Chapter Fifteen Back to Business
Chapter Fifteen
Back to Business
Mikey phoned the mystery man. “I’ll have something for you on Thursday. Meet at the same place. Ten A.M.” He didn’t wait for a response. He ended the call and breathed a sigh of relief.
Burton sent Viggo a text:
Paint is from a car. Still checking. Blood stain: human.
Boot print matches. Gravel and splinters of glass in the treads. More later.
P.S. Please tell your friend we appreciate her help but to please stop playing Miss Marple.
Viggo chuckled and responded:
Glad you’re getting somewhere. BTW, she prefers Emma Peel from The Avengers.
It took a moment for Burton to recall the character from the British spy drama. He snickered and sent the following:
I can see the resemblance except the color of her hair.
Viggo was happy to see Chief Burton in a humorous mood. Not that he was humorless, but this recent crime spree was surely vexing him.
It was midweek, and Madison had already changed her mind several times as to what she was going to wear to Viggo’s. Olivia warned her that she might have to be the one to choose for her.
“You look good in everything. Be casual. Comfortable.”
“And easy to remove,” Madison said with a sly grin.
“Oh, girlfriend. I think you got your groove back.”
“Working on it.”
Arlo called twice to see if the Wainwrights were interested in selling the compass. Madison finally returned his call, thanked him for his time, and told him they’d decided to keep it. Arlo was disappointed but also relieved. He didn’t have the money to buy it anyway.
Mikey arrived at Zoe’s and sat at the same table as the first meeting. It wasn’t long before the man arrived. He pulled out the chair opposite Mikey.
“I assume you have what I want,” the man said with confidence.
Mikey pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. “I need to know one thing. You never gave me your name.”
“Does it matter?” the man asked gruffly.
“Just curious about who my brother was dealing with and now who I am dealing with.”
“You don’t need to know anything, boy.”
Mikey slid the envelope across the table. The man picked it up and glanced inside.
“What is this?” he fumed.
“Your money. All of it,” Mikey said in a hushed whisper.
“That wasn’t the deal,” the man hissed.
“Listen, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is, you made the deal with my brother. Not me. You’re lucky you got your money back.”
The man took the envelope and shoved it in his blazer pocket. He leaned uncomfortably close to Mikey’s face.
“I’d watch my back if I were you.” The man shoved himself away from the table, stood, turned, and walked quickly out of the coffee shop.
Mikey let out a gush of air. He didn’t think the threat was serious. Why should he watch his back? He didn’t owe the man anything. But maybe the man thought differently.
Several hours later, Mikey was back at his desk, going over the paperwork again. He noticed a vehicle pull into the parking lot. Mikey jerked upright.
“What the heck is he doing here?” he said out loud to no one.
It was the mystery man. What was he doing here?
The man blew through the door and whacked Mikey in the face with a wrench.
Mikey fell to the floor. Blood was oozing from his nose and a large gash on his cheek. He saw stars, birds, and an assortment of black spots spinning in front of him.
“What …” He tried to speak.
The man stood over him. “Get me what I want, or the next time you won’t be breathing. You’ve got until Monday,” he threatened, then stormed out.
Arlo ran in from the back to check what the ruckus was about.
He spotted his brother crumpled on the floor.
A pool of blood was forming quickly. He fumbled with the phone and called 911.
The dispatcher told him to stay on the line, and if possible, try to stop the bleeding, but it was important not to move him in case there was a spinal injury.
Arlo was in a panic. He pulled off his flannel shirt and began to dab Mikey’s face.
“I’m right here, bro. Hang in there.”
Mikey’s eyelids fluttered.
“Look at me! Look at me!” Arlo kept urging his brother to stay awake.
Mikey moaned, which Arlo took as a good sign. Within minutes, an ambulance pulled in.
“What happened?” one paramedic asked, as the other tended to Mikey.
Arlo realized his brother was in the same condition in which he’d left Crusty the week before. Arlo had a fleeting thought that this was karma—but it wasn’t Mikey’s karma. Guilty thoughts flashed through Arlo’s head as he stood by helplessly.
The paramedic put a cervical collar around Mikey’s neck before they lifted him onto the stretcher. Arlo jumped into the back of the ambulance to accompany his brother to the hospital. On the way, the medics called the police to update them on the situation and condition of the patient.
“Vitals are stable, but he’s dizzy and slightly incoherent. We’ve got him on oxygen now. No signs of other trauma. His brother is in the rig. Maybe he can fill us in.” The paramedic looked in Arlo’s direction.
