by E A Lake
His eyes floated from friend to friend. Their faces more positive after hearing his logic.
They finished their meager meal and agreed they all needed sleep. Just before heading upstairs, Wilson set out two full water bottles and a half bag of pears. He zipped his large backpack shut and ran to join the others. There’d be no chitchat for him tonight. He wanted to get right to sleep so he could be up early, tearing that garage apart.
Chapter Twelve
As the sun began to turn the eastern sky a faint orange, Wilson’s eyes popped open from a decent night’s sleep. He stretched a kink from his back. It was tight, like he’d slept on his side all night instead of his normal back position. Sitting up, he looked towards the wall and discovered the cause of his pain.
Once again, like every second or third night, Judy’s nightmares had caused her to climb in with him. He stared at the petite form and wondered, Why me? Tiny was twice his size; wouldn’t she feel safer with that Neanderthal next to her? Heck, Sharon was one of the toughest people he’d ever met. She never backed down from anyone or anything. Plus, she was Judy’s blood cousin. Why didn’t she just snuggle closer to her? Shaking the sleep from his head, he got to his feet. Time to get another day started.
Quietly, Wilson made his way to the stairs. He stared down the long hallway towards the master suite. If Sharon got up now, they could get an early start on the garage. They’d have enough light if they opened the large double garage door. They’d probably need to open the door in front of the boat as well. He ambled down the steps and stopped, peering out the glass on the front door. Another clear and sunny day; good. That would flood the otherwise dark house with plenty of needed light.
Cloudy and rainy days were the worst in Wilson’s mind. The clouds reduced the available sunlight by 50 percent or more. On dreary, drippy days the insides of most houses were dark. Not as dark as night, but not good enough to allow them to properly attend to their search. With the promise of good light for today, they’d be done with this house quickly and on their way to Eau Claire first thing tomorrow morning.
Rubbing first his beard, then his disheveled hair, Wilson lost himself in thoughts of the new community: Eau Claire. They’d heard nothing but bad things about the place as far back as southern central Minnesota. The people in Menomonie laughed at the idea of trading in Eau Claire. Some had even gone as far as to say, ‘You may as well try to deal with Satan himself’. That bothered Wilson, but he wasn’t scared. He knew his trades. After 10 years, he recognized a good trade from a bad one in a heartbeat. Turning and scratching his crotch, he headed for the kitchen.
“Jerry,” a voice called from the depths of the blue latrine. “Jerry, you there?”
Squeezing his eyes shut tight, Jerry Connely grimaced. If he asks me to come in there, I’m going to shoot that old man. Finally, he decided he’d better answer. “Yeah, boss. Still here. Watching your back as always,” he replied as quietly as possible. Though it was early, and no one else was moving around yet, Jerry still didn’t want anyone to see him talking to a latrine, regardless of who was inside.
“Say, Jerry,” the voice continued. “That wife of yours pregnant yet? I’m not trying to be nosy, just interested.” Jerry heard the toilet lid slam inside.
He shook his head, looking away. “No, boss. Nothing yet. Seems a guy has to try and try these days. Doc can’t tell anyone whether it’s the male nourishment or females that’s slowed us down so much this past five years. Don’t seem to be much different for Lysee and me, I guess.” He heard the door handle flip and stood back to let Wayne step out.
Walking into the new morning sunshine, Captain Wayne adjusted the skipper’s cap atop his bald head. “My hat on straight?” he asked his number one security agent. Jerry nodded and the pair started back for the main building in their compound. Wayne turned his head and snuck a glance at Jerry.
“You know,” Wayne started slowly, “I only ask about you and Lysee because I don’t have any kids of my own. You been so good to me these past eight years, I just think maybe someday I’ll leave this all to you and Lysee and your children.” Jerry nodded as Wayne rambled on. He brought this up at least once a week, so none of this was new to Jerry’s ears.
“That’s real nice of you, Mr. Randall. You know I appreciate all you do for us”.
