Stagecoach Road

by Daniel Kamen

  “STOP! I’VE GOT A GUN!” the man yelled.

  Benny had nothing to lose. He hurriedly uncovered his boat and grabbed his pistol, completely forgetting he shot all three bullets.

  “SO DO I!” Benny screamed back, brandishing his weapon, directly pointing it at the man.

  “PUT YOURS DOWN, NOW!” the man demanded. “I’M A COP!”

  Benny didn’t obey. “No!” Benny said, moving closer, within talking distance--his steady hand still holding his depleted weapon. “You’ll have to shoot, and so will I.”

  The man took one step closer, gun still pointing at Benny.

  “I know who you are,” the man said, recognizing Benny after all these years. “And you know me. I’m Lieutenant Mitchell. When I read about the murders in the Miami Herald I knew it was you, Benjamin. Give yourself up.”

  Benny kept his eye on the lieutenant and refused to lower his gun.

  “I can’t do that, sir. I’m not going to jail.”

  “Give yourself up, Benjamin. It’s the only way.”

  Benny suddenly remembered his gun was empty. The only thing he could do was become a moving target. He certainly was faster than the chubby old ex-officer. So he threw his gun at Lieutenant Mitchell, hitting him on his right shoulder, then made a dash for the woods. Lieutenant Mitchell raised his gun and fired a shot, narrowly missing Benny’s head. He shot again, and again--missing each time. Then, thinking he was still a young man, the lieutenant foolishly thought he could outrun Benny and took off after him. Benny turned around and saw he was being chased. Is he kidding? Benny thought. After running only a hundred yards, Lieutenant Mitchell became winded and haphazardly fired off the rest of his rounds, each shot missing his target by a mile. He abruptly stopped and clutched his left arm and fell to the ground with a thud. He had a heart attack. Benny saw the lieutenant was on the ground and immediately rushed to his side and took his pulse. Nothing. Benny then picked up the cop’s flashlight to look at his pupils. No reaction. The lieutenant was dead.

  This is a lucky break, Benny thought, knowing he dodged more than one bullet. But everyone will be looking for him and they’re sure to find him. His rental is probably equipped with a Lojack. I’ve got to do something, fast.

  Benny dragged the dead lieutenant’s heavy body to the side of the road. He found the officer’s car keys in his right front pants pocket and opened up the passenger’s side, then, with great will, stuffed the fat cop onto the front passenger seat. He went back to the woods and retrieved the officer’s gun. Benny looked back towards the trees, making sure his own car was still out of sight. He drove down Stagecoach Road, passed the houses, and turned right onto County Line Road, driving exactly one mile towards the lake. He got out of the car and shoved the blue corpse over to the driver’s side, having the presence of mind to place Lieutenant Mitchell’s foot on the gas pedal and the gun in his jacket holster. Benny put the car in park, but kept it running. He carefully examined the interior, making sure no personal effects were left behind. Satisfied the coast was clear, Benny ducked into the woods and jogged back to Stagecoach Road where he retrieved his own gun, placed it in his trunk and drove home--to Marsha. He pressed ‘play’ on his tape deck. Buffy, Jody and Mr. French were in rare form.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Tuesday morning, 6:00 a.m., May 26th, 1992. Benny woke up after three hours of broken sleep. Marsha woke up at 6:02 a.m. Benny took a shower before he went to bed, but his face was still swollen from Gerald’s punches. Marsha sat up in bed and saw that Benny was already awake.

  “You were out late last night,” Marsha said. “I woke up when you turned on the shower--it was way past two.”

  Benny didn’t respond. Marsha wiped the sleep from her eyes and took a better look at her husband.

  “What happened to your face?” Marsha shrieked. “Were you in an accident?”

  Benny got up to dress for the office.

  “It’s over, Marsha. It’s over,” Benny stated while buttoning his shirt.

  Marsha stood up and put on her robe. She walked over to the dresser to get her hairbrush.

  “What’s over? What are you talking about?”

  Benny reached for a pair of slacks and a pair of socks. He put them on then walked into the bathroom to collect a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a disposable razor. Marsha followed close behind.

  “I said, what’s over? You’re not answering me.”

