Chapter 26 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - They Gossip a Lot

                                   Chapter 26 – They Gossip a Lot

It’s funny what flashes through a person’s mind during emergencies, although I don’t remember ever being in one quite like this. In what could only have been a scant period, perhaps a second or two, I remember thinking that this had started out to be a fine fall evening…or would have been, minus all the violent distractions.

A faint, cool fall breeze was in the air. There was a nearly full moon in the sky. It was the kind of evening where the world seemed to hold its breath. If I hadn’t gotten entangled in, well, whatever this social catastrophe you might want to call Clara’s obsession with Frank and Joey, the evening might have been damn near perfect.

Yet, out of that perfect stillness, ripping the peaceful veil of the evening asunder, came the low, uneven roar of an engine pushed far too hard. Then the vehicle approached. And as I stood next to Rico, I noticed that Fenton was missing. I looked back at the large four-wheeled monster coming towards us. I could still hear Sal screaming at me. I looked down at the shotgun in my hands.

My mind raced as I raised the gun and aimed at the tires. You see this stunt all the time in the movies, but does it work? Is there a trick to it or is it just Hollywood magic. Is ‘shooting out the tires' just a cinematic requirement in an action scene like effortlessly kicking a locked door in? Is it some fiction that scriptwriters perpetuate, I wondered? I was on the threshold of finding out.

Then the vehicle slowed down a bit. It started to veer to the left of the rest home lobby. Another sixty yards or so and it would have cleared the visitor parking area and ran over the curb. Beyond that the Happy Meadows complex was a scant fifty feet. My finger was on the trigger of the shotgun when Rico forcefully pushed the barrel down. 

"Don't shoot!" Rico cried. But the gun went off.

The noise was deafening. My eyes beheld a large divot that I had blown in the Happy Meadows dirt and gravel parking lot. The recoil from the shotgun knocked me backwards. I stumbled trying to regain my feet. I’m not a very big person. I only weigh about a buck and thirty cents in change. I hit one of the roof’s rain pipes hard.

It was then that I heard Fenton scream. He was above me. Rico, in a state of confusion, looked around for Fenton while trying to help me off the ground. I dropped the shotgun in the grass. We both looked up to see Fenton clinging to the drainage system tightly above us.  

While Rico and I were preoccupied with the oncoming car, Fenton must have climbed up the pipe like a monkey. He was nearly to the roof. Although Fenton hardly weighs more than I do, the drainpipe was starting to separate from the building. Slowly Fenton fell away from the roof and had to surrender his grip at the last minute.

Fenton finally surrendered to gravity and fell about six feet into the parking lot. His letterman’s jacket got scuffed but he seemed to be uninjured. The drainpipe, however, continued to descend in a perfect trajectory to collide with Fenton’s mother’s car. There was a loud crash and scraping sound.

I couldn’t make out exactly what Fenton said when the drainpipe scraped the surface of the restored classic car. My ears were still ringing from the shotgun blast. He spent the rest of the evening trying to think of how to spin the story to his mom and the insurance company.

Sal put his gun back in his shoulder holster and he backed away from the vehicle as it started to slow.  As the vehicle rolled in a large circle, nearly tipping over once again, I noticed that this wasn’t an ordinary car. I could see only the silhouette of the driver. He was slumped forward as if he was exhausted. The vehicle was a hearse.

It was an old hulking thing. I could see it’s dull chrome and long black body. It was made to solemnly glide down the street, not tear around a country road like a wounded animal.  

“Holy Hostess Twinkies,” cried Rico. “That’s the Jerry mobile.”

It was true. Slumped at the wheel was Jerry Gonzales, necromancer extraordinaire, still wearing his beat-up cowboy hat and ratty blue bathrobe.

“Jax, do you know this guy?” Sal asked. Then he eyeballed Rico suspiciously.

“Yes, this is Rico Gonzales and that, over there, is his Uncle Jerry.” I signified. “I’ve known both for several years.

“Why is he in a hearse?” Sal said, still trying to figure out if this weirdness was some sort of threat. We approached the hearse.

