by Carl Schmidt
I was twelve years old at the time. Butch and Sundance were charming and hilarious. Dad enjoyed himself as if he were seeing them for the first time.
Early in the film, Harvey Logan, a man twice his size, challenges Butch to a knife fight. Butch’s options appear bleak. Harvey is standing like a monolith with a Bowie knife in his hand, ready to cut him to pieces. As he approaches Harvey, Butch waves his hands in the air and refuses to take hold of a knife.
“No, no, not yet,” he says. “Not until me and Harvey get the rules straightened out.”
Harvey stands upright in disgust and lets down his guard. “Rules? In a knife fight? No rules!” he demands.
In a heartbeat, Butch puts his boot squarely between Harvey’s legs, concluding the “knife fight” with a single kick.
We both laughed out loud.
That evening, my father passed to me the torch of hilarity. “When things look grim, Jesse—and those times will come—find the humor. That’s what separates man from lesser animals. In fact, it is the measure of a man. Compassion, honesty and humor are the earmarks of a genuine life.”
• • •
I exhaled deeply one more time and watched my breath billow and then dissolve into the limitless ether where my father resides. A warm smile crossed my lips, shutting out the winter’s chill.
I returned inside and went straight to Amanda.
“You were wonderful on ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale,’” I said. “Thanks for the inspiration.”
I started to walk away but Amanda put a hand on either side of my face and kissed me, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine.
Willie bolted upright, stared wide-eyed at me and blurted out, “Hey, what are you doin’?”
I eased away from Amanda, then turned to Willie and replied, “Stealin’ your woman… Sundance.”
It took a moment for Willie to get up to speed and take his cue. At that point, he scratched himself, shrugged casually and replied, “Take her, Butch.”
• • •
I returned to the stage and began tuning my bass for our next set. As I adjusted the tension on the strings, I gazed out at the crowd. Tina Woodbury had come in during the break. She was seated near the front with another woman and two considerably older men in expensive suits. She waved to me as our eyes met.
I couldn’t help but wonder if Tina really needed alimony. From what little I knew of her, she seemed to be living comfortably. I didn’t know if she was gainfully employed, but without any doubt, she was able-bodied. Any man could see that.
Eric joined me on the opposite side of the stage and tuned his Stratocaster. Billy sat down behind his KORG, and Willie started kicking the drums and rattling his high hat. When we were warmed up, Amanda glided onto the stage behind me and trailed her hand along my backside. She took hold of the center microphone and called out, “Are you ready to rock?”
The room quickened, and we launched into Fleetwood Mac’s “Rhiannon.” Amanda took them by surprise and set the bar high for our final hour.
The second set was considerably better than the first. We rolled along rather well and polished off the closing twenty minutes with a number of our better songs. David Bowie’s “Changes” and Eric Clapton’s “After Midnight” foreshadowed the obligatory countdown of the final ten seconds of the year. We followed that with a stylized rock version of “Auld Lang Syne.” When we finished playing, the room was littered with confetti and noisemakers.
I looked through the mayhem and happened to see Tina Woodbury kissing her elderly date with considerable enthusiasm. When the smooch was over, she pulled a handkerchief from her purse and wiped his mouth.
11
A Walk in the Park
“When large sums of cash exchange hands, there’s almost always a crime involved,” Holly Winters said decisively. “Bribery, drugs, pornography, blackmail. I’d bet my parka on a winter’s day in the Klondike…this is extortion.”
“Really?” Angele said in a concerned tone.
“I’m thinking a sweet-talking, vulnerable-looking, doe-eyed young woman set the hook and reeled him in,” Holly continued. “Father O’Reilly’s the one who is vulnerable. He’s the mark. Did Nicole Levesque provide him with a birth certificate?”
“He didn’t mention one; I should have asked,” I admitted. “But the child’s DNA matches both parents. How could that be the case if he’s not the father, or worse, if there’s no child at all? Paternal Affairs is a reputable company. Are you suggesting they might have provided a fraudulent report?”
