MURDER, MY PET

The cryptic note lay on his desk in his cozy den. It was not signed nor did it hint of subject matter, it simply told him to be near his telephone at 7:00 p.m. He obeyed.

The hour chimed from the grandfather clock in the living room. From his wife’s sewing room a cuckoo clock sounded its agreement. Loren glanced at his telephone expecting it to ring. Silence. Loren picked up the telephone and walked to his red, leather chair and with the phone on his lap he sat waiting. Shrugging, he walked toward his desk as the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Loren Bixby?”

“It is.”

“I am assuming you received my note?”

“I did.”

“Mr. Bixby my name is of no consequence, only those men that I represent matter. I have been asked to bring to your immediate attention certain debts that are owed by you and are now past due. Do you know of what I speak?”

“Yes sir, I do.”

“Splendid…splendid, we are getting along just fine. I have been asked to pass on certain terms to you concerning that debt. I wonder sir, do you have paper and pencil so that you might jot that information down?

“I do.”

“Fine. I regret to inform you that your line of credit has been cancelled and you have been banned from the three casinos of which we speak. Do you follow, Mr. Bixby?”

“I do.”

“Also, my clients insist that some form of payment…some show

of sincerity must be brought forward at this time. We are not talking of a large sum Mr. Bixby, but a certain amount each month must be offered. Is that an undue hardship on you sir? More like a show of good faith as it were, if you get my drift?”

“I do.”

“We are getting along rather well…I venture. The final demand is that the sum of money owed must be paid in full within one year from the first day of next month. That is non-negotiable Mr. Bixby, is that an impossible demand upon you sir?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do I need to refresh your memory as to the amount owed at this time?”

“No…I know what I owe.”

“Are there any questions concerning the terms I have presented…any questions at all?”

“No, I quite understand.”

“Splendid…you have a nice evening Mr. Bixby.”

The phone went dead as Loren stood looking at it. Finally he tossed it across the room. “Damn jerk! Who the hell does he think he is, Sydney Greenstreet?” Loren laughed at his reference to an old actor nobody has thought of in over forty years.

In the bathroom Loren continued his conversation with his image in the mirror. “Do I have questions? Damn right I have questions like where in the hell am I gonna get $75,000.00 bucks to pay off those hot shots in Vegas…got an answer to that one Mr. Greenstreet?”

He went over to his bar and snapped open a Coke. After one sip he tossed it away and poured himself a stiff shot of Vodka. That cold chill he had down his spine after the telephone conversation began to slip away. “Beats the hell out of pain pills,” he said, laughing to himself.

GOTTA MAKE SOME PLANS Banging his head with the palm of his hand, Loren walked about his living room sipping a bit of vodka now and then trying to come up with a plan to stop the Vegas goons from calling on him again with ball bats. He thought of the few assets he had, selling his fancy car, hell…even getting a better job. All he really accomplished was to get smashed. He finally fought his way up the steps to his bedroom and spent a few minutes wrestling with himself getting his clothes and shoes off. Sprawled across the bed he went to sleep, visions of slot machines and rolling dice in his brain.

The bright, early morning sun tore at his eyes as he moved about trying to stay asleep. As soon as his feet hit the floor the pain in his head almost made him ill. He leaned over and held his head in both hands. “How do those damn Russians drink that stuff?” His cat arched his back and hopped up on the bed. “Clifford… when are you going to learn to feed yourself?” The cat pushed at his back. “Okay, I’m up.”

It took some doing but a hot shower and a careful shave brought him back to life, or maybe it was his secret hang over medicine his grandfather had taught him that did the trick. He glanced at his watch as he hurried out the door. Once in his life he would have liked to be on time when his wife landed at the airport. Last time she had given up and grabbed a cab. It took her a week to get over that. Seems like that is all he ever accomplished with her lately…pissing her off.
FUNNY…HE LOOKS WEALTHY

Loren Bixby at age 43 looked to be a man of means, a man that was confident, good-looking and self-reliant. Truth is he was none of those things, and there were times when he felt like just disappearing, just getting in his car and driving away. In fact twice he did exactly that only to turn around and land back in the old grind. He had no real friends. Oh, a few guys a work would have a beer with him now and again, but no real pals. Certainly no one he could really talk to you…you know, ‘man talk’ stuff like that. He used to be a confident electrical engineer, but even that seemed to have been lost to him although he was considered an executive with his faltering company. He had a sprawling ranch house and some land and there were those great trips to Las Vegas. But look what that did to his life. There was a time when he could have paid off those debts but not any more. His credit cards were maxed out, his saving account was gone, and for the first time in his life he felt like he was living from pay check to pay check. His wife was still in the dark as to his current financial situation but how was he going to keep up that façade? He felt desperate…alone and frankly scared to death of ‘Those Vegas guys.’ Just like that bastard on the phone, so nice, so phony, and down deep was probably a damn hit man. To top it off he had that sinking feeling that his wife didn’t even like him anymore let alone love him. What in the hell was he going to do? The economic slow down had disrupted things at work and even though he had a lofty job there was talk of merging with another company and he knew his high salary would attract a lot of attention. He could just hear those bastards talking in their stuffy boardroom. “We better get rid of those high price jerk-offs,” which he was one. Of course the fact that he was addicted to gambling didn’t have a damn thing to do with his problem…oh hell no.

Now his wife Gloria was the exact opposite of him. Well educated, self-reliant and confident, she was a principal in one of the local grade schools and was a natural leader and educator. She often traveled on school business, and every time she left, Loren wondered if she would really come back. But she did…and he was going to pick her up and immediately go into his fake husband routine. God, if she only knew, he often thought. Truth is he would rather face the damn Vegas thugs than her. That wasn’t true. Hell, he was afraid of all of them, his wife included.