Wayne waved his hands with a big smile. “It ain’t nothing, Jerry. Just that you been faithful, like I’d think a son would be.” He stopped and faced the much taller young man. “And call me Captain. You don’t ever have to call me Mr. Randall.” He stepped closer to the Jerry. “Someday when you have children, they’ll call me Grandpa. And you and Lysee will call me Dad. Right?” Wayne smiled broadly.
Jerry nodded and tried to smile with some sort of appreciation. It was the same speech, time after time. Same old everything; week after week, month after month. Wayne was buttering Jerry up for some nasty duty. He just knew it. “That’s right, sir…Captain,” Jerry corrected himself.
Wayne’s smile grew. “And see, they’ll be tall like you, 6’1”, 6’2” I suppose. Not shorter like me. You know, 5’6” or so.” Captain Wayne guided Jerry towards the buildings in the front of the compound.
Jerry wanted to laugh. He wanted badly to roll on the ground and let out the sidesplitting hysterics trapped inside his body. 5’6”? More like 5’2”, you old, bald fart. 5’6” in his dreams. Instead, Jerry kept a straight face and followed Wayne inside City Hall.
Standing alone in the basement, Wilson stared at the small locked closet. For some reason, he couldn’t make sense of the locked closet. All through his bites of breakfast it had bothered him. So after a few handfuls of carrots and a slug or two of water, he headed downstairs to investigate further.
He tried the handle again, but the door didn’t budge. He bit his lower lip; so much at this place didn’t make sense. First was the lack of jewelry. Most of that had to be hidden somewhere inside this mansion. Next was the mystery of the missing coats and boots. Why would someone come in, leave everything else and grab a bunch of bulky coats? There were coats everywhere in the open spaces. Every house had coats. Why walk a quarter mile back in from the main road to an opulent palace and just take a bunch of coats? And then, funniest of all, lock the doors on the way out? That just wasn’t right.
But what sat in front of him was the coup de grâce of everything. An obvious closet, sitting locked in a basement, but locked from the inside. Who the heck locked a closet like that if they ever wanted to get back into the thing? A dummy, thought Wilson. Or maybe someone really crafty. Stash all the good stuff in the closet, devise a way for it to lock when you close it, then come back later and grab the loot. That made more sense.
Wilson heard footsteps in the room above, so he hustled up the wooden steps two at a time. He was surprised to see Judy already up. She smiled and dug through one of the packs, taking out a bag of dried pears.
“Surprised to see you up already,” he said, reaching for a bottle of water. “Thought you’d sleep in again.”
Judy ran her fingers through her matted hair. “I got a lot of sleep last night. I feel pretty good this morning.” She threw in a single piece of pear and finally looked up at her friend. “And I turned over and saw you weren’t there. I thought you might want some company.” He noticed her watch him carefully before he turned his stare to the granite-topped center island.
His eyes shifted between the items he’d sat out last night. Judy held a bottle of water in her small right hand. Another sat in front of him. And on the counter sat a third bottle along with a bag of dried, salted soybeans. He shot a glance at Judy.
“Where’d you get that bag of pears from?” She held it up and shrugged. “And that’s a full bag, right?
She nodded, swallowing her mouth full of pears. “I got it out of the main pack. Just like always. Why?”
Wilson’s eyes narrowed. “Was the backpack zipped?” He moved his attention to the large, dirty bag holding their food and other necessities. She didn�
�t answer. “Judy?” he asked quietly. “Was that bag unzipped?”
She shifted her eyes, deep in thought. Finally, she nodded slightly. “Yeah, it was. Problem?” Wilson felt his face tighten.
“Go get Sharon. And Tiny too,” he replied softly. “Don’t yell or scream. Just go get ‘em.” Judy set down her water and started for the staircase. Wilson headed for the garage.
Sharon, Tiny and Judy found Wilson standing in the middle of the garage. He’d just raised the two doors, so they knew he was out there. Hearing the door close behind him, he turned with a puzzled expression to his group.
“Problem?” Sharon began.
“I’d say so,” he replied confidently. “Remember what I set out last night?” He knew she did; she had an almost photographic memory.
She focused on his narrowed eyes. “Two bottles of water and a half a bag of…” she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, “…pears. Right?”
