Stagecoach Road Page 4

  Traffic was light on I-94 and he was able to make it in fifteen minutes. He parked his car, a silver Toyota Camry, at the Gas ‘N Go, bought a cup of coffee, and sat there for a few minutes, scoping out the tire center. For the first ten minutes all he saw were a few customers exiting the place and a truck delivering tires in the back. He desperately wanted to go in and see if Tommy, who would have been about 37 or so, was in fact the owner. Then he saw a guy about the age Tommy would have been, smiling while escorting a customer outside to look at his tires.

  That could be him, thought Benny as he sipped his coffee. In fact I’m sure of it. He looks older, but he’s the same height as I remember. A little less hair. But I think it could be him. The bastard. Smiling and enjoying life as a business owner. Not a care in the world. Like nothing happened. But I’ve got to find out for sure. There has to be some way to find out. It can’t be that difficult.

  Benny couldn’t muster up the courage to go into the tire center that day. He was still as big a coward as he ever was. And it was gnawing at him. What did he have to fear now? A confrontation? So he went back to his office to see more patients and to go to his ‘surprise’ party.

  It should have been a happy occasion. Everyone came to the party. His kids, Joshua and Rachel, his wife Marsha, Tracey and her dog, and about forty others jammed into the office and made themselves at home in the waiting and exam rooms, stuffing their faces with all sorts of goodies Marsha bought at the Safeway earlier in the day.

  To the outside world Benny was a jolly good fellow. All that was missing was the Mickey Mouse Parade and Annette Funicello. But this was no happy time. Something happened when he stopped at that gas station. Nineteen years wasn’t enough time to bury the memories of that horrible June night--forever burned in his mind. Was that Tommy or not?

  Chapter Six

  Benny simmered all night. He was mostly angry at himself for not having the courage to face the person he thought took part in his beating some nineteen years earlier.

  It was Saturday morning. Certainly a tire shop would be busier on the weekends. He could put on a pair of sunglasses, wear a baseball cap and blend in with the rest of the customers. If he could get close enough he knew he would be able to recognize Tommy. No pictures were necessary, although he did glance at his 9th grade yearbook and took it with him just to make sure. He only had two patients that Saturday morning and rescheduled them for Monday. He told Marsha he wanted to go out and look for a new car.

  The tire shop opened at 9 a.m. Benny arrived at the Gas ‘N Go at 8:30, waiting for the employees to arrive. He slowly sipped his gas station coffee and nibbled on a stale pecan roll as he watched someone walk up to the door. He quickly glanced at the yearbook then up again at the person opening the shop.

  “That’s him! That’s him!” Benny whispered to himself. “That’s the motherfucker who beat the living shit out of me. That’s him! That’s him!”

  Benny started to shake. He nursed his coffee and roll until 9 then started his car and drove to the large office complex across the street, and left it there while he strolled to the tire center--sunglasses and all. He had it all planned that he wouldn’t talk much, fearing Tommy might recognize his voice and the familiar stutter. He waited a few minutes until other customers pulled up and went into the store. He casually walked in, inconspicuously inspecting a tire display and caressed one of the Goodyear Radials.

  “May I help you?” rang the voice behind him.

  Startled, Benny looked over his shoulder and saw Tommy. It was him. And there they were, standing toe to toe together after all of those years--with vivid flashbacks: The graduation party. The beating. First to twelfth grade encounters.

  Benny cleared his throat, and with a soft, indistinguishable voice said, “No. Just looking.”

  But he couldn’t get those haunting words out of his head, “May I help you?” Benny thought, where was he when I needed help that night in ’73? Or in the lunch room at Nobel Elementary School some twenty-eight years ago? Oh, now he wants to help me! Gosh, I see that he turned his life around. That’s good. That’s real good. I’m glad for him. Real glad. I hope he has a happy family life. Real happy. I hope he has kids. Nice kids. Real nice kids. I hope he has a pretty wife. Real pretty. I hope he has the world to live for.

