Siblings

by K. J. Janssen

  Special Agent Hawkins let him vent his spleen. When Wilson finished, he reached out for the sack Wilson had just placed on the top of the table. He looked inside it and saw a small audio tape, a hash pipe and a cube of hash. “Thanks for this. I’m glad you had the presence of mind to record the conversation you had with the Abbotts.” He reached into his inside coat pocket to retrieve several four by six photos. He handed them to Wilson and began commenting on them. “That first picture is of Daniel Kane. He was only fourteen when that picture was taken. He’s lying on the street on the corner of Elm and Norton, where he landed after he jumped or fell off the roof of Norton Tower. He had just consumed an experimental drug that the Abbotts supplied to him.”

  The look of horror on Wilson’s face told Byron what he needed to know in order to proceed. “The second picture is of two dead babies. They were savagely beaten and drowned by their mother who was out of her head at the time on meth, again supplied by a distributor of the Abbotts. The last picture is of Officer Marvin Turner. It’s not a picture his wife and children would want in their family photo album. He was killed during a raid on a meth lab last month. The place was rigged with explosives and when Officer Turner was gathering evidence, they went off in his face. He died instantly with third degree burns over his entire body, leaving a wife and a newborn boy behind. The meth lab was one of many supplying George and Bobby Abbott.”

  Hawkins allowed time for Wilson to look at the pictures for a few more seconds. He knew the pictures were more effective at telling the truth about the horrors of drugs than his words could ever be.

  Norm started to speak, but thought better of it, knowing that Hawkins wouldn’t want the mood spoiled with inappropriate words.

  The mood was broken, however, by the sudden appearance of Sherry with their lunch. Wilson quickly scooped up the photos he had spread out on the table and laid them face down.

  “Thanks, Sherry,” Special Agent Hawkins said. “That should be it for now.”

  Hawkins put the tape into a small player and connected the ear buds. “I want to hear this tape while we eat.”

  They ate their lunches in complete silence. While Hawkins listened to the recorded conversation, Norm and Wilson mulled over what words would be appropriate once lunch was finished.

  Finally, after slurping the last of his Coke through the straw, Wilson spoke. “I know why you showed me these photos and I appreciate that George and Bobby Abbott are really bad dudes, but I already knew that from when I worked for them. I know that when people mess around with drugs, they’re flirting with danger. My heart goes out to the families of the victims, but it isn’t my fight.” He looked directly at Hawkins. “It’s your job and the people in law enforcement to stop these guys. Leave me out of it.”

  “Sure it’s our job, Wilson, but sometimes we can’t do it alone. We need law-abiding citizens such as you, to help. We’re so close to shutting down the Abbotts, the gang they work for, the drug suppliers, and the money guys behind it all.”

  “I’m sorry, I just can’t get involved. I want to get as far away from that life and its consequences as I possibly can.”

  “I understand your point, but tell me how you’re going to pull that off. You just had a visit from the Abbotts and from the recording I just heard it sounds as if they are actively recruiting you. I grant that they were very casual about it, but we both know they can be very persuasive when they choose to be. They aren’t going to take no for an answer. You should know that. They’ll find one way or another to lure you in. They may threaten to harm your family or mess you up at work; even threaten you with bodily harm. Trust me; you are not going to walk away from them. Your only hope is to help us put them away.”

  Byron watched Wilson’s face as he spoke. He detected an increasing level of concern. It was time for the coup de grace. “Work with me, before the people you care about get sucked up in this. We’ll protect you and your family if you’ll agree to cooperate.”

  Wilson looked at Norm and then at Byron. “I don’t know what to do. What if I agree to work with the FBI and you can’t convict them without my testimony? That would put my family and me in immediate danger. Our lives would never be the same.”

  “I won’t lie to you, there is always that risk, but we have a pretty solid case against them, so it shouldn’t be necessary for you to testify. We’ll do everything in our power to keep your name out of it. All we’re going to need from you is information about their distribution network.”

  “Wait a minute—I just thought of something. If you shut them down, how are you going to keep my name out of it? You’d have to prosecute me along with all the other distributors, or else they would know that I was helping you.”

  “It’s not going to work that way. The Justice Department has changed its tactics due to the number of states legalizing marijuana, so they will not be prosecuting any distributors dealing exclusively in recreational drugs, even hashish. From what you told me, that’s what the Abbotts want you to do.”

  “Yes, he’s talking about me having an exclusive territory for the sale of hash.”

  “Well, then, that’s perfect. That’s exactly the in we’ve been looking for.”

  “Wait a minute, Agent Hawkins; I didn’t say I’d do it.”

  “Wilson, let me add an incentive. I discussed your case with Mr. Blaine and Wendell Zeller, my Special Agent in Charge. They both agree that you were a victim. It’s obvious that the judge decided to make an example of you and the real culprits got away scot free. You were a good kid with a solid future that just fell in with the wrong crowd. This is your chance to help right that wrong. In return for your full cooperation, Mr. Blaine, my SAC, and I will recommend to the court that the record of your conviction and subsequent confinement be expunged. The FBI is part of the Justice Department, so we have some pull in high places.”

