by Jeff Nania
“We get it,” said Street. The agents started to leave the building when Street stopped and turned around, “My partner was out of line, I’m not arguing that. What happened here is going to have a serious impact on his career and probably mine. He’s a hell of a good agent and has been first up on the tough cases for years.
As I’m sure you guys know, that wears on a person, and fuses get a little short. You are making a mistake by getting rid of us. I don’t know what’s going on around here, but something is. I got a feeling that you guys are going to need all the help you can get. Good luck.”
The agents drove away in their Suburban. Four of us were left in the room.
The chief closed the door and collapsed in a chair. “Oh, my Lord. I cannot believe what just happened. This whole thing seems to get worse and worse. I have not had much experience working with federal agents, but I have never seen anyone like those two. My God, if one of my officers treated a citizen that way, he would be looking for a new job at the very least.”
Everyone followed the chief’s lead and sat down. It seemed to sink into us at the same time as we looked at each other.
Jack Wheeler broke the silence, “Where did all the evidence go?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Well Counselor, my guess is that after a short ride on a Harley, it was tucked into a safe at the local jewelry store,” I chuckled.
“Ah, Ron Carver. Quick thinking on his part,” Jack said.
“Not much grass grows on old Ron,” said the chief. “Don’t let his look fool you. He’s pretty darn clever.”
“Let’s call it a day. I’ve had about all the excitement I can take for a while. Besides, Martha is making goose stew for dinner, and I don’t want to be late. After we all sleep on this we can catch back up and figure out what in the heck we are going to do.”
No one disagreed and we made our way out. I was walking with Jack Wheeler.
“Jeez, Jack, you bought that place across the bay from me?”
“I did indeed. Of course, providing the closing goes through, but I don’t anticipate any problems.”
“That’s a big place, Counselor.”
“It appears so from the outside, but it’s actually not that big. The floorplan was well thought out with a great room downstairs, three bedrooms upstairs, and a full bath on each floor. The three-season porch that overlooks the bay is what really sold me. It’s the kind of place that I always envisioned spending my retirement years. It might be bigger than I need for myself, but I think it will be fine.”
“I noticed there’s a building by the water. Is that part of what you bought?”
“Yes, it is. That’s a boathouse set above the water. If you open the overhead door, you can drive a small runabout right in and dock it. There’s also rack storage for my canoe and maybe a kayak or two. The law prohibits building that close to the water anymore, but this structure is grandfathered in, so while I can’t add on to it, I can maintain it. It’s in need of serious repair, so I will need to hire a contractor.”
“Bud Treetall is the man for you. He will get you fixed up, and if he can’t do the work, he will steer you in the right direction.” I dug out my wallet and looked inside. “Here’s Bud’s card. Tell him I told you to call.”
“Thanks. I will do that.”
“I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other,” I said as I started to walk toward my truck.
“John, one more moment before you go.”
“Sure, Jack. What can I do for you?”
“Where do you think we’re headed with all this?”
“If by ‘all this’ you mean the investigation of major crimes by an ill-prepared group of brave and noble men, then my answer is this: I have absolutely no idea. The thing that gets me is that we are actually making the case. We have not hit a wall yet and are doing nothing different than what a major case squad does. Investigate and accumulate. Then put the pieces of the puzzle together. We’ve put together a fair number of puzzle pieces already. We can keep going that way for a while and see where we end up. The smaller our group stays, the less chance the bad guys will know what we’re up to. I guess we’ll see what we can turn up. The Feds are the wild card here. I mean, what’s up with those guys? What are they doing? Running a parallel investigation or trying to cover themselves because they are crooks? Who the hell knows. If I were a betting man, I would bet that guy in the picture is a key part of this whole thing and possibly a killer. A picture of him having a chit chat with Agent Chandler is a piece of evidence that needs some real consideration. The Feds will be back here before you know it, and when they show up, they will be ready for business. Until someone stops us, we keep going until we have all we’re going to find. Then we hand it off to someone with more resources. Let them put together the indictments and warrants. They will probably muster a pretty sizable force based on the potential charges. We’ll tell them our suspicions about Street and Chandler, and no doubt they will put these guys on ice until everything that’s going to go down, goes down.”
“So, you, the chief and sheriff have no ideas about trying to take these guys down yourselves?”
“Counselor, every real cop wants to be there at the end. They want to slap the cuffs on the bad guys and haul them away. But sometimes that doesn’t work out. It pisses you off but that’s the way things go. You were right in what you said, Jack. This is bigger than a little money laundering. Whatever is going on here is big enough to protect. That’s likely why some people are ending up dead. When they go at these guys, they will bring an army and might need it. They might even let the sheriff and chief come along for the ride, but you, me, and Ron will be on the bench, or better yet, sitting on your new three-season porch sipping Hennessey. It may be days before we even find out what happened. I can tell you it’s a lot safer place to be than the alternative.”
“Thanks, John. I really didn’t know where we were going. Is there anything you need me to do?”