From the beginning the couple lived separate lives although they certainly were in love. Loren had his big house and when Gloria moved in she made no attempt to take over the budget or even ask questions. She had her own check book and never once asked Loren for one thin dime. What she did with her money he had no idea. She never asked him if they were rich nor did she seem to care. The arrangement had lasted for eight years and they rarely argued about anything. Hell, maybe he was just paranoid…he was a damn fool he was sure of that maybe paranoia was part of his make up. The only time they ever talked business was when they agreed to have a one million dollar life insurance policy taken out on each other. Gloria was the beneficiary on his policy and he on hers. They did that the first year they were married and his accountant took care of paying the premiums. That was it. Funny as Loren was thinking about his problems the thought of that million dollar policy seemed to stick with him as he pulled up into the parking area of the airport. “A million bucks,” he said as he slammed the car door.

A NICE COUPLE

On the way home Gloria and Loren made small talk, how was your day, what about yours? Where they would go to dinner and how was Indianapolis. Actually, Loren enjoyed that chit chat, at least she never asked him any questions and for those brief moments life seemed normal. Well…hell, for Gloria it was normal, not so much with Loren. The next day Loren told his secretary he was going home for lunch and hurried out the door.

Once home he went to the safe in his den and extracted some papers that he had never so much as glanced at in years. Finally in a white envelope he found the insurance policy he was looking for. He spent a half hour carefully reading over one clause after the other. The bottom line was simple enough: “I die she gets the million, she dies I get the million.” Loren laughed out loud, “Well that saved me five hundred bucks in lawyer fees.”

On the way home from work Loren pulled off the main road into a restaurant he frequented. He would take some chicken home because Gloria told him she would he at least two hours late coming home. He pulled up next to an old station wagon and got out of his car. Instantly he was thrown backward into his car as a ferocious German shepherd leaped at him from behind the closed window. His teeth banged on the glass as he disappeared behind the fog on the window.

“Whoa there boy, I’m leavin’….relax.” Loren slid across the side of his car as he slipped past the dog.

“Scary Sombee…ain’t he?”

Loren jumped again from the voice. “That ain’t the word for it…terrifying is more like it. He’d kill a person wouldn’t he?”

“Most Likely.” The huge man stuck out a beefy hand. “Bob Cole’s the name…Dogs is my game.”

Loren grinned. “Loren’s Bixby is the name electricity is my game.”

The stranger roared with laughter. “Glad to meetcha.”

Loren rubbed his sore hand from the vice like grip from Bob. “What do you do Bob breed German shepherds?”

Bob laughed, “Well, not me, I just introduce em.”

Loren almost giggled. “Bob I am gonna pick up some chicken can you come in and have a cup of coffee with me, I wanna ask you some questions about those dogs of yours.”

“Sure…I can always talk dogs.”

Once they were seated Loren looked over at Bob. “Bob do you have a lot of dogs like that one out in the car?”

“Sure…you wanna buy a couple dozen?”

“No, but I might be interested in a couple of them. Do you have any Doberman Pinchers?”

“Sure, fact is I got more of them than I do the shepherds. See Loren, I am a professional handler. I show those dogs, I have a dog obedience school, and I also train attack dogs. You need one of those?”

“That’s what I was thinking. Tell me Bob don’t most Dobermans look a lot alike?”

“Sure…hell, I got me two young pups at home, can’t tell the difference so I just called both of ‘em Thunder.”

Loren grinned. “That’s funny. Can I see those two sometime this weekend?” “Sure can. Here’s my card, it’s just off the expressway. Take that ramp marked Keller Road, if’n you don’t turn left or right at the end of Keller Road, why you’ll run right into the place.” “Great, Bob, I’ll call you tomorrow and make arrangements. Want some pie with that coffee, Bob?” “I knowed there was something I liked about you Loren…I sure will.” A SUNDAY DRIVE Loren left Gloria in the den preparing for a class, telling her he was going to look for some rose bushes. He got off the expressway at Keller Road and pulled into the long shaded driveway that lead back to what looked like a very old farm house. A massive Doberman raced out to meet the car. He barked and growled all the way up to the house where Bob was standing waving. “Devil…it’s okay, that’s my new friend Loren.” The big dog stopped barking, sitting next to his master. “Is it okay to get out, Bob?” “Sure…ole Devil already knows you are a friend.” “Amazing! I had a dog when I was a kid but he never heard a word I said to him. He finally just ran away.” “Discipline Loren, dogs need discipline. Someone they can trust and look up to. That’s all I teach. I tell my new owners that all I need from them is to be just a little bit smarter than the dog…that’s it.” “That sounds good to me. You got a wonderful old place here Bob, was this a family home?” “It sure was. My grandfather built it in the 30’s and one us Coles been livin’ here ever since. Let’s have a cold beer before we visit the dogs, what say?” “I knew there was something I liked about you Bob.” The two friends laughed. Later they made their way to the dozen or so kennels that were out next to the huge red barn. “How many dogs do you have?” “From the sound of all that barking you’d think I had a hundred, but I usually have close to 24. I do board dogs once in awhile but only for friends. I am in the selling department, but I love showing folks how to handle and train them. That’s where the money is and I compete in dog shows just for the hell of it.” There were two large puppies off in a separate kennel, yapping and wagging their short tales. Loren walked up and bent slightly to have a look. One of the pups suddenly lunged at him and he almost fell backing up. “Careful there Loren that one may look like his brother but he’s a damn sight meaner.” The dogs jumped at the fence barking pushing at each other to get a better look. “Shut the hell up!” Instantly the two rowdy puppies backed away and sat looking at Bob. “That’s amazing, Bob…really it is.” “Naw they’s just afraid of me that’s it. I am the boss dog around here and the sooner they understand that the easier it is for them.” Loren pointed at the pups. “I’ll take that one and that one…wrap ‘em up.” “Whoa, both of ‘em? Now Loren I can’t let you take those dogs until we have an agreement…come on in the house.” “I’ll give that one to my brother and I’ll take the tough one. He’s coming in from L.A., and he’s gonna drive back home with that one there.” “You don’t care about their pedigree…the cost, nothin’ just take ‘em home?” “Yep…why what else is there?” “Plenty…let’s go in.” At the kitchen table Bob held some papers in his hand then tossed them on the table. “Hell, Loren I ain’t no fan of the tax man, you wanna pay cash, do away with the paper work that’s okay with me. You just can’t breed them, I mean you ain’t gonna have all the pedigree papers you need.” “Fine, and as promised I will be here every Tuesday and Thursday to have you help me learn how to control them and train them. I appreciate that Bob and I’ll be the best damn student you ever saw.” “That’s good with me. I can tell you that a Dobe is the best watch dog in the world. The shepherd’s are damn good but for pure aggression, I’ll take the Dobe.” The two shook hands. “Mind if we don’t shake hands any more Bob? I need this hand in my work.” The dog man roared.