“Uncle Jerry is a brujo and a holy man that administers to the needs of our community. He is a healer and legally can perform burial rites. He bought the hearse three years ago for advertising purposes.” Rico explained. “He has a driver's license, but admittedly, even sober, he never was a very good driver.”

“What is Jerry doing all the way out here?” I asked. “You said he was watching wrestling on television at home.” I was puzzled.

“I’m afraid that was my fault. After I called you, I left a note telling him where I went.” Rico hung his head.

Fenton came over. “Actually, that was a very responsible thing do.” He tried to reassure Rico.

A very drunk Jerry Gonzales mumbled something in Spanish. I leaned over to him. I was close enough to smell his breath. He was very intoxicated. I checked the interior of the hearse for containers of alcohol. I couldn’t see any. Jerry mumbled the same thing again.

“What did he say?” Fenton asked.

“How should I know?” Rico replied.

“I thought that you spoke Spanish.” I said rather confused again.

“I do. But I don’t speak drunken Spanish. He is really out of it.” Rico snarked. “Jerry, speak English. Jaxon is here and he can’t understand you.”

“You said that you were going over to Happy Meadows. The dead told me you might be in trouble. They said that somebody was murdered there tonight. I came as fast as I could.” Jerry’s words were slurred and he fought to maintain consciousness.

“Murdered? Was he that dead guy with the newspaper that was sent to kill Joey Flowers? Um, Zach something-or-other.  I spaced his last name I guess.” I said, trying to put some pieces together.

“Who is Joey Flowers?” Fenton asked.

“A friend of Clara’s.” I answered. “I don't understand how anyone could already know that there is a dead body inside Happy Meadows?”

“The dead can instantly communicate with each other in our community. Frankly, I’ve always found it annoying. But it’s true never-the-less.” Rico said. “And let me tell you, they gossip a lot.”

“Is there is a dead guy inside there?” Fenton yelped.

“Yep!” answered Rico. “Right now, I can see his ghost staring at us through the window.”

Fenton waved at the window, waggling his fingers.

“Stop it, you’re just encouraging him. You should be grateful that you can't see him. By the way, I’m not going in there. There is no way!" Rico pointed at the window. "Come on. Help me get Jerry in the back of the hearse. I'll put a blanket on him so he can sleep it off."   Rico said sternly.  

Chapter 25 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - Once More, With Feeling

           Chapter 25 – Once More, With Feeling

Joey glanced at Clara. She peeped around Artie Best’s head. Artie tightened his grip on his pistol, not because he thought he might use the gun to escape the situation he found himself in, but because he didn’t want Joey to see how badly his hand was starting to shake.

Joey assessed the situation and a great sadness washed over him. He felt responsible for the events of the evening up to this point, but now he had a sense that things were spinning out of his control. He needed to reassess what he was doing,

“Clara, please put the gun down.” Joey’s voice was calm but commanding.

“Not until he drops his weapon.” She insisted. A second later Artie slowly bent over and put his pistol on the ground.

Clara’s face was now completely visible to Joey. Joey Flowers was an expert at reading faces. Ask anyone who ever played poker with him. He was a master. Right now, he stared at a bead of sweat on Clara’s forehead. She had turned pale. Her eyes were dilated. She was terrified, yet she managed to remain calm enough to control her voice and maintain a clear head. He was proud of her, but he was wrong to give her permission to carry a weapon and lead her into this situation.

Joey didn’t realize how headstrong Clara was nor how vested she had become in the task of protecting Frank. If he allowed this to continue any further, he knew he would be responsible for bringing Clara into his own world. He was on the verge of corrupting her. It would be a complete violation of “The Code’ Frank had taught him. He needed to step back and reexamine his own moral compass.

Joey looked at Artie. “Okay, just kick the weapon over to me.” Joey remained standing behind the couch that the dead Zach Coleman was still sitting on. Zach’s arms were still supported by a thin nylon rope. Shreds of newspaper were still superglued to his fingers. The remaining pieces fluttered with the breeze provided by the ventilation system. As the torn newspaper moved with the air currents Artie was able to see Zach’s weapon, still in the dead man’s shoulder holster. His eyes widened.

