Case of The Bereaved Brother

Case of the Bereaved Brother

         Spam received the phone call early that morning. He was the only one in the office and he didn’t expect Cassidy for another hour. The voice on the other side of the line was very cryptic. There was something about being in hiding, being scared to come out, and needing help. He jotted down the address and hurried out of the office. He should have known better. Hell, he did know better. But, that never stopped Spam from leaping first and checking the facts later. That was a trait he was going to have to work on.

         The neighborhood was on the edge of the industrial district. Runned down would have been a complement. This area was a disaster. All the old buildings were abandoned. Paint marks on the sides of the buildings identified which ones were to be demolished. Here and there he could see crews working on tearing them down. Spam parked his Fairlane along the curb down the street from the building in which he was supposed to meet his caller. He would walk the rest of the way. That gave him time to check out the area from the pavement. It always looked different on foot for some reason. He was already telling himself this was a bad idea; but, he continued on anyway.

         Spam figured it was a grand old building when it first opened. There was a time when folks did business here. There was a time when the floors were waxed and the brass was polished. The brass was gone now, along with everything else that could be salvaged. The windows were broken and pigeons, cats, and rats were the only inhabitants of the grand old building now. Spam ignored the set of elevators open across the lobby. They had long ceased to work. He began to climb the stairs to the fifth floor, where his meeting was supposed to happen. As he climbed, he pulled his handgun from the shoulder holster. He felt better holding it. Spam walked the hallway of the fifth floor and stopped at room 527. Handwritten on the broken glass door was “Abernathy and Abernathy – Accountants”. He doubted if there had been any taxes done in there in years. He walked through the open door a couple of steps, stopped to look around, and that’s when the lights went out.

         He had no idea how much time had passed. He figured it was a significant amount since he was slumped up against an old radiator with his hands bound around it. Slowly he opened his eyes to pain. His head hurt and he had a difficult time focusing. Standing in front of him was a man who seemed vaguely familiar.

          “So, you awake, Hummer?”

          “Who are you?” Spam groggily asked.

          “Now, that’s downright rude. After all these years, I come by to visit and you don’t even know my name. That kind of hurts my feelings.”

          “That’s not my problem dirt-bag. I’ve come across a million losers in my lifetime. You’re just one more face in the crowd.”

          “You ought to be a little more civil to the guy who can set you free, Hummer. That’s not too bright.”

          “Sorry, I tell it like it is.”

          “Well, you may not remember me, but I certainly remember you. I’ve had ten years to remember you and to plan this little get-together.”

          “You throw a lousy party, Mister.” Spam retorted. “So far I’m not enjoying myself. Can you free my hands here? I’m not going anywhere. Set me free and we can talk about what’s botherin’ you.”

          “I know you think I’m stupid. After all, I let you catch me and send me to that hell-hole prison. But, I’m not that stupid. No, we’ll just leave things like they are. I spent a lot of time and effort attaching you to that radiator.”

          “Who are you?” Spam queried.

          “Damn! You really don’t remember; do you?” The man sneered. “Do you remember killing my little brother? Do you remember him screaming in the car as it burned?”

         Spam studied the face of the man standing in front of him. Slowly, he began to put things together. Ten years ago he was in pursuit of a car out on Holland Freeway. He was still on the police force at that time. He had pulled up to a pawn shop that had sent a silent alarm, notifying the police of a break-in. He hadn’t waited for back up but rushed around to the back of the building. He caught two boys loading up a van in the alley. Instead of giving up, when he pulled his gun and ordered them to freeze, they ran. They rammed his car with the van and headed for the freeway. Spam pursued the two in his damaged car and caught them at the entrance ramp. Slick streets, merging traffic, or poor driving skills—take your pick; they could have all contributed to the resulting crash. Spam narrowly missed hitting them himself as they burst into flames. He pulled one kid from the burning van but was unable to get to the other out. It was a chilling experience, standing in the street listening to the kid scream as he burned to death.

