EARLY WITHDRAWAL (A Mitch Tobin Mystery Book 1)

by Mark Gannon

  Researching the beer assortment at John’s was always a treat. He was a beer fanatic and kept varieties that I never heard of and labels I couldn‘t read from places you would never find on a map. His ‘Beer Fridge’ was a walk-in cooler built into the basement wall extending under the front lawn. A lot of people may be snobs about wine, John was into beer. Several times he had told me the good thing about beer was it was meant to be drank before it went stale not wait years for it to get good. When you bought beer the consumption date was framed in months. Hard to argue with a man about drinking beer when he paid a premium for the beer and didn’t want to wait too long to drink it.

  Frank recapped the reason for the visit and the need for John’s legal opinion. “I went and traded Laurie’s paint mare to Larson for that fancy Tennessee Walker of his even up.”

  I yelped, “Buttercup! You traded Buttercup, Laurie’s favorite little Paint mare?”

  Frank shrugged. “Laurie would have nothing to do with it so instead I took my stud over to Larson’s place and dropped it off.”

  “You mean that rank nasty stud that you can’t ride? No wonder Larson wants him out of his pasture.” Frank even surprised me.

  “Frank, you did take the Tennessee Walker back didn’t you?” John was already ahead of me. “Well Frank? Did you take it back?”

  Frank looked plenty guilty and sheepish giving away the answer. “That Tennessee Walker looked so good in my pasture at home I couldn’t bring myself to load it up. Well Laurie called me on the cell phone at work today and told me about a conversation she had with Larson. Larson is still insisting on the horse trade and had some unkind words for my letting the stud out in his pasture. For some reason he is hell bent on getting Laurie’s paint mare. According to Larson he won’t accept his horse back. And according to Laurie she is not about to give up her paint.”

  “You dumb shit! No wonder Larson was so mad at you. You kept Laurie’s horse and his Tennessee Walker and tried to dump that mean stud on him.” Frank just absolutely amazed me some times.

  John put on his patient lawyer voice. “Frank you need to take the Tennessee Walker back or take the Paint over to Larson. And no matter what you do you need to get that stud out of Larson’s pasture before he sues you for that stud busting up his fences and horses.” Frank was giving John a beery look that was fuzzy. “You hearing me Frank? Take the Paint or the Walker back to Larson and pick up that stud.”

  That was pretty typical for Frank. He had to have horses and he couldn’t afford them. When I had started banking, one of my jobs as a junior loan officer was to approve or disapprove the overdraft list for the day. Frank was on the list frequently and it was usually due to horse expenses. There were several times I returned checks on his account. It was a good day when they gave that job to a new junior loan officer. As it was, I knew too much about my buddy’s finances.

  By that time I had found a Porter Extra Stout for myself and set up a couple of Miller Lights for Frank. No sense wasting good beer on Frank, he drank whatever you put in front of him. Frank tipped one down in a single gulp after the thirsty work of telling John his sad story.

  “I know which one I should try to keep happy and it sure isn’t Larson.” John nodded agreement with me.

  Frank finally waded in, “So I can go home to Laurie and tell her that her horse is safe as long as I get the Walker back to Larson and pick up my stud?”

  John took a breath and appeared ready to go over the situation with some clarification and looked at Frank before beginning and changed his mind. “Sure. Let Laurie know her horse is safe and if she has any questions to give me a call.” Frank visibly relaxed and started smiling. John gave me a nasty look and asked, “Where’s my beer?” Frank had already started on John’s.

  John stuck his head in the fridge and started discussing hops and bitters. With the walk through door open he handed a bottle behind him and offered “Have you tried this yet? It’s the new Aspall Organic English Draft Cider.” Frank and I gave each other a look like ‘you’ve gotta be kidding’ and set the offered cider on the counter. “How about this one? A Woodchuck Dark & Dry Cider from Green Mountain?” Again another bottle passed to the counter.

  “You don’t have any more Miller Lite do you John?” asked Frank. His idea of a good beer was the same beer in the quart size and chilled to almost ice.

