Stagecoach Road Page 9

The following Tuesday, May 5th, 1992, came around very fast. Benny knew he had to be at J.J.’s at 10:00 p.m. He finished work early that afternoon and thought he’d spend some of the evening playing baseball in the backyard with Josh. Since Benny was going to be home for a few hours, Marsha thought she’d take Rachel out shopping, and didn’t even ask why Benny didn’t go to the chess club. Marsha got home about 9:00 p.m. and Benny immediately put on his brown bomber and grabbed his car keys. He told Marsha not to wait up.

  “I’m going to watch the end of the tournament at the club then go to White Castle with the guys.”

  Since Benny was a vegetarian, he only ordered coffee and fries while the others had sliders. But he had no intention of going to the hamburger stand that night. He used that excuse before and kept an empty White Castle coffee cup in his car in case Marsha needed evidence.

  It was a cool, drizzly spring evening with light traffic. Benny took it slow and got to J.J.’s around a quarter to ten. He parked his Camry about twenty feet from the shop and went over the list of things he was to pick up. He had another list of items he had to get the next day at the pet shop in Michigan City, namely a large animal cage. The biggest one they had.

  At 10:00 p.m. Benny drove to the alley in back of J.J’s and waited for his stuff. A few minutes later he saw Rings and J.J. walk out empty handed. Benny lowered his window.

  “Hey guys,” Benny yelled as J.J. quickly lifted up his eyes.

  “Oh, there you are, Sox,” said J.J. “I thought you were going to meet us inside. I forgot.”

  “That’s quite alright,” said Benny. “Were you able to get everything?”

  “I think so,” J.J. said as he motioned for Benny to get out of his car and come in the shop.

  Benny turned off the ignition and applied the parking brake, something he never did. In the back of his mind he had the paranoid thought someone may tow his car while he was away.

  J.J. and Rings escorted Benny to the storage room, an organized mess. No one except for Rings or J.J. could find anything in that pile of junk. But there, sitting on a wooden egg crate amidst boxes of old watches and gun parts was Benny’s order all bagged up--like he just bought his weekly groceries from the A&P. The only things missing were the celery stalks.

  “Wow!” exclaimed Benny as he softly caressed the tranquilizer rifle, darts, CO2 cartridges, Sucostrin, and syringes. “Oh, there it is,” he continued, as he found five small bottles of epinephrine.

  J.J. and Rings looked at each other as they saw Benny inspect the goods.

  “You got everything?” J.J. asked.

  “Looks like it,” said Benny. “You guys are the best!”

  “Good. Real good. ‘Cause I got to go,” said Rings, cutting off any of J.J.’s chitchat. “My mom is waiting for me at the home.”

  Benny was able to handle both paper bags by himself and loaded them into his trunk. Pleased with the service, he waved and smiled at J.J. and Rings as he pulled out of the lot.

  “I might be back for more stuff next week,” Benny shouted as his front wheels bounced over the curb making his way onto Broadway.

  As Benny started to make his way back he couldn’t help thinking about Rings. What did he mean by ‘the home’? How old was his mother? She certainly couldn’t be old enough to be in an old folks home. Maybe she was infirm. Crippled somehow, either mentally or physically. Didn’t matter. Benny had his stash. And he needed to practice up on some new skills.

  It was approaching 10:30 p.m. and the night couldn’t have been darker. The temperature dropped to about 45 degrees with the wind kicked up noticeably. The rain had all but stopped, just enough to moisten the windshield. The rearview mirror was slightly fogged. Benny switched on the defroster, turned up the heat and set the wipers on low. There was barely a soul on the road as Benny headed down U.S. 20 on his way to Stagecoach Road.

  Benny turned left onto County Line Road and noticed the streetlight was broken next to the Gas ‘N Go. That was the same light that illuminated Gunther Tire. He filed that observation in the back of his mind as he turned right onto Stagecoach Road. He drove passed the now familiar houses and parked a couple of miles down the road next to the oak tree where the beating took place so long ago. It was here, again, where he had to confront his fears if he was going to carry out his plan. He took off his baseball cap and rubbed the top of his head with his right hand to smooth out his hair. Then he looked at his face in the rearview mirror to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating this time. Benny doubted his own senses. How could he be sure he wasn’t dreaming any of this? Pain, he thought. I know I’m not dreaming and you can’t really experience pain when you’re fully asleep, that is, unless you’re drugged. Benny took out his cigar lighter from the front pocket of his jacket and pointed the flame on the back of his hand, singing the fine hair on his wrist. “Ow, ow,” he softly screeched. “I’m awake!”

