Deadly Game

by R. B. Conroy

  “Sure you’re okay?”

  “Oh yeah, thanks again. See ya, Louie.”

  “See ya, Butch.”

  Butch stood slowly and exited the room.

  Chapter 40

  Vito and Gus had agreed to meet at an old, abandoned service station at the edge of the Tri-County Game Preserve. From there, Vito would drive them to the trail that led past the pistol range. It was very early and Gus found himself yawning over and over again as he followed the curvy, tree-lined road that wound its way through rural Indiana. The trip seemed to be taking longer than expected. Finally, he rounded a sharp curve and there it was—the old abandoned convenience center. A variety of weeds and even some small trees had started growing up around the rusted gas pumps. It was apparent that this former stop-off for area hunters had not been used for years. He pulled slowly off the country road, onto the weed covered lot and pulled in behind the gray, rotting building toward the back of the lot. He saw the open hatch of Vito’s SUV ahead. A nervous looking Vito stood next to the driver’s side door of the large vehicle. He was wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a bright orange vest and cap.

  Gus pulled in behind the SUV and stopped. Both vehicles were hidden from the road. He calmly opened the glove box, and pushed the black button to open the trunk. He lifted a bright, orange hunting cap from the passenger’s seat and placed it on his head. Both men had agreed to look the part of hunters as to not draw attention to themselves. He checked in the rearview mirror to be sure his cap was on straight and then rubbed the front of his vest. He could feel the three shells he had placed in the vest pocket the night before. He opened the door and got out of his car.

  Vito walked toward him. “Good morning, Gus.”

  “Morning, Vito.” the two shared a quick handshake. “This is really woodsy around here.”

  “Yeah, it’s the middle of nowhere alright.”

  “Will my car be safe here?”

  “Oh yeah, nobody pulls into this old station during the day, too much broken glass.” Vito pointed at the shiny chips of broken brown and white glass partially embedded in the surface of the abandoned lot.

  “Hope we don’t get a flat.”

  “They tell me local teenagers come back here and neck at night. They can’t afford to get a flat, so it must be all right.” Vito laughed nervously.

  “Got the cash?” Gus asked matter-of-factly.

  “Yes.” Vito hurried back to the open hatch on his SUV and lifted out a heavy suitcase. He walked over and handed it to Gus.

  Gus listened for approaching vehicles. Hearing nothing, he dropped down on one knee beside his car and opened the suitcase. The inside was completely filled with one hundred dollar bills wrapped neatly into stacks.

  “Each stack is ten thousand,” Vito advised.

  An experienced dealer and accustomed to counting money, Gus rapidly spun the edge of several stacks to insure their contents and then gave careful accounting of the number of stacks. ”It’s okay,” he grunted. He lifted the case without ever making eye contact with Vito and walked to the rear of his car. Gus set the suitcase on the ground, opened the trunk and reached inside. He pulled out his .44 magnum rifle with the scope attached. He carefully set the powerful rifle against the rear bumper and then leaned inside the trunk and unscrewed the cover on the spare-tire well. He lifted the cover off and stuck the heavy case in the empty well. He then replaced the cover and screwed the cover tight again. He looked around to be absolutely certain that no one was watching—even at this remote spot. He carefully lifted his rifle and walked to the front of the car.

  “Put your rifle in here.” Vito pointed under the hatch.

  Gus hurried over and laid his rifle next to an old .22 caliber rifle that Vito had brought for the occasion.

  “Let’s go,” Vito ordered. The hatch began to close as the two men walked around either side of the large vehicle and climbed aboard.

  “It’s not far now—less than a mile,” Vito explained.

  Dust bellowed up like a giant cloud behind Vito’s SUV as he left the old station and negotiated the curvy, gravel road. Gus felt calm inside; he and Vito had hatched a plan, a good plan. Through their discussions, Vito had convinced him that Crane was an arrogant, self-serving SOB who deserved killing. Darcy could have her surgery and get on with her life and he would go back to his new life in Michigan City. It was as simple as that. Like he had done so many times before during his killing days, Gus convinced himself that what he was doing was justified and necessary.

