Sandusky Burning, page 13
It was a perspective born of battle scars from years of being a husband and father. The pre-family version of myself would have found the current situation sad and bizarre.
I took another swig of my drink and put another log on the fire. Checking my watch, it was a little after 2300 hours. A motorcycle rumbled in the distance and was getting louder as it rolled along Starling.
There were still kids out; I saw them in the headlight of the motorcycle as it crept along. As it approached, I saw that another motorcycle was a few feet behind the first.
It was the Eastern European guy in front, followed by the guy with the GLORYB plate from the gated community. About twenty feet behind him was a black Suburban. I watched as the Eastern European parked his bike in his lot at 15 and the other vehicles pulled up to the camper at site 21.
Mike 4
11:15 p.m.
It was clear that Chris had fully recovered from his previous night’s drinking debacle. The alcohol he consumed plus whatever other substances he was on last night. Chris put away four bourbons neat in about thirty minutes and was happily glassy-eyed. I had consumed one and started on number two.
As uneasy as his drinking made me, it would be easier to return his papers if he got hammered. If he passed out, I could tuck them into his pocket.
But I didn’t want him to pass out on my lot. Chris was a liability. And I didn’t want to get on the radar of that intense girlfriend of his.
In the brief amount of time we hung out, I got to learn a little more about him. I was surprised to hear he was an air force vet in a demanding profession. He could also fly planes. What the hell was he doing living in a trashy RV and digging ditches?
Then again, I figured he was in his current situation because of substance abuse. It was a damn shame. You could tell the kid was bright but had issues with self-inflicted wounds. I could also read the deep depression in him that he revealed with his words and mannerisms. There were enough markers for me to consider him a suicide risk. I knew a lot of combat vets who suffered from PTSD, and I had attended an unsettling number of funerals over the years.
Chuck rolled up on his golf cart playing some country song I never heard of. I guess I lost touch with new hillbilly music.
Chuck slowed down, then looped around and parked in the empty lot next to mine. He stepped out cautiously, as if he was concerned about falling, and walked over to us. He carried a big stainless-steel thermos in his hand.
“Good evening, gents,” he said, his voice raspy, a cigarette hanging from his mouth.
I nodded. Chris waved.
I pointed toward a folded chair leaning against the front of the camper. Chuck put down his thermos, unfolded the chair, and brought it near the fire. He grabbed the thermos and walked over to the chair. In attempting to sit down, he fell back clumsily and dropped himself hard into the chair, nearly toppling over, barely saving himself with his non-thermos hand.
“Whoa, coming in hot!” he laughed, picking up his thermos and taking a drink. “I thought you’d be in the rack early tonight, Chris.”
Chris forced a smile. Chuck put the thermos between his legs and leaned back.
“Well, I’ve been sort of evicted for the night,” he said, drinking from his cup. While I admired his honesty, I wouldn’t have been so forthcoming. Publicizing domestic discord was seldom productive.
“Damn, doesn’t that camper belong to you?” he asked. I was sure he knew that it did.
“Yeah. I fucked up, so I guess I can spend a night in the doghouse,” Chris said, shrugging, staring into the fire.
“You need a place to stay?” Chuck asked.
“I don’t know,” Chris said as he stared up at the sky. “It doesn’t look like rain. I may just sleep under the stars.”
Chuck studied him for a few seconds and took another drink. He joined Chris in staring up at the sky. They both appeared to be deep in thought.
“I tell you what, let me take a look. I may have a cabin I can let you use for the night,” Chuck said.
“Don’t go through any trouble, Chuck,” Chris said. Chuck smiled.
“Well, I’m making the rounds, boys. I’ll see you later,” he said, struggling out of his chair. He flicked a cigarette butt at the fire and missed. He walked past it to the golf cart.
I got up and stomped it out. Chuck looked at me and nodded. I turned around and walked back to my chair. As he sped off, I saw him lifting his phone to his ear.
Chuck 5
11:30 p.m.
“Hey, Randy,” I said as I put the phone up to my ear.
“Yeah,” Randy said coolly.
“What is your twenty?” I asked. There was a pause.
“Taj,” he said.
“You have a minute?” I asked.
“Roger,” he said, slightly garbled.
I hung up and drove toward the Taj, taking another deep drink of vodka and tonic. I saw a campfire at their site as I rounded the corner. Sam’s SUV was there. That wasn’t what I wanted to see. I parked to the side of his SUV and walked over to the fire.
Randy, Sam, and Viktor were by the fire, drinks in hand. They stopped talkin’ as I walked up.
“Evening, gents,” I said as I walked up.
“What do you need, Chuck?” Randy asked. He was a bit short with me, which made me nervous. I could never read him, and I hated that.
“Maybe we should chat in the camper?” I asked. Randy glared at me. Sam looked annoyed. But he always looked annoyed.
“Okay,” he said, gettin’ up. We walked in together. He closed and locked the door.
“This place has been swept,” Randy said, sitting down. I sat across from him. He pulled the wand out from a drawer and began sweepin’ it over me.
