The Wolf Lake Murders (A Bo Boson Adventure Book 1)

by Henri Jenkins

  "I know. I know."

  "He's a good egg, that Bo."

  "Anything else?"

  "I love you Jake. You're a good egg too."

  "A cracked one."

  Sharon laughed. "You remind Bo he owes me a dinner," she said as she walked for her London Fog hanging near the door.

  "What?" He turned in his chair.

  "Just tell him."

  Jake stood and followed her out. "Okay."

  For those who pay attention, history is the best teacher.

  At first light Sunday morning, I awoke to an empty bed. Walter was already up. I dressed and found him sitting on the deck drinking coffee. We checked on the boys and cleared the van. We then wrestled and wrangled two into Walter’s desired positions. It was to be a double feature, side by side. The thought of inclusion, of participation excited me beyond words.

  Walter dressed while I used heavy scissors to strip the pair. I stayed close as he approached. He used smelling salts to wake them then dismissed me with a wave of the back of his hand.

  “I thought,” I started then fell dumbfounded not understanding. I thought two boys and two of us meant one for each. Walter was being a pig. I wanted to do more than watch this time, to show him I could hold my own. I coughed and found my footing. “Can I join in?” I asked. “What can I do?”

  Walter’s face told me I had overstepped. “No,” he scolded. He pointed to the woods. “Go dig a hole,” he commanded, “for three.”

  The boys were just finding their fear. I walked away dejected, unable to watch, unable to share. His gluttony broke my heart.

  The sound of the backhoe ruined any opportunity to listen. I dug as fast as I could but the shotgun told me I had lost the race. Walter’s eagerness had outrun my desire.

  As soon as I could, I crept to the sight. Walter was gone so I walked over to the pair. It was more brutal than the last. Walter’s irritability with having to wait and with my indulgence showed. A thick wad of saliva built in my throat as the urge to vomit came over me. I spit the wad and cursed them for the mess they left me to clean.

  I thought of the third boy and ran to the van. Walter had pulled the boy onto the ground through the rear doors. He sat atop the boy’s mangled body. Walter was breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling with each purposeful breath.

  The boy still clothed, the tape was torn aside. In Walter’s version of the shell game, each of the three had balls. Winner. Winner. Winner.

  He glared at me like a madman and smeared blood as he wiped his nose with an arm. Within the oddness of it, I realized Walter held a hunting knife.

  "This one had a gun in his waistband," he panted holding up a chrome revolver. He tossed the gun at my feet like an accusation.

  "Didn't do him a damn bit of good now did it," I countered.

  “I need more,” he said and huffed.

  “Tonight?”

  “No – but soon.”

  “I don't know.”

  Walter jumped to his feet and raced toward me. His face matched the stains of blood. His eyes turned dark then stormy. The hunting knife led. "You don't know what?" he asked.

  I stepped away shielding with my arms. "I - I don't know if I should go to school tomorrow. I can spend the day shopping instead."

  "Well, well." The knife lowered to his side. He chewed and spit. "May-maybe you should," he said and turned away. Walter took two steps and turned back.

  His face read disappointment. I was uncertain whether it was with me or himself. A thought blinked in his eyes and his head moved to speak again. His mouth pulled into a frown and he walked for the camp.

  Professionalism is about passion and practice not position or status.

  Bo had long recognized passion in Gunner. It was in practice where he wavered. Sunday morning Bo took an extra long shower to cleanse his mind and focus his passion. Something about the flowing water had always supercharged his brain.

  He thought of Gunner's message from the pager dispatch service the night before. "The nut and bears paws," they said. It read cryptic but Bo felt certain he had already decoded the meanings.

  Tony "D-Nut" Denuto came to mind. Officially, he owned a bait shop that sold fishing gear and live worms and cold beer over the counter. "Even if you don't catch fish you can always catch a buzz," he'd say. It was like his company motto. Under the counter, he sold whatever your wallet could afford.

