Jim Talbert Whistling in Chicago: "Creation"

© 2014 Timothy Segrest. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/24/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5323-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5324-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014920239

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CHAPTERS

1 Rejuvenation Begins

2 Back in Chicago

3 Reaper takes his time

4 Long-Awaited Town Meeting

5 Crowd Disperses

6 What an Idea

7 Let’s Talk Boundaries

8 Needed Equipment

9 Starts Getting Complicated

10 The First Patrol

11 After More Patrols

12 Second Big Meeting

13 Night of Hells Past

14 Stokholme enters the Game

15 New Faces to a New Game

16 Coming to a Close

17 Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

18 George and Viper

19 Viper to the Roof Please

20 Sometimes endings never really end

Endnotes

Sketch 1

Sketch 2

Dedication

As always, I dedicate this work to my wife, Teri, for her supporting love and devotion. I also dedicate it to Katie Williams for her proofing, computer knowledge, and her all around friendship. I also dedicate it to Barb, Phyllis, and the rest of the VA writers group of the Albuquerque VA for their acceptance of myself and my work. They have accepted and heard my mostly dark poetry for a number of years now. I thank you all

Sketch 1

Sketch 2

Chapter 1

Rejuvenation Begins

The home is located in one of the largest ports in Tampa Bay, Florida. It’s a three story home with ornate doors, stone carved statues, stained glass windows and a long driveway leading to a circular one with a three-tier standing fountain in the center surrounded by a rose garden. Tall, thin, intricately designed spruces line both sides of the driveway, making a clear shot from a sniper nearly impossible. Mature, wide trees on both sides of the front entrance make the rear of the house private. Behind the house is a large pool with a tiled swan on the bottom. It has a two level patio and a number of shaded areas created from high extensions jutting from the house. A winding staircase leads down to a one-hundred-and-fifty-foot Burgess Yacht tied to a private dock. There are also a number of smaller, yet luxurious fishing yachts tied to the same dock, along with a number of fast cigarette boats. The fact being, what makes this house sought after is not the large plot of land in sits on. It is the three story design, ornate trimmings, detailed landscape and the private dock, extensive enough to secure such a large number of ships.

The residence belongs to one Mr. Arnold Stokholme. He is a self-made millionaire dealing in overseas stocks and bonds, and of course… a little bit of drug and weapons trafficking, money laundering, and the occasional hit for a high price. In order to keep his little empire operating smoothly, he has more than a few smaller organizations working on his behalf.

A big burly man named Benny, sporting an expensive three-piece suit, walks onto the upper rear patio overlooking the pool and yacht. Mr. Stokholme, in his late fifties, acknowledges him by a nod. Benny walks toward Mr. Stokholme who is seated at a square glass-topped table with two gorgeous women dressed in extremely small bikinis, and a bartender at his call. Obviously for protection, several men in dark trousers, t-shirts, and automatic weapons pace in close proximity to the patio table.

As Benny nears them, Mr. Stokholme says, Hey, Benny, the Tommy brothers back from Chicago yet?

No sir, but we do have a problem, Benny answers back.

Mr. Stokholme looks at the ladies and pulls a black credit card from his robe pocket. He motions over to another man standing by a gate armed with a Mac-10 machinegun to come to him.

When the armed man arrives at the table, he throws the card on the table and says, Ladies, go buy something. The man with the Mac-10 reaches for the card and Mr. Stokholme adds, Frankie, take the limo; the ladies are going shopping. Give your gun to Benny here.

The man replies, Yes sir, handing the machine gun to Benny without hesitation. He exits the patio behind the two ladies.

Mr. Stokholme looks at Benny, waits until everyone has left the patio, and then says, Okay, let’s have it, what’s the problem?

It appears the Tommy brothers were killed in an attack against the railway gang at the switchyard yesterday. Nearly the whole gang wiped out.

Mr. Stokholme slams his hand on the table, Damn it! I told them no fucking turf wars until after the next shipment. The bartender approaches, ready to add more cognac to Mr. Stockholm’s drink. He quickly waves the bartender away, looks over his shoulder, then says to the bartender, Roberto, tell the Captain to prep the boat, I wanna go for a cruise this evening.

