Little White Lies

by Paul Watkins

  “Well I guess that’s it for now, then,” I offer, “unless you have something else you want from us before we leave.”

  Espy looks at me with a somewhat surprised smile. Sort of like he’s wondering why I’m still hanging around.

  “I’ve got nothing more for you.” He looks at Hudson. “Or you.” He picks up his glass and takes a drink of beer. “Why don’t you guys get to work and do what you’re told?”

  I nod curtly and turn for the door. “I hope to see you again… soon,” I say smiling. “Maybe next time we’ll make more progress.”

  “Yeah, sure… whatever,” Espy replies. “Just get everything right this time, Richards. I won’t be handing out no more love taps like tonight. Screw up tomorrow and you’ll wish you and I had never met.”

  I look at Hudson whose grim countenance speaks volumes… only no one other than myself is getting the message.

  “May we have our guns back?” I ask.

  “Why not?” Mike laughs. He picks up the pistols and expertly pops the clips out of the weapons. He follows this with a quick check of the firing chambers. Satisfied both are clear he hands the pistols to me butt first. “Here you are… go get the bad guys.” This time he laughs out loud.

  We walk quickly to the car without conversation interrupting our rapid pace. Entering the car, Hudson smiles and speaks for the first time since we entered the house.

  “Nice going in there. They don’t suspect a thing and we are now both thoroughly motivated.”

  “I was motivated before,” I reply looking straight ahead.

  “Yeah, I know… but I wasn’t really into it before I met them. Now I am. It’s amazing how a little jerk like that can get to you… and Mike didn’t do too bad either.”

  I start the car and slowly move away from the curb.

  “Let’s go around the block and come up on the house from the rear… the same way you did before.”

  Hudson nods agreement.

  ***

  We travel several blocks down the street before turning right to the next street over. Hudson spots the yard he cut through earlier in the evening and we U-turn and park in front of a darkened house. It’s early, but the occupants may be asleep or away. Leaving the car, we quietly close the doors and walk quickly back to our entry point. This place is extremely quiet. I don’t think anyone’s home on the whole block. That might have something to do with the reason Espy chose this area to locate his operations, an apparent minimum of nosy neighbors.

  Espy’s house is the only one with lights on for a stretch of five or six houses. Perfect. We walk along the side of the house and finally come to a window of the room we just left. Sure enough, there are now three of them with the big man Jim described once more in attendance. They are all drinking mixed drinks, smiling, and enjoying the fruits of their evening’s work. From here the voices are muffled and I can’t quite make out what they are saying, but it’s a good bet Espy is holding court, giving a lecture on how he handled us and a detailed description of how it’s going to go from here on in. The two minions listen respectfully, laughing and smiling at the appropriatespots in the speech… filling Espy even fuller than he was before. We duck below the window and quietly walk up the stairs to the porch. I’m betting the door is still unlocked.

  Hudson turns the knob and slowly opens the door. We both enter and close the door behind us. The foyer is still lighted, but not visible from where the men are standing in the living room. Jim has a silenced .22 caliber pistol, the same as mine and they are in our hands as we enter the room. The larger caliber guns we carried on our first visit are no longer necessary.

  All three turn as we enter and I choose to begin.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen, but we still have some unfinished business, so we thought we’d come back and wrap things up.”

  The three are obviously taken aback, but it’s Espy who finds his voice first.

  “Are you guys crazy? Do you know who we are… what you’re doin’?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” I reply. “We came back to clear up a few points on the matter we discussed earlier.”

  Hudson walks to the sideboard and leans back in much the same manner as Mike had before. He is in a position where his vision and field of fire can cover both entrances to the room.

  Espy begins again, clearly angry at the turn of events.

  “Hey, asshole, I’m talking to you.” His eyes are fixed on me. “Yeah, you. I’m talking to you. Put the guns down before someone gets hurt and maybe we’ll forget about this… otherwise you’re in a lot of trouble.”

  I smile.

  “Seems to me you’re the one who’s in trouble, Espy. From what I can see, you don’t have a gun at the moment, but maybe we can change that.”

  I walk over to Espy and wave the other men back.

  “Back up, boys. Over against the wall.”

  They stand still for a moment, but then slowly move in the required direction. I close with Espy who stands defiantly in my path, hands on hips, balled in tight fists, the veins in his neck bulging with the pressure of restraint on his part. I flip the gun to my left hand and without warning rifle a hard punch to his protruding gut. The punch takes him by surprise and he folds in the middle, his wind gone for the moment. He quickly collects himself and holding his stomach, gasps for air. As he straightens I slap his face hard with my open hand, and then catch him with the back of my hand. It’s a move I learned earlier this evening.

  “You’re a dead man,” he wheezes. “Dead!”

  “Maybe, but your funeral will precede mine,” I reply. “You think you’re some kind of hotshot criminal, Espy. What you don’t realize is that you’ve grown soft feeding on easy pickings. You’re not up to dealing with anyone else. Just think of yourselves as the first casualties in a war you started. This time you get to feel what it’s like when you’re up against somebody like yourselves. Remember when you said how bad you were?”

