Dupree's Resolve

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Dupree's Resolve Page 7

by Micheal Maxwell


  He turned around at the end of the street and passed by the house again. He checked the number, just to reinforce his observation. He parked across the street.

  At the front door, he checked his watch, 1:30. The door was marred and scarred from the abuse of rambunctious kids and the kicks of angry adults. Perlang straightened his tie and gave three sharp raps on the door.

  “Who is it?” A woman’s voice came from behind the door.

  “Postal inspector. I have a package for Pam Kinslow?”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure, it’s damaged and the return address is not legible,” Perlang replied.

  The sound of the lock clicking brought a smile to his face. With a powerful flat-footed blow, Perlang kicked the door open, knocking a woman to the floor. With all deliberate speed, he stepped through the door and locked it behind him.

  “What the hell!” The woman screamed as she wiped blood from her nose.

  Perlang stepped passed her to a small round table in an alcove just through the kitchen arch. The smell of the house was disgusting. The woman scrambled to her feet. She ran at Perlang, he stepped out of the way as she collided with the small table.

  An empty amber pill bottle clanged on the tile floor like a bamboo xylophone. Perlang stomped it like a fat snail on the garden walk after a rain. He kicked the shattered plastic under the small gap below the dishwasher.

  “Who ate all the pills?”

  “I dunno,” the woman slurred.

  Perlang slapped her hard across the face. “I am tired. I’ve been up all night. My nerves are a bit frayed. Let’s make this quick. Again, who ate all the pills?”

  “Not me.”

  “Is that why your pupils are the size of dimes?”

  “My man’s gonna kill you when he gets home.” The woman squinted at Perlang and scowled.

  “There isn’t going to be one to come home to if you don’t answer me.”

  “One what?”

  “Home. This used to be a nice house, I remember it. It’s a nice neighborhood. Kids ridin’ bikes in the street, playing hopscotch in the driveways, all the trees are big and shady. Except yours. How did you manage to kill a twenty-year-old tree?”

  “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”

  Perlang slapped the woman again. Her cheek was turning bright red and her eye was beginning to swell. He shoved her into a chair.

  “You ain’t no cop. I don’t have to tell you a thing.” She foolishly started to stand.

  Taking a handful of her brittle, over-bleached hair in his right hand, Perlang yanked the woman back into her seat. “You are exactly correct. I am not a cop. I am not a judge either. You might say, well, you wouldn’t maybe, that I am a concerned citizen. Sort of a neighborhood watch officer.”

  “Once more, who ate the pills?”

  “I did,” The woman admitted grudgingly.

  “Now that didn’t hurt, did it? I knew you did. Now, where did you get them?”

  “No way, I ain’t tellin’”.

  “There you go, slipping back into your bad habits.”

  Perlang reached in his back pocket and removed two wide, white plastic zip ties. He put his hands out in a mock “handcuff me” position. The woman immediately hid her hands behind her back. Perlang slapped her backed-handed, cutting her right cheek with his ring.

  “Come on, unless you want Mr. Hand to turn into Mr. Fist. Stick your hands out.”

  Accompanied by a slur of blasphemous, scatological profanities and curses, she complied. Once bound, Perlang yanked her to her feet and pulled her across the room to the four by four post that supported the half-wall room divider. He slipped the other zip tie through its mate on her wrist and secured her to the beam with a sharp powerful tug of the tie.

  “That should hold you.”

  “Let me go!” The woman twisted and pulled at her restraints.

  “Now, now, that won’t get you anywhere. Did you people ever hear of garbage cans?”

  The kitchen table just beyond the room divider was piled high with pizza boxes, empty Spaghetti-O cans, Pop Tart wrappers, and cereal boxes. The counter and sink were worse. Every surface in the kitchen was covered a foot high in trash, dirty dishes, empty plastic two-liter discount soda bottles, and beer cans.

  The stove was covered with pots and frying pans under more refuse. Perlang opened a cupboard and found a large, three-quarters full bottle of vegetable oil. He unscrewed the cap and began pouring it over the mess on the stove. Satisfied with the coverage, he moved on to the counter and table.