Yes sir, right away.

Mr. Stokholme asks Benny, What gang was it this time?

It wasn’t another gang, sir.

Mr. Stokholme looks up at Benny and angrily says, What! Who the hell was it, then?

Benny replies, I found one guy that got away, a punk they call Psycho… he says it was only one person, maybe two.

Mr. Stokholme leans back and quietly says, Well, does this Psycho have a name for us so we can return the favor?

Yes, sir, a man referred to as the Whistling Reaper and the other one is unknown.

After a puff from the cigar he has just lit, Mr. Stokholme says, Now, let me get this straight….. One, maybe two men go into the switchyard, wipe out thirty-plus men including two of my men, and this man is known as the Whistling Reaper?

Yes sir, it does appear to be what happened.

Mr. Stokholme finishes his drink and yells, What the fuck? What is fucking going on down there? Benny is silent because he doesn’t appear to have an answer or is too afraid to make any comment whatsoever. Mr. Stokholme starts to snap his fingers, and adds, Hey, who’s that fucking local rat we got down there working for us? What’s his name?

That will be owner of the Hedge Hog, sir; his name is George.

Mr. Stokholme looks at Benny and says, Well then. There is no expression on Benny’s face. Mr. Stokholme adds, Listen, I want you to go down there, talk to this George and find out what the fuck is going on. I want answers, and I don’t care how you get them. Just get them.

Yes sir; and what about this Psycho… what should we do about him?

He’s just a punk left over, right? Fucking kill the bastard, he’s no use to me. As Benny walks away, Mr. Stokholme adds, And get with Roberto, we need to refill the bar with George’s private stock while you’re down there.

Benny stops, turns, Yes sir, anything else, sir?

Mr. Stokholme sharply says, No dumbass! Get the fuck outta here and get me some Goddamn answers, Now!

Detective Kasey is standing on the roof of an old apartment building condemned years ago. It’s late at night but the traffic in Chicago is still moving rapidly. His cell phone rings. He opens the receiver and puts it to his ear.

A female voice says, Hello detective, where is our little soldier now?

At the Manson Family safe house for a couple of weeks of R & R, just like you instructed.

The voice says, Good, and what’s happening there?

Kasey looks over the edge of the building, Thirty-five dead give or take, but a couple of out-of-towners were also killed in the gunfire.

The voice says, Out-of-towners? Explain, please.

I believe they’re known as the Tommy brothers. If so, they work for a Mr. Stokholme in Florida, Kasey says after a quick puff from his cigar.

So, this Mr. Stokholme, he was the ring-leader of the past railway gang, I assume?

Kasey smiles, It appears so. But we have him under surveillance, we’ll know if he sends anybody to see what happened.

Do you have a file on this Mr. Stokholme?

Yup, and it’s a big one, Kasey replies.

The voice quickly says, Good, send it to me, code Dogma Emma Charlie, I’ll take a look and keep you informed.

I’d appreciate that. Is that it?

The voice hesitates, No, one more thing, I get the distinct feeling that this George is dirty; and your opinion?

Kasey throws the cigar on the ground, Well, I think so also. I’ll put a tail on him and if Mr. Stokholme sends anybody, I’m sure they’ll come to their local rat first; then I’ll know for sure if George is dirty.

Then what? Eliminate him? The voice says.

No, I believe he’ll be useful at a later date. I’d like to keep him alive and just play his little game, if that’s okay with you.

The voice says, As long as the mission isn’t jeopardized in any way.

It won’t be, I’ll make sure of it. You want me to fill the general in about this?

The voice softly answers, No, I would prefer to keep this thing about George between us. I think he might be too close for my own comfort. Do we understand each other, detective?

Yes, loud and clear.

The voice says, Thank you for being so cooperative, detective.

Kasey smiles, All I want is my easy retirement plans fulfilled with no worries. Besides, like I told your boy, I never did like these scumbags anyway.

With that, you hear the female voice hang up. The detective looks at it, laughs, and closes the receiver. He puts it back in his pocket and leaves the roof, still laughing.