  Greta popped in all excited. As usual Greta looked great - dressed in casual slacks and an old sweater. Her long lean body and golden pixie cut hair made any clothes look better. When she ‘gussied up’ she was just flat out gorgeous. “John. You need to see this!” She was waving her laptop screen in his face. “The adjustments on the program gave great results. It tracked the kids to a tee. The GPS maps and the program maps are spot on. Even when Billy tried to trick the program by hiding out in the pedestrian tunnel under the interstate it still tracked him. I think I’ve really nailed it this time.” Greta finally realized Frank and I were in the room. “Oh – hi guys. I didn’t realize you were here.”

  Frank was always nervous around Greta. I don’t know why. Maybe it was her brainiac tech ability. Or maybe it was her Swedish citizenship and accent. “Well we were –er – a -just here picking John’s brain on a legal issue.”

  “That’s great, Greta. You’ve been working on that glitch for almost a week. Anybody else that would just be a good start. With you that’s like a whole career.” John was always supportive of Greta’s tech experiments. And with good reason – they usually worked.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting but this was really an exciting break through. I’d love to stay and chat but I’m getting back to my office.” As an afterthought Greta threw back over her departing shoulder, “Don’t let him talk you into any of that Woodchuck Cider – it’s awful.” Greta knew her husband. “And, John, there are some snacks in the fridge upstairs if you guys are hungry.”

  Frank amazed me. “I better be getting home. I need to visit with Laurie.” That’s the first time Frank had turned down food and a cold beer since about 7th grade. “And Mitch has to go too. He has to give me a ride back down to the bar so I can get my pickup.” My stomach was rumbling and complaining. Several beers, no supper and having to leave Greta’s offer of snacks was not going over so well with my innards.

  As I was herding Frank out the front door, John was talking over my shoulder, “You guys better get your stuff rounded up and ready for the trail ride. Last time I had to loan you all of my stuff before the trip was over.” That was true but he didn’t have to rub it in. In a lower tone that only I could hear he continued, “Remind me to tell you a little something that you might want to know about someone at the bank.” I shot him a look like ‘What now?’, but could see he was not going to say anymore tonight.

  Chapter 12

  The Ex

  Frank was feeling no pain by the time I drove him to his house in the country. He had grabbed two more beers from John’s fridge, indicating they were for both of us but he didn’t share either one on the drive. We went straight to Frank’s place and left his pickup at the bar. Laurie would just have to give Frank a ride in the morning. He was too far in the cups to be allowed to drive. Frank invited me in to help explain the legal side of things to his wife, Laurie, but I refused saying I needed to get home to ready up my war bag for the trail ride. This was the truth, but it was still a good excuse to keep Frank from having me as a buffer from some tongue lashing from Laurie.

  It was already nine thirty and I still had chores to do and things to work on for the trail ride. My home is a trailer house on a small acreage off Upper Valley Road on the north side of Spearfish. It is technically in town, but is a mix of old houses and barns and new residential areas. All of the original lots were five acres with irrigation rights from the creek. Many of the original lots had been subdivided and split up. My lot was one of the few still intact until two years ago.

  It was now two years since Emily and I had split after nineteen years. The marriage had been going s
outh for a number of years and we had remained married out of habit and trying to raise a son. When Emily had started spending entire nights away from home, I finally brought things to a head and ended up losing my wife, my house and any close contact with my son.

  The house was at the corner of Upper Valley Road and Miller Lane. My previous home was split off from the acreage and sold to complete the property settlement with Emily. It hurt every time I went past the house. Emily and I had struggled to save the money for the down payment and had acted as our own contractors during the construction to save on costs. Our son Thomas had grown up playing in that backyard. Some nights the emotional pain was heavier than other nights. After two years, it was getting to the edge of bearable. Emily had moved out of the house before the divorce was final taking Thomas with her. Now Emily lived across town in a ritzy section with her new husband, Reginald Klein. Someone new had moved into our old house and their children were the ones playing in the yard.

