by Bill Bernico
“Agreed,” I said and got up from my desk to open the office door again.
Rob and Eileen came back into the office and returned to the sofa. “So,” Rob said, “will you take the job?”
“Maybe,” I said. “We need to talk about the price first.”
“Of course,” Rob said, shoving the envelope at me again. “Go ahead, count it. There’s fifteen grand there and it’s all yours if you do this for us.”
Gloria’s eyes met mine and we both tried hard not to let the glee show. I bit my lip, accepted the manila envelope and sat in my chair counting the contents. There was every bit of fifteen thousand dollars inside. I tucked the money back into the envelope, handed it to Gloria and said, “Gloria, would you make out a receipt for this retainer, please?”
Gloria took the envelope and pulled her chair around to her desk again. She made out a receipt for fifteen thousand dollars, ripped the customer copy out of the book and handed it to Rob. “There you go,” she said.
“Thank you both,” Rob said, rising again from the sofa. He pulled a tri-folded paper from his pocket and handed it to me. “That’s everything you’ll need to know about where to find Chuck. Chuck will be expecting you and hopefully between the two of you, you can put this whole matter to rest for us.”
Rob shook my hand and Eileen hugged me and Gloria. “Would you keep me in the loop?” Rob said.
I agreed I would. “I can take the morning flight out of LAX,” I said. “I can fly into Chicago and drive up from there.”
“You can actually fly to Milwaukee,” Rob said, “and save yourself a couple hours of driving. Sheboygan is just fifty miles north of Milwaukee and it’s right on the lake. You can’t miss it. Just keep Lake Michigan in you right window and you’ll be heading in the right direction.”
Rob and Eileen left the office and walked back down the hall toward the elevator. Gloria and I waited until we heard the elevator door closed before we both broke out laughing. “Who says the private investigations business doesn’t pay?” I said. “Can you handle things here by yourself for two weeks while I’m gone?”
“Sure,” Gloria said. “Mrs. Chandler can watch Matt while I’m here. You’d better call the airport and get your ticket.”
I was able to book a flight for tomorrow morning at six-fifteen that would put me into Milwaukee shortly after noon that day. It was only a four hour flight, but I’d be traveling back through two time zones as well, losing two more hours. I was up at three-thirty the next morning and drove myself to the airport. Gloria had agreed to let Mrs. Chandler drive her to LAX later that morning to pick up my surveillance van. She could bring Matt with her and let Mrs. Chandler drive her car back home.
I was tired and drained by the time I took my seat on the plane. As soon as the seatbelt light went out I leaned my seat back and tried to catch up on the sleep I’d lost earlier. We touched down in Milwaukee at twelve twenty-five. I collected my luggage and rolled it to the car rental kiosk in the terminal. They set me up with a compact car and gave me a break on a weekly rate. Shortly after one that afternoon I drove off the lot and found a hotel near the airport.
Once I had settled into the hotel, I called Gloria at the office. “Just calling to let you know I made it here in one piece,” I told her. “And to give you the phone number of the hotel in case you can’t reach me on my cell.”
“Thanks, Elliott,” Gloria said. “But won’t you be staying at a hotel in Sheboygan?”
“Yes I will,” I said, “but I’m staying here just for tonight. I’ll find another place when I get there.”
“Have you spoken with Chuck yet?” Gloria said.
“Not yet,” I said. “I just got settled here in the hotel. I thought I’d drive up there tomorrow morning, after breakfast. He should be ready to check out by the time I get there. I’ll let you know if anything develops. How’s Matt?”
“He looked for you this morning when he got out of bed,” Gloria said. “I told him you had to go on a trip and that he could talk to you later on the phone.”
“I’ll try calling after he gets out of school,” I said. “I miss you both already.”
“You just be careful,” Gloria said. “That guy you’ll be looking for has already killed one person. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill another.”
“He just thinks he killed someone,” I said. “Remember? Chuck didn’t die.”
