Loving the Rain

by Jeff LaFerney

  “It says here ‘Jessie Thomas.’ I got a player on my team named Thomas, lives near this address.”

  “That’s his mom, Pete. You haven’t ever met her?”

  “I’m following that hotty around? That’ll be fun. Didn’t know her name. Sorry.”

  “Just follow her. I’ll give you a couple a hundred bucks if you can find out who she’s meeting.”

  “No problemo. Can’t wait to get started.” Pete was struggling to get up out of the low chair, so Carlee grabbed his hand and gave a helpful tug. His slimy hand slipped out of her grip, and he fell back into the chair just as Mark drilled into an electrical line and the power went out in the basement. Carlee wiped her hand on her pants leg, used both hands to grab Pete’s arm, and pulled him from the chair.

  “Do you smell smoke?” Mark yelled from the basement.

  “You’d better get going, Pete. Mark’s in the middle of another disaster. I’ll probably be calling an electrician if the house doesn’t burn down first.”

  “I’ll get back with ya soon as I know somethin’, Carlee.” Pete put his coat back on and left the Simpson home, wondering if he was supposed to feel guilty that the house might burn down while he was driving home. He immediately started figuring, though. With an extra 200 dollars, a paycheck coming from Harding Metals on Friday, along with the first installment due on his coaching pay, he could probably get out of town and get away from Jack Harding. He was also already beginning to fantasize about watching Jessie Thomas. “Sorry, Honey. I’ve got my eye on a different hot babe for a while,” Pete said to himself. Piggott actually did feel a little guilty about that. He knew he’d never really get over his true love, but for the time being, getting this detective job was both an exciting prospect and a good financial opportunity.

  +

  CHAPTER 16

  Game three was a non-league affair at Mt. Morris High School. Pete had had no contact with Jack Harding since the previous Friday. It should have made him less irritable, but besides his stupidity, his most endearing trait was his bad temper, so who could be surprised that he managed to get himself tossed from a game that his team won by 28 points? His first technical foul came early in the second quarter when he called one of the three referees a “stupid, fat pig.” Considering there aren’t many people more stupid than the Pigman and that the overweight ref was actually quite svelte compared to Coach Piggott, it was quite an ironic statement. Once the argument was over, Coach Piggott discovered that the ref’s call had actually been one that favored the Kearsley team, so it was quite an embarrassing moment for him. The second technical foul came at the horn ending the first half. One of the Hornet reserves hit a shot that would have put the team up by 19 points, but the referee waved the basket off, claiming it was shot after the horn. Piggott took off on a wild sprint across the court to shout at the ref, but he lost his equilibrium when he hurled himself off from his bench seat. He spent the better part of three seconds trying to get himself upright while running across the floor, but he lost the battle and did a belly flop a step or two past the half court circle. He bounced—twice—before skidding the final few feet into the wide-eyed referee, knocking him from his feet. The “assault” resulted in his immediate dismissal from the game. Luckily, the only physical damage done to the referee was that he was slimed by Piggott’s soaking perspiration. Piggott, on the other hand, had a nasty bump on his forehead and a large floor burn on his fat belly.

  Pete didn’t have an assistant coach because he was self-conscious of having anyone besides his players watch him work, so the junior varsity coach had to finish the game on the Kearsley bench. Kearsley was never threatened, so everyone on the team got a significant amount of playing time. Tanner, who scored 23 points, played well in front of Sammy Moretti, who drove up from the University of Toledo to watch the game. Afterward, there was more conversation about the coach’s performance than Tanner’s. Coach Moretti suggested that the Thomases meet him for something to eat before he headed back to the campus. Clay was quite interested in what a Division 1 coach would have to say about Tanner’s chances of playing basketball. Jessie seemed to be thinking about other things, but she was along for the ride whether she liked it or not.

