by Matt Hader
Jimmy looked up at the street sign at the corner where the car wash was located – Route 14 and Kelsey Road. He dropped the hose and spoke into his shoulder-mounted radio, “Balmoral PD unit two is in the area.”
The female radio voice responded, “Okay, Balmoral. Thanks. We only have one officer on the street right now due to training. He’s at the scene of the robbery and not in pursuit.”
“Copy that,” said Jimmy into his radio, as a big shit-eating grin slowly formed on his face. “I’m going to bag this mope,” he said to himself. “Then I’m gonna fuck his wife,” he added.
***
John, sweating profusely, as much from his withdrawals as the strenuous, impromptu exercise he was partaking in, poked his head out of a row of corn. He looked left and right down Route 22 but saw no police activity.
He thought, “What in the hell was that kid doing in the parking lot back there? And he’s in a damned Land Rover!” He shook the thoughts from his mind and focused on his escape. Quickly crossing back over Route 22, John continued east through another cornfield that was located alongside a subdivision.
As he entered the manicured backyard of one of the subdivision homes, a border collie chased him, barking and nipping at his heels. The dog suddenly stopped, though. John turned and caught a glimpse of the dog’s electric, fence collar.
“Nice…”
He jogged across Linden Court and through the yard on the opposite side of the street.
***
Jimmy the cop was slowly and silently rolling north on Kelsey Road, the Linden Court subdivision on his left. He had an inkling that if this mope was on foot and heading east, he’d try to blend in here in the subdivisions next to the cornfields.
“We have a caller stating they see the subject on foot northbound on Route 14,” said the female voice on his radio. But Jimmy didn’t break off his search of Kelsey Road. His gut told him that the perp was heading his way, not west and northbound along Route 14. He was so confident, that he pulled the shotgun out of the rack and placed it across his lap.
***
John bent over and vomited in the backyard of a home that bordered Kelsey Road. He tried to catch his breath and compose himself. He wondered why he didn’t hear police sirens everywhere but thought to himself, “They’re here. They’re just running silent.”
He saw a sprinkler working in the next-door neighbor’s yard and stepped over, detached the sprinkler from the hose and took a long drink.
John could see that no cars were passing on Kelsey Road. That could mean two things – one, the cops had the road blocked and were searching for him in the area. Or two, it was just not that busy at this time of day.
He stood and considered his options. He could move forward, cross over Kelsey Road and enter the cornfield on the other side, or stay here in the subdivision and meander through the backyards until he could safely make a move east toward his home in Balmoral.
He took a deep breath and hobbled headlong toward Kelsey Road.
***
Jimmy saw the guy in a white t-shirt and blue jeans staggering out of the yard. It looked like he was drenched in sweat. He accelerated and got to within 20 feet of the perp before slamming on his brakes.
John stopped in his tracks and took in the sight of the skidding, soapsuds-covered police car. He didn’t raise his hands in surrender because he was just too damned tired. He cocked his head to the side as he read the Balmoral PD insignia on the cop car.
Jimmy, still sitting in the driver’s seat, immediately lost his shit-eating grin.
He watched John for a moment before putting the car in reverse and rolling backwards 30 feet. He put the shotgun back in the rack, placed the car into drive and pulled a slow U-turn. He and John locked eyes for a brief second, and Jimmy peeled away, never looking back.
John stood for a moment watching as his older brother Officer Jimmy Caul drove away. After a few seconds he hobbled across Kelsey Road and disappeared into the high corn, wondering how he was going to get to either his car or back to his home that was nearly three miles away.
CHAPTER 21
Dwayne found Amy completely by accident.
He ran to her as she stepped from an old car in the driveway of a two-story, tan-colored house. She was truly in shock to see him.
The Deer Park police, wanting to get the ex-con out of their elite community, had driven him to nearby Lake Zurich and dumped him and a $100 off at a Holiday Inn on Route 12. Officer Hynek was given orders to watch as Dwayne walked into the lobby and got himself a room for the night. Officer Hynek had done his job and driven away.
But Dwayne didn’t get a room. When he stepped into the lobby, he only pretended to speak with the desk clerk before walking back outside. He kept the $100 for food money, walked around back of the Holiday Inn and set up a small encampment in a wooded area near a creek a few hundred yards away from the hotel.
He’d been living there for nearly a week now without any trouble. And in a bit of kismet, it was only a few blocks away from where Amy was residing with her friends. There seemed like a lot of kismet going on in Lake Zurich for some reason.
Dwayne had to fend for himself, so he foraged on a daily basis in the neighborhood around his campsite. People out here in Lake Zurich must have still felt confident that no one would mess with their stuff. That’s why 25 percent of them left their garage doors open all day long.
He hadn’t found a whole bunch to steal, other than a tent and a scoped pellet gun. If nothing else, he’d be out of the elements and able to hunt for a fat squirrel or two to supplement the $100 food money the cops had given him.
