The Maine Events

by Rodney Riesel

  “What he said,” Allen echoed.

  Donnie muttered. “Straight people have no appreciation for Mother Nature.”

  At the end of Tall Oaks Donnie came to a stop at the stop sign.

  “Okay,” Allen said. “Hold on.” He pointed down the road to his left. “Benny Strong's house is right up there about three hundred yards. Everyone know what they gotta do?”

  Donnie and Cam nodded their heads.

  Allen took a deep breath and exhaled. “Okay, let's do this.”

  “Let's do this?” Donnie said. “That's the best you could come up with?”

  “That's the first thing that came to my mind.”

  “How about, let's rock and roll,” said Cam.

  “Much better,” Donnie said, and pushed on the gas pedal. He rounded the corner onto Norwood Farms Road and drove along next to a three-foot-high stone fence.

  Between Strong's house and their neighbor to the south was a wooded area, about a hundred yards by a hundred yards. The trees bordered the street on the west side, and ran right up to the cliffs overlooking the ocean on the east side.

  Donnie pulled to the curb and stopped. Cam and Allen jumped out of the car. Cam reached into his front pocket and pulled out a chrome finish snub-nosed .38.

  “Here's Mildred's gun,” said Cam. “It's a revolver, so just point and pull the trigger.”

  “How many times?” Donnie asked.

  “Until it's empty, or whatever you're shooting at is dead.”

  “Well, I don't want to kill anyone,” Donnie said.

  “Then you shouldn't be here,” said Cam.

  Donnie thought for a second. “Give me the gun,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Cam tossed the pistol on the seat. “Don't shoot yourself,” he said.

  Allen and Cam turned and ran into the woods. Donnie took his foot off the brake and rolled up the street.

  When Donnie came to Strong's driveway, he pulled in, and shut off his engine. There was a newer model black, Dodge pickup parked in front of a closed garage door. Parked next to the truck was a red 1969 Mustang. Donnie began counting fifty Mississippis, just like Allen had told him to the night before. As he counted, he turned around and noticed the two ski masks still lying on the back seat.

  “Crap,” Donnie whispered to himself.

  He picked up Mildred's revolver and slid it into his front pocket. He climbed out of the car and strolled up the driveway to the front door.

  Allen and Cam ran through the woods until they came to the edge of the cliff. They climbed down onto the rocks to a point where they were just out of sight. It was low tide and the seven-foot waves crashed against the jagged rocks and boulders of Cow Beach point, about seventy-five yards behind them. Allen hopped from rock to rock, with Cam doing his best to keep up.

  “You good?” Allen asked.

  “Don't worry about me,” Cam shot back.

  “Your voice sounds shay.”

  “If ya must know, I'm scared of heights. Spent half my life on a ranch in Oklahoma that was flat as piss on a plate. I'm not used to scrambblin' around on slippery rocks above a ragin' ocean like a goddamn crab.”

  Allen chuckled. “You're doing fine. Hand me one of those ski masks.”

  “Uh … that's gonna be a problem, pardner.”

  “You left them on the seat, didn't you?”

  “That's a big 10-4.”

  Keeping their heads below the home's line of sight, they inched along as quickly as they could, to position themselves at the back of the house.

  Cam pointed to the rocks below them. “What's that?” he asked.

  When Allen turned his head to look, his sneaker lost its grip on the damp rock he was standing on. His knee slammed against the rock.

  “Shit!” Allen said, rubbing his knee. He breathed through clenched teeth trying to ignore the pain.

  “You alright?” Cam asked.

  “I'm okay.” Allen focused on what got Cam's attention. “It's a sneaker,” he said. “Looks like a kid's sneaker.”

  Allen dropped to a boulder a few feet below him to get a closer look.

  “Do you think it's one of the boys' shoes?” Cam asked.

  “I don't know,” Allen replied. “But the guy with the coroner's office said Oliver was wearing just one sneaker.”

  Donnie rapped on the wooden double door, then he noticed the doorbell button and pushed it. He could hear the chimes inside ringing. He tried to place the tune, but it eluded him. He reached down and adjusted the pistol in his pocket. He was humming along cheerily when the door opened.