  I had managed to retain four of the five acres with my small livestock barn. My home was now an off color green, hail dented, three-bedroom trailer house that had seen better days two owners ago. It never really felt like home, just a place to sleep. The only time I felt at home was when I went out to the old barn and spent time with my horse, Dan. As I pulled into the yard my mind was on getting my horse and gear ready for the upcoming trail ride. There was a new red convertible parked in the driveway, which was unusual. Normally I don’t get much company and all of my friends drive pickups.

  I recognized the red Mustang GT convertible about the same time I recognized the leggy blonde sliding out from behind the wheel. It was Emily, the ex. She had always been a good-looking lady and the expensive clothes, boutique hairstyle, personal trainer, sun lamp tan and reported plastic surgery didn’t hurt her looks any.

  But looks didn’t matter when your emotions of hurt and anger well up inside. Was she here to harass me or for actual talk. We really hadn’t talked for about a year. As I hopped out of my old pickup I threw her a gruff "So, what do you want? Did you forget to take the last piece of cracked dish that the divorce court awarded you?”

  Emily just smiled and said, “Those old dishes just don’t look too good in my new house.” Touché. “I can let you have the matching dishes back except I’d have to pick them up from the dump first.” As she said this, her old evil smile that I knew so well slid right into place. Then with no effort at all she put on a big warm fake smile and said, “Let’s not fight, Mitch. I came over to talk about our son and it won’t do any good to have an argument.”

  Her bringing up our son Thomas caught my attention. “What about TT? Is he in trouble again?” Thomas had a habit of getting into trouble. Never anything too serious, just steady dumb juvenile type stuff – underage drinking, speeding tickets, etc. Now that he was nineteen and at college, the situation had changed. He needed to grow up and Emily just kept encouraging the boy in him.

  Emily strolled over to my pickup and leaned against the fender making sure to put the plastic ware on display. Even though she had left me, she still wanted me to realize what a good thing I was missing by not being with her any more. Or maybe she just couldn’t help herself and had to make a display of herself with every one of the male persuasion. That oversexed attitude is what finalized our divorce. Her fake smile was almost outdoing her fake boobs. She was definitely up to something and I better watch her close. “Thomas is not in trouble, Mitch. You always think the worst. You know he’s a good boy. I raised him right.” Yeah, she raised him alright, because she fought my visitations and parental rights constantly.

  “Okay. So what’s the up with TT?” I always used his nickname with her especially since I found out she hated it.

  She icily corrected me by using his full name, “Thomas is having some difficulty with the football team, specifically the new quarterback.” Thomas was on the Black Hills State University football team as a running back. He had done real well his freshman year and was now back in pre-season training camp for his sophomore year.

  Black Hills State was the local college where I had graduated and also played football. “That new quarterback just doesn’t like Thomas and is making all kinds of trouble for him and never throws him the ball.” Here it comes – she’s batting her eyelashes and using her honey voice. “Can’t you talk to your old buddy Chip and ask him to straighten out the situation? Please?” Chip Fredricks had been on the college team with me and was a friend. He was now the head football coach at Black Hills State.

  So that was the reason she was trying to be nice. She wanted me to intercede with Chip to get our son an easier go on the team. This was so not going to happen. I let a large dose of disgust slip into my reply, “NO! I am not going to Chip to make things easy for TT. He needs to learn how to get along without his Mommy smoothing the way. TT needs to grow up.” I expected a stern lecture on not caring about our son and some fiery words with Emily storming off. Usually whenever I told her no, there was an immediate reaction with her temper. She just stood there instead. Something else was up.

  “You know Mitch, Reggie is coming in to see you at the bank tomorrow.” Here it comes. “You know he could go to any of the banks in town and get money for his new development. It’s because I told him to see you that he is coming in.” Now she had moved over to the ‘I am doing you a favor and so you owe me’ mode. The trouble was, she was right. With our new Ice Princess at the bank, we had quotas for loan volume and a large land development loan would really help me out. Just not Reggie’s loan.

  “So Emmy, what’s the catch? What do you want in return for sending Reggie my way? You want me to talk to Chip about TT?”

