H.J. Gaudreau - Jim Crenshaw 02 - The Collingwood Legacy (15 page)

Chapter 38

Alan Wisecup was a prompt man. His father had retired after thirty-two years in the Army and had beaten, sometimes with his hand other times with his belt, a few bits of Army wisdom into young Alan. Most of which Alan had managed to forget during his six years in college.

But for some reason, which he never understood, Alan had never been able to shake his father’s emphatic obsession with being on time. His father’s scream sounded in Alan’s head louder than an alarm clock, “If you’re on time you’re by definition late.” That obsession with being on time had been so ingrained in young Alan that once, while still in middle school, his old man had told him to be home on time to receive a whipping. Alan knew what was coming, was scared to death, but still had hurried home ensuring he was ten minutes early. So now, twenty-three years after he’d left home, Alan still arrived for work ten minutes early.

The parking lot was filling. Cars were beginning to cruise the length of the lot like sharks circling chum. Alan parked in the far corner of the lot in hopes no one would park next to his six-year-old Toyota. Someone always did.

Cole Prestcott sat in his work van and watched Alan lock the door of his car. He’d selected his spot well. The van was partially hidden by a red Ford F250 pickup truck and, more importantly, Alan had to pass the van to exit the lot. Cole slipped out of the vehicle and stood next to the bumper.

A moment later, head down, shoulders slumped, Alan ambled past. Cole stepped out, took two hurried steps and was within inches of his prey. Before Wisecup could react Cole leaned forward and whispered, “Good morning Alan.”

Wisecup recoiled at the booze soaked plume of bad breath that enveloped him. Stopping abruptly he fought down an odd wave of panic, straightened his back and said in a voice filled with strength that he didn’t really feel, “Good morning Mr. Prestcott.”

“We need to talk about my payment…and my house.”

“Sir, the bank opens to the public in an hour. I’m sure we can discuss business then.” Wisecup’s reply was crisp. He looked Cole over then added, “Maybe you could get some coffee and then make an appointment to visit with me later today…”

“No, no…I’ve thought of that and frankly I just don’t think that’s a viable alternative you little shit.” Cole could feel his throat tightening.

“Mr. Prestcott! I think….”

Cole cut him off, “Alan I want you to turn around now and get in my van.”

“I will not. I certainly do not appreciate…” Cole shoved the short nose of his .32 caliber snubnosed revolver into Wisecup’s lower back.

“I don’t really care what you appreciate. I said get into the truck.” Cole’s voice was tight.

“I don’t think that’s wise Cole.” Wisecup struggled to sound normal, formal and regain control of the situation. “I think we should probably talk at the café just up there.” He raised his arm and pointed.

“No, no Alan, I think not.” Cole’s calm had returned. “Turn around Alan.” Wisecup did as he was told and now saw, rather than just felt, the little pistol. “Now, I’m going to blow your head off if you don’t walk back to that van and get in. I don’t give a shit if it’s right here in the middle of the damned parking lot. Understand?”

Wisecup glanced down at his waist. Cole held a pistol the size of Lake Michigan. He was sure he could look down the barrel and see a huge bullet pointed at him. His stomach tightened. In a low whisper he managed to say, “I understand Cole.”

They headed back to the truck. Alan frantically searched the parking lot. No one paid attention, they all hurried on their way to work or breakfast or the beach or something, but not to help him! “Self-centered bastards! HELP ME,” his brain screamed, but Alan didn’t make a sound. Standing next to the passenger door Alan’s knees began to shake.

Cole directed Wisecup to get in. “Make sure you put your seat belt on, I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.” Cole smiled.

“Where are we going?” Wisecup’s voice was quivering.

“We need to look for that seven thousand dollar check. Don’t we?”

Alan Wisecup was not a brave man. He didn’t think about the people walking past the truck. He didn’t think about running. He only thought about the pistol in Cole’s hand. He was sure it was a fifty or sixty or seventy inches or calibers or millimeters, whatever they used to measure guns with, it was just big! He did as he was told, even putting on the seat belt.

Cole ran around the front of the vehicle, got in and turned the key. “We’re going for a short ride Alan. I hope you don’t mind, but this is business. I’m sure your boss won’t mind you being late to work, after all…well, like I said this is business.”

Cole’s van backed out of the parking lot, swung onto Grandview Parkway and joined the morning traffic. They headed east and were soon out of the city. Cole accelerated as the road opened and in a few minutes they were passing a large Indian owned casino. Glancing at his passenger Cole asked, “Ever play there?”

Wisecup began to relax. “No, no…I’m not much for the casinos.” Maybe this was going to be alright. “Why would he ask me about playing in a casino if he intended to do something bad.” Alan thought.