  An angry-looking man with long, slicked-back hair glared at Donnie. “What?”

  Donnie smiled politely. “Hi,” he said, and pointed back over his shoulder. “My car ran out of gas, I think.”

  “You think it ran out of gas?” Myron Spoon asked. “What's that got to do with me?”

  “I forgot my cell phone. I was wondering if I could come in and use your phone.”

  Spoon looked back over his shoulder into the house. “Boss!” he hollered.

  “Yeah?” came a booming voice from somewhere inside.

  “There's a guy out here ran outta gas.”

  “What the fuck you want me to do about it? There's gas in the garage!”

  Spoon stepped through the doorway and left the door open behind him. “Follow me,” he said. “There's a gas can in the garage.”

  Great, Donnie thought, a change in the plan already. “Thanks,” he said gleefully.

  Donnie followed Spoon back across the driveway to the garage.

  “Nice Mustang,” Donnie said. “That yours?”

  “Naw, that belongs to a friend of the boss's. The truck's mine.”

  The two men walked around to a door at the side of the garage. Spoon opened it and went inside. He flipped on a light switch and the florescent lights hanging from the ceiling lit up the place.

  Allen picked up the sneaker. It was a size 8 Nike Air Force 1; black leather uppers, white rubber sole. He wished he could remember what kind of shoes Jacob and Oliver wore. “Looks like it would fit a kid,” he said. “Pretty snazzy too.”

  “Snazzy, grandpa? Don't ever call me old,” Cam said. “We better get up there. Donnie is probably in the house by now.”

  Allen tossed the sneaker up the cliff and into the woods. “Might need that later,” he said.

  The two men hurried back up the rocks and peeked over the edge of the backyard. It was an hour until sundown, but with the sun behind some clouds far off on the horizon, it was darker than Allen had pictured it would be. A massive window at the rear of the house was lit up. Allen and Cam craned their necks to see inside.

  “You see anything?” Cam asked.

  “I don't see Donnie, if that's what you're asking,” Allen replied. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

  “Gas is over on this shelf,” Spoon said. He crossed the room and got down on one knee.

  Donnie looked around the room, and then pulled Mildred's pistol out of his front pocket. He pointed the weapon at Spoon's back, and gently put his finger on the trigger. He took a step back.

  Spoon pulled the gas can off the shelf, stood, and turned around. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, when he saw the .38 trained on him.

  “Put the can down,” Donnie ordered.

  “The boss ain't gonna like this,” Spoon said.

  “Who else is in the house?” Donnie asked.

  “You're making a big mistake, fella,” said Spoon. “Why don't you put that gun down, and I'll let you walk out of here.”

  “Is Jacob in the house? Is he still alive?”

  “The kid? That's why you're here?”

  “Is he alive?”

  “He's alive. Put down the gun and I'll take you to him.”

  “I'll keep the gun, and you can take me to him. I'm warning you—if you try anything, I'll shoot you.”

  Spoon grinned. “That's gonna be a little difficult,” he said, looking down at the weapon. “You
didn't cock the hammer.”

  Donnie glanced down at his weapon, and Spoon reached out and slapped the .38 out of Donnie's hand. It hit the concrete floor and slid up against the garage door.

  “Now what are ya gonna—”

  Spoon didn't even finish his sentence before Donnie's spinning back kick slammed the heel of his shoe against the side of Spoon's head. Spoon staggered to his left. His eyes were open for a second, but he had no idea what had just happened to him. He tried to bring up his fists but hit the concrete on his side instead. The sound of Spoon's head hitting the floor made a sickening crack.

  “Oooh, that didn't sound good.” Donnie said, wincing in empathy.

  He bent down and grabbed Spoon by the ankles and dragged him deeper into the garage, leaving a blood trail across the floor. Donnie pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture of Spoon's lifeless body, then he dialed Allen's number.

  Allen and Cam crawled across the backyard toward the house. Allen felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He paused and pulled out the cell.

  “Hello?” Allen answered, as he positioned himself behind a shrub.