  Frozen for a moment, Benny regained his thoughts, smiled at Tommy, then walked out. For an instant it looked as though Tommy sensed something. He was sure Tommy knew his face even under those dark glasses.

  Benny walked back to his car, contemplating his next move. Now what? he thought. So now I know it’s him. But that’s not enough. Where are the other three? Where’s Frank and Gerald and Murphy? How can I find them? I wonder if they ever keep in touch with each other. I wonder how I can find out without anyone knowing I’m looking for them.

  Chapter Seven

  Finding the other guys wasn’t the only thing on Benny’s mind. A few years earlier he had found out what happened to Laura the night of the graduation party. Even though Benny was, for the most part, happily married, it bothered him to no end. The bandleader, Larry Kroll, bragged to one of his friends and word got out--in great detail.

  The graduation party ended at midnight as expected. That’s when the band had to pack up. Larry and the four other members disassembled their equipment and hauled it out to their Volkswagen Van. Laura was helping too, and already was a little drunk from quickly downing four shots of tequila Larry had given her during the last half hour they were playing.

  She enjoyed her naughty night watching the band and being the center of attention of such a worldly man. It was much different than her safe, sheltered upbringing which led her to Benny in the first place. And she willfully went along for the ride when Larry asked her if she wanted to join the group for a couple of drinks at the Brass Bomber, a blues bar in Portage about twenty miles away, a block from Larry’s apartment. Even though Laura was only 17, Larry knew the manager and could get her in.

  Another band member, Mark Holst, did the driving and stopped the van in front of the bar. Larry and Laura got out and the others sped off.

  “Where are they going?” asked Laura as he grabbed her arm.

  “Oh, they have a gig tomorrow with another band and they have to get home,” said Larry. “Come on. Let’s have a couple, then I’ll drive you home. I live just over there,” pointing to a two-story apartment complex.

  “I don’t know,” Laura said in her soft, meek voice. “My parents are going to worry about me. I’d better leave now.”

  “Alright,” said Larry. “My car’s just down the road a bit in front of my apartment.”

  Larry put his arm around Laura’s small waist and held her tight as they headed towards his apartment. She was seductively dressed in a white miniskirt and a tight pink blouse that barely held her large, but firm breasts together. Her shoulder length brown hair was adorned by a pink ribbon in the back. The seams in her pulled-up nylons were visible on each of her shapely thighs. Her legs were further shaped by her three-inch red pumps. She smelled of booze and lilac perfume.

  Larry fumbled for his car keys as they approached the car.

  “I must have left them upstairs,” he said as he patted each of his pockets. “I’ll get them. This will just take a minute. You can come with if you like.”

  Laura contemplated for a second and agreed to go with Larry to look for his keys.

  As they climbed up the one flight of stairs, Larry gently reached for Laura’s hand as they walked down the hall to his door. Larry found his apartment key and opened the door for Laura, letting her in first. He turned on the light and saw his car keys on the kitchen table.

  “Are those them?” asked Laura, pointing to the silver keychain.

  At that moment Larry locked the door while grabbing Laura by the hand and passionately kissed her as she tried to get away. She tried to tell him to stop but his mouth completely covered hers as he took her hand and forced it down his pants. She reflexively grabbed his massive, rock ha
rd cock and gently caressed his balls underneath. Larry ripped away the button on her blouse that held her huge, firm white tits together and sucked each of her erect nipples. She pulled on his cock even harder as he reached up to her sweetly perfumed beaver, past her nylons, and felt her moist slit underneath her silk panties, and then stuck his finger in her tight, pink virgin pussy. They fell to the ground with Larry on top with his hand squishing inside her inexperienced young twat as her pink ribbon fell off her head. You could hear her softly say, “No, Larry, don’t, don’t, don’t. I’m still a virrr....”

