Flood Abatement Page 3

  Rhonda gave his shoulders a squeeze. He turned toward her. She gave him a peck on the right cheek and danced back to the place where she dropped her robe.

  As she pulled the garment around her, he said, “I watched the movie. It’s worth every nickel.”

  It was Hiram’s money she used to skip back to LA three weeks ago where she retrieved Smith’s film from the editor. She smiled at the accountant. “And, much, much more when we distribute it. We’re talking millions here, millions.”

  “It’s not my area. Do you really think so?”

  “Do some research on ‘Deep Throat’ and ‘The Devil and Miss Jones.’ Big bucks.”

  He smiled.

  “Don’t drool, baby.” She blew him a kiss and went out the door.

  Chapter 12

  At Milwaukee County Hospital Rhonda passed through a gauntlet of police, supervising nurses and a surly security guard to reach the door to Nana’s private room. Rhonda used every bit of self-control to navigate through this bureaucratic clutter. Inside the old woman sat in a hospital recliner, smoking, and watching Phil Donahue.

  Rhonda relaxed and stepped up to Nana, threw her arms around the little lady’s neck. “How are they treating you?”

  After a peck on her granddaughter’s cheek the old gal said, “Pretty good, sugar,” and refocused her attention on the television. “Hang on a moment. I think the little bleached blonde is gonna pop the fat guy in the nose.”

  Rhonda knelt on the floor next to the eighty-three year old, terry bathrobed woman and watched the television. The show cut to an ad and the blonde hadn’t popped anybody.

  “Damn.” Nana kissed her granddaughter on the forehead.

  “How are you?” Rhonda asked.

  “Good, except my neck’s pretty stiff where that bozo clamped his hand on my throat.”

  “Have you had anything to eat?”

  “Yeah, lunch was pretty good. Then again any meal I don’t have to make myself is okay with me. They tell me dinner should be around in a couple of hours. You wouldn’t happen to have a candy bar?”

  “No Nana.”

  The old lady took a drag on her cigarette. “I suppose that means you don’t have a beer either?”

  Rhonda cleared her throat. “What was going on this morning?”

  Nana looked around the room furtively, turned up the volume on the TV and motioned her granddaughter to lean closer.

  “We can’t let them tear down that house.”

  “Why?”

  The old woman grabbed a piece of paper from her food tray and a stubby pencil. “I’ll write it down so you won’t forget.”

  The door swung open and Nana slipped the note into Rhonda’s hand as a female doctor came into the room. She explained that the District Attorney’s office wanted a full work-up on Mrs. Lapinski.

  As Rhonda left the room she said, “I’ll come back tonight.”

  “That’s all right, dear. You do whatever you have to do. I’ll be fine.” Nana winked.

  Rhonda kept the note in the pocket of her dress until she reached Alice’s house. Seated inside she took out the small piece of lime green paper. On one side was a hospital menu. On the other in her grandmother’s shaky hand was written, “Under the dryer.”

  Chapter 13

  On the way out of the office, Helen had given Bernie a registered letter from the Wisconsin State Bar Association. Jolts of anger and fear hit him, but he turned and walked out before she could see his face. The fight with Rhonda had distracted him for a few minutes. He kept the envelope in his pocket while he conducted his interview with the police. Afterward, in the parking lot, he took time to consider what the contents might be. There wasn’t any way they could connect him to that bastard, Judge Filmore. He used gloves to put the money in the envelope and he knew that nobody saw him put the package into the messenger’s pick-up box. They might have the conversation on tape where that shit-bird solicited the cash from him, but just because the exact amount of money showed up doesn’t mean he had anything to do with it. The cash was a campaign contribution, a donation. Christ, this was politics. All the evidence was circumstantial.

  He opened the letter. It said that the case was under review and they would consider it in October. Ha, they were stalling. Good thing it wasn’t his money, because the feds confiscated it. The client, a certain gentleman of Mediterranean extraction, would be pleased, bella.

