Dave Zeltserman - Small crimes

Dan must've gotten on his cell phone. He started yelling, 'Goddam it, Harold, I'm sheriff of this county, I have a right to be at that meeting… Well, I at least have the right to know when it is… Fuck you, after all the favors I've done for you over the years?… All right, then.'

I could hear his boots kicking up gravel as he walked back to me. My head was yanked up again, and I saw Dan sitting on his heels, smiling pleasantly.

'So, Joe, when is dear Charlotte going to do the deed?'

'Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. It depends how long it takes to siphon off enough morphine to fill up a syringe.'

'Why should that take any time?'

'If the other patients have too much morphine taken out of their IV bags, it will raise suspicion.'

Dan sat on his heels for a good minute as he thought it over. Then he nodded at me. 'Okay, Joe,' he said. 'You got your reprieve.'

He stood up and told his boys to let me go.

The gun was taken out of my hand, and they removed their knees from my neck and back. It took me a while before I could push myself up onto my hands and knees. My neck and shoulders still hurt like hell, but I no longer felt as if nails were being driven into my joints. I got myself flipped around so I was sitting on the ground.

'You have any aspirin?' I asked.

Dan shook his head, his eyes amused. 'Sorry, Joe. I don't carry any around with me.' He turned to his deputies. 'You boys have any?' None of them bothered to move.

Dan turned back to me. 'Sorry, Joe, doesn't look like anyone's got any.' He let loose a long, disappointed sigh. I had it all worked out for today, Joe. I wrote such a nice suicide note for you. Do you want to hear it?'

I shook my head.

'Too bad. I'm pretty damn proud of it. I had you sending Frechotte to the Green Valley Motor Lodge hoping he'd kill Coakley. I also had you taking responsibility for Billy Ferguson's murder and a couple of others. But in the end, you couldn't live with what you'd done.'

'Who else was I supposed to have killed?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'So that's what Manny has on you.'

He ignored that. 'Let's get back to the business on hand. You heard me on the cell phone, right? You know who I was talking to?'

'Yeah, I know.'

'Grayson's been putting me off,' he said, somewhat bitterly. 'I've been calling him all morning. The prick finally let me know that Vassey's deal is being pushed back to Friday. I guess with the shooting yesterday, our DA friend's tied up until then.

'So here's where we stand,' he continued. I want to see Manny gone by tomorrow morning. That's your final deadline. No more reprieves. Understood?'

I nodded. I was rubbing my arms, trying to get some feeling back into them. I asked him how he had planned to explain all my bruises and cuts with a suicide.

^' Look behind you, Joe,' he said, smiling as pleasantly as ever. I turned and saw an eighty-foot drop to the bottom of the quarry.

'We'd toss you over after putting a bullet in your skull. No one would care too much about any bruises or scratches after that. But you know, Joe, even if we didn't toss you down there, I don't think anyone would really care.'

'How about those two cops in Stowe? They were going to go along with a suicide?'

'You should know me well enough to answer that one. Joe, let's hope I don't have to see you tomorrow, okay?'

He hesitated for a second, a glint of humor in his eyes. 'Just out of curiosity,' he asked, 'what happened to your face? One of my boys do that?'

I shook my head. 'I got sucker-punched.'

'Anyone I know?'

'I don't think so.'

His eyes narrowed as he studied at me. 'You should see a doctor and have your nose set properly before it's too late.’

‘Thanks for your concern.'

He laughed at that. All of them turned then and started off towards their cars. I struggled to my feet and hobbled a couple of steps forward.

'Can you have one of your boys drive me back to my motel?' I yelled out to Dan.

Without looking back, he answered that I only had a fifteen-mile walk and that it would do me some good to have some time alone to reflect on my situation. I watched as they got in their cars and drove off.

The first mile was the worst, but after that I started to loosen up. I had a bunch of scrapes and cuts, and my shirt – my last clean one – was ripped and pretty much a mess. No real damage was done, though. Once my muscles had a chance to loosen up I was okay.

I spent almost four hours walking back to the ski lodge. A few dozen cars passed me along the way. I tried thumbing for a ride, but no one bothered to stop. That was okay. It gave me a chance to think. And I have to give Dan credit. He was right, I needed that time alone to reflect on things. During the walk back I came up with a plan. It wasn't anything new. For the most part it was what I had already come up with to get back at Junior. I wasn't sure my plan would work, but even if it didn't, it would let me go out with a bang.

The desk clerk seemed surprised to see me. They had already cleared out my room, and he had to get my duffel bag out of a storage closet. As he handed it to me, he was eyeing my cuts and bruises with some curiosity. I answered the question that seemed stuck on his lips.

'Those cops who took me out of here this morning tried to kill me,' I said.

'Really?'

'Damn straight. I'm lucky to be alive.’

‘No shit?’

‘No shit.'

As I said before, I didn't care anymore. Word would spread about those two cops, and as far as I was concerned, they deserved whatever they ended up getting. I took my duffel bag to my car and headed towards Bradley. Along the way, I stopped off at the Eastfield Mall and bought a shirt and pair of pants. I wore my new clothes out of the store, and cleaned up the best I could in the mall's rest room.

After that I found a diner and had three cheeseburgers and a milkshake. It was like I had this bottomless hole that I couldn't fill. I probably could've had a couple more cheeseburgers, but I stopped after three. Before leaving I called Craig, apologizing for missing my parole meeting with him the other day, and scheduling another meeting for later in the afternoon. I also called an attorney in Bradley, Jim Pierce, and was able to set up an appointment for within the hour. I still had enough time before the appointment to drive down to the old tannery.

The tannery had been shut down for almost sixty years, and it lay empty until Manny bought it fifteen years ago and moved his bookie operations there. In some ways it made sense – the building is as out of the way in Bradley as you can get – but I often wondered what he wanted all that space for.

The roads leading to the tannery were in rough shape. I guess during the past fifteen years only Manny and his employees ever bothered to drive down them. After twenty minutes of bouncing around, I got to the building.

From the outside the old tannery looked pretty dilapidated. There were half a dozen cars parked alongside it – more than I would've expected. I drove around the building until I got to a pair of dumpsters. In no time at all I found what I was looking for – empty boxes and containers of pseudoephedrine, iodine, acetone, methanol, and other ingredients necessary for manufacturing crystal meth. I suspected that that was behind Junior's push to acquire college clubs. Not only was he manufacturing crystal meth, he was acquiring distribution outlets so he could unload his junk without having to deal with a retailer.

Nobody saw me going through the dumpsters; at least, if they did see me no one bothered doing anything about it. When I was done, I got in my car and headed back towards downtown Bradley.

I arrived at Jim Pierce's office a few minutes before our scheduled appointment, and his receptionist had me take a seat and wait. Next to Harold Grayson, Jim's probably the best we've got. When I was a cop I saw him plenty of times arguing ridiculous bald-faced lies in court without missing a beat, and more times than not convincing the juries to buy them.