Chapter 35 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - Waiting for Dawn

Chapter 35 – Waiting for Dawn

An impromptu meeting took place involving our little group. Fenton advised that any further excursion through town would subject the citizens of Kildeer to the unpleasantness and inconvenience that we had already witnessed and experienced ourselves. Additional electromagnetic pulses further into the city’s core could cripple vehicles and disrupt communication systems and city power and lights could also be adversely affected.

“I think that if we could put some distance between the city and this weird electric light show, we might be able to get our vehicles started again.” Fenton’s face looked flushed and I could tell the events of the evening had taken a toll on him.

As for the rest of us, I looked like I hadn’t slept in days, and Clara still had lines from crying visible on her usually placid face. Clara had climbed into the back of the hearse with Joey to check on Frank.  I knew that we had to do something. It was literally a life-or-death situation.

                                                 *      *      *

Frank Calabrese opened his eyes. He experienced a moment of confusion. He was seeing double. He saw the face of Joey Flowers. But this was a much younger Joey than the one he had been talking to before he lost consciousness fifteen minutes ago. The other face was mature. There was a touch of grey around the temples. Some crow’s feet and age wrinkles. Subtle markers of time passage, but he knew it was Joey at a different stage of development.

“Joey?” he asked.

“No. My name is Clara, remember. We explained it before…”

“I’m sorry. Yes, I’m starting to recall it.” Frank smiled. The left side of his face was less responsive. There was a distinct loss of muscle tone.

“Frank, I’ve given the F.B.I. evidence that should take those two cops off the board. We need to get our stories straight before Agent Farrow gets back with his partner.” Joey took Frank’s pulse.

Rico banged on the rear entrance of the vehicles. Clara opened it up wide enough to hear him.

“I’ve talked with Jax and Fenton. There is an abandoned railway that Jax and I used to walk to when we got tired of hacking around town. It runs past an empty pasture. We used to go down that way to smoke dope and watch the stars. Jerry said that if he walks down that track, that the spirits will follow him. It’s only about a mile away.”

“It would get them away from Kildeer. They are wrecking the place with all of that static.” Clara said with concern in her voice.

“Fenton believes that if we can get them far enough away from the vehicles that he might be able to start them up again.” Rico added.

“If we send them that way out of town, I don’t think anything could catch fire out there right now. It has been too wet. I’m for trying it.” Clara reasoned.

Jerry popped his head up from behind Rico. “I can hold them there until dawn. Nobody with a car ever goes down there. There aren’t any ingress roads for miles. Come dawn these noisemakers will be back in their graves.”

Rico looked at Joey. “If you get the hearse started, just go on to the comic bookstore.”

Joey frowned. “I don’t think we have that kind of time anymore. I’ll wait for a bit and try to get this death buggy started. If I can’t, I’ll walk into town and boost a car.”

Frank groaned his disapproval from the back. “Quiet old man. I’m trying my damn hardest to keep you alive.”

                                                            *      *      *

Jerry, Rico and I began walking down the rails leading westward out of town. The spiritual lightshow followed. When we got to the pasture where Rico and I spent part of our formative years shooting bottle rockets into a nearby pond, drinking Dr. Pepper and smoking marijuana. The spirits filled up the area. It was a rowdy group. I felt glad there weren’t any more of the living present to witness the noise. But as it happened, there was. There was one more.

John Farrow tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped back and shone my flashlight in his face. “You gave me a start!” I practically screamed at him.

"A field full of spooks and I'm the one that gets under your skin? Kid, you need to explain all of this to me. It has already been a long night and there it so much I can’t make sense of. How does this connect with the other homicides that have happened over the last few days and… I mean, what is all of this? There is no way I can put any of this into a report. Not and maintain my credibility.”

“How did you find us?” Rico asked.

“How could I not find you? There are firework displays that are lower key than this procession. I saw the lights a block or so down the tracks and followed them.”

“Well, that’s some brilliant police work, congrats.” Jerry emerged from the dark like a gopher popping out of a hole, and patted agent Farrow on the back. Farrow flinched and instinctively went for his weapon.

“Damn it! Don’t do that again. And for future reference I’m not a policeman. I’m with the F.B.I. Special agent John Farrow.” His voice had shot up and sounded a bit squeaky. It was dark but I could tell Farrow had nearly panicked. I suppose a field full of glowing spirits also had something to do with it.

