Flood Abatement Page 8

  Nick made eye contact again. “So what good is this to me?”

  “Hey, I’m not stupid.”

  “Are we gonna vote?”

  Dale twisted the water glass on the tablecloth with the tips of his boney fingers. “I asked around and found she’d got a job in the line here.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, no shit.”

  Nick sat and looked off into space for a few minutes while Dale fidgeted in his chair. His heart pounded and his breath started to come in short gasps. Now I have you!

  “You okay?” Dale asked.

  Nick nodded as he tried to compose himself.

  “So does that help you?” Dale asked.

  Nick got up. “Yeah.”

  “But she doesn’t work here anymore.”

  “What?”

  “She doesn’t work at the Flamingo. She left.”

  “Well, Dale, where does she work?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Nick sat back down.

  “The stage manager said she got an urgent call on Sunday and flew home, wherever that is.”

  Chapter 36

  Regardless of the airline, they all smelled of the same air freshener. To Nick the trip to Milwaukee was a three hour pain in the ass. It took a few hours, but about half past six on a hot summer evening, Nick parked up the block from Rhonda’s sister’s house. That an Olds convertible and a white Caddy parked out front might mean she had company.

  Nick’s head snapped back against the head rest of the rented Matador. He caught some sleep on the plane, but he’d been up much of the past three days. Time for a little pick-me-up. He took two of the pills from the baggy in his coat pocket, a swig of RC Cola, and waited for the surge.

  As the amphetamines kicked in, he gave himself a play-by-play of the events that emerged in front of him. “Well, well, lucky Nick, here comes Rhonda down the front walk. But, she’s with two guys. A guy the size of Montana has her by the arm and she doesn’t act like she likes it. Whoa, he just shook her like a stuffed toy. That settled her down. Hey, big guy do it again for me. They’re going for a ride in the Caddy. Looks like it’s time to get a move on.”

  Chapter 37

  The sky to the northwest turned purple around the lightning bolt. The thunder rolled over the trio as they pulled up to the lot where Nana’s house once stood. A pump banged away next to the open foundation, sending muddy water into the street.

  Rudolph eyed Rhonda while they sat in the residue of the Caddy’s air conditioning. “If you run I’ll snap your neck like a chicken’s.” He turned his attention to Bernie. “Out! Move!” He leaned across Rhonda and shoved Bernie out the passenger door. Rudolph grabbed her by the bicep and dragged her from the car.

  “Hey, that hurts,” she yelped.

  Bernie could smell the ozone in the air. “Rain’s coming.”

  “Get the pick and shovel out of the trunk and get busy,” Rudolph said.

  The place where the bulldozer turned up Waldoch’s body and broke the foundation was muddy and slippery. They made their way into the sloppy divot - the only way into the basement. Rudolph elbowed Bernie forward. Sliding down the slope, he made it to the mud scummed floor with only one fall on his ass. His suit was ruined, but it was a cheap one. Rudolph stood at the top of the crease holding Rhonda by the arm.

  “Get busy,” he yelled over the hammering of the pump motor.

  Bernie glanced up at him then began scraping the mud off the floor to locate the place where the clothes dryer used to be. The sky over Rudolph’s left shoulder went gray-green as lightning flashed inside the clouds. The first strike of the pick brought a report from the storm that told Bernie the weather was closing in. Big drops began to fall as he shoveled the wet dirt out of the hole. Another shovel thrust was greeted by a clank from beneath the ground. Rain stung him as he pulled at the metal box to no avail.

  He walked to the side of the basement and waited for a blast of thunder then called, “Hey, numb nuts get your ass down here!”

  The monster from the South Seas appeared at the top of the mud crease. Rhonda was clearly suffering from the grip Rudolph maintained on her arm.

  “What?” he yelled down.

  “I found a box.” Bernie spit the rain out of his mouth. “It’s too heavy for me to pull out.”

  The Samoan shook his head and pushed Rhonda down into the crease.

  “Son-of-bitch!” She slipped and fell on her back, then got up and continued down into the basement.