  ***

  They worked their way back to I-75 and headed south to Pierson Road, where they met again at the Red Lobster. The two cars pulled front first into adjacent parking spaces and the occupants exited their vehicles. Coach Moretti bent over and picked up what appeared to be a random piece of aluminum siding from beneath his car. He had driven over it as he parked, so he picked it up and figured on throwing it away on his way into the restaurant. When he stood, he was looking into the eyes of a teenaged boy who was pointing a Smith and Wesson .38 caliber revolver at his chest. Clay’s passenger-side door was adjacent to Moretti’s driver’s-side door when the cars parked, so Jessie found herself standing next to Coach Moretti, looking directly into the nozzle of the gun.

  “Gimme your money…all of it!” the teen yelled. He was nervously looking around the parking lot. When he saw Clay step out of his car, he pointed the gun quickly at him and then swung it back toward Moretti and Jessie, who let out a slight scream. “Shut up! You too…you gimme your money too!” he yelled at Clay while he swung the gun once again in his direction and then back again toward Sammy and Jessie. The tall black youth had braided dreadlocks and the tattoo of a chain around his neck. He seemed just as scared as everyone else, but also a lot angrier.

  “We’ll do what you want. There’s no need to point that gun at us,” Clay said, hoping to get the kid’s attention.

  “You first!” he yelled at Moretti. “And then you!” he yelled at Jessie, who began to cry when he pointed the gun at her.

  Clay was desperately trying to figure out a way to use his mind control to get the angry kid to put down the gun. He couldn’t get the kid to look at him while he was on the other side of the car, yet the teen was aiming the gun at his wife, so he quickly moved around the front of his car to get to the other side with Sammy and Jessie. If he could get the kid to look at him, he could get him to put his gun down. As he stepped around the front of his car, he found himself behind his wife and Coach Moretti. The kid saw him and pointed his gun at Clay.

  “What’re you doing!” he yelled.

  Clay had his hands raised in the air, but no one heard him as he made eye-contact with the thief and spoke with his mind. “Do not look away!” he ordered the boy, focusing his mind control with a desperate concentration. “Look me directly in the eyes!”

  The armed robber focused directly on Clay’s eyes. “I’ll shoot you, you don’t do what I say,” he said, but he sounded less angry and kind of mesmerized. “Had to shoot the last guy I robbed.” His hands were shaking, but he kept his tearing eyes on Clay.

  In a calm voice, Clay spoke out loud. “Put the gun down. You don’t need to shoot me.”

  The kid was just starting to lower the gun when Sammy Moretti swung his piece of aluminum siding and chopped down on the kid’s wrist. He dropped his gun and Sammy hurled his impressive bulk at the kid, tackling him and burying him beneath his heavy body. Clay grabbed Jessie and pulled her back before scrambling for the gun. As Sammy grumbled something about a citizen’s arrest, Clay called 9-1-1 on his cell phone. In less than a minute, a police cruiser squealed into the lot, a police officer jumping out with his gun raised. In less than another minute he had the kid cuffed and the situation completely under control.

  In the ensuing interview, Clay heard Jessie giving Sammy Moretti all of the credit for stopping the potentially violent robbery. After answering questions from the police, Sammy was interviewed by a crime reporter for the Flint Journal, so the Thomases said their goodbyes and left without their meal. In the car on the way home, Jessie asked Clay what he was doing behind her at the robbery scene. “He was pointing the gun at you, Jessie. I was trying to get him to focus on me instead.”

  “Couldn’t you have done something like Sammy?”

  “I di
d, Jessie. I distracted him, so he wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “All I can say is that it’s a good thing Sammy was there or someone might’ve gotten hurt.”

  Clay bit his tongue, fighting the urge to tell her the truth of his role. “You’re right, Jess. He may have saved our lives.”

  ***

  The next afternoon, Pete Piggott picked up a newspaper at a gas station, dreading what might be said about him in the sports section. He wasn’t planning on buying the paper, just reading the article. There on the front page was the headline, “Man with Aluminum Foils a Robbery.” The catchy title caught his eye. As Piggott slowly worked his way through the article, he read that a teenaged youth by the name of LaDainian Hairston, a star basketball player for Hamady High, was arrested for attempted armed robbery and was the prime suspect in a robbery and attempted murder the day before. For once, Piggott actually purchased the paper and then drove by Harding Metals. He tore the article from the paper, circled the headline and the picture of Hairston, and wrote the words in all caps, “FREE INNERPRISE. SIMPEL SALES OPERTOONITY.” He then stuffed the article in the business mailbox and drove away. He doubted that Harding would much care what the kid had done with his gun, but he felt better in judging the man, even if his spelling was atrocious.