“I don’t know, but this has plenty of stink on it,” Holly said. “There’s a dead fish someplace. You can count on it.”
“If you’re right, then Nicole will be very cautious and jump through hoops to give us the slip. We have to be invisible,” I said. “But let’s not prejudge the situation. We’ll follow her wherever she goes and do what we can to locate Evelyn Levesque. When we talk with Father O’Reilly at noon, I don’t want to suggest that Nicole is conning him. We’ll look undisciplined if we’re mistaken, and it will leave a bad taste in his mouth.”
“I’m fine with that, Jesse,” Holly said. “And you’re free to say ‘I told you so’ if I’m wrong.”
“That’s not my style. I appreciate your feedback. It’s going to make us more cautious and alert.”
It was 11:00 AM, New Year’s Day, almost show time. I passed around the lapel microphones and earbud receivers. All four units were charged and tuned to a single frequency. Holly, Angele and I wired up and tested them. Father O’Reilly would use the fourth microphone so we could listen to his conversation with Nicole. The system had a range of thirty miles, provided there were no major hills or buildings in the way to block the signal. If we lost contact, we’d have to rely on cell phones.
“Here’s how we’ll maintain our tail on Nicole,” I said, as I unfolded a map of downtown Portland and spread it out on the desk. “There’s a parking lot just east of the bleachers at Deering Oaks Park. Angele, you and I will wait there in my car while Father O’Reilly meets with Nicole. We’ll be able to see them through the trees. If she follows the same route out of the park as she did last year, she will walk right in front of us.
“Holly, you’ll park on the west side of the bleachers. You can keep an eye on her if she exits in that direction. The road is one-way going east, so unless Nicole takes a new route, Holly, you and I will drive out of the park and turn right on State Street behind Angele, who will follow her on foot. We’ll stay behind a block or two and drive as slowly as possible. We may have to pull over periodically, but there shouldn’t be much traffic. It’s cold, and it’s New Year’s Day. The women will be watching the Rose Bowl Parade, and the men will be in their easy chairs, getting ready for football. Besides, half of Portland is hung over.
“Angele, give Nicole a comfortable lead; a couple hundred feet should be fine. She will probably walk several blocks south to Congress and then turn right. Last year, she boarded the Metro just west of the Longfellow monument. You will be getting on the bus with her, so, as you approach Congress Street, close in a bit. It could easily be just the two of you at the stop. Try to remain aloof, but if she strikes up a conversation, go with the flow. Don’t be afraid to talk to her. When you get on the bus, sit in the back so you can keep her in view.
“Angele, as soon as you see Nicole ring the buzzer or walk to the exit doors, let us know. There’s a signal button on the microphone wire. Push it twice when she’s about to get off, but don’t get off with her. Ride to the next stop, and I’ll pick you up. Holly will park her car wherever she can and follow Nicole on foot. Holly, leave your keys in the car. After I pick up Angele, I’ll drive her to your car. We’ll be in constant contact. If we have to adjust our plan on the fly, we’ll do what we have to do.
“Is everything clear?” I asked.
“Nicole might be driving a car this time,” Angele offered.
“I hope she does,” I replied. “I have one more GPS tracking device that we can affix to the undersid
e of her car. If she drives in and parks, I’ll attach it while she and Father O’Reilly are talking. If I can’t manage that, at least I’ll get her license plate number, and she’ll have to exit on the east side. We’ll give her some space and follow her car.”
“And if she drives west?” Holly asked.
“It’s a one-way street through the park,” I said.
“If she’s an extortionist, I don’t suppose she’d worry about getting a traffic ticket on New Year’s Day,” Holly suggested matter-of-factly.
“If she drives the wrong way out, you’ll get a $50 bonus on your first day of work,” I replied. “The money will come out of our Psychic Fund.”
“When I was on the force in New York, all I’d get for that was an extra donut in the morning.”
Angele looked at me and grinned.
“All right,” I concluded. “It’s time to visit Monsignor O’Reilly.”