  Yes, he was awake, very awake. And scared. This was one emotion he had to overcome. Or was he more angry than scared? The tree brought back the familiar flood of horrors he endured almost twenty years before.

  Benny sat, idling in his car for a few moments to gather his thoughts. Satisfied with his plan, he cut the engine and opened the door. Every noise was magnified fivefold in the quiet, cool darkness as he got out of his car and walked to the trunk to get his new gear. The trunk key made an irritating metallic sound as he pushed it into the lock. Like it squeaked in. Maybe it was the moisture in the air. He opened the trunk then grabbed the tranquilizer rifle along with the darts, CO2 cartridges, syringes, and Sucostrin. He already had a bottle of water he kept under the driver’s seat. It was too dark outside to mix and measure the solution, so he brought everything back into the car where he made up his first batch of darts and loaded one into the rifle. He then got out of his car, tranquilizer rifle in hand along with a small flashlight, and started walking down the pitch black deserted road, looking for something to shoot. A deer, if he was lucky.

  It was about a quarter past eleven. He took each step slowly, his running shoes crunching the wet pebbles underneath. There wasn’t a soul in sight. There was nothing in sight. But he could hear the sound of small animals in the woods running through the dry, brown leaves, remnants of the cold winter. If I could only find a raccoon, a rabbit, a possum, anything. A two hundred pound deer would be better, he thought. I loaded enough solution for that I think. Just then he heard something big scurry in the woods. Its footsteps sounded like it was very big. What the hell is that? he thought as he lifted up his gun and pulled back the slide, ready to shoot. The rustling stopped, then started just as fast. “Holy fuck, it’s a buck!” Benny exclaimed to himself, admiring the rhyme. The 14-point beast was about fifteen feet away, the same distance he expected to use the rifle for its intended purpose. Perfect, he thought as he looked through the sights and took aim at the frightened 300-pound animal. Benny steadied his arms as he pulled the trigger and heard the sudden, almost muffled blast of the CO2 cartridge as it discharged. “I think I hit him,” he said softly. “I’ll know soon enough,” he whispered to himself as he loaded another dart, preparing for another shot. But the deer kept on moving, though not as fast. Benny followed the game into the woods, stumbling on some branches, but kept his balance and tried to keep pace. Sure enough, the buck slowed down and staggered some until he fell to the ground. “I must have hit him just right--in his thigh muscle or something.”

  Benny shone his flashlight at the terrified animal and clearly saw the whites of his eyes, its dark eyeballs almost completely hidden behind the sockets. He heard the poor creature laboring to breathe, but breathe he did which brought a sigh of relief to Benny. “I don’t want to kill him. I just wanted to see if this stuff worked.” Apparently it did, but the effect didn’t last long. After only ten minutes the buck strained to get back on his feet. The fumes from the large animal’s nostrils permeated the cold night air, like a mad bull ready to charge. Benny took off running towards his car, not knowing if his victim had the presence to t
ake revenge. Benny made it back to his car and started the engine. Good! he thought, a wide grin appearing on his face. All I need to do is use more and dilute less next time. And next time it’s for keeps. That motherfucker can’t weigh more than 200 pounds.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Benny didn’t go directly home after his jaunt to Stagecoach Road.

  Still a bit shaken from his buck encounter, but pleased with the result, Benny decided to make one more stop that night. He drove to the Marquette Park Lagoon.

  Benny turned onto County Line Road and set his odometer to zero. He wanted to calculate exactly how long it took for him to drive from the beginning of Stagecoach Road to the back parking lot of the Marquette Park Pavilion. He estimated it would take about fifteen minutes going 30 mph. He was almost on the money. It was exactly 7.2 miles away.

  It was about 11:30 p.m. The air was much chillier than it had been just a half hour earlier. He parked his car at the closest spot to the water which was about 25 feet away.

  Yeah. Yeah. I think this will do, Benny thought to himself. I won’t have any trouble launching the boat from here by myself.