  He operated with the blessings and protection of the mob boss, Salvatore Alonso. In his younger years, D-Nut had been an enforcer. "An end forcer," he would say, "dead end." And he too was a man who approached his tasks with passion and practice. Though no one knew exactly how, Bo had played a part in Tony's retirement.

  Whatever happened, the old man respected and even liked Bo. If he had not sold the pair guns, he could know who had. D-Nut had run with the same crew Gunner faced off with at the warehouse. Bo thought of Gunner's debt and the payment coming due.

  Even though Bo had worked out a payment plan with Slim Sal and Giorgio, Gunner would have little interest in speaking with him. Bo finished his shower and called Tony.

  He told Bo someone had come shopping for some big-ticket items. The hitter mentioned a New York connection, a previous employer who checked out through channels. D-Nut met with him and provided some items and directions to others: electronics, weapons and drugs.

  "How many you meet?" Bo asked.

  "Met one but it was a party of two."

  "How you know?"

  "I pressed him on it for the verification. He didn't really want to share."

  "What kind of drugs?"

  "The kind to keep someone quiet but alive. Two field medical kits and a M.D. contact."

  Bo knew where he got the electronics. "You supply the weapons?"

  "You do know what I do for a living now don't you?"

  Bo laughed. "You own a bait shop."

  "Exactly. I didn't have the high-powered quiet click they requested but I found a source. I sold two converted small cal long clip semis, a sawed off room clearer and a ton of rounds."

  "Pistols?"

  "Said they brought their own. Was packing a shouldered Colt like yours when we met. And Bo."

  "Yes."

  "I supplied claymores, plastique, and half a case each of grenades, ear-ringers, and smoke cans."

  "Loaded for bear."

  "Hell man they're loaded for bears wearing body armor and riding in tanks. I had them pegged for a bank job, was I right?"

  "Any idea where they're camping?"

  "None. Inside somewhere, no weather or camping gear on the list. As for the electronics, I showed him three. He picked Bears Pawn on 119th. I called in a reference to Cubby."

  "I know. It was the second part of Gunner's page."

  "Gunner - You still associating? I heard he had a tiff with Slim Sal over a debt."

  "He's my Carmine."

  Tony laughed. "Understand. Wait. Were you the one, oh right, it was you. Now I know, what's that old guy on the radio say, the rest of the story."

  "What the hell are you going on about?"

  "You were the one who interrupted the meeting with Gunner. Makes perfect sense now. Don't know why I didn't put two and two together when he mentioned it."

  "Mentioned what?"

  "Pulling your ankle piece first."

  "He seemed really impressed by that."

  "Well it doesn't take much to entertain the circus bear."

  "True. Any thoughts on why he chose Bears?"

  "Nope. Closest, furthest, liked the name, didn't like the other names, it was a Tuesday. You know, to each his own."

  "Right. Right."

  "Anything else?"

  "Vehicle?"

  "First meet a green POS pickup with a red right fender. Second, a white panel van, straight from the dealer clean."

  "What do I owe you?"

  "A visit. Fishing if you have the time."

  "My markers are piling up but I'm good for it."

  "You? Markers? As in p
lural? Must be something terribly important."

  "I've said too much. Thanks for the info."

  "Anytime. Be safe. Remember, bears."

  "Right - in tanks with Kevlar underwear."

  Work is lonely only to the man who knows no song.

  Bo spent the day checking locations southeast of the city. He found no white panel van, yellow custom van, or two-tone pickup. He considered driving out to the Fox River property owned by Walter Freeman III but decided he was too tired to make it there and back. He headed home.

  When he arrived, there was a silver car parked in front of the house. He pulled to a stop on the opposite side of the street. Bo worked his way up the driveway to the side door. Peeking through the curtain the house was dark.

  He slipped through the gate. From the backyard, he could see a glow coming from the spare bedroom. It flickered like a television. There was no reason for it to be on.

  Bo pulled his .45 and entered through the back door. He worked through the dark to the hallway. Two steps in, the bedroom door opened and a tall, thin shadow bounced out. Bo pointed the gun and flipped on the light. A woman in light pink panties screamed like a horror queen. She gathered a head of steam then turned and darted into the bedroom.

