I found what Helen had told me, that Susan Lovely was 37 years old, no longer a child, no longer a young adult, but a lady who was now in middle age territory. She’d never been married and had no kids, which was kind of unusual for a rich and beautiful woman like herself. Surely there would have been sharks or gold-diggers or suitors who would have swept her off her feet, years ago. Wonder why that never happened. She had a pretty portrait photograph…
The cell phone rang and I picked it up. A strange voice said, “I hear you’re looking for me?” It had an electronic, tinny quality to it, with no inflection or accent. I said, “I think I’m looking for you if you’re who I think you are.”
“I’m probably who you think I am. Let’s meet. Leave your house and walk to the Janet Field park. Take your phone with you.”
It was getting late, but I didn’t want to miss this meeting. It was 8:30 p.m. and dark already, so I took a flashlight and lightweight jacket.
Leaving the house, I walked about a quarter mile until reaching the park, where the cell phone rang. I took the phone off my belt and said, “Hello?”
“Now walk to the Dairy Queen,” said the tinny voice. “Don’t go in. Stand at the curb. Should take you about five minutes to get there.”
Good thing I didn’t mind walking at night. I followed the instructions of the electronic voice, and headed to the neighborhood DQ. I slowed down as I got near and looked around. Since it was Friday night, many of the townsfolk were out with their children buying ice cream. My cell phone rang again, and the voice said, “Walk to the post office.”
“I’m starting to get a little tired,” I said.
“I know, sorry, but this is how it’s got to be.”
So I walked a few blocks to the local post office, a little further down the street and just around the corner. There was minimal traffic and I was soon out in front of the small government building. I hoped I wouldn’t get mugged; this part of town wasn’t exactly the newest addition to the city.
As I looked around, I saw headlights coming my way. It looked huge, and turned out to be an RV camper; it made its way up the street and stopped directly in front of me. I could see that there was a man in the driver’s seat with glasses, thick eyebrows, big nose and mustache, all in one piece since it was a disguise, who leaned out his side window and said, “Get in, quick!”
The Specialist
Once in the passenger’s seat, I said, “Walter, I’m guessing that’s you behind those spectacles.”
The man behind the steering wheel held up his finger in front of his lips, signaling me to stay quiet. “Not even close, mister,” he said.
He looked straight ahead and drove well within the speed limit, like an old retired man in his recreational vehicle, like someone who was traveling on the road in strange territory. He signaled every turn, observed all stop signs and lights, and within ten minutes slowly steered the large vehicle to the south and out of the city.
When trees appeared, the driver took the glasses and nose off and said, “Hello, Randall! How have you been? Long time no see!” It was Walter Dale, after all.
“Can we talk now?” I asked. Walter nodded while looking ahead. “I’m doing well, thanks. Haven’t seen you in a while either, but then again, I don’t know where to look!”
Walter liked that and laughed a bit.
“I understand you wanted to see me,” he said. “Got something needs handling? Something broke? What?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to keep up with him, hoping he wouldn’t get too far ahead of me. “I did and I do. But first… how did you get my cell phone number? It’s brand new, I upgraded only last week, and it came with a new number!”
“Heh-heh-heh! Trade secrets, Randy boy; I can’t be telling all I know; in my business, knowledge is money!”
“Hmmmmm” I pondered. I got that cell phone so I’d have a little more privacy from work; they only had my hard line number, and I haven’t had the chance to share my cell number with friends yet. Walter somehow got it, but at least he knows how to keep a secret. “Okay, you,” I finally sputtered. Walter laughed a little more and kept driving.
Walter’s a strange creature. Although I find him easy to get along with, those with a certain social standard cringe when they’re around him. They know his priorities are not shared around the “upper-crust, high-society” minded, so they tend to avoid him. He also speaks his mind, which has gotten him into trouble more than once. I suspected he was currently between jobs, and probably living in this RV.
“Why did you have me walk all over the neighborhood? I appreciate the exercise, but it’s dark outside, and you don’t always know who’s lurking around out there.”
“Don’t worry Randy,” he grinned. “I had you in sight most of the time.”
I thought back quickly, and said, “I didn’t see you, and this vehicle would be hard to miss.”
“I didn’t have you in eyesight,” he replied, “but you were on the screen right here,” and reaching towards the dashboard, he turned on a built-in screen display, which showed a bird’s-eye satellite view of the neighborhood I had just walked. I could see the tops of people’s heads as they moved on the sidewalk nearby what I took to be the Dairy Queen. Even at night people were visible, their body-heat making a glow on the screen.
I studied it for a moment and heard myself say, “Impressive.” With that Walter grinned; he was waiting for that; he wasn’t hard to please.
We drove in silence for the next few minutes, until we turned onto a gravel road, which led down a path between trees and tall grass, and pulled up to a country bar and grill, with a neon sign which read “Estella’s,” whom I assumed to be the owner. The place was so far away from the city that it was probably frequented by bikers and ranchers, farmers and country folks. From the looks of the parking lot, it didn’t seem very crowded, and Walter parked near the road. The parking lot was also made of gravel, and we had a long walk to the building. I saw a few motorcycles, and hoped there wouldn’t be any young toughs looking for trouble. I asked Walter about this, and he remarked that the bikers here were older fellows who liked peace and quiet like most people in our age group.