  Suddenly, Vito veered to the left and came to a sudden stop in a small indention for parking next to the road. The only vehicle Gus had seen along the way was an old pick-up truck pulled off to the side a few hundred yards back—probably early morning squirrel hunters.

  Vito got out and anxiously surveyed the area.

  Gus climbed out and walked calmly over to Vito. “Are you sure Crane’s in town?” he asked.

  “Yes. Two FBI agents have been watching him for sometime. They said Crane and his wife packed up and left for the lake last evening. They arrived here at approximately 9:30 P.M. It’s 6:22 A.M. now, Crane should be arriving at the range anytime. He’s very punctual and he told me he always starts shooting at 6:30 sharp.”

  “Are the FBI guys still around?”

  “No, they were called off last night and returned to Chicago.”

  Vito lifted the hatch open. The two men reached inside and removed their respective rifles.

  Gus hooked the rifle over his right arm and lifted it slightly in the direction of Vito. His eyes went dark, his brow tightened. “Did you tell anybody about this?”

  Caught off guard, Vito took a step back and scanned the face of the legendary killer. “No, hell no! It’s like I told Butch, who would I tell, Gus? I’m a respected businessman.”

  Gus lifted the gun a little higher. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, yes I’m sure.”

  Gus’s brow relaxed a little. He nodded toward the nearby trail. “Okay, then lead the way.”

  Shaken, Vito reluctantly turned his back to Gus and headed for the nearby path.

  ………

  The turn signal chimed as Alex pulled down the long lane. The entrance to the Tri-County Game Preserve shooting range was bordered on each side by a tall stand of blue spruce. Alex loved his time alone at the range each Saturday morning. It was so peaceful and serene—a welcome change from the big city.

  He pulled to a stop in the empty parking lot, lifted his handgun out from under the seat and stepped out of the SUV. He inhaled the fresh country air and strolled over to the voluntary sign-in shack for the shooting range and quickly scribbled his name. Then, he headed for the range.

  The large wooden placard ahead read. Pistol Range, no shotguns allowed. The vacant rifle range was to the left and at right angles from the pistol range. Alex stepped behind the backless stall and pulled a box of shells from his shooting vest. He quickly loaded the .357 magnum pistol and then pulled two ear plugs from his vest and stuffed one carefully in each ear. He leaned on the window shelf and placed both hands firmly on the gun. He took careful aim and opened fire. The barrel jerked upward over and over again as Alex fired several rounds and then paused to check out the target. Satisfied, he took aim and fired again.

  ………

  Twigs snapped beneath their feet as the two men walked aggressively along the seldom used trail. Hearing pistol shots off in the distance, Vito raised his hand and paused on the trail.

  “Hear that?”

  Gus stopped and listened, “Yeah, someone shooting, think it’s Crane?”

  “It’s him,” Vito reassured.

  The two men continued along the winding path through the dense woods; soon a clearing was in sight. Vito stopped once again.

  “See that rise up there next to that stand of ever-greens?”

  “Yeah, I see it.”

  “That’s your spot. There’s an opening there between that big spruce and those hard maples that gives you
a clear view of the pistol range. Alex will have his back to you. He’ll never know what hit him.” The corner of Vito’s mouth lifted in a nasty grin.

  The callous remark gave Gus pause. He studied the face of the heartless stockbroker and then replied, “Why don’t you wait here. I’ll go on up by myself.”

  Vito seem relieved. “Sure thing, Gus.”

  Gus continued along the trail and up the modest rise to the spot that Vito had pointed out to him. And Vito was right—there was an opening between the stand of spruces and a thick wooded area of mainly maple and oak trees. He could see the back of a man, approximately a hundred yards away, leaning through the shooting stall and firing at the target.