No longer having Clara’s weapon pressed against his neck, Artie obediently kicked his gun over to the apparently unarmed Joey. He noticed that Clara had started to relax and had placed her gun at her side.

The kick Artie made was purposely weak. His gun spun and only moved half of the distance between himself and Joey. Artie gestured. It was a nonverbal ‘oops’. He looked at the gun still resting on the floor. He waited for Joey’s response.

When he moves from around the couch, Artie thought, “I’ll make a rush for the gun. I’ll be close enough to pick up my weapon from the floor and kill them both. His gun was fully loaded. It contained six shells. He decided he would kill the girl, Clara, first before she could raise her weapon. It should only take one or two bullets. Then he would use the remaining ammo to kill Joey. For a second he imagined what it would be like to be recognized as the man who killed the infamous Joey Flowers.

But Joey didn’t move at all. He simply looked disappointed at Artie. “Listen carefully. Your life depends on this. Do not bend over. Once more, with feeling, I want you to kick that gun under this couch.” Joel declared.  

Artie looked over at Clara who had now raised her weapon. “Don’t look at her.” Joel commanded. “Believe me. I’m your biggest worry right now.”

Artie reassessed his position. A new plan formed in his mind. He would kick his gun under the couch. In doing so he would feign tripping forward. This would place him close enough to reach Zach’s gun in his shoulder holster. He would then be nose-to-nose with the unarmed Joey Flowers. Close enough to easily kill him. Artie didn’t think the girl would risk shooting at him for fear of hitting her partner.

A moment of doubt raced through his mind. Why wasn’t Flowers armed. Was the girl really so very deadly with that small gun that he felt no need to carry a weapon during the confrontation? If so, maybe she really could take him down in proximity with Flowers, her partner. Was there a third operative lurking in some shadow of the lobby not illuminated by the auxiliary lighting system?

Impulsively, Artie decided to roll the dice anyway. He kicked his gun hard. It flew under the couch. As if in a high school play, he faked stumbling forward. Achieving a grip on Zach’s weapon he straightened up and triumphantly drew it. Artie pointed it at Joey and pulled the trigger. Clara screamed and raised her weapon.

The gun pulled from the shoulder holster made a dull, mechanical click.

“Why does every newbie I meet think I’m an idiot Clara? It’s not loaded.” Joey said emphatically to Artie. He then pulled his own .38 that was tucked between the couch and the dead Zach Coleman.  He held it inches from Artie’s face. “Sucks to be you, newbie.” Joey grinned.

Clara caught her breath. She looked at Joey. Joey could see that she was tearing up. “I’ve got this sweetie.” Joey coaxed. “Why don’t you check on Frank and untie Carmen. Let her out of the closet. it’s not locked.” Clara nodded in agreement and moved off down one of the hallways. “Oh, and bring back the rope we tied her up with.”

                                                               *      *      *

Outside of Happy Meadows Rest Home, Fenton closed the door to his mother’s classic chevy and duck walked back over to us. Rico and I remained crouched in the shadows next to the side of the main entrance.

“You look ridiculous when you do that.” I teased him.

“I was trying to stay low and stay out of the lights. I didn’t want to crawl around on my hands and knees. You know…because of dirt and germs. Fenton confessed. He held his inhaler in his right hand.  

“I didn’t realize you had asthma.” Rico said, as Fenton put his inhaler into the pocket of his letterman’s jacket.

“It’s not bad. My asthma seems to be seasonal. Better to be safe than sorry though.” Fenton patted the pocket where he put the inhaler

I looked at his jacket. “Why are you wearing that? You didn’t letter in anything in High School.”

“Yes, I did. You probably don’t remember. I was one of the managers for track and field my senior year. You would have been just a freshman then.”

“Lettering for managing instead of participating, huh. Isn’t that like a consolation prize?” Rico asked.

“The coach said I was handy to have around with the ole stopwatches. Could keep track of seven guys at the same time. Worked out the average of the distance runners individual times at practices with my trusty slide rule for the coach.”

“How come I’ve never seen you wear the jacket before.” I remarked while noticing some more headlights coming up about a mile down the highway leading in from town.  

