Gangster Walk

by Melissa Bowersock

  Sam might have felt the same way. He downed his first cup of coffee pretty quickly, then was ready for breakfast. Glenn took their requests to the kitchen, and returned with Dante, who set the table for three.

  “Cameron’s not joining us?” Lacey asked Glenn.

  “Nah. He’ll meet with us for the walk, but he’s got other irons in the fire.”

  Breakfast was excellent, but Lacey would not have expected anything less. Her scrambled eggs were surprisingly flavorful and rich, and she commented on it.

  “Cream cheese eggs,” Glenn said.

  “Cream cheese?” She took another bite. “Wow. Those are great.”

  “How’s your omelet?” he asked Sam.

  “Very good.”

  Glenn attended to his own omelet. “You can see what all this does for me.” He patted his round stomach. “Hard to stay on a diet with this kind of food around.” He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, staring out at the grounds. “Wanna take a walk when we’re done?”

  Both Sam and Lacey looked up in surprise.

  “Just a regular walk,” Glenn clarified. “Not a… you know.”

  “I’d like that,” Lacey said. “It’ll be nice to stretch our legs.”

  “Did I mention there’s a full exercise room on the second floor? Free weights, treadmills, stair-steppers. Every kind of exercise machine you can imagine. I’ll show you later.”

  They finished breakfast and savored a last cup of coffee as Dante cleared the table. Finally Glenn pushed back his chair and stood.

  “Ready to go exploring?”

  Lacey certainly was.

  They went out through the pool deck, Glenn pointing out the extra-large hot tub to one side.

  “Seats ten,” he said. “Great way to end the day.”

  Through the back gate, a concrete walk led to the tennis courts—three of them. Stretching up the hillside was the “small” golf course—nine holes only, she remembered. And tucked into a corner underneath some flaming red maple trees was a Zen garden.

  “Oh,” she breathed. She made a beeline for the pristine white sand.

  The garden was easily fifty feet long and thirty feet wide, bounded by river rock cemented into a decorative border. Half a dozen granite boulders dotted the white sand, and at the far end, a bushel basket-sized sphere of hematite sat amid concentric circles raked into the sand. At the near end, a concrete bench was tucked away under a shelter of lattice covered with flowering vines, and purple-pink fuchsia bloomed from hanging baskets.

  A rake leaned against the bench.

  Lacey took a seat beneath the fuchsia. “This is lovely,” she breathed. The brilliant white sand underneath the blue sky, the green grass leading up the hill to the trees—pure heaven.

  Sam reached past her for the rake. “You want this?” he asked.

  She smiled. “No. You go ahead.”

  As she and Glenn watched, Sam took the rake to the sand, pulling it around the boulders in gentle swirls and sweeping arcs. He walked lightly in his knee-high moccasins, barely disturbing the sand at all. Head down, his face blank with the purely inspired artistic activity, he made his slow way down toward the ball of hematite. It was at once a slow dance of reverence, a silent prayer and a celebration.

  Lacey caught movement out of the corner of her eye and glanced over. Cameron. He walked up silently and stood behind her, his eyes on Sam.

  There was no sound but the faint rustle of a breeze through the trees. No movement but the slow, deliberate dance of Sam and the rake, a mindful counterpoint of creation.

  Lacey felt more than saw Cameron sit down on the bench beside her. He brought his lips close to her ear.

  “He’s quite extraordinary, isn’t he?”

  She nodded. “Yes, he is.”

  “Does he… get like this often?”

  Lacey thought about that. “Only when he’s working with clay or… walking. Or sometimes out on the Navajo reservation.”

  “I envy him,” Cameron said. “His culture, his heritage, his gift. He’s so… connected.” He was silent for a moment, just watching Sam. “I can certainly manipulate the world around me, make of it what I want, but I could never become one with it like he can.”

  Lacey heard the wistfulness in Cameron’s voice and knew he spoke the truth. There were some things no amount of money could buy.

