Flood Abatement Read online

  Chapter 50

  Nick sat in his rented Matador coupe lurking from the supermarket parking lot. He watched Stan pass by with the box and realized it was the guy from yesterday in the muddy lot. The chump looked like he was going to bust a blood vessel right in front of Nick. El Chumpo would make better time if he dropped the box, but that was obviously not his intent.

  A loud scraping sound caused Nick to look up at the intersection. An Olds 88 convertible raced north up Chestnut from the intersection. The driver looked like his Rhonda. It was Rhonda, hellcat granddaughter of old lady Lapinski. She had two passengers. The old man from the altercation in the apartment sat in the backseat, with her escort from yesterday in the front. Nick adjusted his sunglasses. This was interesting. The runner staggered out of sight as the car made the turn on squealing tires.

  Nick sat for a few minutes before deciding to cruise the neighborhood to see if he could get a hint of what was going on. Suddenly, the Olds came past again and turned right toward the apartment building. Rhonda was going slowly enough now that the back end did not scrape as it crossed the railroad tracks.

  It took half an hour for the two men to get into the apartment building, with one being a gimp and both of them hollering. Inside the building, Nick found the right apartment just by listening to the men yell at each other. He took a place next to their broken door and began to eavesdrop.

  “Why’d you hollered gun, you coot?”

  “It got your attention without a lot of stupid questions.”

  Someone lit a cigarette with a kitchen match. “He didn’t have a gun.”

  “How the hell do you know?”

  “He threw a can of soup at me.”

  “Well then, why the hell did you run? You had the gun. You can’t run for shit, smokin’ like you do?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Well, fuckin’ eh, now they have the box.”

  “We just gotta figger a way to get it back. You sure that cellmate of yours said there was gold in there.”

  “Not just gold, but rare gold coins.”

  At that point the conversation stopped. Nick thought it was time to make a move. He wanted to know more so he stepped into the vacant doorway. Stan and Leon sat at the kitchen table. At the sight of the two losers, he considered dropping the entire thing, but just for the briefest moment. “Hi boys, I see you’re having an exciting day. It appears you have a small problem.”

  The older, one-legger spoke first. “Beat it, asshole.”

  Without straining his smile, Nick walked in and shot his right fist into the groin of the younger man sending him to the floor where he wet himself and lay in a semiconscious state. It was against Nick’s principles, such as they were, to abuse the infirmed, but these guys talked real money.

  “You think I can help now, cracker?” Nick asked.

  “Have a seat,” Leon said.

  Nick sat in one of the metal chairs. “Okay, pop, tell me the story.”

  Leon rubbed the white stubble on his boney chin. “Could you get me a beer from the fridge?”

  Nick got up and opened the old refrigerator. A cauliflower lay browning next to a six pack. He held his breath and brought out two cans of Old Milwaukee. He gave one to Leon, then looked around for something to wipe the spots off the top of the other. Unable to find anything cleaner than the top of the can, Nick left it unopened on the table.

  The gimp took a gulp of beer and made introductions. “You a cop?”

  Given his short stature, no one ever accused Nick of that before. “What’s it to ya?”

  Stan gulped his beer. “We haven’t broken any laws.”

  “But, you’d like to, wouldn’t you?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “If there’s any money in it.”

  Nick smiled. “Is there?”

  “I think so.”

  “Tell me more.”

  Leon pointed to a cupboard over the refrigerator. “There are some chips in there.”

  Nick brought the crumpled bag to the table. Leon stuck a handful in his mouth followed by a slug of beer. He offered the open bag to Nick, who held up his right hand to decline.

  Leon swallowed. “Okay, this has to be just between us.”

  “Sure.”

  “No really, there are millions to be made here.”

  “What’s the down side?”

  Leon took another chip. “We could end up dead or in prison for the rest of our lives.”

  “How many millions are we talking about?”

  “Four, maybe five.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Well, one maybe two.”

  Nick squirmed in his chair and leaned back. He hated relying on these two idiots for anything even if there was potential for easy money, but with Lucerio breathing down his neck he needed cash. “Maybe you better give me the whole story.”

  “I’m gonna need another beer,” Leon said.

  Nick pushed the unopened can across the table.

  “Rhonda’s grandfather …”

  “That’s the corpse they found in old lady Lapinski’s garden.”

  “What?” Leon rubbed his greasy fingers across his dirty blue T-shirt. “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Hmm … No, I don’t think so.” He drank more beer. “Doesn’t sound right. Anyway, Rhonda’s grandfather was a cell mate of mine in Joliet years back. He got crossways with some PRs down there. The night before he was going to be released on parole they were gonna shiv him. ‘Cause I worked in the administrative offices. I heard about it and got him out a day early. Saved his no-good ass.” Leon took a sip of Old Milwaukee. “Two months later I’m out and I look him up. He’s in Waukegan working at some carwash. We go out and celebrate. He knows I saved his boney butt, so he gets all sloppy and grateful. He’s gonna cut me in on the deal of the century.”

  Stan moaned from the floor, but didn’t move.

  Chapter 51

  Bernie’s shoulder hurt. Someone shook his shoulder.

