A WORRIED MAN Read online

  Meredith, who always got home well ahead of me (her job at the daycare center was a five minute walk from our house), greeted me with a kiss. "You looked bagged," she said, gazing at me with compassion.

  "Bad day at work," I said.

  She brought a beer from the fridge and uncapped it for me. "Go relax with the news. Dinner will be another twenty minutes or so."

  "Thanks, hon," I said. "How was your day?"

  "Pretty slow," she replied. "The daycare business is definitely not too lively right now."

  I knew she loved it when things were at their busiest at work. "Hope it picks up for you."

  "Me, too."

  I took Conner into the living room with me and set him down with a bunch of toys. I sat back in my favorite recliner and turned on our local station just as the news was starting. It didn't take long for it to catch my attention.

  The lead story was about a fellow by the name of Nathan Pritchard who'd been found murdered in an alley in the downtown business district. Beyond stating that death had occurred as a result of a gunshot, the police weren't divulging much in the way of details. But I didn't have to be hit on the head with a brick to surmise that Mr. Pritchard was the unfortunate fellow I had seen trying to evade two goons during a rainstorm three days earlier.

  And the reason for his termination seemed all too clear.

  The little matter of a missing six hundred grand.

  Okay, so now I knew with certainty that the players in this game of ours were as serious as brain cancer. And the mob connection seemed ever more likely. But knowing what I now knew, how exactly did it impact me? Even if I decided to give back the money, who exactly did I give it to? I couldn't place an ad saying I was sorry for my temporary lapse of sanity, please come and get your money. And even if I somehow came up with a likely candidate, who was to say they were the legitimate claimants? If not, all I would have accomplished by my actions would have been to divulge my identity to the real bad guys who might then decide they needed to make an example of me by effecting some form of brutal punishment. The same argument worked against turning the money over to the cops. The more thought I gave it the more obvious it seemed: keep your mouth shut and your hands off the money. Given enough time, all will be forgotten.

  That thinking, of course, may have been just a tad naïve.

  4

  A week went by during which time nothing of consequence occurred, at least with respect to my involvement with the money. News reports about Nathan Pritchard's demise remained sketchy. On the surface, he was an unlikely candidate for death by violence. A middle-aged guy, divorced three years earlier, with two teen-aged daughters living with their mother; alimony and support payments were current; friends reported him to be a quiet, likable guy; and his employer of long standing - a firm of Chartered Accountants - had nothing but positive things to say about him. By all accounts he lived an unpretentious life and had no known associations with people of ill repute. Robbery had more or less been ruled out when he was found with over one hundred dollars in cash in his wallet and a watch, worth maybe two hundred, still on his wrist. If he'd been robbed, reporters speculated, it had been for something of significant value that he was carrying. None of those who knew him could proffer a guess as to what that might have been.

  Just about the time interest in Pritchard's untimely death was beginning to wane it took on new life. A reporter, quoting a source inside the Maynard Police Department, divulged that evidence indicated Pritchard had been viciously tortured before being killed. It was even suggested that several unspecified body parts had been removed.

  My angst level, based on a scale of one to ten, suddenly jumped to eleven.

  Throughout the period of time since my so-called windfall had occurred I had avoided contact with the three guys who constituted my circle of close friends. The rationale here was that I needed to keep close-mouthed about everything that was happening in my life and when I was with these guys a significant volume of booze generally flowed rather freely. If I knew anything right now it was that loose lips spelled disaster for me. But despite all this I missed these guys and needed the support they gave me whether or not they knew they were giving it.

  On Friday night when the gang called me from our local hangout - a country and western joint called Calhoun's - and insisted I come out for a few drinks I caved in and joined them.

  "About time, Jimbo," Slim Hepner mumbled as I pulled a stool up beside him at the bar.