WHAT IS THAT? Gloria walked out of the house as Loren drove up. “Honey, stand over there on the grass.” “What for?” “It’s a surprise.” Loren opened the car door as the puppy scrambled to get out. He raced over to Gloria and immediately had her on the lawn. Lauren squealed as the playful puppy licked her in the face and penned her to the ground. Loren giggled like a child as he saw the two playing on the lawn. “He already loves you, Gloria. He surely does.” Loren walked over and slipped the leash into Gloria’s hand. Know that you own a pedigreed Doberman, what are you going to name him?” Gloria tugged at the leash. “I think I’ll call him Thor…how’s that? You like that name Thor?” Thor answered by wrapping the leash around Gloria’s ankles. “Whoa….boy. I’ll take that as a yes.” “He’s got a lot to learn…the big lummox.” Loren patted the dog on the head. “Kill! Kill boy,” Gloria said. “Bad Man.” THE OTHER PUPPY As for the other puppy, now named Thunder, there was no glorious homecoming, no hugs and kisses. On the way home Loren had taken him to an abandoned farm house out in the county. He rented the old house from a farmer telling him that he wanted to eventually keep a horse out there. The old man could have cared less what he wanted to do with the land, and gleefully took the fifty dollars Loren said he would pay monthly. For the time being the dog would have to stay in the shed until Loren could put up a fence to act as a kennel. Loren struggled with the rusted padlock finally opening the door. “Here boy! Here Thunder are you hungry?” Loren was greeted with a low growl. For two minutes the new dog owner stood in the door talking to his new friend. Finally the dog came over close enough for Loren to slowly reach out a hand with a dog biscuit in it. “There, that’s a good boy Thunder, you and I are gonna be great pals.” Before Loren left he gave the dog one final dog bone. “Well, Thunder, you big guys have a fierce reputation let’s hope you live up to yours.” For the next two months Loren took Thunder to the training sessions out at Bob’s farm. The first hour Loren trained with the other dogs in basic obedience and it was easy to see that Thunder was superior. Once the class left Bob and Loren went into the barn where the hard-core combat classes took place. Bob was a master and the first time Bob came at the dog with a club and a protected right arm, Thunder was airborne, growling and out to kill him. The sessions were violent and scary, but Loren and his new pal were marvelous students and within a month, Bob was convinced that he had made a mistake selling Thunder. “Wish I had that dog. I could sell him to the police for five times what I sold him to you Loren, wanna sell him back.” “Nope. He is just what I wanted. Bob I can’t tell you what a wonderful experience this has been, I’ll come up when the class graduates and take that trophy. He is really two dogs isn’t he? He seems to enjoy the other dogs and the attention and now look at him when he is in a combat mode. Terrifying.” “That he is. As long as he listens to you, he is under control. The second he thinks he is the boss…then you got yourself a damn scary animal. So you watch yourself. Hear?” “I do. Thanks again Bob, I’ll be up Thursday for graduation.”