  Benny put on his new loafers and grabbed the first tie he saw, then reached for the only tie clip he owned which was sitting on top of his bureau. He headed downstairs--his wife at his tail. Benny stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned towards his straying wife.

  “I know about Tommy,” Benny said matter-of-factly. “Let me be very clear about this: I know about you and Tommy. Don’t ask me how I found out. I’ll never tell. I just know. And don’t deny it. I’m seeing a lawyer later on today.”

  Marsha dropped her brush to the ground and started to cry. Then she started balling.

  “What did you expect me to do? Huh? Huh? Tommy was there for me when we were having a hard time. I’ll bet you had your share of sluts--the way you used to stay out all night sometimes. What about that? Huh? Huh?”

  Benny put on his jacket and pulled out his car keys.

  “No, I haven’t,” Benny said. “I may have stayed out late a lot but I never cheated on you, ever, with anyone. I’ll take a polygraph anytime.”

  Benny opened the front door of his large suburban house and looked back at Marsha who was still searching for words but couldn’t find any.

  “Get the kids ready for school,” Benny said. “I’ll call you when I find a place to stay.”

  And with that, Benny got in his car. He was immediately overcome with a feeling of relief. He didn’t have any more explaining to do. He could just come and go as he pleased. The subtle truth was he did his family a favor. He no longer trusted his emotions and didn’t know the limits of his anger. He knew he could never hurt his family. But was he sure? It was best he put them out of harm’s way. He also didn’t want to involve his family if things didn’t go his way--like getting caught. He thought about that. He thought about that a lot.

  Benny headed towards his office, but his first patient wasn’t until 8:00 a.m. He had some time to kill so he stopped to have breakfast at Denny’s which was about three miles from his clinic. He parked near the entrance and saw the place was packed, but decided to go in anyway, not being in a hurry. He took a seat at the counter.

  “Coffee?” the cheery young waitress asked as she raised the restaurant style coffee pot.

  “Yes, please,” Benny said while reaching for the discarded Post Tribune left by the previous customer. The headline wasn’t a surprise. “RETIRED TOP COP FOUND DEAD IN HIS CAR.” A large, grainy picture of the car was just below the headline.

  Benny put his coffee down for a minute to read the rest of the story: “Retired Gary officer, Lt. Ivan Mitchell, was found dead late last night in a 1991 Buick LeSabre on County Line Road in Miller. Police say they were on their way back to the station after arresting three youths who vandalized Nobel Elementary School, when they spotted Lt. Mitchell’s car. Police didn’t say why the retired officer was in Miller nor would they confirm reports it was related to the recent lakeside murders. Lt. Otis Jefferson of the Gary Police Department said he briefly spoke with Lt. Mitchell last week, but had no contact with him since.”

  Benny put the paper down and ordered an egg sandwich and got his coffee to go. He called Rings from the payphone outside the restaurant.

  “Hello?” Twila answered in a weak voice. She was in the kitchen making grits when the phone rang. “Who’s calling?”

  “Hi, is this Twila?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Hi Twila, it’s Sox.”

  “Who?”

  “Benny. It’s Benny. Listen, I haven’t got a lot of time. Is Rings, I mean, is Bo there?”

  “Yes, he’s here. But he’s asleep. You had him out la
te last night. I heard you guys had quite a time at the track.”

  “He told you about that?”

  “Oh yes! And what a surprise! He came home with over three thousand dollars and gave it all to me and J.J.--he’s asleep, too. Bo said you guys stayed until the last race. You must have been winning too.”

  Benny hadn’t checked the fourth race results. He didn’t know if Gerald’s Pal won or not.

  “Oh, yes,” Benny said. “I had some good fortune as well. Listen, this is rather important. Can you wake him up and get him to the phone--that is, if he’s nearby.”

  “Oh, wait,” Twila said. “His ears must have been buzz’n. He’s right here.”

  Twila handed the phone to Rings and wheeled herself out of the kitchen after turning off the stove. She knew more than she let on and wanted to give Rings some privacy.

  “Yo, Sox. Whassup?”

