at each other for a moment. I was pointlessly waiting for her to ask me what I wanted, but, knowing she didn't really care, that was never going to happen.
“So...is Russell in?” I asked.
Jesse hesitated for moment. “Russell cannot be bothered right now. He...is in an important meeting.”
I glanced over at the door to Russell's office. It was open. No sounds could be heard coming from the his office. “When do you think he might be finished with his meeting?”
“I don't know.” Jesse said, not moving.
We stared at each other for a moment.
“Jesse, there's no paper in here again!” Russell's voice came from down the hall. The general location and the hollow echoing nature of his voice told me exactly where Russell was.
Another long moment passed as Jesse and I stared at each other.
“OK!” Jesse shouted without moving anything except her mouth.
Another long pause of staring.
“So, he'll be done with his meeting soon then?” I asked.
Jesse gave a trace of a nod. “Seems like it.”
I waited while Jesse retreated down the hall towards the back. Minutes passed and I heard a toilet flush. Another minute passed and Russell appeared. He glanced at me and went into his office. Jesse was not as yet back at her guard station so I took advantage of the situation to skirt the front counter and slip into Russell's office.
Russell looked up from his desk. “Sammy.”
“Russell.”
“Well, what? With you, it's always something and right now I don't have time for anything of yours.” Russell said.
“Trouble?” I asked. Like someone missing a large amount of cash? That's what I really wanted to ask.
“Huh.” Russell grunted. “You mean like people not letting me do my damn job?”
“Me?” I asked innocently.
Russell hesitated answering me. “Mrs. Stottlemire. Seems she is missing her Persian cat. She's calling every councilman on the board complaining I'm not doing my job. You know, I've got more important things to deal with than a missing cat.”
“Oh?” I asked. “Something going on?”
Russell looked at me. His bulky frame leaning forward slightly and his short red hair in a frazzled wavy state. “Why are you asking me that? For that matter, why are you here? You only ever show up here if there's trouble of some kind? What have you done now?”
“Nothing.” I said, sounding as innocent as possible. Even I had to admit, though, that I couldn't pull off innocent very well.
Russell continued staring at me.
“Really. Nothing. Nothing going on. You just seemed stressed. I thought maybe something was going on.” I said shaking my head. “Nope. Everything here's just fine.”
Russell stared at me for a moment longer before looking down at the scattering of papers around his desk. “Well,” he said, “just the usual crap. Those people in Hamlet Acres are all up in arms.”
“Hamlet Acres?” I asked. “Oh, that trailer park behind the restaurants.”
“Just a steady stream of complaints from them.” Russell said, tossing a couple of sheets into the trash can.
I nodded, in full agreement. “Ah. The smell.”
Russell glanced up at me. “Smell? No. They're complaining about the noise.”
“Noise?”
Russell nodded slightly. “All kinds yowling or some kind of animal sounds. Probably trying to get into the dumpsters back there.”
I nodded again. Then thought about Dennis' pizza place along there. “Was...it a sad animal sound or a hopeful animal sound?”
Russell stared at me for a long moment. “Now, how in the hell would I know? Why does that even matter?”
I sighed as my stomach quivered a little. “You might be surprised how important that is.” I said, in almost a whisper.
“So, why are you here?” Russell asked again.
“No reason.” I said. “Just stopping by.”
I got up and walked to the door. “You'll let me know about those animal sounds, right?” I asked.
Russell just stared at me.
“Right.” I said and left.
.
5
As the car reached the top of the hill I saw Wilson's truck just pulling out of the gravel road next to creek. What was he up to now? Searching the creek again for more trouble? If he found something more I needed to know what it was. I figured I would follow him and see what he was up to.
As Wilson crossed the small bridge over the creek a brown Cadillac pulled out of the gravel access road that ran alongside the other railroad track. It might have been nothing, but my gut told me something was up. I followed a short distance behind the Cadillac.
Wilson was heading south out of town. I could guess where he was going and when he passed Cherry Hill road and then turned left on the next road towards Hamlet Lake I knew I was right. The Cadillac diligently followed along. I drove past the road. I didn't like processions and three cars turning down a quiet hardly used dirt road that led nowhere was more than suspicious.
