Hot Shot, page 18
Lionel turned around and stopped in the middle of the road. He looked all around him. He could see or hear nothing to set off an alarm. He couldn’t hear anything other than the rain splashing in the puddles and on his slicker, yet he knew something, somewhere was wrong. He could feel it in every pore of his body. What the hell was it? What was he missing?
By the time Lionel made his way to the clubhouse, the rain had stopped its ferocious onslaught and seemed to be tapering off. He hoped it would all stop soon.
“You’re up, Dom,” Lionel called out just as he opened the door.
Dom was already in his slicker, boots, and fisherman’s rain hat. “Anything I need to know, Lionel, before I start making my rounds?”
“Sid Donaldson’s porch light is on, but that’s okay. I checked on him, and he fell asleep on the sofa. Sadie Davis left her light on, but she’s spending the night with her friend Ada Cummings. I read the note she left on her door, and that’s how I know, so don’t waste your time checking those two out.”
“Okay, see you when my shift is over. Nick should be getting up soon. I heard him rustling around a little while ago. He said something that’s making me nervous. Well, not really nervous. Maybe concerned would be a better word. He said when he took the first shift, things didn’t feel right out there for some reason, and it wasn’t the rain. Not that he found anything wrong, it was just that things seemed off somehow. He didn’t know whether he should mention it, but he did say that. He said it was nothing he could pinpoint, just a feeling he had. Of course, that was early on in the evening. The day was winding down, that kind of thing. It would explain his feelings to a point. Did you notice anything, Lionel? Should I be looking or searching for something out of the ordinary?”
“Nick is right. The beat and the rhythm is off. That’s the only way I can explain it. I know every inch of Happy Village, and something is definitely off. I can’t explain it any better than Nick did. Go ahead now. I’ll talk to Nick when he gets up. Then I’m going to catch a few winks. Call me if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary. Do not, I repeat, do not try to be a hero out there if you do spot something. Just call or text. We’re not looking to be heroes here. The rain is letting up, so it won’t be too bad for your shift. It might have stopped by now. Take care, and don’t do anything stupid, you hear?”
Dom grinned. “Okay, Dad.” It was an ongoing joke, with Lionel saying the same thing every night when he and Nick left to do their patrol. The door closed softly behind the intrepid student, then opened almost immediately. “Stopped raining!” he called out, then closed the door once again.
“Thank God!” Nick grumbled as he ambled over to the table and flopped down on one of the folding chairs. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to swim my route when we come back tonight. Everything okay, Lionel?”
“I don’t know, Nick. I had this . . . this . . . weird feeling the whole time I was on patrol. Dom said you felt something strange. The rain had nothing to do with it. There’s something wrong, I can sense it. And yet I double-checked everything. There’s nothing I can put my finger on. The three of us know every nook and cranny of this place. I know when something is wrong. I can feel it in my steps, something lurking that you can’t see but only sense. It’s not a sound, it’s not a thing or a place. It’s just . . . just . . . I guess the air. I can’t explain it for the life of me.”
Nick rubbed at the stubble on his chin as he stared across the table at Lionel. “You don’t have to explain it. I totally understand, and I can’t explain it either, other than by saying that something doesn’t feel right. We’ve been doing this for what seems like forever, and there has never been a real blip. This is something I’ve not experienced before on this job with you guys. At first I wasn’t going to say anything because I thought you all would think I had gone bonkers. It will be interesting to see what Dom has to say when he finishes his shift. You want a root beer, Lionel?”
“No thanks. I’m going to pull out that cot over there and catch a few z’s. If you think of anything, or if something goes down, wake me right away. And lock the door.”
Root beer bottle in one hand, cell phone in the other, Nick walked over to the clubhouse door and double-locked it. He looked around, grateful that there were no windows in the clubhouse. His eyes narrowed, his shoulders trembled, and he didn’t know why.
He was safe.
For now.
From what?