  “Who’s going to clean that up!” the woman bellowed.

  “Same person who didn’t clean up the rest.” Spinning about, Perlang walked over and turned on all four burners on the stove.

  “You’re going to burn the house down!” The woman yanked harder on the zip ties.

  “That’s the idea.” Perlang smiled. “Who’d you get the pills from?

  The woman glared at him. “He’ll kill me.” Her tone was one of surrender.

  “I may beat him to it.” Perlang looked down at an electric burner on the corner of the stove beneath a pizza box beginning to show a faint orange color.

  “Chris.”

  “One in a million!” Perlang moved to the living room.

  The screen was pushed aside and the fireplace was filled with boxes and papers that looked like they were placed there at Christmas. He turned the gas key protruding from the wall as far as it would go and walked back to where the woman stood.

  “Chris who?”

  “Whiting.” The woman was crying. “Now let me go.”

  “You know anybody else he sells Meth and Oxy to? A kid named Frankie, maybe?”

  The smell of smoke wafted across the kitchen. Perlang turned to see a small flame near the corner of the stove.

  “Won’t be long now. Good thing your kids are at school. Be a shame if anything were to happen to them.”

  “Stop that fire and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just put it out. Please,” the woman pleaded.

  “You first.”

  “Chris, his number is in my phone. There, right there on the table.”

  “Number?”

  “I don’t know, just under Chris. He parks out on Contentment. I usually go to him. Now put the fire out would ya? It’ll get out of control,” The woman began to blubber.

  “If I were a junkie, I would have my dealer’s number tattooed on my arm, or at least memorized.” Perlang’s tone was light, almost friendly. “Now what’s his number?”

  “421-1868.” The woman pulled against the ties, as she did, they tightened even more. Her hands were turning a bluish red. “Let me go!” Her screaming was becoming frantic.

  The flames on the stove were lapping at the exhaust vent. The counter full of paper material would be aflame soon. The smell of smoke and burning oil was filling the small area. Perlang figured the entire kitchen and eating area would be burning in a matter of moments. He needed to leave.

  “I hope this will act as a lesson to your kind that drugs and the lifestyle they produce is dangerous. Maybe your kids will be placed with a good family and have a chance in life. You, my dear, are going to hell. Or maybe not, I figure you have a few minutes to pray before the fireplace gas reaches the flames and blows this house off the face of the earth.”

  “Please, I’ll get clean, I swear! Let me go. My kids need a mother!”

  “Yes, they do. Just not you.” He took one last glance around the room, then Perlang left the house and didn’t look back.

  When Perlang arrived home, he went straight to the bedroom. In a small black zipper pouch in the back of his dresser drawer was the small .22 caliber pistol he kept hidden from Belinda. She hated even the sight of guns, an odd thing indeed for the wife of a former military man. Nevertheless, he vowed there would be no guns in their home. The only lie he ever told was that he sold all his firearms.

  Now the small pistol felt friendly and familiar in his hand. It was a gift
from his father when he left for “the big city”, that is, anywhere with a population of over five thousand.

  Thank God the old man never lived to see me chained to a desk, he thought. I’ll show you the warrior I could have been. Perlang’s words sounded brave and forceful in the silence of his bedroom. He glanced at the picture of Belinda setting on the dresser. “You might not want to watch.” He turned the picture face down.

  He was at war. Ray Perlang mounted a campaign to rid his hometown of the poisonous drugs, and the element that sold them. The death of Pam Kinslow would not be recognized as the first engagement with the enemy in this war, but his next encounter will send a message to the soft white underbelly of the drug world invading the county. The name and phone number were all Perlang needed for his next offensive.

  * * *

  “The mayor is here. Do you have time to see him?”

  “Is that code for ‘get rid of him’?” Dupree grinned.

  “He is not a happy man.” Tomi grimaced.

  “Always ride to the sound of the guns. Show him in.”

  Dupree met the mayor of White Owl at a fundraiser for the town sign that Dara dragged him to. After that, he avoided him whenever possible. Meaning, unless he walked up and stuck his hand out, Dupree tried to not make eye contact.

