Giorgio adjusted his suit. "What did you want to talk about?"
"What does he owe?"
"I," Gunner started.
Bo raised a hand to silence him.
"Twenty-one," the pole bean said.
"Twenty-one Laaarrrgge," the fat man slurred.
"You were going to kill him over a twenty-one thousand dollar debt? What does your risk analysis calculation look like?"
"I'd do it for a buck," Sal said.
The thin man scowled at him.
"Well I would."
"Nobody was getting killed today, you know that," the thin man said to Bo. "We were trying to reinforce the need for, Mr. Baranski, as you put it to agree to payment terms."
"And the mocked up break-in?" Bo nodded toward the gate.
"Incentive - him being a parolee. You do know he's served time."
"I do."
"How much does he owe you?" Giorgio asked.
Bo's eyes empowered Gunner.
"Everything," Gunner said, "times two."
"And you question our risk analysis?"
Bo chuckled. "What's your terms?"
"Eighteen percent and he has to pay accrued plus a grand of principal each month until it's paid."
"How about twenty percent, accrual plus five hundred principal?"
"At five hundred, I'd say, oh, twenty-five percent."
"You'll earn more in the term. I'm trying to lower the nut to something he can afford. Twenty with a grand of good faith money."
Thin man rubbed at his face, thinking. "Since he owes you as well, I can agree to that." The man ogled Bo's watch. "With some collateral."
"It's not on the table."
"Twenty-five then?"
"Twenty with a grand in good faith?"
"Your good faith?"
"Yes."
"No!" Gunner objected. He sighed heavy at Bo's actions.
"I can live with that," said the thin man.
"And when he doesn't pay, he won't be living with anything - but maybe the fishes." The fat man laughed. "Of course the nut'll still be on you and your good faith."
Bo focused on Gunner and motioned with his head toward the thin man.
"What?"
"The gun."
"Oh yeah." Gunner pulled the clip from the semi-automatic and cleared the chamber. He emptied the shells onto the ground at the man's feet then handed the gun back in two pieces.
The thin man stared at Gunner. He slid the empty clip into a pants pocket. Retrieving a full one from the holster inside his suit coat, he slapped it into the gun. It made an angry sound. He chambered the first round.
Bo reached into his jacket fingering his Colt.
"Let's go," the thin man said.
Bad is easy. Good is rewarding.
Bo watched the pair walk to the gate and sling it open.
Gunner nudged Bo's arm. "Thanks," he said. "I guess I owe you another life."
"You heard him; they weren't going to kill you, this time."
"No, I think they were."
They started walking toward Gunner's car. "What makes you think that?"
"The frame on the gate - he said it was for leverage."
"Right."
"They hadn't said a word about it. The chain was cut when I arrived. They made me squeeze the saw handle for a good set of prints and cut my finger for a little blood evidence."
"Well they need to work on their framing skills."
"How did you know it was contrived?"
"Both ends of the chain were still laced through the fence. And."
"And?"
"You've been picking locks since you were a teenager so there'd be no reason for you to saw the chain. And."
"And?"
"You're left-handed, the chain should be cut on the other side of the lock, the saw placed at the left gate and the cut should be on your right hand."
Gunner picked up the hacksaw. "That's why you're Bo Boson."
"Besides, who would be dumb enough to rob a place when their getaway car is out of gas?"
"Whoa, that's impressive. How did you figure that out? In fact, how did you know where I was?"
Bo laughed. "Those two are easier than you think. The officer who told you to move the car yesterday."
"You know him?"
"Not exactly. A Captain downtown put out an A.P.B. to locate you - for me."
"More hand-me-downs?" Gunner said examining the cardboard box contents and making air quotes when he said hand-me-downs.
"Just a few things."
"You don't have to Bo. I should be doing for you, even more so now."
"I don't see it that way."
"I do. New books? Nice. At least I'll have something to read while I hang out here."
"Oh, I have gas for you too. A can in my car."
"Bo, you're too much."
"I was going to toss these things. I'd rather them find a good home."
"Okay I give, unlike you and that copy of Sanctuary."
"What?"
"That's what's in your back pocket isn't it?"
"Now you're freaking me out. How do you know?"
"A lucky guess. You've had it with you the last three or four times I've seen you so I figure you're struggling with giving it to me. The books you give me appear fresh from the printer. That paperback, battered to the point of looking raped, I can only imagine how many times you've read it. Or is it about who you got it from? Did she give it to you?"
Silence returned to the alley. A truck rumbled past on the street behind Bo pulling him from the stupor.
"The gas," he said, "I'll get it." He turned and walked away.
“I owe you.”
Ten feet away, Bo said, “You know what I expect.”
Gunner sighed. He pulled the box from the trunk and opened it. He placed the box inside and searched the space. Finding his prey, he carried a small black pouch to the gate. He knelt, opened the zipper and retrieved a pair of tools. Inserting them into the padlock, he soon had the bale open.
Gunner let the short piece of chain fall to the ground. He hooked the lock through the ends of the shortened chain and clicked the lock shut. He retrieved the short piece of chain from the ground and walked to his trunk. Bo arrived with the gas can.