  Gus carefully took three cartridges from his vest and loaded them into the port of his rifle. From this range with a scope, one shot should be plenty, but he dropped in two extra shells, just in case. Gus got down and laid flat on his belly. He pointed the powerful rifle in the direction of the range. He scooted around a little to get comfortable, pushed his cheek against the stock and took careful aim through the scope. As he adjusted the lens, the man turned around for a moment to reload. Gus focused in on him; it was Alex Crane alright. Vito had e-mailed him a picture the night before. Gus was taken aback by the friendly, kind face on the muscular middle-aged man. He had looked serious and business-like in the photos provided by Vito. Somehow, in jeans and a t-shirt, he looked very human. He reminded Gus of his boss at the gambling vote, Jim Demotte. Jim was one of Gus’s favorite people. Gus lowered the scope away from Alex’s face to his chest area for a possible body shot. The lettering on the front of his shirt read “WORLD’S GREATEST GRANDPA!”

  Beads of perspiration broke out on Gus’s forehead. He felt sick inside. This man, by his very appearance, was a good and decent man and a grandpa on top of that. Not in any way did he appear to be the pompous, arrogant ass that Vito had described. The kids at the elementary school raced through Gus’s mind. Gus could never kill the grandpa of one of those kids. But in essence, that’s what he was about to do. Gus’s hand started to shake, the perspiration poured down his face. He tried desperately to get control himself. He had to go ahead with this—his daughter Darcy’s life and happiness depended on it.

  Down below, in the clearing, Vito paced anxiously back and forth on the trail waiting for the shot to go off. He occasionally glanced up the hill in the direction of Gus.

  Back at the range, Alex reloaded and turned around once again and began firing at the target area, his back to Gus.

  Steadying himself as best he could, Gus put his forefinger firmly on the trigger. He now had a dead bead on the middle of Alex’s back. It would only take a second; all he had to do was squeeze that trigger and it would be over. But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to squeeze hard enough to fire the rifle.

  Suddenly, Gus spun around. His nerves calmed, his hands went steady. He took dead aim through the scope and fired. There was a loud blast. Vito’s head jerked violently sideways and his body crashed to the ground. His body was instantly still. Gus rolled over quickly into the tall grass growing next to him. He frantically pulled the grass apart and looked down at Alex. Alex removed one of his ear plugs, looked around briefly and then replaced the plug and went back to shooting.

  Gus jumped to his feet with his rifle in hand. He bent down and picked up the empty shell casing and stuffed it in his vest pocket; the casing felt warm against his chest. His mind buzzing as he ran down the hill toward Vito’s body. Stumbling several times along the way, he finally stopped next to the financial czar’s motionless body. He knelt down and felt his jugular—there was no sign of a pulse. Distraught, and with tears streaming down his face, Gus climbed to his feet and staggered along the trail knocking the protruding branches aside. He paused near the edge of the forest, looked both ways, and then staggered out of the forest. His mind was racing as he ran along the road toward the abandoned service center. His leather boots were not made for running and his arthritic leg started to hurt causing him to limp.

  At the sound of an approaching vehicle, he abruptly dove inside the thick wooded area bordering the road. He leaned back against a large oak tree and waited—his chest heaving. The old truck whizzed by. Gus scrambled back to the road through the cloud of dust left by the passing vehicle and continued his agonizing race back to his car. As he approached the old station, he ducked into a thicket at the intersection across from the station and listened for approaching vehicles. Sweat was pouring down his face; his shirt was stained black. Certain no one was around; he struggled across the narrow inter-section and found his way behind the old building to his car. He poked frantically around in his pocket for his keys, opened the trunk, tossed the rifle inside and quietly shut the trunk. Shaking, he struggled to unlock the car door and then fell inside.

  As he sat inside his car looking around at the tall trees that bordered his temporary hiding place, Gus felt nauseated. He had made a last minute decision not to kill Alex Crane. His only other option was to take out Vito—the only man other than Butch who knew about the plan. He hated what he had done but Vito was a weasel. He had no children and his wife would probably only grieve briefly at the death of her womanizing husband. He felt he had made the right decision.

  He would have to tell Butch Ferinni, but not until the money had been given to his daughter’s hospital in Des Moines. Darcy had called him yesterday to inform him that her surgery would take place on Tuesday. With the only person who could implicate him dead, Gus was home free. And, the exact whereabouts of the quarter mil that the FBI guys had given to Vito would never be known.

