Circle of Terror

by Larry Powalisz

  “Now you’re talkin’,” responded Madman. He couldn’t help but notice her great body underneath the t-shirt and blue shorts. No wonder Spike’s always so happy.

  “I’ll be right back. Gotta do a couple things in the basement.” As Spike walked down the creaky stairs, he pushed the speed dial number for his cousin in Chicago.

  “What’s up?” said a voice on the other line.

  “Good and bad news. We blew the shit out of the cop shop. Saw the news coverage at a local bar. Killed some hoser turd, injured another, along with a cop. Too bad we didn’t have all three sleepin’ in the morgue. The bad news is some uniformed pig saw us leaving just before the explosion, so we didn’t do the other station. We dumped the car and went to a corner bar to lie low. Probably had half a million cops roaming the area for us, and I couldn’t risk being in that car any longer. The bar was probably a punk idea in case any pigs walked in. I hid the two bombs we had stashed in the trunk. We’ll go back and get ’em tomorrow. Way too dangerous walking down the street with them things, and I didn’t want to leave ’em in the car. Thought about booby-trapping the car, but it was too hot to hang around.”

  “Too bad. We detonated ours at both cop stations like you said, and they were crap. Just saw the TV news. Not much damage, and only a couple pigs got minor injuries. These Windy City cops are too stupid to figure out who did it, though. I left that bogus bomb with the extortion note at the Biograph the other night. Funny as hell. Bet they shit when they saw the bomb. Twenty million bucks by five o’clock next Wednesday or Chicago will light up like the Fourth of July.”

  “Something’s wrong. Did you do it exactly like I told you?”

  “Yeah, Spike.”

  “And you placed the dummy bomb by the Biograph? Isn’t that the theatre Dillinger came out of when the feds shot him up? You’re trippin’ man. You and your love affair with that dude.”

  “The master of his time. We need to be the masters of our time. Answer me this, Spike. Why we settin’ bombs off if we’re already demanding money?”

  “A little more incentive for them bastards to pay up. Well, I gotta hit it. Talk to ya tomorrow.”

  Spike walked back up the stairs, joining Madman and Angela on separate chairs in the living room. They talked for the next hour and a half. After a couple beers and marijuana joints, Spike was done. “We’re outta here, dude. Here’s a pillow and blanket. Just chill for the night, and I’ll see ya later. We’ll have breakfast sometime, unless you’re just gonna split.”

  “Thanks, man. I’ll see how I feel.”

  “’Night, Madman. Great hooking up and sharing laughs,” Angela said. She and Spike went into the bedroom and closed the door.

  “Babe, I was going to rock your world, but not with some dude on a couch. You wrecked the mood.”

  “Sorry, but Madman needed a place.”

  “You got it.” They laid down on the bed and embraced. Within ten minutes, they were both asleep.

  Chapter 22

  RIVER HILLS NURSING HOME

  Demetrius walked down the hallway at the nursing home and peered into his elderly friend’s room. He saw George sitting in a recliner by the window, reading the local newspaper.

  “What’s shakin,’ George? How’s my favorite super senior citizen doing?”

  George lowered the paper and looked toward the door. “D! Haven’t seen you in a couple days.”

  “Been busy with school.” Demetrius sensed something. He noticed tiredness in George’s eyes and a softening in his voice. “Run any marathons lately, or have you given it up for Lent?”

  “Good one. To tell you the truth, I’ve been slowing down lately. Had a good thing going up into my late nineties, so I have no complaints. Pert near outlasted all my family and friends. My tank’s been coming up on empty. You got a couple minutes? I want to finish my story, or you may never hear how it ends.”

  “Don’t talk like that, George. I only did a four-hour shift today. You got all the time you need. Can I get you something to eat or drink before you start?”

  George held up an unopened can of Dr. Pepper and smiled. “Just finished lunch, and here’s dessert.”

  Demetrius shook his head and gently grabbed the can from George and flipped open the top. “You’re a trip, you and that Dr. Pepper.” He placed the can back in George’s slightly shaking hand.

