Chapter 4

"Uncle Don, mom's in some kind of trouble!"

That's how it started. My sister is a piece of work, the comment 'absolutely useless, ' is a high complement if you are referring to her, it goes downhill from there. The only good thing to come from her pitiful life was the result of a one-night stand, is my niece, my lover, my Jayden. My life revolves around her. Jayden is fourteen going on twenty-five. I get tingles in my stomach just thinking of her.

What the hell has my sister done now?

"What do you mean trouble? Is she drunk again?"

"No, some guy stopped me in the street, in front of the apartment, and asked me to give mom a message."

"What was the message?"

"He said 'If your mom doesn't come across with what she promised, she is in deep shit.' Then he looked at me and said 'If your mom doesn't come across, maybe you can be her substitute, ' and then he tried to touch me!"

Someone is deep shit! The feeling of unbridled fury is building up in me, and it is for 'the someone' who propositioned Jayden! That someone is in for a very deep hurt, or worse. Nobody threatens one of mine without gross repercussions.

"What else happened?"

"He leered at me and told me: two days of willing participation on my part would make the world better for mom. What did he mean by that, Uncle Don?"

It means he is yearning for a very short life span, but I didn't reveal my feelings to Jayden.

"I don't know, did anything else happen?"

"No, he just got into a big black SUV and drove off. It looks something like yours."

I drive a current model Suburban, all-wheel drive, which comes in handy driving the goat trail that ends at my cottage on Everett Mountain ... my sanctuary from the world; at least that was my original thought, until the 'Shootout on Everett Mountain' part one, then again part two and again part three at Christmas.

"Did you happen to get the license plate? What did he look like?"

"The plate was New York State, started with WOW and some numbers. The WOW caught my eye. He is a bit shorter then you, blonde hair, cut really close, very well dressed, a dark blue suit, white shirt, wine red tie, black shiny shoes, looked like a lawyer."

"Anything else?"

"Ya, he was wearing a very large wrist watch, looked like gold, and a large gold ring on his right hand, shape of a skull. If the stuff was real gold it must cost a fortune."

"Where is my lovely sister now?"

"She didn't come home last night, which is nothing new. I stayed with Mrs. Rose."

"I will look into it, Jayden. If you see this guy again, try and get the full plate number and the description of anyone else in the truck. Also, if he talks to anyone on the street, or goes into any other buildings, write down everything! Do not expose yourself, or Charlize, to him or to anyone else for that matter; be on the watch for strangers to the neighborhood. Call me immediately at the cottage or on my cell. I will be there as quickly as possible. Lock yourself in the apartment or go to Mrs. Rose's. Only open the door when you hear my voice."

Mrs. Rose is a caregiver whom I pay handsomely to provide everything that Jayden and Charlize require. My sister Rayne's goal in life is one thing: just taking care of Rayne; Jayden has always been just an afterthought in her life. My Jayden was the result of a one night stand fourteen years ago, Rayne has no idea who Jayden's daddy is but she knows I will always be here to take care of Jayden.

Charlize is a different story. A beautiful young girl, orphaned by circumstances way beyond her control, kidnapped by unsavory types, through a quirk of fate, came into my life. She is now living with Mrs. Rose as a daughter, my ward, with all my support.

The description given by Jayden reminds me of Hugh Prosser, a two-bit hood, who, with his gang of malcontents, were extorting from defenseless people in a local park. After an altercation with him, extolling the virtues of clean living, compared to dying, he recanted his ways in regards to the people at the park. Now he may have more lofty goals. I will have to investigate.

Who am I you ask? My name is Don P. Johnson, forty-six, single, never been seriously involved. While in the Special Forces, for my twenty-five, I never felt comfortable with the thought of getting involved with a woman for a number of reasons: first, it would not be fair to anyone, always wondering if I would return from an assignment; second, without a very clear focus on my task and the many risks, I could end up very dead. My profession was killing, a sniper, it is a profession I excel at, as proven during recent assaults on my person at Everett Mountain. And no, it doesn't bother me; I looked at my job as an exterminator, getting rid of vermin.

"You stay with Mrs. Rose; if your mom shows up, call me."