  “Wake up. Are you okay?” Rhonda asked.

  He groaned.

  “Come on. Get up.” Rhonda knelt over him as he opened his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  It was cool where he was and not that uncomfortable. He gave some consideration to staying put. He twisted his head to the left and found that he lay on his back on his kitchen floor. The sun shone in the window. It must be afternoon. He wondered which day.

  “Say something.”

  “Where is it?” he asked.

  She pointed down at his feet. He propped himself up on his elbows to check. For the first time he took a good look at the box they expended such effort to recover. It was about a foot and a half high and eight inches wide. Painted olive drab, the worn yellow lettering stenciled on the side read, U. S. Army 50 CAL. A rusty chain went round its width and through a collapsible metal handle. The lid was held in place by a latch on the front.

  “You look like crap,” she said.

  Between the fight with Rudolph and chasing down Stan and Leon, all his reserves were spent. He recalled that he let Rhonda drive to his place because the shakes had set in on him. They had dragged the metal box out of the Olds 88 and into his house. Between then and now everything else was black.

  He leaned toward her and squinted at her face. “You’ve got a knot on the side of your face the size of a golf ball.”

  She touched it and winced.

  They were both covered with dirt and sweat. She had dried blood on her right knee and a grass stain on the other. A wave of exhaustion swept over Bernie and he closed his eyes. “Aw shit.”

  She touched his forehead. “Don’t you pass out again.”

  He got to his hands and knees and stopped.

  “On second thought, you need to rest.”

  “A shower should bring me around,” he lied. A two day nap would have been better, but the shower would have to do. What he really needed was to keep an eye on her.
/>   She smelled her right armpit. “Yeah, a shower would do both of us good. But, then right to bed for you.”

  “What about the box?”

  “I’m not going to run away with it. Get moving.”

  He stood, staggered to the back door and locked it. “No intruders.” He left a trail of clothing as he made his way to the bathroom.

  “Hey,” Rhonda croaked.

  “What?”

  “You got any tools?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where?”

  “In the kitchen, but wait till I get out before you start on that thing. Okay?” The pain of moving, plus his exhaustion, had knocked all the curiosity right out of him.

  “Okay,” she said.

  The hot water of the shower splashed down on his aching neck and shoulders. “Oh, God this is good!” He sat in the tub, leaned his head against the tile and dozed.

  The first shot didn’t register, but he was awake and running into the kitchen at the sound of the second. Rhonda stood over Nana’s box with his .45 automatic. The air smelled of burnt gunpowder as she took aim again.

  “Stop!”

  She turned at the waist toward his voice. “Sharp dresser.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Opening the box.”

  “I thought you were going to wait.”

  She swayed then regained her balance. “It’s Nana’s box. I’m curious.”

  Her eyes weren’t focused on anything in particular. He shook his head. “Couldn’t you use a hammer or something?”

  “I suppose.” She showed him the gun. “But, this was in the tool drawer and it seemed more efficient.”

  “Now I have two bullets in my floor.”

  She looked down. “Yup, but they’ll buff out.”

  He took a good look at her face. It sagged with fatigue. “Put that down. You’re as out of it as I am.”

  She laid the pistol on the counter. The realization that he was wet and naked in a room with a woman holding a gun caused certain fantasy-based hormonal reactions to express themselves. He looked around for something to cover himself and grabbed a dish towel from the counter.

  Someone buzzed the bell at the back door. He looked at Rhonda and put his right index finger to his lips. Whoever was there knocked, waited, and then pounded on the door.

  “Bernie, are you in there?” his next door neighbor called.

  He shrugged at Rhonda. “Yes, yes Mrs. Mauer I’m in here.”

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Sure, why do you ask?”

  “Didn’t you hear that?”

  He came close to the door. “Hear what?”

  “Sounded like shots.”

  “No, no I was asleep on the couch. You woke me up.”

  “You didn’t hear it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay,” she said without much conviction.

  He chanced a look out a window and saw Mrs. Mauer glancing up and down the alley as she went back to her house.

  Rhonda shrugged in response to his sour expression. He took another look out on the porch to check if his neighbor was hanging around on the alley. She wasn’t. “Well, did you get it open?” he asked Rhonda.

  “Yes.” A tarnished brass lock lay broken on the floor. Rhonda straddled the container and strained against the latch to no effect. She slumped on the floor next to their prize. “You try.”

  Bernie put his knee on the top and pulled at the latch with some movement. He slid off and sat on the floor.

  “Try again,” she encouraged.

  He examined the box. The lid had a cracking rubber gasket and the latch was rusty. “Three-in-one,” he said and opened a lower cabinet door. Rhonda steadied herself and took aim at the box once more.

  “No!”

  She turned her head toward him. Her eyes were half closed.

  “That won’t work.” He held up an oil. “This will.”

  She relaxed as he came over and oiled the latch.

  “This could take awhile. Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll sit with the baby.”

  Rhonda looked at the box, then at him, then at her reflection in the mirror on the wall.

  “For the moment the box is stronger than both of us,” he said.