  Slim's real name was Steven, the Slim epithet a corny reference to the fact he'd been at least eighty pounds overweight since his senior year in high school. The excess weight went well with his shaggy hair and unkempt beard. "What can I say, Slim? I'm a busy guy."

  "Busy, shit. Your old lady's pullin' on the old leash, right?"

  "Where are the rest of the guys?" I asked to divert further discussion on my lack of attendance lately.

  Slim tossed his head in the direction of the pool table located in the far corner of the bar. "Found a couple a live ones."

  Randy Scoffield and Ernie Bosch were among the best pool players in the county. Anybody stupid enough to actually take them on was not apt to be a local. But every once in a while an opportunity to relieve some poor sap of his money presented itself and Randy and Ernie were only too happy to oblige. I watched from a distance for a few minutes.

  "Are they as plastered as they're making out?" I asked Slim.

  "Nah, it's pure hustle. They let the marks win a couple early on and then took a few games by a small margin. Now they've got them at the big bet stage and they're startin' ta clean up."

  I nodded. Nothing new there. I ordered a couple of beers and a bourbon chaser and spent some time in quiet reflection.

  "What's goin' on, James?" Slim asked after a few minutes. "You look like you got problems."

  I would have dearly loved to come clean about what was happening in my life and I even gave some thought to actually doing it, but, ultimately, I recognized that thinking for what it was: utter foolishness. I kept my mouth shut.

  An hour later our two pool hustler buddies joined us at the bar, all smiles and chuckles. Randy and Ernie were actually cousins and bore a conspicuous resemblance to each other. Both had dark complexions and slender builds but Ernie was a couple of inches taller. The most obvious differences, though, being that Randy wore glasses and Ernie usually did most of the talking.

  "So, how much did you take those poor saps for?" I asked.

  "Five hundred," Randy admitted. "Could a been more but Ernie here decided he had to start showing off."

  "They were tapped out anyway," Ernie countered. "Waste a time to keep hustling those peckerwoods."

  I glanced over to the pool table. The two guys they had just fleeced were directing a lot of looks our way and they were not happy looks. I also took note of the fact they were both big dudes. Particularly one of them. At least six five and well muscled. The other guy was chunky but not fat. In a physical confrontation with these two, Randy and Ernie would not fare well.

  "I'm thinking those guys are about ready to come over here and start something," I opined. "Maybe we ought to move along."

  Randy and Ernie both snuck surreptitious looks at the two suckers. "Maybe you're right," Ernie said, a trace of fear suddenly appearing on his normally carefree face. "That tall guy makes me uneasy. And that other dude, he never talks. Not a word. It's spooky. Yeah, let's motor."

  My three compatriots hopped down from their stools in unison and advanced rapidly toward the back door. The thought skittered across my mind that I wasn't really part of what had gone down here. If I stayed put I might very well avoid a nasty confrontation with these guys. But not to at least appear to back up my buddies in a time of potential peril wouldn't do either.

  We made it as far as the parking lot.

  "Hold up there, boys," a voice behind us called out. The tone was authoritative but not particularly aggressive. Almost friendly.

  We stopped as one and turned. T
he voice had come from the tall one. He casually walked to within ten feet of us. Seen up close, he had handsome features spoiled only by a long, deep scar that ran from his right eye down the length of his cheek all the way to his chin. His hair was dark and wavy, parted in the center of his head, and fell to his shoulders.

  His partner skirted us and came to a stop at our backs. He had a thick neck and a perfectly bald and shiny head. He wasn't tall but he was powerful looking with muscled arms that were liberally covered with tattoos.

  "Do the smart thing, gentlemen," Tall Guy said. "Give us back our money and walk away."

  This guy was in control of his emotions and confident of his ability to face up to being outnumbered. His polite and seemingly reasonable manner only made me even more nervous.

  No one spoke for ten seconds during which time my nervousness escalated significantly.

  "Give him the money, Ernie," I said. "It isn't worth fighting over."

  "Screw that," Ernie responded. "We won it fair and square."