"Okay, Uncle Don."

What to do next? I have to locate Mr. X; if he is a regular in that neighborhood, someone may know of him. It is worth a try. When I arrive in the area, it takes ten minutes to find a parking spot on the street, which means Mr. X was waiting for Jayden, which causes more questions: how did he know Jayden? He knew the traffic patterns well enough to locate a parking spot before Jayden appeared. There is more to this than my shitty sister screwing the pooch.

A quick surveillance of the area didn't cause anything to jump out at me as being out of the ordinary. Just the locals doing their thing: a mom and a stroller, kids running, the usual; then, an older man sitting on a park bench caught my eye. From this distance, it looks like he has a clipboard and is writing. When I approached him, he looked up from his clipboard and smiled.

"Nice day today!"

"For this time of year, it is great. Do you come here often?"

"This has been my bench for the last four years, since my wife passed. I sit here, enjoy my neighbors and read. Why do you ask?"

"I am looking for a man, blonde well dressed, looks like a lawyer."

"I have seen such a man, he was here yesterday, asking about Mrs. Johnson, even asked if she had any kids. I know her to see her, and I know of her daughter, Jayden. I even pointed her out to him."

"Did he say why he wanted this information?"

"Nope."

"Can you describe him?"

His description mirrored that of Jayden's, right down to the watch and ring.

"Did you see what he was driving?"

"A big SUV, just like yours."

"Mine?"

"Yes, I watched you park across the street."

"Anything else you remember?"

"Would the license plate help?"

"License plate? Of course! You remember it?"

"Nope, I write all them down, gives me something to do. In the back of my mind, I play a game that I am part of a secret surveillance team. Unfortunately, in all the time I have been doing this, four years, you are the first to ask for any of the information."

"I sure would appreciate the number."

"WOW 731, New York plate with a current sticker."

"You have been a great help. Thank you for doing what you do. Do you know Jayden Johnson?"

"Yes I do, she is very nice girl, very polite, always says hello, she is always smiling."

"Would you like to do something for me, in the surveillance mode?"

His eyes light up.

"What can I do?"

"Keep an eye on Jayden, and her friend Charlize, when she is in the area. If you ever see that man, or the likes of him, approach her; call me at this number, any time of the day. It is my cell and I always have it with me. Record anything out of the ordinary, and pass it on to me."

"You got it! I know Charlize, she is a nice girl. Finally, my small efforts will be put to use."

"My name is Don Johnson, Jayden is my niece."

"Pete Aker, pleased to meet you."

"Do you know my sister, Rayne?"

"Yes. She is not as nice as her daughter."

"That I know!"

"Would you keep an eye out for her, especially any vehicles she may arrive or be picked up in?"

"Of course, this is getting interesting."

After thanking Pete, and then shaking his hand, I return towards my vehicle. On the main floor of Jayden's apartment building is a small deli. Inside, at the counter, a young lady asks if she could help.

"Do you know Pete Aker?"

"You mean the guy sitting on the bench across the street? Yes, I know him."

"Do you know what his favorite sandwich is?"

"That is easy! Every pension day he comes in and orders, a large pastrami, a small fry and a coffee."

"And that cost him how much?"

"Five even, I know he is on a small pension."

"Here is five hundred dollars; would you be able to deliver a sandwich and coffee to him every day?"

She looks at the money, five one hundred dollar bills, and then she looks at me.

"It may not be just at lunch time, but it will be before one thirty, every day he is on his bench."

"Thank you. Here is my number ... when the money runs out call me, and I will replenish it."

Leaving the shop, I have a good feeling about myself; after all, it isn't my money, and it had belonged to a bunch of hoods that have no longer a need for it, since most of them are dead.

I am still totally pissed off that someone approached Jayden for the perceived sins of her mother. Once back at the cottage, I email my friend Bill with the plate number for a search. Mr. X is due for an attitude adjustment.

It took two days for Bill to answer the email.

'What r u into now? The unit is owned by a shell corporation, owned by a shell corporation etc. A CIA contact suggested, that is his word, it may have something to do with a group of unsavory characters from south of the border. They are involved with drugs, counterfeiting, stock fraud and white slavery, specializing in white girls for un-white buyers. Not nice. I told you to take up Alligator Wrestling or Rattlesnake farming, something safe. Sorry for delay. Bill.'