  Bernie started the Olds 88 convertible and headed to meet Rhonda. He liked days like today when the warm breeze rushed over him with the smell of the fall to come. With the price of gas up to a buck twenty-five, people asked him why he kept driving “The Mammoth.” He loved the car for its memories alone, but he would rather walk than drive a Volkswagen or one of those cheesy Jap things.

  Chapter 14

  Rhonda opened the door of the white Cape Cod on Honey Creek Parkway as Bernie walked up from the street. He drank her in. She wore some kind of red, short sleeved dress that looked like it was painted on her. Could have been silk, but he doubted it. More likely rayon. Well, better living through chemistry, much better.

  Standing there in the early sunset, she looked gorgeous, in an angry sort of way. On the other hand, he hated when that happened. It was like watching a stripper. You really wanted to do something primal and intimate right there. Occasionally, that had been a stupid, sometimes dangerous, impulse when it came to this particular woman. The whole thing must have shown on his face.

  “What’s the matter with you? Too many chili dogs at the gas station?” She turned and went in. “Come on. I’m sure we have Pepto or something inside.”

  Concerning the way his stomach felt, she came close to the mark. He’d take the Pepto and work on the “or something” later. After they seated themselves in the kitchen the silence became uncomfortable.

  “The DA’s going to have the doctors hold your grandmother for observation for a few days, until the feds remove her stuff and knock the house down,” he said

  “They can’t do that!”

  “Well, Sam can delay for a little while, but it will happen sooner or later.”

  Handing him the note she said, “What do you make of this?”

  He stared open mouthed at the green paper. “Don’t order the orange Jello?”

  “No, Bernie, the other side.”

  He turned the hospital menu over and read the message. “What’s under the dryer?”

  “She didn’t say. A doctor came in to examine her before she could tell me.”

  He got up and walked once around the chair. After a call to Sam to ask him to delay the demolition, Bernie sat down.

  Rhonda asked, “Will that work?”

  “Maybe, but Sam might not get in front of a judge soon enough for a court order to stop anyone. Especially, if they move first thing in the morning.”

  “Well, we have to do something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, like, get in there tonight.”

  “Oh, and how are we going to do that?”

  “Well, I bet my sister has a key to Nana’s around here someplace.”

  “And…”

  “And, we can just go over there like we’re making sure her things are okay.”

  “And …”

  “And, we see what’s under the dryer.”

  He thought for a few moments. A feeling of unease was growing in his guts. Something about this entire gig was going to bite him in the ass and her name was Rhonda. “I have a question.”

  “Hmm?”

  “What’s with this ‘we’ stuff?”

  Chapter 15

  In less than five minutes, Rhonda found the extra key to her grandmother’s house. In another ten, they were in front of Nana’s stepping out of Bernie’s Olds 88. The front door of the house was barely open when the flashing red lights of a Wauwatosa cop-car drew their attention back to the street.

  “What do you think your doing?” the man in the squad called.

  Rhonda stepped to the front of the porch
. “We’re just checking on my grandmother’s things.”

  The cop got out, put on his hat and arranged his holster before he took a step toward them. As he walked up the steps he asked, “You got some ID?” While Rhonda dug in her purse for her wallet, the guy eyeballed Bernie, “Say, weren’t you just up at the station earlier?”

  “Yes,” he said, “Same deal.”

  “Show me some ID anyway,” the cop said. He looked at Rhonda’s California driver’s license, then at Bernie’s Wisconsin private investigator’s ticket. “You people can’t be here. I just came over to tape off the house. The Chief wants to keep it secure until we move the old lady’s belongings out tomorrow.”

  “But …” Rhonda began.

  Bernie grabbed her by the arm, took back their ID’s, and headed to the car. “No problem then.”

  “But …” Rhonda started again.

  “Glad you’re on it. Do a better job than we would.” He stuffed Rhonda into the Oldsmobile.