He was wandering the neighborhood, looking for more cash- producing stuff to steal, when he saw his sister drive past him. He had to sprint, cutting through some yards, but he eventually caught up to her.
After an awkward reunion, complete with mechanical hugs and kisses, they headed for the basement of Lori and Jerry’s home to catch up.
“You can’t stay here,” she said for the third time.
“You hear what happened to old Deaton, that pecker?” he asked. “I shot his kneecap clean off - he had to quit being a cop. You’d think he’d be done for, right? Maybe collect a pension or some shit and hole up in a trailer, drinking until he stops breathing or something, right? Nope. That man wound up getting a desk job at a bank. Now he’s the VP. Shit…I done him a favor, for goddamned sure.”
“Dwayne, I have to leave soon. I’m job hunting-“
“No shit, me too! I figure if I can crash here for a night or two. That would set me up fine.”
Amy finally took a good look at her brother and decided not to push any more for him to leave. She’d be able to explain the situation to Lori and Jerry, they’d understand and allow Dwayne to stay for a few nights.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. But it was a stupid question. Dwayne was skin and bones, the poor guy.
Dwayne didn’t want to burden her with the gory details of his incarceration, release and sojourn to connect with his little sister. Some of those details included near daily gang fights in prison, and living off of raw field crops as he hitchhiked his way north to locate his kin.
He smiled and said, “Sure am, little sis!”
Amy felt a wave of familiar warmth as she took in the sight of her brother. She hadn’t been around him in nearly 20 years, but it all came rushing back to her. Dwayne was a criminal, but he was probably one of the most positive people she had ever known. If he was emotionally down, it never lasted too long, or maybe he had conditioned himself to be an excellent actor.
Either way, it made her smile and take in a deep breath in an attempt to control the tears that were forming in her eyes.
“Have you ever had an Italian beef sandwich?” she asked.
CHAPTER 22
He sn
apped the Vicodin pill down the middle, tossed half into his mouth and washed it down with a chug of milk directly from the carton while standing at the open fridge.
The blood began trickling again from his left nostril, and he dabbed at it with a dish towel from the sink. He then dropped the other half of the pill back into the bottle.
Jimmy sat at the kitchen table of John’s and his childhood home and sipped whiskey from a coffee cup. His police uniform shirt was unbuttoned, his hair a mess and the knuckles on his right hand were bloody.
John stepped away from the fridge and broken glass crunched under his shoes. He pushed the remnants of a shattered, wooden chair away from a slightly less damaged chair and took a seat.
The kitchen looked like a minor disaster area. Fifteen minutes prior, Jimmy had launched a punch at John’s nose. John was shaky, but he held his ground the best he could, trading quick jabs with his brother. In their struggle, they had knocked several glass and porcelain knickknacks from the counters. Mostly roosters, but a few apples bit the dust, too.
Jimmy had flung John across the now mangled, wooden chair and gotten him into a headlock. That’s when they settled and finally separated.
And now Jimmy leaned back and allowed his eyes to scan the sights of the kitchen and the décor which hadn’t changed since the last time he was here, 20 years earlier. He shook his head as he took in the country roosters and apples fighting it out for his attention.
And the two brothers simply sat there - silently.
John hoped that the half-Vike would alleviate the shakes that were wracking his body. But he knew from experience that it would take about 30 minutes or so for the drug to take effect, if it were to work at all. It was a backslide in his attempt to discontinue taking the drug, but he had to rethink the process of stopping. Maybe stepping down gradually would be better for his physical and emotional states.
His mind shifted to worrying about getting his car back before the cops found it and possibly linked him to the robbery - to all of the robberies. He wasn’t ready for that to happen because all of the money hadn’t been raised as of yet.
He could call a cab but would have to wait for an hour or two for it to arrive, since cab service was spotty way out in Balmoral.
He wasn’t worried that his brother Jimmy would arrest him, or turn him in or drop an anonymous dime on him, though. Jimmy had a lot to lose if it ever got out that his brother John Caul was the Baby Face Robber. First to go would be his promotion to lieutenant and then probably his job altogether.
“So this is all a big “screw you” to the town, is that it?” said Jimmy. “Why not write a letter to the editor of the paper, or something? You have to do it this way? I don’t get it.”
“What would you know? You didn’t do the inexcusable and have to live with it every day,” said John. “They never let me forget,” he added.
“Why not move out of town?”
“And go where, Jimmy? The house is all I have,” he lied. Jimmy didn’t know about the “tidy sum” of money John had made through the stock market. John wasn’t going to tell him about it now, not today, anyway - maybe not ever. Jimmy always thought that John had plowed through the life insurance money their dad left behind and that he had estranged himself from.
“I can’t find a decent job because of the MS, you know that. I’d miss too many days whenever the vertigo sets in. I’d get fired time and time again. The town’s got to pay for what they’ve done to me for all of these years. Don’t worry, though, no one’s going to get physically hurt.”