He tossed his head slightly and grinned. Man, she was good, he mused. “Pack open or closed when we went up?” He bit his lower lip, goading her on like this was a contest.
Sharon smiled and waggled her head just a little. “We always close the bags. Every night. Keeps the rodents and insects out. You never forget that, so don’t even bother wondering.” Judy stepped closer to Sharon, perhaps frightened.
Tiny turned his head back to the door to inside. “So, Jim, what’s the problem? You think I got up and ate something again last night?” He almost sounded insulted.
“No, you dimwit,” Wilson began. “But I think someone else may have.” He inched over towards the boat and rested his back on the bow, arm crossed in front of his dirty brown shirt. “This morning, there were three bottles on the counter. And,” he smirked at Sharon, “you’ll like this: a full bag of those nuts. No pears. Judy dug a fresh bag out of the pack.” His eyes lit up. “The opened pack.”
Expressions changed as concern was replaced by fear. Wilson nodded silently at his friends. Judy stared at Sharon and then to Tiny. Finally, she looked back at Wilson. His eyes fell to the ground.
“We got someone in the house with us, don’t we?” Judy asked meekly. Tiny shook his head. Sharon and Wilson exchanged a telling glance.
“Where?” Sharon asked Wilson.
Wilson shrugged and waggled his head from side to side, trying to loosen it up. He had an idea. “I thought they were coming and going by the back garage door out here,” he said, pointing at the rear door. “But I checked it. It’s locked. And stuck. The lock is frozen with rust. No way anyone’s been coming or going through here.”
Sharon stepped forward. “So where then?”
Wilson raised his chin and stared at Tiny. “Grab that crowbar back there, bud. I got an idea.”
Wayne sat at his desk surrounded by mounds of paperwork and reports. His mind wandered from his desk. He had other plans for the day. Leaning back in his grey leather chair, he gazed around the room.
“Jerry,” he called out to the man on the other side of the room. Jerry’s head snapped up. “Any idea what the weather is supposed to be like today?”
Jerry nodded as though he knew where this was headed. “Captain, we got a lot going on. Planting is ready to start and we need to assign some new kids to the fields. They’re the best planters.” Wayne nodded at his words.
“Plus,” Jerry continued, “we still need to address the issues out on the north side. Some of the folks at the trash plant aren’t working hardly at all.” Jerry poked his second in command, Roger Find, awake.
Wayne frowned over his folded hands. “I was just thinking if it’s going to be nice, we could run up to Lake Wissota. Haven’t been out on the boat at all this year yet.” He gave Jerry, and now Roger, a kind smile.
Jerry stretched his back. “No, Captain. I’m sorry. We got to stay on task today. This whole week actually. Probably the next few until we get most the crops in.” Jerry was just telling Wayne what he already knew. “And trash is piling up, sir.” He stared at a now less happy boss.
“Screw ‘em,” Wayne said, tossing his hands in the air. “No rations this week for them. That’ll get their attention.” He sat back staring out the window. “I gotta tell you boys, some days being the boss just ain’t all that fun.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Okay, here’s the plan. Me and Tiny are going down there and opening that closet.” Wilson said confidently. Tiny looked less than sold on the idea. “Sharon,” he glanced at the cousins, “you and Judy wait up in the kitchen. If you hear a big commotion, get out of here. Wait for us in the woods.” That elicited anxious looks from both the women.
“How many you think are in there, Jim?” Sharon asked. “Mostly adults or maybe teenagers?” Sharon looked at Tiny, his knuckles white around the crowbar.
“Oh, I bet there’s probably two or three adults. Or maybe older teens.” Wilson stared outside the garage doors. The home they were at was probably once quite nice; nothing like the small farmhouse he’d grown up in back in McCook. “Whoever it is, they’re scared of us. We already know that.”
Judy moved closer to the group. “What makes you say that?” she asked nervously.
Wilson smiled proudly. “They ain’t come out yet to meet us. They’re just hoping we move on.” Judy seemed like she wanted to agree, but Wilson cut her off. “We’re just gonna see what they got stashed down there. I ain’t gonna rob ‘em. Just wanna talk to them.” Judy and Sharon shared a confused look. “They owe us,” Wilson continued. “They took some of our food.”