  “Well it would be nice of you to help your son. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal would it?”

  Having to worry about loan volume and sales quotas was a new and distasteful thing to me. But it would be really nice to land a large loan and put Steve Blake in his place. “Well maybe I could catch Chip for lunch and just see how things are going. Not saying I will plead TT’s case, just check on how things are going. Okay?’

  The honey fake smile was back on her face. “Well if that’s the best you can promise, I’ll take it.” As she wiggled her way back to the convertible and slid in the seat she threw back over her shoulder, “And Mitch, make sure to tell Reggie we had this discussion on Thomas and let him know I was here a good long time.” I was still trying to figure that one out as she hit the gas and kicked some rocks my way. Well who could ever figure her out? I was just glad she was gone.

  Turning around and looking at my depressingly weather beaten trailer house didn’t help my mood. I hated seeing Emily. It brought up too many conflicting emotions. Thoughts of how good things had been early in our marriage and how rotten they had become started to jostle each other for room in my brain – and my brain is hardly big enough for one thought at a time let alone two. I needed a horse fix, right after or with a food fix.

  Chapter 13

  My Best Friend

  Maybe I should get some counseling. Not for my trouble dealing with the divorce, or my dislike for the Ice Princess but for my attachment to food. I am not a gourmet chef or a junk food fanatic. My problem is sandwiches. Dry sandwiches, wet sandwiches, cheese sandwiches, meat sandwiches, veggie sandwiches, chocolate cool whip sandwiches, peanut butter-honey-mayo-grape jelly sandwiches. Then there are all the breads - plain wheat, whole wheat, honey whole wheat, cracked whole wheat, honey cracked whole wheat, mixed grain with wheat, dark breads, light breads and swirled breads. How about loaf bread, buns, muffins? Then there are the pumpernickels and ryes. My fascination with sandwiches started as a kid helping Mom make the afternoon lunch snack for the crew on the ranch.

  Mom was stuck on bologna and Velveeta cheese time after time. The monotony of the diet was a joke among Dad and the hired hands. One afternoon Mom was sick and I stepped in and made some banana slices covered with chocolate syrup on rye sandwiches. The result was a hit and I graduated to making the lu
nch sandwich until I was old enough to work with Dad. Mom tried to teach me to cook other dishes but it never took. I was a sandwich junky and that was it.

  Since I was tired and it was already late, I took it easy and made a three-layer spiced salami, provolone cheese, spun honey and mayo sandwich out of Stone Farm’s Honey Oat Thick Sliced Bakery Style bread. All sandwiches need a companion drink. Mine tonight was Jack and a Diet Coke – like it was many nights. With my sandwich fix in hand I was ready to head to the barn for my horse fix.

  Dan was waiting by the fence with his chest pushed against the barbwire - so was my mule Biscuit. Dan was a sound eight-year old Appaloosa and Quarter Horse cross. He was almost solid black on his front shoulders and legs with large white spots marking his flanks. I had raised him from a colt and trained him myself. If there was one thing I was going to keep in this world, it was Dan.

  I liked to think he was waiting for me because he was my buddy and looked forward to seeing me. But the truth was he was addicted to the sugar cubes I gave him. As soon as I got near the fence he nickered and stuck out his long neck to check my hands for the sugar treat. Dan gobbled up the sugar cubes to get in as many as possible before Biscuit tried to butt in for her share. Dan flared his ears back and showed his teeth to Biscuit but soon folded his bluff and moved over. Biscuit was one tough old mule that would kick the living day lights out of any horse that got in his crosshairs and Dan knew this from experience.

  Raised on a ranch, horses were one of the few things that gave me true pleasure. If you have a good horse it makes a lot of the other things in life a lot more bearable. There is something about the smell, shape and presence of horses that do something to my psyche. Dan blew his sweet breath on me as he tried to nuzzle closer. Both Dan and Biscuit followed me to the barn like faithful dogs. I never told Frank and John, but Dan was my best friend and those two came in second place to a horse.