Chapter 20

HIGHLAND PARK was busy today with sleek Lexus SUVs and boxy Mercedes vans traversing the neighborhoods with loads of kids heading to their soccer games. It was a Saturday morning ritual for many youngsters all over the state, as soccer had rapidly gained in popularity. The wind was whipping across from the lake kicking the sea gulls around like miniature ping pong balls.

Rod parked his rental about two hundred-fifty feet down the street from the Fenerty home across from a city park. Several older couples were walking the paved trails and chatting vigorously with each other. He was prepared to stay all day and into the evening if necessary. He brought along his high resolution car camera recorder with flip down screen and a parabolic sound amplification dish with a built-in recorder. Parked at his side was a thermos of Starbucks’ coffee along with a chicken salad sandwich.

He wondered what the average cost of a home was in the area and how many Fortune 500 executives lived here. One thing was for sure; even the smallest castle on the block was way out of his price range.

“Move on, buddy, you been parking here too long,” came a high-pitched voice from outside the opened back window. “You don’t got no business around here, I been keeping my eye on you.”

Rod quickly put a sweater over his equipment on the front seat and hopped out of the car. He did a quick assessment before approaching the tall, slim albino man with short white hair. There was a noticeable gap between the canines and the incisors. He was certifiably ugly and scary looking. Rod detected a slight bulge at the side of the guy’s waist; he was packing.

“Are you an officer of the law?” Rod asked intently. The giant cop was not in uniform.

“Yeah, we’re doing some undercover duty in the neighborhood. Some rich old bitch called in a complaint about a hobo stalking the streets. It was reported that some dude knocked off a convenience store over near Green Bay Road last night and the natives are restless. They don’t see bums around here often.”

Rod became suspicious.

If this jerk’s a cop of some sort, I’m the Chicago Police Commissioner!

“I’m sorry officer. I’ll drive around the block and see if my wife and daughter ended up over by the swing sets. The wife reads novels galore and probably didn’t notice the time.”

He drove around the block and headed back to the office. He decided he’d dump the Buick off at the rental car agency and pick up a Honda CR-7. His plan was to return to Highland Park in the early evening and see if Shamus was on the prowl. Maybe he’d be lucky and document something worthwhile.

“Hey,” Rod said when he met Bradley in the hallway neatly dressed in a gray pin-striped suit. “How come you’re in the office on Saturday? I thought you told me your wife had some important plans for you today.”

“She did.”

“Well…?”

“Do you call cleaning out the basement and the attic as a reason to hang around the home front?” Bradley replied sarcastically. “I told her we were in the middle of a big case and that you needed some backup. It usually works when I want to get away. By the way, what’s with the bandage on the hand?”

“I told you about Torrie, right? I didn’t tell you about Rambo.”

“Rambo who?”

“R-A-M-B-O, her little furry protector, stands about a foot high, weighs about twenty pounds and is afraid of nothing. I was playing with him the other night; he sort of likes me. Torrie told me to knock it off and she tossed him a big milk bone. It bounced off my shoes and I tried to pick it up and flip it to him. He nailed my hand like a piranha ripping off a chunk of flesh from an animal crossing the fucking Amazon.”

“Did you get stitches?”

“Nah, I just flushed it out, dumped some anti-bacterial powder in and sewed it shut with some eight pound nylon fishing line I had at home.”

“Jesus. Who’s the Rambo here?”

“Screw you…you big ape,” a loud voice came from the corner of Bradley’s office. It was that obnoxious Graybeard again. Bradley informed his partner that he left the television set on in the office because Graybeard liked animated comics and cussed whenever a commercial came across the screen.

“I thought those birds were both near-sighted and color blind.” Rod thought he read that somewhere.

“Who knows for sure if they have eyesight problems but they’re not color blind,” Bradley laughed. “I’m going back in there and I’m covering his cage. He’ll squawk like mad for awhile, and then go to sleep.”

Rod went back to the library and started to write some notes when Bradley joined him.

“How’s the surveillance going?”

Rod explained how he got run off by some freak posing as a cop. He assumed something was going on and would find out tonight.

“I’m heading back at dusk and continue my recon. Maybe Shamus will be on the run tonight. Strange things happen after dark. I’ll have my trusty night vision goggles handy and we’ll go from there.”

“Did you get an invitation to Angie Ward’s wedding?”

Rod was caught off guard on this one.

“What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t seen nor heard from her for some time. We’d agree to cool it for several months and see what happens. Frankly, I got a little tired of running out to Libertyville every time she beckoned for me, and no, I didn’t get an invitation. What’s going on?”