  The office of mayor in White Owl was more of a P.R. job than actually conducting any major business. The city council made up of five local business people and the principal of the high school, could and did, override the mayor any time they had the votes.

  Mayor Gino Bavaro’s family owned White Owl’s only Italian restaurant for more than sixty years. Gino inherited Bella Italia, but almost instantly closed up the place when he married, Lisa. She was a CPA from Olympia, and they opened an accounting and bookkeeping service. That was almost fifteen years ago.

  Gino was a barrel-chested bully, with thinning, wiry, salt and pepper hair. His thick neck made getting shirts to fit difficult, so his top button was always undone, barely hidden by his loosely knotted necktie. Today, he wore a heavy parka, instead of his usual sport coat. He removed the jacket with a lot of grunting and groaning as he entered Dupree’s office. Being so short of stature, and so thick through the shoulders and chest, he reminded Dupree of a little bull.

  “Need some help there?” Dupree tried not to show his amusement.

  “I got it.” Gino’s voice betrayed his frustration.

  “Have a seat.”

  Gino all but threw the jacket into the chair on the right side facing Dupree’s desk and dropped into the other with a huff.

  “So, what brings you in today?” Dupree was sure he knew but wanted to remain casual and as friendly as he could fake.

  With a big puff of exhaled breath Gino, began. “You know, there seems to be some kind of misunderstanding regarding Peggy Grimes’s problem with Kanaal.”

  There it was. This wasn’t a friendly glad hand visit to promote local businesses or drum up clients for his accounting office. This was city politics, and from the man who would do anything for his friends at Kanaal.

  “How’s that?” Dupree began to coil, and like the cobra, there would be no warning before he struck.

  Gino frowned and searched for the right words before he proceeded. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The land that should have easily gone to Kanaal Communications.”

  “Is that what you told them? That it was going to be easy?”

  The mayor looked like Dupree just slapped him across the face. “What? I don’t, I didn’t. Look, I came here to have a nice chat and try and get this misunderstanding all settled.”

  “Oh, good. I was afraid you were here for some kind of civic fundraiser or other.” Dupree smiled.

  Little beads of sweat were gathering on Gino’s upper lip. He wriggled uncomfortably in his chair. “What is it you want?”

  “Me? Nothing. You are the one who came to have a nice chat. This whole ‘misunderstanding’ as you call it, could be settled in the blink of an eye.”

  “There see. I knew we could get this resolved.” Gino sat a little straighter in his chair and for the first time, smiled. “What’s your price?”

  “Oh, there is no price. I just want Kanaal to drop their current aggressive stance, and simply flip their plan over to the other side of their campus. Problem solved. My client is happy, and I don’t have to run up a hefty fee that Kanaal will end up paying. Everybody’s happy.” Dupree thrust his hands in the air and said, “Bellísimo, eh?”

  “What are you trying to say?” The mayor huffed.

  “What I’m saying Mister Mayor, is that there are things more important than money, prestige or power. I can speak from personal experience on the subject. Let me tell you something. This is a great little town. And that’s what it is; a little town. But it isn’t the center of the world, and neither is Kanaal.

  “I spent the first half of my life crushing people like Peggy Grimes for companies a hundred times bigger than Kanaal. I squished them like bugs underfoot. In the end, I won the battle but lost the war. You need to step back, think about what really matters to this town, its people, your place in it, and worry about Peggy Grimes and not Kanaal. Because I know, you matter not one whit to them.”

  A reddening of Gino’s cheeks would have been frightening if he didn’t try to cover his anger with a toothy grin. “You know, your wife has been a welcome and delightful member of our little community for many years. You, on the other hand, are a relative newcomer. We like to do what is right for the community around here. You, on the other hand, seem to have chosen to side with, what shall I say, the more disenfranchised members of the town.”

  “Meaning, Peggy Grimes didn’t vote for you? Or she didn’t have a yard sign?” Dupree interrupted.

  “Meaning if she is holding out for more money, or trying to squeeze the town for a tax break, or…” Gino sputtered angrily, unable to think of another reason Peggy Grimes would not sell.