That didn't tell me much, other than my sister is flirting with some really unsavory characters, and it certainly didn't tell me who Mr. X is. He, I need to find. The comment from Bill about the CIA has me wondering if 'Skip' is aware of this group. Skip is, John 'Skip' Watson, ex CIA whom I formed an unholy alliance with to track some other unsavory types. The odds are he has come across this group as well, perhaps a name or location, something I could work on and locate Mr. X.

A quick email to 'Skip' explaining what I would like but not the reason. All I have is very sketchy details of nothing. I am hoping that Skip can fill in some of the blanks.

With little or nothing to go on, it leaves me frustrated. Again, questions resulting in more questions and no answers. Then, some goodness comes to forefront: a call from Charlize.

"Hi Don! What are you doing? I miss you!"

"Hi, Charlize, I miss you too. How have you been doing with Mrs. Rose?"

"She has been wonderful; she looks after me like a mom. Did I tell you she took me to her doctor for a checkup?"

"No, everything okay?"

"Yep, I am now on the pill. The doctor's examination revealed I was no longer a virgin and she asked me if I was sexually active. I just blushed, as I thought of you."

Now I am blushing. Recalling the weekend Charlize and I spent together has John Thomas standing at attention. Charlize is excellent in bed. I need more.

"I missed you as well. Have you talked to Jayden?"

"Actually, she is here. Her mom is not too dependable; but, you know that, she is your sister. Jayden is here often. Mrs. Rose always sets the table for three and Jayden is usually here for meals."

"Oh, please don't remind me about my sister. Has Jayden mentioned anything about some guy talking to her?"

"Yes, she told me about it and what you told her to do. I have been with her many times since then and she hasn't mentioned seeing that SUV again."

"Charlize, if you suspect anything suspicious on the street or at school, call me. If you can, write down everything you can think of, it may help me get a line on the guy that bothered Jayden."

"That, I will do Don."

Since leaving the force, I've been approached by my former captain three times, asking me to reconsider another reenlistment. To which I have responded three times, that I am too old for that shit. Crawling around some shit-hole in the world, covered with a ghillie suit, wasn't the greatest thing when I was young and it certainly hasn't improved as I got older.

My first priority is getting in touch with my useless sister, Rayne, to determine who and what she is involved with. Calling her apartment and cell gets her answering machines. Next is a visit to the bar, where she is, or was, working. Her only skills in life are serving and cleaning at bars, and getting shitfaced. Do I like my sister? NO!

Parking in front of the bar, I notice there is a closed sign hanging in the window. It is eleven thirty, it shouldn't be closed. They are usually open for the lunch crowd. Something is wrong! Walking towards the building, I can see movement in the interior, someone is inside. Moving my hand over my heart, I get the reassuring feel of the butt of the Glock. At the door, I knock and wait. I see a head appear and hear a gruff voice, 'We're Closed.'

"If you don't open the door, I will have to break it. You're choice!"

The head reappears, the lock is disengaged and the door opens a crack, a face sporting a fresh black eye looks out, the skin around his eye is starting to swell.

"We're closed! What part of that don't you understand?"

"I am looking for Rayne Johnson, she is my sister."

The door opens slowly a hand waves me in. There has been an altercation in the main area, with broken chairs and one table has seen better days.

"I don't know where your sister is. See this mess? Someone else was here looking for her. They were waiting for me when I came in this morning to open. They got a little rough with me, but I told them I still didn't know where your sister is. Finally, they left."

"Who are 'they' and how many? Can you describe them? Did they mention why they wanted my sister?"

There were three men: one he described fit Jayden's tormentor to a T. The two others were Hench men; they did the rough stuff as the other watched.

"What I gathered is Rayne was carrying something for them and didn't arrive at the designated spot. I don't know what they entrusted her with, but it obviously has value. After roughing up, and breaking some furniture they left. The leader suggested I call them, if she showed up."

"How are you to get in touch with them?"