  “Plenty. Listen. I was followed last night by a cop I knew years ago. This was after you left. He followed me back to the tree and had a heart attack when he ran after me. He’s dead. So when you see the news today about a cop found dead in his car, that’s what happened. I’ll get into the details later, but I don’t think this had anything to do with Frank or the dogs last night, or Gerald. I think this cop was on his own. I can’t be sure, but I don’t think you were followed. Remember, you don’t know anything.”

  “Be cool, Sox. I know. I know when to keep my mouth shut. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Good. Now meet me at the bowling alley later on tonight--at 5:30 if you can. We’ve got to talk about things. People are going ask what happened to my face. I’ll say we were mugged outside the track when you walked out with your cash. By the way, who signed for you?”

  “I did,” Rings said. “And yes, I also had to pinch a loaf like I told you, so I wasn’t lying.”

  “Did you keep the tax form?”

  “Got it right here,” Rings said, patting his front pocket. “Do you think I’ll need it?”

  “I think I’ll need it,” Benny said. “Hold onto it. And don’t answer any questions from anyone you don’t know. I’ll see you later today. And oh, tell J.J. and your mother you’re going meet me again tonight. I can’t come by your shop for a while--if ever. Oh, and another thing--scrub out the inside of your suburban real good. Go over it twice, inside and out. Then put a lot of junk in the back where I was.”

  “Why the junk?”

  “Just do it, please,” Benny reiterated. “And tell J.J. I won’t be keeping you out as late tonight.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Rings agreed. “J.J.’s real happy with me--you know, after I gave him and my ma the money from last night. Oh, did you win?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t check yet. I’ll see you at Harley’s. Bye.”

  Benny bought a fresh paper from the newspaper box outside and read the rest of the story in his car. The bigger story, the one that really grabbed his attention, was on the bottom of the front page which he didn’t see earlier: “MAN REPORTED MISSING AFTER DOGS WERE KILLED.” The story went on: “Frank Stram, who lives in the 300 block of Tyler Road, said a black man in his early twenties abducted his neighbor and friend, Gerald Hill, after shooting and killing Mr. Hill’s four Pit Bulls with a tranquilizer rifle. Mr. Stram admitted he was drunk at the time and couldn’t identify the abductor’s car. Police are investigating whether or not there is any connection between the disappearance of Mr. Hill and the lakeside murders.”

  Okay, okay. Good, Benny thought to himself. That schmuck didn’t get a good look at Rings’ car. Good. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Tracey will ask a million questions about my face. And so will Carla. And so will everybody. I have to stick to the mugging story I told Rings. Everyone knows I go to the track. They’ll buy it. But if I was mugged, why didn’t I call the cops? Oh, because the guys took off before I could get a good look at them and they didn’t get the money. Good. Okay. Calm down Benny. Think clearly. Calm down. You’re going to have to be your jovial self today. Right. Don’t think about Gerald hanging on the tree. Shit--I’ve got to go back and get the camera. Shit. Okay, I’ll do that tomorrow, I hope. Oh, fuck what’s this. Shit, I forgot to leave my gun in the boat. I’ll have to keep this on me until I get to the office.

  Benny had another forty minutes to kill before his first patient. He went to Walgreens and bought some make-up to cover up the bruises on his face. He applied the make-up in a gas station’s men’s room. A couple of truckers wearing the same company logo walked in and saw Benny patting his face with the flesh colored powder.

  “Have a heavy date tonight, sweetie!” said one of the smart-ass middle-aged drivers. Benny smiled but should have kept his mouth shut.

  “I do,” Benny said. “What time should I pick you up tonight?”

  “Oh, a wise guy,” the trucker angrily said, landing a hard punch on Benny’s arm. “Don’t smart off to me!”

  Big mistake on the freight trucker’s part. Benny had enough of bullies and wasn’t going to take it anymore, from anyone, even over-the-hill bullies. He pulled his empty gun from his jacket and pointed it right at the head of the trucker who punched him--then he pulled back the hammer which made a loud creaking noise.

  “Apologize now you fucking faggot or I’ll blow your cum sucking lips off your ugly face. NOW!” Benny demanded, his thumb nervously twitching on the trigger and his mouth foaming.”