  While they drove up Honey Creek Parkway she said, “Hey, that’s the asshole who manhandled me this morning.” She hit Bernie in the shoulder. “He groped me. You didn’t even argue with him.”

  “What was I supposed to do? He’s got six inches and a hundred pounds on me. Should I even mention the gun? The object is to see what’s under the dryer, not get me beat to a pulp and thrown in jail.”

  “How are we going to do that, smart guy?”

  He shuddered. There was that “we” thing again.

  Chapter 16

  At half past nine Bernie and Rhonda jogged under the street lights along State Street near Nana’s. They turned down 72nd past an empty lot and a boarded-up house.

  “You see any cops?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  They went around the block and cut into the bushes between the Menomonee River and Nana’s. The wet, clean smell of the river hung all around them. From there they peered back out at the street. They stood and sweated from their run through the mosquito filled night.

  “I don’t see anybody,” he said.

  “Me either,” she added. “What are we going to say if somebody finds us?”

  “We could strip off and tell them we just couldn’t wait to get home.” It was plausible and would only take seconds in their summer running gear.

  Rhonda hit him hard with a backhand to the chest. “Come on, let’s go in.”

  Before they had set out on this excursion, he called Sam to discuss the situation. In typical lawyer fashion he said, “Use your best judgment, but don’t do anything foolish.” Foolish is how you felt when you were caught shoplifting a copy of Jugs. Bernie hoped that this little foray didn’t turn out worse than that, but it showed potential.

  Rhonda ducked under the yellow police tape and strained to get the key in the backdoor. A narrow beam from the pen light he carried illuminated the keyhole.

  “Thanks.”

  “Shh.”

  Inside, they turned right and went down pocketed stairs to the old basement. With a sweep of the light, they saw the slip covered washer and dryer next to the concrete slop sink.

  “Take the covers and block up the windows,” he said.

  The front-loading dryer stood on a short wooden platform that raised it a foot off the concrete floor. Working in the glow of the small flashlight, they disconnected the dryer and tipped it over. A close inspection of the underside of the appliance revealed cobwebs and rusty metal. Quickly they examined the platform and came up empty. Then they looked at the old cracked concrete floor.

  “Crap,” Bernie said. “Go upstairs and peek out the windows. See if the cops are around. I’ll look for something to break up the floor.” As she reached the stairs he added, “Keep your head down.”

  She creaked once on the steps and again as she moved around the kitchen. Above him the floor groaned as Rhonda walked toward the front of the house. He swept the flashlight beam over to an old work bench. Nothing on the top of the tool pile looked useful.

  One of the front steps moaned as he squatted to look at the items on the lower shelf. The protest was followed by substantial footsteps on the porch. All he could do was hope Rhonda heard the prowler in time to take cover. While he sweated in the cool of the basement, the footfalls moved off the porch. About the time he was ready to retrieve a pickax, he heard their guest rattled the handle on the backdoor. For a second, he thought they forgot to lock it, but Rhonda had been smarter than that. Bernie felt lots smarter this morning than he did just at the moment.

  His knees ached against the concrete floor while he waited in the silence. There might have been a dull thud that sounded like a car door slamming, but he wasn’t sure.

  From the top of the stairs Rhonda called hoarsely into the dark, “Keagan!”

  “Shh,” was his reply.

  “It’s Okay. He’s gone.” She came down the stairs.

  “You sure?”

  She wiped the sweat from her face with the front of her tank-top. “Yeah, same cop as before.”

  Bernie was mesmerized for an instant by the sight of the additional flesh. “He has a long day. How did you know someone was there?”

  “Heard him climb the porch.”

  “Look, go up and keep watch. I’ll dig.”

  An hour later covered in sweat and streaks of concrete dust, he walked up and touched his tense sentry on the shoulder.

  With a shudder and squeak, she recognized him. “Damn, you almost killed me!”

