Dawson's Web

by William Hutchison

  Hans believed him.

  “All right, give me directions to Charlies’ and a description of this guy named Randy. I’ll track him down. In the meantime, if you run into him, give him my card. Tell him I want to talk to him and ask him if he knows where Charlene is. But if you say anything about this (pointing his gun at Blondie) to the police, remember I know where you live. Next time it won’t be me at the door. It will be one of my business associates who doesn’t know how to hold his temper as I do. Do you catch my drift?”

  Blondie was shaking. “Right!”

  Hans put his gun into his coat pocket and turned to the door taking one last glance back to Blondie to punctuate he meant business before he slammed it and left.

  Blondie waited a couple of minutes until he heard the elevator ding. He locked the deadbolt, grabbed his cell phone and speed-dialed Randy, who answered on the first ring.

  Randy saw the caller id on his phone and answered. “So, Francis, you made it back from London. How was the trip and when did you get in? Did you find the key?”

  “Where are you?” Francis (Blondie) asked.

  “At Charlies’ having’ a cold one. Why don’t you come on down and join me? There are some really good lookin’ babes here.”

  “Listen. I don’t have time for that and you certainly don’t either. Get the hell out of there now. There’s a guy with a gun who’s on his way to see you. He’s looking for you to find out about some chick named Charlene. (Randy had not told Blondie/Francis about her, choosing instead to keep her for himself. Blondie was notorious for being a babe magnet. He’s already jumped a couple of Randy’s accomplices, although that wasn’t the point. The point was Randy had used Francis’s place several times before. He couldn’t afford to piss him off, lest he loses his access to Francis’s place.)

  Francis started speaking again. “He was here five minutes ago and I thought for sure he was gonna pop me with his gun. I don’t know what Charlene did to him, but he sounded seriously pissed off. So if I were you, I’d lay low.”

  “So what’s this guy look like?”

  “He’s in his mid-sixties. Salt and pepper hair. About 6 feet. Medium build. Dressed in a trench coat, which is where he keeps his gun.”

  “Thanks. I’m leaving Charlies’ now. I’ll call you back in a couple of days.”

  “Who’s this Charlene chick, Randy?” Francis pressed for an answer.

  “She’s my new business associate.”

  “You mean girlfriend?”

  “Ok. She’s my girlfriend.”

  “What happened between the guy and her? Why’s he so pissed?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. Right now, I’ve gotta get outta Dodge.” Randy hung up the phone and left Charlies’ by the back door, which opened onto an alley filled with garbage cans. It smelled like rotten cabbage. He put his ball cap on and pulled the collar up to hide his face. Just then, Hans passed by the ally but didn’t see Randy.

  “I’ll be damned. That’s him.” Randy said to himself seeing the person in the trench coat. He gave Hans twenty seconds and then ran down the alley the opposite direction onto the next cross street and hailed a cab. He knew there were plenty of his acquaintances in Charlies’ that would sell him out.

  Blondie was really the only friend he had.

  Chapter 9

  Giovanni Carlucci answered the phone on the first ring reading the caller ID. “Yeah Hans, what can I do for you.”

  “Giovanni, I need you to run a couple of names for me. I need to know the whereabouts of this person named Randy Chappelle. That’s CHAPPELLE. He lives in New York. I don’t know what he does for a living. I don’t know where he lives. But I suspect he and his girlfriend, Charlene Messenger, have something to do with photos that were taken of me. I need to find out who they are, what they do for a living, and where I can locate them. I just left a bar where I found some people that knew him, but they said he hasn’t been around for a few days. They gave me his description. I know his girlfriend is blonde and very attractive. I helped her out of a jam on the highway.”

  “What do you mean the blonde is very attractive?

  “I mean just what I said. She’s very cute. She’s probably in her early 20’s. You know. She’s the Marilyn Monroe type: big tits, beautiful face, pouty lips.” Hans sounded irritated at his minion’s interrogation. For Christ's sake, Hans paid him handsomely to take care of these issues. It wasn’t the other way around.