  "You hustled us, my friend," Tall Guy retorted.

  I glanced behind me to see what Chunky was up to. He stood quietly with his fisted hands at his side, clearly prepared to spring into action when required.

  Then something happened that I would never have imagined.

  Ernie reached behind his back and, from under his jacket, produced a large gun.

  "What the hell, Ernie!" I choked. "What're you doing?"

  "What he's doing," Tall Guy said matter-of-factly, "is making a very large mistake."

  "We're leaving," Ernie announced. "So just back off."

  Tall Guy waited a few seconds, then made a very slight motion with his head to Chunky who immediately stepped aside so that we could access our vehicles.

  As we backed away Tall Guy called out in a quiet, dispassionate tone, "We'll be in touch."

  A shiver ran down my spine.

  The one thing in the world I didn't need was another bad-ass looking for me.

  5

  The following Monday found me back at my less than wonderful job. Elliot Carter, my supervisor, started in on me early and continued to ride my ass all day. I was beginning to seriously consider quitting. The only thing that stopped me was the possibility that it would draw attention to me. How does the poor slob without a nickel to his name justify giving up a secure job in a town with so few opportunities? Carson Engineering may not have been an inspiring place to work but it was by far the largest employer in town and the only one offering anything approaching decent advancement opportunities.

  No, now was not the time to pull the plug at Carson.

  Even with Elliot Carter on my case I was having trouble concentrating. Bad enough that I was probably being hunted by the mob, I now had to contend with the possibility that a couple of angry saps from the bar were looking to work me over for having the bad judgment to associate with the group of reprobates I called my friends.

  Randy, Ernie, and Slim had been lying low. Not a word from any of them since the scene at the bar. Not that I was hoping to hear from them. I couldn't believe Ernie had actually been dumb enough to carry a pistol into a bar. And then to threaten somebody with it. Unbelievable.

  Somehow I got through the day. When I walked into the house, however, things only continued to spiral downward.

  Meredith met me at the door with a hint of moisture in her eyes. "I've been laid off," she said. She put her arms around my neck and leaned her head against my chest. "How are we going to cover all the bills and stuff?" she sighed mournfully.

  How, indeed? It wasn't that she made a whole lot of money at the daycare center but the loss of her salary was definitely going to hurt us.

  Things just kept getting better and better.

  But, then, there was all that money sitting down in the basement, wasn't there. We didn't really need to worry about anything at all.

  A nice thought. If only it could have been true.

  ***

  It didn't take long for Tall Guy to make an appearance. I was backing out of my garage two days later, on my way to work, when I saw him in my rearview mirror. He was leaning against a Harley at the end of my driveway, arms folded casually across his chest, smoking. Oh, hell, I thought. One more problem I really don't need.

  I got out of my car and walked back to confront him. I wasn't terribly worried about being physically accosted, at least not at that moment. It was after all a very public place and this guy had not impressed me as someone who was so whacked out he would cause trouble in front of witnesses. In fact, just the opposite was the case - he seemed a pretty laid back sort all things considered.

  "Good morning, Mr. Barlow," he said as I neared him.

  I wasn't at all surprised that he knew my name. Most of the people at the bar could have enlightened him in that regard. "What do you want?" I said.

  He seemed almost insulted that I hadn't maintained decorum by returning his greeting. "Well," he said, "there's this matter of money owed to me by some friends of yours."

  "And why do you think this is any of my business?" I asked.

  "To be perfectly honest," he replied, "I don't. Not really. But Mr. Scoffield and Mr. Bosch have apparently seen fit to make themselves scarce and---"

  "Listen," I interrupted, "for what it's worth I don't particularly agree with the way they treated you and your friend. But it's really not my concern, is it?"

  "Not directly, no," he answered reasonably enough. "But I'm sure you wouldn't want anything … untoward to transpire. I'm thinking maybe you'd be willing to help them out a little."