“I wore it for a couple of months when I first got it because I thought the jacket might be a chick magnet. But it turns out when I explain how I lettered, the jacket had just the opposite effect. But it’s our first cool fall night, so I thought, why not. A coat is a coat.”

If nothing else, I always admired Fenton’s ability to be pragmatic, move on, ever forward with his life.

Rico looked up at the approaching car lights too. “That joker is really hauling ass.”

It was true. The vehicle made the corner turn heading towards the rest home and nearly tipped over in doing so. Then the driver straightened the car out and gunned the engine.

Sal came around from the back of the building, looked up and started firing at the vehicle.

“Jax, he’s going to ram the building. Shoot at the tires.” He shouted.

“Huh?” was my witty reply.

“With the shotgun!” Sal screamed as he continued to fire at the wheels of the oncoming car.

“I looked down at the 12 gauge that I was holding.    

Chapter 24 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You - He's Not Supposed to Be Here

Chapter 24 – He’s Not Supposed to Be Here

The car that had just pulled in idled in the parking lot for a brief period. It looked familiar to me. Both doors flew open and both occupants, driver and passenger stepped out of opposite sides, pausing to stretch and converse. This seemed a strange tactical way to begin a frontal assault. Neither of them seemed to be armed. Sal relaxed his grip on the Mosberg and lowered the barrel.

“He was just being an asshole. He didn’t mean what he said. I really hate it when he drinks.” A familiar voice said. “Thanks for coming over so quickly.” The larger bear-like figure brushed his shaggy long black hair out of his face. He was clad in a red hoodie. It was Rico.

“It was easier this way. Jerry’s place is hard to find if you’ve never been there before. Whoever Jax was sending would probably just get have gotten turned around. This way we can all go over to the diner together.” It was Fenton’s voice. I knew that car was familiar. It belonged to his mother. Fenton had been trying to save up for a car of his own, but he kept blowing the money on comic books and other crap he really didn’t need. The car in question was really a sweet ride. It was a 1956 blue and white Bel-Air sedan. A classic.

“Hey, it looks like there has been a power failure.” Fenton observed. “The lights are all out.”

I turned to Sal. “The two guys are friends of mine. I called the big one just a while ago. They were going to go out to eat with us and help out when we move Frank to another location. What do we do now?”

“Call them over here.” Sal said.

“Fenton, we are over here.” I shouted. Then I thought better of it. I looked at Sal. “Maybe I shouldn’t have shouted.”

It could work to our advantage. They don’t have a count on how many of us are outside or inside now.”

“How many of them are there?” I asked.

“Technically just two. The ones that came in the tan station wagon. Newspaper guy and the other who drove up with him.”

“So, the other guy cut the power line.” I reasoned.

“Exactly. Funny though. Places like this usually have auxiliary lighting systems. You know, like backup generators that kick in during storm blackouts.” Sal handed the shotgun to me and drew a .45 semiautomatic from his waistband. Suddenly lights came back on in the main lobby but not the parking lot.

“There they are. The back up system must be a bit sluggish for some reason.”

“They just built this place last year. Maybe they don’t have all of the bugs out of it yet.” I conjectured.

“Could be. I’m going around back. The power coming back on might spook this other guy. I’m going to take advantage of his confusion. Take the other two into the lobby and wait for me. I’ll just be a few minutes. Let me know if any others come.”

I swallowed hard. “Are we expecting others?”

“Usually, they have two cars in a situation like this in case one car breaks down. Plus, Joey’s called Tony about this mess. Tony’s sending some guys. Just keep you head down and don’t call attention to yourself.” Then Sal moved off. I noticed that he was pretty spry for as large as he was.

“Cripes Jaxon! What are you doing with that thing.” Rico pointed at the shotgun I was now holding. I was crouched now in the shadows holding this massive 12 gauge weapon. Rico crouched down beside me.

“I have no idea.” I muttered. “We need to get inside. What are you doing here?”

“Jerry was being a jerk. He got drunk and was watching Captain Zap’s All-Star Wrestling on channel 7. He wanted to practice the atomic butt drop on me. I couldn’t wait for the ride you sent me. I needed to get away from him, so I called Fenton.”

