Bad Reputation: The Complete Collection

by Matt Hader

As they exited the building, a bright light lit up the area.

  “On the ground! Get on the ground, now!” ordered Jimmy, standing next to his police cruiser and aiming both his Glock .40 caliber and his car’s side spotlight at the robbers.

  “Run, kid! Go! Get out of here!” implored John.

  And that’s exactly what Danny did. Still holding the bag of money, but so frightened that he lost his step and fumbled the gun from his hand, he quickly righted himself and kept on going.

  The gun skittered across the parking lot. Danny disappeared into the growing darkness.

  Jimmy turned the spotlight off, holstered his gun and said, “Get the guns back by tomorrow. If they find them missing from the property room, I’m toast.”

  Jimmy didn’t say another word as he got into his car and slowly drove away in the opposite direction of the escaping Danny.

  “Thanks, brother,” said John to no one as he pulled the mask off his head.

  He made his way over to where Danny had dropped the gun. John located the weapon and picked it up. As he tucked the gun into his waistband, he stepped back inside the Kid Crew/fake lumber wholesaler. There he found Larry putting his jacket on.

  “That went okay,” Larry said sarcastically, as John leaned on the counter and took his baby face mask off. “Glad we used blanks. Shit!”

  “I owe you,” said John.

  “Keep the $500, John. You’re my friend. I’m glad I was able to help you.”

  “I owe you more than that.”

  “Please, John. Dude…there’s no need.”

  John finally relaxed and thought about what he had actually accomplished, and how it had all mostly worked out for the best.

  Each and every place that he had stolen money from during his robbery spree was anonymously paid back. With the exception of the breakfast joint in Fox River Grove, which he didn’t really steal from, John had paid back his debt the best he could.

  The “tidy sum” John had accumulated playing his father’s life insurance money in the stock market during the 1990’s had, until very recently, grown to a staggering $5,650,000. Of late, that money had dwindled to levels he’d never known in the past, but John was truly happy for probably the first time since he was 10-years-old.

  And who was he kidding? He could never be with a woman like Amy. John was too eccentric for her. She was a strong woman who desired to be in charge of her own life and to have a normal existence. She was better matched with Henry, and John was glad for that.

  The soon to be reopened Balmoral High School gym would be foundationally sound due to the new cement and structural repairs. The costs for all the repairs would be taken care of by John. Keith Michaels had ordered the signs for the newly-named gym. When the basketball team started their next season, they’d be playing in the “Bernie & Mary Caul Memorial Gymnasium.”

  The endowment that John had set up with his father’s lawyer friend, George, to help perpetually fund the famous Balmoral Fourth of July Festival, was the icing on the cake, though.

  That was John’s proudest accomplishment.

  He hoped that it could maybe smooth out the awkward relationships of other area families, like it had for his own when he was young – even if it only lasted for one week out of the year.

  It was a totally anonymous gift. No one would know he had done this, except for the very silent Keith Michaels. Keith swore up and down to the other council members and townspeople that he had no idea who the donor was. He had never seen John’s face, so he wasn’t really lying.

  “It was a cashier’s check made out to ‘cash,’ for crying out loud,” he’d say.

  It was to be his and the Baby Face Robber’s secret to keep.

  John and Larry strode outside of the Kid Crew building, and John turned and located the proper key for the door.

  As he slid the key into the locking mechanism -- in the northern Indiana town of Merrillville, a state trooper rolled up on Enright’s car which sat idle in the far end of a fast-food restaurant’s parking lot.

  Thirty seconds after the state trooper peered inside the car and saw the carnage of an apparent suicide by shotgun, he radioed into the coroner and his supervisor.

  Most of the damage to the victim’s face was obscured because he was wearing a creepy, baby face mask. But the top of his head was obliterated. There was shotgun damage to the roof of the car as well, proving that the person had ended his life in this location.

  There was a bank bag with a few $20 bills inside from the documented robbery of a breakfast restaurant in the northwest suburbs of Chicago. Also in the car was a typewritten note in size 24 font that read, “Forgive me.”

  But the oddest thing that would be discovered in the car was the temperature of the body itself. It was nearly frozen to the core, and it smelled of Marinara sauce and Italian sausage for some odd reason.

  There were no prints on the vehicle at all, except for the victim’s. Jason and Lou had made sure of that when they first checked his driver’s license for his address, and then fired the extra shot through the roof of the car. Their final moments with Enright took place when they drove his carcass to the dump site.

  John had filed all identifying markings off the 12 gauge shotgun before the Greek brothers transported both Enright’s body and his vehicle to Indiana.

  Just to be safe, Jason and Lou then circled back to Enright’s crappy apartment in the Jefferson Park neighborhood of Chicago to make sure the PI didn’t have any hard evidence pointing towards John, Jason, Tyler or Rita.

  As they figured, there was nothing there that was incriminating - Enright kept everything in his head and not on paper or elsewhere. They took his laptop just in case and tossed it into the Des Plaines River as they made their way back home in the rental car.