With multiple minds, brainstorming could prove exponential.
Unable to reach Walter, I would have to plan without him. I would not exist without Walter. Hell, I did not exist without Walter. I had to save him. I had to figure a way to get the police to stop searching for those worthless boys. They meant nothing to society and yet everything to me. I would have to convince Walter to stop. Stop using worthless boys.
I smelled like a poor person in need of a long, hot shower. Something about the flowing water had always supercharged my brain.
If he stopped or at least switched collection areas, the trail would grow cold as the rotting remains. Still, it could be some time before they gave up. They could get lucky.
Someone could come forward with information. It was possible someone could provide sufficient details on the van. Unlikely, but possible. If they got to the van, they might get to me. I would never let it go any farther. I would not let them have Walter. He meant too much.
I stripped and stuffed the entirety of my disguise into a pristine white plastic garbage bag. The hot water refreshed and relaxed.
Our best option would be for them to stop altogether. I needed something to direct their attention away. A diversion was what I needed, something more important than a bunch of missing ‘Cans. Hell, was anything less important. If I rolled through and collected a bunch of mutts like the dogcatcher, maybe the detective would be showing photos of them instead.
I smiled into a laugh.
“What would detract the police from investigating?” I asked myself repeatedly. The obvious answer was for them to return home but that was not happening.
Thunderstruck - the answer came to me. “A rich boy. One was worth more than a hundred worthless ones.” The disap
pearance of a rich kid would work. It would be perfect. The police were always more concerned with serving the wealthy than the rest.
I could disappear. Do as I told the detective and hitchhike west. I doubted he would even connect me to the boy he spoke to in the street earlier. The moustache and soul patch were washing down the drain as I considered it. Shaving felt good, clean, so I continued beyond the facial hair.
I couldn’t disappear. I would miss Walter. I would not be around to keep him from continuing. He did not possess the necessities to approach and lure them. He would muck it up. Besides how ever would I disappear from Indiana of all places? It would have to be someone else, someone young and rich, someone close but not too close.
Thunderstruck a second time, a schoolmate came to mind. A simple boy who would be easy. I preferred it be someone from another school but my perception of available time precluded otherwise. I had the place and the boy but I needed the why and how to complete the plan.
The water continued flowing as hot and true as when I stepped in. I loved an estate sized water heater, three hundred gallons of gas-fired bliss. It suited me.
My brainstorming lingered long after the shower. I lay in bed contemplating different scenarios to entice young Harold. He was a freshman and in my American History class. There was a report he had done on a famous trial or secret societies. I couldn't remember which.
I was quite certain Father was a member of at least two such organizations. I expected one would tap me as a legacy when I followed him and Grandfather to Yale. The other group I believed he shared membership with the President.
Through ingenuity and superior intellect, Grandfather amassed a grand fortune. This made our money dusty rather than old or as Father described it, “Young enough to still be growing.” Being the son of the Prince, at least twenty years and two bodies lie between me and an empire. More, if Mother was so inclined.
It is odd how something you seek often appears while looking in the wrong direction. It came to me; Harold's report was on two guys who murdered another boy and their attorney. He defended two boys from Chicago who killed a classmate around the turn of the century. It was extraordinary and prophetic.
Prep school can be more of an urban battleground than the roughest ghetto.
Money was power. Power was life. Balls, brawn and brains were all weapons of mass coercion. Harold Haverly had money and brains. As a freshman, there would be time to develop the other traits of a captain of industry. On the other hand, he could exist as a hideaway investor wagering his millions on pirates and blue chips.
I had started at West Haven Prep in a fashion similar to Harold. My family was the third richest and I was a certifiable genius. I constructed my power base with guidance from Walter. He gave me balls. A sophomoric growing spurt provided the brawn. Friendships and alliances filled in my blanks.
Harold seemed to have only one friend, another weirdo loser. They were as if a pair of lovebirds them two, you seldom saw one without the other. I had not realized Harold was in my gym class. Running late, I damn near made road kill of him turning the corner heading for my gym locker. He should not have been there. It was kismet.
He squealed like a startled girl when I rounded the corner. He ducked like a kid accustomed to dodging swings. I veered left brushing his arm. He banged into the wall and collapsed to the floor, arms raised blocking.
"What the fuck man!" My arms caught me from wrecking into a row of lockers. I leered at him cowering on the floor and realized who he was. The locker room was dead quiet. We were the only boys there. I saw my chance to set my plan in motion.
"Hey, Harold isn't it?" I said bending close.
He watched me as if I were a ghost.
"That's your name right? Harold?"
"Y-yes I, I didn't think," he said and stopped.
"You didn't think what?"
"I didn't think you knew my name."
"So it is Harold?"
"Yes, Harold Haverly."
"Well Harold I'm Jay Fitzerald. Sorry about giving you the Peterbuilt."
"I know who you are. Everyone knows you."
"Oh, I guess they do and hey call me Fitz."
"Okay Fitz. What's a Peter built?"
"You know the truck, Peterbuilt, an eighteen wheeler."
