The Squeeze

by Paul Schueller

  “Can you blame me for wanting that?” Tommy asked.

  “Yeah, if he didn’t do it.”

  “What do you mean? I told you he made millions and screwed our business,” Tommy was yelling.

  “He made millions and you think he screwed you. Maybe you should let the police handle it,” Pat suggested.

  The previous night’s conversation kept coming back to Tommy in little pieces. Tommy knew that Pat was entitled to his opinion but thought his tone was too argumentative for the situation. However, knowing that he was going to ask Pat for help, Tommy needed to progressively soften his approach. “You suggested that last night, and you know I can’t do that.”

  “Yeah, you mentioned having some plan in your head that sounded good to you drunk. My guess is today, it doesn’t sound so good,” Pat said.

  “No, it still sounds good and it includes you! Can we talk about it tonight?” Tommy asked.

  “I’ll meet you at The Pub, but I’m not planning on liking any ideas you have.”

  “Great, so you’ll listen. See you tonight,” Tommy said. “Oh hey, before you leave, what’s up with your dog? He looks like he’s going to die.”

  “Hey, ixnay ethay ogday yingday alktay,” Pat said.

  Tommy’s mind was slowed by a hangover and struggled for a second with the Pig Latin translation, then said, “Wait, are you serious? You don’t want to talk about the dying dog in front of him?!”

  “The girls think he understands, and they don’t want to upset him.”

  “You people make me laugh.”

  “What do you mean, you people?”

  “Supportive family types. I might set your dog straight when you’re gone. Now, why don’t you get back to work so I can get back to lying around your house,” Tommy said.

  “Do me a favor and get dressed before my daughters get home from school. You look like the pervs I try to warn them about,” Pat joked.

  “Got it. I’ll go for a long walk before meeting you at a back table of the bar. Probably good for me to clear my head before I start drinking again.”

  “Sounds smart, in a way.”

  Pat stopped back home later for dinner with his family. He and Mary knew how important that hour each day was, so he texted Tommy that he would meet him after dinner. Tommy left the house early to not interfere with family time, went for that long walk he promised himself and sat down at the back tables with a pitcher of beer and two glasses. The area was elevated a half flight of steps from the rest of the bar and he could see Pat come in the front. There were about twenty people in the bar all dressed for softball. Tommy realized they were “pre-gaming,” which seemed like a crazy idea before running around trying to hit and catch a ball. Given how much he’d been drinking lately he wasn’t in a position to judge. It took about eight handshakes, back slaps, and hugs for Pat to make it through the bar.

  “Do you know everyone in this town?” Tommy asked.

  “A fair number. You think that’s strange?”

  “For me, maybe, but you look pretty damn happy and comfortable. I guess we’re just wired differently,” Tommy offered.

  “Or, part of it is accepting this is who I am and being good with it,” Pat said.

  “Well, you’re happy and I’m envious. I haven’t figured it out. Always

  thought a bunch of money would do the trick. The money didn’t last long, but long enough to know that wasn’t the answer.”

  “Hey, at least you’re out there trying, taking chances, putting yourself on the line. You’re a negative, self-loathing pain in the ass, but I know you want to be a negative, self-loathing pain in the ass who makes a difference,” Pat offered.

  “Yeah, pretty naïve, huh?” Tommy asked.

  “Hey, the longer you can hold onto naïve, thinking you can make a difference, the more likely you actually can.” The two exchanged glances for several seconds and then each smirked before Pat continued. “Pretty deep for a townie, don’t you think?”

  “Good stuff. Perfect for my pitch. So, do you want to make a difference?”

  “Dude, I already do with my family in my little world.”

  “Do you want more?” Tommy asked.

  Knowing that Tommy was just trying to lead him on, Pat simply said, “No.”

  Tommy continued, “Have you ever wanted to run your own commodities trading business?”

  “Don’t even go there! You’re barred or banned or whatever. Don’t try to use me as your mouthpiece or something. What the hell are you thinking?”

