Chapter 7

JOE SHIFTED AROUND ON THE BED AND reached for the phone. He dragged it down and dug at the dial. Then he lay there, sucking on his cigarette, and staring vacantly while he listened to the muted ringing.

"Barney? Joe Tabor. I'm glad I caught you in. I've got a proposition for you. Are you working? ... Okay. Here's the pitch."

I went back out to the kitchen and built two more drinks. When I came back the phone was on the bedside stand and Joe was climbing into his shorts.

"Barney'll be over in a few minutes. He's interested."

I broke out some ice cubes, got them in an ice bucket with tongs, and put them on the coffee table. Then I got booze, seltzer water, glasses and swizzle sticks.

The place was a mess, so I grabbed a dust rag and hit the high spots. I ran for the closet and grabbed the hand sweeper and did a fast double-shuffle across the middle of the living room rug. I was just putting the sweeper away when the buzzer sounded. I went to the door and opened it.

He was as tall as Dad had been and built along the same lines, but he didn't have a paunch. He was as tough and as sinewy as a hickory tree. like Dad, his hair was snow white and piled high on his head. His eyes were blue and piercing, and his mouth was grim and determined.

"Master Sergeant Barney Vestal reporting," he said with a grin.

I gave him a mock salute. "Come right on in, sergeant."

"You the CO?" he asked.

"Yeah, I suppose so," I said, waving him into a chair. "Joe will be out in a minute."

He gave me a quizzical glance with a hint of a smile. I ignored it.

"Everybody's his own bartender around here," I said, lighting a cigarette and slumping down on the couch, watching him dump bourbon in his glass and reach for the ice tongs. As he squirted seltzer into the glass he glanced at me.

"Didn't Mike say you were a Chicago cop?"

"I was. I resigned when I came back here. I didn't want to be under their thumb."

He nodded. "Joe was telling me about the second try they made."

"Yeah. But I'm worried about the building. I haven't seen the Dispatch yet, but it'll be in there that the funeral is going to be at the Melon Patch. What would be more logical, to blow it up ahead of time or during the service?"

"During the service would be more logical," he said quietly, picking up his drink and swinging one long leg up over the other.

"I can take care of myself inside," I told him. "Did Joe tell you what I had in mind for remodeling the place?"

"Yes." He broke into a big grin and swished the ice cubes around in his glass and stared at his drink. "I think that's a great idea. Even after you have the mob on the run, I'd keep it up. Even though people know there's no danger then, it'll still be a tourist attraction. Nothing like having a bit of the old wild west in the middle of the corn country."

I nodded. "That's what I thought. I never liked the name, but Dad insisted on it. He said all the bluenoses didn't want a saloon in town, so this was Dad's way of whitewashing it. He called it the Melon Patch and it didn't sound like a bar."

"Times are changing," Barney said. "We don't go for hypocrisy as much today. Your Dad was right then, and you're right today. In fact, to keep on calling it the Melon Patch was silly. I told him so a year ago when I came back."

"You think you can round up some men and form a patrol?"

"Yeah. But Joe told me you were going to call it the Mike Gilligan Patrol."

"Yes. Isn't that okay?"

"Not quite. It should be called the Gilligan Raiders, put some pizzazz to it. It'll have better public relations. I know a guy who can get us uniforms in a hurry. I've already called him and he's standing by over in Center City. I'll send all of the men over after them. Just one phone call and that will do it. Eddie will round up the other men, and they'll go for the uniforms and bring mine, too, in an hour or so."

"Say, you work fast."

"Yeah."

"But you don't even know what you'll be paid," I protested.

"Don't need to. Mike needs us. We're ready."

"AH of you must have thought a lot of Dad."

"We did. All of us owe Mike a lot." He pulled a cigar from his pocket and ripped off the wrapper. Then he rolled it around in his mouth and lit it. "This town owes Mike Gilligan a lot," he said between puffs.

"I talked to Tom Potterfield around noon. He really did a job on today's issue. Wait till you see it."

"I hope they're not all sold out before I get one," I said.

"Tom's saving a bundle of them for you."

"Good."

