R.P. Gannon - Barney, Willey and Oscar 01 - Geezer Paradise

by R. P. Gannon

  Then she asked, “May I help you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I hate to say this, but I’m a little behind on my alimony payment,” I lied. “And I was just on camera. Could you please edit my friend and myself out of the tape before it goes on the air?”

  Something was wrong, I could sense it.

  She turned and pointed to a large white box truck with the engine running. The truck had a large metal pole on its roof that soared up into the air. There was a metal disk on top of the pole. I could see a young kid in the back of the truck, pushing levers and turning knobs.

  The girl said, “That’s the live truck. This is a live broadcast. It’s already gone out,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  She wasn’t as sorry as we were. We thanked her anyway, and did a quick-step back to the fence. We jumped into the Wrangler and tore through the bushes and out to the street. At the end of the street, as we waited for the traffic light, a red Cadillac tore through the intersection. It was Stevens! He didn’t see us. We made a right turn and headed back up 19A to Tarpon Springs, and safety.

  Later that evening Willey and I watched the Six O’clock News. Sofie and Oscar were cooking in the kitchen. We sat patiently through the unimportant news, like the economy crashing, stock markets down, nuclear threats, and poisoned food products. Then the heading came on the screen: Excavation Halted at Citrus Bay Indian Site.

  “What?” Willey and I said together. “What’s going on down there? Who stopped it?” Then Willey and I came on the screen looking like a couple of deer caught in the headlights.

  As the video rolled on the anchor said: “A group of students from U of Tampa returned to the site of an Indian artifacts discovery at The Blue Orchid Mobile Home Park in Citrus Bay this morning, after being put off the site yesterday by the National Guard. Today, Professor Jonathan Crumbey said he had received permission from the mobile home park manager to conduct an excavation. The digging stopped, however, when the park manager changed her mind, and told the group they had to leave the park and leave all artifacts behind. The park manager gave no explanation as to why she changed her mind. Professor Crumbey and the students complied with the order, but the Professor said he was deeply disappointed.”

  “I guess that’s the end of that plan,” I said. “There’s nothing more we can do. It’s over.” Willey and I went out on the back deck. We watched in silence as the boats ran up and down the river. Then, as the sun was setting, Willey’s cell phone started ringing.

  Willey looked at the screen. Oh, oh … It’s Chester.” Willey said, “Yes, Chester, what’s wrong? Huh? What! We’ll be there after dark, bye”

  “Now what’s Chester’s problem?” I asked.

  “Chester’s next door neighbor, Sarah—who now owns Mildred—just gave Chester a bag full of tomatoes.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “She had to harvest her garden early because tomorrow morning a new sewer pipe is going to be installed to her house—and guess where the pipe is going to go?”

  “Oh no,” I said.

  “Oh yes,” Willey said. “It’s going right through her garden.” Yikes.

  After supper we watched TV until it got dark. Then we told Sofie we had to go see a sick friend. We left Sofie and Oscar watching television, got into the Wrangler and drove south to the park.

  “What are we going to do with Mildred after we dig her up?” I asked.

  Willey said, “I was thinking we could take her over the fence and bury her on the farm side of the fence, where she’d be safe.”

  “If we’re going to bury her on the farm side we’ll need a hatchet. That place is all overgrown with bushes. It will be full of roots.”

  “Maybe Chester will have a hatchet. We’ll find out when we get there.”

  We did the same routine of hiding the Wrangler, climbing over the fence and staying in the shadows.

  Chester was waiting for us. “I never expected anything like this to happen,” he said. “What are we going to do now?”

  I said, “We were thinking we’d take Mildred over the fence and bury her on the farm, way back in the brush. Do you have a hatchet?” Chester just stared at me.

  “To cut the roots,” I said. Chester went into his shed and came out with the two shovels and a hatchet. Willey and I each took a shovel, Chester had the hatchet. We went across the back yard to the garden. The lights were out in Sarah’s house. Early to bed again. The garden was bare, Sarah had harvested all of her veggies. We started to dig in the garden while Chester held a pen light. This time we weren’t careful about where we threw the dirt. We just piled it up in the naked garden. Soon we hit the coffin with a thunk. Willey and I got on our hands and knees and removed the dirt from around the coffin with our hands.

