Under Abnormal Conditions (7 page)

On his rail thin body he wore a black on
black suit, with a shiny oversized gold cross around his scrawny
neck. His coal black skin, bright teeth, and pointy little nose
gave him the look of a rat. The larger guy just looked like a wall.
He was dressed in a black suit with a black turtleneck. The morning
sun shone on his brown shaven head. His lips were full and his nose
broad. Dark shades covered his eyes. He was tall, broad and
virtually expressionless.

“I haven’t seen Ricky in over a year. Who’s
asking?”

“You can call me Lewis, and my partner here
is Junior. I wouldn’t call you a liar, but what about that car
across the street?”

I looked over the little man and around the
big man to see Ricky’s avocado green Chevy Nova. It was the same
wreck he drove in high school. “That’s his mother’s car. She’s here
for a visit.” I said off the fly.

“Can we talk to her?” asked rat-man.

“She’s still asleep,” I answered hoping Ricky
wouldn’t come strolling in from his room. I put my hand on the
doorknob just in case.

“I’ll stop by later, and maybe I can have a
word with mom.”

“How about I call you.” I stated,
matter-of-factly.

He opened his coat, took out his card and
handed it to me. In the last twenty-four hours, I had collected
enough cards to start my own business. Without even looking at it,
I thanked him, closed, and locked the door. I was surprised I
didn’t see a gun in his jacket. I supposed Mr. Wall took care of
that type of business.

I leaned against the door and waited for
Ricky to peek his head around the corner.

“You want to explain this?” I asked, throwing
the business card at him.

With his head down he walked from the hallway
and picked up the card. “It’s Iceberg Rusk.”

That name just sounded like a criminal. Ricky
had gotten into some serious trouble a few years ago, but I had
hoped that was all in the past. “What are you into this time?”

“No, Doc. It’s not what you think. I was
working for Iceberg out of New Orleans. I was just a bookkeeper. I
kept track of the incoming and outgoing transactions, if you know
what I mean.”

From my irritated look, he could see I was
not satisfied with his lackluster answer. Fiddling with the belt on
his borrowed robe, he continued.

“Well, there was an old man that would chase
away drug dealers in front of his store. Iceberg wanted me to kill
him. Until then, I had just setup his computer systems and kept
books for him. He said I had to prove myself. I couldn’t shoot a
rival dealer or anything like that. It had to be a civilian. I knew
it was wrong, but the money I made there was ten times more than I
could make programming. Hell, I couldn’t kill anybody.”

“He’s coming after you because you didn’t
kill someone? Just go to the police.” I said in disbelief.

“Ok. There’s something else,” he said
nervously. “Before I left I put a virus in his computer system, and
I drained one of his bank accounts.”

“How much?”

“Just enough to relocate.”

“How much?”

“Not that much. I’m surprised he even missed
it.”

“How much?” I asked, with all patience
lost.

“$50,000” he stated flatly, eyes downcast, as
he concentrated on twisting the pull cord on the mini blinds
avoiding giving into the impulse to look outside to be sure they
were gone.

“You stole $50,000 from a killer! And you
didn’t think he would miss it?”

“Look, I didn’t want to get you involved but
I was sure they couldn’t track me here.”

As I thought of it, he was normally the one
that got us into the most trouble when we were kids. In fact, I
remember one time when he and Trey were supposed to be spending the
night with me. Ricky talked us into sneaking out to see a movie.
None of us had any money, so it seemed we sneaked out for nothing.
Ricky came up with an idea. We would go from house to house
collecting for our local choir. It was a believable story, and we
made enough for a movie and a large bucket of popcorn.

We thought we had made it free and clear when
we made it home and my parents were asleep. The next day was Sunday
so we all got up and got ready for church. We went to Sunday school
and everything was fine. In fact, we were planning something for
the next Saturday when my grandfather stood in the middle of church
and declared his boys had an announcement to make. “They have taken
it upon themselves to start a collection for our choir. Now the
boys will tell you just what they plan on doing with that money.”
He shot an eye at us. I had never been so afraid in all my life.
Everyone was waiting for us to stand and say something, but we all
just sat there.