"Barney suggests we call it Gilligan's Raiders," I told Joe.

"Sounds great," Joe said, dropping down beside me and reaching for the bourbon.

"Are there any extra keys to the bar?" Barney asked.

I grinned.

"Now, it's not what you think. I'll be personally responsible for everything in there, including the booze. But I would suggest that you put two fifths on the bar every night for the men. That will stop a lot of raiding."

"Okay. I'll leave it to you to control the thing. You can help yourself to the mix."

"Okay," Barney said with a nod. "So how about a key?"

"Sure. Charlie probably knows of a few extra ones down there. I don't know where the key is that Dad had when he was killed. I have one, of course. I've carried it for years."

"Well, if there's a basement under that building, then that's where we start. If any bombs have been planted, that's the first place to look. If we don't find any there, we'll dig up behind the rear of the building and see if any are buried back there. In fact, it might be wise to look both places."

I looked at Joe. "Barney things they're more-likely to blow it up during the services tomorrow."

Joe nodded. "Sounds logical," he muttered.

Barney looked back at me. "We're going to need guns."

"Does Ty Perkins have any."

"Sure. Just what we want."

I got up and went over to the phone and picked up the phone. In a few minutes I had Ty on the line.

"Molly Gilligan, Ty."

"Yes, Molly. What can I do for you?"

"I'm organizing an army," I told him. "It's to be called Gilligan's Raiders."

He chuckled. "What next?"

"No, we're serious. I'm afraid the building will be blown up, so Barney Vestal is organizing twelve Vietnam vets. They need guns. Barney says you have them."

"Sure. I don't know whether I have what they want and as many as they want."

"Doesn't matter. I'll send Barney over in a little while. Write it all up and I'll settle with you Monday."

"Right. Anything Barney wants, I'll give him. If I don't have it, I'll order it and have it by Tuesday."

"Thanks," I said. I dropped the phone and went back to the couch.

"Was Mike American Legion or VFW?"

"Neither," I said. "He said that in his position he couldn't get involved in their quarrels and politics, so he stayed out of both of them. But he helped both of them when they needed help."

"Sounds like Mike," Barney said. "What about an honor guard?"

"I think it's best I stayed neutral, too," I told him. "Why not have Gilligan's Raiders, if you have your uniforms? Do any of your men know how to handle a bugle?"

"Yes. Danny Rynerson. He was a bugler. He's got one, too, I think. Or I can get one."

I nodded. "Then it's settled. Gilligan's Raiders will be the honor guard."

"Got any flashlights around?" Barney asked.

"I dunno. Let's go look in the kitchen."

Barney stood up. "Okay, let's get going. I want to search that building in case that they're not going to wait until tomorrow afternoon."

We found a flashlight in the kitchen and the three of us walked down to the Melon Patch. The bar stools were loaded.

Charlie nodded when we went in. I asked for a flashlight and he found one. We headed toward the rear.

We were opening the door to the basement when Charlie came lumbering back.

"I didn't know where to call you, Molly..."

I looked at him. "What about?"

"There was a guy in here who claimed to be from the power company-"

"Say no more," Vestal said. "Did you let him go to the basement?"

Charlie shrugged. "I saw no harm."

"Let's get down there on the double," Barney said. He looked at Joe and me. "On second thought, I'll go down alone." He looked toward the front. "I don't like to start a stampede up there, but-"

"Get down there and look around," I said. "If there's danger, you'll be getting the hell out in a hurry, anyway. We'll try to clear the building.

Barney nodded and went on down the stairs. I couldn't stand around there. So I suddenly clattered down the stairs after him.

"You get back," Barney called, "it's not safe down here."

"It's not for you, either. I'm not going to stand around up there."

"Well, come on."

I stumbled through the darkness toward his voice. Joe had the other flashlight. Barney swept the beam around and guided me to him.

"Where's the furnace?"

"Over in that corner," I said.

"That's the logical place to start. It would be easy to detonate it that way."

I followed Barney over to the furnace. He didn't bother looking inside it. He went around behind and to the pipe leading to the chimney.

"Look," he said.