         Soon after that, Spam left the force. From that time on, he would choose the cases he worked on. He would never chance walking up to some fresh call at night again. Spam hung out his shingle as a private-eye. Over the years, he built a business largely upon his talent and the word of mouth of grateful customers. The one room office he shared with Cassidy, his girl Friday, was located in a decent part of town and he had a respectable stream of clients. Being a gumshoe suited Spam.

          “Yeah,” Spam spoke slowly, “I remember you now. You’re Terry Decker. You and your brother, Len, robbed that pawn shop ten years ago. You ran from me that night.”

          “You let Len burn to death.”

          “No, I didn’t. I tried to get him out, but the fire was too intense. I couldn’t get near him.”

          “You’re a liar, Hummer! You let him burn. I was there.”

          “Terry, you weren’t even conscious when I pulled you out. Hell, I barely got you out.”

          “I don’t believe you. All I can remember is Terry screaming and you just standing there.”

          “You gotta believe me Terry! That’s how it happened. I tried to get to Len but couldn’t.”

          “Save your breath, Hummer. You’ll need it.”

          “What do you want from me, Terry. You want me to say I’m sorry. Well, I’m sorry. You need money? You need a job—somewhere to live? Tell me what you want from me?”

          “That’s easy, Hummer. I want you to die—just like Len. I want you to burn up in this building. See that box over there, Hummer?” Terry pointed to a cardboard box in the corner. “There’s a device in that box. It’s on a timer; may be an hour; may be two; hell it may take all night. But, eventually it’s gonna go off. When it does, that box of rags will ignite and soon this whole building will be in flames. You see? I expect you to die.”

         Spam jerked violently at the radiator with his secured hands. There was no give in the old iron radiator.

          “You can tug and pull all you want to, Hummer. You’re not gonna get loose. I suppose you could chew your hand off. That’s your choice. In any case, I’ll be long gone. I’ll read about it in the papers tomorrow. So long, Hummer.”

         Terry walked to the box in the corner to make sure everything was still working, smiled, took a quick glance at Spam, turned, and walked through the open doorway.

          “Terry! Come back here! Damn it! Don’t you leave me here like this!”

         Terry was gone. Spam could hear his steps down the stairs recede with each step until there was nothing but silence in the old building—even the noise of the City was blocked by the abandoned walls.

         Spam craned his neck to see out the window above the radiator. Half stooping and secured to the lower part of the radiator, he could recognize very little of the surrounding area. He knew he was five stories up, because he counted them as he ascended earlier. He should have known better, he chided himself. You don’t meet someone in an abandoned building in a renewal area. Even the bums don’t come out this far.

*************

         Cassidy was worried. She expected to find Spam at the office when she arrived. The place was locked up but all the lights were on. An empty cup of coffee lay on Spam’s desk and the crumbs of a jelly donut were on the papers on top. She knew he had been there. She looked for a note and didn’t find one. Spam was forever rushing off at a moments notice. But, he always took time to check in with her during the day. It was well after lunch and she hadn’t heard from him. Something was not right.

         She picked up the phone on Spam’s desk and dialed Dave Frisco’s number. Spam’s best friend was a Lieutenant with the police department. Perhaps he could help find Spam. Cassidy was well aware that he had resources she did not; and she was worried now.

          “Hello, Dave? It’s Cassidy … Yeah, I’m doin fine. It’s Spam I’m worried about. …. I don’t know where he is Dave. …. No, he didn’t have any appointments today. In fact, we were going to work on some billings and administrative stuff this morning. When I got here, he was nowhere to be found. … Yes, I’m sure he was here earlier. His coffee cup was still warm and he had donut crumbs on his desk. … No, I don’t have a clue. ….OK, I’ll look; I’m standing there right now.”

         Cassidy shuffled through the things on Spam’s desk. Nothing looked out of order, which was a strange thing to say because Spam’s desk was never in order. But, there was nothing strange--there was nothing that indicated where Spam had gone. She returned to the phone.

          “Dave, I didn’t find anything. … Ok, let me look.”

         Cassidy shuffled again through the papers and picked up a blank notepad.

          “Dave, there’s a notepad here. There’s nothing on it. … Sure, I can do that. I’ve seen Spam do that before.”

