by James Norton
Milt opened a closet door and showed them a small, sturdy safe. Back at the desk he pulled out a .38 Special. “That’s as safe as I got. Okay?”
He ripped a page from the notebook. Rhonda took the receipt as Bernie opened the office door. The snaggle-toothed bartender was on the other side.
From behind them Milt asked, “Yeah, Steve, what do you want?”
The skinny bartender shoved a piece of paper in their general direction. “Beer guy’s all done.”
Rhonda took the paper and relayed it to Milt. She pointed to the cartoon on Steve’s red shirt - a badger giving the finger. “Who’s Bucky?” she asked.
The skinny kid took his eyes off of Rhonda’s chest and looked at his own. “Bucky Badger, you know, University of Wisconsin Badgers.”
“Your name Bucky?”
“No.”
“You might consider changing it. Maybe you would get laid more often.”
The eyes bulged in the bartender’s thin face as he looked past Rhonda to Milt. “You think that would work?”
“Go back out front. Think it over,” the owner said. Steve shuffled away.
Outside in the late morning sun Rhonda adjusted her sunglasses over her eyes. “Is he good for this?”
Bernie opened the door of the Olds and was knocked back by the superheated air. “Milt? Sam backs him.”
She nodded. “What about the creep in the bar?”
“He pours beer and hands out pickled eggs. I don’t think he’s sharp enough to be part of Milt’s other operations.”
Bernie started the car and put the air on full blast.
Chapter 60
Nick was not happy when the rental agency gave him an American Motors Matador coupe. Today the brown and tan car blended nicely into the surrounding environment on the streets of Kenosha where the car’s manufacturer was headquartered. From their spot half a block behind the Olds, he and Stan watched the couple enter the blue-collar bar.
Rhonda’s guy was dressed in a light blue polyester pants, white belt and shoes. She looked good in her tan, hip-hugger bell-bottoms. It didn’t hurt that she was braless in a maroon tank top. Conservative for a stripper, which she was, or a star, which is what he could have made her. Well, porn star anyway. But, no more, not after what she did to him.
While he fumed to himself Nick watched the couple trot up the crumbling concrete stairs into the tavern. He turned off the AC because it was freezing him out and cracked the windows while he waited for Rhonda and her escort to return. The windshield fogged immediately. He used the front page of the local newspaper to clear a spot on the windshield.
“Hot damn, the asshole with that chick is the same guy we tangled with at the apartment,” Stan said.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Nick replied.
Stan reached for his door. “Well, let’s thump him!”
“What’d you say, thump him?”
“Yeah.”
“Relax, let’s see what’s going on.”
“Well, can we kick his ass later?”
“Sure.”
“Promise?”
Sweat collected under Nick’s mustache as the temperature inside the car rose. What a jerk. “Yes, I promise.”
Stan beat a little tattoo on the dashboard. “Hot damn.”
Nick looked out the windshield as the couple skipped down the stairs. “That was fast.”
Rhonda and the dweeb stood on either side of the Olds having a conversation. Nick wiped the windshield again. Something was different. Nick and Stan watched them drive away from the bar and turn left at the stop light.
Stan rubbed his hand on the gray T-shirt that covered his skinny chest. “Aren’t we gonna follow them?
Nick reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a small white envelope, poured a single blue pill into his palm and popped it into his mouth. “Nope.”
Stan open and closed his mouth twice. “Why the hell not?”
“Rhonda went in with a case, but didn’t come out with it. I’m gonna bet you that something in that case was in the steel box we’ve been chasing.”
They sat in silence as the heat built up in the car.
“What kinda pills are those?” Stan asked.
“Uppers.”
“How long you been awake?”
“Not long, two maybe three days.”
“Can I have one?”
“Why don’t you go in and have a beer? See what’s goin’ on.” Nick started the Matador and the AC kicked in.
Stan hesitated.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’ll need a buck to get one.”
With a sigh Nick reached into his pants pocket and game out with two singles. “Here, buy yourself some peanuts, too.”
Stan grabbed the money from Nick’s hand and ambled toward the bar. When he reached the top of the steps he hardly had time to dodge the skinny kid in a red T-shirt who came roaring out the front door with a briefcase in his hand.
Tires screamed and drivers swore as the kid dashed across the four lanes of traffic narrowly missing two cars traveling south. A car turning north clipped the kid and kept on going. Though he rolled fifteen feet, he clutched the case to his red chest.
“Third one’s the charm,” Nick mentioned to himself while doing a screeching U-turn to pull up next to the accident victim. He jumped out and attempted to yank the case out of the kid’s thin hands.
“Fuck off!” the kid said.
Nick kicked him in the head then pulled the case free. He returned to the idling Matador as Stan ran up to the passenger side.
“What about the guy?”
Nick looked out his window. “He has a concussion.”
The brown Matador rolled from side to side as Nick dodged the potholes to the next street that went back to the interstate. About half way up to Milwaukee Nick asked, “Did you look in the bar?”
“Yeah, some guy was layin’ on the floor. Baseball bat next to him. Head all bloody.” Stan pulled at his seatbelt. “What’d ya figger’s in the case?” He twisted around to eyeball it in the rear seat.
