Chapter 16: Plans Are Foiled

Jimmy Redford was delighted to see his sister again, and Valerie was almost as glad to see him.  Not quite, since she’d known her brother was fine and Jimmy had feared she was at the mercy of a desperate criminal, but almost as glad.  Allie looked a little sad at seeing the two reunite, but Auburn decided to let her be surprised when her sister showed up the next day.  Will, meanwhile, was totally engrossed in the giant Hot Wheels track he was building on the fourth floor.  Seeing the sparkle in his eyes, Auburn decided to let him go about his business.

Tuesday was cloudy, and there was a hint of rain in the air.  The temperature, however, was a lovely seventy-two degrees, a respite from the heat.  Despite the damp surroundings, Auburn was all smiles as she walked to the gas station, and her friend Brittany was all smiles as she stepped out.

“Come on!” she said, motioning to Auburn.  “I’ve got a car!”

“I thought you did,” Auburn said, hurrying over.  “That blue Camry?”

“It was my dad’s car,” said Brittany, unlocking it, “but he gave it to me when he got a new one.  It’s got 216,000 miles on it, but it still runs great.  Plus, I got a new air conditioner last week.”

“Good for this area,” Auburn agreed, shoving aside a mass of papers on the seat.  “You know where the Larkin Hotel is?”

Brittany made a face, then shook her head.  “Nope, never heard of—wait a second.  Is that the haunted one downtown?”

“Well, I haven’t run across any ghosts yet,” said Auburn, “but it looks—”

“I know what you’re talking about,” said Brittany.  “That’s the place?”

“It’s got electricity, water, and everything,” said Auburn.  “Plus a whole lot of toys.  Allie’s having a blast.”

“That’s right; it was a toy warehouse,” said Brittany.  “Useful, if a bunch of kids are going to be living there.  Have you kidnapped any more?”

“Not yet,” said Auburn, “but I may get a couple this week.  Right now, my plan is to have as many of the people on Richards’s list as possible go missing, until he can’t control most of the club anymore.  Eventually, he’ll have to go commit a crime himself, and we’ll get him arrested off that.”

“Good idea,” said Brittany.  “Only, how many people need to disappear?  Can’t you break it up with three?”

“I doubt it,” said Auburn.  “Let’s say he assigns three people to commit a crime, and only one’s off the hook.  The other two will still have to go through with it, and they might report to Richards if the third tries to break up the crime.  That would have to be done secretly to keep the scheme from going off.”

“I see what you mean,” said Brittany.  “Well, if you ever need my help, let me know.  Especially if you need a car.”

“Thanks,” said Auburn.  “I might take you up on that.  Also, could you keep me updated when Richards has another ‘project’?”

“I’ll try,” said Brittany, “but he doesn’t tell everybody what’s going on.  Usually, he just notifies the people assigned to the task.”

“I see,” said Auburn.  “Well, if you find out about one, you’ll let me know, right?”

“I can do that,” said Brittany.  “Should I drop by your house—”

“No,” said Auburn.  “Call this number, preferably between 8 and 5.  If you have to call after 5 and someone other than me answers, tell them it’s Chelsea Coronado.”

“Chelsea Coronado?” said Brittany.

“She was a friend of mine back when I lived in Kansas City,” Auburn said.  “Close enough that my parents probably wouldn’t be surprised if she called.  They don’t know about the Purple Porcupine business...”

“Obviously,” said Brittany.  “Your last name’s Reynolds, isn’t it?”

“Yes, why?”

“I think my mom knows your mom,” volunteered Brittany.  “Is her name Janna?”

“Yes, that’s my mom!” said Auburn.

“Well, my mom was telling someone the other day that her friend Janna Reynolds had a kid who was an invalid.  Was that—”

“It was,” answered Auburn, staring sadly at the floor.  “The dizzy spells started about two years ago.  My school was putting on a play, and I was helping with the lighting.  I was twelve feet above the stage on a catwalk, adjusting a spotlight, when the first one hit.  The spotlight slipped through my fingers and went crashing onto the stage, narrowly missing someone, and the next thing I knew, I was plunging headfirst towards the ground below.”

“Oh, my goodness!” said Brittany.  “I’d think the blow would have started it.”

“Well, it probably would’ve,” said Auburn, “only some people were standing around below, and they caught me before I hit the ground.  It was the most terrifying experience of my life!  Since then, whenever they’ve come, I’ve always flown into a panic.  A deep panic—you have no idea how hard it was for me to keep from screaming the other day.  If I can’t grab something, I feel like I’ll go crazy!