Fenton came over and crouched beside us. “Why are we crouched in the dark?” he asked. I briefly gave them both the synopsis of the potential trouble brewing.

All Fenton said was “Oh.” Then he said, “I forgot my drink and my inhaler. They are in the car.” Fenton then proceeded to duckwalk with great precision over to the chevy, open the door, and finally, dig around the interior looking for his inhaler. The cabin light on the roof of the car illuminated both his and our presence outside Happy Meadows.

“Madre Dios, Fenton. Hurry up!” Rico hissed.

                                                                 *      *      *

Artie Best had tagged along with Zach ‘The Hack’ Coleman on this, his first job reluctantly. Zach was supposed to eliminate Frank Calabrese. He was supposed to wait until Frank was alone and put a bullet in his brain pan. They weren’t getting paid enough for the complications they had already endured, in his opinion.

As Artie crept through a side door, he shook his head. Zach must have been crazy, he thought, to try to take a professional like Frank down in a place like Happy Meadows. A place with dozens of witnesses, Then, who of all people shows up but Joey Flowers. Nobody had told them. He was just the driver on this expedition. He was new and he was plenty nervous.

Once he had cut the power to Happy Meadows, he thought Zach would be in and out. Now, as he approached the lobby, he saw Zach reading a newspaper. “What the hell?” He saw that there was some old lady talking to Zach. He approached cautiously, gun drawn,

“My son-in-law got a promotion yesterday.” Phyllis Lawton said with pride to the man with the newspaper. She looked up at Artie. Phyllis daintily waved at him. Artie, perplexed, waved back.

“Zach, are we done now?” Artie said to Zach nervously.

“He’s not supposed to be here.” Phyllis said.

“Shut up.” Artie said to Phyllis. She seemed to take it in stride.

“Zach, I said are we done here?” Artie was yelling now.

“I’d say he is, at least.” Joey Flowers popped up from behind the couch Phyllis and Zach were sitting on.

In a state of disbelief, Artie kept his gun on Joey and approached Zach, who still held onto his newspaper with both hands. He tried to pull the paper away from him. It tore. His fingers were superglued to the paper. His arms were held up by a nylon rope that was wrapped around his neck. The sofa supported Zach’s back.  There was a bullet hole in his forehead and a corresponding exit wound in the back.  

Artie gasped and then felt the barrel of a .25 caliber semiautomatic in the back of his neck.

“Don’t move. It’s good advice. Don’t be foolish like Zach was. Clara’s voice was firm.

Clara had remembered Frank had taken the small gun away from Danny’s nephew Norbert after the kid dropped it several days ago in Larue’s Diner. She had found it in Frank’s trench coat.

“He’s not supposed to be here.” Phyllis said again.

“Tell him why Phyllis.” Clara said.

“Because he’s dead.” Phyllis answered.

Joey smiled. “Good work!” He handed her a small roll of bills. She snatched them up and stretched. “Easiest money I ever made.” Phyllis seemed to have ice water in her veins. She went back to her room. 

Chapter 23 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - Coffee and a Story

                 Chapter 23 – Coffee and a Story

In the minutes before the lights went out at the Happy Meadows Rest Home, Clara and Joey were in the apartment of a newly admitted Frank Calabrese.  Frank was in a deep sleep in a comfortable bed down one of the longer hallways, some distance from the main lobby. The light coming through the crack in the bedroom door played over the scars on the head of the six-foot five-inch hitman for the Tony Accardo mob.

Clara remembered doing extensive research on Frank’s life, at least the public records that were available. She had researched several diaries of prisoners that were institutionalized in the Chicago prison system at the same historic periods that Frank was present. Clara approached the sleeping giant and looked at the grotesque scars rippling over his forehead. She remembered reading accounts of how they came to be. Accounts that differed slightly. So much of Frank’s personal history had become criminal justice mythology in his brief time on earth. Clara felt like her new relationship with Joey Flowers had given her a strange and unlikely opportunity to get to know Frank in ways that few others did.

