The Maine Events

by Rodney Riesel

  “Sure.”

  “Key's under the mat.”

  “I got my own key.”

  “Oh yeah. See ya later.”

  Five minutes later, Allen and Donnie were cruising along US 1 in Allen's Cherokee.

  “Have you spoken with Jacob's parents?” Donnie asked.

  “I spoke with Jay this morning.”

  “How's he doing?”

  “He looked tired and defeated, but I guess he seemed pretty good under the circumstances.”

  “How about the mom?”

  “Tess was sleeping. Jay said the doctor gave her something to calm her down and help her sleep.”

  “Did you tell Jay about the guy who got shot in the head?” Donnie asked.

  Allen gave Donnie a look. “No, I didn't tell him, but why would you ask that?”

  “I don't know,” Donnie said. “It just seems like quite a coincidence. Jacob and the other boy go missing, one of them turns up dead, and now a local mobster gets killed.”

  “I don't think it is a coincidence.”

  “Yeah, I mean, when do you think the last time was that this sleepy little tourist town saw two murders in the same week?”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “So, what are you thinking? After all, you're a mystery writer—you must have a theory.”

  Allen flipped on his blinker and pulled into the parking lot of the York Elks Lodge.

  “Why are we stopping here?” Donnie asked.

  “You asked for my theory,” Allen replied. He came to a stop in the middle of the parking lot and put the Jeep in park. “Here it is.”

  Donnie turned sideways in the seat anticipating what Allen had to say. “I'm listening.”

  “The day I got to York Beach, Frankie and I walked up to Stones Throw for lunch.”

  “That's when you got into the argument with the man who's now dead.”

  “Correct—Bobby Jordan. We had our little scuffle, he went down, and the ambulance was called. The cops took a quick statement from me, the waiter—”

  “Cal?”

  “Yes, Cal.”

  “He's a cutie.”

  “Yeah,” Allen said sarcastically, “a real dreamboat. Can I finish?”

  “Yes.”

  “They also interviewed the guy who was with Jordan—Vinny Tubbs. I found out later, from Rose, that Vinny works for Bobby Jordan's brother, Benny Strong.”

  “They don't have the same last name?”

  “They're half-brothers. I asked Rose why Tubbs would be with Jordan, and he said he didn't know. Fast forward to the next day. Jordan checks himself out of the hospital and comes to my room looking for me. Now, obviously someone told Jordan who I was and where I was staying.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He was looking for something of his that he thought I might have.”

  “What was it?”

  “I found out later it was a piece of paper.”

  “What's so important about a piece of paper?”

  “Well, yesterday afternoon when I was at Jordan's office, he finally told me that a safe combination was written on the paper.”

  “Who’s safe?”

  “His brother's—Benny Strong.”

  “So, this Tubbs character must have gotten the combination for Jordan, and the two of them were going to rob the brother.”

  “That's the gist of it. Jordan had told me his brother was out of town until Saturday evening. Then when he told me about the combination, he said it didn't matter now, that it was too late to do what they'd planned.”

  “Because the brother came home Saturday, and they missed their opportunity,” Donnie surmised.

  “Only Strong didn't come home Saturday night—he came home Friday night, a day early.”

  “Okay, but what does any of this have to do with Jacob and his little friend?”

  “I'm glad you asked. Late Sunday afternoon, the same day I got into it with Jordan, I see Jacob and Oliver sitting at one of the picnic tables out front of the motel; they were looking at a piece of paper, just like the one Jordan described.”

  “You're thinking it's the same piece of paper that had the combination written on it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Paper's paper, Allen. To think it's the same piece of paper someone lost earlier in the day almost a mile away is kind of a leap.”

  “You would think, but Mya told me she saw Jacob and Oliver at Stones Throw just before she sat me. They were under the deck looking at a piece of paper. She said she chased them away.”

  “Jordan may have set the paper down and it blew over the railing.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And then what? Those boys would have no way of knowing what that paper was for.”