  “I need a way to draw John out. He’ll eventually figure out I’m involved, and he won’t be able to resist trying to get the best of me again.”

  “Well, so this is just about revenge?”

  “Maybe it’s more. Maybe George’s death wasn’t an accident. Maybe John had something to do with it,” Tommy offered, somewhat desperately.

  “Hold on. Now you just sound crazy and paranoid. Plus, if someone really killed George, do you want to mess with them? Do I?! Your idea is getting way worse,” Pat said.

  “There’s more bad before it gets better. I just need you to pretty much put your life on hold for at least a few months. The business needs to be in Chicago, and you’ll need two hundred thousand to really get it going.”

  “Why me? We haven’t spoken in nearly twenty years before this past week.”

  “Because there’s no one else I can trust. We drank and hung out and told each other everything in high school and college. There is no stronger bond for me. There was no pretense back then, no hiding any personal ugliness. You, Jenny, and I shared everything. Plus, you haven’t asked me if I did anything wrong. You didn’t ask. You didn’t judge.”

  “If I ask now, will you be offended and move on?” Pat asked.

  “Too late. Besides, if this works and you make ridiculous money, you can move out of this town. It’s so small. It would probably be nice to not worry about one of your kids dating their cousin or something,” Tommy deadpanned.

  “Great,” Pat responded without a hint of enthusiasm and stood up.

  “We’re going to need a lot more beer to drink this into a good idea.” Pat returned with the second pitcher of beer and a few questions for Tommy.

  “So, if I did this, and I’m not saying I am, how would we communicate?”

  “You don’t have to do anything. Just answer your phone and be observant,” Tommy said.

  “If we make money, how would we split it?” Pat asked.

  “We don’t. A dollar of yours can never become a dollar of mine. The Commodity Trading Futures Commission or the IRS would track that down in a heartbeat. This can never come back to me,” Tommy explained.

  “You should just go to the police. What if I say no? Will you just drop it?”

  “I’ll go to Jenny or ask someone else,” Tommy said.

  “You can’t do that to Jenny, and you can’t trust anyone else,” Pat said.

  “I will if you don’t help me.”

  “I might do it to protect Jenny, and you, you moron.” Pat stared at his beer. “Let me talk to Mary, and I’ll let you know by Monday morning.

  Why don't you just chill here with us for the weekend, but don't bring it up again. I need time to think.”

  The two talked for a while longer, finished their beers and walked home.

  Tommy mostly stayed out of Pat and Mary's way the rest of the weekend but decided he needed to get up with the rest of the family for breakfast on Monday morning. He glanced at Mary and knew from the look on her face that Pat was going to help him. Mary moved toward Tommy and pulled him into the hallway near the kitchen. “You hurt my husband in your little witch hunt and I will kill you. I’m sure you think I’m just talking, but if you ruin a good man, I’ll do it. I will hunt you down and kill you in your sleep.”

  Tommy got the point. “I’m just borrowing your husband for a while. I’ll return him better and richer.”

  “I don’t want him better or richer. I just want him back. He’s a far be
tter man than you.”

  “I know that and also know you could have stopped this from happening. Pat loves you more than anything in the world. Why are you letting him do this?” Tommy asked.

  “Because I love him just as much, and he really wants to do this. You got through to him at some level I don’t understand. If he doesn’t take this shot at doing something special for his family, he will always regret it. He thinks that will be harder to live with than failure. It must be some sort of testosterone or ego driven thing I don’t get.”

  “That’s good. He is doing it for himself and not for me.” Tommy was somewhat relieved.

  “Wait a minute, you don’t get off the hook that easy. Make no mistake, he is doing this for you, and for Jenny,” Mary asserted.

  “What do you mean, for Jenny?” Tommy asked.

  Mary felt sick, knowing that she meant Pat wanted Tommy to stick around to have a chance with Jenny and their son but knew that she couldn’t say that. Mary recovered quickly saying, “You know, you threatened to drag Jenny into this if Pat didn’t help, which, by the way was a heartless ploy.”