  “Got the best doctor in town right here.” He took a sip from his drink, along with a deep breath. “Let’s see, where were we?”

  “You stopped off talking about when you guys bombed those two police stations.”

  “Oh, yeah. Milwaukee got pretty wired the next couple days after that. I told ya the city was already crawling with police officers, but it got even worse. J. Edgar Hoover musta sent half the FBI agents to track us down. It didn’t faze Idzi at all. Said he was making the ‘king of all bombs’ that would bring the city to a standstill. Think I told you about the extortion letter he typed up and left at some school, demanding over a hundred thousand dollars. You know how much money that was during Depression?” George went into a coughing jag, grabbing a white handkerchief from his left pants pocket to cover his mouth.

  “You okay? Can I get something for you?” Demetrius was very concerned and not sure what to do.

  George, waving his hand, shook his head no. “I’ve been having them occasionally.” He placed his hand on Demetrius’ knee to assure him. “The three of us got together at the clubhouse on Saturday night and had a great time. Think it was the first or second of November. We played some cards and Carrom board games for a couple hours. We used to pass the time playing Carrom games. Couldn’t find a job, so you had to do something. No video games back then.” He smiled. “I was dang good at it, too.

  Anyway, we broke up at about midnight, and Idzi said to meet him and Shrimp at the garage at six on Sunday night. Before I left, he showed me all the fuse caps and the hundred sticks of dynamite they were going to use. My eyes about popped out of my head. I went home that night and kept thinking about what he was going to blow up. Didn’t sleep very well.”

  “A hundred sticks of dynamite? Man, George, that would’ve blown up half the neighborhood!” Demetrius was on the end of his chair.

  “Exactly. The next afternoon while I was in the house listening to the radio, I heard an explosion that shook the house. I knew right away what happened. Them guys did something wrong while making that bomb and blew themselves up. My old man and I walked down the block to where it happened. The garage was gone. It had a metal roof that landed a couple blocks away. We later found out the little girl who lived in the house next to the garage was killed and a number of people injured. I remember seeing her on the porch a couple times when I went over to the clubhouse. She always said hi to me. We heard all kinds of sirens within a couple minutes and walked back to our house. There were people all over the place, trying to help out.”

  “Wow!”

  “They were still finding Idzi and Shrimp’s body parts for the next couple days after that. Within a few hours of the explosion, the cops were knocking on my door and hauled me down to headquarters. Guys we hung out with at the pool hall were also brought in. I know a couple neighbors ratted me out as far as them seeing me going to and from the garage. The only good thing about my two buddies dying was that I lied my butt off about my involvement, and no one could say differently. I admitted driving with Idzi and Shrimp a couple times in stolen cars, but denied being with them when we stole the dynamite—or anything about the explosions and robberies. No sense going to prison for the rest of my life.

  The cops couldn’t prove anything more on me. About a month later, they found stolen cars in two garages Shrimp had rented. They were cars we used for the robberies and the police station bombings. One had a couple sets of stolen license plates, a shotgun, and a couple bombs still in it. The other just had plates, best as I remember. Detectives came back and questioned me about it again, but couldn’t pin anything else on me. I’m so glad Idzi had us wearin
g black leather gloves, or my fingerprints would have been all over those cars. I’ll never forget them two detectives’ names. Even remembered how to spell them both all these years. Always promised myself I was going to go and pee on their graves. They were a couple of real hard noses. They knew I was lying, but couldn’t break me. I was scared as hell and stayed with my story. That’s why I got seven years at Green Bay Reformatory instead of seventy or a hundred years at Waupun State Prison.”

  “Now, that’s a heck of a story, George.”