  Although there were some strange circumstances to Enright’s untimely demise, namely the body temperature and the lack of blood evidence on the inside roof of the car, it didn’t take but a moment for the coroner to designate the death a suicide.

  Case closed.

  CHAPTER 50

  As John sat drinking a glass of milk and eating a piece of warmed-over, frozen pizza in his newly-painted kitchen, his new drug-dealing buddy, Brick, was setting up his first franchise operation in Des Plaines.

  Brick had taken John’s advice and gone to McCormick Place and taken in the franchise show. There he found every conceivable idea for a business franchise represented at the show.

  The company that caught Brick’s eye, and also happened to have a low start-up cost, was a hydroponic farming franchise called Hydro-Let Salad, Inc. The business was started in southern California five years prior and was taking off in areas like Chicago, where fresh salads were tougher to find in the winter months.

  The company specialized in providing upscale restaurants the greens that their discerning customers required time and time again and year-round, as well.

  Brick was in the high-end, hydroponic salad business as soon as he handed over his check to the Hydro-Let Salad, Inc. representative.

  From his unassuming warehouse on Touhy Avenue in Des Plaines, he would grow the arugula, bibb lettuce and romaine hearts the wealthy customers of upscale restaurants all over the Chicago area would yearn for.

  Sure, he’d be growing some prime California blue mystic marijuana right next to the bibb lettuce, but Brick was slowly becoming a legitimate businessman.

  ***

  In John’s kitchen, the roosters and apple motif was gone, but he’d hired Larry to replace them with his unique versions soon enough. Hell, maybe he’d even spring for new cabinets, countertops and flooring, as well.

  He had just gotten home from his fake robbery and was just settling down so he could get some needed sleep when the front doorbell chimed.

  Crossing the living room to answer
the door, John could see out the front window and noticed a car drive slowly past. It was a dark-colored Crown Victoria. The car stopped and idled for just a moment and then drove away.

  John opened the door to find a terrified Danny standing there and sucking in gulps of air. John grabbed him by the windbreaker and tugged him into the house. He led the teenager to the kitchen and sat him down.

  “I…ran…this…whole…time,” said Danny, as he yanked the bag of money and a crushed baby face mask out of his waistband.

  Danny wasn’t embellishing, either.

  He had literally been running all around the town of Balmoral for the past hour. First, he ran westbound along the back of the commercial buildings on Route 14. After a couple of blocks, he crossed over the highway and sprinted through the park, hoping the darkness would camouflage him from any police who were searching for him.

  He lost his step a couple of times as he paralleled the freight train tracks and had to angle in a different direction, when yet another train came rocketing through town.

  After being separated at the scene of the robbery, his goal was always to just back home. But when he did finally arrive at his back door, he saw through the large windows of the great room, that Sharon and Donald, his mom and dad, were on the sofa making out like a couple of horny teenagers.

  “Shit. Gross, man…” said Danny as he ran away, yet again.

  Danny didn’t realize it, but Sharon and Donald had had a session just that afternoon with a marriage counselor in Cary.

  The argument they had at the counselor’s office was a robust one, too. There was a lot of screaming, shouting, and finger pointing as to which partner had caused the major rift in their marriage.

  After they got home, though, Sharon and Donald were so full of adrenaline, anger, and angst that it totally turned them on. After ripping each other’s clothes off, they wound up making love in nearly every room of the house. Danny saw them just as they were about to christen the great room.

  Danny’s next move was getting to John’s house. He really couldn’t believe that he had made it, either, especially after being chased down by the hulking teen, Staley, and a couple of his drunken buddies after leaving his own home. Staley saw Danny sprinting across Grove Street and gave chase.

  “You can run, dick-stick, but you can’t hide,” yelled Staley as Danny made a perilous decision, sprinting between two moving vehicles on busy Balmoral Road. Staley and his two buddies were drunk, but they were smart enough not to risk their lives to catch up with the smartass Danny.

  Now sitting at John’s kitchen table, Danny was so happy to be safe that he felt like crying, but that wouldn’t be a cool move to make around the older dude, John.

  John got him a cold glass of water from a jug in the fridge and sat down. Danny gulped down the water between deep breaths.

  “Take it easy, Danny. Breathe,” said John.

  Danny pushed the bag of money across the kitchen table but John pushed it right back and said, “It’s yours.”

  “Shit, that was close. I thought you got caught! How did you get away?”

  “When we both ran in different directions, he went after you, but you were too fast for him, I’d guess,” said John.

  “And that asshole with the shotgun. What the -?! Shit, I lost the gun! Holy shit, I lost the gun!”

  “There were no markings on it, so don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

  John allowed the kid to relax and settle down. He didn’t like him being in his house, but what could he do about it now.

  What John didn’t know was that Shane Thompson, the Paladin police detective, was sitting just down the block in the very same Crown Victoria that had just rolled past.