  “Yeah, that was pretty low. I guess I can be a bit manipulative,” Tommy said, stating the obvious.

  “I know that there is more to it with the three of you. High school and college bonds are a crazy thing,” Mary said. “I was dating Pat the last couple years of college but was always a bit on the outside with you guys.

  To tell you the truth I often wondered if there was something sexual there that tied the three of you together.”

  “Ew, with me and Pat? Sorry, I never thought of your husband that way.”

  Mary smiled and said “You know what I mean. Either or both of you with Jenny.”

  “I think that you would need to talk to your husband on that one,” Tommy said hesitantly.

  “Yeah, I kind of crossed a line there. I think you bring that out in people,” Mary said.

  “Probably best we move on then. Thank you so much for letting this happen.”

  “Don’t make me regret it,” Mary warned and turned away from Tommy to Pat and the kids who were now at the kitchen table.

  Pat said to Tommy, “You want some breakfast?”

  “No, thanks. I should go.”

  Pat and Tommy shook hands and stared into each other’s eyes for an awkwardly long time. Neither spoke. Tommy turned and mouthed, “I promise” to Mary and headed out the door and back to Chicago.

  17

  During a couple of recent trips through Union Station, Tommy had noticed the same guy standing in the same place staring at him as he left the station. Normally, he would not have noticed a single face among the masses pouring in and out of the station, but this guy made a point of being painfully conspicuous. The same frumpy-looking man with ill-fitting clothes stared at him from the same spot near where a street saxophonist often played.

  Tommy tried to avoid eye contact as was the habit of almost everyone on big city streets, but this guy had forced Tommy to take note. This trip, it appeared the man had run out of patience thinking Tommy would be intrigued enough to stop and talk to him. When the man saw Tommy pass again, the stranger grabbed Tommy’s elbow from behind. “You don’t remember me, do you?” the stranger said.

  “Sure. You’re the guy who stares at me half the time I come out of this station. What do you want?” Tommy said.

  “My name is Doug McClellan . . . Detective Doug McClellan. I’d like you to come with me to talk about the murder of George Shannon.”

  Tommy didn’t look or act surprised at all. He knew the timing of George’s death was suspicious, and he had just said as much to Pat recently. Maybe George found out what John had done or possibly he was in on it from the beginning. Either way it didn’t shock Tommy. “I thought it was an accident. Why do you want to talk to me?” Tommy asked, maintaining his composure.

  “ ‘Cause I think you did it. Need a lawyer? I understand if you’re not going to talk to me,” McClellan said.

  Tommy suddenly recognized him. “You son of a bitch! You were at the law office when I had my ass handed to me. You were the only poor fitting suit in a room full of suits. Wait, what the hell? George was alive then. This isn’t making any sense.”

  “I was there to make sure that you didn’t crawl out from any nonfinancial criminal activity, past or present. Got to admit, I didn’t expect a murder case to come out of it so quickly.”

  “Arrest me or go away,” Tommy said as he turned, and his head started to swell with angst and fear.

  “All right, get more attorneys involved, asshole,” Doug said. He had looked into Tommy’s past and knew the history with his dad’s business and attorneys. Doug was banking on the fact that Tommy might be pathological in his dislike of attorneys and had called that correctly.

  “You’ve got a half an hour. Then, charge me or I’ll leave.” Tommy was pretty convinced he could get more information than he gave, since he didn’t know anything. They walked to Doug’s car and then drove to the precinct in silence. When on foot, Tommy set the pace. Doug, four inches shorter and thirty pounds heavier, struggled to keep up. At the precinct entrance Tommy gave way to Doug who escorted him to a second-floor interrogation room. There were two cameras in the corners of the wall that Tommy faced; he knew it would be standard procedure to record this interaction. “What can I do for you, detective?” Tommy said.

  “Well, since you are going to tell me you don’t know anything about George dying, I’ll tell you some of what I know. First, there’s the incriminating voicemail on your work phone. You want to tell me about that?”

