A Lifetime of Vengeance

by Pete PJ Grondin

  Pat McKinney had time to think while he was sitting . . . waiting . . . staring out the window at the house across the round stretch of blacktop. He was making sure all the tasks that Diane had laid out for him over the phone earlier were complete. Pat found out that there was a shopping mall within thirteen miles of their house. That's exciting. Now we know where to hang out when we are bored to death. Pat also found the local library, the courthouse, the city hall, the state license bureau, a grocery store, and several strip malls. Now we know where all our money will be going.

  He looked around the small bedroom where he was seated in a lawn chair, the only furniture in the house. There were curtains on all of the windows but they didn’t count. The rooms in the house were all painted antique white. The house had absolutely no character. The doors and windows were trimmed on the inside by fake plastic trim that was meant to be used in house trailers. The doors were hollow, light weight interior style doors. They had no insulating qualities whatsoever. The door to the main bathroom had been punched through. Apparently, an angry husband wanted to get to his wife real bad. According to the absentee owner who lived in Tampa, the last tenants left in the middle of the night. He’d found out later that they’d gotten divorced but not before the man had assaulted the woman and put her in the hospital for several days. The McKinneys were able to rent the house for a song. Marleena Johnson, a prostitute, was hired to make the cash deal. She told the owner that she’d need the house for at least six months. Using the brother’s money, she’d paid his first and last month’s rent. She’d made the second month’s rental payment a week in advance of the due date. She was now in the third month of the lease. Ms. Johnson was happy to make the $500 cash to secure the lease for Pat. She didn’t even have to perform the normal professional services for the big payday. Essentially, he’d paid for all six months, all in cash. The owner should be happy. If he’d ever visited, he would have wondered why the place had never been furnished. If all went according to plan, Pat’s need for this house would be fulfilled and this would be his last night here.

  Pat's concentration was broken for a moment. He saw some movement from the house across the street. Lights came on in the bathroom. There was a shadow in the clouded glass. The shadow moved around, but was staying in one general area. Probably combing his greasy, dago hair. You better comb it now, you grease ball. You'll want to look good in your casket.

  The light went out. Pat scanned the house for other signs of movement. Then a light came on in the living room. Pat got his first good look at Danny Vallero in over six years. It had been that long ago that Danny walked away with over $50,000 of the brother’s money. Through the scope on the powerful RAP Model 500, Iver Johnson AMAC-1500 sniper rifle, he could see Danny as if he were standing ten feet in front of him. The scope cross-hairs were held steady as Pat followed Danny's movements past the door, then in front of the living room window. Pat simulated a couple of shots, mimicking pulling the trigger. You've been killed three times since you walked into the living room, you cock-sucker. I can't wait until later tonight. Then Pat saw another person enter the living room; the same young lady that stayed over with Danny. Well, I’m a patient man. I’ve got all the time in the world. No sense rushing.

  * * *

  Al Michaels walked through the front door of the "Rock" at about 11:45pm to the screaming of Brian Purcer's Fender Stratocaster. The crowd was responding as if this were a concert hall and not a local nightclub, clapping their hands along with the music and bouncing up and down. Al was amazed at the crowd's response to the music. He'd never seen a club rock like this.

  The main bar was 75 feet from the club’s front door directly in the back. A second, smaller bar was to his left. The stage was to Al’s right. There was a large dance floor directly in front of the stage of light colored teak. Tables lined the dance floor. There was an area of the floor that was raised about three feet along two walls of the bar where two rows of tables were situated to provide a better view of the dance floor and stage. There were 40 to 50 people standing on the dance floor lined up at the stage like a concert hall. The crowd had their hands above their heads, clapping and swaying to the hard driving music. Brian and the band were hitting on all cylinders and Al could feel the raw energy coming from the stage.

  He smiled to himself and walked over to the bar and ordered a rum and coke, then stood at the bar, scanned the crowd, and enjoyed the music. The bar was smoke-filled but not overpowering. There were fluorescent lights along the underside of the bar so that the bartenders could see what they were mixing and pouring. Beer signs hung on the walls and in front of the mirror behind the bar. The only other lights were from the band’s stage lights, flashing red to pink to purple.