“I know you mentioned that you two were going to lay low for awhile so I was shocked when it popped up in the mail at home a few days ago and forgot to mention it to you.”

“Well…yeah!”

“I called Irene Finerty to flush out more facts. She’s marrying a retired two star Navy admiral. Irene said that Angie met him at her husband’s funeral and he started calling her up. She kept putting him off because she thought that you were still interested in her. I guess the Navy man was so unrelenting in his pursuit of her that she finally caved.”

“Son of a bitch,” Rod cried. “The lady was two-timing me all along. Screw her, let her marry the big Navy brass hero, see what I care.”

“I hate to be a bastard here but haven’t you hooked up with that Torrie person? Huh? That should certainly soothe your ego.”

“Go to hell Simmons,” he shouted storming out of the office.

He killed a few hours over at Lincoln Park feeding the sea gulls and cooling off from his confrontation with Bradley and then proceeded to Highland Park. He saw the sun slipping away and figured he had about an hour of light to set up his watch.

Rod decided on a different location for his recon instead of across from the park. After circling the block several times he pulled the CR-7 to the curb about two hundred feet from the mansion’s cobbled driveway guarded by an opened wrought-iron gate. He noticed some activity inside when he drove by on the first run; hopefully Shamus was still at home.

It was dark when he decided to get out of the car and stroll over toward the property to get a closer look. Thick bushes lined both sides of the driveway intermingled with tall evergreens spaced approximately thirty feet from each other.

The driveway stretched in about a hundred feet. At that point a branch swung off and circled around to the front of the mansion and then veered back to join the main passageway. The driveway then continued deeper back into the property for another hundred feet and ended at a four car garage. The black limo was parked on an asphalt pad adjacent to the huge gated entranceway. Security lights were strategically placed around the entire perimeter of the property but for some unknown reason they were not turned on.

Rod wore a tan overcoat and flipped a black tam on his head. He walked slowly along the sidewalk supported with a cane. He wore a gray wig of medium length. He stopped in front of the gates for several moments and surveyed the entire area. Small accent lights shone on every evergreen tree. He perceived it was safe enough to stroll in a few yards to see if anything of interest was happening inside.

Ten yards into the property he didn’t hear the footsteps coming up from behind him. He suffered a sharp blow to his ribs followed up by a vicious chop to the back of his neck knocking him to the hard driveway. He heard the metallic click of the hammer being pulled back on a hand gun. The ambient light of a full moon allowed a quick peek at the position of his attacker.

“Get to your feet you old-son-of a bitch before I pull the trigger.”

“Oh, please excuse me sir,” Rod muttered softly as he rubbed his neck. “I…I think I’m lost.”

“I said get up!” the attacker demanded wiggling the pistol at Rod’s head. He tried to focus on the man’s face but couldn’t see him clearly enough in the dark. Judging from his profile though, Rod knew he was tall and thin.

“Sorry, sir, I got a little confused on my nightly walk and thought this was my daughter’s house. I think I’ve come down with a little dementia here lately.”

“Shut up you old fool before I blow you away!”

As Rod started to edge up slowly, he took both ends of the cane and brought it up as rapidly and as viciously as he could smashing the large wrist bone of the thug’s gun hand. The pistol fell to the ground. In a second flash he hooked the cane around the back of the man’s right knee and yanked him forward. As the man started to lean into him Rod released the cane from the leg and then took the lower end and then sent a crushing jab into the guy’s windpipe.

“Ugh, oh…, shit!” the goon cried in agony.

Rod heard a low-pitched gurgling sound when the albino grabbed at his throat, groaned louder and then tried to curse at him. Nothing came out but a string of incoherent mutterings and spittle. Rod finished him off with a forceful upward snap of his right palm into the man’s nose and heard the painful crunch. The victim slumped to the ground, now wordless, both hands clutching at his face.

Satisfied that his attacker was temporally put out of commission, he spun around, picked up the fallen weapon and then took off running back to his car.

He sped out of Highland Park vowing that he was finished with the home surveillance gig; too damn dangerous. He needed to get home and slap a bag of ice on his swollen neck. His rib cage was not hurting too badly.

I was lucky out there tonight. The security lighting was apparently out of commission allowing me to get into the property to check it out until that thug closed in on me. If I had my gun with me I’d have shot and maybe killed him. I’m thankful for the cane-chi lessons I took in that self-defense course back in San Antonio.

The next watch would take place the following morning in the parking lot at Fenerty’s place of employment, the All-State Trucking Enterprises.