Farrow quickly regained his composure. The special agent turned to me. “You’re Jax, correct? Clara said that was your name at least. I threatened the red-headed kid with jail if he didn’t give up your name. He wouldn't do it. What the hell is wrong with him?”

“His psychiatrist hasn’t figured it out yet?” I tried to answer with a straight face. Good thing it was dark.

Farrow played his own flashlight over my face after that last remark. “Anyway, she said to tell you that the van or hearse or whatever that vehicle is, started and she and her father are taking a friend to the hospital. Did you know Frank Calabrese was in the back?”

"Which?" I mumbled 

"Which, what?" Farrow asked in a tone of irritation. 

"Did I know it was Frank Calabrese or if he was in the back?"

"Either or both...and FYI, I'm running out of patience with you kid." 

“Yes. I knew it was Calabrese and that he was in the back. Am I in trouble for that?” I said dejectedly.

“Calabrese is in pretty bad shape and as for you being in trouble…I haven’t decided yet. You should know, my partner arrested your cop buddies Jennings and Davidson for possession of contraband explosive materials and attempt to endanger the public with homemade explosive devices.”

“They’re not my buddies.” I protested.

“Well, that is a point in your favor at least.” Farrow’s attention was caught by one of the phantoms in the spirit cavalcade.

“Hey, is that Billy Touche?” Farrow asked in amazement. I have some questions I’d like to ask him.

“Ask away special agent Farrow.” Jerry pointed at the supernatural crowd “If you want answers, you came to the right place. I can facilitate that process…until dawn at least! 

Chapter 34 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You - Meet Mr. Farnell

 Chapter 34 – Meet Mr. Farnell

Officer Phil Jennings returned to his cruiser. He attempted to start his car. The electrical system was dead. What was worse, so was the police radio. The police radio was electrically independent from the rest of the cruiser’s electrical systems save for its reliance on the car’s battery.  The high currents generated by the ball lightning created by the spiritual unrest were like a naturally occurring event. A geomagnetically induced current from a series of sun flares. Both the cruiser’s wiring harness and the delicate parts of the police radio had become overwhelmed by the rapid surges of electromagnetic energy.

“Damn it!” Like a spoiled child with a broken toy, Jennings slammed the mic down on the seat of his cruiser. It bounced, nearly rebounding high enough to pop him in the head. He dodged the microphone. In doing so he smacked his head on the roof of the car. He saw small blips of light dance before him that had little to do with the ongoing spiritual light show.

“He is having a bad night.” I observed. "How long does this, whatever-it-is…pulse thingie last?” I asked Fenton. He scratched his curly red hair, looking disdainfully afterwards at what probably was dandruff.

“Maybe an hour. That is, if the pulse didn’t fry the delicate mechanisms of that radio. The cars will be in far better shape than the radios, I’m guessing. It’s all created by all the ambient static in the air. That all seems to be getting more intense with the increasing number of ghosts or whatever you call these orbs.”

“I don’t think the orbs are the same things as the spirits. Can you see the difference between them? I mean do you see the spirits too?” I said curiously. “I wondered, because you told me once that you were an atheist.”

“I told you that I considered myself a scientist. As such, I see large energy balls moving about. I noticed that their movements don’t seem random. Their movements seem to be guided by some intelligence.” Fenton took a beat to clean his glasses with his shirt tail. “Do you see anything besides that?”

“Yes. Some of them look like silhouettes of glowing transparent human beings. If you get close enough you can recognize them. Their features are distinctly human. Some of the newer ones that just joined the procession do look like energy blobs with arms and legs.” I looked back over at Phil Jennings. He had partially recovered from his self-inflicted whack on the head. At least he had gotten to his knees.

“So, we are having unique perceptions of this event, and you are suggesting that it might be linked to our differences in beliefs?” Fenton said in that flat monotone that always seemed devoid of human warmth.

“Yes. Rico sees the newly dead all the time. Even during daylight hours. He hates it. To him they look just like the living.” I felt like this dialogue was moving in a critical direction.

“Why does he hate it?” Fenton asked. As a budding scientist, Fenton always asked the best questions.

“Because it is distracting. He says if the dead notice that you can see them, they follow you around. He finds that annoying...and, oh yeah, the dead don’t wear any clothing.” I explained.

