Debts Unsettled, page 12
Michael chimed in, “Matt, maybe you should have installed a floor drain beneath your team’s sofa to catch the copious tears Team Hindler will shed by the end of the match.”
Carrie laughed. “Some things never change, do they, Michael?”
Michael looked at her, while shrugging his shoulders. “Longtime friends, we can’t help ourselves.”
She and Linda looked at each other, shaking their heads.
“Before we begin,” Matt motioned Jacob and MJ to join them on the tee box.
“Jacob, golf is a great game. A wonderful sport. Our family thinks it’s the perfect way to hang out with friends and family while enjoying God’s creation.
“Michael told us he talked with your mother and asked her if he could teach you how to play the game. I understand you agree. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” said Jacob, as he looked at his mother for validation.
Matt turned to Linda. “And Linda, is it true you’ve done a thorough background investigation and reference check, and gave Michael permission to indoctrinate Jacob into the world of golf?”
Almost spitting out a mid-sip of Chardonnay, Linda covered her mouth while laughing. “Yes—”
Matt picked up a golf bag from behind the team Hindler’s sofa. “Jacob… Carrie, MJ, and I want you to have this set of clubs. MJ used them for just over a year but has grown to where he needed longer shafted clubs. He’ll agree that they are excellent clubs with plenty of great golf shots left in them.”
Jacob gave a huge smile and accepted the clubs. He said, "Thank you, so much."
Matt looked at Michael. “Jacob, I haven’t told Michael this yet, but we want you guys to use this family-cave golf simulator to practice anytime you want.”
Linda put her wine on a side table, got up, walked over, and hugged Carrie, MJ, and Matt. “Thank you.”
Michael sensed he needed to get Linda and Jacob out of the spotlight. “Okay, Matt, tee it up, buddy.”
They had a great time playing the Pebble Beach Course. Contrary to the seating assignments, team Hindler suffered a humiliating loss.
After scheduling Jacob’s first lesson, Linda and Jacob thanked Matt, Carrie, and MJ, and turned to say goodbye to Michael.
Michael’s phone rang.
No caller ID.
He looked at Linda. “Don’t leave yet. I have a call. I’ll make it short.” He stepped out onto the porch. “Michael here.”
“Well, Michael—unfortunately I didn’t put you down with the van—but I will put you down.”
“What? Who is this? Put me down?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes to get the book you bought at the yard sale. If you refuse, I’ll get to you by first cutting a deadly path through your friends and family.
“If you haven’t given me the book by then… let me make it clear, I will kill you.
“Michael, I know where your little girlfriend Stephanie lives, and where granny lives, such a lovely old lady. I know where you are tonight. You'll soon discover I know where you live. You will give me the book if you want these folks, including yourself, to live long and die of natural causes.”
“You have the wrong number.” Michael ended the call. He turned and walked back into the house.
Linda’s brow wrinkled, and she placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Michael, what’s wrong?”
“Matt… Carrie, can Linda and I speak with the two of you?”
Matt said, “Sure. Let’s go into the den. MJ, take Jacob upstairs. Explain the difference between each golf club and how they’re used.”
“Sure dad. Come on, Jacob.”
In the den, Matt motioned for them to take a seat. “What’s going on, Michael?”
“The phone call I just received was from the man who, Saturday before last, tried to kill me. Then, only 15 minutes later, destroyed Linda’s yard sale—”
Carrie interrupted while rubbing her forehead. “Wait… what are you talking about?”
Michael and Linda told the story, including appearances by the mysterious white-haired Joe.
Carrie’s eyes blazed as she scanned Michael and Linda’s faces, while crossing her chest with one arm and placing the other hand on the side of her face. “You told us the two of you met just last weekend. But the week before you met—within minutes—this man was purposeful in his attacks on both of you?”
Michael said, “I believe a book I bought at Linda’s yard sale is the connection between Linda, Jacob, me, and the man threatening us. I suspect there’s a link between him, the book I bought, and Linda’s husband.”
Carrie looked down and shook her head in confusion.
“Carrie, let me tell you my story,” Linda said. “It will help you understand why Michael suspects the connection.”
Linda told Carrie and Matt an abbreviated version of the story she told Michael and clarified the sequence of how she and Jacob met Michael.
Carrie leaned forward, crossed her arms, and rested her elbows on her knees as she listened to the story. When Linda was done, Carrie placed her chin and cheek in her palm and shook her head. “Crazy story… wow.” She looked at Michael. “Not much we can do with this.”
“No,” Michael said, “but I want you aware and watchful until we get a handle on this guy. Linda and I will let you know if we find out more about him.”
Matt put his arm around Carrie. “Thanks for telling us your story, Linda. And, Michael, thanks for the warning.” Carrie agreed.
Linda stood. “Well, we better get going. MJ and Jacob have school tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Carrie responded, “we need to get MJ started in the process. He’s an expert at drawing out ‘getting-ready-for-bed.’”
“Jacob isn’t at an expert level yet, but he’s aiming for it.”
Linda called for Jacob, thanked, and hugged the Hindlers again. She turned to Michael. “Thank you. Jacob and I appreciate what you’re doing for us.” Both she and Jacob hugged him and said goodnight.