  Sam had made his unhurried way to the sphere of hematite, and had pulled the rake around it in ever-widening concentric circles. When he was done, he picked up a lone red leaf and balanced it on the sphere. The breeze tipped the leaf, rocking it in its delicate balance, but then whisked it away beyond the garden.

  Sam watched it go.

  When he finally turned back toward the others, he seemed surprised to realize he had an audience. He put the rake over his shoulder and walked up the river rock border, leaving his artwork to the sun and the wind.

  Lacey went to him and slid her arms around him. “Maybe we need one of these at the studio,” she suggested.

  Sam looked back at the sparkling expanse of sand. “Maybe we do.” He held her closer and kissed her temple. “Maybe we do.”

  Cameron got to his feet. Sam glanced at him over Lacey’s head. “You ready to do this?”

  “Absolutely,” Cameron said. His eyes danced like a child’s at Christmas.

  “Okay. Which way?”

  “It’s up that way,” Cam said, pointing up the hill. “Glenn, go get a cart for us, would you?”

  “Sure.” Glenn retreated back toward the house, then reappeared driving a four-passenger golf cart. Cam slid in beside him and Sam and Lacey took the back seat. Glenn pressed on the gas pedal and the cart trundled up the hill.

  ~~~

  SEVEN

  The little block building looked out of place squatting in a distant corner of the grounds. Purely utilitarian, it had a white wooden door with a single window in the top half. The roof was pitched and shingled, but no effort had been made to stylize the building at all.

  Glenn parked near the door, and they all got out of the cart.

  Sam appraised the building while Lacey got her phone out of her pocket.

  “This is it?” Sam asked Cameron.

  “This is it.”

  Sam nodded. He glanced at Lacey. “You ready?”

  “All set.” She held up her phone, set to video.

  Sam approached the door but didn’t touch it. He stood in front of it, peering through the grimy glass to the dim interior. Lacey expected him to ask her to open the door, but he didn’t. Instead he moved off around the side of the building. She followed, filming.

  “Unbelievable anger,” Sam said. “White-hot rage. It’s palpable, almost a physical force.” He took a few steps down the long side of the building, one hand out toward the block wall but not touching it. “Disbelief. Just… dumbfounded. Then the rage again. It’s like a cycle. The shock, then the rage. Over and over.”

  He slowed as he neared the far corner of the building and stopped before turning the corner. Lacey saw him draw in a deep breath, as if shoring himself up. He rubbed one hand restlessly on the hip of his black jeans.

  “Lacey, stay back,” he said. He glanced back to make sure she heard, and at her nod, he stepped around the corner.

  Almost immediately his body stiffened. Lacey could see the strain on his face in the small screen of her phone. His hands balled into fists.

  “Rage. Homicidal. Apoplectic. Beyond bearing. And the worst part is that he can’t do anything about it.”

  Sam narrowed his eyes, squinting as if he stared at the sun. He waved one hand at the building.

  “It’s here,” he said. “It’s right here.”

  He let his hand fall back to his side and began to back away. He turned as he rounded the corner and walked directly to the door at the front. Lacey moved aside to let him pass, then followed, phone in hand.

  “Would you open the door?” he asked.

  Lacey stepped forward and turned the knob. The door opened inward, but
only partially before it was blocked by something behind it.

  Sam stepped inside. He pushed through the narrow space and glanced behind the door, then proceeded into the center of the building. There, he stopped.

  Lacey followed, keeping several steps behind him in case there was danger. As Sam seemed to get his bearings, she panned around the room.

  Garden storage: there was an old walk-behind gas mower, a gas-powered weeder, and a wheelbarrow. Sacks of top soil, grass seed and fertilizer. Hedge trimmers, pruning shears and loppers hung from hooks on the wall. Wooden shelves across the back held cans of paint and varnish. A large rolling toolbox took up one whole corner, and a rack of metal shelves held an assortment of smaller gardening tools, empty ceramic pots, buckets and a watering can.

  “Yes, it happened in here,” Sam said. “The shock, the dawning comprehension, then the rage. White-hot, but with no way out, no way to vent it. Nothing, not even his impending death, could mitigate it.”