“These energy balls all look like people to you and they are all naked?” Fenton said, trying to sum up.

“Yes, and they sometimes follow him around.” I added.

“I know why they follow him around.” Fenton replied. “People ignore me sometimes too. It’s tough. You want people to notice you every now and then. Being socially invisible must be like being a ghost or really being invisible. It sucks.”

“That makes a certain amount of sense.” I said slowly. “They also follow Jerry around. He sees them the same way as Rico does. But they don’t seem to bother Jerry like they do Rico. He bosses them around sometimes but mostly he treats them like he would treat me or you.”

“Sounds like the reason they follow people around is that they just want to be seen.” Fenton offered.

“Also, they just want to be heard too, I’ll bet.” I felt that I was onto something big. It just hadn’t completely crystalized.

I saw Joey crawl out of the back of the hearse. Rico and Jerry also exited the front of the long black reconverted limo.

Joey walked up to us, but in doing so he seemed to be looking past me and a block down the road at a lone figure. Tall, slim and wearing an innocuous gray and blue government issued wind breaker, walked F.B.I. agent John Farrow.

Clara pointed to Farrow’s wind breaker. It said F.B.I. on the front and back. The only other time either of us had seen one was in the movies.

“The poop is about to hit the fan.” She said to Joey. “What do you need me to do?”

“I’m ahead of this game Clara. Don’t fret.” Joey confidently walked towards Farrow.

She turned back towards me. “Jax, I have to admit, I’m more than a little scared.”

I put my arm around her. “I’m not scared. You don’t need to be either. Come on...He's Joey Flowers, he's got it handled. Right?”

Fenton walked over to where we were. He had been trying to be helpful by explaining what an electromagnetic pulse was to officer Phil Jennings. Jennings was still disoriented from his head trauma.

Clara buried her face on my shoulder and silently began to weep. She then thought better and sniffed. Fenton robotically patted her shoulder. She wiped away a few tears and then said, “Where have you been mister?”

“Trying to talk to officer Jennings.” Fenton replied.

“How did that go?” I asked.

“Not very well. He was rude and used obscene language.” Fenton said disappointingly. “He said he was going to arrest me, but then he staggered around and fell over. Officer Davidson told me to ignore him. Davidson had heard about electromagnetic pulses before and seemed to understand why the cars electronic systems are disabled.” Fenton glanced back over at Jennings and gave him a disapproving look.

Joey returned with Farrow. “Well, he needs to start treating the citizens of this community better.” Joey said as he and Farrow exchanged a package.

“What’s in the package?” Clara asked cautiously.

Joey answered. “The other bundle of C-4 that Sal and I found in the junked cars on the night of the big baseball playoff. They are wrapped in the original plastic with which Jennings and Davidson received it. After we dismantled the explosive detonation devices we found the package. Sal and I gloved up before we touched it. It has Jennings and Davidson’s prints all over it.”

Farrow shook Joey's hand. "I’ll probably also find Alex Coster’s prints on the plastic too. The F.B.I arrested him last week. Coster transports and sells illegal weapons and explosives. He confessed to selling C- 4 to two local cops down here. Now, thanks to Mr. Farnell, we have physical evidence.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

“Wow indeed. My partner is borrowing a vehicle at Happy Meadows. Looks like some odd electrical interference is shutting down the cars in the local area. Probably the damn Russians again. They're behind a lot of techno-weirdness. I’m going to walk this evidence back down the road to meet my partner. Don’t go anywhere until we get back.” Farrow waved us good-bye.

“Mr. Farnell! Really?” Clara’s little eyes bugged out when she looked back over at Joey. She looked at Fenton and laughed. "Techno-weirdo!" 

Chapter 33 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - Static on a Saturday Night

 Chapter 33 – Static on a Saturday Night

A minute before the government car carrying F.B.I. agents Murrey and Farrow crested the ridge leading down to Happy Meadows, I had left with my group of companions. Rico was driving Jerry’s hearse and Jerry was riding shotgun. In the back rode Joey, Sal and an extremely relaxed Frank. We had Carmen sedate him again so that we could easily walk him from his room to the back of the hearse.

