Hog Butcher: 2nd Edition

by Andrew Sutherland

  43

  Eric was up early the next day and back in Chicago before 10:00am. He’d slept well in his hotel, woke up before the sun rose, and did some thinking. He’d picked up the habit of lying in bed and staring at the ceiling when he was in Joliet. It had become his way of planning things out to the last little detail without having to take notes. He would visualize all of the details and all the permutations of the situation.

  He was now in the endgame. There were three people left on his list, and he thought he might be able to get the last three close together, maybe in the same night, then disappear into the wide world. He didn’t know what he’d do next, but he had a feeling he’d be able to just walk away from this revenge trip. He’d done some bad stuff, but he’d done it to people who deserved it and in the name of four people who were killed needlessly. The only thing that still weighed heavily on his mind was the fact that the group he’d hunted and killed had not only set him up to kill innocent people, they’d also run off like a bunch of little rats.

  The more he thought about it, the more his rage pushed its way out from between the wrinkles in his brain, pushing against his skin, making his face hot and his eyes feel too big for their sockets. He knew that asking why wouldn’t help, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. He thought he sounded like the world’s biggest baby, crying, “Why me? Why did they pick on me?”

  His thinking in bed was going nowhere, so he decided to take a long, hot shower. Long showers were another luxury he’d grown to love. Showering in prison had never been entirely safe. It was usually fine, and after he had gotten taller and stronger, his problems with people became few and far between. He showered for twenty minutes then went into his large room. He did a bunch of martial arts warm-up exercises along with American calisthenics. He had learned all of his marital arts and strengthening strategies from books. He’d learned about European swordplay from books. He practiced with a broomstick. He’d learned about acting technique and practiced acting in his mind. He practiced makeup techniques with supplies he ordered by leveraging his position as a library trustee and tutor.

  When he was done with his workout, he took another shower, packed, and headed out to get food and go to catch his morning flight. He was supposed to clean at the theatre today, and he had to shampoo the goddamn carpets there tonight. He should have done it Sunday night, but he’d just tell Frieda that he’d misunderstood if she even mentioned it. She wouldn’t. She was too concerned with everything that was going on. He was pretty sure she was fucking that Al McNair, as well.

  Al McNair. He turned out to be such a joke. He was actually afraid that the guy was going to be a problem, but three undisciplined hoods had taken him out and scared him into being a good little boy. It was always the way things worked. People put on their big attitudes and bigger reputations, then turned out to be so much bullshit. It was like that little punk asshole, Robbie. He ran the concessions and supposedly was some kind of a mobster. Eric had followed him and never saw any proof of anything. The guy had a small office just north of the loop. There was a room off to the side where he kept book for the theatre’s bar. He dealt some drugs, but he always bought modest amounts then broke them up into small amounts and dealt them to individuals. His “fundraisers” were just parties he had where he opened the bar, sold his coke and heroine, and talked like a big shot. He always had the one guy with him. The same guy.

  As Eric was finishing packing his bag, he made a decision. He decided he was going to unburden the theatre of Robbie’s presence. He figured he’d do that tonight. He’d do a quick shampoo of the carpets and while the soap was settling in, he’d pay Robbie a visit, then he’d come back to the Majestic and finish sucking up the dirty water and making the place look nice.

  He’d found an empty office across from Robbie’s office and up one floor. He’d gone a couple of times and spied on him, just to make sure Robbie wasn’t punking him. He wasn’t. The guy was some nameless, helpless asshole. He’d make sure he was there (Robbie was always there at night); then he’d come by with one of his many toys and take out the bodyguard and the hoodlum. He’d let Robbie know that he’d figured out that Robbie was no one. It would make him feel better. It would give him a little confidence leading up to his finale of dealing with Sheena, Gill, and that asshole, Marty.

