It was time to visit my new best friend, the Caretaker. It wasn’t like I was warming up to the guy, but so far he had dealt directly with me and hadn’t done anything underhanded. Clearly, he was motivated by self-interest and greed, but if we stripped away a lot of life’s bullshit double talk we’d probably find that there were quite a few people who fit into that group.
I headed straight for the Hill and, now that I was a semi-regular, I got my audience with the man almost as a matter of routine. The young brother with the obnoxious baggies was in, and he barely looked up from his Martin Lawrence DVD when he gave me the nod to head toward the back.
“My pugilistic acquaintance, what can I provide you with today?” the Caretaker said. Today, his sartorial ensemble included gray flannels, a pinpoint button-down white shirt, and a rep tie in blue and white, which I believe are Yale colors, no less. His black loafers had the cutest little kilt on them.
“I took a trip and found your ‘Sky Pilot,’” I said.
“Fellow of interest, no?”
“Yeah, especially now. Between me and you, he’s got Howard Rheinhart with him and I think Abadon is the man doing all the killing.”
“His evil spreading of malicious rumors is of more concern to me.” The Caretaker’s use of the passive tense made me crazy.
“I thought we could help each other out.”
“Ha. I avoid reciprocal sharing. It tends to cloud the balance sheet.”
“I’m looking to ruin Abadon and get him put away. I want the killing to stop and I want the innocent to be exonerated.”
“Noble of you.”
“Yeah, I’m swell. If I can get Abadon, you don’t have to worry about the heat from the OD’s that they’re trying to pin on you.”
He sat back and crossed his legs talk-show style, putting his fingertips together as he thought. I wondered if this asshole ever did anything that wasn’t contrived.
“And you want exactly what from me?” he said.
“Right now, information.”
“Listening…”
“Abadon was loading packages for two Asian guys today. Identical SUVs-”
“The Lees, Hun and Sun, they are brothers. They traffic in New York. ‘Distribute’ is probably a better term.”
“New York guys coming up here? Isn’t that backwards? Isn’t all the drug business in the city?”
“The Sky Pilot does wondrous things. His concoctions will make crack look like potato chips.”
“It’s that big?”
“It will be. Word is that my man of God has worked the kinks out and his new product won’t kill the user. New York is where things happen first. If he turns on the city that doesn’t sleep, the word will be out and right now he is the only man that can cook this special Sunday dinner.”
“How do you know the shit isn’t fatal anymore?”
“The Sky Pilot is a man of science, my friend. You might say his clinical trials have been completed.”
“Dead kids?”
The Caretaker half shrugged and half nodded.
“What are Mitchell and Harter in all of this?”
“Security; they are not players. The word is they enjoy the muscle formulas that the doctor fashions for them. They are quite protective of that.”
“Is Abadon a threat to you?”
“Is Toyota a threat to GM? Better yet, if Toyota could put out a better product and then restrict the raw materials from GM, that would cause GM’s stock to plummet, would it not?”
“Sure.”
“I no longer put my faith in the Sky Pilot.”
“In effect, then, if I can take him out, I would be doing you a favor.”
“It would save me the trouble.”
“Caretaker, this looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
“I’ve always loved Casablanca,” he said.
We spent the next hour working out the details of what we were going to do. It was a mess, mostly illegal, and, if I screwed up, deadly. Kelley wouldn’t be proud of me and what I was about to do, at least not until it was over. If everyone lived through it, he might shake his head, tell me I’m nuts, and then crack a smile.
Maybe.
Tom Schreck