On the bar was a card, a telephone number was written in ballpoint pen. I wrote in my notebook.

"Do as you've been told; don't take unnecessary risks. I will see what I can do."

"Thanks, you sister does good work for me, the clients like her."

"I will find her, thanks for the information."

This could be the lead I'm looking for; Bill will get a reverse on the number. You may wonder why I don't do it online, Bill has the ability to get a reverse on the blind numbers as well, and I don't know how he does it and really don't care.

At the cottage, I email Bill with the number. Maybe my contact at the Abbotsville Police department can shed some light on Mr. X. It can't hurt to ask.

"Detective Ray Twayne, please."

"Twayne here!"

"Ray, it is Don Johnson. How goes it?"

"Hi Don! I know you didn't call to discuss the day. How can I help?"

I describe the perk I am looking for and the vehicle.

"I think I know the guy, not a nice type. He is something like LeRoy Rush, whom I haven't seen lately. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?"

"Who is the guy?"

"Daniel Riggs, nicknamed 'Dapper Dan;' he is always dressed to the nines. He doesn't get his hands dirty, has two punks to do that for him. He, like LeRoy Rush, is vicious. It is rumored he took out two of his rivals with a crowbar, bashed their skulls in. Not a nice person. Of course, we have no proof of said bashings. Now, what about LeRoy Rush, do you know anything about his where he is?"

"I heard he was visiting his mom."

"Don't think so, his mom passed away with cancer."

"Like I said, he is visiting his mom."

"He's dead?"

"He is visiting his mom."

"How do you know that?"

"You didn't say where 'Dapper Dan' hangs out."

"No, I didn't, you're not going after him; that is not a good idea."

"Where does he hang out?"

"There is a bar on Graham Street, 'Daniel's Grill' he owns it. If he is there, it will be full of his soldiers, not a good place for a meet."

"Do you know where he lives?"

There is a pause on the line, I can hear Ray breathing.

"You are not going to believe this but he just bought 47 Wandering Place. How he managed that I don't know. The Department had no creditable evidence Daniel Riggs knew Dwayne Riser or LeRoy Rush. If anything, they would have been competitors."

"It is a start. Thanks for the info."

"Don, I don't want to read about you and a crowbar."

For the next week, I monitor 'Daniel's Grill.' A man matching 'Dapper Dan's' description is a frequent visitor. I actually went into the Grill and bought a submarine sandwich to go: the food is good.

'Dapper Dan' is always in the company of at least two of his lieutenants. He always gets into the back seat, the lieutenants in the driver and passenger seats. For the first couple of days I didn't follow the SUV, I just watched the Grill. My intuition had me wondering if other things were happening. On the second day, I noticed a late model Ford driving off in the same direction following the SUV. The first day I didn't think anything of it; but, on the second, third and fourth day, I smelt a rat. On the fifth day, I followed the Ford as it followed the SUV. They both enter the drive of 47 Wandering Place, the Ford pulls up behind the SUV. Mr. Riggs is a very cautious or suspicious man. Getting to him is going to require a lot of planning. How could he be involved with my sister? It doesn't make any sense.

For the next three days, I monitor 47 Wondering Place, very little activity during the day, cleaning staff comes usually at tenish, always escorted by one of the hoods, and they leave after one in the afternoon, then things are quiet till about seven when limousines drive up and discharge the well-heeled. Watching the sequence repeat three days in a row has me thinking, 'they can't be holding the auctions again. No one would be that stupid, could they?' The cops should be watching the comings and goings, at least for the next while. The reputation of the address should be enough for the authorities to keep an eye on it. Besides, I haven't seen any young ladies being escorted to the residence. There has to be something else going on, but what?

Neither Jayden nor Charlize have been harassed again. My sister still hasn't surfaced and that has me concerned. Not so much about Rayne, but the shock to Jayden if something unsavory has happened to her mother.