  The crowd seemed very young to Al. He looked at a couple of girls that looked like they were still in high school. They were dressed in skimpy halters and mini-skirts or very thin tank tops. They all had the look of being too easy. For all he knew, maybe they were. He shook his head and thought to himself that he must be getting old. I’m thinking like my dad.

  The song ended and the crowd erupted into loud applause, whistles, cheers, and screams. What a hot song. Al couldn't believe that quiet, skinny Brian Purcer was going to be a star. Who would have thought? The band started into the next song and the crowd's screaming and cheering subsided. Again, Brian's guitar took control of the crowd, mesmerizing them into a rock and roll trance.

  Al noticed a man walking toward him out of the crowd. In the dimly lit bar, he couldn’t see the man’s face clearly as he made his way through the crowd. He was dressed in a light sports coat that fit loose on his frame. He was making a beeline straight to Al. As he approached, his face came into view. It was Randy Farley. Al hadn't seen Randy in several years, and, in contrast to the young girls in the Rock, Randy looked old. Even in the darkness of the bar, Al could see that life had been tough on Randy. His eyes looked sunken into their sockets. Dark rings and baggy flesh hung under them. The lines in his face were etched deep. As he approached Al, he smiled, but Al could tell that this was a worn-down man.

  With as much enthusiasm as he could muster, Randy shouted, "Al Michaels! How are you? I haven't seen you in two or three years at least. Where the hell have you been hiding?"

  The questions were hitting the mark. Al had been so busy trying to make his business a success that he hadn't been out on the town in a long time. "I've been pretty busy, working the nursery. It doesn't leave much time for a social life. How have you been?"

  Al looked at the strained face of Randy Farley. His response was calculated. "Well, I ran into a bit of bad luck. I got caught in a bust a couple of months ago and my trial is coming up pretty quick. My lawyer says I got a good chance to beat the charges but the whole deal has me down. I'm broke. I can't get a job that's worth a shit. As soon as the company I was working for found out about the charges, they trumped up some crap on me and fired me, the bastards. Since then, I've been on a down-hill ride into the shit pile. Other than that, I'm doing great." The attempt at a joke fell short of the mark.

  Al wanted to change the subject. He really didn't want the problems of an old friend to ruin his first night out in years. Randy solved the problem for him.

  "How about Brian? Isn't he sensational? And the rest of the band is great, too. I'm telling you, Al, he's on his way. The record companies are wooing him big-time. They're talking six digits just to sign him. Can you believe it? Skinny little Brian?"

  "He always did have the talent," Al shouted over the music. "We knew that long ago. I figured that he'd be working at the Sentinel all his life, though. I really didn't think that he'd motivate himself enough to get a solid band together, much less land a recording contract. The band sounds great. They're hot."

  "Well I'm glad to see that at least some of the old gang is doing well. I mean, I'm all fucked up, but you and Brian are on the move. Have you talked to anybody else lately?"

  "No, I haven't, but I guess Brian heard from Pat McKinney the othe
r day.” Randy’s demeanor immediately changed when he heard Pat’s name. Al noted this but went on. “Pat wrote him a letter and said that he's moving to Dunnellon. He's started his own business, consulting firm working mainly for nuclear power plants. That's almost as amazing as Brian and his band. Who would have thought in their wildest dreams that Pat McKinney had enough brains left intact to even think about nuclear power? I haven't seen or heard from him in about seven years?"

  The news about Pat McKinney changed the desperate look on Randy's face to something close to terror. Al could see that he’d struck a raw nerve. It was like Randy saw a ghost. Al had heard that Pat and his two brothers had problems with old friends, but he figured that seven years would heal any hard feelings. He was obviously wrong. From what Al remembered Randy used to be pretty good friends with Pat, but they'd had a falling out before Pat and his brothers left town. Al didn’t know that Randy was involved in the rape and murder of Mike’s wife, Julie. He did know that Randy had made a few deals with Jamie Watkins and he knew where the dope came from. It was part of the stolen stash from the McKinneys. Al thought that might be the reason for Randy’s reaction.

