by Tom Schreck
As a last-ditch effort, I called my new friend back in Wisconsin. I think I had gone to that well enough, but I had nothing left to do. I remembered her extension and dialed her directly.
“Leslie, it’s Dr. Dombrowski. How are you?” I used my best too-cool doctor voice. “Hey, hon, I’m still striking out on ol’ Guns. You didn’t think of anything else, didya?” I said.
“Hi Doctor. No, I really haven’t,” she said.
“How about the doctor who Guns left to take care of, the sick guy with no family?”
“Ah, it was a long time ago now. Hang on, some of the other nurses are here today. Let me see what they know.”
She pulled away from the receiver but didn’t cup her hand over it. I heard her yell to the others if they remembered Dr. Gunner and the other doctor. There was the usual banter.
“Oh, what’s his name?” a nurse said.
“He was kind of cute,” another said.
“You think? I didn’t think so,” the first nurse said.
“Wasn’t it Dr. Richardson?” a different one said.
“No, Richardson’s in California. He’s a jerk,” another said.
“Ask Julie, she remembers everything,” the first one said.
Leslie returned to the phone.
“Hang on, Doctor, we’re going to ask the unit secretary,” she said. I heard her call to whoever was the unit secretary.
“Dottie, who was the doctor that had pancreatic cancer that was friends with that Dr. Gunner?” she said.
Dottie must’ve gotten up and joined the circle of nurses.
“Oh, yeah, what was it? It began with an A. Avalon, like Frankie Avalon,” Dottie said.
“Abadon, not Avalon,” one of the nurses said.
“Yes!” they all chimed in together.
Leslie got back on the line.
“Did you hear that, Doctor? It was ‘Abadon.’ We all remembered at once.”
“A-B-A-D-O-N?” I said. I felt a chill.
“Yep,” Leslie said. “But I don’t know where he went.”
“I think I do,” I said to myself but out loud. “Thanks,” I said, and I hung up.
That night at AJ’s, I laid it all out for Kelley. Gunner is alive and well, living in Crawford after stealing the original Abadon’s identity. Kelley wasn’t as positive as I was.
“So how does he just take the guy’s identity?” Kelley asked.
“He had the perfect cover. This guy was dying, so Gunner could quit his job on the grounds of being distraught and no one would suspect a thing. He takes him someplace, tells no one, kills him before he dies, and takes his identity. They’re about the same age and he’s privy to all of Abadon’s personal information and he just takes his identity.”
“Then why does he come to Crawford?”
“To have Howard as a patsy.”
“I don’t know, Duff.” Kelley sipped his beer. “Why would he risk it?”
“One, because he’s deranged, but there’s probably a more logical reason. He knew Howard was due to be paroled, and he knew Howard could identify him from his time in Green Haven.”
“Huh?”
“If Howard could finger Gunner as the graduate assistant with the fatal drug, then he could put him away. If Gunner wanted to pursue his drug experiments, he could choose the kids from this area as well as kids from any other area. Then, if the experiments didn’t go right, he could kill them and make it look like Howard did it.”
Kelley’s eyebrows went up and down and he looked straight ahead. After a moment he turned back around.
“Duff, it’s a little out there,” he said.
“Tell me it doesn’t make sense,” I said.
“No one’s going to buy this, you know. All you really have is a name and a missing guy,” Kelley said.
“How many Abadons you know?”
Kelley just sat and looked straight ahead.
“I’ll tell Morris and he’ll laugh,” Kelley said.
“I know,” I said.
“That means you’re not only in the private-eye business again, but you’re also going after a serial killer.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You sure you want to do this?”
“Nobody else will,” I said.
36
My first thought was to wait for Gunner to leave the clinic, whack him in the back of the head, take him to the police station, and tell my theory. On deeper reflection, I decided that would get me arrested and keep him out on the street. In order to really put Gunner away, I was going to have to have hard evidence on him. Howard had confessed and he was still the obvious suspect.
In the meantime, I had to keep an eye on Gunner so he wouldn’t kill again. I took a ride to the clinic and spied the parking lot, but there was no sign of his SUV. Then, it was over to McDonough while I sat in the idling Eldorado, listening to Elvis do his Aloha from Hawaii via Satellite. Elvis always introduced the band about three-quarters of the way through the show, and it was right about that time that I got sick of waiting and headed back over to the clinic. The eight-track kicked around to the second track for the second time, and there was still no sign of him.
I drove until I found a pay phone, which took a while because since everyone has gotten wired or whatever the appropriate geek expression is, there’s no need for public ones. The old-fashioned diner on Pearl Street, about two miles from the clinic, still had one and I went there to call Monique.
“Monique,” she said when she answered.
“Be honest, the place isn’t nearly the same, is it?” I said.
“All kidding aside, which is never the case with you, no it isn’t. You add spirit to the place,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah…”
“There you go again.”
“Hey, is Abadon in?”
“No, as a matter of fact he had to leave town kind of abruptly. We’re not sure when he’ll be back.”
“Shit…”
“Why would you care about him getting out of town? I thought you’d be happy.”