My visual continues at 47 Wandering Place, nothing seems to stand out, other than there are a helluva lot of well-heeled couples in Abbotsville. I have to be missing something. The following day, I brought a pair of high-powered binoculars with me. After four limousines arrive, I carefully watch the passengers depart. Then, the bells go off: every second or third limo has three passengers; the third is shorter than the couple and is wearing a hooded overcoat. Throughout the evening, I spot twelve such figures. It has to be the young girls. The 'Auction Girls' have been reincarnated by Daniel Riggs and company! Now that takes real balls, knowing the cops should be watching. And, it appears that the girls are doing it voluntarily. They all walk to the main door, and seem to be welcomed by the doorman. It has me wondering if 'Dapper Dan's' crew could be stupid enough to be using the same video connections as Jason Grimes, and will Peanuts software on my laptop pick up the signal.

All of this is great, but it doesn't get me any closer to finding my shitty sister. Continued surveillance of 47 Wandering Place won't add to my knowledge; at this point, I am assuming the 'Auction Girls' are doing their thing nightly for large rewards, hopefully my laptop will confirm. One item that has been gnawing in the back of my mind is 'Dapper Dan's' haircut. Short-cropped hair is a trademark of military men. Could it be that Daniel Riggs is ex-military? And the person who may know something about this prick, Sargent Rick Clark of the Abbotsville Mission, is a place to start.

Nothing has changed at the Abbotsville Mission; it is as busy as ever, maybe busier. Walking in, I am overwhelmed at the number of people, not at the dinner tables, but there is a space for dartboards, four card tables have been set up and what looks like a refreshment bar, with coffee, tea and soft drinks available.

Rick spots me, gives me a broad smile and beckons me towards a small table in the corner, at the kitchen entrance.

"Good to see you, Don! What brings to see us?"

"Just wanted to see how you are doing in the new digs, now that you have a couple of months under your belt."

"That is bullshit and we both know it! But, for the people in the peanut gallery, we are doing great, as you can see. Unlike the old location, here with the additional space, our guests can intermingle with others giving them a sense of family. Our meals help them keep their physical bodies maintained, but the social interactions bring them back to life. It is a great second chance for many. More and more guests are finding jobs; menial, mind you, but it gives them a feeling of self-worth. Now, what can I really do for you?"

"Have you ever heard of Daniel Riggs, known as 'Dapper Dan?"

"Know him? No. Heard of him? Yes, and everything is bad. What has he done to get in your crosshairs?"

"He propositioned my niece and, according to her, tried to touch her."

"Shit! I don't want to be in his shoes! Can't tell you much, just what I heard, and it is just hearsay, but if you hear it often enough it has you wondering. He is a real piece of work, has a heavy blunt hand, his two lieutenants do most of the dirty work. But rumor has it Riggs is partial to crowbars."

"Your thoughts coincide with others I have heard. Was he ever in the military?"

"Rumor has it he was, but was cashiered for being too brutal interacting with others in his unit. He broke a guy's jaw for slopping a bit of beer on his sleeve in a bar; the jaw had to be wired shut to heal. The result of that particular court martial was a dishonorable discharge."

"Any idea of what he is involved with now?"

"No, but whatever it is, there has to be tons of money involved. You might want to talk to Mark Cree, an ex-military; you can find him at the Vets Help Centre. Again, rumor has it, Riggs tried to recruit him for some serious job."

"Thanks for the heads up. I think I will wander to the VHC and talk to Mark."

"You're welcome back anytime. I know it is you behind 'The Carl Hendricks Benevolent Fund.'

"You must have me mixed up with somebody else; I have no idea what you are talking about."

The Vets Help Centre, like the Abbotsville Mission, is a beehive of activity. In their prior location, it was dark and dreary, likely doing more harm than good for the Vets in need of assistance. In the new location, they have space; they have natural sunlight beaming through the windows, and there is a mummer of chatter throughout the room.

There are five card tables set up, all are being used; plus, there are heated games going on at the dart boards. The new digs are making a world of difference. The manageress notices me and comes over smiling.

"Hello, Mr. Johnson, I never got to thank you for suggesting this location. I can't believe the difference it has made for our Vets. The atmosphere here gives them a feeling of comradeship they had in the services. And the showers and washrooms? They are clean, always work, and many of our Vets look forward to a warm shower. I can't thank you enough."

"I didn't have much to do with it, Rick said he had the space and you had the need."

"I know you did more than that!"

