by Tom Schreck
Ten minutes later, Gunner came back out of the building and this time he had a skinny redheaded man whose hands were hand cuffed behind his back with him. Gunner shoved him into the back seat without a word and started the vehicle.
The man was Howard.
Gunner was in a hurry, and he blew past me on his way out. There was no way I was going to be able to get back to my car and follow him, so I decided to take a look around the compound. The pit bull first snarled, then showed his teeth, and then barked. I looked it in the eye and he ran toward me and jumped, seeming not to care that there was a fence between the two of us. It was hard to believe this animal was of the same species as Al. He continued to snarl and bark, but I think because I showed no interest in entering his area he soon lost much of his aggression. He continued to pace and keep an eye on me, but he stopped hurling himself against the fence.
The area he was guarding was a strange sort of stone garden. The Buddha statue was more than life size and had to weigh a ton. The stone benches with their ornate legs were also substantial, and the various stone dragons and tigers and whatnot were all heavy pieces of stone. These guys went to a lot of trouble to create this and it didn’t fit. I just couldn’t picture a serial killer, drug pusher, and a pair of narcissistic karate wackos spending time in deep meditation.
The only doors into the steel building were through the fenced-in area and I didn’t really want to get up close and personal with my four-legged friend, so I walked around the other side of the building. There was one window, but it had smoked glass and I couldn’t see anything through it. I began to realize that my nostrils were picking up an irritation, and I imagined that whatever it was that they were concocting in this place wasn’t good for you.
37
It was time to visit my new best friend, the Caretaker. It wasn’t like I was warming up to the guy, but so far he had dealt directly with me and hadn’t done anything underhanded. Clearly, he was motivated by self-interest and greed, but if we stripped away a lot of life’s bullshit double talk we’d probably find that there were quite a few people who fit into that group.
I headed straight for the Hill and, now that I was a semi-regular, I got my audience with the man almost as a matter of routine. The young brother with the obnoxious baggies was in, and he barely looked up from his Martin Lawrence DVD when he gave me the nod to head toward the back.
“My pugilistic acquaintance, what can I provide you with today?” the Caretaker said. Today, his sartorial ensemble included gray flannels, a pinpoint button-down white shirt, and a rep tie in blue and white, which I believe are Yale colors, no less. His black loafers had the cutest little kilt on them.
“I took a trip and found your ‘Sky Pilot,’” I said.
“Fellow of interest, no?”
“Yeah, especially now. Between me and you, he’s got Howard Rheinhart with him and I think Abadon is the man doing all the killing.”
“His evil spreading of malicious rumors is of more concern to me.” The Caretaker’s use of the passive tense made me crazy.
“I thought we could help each other out.”
“Ha. I avoid reciprocal sharing. It tends to cloud the balance sheet.”
“I’m looking to ruin Abadon and get him put away. I want the killing to stop and I want the innocent to be exonerated.”
“Noble of you.”
“Yeah, I’m swell. If I can get Abadon, you don’t have to worry about the heat from the OD’s that they’re trying to pin on you.”
He sat back and crossed his legs talk-show style, putting his fingertips together as he thought. I wondered if this asshole ever did anything that wasn’t contrived.
“And you want exactly what from me?” he said.
“Right now, information.”
“Listening …”
“Abadon was loading packages for two Asian guys today. Identical SUVs—”
“The Lees, Hun and Sun, they are brothers. They traffic in New York. ‘Distribute’ is probably a better term.”
“New York guys coming up here? Isn’t that backwards? Isn’t all the drug business in the city?”
“The Sky Pilot does wondrous things. His concoctions will make crack look like potato chips.”
“It’s that big?”
“It will be. Word is that my man of God has worked the kinks out and his new product won’t kill the user. New York is where things happen first. If he turns on the city that doesn’t sleep, the word will be out and right now he is the only man that can cook this special Sunday dinner.”
“How do you know the shit isn’t fatal anymore?”
“The Sky Pilot is a man of science, my friend. You might say his clinical trials have been completed.”
“Dead kids?”
The Caretaker half shrugged and half nodded.
“What are Mitchell and Harter in all of this?”
“Security; they are not players. The word is they enjoy the muscle formulas that the doctor fashions for them. They are quite protective of that.”
“Is Abadon a threat to you?”
“Is Toyota a threat to GM? Better yet, if Toyota could put out a better product and then restrict the raw materials from GM, that would cause GM’s stock to plummet, would it not?”
“Sure.”
“I no longer put my faith in the Sky Pilot.”
“In effect, then, if I can take him out, I would be doing you a favor.”
“It would save me the trouble.”
“Caretaker, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
“I’ve always loved Casablanca,” he said.
We spent the next hour working out the details of what we were going to do. It was a mess, mostly illegal, and, if I screwed up, deadly. Kelley wouldn’t be proud of me and what I was about to do, at least not until it was over. If everyone lived through it, he might shake his head, tell me I’m nuts, and then crack a smile.
Maybe.