  Gus rolled down the window and listened once again for approaching vehicles. His eyes twitched as another pick-up drove past and turned toward the preserve. Once the truck had passed, the road fell quiet again. Gus straightened his orange hat, started the engine and quickly pulled out from behind the decaying building and onto the country road. He drove well under the speed limit so as not to draw attention. He gave a modest nod, as Hoosiers always do, to any autos that he passed along the way. Soon he was safely back on U. S. Highway 6 and heading home to Michigan City. He would leave for Des Moines in the morning. The hospital in Iowa said they would accept cash payment, so he would pay the estimated amount on Monday and then take care of any loose ends later.

  Unexpectedly, a few miles down the road, Gus began sobbing uncontrollably. He pulled off to the side of the road and buried his hands in his face, continuing to wail for several minutes. Then he dried his eyes with a left- over napkin from a recent visit to MacDonald’s and continued on his trip.

  ………

  Alex removed his ear plugs, put the gun back in the leather case and threw the empty cartridge box into the trash can next to the shooting range. Feeling good and wearing a broad grin, he started back toward the parking area. Walking casually, the only sounds he heard were the birds chirping and an occasional muffled rifle shot from somewhere in the expansive preserve. Nearing his vehicle, he felt a vibration at his waist; he reached down and slid out his iPhone.

  “Yes, dear?”

  Nicky was sobbing almost uncontrollably, “Alex! The most awful thing happened!”

  Alex stopped and dropped down on a nearby wooden bench, “What Nicky, what is it?”

  “It’s J…Josh, Josh Dulin.”

  “Yes, yes, what about Josh?”

  “Oh my God, honey—he’s been murdered!”

  “Murdered? What are you talking about?”

  “Strom just called. They found Josh this morning. He was murdered and robbed late last evening after leaving work. Someone surprised him in the alley behind his office. It’s awful! Oh, poor Andrea.”

  Alex stood and walked toward his SUV, his mind was racing, “Are they sure it was robbery?”

  “I guess so; the TV news said they took his money clip and jewelry. They said the robbers did a g…good job, the only thing left in that alley was Josh’s body. How could someone do this?” Nicky began sobbing again.
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br />   “I’m getting in my car now, honey. I’ll be right there.” Alex turned off his phone. He knew the robbery was a ruse; the killers were after that file. The first casualty of this deadly game with the powerbrokers in Washington had been his young accountant. He felt horrible inside—Josh would have never been involved in this if it hadn’t been for him. He backed quickly around in the empty lot and drove back to the cottage to console Nicky and decide on a plan of action.

  Chapter 41

  Alex’s arms felt heavy as he lifted the two five-gallon gas cans from the back of the Escalade, but not as heavy as his heart. It was now late morning and Alex was now even more sickened by the death of Josh Dulin. He wished it had been him. He was furious with Barnes and his powerful allies in Washington. He wanted revenge and he wanted it now.

  “You okay, honey?” Nicky asked.

  “Yes, I’m okay.”

  “How about that boat ride?” Nicky had asked earlier if they could take a boat ride. Alex, still very suspicious about the death of Josh, had been scanning the area for any signs of his FBI friends all morning and he had seen nothing.

  “Okay honey, I think we’re alone. It could do us both some good.”

  Nicky smiled, but the smile soon faded. “It’s so awful about Josh.”

  “I know. He was a good man.” Alex wanted very much to explain his suspicions about Josh’s death to Nicky, but he dared not. He and Josh were the only two who knew the results of the audit in Elmwood Park and he wanted to keep it that way. Alex closed the tailgate and followed Nicky around the house and down to the lake.

  ………

  Later that afternoon, their cheeks pink and hair going every direction, the two somber sojourners returned to the cottage from their boat ride. Nicky piled life jackets and beach towels over her arm. Alex hopped out of the boat and lifted the empty gas cans that were still sitting on the pier. Nicky climbed out of the boat and headed up the hill with Alex close behind. When they reached the garage, Alex’s cell phone rang. He set down the cans and answered it.