by Matt Hader
Brick, still shaken from their last get-together, proposed that they’d meet at the Schaumburg Police Department parking lot. It was neutral ground for both. John countered that they both should come alone this time.
“We gotta talk.”
John dropped the floorboards and spun to see Danny standing in the doorway of the shack. The kid nodded his head to the side, motioning John from the tiny building. It appeared to John that the teen hadn’t seen what he was doing with the floorboards, so he played it cool and followed him outside.
“Look, I’m sorry you had to see what I was doing. I didn’t want anyone to know until after,” John said, stopping himself from going any further. But added, “I know I frightened you and I’m sorry about that.”
Danny just stared at John so John measured his words very carefully. “I know you haven’t said anything to the police, or your parents for that matter, so I’ll tell you what I’m doing. The reason I’m doing all of this. The baby face stuff, you know.”
John went on to explain about his years of being used as a scapegoat by the townspeople and his idea of finally bringing shame to those who had given him so much grief over the years.
He explained that now, as he became more and more Vicodin-free, he realized that the drug had skewed his thought process in the entire affair. But he was still holding to his plan the best he could.
Danny listened quietly so John went on to explain why he had shown an interest in Danny – because they were more alike than the teen realized. John said, “I don’t want to see you travel the same path as me.”
After John had finished his verbal vomiting, Danny said, “I’m not afraid, jerk off. I want to go with you next time.”
When John’s expression froze in place, Danny added, “That’s right, dick-stick, we rob someone soon or else I will talk. I’ll tell everyone. The celebration will never be saved. And you won’t be able to screw over the town.”
***
Tyler eyed John and Danny from his car in the McDonald’s parking lot. His mother’s behavior was extremely odd of late and that precipitated his actions in following her and seizing onto John’s trail.
Rita had taken to leaving Tyler to watch his little brother, Christopher, while she “ran errands.” He knew that she was up to no good, so he took to following her. He soon discovered that she was tracking Enright.
Instead of following in both Enright’s and his mother’s footsteps, he simply used his extra car key to rummage through Rita’s car when she was following Enright. That’s where he found the simple note on the pad of paper on her front seat that read: Name is John. Lady in cupcake shop says he’s the brother of Balmoral cop, Jimmy Caul.
It didn’t take long to figure out where John Caul lived. He just called 411 from his cell phone while his brother napped in his car seat in the back of his Jeep Cherokee.
For the past day, he’d been watching John’s house on Coleridge Avenue, following his prey whenever he left in the old station wagon. Tyler hid the 12 gauge shotgun in the back of his Jeep under a battered sleeping bag. When the moment was right, and he didn’t have his little brother with him, he would shoulder his way into John’s home and take care of his father’s problem. It would be loud. It would be bloody and ugly. But it would be done.
CHAPTER 33
It was a slow lunch rush at Dink’s Diner so Lou told Dwayne he was done for the afternoon. Larry would be able to cook and keep up with the dirty dishes.
It was a stunningly beautiful day so Dwayne took the long route when walking back to John’s house. He was truly falling in love with the town of Balmoral. What was not to like? The area held that solid and quintessential, small-town feel but with an upscale twist.
Slowly strolling up and down the neatly manicured blocks, Dwayne had the feeling that he was on a Hollywood movie set. It looked like Bedford Falls in summertime. He thought that George Bailey could sprint past him at any moment calling out loudly about his love for the town.
He noticed that there were, indeed, some modern-looking homes where older homes obviously used to stand, but by the age of the newer homes, he discerned that the teardown craze had stopped about 15 years ago. That was when Balmoral had adopted a strict, historical district code for the homes in the area. Teardowns were forbidden from here on out. Looking at the older homes, some of which were probably candidates for a teardown/rebuild scenario at some point, the homeowners, instead, had taken to rehabbing them with much care and expense.
Although surrounded by small-town beauty, a troubling thought was wriggling around deep in that reptilian portion of Dwayne’s brain. It was a feeling that this life he was now living was artificial.
Sure, he was working a crappy gig as a dishwasher in a little diner, but still it was all too good to be true. He was a free man. Just a few weeks earlier he had woken for the last time in a dingy prison cell, said goodbye to the select few inmates and guards that he considered friends and had made his way to the area in search of his sister.
He was free to do what he wanted, within the law, but he couldn’t help but feel that his freedom was a terrifying proposition. The idea that he was now totally in charge of every move he would make from here on out scared the shit out of him.
He had grown accustomed to being told where to go and what to do day in and day out for the past several years, but now there were no correctional officers to do his thinking for him. That’s probably the reason that Dwayne was comfortable at Dink’s Diner. Lou was very much like the guards at the state pen, telling him what to do and how to do it. That was the only small comfort in his life now.
And now, as he sat at John’s kitchen table spilling his inner thoughts to Jimmy the cop, he felt relief for the first time in a few weeks. He had finally verbalized his feelings to someone he could trust.