“Yeah,” Gloria said, “but he may not know that. He might think he has nothing to lose so be careful anyway. I wouldn’t want to have to start over with a new husband and have to break him in all over again.”
“What’s to break in?” I said. “I’m just a normal, average, everyday kind of guy.”
“I just wouldn’t want to have to explain every little nuance of yours to a new guy,” Gloria said.
“Like what?” I said.
“Well,” Gloria said, “I wouldn’t want to have to explain what brep is. Sure, you and I know that it means breakfast. Or if the new guy burped, I’d always be expecting to hear him burp out the name Ralphie, like you always do. I’d probably never get to see his butt crack, the way you like to do when you drop your pants and moon me at every opportunity. See what I mean? There’d be a lot of breaking in to do, so you just be careful so I can go on enjoying your little quirks.”
“I will,” I said. “Listen, I gotta get going. I’m beat and I really didn’t get much sleep on the plane. I’m going to grab a burger and then just take it easy until tomorrow. I’ll call you from there when I find a hotel. Give Matt a hug for me.”
After breakfast the next morning I left the hotel and found the onramp to Interstate 43 North. I could see Lake Michigan on my right so I knew I was headed in the right direction. I passed by the exits for several towns along the way—Mequon, Grafton, Port Washington, Cedar Grove and some odd place called Oostburg. I knew that a lot of towns had been named after their founders and had ended in burg, but I couldn’t imagine anyone named Oost. I drove another ten miles before I saw that sign that told me that the next five exits all led to Sheboygan. I figured the first two exits had to lead to the southern fringes of this little town, so I waited for the third exit to get off the interstate.
I took the Highway 23 exit into Sheboygan and noticed that it soon became Memorial Drive. Even further in it suddenly turned into Erie Avenue and now I was lost. I kept driving east, figuring that sooner or later I’d see the lake again and get my bearings. I didn’t see any hotels along the way, but I did see a sign in the window of a large Victoria house. It advertised two rooms for rent. I figured it had to be a lot more comfortable than any hotel so I pulled up to the curb to investigate further.
The woman who answered the door reminded me of Aunt Bee from The Andy Griffith Show. She wore a full-length, frilly apron and had her hair up in a bun. She wore sensible shoes and smiled when she saw me. I told her I needed a room for perhaps two weeks, maybe less and she welcomed me in like a long-lost relative. She showed me the available room on the second floor and I told her it was perfect. I returned to the car and brought my luggage up to the room. The woman introduced herself as Flora Schneider and said that she was a widow, grateful for the company. I told her my name and said that I’d be in and out a lot, mostly out. She asked if she could expect me for dinner and I told her probably not because of my odd hours. I paid her for a week in advance and returned to my car.
By the time I’d reached Eighth Street I wasn’t even sure I was going the right way and decided to ask someone for directions. There was a park on the corner of Eighth and Erie that took up an entire block. I pulled up to the curb, rolled my passenger window down, leaned over and called to the woman walking her dog.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Could you tell me where I could find,” I looked down at my notes and then back up at the woman, “Memorial Hospital?”
The woman smiled, switched the dog leash to her left hand and turned to point with her right. “Just go up one more block to Seventh Street,” she said. “Turn left at
the corner and keep going north. The hospital is on the corner of Seventh and North Avenue. Can’t miss it.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, and rolled my window back up. I followed her directions and within five minutes found myself looking at an enormous structure that had to be the hospital, only it didn’t say Memorial Hospital above the door. It said Aurora something or other. I just figured some big conglomerate took over the original hospital and that the locals still referred to it by its original name.
I stopped at the information desk and learned that Chuck was in room 311 and was preparing for his release. I thanked the woman at the desk and rode the elevator to the third floor. I knocked on the door to room 311 and peeked inside. “Chuck?” I said, looking at the man sitting on the edge of the bed tying his shoes.
“That’s me,” Chuck said. “You must be Mr. Cooper. Rob told me you’d be coming to pick me up. Thanks, I’ve had enough of hospitals to last me a lifetime. Can we get out of here now?”
