by Jen Wright
Kathy is one of the most casual and laid back people I know. She wears pants fortified with homemade patches and twenty-year-old jackets held together with duct tape. She is not at all like the first impression she gives. Her clothing is at great odds with the beauty and sensitivity of her designs, and her hands can build anything. Her house is incredible. I have often wondered if all of the building Kathy has done has contributed to her wide shoulders, or if it was genetics that led her toward her trade. She has medium length curly brown hair, graying in streaks around her face, and eyes the color of chestnuts. She lives with her partner, Donna, a major fem who has never picked up a hammer in her life.
I waited five eternal minutes, visualizing every square inch of my house, trying to avoid thinking about what might be happening in there, until I couldn't stand it any longer. I headed toward the house. The nearest trees were mostly assorted pines about sixteen years old and provided little cover, so I moved slowly. When I was in view of the house, I stopped, slowed my breathing, and listened. I could make out footprints leading to the rear entrance. I slowly, painstakingly, made my way around back. I'm sure the intruder was expecting the dogs and me to come crashing out of the woods. I could see that tracks were definitely leading into the house, and I was immediately pissed off.
My anger was instantly cooled by remembering the four no, five dead Toivunens. What the hell were they trying to pull? Did they think we would get so scared we would just let Nichols out? I flashed on the threat Nichols made to Lou and me while we served him his violation papers to hold him for murder charges. The arrogant shit probably thought that if he scared me, I'd just arrange for his accidental release. Perhaps this was just a vendetta. I decided I wanted to see who I was dealing with, so I threw a rock out near the front of the house where I have two motion sensitive lights. Both of them flooded the front area with light. I could see some movement in the house, and a head popped up near the front window that overlooks the driveway. I could tell he was male, but there was no way to tell if he was armed. He was obviously lying in wait.
I heard a car coming up the drive. Hoping it was more than one, I waited. Two squads rolled to a stop and parked nose to nose blocking the driveway but pointing at a 45-degree angle to the house. Headlights were on, but there were no flashing lights. The township officer and two
Duluth Police officers exited the vehicles. Two of them approached the house, staying as close to the building as possible, while one covered the back door. Suddenly, I heard a huge crash and knew the intruder had broken the window overlooking the deck on the south side of my house. He jumped the rail and bounded off into the woods just as the officer rounded the corner.
"Freeze, police."
The intruder fired two shots over his shoulder as he ran off into the denser woods south of my house. Two of the officers gave chase, firing shots of their own. The township cop, Shilhon, stayed behind. I stood up and walked over to him. He had his gun out, and I swear, nearly shot me.
"Dan, Dan, it's me, Jo. I called you." My voice was an octave higher than usual.
"Shit, Jo! Where were you?"
"I was watching from the woods. I sabotaged his car. He has to be headed that way."
"Duluth Township Police to squad 24. Suspect is likely headed to the vehicle on Valley Road. The home owner rendered it undriveable. She is with me and safe." Then he turned his attention back to me, showing little of the relief he must have felt about not shooting his friend and neighbor. "Jo, sorry about that. Come with me to the squad."
We both jumped in and quickly drove to the end of the drive. I was ordered to "Stay." I did. The intruder had outrun the police in enough time to try the car and run up Valley Road.
The two DPD officers, Hannon and Striker, radioed dispatch the status of "subject" and called all available squads to the area. The Sheriff's Department provided backup to the township police in all of the outlying areas.
All told, there were five squads responding.
"Subject has fled on foot and may be trying to steal a vehicle." Striker's voice reported into the radio.
The area is accessible by only two roads. The main highway is two miles away. Officers blocked the access roads, and Dan went door to door warning people of the danger and asking them to remove the keys from any vehicles on their property. Residents of this area regularly leave keys in their cars. I suspected that this would change all that. A half mile up the road, Dan discovered that a home owner's four-wheeler had been stolen from his barn.