READY FOR COMBAT! Loren drove into the narrow, dusty driveway and parked between the old barn and the shed. He was dressed in black from head to foot, including a black turtle neck and black gloves. Thunder barked as he stopped the car. Thunder stood in the small fenced in kennel wagging his tail. “That’s a nice greeting, Thunder. You ready for some action…huh, boy?” Thunder gave one bark and moved away from the gate. The two marauders walked across a field that had a crop of corn which was just about hip high as Loren maneuver the dog toward a distant light twinkling in the darkness. It was a dark night but following the path between the stalks was easy. At the edge of the field Loren stopped and knelt down to his dog. “Sorry partner but I gotta put this muzzle on you we don’t wanna hurt the old man…now do we?” The house was situated forty yards from the corn field. Loren gave the command to stay down and trotted to the house. He crept up on the porch and looked in. The old farmer was sitting at the kitchen table. Loren banged quickly on the door then turned and ran back to his dog. They both crouched down as they watched the kitchen door open. The light from the hanging light bulb cast a long shadow as the old man stood looking around. He stepped out on the porch. ‘Hello…anyone there?” As the old man stood at the edge of the porch peering into the darkness, Loren gave the attack command then hurried after Thunder as he raced toward the old man. There was an eerie silence for a split second as Thunder went airborne then a sickening thud as the dog blasted into the old terrified farmer slamming him back and down on the porch. Instantly the killer dog was at the victim’s throat as Loren arrived giving him the command to cease. The night duo then vanished as Loren hurried Thunder back to the cornfield. They stopped there as Loren took out his binoculars to focus on the man that was still lying on the porch. “Come on old man, get up…you’ll be okay…I hope.” Three minutes later the farmer was sitting up rubbing the back of his head. A couple of minutes later Loren breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Thunder’s victim get up and walk back into his kitchen. “He’s a tough old bird, Thunder. Thank God the muzzle held up okay. Come on boy I have a special meal for you since you are such a special dog.” The moon came out from behind a cloud as Loren watched Thunder finish his dinner. It was such a pleasant night, the sounds of the night were always a favorite of Loren’s since childhood. As he petted his dog he thought about what he had done over the last couple of months and what he had planned for the future. “Thunder, you are one scary son of a bitch. My God, what have I become?” Far off a hoot owl answered. Loren smiled. “Amen brother…amen.” A NICE HOME LIFE Whatever feelings of remorse he had soon left him and the next morning Loren was delighted to see Gloria busy in the kitchen fixing breakfast. He kissed her on the cheek and smiled. “Honey today I promise I will fix that door to the basement that Thor is always pushing open. Once he learned he could get out of the basement with a push of his nose…he owned the house.” “Well, thank you. He’s not a real big problem but once I put him down there it would be nice to know that that is where he’ll stay. I have one short meeting after school and I’ll be home. I’ll stop and get us a pizza, okay?” “Fine. That bacon smells great…you are such a sweetie.” Loren spent the day hammering, wiring and hopping off to the hardware store. He could have accomplished the job with a dead bolt, but of course he had a much higher plan than that. After he finished he tested his apparatus a few times and went upstairs for a beer. Gloria brought home the pizza as promised and Loren was anxious to show her what he had accomplished. On the way down the stairs Loren cautioned his wife. “Hon when you get to the last step try not to step on it…just hop on to the floor.” “Whatever for…what?” “Humor me…please, Gloria, this is really neat.” She did as she was told and the couple stood together looking up the stairs. “Now what dear?” “Watch this.” Loren stepped forward and put his foot on the bottom step. The basement door swung shut.” “Did you see that, Hon?” “I did. You stepped on the bottom step and the door shut…so that means?” “Well you bring the dog down here, he rarely steps on the bottom step…you know he just comes down and leaps to the floor. Well then, you just walk over and step on the bottom step and the door shuts. You know Thor. Sometimes he races right back up the steps and hides from you. “Incredible. How’d you do that…magic?” “Almost…electric wires…few little tricks here and now the door is solid. So that problem is solved.” Gloria kissed her husband and went back upstairs. Thor and Loren stayed in the basement because Loren had one more little installation he had to make. One he did not show his wife. He went to his tool drawer and took out a small dead bolt. Loren installed it above the door. When the door shut the bolt dropped down into a metal encasement. Only the installer’s fingers knew where the button was to release the bolt to open the door. He practiced it a couple of times before the duo went upstairs. “Come on Thor…it’s walk time.” IT’S THAT GUY AGAIN Friday evening Gloria and her friends went to a movie and as always Loren retired to his den. Thor followed him in and the two flopped down in two different chairs. Loren popped open a beer and as he reached for the newspaper the phone rang.” “Mr. Bixby?” “Yes” “I want to commend you for the monthly payments you have been making. Do you recognize my voice?” “Yes.” “Those payments show good faith, but it has been seven months since I talked to you and you have five months left. Do you plan on increasing those payments, sir?” “No. I said I would pay the debt off in twelve months and that is exactly what I intend doing.” “Fine, that’s splendid. then I will leave you to complete the transaction. Have a nice night.” Bixby stood fighting off that chill in his spine. He had no intention of chasing it away with Vodka. Instead, he clicked on his TV and sipped on his beer. “Don’t you worry you damn creep, I’ll pay it off. I might just have the money to get your ass whacked as well, Mr. big shot.” THE FINAL PLAN Loren looked at his calendar and circled the 18th of October then walked over to the laundry room. He took one of Gloria’s soiled sweat shirts out and tossed it in a paper bag. Loren then went to the old land phone that they had in the basement and unscrewed the mouth piece. He grinned to himself as he recalled doing the same thing to bug his mother. He put the mouthpiece in his pocket and when he took the sweat shirt out to his van he put it in his tool box. He and his wife talked about a new phone that you could actually have that was becoming the rage. Even as an electrician he could not understand a telephone that was not connected to wires. But it was coming, that’s for sure. That evening he followed Bob’s Instructions and began aggravating Thunder with the sweat shirt. Within a period of eight days the dog would growl the moment the shirt was shown to him. He realized that he didn’t really need to use the process at all…but he loved to see his dog react. Dogs react to scent, and Bob taught him the secrets so why not use them? It was Saturday and the couple had planned to roast hotdogs over the fireplace and watch a rented movie. After their meal of baked beans and hot dogs, Loren walked into the kitchen to talk to his wife. “Hon, gonna run up and get some beer do you need anything? “Just milk hon. I’m gonna take a quick shower, see you when you get back.” Loren took the van out of the garage and headed out to pick up Thunder.