“Don’t worry about it. Nothing’s gonna change till we get back to the apartment.”
Chapter 61
In the parking lot of the only remaining building on the Menomonee River flood plain, a block from where Nana’s house used to be, Nick and Stan engaged in a short tug-o-war over the black briefcase that Nick had pried from Steve the bartender’s hands. Nick had the stronger grip while Stan had better leverage. Eventually, they walked up to the second floor apartment with the case between them.
Stan got the better of Nick when Leon answered the door in what smelled like the same shirt he’d worn for the past three days and Nick gagged. As the pair walked in, Leon cleared a place on the worn Formica top of the kitchen table. Stan grabbed a butcher knife from a drawer.
“Hold it,” Nick said. “What the hell do you think you’re going to do with that?”
“Open the case.”
“Wait a second.” Nick bent and looked at the locks. “You got something thin and strong?”
Stan reached in the drawer and came up with a nut pick. “This do?”
Nick nodded and began to work the lock, which opened easily. At least his time in jail wasn’t a total waste. He opened the top. “Hmm.”
Stan and Leon pushed in front of him.
“Jesus,” Stan said. “One, two, three … “
“Six,” Nick sighed.
“This ain’t no fortune.” Stan picked out a coin in its envelope. “Guess the old bastard you knew in Joliet was as full a shit as you are.”
Leon pulled a coin out with each sticky fist. “Doesn’t seem like enough.”
Nick raised a rusty, chrome-plated, kitchen chair and crashed it into Stan’s neck. As the younger man collapsed Leon turned around in surprise and Nick belted him in the jaw. The older guy flew back into the refrigerator and slid to the floor. He drooled on his T-shirt. Stan groaned and tried to push himself up. Nick gave him a kick in th
e head and sent him back to the floor.
“Sorry boys, but I can put these to a much better use than you can.” Nick retrieved a coin that rested next to the stove, then he plucked the two Leon held in his fists.
“You never know with rare coins, jerkoff. A little can mean a lot.” He took the case and left.
Chapter 62
Rhonda and Bernie stood in the break room at Sam’s law practice and watched a pot of coffee brew. Helen, the office manager, stuck her head in and told them Sam wanted to see them, pronto.
He stood behind his desk with the phone in his ear as the couple stepped into his office. Rhonda took a seat on the brown leather couch while Bernie grabbed a chair across from the big desk.
Sam dropped the handset in its cradle. “Someone hit Milt over the head and stole your coins.”
Rhonda bounced to her feet. “Shit!”
“Any idea who?” Bernie asked.
“According to Milt’s bartender, two guys” he twirled a cheap pen with the fingers of his right hand, “one scrawny and grubby, the other short with brown pinstriped pants.”
“Knickerbocker Smith,” Rhonda hissed from across the room.
“How do you know?” Sam asked.
“Know what?” Bernie asked.
“How does she know it’s this Knickerbocker guy?”
Rhonda looked at the men. “Well, Nick Smith and I have this evolving relationship.”
Bernie snorted. “Explain evolving.”
“Nick and I went out on a few dates. He’s a movie producer and I was looking for work.” She smiled. “And then, I had him thrown in jail.”
Bernie thought of Ryan serving time in a California State prison. “Sort of a common thread in your relationships.”
She gave him a hard look. “He was stalking me. I got a restraining order on him.”
“Great, but how do you know our guy is your Knickerbocker Smith?” Sam asked.
“The brown pin-striped pants. He’s short and the pants are his trademark.”
“How does he know about the coins?” Sam asked.
Rhonda crossed her legs and arms. “How the hell should I know? But, it’s him.”
Bernie observed that she said it with such conviction, her answer shut Sam up. No small accomplishment.
“So how’s Milt?” he asked.
Sam spun the swivel chair behind his desk. “Concussion, but he’s awake.”
After an appropriate pause Bernie asked, “So what do you suggest we do now?”
“We go back to my sister’s and wait for Nick to call,” she said.
Chapter 63
The early evening air was melting hot and heavy with the last humid day of the summer. Nana was in the centrally air conditioned living room watching a soap when the trio came in. They walked right past her into the kitchen where Rhonda opened a harvest gold refrigerator and passed out Schlitz long necks. Bernie grabbed a magnetized church-key that was stuck to the side of the stove and popped the caps.
They stood drinking beer for a few minutes when the soap finished and Nana joined them. “Got one for me?” she asked.
“Sure,” Bernie said.
While he got the beer she gave Rhonda a kiss on the cheek. “Oh Sweetie, some guy called for you. Said he knew you from California.”
Rhonda smirked at the men. “Did he leave a number?”
Nana took a swallow from her long-neck. “Said he’d call back later.”
Sam loosened his tie. “Well, I was thinking of pizza for dinner, how about you folks?”
Chapter 64
In the call that came a few hours later, Nick and Rhonda decided to re-engage their battle at a nearby bowling alley. Rhonda and Bernie found him filling in for one of the teams in the 8 P.M. league. They took a seat at the dimly lit bar where she nursed a Tom Collins and he drank ginger ale.
Nick walked into the bar between frames.