  Then we grabbed the lip where the coffin bottom met the lid, and pulled. The coffin came up easily and we set it down on the grass. Then we went to work filling the hole back up. When we ran out of dirt the hole still wasn’t full.

  “Chester,” Willey said. “Did you save the leftover dirt from the last time?”

  “It’s in the shed,” Chester said. “I’ll go get it.” He went off across the yard. Soon he was back carrying the tarp full of dirt. He poured it from the tarp into the hole. It leveled off nicely. Willey and I picked up the coffin, Chester followed with the shovels, the hatchet, and the empty tarp. We went off behind the houses, staying in the shadows and heading for the fence.

  A car rolled by with its headlights on just as we were crossing an open space between the houses. We were caught in the headlights. We froze until it passed.

  “I hope they didn’t see us, “Willey said.

  I said, “Just keep moving.”

  When we reached the fence we put the coffin down. Willey went over the fence first. Then Chester and I lifted the coffin and I sat my end on top of the fence. I climbed over to the other side and we eased Mildred over. Then Chester climbed over and we carried Mildred around for a while, looking for a patch of bare ground.

  “This looks like a good place,” I said, as we came to a small clearing. We put the coffin down and tried to dig, but the shovels only went a few inches deep. The roots were strong. We jumped on our shovels and they went a few inches deeper into the ground. We went on jumping and digging through the network of roots until we came to a root that was too thick to be cut with a shovel. Chester got on his hands and knees and used the hatchet.

  It was a hot night and the mosquitoes were out for blood. Soon we were covered with sweat. We kept on jumping, and digging, and chopping for a half-hour. We were only down two feet. The coffin was twelve inches deep. That would leave the coffin covered with only one foot of dirt. I figured if we went on digging for another half-hour, we would have to use the hole to bury one of us.

  “That’s enough,” Willey said. We looked at Chester, he nodded in agreement. We lowered Mildred into the hole and shoveled the dirt in as fast as we could. We were desperate to get away from the mosquitoes. We filled the hole and threw the extra dirt into the bushes. Finally we were finished. We walked Chester back to the fence and helped him over. We handed him the shovels, and the tarp, and the hatchet. Then we said goodnight and Chester thanked us for helping him. We headed slowly back to the Wrangler. We were so tired we didn’t even slap at the mosquitoes. We found the Wrangler and drove through the bushes to the road, with the headlights off. When we hit the road I turned the headlights on, and we drove off towards Sofie’s house.

  “Willey,” I said. “If you make me dig one more grave you’ll be in it.”

  “I’ll gladly throw myself in,” Willey said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  WE WERE EATING breakfast when Willey’s phone rang. “Hello,” Willey said. “Oh, hi Chester, what’s wrong now? What! Oh my God, how is she? How did it happen?” I put my fork down. I couldn’t eat another bite.

  “Will she be alright” Willie asked. I knew it was Mary he was talking about. Something had happened to Mary. I knew it was too dangerous
for her to go on TV with the Indian Burial Ground hoax.

  “What hospital is she in?” Willey asked. “Holy Family, right. Thanks for letting me know, Chester. Yes … yes. Okay, goodbye.”

  Willey’s face was ashen. I was prepared for the worst.

  “Mary was shot last night,” Willey said. “Chester said he heard a lot of gunshots about three in the morning. Then the place was flooded with police and emergency people. They took Mary out in an ambulance at full speed, sirens blaring. I was already headed for the door. Willey was right behind me.

  “Be careful driving,” Sofie said, as we rushed for the door.

  “We will,” I yelled back. As we hit the road I asked Willey, “Where’s the hospital?”

  “It’s just above Largo. I’ll give you directions when we get to Clearwater.”

  We sped down 19 South in the fast lane.