  Wilson looked at Hawkins as if he had just heard he won the lottery. “You can really do that?” he asked nervously.

  “I can’t guarantee anything, but we’ve been able to do it for several witnesses that have cooperated with us; some involved in much more serious crimes than you were.”

  Tears began to well up in Wilson’s eyes. “There is nothing in the world I want more than a clean slate. The realization that for the rest of my life my record will go with me no matter where I go or what I do haunts me.”

  “That’s understandable. If you’re willing to work with us, I promise you that we’ll do everything in our power to help you.”

  “Okay, what do want me to do?”

  ***

  Later, Wilson sat in the quiet of his tiny apartment, mulling over the events of the past two hours. Finally he was getting a chance to set things right and make his family proud. Mom and Maggie were always in his corner, no matter what, but his father and Richard, they were another matter. Richard probably would never overlook the embarrassment of having a brother involved in a crime, but he longed for the opportunity to regain his father’s acceptance.

  His father had always been a strict disciplinarian, which made it even more of a surprise when the news of Wilson’s arrest broke. The first words out of his father’s mouth, when he came down to the police station, were “How could you do such a thing? Didn’t I teach you better than to get involved with drugs? What’s everyone going to think?”

  As stern as he was, Ron Symington had never laid a hand on his children. Ron had grown up with a father that used his belt as a disciplinary tool and he swore that if he ever had children he would use words instead of welts to get his message across.

  Wilson’s friends all called their male parent “Dad.” They did things with their dads. Even his own brother and sister referred to his father in this manner, but as much as he yearned for the comfort of this address, for some unexplained reason, he never felt comfortable referring to his father as Dad. It wasn’t that he needed the buddy or pal association that usually happened with dads. He realized that with a family of three, that sort of exclusivity w
as impractical. Maybe things will change now. Maybe I can finally earn some respect. I sure hope so.

  Chapter 21

  Ron was in the bathroom shaving when his father made another of his rare appearances.

  Ronnie, what troubles you this time?

  Ron humorously replied, “Dr. Symington, I presume?”

  One and the same.

  “What brings you here, today?”

  Now, don’t be coy, son, you know that you conjured me up. What’s so pressing that you need to talk to your old dad?

  “Okay, you’re right. I do need to talk with you. I’m in a real jam at the Center. I’m afraid I may lose my position as CEO.”

  Well that is more important than a Thanksgiving dinner. By the way, I was pleased that everything went reasonably well for a Symington get together. As for this other mess, I hate having to say ‘I told you so,’ but you will remember that when you added the last three practices, I warned you not to make as a condition to their joining, that you would relinquish over all control of the Center in favor of a Board of Directors and operating committees, where each practice had an equal vote.

  “You don’t have to remind me. Peter and I went a few rounds over that when we accepted the applications. He said exactly what you said back then, so did Lynn, but I was so anxious to fill the empty space at the center that I ignored your advice and twisted Pete’s arm until he agreed.”

  I remember when it happened. I had a sense of foreboding that if you signed those papers you would live to regret it. Now, here we are, with the wolf at the door.

  “A wolf in the clothing of John Hazleton. He not only intends to challenge me for the CEO job, but he wants to remove our family name from the Center.”

  I don’t know the man, but we can’t let him denigrate an institution that you have poured your life and blood into. I’ll be glad to help in any way I can to stop him. What does Peter say about all this?

  “Hazleton is threatening to unseat him as General Manager, as well. Pete’s ready to put up a fight. He hates Hazleton’s guts more than I do and that’s saying a lot. Actually it was Peter’s report on last quarter’s profits that triggered the situation. It seems that the empty office slots and some rental arrears have taken a toll on the Center’s profitability. Pete wanted to push through the applications of two promising practices in order to smooth over the financial results, but Hazleton blocked the idea. In the ensuing discussion, I threatened to challenge him as chairman of the New Business Committee and things went downhill from there.”

  Well, what’s done is done. The important thing now is to stop him dead in his tracks. What do you know about the man?

  “As far as I know he’s a happily married man. We know his wife Lorraine; they have a daughter who attends an out-of-town school and a son with a family. His practice is doing well. It’s one of the top grossers among the twelve active practices at the Center. Other than that all I know is what we have in his original application. He’s a politician through and through. He’s been cultivating a support group for the past year or two. That’s the thing that disturbs me the most. It’s as if he was waiting in the wings for Pete and me to drop the ball. This thing with the growth slowing is apparently the catalyst he’s been waiting for.”

  Don’t misunderstand what I’m about to suggest. Normally I wouldn’t stoop so low as to suggest that you invade another man’s private life, but this is an extraordinary circumstance. If I were you, I would hire a private investigator to look into the man’s background and lifestyle. I think that’s your best bet. If you can get something on him, perhaps you can get him to back down. That will be a lot better than a pissing contest between board members. It’s too important that all the practices work together for the good of the Center. You don’t want them picking sides. Not only that, any negative publicity about the Center might scare away future candidates and do irreparable harm.