“As soon as you sign the release downstairs,” I said. “Have you eaten already?”
“Just finished,” Chuck said. “All I wanna do now is get out of here. Hell, this is a place where you go to die. I’m not ready for that just yet.”
“You came pretty close,” I said. “You’re lucky to still be among the living.”
“Don’t I know it?” Chuck said. “Speaking of which, I can’t wait to get my hands on those guys.”
“Guy,” I said. “One of ‘em’s already dead. He tried to shoot it out with the police. The police were better shots.”
“He’s dead?” Chuck said.
“As a doornail,” I said. I thought about Rob’s proposal to me and then added, “Ah, Chuck, did Rob talk to you about that twelve grand that the three of you liberated from all those pockets here in town?”
“Yes, he did,” Chuck said. “I know he wants to give it back, but I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Why’s that?” I said.
“Because then I’d have to explain how we came about it,” Chuck said. “Police tend to frown on that sort of activity. They like to put people in jail for doing that and I don’t want to spend any time in jail. It’s probably worse than spending time in the hospital.”
“Well,” I said, “you wouldn’t personally be handing the twelve grand over to the police. Rob and I talked about it and decided that we could just anonymously mail it to the police with a brief explanation of how it was obtained and hoped that they could somehow get it back to the people who’d had their pockets picked.”
“Can I at least add something in the note about having witnessed the pickpockets at work?” Chuck said. “I could say that I found the money they took and that’s why it’s being returned?”
“Then you’d have to answer all their questions,” I said. “No doubt some smart cop would take the time to do a background check on you. Do you know what they might find?”
Chuck thought about all the years he and Rob and Eileen had been in business. Surely someone must have suspected any or all of them for at least one of their heists. “You’re right,” Chuck said. “We should just do like you said.”
“How much of the twelve grand is left?” I said.
“When the police got it back to me,” Chuck explained, “there was a little less than ten grand left. I guess those punks lived it up on our dime for a while before they crossed paths with the cops. Why do you ask?”
“Because,” I said, “we don’t want to anonymously give back the exact amount they gave you. They’d put two and two together right away and come looking for you. You’ll have to either come up with some more money or give them back a little less.”
“Looks like it’ll have to be less,” Chuck said. “I don’t have any more to put into the pot.”
“Then it’ll have to be less,” I said. “Suppose you package up ninety-five hundred of the take. Just make sure you wipe off any fingerprints from the bills before you do it.”
“And the other four hundred seventy-three dollars?” Chuck said.
“You’ll need something to live on for the next two weeks while we look for that second punk,” I said. “And it would be best if we didn’t do that until we’re finished here and on our way back to California.”
“All right,” Chuck said. “What do we do with it in the meantime?”
“Give it to me,” I said. “I can put it in my room at the boarding house. No one will bother it there.”
Chuck signed the release form at the information desk and I walked him out to my rented car. “So,” he said, “where are we headed first?”
“Do you have a place to stay?” I said.
Chuck shook his head. “Not really,” he said.
“Come on,” I said. “The sign in Mrs. Schneider’s house advertised two rooms. You can stay in the other one. It’ll be handy for both of us.”
Once we got Chuck settled into his own room at Mrs. Schneider’s we got back into the car and I turned to Chuck. “Suppose we start where this whole thing happened?” I said. “Show me where the wiener festival was held and then I want to see the house where you were shot.”
“Okay,” Chuck said. “I hope I can remember. That was nearly a month ago.” He thought for a moment and then pointed west. “I think it was that way.”
I drove east on Erie Avenue, heading toward the lake. We turned south on Fourth Street and Chuck immediately recognized a familiar landmark. “Turn right here,” he said, pointing.
I turned onto a street and followed it down and around the lakeshore and to a park with a partial shipwreck sitting in plain sight. Across the street sat the local chapter of the Y.M.C.A. on Broughton Drive. The park was empty now, save for a couple of tennis courts and half a dozen cars. Several people walked along the shore, enjoying the lake breeze and warm air.