  This made Larry even harder as he pushed his tongue into her mouth until her protests stopped. He then pulled down his pants and she put the tip of his hot organ next to her wet pubic hair as he slowly pumped himself in, not completely able to penetrate her tight pussy at first. She started to moan and he pumped faster and harder until his huge organ was finally completely inside her. Larry’s hot, piercing cock popped her defenseless cherry as Laura screamed even louder in ecstasy as he slid in and out her helpless, steamy pussy. She opened her mouth wider and wider with each pump and screamed louder and louder as she continued to stroke Larry’s hardened sac. Larry couldn’t hold it any longer and sprayed a load of hot white cream in her starving snatch as she cradled Larry’s face. He again covered her pink opened mouth with his. He was even harder while cuming in her and she let out a few more moans before he finished. She grabbed Larry’s prick, still firm, and gently milked out the remaining gooey liquid, then put her arms around his neck as they kissed for another minute. After it was over, Laura picked up her panties and ribbon off the floor and fixed her blouse and miniskirt. Larry kissed her as they walked out the door, keeping his hand on her tits the whole way, and hers on his cock as they walked down the hallway and outside to his car. Then he drove her home.

  With her virginity taken in one evening by the likes of that nasty boy, Laura knew Benny would never forgive her so she didn’t even try to contact him after that. Even though he heard about Laura’s encounter with Larry years later, Benny was still furious. It should have been him. It didn’t gladden his heart or assuage his anger that he was justified that night when he walked out of the graduation party.

  Chapter Eight

  The next day was Sunday, March 17th, 1992. Benny planned to spend the whole day with Marsha and the kids. First on the list was Sunday school. The Weinsteins belonged to Temple Beth-El, a conservative synagogue a few miles away. Joshua was almost eleven years old and was doing some early preparation for his Bar-Mitzvah. Rachel was eight and still had a little time before she had to worry about her Bat-Mitzvah. Marsha’s mother, Sarah, was coming over at 1:30 p.m., and then everyone was going to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago. Benny’s job was to drive the kids back and forth from Sunday school while Marsha caught up on the taxes which were due the following month. So Benny had some time to kill after he dropped off his children. He knew just what he wanted to do.

  The night before he looked through about a dozen phone books he got from the library. These books covered all of Gary and the surrounding suburbs including East Chicago, Munster and Hobart. He also looked through the Michigan City phone book and as far as South Bend. He also scoured the Chicago directories and suburbs. He was able to locate a Murphy Spevacek on Grand Boulevard in Miller, not far from Wirt High School. There was a good chance it was the Murphy Spevacek he was looking for. Benny vaguely remembered his family living near there back in the 60s. The address looked like a residential address, a house, and not the nearby housing project. Could he afford a house? thought Benny. If so, he has to have some sort of income--a job maybe.

  Benny figured if he left by 8:35 a.m. he could easily be back in time to pick up his kids at noon. He dropped his kids off and headed for 346 N. Grand Boulevard.

  Every neighborhood in Miller was familiar to Benny. His childhood memories were just as vivid, especially the traumatic ones. As he made his way through the winding sand dunes on his way to Grand Boulevard he passed his old piano teacher’s house on Martin Road. Miss Hutchens taught piano on her Steinway Concert Grand in her immaculately kept study. Her house was about a mile and a half away from Benny’s, as the crow flies, just over a series of large sand dunes that led to his backyard, and more often than not he would walk through the dunes to his lessons except during the winter.

  * * * * *

  One day in the fall of ‘69, during the 9th grade, Benny starting walking home from his piano lesson at around 4:45 p.m. It was deep autumn, and daylight savings time hastened the darkness. As he made his way down Martin Road he noticed a bunch of guys following him. They looked familiar but they were about a block away and he couldn’t quite make out their faces. Martin Road ended at a large dune. Just over that large dune were the woods that led to the back of Benny’s house--a good half mile away. He had a choice: Should he climb the steep sand dune and cut through the woods or should he take the long way by following Deerpath Road to his left?