         She laid the notepad on the desk and picked up a pencil and started shading over the pad lightly. Writing began to appear from the indention left from the previous page.

          “There’s something here, Dave. It says, ‘527 Washborne.’ I have no idea when Spam wrote this. … Oh, thanks, Dave. Let me know what you find, please. …. I’m not going anywhere until you call back. Bye now.”

*************

         Dave turned his police unit onto Washborne Street and read the progressively increasing addresses until he came upon 527 Washborne. Something was not right. Washborne was a residential neighborhood. Playing out front were three kids and a dog. Spam’s Fairlane was nowhere to be seen. Dave pulled up to the curb and turned off his car. He got out and approached the playing kids.

          “Hi, Mister,” spoke one of the kids. “You’re a stranger. We can’t talk to strangers. We gotta get our mom.”

         One of the kids ran off toward the house yelling, “Mom! There’s a stranger out here.”

         Dave smiled at the kids and pulled out his badge and showed it to them. “You’re right. You’re not supposed to talk to strangers. But, I’m a policeman. See?”

         The largest kid spoke up, “How do I know that’s not a fake badge, Mister? Le’me see your gun.”

          “Good point,” Dave grinned. “I guess that means I need to talk to your mom.”

          “I’m their mom.” A woman spoke as she descended the steps, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “How can I help you officer.”

          “Actually, all I need is a little information Ma’am.”

          “I’ll do what I can. What do you need to know?”

          “I’m looking for a friend of mine who was meeting someone at this address. You haven’t seen a guy by the name of Spam Hummer here today, have you?”

          “No sir, nobody except me and my children have been here all day today. I don’t know anything about your friend, officer.”

         Dave smiled at the woman and said, “Yeah, that’s apparent. I just had to ask.”

         The woman smiled for the first time since their encounter. “I’m sorry about your friend, but I can’t help you.”

          “Thank you, Ma’am. I won’t be bothering you anymore.” Dave turned to walk away.

         From the middle of the yard one of the kids shouted out, “Hey, Mister Policeman, you gonna arrest our mom?”

         Dave shook his head and shouted back, “Not today.”

         He drove to the edge of the neighborhood to a pay phone at a corner station. He had to call Cassidy. He had thought of something else he wanted to run by her. Perhaps they had mistaken that Washborne was a street. There was an old business district called the Washborne Center. It was comprised of about three blocks of business buildings. No one ever went there anymore, all the businesses had closed a long time ago and the structures were abandoned and in disrepair. Maybe Spam had gone to the Washborne Center. He’d check it out as soon as he checked in with Cassidy.

*************

         Spam’s wrists were bleeding. He’d yanked, tugged, and pulled on the old radiator until he was worn out. He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Who’d a thought that a roll of duct tape could be so invincible. Spam tried tearing it with his teeth, but there was just too much of the stuff and besides, Terry had intertwined a fine wire in the taped mess. He’d spent some time on this.

         Spam pulled himself around so that his feet were standing on the side of the radiator as he reclined, with his hands still bound to the thing. In this position, he was able to bring the full force of his kicks onto the radiator. All he had accomplished was to get it wobbly on the floor. The fittings to the wall were still secure. But, a little wobble was promising. Spam kicked at the radiator with renewed ferocity. Little by little the wobble became more pronounced.

         Spam glanced to the box. He had no idea how long he had until the thing ignited. However, he was certain that when it did, if he were still attached to the radiator, he would surely burn to death. With that thought he kicked out at the radiator with desperate purpose, letting the adrenalin supply him with added leverage. Suddenly, the radiator careened from its place on the floor, bounced of the wall and struck Spam in the head, as it pulled his arms up over his head. For the second time that day, Spam lost consciousness.

*************

         Dave drove slowly through the Washborne Center district. It had been a thriving business district at one time. But, technology and high rises had sealed the fate of the area long ago. Most of the buildings, which were left, were only three stories. Dave was looking for a five story building. He figured he would find Spam in room 527 of a five story building. As far as he could tell there were only two of those left. One was currently under demolition. He doubted that Spam would be in that one. As he turned the corner leading to the other five story structure, Dave saw Spam’s Fairlane. This had to be it. He quickly pulled up to the curb in front of the building. Before leaving his car he called for backup and an ambulance, just in case.