Oddly enough, Dwayne and Jimmy had taken an instant liking to one another from the get-go. Okay, maybe not so instantaneously. Jimmy had drawn down on Dwayne with his Glock when he found him rummaging through the fridge at John’s house, thinking he was a burglar.
After spotting the Semper Fi tattoo on Dwayne’s forearm, though, Jimmy started talking instead of shooting. They were soon laughing when Jimmy discovered that the reason Dwayne had been drummed out of the Corps was due to the fact that he had knocked out an asshole sergeant who Jimmy was very familiar with. It was a guy that Jimmy himself once had a fight with after finding the offending sergeant stealing socks from his locker.
“That sumbitch stole everything that wasn’t nailed down,” said Dwayne. “I caught him once before and warned him, but he didn’t like a boot telling him what to do. After he snagged some shaving cream from me, I knocked the sumbitch o-u-t.”
Dwayne had done his time and didn’t mind one little bit talking to a cop about his troubles. There was nothing Jimmy could do to him now. In fact, he felt more comfortable around Jimmy than anyone of his other new acquaintances and that included Lou. They were on opposite sides of the law, but they traveled in the same circles, so to speak.
“I’m not sure this freedom thing is worth it. A bud of mine in the pen was originally from Wisconsin. He said the food and bunks were much nicer there,” said Dwayne. “I mean we’re only a few miles from the Wisconsin border, right?” he added.
Jimmy smiled and said, “Don’t go all ‘recidivist’ on me, Dwayne. If you can handle boot camp, you can make it in the world.”
CHAPTER 34
John stood next to his old station wagon in the far rear portion of the Schaumburg police department parking lot, holding a large, steaming cup of coffee.
The coffee wasn’t for drinking.
He still had not found a new gun for future robbing activities. The old gun was, indeed, picked up by the Fox River Grove police after the fiasco in the cornfield. The gun had no identifying marks or serial numbers on it anywhere, so he wasn’t concerned that
the Fox River Grove cops would pin the robberies on him.
In the past few days, he had taken to storing a baby face mask in the spare tire compartment in the rear of his station wagon, just in case he did find a gun and a place to take down at a moment’s notice. It would go against the agreement he had made with Jimmy not to rob anyone for the time being, but he still thought he needed to be prepared.
Refocusing on the task at hand, John couldn’t help but be leery of Brick. John was going to use the scolding coffee as a molten weapon if Brick chose not to be a gentleman.
Surprisingly, Brick was quite professional this time around. Maybe even a bit contrite.
After pulling up in his Escalade - alone, as promised - the drug dealer apologized for how he had acted and offered an extra $5,000 for all the trouble he had caused.
John wouldn’t be getting the $75,000 he knew the drugs were worth, but he was satisfied with the deal they had struck on the phone.
The exchange happened in the blink of an eye: one, large, brown paper bag from Brick to John and vice versa.
Brick said, “No need to count it. It’s all there. I promise.”
And John believed him.
Brick, without his minions to impress, was quite a charming young man. John thought that a guy like Brick would probably do well in any chosen profession.
“This is gonna help me with a start-up in Naperville.”
“I’m starting a new company now, too,” said John.
“You and those trigger men from your yard?” asked Brick.
“No, it’s legitimate, a real business franchise.”
“I’m not sure if I’m cut out for the legit shit, you know?” said Brick.
John studied the young man for a second or two, and said, “I bet you’d do just fine. They still have the franchise show going on at McCormick Place. You should check it out.”
But John couldn’t help launching a seemingly harmless, verbal jab at Brick to make sure no funny stuff would happen after the exchange went down, though.
He said, “What a coincidence that you offered to meet here at the Schaumburg PD.”
Brick smirked and looked a question at John.
“That buddy of mine you met in my yard, you know, the one with the rifle pointed at your head? He’s a cop here,” John lied.
“I like you, man. I like the way you do shit. You’re a cool dude, man,” said Brick.
He stood staring, nodding and smiling at John.
“I’m glad we made peace, you know. I bet we could do shit together in the future,” he said. “I will check out that shit at McCormick Place. Good looking out, man.”
John stepped towards his car $45,000 richer for his efforts. He got into his station wagon and took off.
Brick watched him go, but soon lost his grin as he scanned the windows of the Schaumburg PD making sure no one was watching. He got into his Escalade and drove away, heading toward Naperville to meet with his new business partner – the dentist - formerly of Lake Zurich, Illinois.
CHAPTER 35
Driving north on Balmoral Road, John was on a serious daydreaming jag.
He had $45,000 in the brown paper bag on the seat next to him and a new business venture in the works. He was picturing a location for the Kid Crew on heavily traveled Route 14. In that spot, the most eyeballs would be on the colorful signage that Henry and his late wife had created. He imagined that the walk-in business alone would be enough to keep him and Amy in the black.
He had been slowly stepping down from his Vicodin usage and his mind was incrementally becoming clearer as each hour passed. Instead of taking the high number he had been ingesting, admittedly sometimes 20 per day, John had quickly weaned himself down to 10 half pills a day.