38
The Caretaker pulled out of his condo complex in Londonville, not far from TC’s house, and headed out of town toward Gunner’s karate compound. In his new Saab, the Caretaker didn’t look like your average brother from the ’hood. I guess when you live in a condo in the city’s richest suburb you’re not really from the street at all.
I followed him on the twenty-minute drive out to 44 and pulled off to the side while he went down the compound’s dirt drive. I angled on foot across the open fields leading to the compound with the goal of coming up on the back side of the steel building. I didn’t count on the field being semi-marsh and that every stride would take me two inches into muck. It took me close to forty minutes to get into place, and I hoped the delay didn’t screw up the plans.
I squatted in the mud and looked in between five-foot-high cattails with my binoculars to see what was happening. The caretaker’s Saab was parked by the gate to the stone garden and the Lee brothers’ SUVs were there, parked farther up the drive. While I waited, Mitchell and Harter came down the drive to join the party, and when they got out they opened the back door and pulled out Howard. Perfect, everyone was in place.
Howard looked awful. His hair was long and a tangled mess and he hadn’t shaved in a long time, which gave him one of those really fine kinky beards that redheads get. He had a blank look on his face, and through the binoculars I could see the deep circles under his eyes. Mitchell and Harter were talking to him and laughing, but Howard’s face remained blank like he was incoherent. He began to walk with them to the weight-training area and he shuffled like he was sedated. When they got to the weight area Harter motioned for him to sit at a bench while they did their workout.
The door to the steel building opened and out came the Lee brothers, followed by the Caretaker and then Gunner, who was pushing a handcart. The Caretaker brought his thumb and f
orefinger to the bridge of his nose to wipe his eyes and I received the signal. I pulled out Jerry Number Two’s video cam with the zoom and started filming. The Caretaker by now had started recording his conversation. The video camera worked remarkably well and I filmed as Gunner spoke to his audience, talking with his hands and smiling the whole time.
There was a pause in the conversation, and the Caretaker reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out the envelope. Gunner was smiling from ear to ear and the Lees turned and gave each other high-fives. It was Gunner’s peak experience and his shining moment of success, and now he was getting the financial reward that came at the expense of who knows how many dead kids and inmates.
The Caretaker still had the envelope and now he was speaking, prolonging the transaction and probably setting up Gunner to say the exact right words. He was doing this with no risk to his own career, as I had promised him he would not appear in the video that I was going to send to the police and that his voice would be disguised. The Caretaker was smiling and holding the envelope for Gunner when the group of them was startled by an awful metallic clanging coming from the weight-training area.
I looked up and Howard was sprinting as fast as he could toward the woods. While Mitchell was bench pressing and Harter was spotting, Howard had hurled a ten-pound dumbbell that hit Mitchell right in the nuts, causing him to drop the three-hundred-some-pound bar and plates violently on his chest. It was perfectly timed because Harter was struggling in vain to pull up the weight to keep Mitchell from suffocating. The bar tipped to one side while the plates flew off and then, like a kid’s teeter-totter, it slammed back in the other direction. There was screaming and clanging and the perfect distraction for Howard’s getaway.
It also ruined my project.
Howard, the man who was the patsy for every crime Gunner committed and a witness to every dirty deed, headed for the thick woods. The meeting with the Caretaker was abruptly closed while everyone ran after Howard into the woods. Howard had a two-hundred-yard head start and a straight forty-foot run to the dense brush while the others had to get around the rock garden and over the training area. By the time they got past the weight area there was already no sign of Howard.
Meanwhile, the Caretaker was pulling out in his Saab, probably figuring that nothing good was going to happen if he were to hang around. Gunner had stopped running and he yelled at Mitchell and Harter to go after Howard. Mitchell, however, couldn’t move yet and Harter was trying to help him. Gunner clearly didn’t want to leave the compound. The problem was, Howard grew up in these woods and it wasn’t going to be any easy trick finding him.
Gunner stepped into the shed next to the weight-training area and came out with two handguns, which he gave to Mitchell and Harter. Mitchell was moving again, albeit slowly, and he and Harter headed to the woods. I was reasonably confident that Howard could avoid them for a while.
Although I had never spent any time in those woods I was even more confident that I would be able to find Howard easily. But I was going to have to head back to the Moody Blue. Howard probably could stay out of trouble for thirty or forty minutes.
Probably.
39
Al greeted me at the door and I let him know that we were in a hurry. He had a way of sensing when something was important and he quickly settled down. His tail stood straight out on the way to the car, and he sat straight up with his brow furrowed over his brown eyes as he stared straight out the windshield.
I drove like a madman and I was back to the compound in just under thirty minutes. That meant Howard was out there for a total of just over fifty minutes. I hoped it was enough. I drove past the dirt driveway, pulled up just north of the compound, and entered the field just after the weight training area where Howard left the compound and entered the woods. All the cars were gone now and the place was deserted, but I didn’t trust the feeling that I was alone.
I got Al to the center of the field and I identified one of Howard’s tracks. I pointed to it and gave Al the command.
