Dupree's Resolve

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Dupree's Resolve Page 5

by Micheal Maxwell


  “Hey, hold on there,” Perlang called.

  Frankie turned as Perlang trotted to where he stood. “Here, I really appreciate your help. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.” Perlang handed him a five-dollar bill.

  “Thank you, but I really…”

  “No, no you saved my blood pressure several upward clicks.” Perlang laughed and stuck out his hand. “Ray Perlang.”

  “Frankie Evans.”

  “Say, you aren’t looking for work, by any chance?”

  “Always.”

  “My office needs somebody to stick those For Sale signs in the ground and collect them when the houses sell. From time to time property owners need us to clean up their rental; they might need paint, shampoo the carpets, stuff like that. It’s not a lot of hours but…”

  “Crap.” Frankie was clearly disappointed.

  “How’s that?”

  “I would love the job. The problem is I don’t have a car.” Frankie gave a melancholy smile. “But thank you.”

  “I’ve got a total banger, old Nissan pickup that you can…”

  “Yes! How much?” Frankie cut in.

  “How about free? You’ll need to clean it up. I’ll get Curtis at the garage up the way to give the engine the once over. Don’t want you getting stranded out in the boonies. When can you start?”

  “I think I already did.” Frankie held up the five-dollar bill.

  * * *

  “Mountain Realty.” Ray Perlang leaned back with his feet up on his desk. He was gazing across at the wall with all the pictures of little league and soccer teams he sponsored over the years. It really paid off as he sold houses to some of those kids. The commission on one sale paid for all the sponsorships in one swoop. The others were gravy.

  “Ray? Roger James here.”

  “Hey there Roger! How am I so honored?”

  “You know that little house I have on Taylor? I think I want to sell it.”

  “Really? I thought you called that your cash cow.” Ray Perlang gave a cheerful chuckle. “What brought this on?”

  “It’s those damn dopers. They don’t pay on time and they’re trashin’ the place. I’m starting eviction on this last bunch today. Soon as they’re out I want to list it.”

  “That’s what I do. Not that I don’t want the business, but couldn’t you just be a little pickier? I mean, careful who you rent to?”

  Roger laughed. “Anybody who needs a cheap place anymore is either a doper or on their way to becoming one. I’m getting too old for this crap. I’m done. Can you drive by and have a look, maybe give me a ballpark what I might list it for?”

  “Sure. I have a couple of things going on today. How about I have a look tomorrow? I’ll run a few comps and get back to you.”

  “You want inside?”

  “No, I remember the layout. I take it you’re going to have to do some cleaning up, maybe some repairs? I’ll do a walkthrough when you get those done. I’ll just do a rough estimate for now.”

  “Thanks, Ray.”

  “All right, we’ll talk in a day or two.”

  The idea of Roger letting go of his little rental meant it must be really bad. Ray shook his head. White Owl was changing, and he didn’t like it.

  * * *

  Sometimes it feels that some people never had a chance. So it was with Frankie Evans. For six months he worked hard, did as instructed, never complained and was eager to take on more responsibility. He picked up clean-up jobs when a tenant moved out. He helped Ray haul trash, and in what seemed totally out of character did the occasional yard clean-up and landscaping job.

  Ray was known to brag about his protégé around town. Some people shook their heads and said, “We’ll see.” Others, though, were pleased and gave Ray a great deal of credit for saving the town’s weirdest kid. “You’ve done a fine thing. I would never have believed it.”

  So, on a warm summer evening when Frankie was found dead of a drug overdose, most of the town was not surprised. What they would never know was how the young man, so needy and looking for acceptance, was befriended by the tenants of a house he was paid to mow the lawn for. They invite him to a party, something no one ever did before. It was there a seductive blonde with heavy, dark eye make-up introduced Frankie to the very substance that would kill him. When he became hopelessly ensnared in the drug’s hold on him, they went from lovers to her being his supplier.

  Ray spoke at the graveside service. He paid for all the expenses. He bought several floral arrangements of various sizes, with blank card envelopes attached to make it look like someone cared. They didn’t.

