wilted streets: a novella & stories

by Steve Shadow

  What was it now? I shut down my laptop and went to the door. Once again I checked the peephole and saw two guys in crew cuts. Both were wearing black suits. Man; more cops. No one but cops or Mormon hustlers wore black suits in this heat. I opened the door and they both held out leather cases with some official symbol I could not make out.

  “Who the hell are you two?” I asked.

  “ATF, Mr. Wilewski. Mind if we come in? We have a few questions for you and would like to ask them here rather than have to take you in.”

  “Hell yes, I mind. I talked to the cops. I don’t know anything else. And if it’s any of your business, and I guess it is, I do drink, I don’t smoke and I do not have any firearms. What do you want to talk to me about?”

  The taller of the two (they looked like twins, sort of like those guys running around in black suits in that dumb Keanu Reeves movie) smiled and asked once again if we could talk. I turned from the door and went and sat down.

  “OK, come on in but I have to call my lawyer before I say anything.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Wilewski. I am agent Johnson and my partner is agent Breck. We only have a few questions.”

  “Yeah, well I don’t care what you say, I’m calling my lawyer.”

  I opened my cell and punched Ridley’s number. His assistant, Linda, put me through.

  “Ridley? Yeah it’s me. Listen I got two ATF agents in my place and they say they have a few questions. What should I do? OK.....OK......OK.”

  I handed the phone to Johnson. He listened for a minute and said Thank You and closed the phone.

  “Your lawyer has a very colorful command of the English language. It would have been much easier to just help us out but he wants to be a dick so we’ll play it his way. He’ll meet us here in an hour. We’ll be back and for your sake you both better be here”

  “Hey, fellas, I was only following my lawyers orders. I’ll be here and will gladly tell you anything you want to know but what I told the cops is all I got. I don’t remember anything else. But you don’t have to go, hang out here, I’ll make some coffee. As a matter of fact you guys could help me out with some procedural questions. You must know I’m a writer and I got a screenplay I’m working on. How about I pick your brains for a awhile. I won’t mention you or use your names.”

  They looked at each other and nodded. I got up and made some coffee and we sat around my small table sipping joe and eating Oreo’s.

  Johnson, who was the shorter of the two spoke with a flat Midwestern accent and looked like the all-American poster child. Breck was slightly taller and darker and seemed much less friendly. They turned out to be good sources and seemed like nice enough guys for federal agents. Whatever questions I asked them they replied to with facts only. They never personalized anything. I did, however, get a good sense of how they sounded. The speech patterns and rhythms they used were locked in my head for future use. Learning to listen was one of the best tools for a writer.

  I was interested in their weaponry and learned that they had recently switched to carrying .40 caliber Glock 27’s. I had not been honest with them about my own cache of weapons but I felt that it was none of their business.

  CHAPTER THREE

  We were in the middle of an intense discussion of blood splatter patterns when the doorbell rang. I buzzed Ridley in. I opened the door to his knock and he strode in all business like in a suit, power tie and carrying his ever present briefcase. He looked around the kitchen.

  “Well, I’m glad you boys made yourselves at home. I am attorney Ridley Rawson and I am here to represent my client.” He turned to me. “I hope you kept your mouth shut this time.”

  “No worry, Ridley. I was just getting info from the agents for my screenplay. They have been very helpful and never once threatened to beat me with a phone book.”

  The Agents frowned at my inanity and stood up to introduce themselves and show Ridley their ID’s. We all sat down at the table. I refilled every ones cup and sat down myself.

  “Let’s cut to the chase. You, Mr. Wilewski,” said Agent Johnson, “have stumbled into to the middle of an ongoing federal investigation. We cannot say much about its nature but we are hoping that you can help us in identifying some of the individuals that were at the house where

  27 you say you lost your wallet and keys. We have read the reports of your interview with the Scottsdale detectives. While you may be completely innocent of any wrong-doing, you are now known to certain parties that may wish to do you harm. We believe that you were dumped on the street after being drugged in the hope that you would be picked up and charged with the murder of Beverly O’Hara. What I can tell you is that she was a CI, a confidential informant for us. We now believe that she was in trouble and we think that she brought you back to the house in hope of gaining an ally against the people we are after. Your lack of memory of the ensuing events leaves us at a disadvantage. I doubt that further questioning will elicit any further information considering the state of inebriation you were in but we want to ask if you would be willing to be interviewed by one of our psychiatric staff. Maybe she can aid you in recalling the people who were present last night.”

  What the hell, I thought. This was getting worse and worse. “What do you think, Ridley?”

  “Agents,” asked Ridley, “just how much danger is my client in? If he cooperates can you offer him protection?”

  Breck spoke up. “He may be in a lot of danger. So far the media have not got his name but that is just a matter of time. Reporters are relentless and the local cops can’t keep their mouths shut when it comes to publicity. We have a string of horror stories from dealing with your counties big-mouthed sheriff.”

  Ridley sat silent for a moment, deep in thought. “My client wishes to be of all the help he can but I must get some sort of guarantee for his safety. Can you get him out of town until you are sure he is in no danger?”