  “Hey, it's Donnie.”

  “What's the matter?”

  “There's been a change of plans. I'm sending you a pic.”

  “I'm going ahead,” Cam whispered. Allen flashed a thumbs up. Cam continued on all fours toward the back of the house.

  Allen pulled the cell phone away from his ear and tapped the text message icon. The photo of Spoon, complete with blood trail, lit up the screen. He put the phone back to his ear.

  “What did you do?” Allen asked. “Is he dead?”

  “I think he's still breathing, but he hit his head pretty hard.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In the garage. This guy told me that Jacob is in the house and that he's still alive.”

  “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

  “Only one way to find out. We gotta go in.”

  “We don't know who's in there.”

  “Strong is in there, and he mentioned another man, a friend of Strong's.”

  “He say who the other guy was?”

  “No, but he drives a red Mustang. You know anyone who drives a red Mustang?”

  “No. Maybe it's Vinny Tubbs' car.”

  “Psst!” said Cam. His back was to the wall, between the window and the back door.

  Allen looked over.

  “It's the cop, Tucker—I met him when we were searching,” Cam whispered loudly. “He's inside.”

  “Jim Tucker, the cop, he's inside the house,” Allen relayed to Donnie.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “We gotta get inside.”

  “The front door is standing wide open,” said Donnie. “The guy left it open when we walked to the garage.”

  “You get back to the front door. Cam and I will go through the back door. When you hear the commotion, come in ready to fire. The element of surprise is our only ally right now.”

  “What commotion? How will I know if it's the right commotion?”

  “You'll know.”

  Donnie took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “And, hey, Allen?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for being such a good friend to me over the past few days. I'm glad we met.”

  “Don't get all gay on me, Donnie,” Allen joked.

  Donnie snickered quietly. “Asshole,” he said, and hung up the cell.

  Allen put away his cell phone and crawled as fast as he could to Cam.

  “We're going in,” Allen said.

  “Sounds good to me,” Cam said, pulling out his .38.

  “It's nice that you and Mildred have matching handguns,” said Allen.

  “We got these for each other on our fiftieth wedding anniversary,” Cam said, admiring the chrome finish in the fading sunlight. “They're not gold, but just as shiny.”

  Allen pulled his 9mm out of his waistband. “Ready?” he asked.

  “I was yanked outta my mama ready.”

  The two men got to their feet, one on each side of the door. Allen quietly counted to three and nodded his head.

  Cam stepped back away from the house and fired a round into the corner of the window, shattering the glass, just as Allen threw his shoulder and the weight of his body into the wooden door. The door jamb splintered, and the door smashed against the wall behind it. Allen's momentum sent him sprawling to the hardwood living room floor. There was a large wood burning fireplace to his left, and to his right a stairway leading to the second floor. In front of him was a doorway leading to the kitchen.

  Cam came through the doorway next, leaping over Allen like a gazelle. He scanned the room, pointing his pistol in every direction. The room was empty, but not for long.

  “Benny!” Jim Tucker shouted, as he ran from the kitchen into the dining room.

  Allen, still on the floor, and Cam both pointed their weapons at Tucker.

  Tucker's hand went to the holster clipped to his belt.

  “Don't even think about it,” Cam growled.

  Tucker froze.

  Allen was climbing to his feet. “Where's Jacob?” he demanded.

  “You just made the biggest mistake of your life,” Tucker said. He glanced back over his shoulder.

  Donnie charged into the room with his weapon drawn. “If you're looking for the other guy, he's tied up in the garage. He might be dead, I'm not sure.”

  “Where's Jacob?” Allen asked again.

  “He's right here,” said Benny Strong.

  Benny slowly descended the staircase. He was stooped over, with his arm around Jacob's throat, and a .45 to the boy's temple. The boy was disheveled and wide-eyed with terror but otherwise he looked okay. He managed a wan smile upon seeing Allen, who grinned back encouragingly.

  Even though they were only half brothers, Benny looked a lot like his brother Bobby. Bobby had told Allen that Benny was his younger brother, but Benny looked a few years older, and slightly heavier.