  Benny zipped up his leather bomber and put on his Cubs hat then started his stroll around the dark body of water. There wasn’t a ghost in sight as his Nikes sloshed through the soft soil that lined the shore. He could hear small critters scampering through the leaves as he walked passed the woods. His breath was steaming from his mouth, chilled by the cold spring night. An old 1920’s street lamp lit up a raccoon’s eyes in the distance. Benny stumbled on a protruding tree root and broke his fall on his shoulder. The sound of him hitting the ground scared a crow who loudly flapped away, provoking an entire tree of sparrows to disperse in a rush. He got up and started walking again through this twenty year time warp--like it was yesterday.

  My God, Benny reflected as he knelt down to touch a clump of grass. This is the spot I used to dig for worms when I was a kid.

  Nothing much had changed around the lagoon except for that ugly cement pier which replaced the old broken wooden one. It was dark as hell as he made his way around the perimeter and headed for the Lake Street Bridge--the same bridge where he and Al Fredericks were pelted by rocks by those thugs some twenty years earlier.

  OK. Right. Right. The bridge, Benny contemplated. That gives me an idea.

  The base of the Lake Street Bridge was about 40 feet from the water. The water, Benny figured, was about 12 feet deep at the center of the bridge and a lot shallower, maybe 4 feet deep, closer to the shore.

  This is just what I had in mind, he thought.

  Benny took one long last look at the bridge from below then climbed up the hill leading to the end of the bridge. It was amazing how close Lake Michigan was to the lagoon--not more than two hundred yards. In fact if he climbed to the top of the small sand dune next to the lagoon, he could roll down the other side to the shore and keep the dead alewives company.

  Just as Benny reached the top of the hill and prepared to walk across the bridge, he was startled by the sight of two police cars parked in the Lake Street parking lot, just in front of Lake Michigan. And there were other cars there too.

  “What the fuck,” Benny whispered to himself. “I forgot it was the end of the smelt fishing season. This could change a few things.”

  Actually, the smelt season was usually over by April 30th. It didn’t make sense there would still be fishermen out with their nets that late at night, especially since it was so cold. But there were. This wouldn’t be a problem if Benny had a good excuse to stay out until 3:00 in the morning. What was he to tell Marsha? Did it make any difference what he told her? If only he knew then what he was about to find out, it wouldn’t have made any difference.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Wednesday, May 6th, 1992 was another shopping day. There was an exotic pet shop at the Michigan City Mall that sold just the right size cage Benny wanted. The cage was about three feet all around, give or take a few inches, and was used to contain dogs of all sizes, parrots and monkeys. It weighed about sixty pounds and had four small wheels. While at the mall, Benny picked up a few other items: a blue lantern flashlight with extra batteries, two rolls of duct tape, a new pair of scissors, black and white print film to go with his old Rolleiflex camera, a backpack, sixty feet of rope, a six-inch hunting knife, a small box of colored stars, a ball of reinforced twine, and a high school G.E.D. study guide he bought at the bookstore. All paid for with cash. He already had other items he picked up earlier including two black markers, a ream of yellow card stock, a box of one hundred latex gloves, and a sewing kit with heavy duty thread. He also had a change of clothes in his trunk, identical to the clothes he was going to wear while carrying out this little exercise of his.

  The rest of the week flew by with Benny going over everything in his head he planned on doing Tuesday night, May 12th, 1992. He acted normal at his office, at least normal for him--joking with patients and feigning courtesy when Carla stopped in. He played catch with Josh and listened intently when Rachel played a new song on the piano. Marsha, though, seemed to sense Benny was up to something but didn’t ask. That’s the way he wanted it anyway. This was Benny’s war. His idea. Why did Marsha have to know? She didn’t.

  First on the list was Tommy Gunther. He seemed like a logical choice. He was closest to Stagecoach Road and had a predictable schedule. It also looked like he had the most to lose. Isn’t that nice! Benny thought. He had tons to lose. Then again, Benny knew nothing of his personal life, but he surmised he had someone, a wife maybe--probably kids as well. Tommy’s tire business always seemed busy when he drove by. And best of all, Tommy really looked happy. He couldn’t have been happier owning a successful business where people sought his advice as an expert plus he made a pretty penny on the retail end. Ah, yes, life for Tommy appeared to be perfect. What a tempting dish that made. And he looked good too, as if he worked out every day. Yessiree--life sure looked good for ol’ Tommy boy! Ah, the good life, as Tony Bennett used to sing--in the lyrics to the song The Good Life.