“Too bad, you might have had fun,” Cole observed. The van crested a small hill and the countryside opened up in front of them. In the distance the sun poked through some low stratus clouds and Wisecup squinted. After a mile or so Cole slowed the truck and turned south. This road was paved, but not often used. The van bounced over frost heaves and through potholes. Not more than a mile later they came to a wrought iron fence. Cole leaned forward in his seat until he spotted the driveway. A second later they turned into the Circle Hill Cemetery.

“What are we doing here?” Wisecup’s voice was high, almost squeaky.

“Like I said Alan, we need to talk business.” The drive extended straight back from the road and ended at what looked like a “T” in the road, but was actually the connection with a circular drive. Cole turned right around the circle and parked the van at the opposite side. “Get out.”

Wisecup opened the door, swung his leg out, then fell back into his seat. “Calm down Alan.” Cole said and pointed at the seat belt locking Alan in place.  Alan unhooked the belt, got out and stood next to the van.  Cole hurried around the front of the vehicle then grabbed Alan’s arm and pushed him away from the van.

Alan began talking in one long sentence, his words spilling over each other without pause. “Cole maybe we could work an extension of the loans you know I’ve been thinking about those loans and the economy is surely going to turn around in fact I see hiring is picking up I think (wheeze) you’ll be selling boats again in a few months I just think…”

Cole cut him off. “Stop right there Alan.”

Wisecup nearly stumbled. His legs were jello. Cole removed a bottle from his jacket pocket and took a long pull. Then he walked to the back of the van. Opening the truck’s doors he glanced in Alan’s direction. “I always keep cleaning supplies in the back of the truck. Never know when they’re going to be handy,” he called.

Cole took another drink from the bottle. Standing in front of the open van doors his eyes scanned the interior. Finally, he picked up the bucket and dumped the contents on the floor of the van, then took a handful of rags from the resulting pile. He walked to Wisecup’s side. “Alan, look over there.” Cole pointed with the pistol. “See that bush with the headstone right next to it?” Wisecup glanced in the direction Cole indicated and didn’t see anything. He nodded his head yes. “Let’s walk over there.” Cole announced.

They walked to the bush and stopped. “Take a seat.” Cole pointed at the headstone. Alan began to sit on the ground. “No dumb ass. Sit on the headstone. Christ.”

Cole shook his head. Alan sat.

Cole began to pace; he took another drink and stumbled. “I sent that check. You know I did don’t you?” He didn’t wait for Alan to answer. “Did you cash it? Did you really think you could hide that check and take my home and my boats and my business and my life from me?” Cole stopped and watched a pair of crows land next to a dead squirrel on the road. The birds picked at the carcass, squabbled and called. A blue jay’s shrill voice pierced the air. Wisecup began to hope Cole would pass out or fall dead from the booze. “Did you think I was going to go back to living in some freezing little shit-fornothing attic again? You’re trying to fu…”

“We never got a check!” Alan shouted. “I looked.” Tears began to blur Wisecup’s vision, his voice cracked. “Really Cole, I looked.”

Cole didn’t listen, he’d stopped listening months ago. “Did you know my wife left me? She packed up the house and moved out. Did you know that?”

Wisecup didn’t know that. What the hell was she doing? They were going to leave the state together. They had talked about New York or Boston or Los Angles. The cold reality hit him like a winter storm. She had played him. She had never intended to take him with her. Alan began to shake.

“I didn’t know that Cole, I’m sorry, I, I didn’t…”

“I think you meant to take it all. I think you thought you were going to take it all away and…” Cole was wrapping the rags around the barrel of the pistol.    “…you were going to live in my house.”

“I’ve never seen your house Cole. I don’t want your house. I have my own house.” Wisecup’s voice had taken on the sound of a man pleading. “I didn’t take anything. It was her, it was Elaine that took it. She’s been stealing from you!” He could see what was going to happen and couldn’t think of a way to stop this oncoming train. “Even if I’m dead the bank will want its money, you can’t get away from that. I don’t make the rules; I’m just a bureaucrat.”

Alan decided to run. He tried to run, he commanded his legs to move, but they didn’t. Alan watched as Cole walked behind him and the headstone.

“Alan, you shouldn’t talk about Elaine like that. She didn’t take the money Alan, you did.” Cole’s eyes were focused on the pistol.

“Cole, I didn’t… Look, we’ve got programs, refinancing programs, that you can use. Please Cole…”

“Alan, you know the truth.”

“Cole, it’s not me. It’s the bank. No matter what you do to me they’ll take the house and business anyway.”