  “You don’t have to get hostile.”

  “I’m not hostile. I need to find these two!”

  “Do I need to do this now?” Giovanni was pressing a question he really shouldn’t be asking.

  “You’re on my payroll, Gi (Han’s short name for his minion). If this is too hard for you, I’ll call someone else. Now can you do this for me or not?” Hans was short and was evidently perturbed.

  Giovanni thought about it for a second and then replied. “Yes. I can do this for you. But…”

  Before Giovanni could state his question, Hans barked. “And that’s all you need to know, Gi. Got it?”

  Giovanni pushed the redhead that was in between his legs giving him a blowjob aside. He was sunbathing in the nude near the pool in his three-bedroom house that sat up against the mountains near Palm Springs. He had several of his girlfriends over, each one trying their best to please him. It was Red’s turn. Red was a thirty-year-old natural red head (and yes the carpets did match the drapes).

  “Look, Carlotta. I’m on the phone. We can do this later.”

  Carlotta continued performing oral sex on it him. She was working on him vigorously and wasn’t listening.

  He grabbed her by the hair and lifted her head up. The anger in his eyes told her it was time to stop. She immediately got up, smiled, and went into the Jacuzzi, but not before sticking her lower lip out and pouting. “I was only trying to do what you wanted.”

  He didn’t reply. His scowl said everything.

  He picked up the phone. “Look, Hans, I have some friends over and a massage therapist was working me over. Sorry for the interruption. Can you give me any more details of Randy and Charlene?”

  Hans knew exactly what was going down, so to speak, and restated his request.

  “Okay, so the guy’s name is Randy Chappelle. His girlfriend’s name is Charlene Messenger. That’s all I have.”

  “Okay I’ll get on it later today. I’ll call you when I have some information.” Giovanni motioned for Carlotta to come back.

  “I want you to do everything you can to find this guy immediately. Drop whatever you’re doing. It’s worth an extra $20,000 to me if I can get this thing resolved by the end of the week. That’s when the SEC is doing a follow up interview with me.”

  This perked Giovanni’s interest. Twenty grand was four times his monthly retainer. This must be important.

  “So boss, what’s the urgency?” Giovanni pressed again. He wanted to know.

  “I’m being blackmailed, Gi. It’s that simple. I met this chick on the highway a week ago. I helped her out. She invited me over for dinner. We had a bunch of drinks. And then we screwed. Somebody must have been filming it. I got some photos in the mail the other day with the demand for $100,000 ransom for the pictures. The note said if I didn’t pay they would go public.”

  Giovanni knew exactly what Hans was going through. “Look, Boss, I was blackmailed in the past. But because I take care of my own business–, you know me--- that blackmailer ended up in a shallow grave in a desert between LA and Bakersfield. That was six years ago. They still haven’t found the body. I’ve got your back.”

  “Ok. Let me know when you find them.”

  Giovanni put the phone closer to his mouth and whispered. “It won’t take long.”

  Carlotta dropped down between Giovanni’s legs as he hung up.

  It didn’t take long either.

  But finding Randy and Charlene was another matter altogether.

  Chapter 10

  Jeff Dawson showered
and changed in less than five minutes. He then drove his black Mercedes South on Pacific Coast Highway towards LAX to pick up his flight attendant wife who was coming in from a week’s long trip. As he drove, he checked the flight schedules and gate arrival information on his smartphone. Fortunately, for him, Sherry’s plane was running about 15 minutes behind schedule. She was now scheduled to arrive at 6:30 AM giving him plenty of time to get there. Traffic was light on PCH, but when Jeff hit the 90 freeway, it stopped cold. A motorcycle rider splitting lanes had collided with a Mexican gardener’s pickup. The entry to the freeway was backed up all the way to the California incline. As he passed the scene, Jeff saw the broken bits of bike strewn on the highway like yard sale leading to the rider who was face down on the pavement. It must have happened only moments earlier because the paramedics hadn’t even arrived yet.