  “They're twelve years old,” Allen argued. “When I was twelve years old, I knew a lock combination if I saw one. Right a number, left a number, back right, and so on.”

  “But they wouldn't know what it was a combination to.”

  “Maybe they would, if they were under the deck listening to Jordan and Tubbs plan the robbery. Also, Jacob was in my room part of the time that Jordan was—he had been walking Frankie. Jordan talked about Strong. Jacob even asked who Strong was, and Jordan told him Strong was his kid brother. Jacob even heard Jordan tell me that Strong wouldn't be home until Saturday night.”

  “You think those boys broke into Strong's house Friday night to open his safe, don't you?”

  “Yes. They're not bad kids, but I think they probably egged each other on, the way boys will do, not realizing how stupid and dangerous it was. They were just out for adventure and curious to see what was in that safe. And then Strong came home early and caught them.”

  “Why didn't Strong just call the cops if he caught them? I mean, they're just kids.”

  “Bad guys like Strong and Jordan don't call the cops, they handle it themselves.”

  “By beating that poor kid to death?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I hate to say it, Allen, but it all kinda makes sense.”

  “It makes sense to me too, but I needed to hear someone else say it.”

  “So, what do we do now, go to the cops?”

  “We can't.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I think one of the cops is in Strong's pocket. He may have even killed Bobby Jordan.”

  “We gotta do something. Do you think Jacob is still alive?”

  “I don't want to believe he is, but I'm steeling myself for the worst. I keep asking myself, if both boys are dead, why was only Oliver's body at the dump site?”

  Donnie nodded. “Good point. We have to come up with a plan, Allen. That boy could still be alive, but who knows for how much longer?”

  “I know, but other than breaking into Strong's house ourselves, what else—”

  “Maybe that's what we need to do then. How many people live in the house?”

  “I think just Strong and his mother.”

  “He lives with his mother?”

  “His mother lives with him.”

  “That's so nice. A boy should always take care of his moth—”

  “Really, Donnie? The guy is a piece of crap gangster who may have killed two children.”

  “Yeah, I know, but other than that, it's nice he takes care of his mother. That's all I was saying.”

  “Strong also has at least two thugs working for him that I know of—Vinny Tubbs, and Myron Spoon.”

  “So, three against two.”

  “We may have one more—Cam Owens.”

  Donnie looked unimpressed. “You mean that old guy who was helping search for Jacob?”

  “Yeah, that's him. He and his wife decided to stick around town for a while until there's some kind of closure.”

  “What is he, like, a hundred years old?”

  “He's not as old as he looks. I think he's only in his early seventies.”

  “Only?”

  “When I first got here, I got into a little fracas with Tubbs
and Spoon and—”

  “Can't get along with anybody, can you, Allen?”

  “Shut up and listen! Cam was with me, and he took Spoon out pretty damn handily. He's a spry old dude. Plus, he has a gun.

  Donnie remained skeptical. “Oh, great. So, it'll be you, me, and Methuselah with a gun.”

  “I also have a gun.”

  “I'll be the only one without a gun?”

  “You're a goddamn karate master, for chrissakes. What would you need with a gun?”

  “Even Chuck Norris carries a gun.”

  “You think you could take Chuck Norris?”

  “No!”

  “I didn't figure you could. I think Cam said his wife has a gun. Maybe you can borrow that.”

  “A girl's gun? You want me to use a girl's gun? Why, because I'm gay?”

  “A girl's gun? What's a girl's gun? I highly doubt Mildred's pistol is pink with flowers and rhinestones.”

  “Ooh, that would be awesome if it was though.”

  “Good God, what am I getting myself into?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It was almost five o'clock Tuesday evening when Cam Owens arrived at Allen's open door. Donnie was sitting on the sofa with Frankie's head on his lap. He had a red plastic cup of white wine in his hand. The open wine bottle was sitting on the end table next to him. Allen was sitting at the table looking at Google Maps on his laptop. An open pizza box lay on the bed with three slices left. A bottle of tequila sat on the table next to the laptop. Allen picked up his tequila and ice and took a sip.