“This is it,” Chuck said. “This whole place was jammed with people. Man, we all thought we’d died and gone to heaven when we saw that many pockets.”
I followed the street to a driveway and pulled in. I parked in one of the spaces and we got out to have a look around.
Chuck pointed to the main area near the lake. “Right there,” he said. “There were thousands of people milling around and the smell of cooking hamburgers and those spicy wieners was everywhere.” He pointed to another area. “There was a big red-and-white striped tent set up right there and some loud band was playing music inside. They had concession stands and games and a ticket booth.”
“And you say this was a month ago?” I said.
“About that,” Chuck said. “Why?”
I pulled out a tourist brochure I’d found at Mrs. Schneider’s rooming house and showed it to Chuck. “According to this brochure,” I said, “it couldn’t have been Bratwurst Days. That would have happened several weeks earlier. Must have been something else.”
“Well,” Chuck said, “whatever it was, it was a festival and it was held here by the lake.”
“Lakefest,” I said, looking at the brochure again. “Must have been Lakefest.”
“Does it really matter what it was called?” Chuck said. “The main point is that this is where we picked all those pockets.
“And where was the house where you got shot?” I said. “Can you see it from here?”
Chuck scanned his surrounding and thought back to the terrible incident. He pointed to the first street south of the Y.M.C.A. “That’s the street,” Chuck said. “I remember, because it was a one-way street heading away from the lake.”
We walked across Broughton Drive and up the one-way street. Half-way up the block Chuck turned and pointed to a house that he recognized. “There,” he said. “That’s the back door.”
We made our way to the back door of a light blue house with aluminum siding. The back door had a small enclosure over it. Several bags of garbage lay about in the alley. We walked up to the door and I knocked. No one answered. I knocked again and the door swung part way open. I stuck my head into the opening.
&n
bsp; “Hello,” I said. “Anyone home?” No one answered.
From behind us I heard the voice of an old man. I turned to find the resident of the house across the alley staring at us. “No one lives there,” he said. “They left about a month ago. Never even came back for their belongings.”
I turned and walked up to the man. I extended my hand. “Elliott Cooper,” I said. “I’m looking into the shooting that happened here about that same time.”
The man shook my hand. “Bart Harris,” he said, taking my hand and pumping it twice before releasing it. “You’re a little late, aren’t you? I mean the police have been all through that house already.”
“I’m looking into another matter for the insurance company,” I said, lying. “Do you think it would be all right if I had a look inside?”
“No skin off my nose,” Harris said. “Go for it. You won’t find anything.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I still need to take a look for my report.”
Chuck and I stepped inside the hallway and closed the door behind us. We stepped up three steps that led to a kitchen. The inside of the house smelled musty, the way a place smells when it’s been unoccupied and closed up for a month. We stepped into the dining room, which was empty except for a single straight-back chair.
Chuck pointed to the floor. “Right there,” he said, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. “The bigger one shot me as I stood talking to him. And he shot me twice more after I was on the floor.”
“Well,” I said, “at least you have the satisfaction of knowing he’s dead. What about the other guy? What was he doing all this while?”
“He was scooping the cash up into a brown paper sack,” Chuck said, remembering that awful night. “And he was laughing as the big guy shot me. I’ll never forget that laugh. It was like a hyena on the prowl for a carcass.”
“At least we know who we’re looking for,” I said. “The dead guy’s name was Mel Shuffler. The police got that from the license they found on him after the shooting. His name was also on the rent receipt for this dump. It wasn’t much of a leap from there to find out the name of his partner, Paul Winston. Police found Winston’s records when they dug up Shuffler’s. Winston was listed as a known associate of Shuffler’s. He had a record for burglary, assault with a deadly weapon, robbery and grand theft auto. They even had a mug shot of him. I managed to get a copy.” I handed the three by five photo to Chuck. “Recognize him?”