Stagecoach Road Page 7

  Benny looked at his son fixing the line, wishing he could go back and be his age again, knowing what he knows now.

  “Yes,” Benny replied to Joshua. “But it wasn’t my boat. My friend Al Fredericks lived just a block from the shore over there and we used to take his parents’ boat.”

  “Oh, I remember your friend Al. You haven’t seen him in a while, have you?”

  “No, and I should,” answered Benny. “He used to be a good friend, and he only lives in Portage. I’m going to give him a call later this week.”

  Benny opened up the throttle a little more, speeding up to avoid the wake from a larger boat that just passed by. They headed towards the main body of the lagoon and were quickly approaching the Lake Street Bridge. Benny and Al had somewhat of a traumatic experience there during a fishing outing in their last year of high school.

  “Did I ever tell you what happened to Al and me the last time we were here?” Benny asked as he pointed to the big bridge.

  “No,” replied Rachel. “What happened? Did Al fall in?” She chuckled.

  “Worse than that,” said Benny as he gazed back as they passed the bridge, slowing down to a crawl. “Al and I rowed all the way down the lagoon to that narrow area about a half mile down. You’ll see what I’m talking about when we get to it. We didn’t have a motor and took turns rowing. On our way back home we noticed a bunch of guys, about our age, leaning over the railing and waiting for us to row by. Al noticed them first and knew what was going to happen. ‘They’re going to throw rocks at us,’ he said. And sure enough, as soon as we got close enough they pelted us with a barrage of rocks, like they were saving them up for when we passed by. I shielded our heads with the life preservers the best I could, but the rocks just kept coming. About a dozen of them hit us. Many more splashed next to our boat, like little torpedoes. One of the larger rocks hit Al on his arm and caused a bad bruise. Those kids were screaming and swearing and threatening us as they threw the rocks. I don’t think they recognized me or Al but I sure as hell recognized them. They were troublemakers and didn’t care who they hurt.”

  Joshua opened up a package of Fig Newtons and gave one to his sister as he heard his father tell the story.

  “Then what?” asked Josh.

  “Well then Al got mad. After we got far enough away from them, we rowed to the shore and Al had me watch the boat while he went home to get something.”

  “What?” Rachel asked as she ate one of the cookies.

  “His shotgun!”

  “His shotgun?” Joshua asked in disbelief. “He wanted to kill them?”

  “I don’t know about kill them,” Benny said, “but at least he wanted to scare them. And I tried to talk him out of it, but Al wouldn’t listen. So I foolishly went back on the boat with him as we rowed about 75 feet away from the bridge and near the shore. The guys were still there, waiting for another boat to pass by, when Al took aim and started shooting.”

  “Did he hit them?” asked Joshua.

  “You know it! Al was always a good shot and he quickly got off five blasts. I saw two of the guys holding their faces and screaming bloody murder after the second blast. But Al was really mad and just kept shooting. We were too far away to see any blood, but those guys ran like hell and scattered in both directions. Then Al and I quickly rowed back to shore and dragged his boat through the woods before putting it back into his garage. No one saw us.”

  “Did you ever find out what happened to the guys he hit?” asked Joshua.

  “Sort of. They went to our school and everyone was talking about it. Apparently the police were called when someone reported hearing gunshots and they scoured the area for us, only they didn’t know it was us. I was more than a little concerned because I knew who those guys were and they knew me from before. But Al wasn’t concerned in the least. He was glad he got back at them.”

  “He could have blinded them,” said Rachel. “Al’s a bad man.”

  “I can tell you that no one was blinded. I saw those guys later on, after graduation, and I can tell you that none of them went blind.”

  “Were those the same guys who beat you up?” Joshua asked as he put his hand over his mouth, knowing he just misspoke.

  Benny went dead silent for a moment when he heard his boy say that.

  “When did you find out?” Benny asked as he lowered his head in shame.

  “Mommy told us a long time ago,” said Joshua. “I’m sorry. I forgot it was a secret.”

  “That’s okay,” said Benny. “I’m glad you know. Maybe you can learn something from it. If anyone is bullying you in school, take action now. You’ll regret it later on if you don’t.”