  “Damn it. I don’t need this,” Jeff cursed under his breath while he moved forward at a snail’s pace. Once past the scene of the accident, however, traffic began moving again and he was able to get into the far right lane and merge onto the 405 and make up some time. It was now 6:15 AM. No way was he going to make the final stretch in 15 minutes. His wife could be such a bitch when he was late and this early in the morning, he was in no mood to hear it. He reached for his cell phone and voice messaged her. “Sherry. Hey honey (with hidden sarcasm), I’m on my way. There was an accident on the 90 freeway. I’ll be there in twenty-five minutes. Love you baby (sarcasm thick this time)!”

  He didn’t actually love her, but he did like the sex and the fact that she made money and wasn’t too expensive to be around made her tolerable. He also liked the fact she couldn’t have kids. He never wanted kids in the first place which is why he married her. The fact that she was a flight attendant and gone more than she was at home also had its benefits. She would be gone three to four days out of the week giving him plenty of time for his extracurricular activities, of which there were many.

  In the past six months, he had succumbed to his inner demons, which required blood on a regular basis. Each time he had sex with a younger stranger and then felt his knife sink into her throat and watch her as she struggled to breathe her last breath, it was a relief and he felt such exhilaration for a short time.

  Each knife thrust was getting back at his stepmother, Alicia.

  Jeff wasn’t a born sociopath.

  He was turned into one by his stepmother. Up until the age of six, Jeff was an ordinary child and grew up in a happy, stable environment even though his father and several babysitters were his sole care providers. After his father, Steven, married Alicia, a former beautiful stripper and part time prostitute, that changed and his demons were given a place to grow in his soul.

  This was the direct result of his stepmother both physically and mentally abusing him. Alicia was not only bi-polar but was also abused herself as a child. But instead of seeking help, she became self-delusional lying to herself she was okay although all the warning signs pointed to her being far less than that. In fact, she was borderline psychotic.

  Instead she chose to carry on the legacy of abuse she had been exposed to in her youth rather than stopping the cycle of violence. Alicia was caught in her own web, not woven by herself, but her abusive father years earlier. Now she, Steven and Jeff struggled against the strands of hatred that were spun so many years earlier.

  When Alicia married Jeff’s father, Steven Dawson, six year’s after Jeff’s mother died giving birth to Jeff, the abuse started. At first, it was just mental and verbal, but over the course of a year, it turned physical. During the first six months of their marriage, Alicia would constantly tease Jeff by making fun of him until he cried.

  She got a guilty pleasure out of seeing the youngster suffer.

  Alicia was a clever abuser.

  Early on, she would never directly abuse Jeff in front of Steven, choosing to attack Jeff only after Steven went to work at his job as an auto mechanic. Several times over the course of their first year together, Steven had to be called out from work because Jeff had had another accident.

  The first one was only ninety days after she moved in. Alicia became upset because Jeff was taking too long to get ready for school and was going to make her late for a hair appointment. To punish him, she tipped over a pot of scalding water, giving Jeff third degree burns down his left leg and in his crotch area, scarring him for life.

  The second time she hurt Jeff was when he refused to finish his breakfast, making her late again for a social engagement. As punishment for this indiscretion, she twisted his arm behind his back so hard she broke his wrist.

  The third “accident” happened when Jeff yelled at her. She became so irate at his defiance, she backhanded him so hard her wedding ring cut his lip and knocked out his first permanent tooth.

  She told Steven it was a result of Jeff “falling down the stairs.”

  No matter how much Jeff tried to tell his father that it was Alicia who was hurting him, Steven wouldn’t hear any of it. He was so infatuated with his new wife, in his eyes, she could do no wrong. He couldn’t believe someone as good in bed as she was psychotic.

  It was only after the fourth attack when Alicia actually cut Jeff’ arm with a knife that Steven began to sense something was wrong with Alicia’s stories. When Steven showed up at the Emergency room this fourth time in three months with Jeff in tow, the Doctor confronted him with the awful truth that his son was being abused.