The door to Frank’s bedroom creaked a bit. It was Joey. He came through, opening the door slightly with his elbow while holding two mugs of coffee. The light from Frank’s small living room allowed her to see the beverages were still steaming. He moved with the grace of a nimble house cat.

Joey handed Clara a mug. “I didn’t know how you took your coffee, so it’s just black. Nice set up in the kitchenette. They have a coffee maker and a microwave in the apartments.”

She took the mug and nodded. “Happy Meadows is new. They just finished construction on it last year.” Clara stared at Frank’s scars.

“He got those when he was in Joliet Correctional Center.” Joey said while looking down. He blew on his coffee.

“I know. He was locked up with Sterling Hoffman. They were cell mates for about two weeks.  He gave them to him in a fight. It was back in the fifties.” Clara said after she took a sip of her coffee.

“Want to know what really happened between Frank and Hoffman?” Joey asked.

“Yes. Most assuredly I do. Clara took another sip of coffee.

“Well, Frank was a pretty scary guy at the time. He had a private cell until they decided to throw him in the same cell as Hoffman. Hoffman was…”

“He was a rapist and he killed one of his victims.” Clara stated.

“Exactly. He was shunned by the general population. Frank had been quietly doing his time up to this point. Hoffman had this annoying habit of cracking his knuckles. He was also wheezing in his sleep and keeping Frank awake. Frank requisitioned for a new cellmate but was denied.

Day in and day out Frank endured the knuckle cracking and wheezing. He became sleep deprived. Finally, he asked Hoffman to stop cracking his knuckles. The guy said something stupid to Frank. Frank wouldn’t tell me what it was. Anyway, Frank grabbed Hoffman and broke his wrist. But Hoffman had a shank. He went to work on Frank’s head with it. It was a mess. The guards saved Hoffman at the last minute. Frank had him by the throat. They were both slick with Frank’s blood. It took the surgeons most of the night to sew him back together. Then, Hoffman was moved to solitary and Frank had another year added on to his sentence. When he was released, he had those scars. He never said much about them. Just went out a bought a hat to cover them up.”

Clara shook her head. “Not what I was expecting but thanks for the story. This isn’t bad. Is this instant?” Clara remarked.

“Joey laughed. Yeah, I travel with packs of it. The coffee is usually shit at some of the places Sal and I have to travel to. If you leave me your address I can mail some to you. Other things too. Things that Frank might need if he stays or comes back to stay here.” Joey looked up at Clara and gave her a weak but hopeful smile.

“You think he will be safe here if he comes back?” Clara asked with some surprise in her voice.

“I’m optimistic about the possibility. Enough that I’ve paid Happy Meadows so he might be able to stay for a year. Also bribed his parole officer.”

“Clara snort laughed. “What happens now?” she asked.

“I am establishing a backstory with the staff, explaining who Frank is to the staff and administration…so he doesn’t have to.” Joey confessed.  “Right now, they think he is my uncle by marriage and that you are my daughter. It will allow me to visit frequently, at least while I’m between jobs. You would be compensated for dropping by to check on him when I’m on the road. When things slow down, I’ll talk specifically about salary. Don’t say no until you hear my offer. It is considerably more than you might imagine.” Joey set his mug down on the nightstand. “There is an Alzheimer’s unit twenty miles from here. He will need to be moved there eventually. We can worry about that later.”

“That is a lot to think about.” She held out her hand to him. They shook.

“Good enough for now, then. Hey, you seem to know a lot about Frank already.” Joey’s brows furrowed.

“I did a research paper on him in college. I got an “A” on it.”

“Frank will be impressed. I know I am.” He smiled.

“What would I tell him after you leave? He still thinks I’m a younger version of you.” Clara looked concerned.

“Best to tell him the truth. Let him do what he wants with it.”

“What would the truth be? I need to know that we are on the same page.” Clara’s eyes bore into his.

“The truth is, I’m going to work his contracts and mine for a while. I’m replacing him. He trained me to do that. I’m sending his pay back to you. You are my daughter and I am providing for both of you.” Joey wasn’t smiling. He was not blinking. His intentions were not jest.

