by Rick Reed
He took a cab from the casino to the Red Roof Inn in Warrick County and had given the cabdriver a big tip. He was feeling generous. There was more money where that came from.
He checked into the Red Roof under the assumed name he was told to use, went to his room, and waited for the call. He waited an hour. The time crawled by. He was sweating like a pig and he felt achy all over.
He had the dough he needed, so when the call didn’t come, he took another cab to a biker bar on the outskirts of Chandler and scored some China white. Plus, he bought one—no, two—bottles of Tennessee whiskey. He went back to his room and snorted a couple of lines while he waited for his call. He was promised he would get what he needed. So where was it?
He’d finished the China white, then followed it with a Jack Daniel’s chaser. He didn’t like being kept waiting. It was disrespectful. A friend shouldn’t treat another friend like they were nothing. He didn’t have rich folks. He didn’t get to go to the finer schools. If he had money like his friend, he sure as hell wouldn’t be wasting his life as a civil servant. Going to that fancy school had made him a putz. Dennis had learned from his daddy that a man had to watch out for himself, first and last. He would never be a servant for nobody.
“Civil servant,” he said derisively and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. That started him thinking. Maybe he didn’t get the call because he was being set up. The cops would come barging in any minute now. He’d go back to prison. Maybe a whole SWAT team was outside his door right now!
He struggled to his feet and staggered to the peephole and saw nothing. He cracked the door, stuck his head out, peered up and down the hallway. No one was there. But that didn’t mean they weren’t coming for him. He didn’t think his buddy would do that, but then again, he might. Dennis regretted making those threats to expose everything, but he’d explained that he was desperate. More desperate than he’d ever been in his life.
Before he’d done the China, he was feeling feverish and flu-like symptoms. The onset of withdrawal. He needed more. Something stronger. Damn if it didn’t seem like each time he needed more. He had money now, but he knew it wouldn’t get him through the month.
Since that “thing” had happened in high school, his buddy had kept him supplied with a teensy bit of cash and a place to crash. Then he’d gone to some parties and soon the drugs called to him like in one of them vampire movies. Drawing him in. The money wasn’t enough and he couldn’t seem to hold a job. It wasn’t his fault his life sucked and he’d gone down this road. He’d started stealing, selling cheap or pawning to get the money for what he really needed. When that wasn’t enough he started breaking into houses and businesses. He’d gotten caught by a homeowner once and they beat the hell out of him. He got a gun to protect himself after that. Then the cops caught him in a dope house with a gun that he’d stolen from the guy that had beat him up. He didn’t remember beating the guy so badly he went to the hospital, but being told that he did kind of cheered him up.
His dad was worthless but he still remembered what the old man had told him. “You take care of yourself. First, last, and always. No one else will. You remember that, you little faggot. You remember it was me told you that. You don’t and you’ll make a fine punk in the joint.”
He needed money. He knew stuff. He was owed big-time. He started calling his buddy. His buddy had given him a hundred bucks here, a hundred bucks there, and had even bailed him out when he got himself throwed in jail, but now he needed a lot more. He’d called his buddy and asked for the whole ball of wax. A hundred grand. Cash.
It was suggested to him that he was as guilty as anyone and if he went to the police he would be as likely to get the needle as anyone. He didn’t care. He just knew what he needed right now. It was a different kind of needle. Something to keep the monsters at bay.
He didn’t get the whole one hundred, but Mr. High-and-Mighty agreed to give him 20 G’s up front with a promise to get that much every month and all he had to do was keep his mouth shut. Easy-peasy pie. It was more money than he expected. But, hey, he thought, his buddy had the money. That made him giggle. “Buddy had the money,” he’d said out loud and giggled again. He was getting drunk on top of high. But the alcohol would just postpone the sweats.
He’d left the Red Roof Inn that night and took a cab back to the casino. He had over ten grand and he was feeling stupid for staying in a dump like the Red Roof Inn. He checked into the Le Merigot across the street from the Blue Star Casino at midnight. He paid for one night with cash and tipped the clerk a hundred. He went to the casino and won five hundred smackeroos in the first spin of the roulette wheel. He switched to the craps table and lost a grand, but he wasn’t worried. He’d hit the damn lottery. He’d latched onto the main artery of a cash cow. The world was his oyster, and in fact, he could afford to eat in these expensive joints and enjoy oysters on the half shell and all the whiskey he could drink.
The next thing he knew he was being escorted from the restaurant and from the casino by security. He groped a waitress, but he’d offered her two hundred bucks and he could swear she said okay.
They were taking him back to the hotel and he saw the sun was up. He pushed the uniformed security guards away and staggered back to his room. His key card didn’t work on the lock. He double-checked to see if he had the right room. The key card didn’t have a number on it. He held onto the wall and worked his way down the hall, trying the card in every lock.
“Peckerheads gave me the wrong damn key!” he yelled and heard doors opening. People were coming out in the hallway. “What are you looking at?” One man went back in the room and locked the door. Dennis read the door numbers. He was on the wrong floor. “Sorry,” he said loudly. “S’not my floor. Sorry.”
