Dead Sure?: A Paranormal Mystery (6 page)

Much to Sam’s surprise the office was still fully furnished. A strong odor of cigar smoke permeated the room. It was as if the occupants of this office were still using it, but the building had been closed down months ago.

Sam looked around; there was a desk to the left, with an antique high-backed leather office chair sitting behind it. On either sides of the desk were large filing cabinets; some of the file drawers were ajar. The drawers were cleaned out except for some empty folders and worthless-looking papers strewn about.

Sam walked over to the desk and sat down.
Who sat in this desk and with this view?
Sam wondered.  The desk was located in such a way that its occupant commanded the room. Looking left, Sam saw floor-to-ceiling windows with a wonderful view of the city. Straight ahead on the other side of the room were two leather wing chairs, with a solid cherry end table in-between. On top of the table was a strangely shaped blue and white vase with dry dead flowers in it. On the wall above the table was a large oil painting.  Sam felt drawn towards the painting. With apprehension, Sam walked over to the painting to get a better look.

It was a painting of a white house with black shutters and with a large turret to the left side. There was a little girl standing on the porch, and when Sam looked closely he could just make out the faint outline of what appeared to be a man looking out of an upstairs window, maybe…

              Abruptly Sam heard a “whoosh” by his ear, followed by a loud thud as a green marble paperweight from the desk across the room slammed into the edge of the painting’s gilded frame. Sam leapt into the air while spinning around. What he saw surprised and angered him. It was Jack standing behind the desk, laughing his ass off.

“What the hell did you do that for!” screamed Sam.

“If you could have seen your jump...It must have been three feet in the air...And that funny-ass look on your face… You wouldn’t have to ask…” Jack stammered out between uproarious laughter.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Sam picked up the paperweight and stalked across the room, slamming it back down on the desk.  “Well, I guess it would have been kind of funny if I was the one throwing the paperweight,” Sam said, his mood starting to lighten a little bit.
Just like back in high school, my buddy Jack still likes to goof off.
Sam turned and went back towards the picture to have another look at it. The picture was hanging haphazardly now, with a large chunk of wood broken out of the upper right hand corner of the frame. “Damn it, Jack, this thing is probably worth some money and you messed up the frame.”

“Sorry, Sam, that little antique shop in town can probably patch that right up.” Jack took a closer look at the painting. “Hey, the house in that painting looks just like the one I just rented an apartment at,” Jack said with a hint of trepidation.

Sam suddenly felt compelled to remove the painting from the wall.   He leaned it carefully up against one of the chairs. The wall looked like it might have had some repair work done in this spot, covered up until now.

Just then an old telephone careened into the wall next to Sam’s head. Plaster, dust, and pieces of the phone flew in every direction. The ringer inside the phone clanged loudly as it bounced off the vase, knocking it from its perch, and hitting the floor ominously with a final clank.

“What the hell are you doing, Jack?” yelled Sam as he turned to face him again.

Jack just stood there stammering, with nothing intelligible coming out of his mouth. His usual cocky demeanor had been washed completely away. His face was as white as a ghost’s.

“Jack, what the hell?” Sam yelled again.

“I didn’t do it, man. That crazy phone flew across the room all on its own.”

“Sure it did, Jack, and I’m dating three supermodels. Now seriously, knock it off. Once was funny, but that’s it!” Sam turned back to the wall; a gaping hole had appeared where the phone had impacted it. Inside the hole there appeared to be some old wadded-up newspaper. Sam grabbed his flashlight from his belt and shined it into the gap. Just the tip of the newspaper was visible at the bottom.

Jack, still shaken up by the flying phone, walked over towards the windows to clear his head. The windows faced First Street. Looking out, he witnessed an altercation between Ron and some protestors occurring below. He recognized one of the protestors--Rene.

“Hey Sam, come here, man, this is pretty funny. Some of those stupid protestors have crossed our construction barricades and are arguing with Ron. This is great; Ron’s face is getting mighty red.”

