Tom Schreck: TKO

“Sure.”

“I no longer put my faith in the Sky Pilot.”

“In effect, then, if I can take him out, I would be doing you a favor.”

“It would save me the trouble.”

“Caretaker, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“I’ve always loved Casablanca,” he said.

We spent the next hour working out the details of what we were going to do. It was a mess, mostly illegal, and, if I screwed up, deadly. Kelley wouldn’t be proud of me and what I was about to do, at least not until it was over. If everyone lived through it, he might shake his head, tell me I’m nuts, and then crack a smile.

Maybe.

Tom Schreck

The Caretaker pulled out of his condo complex in Londonville, not far from TC’s house, and headed out of town toward Gunner’s karate compound. In his new Saab, the Caretaker didn’t look like your average brother from the ’hood. I guess when you live in a condo in the city’s richest suburb you’re not really from the street at all.

I followed him on the twenty-minute drive out to 44 and pulled off to the side while he went down the compound’s dirt drive. I angled on foot across the open fields leading to the compound with the goal of coming up on the back side of the steel building. I didn’t count on the field being semi-marsh and that every stride would take me two inches into muck. It took me close to forty minutes to get into place, and I hoped the delay didn’t screw up the plans.

I squatted in the mud and looked in between five-foot-high cattails with my binoculars to see what was happening. The caretaker’s Saab was parked by the gate to the stone garden and the Lee brothers’ SUVs were there, parked farther up the drive. While I waited, Mitchell and Harter came down the drive to join the party, and when they got out they opened the back door and pulled out Howard. Perfect, everyone was in place.

Howard looked awful. His hair was long and a tangled mess and he hadn’t shaved in a long time, which gave him one of those really fine kinky beards that redheads get. He had a blank look on his face, and through the binoculars I could see the deep circles under his eyes. Mitchell and Harter were talking to him and laughing, but Howard’s face remained blank like he was incoherent. He began to walk with them to the weight-training area and he shuffled like he was sedated. When they got to the weight area Harter motioned for him to sit at a bench while they did their workout.

The door to the steel building opened and out came the Lee brothers, followed by the Caretaker and then Gunner, who was pushing a handcart. The Caretaker brought his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose to wipe his eyes and I received the signal. I pulled out Jerry Number Two’s video cam with the zoom and started filming. The Caretaker by now had started recording his conversation. The video camera worked remarkably well and I filmed as Gunner spoke to his audience, talking with his hands and smiling the whole time.

There was a pause in the conversation, and the Caretaker reached into his blazer pocket and pulled out the envelope. Gunner was smiling from ear to ear and the Lees turned and gave each other high-fives. It was Gunner’s peak experience and his shining moment of success, and now he was getting the financial reward that came at the expense of who knows how many dead kids and inmates.

The Caretaker still had the envelope and now he was speaking, prolonging the transaction and probably setting up Gunner to say the exact right words. He was doing this with no risk to his own career, as I had promised him he would not appear in the video that I was going to send to the police and that his voice would be disguised. The Caretaker was smiling and holding the envelope for Gunner when the group of them was startled by an awful metallic clanging coming from the weight-training area.

I looked up and Howard was sprinting as fast as he could toward the woods. While Mitchell was bench pressing and Harter was spotting, Howard had hurled a ten-pound dumbbell that hit Mitchell right in the nuts, causing him to drop the three-hundred-some-pound bar and plates violently on his chest. It was perfectly timed because Harter was struggling in vain to pull up the weight to keep Mitchell from suffocating. The bar tipped to one side while the plates flew off and then, like a kid’s teeter-totter, it slammed back in the other direction. There was screaming and clanging and the perfect distraction for Howard’s getaway.

It also ruined my project.

Howard, the man who was the patsy for every crime Gunner committed and a witness to every dirty deed, headed for the thick woods. The meeting with the Caretaker was abruptly closed while everyone ran after Howard into the woods. Howard had a two-hundred-yard head start and a straight forty-foot run to the dense brush while the others had to get around the rock garden and over the training area. By the time they got past the weight area there was already no sign of Howard.

Meanwhile, the Caretaker was pulling out in his Saab, probably figuring that nothing good was going to happen if he were to hang around. Gunner had stopped running and he yelled at Mitchell and Harter to go after Howard. Mitchell, however, couldn’t move yet and Harter was trying to help him. Gunner clearly didn’t want to leave the compound. The problem was, Howard grew up in these woods and it wasn’t going to be any easy trick finding him.

Gunner stepped into the shed next to the weight-training area and came out with two handguns, which he gave to Mitchell and Harter. Mitchell was moving again, albeit slowly, and he and Harter headed to the woods. I was reasonably confident that Howard could avoid them for a while.

Although I had never spent any time in those woods I was even more confident that I would be able to find Howard easily. But I was going to have to head back to the Moody Blue. Howard probably could stay out of trouble for thirty or forty minutes.

Probably.

Al greeted me at the door and I let him know that we were in a hurry. He had a way of sensing when something was important and he quickly settled down. His tail stood straight out on the way to the car, and he sat straight up with his brow furrowed over his brown eyes as he stared straight out the windshield.

I drove like a madman and I was back to the compound in just under thirty minutes. That meant Howard was out there for a total of just over fifty minutes. I hoped it was enough. I drove past the dirt driveway, pulled up just north of the compound, and entered the field just after the weight training area where Howard left the compound and entered the woods. All the cars were gone now and the place was deserted, but I didn’t trust the feeling that I was alone.

I got Al to the center of the field and I identified one of Howard’s tracks. I pointed to it and gave Al the command.

As soon as I said “Go find,” Al was off sniffling and snuffing his way to the woods, knowing where he was going, even if I didn’t. When we hit the real heavy brush, Al paused to sniff and to point his nose skyward. Then he brought it back down and was back working the trail. Before long we were in brush so dense I couldn’t tell which direction we were headed. Al was on his trail but it was absolutely impossible to tell where we were going.

Al stopped and lifted his nose again. Then he stood still while his nostrils flared in and out. While we were standing still I heard a rustling from behind us and it dawned on me that I was in the woods with Al, unarmed, looking for Howard with at least two other armed men who weren’t supportive of my cause. In my excitement, I had forgotten that detail.

Al’s life was Howard’s scent, and he showed no fear. He kept on zigzagging through the brush and sometimes through the mucky marsh. In the moments he stood still, I could hear the rustling behind me but now it was closer. Al went back to work and we headed forward, picking up the pace. The sun was setting and pretty soon we’d be doing this in the dark of night.