“The red and green shoes go well with your complexion. Rhonda said, “You should steal ‘em.”
He walked over and squeezed between her and the next bar stool. “Hi, babe, surprised to see me?” He nodded toward Bernie, “Who’s the jamoke?” and put a hand on her thigh.
With a smirk she brushed away the paw like it was some irrelevant bug. “In the great scheme of things, no, I’m not surprised to see you.” She sipped on her straw. “And, none of your fucking business, you dwarf asshole.”
Bernie decided to keep to himself, unless they came to blows.
“Ah, honey, here I thought we could start with a new beginning.”
“Sorry to dash your hopes. I thought you’d developed some lasting relationships in the prison shower room.”
He smiled and waved at the bartender. “Blue Ribbon.” The guy in a white and tan bowling shirt pulled the pop-top on a can and set it next to Nick, who took a long drink. “I’ve got something you want. You have something I want.”
“What could you have that I would possibly want?”
He looked down at his pin-stripped pants, grabbed his crotch, and smiled at Rhonda.
She laughed. “Not since they invented batteries.”
Nick unzipped the fly of his pants and took out a small transparent envelope with a coin inside which he put on the bar in front of her.
Bernie thought that for a movie director this guy certainly went for cheap drama. Rhonda glanced down at the coin and slid it over to Bernie. He consulted a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his suit coat. “It’s on the list.”
“So you have the coins,” she said.
“You have my movie, let’s trade,” Nick said.
Rhonda finished her Collins with a long slurp from her straw. “I’ll get back to you.” She slid off the barstool.
“Damn straight.” Nick grabbed her wrist. “Give me back my film or things will get a lot worse than losing your grandma’s coin collection.”
She pulled her hand away and gave him a quick rap to the nose with the other. The troll rocked back on his heals and dropped his beer, but kept himself from falling by grabbing the barstool. Rhonda moved in for the knockout as Bernie stepped between them.
“Will it help?” he asked.
She lunged at Nick, but Bernie grabbed her. “Let’s go.” They did a clumsy tango toward the door.
Nick yelled, “I’ll call you tomorrow and the answer better be right.”
She yelled, “Fuck you, asshole,” into Bernie’s ear as they danced out of the building.
Chapter 65
In the parking lot Rhonda lit a cigarette and considered what to tell Bernie about the movie, but only if he asked. Best control the conversation. She said, “Let’s go to your place.”
He didn’t argue.
As they drove he asked, “What movie was he talking about?”
“Knickerbocker is a major sleaze-ball. Word is that he finances his crummy pictures with money he blackmails out of his backers. I assume the movie he’s talking about is one of the 8mm he uses against them.”
Bernie waited as the radio played “Can’t Take That Away From Me” by Sinatra. “You got it?” he asked.
Shit, there it was! Technically, Hiram had it so she wasn’t really going to lie to Bernie. That was good. She punched him on the shoulder. “No!”
“Then we need a plan.”
For the rest of the ride and another twenty minutes at his place they brainstormed their way to nowhere.
During a lull in the conversation she twisted on the couch to take a closer look at the wooden box in the corner of his living room floor. “That was smart of Nana to only risk six coins from the collection.”
He ran the back of his hand up her thigh. “Yes.”
She slapped at him and stood. “Stop that.” She squatted down to get a closer look at the box that held the collection. “There’s something under this top tray.”
With a wince he shifted positions to see what she was looking at. She piled the remaining coins on his coffee table, lifted the box and took it to the kitchen. He fo
llowed to find her pulling a knife from a drawer.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s heavy. There might be more. Maybe there’s something under the tray.”
He took the knife from her.
“Knock yourself out,” she said and took a seat on a bar stool at the counter.
He stuck and jimmied for a while then handed it to her.
“Maybe it’s like one of those Chinese puzzle boxes.” She began pressing at the top and the sides at the same time, then two sides. Something inside the box clicked and a corner slid down. None of the other parts of the box moved.
“Okay, so, there is something else. Let me see.” She gave him the box. He pressed and pulled for awhile until another corner piece slid up.
She grabbed the box back and slid open the side. “Flashlight.” He gave her one which she used to peer inside. “Tongs.”
“What?”
“Tongs, you got tongs, like for turning hotdogs on the grill?”
He produced a short pair from a kitchen drawer. She took them and drew a single clear cellophane envelope from the box. A click whispered inside the wood.
She put the package on the counter and gingerly unwrapped it. Inside was another gold coin which they recognized as a Double Eagle. The images were crisp, as if the piece had been struck moments ago.
“What’s the date?” she asked.
“1933.”
“Anything else?” he asked.
She looked back inside. “Yeah.” With the tongs she pulled out an 8 ½ by 11 envelope with brown stains. The envelope opened as if it were never sealed and showed her a piece of paper and two envelopes. She took them out.
“That it?” he asked.
Using the flashlight she looked inside again and gave a thorough scan. “Nothing else.” She snapped the compartment closed.
“Do you remember how that opens?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
She laid the two envelopes on the yellow Formica surface. One was business sized and used to be white. The other was a faded green stationery. She opened the unsealed business envelope and read.