  He’d think about how to do that in the next couple of days. He’d painted himself into a corner. If anyone was getting wise to this stuff, the last three on his list might decide to go to the police, or to hide out. If they did, his plans would be fucked. In his heart of hearts, though, he knew there was no way Gill and Sheena would act without Marty, and there was no way Marty was going to let this situation further jeopardize his little production. Marty’s greed would seal the deal for them all. He could count on that.

  Eric left a five-dollar bill on the counter for the maid. He tried to be kind to people in service professions. They did all the shit that rich people were too good to do. He walked to the lobby and out into the cold morning. There was a bagel shop around the corner. He could smell the hot bagels. He went in and got an everything bagel with lox, cream cheese, onion, tomato, and capers. It would be a perfect breakfast to eat on his drive back to the car return place and the airport.

  He’d done everything right. As he drove, he went through his list of details and everything was in order. He’d stashed the incriminating evidence, cleaned the Jeep inside and out. He even wiped everything down and was wearing gloves on the way back. Nothing was left to chance. He thought he should have wiped down the hotel room, but if they got as far as tracing him to the hotel, it was all over, anyhow. He returned the car without incident and took a shuttle to the airport.

  He sat by the gate waiting for his flight to start boarding. While he was filing along in line, he heard a woman behind him say, “They haven’t released any details yet. All they are saying is he was filming an action movie, and there was some big screw-up on the set. The only guy who was killed was the star. That action guy. You know, honey, that guy you love, who does the movies with the girls and all the corny dialogue. The guy with the grenade-launchy thing.”

  “Wait, what? Are you saying Lance Henderson got killed? No fucking way.”

  “Have you not been listening to me? I’ve been telling you about it for the last five minutes. When I was getting my coffee, it was on the news.”

  “Well, fuck. He was awesome.”

  Eric was smiling. As the woman scanned his ticket, he refrained from turning to the couple and saying, “He wasn’t awesome. He was a talentless dickhead that treated women like garbage, so I killed him. How do ya like that?”

  He was pulled out of his little reverie by the stewardess. She said conspiratorially to him, “I see you’re smiling. It may be tasteless, but I don’t see what the big deal is. The guy was a terrible actor.”

  Eric simply beamed at her and said, “I know, but there’s no accounting for taste.”

  “True. Have a great flight.”

  Eric walked down the jet-way thinking about the pretty young woman and her cute dimples. He spent most of the flight fantasizing about having a little house, a fun job, and a little wife like the stewardess to come home to every night.

  44

  “I’m stealing this from you.”

  “Fuck that, man. You can come over and have espresso anytime you want, but the contraption stays here. Also, if you want a perma-free pass on the espresso, I get free sexual favors. It’s just the way things work in my world.” Edith was sipping on a latte. Al, who usually took his coffee black, was sitting at the little kitchen bar with a demitasse cup full of espresso. The ebony brew had a short-cropped afro of caramel-colored crema. Al had a little dish of sugar cubes and another dish of lemon peels. He was soaking sugar cubes in the espresso and eating them like candy. He’d eat one of these then nibble on a piece of lemon rind. He’d have to stop soon. It was his third cup, and the top of his head was beginning to tingle.

  “What kind of beans are t
hese again?”

  “The roaster is called Intelligentsia. The bean is Tikur Anbessa from Ethiopia. It’s not that expensive; twenty-two bucks a pound. It is so fuckin tasty, though.”

  “You can say that again. I gotta stop, or my head’s gonna explode.”

  “I’m impressed you made it through three cups. Even the little cups, this bean is just lethal.” She smiled at him. She knew they were going to talk about the heavy stuff soon, but she really didn’t want to. It felt like all of this stuff up till this point was fairly academic. Now, they were going to take a course of action. That made them participants. She knew law would be like this as well. Hours of research and preparation that would result, ultimately, in performing actions that couldn’t be taken back. If nothing else, this was good practice.

  As if he were reading her mind, Al said, “So have you thought about a plan of action yet?”

  “Yeah…”

  “I’m just asking for your opinion. Anything I do will ultimately be my doing. The buck will stop with me.”