I admired the motorcycles for a moment but made sure not to touch them. As we turned to enter the establishment, I asked Walter about the silent treatment in the city. He said, “I don’t like to talk much on the city streets; cops have radar guns, and sound guns, like the ones used in televised football games, exist. It wouldn’t be too hard to put the two in one contraption. There are lots of cops in the city but not many out here.”
This made sense, in a way. “So when did cops become the enemy?” I asked.
“Cops aren’t the enemy per se,” answered Walter, “They work for the enemy, the government. The Man. The Elite. Big Brother. The Watchers. The…”
“I get the idea,” I said, interrupting his flow. “You don’t like being monitored. Well, nobody does.”
We walked into the bar and took a booth far away from anybody. The place was bigger than it looked on the outside, and had a homey, pleasant appeal, with lots of wood paneling, wood tables, wood chairs, a small stage, and a wide open middle wooden floor (for dancing, I presumed). There were a few pool tables at the far end of the place, but they weren’t being used at the moment. It was a little dark, but thank goodness it seemed to be clean. Someone put a quarter in the jukebox and an old but pleasant Beatles’ song played, “If I fell in love with you…,” a mournful tune.
“We can talk freely in here,” said Walter. “The jukebox plays continually, and I’ve swept the place for bugs more than once.”
“I assume you mean microphones,” I joked, hoping to make Walter laugh. I failed this time.
“This is a clean establishment,” he said with a straight face. “You could eat off the floor here.”
“I see. Well. Maybe I’ll do that sometime.”
“I know the owners,” he said. “They’re good people, not riff-raff.”
“It was just
a joke,” I replied, beginning to understand Walter had emotional ties to this place.
This was about all the small talk and chit-chat that Walter could handle; he wanted to get to the matter at hand, because that was his nature. He looked around the room, and seeing very few people and nobody within earshot, turned back to me and said, “Why did you need to see me?”
I cleared my throat; I’d need that and a clear mind for this sales pitch. “Well, Walter, I have a problem, and I have a need for a man with special talents, you.”
“Why don’t you tell me what this problem is all about, and then we can decide if I want to get involved in this or not?” he said.
Fair enough. Without mentioning any names, I told Walter the story of an old friend who was having family troubles, who suspected her husband of having an affair with a younger, richer woman. I told him of what I’d found in a quick search on the internet, and mentioned that I wasn’t very deep into this problem yet, since I was still digging for information. I did mention that the girl in question’s name was Susan Lovely.
“Susan Lovely?” Walter suddenly sat up. “Heir to the Lovely chocolate empire?”
I was beginning to see that Susan Lovely would soon become a household name in Lovely; I was surprised that Walter knew of her; I probably shouldn’t have been. “Tell me what you know about her, Walter.”
Walter dived in, “I don’t know much about her except that she’s a hot mama. Have you seen her in commercials? Man oh man, she’s built like a brick outhouse, and I’m cleaning up my language here for you, Randall-boy.”
“How do you know all this?” I asked. “And is she really built as you say?”
“She used to be a model, didn’t you know that? And that included bikini modeling, for the ‘Happy Hippy’ Swimwear Company, woo-wee! She made the products look good. ‘Happy Hippy’ sold more with her as their model than with any other girl before her! With her as their semi-spokeslady, tie-dyed bikinis made a come-back.”
Well, I had seen that she was a pretty girl, but didn’t stop to think about her being a bikini-clad homewrecker.
“But never mind that,” continued Walter. “That’s small potatoes compared to the Lovely chocolate empire.”
I sat there, impressed with Walter’s knowledge on different subjects, so I decided to keep my mouth shut and let him tell me what he knew.
“They’re what are known as the up-scale candies to millionaires,” he continued. “They sell on the global market, and make it into the Parliament, Kremlin, and palaces of the rich and powerful. They started it all here in east Texas, making it big in Nacogdoches, from there to Fort Worth and Dallas and then to Mexico and Canada and South America, Europe and Australia…” I sat there wondering how he knew all this stuff.
“These chocolates are quickly becoming popular in China. Word has it that they’re being smuggled and used as currency in North Korea and Iran, Iraq and on the black market in the U.S.S.R, I mean, Russia. How much of that is true, I don’t know, but it’s a rumor.”
“You’re talking about a billion dollar industry,” I said. I started to wonder if Dr. Franklin Burke was interested in Susan Lovely the bikini model or her soon-to-be chocolate empire.
“Not just a billion, multi-billions,” corrected Walter. “And since Old Man Lovely died, his granddaughter stands to inherit the Lovely chocolate business. She doesn’t have to sell bathing suits and underwear anymore. Who needs that when you have chocolate?”
This sudden burst of information made me go silent. Walter doesn’t like silence, especially among friends, and so he said, “Now tell me, this fellow who’s having a fling with Susan Lovely, does he stand a good chance of marrying her, do you think?”
“I don’t know, Walter. Like I said earlier, I’m still in the information-gathering stage. Let’s get a drink.”