  "Bo," Gunner said from within the room.

  Bo sighed and holstered his gun.

  "Don't shoot me, I'm coming out." Gunner stepped into the hallway, the woman glued to his back.

  "What are you doing in my house?"

  "I uh," Gunner stammered.

  "His house? His house!" The leggy blonde pushed Gunner away and slapped at his back. She pulled alongside. One arm found her hip and the other Gunner's face. "You said this was your house. You lied to me," her bare breasts bounced with the intent of her finger. "And you made me an accomplice to breaking and entering?" Her hands flew high into the air. "Oh god, I'm going to jail. I'm going to jail because of you." She punched Gunner on the arm.

  She turned her attention to Bo and stepped between the two. Both hands rested on her hips. "Mister, you have to believe me I had nothing to do with this. Please Mister you just have to." Her right hand lifted to her chest. "I'm innocent," she said. "You know what would happen to a body like this in prison?"

  The woman looked down. Bo looked with her. It was at that moment she remembered she was only wearing panties. She shot Bo a nervous smile and turned for the bedroom. One cheek hanging out, she picked as she walked. The bedroom door slammed shut.

  "What the fuck?" Bo asked.

  Gunner shrugged. "We we're waiting for you and then, you know."

  Bo laughed it away with a shake of his head and walked to the living room. He flipped on the lights and went to the phone. He called for a cab. Bo and Gunner chatted as they sat waiting. Five minutes later a fully dressed woman peeked from the hall.

  "I'm so sorry," she said to Bo.

  "No need to apologize," Bo replied. "I think we both know who's to blame here."

  She glared at Gunner and sat on the sofa next to Bo.

  "I called a cab to run you home."

  "Thank you."

  Two long, quiet minutes passed before the doorbell rang. Bo saw her out and gave her money for the fare.

  "If I gave you my number would you call me?" she asked climbing into the backseat.

  Bo slid the door shut. She cranked the window down.

  He tapped at the door and said, "Good night."

  Inside, he put on coffee for Gunner and grabbed a R.C. Cola from the fridge. Gunner joined him in the kitchen and sat at the breakfast bar.

  "Where are we?" Bo asked.

  "You got my page last night?"

  "I did. Tony and Cubby supplied most of the shopping list."

  "You called Tony?"

  "Figured you wouldn't."

  "Right." Gunner dug in his pocket. "Here's the list from Cubby." He laid a folded sheet of paper in front of Bo then walked to the coffee pot and poured a cup.

  Bo read his way through the list. "Sensors, alarms, night vision, low-lux cameras, handheld cb radios, nothing extraordinary.

  "Keep going."

  Bo's reading became incoherent for the next five or six items he read. "Twenty pair of handcuffs," his voice returned, "leather gags, blindfolds, hearing protection, a case of duct tape."

  "Sounds like a party."

  "No doubt."

  "What'd you get from Tony?"

  "They brought their own pistols. He sold them semis, ammo and had to outsource a sniper rifle with a silencer. They bought heavy gear too, grenades, claymore, plastique."

  "Ouch. Protection or assault?"

  "Light gear assault, heavy for protection would be my guess."

  "I'd agree. Brought their own pistols?"

  "That's what Tony said."

  "If they're not local, you think they drove?"

  "If they were driving, I'd expect they would have packed everything."

  "Right. If they came commercial they would need a badge to carry."

  "You'd figure they'd travel with at least one set of fake papers."

  "More likely two or three but sure. Private charter?"

  "It’s a possibility. Then again so is hitchhiking."

  "Sure but the timing would be an unknown. With the quantity we already have, I don't see it being a shoestring operation."

  "I wish we knew the reason behind it."

  "Nothing from Prescott?"

  "Everything they've considered so far has had holes."

  "Any tips come through with the collectors?"

  "Three red herrings - no sharks. I called in the vehicle descriptions and told him to meet personally with the crew that collects near Bears Pawn."

