“While doing business with him I never realized he had lunatic tendencies.” Tammy said.
“My girlfriend at the party grabbed my arm and said ‘For your own safety, dump him.’ Craig heard her say this and pushed me down a flight of stairs! Tumbling down the stairs my hair caught on the small nails on the stair caps, ripping clumps of it out. The pain became unbearable. I heard the words of a mad white man echoing about like grenades exploding, ‘Try to leave me bitch, I’ll kill you first.’ Instantly, every man at the party jumped on him and wailed on his face; except John. The men pounded on Craig until his face resembled a bloody Salisbury steak. Craig arose on shaky ground with multiple broken ribs. He then summoned his flunky; John.”
“Did John ever mention this to you after it happened?” Tammy asked.
“No he never did. Tammy do you know that John received all of his money through an inheritance? Folks at the corner bar call him two bits shy of crazy. He’s also remained a suspect in his wife’s murder for some time, however there’s no proof. The guy had a severe drug problem in his earlier years and then got help for that as a condition of receiving his inheritance. He became a regular in several local bars. However he knows the difference between right and wrong.”
“Wow, so the guy’s a wacko! Okay I’ll keep that in mind.” Tammy said.
“I’ll handle John and get him to give us what we need and then he’ll feel the wrath of discarding me like scrapped metal. Paybacks!”
“Angie you’re going to have to find some better thought to keep in your mind when you look at him and talk to him.”
“Yes I know. Otherwise he’ll see right through me.” Angie said.
“You’ve dealt with the brunt of Craig’s games.” Tammy said.
“There’s more; this one will make your stomach turn. Craig never pursued visitation. I arranged visitation for him. On one occasion Craig said he wanted Lance over; however, it had to contend with his infatuation of motorcycles. When I arrived to drop Lance off his friend Ty dropped by to help on the latest project.”
“He never asked for visitation?”
“No. When I arrived on Sunday to pick Lance up Craig had not returned. His sister told me Craig’s girlfriend came over on Saturday and wanted to go to a motel room, so all six of them, Ty’s girlfriend as well, went to a motel room.”
“That’s terrible.” Tammy said.
“This motel, a sleazy joint on the strip, remained notorious for trouble. Upon arrival, my heart sank as I found Lance and Jennifer, Ty’s daughter, clothed only in a diaper playing in the parking lot, while all four adults slept in the bed. I called Ty’s ex-wife, Samantha and let her know she needed to come down there. Her arrival evoked the same fury and rage Angie as mine at their negligence.”
“My lord Angie! Luckily no one kidnapped them.” Tammy said.
“Unknown to Craig, I captured the scene by camcorder, and kept it. I keep this video recording of the four adults passed out, surrounded by liquor bottles and cigarettes left burning in the ashtray as irrefutable evidence should Craig try to get custody of Lance.”
“Good for you. He’s a sorry excuse of a father.” Tammy said.
“I also told the manager about the scene and asked him to sign a statement witnessing to the events. He agreed and said, ‘Nothing would make me happier. What sorry excuses for adults! Years of circus acts have passed through these doors; yet they pale in comparison to those four leaches. Please let me know if you need me to testify as a witness, no child should have to endure that from a parent.’ I thanked him and Lance and I left.”
Chapter 19
The metallic sound of the phone ringing in Angie’s ear reminded her to think of a good thought, a trip to Egypt viewing the Pyramids. King Tut’s tomb, the great pyramids, sand and…
“Hello.”
“John hi it’s Angie. How’s it going?”
“Good. Umm, we should talk.”
“Listen my concerns must take precedence right now. I understand your needs as a man and I wouldn’t want to hinder your passions in any way. I can’t commit to anything right now because of the urgency surrounding redeeming my home, however I know someone that will commit to fulfilling your passions right now.”
“You teasing me?”
“No, John. In return I will need you to get a copy of some information I need.”
“What information Angie?”
“I need Craig’s real business files; well Craig and Martin’s. They keep them in safes in both of their homes.”
