Wednesday evening, May 27th, 1992. Dr. Weinstein left his office at 5:30 p.m. and walked directly to his Camry. He couldn’t explain it, but he had a feeling he was being watched the whole day. He didn’t actually see anyone following him, or park in front of his office, but a vehicle making the same distinctive engine sound kept driving by every hour or so. He shrugged it off to paranoia and drove in the direction of Balmoral Park.
If there was a time when he needed extra money, it was now. His undertaking was nearly complete, but his finances were dwindling and were about to sink to an all-time low after his divorce. The sixty-five hundred bucks he was about to collect wasn’t enough to support him or his family for a month--let alone any extracurricular activities, and certainly not his overhead. But he wasn’t worried about that as much as he was about killing Frank. Benny knew he was being watched in spite of passing the polygraph. He also knew Frank called the cops and they were probably providing that bastard with protection.
The expressway was impassable for almost a half hour. Only one of the three lanes was open, moving at a snail’s pace. Benny thought it was probably due to construction, but there weren’t any road work signs. The cars finally began to move. Benny was able to see the trouble; a horrible accident. An eighteen wheeler tipped over, crushing two cars underneath.
Shit, if I left just a few minutes earlier, that could have been me! he thought, thanking the Gods for his good fortune. I hope my luck lasts the rest of the night.
Benny arrived at South Dixie Highway later than expected--about 7:15 p.m. But he wasn’t in any hurry so he stopped to eat at The Daily Double, a popular greasy spoon across from the track. He ordered breakfast items for dinner, scrambled eggs and a side of three wheat pancakes plus coffee. He thought he’d relax a while before cashing his ticket. Plus he had some time to kill before he met Rings. The restaurant was crawling with all sorts of degenerates, but not the kind that bothered him. They were mostly washed up lonely men looking for some company before they gambled their paychecks.
The waitress came with the food. As soon as Benny started eating, he heard the familiar sound of that car or truck or whatever it was, as it drove past the diner--the same sound he heard all day in front of his office. Again, he shrugged it off as mind tricks--maybe his conscious was beginning to bother him. No, it couldn’t have been that. He was delighted three of the four animals who beat him were dead--and mutilated. Gone forever.
He finished eating, left a sawbuck on the table for a seven dollar tab then sat in his car for five minutes. Benny pulled out a new cigar and lit it with his Cubs lighter. He then drove to Balmoral’s parking lot in a spot where Rings would find him later. It started to drizzle as he got out of the car and walked to the gate, paying the two dollar grandstand admission. He didn’t buy a program. He just needed to cash out.
The track was busy that Wednesday evening. Balmoral had a lot of big races on their card which attracted more bettors. Everyone thinks it’s less likely a stake or allowance race will be rigged--somehow they’ll be more honest than cheaper races. They’re not. Benny didn’t care about the size of the purse or who was racing. He liked the anonymity of a large crowd.
It was now approaching eight o’clock. Benny could have cashed his ticket the moment he arrived, but he wanted some quiet time to relax. He tried to relax by sitting down for a half hour with his cigar and a cup of coffee. But there was a problem: He noticed a man looking at him from the bar. Benny didn’t recognize this man, but was sure this guy was following him. It wasn’t a mind trick this time. It wasn’t paranoia. This guy was following him! Whoever this stranger was, it looked like he was drinking Jim Beam. He can’t be all bad, Benny thought, watching the bartender pour the dude another shot.
The unidentified man was well hidden in plain sight--heavily disguised. Could have been forty, maybe younger, and wore an old fashioned brown Schlitz cap with a pair of dark shades. He had two weeks worth of growth on his face. He had on faded blue jeans and a blue Notre Dame jacket.
Benny got up and walked to the other side of the grandstands, inside, near the betting windows. The unidentified man quickly left some money on the bar and also left. Benny strolled up to a betting window and handed the teller his sixty-five hundred dollar ticket.
“You’re mighty lucky,” the older, balding teller said while recounting the C notes and the odd change, handing Benny an envelope.
Benny thanked the clerk with a ten spot and stuffed the money in the inside pocket of his leather bomber. He slowly looked around, didn’t see anyone, then tucked his Punch back into his mouth and headed for the parking lot. As he neared the exit he thought he’d look around again. No one. Good, he thought. Maybe I was imagining things. Benny poked his head outside and scanned as far as his eyes could see. It was dark, but he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. As he walked towards his Camry, he saw Rings was already there, waiting in the now recognizable suburban. Rings got out of his car to greet him.
“Yo, Sox!” Rings blurted out with all the subtlety of a rhinoceros. “I’m here!”
Young Rings knew how to irritate Benny.
“Do you always have to do that?” Benny said, annoyed, but happy to see his friend approach.
“Do what?” Rings asked, raising his arms in the air like he didn’t know.
“I’m carrying a lot of money,” Benny said, scolding his accomplice. “And in a bad part of town. Why don’t you think first? Attracting attention like that……I….oh, forget it.”
