how was he in the sack?" I broached to the subject.

"He was an animal, Jack. Pain and pleasure in equal measure," she gave a coy smile. "Or didn’t you know I like the rough stuff?"

"He hurt you?"

"Never laid a hand on me. Benny just fucked your brains out."

"Not a pretty picture, Kath."

"He was from a family of sadists. One of his uncles was the last man gassed in Folsom prison. Benny said for his last meal he ordered a dozen steamed clams. Didn’t eat them, just pried them open and looked at them."

" ………………….."

"I thought you’d like that."

How did Kathleen feel about me? Her conversation was thick with innuendo, but no more so than with dozens like me. A big heart but hard to follow. The curse was you could never know it. She loves me, she loves me not, with Kathleen, you were only guessing.

"So about my long shot filly. Say the word and I put a grand on her nose. Easy money, que no?"

"It’s all tied up in court, Jacko. Becoming a rich widow is a time consuming process. But if it makes you feel better I can tell you this. If I had it, I wouldn’t give it to you."

"Is this about Andree?"

"No it’s not about Andree. Hey I love you Jack, but I know you too. You’d charm the leaves from the trees if you could turn a dime on it."

It was about Andree. The leaves in the trees thing, a dead giveaway.

"I just don’t want you to pass up a sure thing, Kath."

"Well you know I’ve been pretty lucky lately," she gave me a wink.

It was still drizzling as we made the turn into the parking lot. A squadron of seagulls circled overhead dive-bombing bread bits left on the beach. We stepped out of the car and into a gale. The pier melted into the fog, those ghostly pilings thick as tree trunks. Kathleen grabbed the box of ashes and made her way across the lot.

"How far out do you think we should go?" I had to shout.

"To the end," she yelled back. "You can stay here if you want to."

I DID want to but something pushed me along. The thought of her out there alone with the dead, unsuspecting me back here in the open. The main fright flick no-no’s duly dispensed with.

"This pier is a mile long!" I screamed after her. "What fucking difference could it possibly make where we do it?"

She kept going, getting smaller, passing in and out of the fog like the credits were rolling. I hurried after her pulling my jacket over my head. A twenty-minute walk on a good day, in a headwind it would take us forever. I came up from behind and grabbed hold of her hand, turning her to face me.

"Will you stop and think for a minute? Look at it out there! You’re gonna get us both killed!"

She pulled away but I grabbed for her shoulders, so she gave me a stiff arm and twirled away, running headlong into the fog, her laughter carried in the wind. She wanted to make a game of it; some hide and seek in the cold and the wet. I didn’t want to play in a very bad way but staying there alone seemed even worse.

"KATHLEEEN!" I broke into a trot. My feet thumped the weathered boards, a pound of loose change jingled in my pocket. Wind cut through my clothes and I could hear my lungs rattle. I kept thinking I saw her but she’d turn into a trashcan or bait shack or nothing at all. In less than a minute I was sucking wind.

"KATHLEEN!"

"What?" right behind me.

"Give me the box." I said without turning around.

"He told me the tide would carry him out to sea. He said to do it from the end."

"You discussed this? What are you telling me?"

"Benny was afraid of dying. He came from a long line of brutal, short-lived people."

"This is crazy. You know that, right?"

"Come on," she took my hand. "The walk will do you good."

So we walked. I carried the box under my arm with my hands in my pockets and my jacket zipped to my chin. Kathleen’s waterlogged sweater stretched to her knees. Halfway there the wind died and the fog descended in roiling swirls. In minutes visibility was the length of a lamppost. If the power failed we were there for the night.

"Jesus, you can taste it," Kathleen took a bite.

"Easy kiddo. You don’t know where that fog’s been."

"Oh Jack, just look at it."

And as we did something shifted in the distance. A shoe scraped as a figure emerged. Tall, wearing a dark slicker, carrying a tackle box but no fishing pole. As he approached we could hear him mumbling to himself, low and growly, a black man’s lament.

"The bitch be talkin’ bad about me. Got to put things right. Time to be a man about it. Show the bitch what’s what."

Stopping when he saw us.

"S’up?" a different voice, thick and unfriendly.

"Hi, …" we left it at that.

"Got a smoke?"

"Sorry."

"Got fitty cent?"

I gave him my change and he shuffled off without a word.

"Pretty scary," Kathleen looked after him, hugging herself.

"Scarier yet, he’s between us and the car."

"I wonder what he was doing out here?"

"I wonder what’s in a tackle box?"

"Let’s go. If he comes after us you can bonk him with Benny."

We walked quickly, Kathleen on my arm now. Foghorns sounded off the Golden Gate and the mist moved in layers as the wind picked up again. Right before we reached the end of the pier the fog cleared and we could see the city lights across the water. We stood with our faces to the wind.

"Well, here we are," Kathleen looked to me. I took the box from under my arm and noticed, for the first time, that it was wrapped in tape. Top to bottom, the impossible to tear kind with the mesh inside. I searched for a seam. There was none to be found.

"Just cut it, Jack."

"With what?"

"You didn’t bring anything?"

"I wasn’t even coming, remember?"

"It’s just tape. You’ll think of something."

Ten minutes sawing away with the car keys, a lame attempt to shear it with nail clippers, assorted slashes with the stem of my belt buckle and I was all out of ideas. Kathleen picked at it with a fingernail and worked an edge free, but the end fell back in a perfect seal.

"I’ll just smash it open." I started for the piling but she grabbed my arm.

