Edna Norquist was on her deathbed in Needles, California, which meant Donny Campanella had to act fast before the old bat kicked off.

And before his asshole older brother, Frankie, got home from Las Vegas.

Donny didn’t give a rip about one-hundred-two year-old Edna’s expansive real estate holdings in six Western states or her majority stake in an interstate trucking company. Instead, his primary interest in Edna was the valuable collection of loose and mounted gemstones she kept at her home, a short drive across the state line from the home he and Frankie shared in Kingman, Arizona.

All he had to do was con the jewels from Edna. Piece of cake. Then he’d pass them along to his buyer, a fellow Donny owed serious cash. On a hard deadline for repayment, with an emphasis on “dead.”

The alarm clock rang. 4:50 a.m. Donny hit the snooze button and thought about his idiot brother.

As he sometimes did as a professional courtesy, Donny gave Frankie first right of refusal to participate in the score. But this time, Frankie blew him off in favor of a four-day bender in Sin City, where he celebrated the combined windfalls of his latest e-mail pyramid scheme and the lucrative extortion of a cactus nursery in Havasu City.

Donny thought, The moron’s gonna blow all his money gambling then come whining to me about Edna and her jewelry. I can see it coming.

Well, that’s just too freakin’ bad.

The alarm rang again ten minutes later. Donny rolled out of bed. He long ago disciplined himself to wake up at five o’clock every a.m., no matter what he had planned on any given day. This gave him time to get in some yoga and have a breakfast of poached egg whites, steel-cut organic Irish oatmeal and a whey protein and a wheat grass smoothie before he got down to business.

After breakfast, Donny showered, flossed, brushed, and shaved. Then he buffed and moisturized. He looked in his magnifying vanity mirror and saw a face a decade younger than his forty-one years. Then he filled little plastic trays with gel and left them wrapped around his teeth for a half-hour. When they finished whitening and brightening, he scanned his grill in the mirror.

Perfect.

Donny perused the contents of his walk-in closet. The success of his meeting with Edna hinged on him presenting the right look. So, he chose a gray suit, white shirt, a black-and-white patterned tie, a coordinating pocket square and shiny black shoes. Then he put on fake eyeglasses with silver frames.

From the floor next to the desk in his bedroom, Donny picked up a black leather briefcase. It contained gold-embossed business cards and phony paperwork, both of which he had made just for this occasion.

Donny calculated the drive to Needles and the time needed to do business with Edna, due to her age and frailty, and to bypass potential gatekeepers. He estimated the trip could eat up three hours of his day.

Then Donny factored the time Frankie would take to drive home from Vegas. Knowing Frankie would sleep in until well after noon, have lunch and some beers and another go at craps, Donny figured he had ample time to coordinate a meet with Tommy Chunks.
Somewhere about halfway between Kingman and Vegas, maybe up by the turn-off from U.S. 93 to White Hills, at the Texaco station, about forty-five minutes north of Kingman.
In the garage, Donny removed the Arizona plates from his Impala and replaced them with California tags that once graced a Chrysler LeBaron, now a fire-gutted hulk in the middle of the Mojave Desert south of Baker, California. He opened the garage door at the precise moment he turned over the ignition, gave himself one more look in the rear-view, and eased the car onto Mullen Drive.

***

The Norquist estate abutted the desert on an acre and a half of green lawn and rose gardens on Easy Street, on the south end of Needles.

Justin Timberlake on the Impala’s CD player claimed he was bringing sexy back as Donny turned into the estate. A groundskeeper watched the car come to a stop before he rode his John Deere mower around to the back of the large ranch house. Donny waited until the man was out of sight, then picked up his briefcase and gave himself one more look in the rear-view. He checked his watch – he was thirteen minutes ahead of schedule. He left the car with the doors unlocked, and strode confidently to the front door.

A fiftyish woman in a maid’s uniform answered the doorbell. “Sí?”

“Hello, I’m from the insurance company of Overarching Underwriters LLC Inc. of Los Angeles, and I’m here to see Mrs. Norquist,” Donny said. He handed her a business card. “I have an appointment.”

“Sí? Meez Norwist?”

“Yes, I’m here to see Mrs. Norquist. I have an appointment. Muy importante.”

The maid examined both sides of the card. “Sí, Meez Norwist ees een her room. She very seek.” She invited Donny inside, then removed a surgical mask from her apron pocket and handed it to him. “You put thees on your face, por favor.”

The maid led Donny down a hallway lined with large framed black-and-white photos of a young Edna Norquist and her late husband, Hubert, with important people from back in the 1950s and ’60s. In one of them, Hubert Norquist shared a hearty laugh with Richard Nixon over highballs in what looked like the Oval Office. In another, Hubert and Edna joined Dwight and Mamie Eisenhower for a game of horseshoes at Ike’s farm in Gettysburg.

The maid shuffled down the hall. Donny felt his time advantage slipping away. He thought, Más rápidamente, señora.