  Breck stood up from the table. “I have to make a phone call.” He moved to the living room while Johnson looked after him with an odd expression on his face. He got up and followed him into the next room.

  I stared at Ridley. “What the hell is this? Why am I in such danger? What ain’t you telling me Ridley?”

  “Look, Billy, the ATF would not be here unless this was something really big. If this is all just some bullshit bust then they will let it go. But if they come back and say they will protect you, then this is some serious business. Who knows, maybe this is part of Homeland Security. If it is then they can do whatever they want. Between Bush and Obama all our so-called constitutional rights got sent down the shitter. I got to admit that I am a little worried. Just sit tight and let’s see what they say.”

  I could not believe this was happening to me. It was like I landed in the middle of some gradeB crime flick from the 1940’s. Shit, all I wanted that night was some beer and a quick hook-up. My head began to pound and I started to sweat buckets. I think I was having an anxiety attack. I was having trouble breathing. Ridley saw me turning red and told me to drink some water and take a few deep breaths.

  We could hear the agents arguing in the living room. After a few minutes they came back and sat down. “Mr. Wilewski, we have been authorized to move you to a safe location pending your agreement to cooperate with our investigation.”

  I looked to Ridley with my mouth open. “Holy shit, Ridley, what have I gotten into? You gotta’ help me.”

  Ridley rubbed his hands and then pushed up his glasses onto his forehead. Whenever he did this I knew he was thinking.

  “Agents, I want you to tell me the nature of your investigation. What was the information you were hoping to get from Miss O’Hara? I have to know just what kind of trouble or danger you are putting my client in.”

  “Look counselor, we only want your client to agree to be helped by us to remember what happened last night. He is in no immediate danger unless his name gets out and by then he will be safe and under our protection.”

  “Yes, I can see how much g
ood your protection did that dead girl.”

  “That was unfortunate. She was not being tracked or monitored, so we had no idea of where or what she was doing. This is different. If we have to issue a subpoena for Mr. Wilewski then he will be known to the press. Under the Homeland Security Act we can pretty much do as we please so you had best think about your next move. Give us a chance to do our job and we can protect him.”

  I jumped up and said, “Him? Hey, fellas, I am right here. You got me totally freaked out now. Just answer Ridley’s question; what the hell are you investigating?”

  “That is classified information. The less you know the better. All you have to do is let us try and help you to remember that night and the people you saw. Yes or no?”

  Once again I turned to Ridley. “What should I do, man?”

  “You better go with them. Agents, I want you to know that I am a witness to these proceedings and if anything happens to my client, I will have your asses.”

  Ridley then whipped out his cell phone and took pictures of the agents. They stared at him in stony silence. They gave me time to pack a few things. They told me that I could not bring my laptop or cell phone. I asked Ridley to call my agent and say that the book would be delayed. I asked them how long I would be gone. They said only a day, two at the most.

  We left my place and were heading down the hallway when Annie came towards us with an arm full of groceries. “Hey Billy, where are you off to?”

  “Uh, Annie I have to go out of town for a few days. I’ll call you when I get back.”

  As we passed her I turned back and saw she had an expression of doubt on her face. I sadly waved goodbye.

  Once outside the agents hustled me into a black SUV. Ridley just stood at the curb looking as forlorn as I felt. I was now in the hands of the Feds. From all the TV and movies I had seen this was not an encouraging scenario. In the movies I had seen people who the Feds said they could protect always ended up dead or on the run from some nasty menace. Half of me was scared shitless but the other half, the writer half, was already constructing plot lines and dialogue. A writer’s mind is a strange thing. No matter how intense a situation might be, whether it’s an argument or love making, there is always a part of a writer’s mind that is hovering above and outlining the action. So I thought that I could either wind up dead or with great material for a terrific screenplay.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  We drove through the empty streets of Scottsdale to the 101 Freeway. Summer is no time to be out walking. When it gets over 110 degrees, being out side is dangerous. I felt sorry for the people, mostly the working poor, who had to stand in the heat waiting for the inefficient public transportation. We passed a construction site and I wondered how the roofers could work in the sun and heat. I remembered how I felt yesterday when I was staggering down Mc Dowell. Just staying upright was a struggle.

  The agents remained silent. “Where are we heading?” I asked.

  Breck turned around and smiled. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe. We have a place we use between here and Tucson. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”

  Sure; just relax. Was he kidding? I kept looking out the darkened windows, watching for cars tailing us. “Just what is going to happen once we get to this so called safe house? I hope this isn’t where I get shot up with sodium pentothal and sent down a worm hole to a past life. Hey, were you guys at Waco? What a circle jerk that turned out to be.”

  I guess I was more nervous than I thought. What a stupid thing to say. Agent Johnson, who was driving, looked at me in the rear view mirror with a scowl across his face.

  “Relax and don’t be an asshole. We understand that this is a stressful situation. You will be well taken care of and fully protected. I think when you see the doctor you’ll be glad you came.”

  I leaned forward in my seat. “What doctor; Mengele? I thought this was just questioning.”

  “We have to try and help you remember. The Doc is a psychiatrist; no drugs, none of the stuff you see in the movies or that you make up for your books.”