We drove both cars to Our Lady of the Seas. It was noon. The yellow Cadillac was the only vehicle in the lot. Father O’Reilly was waiting with a check in his hand when we reached the front door of the rectory.
“Father, good to see you again,” I said. “Thank you for the deposit. This is Holly Winters and Angele Boucher. The three of us will be working together to follow Nicole and to locate Evelyn.”
He shook hands with each of the ladies and invited us into his living room.
“Here are two GPS tracking devices,” I said and handed them to him. “As you can see they are very tiny, smaller than a penny. I’ve brought along a canvas bag. Please use this bag for the money transfer. It’s handsome enough that she will probably want to keep it. We’ll put one of the trackers in it. Keep the second tracker in your coat pocket. It’s cold, so Nicole will almost certainly be wearing an overcoat. After you’ve given her the bag of money, put your hands in your pockets and take hold of the second tracker. Sit as close to her as she will allow. If you can manage to get the second tracker in her coat pocket, we should have very little trouble following her all the way home.”
“That might be a little tricky,” he said.
“Magicians use a standard sleight of hand ploy,” I continued. “They entice you to look at one hand, while the other hand does the mischief. If you have the tracker in your right hand, touch her noticeably with your left. Draw her attention away from the hand that holds the tracking unit. Another possibility is to pretend to trip, and bump up against her. Keep eye contact with her as you apologize and slip the tracker in her pocket. But, if you think you can’t manage it, then forget about the second one. The most important thing is for her to leave the area without suspecting she’s being followed.”
“Let’s practice a bit,” Holly suggested.
For the next ten minutes, Father O’Reilly tried palming the device, touching the ladies by the sleeve, bumping into them, maintaining eye contact and doing his level best to get the tracker in a coat pocket. It was fairly comical and never worked very well.
“OK,” I said. “Don’t try the second device unless the conditions are perfect; there’s too much risk. If she gets wind of what you are doing, we’ll lose our edge.”
Everyone agreed.
I gave the monsignor a rundown of where we would be in the park, and fitted him with the microphone.
“When you’ve finished talking and you’ve given her the bag, drive directly back home and wait for us to contact you,” I said. “If anything important comes up, you can talk to us through the microphone. You can’t be wearing the earbud when you meet her, but you can use it before and after.”
I handed him a cell phone and said, “Keep this with you as well. If we get out of range with our receivers, you can call me on the cell. Just click on the contacts, scroll to Jesse and tap the name.”
“OK,” he said, with some hesitation. I turned the phone on and walked him through the dialing process.
“If Jesus were alive today, Father, I’m pretty sure he’d have a smart phone,” I said.
“And he’d call and tell me where Evelyn is,” he replied.
“I’m sure he would,” Angele echoed.
Holly closed her eyes and winced ever so slightly, but the padre didn’t notice.
At 12:30, we left the rectory. When we reached our cars, Angele pulled a thermos from the front seat of our car and handed it to Holly. “This will keep you warm,” she said. “It’s tomato soup.”
“Thanks,” Holly replied, and we both drove to the park.
It was 12:40 when we arrived. We got into position and waited.
At precisely one o’clock, the yellow Cadillac pulled up and parked directly south of the bleachers. Father O’Reilly got out, walked up the path and sat down by himself on the first row of seats. The canvas bag hung over his shoulder.
The sky was overcast, and, except for a few ice-skaters on the pond, the park was deserted. Snow covered the ground, but the roads and sidewalks were clear.
We had agreed not to run our engines in an attempt to stay warm during the stakeout. We didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves. At least we had the soup.
At 1:15, Holly’s voice came across our receivers, “There’s a young woman approaching on foot from the west. She’s angling toward the bleachers.”
“We see her,” I replied, as she crossed the street and headed up the walkway toward Father O’Reilly. “Did you get any pictures of her as she walked by?”
“Got ‘em,” Holly replied. “I have a few good ones, but I had to hide the camera below the dash as she passed in front of me. I was worried she might look my way. I’ll get a video of them on the bleachers.”