He took the elevator up one floor and found his room. The card worked. He slumped down inside the room against the door and sat, trying to focus. That was what his life was like. One day he was picking a cigarette butt out of a glob of mashed potatoes he’d gotten from the trash behind a greasy spoon restaurant and the next day he was here at Le Merigot effin’ hotel. Life was full of surprises.
He got up and turned his pockets out. He still had five hundred dollars and some chips. He wanted to go back to the casino, but he had to check out at noon. He said, “Rent the room for another night. Check. It’s my lucky room. Check. I gotta get more Jack Daniel’s. Check. And I gotta go get the rest of my cash. Check and double-check.” But he thought maybe he’d go to the bus station and get the rest of his money later. He didn’t think he could walk that far right now. And the casino was just across the street. But he didn’t have any money for that.
He stepped outside his door and noticed a man in a black suit, white shirt, black tie, and sunglasses at the end of the hall. The guy wasn’t wearing a uniform, but he was security. The guy was watching him but didn’t say anything. Did the casino call security on him? Or maybe it was that prick who had been staring at him down below. He called security. The little sissy. What did he think he was going to do? Kill him? The nosy little bastard had nothing to worry about. The only thing he was going to kill was another bottle of Jack Daniel’s and maybe a craps table.
He brushed past the security man on his way to the elevators and got on. The man got on with him. He got off at the lobby level and went to the desk clerk with the security man following. Dennis glared defiantly at the security man, dug deep in his jeans pocket, and plopped the five hundred dollars on the counter.
“I want the same room for two more nights,” Dennis said to the prissy clerk, and said to the hovering security guy, “Tell him my money’s as good as anyone else’s.”
The security guy gave the clerk the okay. When Dennis had registered earlier he’d given the night desk clerk an extra fifty bucks and didn’t have to show identification. He gave this clerk a twenty and said, “That’s for your trouble, my good man.” Dennis turned to the security guard and said, “Yo
u ain’t getting nothing, you prick.”
“Have a lucky day,” the security man said and walked away.
Dennis shot him the bird and strode back to the elevator, then turned around. He yelled back at the clerk, “You got some assholes around here, you know that.” He went back to his room. He needed a drink.
As he walked in the room, a phone rang. He picked up the receiver of the room phone and yelled, “What now!”
The line was dead but the phone kept ringing. He felt something buzzing in his front pocket and remembered the cell phone he’d been given when he checked into the Red Roof Inn. They were finally calling. Great timing.
“Hello,” he answered more moderately.
“You were supposed to stay out of Evansville, Dennis,” the voice said. “You aren’t where you’re supposed to be.”
“Well, hello Mr. Big Bucks,” Dennis said, more than half drunk. “You’re the one that wants me out of the way. I was doing just fine before you told me to go to that dump.”
Silence.
“You there? Hey. Hey, I was just giving you a hard time. I didn’t mean nothing by it,” Dennis James said. He took a swig of the Jack Daniel’s and flipped the cap across the room. He was still pissed, but it wasn’t at his friend. That security guard had better watch himself, though. The line was silent still and he said, “Hello. Hey, I didn’t mean nothing.” He found the top and screwed it back on the fifth of Jack Daniel’s, thinking maybe he’d better slow it down. He might have been an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid enough to mess up a golden opportunity like this. He was getting the money because he knew about that night. The night Max died. He’d be quiet even if he didn’t get the money. Plus, he didn’t want to get his tit caught in a wringer for keeping quiet for so long. One of them had killed Max, but they were all guilty.
“I’m still here,” the man said.
“Good. I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry for my smart mouth. I’m kind of drunk right now and I get that way. You know how I am,” Dennis said.
“I remember.”
“Well, listen. Here’s the thing. I need more money,” James said. “I’ve gotta get some things. You know? Maybe I could go to Caesars casino in Kentucky? That’d be better, wouldn’t it?”
Silence again.
“Okay, I’ll stay here,” James said. “But I need more money. I gotta eat. And I need some clothes and stuff.”
There was an unmistakable snort on the phone. “Dennis, you will always need things. Always need money. Don’t lie to me. You’ve been using again. What is it this time? Not crack. You sound too rational.”
“I ain’t using. I ain’t. I swear. I’m just drunk. That’s all. I swear to God.”
“Listen closely, Dennis. I left another twenty thousand for you at the place where you were supposed to stay. It’s in the safe, in an envelope, with the name you’re using. Take a cab from the casino back there in the morning. Tell the clerk you have a package in their safe under the name you’re using now. Remember our agreement, Dennis. Don’t move again unless I tell you. Understand?”
Dennis shuddered at the tone of voice. “I kept quiet all these years and I didn’t do nothing. You guys started this. I don’t want to get involved at all. I don’t want the money anymore. Just leave me out of it. Okay?”
“It’s too late for that, Dennis. You are part and parcel of everything that’s happened. You know what happened and you know what he’s capable of. You don’t mess with someone like that. I’m only taking care of you so that he won’t. Understand? There is no out for any of us. If you don’t do as I say, I won’t be able to protect you anymore. Do we have an understanding?”