Sharon tightly grabbed Tiny by the arm and brought him in to the group. “Are you going to take the gun?” she asked Wilson. Tiny’s eyes shot open. He didn’t like confrontation.
Wilson considered the request. “Nah, no need for that I figure. They ain’t confronted us yet. So they don’t have any kind of big weapons.” He grinned, nodding at Tiny. “We got a crowbar and Tiny. They ain’t got that I bet.” He looked from face to face to gauge their feelings. Sharon nodded, Tiny was lost in thought, and Judy’s eyes were closed, lips moving in prayer. For once, Wilson let her finish before continuing.
Judy gave an audible “Amen.” Nods went around the circle of friends. They each put their right hand in the center and Sharon spoke. “We stay safe, we stay alive, we stay together.”
She looked at Wilson. “Right,” he answered confidently.
Judy was next. “Right. Safe and together. Always.” She gave a small, nervous smile to Sharon.
Sharon stared up at the big fellow, still lost in his thoughts. “Tiny, right?”
Tiny’s eyes shifted nervously. “You think they got guns?” He was still a-ways back in the conversation, Wilson surmised.
Wilson broke the rally and grabbed Tiny by the shirt. “Come on, let’s get this over with,” he said, disgusted. “They ain’t got guns. I already told you that.”
The four cautiously stepped inside the house. Two stayed by the back door; two descended the steps, no words spoken. Wilson guided Tiny with small hand motions. Tiny’s face told Wilson he was unsure whether this was a good plan or not.
Wilson snuck over next to his best friend. “Go pull on that door. See if it’s unlocked maybe,” he whispered. Tiny nodded as if he were unconvinced.
On his tiptoes, Tiny crept to the chipped wooden door and gently pulled on the plain pine handle. No movement. He looked over his shoulder, back at Wilson.
“Give it a harder jerk, you mule. Put your back into it.” Wilson winked and nodded for Tiny to try again.
Tiny reached for the handle and leaned back. He nodded three times and gave it a mighty jerk. On ‘three’, the handle let loose from the door and Tiny shot back across the room, falling into a mound of empty boxes. Flailing on his back like a turtle, he looked up to see Wilson standing over him.
“I think that was hard enough,” Jim said, extending his hand to help his friend up. “Maybe you didn’t need quite that much,” Wilson finished, taking the handle from his friend’s hand.
“Everyth
ing alright down there?” Sharon called from the top of the stairs. Wilson peeked up the opening and gave her a quick nod.
He studied the handle carefully. Finally, tossing it aside, he turned back for the door. “What kind of idiot glues a handle on a door? That don’t make no sense.” He turned his gaze back on Tiny. “Grab the pry bay and get to work on that door. Let’s see what’s inside there.”
Tiny carefully studied the edge of the door. He ran a big hand up and down the seam between the door and the jamb. “It’s pretty tight,” he said back to Wilson. “Not sure I can get the end of this thing in there far enough.”
Wilson was unimpressed by Tiny’s efforts. “Bang that door in then. Pound on it with the bar. It’ll break.” He gazed quickly at the workbench. “There’s a mini sledge over there if the crowbar don’t work.”
Tiny wound up with all his might and brought the bar across the center of the door. The metal tool bounced off the unmarred wood.
Wilson shook his head. “Put some of that size of yours behind it, boy,” he laughed. “Give it a big whack. Like dinner’s depending on it.”
Tiny drew back again, crushing some of the wood into splinters.
“Again!” Wilson shouted.
The cold metal crushed the same hole, this time a little larger. Tiny drew the tool back one more time, but was interrupted by a shriek from inside the closet. Wilson grinned, satisfied.
“Stop, stop it!” a high-pitched voice cried from inside the closet.
Wilson’s face lit up. He was right, again. “Come out of there, whoever you are. And no funny business,” he called.
“Okay,” the small voice replied. It sounded young to Wilson, almost female. “But I have to warn you; we’re armed. I have a knife.”