“A couple months after they started, another one almost killed me.  We were in downtown Kansas City, walking next to a busy street, and I’d kind of dropped back.  Suddenly, another spell hit, and I found myself in the middle of the street, right in front of a truck!  I don’t remember what happened after that, just a lot of voices, but somehow I didn’t get hit.  My mom freaked out, though, and my parents decided I should just stay inside until the problem got straightened out.

“Unfortunately, the problems have never stopped.  I’ve been to six neurologists, as far off as Dallas, and they can’t figure out what’s wrong.  Outside of those appointments, I never got to go outside, except occasionally when my parents decided I needed some fresh air.  They both work, though, and they’re usually too busy to go anywhere at night.  It was fine with me at first, because I was terrified that a spell would happen while I was out.  After a while, though, I couldn’t stand being cooped up inside.  Even after we moved here, my house got boring, fast.  Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer, so I snuck out during the afternoon while my parents were gone—and that’s how I found out about your club.”

The last few minutes of Auburn’s story were delivered in the alley next to the Larkin Hotel—Brittany hadn’t wanted to interrupt.  She’d been intrigued, and she listened attentively until the very end. When Auburn was done speaking, she said:

“Didn’t you say you get a bad humming in your ears when the spell begins?”

“Terrible,” said Auburn.  “As loud as a chainsaw, sometimes.”

“Interesting,” said Brittany.  “You know, it may not have anything to do with your brain.  My uncle’s an ear doctor in Wichita, and he’s told me a little about his work.  Not enough to make me an expert, but I do know that the inner ear’s full of fluid, and disturbances in the fluid can make people dizzy.  Maybe you’ve got some sort of ear problem that’s causing the dizziness.”

“You think?” said Auburn.  “We haven’t tried any ear specialists.”

“Well, like I said, I don’t know,” said Brittany.  “It’s possible, though.  I could get my uncle to see you, if you want.”

“I’d like that very much,” said Auburn.  “Only, not until we get this case cleared up.  If Richards figures out we’re associated, he might suspect me.  Or, worse, if I get a clean bill of health…”

“Your parents might sign you up for…no, we can’t have that,” said Brittany, shuddering at the possibility.  “Well, hurry up and get Richards arrested, so we can try it!”

“I’ll do my best!” swore Auburn.  Grinning, she motioned to the hotel.  “I’m sure Allie’s eager to see you!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tuesday night, Hal Rowan mysteriously disappeared.  There were no signs of forced entry in the Rowan residence, but a sticker on the mattress left no doubt as to who was behind it.

Wednesday night, the same thing happened to Leila Stewart, little sister of Greg Stewart, who was in the club.  Greg remembered hearing Leila talking that evening, but he’d assumed it was a dream.  No leads surfaced, except another one of those stickers.

Thursday morning, Chief Morris seemed lost in thought.  He spent the morning in his office without saying a word to anybody, until Lauderdale finally came to check in on him.

“Figured anything out yet, Chief?” he asked.

“NO!” yelled the chief.  “No, I haven’t.  Nor have any of you, nor has the FBI.  We don’t know a thing about the Purple Porcupine, except he’s a master criminal, and he’s running rings around the rest of us.  Blackwell’s not a center for crime.”

“It has been this year,” Lauderdale commented wryly.  “Don’t forget the midget crooks.”

“Midget Crooks, midget crooks—who in the world could they be?  Tiny O’Toole is in Sing-Sing for ten years.  Shorty Cabrera’s operating, but his latest capers have all been in Seattle—he seems to have left OKC for good.  PeeWee Jones is delivering for Pepsi in Tulsa; all his acquaintances say he’s kept his nose clean.  The only notable midget unaccounted for is Little Boy Mallet, but he works alone.  These jobs usually have at least three, when we get a witness.”

“If we knew, we wouldn’t have these problems.”

“Exactly right,” the chief said.  He took a deep breath, as if the next part was hard to say.  “Lauderdale, I’ve decided this is too much for us to handle by ourselves.  I’m going to bring in a private dick.”

“A private detective?” said Lauderdale.  “Who’s that going to be?”

Morris shrugged.  “There’s a famous one named Barrie Craig, but he keeps his operations on the East Coast.  Daniel Devlin from Dallas has a good reputation, but he charges too much.  Valteri Nischeskov, the ex-Red Guard that turned over a new leaf after his prison stint ended, might have been a great one, but he’s laid up with an operation.”