After hearing this, I walked up the driveway to my house to brew a fresh pot of French roast. I boiled a pot of water on the stove and got out my French press. I needed the ritual of preparing it, and I craved the heightened aroma of this type of preparation. I avoided looking at the footprints scattered in front of every window of my house. I was pissed as hell about the invasion. I also realized that he had been there, in my house, with a gun, waiting for me. I called my neighbor Carol and updated her, thanking her profusely. She would keep the pups as long as necessary.
Dan tracked me back to my house, and we sipped coffee at the breakfast bar. Dan is a marathon runner and has a lean, intelligent look. He also has classic Finnish features along with the requisite Finnish stoicism. I bet he plays a great game of poker. I invited him to use my house as a gathering place. He declined, as the township station was close by.
The phone rang just as I was seeing Dan out the door. It was Nate calling to see if I had another place to stay. They were going to have a difficult time surveilling both my house and Lou's, since I did not live in the jurisdiction of the DPD and the Sheriff's Department didn't have that kind of manpower. I told him I had a place. Then I asked, "Have you identified my intruder?"
"Well, the plates from the Blazer came back stolen. We've tracked it to Detroit. There's a good chance our guy is part of the Gangster Mob. No way to tell if it's the same person responsible for the Toivunens. Whoever he is, he's probably in some big trouble for screwing up this hit, if it was supposed to be a hit."
That comforted me a lot.
I put duct tape and cardboard over my broken window, packed clothes and dog food, picked up the boys at Carol's, and went to Kathy's. The dogs seemed a little bummed to leave but were always up for a ride in the car. I let them run in front of the car for the last two-mile stretch of dirt road leading to Kathy and Donna's house.
I had not called first, and Kathy and Donna just opened up the door when they saw my bag and two dogs. They were about to sit down to a midday dinner of chicken, baked potatoes, and salad, and they set another plate. I slowly filled them in, leaving out any names. They stopped eating and stared in silence. When she finally spoke, Kathy said, "Holy shit, Jo, you have to get another job. Now."
That made me laugh a little.
"I'm not kidding, Jo, this is your life. It's not worth it."
Donna was crying. I hate that. I just can't stand watching someone cry.
I stiffened. "That isn't going to happen. I love my job. It isn't like this. I'm a desk jockey. I have very little direct client contact. I just run the unit. The folks I work with are awesome." It occurred to me that I was sounding defensive and trying to fast-talk myself out of their disapproval, but I kept on. "Their job is to connect with kids, help them turn their lives around, and protect the public. This is very unusual."
They just stared at me, incredulous. They didn't kick me out, though. I really needed a place to stay, and I was secretly scared shitless. That guy could have been there for one of several reasons: to kill me, or my dogs, or to simply deliver a message. I realized that I would probably never know which.
I felt safe in the comfort of my friends' guest bed. They both snored lightly, and that comforted me, too.
Chapter 6
The rest of the weekend proved to be uneventful. I kept checking my cell phone because I couldn't believe Lou had not called.
Monday morning over coffee, Kathy told me not to worry about my dogs. She works out of her home, and
they could run free at her house all day. Kathy and Donna own a large spread, and their house is three hundred yards from the nearest dirt road and another two miles from Valley Road. They also have two dogs, a cat, and a goat. My boys have spent many days roaming their property while Kathy and I have done home improvement projects, stacked wood, or just hung out.
As I sat there sipping coffee, I was moved by how many times Kathy and Donna have been there for me through the chaos of building my house, as well as my last two breakups. I have spent innumerable nights curled up with the two of them and all of the animals (except the goat) watching movies in their home entertainment room.
Kathy's parting words to me as I got into my Rover were, "Live your priorities, Jo."
I felt strong conflict between the comfort and love of my friends, their desire for my safety, and a responsibility to help get this gang eradicated from our city. I also had a sense of responsibility for Lou and the Toivunen family. I think I originally got into this business because I have justice issues. I want things to be fair and am known for my attempts at fairness with staff. I felt a strong tug in my heart to try and make this thing right. I also struggled, as Lou often did, with how much I could be involved. This was really the responsibility of the police. Our role was to bring them information about the kids we know and supervise in the community.