  “Okay, join me?” It seemed like the polite thing to say.

  He smiled. “It’s a terrific thought, but I feel like I’ve just been put through a meat grinder.”

  She extended her lower lip for dramatic impact.

  “A rain check? I’d hate to start something I couldn’t finish.” Ha, she didn’t trust him not to run with the box. “You’re crazy, Rhonda,” he laughed. “I haven’t got the strength to steal this thing.”

  She winked and walked toward the bath with a bounce off the kitchen doorjamb as she went.

  Chapter 52

  Bernie twitched under the weight of her hand. Rhonda touched him, lightly running her fingertips over the purple and blue bruises on his chest. He was dressed in some blue and white striped boxers and lay half asleep on the bed.

  While toweling her hair Rhonda whispered, “Oh, Bernie.” She selected a blue and yellow rugby shirt from his closet. The green box and the oil can stood on some newspaper next to him. She took a tug at the latch which seemed to resist as mightily as before then sat next to him.

  She got off the bed and applied another helping of oil to the latch, tossed her wet towel on the floor and crawled in next to him. He moved into her and fell back into a stupor. She began to snake a hand along his stomach and under the elastic of his boxers and brushed one of the bruises.

  “Yeow! Shit,” he yelped.

  “Bad idea.” She settled in to nap.

  Chapter 53

  Rhonda sat in the dark on Bernie’s couch. She looked out the bay window at the silent street and pulled a green blanket around her. The white glow of the few lights on the neighborhood street cast soft shadows among the parked cars. She was back in Milwaukee. How the hell did she get here? It was complicated. No, it was simple. Her roots, her family, or what was left of it, was here. Shit, once again, she’d fought guys on the banks of the Menomonee River with Bernie.

  A car door slammed somewhere out in the night and she leaned forward to see who it was. A dog barked farther off.

  She rested her chin on the back of the couch. “Mr. Keagan, what am I going to do with you?” She’d known him most of her life. He should just be a good friend, a surrogate brother, but he was more.

  Each time she never meant to have sex with him, but there was something about the way she felt when she was with him. Though the sex was excellent, it wasn’t the sex,

  “Damn!” she exhaled. Was it that intense? It shouldn’t be. That wasn’t the plan. Shit, she never expected to run into him again after LA. How much betrayal can one relationship stand? Life will come up out of nowhere and roll over you. She felt a deep need to be with Bernie.

  She stood and turned toward the stairs, then saw the man in the car. He was across the street. It wasn’t the man, it was the glow from the tip of his cigarette. Was he watching this house? She got down on her hands and knees and crawled to the window to look out. Couldn’t tell. Still, on her way upstairs, she went into the kitchen and got the pistol out of the drawer.

  Chapter 54

  Hours later he emerged from the bathroom with a paper cup in hand. The bedroom was dark. He threw three brown pills in his mouth and washed them down.

  She rolled on her stomach and asked, “How ya doin’?”

  “Near death.”

  “What’d ya take?”

  “Ah … coated aspirin.” He sat on the bed.

  “Could I have some?”

  He stepped back into the bath and returned with a medium-sized glass bottle. She poured four in her hand then washed them down with his glass of water. He flopped back in bed as she put the bottle and the glass on the night stand. She stroked his shoulder as he slept.

  Later he said, “I suppose we should see how our green friend is do
ing.” He stood, put his knee on the lid and both hands on the lever. He pulled. The latch creaked and moved. “More oil!”

  With painful effort she squatted next to the box, oilcan in hand. She squirted lubricant in the latch and it moved some more.

  With a screech and a twang the latch released. Bernie fell back on the bed. Rhonda grabbed the latch and pulled. The gasket ripped apart as the lid opened. They peered inside. Something was wrapped in an old Army blanket. They tipped the metal box on its side and slid the contents on the floor. When they unwrapped it, they found another box made of a dark, shiny wood. Rhonda knelt next to him as he opened the lid. A discolored felt cloth lay on top of the contents. She pulled it back. The information came in, but their exhausted minds took extra time to process it.

  There was a tray with six rows of coins, each in a little translucent paper envelope. One by one they began to remove the coins from the container and examine them. Most were U.S.. Fourteen were foreign. Nine were gold, including a 1932 Double Eagle. With the fifty-six coins laid out on the floor, the green felt tray in the wooden box was empty. They leaned back against the bed.

  “So,” he said.

  “Exactly.” Rhonda knelt over the box. The shirt she wore rode-up giving Bernie a view of the bottom third of her bare glutes. “What do you think they’re worth?”

  His lewd interests in her must mean that he felt better. “Priceless,” he said.

  “You think so?”

  He pulled his mind back to numismatic concerns. “Difficult to tell with coins.”

  “It should be easy to check out.”

  He looked at the Baby Ben on his night stand, eight thirteen. “But, not until morning.”

  She sat down cross-legged next to him. “Shit.”

  He put his left arm around her slowly so that he could stand the pain in his shoulder as he made his move. “You hungry?”

  She twisted her face to his. “Sure, what do you want to eat?”

  Chapter 55

  “Well, at least we have to show Nana,” Rhonda said.