She returned shortly loading a humongous black book, and dropped it with the side on the counter. “These damn things get heavier and heavier,” she complained. “It’s my back you know; now it’s my legs. The pain runs up the back of my legs to my lower back. That’s a lumbar area back there. The doctors say –“
“I’m very sorry, but I’m on a very tight schedule and I’ve got a lot of research to do. It’s not that –“
“Well some people!” She snapped. “I’m sorry to have bothered you at all. You can take the book over to that table against the wall.” She said sharply, indicating a long metal table next to a window. “You can’t take the book out and you must sign for it before I let you have it all.” She pushed a sign-out sheet at him and watched him with the cold stare as he signed his name.
With a sigh of relief Clayton sat down at the table with the book before him. He had escaped from the Wicked Witch of the West with the bad breath and bad disposition. It was evident he wouldn’t get any more help from her, anyway.
He opened the book and at first, couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Then studying the index closely, he began to see things more clearly. It was all they are spread out before him. Mark Downing was buying up all the property in that entire block for what must be millions on top of millions of dollars. But why? Did he plan to remodel the whole block of buildings? Not likely. He more than likely was planning to demolish them and rebuilt from the ground up. But, what?
Clayton would have to go to the planning board to find out just what was going on. Everyone told him not to butt heads with him, that it wouldn’t do any good. Mark had the political juice, the power and the money to crush any resistance, but there had to be another way around it.
“What’s needed?” Clayton mumbled to himself. “I have to start thinking outside the box, there’s got to be away.”
After his visit to the Hall of records, Henry drove him to Mama’s Restaurant for a late breakfast. They were between crowds and the restaurant was almost empty. They had no sooner sat down at a table when Mama came up and without a word placed an open letter in front of Clayton. From the letterhead, it came from the County Health Department.
“What’s this?” Clayton asked.
“Just read it and you will see,” she answered. “It seems as though the County Health Department has nothing better to do then give me a hard time.”
Clayton read carefully through the letter from start to finish. It was concise and to the point. It stated that a representative recently inspected her establishment and found prevailing conditions substandard to County health code 19003 – 64. Therefore, this department is hereby giving a 30 day notice to bring this establishment up to code or face heavy fines, as much as $3000, loss of license and closure of said business.
“What does your lawyer say about that?” Clayton asked.
“He says that I should take the last offer that was made me. But it was more than fair, that I should take the money and run. He says there is no way I would win going against this thing. You can’t fight City Hall. Maybe he’s right, I don’t know. I thought all this was over with. I just don’t understand it. I still have a copy of the last inspection report stating that everything was in order and up to code, and that was only two weeks ago. Now I get this in the mail, a registered letter, no less.”
“So you have the letter that was left here by the county inspector the last time he was here?” Clayton asked.
“I sure do,” she answered. “I never throw anything away. He signed it and everything.”
“Good. Hold onto it. Don’t let anything happen to it; put it in a safe or something. Who knows, that might help if this goes to court, and I hope it doesn’t. But first, are you absolutely sure you won’t take that last offer? After all, it was made in good faith and quite substantial.”
“I will not cave in to these threats and that’s final.” Mama put her hands on her hips for emphasis.
“Very well then, I’ll do what I can to help you, though I must warn you up front, it doesn’t look good. It’s going to be an uphill fight all the way, and could be very expensive.”
“I will not be intimidated and I’m not afraid of a good fight.”
“Okay then, give me a couple of days, and I’ll see what I can do to help. Keep that report in this letter in a safe place, as well as all the other correspondence pertaining to this.”
Clayton’s cell phone rang and with dread, he glanced at the caller ID. With the side of complete relief, he saw it was from the veterinarian, instead of you know who.
“Yes,” Clayton said, “I’m glad to hear from you... How’s my boy doing?”
“Fine Mister Crawford, and that’s why I called you. He is eating us out of house and home, so if you don’t hurry right down here, well, I’m afraid there won’t be anything left.”
When the vet assistant wrought Buck from the rear of the shop and the dog saw Clayton, he went to stand by his side and with his hand.
“Look at that,” the vet replied, “he’s thanking you Mister Crawford. Who said that dogs were dumb animals anyway?”
From that moment on a bond was formed to eat between a man and dog that was to last a lifetime.
“Yeah,” the vet said, “the dynamic duo. You two look good together.”
“You hear that boy? The dynamic duo, you and me.” Clayton said, as he ruffled the big dog’s ears.
“I have all his records here,” the vet said. “And when he was a puppy to now, so he’s had all his shots and he’s already licensed and everything is in order. You’re good to go.”
So the Three Musketeers, Clayton and, Buck, and Henry, set off to the dog park, where Buck could run and play and get the exercise that a big dog needs. They spent the rest of the afternoon running and chasing after a stick or a ball, and just having a whale of a good time. Buck was eager to fit right in and please his new master. Henry, however, held back to study the racing forms and take a short nap.