“Now that I think about it, there is. There’s some connection between David Stone and Scarface. There’s also a connection between Scarface and a shipping yard on Lake Superior. I wonder if there’s any paper trail that ties these things together. Could you do some more poking around to see if you can find something?”
“Sure, I’ll see what I can find. I accessed a database a couple of days ago, which was a wealth of information. In addition, a law school classmate of mine works with the attorney general’s office on issues regarding corporate fraud, and she may be helpful. I will make contact with her.”
“Thanks, Jack. By the way, welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you, John. I can’t wait to get moved in.”
15
It wasn’t until I was fully awake that I realized the day had come for my date with Shelley DuBois. As I sat on the dock watching a painted turtle on a log seeking out the morning sun, I thought I should call her and cancel. I had too much on my mind. The truth be told, I didn’t want to irritate Julie any more than I already had. Even though we were not in any kind of romantic relationship, she still had the power to both keep me in line and to piss me off—two tenets of any long-term relationship.
No. I had agreed to the date and needed to go. Besides, it could be fun. I hadn’t done anything like this for years. Go see a band with a pretty girl, and have a couple of beers. I might even dance if the steps of the evening required little skill.
I spent the day cleaning up around the place. I swept the pine needles from the front porch and knocked the cobwebs down from the eaves. Mindless labor took me away from the current status of things. I’ve found that sometimes my brain needs a break from itself.
Before I knew it, it was time to get ready. I showered, shaved, and put on clean jeans and a light flannel shirt, in line with the Northwoods style that seemed to be fashionable wherever I went. I had grown to like the hikers I bought. They were super comfortable and waterproof to boot. I checked my wallet for cash, jumped in the truck, and took off. On the radio was an
advertisement for the event Shelley and I were going to attend. It was billed as a night of “rock-a-billy” music. Whatever that was, it sounded fun.
I pulled up to Shelley’s house, and she was talking to an older fellow over a hedge that presumably defined the lot boundaries. When she saw me, she said her goodbyes, walked over to the truck, and jumped in. Shelley’s outfit did not hide much, and in fact drew attention to the fact she was well-endowed. She slid right over next to me and gave me a big kiss on the cheek.
“I am happy to see you, John. I kinda thought maybe you might back out. I am so-o-o glad you didn’t. We are going to have fun. I can promise you that.” She slid so close to me I thought she wanted to drive. I was at a momentary loss for words and attempted to bring up a safe topic.
“The old guy back there is your next-door neighbor?”
“He is and he’s a real sweetie. Whenever I’m going out someplace or mowing the grass in my bikini top, he always makes a point of coming over to talk to me, although his real conversation seems to be with my boobs. He’s in his eighties and lost his wife last year. If that makes him smile, what the heck. Ya know?
“John, I really am glad you decided to go out with me. I think we are going to have a hoot. Eligible males are a little hard to come by up here. Anywho, it’s good to have a fresh face around. I would have hit on you before, but I thought you were hooked up solid with Julie Carlson. Matter of fact, all the single girls looking around thought so. There are rules about trespassing on someone else’s land, if you know what I mean, and even though sometimes it happens, we try to steer clear of each other’s current sweeties. Once I found out you were available, I figured what the heck, go for the gold. Now look at us, headin’ out on a date. By the way, where did you get the truck? I thought you were driving a hotrod Jeepster around.”
“My jeep is in the shop.”
“I’m not complaining, just askin’. I’m kinda like a car chick. I have a couple brothers who always had their heads under the hood of something. I helped out whenever they needed me. Actually, I am pretty damn handy. I can change oil, rotate tires, put in new plugs, and fix most of the small stuff. No engine or transmission work or anything. I changed out the alternator in my Camaro the other day. It can’t hurt for a girl to have some skills. This truck rides pretty good for a 4x4.”
It was immediately evident that Shelley was going to keep the conversation going for us tonight. While some people may find that irritating, I didn’t. She was not the least bit pretentious and a breath of fresh air. She was also not too hard to look at.
We pulled into the Road House. The parking lot was already full, and a guy with a beard wearing an orange vest was parking the overflow in an open field behind the bar. I followed his direction and pulled into the back row between a work truck and someone’s project car painted with primer.
Shelley hung out the window and shouted to the guy parking cars, “Hey, Bobby! Can you get us up closer? I’ve done enough walkin’ today.”
“Sure thing, Shelley. Follow me.”
We did and he directed us into a stall next to the dumpster and beer can recycling bin. “Executive parking just for you, Shelley.”
“Thanks, Bobby. I owe you a beer.”
“Good. I am thirsty,” he replied.
We walked in and the place was packed. Shelley made her way to the bar and returned with two beers. She gave one to me. “John, you sit tight for a minute. I’ve gotta pay my debt.” She walked out the back door and returned a minute later empty-handed. Delivering the beer to Bobby probably ensured Shelley always got executive parking.
The band fired up and the bar filled. I didn’t know much about rock-a-billy, but it was catchy. Shelley grabbed my hand and led me to the dance floor. She was a whirlwind; I was something more like a breeze, but I was enjoying myself.