  Lacey watched Sam through her screen, thinking how incongruous all that emotion was in a garden shed. She also thought it strange that whatever happened, happened here, and not at the house.

  Sam turned suddenly on his heel. “That’s all,” he said.

  Lacey backed out of the building before him and switched her camera off.

  Cameron and Glenn had stood just outside the door, and moved aside as Sam and Lacey exited the building.

  “What do you mean, that’s all?” Cameron asked, frowning. “That’s all you got?”

  Sam impaled him with his dark, direct stare. “If you could feel what I felt, you wouldn’t ask that.”

  Cameron took a step backward and swallowed. “Well, uh, I just mean…”

  “Let’s go back to the house,” Sam said. “We can talk there.”

  They returned to the cart and Glenn drove them back to the patio. Sam took a chair at the patio table and Lacey and Cameron took seats on either side of him. Glenn disappeared into the house, then returned with Paloma.

  “What can I get you?” she asked.

  “Coffee for me,” Cameron said. He motioned to the others. “Coffee, tea, soda, water? A drink?” He arched his eyebrow at Sam as he added the last.

  “Just water, please,” Sam said.

  “Iced tea?” Lacey asked. Paloma nodded.

  “That sounds good for me, too,” Glenn said.

  “Coming right up,” she said, and left them to get their drinks.

  Cameron fidgeted, tapping the table top with restless fingers.

  “Okay, maybe I don’t understand this,” he started. “Who is that person? What happened to him? Why is he there?”

  “That’s what we need to find out,” Sam said patiently. “When a spirit gets stuck here in our world, it’s usually due to a traumatic death—either the manner of death itself or the emotional turmoil leading up to it. Those emotions are what are imprinted here. They imbue the space, the ground, the walls. Mundane facts—names, dates, et cetera—are not important at that point, and aren’t encapsulated in the cloud of emotion. We have to research it to find out those things.”

  Jennifer and Dante came from the kitchen with a gleaming stainless cart laden with food. As Jennifer set drinks all around, Dante laid out small plates and a tray of snacks: coffee cake, assorted cookies and a dish of cashews. Then the pair wheeled the cart back to the kitchen.

  Cameron sipped his coffee and took a cookie. “How do we do that?”

  “First off,” Sam said, “what experiences have your people had? Have either of you”—he nodded to Glenn—“seen anything? Felt anything?”

  “No,” Cam said, and Glenn shook his head in agreement. “It’s been mostly my head gardener, George. He’s afraid to go out there, and his fear has been spreading to the other groundskeepers. None of them will go into that building or even get close to it.”

  “Can we talk to him?” Sam asked.

  Cameron flicked his glance to Glenn, and the assistant immediately left the table and went inside the house. He returned a moment later.

  “He’s on his way.”

  Lacey took the intermission to excuse herself. “I need to get my pack. I’ll be right back.”

  She took the stairs two at a time and grabbed her pack from their room. Inside were her notebook, pens and her digital recorder. Trotting back to the table, she pulled her tools out and laid them in front of her.

  George emerged from the house a moment later. He was an older man of Japanese descent, probably in his fifties, and slight of stature. His face was nut-brown from working outside, and creased like old leather. He wore trousers that had permanent grass stains, and a faded flannel shirt with long sleeves. Both articles of clothing hung loosely on his thin frame.

  “George, come on and sit down. I want you to meet some people.” Cameron slapped the fifth chair at the table and George slid into the seat uneasily. He ducked his head, glancing at Sam and Lacey and clearly unused to being called before guests.

  “George Nakita, this is Sam Firecloud and Lacey Fitzpatrick. They’re here to get rid of the ghost in the garden shed.”

  George perked up and his shyness suddenly morphed into alert attention. He leaned toward Sam. “Yes?”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “I’d like to know what you’ve felt out there. What have you seen or heard?”

  George licked dry lips and glanced briefly at Cameron before returning his gaze to Sam. He folded his hands together on the table top and Lacey noticed how his fingers pressed into the back of his hands.

