| |
Frank was drifting somewhere between sleep and consciousness. The masked man stood at his door and knocked. Frank floated above the figure and saw clearly the automatic weapon held behind his back. Frank tried to open his eyes, knowing the knocking was trying to wake him. He managed to sit up when the second knock came. He sat on the edge of the bed and wiped the sweat from his face, feeling sick from the terror of the dream.
He heard a car start, and he staggered to the window, groggy from sleeping so long. There was no mistaking the green Volkswagen backing out of his driveway. “Monica!” He yanked at the window and then remembered he had locked those on the second floor also. By the time he unlatched the window and raised it, the VW beetle disappeared down Cedar Street.
With the window up, he could hear shouting and the sound of splintering wood from the direction of the crack house. Monica would be there about now. He jerked on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. When he opened the front door, he saw Henry and Ruby leaving the house. They were dressed for church, and Henry held Ruby’s hand as they came out the door.
Frank ran to the middle of the street. “Something’s going on at the crack house.” He could see flashing lights on the corner. He could also see Monica’s car stopped by the curb just before the police cars.
Henry walked to the middle of the street. “Thank God, they’re raiding it. Maybe this’ll end the mess down there.” His face broke into a huge grin. “I gotta get to church and say a prayer for the forces of good.” He grabbed Ruby’s hand and escorted her to the car, which stood clean and shining in the driveway and ready for their Sunday morning drive to church.
Frank shook his head. Nothing could deter Henry from Sunday morning church, not even a raid on the crack house. He turned and began jogging down the street until the pain in his legs caused him to slow to a walk. He was halfway there when Monica pulled out and drove past the police cars. Frank waved his arms, hoping she would see him in her rearview mirror, but she drove on. “Damn!” he murmured.
He stopped on the opposite side of the street from the crack house. It was quiet inside, and he could see Mary Williams looking at him through the front window. A faint smile crossed her face, and she shook her head slowly. “You honkys should have known better,” she seemed to be saying.
A stocky policeman with a bull neck and red face plowed through the rubble of the front door, followed by another officer leading a dog. “Son of a bitch,” the stocky officer said. The second man said something Frank couldn’t hear. Four more policemen came out empty-handed. They stood talking among themselves at the bottom of the steps.
Mary Williams walked out onto the porch. “You bastards gonna fix my door.” She said the words softly, but Frank heard her.
“Yeah, so sue me!” the stocky officer said. He seemed to be in charge of the unit. He motioned the others into the cars, and they drove away.
Ronald Martinez, a young man who had been at Frank’s house with his wife for the protest organization meeting, walked up beside Frank. “What’s happening? They raid the place?”
Frank was glad he showed up. Being left alone with Mary Williams staring at him from her porch made him uncomfortable. He could handle having a man as an enemy, but he didn’t know what to do about Mary Williams. “They raided it, but they came out empty-handed. Somebody’s tipping them off. Remember, they were out of the house when we had our first protest march.”
“Any idea who it is?”
“Not that I can talk about yet.”
They walked down the street making small talk. There was nothing much to say about the crack house. Henry would be devastated when he heard the news. They parted in front of Martinez’s house with talk of another protest march. The marches weren’t doing any good, but maybe they made the residents of his street feel better until another solution came along.
And another solution seemed to be as obscure as Mary Williams’ face behind the curtains, looking out at him. Maybe Henry was right—the only way to get rid of the crack house was to take the law into their own hands and burn it. The thing that bothered him most about this was the fear of getting caught. Taking part in vigilantism would have repelled him at one time, but no longer. He wondered how he could have changed so much. Feeling helpless to stop the decline of the neighborhood had been the catalyst, that much was clear.
He crossed the street to Henry’s and helped himself to the wooden ladder hanging on the side of the garage. Henry had insisted he use it. Frank’s ladder had been missing since he had noticed it was gone on the day of his accident, the day he had made the mistake of using the aluminum one.
He took the ladder into his garage and set it up so he could look into the storage area above the rafters and then went into the house and brought out a flashlight. He climbed the ladder stiffly, careful not to brush his legs against the rungs. His buddies from work had done a super job of repairing the wiring. There would be no need to do anything more to it.
Shining the light around the storage space, he could see that the dust on the rafters was disturbed in several spots. His friends undoubtedly would have done that when they fixed the wiring. He saw no evidence of mice or squirrels. Someone had set him up, and they had stolen his wooden ladder so he’d be fried on the aluminum one.