"Jack, no. It’ll get all over. I can see it clear as day."

"It’s gonna get all over anyway. You don’t expect every little bit of him to go merrily out to sea, do you?"

“You know something? You can be a heartless son of a bitch," she let go of me and turned away. I wavered for a moment then raised the box like a club. Kathleen let loose with a scream.

"YOU DO AND I’LL NEVER SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN!"

"So what, then?" I held myself in the smashing position. "Walk a mile back to the car for a tool than walk a mile back? Count me out."

"Don’t hurt him, Jack. He’s been banged around enough. Just throw him in the way he is."

"You mean it?"

"It’ll be like a boat," she brightened at the thought. "Ah jeez, that would be nice. Can you just see it? Passing under the Bridge for the last time.

"You got it," I heaved with all my strength. The box windmilled off and disappeared without a splash.

"Oh God!" Kathleen dashed to the rail. For a second I thought she’d go over and I saw myself just walking away, pretending it didn’t happen, missing her madly but shouldering on. I may be a heartless son of a bitch, but I wasn’t going to die disposing of Benny.

"Be careful of that rail. … Kathleen, come over here."

But she stayed where she was forcing me, against every instinct, to go to her.

"He’s gone," with a catch to her voice that might have been genuine.

"Yep."

"But no, not really Jack. The chaplain said he would live forever in our hearts."

"Some of us, sure."

"And if I ever have kids I’ll tell them about Benny and he’ll live in their hearts too. Even after I’m gone."

"Though technically they wouldn’t be his."

"Oh, …that’s right. Well anyway I did what he wanted."

"In a sense."

As we started back I put an arm around her in a brotherly/sexpot sisterly way. Now that we’d done it I felt good about the whole business. Not our style really, Kathleen and me, seeing things through to the end like that. But now Benny was where he wanted to be and the tale would be added to the legend Kathleen. The time we went to scatter Ben’s ashes and couldn’t get the fucking box open.

"What will you do now, kiddo?"

"I don’t know, Jack. I was thinking of moving to Hawaii . Get a place on the beach."

" Hawaii ? Do you know how far away that is?"

"From where?"

"Anywhere!

"I think I would love it, Jack. I can remember watching quiz shows when I was a kid. Sometimes the prize would be a trip to Hawaii and they’d show pictures of the hotel on the beach and then a jet flying into the sunset. I used to dream about going."

"Kath, it’s an eight hour flight!"

"I couldn’t believe it when they’d take the bedroom set or the Samsonite luggage. It made no sense to me, you know?"

"You’ll be lonely in Hawaii ."

"Right," she looked at me and snorted. "A rich widow with a house on the beach?"

"Andree will worry about you."

"Andree worries about me when I’m sitting next to her."

We re-entered the fog bank, keeping an eye out for the mumbler with the tackle box. In the absence of Benny I took off my belt and held it to my side with the buckle end down. What I intended to do with it wasn’t quite clear, but it seemed to assure us and we plodded along. Through pea soup thickness and pockets of wind, the whole way back without seeing a soul. At the end of the pier we made a hard right and followed the lights to the parking lot. When we got there my car was the only thing in it.

"You OK?" I cranked up the heater.

"You’re the best, Jack, bringing me out here. How can I ever repay you?"

"Put a C-note on tomorrow’s long shot. I promise you it’s money in the bank."

"A C-note. You kill me, Jack."

"Or you can lend it to me and I’ll pay you right back."

"Trust me Jack. I haven’t a C-note to spare."

In the end she did move to Hawaii . For a year or two we’d get rambling letters or pre dawn phone calls, but then the money ran out and she slipped back to Berkeley . Last spring she remarried. The new husband is six years her senior with a seven figure income and a fetish for feet. We met him one time before we moved east and he seemed all right, once you got passed the imagery. In any event he’s worth a bundle and with the heart murmur and the coke habit he may be all the husband she’ll ever need.

As for Benny, he never made the Golden Gate . The tide took him north and if there’s any justice, he went bobbing by the racetrack as my long shot faded. Passing under the San Rafael Bridge , slipping past San Quentin and the Richmond refineries, washing up on the rocks near Lupe Santos’ backyard Madonna, there to lay until Lupe came to pray. Momma Lupe was old but she knew the score. What the tides bring in belongs to the finder. The box looked small enough to carry, but big enough to make it worthwhile. There was no one on the beach so she started for it. The rocks were tricky but Lupe was careful, testing each step, taking her time. The box was sealed with tape, the address soaked to a smear. Her heart raced as she felt the weight of it, heavy as the answer to a million prayers. By the time she dragged it back to the house the fog had burned off and the wind surfers had settled in. She sliced through the tape and peeled it away, hoping for the luck so long overdue her. She saw Sunset Crematorium stenciled on the lid with an address in the city and a telephone number. Lupe didn’t know what a crematorium was so she called the number then ran screaming from the house when they set her straight.

The next day Kathleen got a visit from the Berkeley police. They had Benny with them along with a citation for the illegal disposal of remains. Where Benny is now is anyone’s guess. Last I saw of him he was sticking out of a Nordstrom bag behind the spare tire in Kathleen’s trunk.

Tom Larsen's work has appeared in Newsday, Antietam Review, Puerto del Sol and New Millennium Writing. His short story "Lids" was included in Best American Mystery Stories - 2004. Mr. Larsen lives in Lambertville, NJ and is currently at work on "Thumb," a comparative memoir of cross country hitchhiking.