  Frankie’s father did not attend the service. His mother came but was barely able to stand. None of Frankie’s ‘friends’ from the party house made an appearance. Three classmates from elementary school showed up, more out of curiosity than caring. Four of Ray Perlang’s clients, mostly ones Frankie worked for, came to collect the lunch Ray promised them after the service.

  There was no music, no prayers, no tears. Frankie was gone, buried, and would soon be forgotten by all except Ray.

  * * *

  Ray Perlang spent his evenings alone. He watched Fox News and shouted at the guests being interviewed. He gave up on local news; the insipid reports on dog adoptions, kids with cancer, and food drives irritated him, and the bent of the newscast’s social agenda rubbed him the wrong way.

  His cooking in the last month consisted of eating chili and chunky soup from the can. Not one to enjoy shopping, he was limited more to what was left, than what he wanted or would actually take the time and energy to prepare. He remembered ice cream on the way home though. Some nights four scoops were dinner, and he would forego the meat and vegetables he picked up at the market.

  Twice he ate the cold sweet dessert right from the carton. He found himself scraping the bottom of the carton, not realizing he enjoyed spoon after spoon until it was gone. Then he would curse the company for no longer putting ice cream in full half-gallon containers anymore.

  Ray Perlang was angry. Frankie Evans was dead, buried and forgotten. No one was arrested. No one was questioned. No one cared. Dope was still available from the same dealers whose poison killed Frankie. It could not continue. Who has to die before the cops will do something? Ray Perlang knew if anything was to be done it was up to him.

  A county map covered his kitchen table. Like the combat officer he dreamed of being, he plotted his private war against the drug dealers and the raids he would make into their territory. Frankie Evans’s death made it all the more urgent. He reviewed street names, intersections, schools, parks, and shopping centers.

  Perlang was fully aware that if anyone saw what he was doing they would think he was mad. It wasn’t madness, though, to want to wage a war on drugs that actually created enemy casualties. He wasn’t crazy, he knew that. He was fixated maybe, obsessive possibly, but he regarded his efforts as the rational, sane answer to the inaction of the authorities. The people of America could no longer rely on their leaders to provide funding and direction to law enforcement. Judges let the bad guys go with a slap on the wrist. He was a soldier, and soldiers are sworn to protect the nation.

  Though not religious by nature, he found himself praying each night in bed before sleeping for the strength and clarity of mind to complete his mission. He asked whatever superior being that was listening for the ability to conduct his actions in a way as to make his wife proud, if she were out there in the beyond, watching his actions.

  His commitment to action with each new morning brought stronger confidence to Ray Perlang. His showings went well, his sales pitches seemed inspired. His broker noticed the difference and responded with clients for listings, something he hadn’t done in years. Ray saw it as the outcome of his new commitment to decisiveness. The listings were a reward for having made a decision to act.

  * * *

  Dupree woke with a start. The light in the room was not right. A dull gray wrapped the room. He reached out to touch Dara, and instead found her side of
the bed pulled up and a sheet of paper resting on her pillow.

  Good Morning Sleepyhead!

  You were resting so peacefully, I couldn’t bear to wake you. Coffee is on and fresh chocolate chip cinnamon rolls are warming in the oven.

  Lunch today?

  All My Love!

  D

  PS Call me when you get to the office, so I know you didn’t die in your sleep! LOL

  The slightest of smiles crossed Dupree’s lips, then a sudden look of panic. He sat up and turned to Dara’s side of the bed and the clock. Nine O’clock! He blinked twice and rubbed his blurry eyes. 9:01!

  “I can’t believe it.” Dupree stood and made his way to the bathroom. “Not a great way to start the week.”

  As promised, there were two fat, frosting heavy, rolls in the oven. The morning paper lay open with a napkin alongside. Dupree set the rolls on the table and turned to the coffee. A light rain was causing the gutter to drip heavily in front of the kitchen window. He was late, nothing would change that, and the rolls were too good to pass up.