It’s noon and the lunch rush has just left the diner. Janet is busy cleaning the counters and counting her tips. Toby walks through the door wearing a pair of Levi’s and a plain blue work shirt. I guess he actually listened to Jim when he mentioned for him to blend in more. At first, Janet doesn’t even recognize him.

Janet calmly says, Just sit anywhere honey, I’ll be right with you. You want some coffee?

Toby looks around, walks up to the bar, Yea, coffee would be great. Look, I go away for a while and what, you don’t remember me?

Janet stops wiping the counter, screams, and runs around to give Toby a big hug. She nearly knocks Toby over as she collides with him on the public side of the counter.

Toby and Janet fall back on a stool at the counter and Toby says, Wow, thanks. After Janet releases him from her tight grip and a minute or two of straightening out his shirt, Toby adds So, how have you been? Seen Jim around lately?

Janet sits on the stool next to Toby, I’ve been good, but I think Jim’s at another VA, getting some test done.

"Really; is he okay? Toby asks.

She hurries around the counter to pour Toby some coffee, Yea, just routine stuff. Why are you looking for Jim, honey?

I got some info for him, he says as he pulls an envelope from the back pocket of his Levi’s.

Well, can you stick around for a week, or do you have to get back to Washington?

He sets the envelope on the counter, Not really, I have to get back. I’m starting a new government job on Monday.

After a good hard slap on the shoulder, Janet replies, Well, look at you; moving up in the world, huh? What kind of job is it?

Toby drinks a sip of coffee, The type I can’t talk about, but the whole thing was kind of weird.

Janet fills up his cup again and says, Weird? What do you mean?

It just kind of fell in my lap when I got back, they offered it to me out of the blue. I mean, there were a lot of guys more qualified than I was.

Janet smiles, Maybe that says something, like about your work, or maybe a word from a friend with some power somewhere? Take what you can get, I always say.

Toby smiles, laughs a bit, Yea, the pay is a lot better, too. He looks around and adds, I don’t know what to do, about Jim, I mean. I can’t just stay or come back in a week.

Janet leans over and says, What about giving it to me, to hold for him.

Toby scratches his chin, I just don’t know, I mean, it has very private personal information inside.

What, you afraid I’m gonna open it or something?

No… it’s not that, it’s an ethics thing, really nothing personal at all.

Janet says in a serious tone, Listen, I promise, I won’t open it and it’ll be safe, really; of all the people you can trust, I should be it

Toby smiles and pushes the envelope towards Janet, Yea, you know, you’re right Janet. Just please, do not open it. Keep it safe.

Janet picks up the envelope and says, Look, seriously, you can trust me. In fact, c’mon, you can watch me put it in the safe right now.

Toby raises his hand, No, really, I didn’t mean to offend you, I’m so sorry.

Janet grabs Toby’s hand and pulls him up from the seat and says, No, really I’m not offended. I just want you to feel okay about leaving it with me. Then again, maybe I just wanna get you in the freezer for a good old fashioned fuck.

They laugh as Toby follows Janet to the back, in complete embarrassment and shock all at the same time. They both emerge moments later after Janet puts the envelope securely in her wall safe. Toby finishes his coffee and gives Janet a hug.

Toby sighs, I guess I should go before it gets dark. I don’t like this place after dark.

With a peck on his cheek, she says I understand sugar, we’ll be talking soon.

Toby shakes his head, The thing is, I’m gonna be busy as hell with my new job, I don’t know when I’ll be back. It might not be for a while.

Janet replies with a smile, I don’t know, fate does mighty funny things sometimes. She turns Toby around, slaps him on the rear, and adds, Now go on, get outta here before I can’t control myself anymore.

Toby walks out of the diner smiling. Janet waves at him through the window as he turns around just outside the door. Toby hails a taxi and gets into it. The taxi drives off, merging into the traffic of a typical Chicago day.

It’s been nearly two weeks since I’ve completed killing the ones responsible for Mr. Wallace’s death. I guess the real question is, do I actually feel better knowing they’re dead? And, was it worth the lives of all those punks? However, I do get comfort from the feeling that people won’t be harmed or killed by those particular punks anymore. Unless, of course, other punks take their place, and fate will have its way once again.