  Espy looks at me with hatred flowing out of his darkened visage.

  “I do,” I continue, “I always listen very close when someone threatens me, so I’ll know exactly what to do when the tables turn. Now the tables have turned and I’ve decided you’re too tough to let live.”

  Espy’s eyes widen. He can’t believe what he’s hearing.

  POP!

  Hudson’s gun spits and the big man from upstairs staggers, making a futile attempt to grab the chair in front of him. He turns it over instead and falls to the floor. I don’t have to look, I know he’s dead. Hudson has never needed more than one shot for as long as I’ve known him.

  “Sorry, boss, but he made a move,” Hudson explains. “I’m betting he has a gun in a left-front shoulder holster. If I’m wrong, I’ll apologize.”

  Hudson’s attempt at humor goes unappreciated.

  “Duly noted,” I reply, not taking my eyes off Espy. “Well, I’m not going to drag this out…”

  “Wait!” Espy cries. “You don’t have to do this. We can forget the whole thing… “

  Evidently the shooting has made this little episode real to Espy. He finally realizes the depth of the shit he’s standing in.

  “Oh, spare me,” I interrupt. “I’m sure I can believe anything you say right up to the point where the tables are turned. Then it will be business as usual. You made up the game and the rules… you just picked the wrong opponent. One little mistake blew the whole thing. Only this particular mistake cost you your life.”

  Espy looks at me for a moment, apparently weighing various options but not coming up with any easy answers.

  “Have you thought about the consequences… what will happen to you if you kill us? You know my friends will come after you. Hell, the law will come after you. This is murder one for Christ’s sake! Why ruin your life over a business deal?”

  “You decided to end
your life over a business deal. That’s how I view it. You thought of it, you took the first move… started ordering people around… throwing your considerable weight around, so to speak.”

  Espy casts his eyes from side to side in a futile search for answers, but none are forthcoming. His instincts are telling him that time is running out and so are his options.

  “Let me tell you something about life, Espy. People like you are hard cases and you usually get your way. What you fail to realize is how good you have become at picking your victims. You never pick on anyone who can present a problem… and if they do, it’s no big deal to get rid of them and the problem. Statistically, I suppose, you can go through an entire lifetime like that. Picking on the weak and the wounded until you come to believe you’re the strongest cat in the jungle. Unfortunately, one day you fail to check out your victim and you proceed just like you always have, expecting this deal will be no different from the many deals that have gone down before. But it isn’t the same. Know what I mean?

  “Mr. Jackson doesn’t even know about this thing. He has never heard of you or your so-called offer.”

  “Then there’s no harm… “

  “There’s plenty of harm. You tried to take over and I know about it. You frightened me… oh, and by the way, you even hit me to make your point. Remember that? I do. Do you have any idea how pissed off I get when someone hits me? Some asshole like you who I could take with both hands tied behind my back? And now I can’t let you live. In my mind, you’ll always be out there waiting your chance. I figure I’ll never be in a better position than I’m in right now. I can take care of you and end it for all time. I’m not saying there’ll never be another jerk like you who will come along and try the same thing, but at least it won’t be you.”

  “Give me a chance,” he pleads, his hands outstretched like a deserving supplicant.

  I pretend to consider his request for a moment before answering and I see a slight smile begin at the corner of his mouth. He actually thinks he’s making headway. That’s okay. What difference does it make?

  “Okay, I’ll give you the same chance you have given others. The same chance you would have given me… “

  His smile fades through uncertainty to panic, but only for an instant. POP! POP!

  Our weapons spit almost simultaneously and both men drop where they are standing. Both are head shots … and both are very dead. I feel a little sorry about Mike. He didn’t seem like a bad guy, but unfortunately he couldn’t be allowed to live either. That can happen when you take up with bad company.

  Besides, he was comfortable with Espy and his shit when they were in control. As far as Espy goes, I have no remorse. He’s nothing but shit and he should have been flushed a long time ago. He simply picked up the check after a lifetime of partying at the expense of others. He’s in a better place… maybe not for him, but certainly for everyone else.

  Hudson and I were careful not to touch anything during our stay. We wipe the doorknobs, turn out the lights and leave as quietly as we came. Moments later we enter our car and head off in the direction of the expressway.

  Jim is quiet for a time, but it’s obvious the wheels are turning.

  “The trouble is,” he begins, “society would hold us as bad guys in need of punishment because of tonight’s activities. We didn’t start it and we did nothing to attract their attention… still, the people who make the rules would call us bad people.”

  I continue to drive without comment. He has to talk about it for a while and there probably won’t be a better time than right now.

  “What’s the alternative?” he continues. “Let them come in and take over? Go to the police and then have to enter the witness protection program while they do little or no time?” He pauses, slowly turning the issues in his mind as if on a mental spit. “Nah, this is better. Hell, for one thing, it sure as shit is a permanent fix. No more shake-downs for those three.”