He was able to accomplish that through sheer willpower. His withdrawal symptoms were still present - the nausea, jitters and shakes, as well as sweats - but he knew he had turned a corner and would be completely Vicodin-free in no time. So what if the searing pain in his back and hip had returned, at least his head was clear.
And as John’s mind cleared, he found that he could link one thought to the next and solve problems instead of fixating on, and becoming obsessed with, only one issue, as he had done with trying to save the Fourth of July Festival. He still wanted to save the celebration, but new options were opening in his life, and he sought to explore all the positive opportunities that were coming his way – namely, Amy.
His daydreaming came to a sudden halt when a silver-colored Mercedes SUV took a perilous turn in front of him at the intersection of Balmoral and Dundee Roads. In a nanosecond, he was able to apply the brakes and identify the driver – Keith Michaels, the marmot-like, village council member - alone in the car.
Luckily, there was only one other car in back of John, a maroon Jeep Cherokee driven by a large, male teenager. The driver of the Cherokee was able to keep his distance and brake safely as John’s station wagon screeched to a halt in the intersection. John pulled hard on the steering wheel, and the station wagon took off after the Mercedes.
When he caught up with the errant driver, John didn’t tailgate. He simply followed eastbound on Dundee as Keith Michaels drove and carried on a very animated conversation with the cell phone pressed to his ear. Keith was obviously in a heated argument with the person on the other end of the line and hadn’t noticed John tailing him.
When Keith couldn’t cough up the $150,000 owed to his dangerous creditor (the initial $50,000 plus the additional $100,000 promised), Franky “Five Bucks” himself made it a habit of calling to cajole the councilman five or six times a day, doing his intimidating best to get Keith to pay back the money.
“Asshole. You take my money, you pay me back!” screamed Franky “Five Bucks” in his choppy Chicago/Danish accent.
Franky sat in his Oak Park home and chewed on a delicate piece of apple kringle that he had purchased the week before during a trip to Racine. Franky made it a monthly habit of driving the few hours to Racine to pick up his favorite childhood treat. In his expert opinion, the Danes in Racine never lost the talent for baking the best kringle in America.
“I don’t have your goddamned money. You’ll have to give me more time,” said Keith.
After a mile and a few more high-volume go-rounds of imploring Franky “Five Bucks” that he did not have all the money, Keith disconnected the call and tossed the cell phone onto the passenger seat and took a hard right into an upscale subdivision.
John followed and watched ahead as the Mercedes took a left into a cul-de-sac where only two homes stood, both of them enormous and worth well over a million dollars each.
John slowly drove past and looked left to see the SUV glide into an open garage, the door closing as soon as the car stopped. This confused John because he was no longer in Balmoral. He was in the suburb of Inverness, which was an entirely separate municipality.
Why would a Balmoral city councilman live in Inverness, unless Keith Michaels was just visiting someone and they allowed him to park in the garage?
John parked in the next cul-de-sac where two more similarly expensive homes stood, got out, walked to the rear of his car and opened the back door. He pulled back the carpet-covered section of cardboard that hid the spare tire, grabbed up the baby face mask hiding there and took off on foot back to where Keith had parked.
He palmed the mask and strolled painfully to the rear of the huge, brick home where the councilman had parked his car. His back spasms were growing more constant the past few days, and he had to stop twice to allow them to subside. But as he neared the backyard he could hear Keith’s raised voice in a one-sided and heated argument.
John couldn’t make out the exact words but money was mentioned three times so far. The day was warm and the home Keith was standing in had the rear French doors open to the expanse of the backyar
d.
“Well, fuck you! I don’t have it! What are you going to do?” yelled Keith into the cell phone, as John, the mask now covering his face, stepped into the house through the open French doors. Keith was so upset that he didn’t even notice John standing five feet away.
John was not armed but he improvised and slid his hand to his lower back as Keith finally disconnected the cell call and noticed him standing an arm’s length away.
“Oh! Shit! - what the hell?!”
“Take a breath, Keith. Relax,” said John.
But Keith didn’t relax. He made a move toward an open doorway in the study they currently stood in.
“Don’t,” was all John said. The tone worked, and Keith froze in place and turned back to facing the masked John.
“Franky sent you, didn’t he?”
John looked about the room, noticing the framed photos everywhere. Hanging photos on the walls and standing framed photos were on every flat surface. Keith was in nearly every one of them.
“How can a Balmoral Village council member live in Inverness?” asked John.
Keith’s shoulders finally relaxed, and he motioned toward a side board where a bottle of Johnny Walker Black and a few glasses were located. John nodded and Keith made himself a stiff drink. He took a long gulp -- and unloaded all of his troubles on John.
“If I’m dying today, I may as well confess my sins to someone, right?” he asked shakily.
And unload his burden he did.
John learned that the house was his in-laws. They purchased it with cash and gave it to his wife after being unimpressed with the fixer-upper that Keith had purchased and had been bleeding and sweating over as he tried to rehab it on his own for the past few years.