“I’ll tell you later. Thanks, ’Nique. Give the Michelin Woman a kiss for me.”
“Duff, you know she’s gunning for you. Said something about you not being able to save yourself this time.”
“Yeah, she may be right too.”
I signed off and tried not to think about getting fired. For one thing, I had enough on my mind at the moment and, for another thing, I was always just about to get fired. After a while you get used to it.
I took a ride to the Y and didn’t see Gunner’s car, so I headed out to their compound on Route 44. I kicked around the idea of why Abadon would need to abruptly take some time off. With the kind of jobs he had, clinic and high-school consultant, it would cause a lot of chaos for the staffs there to do without him on such short notice.
Something had to be up.
I left the Eldorado up the road and walked into the training camp. The sweet odor that I picked up the first time I came was more pronounced today and it wasn’t pleasant. I moved carefully down the side of the long dirt driveway because my latest revelations about Gunner/Abadon suggested he wasn’t a kind person. The fact that he constantly spewed a bunch of born-again crap just made it worse.
The pit bull was guarding the stone garden, pacing back and forth, his paws rustling the stones with each stride. Just to the left of the steel building there were three SUVs all exactly like Gunner’s. There was no sign of Mitchell or Harter, and I had no idea how they figured into this. For that matter, I didn’t really have any idea what “this” was.
I stayed about fifty feet away, fairly certain I was undetectable in the circle of brush I chose. For the longest time I just watched and waited. Then the doors opened.
Two Asian men wheeled hand trucks to the separate SUVs with Gunner, walking a few strides behind them. The Asian men were the same height and dressed almost identically, the one on the left wore pressed black slacks and a red silk T-shirt and the one on the right had the same get
up except for a purple T-shirt. They both had on wraparound sunglasses with orange lenses. They shook hands with Gunner and headed out the driveway. I ducked down to ensure I was out of their view.
Ten minutes later, Gunner came back out of the building and this time he had a skinny redheaded man whose hands were hand cuffed behind his back with him. Gunner shoved him into the back seat without a word and started the vehicle.
The man was Howard.
Gunner was in a hurry, and he blew past me on his way out. There was no way I was going to be able to get back to my car and follow him, so I decided to take a look around the compound. The pit bull first snarled, then showed his teeth, and then barked. I looked it in the eye and he ran toward me and jumped, seeming not to care that there was a fence between the two of us. It was hard to believe this animal was of the same species as Al. He continued to snarl and bark, but I think because I showed no interest in entering his area he soon lost much of his aggression. He continued to pace and keep an eye on me, but he stopped hurling himself against the fence.
The area he was guarding was a strange sort of stone garden. The Buddha statue was more than life size and had to weigh a ton. The stone benches with their ornate legs were also substantial, and the various stone dragons and tigers and whatnot were all heavy pieces of stone. These guys went to a lot of trouble to create this and it didn’t fit. I just couldn’t picture a serial killer, drug pusher, and a pair of narcissistic karate wackos spending time in deep meditation.
The only doors into the steel building were through the fenced-in area and I didn’t really want to get up close and personal with my four-legged friend, so I walked around the other side of the building. There was one window, but it had smoked glass and I couldn’t see anything through it. I began to realize that my nostrils were picking up an irritation, and I imagined that whatever it was that they were concocting in this place wasn’t good for you.
37
It was time to visit my new best friend, the Caretaker. It wasn’t like I was warming up to the guy, but so far he had dealt directly with me and hadn’t done anything underhanded. Clearly, he was motivated by self-interest and greed, but if we stripped away a lot of life’s bullshit double talk we’d probably find that there were quite a few people who fit into that group.
I headed straight for the Hill and, now that I was a semi-regular, I got my audience with the man almost as a matter of routine. The young brother with the obnoxious baggies was in, and he barely looked up from his Martin Lawrence DVD when he gave me the nod to head toward the back.
“My pugilistic acquaintance, what can I provide you with today?” the Caretaker said. Today, his sartorial ensemble included gray flannels, a pinpoint button-down white shirt, and a rep tie in blue and white, which I believe are Yale colors, no less. His black loafers had the cutest little kilt on them.
“I took a trip and found your ‘Sky Pilot,’” I said.
“Fellow of interest, no?”
“Yeah, especially now. Between me and you, he’s got Howard Rheinhart with him and I think Abadon is the man doing all the killing.”
“His evil spreading of malicious rumors is of more concern to me.” The Caretaker’s use of the passive tense made me crazy.
“I thought we could help each other out.”
“Ha. I avoid reciprocal sharing. It tends to cloud the balance sheet.”
“I’m looking to ruin Abadon and get him put away. I want the killing to stop and I want the innocent to be exonerated.”
“Noble of you.”
“Yeah, I’m swell. If I can get Abadon, you don’t have to worry about the heat from the OD’s that they’re trying to pin on you.”
He sat back and crossed his legs talk-show style, putting his fingertips together as he thought. I wondered if this asshole ever did anything that wasn’t contrived.
“And you want exactly what from me?” he said.
“Right now, information.”
“Listening…”
“Abadon was loading packages for two Asian guys today. Identical SUVs-”
“The Lees, Hun and Sun, they are brothers. They traffic in New York. ‘Distribute’ is probably a better term.”