Knowing there wasn’t going to be an answer to his silent questions, Nick reached for his laptop and opened it up. He had a paper due in two days and was behind on two other assignments. He needed to crack the books, and now was as good a time as any; it had the added benefit of taking his mind off whatever mystery was going on at Happy Village.
Two hours later, Nick turned off his laptop, satisfied he’d done a good job on his five-thousand-word essay. As an exchange student, he found American academics much easier than those in England. He sighed, rolled his head on his shoulders, then got up and did some stretches. He was about to drop to the floor to do some sit-ups when he heard an ungodly whoop from the far corner of the room, where Lionel was sleeping on the cot.
“What the bloody hell! Did you fall off the cot and break something? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong! Suddenly, everything is all right. Didja hear me, Nick, I figured it out when I was sleeping. I know what I missed. You missed it, too, and so did Dom. Think, man, really think. What didn’t you see and smell tonight?”
Nick ran his hands through his ginger-colored hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. Normally, he considered himself to be more observant than the others, but here was Lionel telling him that wasn’t the case. “See and smell? Okay,” he said, his brow furrowed in thought. “If there was anything to smell, I admit I missed it because all I could smell was the earth, the rain, and something that smelled like wet fur. I didn’t see them, but I felt hundreds of those tree frogs all around me. For long stretches of time, it was almost impossible to see in front of you with the way the rain was coming down. Some of the patrol I did by pure instinct. At some points, I couldn’t even see the buildings. Give me a clue.”
Lionel hopped around from one foot to the other as he tried to goad Nick into remembering what he’d failed to see. “Think back to other patrols, your route, the things you saw every night, things you were used to seeing. Not out of the ordinary but ordinary. Just part of the patrol. We see it every night, rain, snow, or sunshine, dark or light. It’s always there. Damn it, Nick, think!”
“I am! I am! Nothing is coming to me. It was the rain, it was like a tsunami at some points. Twice I had to stop and wait it out before I could go on. The rain just took over the night. Stop dragging this out and tell me what I missed.”
“Think Magnolia Terrace, second house on the left! Now do you see it?”
Nick’s eyes popped wide. He gave himself a slap alongside of his head. “Mr. Hershel! His cherry pipe tobacco! He didn’t call out! I missed the scent of the tobacco because there was no tobacco to smell. You’re right, Lionel, I missed it, and I’m sorry.”
“I missed it too, and so did Dom. Open up your laptop and check the Happy Village home page. They have a log that shows which tenants sign out when they go somewhere overnight. It’s a mandatory rule for the twice-a-day wellness check the Village provides. The last time Mr. Hershel was away was when he had hip surgery right before Thanksgiving. He didn’t get back to his house until right before Valentine’s Day. He spent almost two months in rehab.”
Nick looked up at Lionel and shook his head. “He didn’t sign out. No one signed out today. Everyone is in residence.”
“Then why wasn’t he on his porch? The porch on his house is the only one in the complex big enough for four rockers. Mr. Lomax hung a bamboo blind lined with plastic that is on rollers so that Mr. Hershel can sit out on his porch in inclement weather. Before he did that, Mr. Hershel would wrap himself in an old shower curtain so he could sit out there. He doesn’t sleep nights, so he sits out there and smokes his pipe. He wasn’t there tonight. The rain, no matter how hard or bad, wouldn’t have bothered him. He was insulated. So why wasn’t he on the porch smoking his pipe?”
“I don’t know, Lionel. Maybe he’s under the weather. He is up there in years,” Nick said miserably.
“Mr. Hershel has never missed a night except during his rehab stint. I’ve been here over three years, and this is a first. I’m not liking this.”
“Should we walk over there and knock on his door?” Nick asked. “Or, since Dom is already out on patrol, he could go by and check on him.”
Lionel shook his head. “I think we should call Mr. Emery and see what he thinks. This might be over our paygrade. No sense getting Gentry Lomax all riled up. Suddenly, too many strange things are going on here. I’m starting to get spooked myself.”
“Why is Mr. Hershel so important all of a sudden?” Nick asked.