  CHAPTER 17

  Two days later, on Thursday, the second week of December, Carlee got another phone call from Jessie. “I had lunch with him on Wednesday. He was so sweet. And he gave me flowers today. A dozen red roses. He’s such a kind-hearted person, Carlee. I can’t remember the last time Clay gave me flowers.”

  “Is everything okay, Jessie? Everything at home, I mean?”

  “Sure, considering Clay only thinks about Tanner and work. And considering he did nothing to protect me from a crazed gangster kid with a gun. What could be wrong?”

  Carlee, acutely conscious of the sarcasm, didn’t know what to say about their adventure on Tuesday evening. She was just happy that no one got hurt. She then got right to the point. “Don’t be getting too serious about this boyfriend, Jess. It’ll cause nothin’ but trouble. I’ve been there. I know.”

  “You’ve warned me plenty of times. It’s not serious; it’s just some innocent fun. And he wanted to be there for me after nearly getting shot on Tuesday. We just talk, but he’s very caring and romantic. He gave me a necklace on Wednesday…three diamonds…very pretty…must have cost a bundle. Said he was so relieved that I wasn’t hurt that he wanted to give me something special.”

  ***

  Carlee was no longer paying a bit of attention to Jessie. If she had lunch with the guy on Wednesday, she was thinking, and saw him again on Thursday, maybe Pete had some information for her. As soon as the call was over, Carlee gave her cousin a call.

  “Any news?”

  “Nothin’, Carlee. I ain’t seen a thing. The only day so far that she left the office for lunch was Wednesday. I got stopped forever by a train on Belsay Road, and when I got there, she was already gone, so all I could do was wait for her to come back to work. She had a big smile on her face, but that’s all I can tell ya.”

  “Nothing else to share?”

  “Nope. Had a game on Tuesday and late practice after the girls’ team today, so I wasn’t there when she left work. I drove by the house after practice today, and she was home. Monday and Wednesday, she went right home, and I never saw her leave again.”

  “Okay. Keep at it, especially Saturday.”

  Pete Piggott wasn’t any help so far. The only days Jessie had done anything, he had managed to miss it. Carlee was going to have to be patient.

  ***

  Clay got home from an evening math class at about 8:30 PM. There, sitting on the kitchen counter was a dozen roses. Clay had noticed a bracelet a couple of months back, and over the last few weeks, he’d noticed a designer purse, a necklace, and now some flowers. There had been no credit card purchases that indicated that she bought the bracelet, purse, or necklace. When going through her purse, looking for receipts, Clay came across a plain black Tracphone. There were no numbers stored, and if there had been any incoming or outgoing calls, records had been deleted. There was no evidence of any calls.

  When Jessie entered the kitchen, Clay said, “Hi, Jessie. Who are the flowers from?”

  John. Clay could have sworn he heard her say, “John,” but she was clearly saying, “I got them when I stopped at the store for a few things. They were really cheap, so I bought them.” Clay was very focused on what his wife was saying, and it was disturbing to him that he could have sworn she said, “John.”

  “They’re nice. It’s been a while since I bought you flowers. I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, it has.” Jessie scooped up a pile of mail and headed away.

  Clay watched her extraordinary butt as she walked away to the bedroom, and then his mind began to wander as it had been doing a lot lately. On Wednesday evening, he had just by chance happened upon the television show, The Mentalist. As part of the show’s introduction, a definition was presented. “Mentalist. N. Someone who uses mental acuity, hypnosis, and/or suggestion. A master manipulator of thoughts and behavior.” Clay looked up mentalist on-line, and one thing led to another, but he took special notice of the field of parapsychology. After taking notes, he continued, and discovered that there was a neuroscientist at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor who specialized not only in the field of neuroscience but also in the field of parapsychology. Tanner’s powers had Clay thinking that it was time for him to learn a little more about what was going on, maybe get some answers to his questions. Hearing “John” in his head made him convinced even more that there were things he needed to know. And Jessie’s behavior was concerning him too. He needed to get things right, and maybe finding some answers to his questions would be a step in the right direction. He was going to give Dr. Zander Frauss a call.