“I’m your daughter.”  She challenged. “Don’t play me!”

“If you agree to care for Frank. I’ll be a good provider. We start with that and see where it takes us.”

“Fair enough. Are we in a tight spot right now? No more hiding the truth from me if we are family from here on out.” Clara demanded.

“Yes, but I’m ahead of it. I made some calls to Reno and Vegas. Tony said one of his lieutenants is trying to disrupt the organizational structure. I’m a Made Man in the organization. So is Frank. He is trying to remove both of us.  That is a definite ‘no-no’ organizationally speaking.

Tony has sent help. This asshole in question that is trying to kill me is named Bobby Moretti. He has sicced some of his guys on us. They are already in town. We need to survive until the cavalry comes.”

There was a knock at the door of Frank’s apartment. Jax had pounded on the door and said something, but Joey couldn’t make it out. Joey motioned to Clara to stay in the bedroom with Frank. She looked over at him. He still slept on, peacefully.

The small hitman gracefully produced his .38 from his shoulder holster and proceeded to the apartment door. Clara frantically went over to Frank’s closet and fished through the pockets of his trenchcoat and found what she was looking for. She put it in the pocket of her windbreaker. She looked up at Joey.

“Frank is still asleep. I’m coming with you.” She said firmly.

“Not a good idea.”  Joey countered.

“You need more people watching your back right now than you have available. You also have no experience managing Jaxon. He can be a bit much sometimes.” She replied.

“Okay. Come on then.”

At that moment the lights flickered and then failed.  

Chapter 22 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - I Always Thought of You as a People Person

  Chapter 22 – I Always Thought of You as a People Person

I walked back over from the small row of three pay phones and a single house phone in a nook off the main lobby of Happy Meadows. I noticed two lone figures in the lobby. A man, face hidden by the newspaper he was reading and a woman who was perhaps eighty. She was doing crochet work and talking quietly to the man. The man seemed intent on reading his paper as he was completely mute and nonresponsive to the woman’s idyll comments about weather, news, and the upcoming national election. I assumed she was a resident having a one-sided conversation with a visiting relative. I crossed the main lobby and went outside to talk to Sal.

Sal was posted up by the door. He was leaning against the west wall of the main lobby smoking. The night was mild, but weather reports indicated that cool, fall-like weather would occur after nine ‘o clock this evening and continue until morning. Sal made a minimal nod in my direction. He was wearing a brown fedora and a long gray overcoat.

“What was with these guys and their 1940s attire?” I wondered. Maybe their choice of clothing would make them blend into a crowd in Chicago, but here in Kildeer they drew the eye. Frank and Sal might have well been wearing a sign around their necks that said “gangster”. Joey seemed to be dressed more appropriately but even his clothing seemed to be camouflage. It didn’t seem to fit his personality. I could easily imagine him in some urban bistro telling jokes to a crowd of wise guys while wearing a shark skin suit.

“Hey Jax.” Sal said. His voice was rough but non-threatening. “Could you go to the car and get my smokes? This is my last one. He bogarted the butt on the large porch floor. Then he thought better about the action and bent over. He picked up the still smoldering cig and straightened up. He then dropped it into a large can filled with sand that seemed to serve as a repository for cigarette butts.

“You smoke kid?” Sal asked casually.

“No sir. My father discouraged it when I was growing up.” I replied.

“Smart fellow. It's a nasty habit. Hard to quit and it is getting more expensive every day.” Sal gave me a half smile.

“Best to keep on trying to quit. My dad always said it's the small things that can kill you.” I said looking back at Sal. He had a faraway. look in his pale blue eyes.

“There is another thing I need from the car. It is wrapped up in plastic in the trunk.”   

I bobbed my head and started down the steps to retrieve Sal’s cigarettes from the gray sedan.  I looked back at him to ask him for the car keys. He reached into his pocket of his coat and tossed them to me.

I looked out over the parking lot. I noticed five small mounds of gravel near the parking area. I didn’t remember seeing them before.

“Hey Sal. What's with those little mounds in the parking lot?” I signaled by pointing to them.

“What about them?” Sal remarked.

“Were those there before? I mean, when we arrived. I bent low to scrutinize one them.”

“Very observant. They were not.” Sal replied.

“What do you suppose made them?” I asked.

“I’m a city boy. Chicago. Born and raised. You tell me.” Sal said deadpan.

“Probably moles or gophers.” I awkwardly guessed. I continued to the car and found Sal’s cigs. Then I unlocked the trunk. Wrapped in black plastic was a Mosberg shotgun. The stock had been sawed off, and the wrapped bundle was slightly longer than two feet. It was heavier than I thought it would be when I picked it up. I carried the items back to Sal.

He put his cigarettes in his left coat pocket. There was a thong on the shotgun. Sal pulled a leather cord up from around his neck and attached it to a metal clasp at the end of the thong around the gun. On the interior of the right side of his coat there was a deep, custom-made pocket. He slid the gun into it. On someone my size it would have been quite noticeable and caused me to lean to one side as I walked. On a man of Sal’s stature, it was nearly undetectable.

“Expecting visitors?” I whispered.

The visitors have already arrived.” Sal said quietly.

I nearly panicked. “When? Who?” I stammered.

“One came in while you were on the phone. He pulled up in the tan station wagon with another guy.”

“Does the receptionist know about them?” I asked nervously.

“You should really get to know the names of the folks you interact with. Yes, Carmen knows. Right now, she is tied up in a utility closet. I always thought of you as a people person Jax. Phyllis knows too.

“Who the hell is Phyllis?” I blurted out. I guess a lot can happen when you are on the phone and not 'shmoozing' in the lobby.

"Walk through the lobby again. Glance at Phyllis. She is crocheting and keeping an eye on one of them. I’d introduce you but I need to keep an eye on the front door.” Sal explained.

You left Phyllis talking to a trained assassin?" I said as my eyes bugged out of my head.

"She isn't in any real danger, relax. Joey saw to it." Sal explained.  

“Did you tie up Carmen?” I said in disbelief.

“Yes. It was Joey’s idea. We did it before the visitors got here. Don’t worry. She isn’t tied up tight and we didn’t lock the door. She can get loose if she wants to. The closet is a safe, out-of-the-way spot for her. We gave her a choice between that or calling the cops and she chose the closet. I guess she used to date one of the local cops and broke up with him recently.”

This seemed like a dream to me at this point. “Why isn’t Phyllis tied up in a closet?” I asked. My brain felt a bit numb.

“She has that phobia. What do call it?”

“You mean claustrophobia? I stammered.

“That’s the one. She’s on our side too. Just like Carmen. Phyllis is the person that will signal the rest of the residents and tell them it is safe to come out after we leave. Joey is trying to keep everybody safe until we can move Frank out of here.” Sal explained.

"And both of you are okay with the guy reading the newspaper?"

"He's just minding his own business for the moment. I need to focus on the front entrance." Sal said. "Look, if you are really worried about Phyllis, go help her keep an eye on him." 

I got up and walked through the lobby right by the guy silently reading the newspaper. Phyllis was still chatting him up. She was droning on about her son-in-law. As I passed, she silently and comically mouthed “He isn’t supposed to be here!” I didn’t know what else to do so I gave her a thumbs up and returned to the front door and Sal.

"Well, newspaper guy and Phyllis are getting on alright? I presume there were no problems." Sal said without taking his eyes off the parking lot.

“Yes, I guess. It's just..."

"What? Out with it!" Sal said.

"Well, frankly, I’m disappointed in you.” I said softly. There were car lights pulling into the parking lot.

“Well, sometimes it’s a disappointing old world.” Sal said as he withdrew the Mosberg and pumped a shell into the shotgun’s firing chamber.

“What else aren’t you telling me.” I asked. But it was more of a rhetorical question.

“I’m an open book kid. Ask me anything.” Sal flashed a quick grin at me as he kept an eye on the car that had just arrived. Suddenly the car driver turned off their lights.

“I suppose that a gopher probably didn’t make those mounds out it the parking lot.” I speculated.

“You’re a quick one.” Sal laughed.

Then the power in the Happy Meadows Retirement Center went out. We were plunged into darkness.