“So I see,” said Lauderdale.  “You know, I’ve got an idea.  There’s these kids down by Oklahoma City named the Andersons—their father’s a—”

“Not on your life!” barked Morris.  “This isn’t child’s play, Lauderdale.  Four kids aren’t going to stop someone as vicious as the Purple Porcupine.  We need somebody tough, smart, innovative—say, I think I’ve got it!”

“Who?” Lauderdale asked.

“Oklahoma City,” said Morris, picking up the phone.  “There’s a guy who works there—name of Cedric Valentine.  He’s got a pretty established reputation, but his fee’s not too bad.  The Ponca City Police called him in to get rid of the Reservoir Run Gang.  If he’s only available…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, the midget bandits struck again.  This time, it was Pizza Hut, just before closing.  Football season hadn’t started yet, so Thursday was quite empty.  Only three employees were on duty, and they weren’t willing to take on the tough little mugs with guns.

Of course, the tough little mugs knew these were only squirt pistols.  They weren’t loaded, either.  Some criminals, not possessing or not wishing to use a weapon, will try using a loaded squirt pistol—this turns into a problem fast when the front of the weapon starts dripping.  Richards was smart enough to realize that if you’re not planning to shoot anyway, there’s no sense in loading  a water pistol, so these kids weren’t going to get tripped up by such a foolish mistake.

Well, the plan went off without a hitch—the employees scraped the money together and gave every last cent of it to the bandits.  Without a word, they left the building, holding the valuable sack.  They hopped into a waiting car which whisked them away—$139 richer than they’d been before.

“Pass me the money,” Jimmy said, authoritatively, from the backseat.  One of the other kids handed it to him without a word.  Jimmy took it without even looking at his hand.  Instead, he reached to the floor of the car and picked up his backpack.

Unzipping it, he reached inside and pulled out a juicebox, which he noisily started slurping.  No one else made a sound.  They each stared off into space, uncomfortable with their activities that evening.

They didn’t see Jimmy reach back into the bag and pull out another sack, just like the last one.  Only, this one contained play money.  Lots of play money.  Jimmy had picked it up earlier that day.

“Here,” he said, handing it to the kid on his right.  “You’ve got a better arm than I do, Jeremy.”

Jeremy took the bag, not realizing it was a different one.  The car had swerved into a neighborhood and headed south until it reached Blackwell Avenue.  It was now heading straight for the railroad crossing—empty, apparently.  After bumping over a few tracks, the driver suddenly slammed on the brakes.

Cocking his arm, Jeremy tossed the sack out the window, into the weeds where the parking lot for the train station used to be.

The car drove on, ready to take everybody home.  Jimmy was the last one to get dropped off.  He waved at the driver, then casually started up the walkway towards his house.  Once the car had turned back onto the highway, though, he took a look around and sprinted over to the neighbor’s house.  Creeping up their sidewalk, he plunked the bag on their stoop.  Then, he rang the bell.

Old Mrs. Hirschbeck was all alone tonight.  Her husband was in Baltimore, visiting some old navy friends.  She was just washing the dishes when the chimes let her know she had a visitor.

“Be with you in a minute, darlin’,” she called, plunking a plate into the sink.  Not noticing it shatter, she wiped her hands on a rag that hadn’t been washed in eight months (Mr. Hirschbeck was much healthier when he was out of town), then wandered over to the door.

“Who the heck could it be this late at night?” she muttered, throwing open the door.

Then, she rubbed her eyes and squinted outside.  No one was there!

“Well, I declare!” she said.  “Some hoodlum must be going around and ringing doorbells just for the fun of it…unless the expressman delivered a package…”

Her eyes shifted down to the stoop.  There was something down there, but it wasn’t a box.  It was a sack, with a note tied around its mouth.

“Queer,” Mrs. Hirschbeck muttered, picking the thing up.  It wasn’t that heavy; in fact, it even swayed a bit in the wind.

Mrs. Hirschbeck grabbed the tag and read the label—then, her jaw dropped open, and she rushed inside to make a call.  “Money from tonight’s Pizza Hut robbery,” the label read.  “Courtesy Jack Richards.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prescott City, Nebraska, was your typical rough western town…that is, until a flamboyant evangelist arrived.  The subsequent revival had a great effect on all the members of the town…except an orphan that knew the person’s dreadful secret.  She couldn’t rid the town of this imposter by herself, and the only help available was a washed-up gunfighter whose drinking problems were a stiffer foe than any outlaw in the West!  Find out what happens in

THE GUNFIGHTER’S REDEMPTION

Available in print at this link: https://www.amazon.com/Gunfighters-Redemption-Matthew-Zisi/dp/1543213553/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1488913888&sr=8-1&keywords=Gunfighter%27s+Redemption+Zisi