  “Are you OK?” Al was looking carefully at Randy who was still thinking about Al’s revelation. What color he’d had left in his face was now drained, and Randy looked sickly.

  Randy, trying to regain his composure, looked at Al and asked, “When did you say Brian heard from Pat?”

  “He didn’t say exactly. He just said ‘the other day’ so I’m guessing Tuesday or Wednesday. Why, did you want me to let him know you asked about him?” The question was more to get a reaction from Randy rather than find out what Randy wanted.

  Randy’s look was priceless. His quick, fearful glance at Al let him know for certain that there was definitely more to the Randy Farley - Patrick McKinney story. He wanted to know what it was but decided to not push it any farther.

  For his part, Randy could feel his fear well up into his throat. His anxiety was rising, his eyes widening in barely controlled fear. When he looked up at Al, he could see that Al was studying him with a curious look.

  Randy said, “You don’t have to. I haven’t talked to Pat in years. He probably doesn’t even remember me. Where’d you say he was moving to? Dunedin? Isn’t that over by Tampa?”

  “Dunnellon,” Al said. “It’s north of Tampa. There are only a couple thousand people there. I was over that way a few years back. If you blink, you’ll miss it.”

  Randy looked defeated once again. The news about Pat McKinney was one more thing for him to worry about. Al saw the total despair across Randy’s face. He was definitely a man at the end of his rope.

  Randy stared off into the crowd now. He spoke as if he were talking to the crowd, though Al knew it was directed at him. "Maybe after I get this monkey off my back, I'll be able to get a business going. Or maybe I can convince someone that I am trustworthy enough to get a good job, get myself back on track. What do you think?"

  Al was sure that Randy was a loser for life. He didn't believe Randy could get out of trouble and stay out. Randy was lost, and no one was going to find him.

  With conviction he said, "Look, Randy, if Pat can straighten himself out, you can too. Don't be too hard on yourself. You've just had some bad breaks. You'll get it back together. Just keep trying. You’ll get your second chance.” Even as he said it, he wondered how many second, third, and fourth chances Randy had used up. You usually don’t get that screwed up from one simple mistake. It takes practice, and lots of it. It may start out with something as simple as a drug bust, but it can stop there if you learn your lesson. Randy just wasn’t learning.

  "Thanks, Al. Good to see you again. Don't be a stranger."

  "Sure, Randy. Good luck with the trial."

  Just as they turned away, the music stopped abruptly and the crowd again exploded into applause, whistles, screams, and cheers. Brian stepped to the microphone, held his guitar over his head and yelled, "Thank you!! Thank you all very much! We're going to take a twenty-minute break before our last set. Don't go away, there's more hot rock and roll coming your way!" More screams and cheers from the crowd rang out as the band left the stage.

  Chapter 13

  Bill Grimes wasn't having much luck as a salesman. He was starting to get a little worried that he wouldn’t be able to move the weed that was fronted to him, not by the deadline anyway. He'd made twelve calls and only three people were home. Only two of those expressed any interest in purchasing any significant quantities of the stuff. Bill began to doubt his own ability to do anything right. Maybe Karen was right when she said that he’d never amount to anything. Well, she hadn't said that exactly, but she might as well have said it. His thoughts of self-doubt were compounding, feeding upon themselves. The more he thought about his inadequacies, the more he began to believe in them. He went to the refrigerator and opened a beer and began to think about what his next move should be. Just then the phone rang, almost causing Bill to drop his beer.

  "Bill, this is Phil Daniels. How are you doing?"

  There was a pause as Bill tried to think. Who is Phil Daniels? The name sounded familiar, but he just couldn't place him. So Bill replied, "Fine. What can I do for you? Who are you, 'cause I don't remember you is what he wanted to ask? He was trying to be cautious, but friendly, because he didn't want any unexpected guests to show up at his apartment right now with the huge amount of stash he had in the closet.