“How will I get past Candy?”
“Easy, someone told me that Martin’s wife Candy wants you in ways you cannot imagine. If you hooked up with her, you could gain access to the house and safe with the files. Use your debonair inner beast that keeps me attracted to you. If you’ve decommissioned Craig then you will have easy access to his files. With Martin going to Petoskey you can amuse Candy and find a way to get the files.” Angie said.
“Win, win for everyone; I like it. Well hot damn, I’m in Sugar! However, I may not have easy access to Craig’s files. He’s employed many security measures at his home. Martin’s employed more security measures than Craig. You know that don’t you?” John said.
“No I didn’t know that. How will you decommission him? No wait, I don’t want to know.”
“Okay. Fine by me Sugar.” John said.
“You will have to wait until Martin leaves for work to go over and make your move on Candy. Afterwards, your cousin and Martin can meet in Petoskey and enjoy an extended stay. Time waits for no one and the sands in my hourglass continue to fall!”
“Sugar don’t worry about Martin I’ve got my ways of keeping him at bay.”
“I’m not even going to ask. I’ll talk to you later; let me know when you have the files.” Angie said.
“Okay Sugar I’ll talk to you later.”
John dialed Martin’s number on his phone eating right out of the palm of Angie’s hand.
“Hello.” Martin said answering his phone.
“Martin. It’s John. I have a new client for you and Craig. Do you have the time to meet him tomorrow? He wants to get his business up and running as soon as possible.”
“Sure. What line of business?”
“I’m selling him some of my dealerships.” John said.
“Interesting.” Martin asked.
“Ten to be exact.”
“What’s the client’s name and where shall I meet him?”
“Miles, and you’ll meet him at The Crab Shack in Petoskey on Highway 31.” John said.
“Petoskey; okay great restaurant, I like the choice. What time?” Martin said.
“You will meet Miles, my cousin, at 12:00 noon; I’ve already put in a good word for you. However, I want to let you know that I’ve also arranged a meeting with Craig and my other cousin. He’s meeting him in Atlantic City. I’m sure he mentioned this to you. You both remain my top clients and I didn’t want any hard feelings. This cousin meeting with Craig in Atlantic City will deal with no one except Craig. They met years ago while over at the house. He will only conduct business in Atlantic City. My cousin Miles identifies a bit more with a family man such as you. The baby’s due any day. It’s a high risk pregnancy and he will not leave Petoskey until she delivers. Having said that, he does have a tendency to drag out negotiations. You know the golf course, the spa the whole nine yards up at Boyne Mountain. As a major player up there, they treat him well. You land his account and you will put your kids through grad-school with the business you’d get up there.” John said.
“Thanks John I appreciate that. Okay I will pack and meet him up there for a couple of days.” Martin said.
“Not a problem you can return the favor someday.”
Chapter 20
Hands shaking, pouring another whiskey wondering if admitting criminal insanity remains my best alternative, my body quivers in remorse! Did it happen? Trying to make sense of the questions circling like a hawk poised for a kill, the bottle of
fers solace. Wild Turkey enters tepid and warms passing through parched lips and a dry palette.
My trembling hands lend the uncomfortable feeling as tooth hits glass and lips begin stinging. The bent limbs, the dangling flesh all such a torturous sight. Worst yet, his fingertips, which now resemble ground hamburger. Questions loom overhead in my conscious state while a voice, demented and broken ponders life or death for cowboy. A long pause gives way as I keep the bottle pressed to my parched lips and try to find a lone reason for his survival. A furious semi-truck rolling past at Mach speed brings back the image of him planting his seed. The answer appears as the giant awakens, numb for so long because of innocence taken.
Fate knocks at the door of the cowboy tonight. Will anyone find him? A whiskey cough fades as the sun descends into the hills and the blue sky transforms the hills into a glowing tract of real estate.