  Donnie's weapon remained trained on Tucker. Allen and Cam swung their pistols around in Strong's direction.

  “Let him go!” Allen shouted.

  “I'm giving the orders here,” said Strong. “Put down your weapons, or I'll dig a tunnel through this kid's brain.”

  Allen and Cam exchanged glances. Allen started to lay his weapon down.

  “Don't,” Cam said.

  Allen froze.

  Cam pulled back the hammer and it clicked into position. He took aim at the mobster. “Listen, ya fat bastard,” he said. “You're a much bigger target than that boy. There's no way I'm gonna miss.”

  “And I'll blow this kid's brains out,” Strong said.

  “Maybe,” Cam said, “and maybe not.”

  Without further warning, Cam fired, hitting Strong in the shoulder.

  Strong's weapon fell from his grip as he stumbled backwards on the stairs. He struggled to regain his balance, and fumbled with his weapon trying to pick it up. Jacob pulled himself away from the big man's grip, and ran down the stairs, stumbling on his third step. He fell forward, tumbling the rest of the way down.

  Tucker dropped to one knee and went for his pistol. Donnie began pulling the trigger, not stopping until the .38 was empty. All six rounds missed their mark, instead slamming into the window across the room.

  Tucker spun on his knee, and as he got to his feet, he managed to get off two shots, plugging Donnie in the thigh and the abdomen before Allen put one in his back. Tucker teetered on the balls of his feet before buckling at the knees and crashing face-first to the hardwood floor upon which his busted teeth skittered like a box of Chiclets.

  Strong snatched up his .45 and began shooting. He fired twice at Jacob, missing both times. He swung his gun around to fire at Cam. Cam put two rounds in Strong's head. The mobster fell backwards and slid down the stairs on his back, his head bouncing off of each stair tread.

  “Cam, see about the boy!” Allen shouted.

  Cam hurri
ed to Jacob, and Allen ran to Donnie, kicking Tucker's pistol across the room on his way. He knelt down next to Donnie, and yanked his cell phone out of his pocket.

  “Hold on,” Allen said, applying pressure to Donnie's torso wound with one hand and dialing 911 with the other.

  “I'll be damned,” Donnie said, “it doesn't really hurt that much. Just burns a little.”

  “Yeah, it's not that bad,” Allen lied. “I need an ambulance at the Strong residence on Norwood Farms Road. Multiple gunshot wounds.” He dropped the phone on the floor next to him.

  Jacob ran to Allen, dropped to his knees, and threw his arms around him. “I thought they were gonna kill me,” he said.

  “What happened?” Allen asked, still with one hand on Donnie's wound.

  “Me and Oliver broke in. I know I was stupid, but we thought we would find millions of dollars in the safe. We'd be rich, and then our dads could quit their jobs.”

  Allen smiled. “Go on.”

  “No one was supposed to be home. When we heard them come in, we ran out the back door and tried to get away. Oliver fell over the cliff and hit the rocks.”

  “Did Oliver wear black and white Nikes?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I found one of them on the rocks.” He paused. “I know this is hard to hear, but they dumped Oliver's body behind the elementary school.”

  Jacob's eyes filled with tears. “I know. I heard them talking. They said it was to throw the cops off the scent until they decided what to do with me. That Tucker guy, it was his idea. He wanted to kill me, too, but Mr. Strong, he wanted to ask for a ransom. I told him my folks don't have any money.”

  Cam laid two fingers on the side of Tucker's neck. “He's dead,” he said.

  “Good!” Jacob blurted out.

  “My sentiments exactly,” said Allen.

  He took hold of Jacob's hand and put it on Donnie's wound. “Keep pressure on here.” Grimacing, the boy complied.

  Donnie's face was white, and he was starting to sweat.

  Cam stood above Donnie, looking down at him. “You're gonna be just fine, son,” he said.

  Allen stood and looked over at Strong. “I'm guessing he's dead too.”

  “Oh yeah,” Cam replied.

  Allen bent down and picked up his 9mm. “I'm going to run upstairs and make sure no one else is up there,” he said. “We still have one bad guy unaccounted for.”