  “And if you don’t believe me, jump on a computer and check out the ‘Mad Bomber’ or Idzi Rutkowski. Bet you’ll find stuff on him. Somewhere buried in all those newspaper articles in the two local newspapers is my name. The whole thing really broke my parents’ hearts. They came to see me a couple times when I was in prison, and I could see the hurt in their eyes. It took a toll on ’em. When I came back from Europe after the war, we sat down and had a long talk and put it all behind us. I promised them I was going to walk a different path instead of the foolish one I had been on. They both died in the 1970s and saw that I had stuck to my promise.” George took another sip of the soda. “You know, I never did get around to pissing on those flat foots’ graves. Guess I just tried to put it all in my past and realized they were just doing their jobs. Funny, though, I pretty much told this same story to Richie, and I could really see the anger building up inside him about cops and those detectives in particular. Kind of a weird deal.”

  “Did you tell him their names?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t think it was a big deal since it was so long ago. Come to think of it, I never saw Richie after that. Don’t know if he quit, got fired, or just didn’t want to talk to me anymore. That’s been about four or five months ago by now. I read about the bombing at the cemetery a couple weeks ago where the detective was injured, along with an explosion at the police station the other night where the fireman was killed. Seems like, what do you call that?”

  “Deja vu?”

  “Yeah, deja vu. Probably just the ramblings of an old man …”

  “Amazing stuff, George. I’m just impressed you remember all the details.”

  “Ingrained in my head, kid. Had a ton of anger built up inside when I was younger. The Depression was tough, and we didn’t have anything. Hanging around Idzi made it all come out. I hate to say it, but thank God that Idzi got killed in that explosion. He never did tell me what he was going to blow up, but it would’ve been a big one. I keep thinking city hall since the city never paid the money. We could’ve toppled a section of it, or that big, old beautiful building could’ve come down. I was definitely on a path to destruction. Going to prison for those years and then going into the military during WWII were by far the best things that ever happened to me.” George opened the drawer on the table and pulled out a small box which he opened for Demetrius to see. Inside were about ten medals and ribbons.

  “Man, where’s the uniform that goes with all that?”

  “I think the moths gorged themselves.” George chuckled at the comment. “Spent six years in the army. Funny how they waived some of my criminal issues because they needed live bodies. I was as healthy as a horse when they signed me up. I needed a big change after prison, and the army was a godsend.”

  “So what are the medals for?”

  “Believe it or not, I got two Bronze Stars for bravery, two Purple Hearts for injuries, and the rest for being in different areas of combat. Was at some great locations in Europe. Too bad it was for such a terrible reason. My wife and I went back for a couple weeks, and I showed her where we fought. Sure was a healing journey for me, and the places were even more beautiful than I remembered.” Tears rolled down George’s cheeks. “Demetrius, here’s the bottom line. I had some great times with the men I fought beside, but I had many more that weren’t. War is hell. I lost some good friends and made some great ones. Stayed in touch with a couple of ’em for years after the war. The whole experience changed my life for the better.”

  Demetrius wasn’t sure how to respond. He enjoyed George’s company and didn’t want to say the wrong thing. All he could think of was to be a good listener.

  George grabbed Demetrius’ right hand with both of his frail ones. “What I’m trying to tell you is to just keep being the fine young man I’ve come to enjoy and admire. You’re a good friend. No question, your parents raised you right, and your Mom’s obviously still doing an excellent job. I’m so sorry for you having to lose your Dad at such a young age. Don’t let ANYONE give you crap about being black or that you’ll never be worth anything. The sky’s your limit, son. Don’t ever get entangled in the stuff I did. There’s a college out there lucky enough to find this Demetrius Simms who is going to be a star student and athlete.”

  “Can’t tell you how much that means to me. Well, better get going. I have a ton of things to do by tomorrow. You be good, and thanks for the stories and your friendship. Till next time.” As Demetrius got up to leave, George began coughing heavily again. “I’ll have a nurse come and check up on you.”

  “Thanks, D,” he got out between coughs. “Remember what I told you.”

  “I’ll never forget, dude. You’re the best.” He smiled, pointing both his arms at George in a “got you” gesture.

  “Dude? I’ll give ya dude,” shaking his right fist in the air in a joking manner.