A blaring siren becomes louder keeping pace with the beat of my heart. Tossing the cup, whiskey and all, brings about a conscious state of mind while running my fingers through my gritty hair. Pushing it away from my un-groomed cheeks as hand melds with perspiration a foul odor infiltrates the air. Rubbing my eyes and patting both cheeks like summoning a drunk, the obvious, needing to shake this, still rests at the forefront of my thoughts.
Full immersion in hell began to sour my views. The actions of the inconvenience and his relatives aimed at a woman orphaned at a tender age doing her best to provide a better life for her child proved harsh. This task had me visiting dark places in the gutter and drove me back to heavy drinking. I questioned how Angie survived her constant grim reality. Dark thoughts invaded my mind as I tried not to relive the actions that landed me in Happy Valley. Craig’s cruelness unveiled a monster in me that I’d subdued over the years.
Watching an ambulance race off in the distance, I question; what if I’d done the same? Taking a moment to burn the wretched details of his isolation in my mind gives me great pleasure. Jovial, screaming with joy and elation, the dry arid ground begins a transformation. Cracks beneath my feet appear filled with pulsing red blood as silhouettes of scorpions rustle about him.
“The cowboy does not ride tonight.” I yell out in wicked laughter. A culmination of hysterical rage, parked endlessly in my mind, released and mischievous laughter replaced it.
Chapter 21
“Who you looking at?” a husky voice asks Craig. “What’s the matter you can’t see my face through this mask? I’ve heard you believe you’re a badass cowboy riding your Indian cycle. You don’t recognize my voice do you cowboy? This Vocoder works well doesn’t it. Go ahead; try to wiggle your way out of this one. You look like a hot mess cowboy. You’re no badass after all.” an anonymous voice screamed with vengeance.
“What the hell have you done to me? Let me go!” Craig said.
An aggressive captor said, “And it speaks. Oh sorry, I have heard enough of your sorry ass already.” the voice growled with little patience. “Duct tape; they say it’s a fix-all for everything. I’ll have to write them and let them know they’re right; even for shutting up idiots like you. Here let’s see if you can count one piece for your wrists and a longer strip for taping your ankles together. Let’s add another one on your eyes. One across your mustache it’s a quicker way to shave you know. Let’s not forget each cheek and your shaggy-chin.”
Antagonizing the captor Craig barked, “Come on you freaking psycho take the duct tape off so my hands aren’t taped to my ankles and let’s fight like men do.”
“Oh you want a fair shake. Nevertheless, you don’t give anyone else a fair chance. How about your boy; you giving him a fair chance? As you say, an eye for an eye? You’re a punk-ass. I’ll tell you what, I’ll undo one of your hands and I’m still going to whoop your ass straight into tomorrow. If you kick my ass and get out of here I won’t give you your bonus surprise; and it’s incredible if I do say so myself. I like to call it isolation.” the covert silhouette said bobbing and weaving like a professional boxer.
“Isolation; you talk a mean talk, the question endures; can you deliver? Identify yourself show your face coward.” Craig probed his adversary.
“I don’t see you wearing the cowboy boots right now. Hell I don’t believe that left foot will ever fit into a boot again. That’ll need a couple of pins for sure.”
“HELP! HELP! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME? HELP! HELP ME!” screamed Craig with every ounce of formidable energy he had.
Laughing wickedly as endless clanking and metallic pings chime in the air with a shrilled edge, this anonymous figure hangs three wind chimes from stationary poles intended for hanging plants. Its voice provokes, “Go ahead and keep yelling you little punk-ass you’re already in isolation. Gee what a bummer; I lied. Similar to you misleading, cheating and turning your back on your boy and Angie. Real men don’t stop paying the mortgage in retaliation against their ex-wife ultimately leaving them homeless and forced to live in the car during a Michigan blizzard. You’re a sick animal, a punk-ass! People get back what they deserve.” the voice said while retrieving a five-inch switchblade knife that slit the tape from around Craig’s left ankle and hand, leaving in its trail a long gash as blood began to emerge.
“Come on old crow let the duel begin.” Craig said lunging forward at the dark figure.