  Willey said, “Chester said Mary must have been shooting back because a couple of times he heard two gunshots at the same time. I hope she nailed the bastard good.” We drove the rest of the way in silence. Each of us lost in our own thoughts.

  We parked a few blocks away from the hospital in case Flaherty had his killers watching the place. I reached under the front seat for a ball cap I keep there in case I get caught in a downpour. “Put this on,” I said to Willey. “They’ll spot you from a mile away with that mess of hair.” To my surprise Willey put it on without complaining. I put on a pair of sunglasses. That was all we had for disguises. We drove around to the back of the hospital and slipped in through the emergency entrance. From there we made our way around to the lobby, where the receptionist gave us Mary’s room number. We looked around to see if anybody was following us, then we got onto the elevator behind an orderly pushing a laundry cart, and got off on the third floor. We soon found Mary’s room but the door was closed. I pushed it open and we walked in. A nurse sitting beside the bed put her finger to her lips to let us know to be quiet. Mary wasn’t just pale, she was white. A tube came out of her nose, and an assortment of monitors read her vital signs. Two separate intravenous drips hung from a chrome pole next to the bed. She looked to be close to death.

  “How is she?” Willey whispered to the nurse. The nurse motioned for us to come out into the hall. There she asked, “Are you relatives?”

  “She’s my cousin,” Willey said. “Will she be alright?”

  “The surgeon said she was stabilized, but the next twenty-four hours will be critical. She can’t receive visitors yet. Maybe tomorrow. We haven’t been able to notify her next of kin. Maybe you could help by giving that information to the nurse’s station at the end of the hall.”

  “Yes,” Willey said. “But you think she’s going to be alright, don’t you?”

  “I can only tell you what the surgeon told me. ‘The next twenty-four hours will be critical’. I wish I could be more positive but we just don’t know yet. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you,” I said to the nurse. You’ve been very helpful.” Then I took Willey by the arm and led him to the nurse’s station. Willey gave them all the information he had about Mary’s relatives. Then we went down in the elevator in silence. We went back out through the emergency room and walked back to the Wrangler.

  Willey looked grim. “Don’t give up yet,” I said. “Mary is tougher than she looks.” Willey was silent as we drove back to Tarpon Springs. I knew Mary had been targeted because she helped us pull the Indian Sacred Ground scam. I felt like hell. When we got back to Sofie’s we told her what had happened. She said a small prayer for Mary. Willey and I went out on the back deck and drank beer all afternoon. We ate a little dinner, and then I went right to bed and tossed and turned for hours before I fell asleep.

  The next morning Willey called the hospital and got good some good news. Mary was going to be alright. We both let out a sigh of relief.

  Willey said, “She can’t have visitors for a couple of days. Remind me to send some flowers when we get near a florist’s shop.”

  “We’ll both send flowers,” I said. I could finally relax a little. We went out on the deck and I sat in my chair. We watched the boats go by and life was almost calm again. Almost … Suddenly Snydely was there! I reached for my gun but it was in the house. Damn. He must have climbed over the railing. Snydely casually walked over and sat down in a chair opposite us.

  “Good morning gentlemen,” Snydely said. “It’s good to see you again.”

  Willey recovered from the shock sooner than I did. “You’re too late Snydely. We already turned the photos over to the cops.”

  “I’m not interested in the photos,” Snydely said. “I came here hoping we could come to an agreement.”

  “Like the kind of agreement you made with Mary?” I asked.

  Snydely shifted in his chair and looked uncomfortable. “I heard about that. I’m truly sorry for what they did to her. They’re dangerous people. Frankly, they scare the hell out of me. I’m sorry I ever got mixed up with them.”

  “Where’s your gun, Snydely? Aren’t you going to kill us?” Willey chided.

  “Please gentlemen, I know I made a mistake by working for Flaherty, but I assure you I’m not like them. I could never hurt anyone.” I breathed a sigh of relief. I had thought Willey and I were going to meet our maker.