  Another long pause while we ride along listening to the tires hit the road sections in a relentless cadence.

  “The only thing I wish we had done differently… we should have kicked the shit out of Espy before we snuffed him. He needed a serious ass-whipping just so he’d know how it feels. I have a hunch that was his main form of exercise… kicking some helpless schmuck’s ass while his boys held his victim down. God I hate people like that!”

  We ride along quietly for another two or three miles before he speaks again.

  “Want a burger before we head back?” he asks, changing the subject.

  So much for hand wringing and soul searching over the untimely deaths of three bad guys.

  I, on the other hand, have a similar problem. This stuff is beginning to get to me. With the exception of one or two extraordinary incidents during my business career, I have never had need for any kind of physical rough stuff, much less gunplay.

  Now in the course of less than two years I have been involved in one incident after another. It started with Bear and has continued without letup almost ever since. What in the hell is going on? Have I changed somehow or is it simply a sign of the times? Is it A.J.’s former life and the low-born friends and connections that nurture this kind of thing? Certainly this isn’t normal for society in these United States. Or is it?

  I have never made any bones about how I feel about criminal behavior. Trouble is, how muchdifference is there between their behavior and mine? I’ve seen people lie about everything at every level of society. Government officials change facts to suit their version of the truth or simply lie outright. Industry leaders lie to protect the bottom line or their jobs. Lawyers, police, you name it… our society lives on lies. So-called journalists give us their version of the truth, knowing, in their twisted view of the world, the public isn’t intelligent enough to make up their own minds if given only the facts concerning any given issue. The list goes on. The net effect of all this on me is that I have absolutely no faith in our court system, society or anything else. Basically, we’re on our own.

  Criminals do anything they want, secure in the knowledge they will not get caught. Or, if they do get caught, they will get little or no punishment. Their beliefs are well founded because of the facts derived from a long history of how society operates in this area. No one in government is concerned with the effects of crime on the victim. Everyone is concerned with what happened in a person’s life that brought them to a life of crime and how we can make it up to them.

  I have no illusions about changing society or the system, but I can sure as hell treat the matter in the appropriate manner when it lands on my doorstep. And there is no question in my mind that negotiation with the mob or organized crime is not a realistic option. Criminals have developed their own set of rules and they know how to make the most of the flaws and weaknesses built into our system. They seldom concern themselves with our laws or our government, and they never concern themselves with individuals living within the rules of society. Those people are their victims. Too weak and ineffective to be considered an impediment to their way of life.

  So I deal with the situation as I see it. Government can’t or won’t help me, so I have to help myself. I’m not going to put my family, friends and loved ones at risk when I come into contact with these vermin. Our government taught me that killing is an acceptable solution when there is no reasonable alternative. However, our government believes that only they have the wisdom to make that kind of weighty decision. Certainly Korea and Viet Nam proved their point in that regard. I have no problem with killing under circumstances such as those we found ourselves in tonight, even though society brands me a vigilante… for I do not deem the word vigilante to be negative. It’s just effective, that’s all. But all this thinking still doesn’t explain why this type of activity continues to occur. I suppose I’ve always had this attitude, but I didn’t have these things happening before.

  Success breeds envy a
nd there’s always someone who would rather take an easy dollar than earn a hard one, but that’s been the case forever. But if you’re trying to live and work an honest existence, how is it I keep running into all these crazies? Somewhere there must be a common denominator… I just hope it isn’t me. And there’s another hope I have… that this is the end of this stuff… and not just for a while, but for good!

  “Jackson residence,” I announce. A.J. and Sheri stop, waiting to see if the call is for either one of them. It’s John Cosentino, the security man who drove Mary Stanley and the kids into town about an hour ago. I’m about to signal to A.J. and Sheri to go ahead when his next words practically knock the telephone out of my hand.

  “It looks like someone may have grabbed Jeff-Jeff,” he states in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

  Questions flood my mind and it’s a struggle to remain calm and ask only one at a time. Can this possibly be happening?

  “Start at the beginning,” I ask him as quietly as I can. I don’t need to panic anyone else right now, but I hold up the index finger on my right hand signaling A.J. and Sheri to wait.

  “I drove Mary and the kids to town so Mary could run some errands,” John continues. “Mary asked me to wait in front of the pharmacy. She took both kids in with her. No one came out and no one went in until Mary came back to the car carrying Shana.

  She said she assumed Jeff-Jeff had returned to the car. I told her he hadn’t come out of the store… and I watched the entire time. I never took my eyes off the front door. So we both went back in and looked. You know… the store isn’t that big. We even checked the back rooms. No sign of anything or anyone. The owner said he hadn’t seen anyone else. There’s a back entrance, but there wasn’t anyone around. I looked around in back for a minute and then returned to the car and called you. I don’t think he wandered off… he has never done anything like that before. I’ll keep looking around, but I didn’t want to waste any time.”