“They’re just a little afraid right now, so
I‘ll speak for them. They plan on paying for the choir trip to
Houston for the Gospel-fest. They are going to use the money they
collected last night and they are going to wash cars every Saturday
for the next month or until they reach our goal,” he said, in his
usual boisterous tone. This brought about a great roar in the
congregation. Everyone thought we were heroes, but we knew the
truth. That was punishment enough by itself, but to this day I
couldn’t bring myself to wash my own car.

“Ricky? How could you let this happen?” I
asked, pulling from my reverie.

“I needed the money. I wanted to get a real
job, but no one would hire me without a degree. Mom and Dad ran out
of money, and I wanted to finish school.”

Before I could further chastise him, I
remembered my own school assignment. With the subject of my paper
dead, I had no project, and with no project, I wouldn’t graduate. I
had worked far too hard and had overcome far too much to quit.

“OK, wait,” I said to stop his justification
for working for a murderer. “That new computer setup? Can I still
use my email with that?” I asked.

“Definitely. You want to take a look?” he
responded happily.

“Yeah, I need to email my professor and let
him know what is going on.” We went into my office and he got
online. I looked through my notebook and found the professor’s
email address. I sat down and typed a short note.

FROM: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Dr. Pierre,

My name is Michael Drake and I am a student
in your 11:00 TT Abnormal Psych class. I have a problem with my
final project that I need to discuss with you. Very important.

Michael Drake.

“He should get this pretty quick, right?” I
asked.

“About one minute after you hit the send
button.”

“So he’ll have it later today?” I asked,
embarrassed of my naiveté.

“If he checks it, sure. You may want to check
it later to see if he sends you anything back.”

We went back to the kitchen, and I dug around
until I found a box of oatmeal to make for breakfast.

“How long were you going to wait until you
told me about this situation?” I asked as we sat down to eat.

“I guess I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell you.
I really didn’t think they would be able to find me that fast,” he
said as he poured half the container of sugar on his oatmeal.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Well, I know I can’t stay here forever,” he
said and looked at me with hopeful eyes. I looked down at my
oatmeal. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

It amazed me that Ricky was as smart as he
was and constantly stayed in trouble. He could turn a wristwatch
into a computer and back again, but when it came to learning to
take the path away from trouble, he always faltered.

I walked over and looked out of the front
door to see if the gangsters had gone.

“Ricky?” I called out.

“Yeah, Doc.”

“With all of that money, why didn’t you buy a
new car?”

We laughed for a minute and decided it would
be best if he stayed at my house, out of sight. I would drive his
car to Trey’s apartment and leave it there until he was ready to
leave. In the mean time, I really didn’t know what else to do. As I
started to gather my things to leave the house, the telephone rang.
When I heard the voice on the other end of the line, I thought I
would have to pick my heart up from the floor.

“Michael Drake?” he asked.

The voice belonged to Kevin Turner.

“Yes, this is Michael. What can I do for
you?”

“This is Kevin Turner. I know you got knocked
around a little bit last night, how are you?”

“Fine. What do you need?” I asked, figuring
he was searching for the supposed missing cash.

“I am going to need to ask you some questions
about the incident last night.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’d rather have a face to face with you. You
can come to my office. Drive around to the back and the officers
will let you in.”

“Well, I have to talk to the police and-”

“That’s fine,” he interrupted. “Talk to them
first and meet me at the office at four o’clock. Thanks.”

He quickly hung up the phone. I didn’t know
what to say. Ricky started clearing the table and asked, “What was
that about?”

“The security guy from the club wants me to
come in and talk to him.”

“Security?” he chuckled. “That’s trouble,
Doc.”