  “Then why are you here?” I asked. “What’s this about an agreement?”

  Snydely didn’t look as threatening as he had. In fact, he looked scared. His lawyerly demeanor had faded. “It seems I’ve gotten myself into a tight spot,” he said.

  “Yeah,” Willey said. “Shooting at people can do that to you.”

  “Oh, that wasn’t me who shot at you at Ransom’s,” Snydely said.

  “Are you saying it was the Senator who shot at us?”

  “There were only the two of us in that car,” Snydely said. “And I wasn’t the one who shot at you. You figure it out for yourself.”

  “Is he crazy?” I asked.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact he is crazy. He’s so strung out on cocaine he can’t remember his own name. He’s the one who shot that spear gun at you, too. Flaherty and Stevens aren’t very stable, either. They’re both drunk most of the time, and I think Flaherty is getting paranoid. I think he suspects me of giving information to the authorities. Now I have to protect myself from these lunatics. I feel certain they’re going to kill me.”

  I said, “So what kind of an agreement do you have in mind?”

  Snydely leaned back in his chair and made a tent with his fingers. “I’m here because I want you to carry a message to the authorities. Tell them I’ll testify against Flaherty and Buckland. And I think Flaherty and Buckland had Stevens kill the Attorney General’s father—pushed him into a trash compactor and squashed him … the sick bastards.” Gulp. I kind of slid down into my chair a little.

  “That’s what really turned the heat up,” Snydely said. “Now the Attorney General is on Flaherty like white on rice.”

  “Who killed Freddy?” Willey asked.”

  “You mean the lawyer? I think Flaherty sent Stevens to do that piece of dirty work.”

  “And what do you want for testifying?” I asked.

  “In return I want them to grant me immunity. I’ll also tell them all I know about bribing Senator Buckland, and I know everything because I was the one who handed over the money. And, of course, the sooner these people are put behind bars the sooner you two can go back to trailers.”

  “Don’t call them trailers,” Willey and I said in unison. “We call them our houses.”

  “Sorry,” Snydely said. “So what do you say? Will you carry the message for me?”

  Willey looked at me. “What do you think, Barney.

  I turned to Snydely and asked, “Why should we trust you when you came to the swamp to kill us? We saw the briefcase with the gun in it.”

  Snydely said, “First, I don’t kill people, Mister McGee. And second, I came to the swamp with a briefcase with ten thousand dollars in it. I was instructed to offer you
the money for the photos you had of Buckland and myself at the restaurant.”

  I looked at Willey. He nodded. “Okay,” I said. “We’ll put the offer out there and see what they say. How do we get in touch with you?”

  Snydely took one of his business cards out of his pocket and wrote on the back of it. “This is my cell phone number. You can reach me day or night. Please don’t give that number to anyone else, except the authorities.” I figured Flaherty didn’t know Snydely’s cell phone number or Snydely would have tossed the phone by now. He handed the card to Willey and stood to leave.

  “Thank you gentlemen. I’ll wait to hear from you.” With that he turned and walked to the deck rail. He threw one leg over the rail and was about to jump to the ground, when he turned. “Do either of you gentlemen know a Jasper Jones?” he asked.

  “Willey said, “He’s my nephew, why?”

  “Flaherty’s goons found him in the swamp and learned he was related to one of you. They’re holding him, and they want to swap him for the photos.” He walked back to us, took out another card and wrote on the back of it.

  He handed the card to Willey. “Here’s the address where they have him. They only have one man guarding him, but my advice to you would be not to confront them. They’ll kill you both, and your nephew. They can’t afford to leave you walking around, you know too much. Give the police the address and let them handle it.”

  “Damn,” Willey said. “If anything happens to Jasper it will kill Edna.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said to Snydely. “How did you know we were here, anyway?”

  Snydely smiled, “When I found your Wrangler in the swamp I went to the trouble of having a transmitter installed under the passenger side—on the chassis. You’ll probably want to remove it.” So it wasn’t a bomb they planted, it was a transmitter.