“Uh, I guess,” Dennis said.
“You have to be invisible a while longer and then you’ll be a rich man. You can move wherever you want and start fresh. I want to do that for my old high school friend. Will you let me?”
Dennis thought about how they had been friends. He would have done anything for any of them back then. All he being asked to do was stay underground and keep his mouth shut. He’d been more or less doing that since high school, hadn’t he?
Dennis said, “I mean, yeah. Got it.”
“Excellent, Dennis.”
Chapter 24
Jack and Liddell had no clear idea how to track Dennis James. On paper he was like a nomad, never staying in one place. They checked homeless shelters and soup kitchens for a couple of hours, but no luck. Jack called his friend at the bank again and got the name of the teller who was involved.
He hung up and said to Liddell, “I guess we’ll go talk to this young lady. Dennis James had an account with Old National for twelve years and suddenly he withdraws everything and closes the account yesterday. The bank is on Main Street by the McDonald’s. My friend says the teller is working right now. She doesn’t have a driver’s license, so maybe she lives nearby.”
Liddell drove while Jack sifted through the file Angelina had given them. She’d added police personnel files obtained by Captain Franklin for Double Dick, Sergeant Mattingly, retired Detective Olson, and Captain Dick. There was also a ream of single sheets for each policeman who was working in 1980 to 1984.
Jack said, “Half of these people are deceased and most of the other half are retired. Most of the current addresses are in Florida and some in Mexico.”
“Don’t bitch, pod’na. We might get to go to Florida.”
“With our luck, they’ll send us to Mexico and we won’t get back in the U.S.” Jack closed the folder. “We can call the ones we can find. If we don’t find Dennis James today, we’ll retrace our steps. I don’t want to talk to Needham or either of the Dicks until we have more of the story. Needham and Double Dick can cause the most problems. You agree?”
“Do you really think Double Dick will be appointed Chief?” Liddell asked.
“I thought you were a glass half-full person, Bigfoot. If you’re worried, I guess the sky really is falling.”
“I’m not worried, exactly,” Liddell said. “I just wonder what it will be like working for Gestapo Central.”
“Well, I’m not giving up on the new mayor having some common sense. If need be, we’ll go to work full-time for the feds.”
Liddell slowed suddenly. “Who are you and what have you done with my pod’na?”
“Bite me, Bigfoot. Just drive.”
Liddell pulled into the curb next to Old National’s entrance. There were no customers this time of morning, but a uniformed policeman was seated behind the counter. His name was Jim Kelly and he was a third-shift detective when he wasn’t moonlighting as a bank guard.
Jack bumped knuckles with him. “I’m surprised you still have a uniform,” Jack said. He was kidding, of course. Department policy was that even detectives must have a complete usable uniform in case of a mass call-up for things like riots, mass unrest, disaster duty, etc.
Kelly was muscle-bound to the point of ridiculousness and as tall as Bigfoot. He gave them a bodybuilder pose accompanied by a toothy smile.
“You still waiting for Hollywood to call?” Jack asked.
Kelly gave him a toothy grin. “Nah. I’m going to bodyguard Lady Gaga. I think she’s got a thing for me.”
He was also a Lady Gaga fanatic. He went to her shows several times a year and came back with some type or other of memorabilia. One time he brought home a multicolored wig and kept it on his desk until he got tired of being whistled at by the other detectives.
“I think what she has for you is a restraining order,” Jack said. The two tellers behind the counter giggled.
“He’s just playin’ around,” Kelly said to the two young women and showed Jack and Liddell into the manager’s office.
A balding man sat behind the desk typing away on a keyboard. The nameplate on the desk said Walter Higginbottoms. This was the manager, but not who Jack had talked to on the phone. Another man was sitting
in a chair in the corner. He was tall and thin with a full head of blond hair. This was Gerry Gorman, a retired policeman who was on his second career as Security Chief for Old National Bank Corporate.
“Hi, Gerry,” Jack said to the Security Chief. “I guess this is the safest bank in Evansville with you and Kelly on duty.”
Gerry Gorman shook Jack and Liddell’s hands and said to the man on the computer, “I’ll take care of them, Wally.” Wally got up and left the office.
“If you’re here to arrest Wally, I need to see your badges, guns, warrants, and orders from the president.”
“Bite me, Gerry,” Jack said and introduced Liddell.
“So. You’re crazy enough to ride with Jack?” Gorman said.
Liddell said, “I have a degree in psychology and keep sedatives on hand.”
“Sedatives for you or for him?” Gorman said.
Jack didn’t think it was funny.
“Have a seat,” Gorman said and they all took seats. “What can I do for you, Jack?”
“Like I said on the phone, we need to talk to one of your employees. Janet Cummings. Concerning the account of Dennis James.”
Gorman went to the door and spoke briefly with the head teller. A minute later a striking brunette came into the office. She was young, early twenties, armed with a pair of thirty-eights worn high on her chest. She smiled and crossed her arms. Jack knew from years of interviewing experience that stance was body language for My eyes are up here, gentlemen.
Gorman said, “These men are detectives and have a few questions for you about an account you closed. Dennis James.”