“Routine. Mr. Hershel is a man of invariable routine. He does not deviate. Do you know his story?”
“No! Remember, I joined up with you guys only ten months ago. Tell me.”
“Mr. Hershel likes it when you call him Pete. He and his wife, Donna, Mr. Hershel calls her Dolly, owned a ticky-tacky casino downtown called Dolly’s Dandy Dollar Casino. Donna was a Vegas showgirl back in the day. She performed for the clientele every night, and the customers loved it. They made so much money, the big dogs started sniffing around, wanting him to invest in a big casino like the one Mr. Wynn owns. He got involved, then Dolly got sick, and a week later the whole town turned out for her funeral. She was an institution.
“The story goes on: Mr. Hershel and the other investors went to Zack Meadows to apply for a license. Something went wrong. From there on out, it is all rumor and conjecture. The investors disappeared. The up-front money disappeared. We’re talking millions here. It all disappeared like magic. Mr. Hershel was a basket case, he’d just lost his wife, and he was left to battle it out on his own, and I guess he made a mess of things. I really don’t know any more than that. The few times we spoke on my rounds, he just said that Mr. Cricket was helping him and maybe that skunk Zack Meadows would get what’s coming to him.”
“Do you think the day Mr. Cricket came here and got shot he was coming to see Mr. Hershel? Ah, I can see it in your face. You do think that. Well, it makes sense now, doesn’t it?” Nick observed. “But that still doesn’t tell us why Mr. Hershel wasn’t smoking on the porch tonight. Why doesn’t he like to be indoors, do you know?”
“Actually, I do know, because he told me. Dolly isn’t in the apartment. He told me once they were never ever more than a foot apart their whole married life. When she passed away, he was lost without her. He had her cremated, and he believes her ashes are out there, and he needs to be where she is. He had them scattered, but he didn’t say where. He kept some of the ashes in a little gold snuffbox. Some people might think that’s ghoulish, but not him. He carries her with him twenty-four seven in his pocket. Never more than a foot apart. Closer if possible. To me, that says it all. True love. I hope I find someone someday who will love me like that,” Lionel said with a catch in his voice.
Nick digested Lionel’s words as he struggled to imagine the man’s love and devotion to his wife. He shook his head to clear his thoughts so he could function in the present. “It’s almost light out now. Dom should be back soon. What’s the plan, Lionel?”
“Mr. Emery is the plan. I’m going to call him and turn it all over to him. I’ll just tell him everything we’ve discussed and hope he can do something, or at least make sense out of what’s going on.”
“What if Mr. Hershel is inside and sick or . . . or . . .”
“Don’t go there, Nick,” Lionel said as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, scrolled through his directory, and punched in the numbers for Jack Emery’s cell phone.
Jack picked up after the fourth ring, his voice groggy with sleep. Lionel went right into his spiel and ended up with, “We’ll be leaving here in fifteen minutes. I can give you Mr. Hershel’s address and his phone number, but he never answers the phone. And he doesn’t know how to text and has no desire to learn. I’ll be free at eleven-thirty and can come back here if you need me. Just shoot me a text.” He ended the call and turned to Nick.
“I think we should meander over to Magnolia Terrace before we leave here. What do you say, Lionel? We have a few spare minutes.”
“Yeah, sure. Magnolia Terrace was dark last night. No porch lights, and no lights were on in any of the houses. If he was inside earlier in the evening when I made my first patrol, I would have noticed. No lights, that’s why nothing registered. That does open up another avenue, that he’s sick in bed or, God forbid, dead.”
At six-thirty on the dot, Dominic Petro opened the door and breezed through like a prequel to a hurricane. “Everything is okay. I’m so very ready for a long, hot shower. And boys, the good news is it stopped raining. I’m so hungry I could chew that doorknob. Do we have time to stop at the Waffle House?”
“I can drop you off, but you’ll have to find your own way from there. Okay, everything looks shipshape. Let’s hit it, boys,” Lionel said.
