Reader's Block Ch. 02 - Next Gen

As I turned the corner, onto the road that would run parallel to Mario's backyard, my heart almost stopped. There, parked on the darkest part of the road, was Mitch's vehicle.

I went to Robert's house. I don't know why. I guess I needed validation about Mitch's words and frame of mind as if I didn't already know. I guessed I needed to be somewhere that I couldn't be found.

"Coward," I said to myself as I pulled into his driveway.

Robert had a beer waiting for me at the door.

"What did you find out?" He was worried. I explained what I saw in Mario's neighborhood. Tense doesn't begin to cover how we felt. After forty minutes or so of talking things through, I couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm going to the hospital," I announced. "I have to see if I can get any information."

"We know Mitch was there," He replied. "And if he's gravely injured but alive, then time is of the essence."

Although I could have used the company, I implored Robert to stay home. If any of Mario's goons were hanging around the hospital, keeping his face and identity a secret was paramount.

The woman at the desk directed me to a set of windows. The woman there asked all kinds of questions about who I was when I inquired about the two men. Another woman who overheard our conversation came over to the window and asked me to step over near the double wood doors at the end of the hallway, so she could buzz me in. That sent a shiver up my spine. What if the police were looking for answers - or worse, suspects?

When I turned to my left, there was a scared and frayed-looking woman standing in a doorway of a separate waiting room of some kind.

It was Gwen. She just stared at me but said nothing. I met her gaze as I walked to the door. The nurse buzzed me in and I was directed to a small meeting room. I waited. Five minutes felt like an hour.

I needed to talk to Gwen. Peeking around the open door frame, I could see no one taking any interest in me so, I went out the way I came. Gwen was no longer in the little waiting room. She was talking to someone near reception at the emergency room entrance. It was one of Mario's guys. She caught my eye just briefly and then turned toward the door, the large man at her side. As she got to the automatic door, Gwen dropped a crumbled piece of paper.

I kept a keen eye on it but gave them time to fully exit so I wouldn't be seen. 'Thousand-nineteen, thousand-twenty.' Trying to be inconspicuous I reached down to grab the paper. What it said left no doubt.

"He's gone. I don't know what I'm ever going to do. It's not what you think, you must believe me. I need help! No cops."

The eleven o'clock news confirmed the note. A local businessman's home was broken into. He'd killed the assailant but had suffered a non-lethal gunshot wound to his right leg. The police were investigating.

Sure they were. By then, they must have known the 'assailant' was Gwen's husband. I thought I should call and ask to speak to the lead detective, but I quickly dispelled that notion. Mobsters often had local law enforcement on the payroll and could manipulate who caught cases.

Robert had become a good friend. It was easy to see that he hurt because I did but he was also concerned for my safety. I refused to 'borrow' the unregistered sidearm he had taken out of a small tabletop gun safe. We talked well into the night about the cryptic message that she left for me.

We both determined we should discount the idea that she was trying to set me up for Mario's thugs. He had plenty of opportunity to get me without making her write a bogus note. The only other option was scarier. If she knew I was a friend to her husband, then how much did Mario know?

I wandered through the rest of the week in a daze, constantly looking over my shoulder. It must have looked paranoid to others as I scanned the entire parking lot at the grocery before getting in my car. It felt paranoid to me, as I zig-zagged through my neighborhood side streets watching the rearview mirror, trying to spot a tail.

I waited for the obituary and got the details of the funeral. I wanted to drink but I was worried that if someone busted down my front door, my reaction time would be impaired. It wasn't just the feeling of failure that had me in its grasp - I felt responsible. That's a dark rabbit hole, and I found myself questioning everything from the past three years. Wasn't I just a worthless piece of shit, pretending to be Superman? Couldn't I do anything right?

The night before the funeral, a light knock on my door brought me out of my self-pity. Well, this was going to be it. Looking through the peephole, I saw a familiar face.

"Well, don't you look like shit," Devon, my mentor said as I opened the door. He wasn't going for humor, and the downplayed chuckle his throat produced told me his comment was more intended as a wake-up call. I invited him in, and he set a six-pack on the kitchen counter. Then he did the unexpected. He opened his arms in the universal sign for a hug. Tentatively, I stepped into him. He wrapped me up tight but for the appropriate amount of time for a man hug.