Four wires ran up from a black box stuck on the side of the pipe running to the chimney. They ran to the dusty timbers supporting the floor.

"They're new. See, they're not even dusty like the others."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means they were put in there this afternoon. Two wires go to the bomb or bombs. Two wires run to a time clock, probably. Let's see."

The flashlight beam bobbed. I followed Barney as he traced the wires to the grimy concrete foundation wall supporting one side of the building.

"See," Barney said, "one pair of wires goes left and one goes right,"

"Of all the dumb stunts," I said, "sending a man in here like that. Why didn't they break in tonight?"

"It shows their contempt for everybody else's intelligence. This is probably just the first part of it. They won't take chances. There'll be another set of bombs put in tonight, you can bet on that."

Barney found an old box and dragged it over. He climbed up on it. "It's nitro jelly, spread all the way along here."

He climbed down and moved the box and clambered back up again. "It continues right on."

"So It's dangerous just being up there, isn't it?"

"Yes. But it won't be disturbed up here, so its not too dangerous. I'll take care of the wires back there. Then tonight I'll clean it out. I know how to."

"And not blow up the building?"

"No. After War III was on a bomb squad in Europe. We had to defuse bombs and shells that had landed in fields and hadn't exploded. So I know how to handle this."

"Good."

Barney climbed down and went back to the control box by the furnace. He pulled his knife. "See, they even threw up the lever so that juice would be coming through."

He slammed the lever down and reached for the wires. His knife hacked through them.

"There, that should do it for now. But from now on there'll be a guard around this building and inside it, too, day and night."

"You're sure there are no other bombs down here?"

"That's just what I'm going to find out. You get over there by the stairs and wait."

He led me to the stairs and then headed back. I saw the flash beam darting around. In a few minutes he reappeared.

"All clear down here now."

"Good," I said. "Let's go back up."

Joe was waiting for us, looking like a Basset hound. "Anything down there?"

"Plenty," I told him. "I'll tell you later. It's all clear now."

Joe nodded and looked at Barney. "Looks like you're not getting organized any too soon."

"You can say that again," Barney said. "I'm staying right around here from now on until I'm relieved by my men. But I'll be back by dark, never fear."

We went out the back door and Barney checked the rear foundation. He finally looked up. "It hasn't been tampered with," he said. "But that's the next logical place."

"If you have any men inside the building during business hours," I told him, "I want them in civvies. I don't want any uniformed men in that bar to scare people. Put one behind the bar as a bartender. Of course, he can't tend bar, but he can wash glasses and keep busy."

Barney turned to me. "We should be organized around here by sundown. I'd like for you to see it. Will you come down?"

"Sure. I'll probably be inside tending bar so Charlie can go to dinner. When he gets back, I'll make the rounds with you."

"Good. We've got to work this thing together."

"Don't worry. I'll be back here to relieve Charlie."

When we got back up near my place, we passed Joe's car. I told him it wasn't necessary for him to go on up with me. That I had my .38. He fussed a little, but glanced at his watch. I figured he had something else on.

I went slowly up the walk alone, with my head buzzing with all the things I had to do. So, I suppose, that's why I was careless.

I didn't bother waiting for the elevator. I trudged up the stairs and went down the hall and unlocked the door. Without thinking, I went on in.

SLAM!

I heard the door as I was grabbed from behind and a big hand was over my mouth and my arms were pinned behind me.

Damn! I'd been so careful when I had come in with Joe. And now, alone, I had walked right into it.

It was dark in there. They had pulled all the drapes and shades. There was no noise except the sound of heavy breathing. I tried to kick backward, but he stood away from me and I was kicking air.

A big piece of adhesive plaster was slapped across my mouth. All I could do now was cheep like a God damn baby chick.

My wrists were slapped one on top of the other and I felt more adhesive plaster being wrapped around them, binding them together. They were taking no chance on ropes and knots. I saw a flash of something white. Then a sack, probably a pillow case, was pulled down over my head. And there I was, trussed like a Christmas goose.

I was shoved on the floor and held down. I felt rope being tied around my legs, and I was as helpless as Gulliver.