The maid opened a door at the far end of the hall. Inside the room, Donny got his first glimpse of the bedridden Edna Norquist. He held his breath.

Edna stared at the ceiling with tubes up her nose. Various bottles of prescription medications covered a small table at her side. Sunlight filled the room through two windows. The only sounds were the ticking of a clock on a fireplace mantel and the beep-beep-beep of Edna’s EKG machine.

Edna blinked. Twice.

Donny exhaled. Then he slipped the surgical mask over his nose and mouth.

“Meez Norwist, she spend all day een bed. Her doctor come today.” The maid motioned toward a brown leather wingback chair at Edna’s bedside, then exited and closed the door behind her.

Donny locked the door. Then he lifted a pair of white cotton gloves from his jacket pocket and put them on. He sat down. “Good morning, Mrs. Norquist, I’m here for our appointment. You remember, about safekeeping of your precious and valuable gemstones.”

Edna squinted at him. “Ohmygarsh, Hubert, you haven’t worn that suit in years.” Her voice, soft yet clear, contradicted her failing physical condition. “Don’t you think it’s time you get a new one? It smells musty, for Pete’s sake.”

Donny cringed. The suit cost him a bundle, retail, in Beverly Hills. “No. Mrs. Norquist – may I call you Edna? Edna, I’m not Hubert. Rather, I am here on behalf of Overarching Underwriters to consummate the perpetual safekeeping of your valuable jewelry collection. We had an appointment.”

Edna coughed up mucus into a Kleenex. “I have a doctor’s appointment today. He’s such a nice man, for a Jewish fella, don’tcha know.” She looked at Donny’s gloves. “Hubert, it must be cold outside for you to wear those mittens. But I am glad you shoveled the driveway, now the doctor, the nice Jewish fella, can get here easier. Maybe I can have Lupe make you some hot soup.”

“No need for that, Edna. All you have to do is tell me where your jewelry collection is stored, and I will make sure it is safe and well cared for.”

Donny noted Edna’s glassy-eyed expression. Although he lacked expertise on dementia and its symptoms, he realized the conversation to that point indicated the gas tank that fueled Edna’s mind was running on fumes. The only concern he had was how long she would stay that way before sudden lucidity blew his plans all to hell.

The best way to be sure was to break out of character.

He said, “And here ya are, and it’s a beautiful day, yah?”

“Youbetcha, Hubert,” Edna said.

“You’re darned tootin’. And maybe we can have a hotdish and pop for supper, then we can listen to that Twins game on the radio there.”

“Oh yah, the Twins,” Edna said. “Hubert, you know I love you to pieces, don’tcha know, but that Tony Oliva fella is awful handsome for a dark-skinned Porto Riccan man.”

Donny checked his watch. He thought, Enough of this bullshit. The old lady’s lost it and my time’s a-wasting. “Good to know, Edna. So, anyway, back to the matter at hand. Tell me – where the hell do you keep the jewels, you wrinkled up prune?”

Edna pointed across the room to a chest of drawers. “Now you know, Hubert, I keep that deal in the drawer over there. As much as I love Lupe, you can’t trust those Spanish people. They’re different.”

She barely finished the sentence before Donny was on his feet. He dashed across the room to the drawer Edna had indicated and pulled on it, but it was locked. “Shit.” He pulled again, harder, to no avail. He stopped battling the drawer when he felt the first beads of perspiration form above his brow.

“I just know she took my best hat, the one I wear to church every third Sunday. You know the one, it has the orange – ”

“Edna, darling, where the fuck’s the key for this drawer?” Donny checked his watch again. “And make it snappy.”

“Oh no, Hubert, you silly goose. Not that drawer – ” she pointed across the room, to her left, at another chest “ – the other one, kittycorner from it. You should know that by now, Hubert.”

The second drawer was in a smaller upright chest. Donny gave it a tug and it opened. Inside he found an antique black lacquer box with a mother of pearl inlay scene of pagodas, geishas and cranes. Donny opened it, and beamed.

Also in the drawer was a bonus: a stack of cash. Lots of cash. Maybe forty large, Donny figured, based on the size of the bank-wrapped bundles. He distributed the money evenly between his pants and jacket pockets. Then he carried the jewelry box back to his bedside seat.

“Okay, Edna darling, we’re gonna have you sign a document giving us permission to take your jewelry into safekeeping. You can write, can’t you, you bag of bones?” He opened his briefcase and removed a blank, official-looking form. He slipped a pen in Edna’s veiny hand and watched as she scrawled a signature, little more than a straight line with a couple of bumps.

Like it mattered.

Donny placed the paper in the briefcase. He took out a large padded clasp envelope, opened the jewelry box, and dumped its contents into the envelope. He sealed the envelope and placed it back in the briefcase.

“Hubert, it would be nice if we went out to dinner this evening, after the nice Jewish doctor leaves,” Edna said. “Maybe we should give Lupe the night off so she can spend time with her Spanish friends.”

