Average Joe

by R. D. Sherrill

  Actually, it was more of a dock and a small one at that. The river itself was about the width of a football field in most places. It was a swimmable distance for advanced swimmers during the summer, yet treacherous due to its fast current. It had claimed more than one "expert swimmer" over the years. Centertown's water rescue squad was well-versed in dragging the murky expanse for missing persons. On some occasions the swiftness of the river would deposit unfortunate swimmers many miles downstream where their bodies would be found washed up near someone’s fishing dock. Others would be washed away never to be found. Sometimes the Barren Fork didn't want to give up its dead. Those wanting to swim in Centertown were best to use the city pool where the strongest current was the water washing down the kiddy slide.

  It was actually the size of the hill where Centertown proper was located that gave the illusion it was just like any other small town. The heavy tree coverage on the banks of the Barren Fork hid the waterway from passing view. But, in the end, downtown Centertown was an inland island. Outside it lie the suburbs, if you could say a town of nine thousand has suburbs. About half of the town's nine thousand people lived on the other side of the river, leaving roughly four to five thousand on the island which was considered Old Town. The surrounding suburbs were often referred to as Newtown.

  Centertown had doubled in size in the past decade when its government went forward with the long-rumored annexation program, adopting land into the city which was located on the other side of the river from Old Town. Many argued the river was the perfect place for the city boundaries but members of Mayor Drake Dunham's administration maintained new revenues from taxes was necessary to help the city grow economically. The Newtown section was a well-to-do upper middle class region so it provided a strong new tax base.

  Known to many as Dunham's Land Grab, the city, in a very controversial move, annexed the areas that surrounded the city proper. It doubled the city not only its size but in its revenue as along with the residential sections there was an industrial park which lay just outside the western city limit.

  The doubling of taxes at the expense of those who were happily living in Henderson County and paying only county taxes before they were annexed into the city obviously didn't sit well. This was doubly true when sticker shock hit and two tax bills arrived at their homes.

  Therefore, when election time came four years later and the newly annexed citizens were able to vote, they cleaned house, electing a brand new city government. Mayor Dunham was run out of town on a rail after his defeat, a defeat which saw nearly eighty percent of the city's voters choose someone other than the incumbent. His aldermen also got the boot for supporting the mayor's land grab.

  The clean sweep was too late to change things as the new map reflected the expanded borders. The blue markings, signifying the rivers that ringed the city, were barely noticeable to a passing glance.

  However, to a few people, Centertown looked like a bull’s eye. It was all a matter of perspective. For some, such an island, surrounded on all sides by water, could be considered a fortress. To others, the same island could be considered a prison. Then to a rare few, it could be both.

  Regardless of philosophy, the whole idea of being an island was lost on the people of Centertown. It was not lost, however, on a band of five conspirators who saw opportunity.

  The conspiracy didn't start in the office of some Mafia boss looking for the major score nor did it start behind the walls of some penitentiary with hardened criminals plotting their next crime once they “got sprung" from the joint.

  No, it was nothing nearly as provocative. The plan actually started around a poker table, the smell of cigar smoke in the air, the sound of chips being thrown into the pot. And, like most great plans, it started out as an absurd suggestion, perhaps the product of too many beers on poker night or too much testosterone in the room.

  At first laughed off as a crazy suggestion, the idea kept rearing its head each Saturday night. The "plan" became part of the regular poker night discussion, new details and new twists being added each time. One night a scenario would be discussed and dismissed as “crazy” only to be dredged up the next weekend. A new spin would be added, making it less absurd than the week before, almost as if members of the poker party had been doing their homework between meetings.

  Then, as always, a few beers and a few more hands later, the idea was brushed off. The boys would go their separate ways for the week to return the following Saturday almost like they were attending church services.

  No one really knows when the absurd plan turned into a full-fledged conspiracy. However, somewhere a year after the idea was first thrown onto the poker table like a Texas Hold 'Em blind, the plan began to grow legs, then arms, then a head. Before they knew it, the plan was a full-blown operation. Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was financial desperation, perhaps it was a need for a change of direction in life, but for whatever reasons, it happened.

  "Could we get away with it?" Ralph asked, his wrinkled, red, pug-like face looking out from under his green poker visor as he dealt the cards.

  "I wouldn't be for it if I didn't think so," responded Harold, the most clean-cut member of the group who, if anyone, was most responsible for pushing the light-hearted Saturday night discussion into an improbable plan hatched by five improbable conspirators. "We all have a lot to lose. Well, we all have everything to lose if it doesn't work."

  While no one could quite remember who advanced the idea in the first place, it was Harold who presented the new scenarios and devised solutions to the problems that arose while the plan was being honed to a fine edge. And, it was Harold who had the leadership qualities needed to focus the group on the task at hand as planning was the key to success. He wasn't an alpha-dog but he was a motivator, using his brains to get others to do his bidding, replacing his lack of brawn with his ability to work a crowd.

  "The whole idea of people getting hurt though, it just kind of makes me, well, I don't know," Jerry said.

  The curly-haired forty-year-old shot Harold a nervous glance across the table as he turned up his beer.

  "I mean, I know a lot of these people,” Jerry noted. “I just wouldn't feel right if something happened. I couldn't live with myself."

  Calmly raising Ralph’s wager across the table, throwing in a pair of green chips to the pot, Harold responded matter-of-factly to Jerry's concerns.

  "You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet," Harold said with a resolute look on his face. "Nobody will get hurt that doesn't need to be hurt. It all comes down to the planning. If it's done right, we will be in and out before anyone realizes what's going on. The casualties, well, there's no way around some collateral damage."

  Randy, the quietest member of the group, listened attentively to the others, rubbing his hand through his military crew cut as he looked at his cards.

  "There'll be a lot of work to do if we are going to get it right," Randy spoke up, his eyes still glued to the aces and eights in his hand. "We can't just throw this thing together. We need planning and coordination. We need to know exactly what we’re doing and leave nothing to chance. There has to be military precision."

  "Agreed," Doug chimed in, the muscle-bound, dark-haired youngest member of the group noted as he broke his silence. "Once things get put in motion, there's no going back. And, of course, there will have to be an initial investment. Are we all up for that?"

  "Call," Harold said, his announcement startling Ralph who had been listening to the banter around the table.

  Laying down his full house, Harold grinned. He won as he normally did on Saturday night. Harold, however, was a cheater – and not just in cards.

  "Sorry boys," Harold said, gathering in the chips. Doug shot him a look that could kill as he slammed down his useless hand.

  With Harold happily gathering in his winnings, Doug looked at each of the four around the table as if sizing them up.

  "Well then, we have some decisions to make," Doug began. "If we do this thing, we
need to start the wheels in motion."

  "Yes," Harold agreed. "The sooner the better. I say we meet tomorrow night. No poker, just planning. Then, if we are all agreed afterwards, it's a done deal."

  All four of the other co-conspirators nodded in agreement, knowing after tomorrow night there would be no turning back. Poker would have to wait for a while. The men left Ralph's that evening, all heavy in thought, Harold heavy with his winnings. If they could pull it off, it would be the crime of the century.

  MEET THE FIVE

  Ralph picked up the beer cans from the table. His friends weren't long on cleaning up after themselves when it was his turn to host the poker game. Actually, he didn't mind tidying up the house. It was something he had learned to do after he lost Linda five years ago.

  The couple had been happily married for forty-five years, tying the knot when they were just dumb kids at the age of seventeen. They had eloped. Linda snuck out of her house so they could slip across the state line where it was legal to get married without parental permission. Nothing real romantic, just your standard marriage vows read by the Justice of the Peace followed by the "I do's" and a light peck on the lips.

  Linda's father wasn't real happy with the youngsters but his irritation at losing his youngest daughter was soon forgotten as Ralph proved to be a good provider as well as a kind and faithful husband to his daughter.

  He and Linda ended up raising a pair of good kids, a son and a daughter, both of whom had long since grown up and moved away. They decided small town life wasn't for them. His son moved to Seattle to work in computers and his daughter to Los Angeles where she worked as a legal assistant.

  Together, they gave Ralph and Linda four grandchildren, all dark-haired and brown-eyed like their grandparents. Well, at least when Ralph still had his hair. Now, quickly approaching Social Security age, he sported just a bit of hair on the back of his head. It stuck out from underneath the cap he always wore, a cap that was replaced by his visor on poker night.

  Looking back on it, marrying Linda was the best decision Ralph had ever made. She was a great woman and great mother, never saying a bad word about anyone. She was the glue that bound the family together, always knowing the right thing to say. He missed her terribly, having to learn how to be on his own for the first time in his life after she died. And, with the loss came the loss of his kids, all who were too busy with their own lives to come see dear old dad.

  Ralph understood though, knowing that life happens and sometimes things come up. However, it would be nice to see the kids and grandkids more than once a year, if that. Sure, they were half a country away and there was webcam and Facebook, but it wasn't the same as getting to hold the grandkids who, Ralph knew, would grow up way too fast. When he got down to it, Ralph was lonely.

  He was also angry. Ralph had gotten a job as a locksmith apprentice shortly after marrying Linda. He had learned his craft well. He became an expert in all areas of locking mechanisms as well as in security systems which he did on the side to make extra money to help provide for his family. He continued his expertise in security systems up to the present day, not letting the cutting-edge computer age pass him by.

  When Ralph was just in his late twenties his mentor passed away, leaving him the reputable business which also happened to be the only locksmith shop in Centertown. Ralph took pride in his work, whether it was placing lock and safe systems in homes or simply unlocking the door of careless motorists outside a local retail store. Ralph was a hard worker. He made a nice living for his wife and kids while planning for retirement. He envisioned himself and Linda buying a beach house where they would sit out and watch the sun set every night.

  That wasn't to happen. Cancer struck Linda, its murderous grip quickly seizing his beloved wife, leaving her a shell of her former self in no time. While Ralph was a good provider, good father and a good husband, he was not a good planner. Being self-employed, he had failed to have a health insurance policy, letting it lapse after the kids moved away. There were other bills to pay, such as putting back money for their dream home, so health and life insurance took a backseat. Sickness was the furthest thing from Ralph's mind. He should have known better.

  The treatments, which went on for over a year as he watched his wife waste away, cost them everything. In the end, they were of no use. Linda died anyway but not before most of the money he had worked so hard to earn all his life was gobbled up in expensive medical bills. At the time of her death, he was barely able to cover her funeral expenses, using the last of the dream home money to pay for her final resting place.

  After her death, the bills kept coming. Collectors hounded him, seemingly after his last dollar. And, to make things worse was the hospital director, a bean counter sent down by the hospital corporation who was keener on profit than helping the sick. Ralph had learned after his wife's death that the uninsured were treated differently than the insured, leaving haves and the have-nots when it came to health care. Ralph had been ignorant to that rule of health care, blindly believing a hospital's main purpose was to heal, not to make a profit.

  Ralph had always wondered if his wife had, in fact, received the best health care she could have. While he had no proof, the question gnawed at him, leaving him bitter and distrustful. And still, the bill collectors came and nagged, his wife gone but their hands still out, wanting that last dollar. There were no more dreams of a vacation home.

  When it came down to it, Ralph was lonely and angry and had nothing to lose. That was a dangerous combination.

  Jerry was an electronics geek. If it had a keyboard and a screen, he was the master of it. Just hitting his fortieth birthday, Jerry was divorced with a couple of children. His ex-wife and kids had moved across the state where she had remarried, tying the knot with a dermatologist.

  Jerry hadn't really had time to find a replacement wife as he was too busy having his rather long nose stuck in a computer screen. His lanky frame, along with his always-disheveled curly hair, were not really drawing points when it came to the women nor were his circa 1970’s mission control glasses which were always pushed down his nose.

  His preoccupation with work and his computers left him totally in the dark when his wife began the online relationship with the skin doctor. He may have been an expert in computers but he was naive when it came to people. He had never quite learned how to communicate with his fellow humans. He felt more comfortable with computer code and things of that nature. People confused him.

  "Numbers don't lie - people do," Jerry would always say when defending his geekiness when it came to computers.

  He was surprised when his wife filed for divorce. She charged, of all things, mental cruelty, claiming he ignored her. When you got down to it, he had been a bad husband. He was too absorbed in his work to spend time with his family. He had basically ignored his wife, prompting her to look for a new outlet.

  She found that outlet in her skin doctor. At first Jerry thought his wife had just developed a skin condition when actually she had developed a sex condition, meeting the doctor for sexual trysts rather than treatment of any medical issue. The revelation his wife was leaving him and taking their kids along with the fact that she had been cheating on him for over a year, left Jerry very hurt. They had been high school sweethearts and had been married almost twenty years.

  Meanwhile, at work, things had gone sour for Jerry after his divorce. For years he had worked under a man he considered a friend. He and his boss had been on the same page, working along with the rest of their department like a well-oiled machine. During his sixteen years on the job he had worked hard to climb up the ladder, becoming second-in-command and the heir-apparent for the supervisor's job.

  So, when his boss took a job several towns away, making significantly more than he could make in Centertown, Jerry assumed he would be the obvious replacement. After all, no one else knew how things worked like he did.

  However, the power board which hired his replacement passed him over, opting to bring in a ringer
from out of town, some carpetbagger who knew nothing of how things worked and had no real understanding of Centertown. And, as most new executives are prone to do, he wanted to put his own "personal touch" on the business, changing the way things had been done for years.

  His air of superiority and lack of respect for his workers irritated Jerry who had to bite his tongue to resist telling him to kiss his backside. He needed his job to keep up his house payment and to pay child support, like his ex-wife needed child support anyway, being married to a doctor. Unfortunately for him, she had gotten the best lawyer in town, no doubt sleeping with him too, he figured. Adding insult to injury, his kids lived so many miles away he rarely got to see them despite being religious in his child support payments.

  And then there was the straw that broke the camel’s back when his oldest daughter referred to Dr. Acne Face as "dad."

  When you got down to it, Jerry felt angry and betrayed and had nothing to lose. And, left alone to stare at his computer screens, he had a lot of time on his hands – time to think and dwell. That was a dangerous combination.

  Doug had always been on the wrong side of the law in his youth, getting sent to juvenile hall more times than you could shake a stick at. He had grown up in a large city, running with the wrong people, associating with scofflaws and outlaws, the real criminal element.

  His father had left when Doug was a child. Actually, he had gone to prison for bank robbery, sentenced to twenty years in the federal penitentiary when Doug was young. His only contact was through letters since the federal pen was located many miles away. His mother was unable, or more likely, not willing to bus the kids many miles away to go into a federal institution to see their dad, the felon. Besides, his mom brought home many "uncles" to visit with her, often even inviting them to sleep over. Doug would later figure out when he was a little older that his mother was a woman of the night, as they say. That's a tough thing for a teen to realize.