I heard movement. On the carpet it was hard to tell if it was one pair of feet or two. I decided there were probably two.

I heard the hall door open, then I was picked up and lugged like a rolled rug.

I was suddenly heaved like a sack of potatoes and landed on a hard floor that smelled of dust. My hands, behind me, scrabbled around. There was a thudding sound as the trunk lid of a car was slammed down. I wondered if I would smother.

I heard the car's motor roar then purr. I felt the car begin to move. Its horn blared. The car went over a bump, so I knew we had gone up and out of the basement, across the sidewalk, and into Jaybird Street, running alongside the apartment building.

It was hot and stuffy in there. I hoped we wouldn't have far to go before I was executed. That's why they were taking me for a ride, wasn't it?

The logical place for them to take me was down along the river. I knew of several places where, even when the river was low, there were deep holes. If I were fitted with cement shoes, and tossed in one of those holes, I'd never come up.

From the way we were bumping along, and moving so slowly, I knew we were still on rough city streets. But, in time, the roar of the motor increased and the car was no longer jolting, and I knew we were leaving town.

I tried to visualize where we might be headed. We were either going south or headed west a ways, to hit the river. But I wondered how they would know where the deep holes were. If they did, then that meant some local jerk was in on the caper.

So now what? No one would be looking for me until when I was supposed to relieve Charlie. When I didn't show up, Barney should be back. But perhaps he wouldn't be until later. So, until seven o'clock or after, no one would know I was missing.

What would Barney or the cops have to go on, even if they knew I'd been snatched? Where would they start looking for me? Along the river? Hell, for all I knew, we weren't even going to the river.

And then it hit me. Had Manny or Frankie ordered me hauled back to Chicago?

, I felt the car slowing down. This must be it. I tried to keep relaxed, but my body tensed. In a few minutes they would be dragging me out and fitting me with concrete shoes.

The car rolled to a smooth stop. Hell, we weren't down at the river. We were still on pavement.

There was a blast of a diesel. Then another one. And then I heard the ring-a-ding-ding of a railroad crossing.

I blew out my breath. They had stopped to let a train go by.

There was a roar and a clatter and the clickety-clack of iron wheels on rails. It kept up for quite a while. It might have been a freight.

Suddenly, all was quiet. The car's motor sped up. The car moved forward. And we were on our way again.

Where were we? I tried to think. One thing was certain. We weren't headed south or west. The only railroad tracks near Clodville were north, where the main line slashed obliquely across the county, headed for Chicago. There was a way station, just north of Clodville, called Runnels. There wasn't even a town there any more, but there was an old dilapidated and abandoned railroad station that you could huddle in, to get out of the weather. There was no station agent, but the thoughtful railroad had taken care of everything. By day you grabbed up a red flag and went out and shoved it in a socket on a pole near the tracks. The engineer seldom saw it until he was right on it. Then he set the wheels and sparks flew and the train slid like a sled and you were lucky to be able to climb aboard the last coach. At night, there was a red lantern you could light and hang out there, but you had to furnish your own matches. Talk about modern conveniences today.

I tried to think back to where the road led as it went north. It's funny how, after five years away, you forget many of the things that you had known all during your childhood.

As I remembered it, this narrow country road meandered north until it finally angled to the east and hit a main highway headed upstate and finally into Wisconsin.

So maybe they were going to haul me into Wisconsin and dump me in the lake. That way they'd be damn sure I never came up or was found.

I began imagining all sorts of crazy God damn things, but I finally got hold of myself and decided that laying there and having the shakes wouldn't help me any. I'd better keep a clear head and follow the training I had received as a cop. Because, for all I knew, I might get a break. They might be stopped by the state police for speeding or for something. I had seen enough of that before. Unless they were exceptionally hardened pros, they couldn't act casual and nonchalant enough and the cops would get suspicious. If they did, I'd be found. Another possibility was that they might break down and have to get into the trunk to change a tire. Then what would they do? Or if they broke down on the highway or in some town and had to have help to get going again, I might be found. Thinking of all those possibilities, I began to cheer up.

And then I fell asleep.