Mary Williams surely wouldn’t have enough knowledge of electricity to have handled this by herself. Would she even know anyone with the expertise to electrocute him without killing themselves in arranging it? Hugh Andrews’ buffoons, the Castro brothers, surely wouldn’t have the knowledge either. He came down the ladder and went to the window. It was unlocked. Had he been that careless, to leave a window vulnerable? He thought he had locked them all, even in the garage.
After returning Henry’s ladder, he went home to a bowl of cereal and a cup of instant coffee. He would have to buy a new coffee maker. One of the things he missed most was his Mr. Coffee. When he went to the grocery store this week he’d get another one. It was time to start putting his life back in order. First thing tomorrow he’d cancel all credit cards and close his bank accounts and open new ones.
#
He read the Sunday paper until he saw Henry and Ruby return from church. “Can you come over for a few minutes?” he said into the phone.
“Sure. How did the raid go? Did they take Mary Williams away?”
“No. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I’ll be right there.”
He heard Henry’s knock and went to unlock the door. “There were six policemen down there. They were already in the house when I got there. Two of them came out, then four others. I couldn’t hear anything they were saying, but they didn’t have anything with them. They didn’t take anyone away.”
Henry sat with his elbows on his knees, his head down. His tie hung down between his legs; he hadn’t taken time to take it off. He looked thoroughly discouraged. “Jesus! I should have burned the place already.” He shook his head slowly.
“Don’t talk like that, man.”
“I can’t sit around and see my grandson exposed to that scum.”
“I know you can’t.” Frank sat for a moment looking at his friend, deciding what to say. “But it’s good you didn’t set that fire yet. You did what was smart and waited until you and I could work out a plan where we could be absolutely sure we wouldn’t be caught. Then we’ll do this together.”
Henry raised his head, and a grin slowly showed even white teeth. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes. We’re in this together.”
“We’re going to burn it down?”
Frank nodded. “We’re going to burn it down. We’ve made the decision now, and we won’t look back. We’ll just be very careful. We don’t want anyone injured or killed, and we don’t want to go to prison.”
Henry threw back his head and laughed. “Do you have a plan in mind?”
“This is what I’m thinking. We have another protest on December tenth. We could ask everyone in the neighborhood to come here on the night of the ninth.”
“For what purpose?”
“We could tell them it’s a Christmas get-together and a rally before the protest, to get everyone pumped up. The ladies can bring cookies, and you can borrow those folding chairs from your church. The real purpose of the party will be to give us an alibi. Our neighbors will see us here all evening, or think they do, and they’ll testify to that if necessary. Also, with everyone here, we won’t be noticed going down the street to the crack house.”
Henry was thoughtful for a moment. “You don’t think they’ll notice we’re gone?”
“Only one of us will be at a time. And we’ll cover for each other. You’ll go down and search the house from bottom to top. We have to make sure no one’s there.”
“I agree.”
“While you’re out, if anyone asks about you, I’ll tell them you’re getting some refreshments or in the bathroom.”
“What about the fire—you’re planning to go down and set it later?”
“Yes. I’ll—”
Henry interrupted. “I’m the one to set the fire. I’m the one that started this, and I have to be the one to finish it.”
“We’ll hash that out later. Anyway, folks will be milling about, getting snacks in the kitchen and chatting in the living room. I don’t think our absence will be noticed. As for the fire, we can’t use gasoline or anything—that sort of thing is too easily detected. We’ll just set that stack of papers on fire at the back of the house, and it’ll be blamed on the old refrigerator on the back porch. I’ll make sure it’s plugged in. If the refrigerator’s on the porch, there must be an outlet. If the police suspect someone set the fire, we’ll hope they think it’s rival drug dealers. When you come back, be sure you come in through the kitchen door when no one’s in there, and I’ll do the same.”
Henry turned skeptical. “What if there’s someone home down there?”
Frank grinned. “There won’t be.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I’m going to let Bobby Ledbetter know about the protest march, and if I’m guessing right, Mary Williams will be forewarned. She’ll clear out the night before rather than getting up early the next morning and leaving.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I’m right. You can bet Mary Williams isn’t an early riser. I can’t think of a better twist of justice than using Bobby Ledbetter to clear them out so we can burn them out. I’m going down to the police station in the morning and get someone to listen to my tape—you know, the phone call I got after the accident?”