Frank was now a bit more verbal now, but I could tell that he needed medical attention. He was a little disoriented and sometimes he would slur his words. I wondered if we had made the right choice with another round of sedation but Frank, even in old age, was a very large and powerfully built guy. I doubt that even all of us together could restrain him if he decided to resist transport.

The spirits of the dead continued to follow us down the dirt and gravel road as we turned onto a two-lane blacktop leading into town. The air around us was charged with energy. Bursts of static electricity were visible and danced on the hood of the hearse momentarily, only to disappear in the blink of the eye. It was both hypnotic and unsettling…as were the periodic sighting of the spirits themselves.

There were more spirits trailing after the hearse now. Many more of them. Perhaps several hundred. Many were physically distorted, often lacking a complete form. They were hazier and more blurred than the ones I had seen earlier. Perhaps these were older spirits joining the more recent ones. These looked more like energy masses with vague human details such as arms and legs. The ball lightning was all around us. The orbs were now commonly two feet in diameter. Some a bit larger. Like glowing beach balls hovering in the night air.

I was riding shotgun in Fenton’s Chevy. Clara was sandwiched between us. We had delayed leaving to hose off pieces of the assassin known as Cutter from Fenton’s car. The carnage was ramping up Fenton’s anxiety more than it seemed to bother Clara and Sal. They borrowed a hose from Happy Meadows and the three of us were able to sanitize Fenton’s car to the point he could climb into it.

During this time, Tony Accardo’s clean up team arrived and removed Zack ‘the Hack’ Coleman’s body. It was this team that assisted some of the residents of Happy Meadows in moving Zach’s odoriferous partner Artie Best outside and placed him under the front porch. Artie was told in no uncertain terms that his life would be forfeit if he talked to the police or F.B.I. about the events leading up to his unfortunate circumstances.

 Joey had a brief conversation with the team. He indicated that we suspected that Frank had sustained a stroke and would be checked by a local medic before being transported up to Chicago. The word would be passed to Tony Accardo.

We followed the spirits of the dead at a speed of about twenty miles an hour. They seemed to now glide along, or more accurately were almost magnetically drawn behind Jerry’s hearse. The flashes of light were so intense at times that you couldn’t even see the vehicle. As the dead crossed a small iron bridge that spanned a tiny creek, now swollen with the recent rain, the entire bridge lit up. It glowed and pulsed as the army of spirits accessed it.

“Look at this!” I murmured as we rolled over the ancient bridge which had been constructed some thirty years before my birth. Static electricity was now arcing between the support structures lighting up the night in brief flashes.

“I don’t see how we are supposed to get to the bookstore without attracting public attention.” Fenton said. He looked haggard and tense. I could tell that he was very “not okay” with the events of the evening so far.

“This caravan is lit up like a Christmas tree.” Clara complained. “I’ve seen Mardi Gras parades that were less conspicuous.”

As we neared the little metro area of Kildeer and the location of the bookstore, Fenton’s car engine sputtered a bit.

“What was that? “Fenton fussed. “I just had this thing tuned up last week.”

“Sounds like your car’s stalling a bit. Clara said. "Maybe some bad gas?" She looked past me, out of the passenger side window at a huge ball of static. It burst. I could hear the pop. It sounded more like a gunshot than a toy ballon rupturing. We both yipped and flinched in surprise at the volume of the explosion. Fenton’s car bucked again but then the engine smoothed back out.

“It might be the “spook show” outside. Maybe static is disrupting the ignition and the timing.” Fenton reasoned. “How many ghosts are in this procession. It seems like there are a lot more of them right now.”

“There might be a few more of them now. I haven’t been counting.” I said slowly, trying to downplay the number. Fenton was already upset and was driving over a series of bridges. I didn’t want to stress him any more than necessary. I had remembered that Rico or Jerry had said that there might be thousands of spirits manifesting before dawn.

“Look at that, up ahead.” Clara took off her glasses and put her face down. “Cops!” she slowly massaged her eyes.

A Kildeer Police Department cruiser pulled in front of Jerry Gonzales’ hearse. The siren sounded briefly and night was pierced with flashing red and blue lights.

“Fenton, drive around them! We can scrunch down in the front seat. You can just let us out a block or so down the street and then we can walk back…like we just bumped into Rico and Jerry. Go home. You don’t have to get involved in this mess any further.” Clara suggested.

“No.” Fenton said bravely. “I’m not bailing out on my friends. If I don’t have my reputation and self-respect, I have nothing.”