  ***

  Johnny Papalli had given Jack a call on Thursday. He had done his research and was proposing his bet. Kearsley would be playing a home game on Friday against the Clio Mustangs. Clio was probably the weakest team in the league. He proposed two separate 2,000 dollar bets—both, he felt, giving an advantage to Jack. Both of the men were criminals, but though Johnny was better at it than Jack, he resisted the urge to bury Jack under his growing debt. There was no sense at the moment in getting under Jack’s skin. Johnny knew that even if he lost both bets, he would still get the legitimate 4,000 dollars that Jack owed him. He knew that Jack’s weakness was anger, and he didn’t see any point in drawing his ire over inconsequential high school basketball games. There were other criminal investments that were a higher priority for Johnny. Since he was attending the games anyway, he was just having a little fun at Jack’s expense. So Johnny saw his proposal as a no-lose proposition. The first bet was that Kearsley would win by at least thirty points. The second was that Tanner Thomas would get a triple-double, recording double figures in three separate statistical categories, such as points, rebounds, and assists. Jack agreed immediately, knowing he had no chance of losing either bet. He had big plans for Tanner Thomas.

  During the school day on Friday, one of Jack’s “employees” was to dump a 64 fluid ounce bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s original thick-n-rich syrup into the gas tank of Tanner Thomas’s sport red metallic 2006 Pontiac Grand Prix. If everything went according to plan, the car would stall on Tanner’s drive home, somewhere between the school and his house, and Jack’s men would be waiting.

  ***

  After school on Friday, Tanner hung out with his friends for about an hour. The girls’ team was having a shoot around in the gym, a very casual practice, and the coach let Tanner and Luke Simms get some shooting in too. While shooting a set of ten free throws with Tanner, one of the girls, Lacey Winfield, who stood just short of six feet tall, happened to look Tanner in the eyes. “Try to dunk it, Lacey.”

  Tanner tossed her a pass, and instead of shooting another free throw like she was supposed to do, she took off dribbling, jumped her highes
t, and barely touched the bottom of the net as she “threw down” her dunk. The sheepish look on her face cracked Tanner up. When it was Tanner’s turn to shoot ten shots, he really started having fun with Lacey. After he made his first shot, he thought, “Chest pass.” Lacey fired back a two-handed chest pass. After his second shot bounced in off the front of the rim, he thought, “Bounce pass.” Lacey bounced him an accurate bounce pass. Tanner’s third shot spun through the net and he thought, “Pass it off your forehead.” Lacey slammed the ball off her forehead, and after four bounces, Tanner picked it up and prepared for his fourth shot. His shot hit the bottom of the net and this time he thought, “Spin in a circle and pass it behind your back.” Lacey caught the ball, spun completely in a circle and passed the ball behind her back sideways, nowhere near Tanner.

  Her coach happened to see the missed dunk and the silly passes and had had enough. “What’re you doin’, Lacey? Either you get focused or I turn this ‘shoot around’ into a run around. You wanna get some shootin’ in or some running?”

  “Shooting, Coach. Sorry. I’ll get focused.”

  Tanner couldn’t help but continue to laugh as he finished his set of ten, only making three of his last six. He thanked Lacey and her coach for letting him get some shots, said, “See ya” to Luke, and he headed for his car. He’d head home, do about 15 minutes of math homework, get some food, maybe take a short nap, and get ready for the game. He was already excited to play.

  As Tanner started up his car, a truck about four rows over also started. The parking lot was mostly empty, but Tanner didn’t notice that the truck was following him as he pulled out of his parking space and headed home. He turned onto Genesee Road and headed south toward Richfield Road. As he got about a mile and a half down the road, the car started to sputter, then stalled. Tanner flipped on his hazard lights, coasted to the shoulder of the road, and when the car came to a stop, he tried to restart it. It would fire, but wouldn’t start.