A HORRIFYING NIGHT Popcorn between them, Loren and Gloria sat watching the movie. “We better pause the movie, hon, Thor is showing signs that he wants to go out.” “Good, I need to go out myself.” They laughed at her little joke. As Gloria headed for the basement bathroom, Loren snapped the leash on Thor’s collar and stepping over the first step, they went upstairs. Once upstairs, Loren quickly opened the back door and tugged at Thor to follow him to the garage. Once inside he put the dog in the front seat of his pickup truck then hurried over to his van. Thunder was eager to see him and fidgeted as Loren snapped on the leash to his choke chain. Back in the house, Loren walked over to the open basement door. “Gloria, would you call Thor? I’ll be right down.” Gloria got up off the couch and walked over to the steps. “Thor! Here boy.” Loren bent over his big dog and whispered the attack command as he snapped the leash off the choke chain. In a flash the dog entered the stair landing and began his low, terrifying growl as he virtually flew down the steps. Horrified, Gloria screamed. “Thor! Thor it’s me.” Loren heard Gloria’s screams and immediately fell to his knees, hands over his ears as he wretched. The sounds seemed to go on forever as he stood and tried to recover. Wobbly and shaken he made his way downstairs. The sight he saw, the blood, the horror of what he had done overwhelmed him. As he fell he rolled down upon the last step then hit his head on the concrete floor. Blackness came over him as the pain flowed over his entire body. Loren began to arouse himself as the feeling came back into his body, the pain was agonizing. Thunder was licking his face, and as Loren went to brush him aside his right arm would not move. “No…no, Thunder.” He was happy to hear his own voice. Slowly he began to take stock of his body, first his toes, then his right leg. It would not move. He wiggled his left foot but when he attempted to move the leg, it barely responded, sending waves of pain up his leg. He wanted to cover his wife with a blanket, but he could not even sit up. He found he could move forward a bit as long as he stayed on his left side. Then he saw it…the telephone! If he could only nudge his way over there he could get help. Forty minutes later he was trying to force his left arm up enough to pull on the doilies under the phone. Once it fell to the floor he could actually hear the dial tone. He wiggled and paused, then wiggled some more until he got his mouth on the mouth peace. It took some doing but he managed to hit ‘operator.’ “Operator” “Hello…this is an emergency…I need an ambulance.” “Hello…Operator.” “I hear you…I need an ambulance.” “This is the operator are you there?” “Damn right I’m here, I need…” The phone went dead. At that moment Loren realized that the speaker element was in his van where he had taken it so his wife could not use the phone. Now here he was in that same predicament. He glanced up at the sealed door at the top of the basement steps. Thunder came over and licked Loren’s ear. “Sorry, Fella, looks like you hooked up to a real loser. Loren could feel his legs getting cold, and now what little movement he had in his left leg and arm seemed to be slipping away. As he lay there he thought of who might just happen by, see all the cars, and try to get in. Who could that be? Sunday was always a quite day in his neighborhood, and once he did not show up at work maybe someone would come by looking for him. Gloria’s classes were going strong, but she was not really close to anyone that would come over and check on her. No…it looked like this indeed was the end. He realized that if the police finally came in they would have to shoot Thunder. Those thoughts were in his mind as he fell asleep. He wondered if he would ever wake up. He hoped he never would. Norm is a True-crime writer and Peoria Historian. This story is a work of fiction. norman.kelly@sbcglobal.net

A BOOKKEEPER’S DREAM

Henry Huber sat on a three-legged stool waiting for a cue from the stage manager to close the stage curtain. As it was flashed he hit the buttons that closed the main curtain to thundering applause. Not for him of course, Henry never got any applause in his entire life. He smiled as the actors raced by him, doubting that any of them even saw him waving at them. Henry then hit the house lights and a tape recording of some music as the standing room only crowded drifted toward the exits.

Over in the actors dressing rooms some champagne bottles popped as the cast and crew joined to have a final cast party. Henry was of course part of the crew, but being almost sixty, he naturally felt out of place. Some of the actors spoke to him, even some of the pretty actresses, but they never called him by name. He spent most of his time back somewhere in the shadows. Oh, there was a time when he first joined the Community Theatre that he had hopes of landing a role in one of the plays. It never happened so he just drifted towards the lighting and sound crew. There were a few men like him in the bunch, but he never got very friendly with them. Hell…it had always been that way. As a young kid he was the chubby kid that most of the kids ignored. You remember…the last kid to be picked…things like that. He never seemed to have a real pal, and as he thinned down and went on to college…very little changed. Another strike against him was that math came easy to him and he breezed right through accounting in college. He soon learned that the average kid did not like a smart kid. Now what had really changed? The company where he worked pretty much treated him as the old bookkeeper that he was. Nothing changed. He never married, rarely even talked to a woman. Life was not very good for Henry Huber.

During the off season he still volunteered to help at not only the Community Theatre but the Stock Company that put on wonderful shows in a tent out in the park. There was a lot of work to do there, and Henry thrived doing it. His job consisted of forty hours or so of doing boring bookkeeping work. Now this was back when the computer was some massive machine off somewhere in a big city. Most of what Henry was doing would soon be obsolete and he was not certain that he could adopt or adjust to what was coming down the Pike…and that was a world of computers. Oh, not to worry. Henry was a ‘tight-wad’ as some of his co-workers used to call him. He considered himself efficient and spent only the money he had to. Also for many years he had a small scheme that he had worked on for almost thirty-five years. It was dishonest of course, but Henry rationalized that the company owed him a bit more money, and once he decided to proceed he never looked back.