I resolved to do that from the safety of my desk.
Rolling into the parking lot, I noticed that many of the hunters had returned. The lot was nearly full. As I walked through the door, I realized that the staff had heard about my intruder. Since people were anxious to know what had happened, I held an impromptu staff meeting to capture some of their energy and try to channel it toward a solution. I went through the entire case history, beginning with the triangle of love between Nichols, Felicia Green, and Toivunen; the murder of John Toivunen; the murder of the Toivunen family; the break-in at my office; Lou's break-in; and finally, my intruder. We all reviewed the gang information list.
The PO's were first stunned, and then angry. Most vowed to help in any way possible. Don, one of the juvenile PO's who covered the office in my absence, immediately spoke up.
"Jo, we'll go to the schools today. We can get the informational packet out to all of the assistant principals." Because of the budget crisis, we no longer had Police Liaison Officers in the high schools. "We can also get it out to detention and the treatment facilities," he promised. "We'll put pressure on any known gang members in the area. I suspect this gang has no real rivals, but we can hope that some of the smaller gangs will give up information to try and gain back some of their territory."
"Thanks, guys. Go to it. Keep court covered, and keep me informed."
Warren, the PO who had volunteered to fill in for Lou with the intensive unit, was absent from the impromptu briefing. I walked down to his office to see what was up. He was on the phone with an irate parent, trying patiently to suggest that she actually try to parent her child and set some limits before calling him because "Ricky wouldn't do the dishes." He just shook his head at me with raised eyebrows and said that he would be happy to give her his supervisor's number if she preferred, but that he couldn't and wouldn't intervene until she had at least tried to do what he had suggested as an intervention. I shook my head back at him, waved, and backed out of his doorway. I was glad to see that Warren was busy with his caseload, even though retirement was just around the corner for him. I wanted to keep him engaged during his remaining couple of years.
I went back to my office and found a message to call Nate. When I reached him, he told me that the Blazer they had impounded from my house had prints all over it. They ran them and found the suspect's match in AFIS, the federal system for tracking adult felons' fingerprints. I guess he wasn't such a "little" bugger after all.
"His name is Donnie Nichols, a.k.a. Smithy, a.k.a. Gunner. He got his nicknames from his love of guns. He is also the big brother to our very own Mike Nichols. Detroit, as you know, is infamous for having poor Bureau of Criminal Apprehension records and fingerprinting due to a seriously overloaded system. When you call there looking for information, it is rare to ever get a call back." Nate continued, "Your buddy Lou came through with this information because of a training contact there, a jewel in the rough who did some digging. The guy gave us a lot of information." I could picture Nate nodding as he spoke into the phone.
"It turns out Donnie and Mike Nichols are half brothers. They have the same dad but different moms. Dad is in prison for armed robbery and goes by the name of Bull." He paused, and I could hear him shuffling his notes. He wasn't quite as good at this as Lou. Lou would have easily committed all of the facts to memory. "Bull was raised in the Detroit projects and worked his way up to lieutenant in the Ram gang. He went to prison for an armed robbery charge and will be eligible for parole in three years. His two boys were raised separately but hooked up with Bull by visiting him in prison. Together, they began a pretty successful drug-running operation in Duluth this year by collaborating with the Native Mob. Then they decided to make Duluth their own and created a new gang, borrowing heavily from the structure of the Mob, the Latin Kings, and their father's gang. They're suspected of several assaults and two robberies. The two boys are thick as thieves and run with a group of four other known gangsters: Spade, Little Moe, Ice, and Mice. Isn't that cute? Ice and Mice are also brothers. Our Detroit contact is working on their real names. The Detroit gang task force list of suspected and known gang members is huge."