  "You remember me, don't you? We used to hang around with Cindy Worthington, way back in high school. Remember, we went to the Boston concert at the Lakeland Civic Center with her and that other chick, the sleazy one, Sandy Essy. Remember we used to call her Sandy 'easy' because everyone was jumpin' her bones. What a show Boston put on that night. And what a slut Sandy was. She got hosed by three different guys that night. Just the kind of chick you want to bring home to momma, right?"

  Bill remembered this guy now. He was a real freak back then. Bill hadn’t remembered him that well because he’d been so drunk that he’d passed out during the warm-up band’s set. Phil had helped carry Bill out of the concert hall. They weren’t real sure that Bill would survive. Karen was his girlfriend back then. After Bill passed out, she’d latched on to a friend of Phil’s for the rest of the show. Phil thought that Karen was going to go down on Buddy right in the civic center. As it turned out, she did on the way back to Orlando in the back of the van. Bill never found out about that. He was passed out all the way home. Boston did put on a good show, but Bill missed the entire thing. It was no wonder that he couldn’t remember Phil very well.

  "Yeah, Phil, I remember now. How are you doing? What can I do for you?" Bill was still being a little cautious. He had no idea why Phil Daniels would be calling him after all these years.

  "Well, a mutual friend of ours said that I would be doing well to call you about some business matters. He mentioned that for a mere $12,500, I could get about ten big ones from you. You know, of the leafy variety. So how about if I come over and check it out."

  Bill was amazed. He hadn't talked to this guy in over six years! Now, out of the blue, this guy was willing to put $12,500 into his hands.

  "Sure, Phil. Do you know where I live?"

  "Yeah. Jimmy Duke told me. I'll be over in a few minutes. I'm just around the corner."

  "Okay, see you in a few." When Bill hung the phone up, a thousand thoughts rushed through his head. What if this guy was working for the cops? What if this was all a set up? Where could I hide the stash? Should I get my gun and have it ready? After all these frantic questions raced through his head, he finally decided that it would be prudent to have his gun loaded and on his person. He took a sports coat out of the closet and laid it on the bed. He put his AN1911 .45 caliber pistol in its holster and put on the shoulder harness. He then donned the sports coat and checked himself in the mirror. Bill smoothed out some of the wrinkles on the coat and made sure that the weapon was not visible from all angles. He was ready. He looked at himself again i
n the mirror, sticking out his chest with pride. Man, I even look like a successful dealer. Just as he was making the last adjustments to his suit, the door-bell rang.

  As Bill walked to the door, he thought to himself that maybe he should have checked out Phil's story with Jimmy Duke, their common friend. Bill had called Duke earlier that evening, and the Dukester wasn't interested. He didn't even lead on that he knew anyone that was interested. It was a little late for a checkup call now. $12,500 was waiting at the door.

  * * *

  "Man, Brian, you guys are hot! I can't believe the crowd, man. The chicks are screaming like back when the Beatles were just coming into the big time." Al Michaels's compliments were a little too much for Brian. He knew the crowd was into the songs, but like the Beatles? That's a stretch, he thought.

  "Thanks, man. It really feels good to hear the crowd getting into it like that. We play just that much better. The energy pumps us up. Our last set is going to be a short one, because of the time. We've been playing over on the normal sets because the crowd is really into it and we want to keep the energy level up. It's fantastic."

  Just then a group of young girls came up to the table to ask for Brian's autograph. He obliged and received several kisses on the cheek for the trouble. After they left, Al looked at Brian in near amazement.

  "You must be moppin' up on the pussy around this town. They're falling all over you; throwing themselves at you. How do you keep up with the pace?"

  Al's question hit a nerve, and for the first time, Al saw that Brian Purcer had a temper. Even in the darkened bar, Brian's red face was visible. Brian dropped his eyes to the table before he shouted, "Al, I'm not handling it well! OK? I'm tired, I'm lonely, and I'm not getting pussy every night! I'm too fucking tired to even think about it! Even if I wanted to, the women I want to be with are always taken!" He began to think about Karen Grimes . . . then Ginny Parks. They were the loves of his life; at least in his mind. He wondered what they were doing tonight.