  There weren’t many houses at the end of Martin Road and there was nobody else in sight. The four guys were gaining on him and were finally close enough to recognize. It was Murphy along with Frank Stram and two other guys from a different school. They started running after Benny then shouted, “Hey look, B-benny the Jew. Let’s get him!”

  Benny had no choice but to climb that hill and run for his life. Clutching his piano books, he bolted up the hill as fast as he could. The guys were about half a block behind him but were more athletic. Out of breath but determined, Benny made it to the top of that steep hill and ran through the dark woods. Only now, the guys had reached the top of the hill themselves and chased after him. Benny knew he couldn’t outrun them. His only option was to hide on the ground in some thick leaves and hope they wouldn’t find him. So he dove into a gulley of leaves and brush and kept very still. The four punks were now in earshot.

  “I think he went that way,” said Murphy. “I know where he lives. Just over the hill a ways.”

  As Benny lay on the ground, he heard them come nearer and was sure they would see or stumble over him. He heard the crunching of leaves with each step they took. They were as close as three feet away. Miraculously, they ran by and headed towards his house, thinking they would catch up to him. It was pitch black in those woods, which made Benny feel a little safer. Any wild animal, a fox or a coyote, was nothing compared to the animals that were after him.

  Benny waited in that gully for ten minutes, making sure they didn’t backtrack. He picked up his piano books and cautiously walked through the woods, the long way, eventually reaching the back of the houses down the road from his own.

  Who knows what would have happened had they caught up to him. They might have killed him or at the very least beat him to within an inch of his life. This was the only time Benny decided to do something about it. The next day in school he went to the principal’s office and told Mr. Benson what had happened. Mr. Benson talked to them but couldn’t do much more since nothing really happened. This made things worse. Murphy confronted Benny later on that day in the cafeteria and threatened him.

  “If you ever tell on me again Jew,” as he punched Benny in the shoulder, “you’re a dead man.”

  Benny regretfully kept quiet after that.

  * * * * *

  But now, nineteen years later, it was Benny who was on the hunt. He reached Grand Boulevard, passed by Wirt High School, and slowed a bit to read the house addresses.

  Let’s see, thought Benny, as he strained to see the numbers. This one’s 330. I can’t see that one. Oh, there it is, 346. And there’s his name on the mailbox, Spevacek.

  The house was small but well kept. It was a single story frame house with a wooden fence surrounding the back yard, a red swing set in plain sight. There was a tan, late model Ford pickup in the driveway and a blue bicycle leaning against the detached garage. There was probably someone home, but from the outside everything looked still.

  Benny parked his car across the street and about
fifty feet down the road. He sat patiently, reading the Gary Post Tribune and drinking coffee while waiting for some sign of life to come out of the house. He knew he could only wait for about two hours before he had to pick up his kids.

  Around 10:45 a.m., someone emerged. Benny spilled the remains of his cold coffee out the window and ducked down a bit. He peered over the steering wheel and saw a man and a young boy, about ten or eleven years old, get into the truck. Benny let them drive a couple of blocks ahead before he tailed them. They didn’t go far--just to the 7-11 about a mile away. Benny waited in the small parking lot for a few minutes then spotted the two as they exited the store. The man tapped a fresh pack of cigarettes on his hand as he and the boy got back into the truck.

  Sure as hell, Benny thought to himself, that’s him! And that must be his kid. He looks like an asshole just like his old man. Same cocky walk. Same smug look. I’ll bet that young motherfucker smokes in school just like his scumbag father did. I’ll bet that kid is a bully just like his father was. I hope he and his dad get along great, and do everything together like hunt and fish and race motorcycles. I’ll bet that kid has a good time. Yeah, I hope so. I hope his old man is married to someone he really loves. I hope they’re happy. Real happy. I hope his wife is pretty. Real pretty. I hope they have great sex together. Hot, smok’n sex. Wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t that be sweet? Real sweet. Yeah, real sweet.