Figure Eight

by Jeff Nania

  After three days, they moved me back into a regular room, announcing that the following day I would begin some physical therapy. Visitors could come, but would be limited. I was anxious to see someone who would not want to poke, prod, or otherwise assault my dignity. Honestly, after all that had gone on, I was pretty much immune to embarrassment. They gave me a sheet with people who had made contact with the desk about visiting. I was surprised to see several different news entities, along with some familiar names, Laura, Bear and Tanya, my old chief and assorted others, including Julie and Bud as well as Bill Presser. Like any good reporter, he needed to hear the end of the story, almost as much as I needed to tell it.

  The nurse came in. “Is it okay if I have a visitor?” I asked.

  “You may, but only during the hours of 11:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m.,” she answered. “By the way, Nurse Holterman stopped by earlier today to check on you. She said I should tell you thanks for not letting her down.”

  I called Presser from my bedside phone; he answered first ring. “John, jeez. I am glad to hear from you. I was afraid you weren’t going to pull through. It sounds like you did great. I won’t bother you about the story. Take your time and get better. I’m going to go back home for a few days, then when you feel up to it, give me a call.”

  “I feel up to it. You can visit between eleven and two. Where are you?”

  “It happens that I am in the hospital lobby. Just in case you wanted a visitor.”

  “Get up here, and let’s finish the story. I need to get rid of the past so I can start on the future.”

  Bill settled in next to my bed. I began to tell the rest of the story. This time it was different. Before, I needed to tell the story because something inside was telling me I might not make it. It was on my bucket list, and while I had not yet kicked the bucket, my foot was sure as hell on the rim. Now something told me my life was just beginning. Telling the story was part of my past.

  “John, we left off at what I think we could call a real cliffhanger.”

  “Yeah, right. The chief and me. Lawler/Lewis’s brains, hair, and skull fragments were splattered on the wall, blood spray on my shirt. The chief had the unmistakable look of deadly intent. He had me where he needed me to be. The only thing was, he couldn’t pull the trigger. He needed what I had on the damn bird; without that he was no better off.”

  22

  Cabrelli

  “Cabrelli, lay that scattergun down on the ground. If you don’t, we’ll see who is faster. I won’t miss at this distance, and I got your head in my sights.”

  I laid the shotgun down.

  “John Cabrelli, you are a pain in the ass. You come up here and butt in and cause me all sorts of trouble. You’re a real smart guy just like your uncle, got all the answers. Well, you screwed yourself this time. I want the information you have, and I may let you live. Otherwise, I am going to do just what Lawler would have done. Shoot out your knees first and see whether or not that makes you more cooperative. The way I see it, I’ve got a free pass: Lawler’s gun. He’s dead and maybe no one will ever find that information.

  “What I am saying here, Cabrelli, is you got no cards to play. Give me what I want and who knows? But one thing is for sure, I will get what I want.”

  I had no plan, and there was no way the chief was going to leave me alive. If I gave him what he wanted, I was dead. If I didn’t, I was dead. That is when the shit really hit the fan.

  Outside the air rang with children’s voices. Julie and the kids had returned from their island trip. They jumped off the boat and headed toward the house, Julie asking, “Who wants ice cream?” The heavenly sound of children’s voices entering the hell of Don Timmy.

  I told him, “Chief, put your gun away and leave. I won’t do anything, just go. Those kids, they don’t need to be part of this.” I begged him, “Please, Chief, don’t get these kids involved. You can have all the documentation. I will give it to you right now.”

  The kids were getting closer to the door. I yelled at the top of my lungs, “Julie! Stop! Go away! Take the kids now! Don’t come in here!” The kids’ voices were quiet. I could see sweat beading up on Timmy’s forehead. Pressure building.

  In what seemed like a distant dream, I heard the roar of a Harley and the wail of a siren. I didn’t know who called them, but someone had called the troops, and they had just arrived.

  The chief had become a desperate man; he had it all figured out until he didn’t. His time had run out. Julie knew I was still alive when I called out to her and the kids. He was a few minutes late on killing me and getting away with it. He was looking for a way out of a locked room, any thread, any chance.

  The throb of the Harley stopped; squad car doors slammed; Julie was yelling at her students to come by her. The kids were oblivious to anything but the promise of ice cream, not one of them knowing what was going on inside the house. Through the window, I could see the sheriff’s deputy and Ron Carver approaching. Timmy was twitching. He looked right and left; he needed to make a move, any move.

  He glared at me and said, “You’re a dead man, Cabrelli,” and he pulled the trigger.

  I jumped, and he missed. At the same moment, the back door burst open, and five happy, smiling wide-eyed kids blew into the room headed for the freezer. Timmy, in a blind panic, turned to fire toward the door and the kids. Akinetopsia: the world slowed as it had before. The students were led by a smiling beautiful brown-eyed young girl, not a care in the world, intent only on ice cream. She was a girl much like the one who lived in my dreams.

  I could not let another child die, I did the only thing I could. I jumped in front of Timmy as he fired; my hands grabbed the gun. I covered the muzzle with my body. I felt nothing as the bullets tore into me. I was able to turn the gun with a strength I didn’t know I had as it went off one last time. We both fell to the floor, his limp body on top of me.