I don't want to go down that rabbit hole. I change the subject.

"Would you be able to direct me to a member who knows what is going on with the area vets? Someone the others look up too?"

"That would be Barry White. He is the 'go to' guy for the group, sort of the unelected leader. Many look to him for advice on benefits programs they may qualify for. He is very knowledgeable."

"Is he here today?"

"That is him in the corner talking to Gordon. Gordon has many problems, and Barry has a gift to be able to calm him, and he is able to explain in a way that Gordon, and many others, can understand. Barry really doesn't need to be here, he does it because he can help. Come on, I will introduce you."

"Barry, this is Mr. Don Johnson. He was instrumental in getting this space. He would like to talk to you."

"Hi Don! Please, take a chair; enjoy a coffee, which isn't that bad and I will be with you as soon as I finish with my buddy Gordon."

"Will do."

For the next fifteen minutes, I watch as Barry explains something to Gordon that he is having trouble comprehending. Barry is patient, repeating his comments, and waiting for Gordon's comments. Finally it must have gotten through as Gordon stood up, pats Barry on the back, and repeated the words 'thank you, you are god send.' They shake hands and Gordon leaves heading for the coffee carafe. Barry walks towards me.

"Sorry about that, Gord has many problems; I do what I can to help him. He has the smarts, but the war screwed up a few things. I wish I could do more."

I think to myself, "maybe 'The Carl Hendricks Benevolent Fund' can help, if money is the problem."

"I watched you, you are very good, and the manageress mentioned that you are the 'go to' guy for a number of Vets. You said you would like to do more, what do you mean by more?"

"You didn't come here to ask me that; what is it can I do for you?"

"We will get back to that later then. What I need is information on what is going on in Abbotsville, the dirty things."

"Now you have me puzzled, Don. Why would you be asking me that?"

"To be truthful, it is a shot in the dark. I need info about the underbelly of Abbotsville. If that isn't your bailiwick, I will buy you a coffee, enjoy one with you and then leave, after you tell me what you envision to help more of the Vets."

"Ask me a question about something you are delving into and let's see where it goes."

"Does the name Daniel Riggs nickname 'Dapper Dan' ring any bells?"

"You mentioned underbelly of Abbotsville, that asshole is lower than that. He is a vicious animal! What the hell do you have to do with him?"

"He made some unsavory remarks to my niece!"

"I know of him, he is a real piece of work, the rumor is he is involved with anything illegal, dope, prostitution, white slavery, murder the list goes on. He came to the Vet centre looking for Vets from Special Forces. Nobody volunteered, there are seven 'Special Forces' vets in the group, that I know of, but none of them came forward. Dapper Dan has a reputation of very poor relations with his help."

"Do you know what he was recruiting for?"

"A number of the guys came to me for advice, the job was riding shotgun on a load of arms, going south of the border. As I said, nobody took the job. Dapper's lieutenant wasn't happy. The money was great, assuming you lived to collect it."

"That's true. Do you know any more about him or his organization?"

"He runs a very tight ship, another reason nobody would work for him, their retirement plan is administered with a crowbar. Nobody leaves his happy little group. Everything is rumor, dope and guns there are no doubt. The other items, again no proof, just rumor."

"I appreciate you talking to me. Do you know a Mark Cree?"

"Yes, I do! He is a good guy; actually, I think he was propositioned by Riggs' lieutenant and Mark told him no."

"Is he here today?"

"Not yet, but he should be in late this afternoon. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Yes, his name was mentioned as a Vet that turned down Riggs's wonderful offer."

"He will tell you like it is. He is a very well trained soldier and, since his discharge, he has kept his trim."

"Now, tell me what you would like to do for your fellow Vets to assist them to a better life."

"Computers, a bunch of them would do the trick! Some programs are geared to make people think and use all their mental capabilities. I am hoping the programs will help bring their minds back from their nightmares."

I am sure 'The Carl Hendricks Benevolent Fund' can be of assistance.

"How many units do you really need?"

"Four would do for a start, but ten to fifteen would be great. I think once the guys start using them, even playing games; it will take their minds away from the ghosts we all are carrying as excess baggage."