  The ER doctor notified the police and both parents were questioned independently while Jeff was put in the custody of the Department of Child and Protective Services. Ultimately, Steven was absolved of any wrongdoing and two hours after being released, Steven physically threw Alicia out into the street and dissolved the marriage a week later.

  Immediately after that, he put Jeff into therapy to help him deal with the pain his stepmother caused him.

  But it was too late. The damage was already done.

  Jeff pulled into himself. He became seemingly autistic, refusing to speak, quietly staring off into the distance, and neither responding to his therapist’s questions nor his father’s touch. His inner demons gained strength daily and no amount of therapy could loosen their hold on his soul.

  Jeff approached United Terminal 7 and Sherry was standing there texting him. His phone had been blowing up for the past five minutes, but because of traffic; he was unable to take any of the messages. He flashed his lights at her and could see the scowl on her face. He cringed and forced a smile as he pulled over to the curb to help her get her flight bag into the backseat of the car.

  “So how was your flight, honey?” Jeff asked knowing he was going to get an earful.

  “It was fine,” Sherry snapped back curtly. “I spent a couple of days in San Francisco and I had an overnighter turnaround to Honolulu.”

  “How was Honolulu?” Jeff asked sheepishly.

  “It was okay but it rained the entire time. There really wasn’t much to do, so a few of the other attendants ended up partying at the Sheraton bar where we were staying.”

  She was lying.

  In Honolulu, she had a three-day affair with another flight attendant who pretended to be gay but was the best lay she’d had in years. He admitted pursuing her the past six months and finally when they were on the layover she succumbed to his advances. Although she tolerated Jeff, she loved being pursued by other men. It boosted her otherwise low self-esteem. Suffice it to say, she was well satisfied and not in any mood to talk about her trip to Honolulu.

  Sherry changed the subject. “How was your day or should I say how was your week?” Sherry corrected herself.

  “It was uneventful. I’m in the middle of a couple of real estate deals as you know. We have a property in the Malibu colony that is going for about $6.5 million. If it sells, then we should be sitting pretty for the next 6 to 7 months.

  “And if it doesn’t?” Sherry knew where this was leading.

  “If it doesn’t, then you had better be bidding for some more fligh
ts because we run out of money. And our mortgage payment is due in a couple of days, and I don’t have the $15,000. That’s what happens.”

  This struck Sherry sideways. “How come it always falls on me dammit?” She was tired of being a constant source of revenue for her scumbag husband. In spite of the fact he was good-looking, he wasn’t pulling his weight and it was getting very, very old. That coupled with her need to be wanted was part of the reasoning she had been with the other flight attendant. She was utterly bored with him. He could be so nice at times, but, more often than not, he wasn’t.

  He also had a roving eye and that really irked her. They could be sitting having dinner at an expensive restaurant and she would be speaking to him directly, but he would ignore her. More often than not, he would be staring at some other female across the room and doing the mental comparison all men do when playing the game “Would she be more fun to be with than my wife/girlfriend.” You get the drift. She had suspected that he had had affairs over the years, but never confronted him directly, choosing to believe his trail of lies rather than rock the boat.

  “What was that you said, honey?” Jeff was not listening again. He was staring at a young college student who was wearing a very short skirt getting her bags from the back seat of a car. If the skirt had been any shorter, he would have been able to see her navel.

  Sherry glanced over at him and then over at the girl.

  “Dammit, Jeff, can’t you get your mind out of the gutter for one minute? I’m talking to you. I’m tired of you not pulling your weight in this relationship. I know the mortgage is $15,000 a month. You know the mortgage is $15,000 a month. Now get off your ass and make some money or borrow it from your trust fund. I don’t give a damn how you do it, but I’m not paying it this month. Don’t hit me up for money again. With the airline cutbacks, I’m barely getting by and haven’t had a raise in four years. Now can you try to get your mind off that young girl’s ass and take me home? I’m exhausted.”