  Thompson wasn’t on official business just yet, but he had a solid, gut feeling that John Caul was the Baby Face Robber. He also wondered if he’d be able to brace the kid who had just stepped into his suspect’s home so he could get more information.

  Thompson figured that he would snatch the kid up when he finally left the house. Since no one at his department knew that he was in Balmoral working this case on his own, he may be able to stretch the usual rules of interrogation when he confronted the kid.

  The teen would talk, he was sure of it. Then he’d be closer to grabbing the Baby Face Robber’s proceeds all for himself.

  His overtime pay had dwindled to nearly zero in the past few years. The police department had unofficially traded chasing criminals for writing as many citations as possible. Detectives didn’t write citations. The new policy would help to pump up the suburb’s coffers during the economic down times, but the new direction of the department played havoc on Shane Thompson’s personal bank account.

  Nabbing the Baby Face Robber was his lost overtime pay equalizer. Shane Thompson would finally be able to purchase that sweet new BMW he had his eye on.

  Danny drank heartily from the glass of water, his breathing slowing down to a more normal pace.

  “I’m scared, John.”

  “It’s going to be just fine.”

  “No, you don’t understand, I’m really afraid.”

  “I get it, Danny. That was a traumatic thing being shot at and then having a cop almost catch you like that. I get it. Now you see why I didn’t want you to do this? It’s a crazy and stupid thing to do. You could get killed. Or worse, you could hurt someone that you don’t even know. An innocent person. You really don’t want to live with the consequences of that, do you?”

  John thought he had calmed the kid down enough and that his plan to scare Danny straight was accomplished. He’d finally be able to map out his next life move.

  He’d probably start by aggressively playing the stock market so he could pad his bank accounts once again.

  Then what?

  He didn’t quite know just yet. He did know that he’d be staying right there in Balmoral. It was his home. If someone was going to be a smartass and call him Sparky from time to time, so be it. He had put up with it for the past 20 years, what difference would it make now? He had actually grown so accustomed to the nickname that it was starting to grow on him.

  He’d find another woman to date. There were hundreds of them out in the world. He’d start his search in the themed-restaurant bars around the Woodfield Mall area. There were many fish in that sea called Woodfield Mall.

  ”I’m afraid, man.”

  “Okay, take it easy,” said John.

  “I’m afraid that I want to do it again!”

  “What?”

  “John, I’ve been thinking. If we don’t do another robbery, I am definitely telling the cops what you’ve been up to. You can bank on it, man,” said Danny, smiling from ear to ear.

  “Wait, what?”

  Danny was elated just thinking about his future prospects, and said, “Who should we hit next? How about an armored car? No. First a bank. That would be so cool. Then we’ll do an armored car!”

  John couldn’t correctly form all of his thoughts into words. All he could say was, “But. But. But…” And all he could really think was, “I wonder if I have any Vicodin left in the house.”

  ###

  Balmoral

  9 Months before Bad Reputation

  “You don’t get it, man,” said Larry, pissed off and near tears.

  “I don’t want to hear it. I’m not some punk you spray paint with,” said Mr. Miree, Larry’s father, a stout man both physically and emotionally. They stood toe-to-toe in the back yard of their home among stacks of new building materials. “Go back to that pancake house and beg for your old job back. You can’t just do nothing!”

  “I’m not going back there,” said Larry. He actually loved working at the busy restaurant creating beautiful plates of food for the customers. He always thought he was originating “instant art” at the eatery. H
e treasured the color composition of the various food elements, veggie omelets, pancakes, and the like, and how he could stack the plated food for height to give his edible creations even more visual texture. He never thought that he could love a day-gig as much. His feelings were deeply hurt when they fired him. As much as he missed the work, he could never go back now; he had too much pride.

  “Then you’ll work with me here while I get this house ready for sale. I’ve got another place under contract, too. I’ll keep you working.”

  Larry yearned to open up to his father and talk to him about his hopes and dreams, even though they were many, multi-layered, and confusing even to him. Larry could picture himself one moment as a professional artist, hawking his wares at the chic Lincoln Park galleries, or the next running his own restaurant. He just wanted something else in life other than what his dad had going professionally. Purchasing, fixing, and flipping houses was a lucrative business, but it wasn’t Larry’s calling. He wanted so badly to tell all of this to his father, but what he said instead was, “Got to go. I’m late.”

  ***

  When Larry laid eyes on the house in Balmoral, he thought he stepped into a cheesy horror film. The old place hadn’t seen paint in awhile. The rusted front gutter tilted off the roof line at an odd angle, and the foot-high uncut grass was brown and tamped down by cold October rains. A planter full of fluffy yellow mums on the front steps was the only sign of life on the property.

  An empty Balmoral police car was parked blocking the driveway. Odd, Larry thought. But then he heard men yelling in the back yard.

  Larry followed the voices and carried a brown paper bag containing individually prepared meals up the driveway and toward the rear of the house. Before he could reach the ruckus, Peter, a snippy-looking man in a sweater vest, edged in from his yard next door, and impeded Larry’s path.