“You’re still calling it an accident?”
“I shouldn’t be. I checked the garage. There’s no sign whatsoever of mice or squirrels. I’m going to tell them that, too. Anyway, I’ve been thinking of discussing Ledbetter with one of his superiors while I’m there. I was going to tell them my suspicions and see if we could get rid of him on this street. Now I’ve decided we need him here to convey messages to Mary Williams. We’ll use him as long as we need him, and then I’ll report him.”
Henry’s smile was regretful. “We have to play just as dirty as they do, don’t we?”
“Yes, and we’d better get used to the idea and get good at it. They’re way ahead of us.”
#
Frank had just dumped the last of his instant coffee down the drain and was ready to leave when the phone rang. “Are you still looking for a lawyer?” Monica asked.
“Yes, I am.”
“I asked around the office. A couple of people recommended a man named Willard Blanchard. One of my co-workers used him for a divorce and found him to be good. A plus would be that he’s on your side of town. His office is on Houston Street. He’s about six blocks east of the Courthouse. He’s much closer to downtown than you are.”
“I appreciate it. I was planning to start looking today. I’ll call him for an appointment. I tried to catch you yesterday. I don’t know why I slept so late, but your knocking woke me. You were driving away by the time I got the window open.”
“I was going to ask you to go to brunch. As I was leaving, I noticed they were raiding the crack house. I was elated till I checked later in the day with a friend at the police station. She told me they weren’t able to find anything.”
“I guess we’ll have to keep protesting and hope we drive them out. How about a rain check on the brunch. Could you go to dinner tonight?”
“I have a meeting, and I’m not sure how late it’ll last. Tomorrow night would be better.”
“What time should I pick you up?”
“Don’t bother. Let’s meet somewhere. What do you feel like eating?”
“Anything’s fine.”
“How about El Gallo? It’s halfway between my office and your house.”
“Great. Six? Seven?”
“Six-thirty. I usually work till six to avoid the five o’clock traffic. Do you have a cell phone?”
“I just got one, and I’m trying to figure out how to use it. Darlene took hers with her. I decided I’d better get one.”
“Give me your number, and we can stay in touch a whole lot better.”
#
He sat down at the card table after hanging up, a grin spreading across his face. He let himself enjoy the full force of the wave of pleasure sweeping over him. The woman wanted him, obviously, in spite of everything. She was intense, dynamic, attractive. For God’s sake, relax and enjoy the relationship. Plenty of men his age were involved with younger women. He would pick up a coffee maker today, and he would go to dinner with Monica tomorrow. It definitely was time to get his life back in order.
He found Willard Blanchard’s number and dialed it. The young woman on the other end of the line told him the office had had a cancellation. If he could get there within a half hour, the attorney could see him.
Frank picked up his briefcase, which held the divorce papers, his microcassette player, and the tape from the answering machine. He reached Blanchard’s office within twenty minutes and had to wait another twenty. Then a short, somber man escorted another client out and asked him to come in.
Willard Blanchard’s hair was gray and his skin pale, giving him an almost colorless appearance except for his blue eyes. Frank brought out the divorce papers, and Blanchard explained that he frequently handled divorces and would be willing to represent Frank.
“We need to discuss money,” Frank said. “I have no savings other than a few hundred I’ve managed to put away since my wife left. I’ve been sending her two hundred a week.”
“You need to stop that immediately.”
“I did, as soon as I got the divorce papers.”
“I charge ninety dollars an hour. You can pay me in monthly installments if you wish.”
“Do you have any idea how much this will cost, or how long it’ll take?”
“I can’t say now. Maybe I can get a better picture after I’ve talked to her attorney. I need you to make a list of all assets the two of you held as community property and everything you own as separate property.”
“My wife took everything out of the house except for my clothes and personal items and the appliances. Some of our household stuff I inherited from my parents. I want that back. She can keep the rest. I inherited the house from my parents also.”
“You’ll get back your inherited possessions. Did you ever transfer an ownership interest in your home to her?”
“No, thank God. I also own a place in the country. I inherited that from my grandparents, and it’s in my name only.”
“Do you have credit cards?”
“We had a few, but I cancelled all of them this morning.”