“Yeah, I got that feeling too. If I don’t
show up I’ll look guilty.”“If you do show you’ll just look
stupid.”

I dismissed my churlish houseguest and
finished preparing for my day. I must have drunk twenty cups of
coffee the night before to keep me awake. With every step I took, I
could feel every sip.

As I sat down on the edge of my bed to clear
my head before I started getting dressed, tiredness fell over me.
With so much happening that morning, I hadn’t had the time to be
tired. With a few moments silence, thoughts of sleep crept into my
mind.

The soft pillow and warm sheets looked so
inviting I had to hurry and start getting dressed. If I had
hesitated for an instant, I would have drifted to a place so far
away from my problems I may never have awakened.

In the darkness of a man’s dreams, he can
valiantly fight the monsters that haunt him during the day. He can
also be afraid of waking up. Afraid of what the next day may have
in store for him.

I walked to the bathroom to splash some water
on my face and wake myself up. Convincing myself the weary man in
the mirror was not myself was not an easy task. My face wore a thin
beard and heavy bags under my eyes. I looked like someone that had
been up all night.

The spot on the back of my head was still a
little tender. Whatever I was hit with left its mark. I hoped a
shave would improve my appearance enough to make a good enough
impression. For as long as my father was a cop, the only time I had
seen the inside of that station was visiting him.

Just as I finished my shave, Ricky walked in
the bathroom.

“Getting ready for the inquisition?”

“It’s not like that. They just want to go
over what happened last night.” I said half for him, half for
me.

“You believe that?”

“I have no reason not to,” I answered.

“Yeah well, that’s you. What’s the deal with
the security guy?”

“Same,” I said as I walked back to the
bedroom.

“Yeah, you got to talk to the police. You
don’t owe that club anything. It could have been you that got
killed.”

“It doesn’t matter. If I don’t talk to him,
they are going to think I’m guilty of something. I know I’m
innocent. I don’t have anything to hide.”

“That don’t mean you shouldn’t be
afraid.”

His words were tempered with the wisdom of a
man that had spent more than his fair share of time in the criminal
justice system. If he were to tell it, all of his brushes with the
law could easily be explained away.

His robbery charge was simply a case of
picking up a bag he thought was his. It probably wouldn’t have been
an issue if the bag didn’t contain a three thousand-dollar laptop
computer. A charge of burglary was merely a house party that got
out of hand. The only catch was the owners of the house were out of
town and had no knowledge of the party.

He never did any serious time, but for a
while we wondered if we would have to make plans to visit him at
the prison on Sundays after church.

Chapter 9

As soon as I stepped out of my front door I
saw the Action 2 news van parked across the street. We must have
seen each other at about the same time because before I could take
out my keys to unlock my car door, the van door opened and Sharon
Bryant and a cameraman came running towards me.

“You haven’t forgotten me, have you Mr.
Drake?” she said from the gate. “All I need is five minutes of your
time,” she said as she let herself in.

“To be honest with you, Ms. Bryant, I
did.”

“That’s OK. Call me Sharon. We can do the
interview right here, alright?”

I pulled her aside so the cameraman couldn’t
hear me and said, “Look, I haven’t been able to contact my parents
yet and I would hate for them to see this on the news. I promise
you will be the only person I talk to.”

“Are you promising me an exclusive?” she
asked.

“Absolutely. You will get my first, last, and
only interview. I promise.”

“Hold on, Larry,” she said over her shoulder.
“We are going to come back later for a live interview.”

When she stressed the word live, I began to
wonder if I had just jumped into something else I couldn’t
handle.

“I didn’t say anything about a live
interview, Ms. Bryant.”

“Well, we could just set up now and you can
just say ‘no comment’. I’m sure that would go over wonderfully with
the police and our audience.”

She had me right where she wanted me, and she
knew it. I agreed they could come back later and they left. I
wondered just how much more trouble I allowed myself to get in as
she drove off.