  “Do you regret it?” asked Rachel, who was quietly listening as she finished her cookies.

  “Yes, I do. Every day I regret not taking action.”

  “I guess it’s too late now,” said Joshua as he lowered his line in the water. It was a few minutes passed 2:00 p.m. and time to start fishing.

  “Guess so,” said Benny, looking away, not wanting to reveal what was inside his mind.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Coros RV & Boat Storage was located on Cline Avenue in Hammond, not far from Lake Michigan. Benny told Marsha he was going to keep his boat there so he didn’t have to haul it through traffic each time he wanted to fish. Of course, everyone knew, including Marsha, that a small vessel like that Jon Boat was way too dangerous to take out on the great lake. The unrelenting winds and choppy surf were just that, even during nice spring days.

  Benny had discovered that Frank and Gerald were switched to the night shift, same as Murphy, so early Monday morning, April 27th, 1992, Benny hooked up his boat and headed out, but not to the boat storage--to Tyler Road. He arrived a few minutes before 6:00 a.m. and parked a good two blocks west of Tyler on U.S. 20. Frank won’t be looking for a boat, thought Benny as he sat quietly in his car, peeking in the rearview mirror for Frank’s amber truck. Benny watched as the digital clock/radio in his car changed to 6:18. No sign of Frank. He waited another ten minutes and decided to leave. Just as he started to pull away, he saw Frank’s truck in the mirror. Benny stopped himself from merging onto the road and waited for Frank to drop off Gerald, who was sitting next to Frank, this time, fully awake. About two minutes later he saw Frank cross over U.S. 20 to the north side of Tyler. Benny waited another minute before following Frank.

  It looks like they live near each other, thought Benny as he started his car and put it in drive.

  Traffic was getting heavier down U.S. 20 as Benny drove two blocks before making a wide left onto Tyler, keeping his eye on his fishing boat in back. He didn’t see any sign of Frank, thinking he had waited too long. He purposely crept a few blocks down Tyler, scanning both sides of the street, looking for any sign of that truck. The houses on the north side of Tyler were in slightly better shape than on Gerald’s side, but not by much, as they too were sporting a few boarded up houses. As Benny approached the stop sign before Route 12, he spotted Frank’s truck which was parked in the alley next to the house on the northeast corner. Probably Frank’s house. He quickly drove passed and circled around to U.S. 20 and back onto Tyler, this time parking a block south of the house. Benny put on his Cubs hat and thinner pair of sunglasses as he exited his car and walked towards the old two story wooden dwelling.

  The numerous mature, tall oaks with expansive branches and wide leaves provided a broad, shaded cloak as Benny slowly walked down the old chipped sidewalk. It was only 6:24 a.m. which gave Benny at least another half hour to look around. As he neared the house, he heard dogs barking in the backyard, and then running to the front of the chain-link fence which ended even with the façade. There were two dogs, both white Pit Bulls, wearing thick, black spiked collars. They looked aggressive and vicious, just like Benny remembered Frank. If I’m going to do this thing, I’ve got to find a way to get passed those dogs, Benny thought to himself as he turned right, walking along Route 12 to look at the backyard.

  What he saw in t
he backyard was an oversized doghouse. No swing sets. No kids stuff. Just a huge doghouse, complete with shingles and a gutter, and numerous piles of dog shit everywhere. There was no real grass to speak of, just tons of tall weeds. The place looked as though it hadn’t seen a lawn mower in years. The dogs, however, looked well fed, but the fact they looked vicious was a problem. Benny liked dogs, but he wasn’t too fond of Pit Bulls. He didn’t hate them. He just didn’t care for them.