Now, however, I’m convinced it was a good idea for me to come out here. I’m glad that the Manson Family gave me this opportunity. I guess I better explain the Manson Family to you. You see, it’s not the murdering Manson Family that was in the news in the 60’s. This particular group of people is an extension of the government, CIA. All I can really say is that they’re kind of a CIA watchdog for select government weasels within their picked, controllable group. In any case, they have several so-called safe houses for a number of activities. They hold meetings, train special operatives like me, and do just about whatever they want. They are very well strategically placed and look like any other mountain home, apartment, or urban residence of any kind that you would find anywhere in the community. The one big difference is what people don’t see.

This particular safe house is situated in a valley with a large lake and rolling hills all around it. It has one, and only one road to get in or out. The lake has three hundred yards of clear land all around it, except for a large boulder configuration on the side opposite the cabin. It looks like real rock, but I think it’s a man-made structure with God-knows-what inside. The trees on the side of the rolling hills are small and scattered about the area. Because of my training, I know there are numerous kinds and sizes of detection devices placed all around the hills and lake. They probably have the cabin bugged and a visual on it as well; and I mean from all possible angles. Then again, if they want to watch me beat my meat, then what the fuck…. I’m here to relax and that’s what I’ve been doing from time to time. My other activity has been enjoying the serenity and peace I have found around the lake. It’s stocked with a variety of fish for those of us who enjoy fishing, but I don’t care if I catch any or not. And for the ones I do catch, I happily throw them back in the lake, providing I think they will survive.

This particular day is a bit on the chilly side, but nevertheless, it’s a good relaxing day. I have a few poles in the water and a nice fire going in a rock-circled fire pit. I have bells on my poles so I don’t have to watch them so closely, it’ll ring if I get anything worth reeling in. I have a pot of coffee on the fire as well. The wind is gusting as I sit on my folding chair around a set of well-placed trees. I can see the heat vapors rise from the flames; they seem to form a warped-like dimension in their warm, inviting wake within the air. I see the lighter-than-air ash blown as the wind picks up in random cycles. The wood that I found on the ground crackles from the moisture still in it from the morning dew.

I Can Recall: Yes, we saw plenty of fires that day, but they weren’t the kind you would want to sit by. These are blown up tanks, personnel carriers, and trucks with make-shift machine guns mounted on the back. There are even a few still burning bodies lying within them.

We are behind the 115th Marine Corp Infantry division, making sure we do a final sweep of militants after they pushed their way through the streets. We take a small break among one of the blown up buildings on the side of the road. We post watchman to make sure we’re not ambushed and proceed to take a ten-minute breather in this obvious convenience store. We take a few snacks from the shelves and eat what we think looks appetizing.

And then something hits me…. I feel a strong urge to put my thoughts about the horrors of war on paper, and this is when my writing begins. I found it mindfully soothing when I felt tense or just simply keyed up. We were all feeling a little down because we lost one of our people less than an hour ago due to a well-hidden explosive device. His code name was Madman, and he was one of the original twelve. So I removed a small pencil from my upper vest pocket and a small pad along with it. We all had them just in case we had to write something down, which I can’t remember that we ever had to. Regardless, it was considered gear so we had to comply without question. Actually, the words had been floating around in my head since I saw his body on the ground, minus most of his legs. We called for a medevac to retrieve the body, lit a retrieval flare, and had to go on. I take my knife and sharpen the dulled pencil and quickly write this poem, the first thing I have ever written.

Being a Soldier

I was a soldier

When my brothers died

When they took that wrong step

And the ground exploded…… beneath them

When the one bullet…… found them

When they may decide later…… to take……. their own lives

I was a soldier…… when I cried

And I’ll be a soldier

Till the day when I ……shall die

The thing is, the words Detective Kasey said have stuck in my head since I arrived here. I never did think about what happens after my little personal vendetta; I suppose I should have but I didn’t. I guess there might be some people who wouldn’t like me killing those punks; I don’t know who they would be. And you know something else? The very reason for a