Excess Baggage

by Pete Lister

  “Excuse me, gentlemen.” All four men spun to face the door. “I believe that’s my husband you’re being rude to. You,” she said, pointing the muzzle of her Ladysmith at Frank Martin. “Release him. Now.”

  Martin started laughing. He put his face down into Drew’s face. “Your wife’s here, Sherry, with a pink gun!” He was still laughing when her round went through his ear. He dropped onto Drew’s lap as the other three froze.

  Almost immediately, they heard the sound of glass breaking, coming from the office next door. John stepped out and opened the door to the next office. It was empty, but the window had been broken out.

  As John returned to the other office, he heard her calmly say, “You, your turn. Release my husband.”

  Roberts pulled his switchblade out of his jacket pocket, leaned down, and cut the tape off Drew’s hands, then cut the tape holding his feet to the chair. As Drew stood, Roberts swiveled so that he was standing directly behind Drew, his knife point just in Drew’s right ear.

  “Here’s how it works, honey. You and the old man put down your guns, and I don’t stick this knife through your husband’s brain. How’s that sound?”

  A hole appeared in Roberts’ forehead before the sound of the shot registered. His knife nicked Drew’s ear as it fell, and Roberts flew backwards across the room. Ashley’s eyes never left the two remaining men. “Nice shooting, John,” she told him. “Now, am I safe in assuming you gentlemen have some more of that duct tape you seem so fond of?” They both nodded. “You first, tape his hands behind his back, so I don’t have to.” Her gun never wavered as she watched the process. “Now, John, if you would do the honors.”

  When both men were taped and secure, Ashley asked John, “Would you help Drew out to the car, please?” John moved across the room and helped his son, now moving slowly, in great pain, from the room. When Ashley heard the door close behind her, she stepped across the room, delivering a kick into the groin of the closest man. As he went down with a grunt, she spun, delivering a round-house kick to the other man’s jaw, snapping his head back as he fell over the dead Roberts.

  Stepping back to the first man, she delivered a series of kicks to his ribs, guaranteed to break several. Turning her attention to the man she had rendered unconscious, she repeated the treatment to his ribs. She delivered a final kick to his face, crushing his nose, then turning to her first victim, she delivered a kick to his nose that bent it sideways, blood flowing freely. Finally, she untapped both men’s hands before stomping on all four wrists, hard enough to break them.

  Satisfied with her handiwork, she opened the door and, walked through the outer office, joining her husband and her father-in-law in the rental car.

  § § §

  As John drove, Ashley sat in the back seat, Drew’s head in her lap, her hand slowly stroking his head. “John,” she said calmly, “how did your meeting go today?”

  “Great. I talked to a cop from the Narcotics Section, and he told me who the next worse guy in town is, after Shiv. We made a deal, and I think we’re all set. Now, we have to call Shiv and set up the meet. We’ll probably have to wait a day or two before anyone answers the phone in that office. As soon as we have that part of it settled, I’ll call the detective back and let him in on the schedule. With any luck, we’ll be on our way home, free and clear, by next week.”

  “Maybe this afternoon would be a good time to change hotels,” she suggested.

  § § §

  18

  “Shiv! Phone!” Chris, leaning in Shiv’s office door, was clearly excited. A week had gone by since the raid on Shiv’s office.

  “Who is it?”

  “Sherry, the bus driver!”

  “How the hell he get this number?”

  “I don’t know. You wanna talk to him or not?”

  “I got it. Yeah, Sherry, this really you?”

  “It’s me, Shiv. I figured it’s time we talk, as equals.”

  “Who told you call me Shiv? It’s Mr. Thompson to you.”

  “Screw you, Shiv. A guy tries to kill me, I get to use his first name.”

  “Where’s my crews I sent to Wyoming?”

  “You’ll never know. You might want to start recruiting, though, ‘cause you’ll never see any of them, again.”

  “You trying to tell me a friggin’ bus driver, a retiree, and a tour guide somehow handled two dozen of my best guys?”