  Cam reached his arm inside the room and knocked on the open door. “Knock, knock,” he said. “Hey, no one told me it was a pizza party.”

  “Come on in, Cam,” Allen said. He pointed at Donnie. “You met Donnie the other day?”

  “Shore did,” Cam replied. “How ya doin', Donnie?”

  “Good, Cam,” Donnie replied.

  Frankie jumped off the couch and ran to greet Cam.

  “How's it goin', little fella?” Cam asked the dog, as he patted him on the side.

  Frankie rubbed up against Cam's leg and then returned to the sofa.

  Cam pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.

  “Drink?” Allen asked.

  “Shore. Whatcha got?”

  “Tequila.”

  “And?”

  “Ice.”

  “Sounds good. So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

  Allen stood and walked to the cabinet for a plastic cup. He tore the clear wrapper off the cup, added ice, and returned to the table. “Where to begin?” Allen said. He poured tequila into the cup and handed it to Cam. “We're pretty sure we think we might know where Jacob Palmer is.”

  “The words pretty sure, think, and might really stand out in that sentence,” said Cam.

  “Yeah,” Donnie agreed, “you didn't sound very confident.”

  “How pretty sure are you?” Cam asked.

  “Pretty, pretty sure,” Allen answered.

  “But not sure enough to call the cops?”

  “Can't call the cops,” said Donnie.

  “Why not?” Cam asked.

  “We think one of the cops is working for the guy who has Jacob.”

  “We?” Donnie asked.

  “I,” Allen corrected.

  “That's not good,” Cam said. “You think the boy is alive?”

  “I'm hoping so,” Allen replied. “We—I think he's being held by a local mobster in a house right down the road from here.”

  “You called me, but you can't call the cops,” said Cam. “What part do I play in this?”

  “What would you say about the three of us going to that house and checking it out for ourselves?” Allen asked. “Armed of course.”

  “I'd say you were insane,” Cam responded. He downed his entire drink in one gulp and handed the cup back to Allen. “Hit me.”

  “He has a plan,” said Donnie.

  “Yeah, everyone has a plan,” said Cam. “Until they get punched in the mouth. I think Mike Tyson said that.”

  Allen poured two shots into the cup and handed it to Cam.

  “What's the plan?” Cam asked.

  “We go in wearing ski masks and with weapons drawn,” Allen explained.

  “That's your plan?” Cam asked. “That's a horrible plan. If the boy ain't there, we're all going to prison.”

  “But if he is there, we won't get into any trouble,” said Donnie.

  “Except for maybe getting shot and killed,” Cam pointed out.

  “Look,” Allen said, “I realize none of us has ever done anything like this before, but—”

  “That's not exactly true,” said Cam. “Remember me telling you about the bed and breakfast Mildred and I stayed in the last time we came through here?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, mobsters came to that little town too.”

  “What town?” Donnie asked.

  “Dunquin Cove,” Cam replied. “Some real bad guys came after the owner, her son, and her boyfriend. There was a pretty nasty shootout. Six men lost their lives. I killed three of them myself.”

  “Holy shit,” Allen said. He looked from Cam to Donnie and back. “It's like having Rambo and Chuck Norris right here in my motel room. What could go wrong?”

  “That reminds me,” said Donnie, “can I borrow your wife's gun?”

  “How do you know my wife has a gun?” Cam asked.

  “Allen told me.”

  “Have you ever shot a gun before?” Cam asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I've shot a machine gun a few times.”

  “Where?”

  “At the county fair. Pretty good aim too, if I do say so myself. Ya see, the trick is short bursts. On several occasions, not a bit of that red star was left—won a giant panda for Evan. It was a great day. We stopped at a couple wineries on the way home. This one place overlooked—”

  “If I had my gun right now,” said Cam, “I'd shoot myself in the head.”

  “Sorry,” Donnie said. “Didn't mean to bore you with my story.”