He had branched out over to make-up and loved taking a normal actor and turning him into a very old man or woman. He simply loved doing his job. Here he got to talk to the actor who sat patiently maybe for over an hour or so as Henry’s expert hands turned the actor into the role the writers called for. As part of his scheme he took every free acting class that was offered, and on a few occasions when an old man was called up for a minor role, Henry gleefully stepped in. He assisted the directors, supervised the other make-up artists and ingratiated himself into everything he could find to do. When the winter season came around he was considered a valuable crew member in the Community Theatre. He got virtually no attention at work…little respect as well…it was only his theatre work that kept him believing that he was indeed a valuable individual.

Secretly Henry loved to take the show’s star role and appear on the stage. He was in full make-up and as he walked out on the empty stage staring out at the darkened theatre seats. “So folks, you liked that huh? Well, stick around, ‘you ain’t heard nothin’ yet. Do you remember the Broadway show ‘Music Man’? Well, meet Professor Harold Hill, class of ’05.” With that Henry would burst into two or three songs from the show. He would rush off the stage, hit the curtain button. Wait a few moments then rush back on the stage for his encore. He loved his little moment in the bright lights. Hell…he thought had they given him a chance a few years ago he would probably be on Broadway today. A chance…that is all he ever asked for but it never came. THE OFFICE DREAMER

Every morning for almost thirty-five years Henry would drive one dilapidated old car or the other to work. He parked around back of his office building, tired of the remarks about his ‘junk heaps.’ He opened the rear door, looked up at the clock and smiled as the clock surely as old as he struck 6:00 AM. He headed for the small kitchen where he brewed an entire pot of coffee. He often wondered if the other employees thought a damn spirit brewed the coffee for them. At any rate no one ever in all those years ever came up to him and thanked him for his coffee making. He glanced through the paper until the coffee was brewed. He poured three full cups into his thermos and walked off to his small office on the third floor of the building. He clicked on the lights, tossed his jacket at a chair and sat down sipping on his coffee. He looked at his in-box which was always full and put his feet up on his desk. This was his favorite time of the day. Not a soul would enter the building until almost eight o’clock. He put the cap on his thermos and leaned back in his desk chair. Actually he had no reason to nap…he slept quite well, thank you. But it was a habit he had gotten into over twenty-years ago. It was only the last year or so that his recurring dream began to focus on his conscious brain, so to satisfy that need…he took his little twenty minute nap assured that he would be satisfied with his wonderful dream.

The dream always began with Henry walking along the beach on some tropical island. As far as he could see the white sand beckoned him as he waded bare-footed watching the waves break over his feet. The balmy breeze tickled the palm trees and in response they rustled their leaves in contentment. He wore the same red swimming trunks and his solid, tan body moved along with grace and controlled power. He was an Adonis and the sea gulls swooped in as close as they could to get a better look at him. Suddenly there she was! She was always there, maybe a hundred yards down the beach. And…as always, she was alone just waiting for him. The moment she saw him she came running toward him. Nude from the waist up, a small yellow skirt covered her slim hips. As she neared Henry held out his arms and soon they were kissing, her long brown hair blowing in the easy wind. “Henry…Henry my love you’ve come back!”

Suddenly he was awake. The dream had aroused him and he looked about wondering where he was. He could still smell her perfume, feel her lips on his. He dropped his feet to the floor and a flood of stinging pain came to him. His left leg was asleep and he rubbed it vigorously to restore the feeling in it. He was up and walking now drinking his final cup of coffee. At around eight his telephone rang, which was a rare occasion in Henry’s office. “Henry…Nonnie, Mr. Watkins will see you at ten…okay?”

“Sure…fine, thanks Nonnie, ten it is.”

Over the years Henry got to see the president of the company at the Christmas party, but rarely got to talk to him. He had the six month meetings with him, but it was all figures, certainly no personal talk. He stood trying to remember where the damned office was. Everyone moved around but him. They did paint Henry’s office three years ago but they did not ask him what color he preferred.

“Nonnie smiled, “Right on time Henry…as usual. Go on in.”

“Henry…my God has six months gone by so soon?”

“Yes sir, Mr. President, time rolls on. I think you will find all these figures to your liking.”

“I am sure I will Henry. You and I started here the same month…I shudder to think where we would be today without your bookkeeping skills.”

“Thank you sir…I appreciate that.”

Mr. Watkins fired up his big cigar. Years ago he quit offering Henry one since he refused over the years. Through a cloud of smoke Henry handed the president the folder with the company’s bottom dollar figures. Watkins sat silently flipping through the pages. Henry looked around the office. He sat waiting for the same stupid questions the old man always asked.

“Henry, are we carefully scrutinizing those exorbitant expense sheets our salesman are turning in?”

“Yes sir…I certainly am.”

“Our overall expenses…are we doing all we can to keep them in check Henry”

“Yes sir, Mr. President we certainly are keeping them in check.”

“Good. Fine job Henry, I have no idea what I would do without you. Fine job!”

“Thank you, sir.”

Henry smiled and took the ledgers from the president. He walked into his office and tossed them on his desk. “Thank you Mr. President, oh, yes sir Mr. President. Why in the hell don’t I wash his feet next time I go in there?” Henry went down the hall to the break room for a Coke. “One day,” he said to himself…“There will be a day for me.”