Sam couldn’t resist seeing a good fight and walked over to the windows to join Jack. “Wow, you’re right, Ron looks like he is ready to blow.” Sam’s thoughts, however, quickly wandered back to the smashed-up wall.
There is something about that wadded-up newspaper, I got a feeling this is gonna be something. Although this fight is pretty damn funny, it’s like a train wreck, I just can’t look away. The paper will just have to keep for a minute more.  

The phone ringer started to toll quietly from its resting place on the floor.

“Jack, do you hear the phone ringing?” Sam asked in a nervous whisper. 

“What are you talking about? I don’t hear a thing, but I sure wish that I could hear what’s going on down there.  Hey, let’s see if we can pry this old window open.” That said, Jack began to pull on the window casing in vain. It was stuck tight after years of disuse and multiple layers of paint.
Damn it.

After the word “no”, Sam had not listened to another word Jack had uttered. He nervously walked back over towards the hole in the wall and the mysterious ringing.
Maybe the ringing is just in my ears…I have got to see what’s up with that newspaper.
Slowly, Sam started to break away some of the wall plaster surrounding the newspaper.
It is more folded then wadded, like someone wanted to save it, but why?
  Sam shifted from slow and careful to ripping at the plaster with a feeling of urgency. As a big chunk of the plaster broke lose, the newspaper suddenly slipped between the studs and slid further down into the wall. In frustration Sam pulled his pry bar from his belt and began banging away at the plaster with abandon, going all the way down to the floor. The old surface crumbled and cracked, bits flying everywhere under Sam’s onslaught. The paper was finally visible from its new hiding place. Sam bent down and grabbed it, pulling it free from the wall with a strange feeling of delight and trepidation.
At last, I’ve got it. What secret does it contain?
He quickly unwrapped the newspaper, which exuded a musty smell. Briefly he noticed a date of September 1929
on its yellow stained edges. Contained inside the paper’s folds was a black leather-bound journal about the size of a small paperback book. The cover was tattered and worn; before Sam could examine it any further, he was dragged back to the here and now by the sound of shattering glass and splintering wood.

“Get out! NOW!” boomed a voice filled with rage.

Sam leapt up from his crouching position and turned to face Jack. What he was witnessing scared the crap out of him; he began to run for the door, with Jack hot on his heels.

*    *    *

Broken glass and wood showered down onto the pavement from the window of the office Jack and Sam had just left so abruptly. The debris fell into the crowd below. A marble paperweight knocked Rene to the ground hard with an unnatural-sounding thud. People were screaming and running.  Some woman was yelling over and over, “Oh my god, Oh my god!” The scene had gone from a minor conflict to chaos in a split second.  Liam quickly ran over to Rene and knelt to the ground to help her.

“Rene, can you hear me?” uttered Liam in a bewildered tone.

“I’m fine, I think,” Rene said. She started to sit up, reaching her hand up to her temple.  She touched it gingerly, producing a hot burning sensation; she could feel blood trickling down her palm.  Startled, she yanked her hand away in shock, whispering, “Maybe I’m
not
so fine.”

Ron was already on his cell phone calling for an ambulance.

“Just lay still,” Liam said firmly, regaining his composure.

“I don’t feel like lying on the hard ground,” she answered and pushed herself into a sitting position as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

*    *    *

They were still running at a pretty good pace as they rounded the landing of the fourth floor stairwell. Jack had passed Sam by before they had gotten out of the seventh floor hallway, and was continuing to pull away in his haste to exit the building. This was not so surprising considering Jack at six foot one was slimmer than Sam and built more like a runner. Sam, on the other hand, was tall at six foot four but built heavier, more like a football player.

              Sam felt his side starting to ache as he approached the third floor landing. He began to slow down, and for the first time since leaving the room realized the journal was still clutched tightly in his right hand. The newspaper must have fallen away back in the room, but he still had the mysterious journal.
Hey, this might be worth something…someone might pay some good money for an old journal…
Slowing down to a walk, he began to contemplate just what he was going to do with it.
I need to hide this.
He spotted an old fire extinguisher casing built into the wall, and without a second thought stashed the journal.