Cole thought about that for a moment. The crows had returned to the fight over the dead squirrel. He raised the pistol to the back of Wisecup’s head and fired.

“That maybe so Alan. I just don’t want you there when they come to get it.” Cole said to the body.

He walked back to the van and got in. After a moment he adjusted the rear view mirror so he could look at himself. A strange set of eyes met his. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said to the man in the mirror. For several seconds Cole stared at his reflection. “But he deserved it,” the image replied.

Chapter 39

East Bay shimmered under a waning moon as the night fell away. It would be daylight in a short time and Cole had another twenty miles to drive. Gradually the sun climbed above the white cedar trees and found the water in a dazzling display. Cole didn’t care; he had important things to do today. The cool morning air blasted through the open window of his truck and stung his face. He welcomed the chill, it kept him sharp, his thoughts clear. He sped south past Elk Lake and into the outskirts of Traverse City. Quickly passing through the still sleeping town he soon entered orchard country to the west.

Minutes later he passed the Cherry Nation Orchard’s welcoming road sign. He drove past the sign until he came to the next orchard. This acreage was not tended well, it was clearly going fallow, no one had harvested here in several years. A short distance later he found the gravel road he knew was there. Turning onto the rutted side road he slowed and drove several hundred yards. Cherry trees lined the road on the north, woods and low wetlands to the south. It didn’t take long, in minutes he found an equipment gate.

He opened the gate where tractors, harvesters, wagons, and other equipment entered the large orchard and drove some thirty yards off the road. He put the van in park, killed the engine and stepped down from the van’s high seat. The orchard was quiet, only a few doves cooed someplace in the distance. Cole went to the back of the vehicle and examined the two-track path he had just driven.

He was certain the van was now hidden by rows of cherry trees. Cole opened the back of the van and, after a quick search, decided to take a heavy duty bolt cutter, a crosscut saw, a crowbar, his tool grabber and two flashlights. These he stuffed into a nylon backpack.

Another quick check of the van and he set off between the trees. Fifteen minutes later he came to a broken down fence. He paralleled the fence for ten yards, came to a place where it was completely gone and simply walked onto Gerry’s newly acquired property. A short walk further and Cole was face to face with Gerry’s new barn.

The door was padlocked shut. This wasn’t going to be a problem. Cole set the backpack on the ground and took out his bolt cutters. A grunt or two later and the chain hung loosely from the door handles. Cole’s hands began to shake. Slowly he smiled, relief flooded over him. His problems were over.

He wouldn’t need long, Cole guessed ten minutes to get inside the boat, retrieve the pile of hundred dollar bills he was certain lay hidden there, and be gone. A sharp yank and the chain fell away from the door. Cole then pulled the right door open and slipped inside. Finally he could see…nothing!

“NO! Ohhh no, no, no!” In sheer frustration he turned and ran several steps away from the building. Cole stopped and walked back to the building. He paced, he walked back inside the barn, it was still empty. “What the hell? WHERE DID IT GO?” he screamed. He banged his fist on the wall. He swore and kicked the door. Finally, he slumped to the ground, his back against the now closed door of the building.

Cole stared at the far end of the empty building. Cheated. He’d been cheated again. Gerry had taken his money. He had found it, it was his, not Gerry’s. Without him Gerry would have never known there was thousands of dollars, maybe millions, just sitting there. Gerry was a thief. What else could you call him? He’d taken Cole’s money hadn’t he? He was helping Elaine take the business from him. Gerry had to pay.

Then Cole had another idea. Maybe the money wasn’t gone. Gerry had just moved the boat to the barn nearer the house. That was the only sensible thing. Gerry had said he needed that barn. The boat was just up near the house.

The money was deep inside the hull. And he hadn’t told anyone, not even Donna. Maybe Gerry didn’t know, maybe it was still there. Maybe he could still get it.

Cole felt better. The boat was near the house. He’d just go up there and get it, no need to hang around here. Cole stood up. He had to find that boat before anyone began a restoration. It couldn’t be that hard. It was probably up front at Gerry’s original barn. Cole brushed the dirt from his pants. He had a plan. This could work, it had to work.

Cole retraced his steps to the van and soon backed out of the orchard. Moments later he approached the Cherry Nation Orchard LLC sign and turned into the driveway. He couldn’t see the boat in the yard. It had to be in the old barn in back. He slammed the van’s door shut a bit too hard and sprinted up the steps of Gerry and Sherrie’s porch.

Pausing only a moment to catch his breath, Cole mashed the doorbell. Just finished with breakfast Gerry was surprised by the early visitor, but greeted Cole warmly. “Wow, Cole, you’re out early this morning.”