Henry was in a foul mood once he flipped over his calendar to see a note written there in his own handwriting. ‘Thirty-five years today.’ Now he did not expect a brass band and naked dancing girls, but he thought maybe his boss would have a card on his desk…even a little money in it…something… but nothing happened. All that kind of disappointment did over the years was strengthen his resolve to keep his little scheme working until the day he could finally break away from this place. Happy and fully compensated…now that and the lady on the beach were his dreams…dreams now…but not far down the Pike he would see them all come true. HENRY’S POT OF GOLD

Henry never liked the word ‘embezzler’ although that was precisely what he was. Almost from the first year as the company’s bookkeeper he began a systematic raiding on the thirty-four accounts he was in charge of. Mind you we are talking nickels and dimes. Henry was no fool. At the most he garnered about $4,000 a year. That was spread over all of his accounts and with virtually no supervision it was a piece of cake for Henry. Oh, there were audits, but Henry was an expert at concealment and never once did they even come close to unlocking Henry’s elaborate accounting scheme. As the accounts changed over the years, Henry merely made a few adjustments here and there. He was tempted to take more but he never did. Greed was not part of his nature. Once he had accumulated some money he made a few shrewd investments, later he bought annuities, CD’s and along with something new called an IRA why he accumulated to date $207,341.42. That may not mean a fortune to some men but to Henry it was. That along with his salary which was not part of that figure and frugal living, he was left in a very stable financial condition.

He rarely took a vacation out of the city and his sick days had accumulated as well. He would be fine. When he went seeking his sunny island somewhere in this big world he would make the perfect choice. He meant to spend at least a decade trying to forget the miserable life he had endured.

Every year Henry made the trip to Eureka, Illinois and Lincoln, Illinois to talk to his bankers and make new investments. He had his savings and checking accounts in Peoria, Illinois but they were always rather low compared to his hidden fortune. He had spent years accumulating his nest egg, and now that he was about to benefit from all his efforts he was even more cautious. With the accounting system reverting to computers he knew it was time to get out.

His fantasies led him to devise ways for his disappearance. He could go on a fishing trip and just disappear. Ice fishing…poor Henry must have fallen into the water. Silly things like that. He did fear the IRS so if he could arrange to get all of his money out of the banks, elaborately plan his fake death…why hell…that would do it. Like most of Henry’s dreams they all faded away. No he would stick to his idea about going to an island. He was looking into an island that the USA did not have a treaty with…that might work. Then one day while working with three young actors over at Corn Stock Theatre, the tent folks, the idea came to him in a flash.

HENRY’S FIRST STEP

Henry Huber sat in front of the president’s desk waiting for his boss to get off the phone. “Henry…don’t tell me six months have passed so quickly? “No sir, this is something personal that I wanted to talk to you about it. I know this is rather sudden but I have decided to retire.”

Mr. Watkins stared at his old friend. “Retire? Henry I thought that you and I would one day retire at the same time. Are you ill?”

“I do have a bit of a stomach problem…my doctor advised me that I should relax more. But I just feel it is time to go. I want to do a bit of traveling while I still can.”

“I don’t blame you, Henry…I surely don’t. Have you picked a date to leave?”

“Well, sir, the annual audit is due in thirty-eight days. I thought I would see us through that and then leave the next day. Does that sound okay with you?”

“Fine…fine Henry. That would give us time to find a replacement…not that we ever could. You have been a part of this place…and me…for thirty-five years. Who knows, I may follow you rather quickly.”

“Speaking of replacement I was hoping that finding that man or woman would be my sole responsibility. It costs to hire head hunters so I wonder if you would allow me to do that. I would of course train that person and I do know that we need someone with some computer skills, because I fear that I am also becoming obsolete.”

“Why that is admiral, Henry, I will clear that with the HR people and it will be your baby. No one will miss you more than me Henry. FULL STEAM AHEAD

Monday the calls began to come to Henry’s phone concerning the ad he had placed in several newspapers locally and in some of the larger cities in Illinois. He moved out of his office for a few days after he got permission to have it brightened up a bit for the new candidates to consider. The shock of his old run down digs would scare away even the most eager candidate.

He quickly went through the applicants selecting ten to interview. They were excellent people and although he thought a couple of the women would have been perfect employees he knew he could only select a man.

Finally the interviews were over and Henry reported to his boss.

“You know Mr. President I really enjoyed this process. I must say that there are some brilliant people out there. I realized now that I should have given this job up a few years ago.”

“Nonsense Henry. This company thrived because of your steady hand. So did you select someone?” “I did…he is a graduate from Northwestern and is a CPA. He has no family other than his aging mother and worked at his last job up in Chicago for over twenty years. He would never consider Peoria but he wants to come down and buy a house and move his mother in with him. He wants to give a three-week notice and he could start right on the time table we have set. I hope you like him.”

“I am sure I will. Thank you again Henry…is it okay if I tell the board what is happening?”

“Sure…and thank you for letting me conclude this on my own.”

THE WINNER IS

Henry spent an hour or so completing his makeup. He had his right shoe built up with an orthotic device so that it made him limp slightly. His left shoe had a built in lift which smaller men often used to grow a bit overnight. He remembered a friend of his as a kid had a ‘Club foot,’ and that and a cane made his character even more authentic. He spent a little too much money on the wig, but all the rest he did right there in front of his large mirror at home. The rimmed glasses went well with the small mustache and finally Henry was satisfied. He grinned into the mirror: “Hello there Mr. Carl W. Schmidt…welcome to the company. I hope you are as popular as Henry Huber.” He had the very slight German accident down perfectly since he played the part of a German butler in one of Corn Stock’s plays.

That Monday Henry was waiting for Mr. Watkins to come into his office. He stood as the president waved him in. “Come on in Henry, Nonnie will soon have us a cup of coffee. So you are just about set to go?”

“Almost. First I want to play a little game with you…if that’s okay. "

“Good way to start off the morning. Whatcha’ got?”

Henry handed four completed applications over to his old friend. “I want you to pick the one you would have chosen. My choice is among those four.”