“New York guys coming up here? Isn’t that backwards? Isn’t all the drug business in the city?”
“The Sky Pilot does wondrous things. His concoctions will make crack look like potato chips.”
“It’s that big?”
“It will be. Word is that my man of God has worked the kinks out and his new product won’t kill the user. New York is where things happen first. If he turns on the city that doesn’t sleep, the word will be out and right now he is the only man that can cook this special Sunday dinner.”
“How do you know the shit isn’t fatal anymore?”
“The Sky Pilot is a man of science, my friend. You might say his clinical trials have been completed.”
“Dead kids?”
The Caretaker half shrugged and half nodded.
“What are Mitchell and Harter in all of this?”
“Security; they are not players. The word is they enjoy the muscle formulas that the doctor fashions for them. They are quite protective of that.”
“Is Abadon a threat to you?”
“Is Toyota a threat to GM? Better yet, if Toyota could put out a better product and then restrict the raw materials from GM, that would cause GM’s stock to plummet, would it not?”
“Sure.”
“I no longer put my faith in the Sky Pilot.”
“In effect, then, if I can take him out, I would be doing you a favor.”
“It would save me the trouble.”
“Caretaker, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
“I’ve always loved Casablanca,” he said.
We spent the next hour working out the details of what we were going to do. It was a mess, mostly illegal, and, if I screwed up, deadly. Kelley wouldn’t be proud of me and what I was about to do, at least not until it was over. If everyone lived through it, he might shake his head, tell me I’m nuts, and then crack a smile.
Maybe.
Tom Schreck
TKO
38
The Caretaker pulled out of his condo complex in Londonville, not far from TC’s house, and headed out of town toward Gunner’s karate compound. In his new Saab, the Caretaker didn’t look like your average brother from the ’hood. I guess when you live in a condo in the city’s richest suburb you’re not really from the street at all.
I followed him on the twenty-minute drive out to 44 and pulled off to the side while he went down the compound’s dirt drive. I angled on foot across the open fields leading to the compound with the goal of coming up on the back side of the steel building. I didn’t count on the field being semi-marsh and that every stride would take me two inches into muck. It took me close to forty minutes to get into place, and I hoped the delay didn’t screw up the plans.
I squatted in the mud and looked in between five-foot-high cattails with my binoculars to see what was happening. The caretaker’s Saab was parked by the gate to the stone garden and the Lee brothers’ SUVs were there, parked farther up the drive. While I waited, Mitchell and Harter came down the drive to join the party, and when they got out they opened the back door and pulled out Howard. Perfect, everyone was in place.
Howard looked awful. His hair was long and a tangled mess and he hadn’t shaved in a long time, which gave him one of those really fine kinky beards that redheads get. He had a blank look on his face, and through the binoculars I could see the deep circles under his eyes. Mitchell and Harter were talking to him and laughing, but Howard’s face remained blank like he was incoherent. He began to walk with them to the weight-training area and he shuffled like he was sedated. When they got to the weight area Harter motioned for him to sit at a bench while they did their workout.
The door to the steel building opened and out came the Lee brothers, followed by the Caretaker and then Gunner, who was pu
shing a handcart. The Caretaker brought his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose to wipe his eyes and I received the signal. I pulled out Jerry Number Two’s video cam with the zoom and started filming. The Caretaker by now had started recording his conversation. The video camera worked remarkably well and I filmed as Gunner spoke to his audience, talking with his hands and smiling the whole time.
There was a pause in the conversation, and the Caretaker reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out the envelope. Gunner was smiling from ear to ear and the Lees turned and gave each other high-fives. It was Gunner’s peak experience and his shining moment of success, and now he was getting the financial reward that came at the expense of who knows how many dead kids and inmates.
The Caretaker still had the envelope and now he was speaking, prolonging the transaction and probably setting up Gunner to say the exact right words. He was doing this with no risk to his own career, as I had promised him he would not appear in the video that I was going to send to the police and that his voice would be disguised. The Caretaker was smiling and holding the envelope for Gunner when the group of them was startled by an awful metallic clanging coming from the weight-training area.
I looked up and Howard was sprinting as fast as he could toward the woods. While Mitchell was bench pressing and Harter was spotting, Howard had hurled a ten-pound dumbbell that hit Mitchell right in the nuts, causing him to drop the three-hundred-some-pound bar and plates violently on his chest. It was perfectly timed because Harter was struggling in vain to pull up the weight to keep Mitchell from suffocating. The bar tipped to one side while the plates flew off and then, like a kid’s teeter-totter, it slammed back in the other direction. There was screaming and clanging and the perfect distraction for Howard’s getaway.
It also ruined my project.
Howard, the man who was the patsy for every crime Gunner committed and a witness to every dirty deed, headed for the thick woods. The meeting with the Caretaker was abruptly closed while everyone ran after Howard into the woods. Howard had a two-hundred-yard head start and a straight forty-foot run to the dense brush while the others had to get around the rock garden and over the training area. By the time they got past the weight area there was already no sign of Howard.