  Epilogue

  After his discussion with Cabrelli, Ron Carver realized that John was right. Nick would have shared the information with someone he could trust, someone in a position who could do something. Ron put two and two together, and the proverbial light went on in his head when he saw Lawler leaving town with Timmy not far behind. Nick had trusted the chief of police and his good friend. Carver called 911, told them to get rolling out to Spider Lake, and then he gave his Harley a kick and roared off in pursuit, a willing man.

  Chief Don Timmy died of a close range gunshot wound to his heart in the struggle. No children suffered physical wounds, although they will most certainly live with these events for the rest of their lives.

  David Stone was interviewed and investigated. However, other than a perfectly legitimate business arrangement, he was said to have known nothing of Timmy’s activities. As far as Lawler/Lewis went, Stone did ask Timmy to hire his nephew to give him another chance at having a productive life in his chosen career in law enforcement. It is with great sadness he learned of his continued involvement in illegal activities. No charges were brought against David Stone. The FBI undercover agent remains unaccounted for. In a news report, Stone said, “I am always saddened when those we trust betray that trust. If I would have realized what type of men Derek Anderson and Don Timmy were, I would not have had anything to do with them. I am embarrassed to say I was fooled like everyone else.” Candace has been replaced by Brandy. Stone is now busy planning a new addition to his home.

  Derek Anderson was charged with fraud and theft by fraud. While out on his own recognizance awaiting trial, he allegedly took his own life, although circumstances were somewhat suspicious.

  That fall a musky fisherman hooked the catch of a lifetime. Casting a Bulldog musky lure, he snagged what turned out to be a white Ford Expedition that had been impounded by the Musky Falls PD and was listed as having never been returned to the owner. The real owner thought his truck was stolen and turned it in to his insurance. They were unable to recover any trace evidence to help determine who the driver may have been.

  The formerl
y proposed mine site was declared an area of special concern. A combined team of wildlife biologists from the state DNR and U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, headed up by Charlie Newlin, determined that this location may be one of the last strongholds of the Kirtland’s warbler. The area supports a previously unknown breeding population significant enough that may very well lead to the Kirtland’s being removed from the endangered species list.

  On a warm sunny day, John Cabrelli was released from the hospital. There was much fanfare and lots of hand shaking and pats on the back. The hospital folks had become family, and as glad as he was to get out, he would miss them. The last person he saw as he left was Nurse Holterman.

  “Mr. Cabrelli, your chariot awaits you. Although I know you were expecting a ride from Lieutenant Malone, I believe he was delayed, and they have found a reasonable substitute driver. On a personal note, I do hope things work out for you. If I may, let me give you one piece of advice. If you’re so inclined, Mr. Cabrelli, take a chance on living life and finding love. It will heal you much better than any medicine. Also tell this Julie, whoever she is, that she is very lucky that I am not 25 years younger, or I would give her a run for her money.” With that, Nurse B. Holterman turned and walked briskly away.

  The attendant pushed John up to the car in a wheelchair, locked the wheels, and opened the passenger side door. There sitting in the driver’s seat was the girl with blonde hair and laughing eyes. Julie Carlson looked over at John with that beautiful smile and said, “Hi, John Cabrelli. My name is Julie Carlson. I am here to take you home. Are you ready to go?”

  “I am. I definitely am.”

  They left the hospital heading north to the land of lakes and forests, north to a small cabin full of memories and future promises. North to a new beginning, sunrises and sunsets, and adventures yet to be had.

  Even a blind sow finds an acorn now and again.”

  Warden John Holmes, 1939-2017

  The Story Continues…

  Spider Lake (Book 2)

  A missing federal agent, suitcases full of cash, a secluded cabin in the woods. Spider Lake is no longer the peaceful retreat John Cabrelli needs to recover from his gunshot wounds and start a new life. Knowing Cabrelli is a former law enforcement officer, the new chief of police recruits him to help untangle a string of strange events in the little town of Musky Falls. Cabrelli and a colorful team of local residents land in the center of a fast-paced action thriller with a surprise ending that’s sure to make your head spin.

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  Bough Cutter (Book 3)

  When grouse hunters stumble upon a body in the backwoods, Sheriff John Cabrelli works to untangle the complex case, while stressed relationships, public outcries for justice, and pressure from the media compound the situation. As the body count rises in the expansive landscape, he soon finds his greatest resource is the community itself.

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  About the Author

  Jeff Nania is a former law enforcement officer, writer, conservationist, and biofuel creator. He is the author of three fiction books, the award-winning Figure Eight (2019), Spider Lake (2020), and Bough Cutter (2021) in his Northern Lakes Mystery series published by Little Creek Press. His narrative non-fiction writing has appeared in Wisconsin Outdoor News, Double Gun Journal, The Outlook, and other publications.

  Jeff was born and raised in Wisconsin. His family settled in Madison’s storied Greenbush neighborhood. His father often loaded Jeff, his brothers, and a couple of dogs into an old jeep station wagon and set out for outdoor adventures. These experiences were foundational for developing a sense of community, a passion for outdoor traditions, and a love of our natural resources.

  Jeff has been recognized locally, statewide, and nationally. Outdoor Life Magazine named him as one of the nation’s 25 most influential conservationists, and he received the National Wetlands Award for his wetland restoration work. The Wisconsin Senate commended Jeff with a Joint Resolution for his work with wetlands, education, and as a non-partisan advisor on natural resources.

  Now a full-time novelist, Jeff spends as much time as possible exploring outdoor Wisconsin with his friends and family.

  Visit www.feetwetwriting.com for more.

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