  “No. No, it won’t. Because if I agree with you and it goes bad, I’ll think it’s my fault. If I disagree and it goes bad, I’ll blame myself for not lobbying harder. On and on and on. But I’m in. If I want to be a lawyer, I’m going to make mistakes, and some of them will be big ones. It’s a hell of a trial by fire, but I never wade in. I’m a jump-in-the-deep-end kinda gal.”

  “I always say, go big or go home.”

  “Here goes: I don’t think we should put them in protective custody.”

  “Why not?” he was calm. She figured it was a straight-forward question.

  “It’s like you said. We won’t get this thing done if we go about it that way.”

  “OK. I happen to agree with you. It does bring up some other questions and other realities.”

  “Like?”

  “Bud.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s in a precarious situation. If we tell him everything we know, he really kinda has to do something. He is in a position where he has to offer them some kind of protection. It’s a catch-22, although I prefer the term ‘goat fuck.’ If he acts, we lose the bad guy. We either lose him forever, or we lose him until we give up; then he kills everybody for sure.”

  “You act like he can just kill them any time.”

  Al regarded her for a long moment then said, “If a person is committed, really committed, it is super hard to stop them from killing someone else. It just depends on how committed they are, and if they are willing to get caught. Someone who is willing to either get caught or to die is almost impossible to beat. So we need to try to drive him into place a where we can control his actions, like driving cattle into a chute.”

  “And how do we do that, Mr. Man?”

  “I’m working on it. I think I need to ask Bud a question to see if he is OK with using the others as bait or wants to PC them.”

  “How are you gonna do that without forcing his hand?”

  “Like this, I suppose.” Al pulled out his phone. He punched a number, hit one button, and then hit another. She could hear the faint dialing and ringing of a phone.

  “Hello, this is Mr. Bud Grumpypants Smythe’s phone.” It was Betsy.

  “Bets, Al. Not too early to call, is it?”

  “No, not at all. Maybe you can improve Bud’s mood. He’s being a total crank-a-saurus.’ Then calling across the room, “Bud, it’s your boyfriend, Al. He says you’re dead sexy and wants you to be his child bride.”

  There was inaudible grumbling then Bud was on the phone. “Hey, Al. What’s up?”

  “Why you so cranky?”

  “I woke up and I still wasn’t rich.”

  “Kiss your wife, tell her your sorry for being an asshole, then take the rest of this where she can’t hear you.”

  Bud didn’t demur one bit. Al heard him say, “Betsy, sorry I’m being an asshole. I’m tired. Can you make the coffee? I gotta go talk in private with Al. It’s about our secret love.” Al heard her laugh then heard the distinct sound of a kiss on what was presumably the detective’s cheek. There was some other rustling noise, then Bud was back on. “OK, man. Shoot.”

  “I’m putting you on speaker. Edith is here. That OK?”

  “Sure.”

  Al put him on speaker. “I have a hypothetical question for you, Bud. You can answer any way you want without losing face because it’s hypothetical.”

  “I think I know where this is going, but OK.”

  “So if there were a couple of people that were hypothetically in trouble, but you didn’t know who they were in trouble from, would you stick a detail on them to keep them safe?”

  “Hypothetically? No. Let me amend that. Fuck, no. All it would do is put off the inevitable.”

  “Is that the official position of the CPD?”

  “No. Especially if it’s the family of an Alderman or something, but not generally. The problem is, if we wanna get the person who is offing these actor types, we need bait.”

  “You realize this got super un-hypothetical just now, right?”

  “Yes. I haven’t shared anything with anyone. I don’t have a partner right now. I work solo on weird cases, so no one really knows what I am doing. I seem busy with a bunch of stuff that doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, and my contact in Indiana is off the books here. I guess what I’m saying is, I wanna catch this son of a bitch.”