Clara gave him a quick peck on the cheek. I could tell that she was feeling guilty about getting all of us into trouble…potentially legal hot water.

“Crap, it’s Phil Jennings.” I shook my head. A second police car did a U-turn on Hastings Street. It stopped by the hearse as well. Tucker Davidson emerged.

Fenton pulled up behind Jerry’s hearse. The three of us got out. Fenton left his car running reasoning that he might have gotten some “bad gasoline” when he filled up at Synder’s Service Station last week. He was hoping to keep the engine running lest he have problems restarting his Chevy.

I felt a tingle all over my skin as the dead spirits separated and surrounded the scene. I realized the static was making my hair stand straight up as I caught a side long look at some of the phantoms.  The static illuminated them only momentarily. But the rest of the light show was brighter and noisier than before.

Both Clara and Fenton wore their hair short. My blonde locks were fully charged by the ambient electricity. "Clara, Look, even my hair is up for whatever happens next!" I laughed.

"Oh my God Jax. You look like a Troll doll." She replied, unsuccessfully trying not to smile.

“You know, this level of intense static energy might be problematic for the entire town.  Fenton said. “I remember something Mr. Tenneson said in physics class one day. It could explain my car problems.” Mr. Tenneson still taught science in our high school. He was probably the smartest person I knew.

“Is it my imagination or do the spirits have an anger thing Jennings and Davidson.” I said it more to hear for myself. More to hear if it sounded crazy than for social validation. But Fenton agreed.

“It’s our emotions.” Fenton deduced. “They somehow are feeding off our emotions and turning it into static electricity.

“I'll bet it’s Frank’s emotions. Clara said. “He hates cops, remember.”

At that precise moment the flashing lights in the police cars stopped. Then they exploded. The police car engines shut completely down. Then I heard Fenton’s car engine stop at the same moment.

Fenton took his glasses off and cleaned them as he looked up with a smile. “An electromagnetic pulse. Mr. Tenneson was right.”

Both Jennings and Davidson ran back to their police cruisers to assess damage and radio for back up. 

Chapter 32 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - Size Matters!

 Chapter 32 – Size Matters!

The drive over to Happy Meadows was on Ohio Avenue which was set upon a ridge that overlooked the valley containing Happy Meadows, the local Ball Park, and the Fair Grounds. From this overlook now both agent Murrey Stanford and agent John Farrow could see the night sky charged with static before they turned to make their descent. The number of disembodied spirits had nearly doubled now and were visible briefly as the orbs of ball lightning discharged.

The phantoms seemed to be rapidly moving away from the main building of Happy Meadows and down an egress that linked up with Miller Road, which led back into town. Farrow noticed a old 1950s model hearse followed by a 1956 blue and white Bel-Air sedan leaving the egress and turning in the direction of downtown Kildeer.

Pulling up to the main building and sliding to a stop on the gravel, the two agents exited their government car and stretched their legs. Stanford looked at the static displays of light trailing after the two vehicles bound for town. It was at this point that Farrow caught a small figure sitting on the ample porch of the main entrance to Happy Meadows’ largest building out of the corner of his eye.

Phyllis Altmire sat in a porch swing. She was clad in Joey Flowers red hoodie. A sawed-off shotgun lay at her feet. A cigarette dangled from her mouth. She was blowing smoke rings into the night air as the two federal agents climbed the porch stairway. Then, Stanford stepped on something soft on the porch. It made a squishing sound and stuck to the sole of his brown loafer. Closer inspection revealed it was a chunk of human flesh.

Stanford quietly revealed his discovery to Farrow and went back to the car to fetch a flashlight. He noticed the drainpipe had been pulled off the side of the building and there was an enormous crater approximately two feet deep in the dirt and gravel driveway. Pieces of the hit man known only as Cutter were scattered all over the front entrance. His head and torso, still attached but not fully intact, lay near the building. A hand, minus the little finger still twitched near an ice pick.

Decomposition of the main portion of Cutter’s body had not yet set in, but there was an unpleasant odor that suggested perhaps a sewer rupture had occurred. It was quite strong and came from a place on the other side of the porch near the detached drainpipe.

“What happened here?” Farrow asked Phyllis, who gently rocked in the porch swing.