  Dupree smiled at the rain. Bring it on. The permanent green of Washington was a daily source of delight for Dupree. Pouring his coffee, he decided to walk to the office. No car today. If I am going to live here, I will do as the natives. There were several umbrellas in the rack by the front door. The locals rarely used one, so he decided there and then, he would go without. He would wear a cap and his old beige raincoat.

  In the hall closet shoved to the far right against the wall was his raincoat, hanging on a hook was a Seattle Seahawks ball cap. It was a gift from a customer at the Quarter Moon who was incensed that Dupree never displayed his support for the team. He wasn’t about to admit he wasn’t interested in sports, teams, or their endless merchandising. He smiled and accepted the gift graciously, placing it on his head to the applause of gathered fans.

  The locals wore and displayed their team dedication in an almost fanatical devotion all season. On his first Sunday at Dara’s church, he was shocked that even the pastor was wearing a ’Hawks Jersey! In the years since, Dupree came to recognize the communities need to show a common bond with the team. In a way, it was a nice throwback to an age he thought was long past.

  Cap pulled down, raincoat buttoned almost to his throat, his reflection in the mirror next to the door brought a grin to Dupree’s dour Monday morning face.

  “Busy day today.” Tomi gave Dupree an amused once over. “You walked? In the rain?”

  “Rain or shine we are here to serve and defend.” Dupree took off his cap and hung it on the coat rack, unbuttoned his coat, and placed it over the cap. “What have we got?”

  CHAPTER 6

  “I picked up the zoning report. As far as I can tell Peggy Grimes property is part of a parcel that is zoned agricultural. The land owned by Kanaal is subject to the agreement with Ecomm Quantum.” Tomi handed Dupree the file.

  “Well done, you!”

  Tomi blushed slightly at the praise. Truth be told, he already called the Zoning office and she was pretty much reporting what the clerk told him. “Thanks.”

  “Are there any appointments?”

  “Ten o’clock, Gary Tompkins. He was given a large check that the third party stopped payment on. Doesn’t sound quite right to me.”

  “Third-party check? Not a good start.” Dupree slapped the Zoning Department folder against the side of his leg. “One lawsuit against the City and Kanaal coming right up. Let’s shoot for a Wednesday morning filing. Block out an hour around ten.”

  Dupree pulled a thick burgundy leather volume of Federal Real Estate Law from the bookcase next to his desk. Almost without looking, he turned to the statutes pertaining to zoning and the attempt to force a sale. The best he could hope for really was a restraining order against Kanaal and their representatives. He would also prepare a homestead filing on the Grimes property.

  If he could prove collusion between the city and Kanaal, in obtaining Peggy Grimes’ land by false statements or undue pressure to sell, then he was well-positioned to sue for damages. Juries hate city hall, and they hate government and big companies in bed with each other to the detriment of a nice old lady like Peggy even more. He would make them bleed green.

  At five minutes to ten, Dupree heard the office door close. After a few muffled words of conversation, Tomi spoke from his office door.

  “Mr. Tompkins is here.”

  “Show him in.” Dupree stood and rounded his desk. “Good Morning. Have a seat.”

  Gary Tompkins was tall, with the build of a college basketball player, his dark brown hair was showing the first signs of thinning. He wore a short-cropped goatee. His eyes looked bigger than they were behind his thick glasses. His freshly ironed, pale blue, Oxford cloth shirt was neatly tucked into new jeans. Around his waist was what appeared to be some kind of reptile skin belt. On his feet were a pair of white leather tennis shoes. He was the picture of a well-dressed thirty-something guy who was completely lost in the world.

  “Tell me, Mr. Tompkins, how may I be of assistance?”

  “Gary, please call me Gary.” He barely raised his eyes from where his hands, fingers interlaced, rested in his lap. “I think I’ve done something foolish.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first.” Dupree tried to lighten the atmosphere. “My assistant said something about a check?”

  “Yes, I took a check and helped a guy cash it.”