"Beer?" he asked as we separated. I nodded.

Once we'd taken a seat in my living room, Devon squared his shoulder and looked intently at me.

"What's the plan?" he asked plainly. "Do you have one?"

"Nothing," I shook my head. "I don't think I'm... I mean, this is all too much. I killed someone. I caused someone's death."

"Nonsense," he corrected me. "You gave Mitch everything he needed to lay low. You did everything right. Don't you dare doubt that. If you have any small part in this, maybe... that's maybe, you misinterpreted Mitch's pain or his personality. But I don't think so."

Devon took a long swig of his IPA. "Listen, John," he chastened, "Anger and rage are always the variables in this game we play. From what I saw, you did everything you could to keep Mitch safe. He chose to go to that fucker's house."

"From what you saw?" I asked trying to understand. "What do you know of this?"

That made Triple F laugh. "John, I know what you've been doing for the past few years. I keep an eye on you. Well, from time to time. I had a bad feeling when I saw those two apes coming out of your bar, looking around the lot, and then going in the back door. That made me do some checking around. I followed them when they left that night. They led me to Mario's office. Well, junkyard is a better description, as you already know."

"Fuck, Devon," I screamed. "If you knew, why didn't you stop Mitch? Or tell me?"

"I had no idea he'd fly off the handle," he said sternly. "Neither did you. There was no way you or anyone else could have gotten to him on time. Stop blaming yourself."

We sat reflectively for a time. I got up to grab another brew.

"Only three for you," he warned. "We've got a lot of work to do."

Devon laid out what he knew about Mario, which admittedly was way more than me. The man truly was connected to organized crime. He'd been indicted five years previously on racketeering charges. Because it was all interstate, the feds weren't involved in that case and Devon suspected that someone had gotten to the DA because the charges were dropped shortly after the arraignment. His business was a front and for the sole purpose of money laundering. Mario, though, liked to get his fix on. He'd also been arrested for possession three times in the last seven years. Our state did not have a three-strike law and two of those cases were dropped so it didn't matter.

"I helped a guy who got out of prison two years ago, right after the night we met," he said. "He told me earlier this week that Mario is on a short leash with his bosses. I think if we can set him up and he's arrested, the mob will probably step in and take over his business. I'd rather they take care of Mario their own way, than for us to do it, or worse get fingered by his bosses.

We developed a specific short-term plan. At the funeral, there would be Devon and I, along with Robert doing some surveillance. We'd also be sure that Gwen could see me there.

"We need to find out what her note meant," Devon told me. "What does your gut tell you about her?"

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "I don't know her. But from what Mitch told me about her, they were happily married for eleven years and he said she was the last person on earth that he'd ever suspect of cheating."

"That's what they all say," Devon smiled. "As I recall, you said it, or at least alluded to it. Still, I think she might be in real trouble, so it's worth it to hear her out. Especially if we can save a life."

"Even if she sees me tomorrow, how am I supposed to set up a meet if Mario or his goons are there."

"Mario was released from the hospital this morning," he replied. "He took a bullet in the right leg three inches above the knee, but no artery or major damage. I doubt he'll be there, but I would expect his goons for sure. Let me take care of reaching out to her. Your job will be to make a show out of embracing me as soon as you get there, so she can see you're my friend and by association Mitch's. That way, when I contact her, she'll have at least a little trust. Enough, if she's really in desperate trouble."

We sat for a bit, finished the six-pack, and talked about mundane things. Finally, I had to ask.

"Why did you stop writing?" I was straightforward.

"I didn't," he said right away. "I'm working on a novel but it's slow going." He took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. "That night... when we first met. I'd promised my friend - the guy who lifted Jack's keys - that I was done. No more. Authors often write for personal reasons. Sometimes to clear our minds, others to unburden ourselves. What I discovered was that I enjoy helping people far more than I do writing."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, don't get me wrong" he clarified. "I still love to write and I do. But I still find myself in that little bar where we first met, trying to pick out lost souls. I've even helped a few women get out of an abusive relationship. It's pretty clear to me that you do, too."

Devon stood up. "Get a good night's sleep," he said. "you're gonna need it."