* * *
“Okay, Cyrus, we’re up. I’m going to call the guys and get dressed. You want to eat first or wait to grab some real food later?” Cyrus tilted his head before he let loose with two soft barks. Such a silly question. He made his way over to the door and lay down. He was ready to go. At last some action.
Jack hopped about the big room, punching in numbers as he held the phone with one hand and used his other hand to pull on the clothes he’d taken off the night before. “Maggie, call everyone and meet me in the lobby in fifteen minutes. I’ll explain everything when we’re all together. Have the van ready and running. Text the Pancake House around the corner and order for everyone. We’ll buzz by and pick it up on our way. Cyrus gets two sausage patties, four scrambled eggs, and four strips of bacon. Get him two bottles of water, too. Move, girl!”
Jack moved quickly then, washing his face, brushing his teeth, and slicking back his hair. He’d take a shower later when they got back. His mind raced as he recalled Lionel’s clear, concise, articulate report. The young guy had it going on. Cosmo couldn’t have picked anyone better to provide security for Happy Village. It simply blew his mind how much Lionel and the Cavaliers knew about the tenants at Happy Village. He wouldn’t be afraid to bet the farm that the kid knew more about the residents than Gentry Lomax did. Which was a good thing as far as he could tell.
“Okay, big guy, let’s hit it!”
Cyrus stared at his owner. Couldn’t he see that he’d been ready since the moment the phone rang? He didn’t bother to bark. Sometimes his owner wasn’t all that sharp early in the morning.
Jack blinked when he stepped out of the elevator. Vegas would never cease to amaze him. The lobby was just as full and busy as it was last night when he entered the elevator to go up to bed. He spotted Ted first because he towered over everyone else at six-four. The red hair also helped. He waved but didn’t break stride. “Outside, everyone! Where’s the van?”
“Dennis is getting it,” Maggie said. “I called in the food order. What’s going on, Jack? What happened? And where is Abner? Does anyone know?”
Charles held up his hand. “He’s with Avery in the conference room where they have everything set up. I just sent him a text. His return text said to go without them. They were too busy.”
Outside, the humidity slapped at them with a vengeance. Jack strained to see through the low-lying, swirling fog that seemed to be everywhere. “I’m starting to hate this place,” Jack mumbled to no one in particular. “How can it be so damn hot and humid at seven o’clock in the morning? Where is this fog coming from?”
No one bothered to reply because they were all moving the moment Dennis pulled alongside them in the rental van. Everyone piled in and buckled up, even Cyrus, who knew the drill. He knew the wheels did not move until he was safely buckled in.
With little traffic leaving Babylon, Dennis pulled away just as Fergus exploded with, “All right, we’ve waited long enough. What’s going on? What happened, and where are we going at this ungodly hour in the morning?”
Jack repeated Lionel’s phone call verbatim. “So to answer your question, we are going to Happy Village. When we get there, we are going to go to Magnolia Terrace and knock on Mr. Pete Hershel’s door. If no one answers, I am prepared to pick the lock. We are not going to involve Gentry Lomax in what we’re about to do. Any questions?”
“Shouldn’t we know a little more about Mr. Hershel before we invade his privacy?” Charles asked quietly. His tone of voice clearly indicated he did not like it when one of the group made a decision without first consulting him.
“Of course we should, and that’s what Ted and I are doing right now,” Maggie said. She muttered as she clicked away. “A creature of habit. Set in his ways. Rich.”
“I’d like to revise that to extremely rich,” Ted said. “He doesn’t own a car. He stays close to home. If he wants to go somewhere, he calls an Uber. He pretty much lives on his front porch.”
“Where are you getting all that?” Dennis called from the driver’s seat as he put on his signal to turn into the Pancake House parking lot.
“The Happy Village once-a-week newsletter,” Maggie shot back. “He dresses like a bum. Said clothes do not make him a man. He was a man to start with. Guess he has a bit of a sense of humor. Ah, food! I am so hungry.” Maggie was always hungry. It didn’t matter the day of the week or the hour of the day. She could always eat because of what she called her whacked-out metabolism.