Rings lowered his head knowing he was just taken to the woodshed. “Sorry ‘bout that,” Rings apologized. “Here’s your gun. And yes, it’s still empty.”
Benny took the silver pistol and placed it in the back seat of his Camry. They both got into Rings’ suburban to talk for a few minutes.
“I almost died myself,” Benny said. “I went to Stagecoach Road to get my stuff out of the boat and Gerald was in it and all my stuff was gone except for some tape. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on. Someone knows.”
Rings tried to act cool, like he handles this sort of thing every day.
“You got another cigar, Sox? I smoked the last one last night.”
Benny checked his jacket and couldn’t find one. “Wait, I’ll get one from my car in a minute. Listen, I want to talk to you. You have to be careful. Don’t say anything to anyone. I passed the polygraph and everything is okay, for now. But someone knows. And, my good buddy, you’re the only one I can talk to.”
Rings was genuinely touched. Here he was, just a kid, and someone was confiding in him.
“It could be anyone,” Rings said, offering some insight. “I heard one radio station is holding a contest: ‘Where’s Gerald?’”
Benny took a long puff on his stogie.
“You mean like ‘Where’s Waldo?’”
“Something like that,” Rings said. “I can’t be sure.”
“What’s the prize?”
“Don’t know. Probably publicity.”
“Well someone already knows,” Benny said. “And we have to get rid of his body, and fast.”
Rings fidgeted in his seat.
“You mean me too? I have to help you dump the body?” Rings shouted, not realizing his window was open.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Benny screeched, noticing Rings quickly closing his window as if to apologize. “Yes, you too. I have a plan. My boat is in a storage place on Cline Avenue. I put it there last night. Now all we have to do is go there, hitch up the boat to your car, retrieve the body at Stagecoach Road then dump him in Baines Harbor. You know where that’s at. The police aren’t looking for anyone there.”
Rings wasn’t too happy with the plan but didn’t want to disappoint his dad’s old friend.
“Yeah, I know about Baines Harbor,” Rings admitted. “But why do we have to go through all the trouble of taking the boat? There’s a bridge that crosses over it just off of Route 12. Why not just dump him over the bridge?”
Benny shook his head. “That bridge, my good man, is in full view of everyone. Even if we did that it would take at least a full minute. Anyone could drive by in a minute. But there’s a hidden ravine just before the bridge where we can turn off and slide the boat down. It’s pretty steep. That’s why I need your help.”
Rings resigned himself to the inconvenient reality that he was stuck helping Benny, better judgment notwithstanding.
“Does it have to be tonight?” Rings pleaded, not being in the mood for any excitement, desperately looking for an excuse. “I was hoping to get home early and help my ma pick out a new wheelchair out of a catalogue.”
“I see,” Benny said, playing the martyr, at the same time feeling guilty about getting Rings involved. “No, I guess it doesn’t have to be tonight. Maybe later this week”
Rings sensed Benny conceded too easily.
“Hey Sox. I know,” Rings said, offering a new, safer plan. “Why don’t we bet a few races as long as we’re here? I have a few bucks. Come on. It’ll be fun. And we might just score again.”
Benny opened the passenger side and got out of the car, walked to his Camry, opened the door and reached for a cigar under the seat.
“Yeah, okay,” Benny said, as he stood up, handing Rings a cigar and plucking a fifty from his jacket. “Take this and bet a number. Call me later this week,” carelessly forgetting Rings wasn’t allowed to call his office since that was traceable evidence.
Rings forced a smile while his large brown eyes looked away. He took the cigar and money from Benny and tucked both gifts in his front shirt pocket.
“Tomorrow would be better anyway,” Benny said, not convincing the youth. “Have a good time.”
Rings felt horrible.
“Sorry Sox,” Rings said, knowing he let his father’s best friend down. “I just can’t tonight.”
Benny knew he was wrong asking Rings to help him hide a murder. And knew how badly Rings must have felt at that moment. He didn’t want to leave it that way.
“I really mean it,” Benny said, his spirits deceptively lifting. “Really. Tomorrow would be better. Don’t give it another thought. Have a good time tonight and I’ll call you tomorrow,” Benny continued, correcting his earlier faux pas. “I hope you win a bundle.”
“Yeah? OK.” Rings affirmed, hoping there was some truth in what Benny just said. “Call me in the morning. I know I’m not supposed to call your office--I know, I know.”
“Tomorrow it is,” Benny said as he revved his motor. “And, oh, I almost forgot. Ask your mother if she would like me to look at her back. You know, I do know something about back pain. You could drive her to my office later this week. Maybe I can help.”
“That would be great!” Rings said, believing he was still in good standing. “I would love to get some help for her. We can’t afford much.”
“Well, the price is right for your mother--free!” Benny said as he slowly pulled away. “Free is below my cost!”
Rings smiled and looked up towards the sky as he headed towards the grandstands. I know you’re watching, daddy Eddy, he somberly thought. I’ll do the right thing.