  Tommy’s heart revved and it felt heavy in his chest. His eyes darted about the room. He didn’t expect to be caught this off guard. He remembered that he had not finished checking messages on his work phone after getting word that John had made millions off of the company’s misfortune. What the hell was on his voicemail, he thought. “I didn’t get a voicemail,” Tommy answered.

  “The system shows that you checked your messages. You must know what I’m talking about,” Doug said.

  “I didn’t get any messages that you would care about.” Tommy was in survival mode now and never gave getting an attorney another thought.

  Doug had one thing he wanted—a truthful answer to a question that he knew the answer to. Doug knew from the McKinstry phone system that eight messages had never been checked. There was an incriminating message, but Tommy really didn’t know what it said. Doug planned to let him worry about that for a while. Tommy continued, “Wait. If you took the time and effort to get a subpoena and checked my messages, then you must be looking at John because he made forty million dollars, maybe more, off of our company tanking. That kind of money could lead to a reason to kill someone,” Tommy said.

  Now it was Doug’s turn to look confused. The phone system didn’t save the messages Tommy had deleted, including the one from Jack about RD Partners and John owning Big Mountain Traders. Tommy could see in Doug’s eyes the advantage that he now had and he continued to speak.

  “So that’s it? A phone message I didn’t listen to?”

  Doug had to give Tommy more to keep him interested. He got in Tommy’s face so much so that the booze on his breath assaulted Tommy.

  It was a nauseatingly sweet Southern Comfort kind of smell that made Tommy convulse slightly and flash back to a college party. “There was also some incriminating evidence on his body and at the ski hill in Montana,” Doug said, exaggerating at this point, just trying to see if he could get Tommy rattled or talking. It worked. Tommy assumed that there must have been a thorough investigation and autopsy.

  “Montana? He told me he was going to Colorado,” Tommy said.

  “Nope. Ended up near Whitefish, Montana,” Doug replied.

  “You mean a few miles from where John lives?” Tommy asked.

  “Of course we know that, but we discounted it. Who would go out of their way to kill someone in their own backyard, so to speak?” Doug reasoned.

  “Some
one as cunning as John, knowing you’d jump to the conclusion it wasn’t him,” Tommy said.

  “Or someone trying to frame John,” Doug shot back.

  “Hell, maybe so, but that doesn’t mean it’s me. You’ve got some work to do. You’ve been so busy assuming I did this; you haven’t even looked at shit that stinks right under your nose. So, is there more? Otherwise, I’m walking,” Tommy said.

  Doug was so convinced it was Tommy who killed George that he had hoped to coerce a confession, but now knew he had to spend more time eliminating other suspects. He watched Tommy walk past him without saying a word. Tommy saw the indecision on Doug’s face and turned around when he reached the door. “You really haven’t given even a thought to John doing this, have you? Incredible. You really fucked this up, and your boss isn’t going to like it.”

  As Tommy turned again to leave, Doug took one last shot. “You knew John lived out there. It was the perfect place for you to plan the murder.”

  Tommy laughed and said, “Yeah, maybe if you have a couple more drinks, you’ll really believe that.” And with that, Tommy stormed out.

  Doug slumped alone in a chair at the table where he thought he was going to get a big confession.

  Tommy walked north from the police station, figuring the very long walk home would help to clear his head. Was George really murdered? If he was, who could it be other than John? What evidence did McClellan have, and what the hell was on those phone messages? Tommy tried to remotely access the rest of his office phone messages from his cell phone, but the code no longer worked. He knew McClellan didn’t have any obligation to tell him more and probably wouldn’t, particularly after Tommy had embarrassed him in front of whoever was behind the cameras and glass. The hour-long walk did absolutely nothing to clear his head, but it was enough time to have missed a call from Doug.

  The voicemail message asked that he come back to the precinct again tomorrow.

  18

  Doug sat at his brown metal desk in the middle of the bustling precinct office, dejected over how his interrogation of Tommy had gone.