“Great idea, let’s you and me get us some babybacks and a couple’a Buds.” Donny returned the empty jewelry box back to its place in the drawer, which he closed. When he came back to Edna’s bedside, he picked up the briefcase. “Edna, on behalf of Overarching Underwriters, I thank you for your time and your generous business. You may now die.”

“Awe, bless your heart, Hubert.”

Donny met the maid at the front door, pleased he was ahead of schedule. Combined with Frankie’s likely delayed departure from Vegas, this meant he could swing by the house for a quick herbal tea before his meet with Tommy Chunks.

He removed the surgical mask and stuffed it in his pocket. “Say there, abuela, tu eres Lupe?”

“No, señor. Lupe, she die twenny year ago. Me llamo Roselia.”

“Well, Roselia, maybe it’s a good thing Lupe’s not around to hear the absolute shit your boss is saying about her.”

The maid blinked, a blank expression.

Donny grinned as he opened the front door. “Hasta la vista, baby.”

 “Vaya con dios, señor.”

***

In the Omelet House restaurant on West Charleston Boulevard in Las Vegas, Tommy “Chunks” Lohmiller answered his cell phone.

“Texaco, two hours.” The voice on the other end belonged to Donny Campanella.
Tommy looked at his half-eaten huevos rancheros. Eggs over easy, sauce red and tangy, pinto beans obscured by globs of melted cheese, a few dashes of hot sauce to make it interesting.

“Right.”

He disconnected the call and placed his cell on the table. Then he set his fork aside. Yet another breakfast interrupted long-distance by one Campanella or another.

This is it, he thought. This is the last job I do for either of those imbeciles.

I’m done.

***

Thanks to an anonymous phone tip, federal immigration agents arrived at the Norquist estate at about the same instant as Edna’s doctor, Sean O’Malley. The agents took Roselia and the gardener into custody, the first step in deportation.

As they did, Edna Norquist breathed her last. Her final words: “Hubert, make sure Lupe doesn’t overcook the walleye. It’ll dry out, don’tcha know.”

While Dr. O’Malley called the coroner, one of the immigration agents picked up a business card from a side table in the foyer.

“Now this is interesting.” The agent handed the card to a colleague. “I mean, I knew this guy’s career was in the toilet, but I never thought it would come to this.”

The second agent read the card:

Overarching Underwriters LLC Inc.
Insurance/Investments/Bankruptcies
Certified and Bonded
(323) 555-1218
Kenny Loggins, Agent

Later, a San Bernardino County sheriff’s deputy called the phone number on the card. But instead of reaching the offices of Overarching Underwriters, the deputy heard someone with a thick accent on the other end say something profane. He repeated the call and got the same response. The deputy then asked a secretary to do a reverse-411 on the number. She traced it to a Vietnamese fish market in Alhambra called Phúc Yu.

***

At the Texaco station up U.S. 93, near the White Hills exit, Donny Campanella opened his briefcase on the hood of Tommy Chunks’ black Trans Am.

“Bunch of diamonds, sapphires, a few emeralds,” Donny said. He handed a brown leather toiletry bag to Tommy. “Shitload of rings in there, too, gold, white gold, but no platinum. All with diamonds and sapphires.”

Tommy accepted the bag without opening it and hoped the briefcase would not scratch the Trans Am’s hood.

“There’s a bunch of settings with no stones, too. He’ll know what to do with them.”
Tommy said, “What you expected?”

“Not bad. I almost felt sorry for the old broad, but hey, better me than probate.” From the briefcase, Donny took a sealed envelope. “Here’s ten-grand. It’s all the cash she had, so Merry fucking early Christmas.”

Tommy exhaled smoke from his cigarette. A breeze blew the fumes toward Donny, who ducked to the side to avoid them.

“Easy,” Donny said. “New shirt.”

“Who’s this I’m going to see?”

“Jean-Jacques Fontainebleau. Me and him, we go back, he would never screw me over.” Donny looked Tommy in the eye. “He always gets me top dollar, mostly from Europeans. I should say he gets me top euro, since dollars, you can wipe your ass with those anymore.”

Tommy nodded.

Donny retrieved a smaller envelope from the briefcase and handed it to Tommy. “Plane leaves Vegas tonight. It’s a red eye, sorry about that. It has a connection in Miami, then on to the sun and fun of Barbados. After business, of course.”

Tommy placed the jewels, cash, and plane tickets in a black backpack and zipped it shut. “You flew solo.”

“Hell, yeah. Dumb ass passes up a score like this to screw around in Vegas for a long weekend? I’m taking advantage.” Donny shook Tommy’s hand. “Call me when it’s done. Not that I don’t trust you or anything.”

Tommy didn’t respond. He climbed in the Trans Am and hit the road, northbound.
Donny watched Tommy drive away and checked his watch; still plenty of time until Frankie got home.

***

Donny entered through the front door, hung his keys on a hook in the foyer, and went to his room. He thought, since it was a beautiful day, he’d put on his favorite board shorts and have a dip in the pool.

That is, until he felt the business end of a pistol against the base of his skull.