  Satisfied that he knew where Frank lived, on the north side of Tyler, and what he was up against, Benny decided to look around Gerald’s house again. He made his way back south towards Gerald’s side of Tyler. He drove down to the pond where it dead ended and made the wide U-turn, boat in tow, so he would face U.S. 20 in case of an emergency. He drove his car almost all the way up to the stop sign, then walked towards the pond. As soon as he reached Gerald’s house he heard dogs barking. What the fuck! Benny thought, as he stopped in his tracks. Again? More fucking dogs to deal with? And not just more dogs--more Pit Bulls, fenced in the backyard just like Frank’s. This time there were three of them. It also appeared that Gerald used the same backyard decorator as Frank. Shit everywhere and an even bigger doghouse, with a fenced-in run leading to Gerald’s back door. Why do they have so many damn dogs? thought Benny. Could only be one thing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As Benny drove back to see patients that Monday, he started to have second thoughts. There are so many things that can go wrong, he surmised as he contemplated his next move. What if I get caught? What will happen to Marsha and the kids? Yeah, Marsha, he thought. She’s a pretty girl. She can always find someone else. And I’m insured. I think I’m insured for a million dollars. More than that maybe. She bought the policy. Yeah, I remember signing something. Who gives a shit? She’ll make out OK.

  It was almost 6:45 a.m. and the rush hour traffic was heating up. Benny was stuck behind a truck at a long stoplight on U.S 20. He had time to think before he arrived at his office. And he knew what he wanted, and what he had to do. Not just for himself, but for his long lost high school buddy, Eddy Moss. What happened to Eddy bothered him about as much as what happened to himself.

  * * * * *

  Eddy and Twila became an item after they consummated their relationship in the old high school gym. During the summer before starting his junior year, Eddy got a job at the Lake Street Beach as a lifeguard. Eddy loved that job and everybody loved him. He loved sitting atop the lifeguard stand with his bathing suit and whistle, talking to all the kids and listening to the sounds of summer, especially the waves crashing against the shore. People would buy him hotdogs and sodas from the concessions, and he would let them climb up to the top of his perch and look over the horizon and see the faraway ships. Sometimes, when the beach got too crowded, it was all he could do to distinguish the real emergencies from the fake ones when the girls playfully yelled for help as their boyfriends splashed them in the water. One of the coolest things Eddy liked was being able to see the skyscrapers on the Chicago skyline. The Prudential Building, The Pick Congress Hotel, and the Conrad Hilton were as plain as could be on a clear day. Above all, Eddy enjoyed Twila’s company as she sunbathed herself in her revealing bikini next to the stand while he stood guard. Everyone knew the biracial couple was dating and they let them be. After all, it was the beginning of the ‘70s and racial intolerance was passé. Yes, everyone let them be. Everybody, that is, except Frank and his buddies.

  Late Sunday evening, around 9:30 p.m., August 24th, 1970, the Lake Street Beach was starting to fill up with the night crowd, mostly teenagers from Wirt, as well as several families who made the long trek from Chicago. That’s when the beach really cooked. There were bon fires, beer, loud portable radios, and even louder radios from the cars that were parked in the gigantic six-acre lot at the end of Lake Street. Bob Cheats was playing his favorite Beach Boy tune, Wouldn’t It Be Nice.

  It was a beautiful warm summer night, and no one anticipated what was about to happen.

  Eddy went home briefly to see his mom and to walk Twila back so she could get cleaned up. The mile walk was a pleasurable one for them as they held hands and talked the whole way. Then, at around 9:45 p.m. as they neared the beach, they saw a group of white rowdies on motorcycles, making a lot of noise and purposely screeching past pedestrians just to hear them scream. This group of thugs was Frank and his buddies. All of them, including Gerald, Tommy, and Murphy. When they saw black Eddy holding hands with milky white Twila, they went berserk.

  “Hey white bitch!” Frank yelled, as he menaced his Harley around them.

  Twila didn’t answer. Eddy and she started walking even faster towards the beach where they thought there would be safety in numbers.

  “Hey white bitch!” Frank yelled again. “I’m talking to you.”

  Twila and Eddy continued to ignore him.

  “Hey bitch! Whataya doing with that nigga? You know we don’t allow niggas here.”

  Eddy and Twila were almost at the beach and scanning for a cop.

  “Hey bitch!” Murphy shouted, as he too got into the act. “We hear you’ve been fucking that nigga. A tasty white bitch like you fucking a nigga. My oh, my--looks like Mr. Ray didn’t finish his job,” making a surprisingly informed reference to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s killer.

