Tremble: Erotic Tales of the Mystical and Sinister

“That’s right, Aaron Gluckstein was…”

“We are of the Lubavitch movement.”

Now the young woman’s discomfort was starting to make sense to the lawyer.

“It must have taken some courage to make the decision to approach me. I appreciate it.”

“Not courage. I have strong reason to believe it’s what Aaron would have wanted, still wants.”

John Stutton, a staunch atheist and confirmed rationalist, decided he didn’t really want to go into the reason why the widow should have arrived at such a conclusion after Aaron’s death. He was just grateful that, out of all the lawyers mentioned in the file, she had chosen him. Trying to underplay the tremendous excitement that began to percolate at the thought of the biggest opportunity in his career, the attorney walked to the window. Outside the streetlights had begun to light up the city.

“You do realize that when this breaks—and believe me, it will break, Mrs. Gluckstein—it stands to be one of the biggest lawsuits this country has ever seen? It will also be a victory of the small man over the corporation, a long overdue victory.”

It was here that John Stutton, an unemotional man in his late fifties who had been fighting Safecom for over two decades, began to lose control.

“You have to understand that I have clients who have lost sons, daughters, spouses—all deaths that could have been prevented if this…” he pushed the file forward, “if this information had been acted on.”

“I lost a husband, Mr. Stutton.”

“Well, maybe now there’s a chance to get a little bit of him back,” the lawyer concluded smugly, thrilled with his own rhetoric. The young widow couldn’t help but wonder what the attorney would say if he knew that little bit had already come back, although not in a way he could possibly imagine.

Miriam returned to the house to discover the place ransacked. Tables and chairs had been overturned and papers fluttered down the staircase like disorientated doves. Myra’s two Japanese carp (almost as old as she was) were flapping on the carpet, their bowl smashed, along with several vases. Miriam stood in the middle of the room stunned, wondering whether the chaos could somehow be an imagined extension of her own recently disturbed life. A book, splayed and broken-spined on the edge of an overturned chair, tottered and fell to the floor. The thud brought her back to reality. Safecom, it had to be. She ran up to the bedroom.

As she’d suspected the filing cabinet was on its side, contents spilled everywhere, and Aaron’s desk drawers had been pulled out and emptied. She scanned the contents quickly—the thieves hadn’t actually taken anything. What they were after was now safely in the hands of Stutton, Stutton & Jobain. Below, the front door slammed.

“Oi vey!” Myra shouted. Miriam ran back out to the landing to see her mother-in-law clutching at the wall for support.

“We have been robbed and desecrated!” she yelled, holding her two dead carp up to heaven. “Enough with the misery! When is it going to stop, tell me this, you sadistic schmuck!”

Realizing Myra was addressing God, Miriam took her to the kitchen and sat her down. She gave her a sedative.

“Take this and then you sleep, okay? We’ll deal with the mess in the morning.”

“Sure, as if life is always that simple,” the old lady muttered cynically but allowed herself to be led to bed like a lamb.

As soon as Myra was safely tucked in, Miriam called John Stutton, who immediately sent a security guard over.

“Mrs. Gluckstein, these people are playing very serious hardball. They’re not going to be worrying about religious etiquette when they break your door down in the middle of the night, therefore I suggest you don’t worry about it either.”

The security guard arrived within twenty minutes: a huge Latino with the friendly name of Jesus Hosé Mandelis. Deeply religious himself, he insisted on staying by the front door, even when gratefully consuming the snack of chopped liver and bread Miriam made for him. She couldn’t help but be relieved by the fact that along with a collection of crucifixes and evil-eye charms, he wore not just one gun but two and seemed to keep in constant contact with a network of fellow security guards all over New York City via his pager.

Finally, exhausted, Miriam collapsed onto her and Aaron’s bed, still fully clothed, still surrounded by the pandemonium the intruders had left. It was only as she was drifting off to sleep that she realized Aaron’s snore was far fainter than before.

“So you approve,” she whispered, smiling, before curling up on his side of the bed.

The next morning at Stutton, Stutton & Jobain, John Stutton recorded Miriam’s statement and warned her that she would be expected to make an affidavit in front of a judge. Then he ushered in a middle-aged couple. The husband, his face a road map of twitches, seemed incapable of meeting Miriam’s eyes. The wife, a tall, thin dried-up stick of a woman clutched at her handbag as if she were drowning and it was a life buoy.

“Mr. and Mrs. Halston’s son and daughter-in-law were both killed in the SVU 450,” John Stutton explained. “Their three-month-old son survived only to die in a coma a week later. I believe the car design flaw described in your husband’s file was directly responsible. We filed an action five years ago; we lost. On behalf of the Halstons and fifty other plaintives I have relodged a legal action, one that I am confident we can now win. I have also issued a press statement that will hit the stands tomorrow morning. Believe me, Mrs. Gluckstein, this will be big news, very big news.”

Jerking her arms free from her handbag Mrs. Halston suddenly grabbed Miriam’s hands and squeezed them in gratitude.

“My wife says thank you. She hasn’t spoken since the accident,” Mr. Halston translated, turning his mournful bloodshot eyes to Miriam for the first time.

Outside, the burly security guard insisted on walking the young widow back to the subway. It was cold but the faint hint of spring was buried deep under the chill.

“Mrs. Gluckstein, you don’t know the evil that is lurking in these streets,” Jesus Hosé explained. “If they want to take you out they will take you out—but now…now you have done the right thing; now they can’t touch you.”

As they turned the corner Miriam saw O’Brien leaning up against a limousine. He seemed to be waiting for her. Jesus Hosé caught sight of him in the same instant. “Keep walking,” he instructed, his hand tightening on the pistol hidden in his waistband.