Walter raised his hand for the waitress to see us. She came over, and was obviously familiar with Walter, because her manner became friendly when she recognized him.
“Hello, Walter. Haven’t seen you around here for awhile.”
“I’ve been laying low, darlin’. Say ‘hello’ to a friend of mine, from way back in school days.”
I smiled and said my hellos, and introduced myself, and so did she. She was a pretty waitress whose name was Kim Rogers, a bleach blond, who wore a tight and low-cut cowboy blouse with blue jean pants, a leather belt with a her name on the back and a large buckle in front, and cowboy boots. She had on enough clothes to cover up anything too noticeable, and was young enough to be my daughter. I found myself holding in my stomach for her anyway.
“I’ve been coming here since way back, Randy-boy. Kim’s mom used to work here, and I’ve seen Kim grow up right before my eyes. We’re old friends now.” He looked at Kim, lovingly. “Well, I’m the old friend; she’s the young one.”
Kim took our order and disappeared, coming back with our drinks, and disappearing again, giving us our privacy. She knew that people took the far booth to talk about serious matters. Walter had ordered himself a beer and me a coke. He remembered that I didn’t drink, and it was good of him not to push me. I enjoyed a good bar atmosphere with good friends, but was afraid of alcohol. Losing control is one of my phobias. Maybe I should talk to Miss Planter about that sometime.
“So you and Kim are old friends, right?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “And before that I was friends with her mom, too.”
“What happened to her mom?”
“She married and split. Kim liked the area, and decided to stick around. She works here and drives to school in Nac-Nac-Nacogdoches, whenever she can, takes classes online, and is working towards her nursing degree.”
Walter had a thing with names. He enjoyed butchering what he thought, or felt, was an unusually long name.
“I’ll bet she makes a good nurse,” I said.
“Yeah, she will. She’s not only cute, but smart, too!”
I chuckled into my coke, then set it down and said, “It’s good that this working girl is smart; she’ll go far.
We didn’t say anything for a few minutes; Walter liked to enjoy his beer in silence. Then his face screwed up, and he said, “Say, are you being hired by a woman to keep tabs on her man? What’s going on? Who is this woman?”
He was beginning to put the pieces together. I knew this would come out sooner or later, but wasn’t expecting it this soon.
“The lady’s name is Burke. Mrs. Burke. And she’s not keeping tabs on her husband. Her daughter discovered this mess.”
Walter’s face scrunched up some more, and said, “What kind of man would mess around when he’s got a wife and a kid?” he asked. “If I had that, I think I’d be content,” he said, and took another drink. “Did you say Burke?”
He leaned back in his wooden chair, and said, looking off into the distance, “For some reason, that name sounds familiar, but I can’t right place it just now. Are you sure that’s her right name? Or is she just using an alias?”
“No, her name really is Mrs. Burke. She’s married to a medical doctor, a Dr. Burke.”
Walter quit smiling. His chair came down slowly on four legs, creaking all the way to the floor.
“This is starting to sound even more familiar,” he said.
Okay, it was time to ‘fess up. “The lady who needs help, her full name is Helen Ceraldi-Burke.”
Walter looked at me as though I had taken a stupid pill. Or maybe a year’s supply of stupid pills.
When he spoke, he said “Oh, crap.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“She did you dirty, Randall!”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not long enough.”
“It’s all right.”
“It’s not all right!”
“I’ve forgiven her.”
“Forgiven, but apparently not forgotten.”
“I know, I know. Look, she’s in trouble.”
Walter wasn’t done yet. “You’re either a hopeless romantic, o
r else intergalactically stupid.”
“She needs help, Walter.”
“YOU needed help…. once.”
“She has a family.”
Walter stopped talking again, but kept looking at me. I couldn’t look up; I kept my eyes on my drink on the table. I guess this was a form of begging, and I was waiting for his answer.
When he started up, he said, “Her daughter found out the old man. Our classmate, Franklin Burke. And Mrs. Ceraldi hyphen Burke’s got MORE kids?”
“She has four. Three girls, one boy. They range from college age to grade school. The boy is the youngest. They love their daddy.”
There was another pause. Walter took a long drink. I wasn’t thirsty, but was sitting and not moving, still staring at my coke. I was being drilled for information, but in slow motion.
“You know, I don’t give a rat’s rear end for her or that—that pretty-boy doctor she married. But those kids, that’s a different story.”
“Yes.”
“I think she can go take a flying leap off a long pier into Lake Jackass,” he said, telling me where he stood on the matter.
“I know.”
“You were reduced to half a man; you trusted her!”
“I know.”
“What the living daylights is wrong with you, Bubba? What are you trying to DO?”
“I’m trying to help somebody who meant something to me, once.”
“Once? ONCE?”
“Yes.”
Walter clammed up. He took another drink. I know he was still eyeing me, keeping that mug to his lips for a long time.
“I’ll tell you what,” he finally said. “I’ll agree to be a part of this because I want to help YOU, but not HER. If she gets helped during this process, fine. If this thing blows up and she falls on her fancy derriere, that’s fine too. I have no feelings towards her.”
The Lovely Chocolate Mob Page 6