  Rudolph followed with heavy steps, seeking firm footing in the muck while destroying a pair of oversized alligator shoes. He pushed Bernie out of the way, grabbed the box and pulled it out with a single yank. He handled it like an evening bag as he shoved the box into Bernie’s gut. Bernie staggered momentarily under the weight.

  “Let’s go,” Rudolph squeaked over the hiss of a lightning bolt. He emphasized his request with jerk of his right thumb over a blast of thunder.

  The trio proceeded to the broken foundation with Rhonda in the lead. She started up the crease dragging the shovel as Bernie hefted the box over the broken wall into the mud. Rudolph brought up the rear.

  After the grimy struggle up to ground level, Bernie sat on the box while the rain pummeled him. He gasped for breath and stared at Rhonda’s feet. Why had she brought the shovel up from the basement? Their captor’s smiling face appeared above the crease. The blade of the shovel disappeared from its resting place next to Rhonda’s mud covered legs. It went whistling past Bernie’s ear and was followed by a loud clang as it struck Rudolph on the left side of the face.

  The monster’s eyes crossed momentarily as another hiss of electricity stretched across the sky. He shook his head. Rhonda swung her weapon a second time and found her mark. Rudolph went down.

  She yelled “Let’s go!”, but her call was drowned in the thunder that rolled around them.

  Bernie shook his head. “What?”

  She yanked on his arm. He staggered to his feet then bent to pick up the box. As he struggled to rise with the weight, he saw Rhonda’s feet disappear and heard her shriek. He twisted his head and saw Rudolph standing with his gigantic right hand around her throat. Rudolph’s face did not betray any emotion.

  “Shit,” Bernie groaned, picked up the short-handled shovel and hit the mammoth in the side of the head.

  Rhonda dropped from his grasp and fell into the mud like a discarded double cheeseburger box. The same calm eyes focused on Bernie as the monster turned in his direction. Bernie swung another time, but Rudolph blocked the shovel with one enormous paw. The tool bounced from Bernie’s grip and fell in the pit. The big man and he stood for a moment looking down into the muck as the sheets of rain pounded them.

  Rudolph thrust an arm in Bernie’s direction so slowly that Bernie was able to dodge the probe even in the slop. The trick, as he saw it, was to keep away from the dazed but menacing Samoan until Rhonda could get away. Rudolph blocked the path to the car so Bernie headed toward the river. Crashing through the bushes he came to the stone walled banks of the Menomonee. The river ran high from the rain over the past few days, but now it was roaring with the added downpour.

  In the moment that he stopped to turn down the bank, Rudolph caught him. Without a choice Bernie lurched in the direction the big guy was heading. They dropped into the flood. The grip on Bernie went slack as they hit the water. He fought from under the bulk above him as they were swept away with the current. He freed himself and moments later washed up onto a flooded road. Clutching a tree in chest deep water he gasped to catch his breath while Rudolph’s monstrous body floated down toward Lake Michigan.

  Chapter 38

  The air conditioner wasn’t worth a shit. The damn thing was loud and couldn’t get close to cooling the apartment, but his old man wouldn’t let him open the windows. So Stan sat on the low stoop in the front of the building and watched the thunderheads build in the northwest. He finished the second last fag in his pack. The air was still and humid. He rested h
is bare, boney elbows on his knees. Lighting danced between the clouds as he dug his Zippo out of his shirt pocket.

  He was about to light up again when a white Caddy pulled down 72nd Street. It stopped across from the wrecked basement where the Lapinski house used to be. A brick shit house of a man climbed out of the driver’s side then he pulled out the suit and the chick. Interesting. Stan put the cigarette behind his right ear and his lighter in the pocket of his cutoff shorts. He hurried along in his flip-flops to the side of the abandon house catty-corner to the group. Big drops splashed on the street.

  When the group came out of the hole Stan’s eyes fixed on the box that the suit carried. “Holy shit! There it is.” He hardly noticed the fight. Unconsciously, he stepped out of his hiding spot as the trio crashed into the bushes. Stan hit the ground as the hottie returned to struggle with the box. She quickly gave up and drove off in the Caddy.

  The rain came down hard as Stan got up to take a closer look. He lost a flop-flop when he fell in the mud, but saw the prize as he lay there in the rain. Lighting sizzled over the tops of the trees. The soggy cigarette fell from his ear.

  Minutes later he was dragging the metal cube behind his ’78 Chevelle. His ol’ man stood in the rear door of the eight familypicking his nose as Stan skidded into the parking lot.

  He stepped from the car and hollered at his father. “Leon, gim’me a hand, will ya?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I just saw three people fighting over this here box.”

  The two men used a plank as a ramp to slide the 50 caliber ammunition box into trunk of the Chevelle.

  “What now?” Leon asked as Stan slammed the truck closed.

  “I need a beer.”

  The ratty pair turned and saw scrape marks on the pavement that ran from the road up to the car. They walked out to the street and looked at the trail that ran down the blacktop.

  “You better get out’a here,” Leon said. “I’ll stick around to see what happens.”

  Stan made it down 72nd to State just as the Caddy turned from Chestnut and raced up to the Lapinski lot.

  Chapter 39

  Nick tailed Rhonda and her companions then parked on 71st. Though he was easy to spot, his targets were too wrapped up in their own mission to notice him. The rain obscured much of the action going on in the mud, but he did get significant vicarious pleasure when the big guy decked Rhonda. The box, however, was the most interesting thing about the entire incident. At least Rhonda thought so as she tried to drag it over to the car. She couldn’t budge it and quickly gave up. He could have stopped her as she ran off to the car, but he wasn’t about to step out in all that mess. Better keep an eye on the box. It could hold the photos or the movie she stole, but most likely it didn’t because it wasn’t large enough. The monster and the skinny guy were gone as Rhonda took off though the flooded street like her hair was on fire. Well, he knew where she lived. Now was the time to get the box.

  Hold it. Hold it. Who’s this jerk-off now? Looks like a drowned rat walking upright. And, what’s he doing with my box?

  Nick fished two more uppers out of his baggie and popped them in his mouth.

  Chapter 40

  The water where Bernie stood was almost stagnant compared to the torrent twenty feet to his left. He was on the parkway, south of the Menomonee, about a mile down the river from Nana’s house. He slogged through the hip deep water. Tires shrieked as he reached the 68th Street bridge. Rhonda got out of the Cadillac.

  “Where were you? What happened? Where’s Rudolph?” she asked.

  “I think he’s dead.” Bernie got into the car. “Do you have the box?”

  “No, it’s back in the yard. I couldn’t lift it.”

  They sped in silence back to the spot where Nana’s house had been. Rhonda was tense and he was nearly comatose from his fight. He hardly noticed they’d stopped until she shook him hard.

  “It’s gone.”

  “Where was it?” Pain crept into his body.

  Rhonda pointed to a pile of debris from the house. “Right there.”

  With reverence for his pain, he got out and began to turn over pieces of broken boards and miscellaneous trash. “It’s not here now.” He straightened up and winced.

  “Keep looking!”

  “It’s not here. Did you see anyone hanging around?”

  “No!”

  The leaves rustled, dropping the remains of the storm on them. The sound of a door closing caused Rhonda to turn and look at one of the remaining structures in the flood abatement area, an eight family apartment. “I didn’t know anybody was living there.”

  There were four cars in the lot next to the two-story building and lights shone in six of the windows. Without a word they walked through what was left of the wet, unmowed lawns. Half dazed, Bernie crossed to the parking lot driveway, but Rhonda stayed in the street.

  “Hey!” she said. “Come here.”

  He sighed and walked back to her. “What?” He struggled to focus his thoughts on something other than the aches in his body.

  She pointed to drag marks gouged in the blacktop of the street. They followed them with their eyes into the parking lot. A quick jog brought them to the point where the gash ended.

  “Damn it!” she said.

  “Think it could be someone who lives here?” he nodded toward the apartment building.

  She said, “Sure,” and went in the front door.