“Great,” I replied. “I’m recording their conversation.”
Father O’Reilly had seen her coming over his left shoulder and stood up to greet her.
“Hello, Nicole. You look wonderful. How are you doing?”
“I’m OK,” she replied. Her voice was faint—she was several feet from the microphone—but we could hear well enough.
“How is Evelyn?” Father asked warmly. “Do you have a new picture for me?”
Nicole reached into her purse and handed him a photograph.
“She’s growing up. I’d really love to see her, Nicole. I wouldn’t impose. I’d just drop in and spend a little time with the two of you.”
“We’re not going to go through this again,” Nicole said sharply. “You’re a priest. I’m sure you have honorable intentions, but once you’ve gotten close to her, there’s no telling what you might want to do. She’s three years old, and I have a boyfriend now. If you started dropping by, it would be unsettling for all of us. And think about your reputation. When Evelyn is grown up, I’ll tell her who you are. If she wants to meet you then, that will be fine. For now, it just can’t happen.
“How’s the parish?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly.
“Attendance shot up immediately after the new Pope was elected. He’s really quite liberal. I like him. Things are changing.
“I never see you at mass,” he added.
“I don’t live in your parish anymore. I won’t be coming around; it would be unnerving for both of us.”
“Well, here’s your money,” he said, as he handed her the canvas bag.
“It’s Evelyn’s money, Father. You can keep your bag.”
“No. It’s for you. I want you to have it. It’s nice.”
“All right. Thanks.”
They were sitting a couple of feet from each other, so it was pretty certain that Father O’Reilly wasn’t going to manage planting the second tracking unit. At least she would be keeping the bag. That was going to make things a lot easier. I could track her directly via an app on my phone.
“Please leave first, Father. I hope you don’t think I’m paranoid, but I don’t want you to follow me.”
“I understand,” he said.
He stood up and walked reluctantly to his car. After he had pulled away and was out of sight, Nicole eased off the bench. She then walked east and turned right o
n State Street with the bag across her shoulder. When she was a couple hundred feet down the road, Angele got out of the car and began following her.
“Angele just left,” I said. “Let’s wait until she reaches Park Avenue before we start driving.”
“Roger,” Holly replied.
A few minutes later, Angele called out, “She’s crossing Park Avenue and heading south. She’s walking a lot quicker now. I’ll have to pick up the pace.”
“OK, Holly, let’s go. I’ll stay close behind you. There’s very little traffic, so we should be able to poke along.”
Holly drove her green Honda Accord onto State Street and turned south. I was right behind her in my Forester. Angele continued to update us. When Nicole reached Congress Street, she turned right, as we suspected, and walked one more block. She stopped in front of a bike shop and waited at the bus stop.
I had checked the Metro schedule the day before. This was their #1 line. Normally it runs every twenty minutes. On New Year’s Day, it would be every forty minutes. It was almost 1:45. The next bus was scheduled to be there at 1:50.
“You’ve got five minutes, Angele, before the bus arrives,” I called out. “Close in at the stop and remove your earbud.”
“Right,” she called back.
The only parking on our side of Congress Street was half a block beyond the bus stop. Angele reached the stop as we drove by. Holly pulled over in the next block, and I parked behind her.
As we passed by, I saw Nicole’s face for just a moment. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place her.
I watched Angele and Nicole through my rear view mirror for a minute, and then I turned around and observed them with binoculars. Angele wasn’t talking, and there was plenty of space separating them. Apparently, Nicole was not in a chatting mood.
At 1:52, the bus came into view. Holly and I restarted our cars as Angele and Nicole boarded the bus. When it lumbered past us, we pulled in behind. The bus rolled on by its next regular stop. When it got near Forest Street, Angele buzzed us. Nicole would be getting off just six blocks from where she boarded. There was a hospital on the right side of the road and a parking garage on the left. Holly pulled into the temporary parking lane in front of the hospital, and I closed in behind the bus.