  “I think you’re right. The New Business Committee uses the two local private investigators to do their vetting, so I’ll have to look out-of-town.”

  I suggest you play this close to the vest. It has the potential of backfiring if it isn’t handled properly. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t suggest that you keep a secret from Marilyn, but in this case I suggest you don’t tell her. You’ll probably have to share your plans with Peter. As far as anyone else, I advise that you two wait until you have something to work with. That way, if you can’t dig up anything, it’s better if no one knows what you’ve done.

  “I’ll get on it today. Thanks for the advice, Dad. I hope someday we can get together like this and just shoot the breeze. It would be nice not having to have a crisis to bring you here.”

  We’ll see, son, and with that, he vanished.

  Chapter 22

  They were seated in a booth at Sweeney’s.

  Ron spoke first. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.” The card he was handed read PI Robert C. Rousch.

  “Not a problem, Dr. Symington. What can I do for you?”

  “I need you to investigate a business partner of mine, a Dr. John Hazleton. I have all the information you’ll need in this packet.”

  Rousch reached for the packet and scanned its contents. “This should help me get started. I see you included his business itinerary. How recent is the information?”

  “It’s the schedule he submitted for the next two weeks. Every practice must post their hours, so the General Manager can plan facility use and security. That last sheet is his personal datebook. I copied it when his secretary was away from her desk.”

  “Is there any particular person or activity that I should concentrate on, aside from the doctor, or for that matter, anyone I should avoid?”

  “Not that I can think of at this time. That may change as you check on him. I want photos of anyone he meets off the premises. If you can identify them, all the better. That would include any socializing he does during non-office hours. He’s a member of the Wallington Country Club. I’m also a member. I’ve arranged for you or any of your associates to have a guest pass under the name Stephen Gibbons.”

  “That will work fine. How often do you want to meet?”

  “Any time you have anything you feel I need to see. You have all my phone numbers. If you leave a message, be cryptic and use the Stephen Gibbons name. Is there anything else you’ll need?”

  “I don’t think so. The information you gave me seems to be very thorough.”

  “This is a top priority for me. I need answers quickly, regardless of the cost. Understood?”

  “Yes sir, you’re very clear. I’ll be back to you promptly.”

  Rousch finished the rest of his beverage, rose, and left the bistro.

  Chapter 23

  A three day High-Stepper convention at Wallington House kept Wilson and his crew busy handling the overflow of vehicles. He welcomed the work and the overtime, which kept him from dwelling on the Abbott brothers and the promise he made to his PO and FBI Special Agent Hawkins. The element of danger was ever present and was beginning to win over his decision to work with the FBI.

  One evening, as he arrived home, his cell phone rang. It was George Abbott calling. It had been three weeks since the Abbotts showed up at his apartment and made him an offer to be a distributor for their stash of hashish; it seemed as if it was a lot longer than that.

  He answered on the fourth ring. “Wilson Symington.”

  “Wil, this is George Abbott. We need to meet.”

  “Okay. When?”

  “How about right now? Bobby and I are about a block away.”

  “Well, I don’t know. I just got home. I haven’t even had a chance to eat.”

  “That’s perfect. We haven’t either. I’ll stop and get us some burgers and fries. You supply the drinks. Okay?”

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “See you in about ten minutes,” George said and the connection ended.

  Wilson dialed Special Agent Hawkins. “George just called. He’s picking up food
and they’ll be here in about ten minutes.”

  “Great, I was wondering what was taking them so long. Don’t worry about anything. The bugs we planted around your place will record everything they say. Don’t try to play secret agent to get them to talk. Just be yourself and agree to whatever they propose. We’ll have plenty of opportunities to gather the kind of evidence we’ll need for a conviction. This is just the kickoff. I’ll set up a meeting at Blaine’s office for eight tomorrow morning. We’ll talk then.”

  Wilson got a six-pack from the refrigerator, tore off the plastic holder, and put the cans on the cocktail table in front of the couch.

  Ten minutes on the dot, the Abbotts were at his front door. He let them in and George put the bag of fast-food down on the cocktail table and placed a shopping bag on the floor next to him.

  “Hope you like double cheeseburgers.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll eat yours,” said Bobby with a laugh.

  “You don’t have to worry about that. Cheeseburgers are my favorite fast-food. Sit down, have a beer. I have wine too if you don’t like beer.”

  “Beer’s fine for us,” George said. “Here, have some fries. We don’t usually eat this shit, but this is a special occasion.”

  Contrary to public opinion, George and Bobby were fitness freaks. Not in the sense of extreme body building, but serious nevertheless. They were upper torso specialists; biceps, triceps, forearms, pectoral deltoids, rhomboids and the trapeziums. They spent two hours a day concentrating on one group of muscles or another. Their powerful upper body, narrow waists, and slim hips made them attractive to the young women who frequented the bars and taverns in Wallington. Their diet usually consisted of chicken, fish, fruit, and veggies, with no room for sweets, breads, and most dairy and certainly not for “fast food.”