  “OK, that is a start. Relax Gary, I’m on your side. I am here to help as best I can. I am not, nor will I be, judgmental about what happened. Your foolish deed, as you call it, may not be without consequences but my job is to try and minimalize them. So, take a deep breath. I know this is probably not something you do on a regular basis. You know, most of the lawyer jokes you hear aren’t really true, most of them.” Dupree paused and Gary looked up for the first time. “So, start at the beginning; Who gave you the check, why did you need to cash it, stuff like that.”

  “My office is next to Dr. Paris, the chiropractor.”

  “What do you do, Gary?”

  “Insurance, I sell life insurance.”

  Dupree couldn’t believe his ears. He was thinking of a bookkeeper, or data entry, or something away from the public. He waited for the next surprise in the story.

  “Dr. Paris had an office manager, a business consultant, really. He did stuff. He redecorated the office, did advertising, put in new computers and software, lots of stuff.”

  “I bet it was expensive.” Dupree led the witness just a bit.

  “More than I could ever afford. Anyway, he’s a really nice guy. He’s taken me out to lunch a couple of times, but I told him I couldn’t afford his services. He didn’t mind. He said he was kind of new in town and needed some good friends.” Gary smiled at the thought of someone wanting to be his friend. “So anyway, about three weeks ago, he came over to my office at a quarter to five and said a client gave him a check, and his bank was on the other side of town.”

  Gary looked back down at his hands. Dupree was sure tears were rolling down his cheeks. Gary cleared his throat. “He asked if I would cash the check at my bank for him. He said it was good. It was from another doctor, a dentist, and the guy was loaded. So, I asked how much the check was for.”

  “OK.”

  “It was for five thousand dollars.” Gary wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “Sure enough, it was from a dentist whose name I recognized. Still, I didn’t feel right about it. I told him I didn’t think my bank would let me.

  “He said, we’d ask the manager when we get there. That sounded safe, I thought. So, we drove over to my bank. It’s just down the street. I went straight to the manager, Mr. Grant. He’s an old friend of my parents. I told him what I wanted to do. I said if there is any chance at all that it wouldn’t clear I didn’t want to do it.”

  “Mr. Grant asked who wrote the check. He didn’t seem concerned at first. Then he asked for how much. I turned to look at Dr. Paris’s business manager. Mr. Grant frowned. Where do
you know this guy from?”

  “What’s his name?” Dupree was not liking where the story was going.

  “Who?”

  “The business manager.” Dupree started to question Gary’s intelligence.

  “Steve.”

  “Steve?”

  “Uh, Steve Collins.”

  “OK, what happened then?”

  “Mr. Grant called the dentist’s bank. He asked if the check would clear. They said his account had over three hundred thousand dollars in it.” Gary stopped talking.

  Dupree waited. “And…”

  “I went to the window and cashed it. I gave the money to Steve.”

  “I’m a bit lost. Did the check bounce?”

  “No. That’s the problem.”

  “How so?” Dupree wasn’t following.

  “A few days later I got an overdraft notice from the bank. I knew I had about a thousand dollars in my account and there was no reason a fifty-dollar check, the last one I wrote, was to the hardware store and shouldn’t bounce. I went to the bank and when I got there the girl at the window said about a dozen other checks bounced that day, and that I didn’t have any money in my account.”

  “That’s a problem.” Dupree was afraid he knew this story.

  “I went over to Mr. Grant’s desk. The check was sitting in the middle of his desk with STOP PAYMENT stamped across it in red. Mr. Grant called the manager of the bank the check was from. The manager told Mr. Grant that the dentist stopped payment on the check. Furthermore, Steve Collins was a crook and to steer clear of him.”

  “What did your friend Collins have to say about all this?”

  “He got really mad. Said Mr. Grant was stupid. He went with me to see Mr. Grant. He tried to give Mr. Grant a check. Grant wouldn’t take it. Then he asked for a loan to cover the check. Mr. Grant laughed. ‘Bring cash.’ Mr. Grant stood up and asked Collins to leave.”

  “Your folks are friends of mine. If you have any savings in this bank, get it out. But do it at the downtown branch.” Grant advised.

 

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