  “Do you need to change underwear?”

  “No.”

  Bernie waved. “Then, come on.”

  A spot of light showed the area where he dug up part of the floor. The basement was cooler than the upstairs and Rhonda shivered.

  She sneezed.

  “Gesundheit,” he said.

  She sneezed again. “Dust,” she choked then bent down to take a close look the small mound of brown earth and broken concrete that lay next to a hole in the floor. On the edge of the light was a large package wrapped in plastic. “Is this it?”

  “Yeah, where you expecting something in particular?”

  “Ah, no. What is it?” she asked.

  “No idea. Just fished it out.”

  Rhonda knelt next to the parcel and pulled at the heavy plastic with her fingers.

  “Here, let me do that,” he said and began cutting the tape around the wrapper with a serrated pocket knife. In short order a blue Samsonite three-suiter stood in the fading light.

  She pushed it down with a thud and tried to work the latches. “It’s locked. Give me something to break it open.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “Why?”

  “If you open it, what are you going to do?”

  “Ah, take it home.”

  “Lift it,” he suggested.

  She struggled and finally got it off the floor. Breathing hard, she put the suitcase back down. After a few seconds reflection, she said, “Go get the car. I’ll wait here.”

  “And our little friends from the Police Department will drive by as we’re toting this thing out.”

  “I’ve got to know what it is!”

  “You didn’t know it existed until two minutes ago. You’ll live.”

  They stood in silence for awhile.

  “Well, what do you suggest?” she asked

  “Let’s put it some place upstairs. Let the movers take it out tomorrow.”

  She looked at him in the dark. “But …. But…”

  He shook his head. “No buts.”

  In the next half hour, they moved the three-suiter, filled in the hole, replaced the stand and dryer and generally cleaned up the mess they had created. As they stood at the back door about to leave, Rhonda said, “Shit,” and went down stairs in the dark. There was a thud and a not very ladylike “Son of a bitch!” Shortly she limped back to his side.

  “You Okay?” he asked

  “Banged my shin.”

  “What was all that about?”

  “When Nana had us
do the wash, the last thing we did was put the slipcovers back on the washer and dryer. It would have been a mistake not to.”

  “Jesus, did you iron them, too?”

  “Not all the time.”

  “Great, now let’s get out of here. We want to be back in time for the movers.”

  Chapter 17

  On Wednesday morning Nick stood across the street in a magazine shop and watched Nuygen Thom arrive. She parked her car a block away and walked past the open-air café into the restaurant. As he entered he saw her in the back. She wore her hair on the short side, cut at chin level. It was nontraditional and he thought it looked good. He took a seat across from her without invitation.

  “Do you have the cash?” she began.

  “Excuse me. No, ‘how are you? How’s it feel to be out of jail?” responded Nick.

  “I do not particularly care. We need the cash now. What has gone wrong?”

  “Lapinski has the film and the list.”

  “God, you must be kidding. She does not have enough brains to ...”

  “She does now.”

  “What about the back-up?”

  Nick related the activities of the recently deceased Stoutman brothers and the impact on Thom and himself.

  “Nick, this was the sweetest money machine ever and some bimbo from Milwaukee sinks the whole thing. Crap. What are you going to do about it?”

  “I’ll get it back.”

  Thom sipped her tea. “You need to hurry. I ran into Lucerio last night.”

  The cup broke against the wall and Nick’s “Son-of-a-bitch!” occurred simultaneously. Three minutes later he was escorted, face first, to the sidewalk by two waiters and a busboy.

  Thom squatted down next to him. “You will never get her if you do not keep your cool.”

  Nick sat up on the concrete. “Tell the wetback to hold his water.” He stood and brushed off the left knee of his brown pants. “If these fish get away there will always be new ones in this town.”

  “That is true, but we need cash flow, now. We do not have the time to build up another stringer. So get your ass in gear and salvage what you can.”