I drove a quarter mile further and turned around in someone's driveway. I wasn't worried about losing them. I knew where Wilson's shack was. I returned to the road down to the lake and slowly turned down it. I saw only a little dust still settling. I crept along. Another quarter mile and an even more rutted dirt road angled off. I eased down it a short distance and stopped. Wilson's shack was just ahead around a bend.
Rounding the bend on foot I saw the shabby shack Wilson called home. It comprised of a variety of lumber cobbled together into four walls with a corrugated aluminum roof. The roof was clearly constructed from scraps that Wilson picked up here and there. Some of the roof pieces seemed to be only held in place by strategically placed bricks. Around the house, amongst the knee high weeds, was a wild array of piles of junk. The term “junk” was probably flattery for what some of the piles appeared to be. There were recognizable piles of lumber and metal and some that were not recognizable except at a much closer inspection---something I was not inclined to do.
I weaved around a couple of piles and stopped. I could hear voices.
“You know what I mean. The suitcase. Where is it? I'm not asking you again.”
I peeked around a jumbled of wooden planks. Brown suit coat, brown pants, dark blue shirt, dull brown hair---and a nice black gun. The gun was pointed at a visibly shaking Wilson. They stood on the covered front porch of Wilson's shack. The guy was mostly facing away from where I stood.
“I...I don't have it. My friend has it. Sammy.” Wilson stammered.
Nice, I thought. Thanks, Wilson. When it came to negotiating a fee for his services Wilson Daggot could lie straight faced with the best of them. He picked this time to be honest.
“And where does this Sammy guy live?” the guy asked.
Wilson waved off in a direction. “Back up the road we came here. I can show you.” Wilson said, much too eagerly.
Even better, I thought. You are quite a piece of work Wilson Daggot. I glanced around for something useful and spied what appeared to be the spindly leg of a dining room chair that had long since been freed from the rest of the chair. I scooped it up and slowly crept out from behind the pile. I moved slowly, quietly, keeping behind the guy.
After only a couple of steps Wilson spotted me. His features visibly changed. The guy spun around and faced me. I was still a dozen feet away.
“Well, well, who is this? I suppose your name might be Sammy, huh?” The guy asked.
“Uh, Sam will do.” I said, politely. I was always polite when facing the business end of a gun.
“Where is the suitcase?” The man stared at me.
I hesitated. The suitcase wasn't mine. It wasn't Wilson's. The money didn't belong to either of us. For all I knew it might be perfectly legal and truly belong to this guy, but my gut told me that wasn't likely the case. More than that, I really didn't like people pointing guns at me. It made me very uncooperative.
??
?I need that suitcase and I will kill to get it back.” The guy made a slight gesture with the gun.
“If you kill me, you will never find the suitcase.” I said, knowing that was a complete lie. I had slid the suitcase under the bed in my parents house. It would take all of about 10 minutes to find it.
Now it was the guy's turn to hesitate. I could see the wheels in his head turning. Finally, he seemed to come to some decision.
“Look,” the guy said, his expression softened slightly, “I'm just a businessman. I made a mistake. I...borrowed some money from the company I work for. I...knew the money wasn't clean so the owners couldn't report it stolen. I thought I had gotten away with it, but they figured it out. If I don't get this money back to them...well, I'm a dead man. So, you see, I gotta have that money back. It ain't yours and I gotta have it. You're right, I can't kill you. I don't have time to go searching for it. My time's about up to get it back to them, but maybe, just maybe, I could shoot you without killing you and you just might be willing to tell where my money is.”
He took a coule of steps closer to me, stepping off the porch and changed the angle of his gun down towards my legs. I didn't like where this was headed.
There was a scuffle behind the guy as Wilson scrambled off the far side of the porch and ducked around a corner of the shack. The guy twisted around to look back at Wilson. Perhaps he was thinking Wilson was coming up behind him to save me. Clearly he didn't know Wilson Daggot.
With the guy's eyes off of me for a moment I tried jumping to the left over a pile of rusting pipes of all shapes and sizes. As usual, I grossly overestimated my athletic prowess. Most of me clearly the