“Who wants to know?” Phyllis said calmly.

“John Farrow. F.B.I Special agent, Organized Crime Unit out of the Chicago Main Office. He presented his identification in his left hand in a smooth practiced manner.

“Are you slow-witted agent Farrow, or just being an asshole this evening?” Phyllis said as she took a drag off her cig.

“Huh? I mean what?” Farrow said taken aback by the old woman.

“It’s dark out here. The outside lights aren’t working. We had a power failure. I can’t see your freakin’ badge. Even if the lights were working, I couldn’t see it. I lost my glasses right before the explosion.”  Phyllis looked up at him. Farrow noticed the shotgun laying near her feet.

“My, what a big gun you have grandma.” Farrow quipped, remembering a fairy tale from his youth.

“It’s a twelve gauge. Size matters! Remember, you heard it here first G-man.” Phyllis wasn’t in a playful mood.

There are pieces of a human body all over this parking lot, John. Murrey shouted as he played his flashlight beam over a wider area. “Some cadaver pieces are stuck to the side of the building.”

“What’s that stench? Where is it coming from?” Farrow yelled back to his partner.

“Don’t know yet.” Stanford replied.

“I can tell you.” Phyllis volunteered quietly. “First, do you have change for a five? I’m getting dry sitting out here. There’s a pop machine inside.”

“Are you being cute with me?” Farrow said irritated by her tone as he dug in his pocket for one-dollar bills and/or change.

“You’re not my type.” Phyllis shot back.

“Oh God!” A scream of pure misery pierced the night.

“Who’s else is out here?” Stanford shouted. The flashlight beam played back and forth. Farrow heard someone opening the front door.

“I only have three dollars in change.” Farrow said as he handed the currency to Phyllis.

“You can owe me the rest.” Phyllis answered, shoving the bills into her bra without giving Farrow a five. “The stench is coming from him.” Phyllis pointed over at a figure that was in the deeper shadows. The shouting was coming from Artie Best.

Artie was lying on his side still tied and handcuffed to a chair. He smelled like human defecation. At some point after he was tied to a chair with his hands super glued closed and placed into a utility closet beside his dead partner by Joey Flowers, Artie’s bowels had evacuated. The residents of Happy Meadows had taken a quick vote and carried him outside and placed him under the porch, deciding to wait until morning to hose him off. He was having second thoughts about his career choice.

“Will someone please untie me?” Artie begged.

“Quiet!” Phyllis yelled at Artie. “You’re probably one of the reasons I missed the Carol Burnett Show tonight.

“God Almighty.” Stanford said in a hoarse whisper. “He smells terrible.”

“You think he smells bad? There is a guy in the utility closet with a bullet in his brainpan that could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.” Phyllis chuckled. “I tried to drag him out here too, but he was heavy and nobody else was up for touching a dead body. Bunch of pansies!”

“God! Will somebody please help me.” Artie pleaded.

“I’ll cut you loose if you stay away from me and shut the hell up.” Phyllis walked past Farrow. As she did so, she reached into her housecoat and pulled out a switchblade knife. She flicked it open.

Farrow looked confused and pointed at the weapon.

“Never seen a letter opener before?” Phyllis cackled.  

Chapter 31 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - Not a Typical Saturday Night

Chapter 31 – Not a Typical Saturday Night

“Okay, what did you learn about Mikey Bevins?” The lean man in the grey pinstripe suit asked his driver.

Murrey Stanford scratched his right temple. It was a tell. Murrey had four of them. This one meant that he found out something significant about the investigation. “Well…” He drew the word out. It meant he was in a playful mood. After partnering with Murrey for two years, John Farrow knew that this playful attitude might mean they were close to figuring out what was going on down here in Kildeer, Illinois.

“Mikey Bevins.” Murrey began to recite recently collected intel. “Age, 38 years. Special training in the United States Army. Recon, also cross trained as a tunnel rat. Two tours of Viet Nam. Second tour ended prematurely. Sargent Bevins was sent into enemy tunnels to verify they were unoccupied. The tunnel collapsed on him. He was pinned tight and couldn’t move. It took his patrol four hours to dig him out. He wasn’t alone down there. Viet Cong knew an American patrol had discovered them and had left in a hurry and there were several wounded, and two dead bodies near him.”