“Chris Randolph is in the doghouse. His old lady locked him out for the night. He needs somewhere to stay. Any girls around?”
Randy took this in, thinkin’ about it. “I think so. Let’s check with Viktor.”
“Okay. I just need to get a cabin number and convince him to go party there. He is hittin’ it hard again tonight. It won’t take much effort.”
Brady 5
11:45 p.m.
I watched from my patio table as Chuck walked out of the RV and took off in his golf cart. That guy stayed busy late into the night. Was he still on the clock? He waved at me as he went by, the cherry from the cigarette in his mouth glowing.
I needed to be online no later than 0730 tomorrow. Although I lost count of my drinks, I hadn’t overdone it. I could have one more and then pull the plug.
There was a tightness in my legs from running. I stood up and stretched. Refreshing my drink, I went back outside. A short walk sounded good. I locked up the RV and started north.
There were a few figures around the campfire at 21 where Chuck just was, maybe three adults. I was on the opposite side of the street and continued past. I rounded the corner and turned right on Sparrow.
There was a campfire ahead at the Airstream site. As I approached, I saw there were two men there. I recognized one as Chris.
“Hey, Brady!” I heard his voice yell, thick with alcohol. I stopped and turned toward the fire. Chris waved me over.
“Hey, Chris,” I said, walking over.
“Hey!” he said again. The other man was getting to his feet. “Hey, Brady, this is ...”
“Mike,” he said, stepping forward to shake my hand. We shook hands and he stepped back, remaining standing in front of his chair.
Mike was a familiar face, mostly because there were very few black men camping. A lot of mixed kids, but mostly with their white moms and grandparents.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, standing there awkwardly. “Just out for a walk, it is a nice night.”
“Absolutely,” Mike said. “Want to pull up a chair?”
I was torn because I was getting tired. But I hadn’t socialized with anyone other than Chuck in a few days. Isolation was comfortable for me, but perhaps not absolute isolation. I nodded, and Mike pointed toward an empty chair by the fire.
“So, what’s going on in the neighborhood tonight?” I asked, waving off a cloud of campfire smoke that happened to blow right into my face. I adjusted my chair over about a foot to avoid it.
“Nothin,” Chris said. “I’m camping tonight.”
“Camping? Aren’t we all camping tonight?” I asked, smiling.
“I’m doing some real camping, under the stars,” Chris laughed, gulping something out of a plastic cup. “What time do you work tomorrow?”
“I start around seven or seven thirty. How come, you need a ride somewhere?” I asked.
“Nah, I don’t want to oversleep. If you remember, can you walk out and check on me?” he asked.
“Where are you going to be?” I asked.
“In front of my camper,” he said, laughing. I laughed too, without knowing why that was funny.
“Okay, forgive me if this is a stupid question, but why not sleep inside?”
Chris laughed. Mike put another log on the fire.
“I’m in the doghouse. Candy locked me out,” he said.
“Out of your own camper?”
“Out of my own camper,” he said incredulously.
“Damn,” was all I could think to say. I took a drink.
“I offered to let him stay here, but he wouldn’t have it,” Mike said, shrugging.
I considered offering him the fold-out bed in my RV but decided against it. I didn’t want him there and felt guilty about declining to extend an invitation. Chris was pretty drunk, and I didn’t want to deal with him in the morning when I was trying to set up for work.
“If you don’t want to stay inside one of our campers, you can borrow my tent,” I offered.
“Dude, I’m fine. The bugs ain’t bad. It ain’t supposed to rain. I’m good,” he said, polishing off his drink. He stared down into it to make sure it was empty. He looked up expectantly at Mike.
“Need a refill?” he asked flatly. Chris nodded as Mike took his cup.
“So, how long does your sentence in the doghouse usually last?” I said, smiling at him.
He smiled back. “Should be okay by tomorrow. After work, she should be fully thawed out,” he said as Mike came out and returned his cup.
Headlights approached from the north. I didn’t hear a car engine, so I knew it was a golf cart. Chuck pulled past the camper and into the empty site. He got out, taking a drag from his cigarette.
“Hey, Brady, I didn’t know you wandered over here,” he said. I nodded at him.
“Good news, Chris! I can sneak you into an empty cabin,” Chuck said, smiling.
Chris stared at him blankly. “Dude, I’m okay ...” he trailed off, taking a drink.
Chuck walked up and stood next to him for a moment. “At least ride over there with me and take a look,” Chuck said, staring into the fire.
“I know what they look like,” Chris replied.
Chuck motioned for him to come over and started walking back to the golf cart. “Come chat with me for a minute, Chris,” Chuck said from the side of his golf cart.
Chris didn’t move for a moment, then walked over. Chuck spoke softly to him, a contrast from his usual loud voice. Chris appeared to be thinking about it, then nodded. He went around and got into the passenger side. Both waved as they rode off.
I glanced down into my cup, then finished the last swig of it. There was an awkward moment of silence between Mike and me.
“So, it looks like Chuck made him an offer he couldn’t refuse,” I joked. Mike chuckled, taking a drink. “So how long are you staying at Sandusky Shores?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m paying by the week.”