"Oh I see what you mean."
"My family owns stock."
"Huh?"
"Nevermind Harold." I extended a hand and yanked him to his feet so fast I could have dislocated his shoulder. "Listen while we have a minute. I wanted to tell you I enjoyed the report you gave in History on the kids who murdered the other kid."
"Leopold and Loeb?"
"That's them."
"Wasn't there something about the lawyer too?"
"Clarence Darrow?"
"Was he the lawyer?"
"Yes he was. Quite a famous one too, maybe the most well known lawyer in America at the time."
"I liked that report."
"You did? You liked it?"
"I'm thinking about going to Yale for law. Could you make me a copy? I'd like to read it."
Harold's face lit up like the tree at Rockefeller Center. "I, I don't know what to say. Yes, I can. Thanks. Thanks. Thank you. I didn't think anyone cared or even noticed."
"So you'll make me a copy then?" I stepped closer to whisper, "Let's keep it between us okay." I grabbed his face capturing his gaze. “Our.” I scanned right then left. “Secret.” I placed a finger on my closed lips.
He ran away but soon returned out of breath. I wondered how far he had gone.
"Here," he said holding out a group of papers folded in half lengthwise.
I stared at it.
"It's the report. You can have it."
"Oh okay. You sure?" I flipped it back and forth.
"Definitely. I got a personal computer with word processing software and a dot matrix printer for my birthday this year so I can print off another copy."
"Ah. Hey, cool." I had no idea what the gibberish meant. I pulled him close. "Remember." I scouted the space again. "No one knows about this, about us, understand?"
"Got it, Jay. No one."
"You go on out. I have to change."
Harold skipped away. I almost broke into a celebratory laugh before he was out of earshot. It was easier than I had imagined. I had never been more proud of myself.
Later, I told Walter about the detectives. He was incredulous and arrogant. I begged him to stop. He promised to give the matter some thought. I did not share having formulated my own diversion plan to throw the police off and protect him.
I read Harold's report while "working" at the museum that evening. Mother had long been a board member. It was part time and I did as I wished. They would not have hired me but did not dare reprimand me in any way. Mother would be furious. With the run of the place, it proved a wonderful supply source for my plan.
Excellent breeding stock grounds your being.
Upon the impressionable youth of my mind, Walter had once advised, "Deception lies nearest the truth. And the best of it strikes an accord, appeasing all.” Wise beyond his years, he rooted within my mind.
Walter gave me statuesque wings to rise farther - to a higher perch. Without him, I would be another Harold. I owed him this life and knew what he expected in return.
I wanted to catch Harold alone. We lived near one another so I had seen him around the neighborhood many times. He and the friend walked home together every day. The other boy started out with him but lived only a few blocks from school. The timing had to be right but there was a window of opportunity. I felt comfortable.
The day prior, I phoned the family owned limo service and scheduled a car. They were to take me and some friends from school to a nearby mall then home. Rather than leave my car at school, I would have Father drop me in the morning. As the service was part of her portfolio, I informed Mother.
When the car arrived, I waited for the full treatment.
"Are there others?" the driver asked.
/>
"Do you see anyone else?"
"No sir, the job sheet said it would be a party of four."
"Then I guess I am four people." I climbed in.
"Yes sir!" He closed the door.
My aggravation was purposeful, hoping my snide comments would have him disinterested. Ten minutes into the trip, I lowered the partition and instructed the driver to stop at a friend's house. I provided only general information to get him headed in the right direction. I unpacked and prepared supplies as we traveled.
When we got to the street where I expected to find Harold, my eyes scoured the sidewalk. Seeing him, I again lowered the partition.
"Pull up near that boy on the right." The partition rose.
I pulled the two pieces of disguise over my head.
The driver offered little concern. Should he bother to notice Harold, he would have only the side mirror view. In the worst-case scenario should he put us together, I could discount it as an innocent encounter. I was returning a report borrowed from an American History classmate. Harold would be home between our meeting and his abduction. It was pure genius.
As the car slowed to a stop beyond, I rolled the window down. "Harold Haverly," I said in a soft tone near the opening then sunk into the darkness.
Through the rear window, I watched Harold notice and change directions for the car. I grabbed the envelope and pushed it out the window as the glass raised to block his view.
He took the envelope and opened it. His head turned to the writing and his eyes scrunched. The letter, headlined with three symbols of an eye, pyramid and burning candle, stated the following:
"Harold Haverly,
You are being tapped for membership into a secret organization for high school aged men. We are a precursor for a larger, international organization. You are to discuss this with no one. Should you accept this invitation your initiation will begin this evening. This car will pick you up on the corner of Meridian and Park at 8:00 p.m. sharp. You should hide in the shadows until the car arrives. When it does, you are to get in the back as quick as possible and follow any instructions inside. Your failure to cooperate will result in immediate dismissal. Your total commitment to secrecy is paramount - the full organization (men and women) is watching. Without knowing who our members are, sharing information could find you expelled. You are to memorize the pickup details and return this invitation immediately.
The Wolf Lake Murders (A Bo Boson Adventure Book 1) Page 3