Blanchard was making notes. “I’d suggest you close any bank accounts with her name on them.” He looked at his watch. “My next client is out there by now. I want you to sit in the waiting room and list all your assets. Leave the paper with the secretary. Just be sure your name’s on it. I’ll be back in touch.”
Frank wished the list he left with Blanchard’s secretary wasn’t so pitifully short. He thought he detected a smirk on her face when he handed it to her. He had pondered over it, making sure everything of value he owned was included. The itemization of the household furnishings from his parents helped to extend it. His things were out there somewhere, and a stranger with little time to spare would be in charge of seeing that they were recovered.
#
The police station was a simple stone building with cement stairs leading up to the double door entrance. The interior was as shabby and depressing as the lives of the criminals who passed through there. Paint was peeling from the iron cage which protected the receptionist from the public. A bench and several chairs in the waiting area were covered in orange and turquoise vinyl. White padding struggled to escape through splits in the plastic covering.
Frank felt the rough edge of the plastic scrape against his trousers when he took a seat as the receptionist had instructed. Within minutes a young man in civilian clothes called Frank’s name. “I’m Detective Armando Diaz,” he said, sticking out his hand. Diaz was short and intense, with eyes like two shining nuggets of coal.
“Frank Novak.” And when he was sitting in front of the detective’s desk, “About three weeks ago someone took a shot at me as I was pulling my pickup into the garage. I made a complete report to the police at that time. I haven’t heard anything further about it, but now . . .”
Diaz stood up. “I’ll check on it for you.”
“That’s not what I came in for. Something else has happened now, and it doesn’t appear to be an accident.”
The detective sat down. “You’ve found out something about the shooting?”
“No, it’s a separate incident, although I imagine the perpetrator is the same. Last Tuesday I came home to find my garage door wouldn’t open. I started to check the wiring and got a hell of a shock. It probably would have been fatal if a friend who knows CPR hadn’t been there. I was on an aluminum ladder because I couldn’t find the wooden one. I still haven’t been able to locate it—it’s been stolen. I’m sure it was taken by the person who tried to electrocute me.”
A shadow of fatigue crossed Diaz’s face. “Mr. Novak, if we conducted a murder investigation every time someone made the mistake of using an aluminum ladder to work on their wiring . . .”
“Detective, I’m an electrician. I wasn’t working on the wiring. I just climbed up there to look in the fuse box. When I touched it, I was zapped. My friend called the police later and told them about it, but they said it was undoubtedly squirrels or mice that had chewed the wires. I checked the storage area where those wires are located, and there was no sign of animal droppings. When I got out of the hospital, I found this message on my answering machine. I want you to listen to it.” Frank took the microcassette recorder from his briefcase and put the tape in it.
Diaz stared into space as he concentrated on the recording. “Of course, this could be some sicko’s idea of a joke,” he said.
Frank shut off the machine. “Someone shot at me and tried to electrocute me. Why am I having such a problem convincing the police someone’s trying to kill me?”
“Do you have any reason to believe someone wants you dead?”
“I believe several people want me dead.”
“Could you be specific?” Diaz picked up a yellow legal pad and turned pages to a clean sheet.
Frank couldn’t think of a way to mention Hugh Andrews without revealing Henry’s involvement in the Agent Orange fiasco. Skip that for now. “I work as a volunteer in Councilwoman Washington’s office. I’m involved in several civic committees. I’ve made enemies, serving on boards where applications for permits have been turned down, that sort of thing. Probably the worst enemies I’ve made are the crack dealers at the end of my block. I’ve helped organize protests against them.”
“Have these dealers been reported to us?”
“Many times. There was a raid yesterday morning, but the police came out without anything. No one was arrested. “We’ll have to keep protesting, I guess.”
“I’ll come out tomorrow and check your garage. I want you to know that turning up evidence in this sort of incident isn’t likely. The same with the shooting. We have so many random shots flying around town these days, it’s impossible to track them all down. I’ll look up the report on the shooting, though, and come out and check your garage tomorrow morning. I’ll be there at nine.”
“I’ll be home.” Frank reached over and shook Diaz’s hand. As he walked back through the dingy station he could sense the weight of cases clogging the arteries of the operation here. His own would join the others and be washed along like a speck of cholesterol to lodge somewhere in the system and be forgotten until it was too late.