  “Someone very angry,” he said. “He yell at me, scream at me. He… threaten to kill me.”

  George’s voice dropped down into little more than a whisper with that last confession. Lacey pushed the recorder closer to him.

  “Threaten you how?” Sam asked. “Did you see him? Hear him?”

  George nodded. “I hear him… here.” He pointed to his own head.

  “You hear him inside your mind?”

  “Yes. He very loud. Very angry.”

  “Did he say specifically how he was going to kill you?”

  George’s face blanched at Sam’s question. “No. Just he say he will kill me. Over and over. ‘I kill you. I kill you.’” George looked down at his hands. “I run away then. Not go back.”

  “All right,” Sam said. He reached out and patted the brown hands on the table. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of it.” He looked to Glenn. “Could we get a glass of water for him?”

  “Sure.” Glenn was up and gone immediately, returning with a tall glass of ice water. George took a grateful sip.

  “Okay,” Sam said. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Any other impressions?”

  George looked off to the side, up toward the patio roof. “He is… white man. Little heavy. Round face. Thin hair.”

  “So you saw him?”

  George returned his gaze to Sam’s face. “Once. He… bring his face to mine. Here.” The gardener held his hand up to his face, just inches away. “He scream at me. I feel like spit on my face.”

  “He spit on you, or he was so angry the spittle was flying?”

  “Yes, that. Second one. He very angry. So angry, I think he have heart attack.”

  Sam nodded. “That’s a distinct possibility. We’ll have to see what we can find out.” He glanced to Cameron and Glenn. “Any other information to add?”

  Glenn leaned toward George. “What about your men? You said they were afraid to go to the shed also. What did they experience?”

  “Bad feelings,” George said. “They too afraid to go back.”

  “All right,” Sam said. “That’s enough corroboration. George felt exactly what I did.” He nodded to the gardener. “Thank you. We appreciate you talking to us.”

  George smiled briefly, then turned his eyes to Cameron. The millionaire gave him a nod, and George pushed back his chair and stood.

  “Thank you,” he said, giving a slight bow to Sam and one to Lacey. “Thank you.” He edged away from the table and ma
de a hasty exit.

  “Now what?” Cam asked. He hunched forward and laid his forearms on the table.

  “Now,” Sam said, “we research.” He glanced to Lacey, and she turned to their host.

  “I’m guessing that garden shed was not part of the original estate. Do you know when it was built?”

  “I do, roughly,” Cam said. “Sometime in the ‘20s. One of the things that drew me to this estate was the history behind it, and my real estate agent knew all about it. During the ‘20s, the place was owned by a mob boss, and that shed was built by his fixer and enforcer, a man they called the Bricklayer.”

  “The Bricklayer?” Lacey repeated.

  “Yeah. Apparently he enjoyed masonry and did such odd jobs in his… free time.”

  “When he wasn’t fitting people for a cement overcoat? What’d he do, throw bricks at them instead of using a Tommy gun?”

  Cameron shrugged. “Go figure.”

  “Okay.” Lacey jotted notes. “So we have a starting date. I mean, the ghost is tied to the building, right? Not just the area?” She glanced at Sam to verify.

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely the building.”

  She had a thought. “Not possibly an earlier construction in the same location?”

  They’d had a case like that once. It took them a while to figure out the discrepancy.

  Sam frowned down at the table top for a moment, his eyes open but unseeing. “No. It’s this building. Absolutely.”

  Lacey nodded. “Okay, good. Now I just have to research all the owners between then and now. Only almost one hundred years, right?” She smiled grimly.

  “What do you need?” Cameron asked.

  “I can use your business center, right? So I can hook up my laptop to your printer?”

  “Sure. Or just use one of the computers in there. They’re the biggest, fastest ones available.”

  “Of course,” she said. She smiled to soften the sarcasm. “Good idea, thanks. My laptop is a few years old and not as fast as it used to be.”

  “Glenn can get you set up,” Cameron said.

  It didn’t sound like a direct order, but Glenn was on his feet immediately to show her the way. She laid her notebook and digital recorder in her pack and pulled the strap up on her shoulder. Getting to her feet, she laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder.