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.