  He searched the names on the mailboxes. The building smelled of garlic and mildew. “What was ‘ice picks’ name?”

  “Who?”

  He put his hands on his hips and dropped his chin to his chest. “The dead guy in storage, the place where the cops put Nana’s stuff.”

  “Oliver,” Rhonda said.

  “No, last name.”

  “Chubituski”

  Bent over by the pain in his back, he scanned the eight mailboxes. He rested a muddy finger below the penciled address label. “You think Leon in 2A could be related to him?”

  She took a quick step toward the stairs before he grabbed her by the arm and put an index finger to his lips. The stairs creaked a single time as they climbed. They skulked down the hall to the door of the apartment in the southwest corner. From the racket coming from inside they need not have been so careful.

  Bernie stepped back to the flimsy iron railing on the landing and began a rush at the door of 2A.

  A voice inside said, “Where’s he taking the box you old turd?”

  Rhonda said, “Knickerbocker?”

  Bernie hit the door with everything he could muster and it exploded out of the frame. It fell on the floor and he went right on top of it. An old guy who looked a lot like “ice pick” sat on a beat-up kitchen chair while a short guy in a wrinkled suit threatened him with a large, black revolver. The sight of the weapon shifted Bernie’s whole system out of its stupor and into high gear.

  The short guy said, “Rhonda.”

  She whirled out of the doorway as he fired a blast from his pistol in her general direction. The bullet lodged in the wall. He let go of the geezer’s greasy T-shirt and ran for the open door. Bernie tripped him as he passed. Another shot boomed out as he bounced on the floor.

  The short guy, or Knickerbocker as Rhonda called him, was small and quick. Bernie couldn’t jump on top of him before the guy was on his hands and knees. Bernie grabbed for the gun hand with both of his as the little man hit the floor again. He elbowed Bernie in the side without much effect because of his short arms. The pistol discharged again as Rhonda ran down the stairs.

  Bernie’s left ear was millimeters away from the firing chamber when the shot went off. It was like somebody stuck a knife in his skull. Bright lights went off in his head and he let go of Knickerbocker, who twisted out from under and stepped into the hall. Bernie lunged at the short guy, butting him in the kidney with his head. The smaller man fell against the railing with enough force to break it free and topple onto the stairs below.

  Bernie stood
and looked at the troll as he lay facing the first floor with the six-shooter still in his grip. Needing a weapon, Bernie tore a support from the shattered railing and staggered to the top of the stairs. Knickerbocker got to his knees as he picked his way over the rubble. When Bernie reached him he was almost fully erect so Bernie smashed the wrought iron support into his back. The cheap metal bent and the blow propelled the little man down to the first floor.

  Knickerbocker staggered around the corner and down the hall to the front door. Bernie hit him with a flying tackle as he reached the stoop. They both flew out onto the sidewalk. Bernie’s knuckles scraped along the concrete, but Knickerbocker’s body took most of the blow. The pistol went flying into the street as Bernie jumped on top of his opponent. The short man twisted, kicked and squirmed from his grasp. After the tussle with Rudolph and another with Knickerbocker, Bernie wasn’t ready for any more action.

  Sirens approached as Knickerbocker picked the gun out of the muck in the gutter and pointed it in Bernie’s general direction. Two attempts to fire the pistol failed. “I’ll get you, you mother fucker,” he said as the blood from a scalp wound ran down his nose. He jumped into the brown Matador at the curb and sped away.

  Bernie had wrung the last bit of energy out of his beaten body. Rhonda dragged him into the Olds and they took off for the freeway. The box wasn’t at this apartment. No sense hanging around for the cops. They wouldn’t understand the explanation. Semiconsciousness arrived to dull his pains.

  Chapter 41

  Not counting the past two days, the last time Bernie saw Rhonda she put the keys to the Olds in his hand, slapped him hard across the face, and said, “Get the hell out’a my life. You’re more trouble than I can handle.” She turned and stepped onto a bus bound for Las Vegas.

  He saw it all in his mind’s eye as he drifted between passed out and stumbling home. That was eight years ago.