The captor catches Craig’s finger as the fight ensues and snaps it at the first knuckle as if turning a door handle with haste. “Take that you little shit.”
“I see you still got some spry in you.” Craig said as he continues to jab punches at the darkened silhouette.
“You’re beginning to irritate me.”
A loud thump echoes through the airwaves as the captor leaned forward and head butted Craig full on in the face. Backing off the smooth jab by half, the captor retained composure so as not to finish him right then. “I don’t want to put you in a coma just yet. You’re going to take back what you dish out. Here you go you little shit; you like the taste of your medicine?”
“Medicine huh, I’ll show you medicine,” Craig said with his fist swinging toward the masked face failing to hit the captor.
“You bore me little prick. Good night!” the angry captor said with culminating anger packed and delivered to Craig in one fallen swoop undercutting his jaw and knocking him unconscious. Using the sole of his shoe to roll Craig half onto his front the covert nudged him under his chin pulling his head back, straightening his airway so Craig did not choke while passed out. This experienced covert knew about this recovery position by means of paramedics. The covert enjoyed an endearing game of cat and mouse. Adding insult to injury, the captor grasped the duct tape attached to Craig’s unshaven cheeks. Mimicking the motion used in a full body wax the captor ripped the tape atop Craig’s whiskers.
Chapter 22
For Angie Jaid’s office embodies a beacon of hope. Jaid gleamed in the darkness like a lighthouse offering safe passage to weary maritime sailors. Angie paused outside Jaid’s office and noticed how the clouds grew taller with the impending storm. For Angie, they represented a meter of hope.
The Michigan sun disappeared and optimism replaced it. Angie took a moment to revel in the glory of the silver-lining; it appeared radiant and beautiful, like Lances reflection in a mirror.
Standing taller upon exiting the car determination prevailed; with back arched, she dug her heels deep in the gravel. Each step fed her imagination. Given the chance, she would sink her heels in the rotten boils of Craig’s jugular. Void of remorse, with heel poised firm against his pulsating vain of life, she’d watch his blood spill onto arid ground ending his life, and murmur an eye for an eye!
“Tardiness does not sit well with me; I won’t arrive late.”
A city bus whizzed by leaving a whistling sound in its wake and the familiar swirl of snow with their usual bulls-eye; Angie’s ankles, catching her off guard thrusting her back from her daydream. As a deep calming sensation overtook her body Angie realized she’d arrived at the precise place at the right moment.
�
��Morning Jaid.”
“Hi Angelina. Beautiful day out there isn’t it?”
“Yes. Listen; I’m beginning to get anxious about my deadline. Time continues to chip away at my deadline while I find myself putting out little fires around me.”
“Impending pressure does that; let’s get down to business.” Jaid said.
Led down a short hallway past a large conference room with glass walls on two sides and law books from floor to ceiling on the other two. Angie’s large eyes and wrinkled brow told a tale of amazement.
Angelina and Jaid walked into Jaid’s office. The random Geiger-counter click of Jaid’s high heel shoes echoed in the large chamber-like office as she approached a mammoth and ornate carved wood desk.
Entering Jaid’s office resembled a Cherokee Nation Chief’s teepee. The subtle scent of Pinion` incense filled the air, ornamental animal wood carvings sat on a bureau flanking the back wall. A wool woven rug with a strong geometric pattern hung on the back wall, and a basket made of beads woven intricately together sat displayed as a centerpiece.
Once in Jaid’s office on the wall behind her hung a buckskin shirt decorated with beads, feathers and ermine fur. This artifact emanated an effervescence of power and superiority and likely belonged to a deceased chief.
Lance and I have landed in the right place at the right time.
“Please have a seat.” Jaid said.
Relaxing on the leather sofa Angelina sat in awe at the pageantry of the Native American embellishments in the office. Jaid and prominent Native American chiefs in full Powwow regalia at Mt. Rushmore, provided the evidence of her high-ranking position. Photos of Jaid with many U.S. senators captured Angie’s roaming eye and told an influential tale.
ISOLATION: Child Support 911 Page 11