I felt a lot better as my head hit the pillow. Devon was sharp and he had more experience. His ideas had cleared my mind. I slept well for the first time since Mitch's death.

The rain and the fog made the funeral all the more ominous and sadder. Mitch was a good guy and the attendance proved that. I was surprised to see about fifty relatives and, I guessed, co-workers and friends. I saw Gwen immediately and she gave me a quick glance. One of Mario's guys was standing right behind her trying to blend in. I spotted another man, different from the sidekick that night at O'Shay's standing off to one side. He was a spotter.

I walked up to Devon and gave him a conciliatory hug. "You see both of them, right?" he asked into my ear. I nodded, broke the hug and we walked over to the crowd together to pay our last respects.

A few times when I looked over at Gwen, I saw thug number one staring right at me. It was discomforting to know I was so 'on their radar.' After the service, Devon walked with me back to our cars.

"I have three guys trailing those assholes from here," he told me. "They'll be on them continuously until tomorrow night. I'll be bringing, well, leading Gwen to O'Shay's at about eight. Be ready to take a longer break so we can sit down with her. If my hunch is right, we'll need to act quickly. Have Robert there when you arrive. Have him move your car to right outside the back exit. We're gonna need him to get into a car - those fuckers' car," he nodded towards Mario's guys.

"When they leave the bar to follow Gwen and me," Devon laid it out, "head for the back door, get in your car, and meet me at the Circle K - the one about eight blocks down Main Street."

I didn't need it written down. We'd discussed the plan in detail the previous night and Devon was simply checking all the boxes. Devon would call me in the early afternoon to let me know if we were a go with Gwen. He'd arrive in her driveway, prearranged, and toot the horn. Then when she came out, Devon would lead her to the bar. The thugs would be following her and some of Devon's 'people' would be following them.

Gwen was dressed plainly. She looked sad and distraught. I was already on a break when she arrived and I motioned to a booth almost behind the little stage area. Before we even sat down, the two goons walked in and spotted us. Almost immediately, one got on his phone, presumably to call Mario. The other guy stayed rooted near the entrance.

"Alright," I said in a disgusted tone, with a similar look on my face. "Spill it. Why should I be talking to you? Your lover killed my friend and I'm sure you're involved up to your pretty little neck."

Gwen held back a sob and kept her head up as she squared her shoulders. I had no idea what dignity had to do with anything at that point. "You're right," she said. "I'm the one who got us all into this mess and I'll have to live with it the rest of my life."

"Spare me the righteous indignation," I said harshly. Devon had coached me on how to go at her. "What kind of help could you possibly need?"

Just then I heard a ruckus. These were familiar surroundings but I was on high alert. Some drunk guy by the door had run smack into the burly assholes, who'd by then been standing together trying to figure out where in the bar to plant themselves.

"Watch where you're going, asshole," one said loud enough for all to hear. The guy ignored him and headed for the exit. I looked back to Gwen.

"It's a long story," she said with a deep exhale. "How much do you want to hear?"

"Summarize," I replied.

"I met Mario at work. His company..."

"I know all that," I interrupted. "Get to the good stuff."

"He drugged me at an after-work happy hour," she seemed to melt away at the revelation of sharing that. "He was always hitting on me. Someone invited him, I guess. I didn't like him being there. I decided to have one drink, then leave. I woke up late that night in a motel, naked, in bed with that prick."

"Woke up?" I snarled. "You trying to tell me he carried you out of the bar?"

"No," she answered, looking away. "I remember feeling light-headed and decided to leave. He followed me to my car and that's the last I remember before waking up in that room."

"And you didn't tell Mitch, why?" I spat, "Or the cops for that matter."

"He took pictures," she was starting to lose it. "He told me he'd tell my husband and others at work. He could prove it. Then he told me that if my husband was a vengeful type, he'd make sure I never saw him again." Gwen broke down then.

Devon had been sitting at a booth just in front of us, watching the two apes. He stood and came over to sit next to me where he could face her.

"They say the show must go on," Devon said looking at me, "No one ever gave me a good reason why it should, but it does." I looked at him like he had two heads.

"Mike Hammer," he said as if I should know what he meant. "You know? Mickey Spillane. Your break is over. I'll take it from here."