Michael thanked Matt, Carrie, and MJ for their kindness and hospitality, and for their offer to use the practice facility. Matt said, “So good to reconnect, Michael. See you soon.”
“Yes, great to see you guys, too. Goodnight, and please be watchful. The man is dangerous and said he knows where I am tonight.”
“Thanks, we will be careful,” Carrie said as she looked at Matt.
22
In his car, heading home, Michael reflected on how great the night was. Until the phone call.
Gwen and Michael often went out to dinner with Matt and Carrie, even vacationed together. After the divorce, life got in the way, and the friendship drifted apart.
I can journal: The Hindler relationship is back.
He parked his car and climbed the stairs to his apartment, golf bag over his shoulder. While nearing the top of the last flight of stairs, he looked up and noticed his door was ajar.
His foot stopped mid-air.
No sounds were coming from the apartment.
He lowered his foot and climbed the two remaining stairs.
A sound, like that of a keyring tossed onto a hard surface, stopped him.
Approaching his door, he stopped and listened—Nothing.
Michael removed the 5 iron from his golf bag.
He pushed the door open slowly.
What?
The sofa was upside down.
Someone emptied the bookshelf; scattering books everywhere.
Everything was in disarray.
Michael replaced the 5 iron and set his golf bag on the entry floor.
A baseball bat he kept in a ceramic butter churn near the front door would serve him better.
He raised the bat and began his search.
As he walked into his bedroom, his peripheral vision caught movement to his left.
He turned while swinging the bat, slamming it against the right forearm of the weaselly guy who was charging him.
The weasel cried out, grabbed his arm, then bent over to dodge behind Michael.
He aimed for the front door while using his left arm to clutch his right arm against his stomach.
By the time Michael recovered from the swing, the weasel was on the second-floor landing.
Fast weasel.
Michael dialed 9-1-1, which he realized fell in the wrong order of decision-making.
While waiting for the police, Michael wandered around his apartment amazed at the havoc one weaselly guy could do. Other than dishes, there was little breakage. Still, clean up would be labor intensive.
He pulled out his cell phone. “Siri, call Linda Curt.”
Linda laughed as she answered. “Michael, miss us already?”
“Well… I enjoyed tonight, so yes, I do. But that’s not the reason I called. I arrived home tonight to find my apartment broken into and in shambles.”
“Oh no. Are you okay?”
“I am, but the burglar isn’t. I used my baseball bat to deliver a home run swing across his forearm. There’s no doubt the bone broke. But he got past me and out the door before I could go after him.”
“Wow, what can we do to help?”
“Nothing tonight. The police should be here soon. This leaves no doubt. We are targets; I needed to know you guys are okay.”
“We’re fine, Michael. We’re at the friend’s house I mentioned. They’re home, but I appreciate the heads-up. Take care; let me know if you need help.”
“Will do. Thanks, Linda.”
As he moved to hang up, Linda said, “Michael, didn’t you say the man on the phone warned not to be surprised when you find he knows where you live?”
“Yes, but I didn’t expect he’d hit me tonight.”
“Well, he’s serious.”
“No doubt. Let’s talk more tomorrow.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Goodnight. You and Jacob be careful. And I’ll text Carrie to let her and Matt know.”
“Good idea, Michael. Goodnight.”
Michael texted the Hindlers and was wandering around surveying the damage when the Police arrived. “Mr. Mays, Portland Police.”
He rushed to the front door, greeted them, and shook the hands of both officers.
He spread his arms wide. “You can see, I have a mess to clean up.”
“You do,” the female officer said.
Michael thought, Gym rat.
Small, but judging by her physique, he didn’t want to face her mad side.
They interviewed him and took his information. Michael knew the Portland Police Bureau could not put serious effort into break-ins. They said they’d put out word to hospitals, asking them to report broken right forearms.
The gym rat asked a series of standard questions. One resonated with Michael, “Can you think of anything specific he might have been looking for?”
Michael couldn’t tell the truth without sounding crazy. “No, I don’t keep cash, jewelry, guns… none of those kinds of things here.”
Interview complete. Michael thanked them and they left. He locked both locks on the front door.
The Weasel must have picked the locks.
He remade his bed and leaned the baseball bat against his bedside nightstand. The Officer’s question stuck in his head. “Is there anything specific he might have been looking for? ”
He’d experienced the book’s powers.
It’s something a bad guy will hurt, even kill, to get. I’m glad I kept the book with me.
It was in the front pocket of his golf bag
I need to find a better way to keep it close… and talk with Linda’s ex-husband.
He decided that tomorrow morning he’ll see if prison officials can speed up his application to visit Russell Curt.
* * *
Daniel answered his phone. “Daniel, it’s me. I tore the guy’s place apart. He ain’t got the book.”
“He has it. I guarantee it.”
“Well—maybe—but it’s not in the apartment. I wrenched it apart, and all I got was a busted arm.”
Daniel snapped back. “What? Are you at a hospital?”
“No, but I need one. The pain is excruciating me.”
Daniel shook his head. “How did you break your arm?” He left off the word, ‘fool.’