As soon as I said “Go find,” Al was off sniffling and snuffing his way to the woods, knowing where he was going, even if I didn’t. When we hit the real heavy brush, Al paused to sniff and to point his nose skyward. Then he brought it back down and was back working the trail. Before long we were in brush so dense I couldn’t tell which direction we were headed. Al was on his trail but it was absolutely impossible to tell where we were going.
Al stopped and lifted his nose again. Then he stood still while his nostrils flared in and out. While we were standing still I heard a rustling from behind us and it dawned on me that I was in the woods with Al, unarmed, looking for Howard with at least two other armed men who weren’t supportive of my cause. In my excitement, I had forgotten that detail.
Al’s life was Howard’s scent, and he showed no fear. He kept on zigzagging through the brush and sometimes through the mucky marsh. In the moments he stood still, I could hear the rustling behind me but now it was closer. Al went back to work and we headed forward, picking up the pace. The sun was setting and pretty soon we’d be doing this in the dark of night.
Al was on to something and we were now in a full run, heading toward a patch of trees. He stopped to shit, which was usually a sign that he was very close. While he curled his haunches, I could hear the rustling behind us—now it was clear enough to hear actual strides running through the brush. I turned and heard something but saw nothing.
Al finished up and moved toward the patch of trees, gaining acceleration. The sun had set and it was actually hard to control him as he darted in and out of the trees with his nose to the ground. Those short little legs may make some people laugh, but out here they were perfect equipment. He was now humming and snorting, heading to the trees, when there was a flash of light. Actually, it was two sets of lights coming from forty-five degree angles, and Al sprinted to the vortex of the lights.
“Hold it right there, Duffy.”
It was Gunner and he was pointing a gun right at my head. The light was coming from Mitchell and Harter’s SUVs. They both had guns drawn and pointed at me.
Howard was tied to a tree.
Gunner stuck his pistol into his belt and went to Harter’s car. He rummaged for a second or two and then came out and walked over to me. Whatever he was holding shimmered in the cars’ light. I couldn’t make out what he was carrying until he got closer. In one hand was a knife with a blade that was easily over a foot long. The blade was serrated in a zigzag pattern on top. In his other hand was a thin, cylindrical, metal pole, almost like an arrow, though a little bit thicker with a very sharp point.
“I’m going to enjoy spilling your blood, Duffy,” Gunner said with no expression. “Do you know how long it takes to bleed to death when your fingers get cut off one by one?”
“Harter, take the dog and let him play with the pit bull while you watch the product,” Gunner said. “Mitchell, tie the loser up.”
I watched Al get pulled into the SUV and I was powerless to do anything. Gunner was showing me the sharpened tip of his steel weapon.
“Oh, how I’m going to enjoy this,” he said.
40
“Too bad you’ll miss the show your dog puts on with Seagal,” Mitchell said while he duct-taped me to the tree ten feet from Howard. Howard was gagged but I could see the terror in his eyes.
Gunner came right up to my face.
“I’m going to lop off your fingers, Duff, one by one. I’ve learned to do it carefully though, so that you’ll not pass out. I don’t want you to miss the experience. Bet you’re wishing you didn’t throw that cup of coffee at me now, huh?” He laughed and I could feel my stomach wanting to heave but I couldn’t.
Gunner examined my taped-up hands, making sure his knife would be able to have access to my fingers. He congratulated Harter on a nice preparation. My mouth went dry and I could feel my body trembling all over
.
“First though, Duff, I’m going to get things going by letting some blood out. This wonderful little device pierces neatly through flesh and lets the blood spill out like a faucet. Then, as I cut off a finger, you’ll be springing leaks all over the place.” Gunner’s face lost expression and he handled the arrow, examining where he would insert it in my side.
“You’re a scumbag, Gunner. Fuck you,” I said and spit whatever saliva I could muster at him.
“You’ll pay for that,” he said, and he reached for the knife. He stuck the tip just under my chin, piercing a hole in my flesh. Being tied up kept me from flinching, which somehow made the pain more intense.
Gunner took a step back to size me up, looking at me like a specimen.
“Now, the fun begins,” he said and then stepped forward.
I felt my stomach start to turn and my chest heave like I was going to pass out. Gunner was workmanlike as he looked closely at my sides. He lifted up my T-shirt and I felt his hands prod the sides of me. He stood back up and looked me in the eye.
“You’re about to pay for your sins,” he said.
There was a whistling sound of movement past my right ear and then a dull thwack sound.
Gunner’s feet were together and he stood straight up inches from my face. He gasped and reached for his eye, which was gushing blood. He had something stuck deep into his eye socket, which was now covered in scarlet and torn flesh.
There came another whistling past my ear and another thwack. Gunner grabbed his throat, which had a shiny hunk of metal stuck right in its center. His face was a distorted mess with his left eye gone and in its place a shiny hunk of metal. Blood gushed from his eye socket, and in a silent scream he coughed more out of his mouth.
“WASABIIII!!!!!” echoed through the forest. “WASABIIII!!!!”
I felt something slash through the duct tape, freeing my hands, and there in front of me, barely visible in his Nu-Breath Karateka Deep of Night ninja suit was the best karate student a sensei ever had.