         Dave stood outside his car for a moment and surveyed the surroundings. It was a desolate place. He could hear the background of men working on demolition, otherwise there was no sound of civilization. He pulled his service revolver and cautiously approached the entrance of the building, pausing for just a moment before entering. The spacious lobby was in disarray. Trash and debris littered the floor. Against one wall he saw the elevators. Both were open, like a small bird waiting to be fed. They wouldn’t be fed today; Dave chose to take the stairs.

         His examination of the stairway indicated there had been recent activity. Shoeprints disturbed the dust on the steps. Dave could pick out at least two sets of prints going upstairs and only one coming down. Against his better judgment, Dave called out.

          “Spam! You in here? Spam, it’s Dave!”

         There was no answer. Dave proceeded up the stairs, with his service revolver pointing the way. At the fifth floor he cautiously entered the hallway and noticed the first doorway had 550 marked above the door. Spam’s room would be midway down the hall on the other side.

         He called out again, “Spam! Spam Hummer!”

         Still there was no answer. That did not bode well. Slowly he progressed down the hallway until he was standing outside room 527. He pressed himself up against the hallway wall. The door was open. All he had to do was swing around and go in. He paused, took a deep breath, and then entered the room.

         Immediately, he saw a body laying against the wall beneath the window. He glanced around the room checking it out for other occupants. There were none. Dave holstered his weapon and rushed to the body. It was Spam. His head was bleeding and he was unconscious. Dave felt his pulse; it was strong.

          “Spam! It’s Dave,” the cop spoke eagerly to his unconscious friend. “Wake up, Spam!”

         Spam groaned and moved his head. He tried to open his eyes but his head was full of clutter; he was unable to focus. Had somebody called him; had he heard his name? Spam was drifting, desperately trying to find his body—make the world stop spinning.

          “Spam, wake up!” Dave continued to speak to his friend, slapping his face lightly.

         Slowly Spam began to make sense of his world. That was Dave he heard.

          “I can’t come Dave. I’m tied to this damn radiator.” Spam thought. “But where is the radiator? I had it attached to me a while ago. Where did it go?”

         Slowly his head began to clear and he recognized Dave kneeling over him.

          “Dave, where the hell you been? Where’s that damn radiator?”

          “Easy, buddy,” Dave replied. “You’ve had a nasty hit on the head—may be a couple of them the way it looks. You’ve got a concussion. The medics will be here soon and we’ll get you out of here. As far as your bracelet, I cut that dang thing off of you. You need to get some better jewelry, friend.”

          “Yeah,” Spam tried to smile but suddenly he blurted out. “The box! Dave the box is gonna blow! We gotta get out of here!”

          “Whoa! Hold on, there! What box?”

          “There’s a box in the corner. It’s gonna explode and start a fire! We gotta get out of here!”

         Dave looked around the room and saw a cardboard box sitting in the corner.

          “Spam, I see the box. I can’t move you now. You lay here and be still. I’m gonna check out the box. If we need to, we’ll get the hell out of here. But, first I’ve gotta check that box.”

         Spam nodded and laid his head back. Dave cautiously approached the box and peered inside. His brows furrowed. He picked up the box and turned it upside down as if to empty the contents. Nothing fell; it was empty.

          “Spam, somebody is playing a bad joke on you. There’s nothing in this box.”

          “Damn!” Spam exclaimed as he closed his eyes tightly. Then he began to snicker. The snicker morphed into a laugh. Spam laid on the floor and laughed until the tears stung his eyes. “Damn it!” was all he could say.

         Dave just watched him, knowing that he’d just taken one hell of an emotional roller-coaster ride.