Jack suddenly realizing his friend had fallen behind, stopped and began to yell. “Sam, where are you? Are you all right? Let’s get the hell out of here!”

              Sam managed to wheeze out, “I’m fine,” and began to run again. He pushed himself with a renewed vigor, catching up with Jack, who had stopped to wait for him.

              Jack and Sam came bursting out the exit door and into the sunlight. The contrast was extreme: from a dark and quiet stairwell where the only sound was their footsteps and pounding hearts into the daylight, sirens, and pandemonium. Squinting and trying to get his eyes to adjust, Jack turned his head looking for the source of the commotion.

Several police cars were parked near the construction barricades, lights flashing, and an ambulance was just arriving with its siren screeching. Before Jack could put two and two together, Ron and several police officers rushed over to him and Sam.

“What happened up there?” blurted out Ron in an agitated tone.

“Listen, mister, you need to get out of the way and let us do our job!” yelled one of the police officers to Ron.

“Look, these are my workers and I have a right to know what’s going on!” he retorted.

“If you don’t turn around and move out of here now, you’ll be heading down to the station too!” replied the officer.

With a dawning look of realization coming over his face; Sam said, “What do you mean too?”

“You two are coming with us, violence against peaceful protestors is a very serious offense,” stated one of the officers.

Sam was momentarily distracted as the television news crew tried to approach and was thwarted by several other policemen. “Who’s hurt officer?  What do you think is going on here?”  stated Jack in an agitated tone.

“Come with us quietly, please.”

Chapter 7
A surprise

A surprise

It was almost midnight by the time Charles finally arrived at the boss’s mansion. He had taken his good natured time getting cleaned up: getting a good shower and a new suit helped him feel more like himself again--in control. Stashing some of the money had also occupied a good chunk of time. After all, fair was fair, he had been the one to risk his skin, so he should be the one reaping most of the rewards. The only qualm he had about it was how much of the loot needed to be delivered to prevent suspicions.

The boss’s mansion was an incredible place. It was perched majestically at the top of a hill overlooking the Mississippi river. The grounds surrounding the house were immense and kept in impeccable condition. Charles’s car finally reached its destination at the end of the long, winding driveway. He got out calmly and feeling completely in charge, a sensation he relished. Reaching the top of the steps, he strolled across the porch giving the guards on either side of the front door a dismissive wave. One of the guards had been about to greet him, but upon seeing the wave and knowing of Charles’s hot temper, he thought better of it. The boss kept an office towards the back of the house, with immense windows that looked out over the majestic beauty of the mighty Mississippi river.

He felt his pace quicken as he neared the office door. He was looking forward to the confrontation that would invariably come after discussing his partner’s demise and the lack of loot. He grabbed the large brass door handle and proceeded in. The office was brightly lit for the time of night, lamps ablaze in every corner. Across the room a high-back office chair was facing away from him towards the dark windows. Above the chair, the air was filled with cigar smoke and a few faint rings of it were beginning to dissipate.

“Well, it certainly took you long enough to get here. I am assuming things didn’t go as planned.”

Charles hated talking to someone’s back. It really infuriated him. “Of course things didn’t go as planned. You said you were certain nobody would be at home. Things went wrong because the details were wrong.” He knew this last sentence would push some buttons and it had the desired effect.

The chair swung around abruptly and Angela glared at him, first with a quick hint of disbelief and then with eyes the devil would have been proud of. “You’re always willing to push the envelope, aren’t you, dear?” she said very harshly. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?”