Jimmy said, “Not in Balmoral, but what about the places where you’ve shoved a gun in people’s faces? John, come on.”
John ignored Jimmy’s statement and said, “But I do intend on embarrassing the shit out of them so they’ll know that I got the upper hand. Doing a few years in jail is nothing to me. I bet the embarrassment will never wear off for them, though. I hope it doesn’t, anyway.”
“What embarrassment? You’re losing it.”
“You know the way the people here in town think that they’re better than the folks in the surrounding towns. You know firsthand. You work here but live in Crystal Lake. You hear the way people talk about all the other suburbs in the area. How they lack charm. How the houses are ugly and cheaply built. You hear this stuff, and you know it.”
“Shit, John.”
“The news media will eat this up. They’ll cover the crap out of this story once I blow the lid off of it. They’ll make total asses out of Balmoral folks. People love seeing upper class people fail.”
“What, are we talking about a handful of people who like to give you shit? What?”
“No, Jimmy, it’s more than a handful.”
Jimmy was just about to call “bullshit” on his younger brother, but he pulled up short. He knew exactly what John was talking about in regards to how people had treated him over the years.
Any person living a daily life in town would know it, too. John was a pariah. Up until this moment Jimmy had never really put a lot of thought into what his brother was going through. Jimmy sipped more whiskey, studied his younger brother’s face and said, “What are we going to do, brother?”
John leaned toward the sink and picked up the dish towel to dab at the trickling blood again and said, “I told you. I’m going to save the Fourth of July celebration. I want the townspeople to have a great time. I want them to feel self-satisfied and important for what they’ve accomplished yet again. And after it’s over, I’m going public with what I did. I’ll admit to every last detail. It’ll deflate the air out of their lives for damned sure. I want them to feel the embarrassment and shame the way I do every day. I’ve had it!”
“You’ll do some serious time. Probably five or more years, easy.”
“I don’t care. That’s the point,” said John.
“I heard a rumor about someone dropping off cash, but no one’s officially talking about it at the village, you know,” said Jimmy.
That struck a nerve with John who had heard Lou at Dink’s talking about the money. But even Lou said that it was all talk so far.
Jimmy added, “I heard that asshole councilman, Keith Michaels, may have some involvement, but they’re all pretty tight-lipped over there at the municipal building. No one can find any extra money on the books. It’s probably all bullshit.”
“You think someone’s keeping it for themselves? A village official?” John wondered aloud with his demeanor changing from semi-confident to confused to downright fearful. “Which one is Keith Michaels?” asked John.
“He’s the one that looks like a human weasel,” said Jimmy.
In that instant, while John was at a low point, Jimmy knew he could get away with it.
He could easily kill his brother right here in the kitchen and dispose of the body in the woods of southern Wisconsin where no one would ever find it. He’d stop the Baby Face Robber and save his job promotion and his new, hefty pay raise in one fell swoop. He could accomplish all of this for the cost of a 50-cent bullet and a gallon or two of gasoline.
His girls could quit the part-time jobs they’d taken in Evanston to help defray some of the school costs they had incurred. The Fourth of July celebration may not take place, but he could live with that. It was a pain in the ass to work anyway, with all the drunken, firework-tossing assholes he had to deal with year in and year out.
However a sea change occurred in Jimmy’s mind as he continued to observe his brother. John’s world seemed to be crumbling around him. Jimmy watched as his little brother absently worked his jaw muscles – this little brother he never really stood up for when they were kids.
Jimmy’s mind raced back to the old days back in this house on Coleridge, with their cold mother and her fake concern for her children, and their emotionally absent father and his inane joking.
Jimmy had gotten out of the house as soon as the Marines would have him, but John didn’t leave. Why?
Maybe John was stronger than Jimmy could ever be or give him credit for. John stayed after Mary died, to watch after their father. He could’ve left when he was 18 and ventured off on his own. John didn’t have to stick around and see Bernie, who, after Mary’s death, was a mere shell of himself, waste away for the next ten years leading up to his death. Jimmy couldn’t keep from wondering what that grown-up, real world pressure could do to a young mind. But all he could say at the moment was-
“Come on, I’ll get you back to your car.”
CHAPTER 23
Jimmy used the Balmoral police car to drop John off where he had left the Chevy wagon.
By that time John had showered and changed clothes, and Jimmy had drunk nearly a pot of coffee to combat the effects of the whiskey he downed in John’s kitchen after their altercation.
They had come to an uneasy agreement that Jimmy wouldn’t turn John in if John promised not to rob any more businesses for the time being. Each side of the equation had a lot to lose; John, his chance to screw over the town he’d grown to hate, and Jimmy, his promotion to lieutenant and all that that would bring with it.
They decided to reconvene in a few days to try and figure out what to ultimately do to help both of their causes. The brothers needed time to lick their wounds and do some soul searching. In the car they didn’t talk much, other than John giving Jimmy directions on how to get to where he stashed his car.