  “Plus the four worked me over in your office, Shiv. By the way, this bus driver did three combat tours with Marine Recon. That retiree is a retired cop, and that tour guide was an Air Force cop. We don’t have a problem with trash like you.”

  “That's why you called? To call me names?”

  “Nope. I want to deal.”

  “What kinda deal.”

  “We want our lives back. We’re tired of hiding. We want to go home to Milwaukee. If we have to give your shit back, then that’s what we’ll do.”

  “How much of my horse you got left?”

  “All of it. 63 bricks.”

  “There was 64 bricks.”

  “We already gave one to the first crew you sent out west.”

  “How much of my money?

  “I already told you that, most of it.”

  “An’ you expect me to call it square for that?”

  “That’s what I expect. You’ve already lost it. Now, you can recover most of it or none of it. It’s up to you. We didn’t steal it in the first place. That said, you can have your dope back, and most of your money, and you forget all about us. Either that, or we just disappear back into the smoke, and you’ll never see us, your dope, or your money, again, in which case you’ll need to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder. Remember, at this point, we’ve got nothing to lose.”

  “Suppose I just send another crew to your ranch?”

  “You got any left?” It was quiet on the other end of the phone.

  “You don’t make it easy, do ya?” Shiv finally responded.

  “Look, Shiv, you want this stuff back?”

  “Where is it, now?”

  “It’s in a storage unit, like I said.”

  “Where?”

  “C’mon, Shiv. We gonna deal or not?”

  “Of course, you know I’m gonna deal. Why don’t you come here? you got my number, I know you got my address. If you don’t, ask your wife or your old man.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do, but I’m not interested in seeing it, again. I’ll let you place the meet, but it has to be somewhere safe, somewhere in public. You come alone, I’ll come alone. It has to be somewhere we can both see around us. The fact that I want to give you this shit and get you off my back doesn’t mean I trust you.”

  “Call me in a hour, Sherry. I’ll let you know then.”

  “One hour, Shiv. But the first sniff that you’re not playing straight and I’m gone. I’ll drop that shit in the lake and you’ll never find us, again.”

  § § §

  “Sherry.”

  “Where do we meet?”

  “Grant Park, by the fountain. Just you and me. No backup, no guns.”

  “Shiv.”

  “What?”

  “No knives. Your boys always seem to carry knives. I know, I’ve collected a box full.”

  “Noon, tomorrow, Saturday.”

  “Noon, Sunday.”

  “Bullshit. What’s wrong with tomorrow?”

  “I have to go get it, remember?”

  “You in Wyoming?”

  “Don’t mess with me, Shiv. You know exactly where we are. Any time you want to come visit, bring your boys, if you can find any more. They can settle in with the rest.”

  “Damn you, Sherry. I hadda tell Jack’s wife what you done to him. An’ she’s my sister.”

  “Who would have told my wife what you were trying to do to me?”

  “I din even know you hadda wife, Sherry.”

  “Screw you, Shiv. Noon, Sunday, Grant Park.”

  § § §

  “Tod
d, it’s John. It’s set. You recording this call?”

  “No, this is my personal cell phone.”

  “Good. It’s set for noon, day after tomorrow. Grant Park, by the fountain.”

  “That’s not much lead time, John.”

  “If you were Shiv Thompson, how much lead time would you tolerate?”

  “Good point. So, what, exactly, are we talking about here?”

  “My son is meeting Shiv at noon. They’re both supposed to be alone, no backup, but you know how that works. I’ve arranged to have Scott Lewis there to take the stuff away from Shiv after the handoff. I’m thinking he’s going to have to try to kill Shiv. He doesn’t dare walk away and leave Shiv standing, you know that.”

  “That’s how I’d play it.”

  “So, the plan is for my son to give Shiv the drugs and walk away. Lewis jumps Shiv and takes the drugs. Shiv probably goes down. Both of them will bring backup, so God only knows how many guns will be in that park. Your boys step in and take down any bad guys left standing. I’m assuming Shiv brings back-up. I know Lewis will.”