Cole hadn’t thought this through, but lying gets easier with practice and Cole was well practiced. “Yeah, well I needed some more information for that report you asked for.”

“Ah, I thought you’d forgotten about the report. I know I had!” Gerry said.

Cole winced at the unintended dig. “I knew you wanted this information, but we’ve been pretty busy. Finally I just had to let everything go and focus on this.” He patted the pad of paper in his hand. “I need some a few numbers, that sort of thing. I’ll be done tomorrow but, like I said, just need a little bit more.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I need to check which engine it has, there were more than one available, some other things like serial numbers, that kinda stuff.” Unconsciously, Cole’s hand brushed his jacket pocket. He could feel the hardness caused by the snubnose. He wasn’t sure why he had the gun. He wasn’t even sure who had put it in his pocket, but it made him feel better.

Cole had to find out where the boat was. He’d thought about coming right out and asking, but that would make Gerry suspicious. So he came up with, what he considered to be a perfect plan. He would be totally innocent.  It sounded good, but try as he might Cole couldn’t fight down a nervous stutter and he began to repeat himself. “Well, all I really need is the engine and transmission model numbers. If we could drive out to the boat I won’t be very long.”

“Sorry Cole, can’t do that. The boat isn’t here anymore,” Gerry said.

“But…what, well…where did it go?” Cole fancied himself a decent actor, and sometimes he was right.

Gerry smiled at Cole’s apparent confusion. “It’s a lot easier for everyone to have it out of there. I’m going to use that barn for equipment and some storage.”

Cole’s mind was racing. “Tell me where the damned boat is!” he thought. He needed to search the boat…the money was in the damned boat! Cole slipped his hand inside his pocket and found his gun. He squeezed the grip, clenching his fingers hard around the metal and plastic checkered surface, so hard his hand hurt.

“Okay, yeah, sure,” he said. Gerry noticed an odd detachment on Cole’s face. Cole’s mind wandered. He thought about the boathouse, the lifts; he loved that boathouse. He pictured the early days, the truck he towed the two Sea-Doos with all those years ago. He could feel the loneliness, the claustrophobia of the attic room he’d rented from a farmer outside Petoskey. The room was drafty. Cold air blew through the single window like shit through a goose. He was headed back there and there was no getting out of it.

“Where did you take it? I need to see that boat.” Cole’s evident frustration was putting Gerry off.

“I’ll have Jim give you a call, he’s in charge of the restoration. He’ll get all the info you need. Sound good?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Cole’s mind was racing. He turned, then turned back to Gerry. “Ya know, just thinking about it, well it gives me sort of a problem.” Cole’s voice trailed off.

“How’s that?” Gerry asked

“I might need to ask a few other questions. I think it would be better if I just examined the boat in-person. I might need to look at a particular part of the boat. You know, to find part numbers and stuff.”

“How much more info do you need Cole?” Gerry was becoming a little suspicious; something was odd here, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. “I think they’re out of town, but will be back in a day or two, I’m not sure. Like I said, I’ll have Jim give you a call when they get home. I’m sure he’ll invite you down and you can get everything done at one time.”

Cole studied Gerry. He knew; Cole could see it all over that sanctimonious face. He knew what was in that boat and he was going to keep Cole from getting what was his.

“Yeah…sure…yeah that’s fine. Thanks.” Cole turned and walked back to his truck without saying goodbye.

Gerry watched Cole’s truck leave the orchard then went back in the house.

“Everything alright?” Sherrie asked.

“Yeah, just talked to Cole. He’s an odd guy ya know?” Gerry said as he poured a cup of coffee.

“Something about him that’s for sure,” Sherrie replied.

A mile south Cole pulled off the road. He’d lost, he’d lost his nerve when he needed it the most. They had found the money. It was gone now. He’d never get it, he would lose everything. People would point at him and call him a total failure. They found it and then hid the boat so no one would know. Gerry was smart, he’d keep the money and screw Cole. He sat there thinking. He remembered how bad it was when he was just starting. He didn’t want to be broke again. He hated being cold, hated being hungry, and most of all hated not being able to do anything. He loved having all the money he needed to do whatever he wanted. That was gone. Boredom was the real killer.

The pistol was in his hand. It felt comfortable, balanced, like it belonged. He hadn’t put it there, just like he hadn’t put it in his pocket in the first place. The gun was shiny, and beautiful, in a deadly sort of way. He could smell the Hoppes gun oil. He put the muzzle in his mouth. The taste of spent gunpowder and oil wasn’t so bad. It would all be over in a flash.

Then it came to him. He heard the voice.