*************

         Cassidy sat at Spam’s desk. Somehow it was comforting to sit in Spam’s big chair. She knew it was only natural that she be worried about her boss. But, her strange relationship with Spam was much different than just that of a devoted employee. She was that, but Spam was so much more—could be so much more. At least she harbored hopes that someday she and Spam could openly be the couple she so yearned to be. She knew Spam was in love with her. He just didn’t know what to do with it now. Perhaps it was out of concern for her. He didn’t want anything to happen to Cassidy or her son, Jerry. He couldn’t bear knowing that her involvement with him was in anyway harmful to her. And so, Spam plodded on, trying to understand his feeling and trying to figure out how to make things work. Cassidy was willing to wait. But, at the moment the waiting was driving her nuts. Not knowing where Spam was or if he was in harms way was excruciating.

         The knock on the door startled her. She looked up and before she could respond the door opened and a man stepped inside. He was a middle aged attractive guy. He wore a short sleeve dress shirt and slacks with shinny loafers. His smile was pleasant and his voice was friendly and resonated confidence.

          “You must be Cassidy,” he spoke.

          “Why yes, I am.”

          “Spam’s told me so much about you,” he returned smiling broadly.

          “You have me at a disadvantage,” Cassidy replied. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

          “No, we haven’t. I’m an old friend of Spam’s. The name is Terry Decker.”

          “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Decker. But, I must apologize; Spam has never spoken to me of you.”

          “Oh that’s not surprising, really.” The man continued, still smiling. “It’s been years since we’ve visited.”

         Terry Decker glanced around the room and then continued, “I take it Spam is tied up elsewhere?”

          “You are correct. Spam’s out of the office at the moment. I will be happy to let him know you are in town. If you will leave me your address and phone number, I’ll have him call you as soon as he gets in.” Cassidy offered.

         Decker chuckled. “No that won’t be necessary. He already knows I’m in town. I’m moving around a lot right now. It will probably be easier for me to contact him. All I want to do is leave this package for him. Do you think you can deliver it?”

          “I would be happy to, Mr. Decker.” Cassidy responded as Decker handed the package to her.

          “Good. Then with that done, I will leave you with it.”

         The telephone on Spam’s desk rang. Decker glanced at the phone and continued.

          “I’ll get out of your way and let you do your job. I’ll be seeing you Cassidy.”

         And then Decker winked, opened the door, and stepped into the hall. Cassidy heard him walking away as she picked the phone up.

          “Hello, this is the office of Spam Hummer Private Eye. How may I help you? … Oh my god! Spam, it’s you. Oh my god, Spam—I’ve been so worried about you. …. Why? What do you mean why? Because you just disappeared out of thin air! Are you Ok? …. What are you doing at the hospital? …. Concussion? …. Don’t tell me any more, Spam. I’ll talk to you when I get there. …. You’re not staying? Are you sure? …. Did Dave find you? …. Yeah, I knew I could count on Dave. …. Ok, I’ll meet both of you at Jocko’s in one hour. And, Spam, I’m so relieved you are Ok. I was so worried. We’ve got lots to talk about. See you at Jocko’s.

*************

         Cassidy hurried through the tavern to the table where Spam was sitting with Jocko and Dave. He saw her coming and rose to meet her. She threw her arms around Spam and hugged him tightly. Cassidy couldn’t see, but Spam closed his eyes and held on. She felt good to him. He had not thought of how good she felt until she was in his arms. He reluctantly released his hug and she pulled back to arms length.

          “Oh, Spam. I was so worried about you. Are you sure you’re Ok?”

          “Yeah Doll, everything is alright now—just a little bump on the head.”

          “What happened Spam? Who did this to you?”

          “It was a face from the past, Cass—someone who can’t let the past go and who’s terribly mixed up. Years ago a guy by the name of Terry Decker robbed a pawnshop and got his brother killed. In his mind, I’m the one who killed his brother and sent him to jail. Guys like that never take responsibility for the things they do. In his mind he was trying to even the score.”

         Spam noticed Cassidy freeze. She furrowed her brows and stared at Spam.

          “Did you say Terry Decker, Spam?” She was visibly shaking.

         Worriedly Spam asked, “Cass what’s wrong? What about Terry Decker?”

          “Oh, my god, Spam—Terry Decker was in the office not an hour and a half ago.”