  “That’s okay. I will, too.”

  “So, any special instructions? Anything you want us to do?”

  “No, I’ll handle it all from here. All you have to do is have your son hand off the stuff and get out of Dodge. I’ll have a team assigned to cover him as he leaves. I’m guessing that Shiv will try to take him right after the handoff. Tell him to be careful.”

  “I will, thanks. Okay, I’ll call Lewis and let him know the arrangements. I’ll probably see you at the park, then. And, thanks, Todd.”

  “No, thank you, John. We both know I’d get my tit in a ringer if the details of this thing ever got out. But it’s a public service you and your family are doing for the city of Chicago. I know you’re benefitting from it, too, but still.”

  “There is one other thing, Todd.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My whole family will be in that park. We’ll all be armed. If there’s shooting, we’re going to walk away, leaving our guns where we drop them. If for any reason we get stopped, I expect you to step in. That’s not a lot to ask for what the city of Chicago is getting in return.”

  “I don’t think that’s unreasonable, John. I just wish you hadn’t told me about it. Now I’ll lose two night’s sleep.”

  § § §

  “You talked to him?” Scott was sitting in front of Shiv’s desk, eating a bag of salted nuts. His partner, di Stasio, was pouring himself a drink at Shiv’s credenza. “After what happened here, he called you?”

  “Yeah. He said he was tired of running, wanted to get me off his ass. Said he’d gimme the horse and most of the money if I’d forget about him. I told him it was fine with me. The horse and most of the cash is enough to make it a good deal for me.”

  “Why don’t I believe you, Shiv?”

  “ ’Cause I lied. He said he’d meet me one on one, and I told him I’d do it. There’s supposed to be some kinda art show by the Grant Park fountain this whole weekend, so I told him to meet me there. I got a couple of the boys out scouring shops for crap we can put in a booth at the art show, and I’ll have my guys, what’s left of them, manning the booth. Soon’s he hands the stuff over, we’ll take him right there. Next time his old man and the broad come to get him, it won’t be so easy. The boys tell me the old man’s wife ain’t so hard on the eyes, either, so maybe I’ll keep that one to play with. I want you two standing by at the fountain, in case it goes south. I might need you to grease the skids, like you said.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll mingle around the booths. If it goes down like it’s supposed to, you won’t even see us, we’ll just fade away.”

  “That’s what I had in mind. I don’t need your help to take him. You’re more just in case, y’know? Anyway, noon Sunday.”

  § § §

  19

  Sunday morning broke cool and clear. Shortly after dawn, the ‘Starving Artists’ show started setting up booths and tents around Grant Park’s Buckingham Fountain. Men and women, ranging in age from early twenties to mid-fifties were setting up racks, pipes, and shelves for hanging and standing works of art of varying sizes. There was a registration booth assigning spots, manned by a fiftyish woman, hunched over, walking with a cane, her hair a silvery blonde that could only have come from a bottle.

  The police had set up barriers to divert traffic from entering Columbus, Jackson and Balbo, adjacent to the park. Only the traffic on Lake Shore Drive would be permitted to pass unimpeded.

  Directly on the north side of the fountain, several booths were being set up by eighteen young black men, most wearing dashikis. The booths were filled with African-style artwork, including paintings and sculptures. One of the booths was manned by a tall, thin, hard-looking young man wearing a leather vest over his ‘Starving Artist’ t-shirt.

  On the other side of the fountain, a group of four white men in their thirties were setting up a tent filled with artwork that looked like it came straight from a thrift store. Paintings with chipped wooden frames and statuettes, with the accumulated grime of years, filled the shelves and hung from racks. They were obviously not anticipating needing to make change.