  “You know, for somebody who tossed away their birthright, you probably can’t understand the love some people have for their land. The feeling of belonging, of building a life, having grandchildren play in the tall grass of summer. That wouldn’t matter to someone who is all about being a big fish in a little pond.” Dupree leaned forward and glared at Gino.

  “You know, I don’t like your know-it-all, big LA lawyer attitude. I may be in a small pond but this big fish can still make things happen. Health violations, labor violations, easement violations, hell, I can come up with enough violations on that little café of your wife’s to keep you swatting flies for years. Now, let me be clear. I run this town. Kanaal Communications is a big deal here. You are not in LA anymore. You, sir, are in the little pond now and as far as I’m concerned, you’re a minnow. If it comes down to you, your wife’s little café, or Kanaal, you both can go to hell and take Peggy Grimes with you. Capisce?”

  “What? Is that the best you got? Let up on the bad Godfather imitation. Your threats are just bluster and hot air. You need to go back to your office, look in the mirror and know you are looking at a foolish little man who just poked a grizzly bear with a stick. I have put my vicious, scorched earth tactics and all that goes with it behind me. It is something I would rather leave in the past. But, if you lift a finger to harm my wife or her business in any way, God help you.” Dupree stood up. “I think we’re done here.”

  Gino Bavaro grabbed his jacket and stood. He tried to give Dupree a tough guy, ‘you don’t know who you’re messin’ with’ look, but Dupree just rolled his eyes and sighed. Gino whirled about and left the office, giving the front door a bit more of a slam than necessary.

  “Well, isn’t he the picture of bluster and drama.” The next client gave a mocking shake of his shoulder and made a goofy face.

  “Oh, stop it, you are too funny.” The other man chided.

  The two men sitting across from Tomi giggled at the joke.

  “I’ll be right back.” Tomi scurried into Dupree’s office.

&
nbsp; “Are you OK to see the next clients? They are about ten minutes early.

  “Yeah, fine. The mayor is a lot less than he thinks he is.” Dupree rolled his eyes. “Remind me, what are they here to talk about?”

  “These gentlemen are looking for ‘copyright information and representation’ for a song they wrote, to quote the more talkative one.”

  “That’s a change of pace. Show them in.”

  Tomi left Dupree’s office and stopped in front of where the two men sat. “Mr. Dupree will be happy to see you now.” Tomi gave her arm a graceful movement and pointed at the door with her hand open and palm up. “Right through there.” Her gesture would have made Vanna White proud. There was no imitation or impersonation of the Wheel of Fortune Queen because Tomi grew up in a home without a television.

  Dupree stood as the two men entered the room.

  “Oooh, kind of shabby chic.” The more calorically challenged of the pair gave a long look around the office. “I’m Roland.”

  “I’m Reggie.”

  Reggie was about 40, maybe. His skin was very smooth, no beard to be seen. He was the passive of the two and waited for Roland to take the lead.

  “I’m Dupree. Please, have a seat. How can I help today?”

  “It’s kind of a funny story,” Roland smiled. “I was shopping in Walmart when I needed a bathroom. I made my way to the restroom. As I approached the stall, I heard the sweetest voice I ever heard singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

  “Stop it!” Reggie protested.

  “No, it’s true. I sat just listening, then before I realized what I was doing, I was singing harmony. No lie. He didn’t even hesitate; he just sang louder. Then so did I. The acoustics in that bathroom were amazing. Anyway, I finished my business, left the stall and there he stood, singing Do You Really Want to Hurt Me, better than Boy George!”

  “Oh, stop it!” Reggie’s false humility was wearing thin on Dupree.

  “I joined in on the choruses.” Roland smiled affectionately at Reggie. “We went to the McDonald’s in that Walmart and have been singing sweet harmony ever since.”

  “Now, tell me about this song.” Dupree shifted in his chair.

  “It’s not just a song.” Reggie leaned forward. “We have a romance novel, a record, t-shirts, mugs, ball caps, and plans for a sequel and album.”

 

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