          “What are you talking about Cass?”

          “Terry Decker—he said he was an old friend of yours. He said you knew he was in town. He was laughing about it. My god Spam! He was in the office when you called. He walked out when I answered the phone. He winked at me as he left.”

         Cassidy was shaking her head as she recounted the story, unable to believe what had happened.

          “Spam, he gave me a package to give to you.”

         Cassidy handed the package she had clutched in her hand to Spam.

         Spam took the package and placed it on the table. The four friends studied the simple brown wrapped package. Was it a bomb? Was it a device that would burst into flames? Was it a trick? Terry certainly was capable of a sick joke.

          “What’d you think, Dave? You think it’s safe to open?” Spam inquired.

          “I dunno, Spam. Terry has a warped mind. I wouldn’t put it past him to booby trap that thing. Maybe I should call the bomb squad.” Dave rationally shared. “It’s never a bad idea to play it safe.”

“          ”Of course, you’re right.” Spam agreed and then continued, “But, I’ve never been one to just play it safe Dave.”

          “Somehow I kinda thought you were going to say that, Spam” Dave mumbled more to himself than to Spam, as he backed away a step.

          “Damnit, Spam! Don’t you blow my bar up!” Jocko admonished. “But, I’m with you. Open the damn thing!”

          “Terry is a sick bastard,” Spam affirmed, “but I don’t think he’s that sick. No, I think this package here is a little message. A curtain-call from his little act this morning. No, I don’t think anything is gonna blow up. But, just in case, all of you back up. Cassidy, you get the hell out of here.”

          “I’m not going anywhere, Spam.” Cassidy insisted. “But, I will back up a little—open it, Spam.”

         Spam smiled at her. He loved her spunk. He chuckled to himself, hell he loved her.

          “Ok guys, here goes.” Spam affirmed as he grasped the package and began to unwrap it.

         Slowly and cautiously Spam unwrapped the package, careful not to jar it or handle it roughly. He slid the paper out from in under a small box about the size of a business card. He gently lifted the lid from the box to expose the contents. There shining in the dimly lit room was a shinny new Zippo lighter. Spam picked it up and turned it over in the palm of his hand. It seemed like an ordinary Zippo. He flipped the lid back and exposed the mechanism, placed his thumb on the striker and whirled it. It sparked and the wick caught fire. A bright blue flame burned. All he needed was a cigar.

          “I’ll be,” whispered Jocko. “It’s a lighter.”

          “Yeah, a lighter,” Dave echoed.

         Cassidy added, “It’s a pretty little thing.”

         Spam looked at Cassidy and smiled. She was always looking at the good side of everything, even a shinny new Zippo.

          “Look Spam—a card,” Cassidy exclaimed, as she picked the business size card from the table.

          “What’s it say, Cass?” Spam urged, “Read it.”

          “Sure, Spam.” Cassidy held the card close and read the small printed message. “It says, ‘Hope this makes you lots of tiny fires, Hummer. I’ll be back—someday—sometime. Every time you look over you’re shoulder, that may be me.’”

         Spam tossed the lighter to Jocko. “Here, Jocko—get rid of this.”

          “What am I supposed to do with it?” Jocko asked turning the lighter over in his hand.

          “I don’t care Jocko. But, I don’t want to ever see it again. Every time I see that lighter, I’ll think of Decker. I don’t intend to give him that much attention. Give it away or throw it away; I don’t want to ever see it again.”

          “You know, Spam.” Dave began, “Terry didn’t want to kill you. He thought that would be too easy. He wanted to mess with your mind—draw it out—play with you. He’ll be back you know. Some day he’ll be back; and when he does, he won’t be playing.”

          “Yeah, I know, Dave.” Spam responded. “But, that’s alright, Dave. I don’t like his silly game. And, when he does, I’ll be ready next time.”

         Cassidy slid her arm around Spam’s arm and hugged it. She would be there also—no matter how long it took. At that moment a patron opened the front door and entered the bar. Spam’s head jerked around over his shoulder to see who entered. This was going to get some getting used to. Cassidy simply smiled at Spam and blew him a little kiss.