“The dude came home when I was gettin’ ready to leave. He’s a big guy—”
Daniel cut in. “Everyone’s bigger than you BTH, that’s why you’re good at what you do.”
“Still, my only choice was to try knockin’ him down. I tried, but he hit me hard with a baseball bat. He smacked my right arm, but I got past him and absconded.”
“Do you think he knows he broke your arm?”
“Yeah, the bone snapped loud, and he couldn’t have missed me yellin’ out in pain.”
Daniel warned, “Don’t go to a hospital in Portland. If he called the police, hospitals will be on the alert for broken arms.”
“I have to get this fixed.”
“Okay, here’s what you do, come up here—”
“But it really hurts, Daniel.”
Daniel lost patience. “Man up, BTH. Stop and get a bag of ice to put on your arm. Once it's fixed, you can go back to Portland. I’ve got another job for you this weekend. I want you to pay Michael’s girlfriend’s parents a visit. Write this down.”
“I can’t. My right arm’s busted.”
Daniel gave a huff. “I think I’ve got this texting thing figured out, so I’ll send their address to your phone. You need to get the girlfriend’s contact information; come up with a story about why you need it. Her name is Stephanie Clark. Once you receive her contact information, call me. But for now, get up here.”
23
Prior to lunch, Trevor came into Michael’s office. “Okay, you’re approved to visit Mr. Curt under the professional visitor guidelines. Should I schedule a time?”
“Let’s try for early next week. It’s an hour’s drive, and I’ll need an hour with him.”
“Will do. I’ll get that posted on your calendar today.”
That kid’s good. I’d love to have him working here… as an attorney. Wonder what it will take to get him to stay?
At noon, Michael headed home to work in his apartment. He scheduled a 1PM appointment with a locksmith. An upgrade to his apartment’s security was in order.
While cleaning, repairing, and bringing order back to his apartment, he received a text from Trevor. “Russell Curt: 9 A.M. Tuesday, the 29th. I blocked out your entire morning.
He texted back: “Great. Thanks.”
Michael continued to wrestle with the idea that someone wanted the book. More so, the book’s powers.
Then he wondered, The man who shot at me in the park must be from the future? Is he the man who tore my apartment apart last night?
But why would someone from the future want me dead? Does he kill me in the future to get the book?
The questions shook Michael. He sat on the end of his sofa and processed his adventures with the book, but one thought kept returning:
Who’s the guy in the background at the Pizza restaurant? Why is he taking pictures of my mother at my little league games?
It hit him.
The man wasn’t photographing for the team slide show. He was using a Polaroid camera.
Michael hadn’t seen a Polaroid in years, but he knew they didn’t use slide film.
He returned to the kitchen table to get the envelope containing the three photos he’d selected from the box at his grandmother’s house. They weren’t there, so he looked at the floor. The weasel had scattered flour and splotches of peanut butter over both the kitchen and dining room floors, along with cookware, dishes, and silverware.
The peanut butter puzzled Michael and caused him to wonder if the Weasel fixed himself a sandwich. He imagined the weasel entertaining himself by flipping dollops of peanut butter on the floor while he ate. There was no way Michael would use the rest of the peanut butter in that jar. He threw it in the trash.
After stepping carefully and moving pots, pans, and assorted bakeware, he found the envelope on the floor.
Michael went to the righted sofa, sat, and pulled the pictures from the envelope. The first one was the after-game pizza party. The next picture was of a young woman he didn’t recognize.
He looked closer.
My mother’s target wasn’t the young woman; it was the man behind the young woman.
The man faced his mother and held a Polaroid camera, but he was looking to the right. Michael assumed he had looked away after realizing she’d noticed him.
He opened his briefcase, got the book, and laid the photo on the end table. He set his phone’s timer to 1 hour and 54 minutes and opened the book to page 116.
Warm-wind and he was standing 15 feet behind his mother as she was taking the picture. He looked around and discovered he was standing in the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, better known as OMSI. He started his phone's timer.
Michael didn’t know if this was before the pizza party or afterwards. If after, the man with the Polaroid camera would recognize him. Shoving the book in his back waistband, he turned and walked away.
He came to a plexiglass enclosure that contained two sets of human lungs. He remembered seeing the display as a kid. Its impact on him stuck; Michael had never smoked.
The fact they had used actual human lungs had fascinated him. He remembered standing there, studying the extreme difference between a non-smoker’s healthy set of lungs and those of a long-time smoker.
It more than fascinated him, it affected his life. He took a deeper than normal breath, then exhaled… slow.
Thank you, OMSI.
It occurred to him he was not in the new OMSI. It was the old OMSI, next to the Portland Zoo complex.
Much smaller than the current building.
He moved behind a display wall, finding a position that gave an unobstructed view of both his mother and the Polaroid man.
Michael’s mother turned and walked toward a group of adults talking and watching their kids. The Polaroid man photographed her, then moved to another exhibit. The group smiled as they saw her walking toward them.
She joined them. As the Polaroid man walked by, she said something to them. They shook their heads. Michael assumed they responded they didn’t recognize him. They continued watching him as he stopped in front of an exhibit.