  “That's okay,” said Cam. “Just don't let it happen again.”

  Allen laughed. “Settle down, boys,” he said.

  “Where are we going to get ski masks in the summer?” Cam asked. “And when do you want to do this?”

  “There's a million outlet stores down the road in Kittery,” Donnie answered. “One of them is sure to have ski masks.” His face lit up. “Hey, I've got a great idea! We'll all wear black spandex bodysuits.” Allen and Cam exchanged a horrified glance, then stared stupefied at Donnie. “You know,” he explained, “to go unnoticed.”

  “Unnoticed, my ass! We'll look like three giant Tootsie Rolls,” said Cam. “I ain't wearing no goddamn spandex.”

  “Me either,” said Allen. “Stupid idea, Donnie.”

  Donnie arched an eyebrow. “You're probably right,” he sighed. “Cam and I, being in tip-top shape, would look fabulous, but spandex would just emphasize your love handles, Allen.”

  “Gee, thanks. We'll just wear our everyday civvies.”

  “Okay,” said Cam. “When we gonna do this?”

  “Tomorrow night,” Allen said.

  “Why tomorrow night?”

  “Because the mobster's mother lives with him. The old lady volunteers at a nursing home a few days a week. Wednesday evening she serves ice cream. I figure it's best to go in when she's not home. Lessen the chance of collateral damage.”

  “What time's she take off?”

  “A little before six.”

  Cam sighed. “Okay, I'm in. What's the plan, man?”

  Allen referred to his laptop. “Here's an aerial view of the house,” he said, pointing at the screen. “The property is surrounded on three sides by cliffs. In the front there's a long blacktop driveway leading up to the house. We'll take Donnie's Mini Cooper; it'll be more discreet than my Jeep.”

  “Can you see the place from the street?” Cam asked.

  “Barely,” All
en replied.

  “So, that's a yes on your wife's gun?” Donnie asked.

  “Shore,” Cam said, “I'm sure we could all use a giant panda.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  At six ten Wednesday evening, Donnie made a left-hand turn, and steered his Mini Cooper along Roaring Rock Road. Allen sat in the front passenger seat, and Cam was scrunched up in the back seat—the tall man's knees almost touching his chin.

  “Why the hell would anyone make a back seat this small?” Cam complained. “I can hardly breath.”

  “Quit being such a drama queen,” Donnie said. “Evan and I have both been in that back seat, at the same time, on more than one occasion. If ya know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean, and thanks for that mental image I'll never be able to erase.”

  Donnie laughed. “So what you're saying is, right now you have the mental image of two naked men in the back seat having sex? And I thought I was queer.”

  Cam snorted. “You are, ain'tcha? As queer as a three-dollar bill.”

  Donnie shot him a fierce look in the rearview. “Listen, old man, it's okay for a gay man to refer to himself pridefully. But I don't appreciate you using the term as a slur.”

  “Don't get your panties in a bunch, Donnie. I didn't mean anything by it; that's just an old expression we used to say when I was a kid. Hell, I suspect I had some cowhands on my ranch what was knockin' boots, like in that movie, Brokeback Mountain. I've never judged a man by what coop he likes to stick his little red rooster in. Live and let live, I always say, and you'll live a lot longer.”

  Donnie grinned. “Very nicely put, Cam. But from now on, I'd think you'd do well not to use that particular expression to casually.”

  “Gotcha, pardner.”

  “If you two armchair sociologists are finished,” Allen said, when they got to Wavecrest Drive, “turn right here.”

  “These houses are fabulous,” Donnie commented.

  “Just keep your eyes on the road,” Allen said.

  Donnie drove around a bend onto Tall Oaks Drive. “I bet the scenery will be so much more beautiful in a few weeks when the autumn foliage is at peak color,” he said. “God's paintbrush setting the landscape ablaze with dollops of red and yellow and oran—”

  “Jesus H. Christ!” Cam yelled from the back seat. “Shutup with the commentary, ya damn tree hugger, and concentrate on the road!”