  Demetrius walked straight over to the nurse’s station. “Excuse me,” he spoke up to the nurse on duty. “I just came from George’s room, over in 126. I’ve been with him for almost an hour, and he’s had four or five coughing spells. Could you check in on him to see if he’s okay?”

  “You’re Demetrius, right? I’ll go in right now and see how he’s doing.”

  “He’s a friend of mine and sure looks tired and weak since the last time I saw him.” With that, Demetrius left and walked to his car. The brisk breezes sent a shiver through his body. As he drove out of the parking lot, he couldn’t shake the feeling he had from something George had said—the way this Richie guy acted when George told him about the detectives and how George wanted to piss on their graves. Why would Richie act like that if he had no skin in the game? What about that explosion a couple weeks ago in the cemetery? Oh, yeah—Holy Cross off Appleton Avenue. Who bombs a cemetery? And the explosion the other night at District Five where the firefighter was killed, along with the two others injured. Demetrius knew the locations of all the police stations because his dad showed him around. He had to talk it over with his mom and see what she thought.

  Chapter 23

  DOWNTOWN MILWAUKEE

  The maroon Buick pulled up and parked in front of the building. Madman glanced around and slid into the front seat as the vehicle pulled away from the curb. “What’s the scoop, Spike? You sure sounded ticked off on the phone.”

  Spike’s face turned red as he spoke. “Didn’t you see the press conference? That idiot mayor and police chief were on. They refuse to pay us the ten million, saying they won’t negotiate with terrorists. I’ll show them we’re not playing around.”

  “They didn’t think blowing up a police station was enough to encourage them? What you got in mind, man?”

  “We’re headin’ down to city hall. I’d like to shove a bomb down that mayor’s throat, but that could be tough to do.”

  A bunch of scenarios flashed through Madman’s mind, none of them being very positive. “You sure you want to just do this without a thorough plan? Not like you. Now’s not the time to be screwin’ this thing up. You know that; we gotta keep a cool head with this.”

  “I know.” He gave his friend an icy stare. “They’re gonna pay for their stupidity, though. I’ve got it figured out.” Spike parked the car in a lot several blocks away and explained his plan.

  Five minutes later, they emerged from the lot and headed downtown. “Sounds good. You have everything we need?”

  “Yeah. This’ll be a special gift for them.” Spike found a parking spot a block from Milwaukee City Hall. “G
o into the entrance on Market Street and place it where I told you to. There’s no security, so this will be a cakewalk.”

  “Famous last words.”

  “Just don’t forget how I told you to arm it. The backpack has to be stationary or it won’t set properly.”

  “Got it.”

  “You sure? If not, I’ll handle the backpack.”

  “I got it, Spike. I’ll be out in less than ten.”

  Police Officer Susan Bicker took the stairs from the mayor’s office down to the lobby. As part of Mayor Smith’s security detail, she also had the responsibility of occasionally patrolling around city hall. At the eight o’clock roll call, the bombing of the police station was mentioned, along with a description of the suspects. Bicker filed it away. She exited the staircase and casually glanced at a white male who entered the building. The navy blue backpack first alerted her, even though many people carry bags and packs of every description around the downtown area. Her eyes moved up to his bald head. She noticed a tattoo on his neck, just behind the right ear. Is that an anarchy tattoo?

  Madman had entered the double doors off Market Street and walked over to where Spike told him to place the backpack. He set it on the floor by a heat register and was in the process of unzipping the top when he heard a female voice behind him.

  “Get up slowly and keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Madman’s heart rate spiked, and he could feel the blood pulse through his body. As he stood up, he turned around and observed a uniformed female officer less than ten feet away.

  “Just getting my papers out so I can pay my tax bill.”

  “Okay. Let’s see some ID.”

  As the officer cautiously closed in on him, he made a slow motion to reach into his rear pants pocket to remove his wallet. Instead, he came back around with his right arm and landed a punch to the officer’s face, knocking her to the ground. He kicked her once to the chest and was turning around to start the bomb sequence.