“Traveling the country?”
“Parts of it. For the past few years, I’ve been going back and forth, north and south during the different seasons. I need to get out of my rut and head out west. Need a drink?” he asked, standing up.
I definitely didn’t need another. “Sure, what are you drinking?”
“Jim Beam.”
“Straight?”
“Yup. I have ice,” he said. I nodded.
Drinking more would probably be a mistake. But sometimes when I got started, I struggled to find the kill switch.
A moment later, he returned with a red plastic cup and handed it to me. I nodded and took a swig. The cubes slid up and hit my lips. The burning sensation of the bourbon going down almost caused me to choke, but I managed not to.
“So, you stay out here all summer?” Mike asked.
“It is looking that way,” I said, instantly regretting the odd answer. I should have just said yes. Mike didn’t respond.
“We are seasonal, here on and off throughout the summer. My kids will be up this weekend,” I said. I realized that my answers were painting a picture for him if he was even slightly astute.
“You friends with a lot of other campers out here?” he asked, sipping his bourbon.
“Not really. I know some of the staff like Chuck, and my neighbor Chris, but otherwise we keep to ourselves,” I replied, staring into the fire, which was dying down, the orange embers glowing brightly. Mike got up and threw on another log.
“So, what do you suppose convinced Chris to go stay in a cabin instead of at one of our places?” Mike asked. I shrugged. “Are you and Chris tight?”
“No. We’ve talked a few times. He seems okay,” I replied.
“I found him passed out this morning on the jumping pillow,” Mike said, taking a drink. I didn’t reply. After a moment, I nodded. “Threw up all over, lucky he didn’t die.”
“You found him?” I asked.
“Yeah. My impression was that he was on something more potent than alcohol,” Mike said.
He got out of his chair and walked to the edge of the campsite, looking around as if trying to determine if someone was listening. I looked at my watch; it was after midnight. Mike came back and sat down.
“It’s possible,” I replied, not knowing how else to respond.
“So, I figure Chuck is setting him up in that cabin to bring him drugs,” Mike said.
“Why would he do that?” I asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I wish I knew which cabin they were going to,” he said.
“Was Chuck around this morning when you found Chris?” I asked.
“He was one of the employees who came over to handle it.”
“Mind if I ask you a personal question?” I asked and then instantly regretted it. The alcohol had me running my mouth. He shrugged.
“Are you law enforcement?”
“Nah,” he said.
“Former military?” I asked.
“Yeah, retired army,” he said. I nodded.
“I did three years, back in my youth,” I said, taking a drink.
“I know,” Mike said.
“Really? I didn’t think I still gave off that vibe. I’ve been out for a long time,” I said, laughing.
Mike smiled and didn’t say anything for a long moment. Finally, he got out of his chair and went inside the camper. He came back with a flashlight and a handful of papers.
“I could have guessed. I have seen you jogging around here like you’ve been doing it for a while. But that wouldn’t have confirmed anything; civilians run all the time. This is what led me to believe you were in the army from 1989 through 1992,” he said, handing the flashlight and papers over.
My breathing hitched for a moment. How did he know what years I served?
I took the sheets and shined the flashlight on them. As I leafed through them, I felt a small sense of dread. “Where did you get this?” I asked, trying to sound calm.
Anger was starting to build inside. Was this some sort of identity-theft scam? Did he steal data from my laptop through a Wi-Fi hack?
“Relax, the black man didn’t steal your identity. I barely know how to turn a computer on. These papers were lying around Chris when he was passed out. I collected them, and when I saw they didn’t have Chris’s name on them, I pocketed them.”
I sat staring at the papers for a long moment. Then I turned off the flashlight, reaching over to hand it back to him. Why would Chris have these papers with my information? Was he hacking me?
I sat there for a moment trying to reason through this, despite the high tequila and bourbon content in my blood. The angry side of me wanted to ambush Chris the next time I saw him and get some answers. This was a complication that I didn’t need on top of everything else going on in my life.
“I’m gonna hang on to these,” I said. Mike nodded slowly.
“By all means. That is your information.” Mike said. “Mind if I ask how you are going to handle this?”
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” I replied, finishing my drink.
Chapter 3
Thursday, June 18
Data 3
12:50 a.m.
I pedaled toward the campground, trying to decide how I would approach the problem. I had some valuable information to deliver, but I also potentially needed to do some damage control. What that entailed I had no idea; it could range from pretending that the data loss didn’t happen to fully admitting that it happened and throwing myself at Randy’s mercy.
I reviewed the video earlier. Unfortunately, parts of the incident happened out of the range of the camera that covered the security booth. I had to make it a priority to see Chris. Patrick swore he didn’t take them, so Chris was the only other person who could have taken those papers that night.
I pulled up along the security gate, and Patrick stepped out. He crossed his arms and started laughing. I remembered that I was wearing my helmet.
“Hey, Evel Knievel is here! Safety first on that badass machine, Data!” he said. Wasted again. I ignored him, looped around the booth, and cycled up Starling.