The police certainly had been busy. "Well, the brother connection is big. Are you close to locating him? Smity, or Smithy? Whatever the hell his name is. Big Nichols."
"We have an all-squads bulletin out from here to Detroit. What's so hard about this is that they are so new to town. With the viciousness of their attacks, the usual informants on the street aren't talking. The Gangster Mob is predominantly Caucasian, so its members can easily hide in a town the size of Duluth. We did get a description from the BCA of the older Nichols boy's tattoos, though, and he is covered with symbols from his old gang, mostly skulls, guns, and ammo. He could have altered them, but usually that means turning them into something similar. For example, I've seen a knife turned into a snake. The symbols will still usually be recognizable in their new form. The packet Lou sent out has possible symbols in it, so we are still on track with that. Every officer from here to Detroit should be checking tattoos and colors. Maybe Smithy will get tagged for speeding." He took a breath and seemed to calm down a bit, so I changed the subject.
"What is the status of Mike Nichols? Has he been moved to the jail yet?"
"Absolutely. He's in isolation, and he isn't talking. Well, actually, he did say one thing. This guy has some ego. He said, 'There are more of us than you know, and you can't stop us.'"
"Do you think he's bluffing?"
"I don't know. Lou doesn't think so."
"How is Lou holding up?"
"Fine. I'd like to steal him, you know."
"He won't even think about it. He'll be eligible for a full pension in a few more years with us, and then I suspect you will have to pay through the nose for his services."
"I suppose you're right. How are you holding up, Jo? Sorry about your house."
"I'm fine. Kind of pissed off about it. I miss my house. I also don't want my life ruined by these punks. I have great friends and a safe place to stay. Do you think it would be safe for me to move back in yet?"
"Hard to say. I don't know if this was supposed to be a hit or a warning. You could install a security system."
"I've contemplated that, but they could still get to my dogs. I couldn't bear that. I'm pretty sure they know the dogs exist now."
"Well, I wouldn't risk it, Jo. This can't go on forever. We'll get 'em. Let me know if there's anything I can do."
"Thanks."
As soon as I hung up, the phone rang. "Jo Spence," I answered.
"Josephine?"
"Hi, Dad." Only my father uses my given name. Ab
out three years ago, he called the front desk looking for me and asked for Josephine. They told him no one by that name worked there. I had to reassure him that I still had a job and that I'm known as Jo. Parents.
"What's up, Dad?"
My dad remarried quickly after my mom died five years ago. He lives in Duluth during the summer and Arizona during the winter. He regularly reads the Duluth newspaper on-line from Arizona. He and his new wife had driven down there in October.
"I read an interesting story in the paper this morning." He added accusingly, "Are you OK?"
"What did it say, Dad? I haven't read it yet."
"It said you nearly got killed by gangsters. Obviously you aren't dead; now tell me what's going on!"
"Well, as you probably read, there is a big case here, and we're working on it with the police. Some kids were just trying to send me a message. I was in no real danger. Message received. I'm not front line on this." I was sounding defensive again. "I'm not staying at home right now. I'm safe."
"Are you sure? You are welcome here any time. We can go fishing. Whatever."
"I may just take you up on that, but really, it's OK. How about I call you more often for a while so you can stop worrying?"
"That would be great. Thanks, honey."
"Here is my cell number. Call it anytime, too. OK?"
"OK, I'll probably lose it, but go ahead... Got it. We love you."
"I love you both, too. Give Lois a hug for me."
I sat there staring out the window that looks out over Lake Superior, thinking about my 82-year-old father. He stands six feet and weighs 180 pounds, and he has a full head of white hair that he keeps closely cropped. He is in great shape from ballroom dancing and playing softball in the over-80 league three nights a week. He is, however, losing his short-term memory, and I was glad he had met Lois right after my mom died. She is a great woman who loves him as he deserves, but she also can put him in his place when he needs it. I love her for that. I pictured them playing cards every morning to see who gets to be boss for the day.