I figured since I'd be bailing and cutting my night short, I might as well get the bar excited and the drinks flowing. Maybe even a few people on the dance floor. After my normal introduction, I went straight to the well.

"Well we're all in the mood for a melody, and you've got us feeling alright!"

A few couples got up. Some loudmouth was toasting me from the main bar and spilling his beer all over himself as he held his glass high. One of the goons made their way directly for me. This was it, I was sure.

"Sing us a song, you're the" blah-blah blah. Without a word or a look, the man dumped my tip jar upside down, emptying the contents of two one-dollar bills, and replaced it with a tightly rolled hundy. Something was wrapped up in it. Then the man smirked at me and went back to sit with his buddy. Somehow, I didn't shit my pants. The man walked slowly by Gwen and Devon. My mentor met his evil smirk with one of his own.

I finished my set while Devon continued talking to Gwen. The men sat just across the dance floor watching them closely. They were definitely trying to intimidate, but they were not lightweights. They weren't shy to let all of us get an occasional glimpse of their holstered Glocks. When I stood up from behind my piano, I tipped my jar to retrieve what had been put there.

"I think we've got the whole story, John," Devon said as soon as I sat down. "Sadly, for your friend, he will never get it. But I do believe Gwen is in serious danger and was manipulated by that bastard Mario. What do you say we avenge Mitch by keeping his wife alive?" I did a lot of nodding around Devon. He kept it short and sweet.

"Hopefully, our friends have some disabled vehicles in the lot by now," he stated. "For those two over there, it will be a long time before they figure out what happened. That means they will have to get a ride, so our only variable is how long it takes their boss to figure out his troubles. My best guess is that we'll be ahead of them by forty minutes to an hour... tops."

Devon was going out the front door with Gwen. He had some of his people in the parking lot, and I had Robert. If a gun battle ensued, all of our plans would go up in smoke. The best plan we had was a distraction created by me. It was one of the most dangerous things I'd ever done.

The typed note wrapped inside the hundred-dollar bill said:

"Sorry to hear about your friend. The patrons seem to like your playing skills. If I were you, I'd definitely 'tell no lies and keep your hands to yourself.' Fingers and pianos go hand in hand if you know what I mean."

So it was a threat and hardly veiled at that. Thinking about what had happened to Mitch, and being warned by that asshole, brought my courage to the forefront. I'd need to take a couple of deep breaths before I started in on these two.

Gwen was led to the door by Devon, with me right behind them, but in my case, I was drifting towards the two fuck wads, with a look of murder on my face. They both stood and seemed unsure of what to do, given the unexpected circumstances.

As they made their choice to try and ignore me, to follow their mark, I erupted.

"Hey," I yelled. Others looked our way. "Yeah, you two fuck-tards. You threatening me? Huh? Tell your piece of shit boss..." That was all I got out as I went right up into the biggest guy's face.

He grabbed me by the throat. Not my shirt or lapel, my damned throat, and literally carried me into the front of the hallway. I couldn't breathe as I tried to separate his wrists with my hands. Luckily, John the bartender had been briefed. We all heard the gun click as a bullet was chambered. Big Goon One turned to see John's gun pointed at Goon Two's temple.

"Let him go," John said evenly. "Now."

Goon One set me down as I gagged for air. I could hear John as I went to my knees. "Needless to say, you two ass wipes aren't welcome here... ever."

John stepped back two paces and let them leave, the gun trained on botof them. They quickly headed for the parking lot. A few customers helped me to my feet. I glanced at the bartender and gave a quick nod of thanks, then headed for the back exit. I pulled out onto the road right behind Devon.

At the Circle K, the three of us met up with Devon's friend the pickpocket. "Gwen's going with him," Devon stated. "We've got things to do, and the clock is ticking."

Devon looked at his friend, "If we're not back in three hours max, you know what to do for her."

On the drive to Mario's office, which was really a converted junkyard, I grilled Devon about Gwen's story.

"She was raped and blackmailed," he said when I finally shut up. "Mario - the scum - threatened her and Mitch. Made her keep at it. She was too afraid to say anything. She knew her husband's temper. He's been laughing about it to her face. Told her Mitch got into his home unnoticed and was still too much of a wimp to take the shot until Mario pulled his gun. He's been taunting her in the worst way."