  Still trying to ignore the mob, Eddy held Twila tighter and started running for the beach. But Frank and the gang would have none of that. Tommy, obeying Frank’s command, grabbed Twila and forced her to sit on his bike and sped off towards a dark alley behind a boarded up beauty salon about five blocks away. Frank went with him. Meanwhile, Murphy and Gerald got off their bikes and grabbed Eddy, who was screaming loudly and trying to resist.

  “Shut up nigga,” demanded Murphy, as he dragged Eddy behind an old beat up house just off the road. “One of those white boys may hear you,” pointing to some disinterested passersby, “and call the police.”

  Eddy did his best to fight them off, but before he could take a swing at Murphy, Gerald hit Eddy over the head with a heavy chunk of asphalt he picked up from the street. Eddy fell unconscious with a busted skull as a river of blood flooded out from his forehead. But the hoodlums weren’t satisfied. As Eddy lay there bleeding, they lowered his jeans and cut his belly and penis, nearly severing it off at the base. At that moment they heard the sound of sirens and scattered like cockroaches, leaving Eddy, hemorrhaging to death. The police found Eddy, barely alive, and rushed him to the hospital.

  There was no sign of Twila. The police knew she was abducted but they didn’t know where. A witness pointed in the general direction, but to no avail.

  She was right under their noses, behind that abandoned beauty shop, being assaulted just five blocks away. Tommy held her on the ground, which was littered with rusty nails and yellow crumpled newspapers, while Frank forced his hard, diseased prick in her unyielding dry box. But before Frank completed the assault, he too heard the sirens, and pulled out of Twila. The two cowards hastily kick-started their bikes and zipped away.

  With her vagina torn and bloody, Twila got up and screamed as loud as she could as she ran towards Lake Street. An elderly black man who lived in a weathered house nearby, heard Twila scream. He motioned to her as she ran to his house, calling out for a phone. He opened the door as he pointed to his kitchen phone. The police arrived within minutes and took Twila to the same hospital as Eddy, who was now in the intensive care unit following emergency surgery.

  The police had no problem finding the young terrorists, who were identified, and found hiding at Frank’s parents’ house, just down the road. They were arrested and booked for attempted murder, rape and a lot of other charges. But the system failed, as each of the sixteen year olds spent only a year in the juvenile detention facility, and then incredibly, were allowed to enroll for their senior year at Wirt, which they never finished.

  After the incident, Twila and her mother moved away to another state, never returning to Wirt again. No one knew for sure what ha
ppened to Eddy. There were rumors he had died, but some said he and his mother, Joanna, moved to Nashville where they had relatives. Benny found out later.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Carla’s in the bathroom,” Tracey said as Benny walked into the clinic, saying hello to his new personal injury patient, who just completed the case history form.

  Benny walked to his back office and plopped himself down on his swivel chair. He put his hands to his face, resting his elbows on his desk, as he tried to compose himself from his journey to Frank and Gerald’s houses. He buzzed Tracey who promptly walked in with a cup of coffee, Mitzie at her heels.

  “Do I have to see Carla this early in the morning?” Benny griped as he sipped the coffee.

  “She was here before I opened,” Tracey said. “Waiting outside.”

  “Waiting outside? She’s getting worse. What’s the emergency?”

  Tracey left Benny’s office for a second and came back with a brown box.

  “Look,” Tracey said, as Mitzie, Carla’s biggest fan, started to salivate. “She baked you an orange cake!”

  “An orange cake, for God’s sake. What for? It’s not even my birthday.

  “She wanted to surprise you,” Tracey said as she broke off a piece to give to her anxious Beagle. “Look, you can quickly see Carla and I’ll finish up the paperwork with your new PI. Steve called and said this one’s a good case.”

  “Who’s the insurance company who hit him?”

  “Don’t know yet,” said Tracey as she went back to her receptionist desk.

  Benny walked in the hallway and bumped into Carla.

  “Oh, hi Dr. Weinstein!” Carla cheerfully said as she grabbed Benny’s arm. “Did you have a chance to sample the cake?”

  “No, not yet” Benny said, escorting Carla into the nearest exam room.

  Carla changed the headrest paper herself and assumed the position on the electric chiropractic table.