  The trucker let out a deafening fart and shit his pants.

  “Yes sir. Yes sir. I’m sorry sir. I’m sorry sir. Yes sir,” the pathetic trucker cried.

  “And you too!” Benny said to the trucker’s buddy, now pointing the gun at him.

  “I’m sorry too. It’ll never happen again. Yes sir. Yes sir.”

  Not satisfied, Benny had one more request.

  “Get on your knees and kiss your buddy’s balls,” Benny said to the trucker who punched him. “NOW!” Benny cocked the hammer back the whole way, ready to fire.

  The trucker immediately obeyed and knelt down and kissed his co-worker’s balls through his pants.

  “All right, that’s better,” Benny said. “You tell anyone--I’ll be waiting for you outside. Now git!” Spoken like the bullshit cowboy he wasn’t.

  The truckers bolted out of the bathroom like two scared jackrabbits and climbed into their rig. Benny gathered his make-up and casually walked out of the station like nothing happened. Both truckers watched as Benny got in his car. Benny saw them looking at him and took out his gun and flashed it out the window.

  “Look you faggots,” Benny shouted as he opened up the cylinder as he started to pull away, “it’s empty! Take that you fucking faggots! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!” Then Benny screeched away and drove to his office. The haulers were too mortified to follow.

  Benny arrived at his office at a quarter to nine. Tracey was already there making coffee and filling up the headrest paper bin in the adjusting rooms. He was expecting a lot of patients that day, including a few new injury cases from Steve. He hoped upon hope Carla wouldn’t show, or for that matter, anyone else annoying--including Gail, the bombshell. All he wanted to do was see his patients and meet Rings later. He also had to find an apartment--some place temporary until he was ready to buy a condo. He got out of his car and took the newspaper with him. Then he walked into his office while hiding his face, said hello to Tracey, and hung his jacket on his office chair. His make-up job wasn’t perfect.

  “Marsha just called,” Tracey loudly announced from the waiting room. “It sounded like she was really upset. Anything wrong?”

  Benny milled over the files Tracey put on his desk and made a couple of notes. Mitzie was fast asleep in the hallway.

  “Wrong?” Benny repeated. “Maybe just a little. We’re getting divorced.”

  Tracey put the coffee pot down and hurried to Benny’s office.

  “What? What? You’re getting divorced? You had a fight, right?”

  “No, we didn’t have a fight,” Benny calmly said, jotting down a few more notes in one of the injury files.
“It’s been building up for a while. It’s a rather personal matter. So let’s just say I had no choice.”

  “Oh, come on,” Tracey said. “Everything can be worked out. Look, you’ve got kids. They’re in this too, you know. What about them?”

  “Tracey, you’re wonderful. You are the best employee anyone could ever ask for. I think the world of you. But let this one alone. I’ll handle it. Is my nine o’clocker here yet?”

  Tracey backed off with the questions and picked Mitzie up from the floor, bringing the tired Beagle into her office.

  “No, not yet,” Tracey said. “But when your nine o’clocker does arrive it’s going to be Carla.”

  “Oh, shit. That’s all I need today. Of all days.”

  “Why? Rough night last night?” Tracey asked while bringing Benny a cup of coffee.

  Tracey walked into Benny’s office and saw his face.

  “What happened? What happened to your face?”

  “Oh, that,” Benny said. “I sort of got mugged at the track last night. I went with a friend who won a lot of money and some guys followed us out and tried to take it from him. We got into a fight and one of them punched me in the face a few times, then took off without any money. I’ll be all right. It’s not that bad.”

  Tracey wasn’t buying it.

  “I’ll bet this has something to do with you and Marsha getting divorced, right?”

  “Tracey!”

  “Sorry, I’ll stay out of it.”

  The front door opened and the delightful Carla came in, singing, making everyone nauseous.

  “Oh Benjamin! Benny!” Carla sang. “I’ve got something here I want to show you! Dr. Weinstein!”

  Benny got up from his office chair and went over to Tracey, cupping his mouth so Carla wouldn’t hear.

  “I hope it’s a suicide note,” Benny whispered to Tracey. “I can’t imagine what she wants to show me.”