  "You know, something escapes me here," I said. "Why the hell did you turn over the five hundred to them in the first place? I would have thought you'd have confronted them as soon as you realized they were playing you for suckers."

  "Didn't want to create a ruckus in front of all those nice people in the bar. Thought it much better to settle this outside. But your friend surprised us. Never figured him to be carrying that hardware."

  The more this guy talked the more impressed I was. Although he looked the part of a very tough guy - and undoubtedly he was - he didn't portray himself that way by either his actions or his words. "I was as surprised as you when he pulled that little trick," I said.

  "I know you were. And before that you were also reasonable enough to suggest that he give back the money. That's why I figured we'd give you a chance to make things right. While there's still time."

  "And if I don't?"

  "Then, I'm afraid, things might turn nasty."

  I didn't need him to clarify exactly what he meant by that. One didn't need much of an imagination to figure it out. "I'll see what I can do," I said.

  He dropped his cigarette to the driveway and snuffed it out with his boot. "I'll talk to you again soon." With that said, he straddled the Hog, fired it up with one easy crank, and rode away at a conservative pace.

  When I got to work I called Slim. He worked as a mechanic at a local garage about twenty-five hours a week. The rest of the time he tried to keep busy doing freelance stuff out of his own place for friends and acquaintances. He and his wife, April, owned a couple of acres about a mile east of town that he'd inherited from his parents a few years earlier. The house was a ramshackle dump but there was a good-sized building at the back that served as a decent spot to work on vehicles. Slim answered his cell on the fourth ring. "Yo."

  "It's me," I said.

  "Sup, dude?"

  "You heard from Randy or Ernie?"

  "Ernie called two nights ago. Said him and Randy were gonna take a little holiday. Maybe head out to Vegas for a week or so."

  This didn't surprise me. Both these guys were as free as birds and the time seemed right for them to get out of town for awhile. Randy was a self-employed web designer who made enough to scrape by and Ernie did whatever came along when it became necessary. Neither of them were tied down by wives, and girlfriends came and went.

  "I got a visit this morning from the big guy from the bar,"
I said.

  "No shit?"

  "Yeah. With Randy and Ernie apparently incommunicado he thought I might like to take care of their obligation."

  "What'd you tell him?"

  "That I'd see what I could do."

  "You okay with that? I heard Meredith lost her job. Things got to be a tad tight for ya."

  "Right. That's why I said I'd see. You got any spare cash you could donate to the cause?"

  Slim practically choked on that one. "You have gotta be kiddin', my man."

  "Mmm, that's what I thought. Okay … well, if you hear from either of those shitheads, tell them to call me. By the way, what in the name of Christ was Ernie thinking, pulling a gun on these guys? Since when did he become Wyatt Earp?"

  "You got me on that one, hoss. I had no idea he was packin'. You think things might turn ugly, Jimbo?"

  "I'm thinking it's a definite possibility, yeah."

  "It's been real slow lately but I guess I could toss a C-note to you."

  A C-note wasn't going to cut it. "That's okay, Slim. Leave it with me."

  I hung up wondering what the world was going to throw at me next. I had a suspicion it wasn't going to be something good.

  I was right.

  6

  You've undoubtedly heard people say, 'If it wasn't for bad luck they'd have no luck at all'. That's how I was beginning to feel. So with the way things were going I decided I had better make a move to get that cash out of my basement and into the bank deposit box as planned. It was a little sooner than I had originally intended but nothing was written in stone after all. So on the morning following my chat with Tall Guy I went downstairs and retrieved ten of the packets from the attaché case and stuffed them into the inside pockets of my jacket. The weather was a little on the warm side for the jacket but I figured nobody would take notice of anything that inconsequential. When I came upstairs I called out a 'Goodbye, love ya' to Meredith and got out quickly. I wanted to make sure she didn't have an opportunity to notice my newfound weight gain.