The night progressed and I was amazed at the amount of beer that was consumed. Around midnight two guys on the dance floor got into a shoving match. One took a wild punch and missed his target by a mile. Parking attendant turned bouncer, Bobby grabbed them both by the collar and pitched them out the front door. The crowd cheered. Shortly thereafter, the band announced their last song. Everybody stopped whatever they were doing and faced the stage. A few removed their hats. The male and female leads supported by the band gave an absolutely soulful rendition of Lee Greenwood’s “Proud to be an American.” Most of the bar sang along, including Shelley.
The crowd filed out, and the benefit of executive parking was immediately apparent because we were headed down the road while they were still sorting out who would move first in the field. Shelley sat close, put her feet up on the seat, and head on my shoulder. It felt just fine.
“Shelley, you can really sing,” I said.
“I’ve had a whole bunch of practice. Every Sunday morning I’m in the choir at the Spider Lake Church. Even when I don’t feel like it, I show up. Ya know, any points you can make with the Almighty can’t hurt.”
I pulled into her driveway and we sat for a second. I’ve got to admit, I didn’t know what to expect but was excited for the possibilities.
Then she turned my face toward her and gave me a wonderful kiss.
“Will you walk me up, John?”
“Of course I will.”
I lingered on the porch while she opened the door. Then she turned to me and looked into my eyes and said, “John, I would invite you in, but I have got to be honest. You are as cute as can be, but you’re not my type. I mean, I had a lot of fun tonight, but oh well, you know how it goes.” She gave me a peck on the cheek, turned, and went inside. “Goodnight. Watch for deer on your way home.”
I walked back to the truck and drove away. On the one hand, I was feeling totally dejected. On the other hand, I felt relieved. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with my robotoid style of dance. Nevertheless, the night was a welcome break and took my mind off other matters, if only for a little while.
16
It was after two before I got to bed and lapsed into a sleep coma. Five short hours later, pounding on the door woke me. It was soon followed by the unmistakable voice of Bud Treetall, “John are you here? It’s me, Bud. Okay to come in?” And without waiting for my response, he walked in.
“Bud, what’s up? What are you doing here so early?”
“Early? Why, John. It’s past seven o’clock. I figured you’d be up and going by now. Aren’t you feeling good?”
“No, Bud, I’m fine. I didn’t get home until two.”
“Oh, jeez. I forgot you had a date with Shelley last night. Oh, crap! I’m sorry.” Bud looked around nervously. “Oh, no. She isn’t here, is she? I will leave. Sorry, John. Julie told me to get out here right away this morning to pick up some of her boxes, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’ll grab the boxes and get going.”
“Bud, stop. Shelley is not here. Let me make some coffee and get my head going in the right direction.”
“Coffee sounds real good, John. I’ll load up those boxes while you make it.”
We sat on the front porch enjoying the morning. Bud told me about a project he was working on rebuilding a late 1800s log lodge on a neighboring lake. The owners had tried several contractors to get someone to do it with no luck. The guy at the hardware store told them about Bud, and he landed the job.
“That old lodge must have really been something in its day. They told me I was their last resort. If I couldn’t help them, they were going to follow the advice of two pretty good contractors who said to tear it down. I looked things over and tested the logs. The place looked pretty bad, but the structure itself was still strong.
I knew it could be saved. I’ve been working away at it, and figure it’s going to take at least two months.”
“Sounds like a job right up your alley, Bud. Nice to have two months’ worth of work, too.”
“I will still do what needs doing around here, John, so don’t you worry.”
“I’m not worried, Bud.”
“Truth is, she’s crabby as all get-out. I would never tell her
I thought that because it would make her crabbier, but she is.
This morning she told me to get out here to get those boxes of hers right now. Jeez, you would have thought they were full of gold. Nevermind that they have been sittin’ here. She told me she was going to clean the house top to bottom, and I needed to get out of her way.”
Unknowingly, Bud illuminated part of the puzzle. It was a housecleaning. The people running this criminal enterprise decided that several members of their organization had become a liability for some reason. In crime syndicates, if you screw up, you don’t get fired, you get dead. That leaves fewer witnesses to testify against you in the future. Somehow, Lance Brolan, his girlfriend, and I am betting Derek Anderson were all part of a housekeeping activity. Unless I missed my guess by a mile, Counselor Wheeler was right. There was something much bigger here that needed protecting. Even crooks didn’t start whacking people over a small-time money-laundering scheme. I was willing to bet that Anderson and Brolan were running a side game. They saw the chance to clean up a little dirty money by using local folks and took it. They broke the cardinal rule of a major crime syndicate: “Don’t crap in your own nest.” I needed to talk to Bear.
I picked up the phone as soon as Bud took off. I’d guess that over the years, only about half of the phone calls JJ Malone answered were actually completed. His telephone answering skills left much to be desired. The faint of heart would hang up thinking (correctly) that they had been connected to some sort of dangerous animal. I was not so easily put off. When he picked up with less than pleasant demeanor, I was not the least deterred.