  "When I first talked with Tony he said he provided a list of three shops. The guy picked Bears Pawn. I thought about it later and called him back for the other two." He handed Gunner a piece of paper.

  "I'll get this to them."

  "The pickup was a dead end?"

  "Cubby found it in the ad book and I spoke to the owner. She said the guy was young, athletic, and average. He paid cash and signed the bill of sale John Smith with a bogus address." Gunner poured another cup of coffee and pulled another soda for Bo.

  "Okay. How you doing on money?"

  "I've gone through some."

  "Need more?"

  "Not today. Next week or for the reward if one comes before then."

  "I'd be glad to pay it."

  "I know. I'm trying to think of every angle I can. I stopped and saw Bang-Bang again, the pawn shop is in his territory. Gave him a copy of the ad book with the truck picture. He's sharing it with his street level folks so they're chasing the reward too."

  "Give Prescott a call in the morning and give him the truck info. He can work at it from the backside and get a flyer to law enforcement. I imagine it’s dumped or burned somewhere but maybe they'll run across it."

  "Will do. You eat dinner?"

  "I grabbed something on the road but that was like three or four maybe. You hungry?"

  "Yeah." Gunner rubbed at his stomach.

  Bo pulled the wall mounted Trimline phone from its cradle. He dialed the local pizzeria and ordered a large pie, half-triple pepperoni and half pork sausage, bell pepper and onion. "Dinner's on the way."

  "Speaking of dinner, Sharon said I should remind you about the one you promised her."

  Bo smiled. "Yes."

  "She's not a redhead."

  "That she isn't."

  "So what the fuck?"

  "What? You have something against me dating your Aunt?"

  "Um. Yeah I do. I have one thing in particular against it."

  "What's that?"

  "There ain't no way in hell I'll ever call you Uncle Bo."

  Bo spit R.C. Cola across the kitchen. "I think it came out my nose." He laughed and tossed a dishtowel on the floor to mop up the mess. "It's nothing you need to worry about. She made me promise to visit for passing my message on to you."

  "She said you're a good egg."
r />   "I am. I'm a very good egg. And doesn't she still have like a six guys living with her? Walking in that house was always weird. You know the neighbors are wondering if you're moving in, adding to her male harem."

  "You think she's having sex with all them?"

  "That's your Aunt."

  "I know."

  The doorbell rang. "Oh thank goodness, something to shut you up."

  They each woofed down several slices before slowing to a crawl.

  “You need to get some sleep, you're running down," Gunner said.

  "I'll sleep when they're dead."

  You never find what you aren't looking for.

  Two needle haystacks are special and rare like double yolk eggs. It’s one of the few times where twice the reward does not require twice the effort. You need search but once and only until both needles are found. Marge, a truck crewmember hired under an EOE initiative found Bo's needles through a gabby waitress named Bonnie at the 24-1/2 Hour Diner on 119th street.

  The server bragged of her new beau, a cute young military type for whom she took messages now and again. Said he was in town doing a bit of fishing. Bonnie hoped to lure him into her bed before he left. Playing into the woman's fantasy, the garbage lady asked how often the beefcake came around.

  "Don't you be thinking of catching his eye now," the waitress warned in a playful tone.

  "No. No. Nothing like that. I spend all day working with junk. I'd love to get to see a hunk."

  The waitress laughed. "Well he comes in every morning for breakfast and to check messages."

  "Just him?"

  Bonnie surveyed the diner and leaned close. "I think he has a friend 'cause I've heard him say 'we' when talking on the phone," she whispered as if sharing a secret.

  "Oh. Maybe the friend is cute too."

  The waitress pointed at the woman. "You know he just might," she said through a big smile and bright eyes.

  Marge found the clock on the wall, "What time G.I. Joe usually comes through?"

  Bonnie glanced over her shoulder to the same clock, "About now, give or take ten minutes."

  A plump, surly man stuck his head in the doorway. "Damnit Marge I ain't got all day to wait on you. Get your butt on the truck."