“Makes my skin crawl just listening.” Farrow said while trying to get comfortable in his seat. He had long legs. It seemed like the government cars the FBI leased never had enough leg room.

“To make matters worse, just minutes after the collapse, rodents started to consume the bodies of the dead. Bevins said they also started in on the wounded. He could hear them screaming as his patrol tried to dig him out of there.” Stanford continued.

“An experience like that could make a man ‘twitchy’ for a long time.” Farrow mused.

“Bevins was brought back to the states according to Army Psychiatrist Vince Novack. Mikey was later given a psychiatric discharge. I asked Bevins if he still suffered any aftereffects. He said that he was part of a support group that meets several times a week here in town at the local Methodist church.” Stanford looked up to the east. They were just driving around now. Trying to clear their heads and put some pieces together.

“Did you just see a flash off over there.” Stanford pointed to an area close to the fairgrounds and the Happy Meadows Rest Home.

“Maybe lightning. I didn’t catch the weather report today.” Farrow pulled out a set of notes from his briefcase. “So, Bevins is related to Frank Calabrese. Frank is his uncle, correct?”  

“Great uncle, I think. I’m still not certain about that one. But whatever the connection, he is Frank’s only surviving relative. I talked to his parole officer, Don Hastings. I’m getting the impression that Hastings has been incentivized to keep his mouth shut about some of the recent arrangements made after Frank’s prison release." Stanford offered.

“How so?”  Farrow inquired.

“Some of this doesn’t add up. It looks like initially Bevins, more-or-less, had Frank dumped on him by the system. Joliet doctors decided Frank had Alzheimer’s Disease. He had less than two years to finish up on his sentence.” Stanford muttered

“So, they decided they needed the space and a Frankenstein monster of a hit man like Calabrese that didn’t have both oars in the water was a liability. They claimed Frank had enough good behavior on his record for an early release for medical reasons.” Farrow suggested. “Not that unusual.”

“No but, Mikey initially agreed to take on Frank. He recently moved to Kildeer, but he works as a police dispatcher in a town named Durham, just south of Chicago. His salary is meager. But then, suddenly he decides to place Frank in Happy Meadows. I checked on what it would cost. I doubt that Mikey could afford it. Further, I doubt that Don Hastings’ supervisor would approve such a move. I’m calling him tomorrow.” Stanford said.

“Maybe someone else is footing the bill?” Farrow reasoned. “Maybe Mikey is being paid off as well.”

“Mob money?” Stanford suggested. Farrow remained silent. Lost in thought.

“What did you find out about Jaxon Larue?” Stanford asked. “Hey, there it is again. That flash. Not exactly lightning. And I don’t hear any thunder with it.”

“Hey, forget the weather and try to focus here. It looks like we have a mob war going on inside of Podunk Ville, U.S.A.” Farrow cleared his throat. “Larue’s name came up in my interview with Bevins concerning Frank’s whereabouts on the evening James Cody was murdered. He said that some friends of his, um…Jaxon Larue, a girlfriend Clara, and a Rico Gonzales were babysitting Frank at a baseball game because Mikey had a little too much to drink.” Farrow reported.

“Interesting. Mikey didn’t strike me as either a drunk or social butterfly.” Stanford replied.

“I found out that Jaxon’s father ran a diner in town. I popped in and flashed my badge. In a brief interview I found out that Jaxon attends these support group meetings for people with anxiety problems.  They meet at the Methodist church.  Same ones Mikey attends. This guy, um, Dr. Walter Knevins facilitates them.”

“Perhaps a coincidence?” Stanford suggested.

“Doubt it. I interviewed Jaxon’s sister Lisa as well. She mentioned knowing another member of that group. His name was, um, Fenton Cox. A rather odd fellow, that said a recent item of group discussion was whether or not everyone has a mental ‘hit’ list. The group discussion sometimes revolves around the topic of homicide, she said.”

Murrey Stanford scratched his right temple again. Farrow grinned. “Why don’t you interview Dr. Knevins tomorrow. I have his number and the address of his office in south Chicago.”

“You know I will!” Stanford replied enthusiastically.

Suddenly, there was a huge explosion that sounded like it was only a quarter of a mile away. Near the Happy Meadows property.

“I got a feeling this isn’t going to be a typical Saturday night.” Said Farrow. “Let’s roll over to Happy Meadows and investigate.