  And now Tuesday, May 12th. Today was the day. Benny scheduled patients until 3:00 p.m. He told Tracey and Marsha he was interested in buying a used chiropractic table from a practitioner in Michigan City, and for Marsha not to wait up. As if that was a problem.

  At 3:00 p.m. sharp he left his office and drove to Coros RV & Boat Storage and hitched his Jon boat, motor, oars, and all, to the back of his Camry and headed for Stagecoach Road. He arrived at Stagecoach around 4:00 p.m. There was light traffic on I-94 so it only took him twenty minutes. Once at Stagecoach he drove to the now familiar damaged tree and unhitched the boat and dragged it in the woods, about thirty feet from the tree, well into the brush. It was still light outside and sundown wasn’t until 7:30 p.m.--and somewhat light even then. Benny had time to kill and decided to enhance his experience.

  Benny drove to the tire store and parked his car amongst many others. He put on a pair of sunglasses and his Cubs hat. He wore his black leather bomber instead of the brown one, but had the brown bomber in his trunk just in case. He changed into light blue jeans and a beige sports shirt and wore his white Nikes with the red stripes. He entered Gunther Tire & Auto Supply and was immediately approached by a salesman, not the owner.

  “Can I help you find anything, sir?” rang a voice from behind.

  “Yes please,” Benny said. “I bought some tires here a few weeks ago and I forgot to pick up a tire iron. Do you sell those here?”

  “We have accessories in that aisle there behind the Goodyear sign,” said the young, courteous salesman.

  Benny casually walked to that aisle and picked up a 24” tire iron/pry bar made from forged steel with a chrome plate finish.

  “Man, this is a nice tool,” Benny muttered as he headed to the cashier. “This is great. Just what the chiropractor ordered.”

  No one paid any particular attention to Benny as the lady cashier with a beehive hairdo placed the iron in a plastic bag and handed him the receipt
. Before walking out of the store, Benny looked around for another minute in hopes of spotting Tommy, now 37, like himself.

  “There he is,” Benny said softly as he spotted Tommy assisting another customer.

  Benny walked out of the store with his purchase and sat in his car and waited five minutes, then pulled away. The plan was to eat at the nearby Denny’s and come back at 8:00 p.m., closing time. By then it would be dark. He needed it to be dark. Now all he hoped for was for Tommy to be the last one out of the store when it closed.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Eight o’clock was fast approaching. Benny busied himself by going back to Stagecoach Road after he ate, to prepare the darts and the syringes. He also prepared a few epinephrine shots. He knew he was going to need those.

  The night air was crisp, about 35 degrees, unseasonal for a May evening. Benny dressed for it. He put on an orange Bears winter stocking cap that covered the top of his head and ears. He kept his sunglasses on, but still could see well enough with the help of the brightly lit streetlights. The wind was mostly calm with an occasional gust of bitter wind blowing at the side of his neck. He wore his heavier brown bomber. He surgically put on a pair of latex gloves, squeaking each one over his large palms. Benny carefully strapped on his bulging backpack and snapped together the side buckle. His tranquilizer gun was waiting for him in the back seat as 8:00 p.m. approached. Benny slowly turned into the tire store’s parking lot off of County Line Road. He saw two cars parked in the employee’s parking spaces. Just two cars. He then parked his car about 150 feet away from the cars in a remote section of the lot, almost off the lot and under a tall old oak tree--nowhere near the entrance. He waited. And he waited. It was almost 8:20 p.m. when he saw the lights go off in the store. A minute later he saw a woman emerge--the cashier. She lit a cigarette as she walked to her car, then waved at someone, probably Tommy, before getting into her car and pulling away. Benny carefully but nervously grabbed the tranquilizer gun from the back seat. He checked the dart one more time to make sure everything was in place. He quietly slid over to the passenger’s side and opened the door leading to the trees at the side of his car. He got out, tranquilizer gun in hand, and crept slowly around the edge of the parking lot until he had a full view of the back entrance. He waited for Tommy. It was a short wait. A few seconds later he saw the brass doorknob turn and the door open. Tommy was wearing only a thin spring jacket as he exited his store then turned his back to lock the door. There wasn’t anyone else in sight. Benny was standing directly behind him, about two feet away, as Tommy turned again--facing Benny.