  “Alright. I have a couple of possible ideas. Nothing permanent right yet, but this stuff is going to get solid pretty quick. I also have to roust someone tonight. It will not be strictly legal. It might be strictly fun. I think you might be able to pick a free bottle of your choice from what is likely to be expensive booze. All you have to do is stand there. Tonight at around 8:00. I can do it by myself, but it’d be a heck of a lot easier with some muscle.”

  “I can be ready to go at 7:30. Want me to pick you up at your hotel?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be in the lobby. Do you have your pants on?”

  “I thought the being your lover thing was a put-on.” This made Edith crack up.

  “I was hoping you had your little pad of paper. I need you to check a name for me.”

  There was a little brief rustling then bud said, “Shoot.”

  “The name is Eric Bannerman. He should be cooling his jets in Joliet, at least for the next four years or so.”

  “That name rings one hell of a loud bell.”

  “Look it up. It should be easy to find. Don’t make contact. I just want to know where he is. I’d also like to know if the woman who was killed in connection to the Bannerman case has any family left in the area, aside from her deceased husband and children.”

  “Man. Sounds yucky. Sounds ‘kiss you wife and kid before you go to work’ yucky.”

  “You ain’t just whistling Dixie.”

  “So I pick you up at 7:30 tonight? Is Edith coming with us?”

  Edith spoke up, “Not this trip, Bud. This is strictly a testosterone-induced purging of manly toughness.”

  “You’re pretty tough.” She could hear the smile behind his voice.

  “OK. It’s a cock thing. I don’t own one, so I can’t come with you. I’ll be putting together the lawsuit against you guys for discrimination.”

  “Oh. So pretty much normal, everyday shit.”

  “You got it, Bud. I’ll see you at 7:30.”

  “OK. Bye-bye.”

  After the call ended, Edith asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just run your normal day. I’ll have some more information for you tonight after we get done with our stuff. I’ll catch you up; then maybe we can order some food and work on our master plan.”

  “Your sandbox or mine?”

  “I think we should meet here. I can drink more of your espresso and you can take advantage of me sexually. Win/win.”

  She came over and kissed him. “I don’t know where this is going, but I gotta say, being with you sure does keep my attention.”

  “Me, too.
I have time for a shower and maybe a little back washing. I seem to have some extra energy to burn.”

  “Well, then.” She let her robe fall to the floor and walked to the bathroom. She was putting a little extra effort into shaking what she had. The result was wonderful. He followed close behind her to tell her she got very high marks for execution and effort. It turned out she gave him high marks as well.

  45

  “Hey! Did you have fun globe-trotting? Sunny told me that you didn’t take her. I told her I already knew about the new woman. You’ll break my heart if you tell me about it, but it’ll mend, and I am curious as shit.” Frieda was making her way steadily through a fruit plate and what a wrapper promised was “ostrich jerky.”

  “Before I answer, are you eating ostrich?”

  “High protein, no carbs, almost no fat. Gotta keep lean and fit.”

  “And apparently gross. If I try to eat any of that, grab my gun out of my bag and kill me. I want to die untainted by ostrich flesh.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing, but suit yourself. So, tell me about this chick.”

  Al filled in most of the relevant details about the trip. He didn’t say anything about the deputization, the killings, or what he planned to do to Robbie, so he spent a lot of time talking about the wonderful food and the wonderful Edith. “I brought Shrek a pound of the world’s best bacon. Did change over go smoothly?”

  “As a baby’s ass. Box office was great closing weekend, as well. Marty wants to talk to you before rehearsal. He’s in his office if you want to get the douchebaggery out of the way early.”

  “Douchebaggery? Nice. I’ll put that in my permanent lexicon. It really hits the nail on the head, doesn’t it?”

  As if on cue, Marty walked out of his office, reading reports and talking at Frieda before he even checked to see if she was there. Partway through, he looked up, spotted Al, and said, “Forget about that for now, Frieda. Al and I need to have a chat. I’ll fill you in after. Al, won’t you come in?”