Arlo wasn’t sure what he should reveal. There were a lot of layers to this onion.
He knew that once he started, he might be forced to fully unpeel it, and he couldn’t do that.
He decided to stick with the simple explanation: he’d heard a commotion and found Mikey on the floor. Done. End of story. For now.
They wheeled Mikey into the emergency room, where two police officers were waiting.
“I’m having déjà vu,” one whispered to the other.
Arlo shot him a dirty look, then realized what he meant.
Crusty. There hadn’t been much gossip about Crusty’s assault.
Nor had anyone become a person of interest. Not yet.
Would they think Mikey’s attack was somehow connected?
Would this send the investigation down a different path and away from him?
Arlo hated to think about how he might benefit from Mikey’s brutal beating, but if there could be a silver lining, this was it.
Burton arrived shortly thereafter. Two muggings in a week.
It was appalling. Not only were two people injured, but the publicity would be detrimental to the community.
It had taken years for Smuggler’s Cove to recover from Hurricane Sandy.
The town had a reputation as a place to bring your family.
Stories of muggings would keep the tourists at bay. He was exasperated.
Burton looked over at Mikey Farrell and saw that he was becoming more alert. Burton asked him the obvious question: “Who did this?”
“I don’t know the guy’s name,” Mikey mumbled from the side of his mouth. “He had a deal with Dennis.”
“What kind of deal?” Burton asked slowly.
Mikey took several slow breaths. “He gave Dennis fifty grand to do something, but then Dennis died.”
“Do what? What was this guy after?” Burton queried.
“Papers.”
“What kind of papers?” Burton prodded.
“A deed or something.” Mikey’s eyes were getting heavy.
“What do you mean, ‘a deed’?”
“Kirby’s, maybe.”
“Do you know why?” Burton was bewildered. Why would a stranger want the deed to the marina? Then he remembered something. He’d check into it when he got back to Borough Hall.
“So, the break-in at the marina. Did he have something to do with that?”
Mikey was loathe to snitch on his brother, but he was finished with all of it. If both of them went to jail, so be it. He couldn’t take any more surprises or beatings.
The pain meds were kicking in. Mikey stared blankly ahead, trying to find the words, but none came.
“Listen, Chief. My head is spinning. Can we do this later?”
An orderly was standing by. “I think that may be a good idea, Chief Burton. Give him a few hours.”
Burton didn’t want to stop the interrogation, but knew it was best for Mikey, and hopefully best to resolve the situation.
When he got back to the station, he stopped by the borough clerk’s office.
“Hey, Annette. Do you have a copy of the agenda for next month’s zoning meeting?”
“I sure do, Chief.” She smiled through the Plexiglas window. “And congratulations again, Chief,” she said, emphasizing his title. “I’ll bring it over to your office in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Annette.”
Burton walked down the pristine hallway, again admiring the new construction. Hurricane Sandy had damaged the police station, and they were forced to work in a trailer for over a decade. This was luxury.
Burton sat behind his desk and rested his face in his hands.
They had to crack this case. He turned to the whiteboard and added Mikey’s mugging to the lower middle spot, with an arrow pointing to Arlo.
The pieces were coming together. Still vague, but the more information he gathered, the more confident he felt.
It was a shame that two people got hit over the head, but at least Mikey was able to identify the attacker.
Not by name, but by face. It was better than nothing.
Who was this guy? It was the next question that needed to be answered. It could hold the key to all of it.
News traveled fast through town. In less than two hours, word was out regarding Mikey’s mugging.
They had managed to keep Crusty’s incident on the down-low, but a second beating had inspired someone from the hospital to formulate a conspiracy.
Something was happening, and no one wanted to talk about it.
Speculation was spreading, but no one had any answers.
Burton needed a few more days. And a few more pieces of news. Evidence. Something.
That something came in the form of a twelve-year-old boy. The desk sergeant phoned the chief and informed him that a young man named Ronin Hoffman and his father, Ronin Sr., were in the vestibule.
“What’s it about?” Burton asked, thinking it had better be a good enough reason to pull him away from this big mess he was handling.
“They say they have some footage from a wildlife cam.”
Burton furrowed his brow. “I really don’t need an Audubon demonstration right now, Phil.”
“I understand, but they insist you will want to see it.”
Burton sighed. “Okay. Fine. Send them in.”
The officer buzzed them in, and Burton met them at the door.