  “My books are westerns. They did not have psycho-babble back then. Of course the interrogation methods were much cruder. Bet you guys wish you had that leeway now. You feds still carry beaver tails?”

  That remark just got me more cold stares from the Bobbsy Twins so I figured I just better shut up.

  When we reached Eloy, a small farm town, we turned down a series of unpaved roads and followed them until we arrived at a little house surrounded by open land. It seemed pretty isolated but I guess it was that way so no one could sneak up without being seen. Behind the house was a large barn-like structure. Breck hit a button on the cars dashboard and a door swung open and we drove in. The door closed behind us.

  “OK William, go ahead and hop on out. This will be your home for awhile.”

  I exited the SUV and the three of us entered a tunnel that connected to the main house. It was not visible from the road so you could not see that the barn and house were attached. We entered a nicely furnished place with what seemed to be all the comforts of home. It looked like an old hunting lodge with over sized furniture and a big TV on the main floor and a narrow staircase against one wall.

  Breck walked me upstairs and showed me a bedroom that he said was mine. I walked in and felt the bed. I peeked into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. It had everything I could possibly want. I threw my case on the bed and unpacked the few clothes I had brought and put them away in a small dresser. I hung everything else in an ample closet.

  “Well William,” said Johnson. “Everything meet with your approval?”

  “Sure, I’m thrilled to be here, just call me Billy. When does the grilling begin?”

  “The Doc will be here sometime tomorrow. For tonight it’s just us guys. How about we rustle up some food and we can catch the D’backs game on the tube.”

  “Jesus, I can’t fucking wait, just a fun night hanging out with my new BFF’s.”

  Breck looked at me with that federal glare. “Hey, asshole, you think we want to spend time baby sitting a punk like you? Make the best of it and quit being a jerk. If it wasn’t for us you might be bleeding out like your little punch from the party.”

  I glared up at Breck. “Hey, fuck you, you jagoff. A girl is dead and I had nothing to do with it. You guys are the ones that put her in that position. Why the hell was she an informant for the ATF? What were you holding over her head? This is all bullshit. I told you what I know. I’m sorry I agreed to this crap. How about we just leave and I’ll take my chances alone. They got to be better than putting up with you two cardboard morons.”

  They both just grinned at me. “Sit down and shut up,” Breck said. “You are the guest of the US government now. Don’t piss us off. Are you familiar with the term “rendition”? Remember this whole thing falls under homeland security. We can do whatever we want with you now, so be a good boy or you’ll be sorry you were ever born.

  And please, do not go into a, “I got my rights” rant because you haven’t got any rights. Just calm down and do what we ask and you’ll be home before you know it. Do you comprendo, amigo?”

  I plopped on the couch. I comprendoed indeed. How did I get into this mess? I vowed to never go to Rosies Irish Pub again. The luck of the Irish sure didn’t seem to apply to me; maybe because I’m Polish.

  Johnson, much to my surprise, turned out to be a pretty good cook. He made pork chops with mashed potatoes and broccoli. Afterwards we popped some popcorn and they sat down to watch the ballgame while I tried to finish up my latest western using a legal pad of yellow paper. It was hard to concentrate. I finally gave up and watched the game with them. My nervousness began to dissipate and we actually had a pretty good time. The game went into extra innings and the D’backs actually pulled out a win. During the game Johnson kept asking questions about last night but I kept telling him I could not remember anything else. I was yawning by this time and said good night. I washed up and got into bed. I lay there listening to t
he faint sounds of the TV and despite all my misgivings nodded off to sleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next morning, after a big breakfast, Breck left to get the doctor. Johnson and I sat and stared at each other. I spent some time reading over my latest oater and making corrections. I had to do everything longhand because they would not let me bring my computer. I did not tell them that I had my smart phone hidden in my luggage; I wanted to be able to get hold of Ridley in case things went south. I had very little trust in these people.

  While I was still engrossed in writing I heard the SUV pull into the barn. I was getting nervous all over again. Who knows what quack methods these closet nazi’s had up their sleeve? I was beginning to have thoughts of killing Ridley for talking me into this. Maybe I should have just run. I could have gone to Mexico and lived on the beach. I could be knee deep in margaritas and senoritas now instead of being threatened with life in some prison. Well, it was too late now. The last thing I wanted was to be shipped to Gitmo or some hell hole in Egypt. My dick had led me down some strange paths before but nothing like this.

  I looked up as the back door that led through the tunnel opened. Breck came in followed by one of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was wearing black slacks and black shoes. She had a reddish button-down shirt and a black blazer. Her hair was black and straight. It fell to her shoulders and surrounded a flawless light coffee colored complexion. She reminded me of Halle Berry, only much more classically featured. I kicked my chair back and stood up. Both agents grinned, as if they were used to this reaction. She shone like a movie star and I think I was half hypnotized already.

  Agent Breck made the introductions. “William Wilewski, this is Dr. Roxanne Patruznick. Mr. Wilewski, Dr. Patruznick.”

  We shook hands. Her grip was firm and her skin was smooth and cool. “Please, call me Billy,” I said. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you; I think.” She ignored my equivocation.