That night Rachel called Clayton. She called him almost every night, just to check in and ask about his day. If she didn’t call him, he would call her.
“What you doing tonight, Mister question mark” she asked, as he answered the phone.
“Not much, just me and Buck, sitting here, watching some old movie from the 30s.”
“Oh you got your dog from the vet?”
“Yeah, bailed him out today. Say, do you know a good lawyer? Someone who doesn’t cost much and is up on all the ins and outs of everything. A crackerjack attorney, who isn’t afraid to tackle the corporate world, someone who can leap tall buildings in a single bound. Someone who’s fearless in the courtroom, dauntless in his resolve to see that justice is done.”
“Uh oh! Sounds like you need help with a speeding ticket.”
“I wish,” he said. “Now I stopped at the Hall of records this morning and looked up the land plat, or plot, whatever it’s called. The block where Evelyn Rhodes has her business. Well, it seems your father has been buying up that whole block for a long time now. He owns almost every business in the 500 block of Kiffin Avenue. There’s only a couple of holdouts left, and one is Evelyn Rhodes, who owns this little restaurant.”
“And you want to take my father to court over this. You won’t win you know, he will bury you. He has more money than God. He has a bank of 12 highly skilled lawyers who know every trick in the book, whether it’s clean, 30, or otherwise. You won’t stand a chance. Tell this Evelyn Rhodes to grab the money she was offered and to live the good life on some island somewhere.”
“I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem right to me, just not fair.”
“They are, they are. Honestly, you are such a Boy Scout. Nothing in this world is fair,” Rachel said.
“Yeah, I heard that before somewhere. You’re right in all you said, but here I am anyway, right in the middle of it. She got a letter today from the health department stating that her restaurant was found to be substandard under some city code. They gave for 30 days to clean
it up or they intend to close it down. The thing as, the place was inspected a week and a half ago and passed with flying colors. I’m telling you this place is spotless.”
“I told you, you couldn’t fight him and win. He knows everybody and uses every trick to get his way. He won’t stop. He is utterly ruthless in business. You need to tell that lady take the money, Clayton.”
“No, what I need is a good lawyer, who isn’t afraid of your old man. Now, can you help me, or not? Who do you know that fits the bill?”
“I can’t think of anyone who would be crazy enough even contemplate that idea… Except maybe one, and that isn’t a sure thing, at all. This lawyer has a damn good win – loss record and I’m not sure she wants to put that on the line.”
“Well, who is it? Tell me.”
“Me!” Rachel said. “I’ll set up a meeting with Evelyn Rhodes and you at my office as soon as possible.”
Chapter 26
That same night Michael Lansing was sitting in the dark waiting for Roger Riggs to come through the door. Roger Riggs was the detective Timothy Holt had hired to follow Michael. Poor Roger, he knew where the shack in the woods was; he’s the one who took the pictures and saw Michael with that young boy. He had to die, but first Michael had to make sure that Roger didn’t keep any of those naughty pictures for himself.
He had already trashed Roger’s home office looking for them, without any luck. He did find Roger’s stash of drugs, really good stuff. Michael reasoned that the pictures, if he had any, would be with the drugs. He doubted if he had them, but that didn’t matter in the long run. Roger was still a very present threat.
Roger worked out of his house. He had remodeled his living room into a small office with the bedrooms and baths in the back of the small bungalow. The kitchen to the side of the living room was closed off by a door he had installed. He also had a door put in the hallway leading to the rear of the house. It was completely dark now is Michael waited in the office for Roger to come home. Roger lived alone, divorced six years with no kids, so there was little chance they would be disturbed. Everything was in place now, the gasoline cans and the steam iron were ready to go. Now all Michael had to do was wait.
He heard Roger come up the front walk to the door, put the key in the lock and turn it Michael got up and moved quickly to the door as Roger stepped inside. With one solid blow behind the last year, Roger pitched forward and landed face first on the hardwood floor. Michael grabbed Roger by the shoulders and dragged him inside, then quickly closed the door.
He dragged him down the hallway to the first bedroom and wrestled his limp body up onto the bed. He lashed him with Indiana wire, spread eagle on the bed. He tied his hands tightly to the headboard, and his feet, to the foot post. He ripped Roger’s shirt open, Torres undershirt and reached down and unbuckled his belt, pulling down his pants to the knees. He grabbed a stop sock and stuffed it in Roger’s mouth then covered his mouth with duct tape. He went into the kitchen and returned with a pan of cold water and through it in Roger’s face.
Spitting and sputtering, shaking his head from side to side and pulling against the wire restraints, the man came to.
“Won’t do any good to struggle Roger, me being a former boy scout, I’m very good at knots, you know,” Michael said in a calm voice. He removed Roger’s shoes and socks. “You are completely helpless now.”
Roger looked up at him, trying to focus, then the look of recognition spread across his face. He bucked and squirmed and twisted from side to side with muffled screams and pleas until he wore himself out. He was completely exposed from his hairy chest to his ample stomach, down to his groin area and bare feet.