  Several booths of vendors selling snacks and soft drinks were being set up, as well as an ice cream vendor, his oversized pushcart currently parked on the sidewalk that ran from the fountain to Lake Shore Drive. Parked on the sidewalk along Lake Shore Drive was the freezer truck used to restock the pushcart. The ice cream vendor, with a full beard and a large straw hat, was under the trees southeast of the fountain, and was sitting in the grass, leaning against a tree, reading a paperback.

  Scott and di Stasio were along the edge of the crowd, inspecting paintings and watching the fountain. Suddenly, di Stasio stiffened.

  “Sonny, it’s a set-up.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just spotted a narc I know. There’s half a dozen guys I’ve seen at roll calls, too. Shiv’s going down today. We got to get out of here. Let’s go.” As the two detectives turned and started walking toward their car, two men and a woman, dressed casually, bracketed them.

  As their eyes met, Shiv’s cops looked like the air had been let out of them. Deflated, they allowed themselves to be accompanied to Columbus Drive, where an unmarked unit waited at the curb. They were grateful not to be publicly cuffed in the middle of the park.

  As they walked away from the fountain, the cops on either side of the pair held out their hands, and Scott and di Stasio handed over their service weapons and shields. At the curb, they were quickly cuffed and slid into the back seat of the unmarked squad.

  § § §

  Exactly at noon, a black SUV, southbound on Lake Shore drive, pulled up to the curb and stopped. Shiv Thompson stepped out, and the car continued south. Thompson walked alone toward the fountain, looking around. He wore a red rose in his white linen sport coat.

  Shiv approached the fountain, staying to the north side of it, and walked back and forth, studying faces in the crowd. No one seemed to notice him, nor did he seem to find what he was looking for. Every couple of minutes, he checked his Rolex, wondering if he’d been stood up.

  Slowly, the ice cream vendor slipped his book into his back pocket, pushing his cart onto the sidewalk. As he approached the fountain, he went around it clockwise, starting on the south side and working his way around to the north side, where Shiv stood, still searching the crowd.

  The vendor stopped next to Thompson and lifted the cover of his cart.

  “Want an ice cream bar, Shiv?” Shiv’s head snapped as he stared at Drew.

  “Sherry?”

  “Yeah, now you want ice cream or not?”

  “Where’s my stuff?”

  “How did you expect me to carry 63 bricks of heroin through Grant Park? Did you even think about that?”

  “So where is it?”

  “It’s chilling’, here in the cart. I’m going to walk away, now, and you can take your ice cream cart wh
erever you want it. Those 63 bricks filled most of the cart. I almost didn’t have room to stuff any ice cream on top of it. You want to empty it, right here, to make sure it’s all there?”

  “What if it ain’t?”

  “Well, then, we’re right back where we started, aren’t we? Except you have your stuff back and you know where I live.”

  “What about my cash?”

  “It’s in the freezer, on the truck.” Drew nodded toward the ice cream truck parked on the sidewalk.

  Shiv nodded once, and a man from a tent on the north side of the fountain stepped over to him. “Take this over to that truck.” Shiv told him. “Load everything from the cart into that truck and take the truck back to the office.” The thug walked off, pushing the cart toward Lake Shore Drive.

  “You know this ain’t over, dontcha? You know I can’t let you walk away.”

  “I don’t know how you’re going to stop me here in public.” Drew told him, as he turned his back on Shiv and started toward the trees. Shiv pulled a .38 from under his jacket and fired a single round into Drew’s back. The young man’s arms went out in front of him, and he flew forward onto the grass.

  Shiv stared down with a shocked look on his face as he dropped to his knees, his revolver, still clutched tightly in his right hand, clattered against the sidewalk as he fell. Now he could see just the tip of a long, thin blade sticking out of his chest. The scarlet stains on both his back and his chest were spreading, and his limbs were going numb. As he fell, two black men from the booths tackled the man pushing the ice cream cart, and took it away from him.

  The three men from the tent on the north side of the fountain quickly moved to cover Shiv, as the remaining blacks advanced on them, knives and guns in hand.