An
Incident Halfway to Hell
By Ian De Shils (Ernest
Shilds)
Epilogue
The incident at 'Halfway to Hell' ruined Melva. When it went to trial,
she was found guilty under a section of the California racketeering law;
hiring others to commit bodily harm. Wilson was never found so beyond Hoot's
testimony, the case was based on circumstantial evidence, but enough victims
stepped forward to convince a grand jury. The indictment held. Melva was
sentenced to ten years, which meant she would serve a minimum of five behind
bars. Her career was over and her assets vanished as well. After the criminal
trial, civil suits blossomed like cactus flowers following a rain. Paul
did his best and was able to hide several million dollars for Melva when she
got out, but it was mere fraction of what her vindictiveness cost her.
Stud Films still raked in the cash,--- more money than ever before,---
thanks to the absence of Vitto who no longer had a finger in the till.
John Martin was pleased. He, too, took a hit from Vitto's dipping, but
he was happy to spend all of that, and more to see Melva in prison. It took
him a long time to find the right conditions to sink the bitch. Through
a slight accounting error he discovered Vitto was padding the bills and
John had no trouble at all convincing him if he didn't come up with the money,
he was a dead man. Vitto panicked, he was practically climbing the walls
when John hinted at an out.
“Too bad you don't have a video of O'Brian on file. It would be worth
millions. Rumor is Love Stories is gonna be blockbuster.” That's all he
said and Vitto took the bait. What a dumb shit, he thought, what a total
asshole. He should've known it was a bit late to replace money stolen over
a seven year period. It worked out fine though, hardly a glitch. Manny Wilson
couldn't talk and he had been John's only link to this whole business. He
was rather pleased O'Brian didn't die. John thought long and hard before
ordering the hit, but he simply couldn't be sure a beating would be enough
to make Hoot point a finger at Melva. In some ways it worked out far better
than he'd planned. No need to salt pointers to Wilson. He got flushed early
which convinced Hoot, and got the whole thing rolling just as fast as if
O'Brian had died. And those beautiful connections for the jury,--- Melva's
phone calls to Wilson. Nice and neat, he thought, nice and neat. Now he
could sleep nights knowing Melva got her payback for Larry's broken legs
and missing teeth.
No one knew Larry Burke was his grandson, not even Larry, but John watched
over him from the time he was born. From a distance he looked on with pride
as Larry grew from a gangly pre-teen into a star athlete in high school and
college and unbeknownst to anyone, John wrangled a job for Larry with his
leasing company. He wanted to spend some time with his grandson, get to
know him, and he had. They became good friends. Larry was soon his aide in
all things legitimate, the rest, of course he was never privy to. It was
a wonderful time for John until Melva picked Larry for her latest fling.
John tried to warn him, dropping hints about her volatility, her vicious
mean streak, all of which fell on deaf ears. And just like he knew it would,
the break-up came. Melva, in a drunken rage kicked and punched him. Larry
backhanded her, leaving a single small bruise on her face. Two weeks later
Larry lie in a hospital, almost unrecognizable, the beating so severe he nearly
died. Now he limped and always would, but it wasn't just the physical
scars that drove John. It was the change in Larry. No longer the brave young
bull he once was, it took him a year to start living again and he was never
the same. Melva had stolen his courage away.
Three years it took John to even the score, three years of detesting
the woman and never letting it show. One has to be careful when running
with wolves,--- Vitto learned the hard way while John understood it from
the beginning. It was the reason he cut all ties with his own family when
he joined the mob. Oh, he never worried about the men back east, he was square
with them and always had been, but he also knew if Paul found out it was him
who had taken Melva down, his fate would be the same as Vitto's. Well,---
he was long past any worry over that. It had been two years and everything
was sailing along blissfully. He took real pleasure though in thinking about
the trial. Everyday he listened to the testimony, held Melva's hand and cried
the most convincing crocodile tears. Oh God, how he enjoyed it.
John glanced at a tabloid laying on the coffee table. Prominently displayed
on the cover was a picture of O'Brian smiling and signing autographs. The
trial's publicity made him a star. His first movie broke all box office records,
but John couldn't take all the credit. It turned out O'Brian was a fine
actor. He now had three hit movies in a row and Hoot, too, was making a
name for himself in action films. Funny how that worked out, he thought.
No one back in 'possum holler,' or wherever the hell Hoot and Melva came
from, would even speak to Hoot after he testified against the bitch. Now Hoot
was the new hero down there. One star sinks,--- two more rise but the public
remains as fickle as ever.
He read the copy below the pictures. The two men who unknowingly helped
him put Melva away were now partners, producing their own films. A horse
ranch in Idaho was mentioned and several other joint projects. It looked
to John like those two were going places. Investments in hotels and land
development,--- solid stuff that would pay them back long after the public
got tired of them. Smart boys, he thought. John lay aside the tabloid
and arose to refresh his drink. It was quiet in the house,--- Gretchen
asked for the night off and there was only the tick of a grandfather clock
to keep him company. Funny how a place seems to hold its breath when the people
are gone, he thought. The silence was broken by the sound of the door chime.
John stepped into the hall and pressed the intercom button,
“Who is it?”
“United Floral Service. I have a delivery for, . . . let me see, . .
. oh, yes,--- a Mister John Martin. Do I have the right address?”
“Flowers? Who are they from?”
“Uh,--- just a moment, Sir,--- I can hardly make out the writing,---
a Larry Burke? Does that sound right?”
Larry? A smile crossed his face. Now why would Larry be sending me flowers
he wondered? John reached down and unbolted the door without the slightest
suspicion Paul Markey finally figured it out.