“No use struggling Roger,” Michael said, standing at the foot of the bed. “The more you pull against that wire the more it will cut into your wrists and ankles, don’t you see?
“Now Roger, do you know what this is?” he continued and held up a steam iron in his hand. “Nod your head if the answer is yes and shake it side to side if the answer is no. That’s right Roger, it’s a brand new steam iron…and you know what?” I’ve already plugged it in and it works just fine because it’s very hot.” Michael was walking slowly around to the side of the bed.
“And let’s just say if I were to lay it on you someplace, like the soft white flesh of your belly, it would cause a terrible burn. The pain would be excruciating, don’t you see? Do you understand Roger? Not your head yes, that’s it, yes. Good then. Thank you Roger.”
Roger’s eyes were wide with fright and panic; he was crying and choking on his not in tears.
“Now Roger, I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer me truthfully, okay? If for some reason, I think you are not telling me the truth, I’m going to burn you with this iron, don’t you see? I’m going to hurt you bad. Do you understand? Not your head yes, that’s it Roger, that’s fine. Thank you.
“Now Roger, you been following me for a while, maybe a week or so, and found out my little secret, right? Nod your head, that’s right Roger, thank you. Anyway, you were a bad boy for taking those pictures of me and that kid, weren’t you? Yes, that’s it Roger, thank you. What with the good people think if those pictures fell into the wrong hands? I need them back, don’t you see? Now, I’m going to remove the gag from your mouth and you’re going to tell me where you’ve put them. If you scream, or call out, I will burn you with this iron. Anyway, no one will hear you. Your house it’s too far back from the street, don’t you see? And with the hedges and trees on either side that across the back, well, we will have total privacy. Now, isn’t that nice?”
Michael ripped the tape off the man’s mouth and yanked the sock out. Roger looked up at Michael standing over him with the steam iron in his hand.
“Please don’t hurt me, I don’t have the pictures, honest to God. I gave them all to Hol, he has them. Oh God, please know!”
“Wrong answer,” Michael said as he quickly clamped his hand down hard over Roger’s mouth and pressed the hot iron against the man’s bare chest. The hot smell of burning flesh and hair rose in a curling smoke from the terrible wound. The scream, although muffled, was still too loud for Michael’s liking, so he grabbed a nearby pillow and held it over Roger’s mouth. He kept it there as he counted to 10. When he released it the man was gasping for air, his chest heaving with each breath. Tears ran down his face, mingled with the mucus from his nose. Gasping and pleading, “Oh God! No more, no more.”
“That was the wrong answer Roger. I know you kept one or two of the good ones. Now tell me where they are or we can keep this up all night.” Again, he placed the pillow over his mouth. The muffled screams and the sickening sweet smell of burned flesh rose as the iron was pressed against the soft white flesh of Roger’s stomach.
“That last time, Roger, was to show you how much I’m enjoying this and that I mean to have those pictures. Now where are they?”
“Please, no more, no more. No pictures. Gave them all to hold,” Roger gasped. The pain took his breath away. “Oh God! Help me, O God!”
“God can help you Roger, and you know what Russian Mark I halfway believe you. But I’m afraid it makes no difference now, I’m having too much fun here. How would you like it if I burned your dick clean off? Would you like that? I will you know. Where are those pictures?”
“No, please,” Roger pleaded. “No pictures, no more, please.”
Yet again, the pillow over his mouth and again, the hot steam iron, but this time on the man’s groin. Again, the hissing sound of the hot iron, burning flesh and body hair. And again, the muffled bloodcurdling screams. Then Roger must have passed out, for he suddenly went limp and the room stood in absolute silence, except for the hiss of the still-burning flesh. The iron steamed and gurgled on the man’s genitals.
Michael reached down and picked up a 5 gallons can of gasoline he had brought and poured it over Roger’s prostate body and over the bed. He sloshed around the entire room. Then, as he backed out of the door, he sloshed more in the hall l
eading to the front of the house. When he reached the living room he tossed can aside and picked up another one. He soaked the office area, the desk, the filing cabinets, the walls, and the carpeting. Everything got a good dousing.
He then poured a thin trail from the office out the front door, across the porch, down the steps and out to the sidewalk. It was just dark enough for him to go unnoticed.
Michael lit a match and touched off the trail of gasoline leading back to the house. He quickly turned and walked away from the scene. When he got half a block away he heard a loud whoosh, and turned to see the front of the house engulfed in flames. By the time he reached his car on the next street, porch lights were coming on along the street. By the time he pulled away from the curb the neighbors were starting to come out of their houses. Looking back he could see the flames shooting 40 feet in the air.
“Now we’re cooking,” he said to himself, with a smile on his face. “Now for Timothy.” Timothy was at an all-night poker game, so Michael knew he had lots of time. He smiled again, at the thought of getting them both in the same night. He knew if he waited and Timothy found out about Roger, he might put two and two together, and Michael couldn’t risk that.
The Crawford Chronicles - Book 1 Page 17