He took a seat and began to explain the details of the heist. Something about her reaction to the whole thing seemed just a little off. Angela, although very passionate, liked to maintain tight control over a situation and never looked surprised. She always gave you the impression that everything had gone exactly as
she
planned it. He never doubted her.  In the mob, a racket normally run by men, only a very strong woman could maintain control, one with great confidence and leadership, one who executed plans flawlessly time and time again. Yet a few times during his story so far, he could swear she momentarily had shown slight signs of astonishment, very subtle facial expressions or gestures. She had put out her cigar and was listening intently to his every word. The rage in her eyes had been replaced by a look of curiosity.

As Charles got to the part about Bill shooting him, he had second thoughts about telling the truth…
I’m not quite sure how much of this to tell. After all it didn’t really happen, or did it?
 
And if I can’t make sense of it, how can I explain it to Angela?
 
No, it couldn’t really have happened.
His right palm began to tingle and then burn slightly.

Sensing his hesitation, Angela began to speak.  “Where’s Bill, and what about the loot?  I don’t care if he shot a china man. It was his bad luck—he got in the way!”

Charles decided to err on the side of caution and change the story to fit his needs. “Bill drew a gun on me just as I finished opening the safe. I pulled my gun, and as luck would have it, he missed and I didn’t. As for the money, this job was not as lucrative as you made it out to be,” he said angrily.

Reaching down to the floor he picked up his bag and placed it on the oversized mahogany desk. A memory of better days spent with Angela on top of this desk passed briefly through his mind.
Damn, she is beautiful, especially when she is angry.
She had a thin face with perfect skin and beautifully shaped lips always decorated in a bright red lipstick. Her dark brown hair was straight and flawless and hung down past her shoulders. She always looked incredibly sensuous, especially the way she puffed on those White Orchid Cigars.

Sifting through the bag, she pulled out several stacks of money and fingered at some jewels as well. “There should have been close to a hundred thousand dollars in that safe. This looks at best to be about twenty thousand. The jewels are nice, but they are a far cry from making up the difference.”

“Look, I can only bring you what was there. I would have preferred it to be more. I was looking forward to a much bigger cut.”

Sitting back, she opened a beautiful wood humidor on her desk and lit up another cigar. It was small and gave off a rather sweet smell. “Well, Charles, you can only do what you can do. I’ll be honest with you; I was looking for one last really big score before scaling back the operation some. The police are becoming much more aggressive and at some point it’s time to call it quits.”

She said it calmly, but there was definitely a storm brewing under her serene surface.

“Bill was an excellent marksman. It’s quite amazing and lucky for you that he missed, especially after pulling off that perfect head shot earlier during the robbery, don’t you think?”

Well, if this isn’t a loaded question
? Charles thought. “Perhaps he was distracted by a noise from downstairs--that must have been it.”

“If you say so, Charles, then I am sure it happened that way.”

The way she uttered that statement was so smug and condescending he couldn’t contain himself. He stood up and leaned over the desk and waving his index finger in Angela’s face bellowed: “Let me tell you this! That’s the way it happened and there is nothing more to say!”

“Fine, we will discuss it more another day.” She peeled a thousand dollars off one of the money stacks and placed it on the desk in front of him. “Take it and get out, I don’t want to see you for a while.”

“I want Bill’s cut too. It’s not like he is going to collect it.”

Without another word she counted off another thousand and motioned for him to leave.

Charles headed back towards the front door. By the time he got into his car he was feeling better. Maybe he wouldn’t have Angela tonight, but he sure had a lot of money stashed. Besides, she would calm back down and things would smooth out. She may have questioned the Bill incident, but the money didn’t seem to be too much of an issue.

*    *    *

Angela left her office and proceeded into the parlor. One of her men was reading, about a robbery and murder that had occurred last night, in the
Minneapolis Star
paper. “Max, join me in the office.”

He promptly got up and followed her back to the office.

“I want you to follow Charles around—discreetly--for the next several days. Keep me posted on everything he does, and approximately how much money he spends.”

“Okay, boss.”

“And don’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Am I clear?”

“Very clear, boss.” Max and the rest of the gang knew better than to cross Angela. She could be ruthless, and had proved it on many occasions.