Watkins smiled and sat down. As he sat pondering the applications Nonnie served the coffee. A full five minutes later the president handed his selection over to Henry. “Mr. Schmidt is head and shoulders above the others, Henry”

“I agree. The wonderful thing is sir, that Carl will need virtually no training. I may have to show him the men’s room and where the best places to eat, but now get this. His company designed the very accounting system we have in place. In fact he told me that he was here twelve years ago explaining the system to us. Now that is what I call very good luck.”

“Indeed it is. Now Henry I know you don’t want this…but I insist. We will have a nice dinner for you at The Barracks and we will say some nice things about you. Would you like to have Schmidt there?”

“I got the invitation and I thank you. I did call Carl but he will not be here until Monday after the party. When he flies in Sunday I will bring him over and walk him through the building. He is such a bright guy he probably still remembers the layout.”

Mr. Watkins laughed. “Well, Henry, I guess this is our last meeting. I cannot praise you enough for your service and your undying loyalty and friendship. God Bless you Henry Huber you will be sorely missed.” The two old friends shook hands and Henry left. He had a flash of guilty feelings but by the time he was back in his office they were gone.

A week earlier Henry Huber in full make-up as Carl W. Schmidt had

rented a small apartment by paying one month’s rent in advance. He had given Henry Huber’s name as a reference and moved in a few essentials into the furnished apartment. He told Mrs. Lyons, the landlady that he would need the place until he found a house in Peoria for himself and his mother. God…what a starring role he played. Henry went back to his home and continued his packing. He would rent a small trailer for his car to pull and take everything he did not need over to the Salvation Army.

The only thing he would leave would be his bed since he would stay in his house the night before he would drive off to Florida. He would leave some other things including the bed for the folks that bought his house. Just for fun he hid two fifty dollar bills as a surprise. From there he would select his Island and never look back. Everything was ready.

The night of the retirement party went rather well. People that rarely spoke to him in over twenty-years shook his hand. They kidded him about going off to an island somewhere and begged him to send them a post card. A couple big wigs said some nice things to him from the dais and soon it was over. They gave him a nice watch and five hundred dollars in cash that they had collected from everyone and the night was over. He was called upon to make a speech which lasted about one minute. Thank God it was over.

WELCOME CARL SCHMIDT

Henry left his rented apartment and headed for work in a rented car. He walked into the old building and headed directly for Mr. Watson’s office. Nonnie stood and put out her hand. “Good morning, Mr. Schmidt, welcome to the company. I hope you have a long and enjoyable career with us.”

“Thank you Nonnie, Henry spoke about you many times. He told me that it was you that ran this company.”

Nonnie laughed. “I bet he did. Mr. Watkins will see you. Go right in Mr. Schmidt.”

“Please…Nonnie, call me Carl.”

Henry had just gotten past a hard test and he was positive that Watkins would be a lot easier. He was absolutely right.

For the next thirty days Henry played his role as Carl W. Schmidt, doing the same old job he did for thirty-five years. He managed to move almost $7,000 into his varied accounts and enjoyed doing it as he always did. In his apartment the last few days he spent painting the entire place. He realized that his prints would be all over his renovated office, but doubted anyone would even consider checking for his prints there. He had a flawless plan…he could not fret over every move the police might make. The landlady was delighted. “I’ll deduct whatever you spend Carl from your next months’ rent. It is so kind of you to do this. I will really hate to see you go when you buy your new house.”

“No need for that Elsie…glad to do it.”

Henry finished his painting job and was very careful to wear rubber gloves from then on out. He wanted to be sure that not one fingerprint would be available once the detectives came looking for the mysterious Carl Schmidt. CARL’S FIRST AUDIT

“So Carl,” Wilkins said, “This is our first audit together. I am afraid that Henry rarely bothered me with the details. He brought me the ledgers, I looked them over, questioned him a bit and that was it. I hope you have the same inclination.”

“You bet I have Mr. President. So far it feels like I have been here for years. We have such pleasant people and a great working environment…not to worry.”

“Thank you Carl…you are a blessing.”

Henry quickly finished his phony audit as his last act. He blatantly cooked the books that any fool could see through. He took a final five thousand dollars that he knew would be blamed on Carl as well and signed Carl’s name to the final audit. Satisfied he took the ledgers over to Nonnie.

“Carl…Mr. Wilkins is taking a long week-end and will be back Tuesday morning. Let’s lock these in his desk. What will you do this week-end?”

“My mother and I will look at the three houses I think she would like. Hope she picks one so I can get all this settled. I hate living in an apartment and she needs to get out of that old folks home.”

“I wish you good luck.” THE BUBBLE BURSTS

Tuesday morning President Wilkins sat at his desk waiting for his bookkeeper. He had glanced at the ledgers but was not sure what he was looking at. “Nonnie, would you ask our security officer to drive over to Carl’s apartment and check on him? He does not answer his phone.”

Officer John Davies was shown into Carl’s apartment after he explained that the company president was worried about him. John walked in, he looked around, admired the condition of the place and called out. “Mr. Schmidt, its John from your office.” The landlady and John walked through all the rooms and knocked at the bedroom door. No answer. John opened the door. The bed was neatly made but there was no Carl Schmidt.

After Officer Davies reported to Wilkins the president made several calls. Soon the board room was full of men in expensive suits. The company attorney was there with the private auditing firm. An hour later the initial report from the auditor shocked everyone.

“Well, it looks like we have about $12,000 in cash missing. It seemed to have begun when Mr. Schmidt took over the books. We went back a couple of years but found everything to be in order. It looks like this Schmidt just popped in long enough to steal a few thousand and off he went. We have called the police and we hope that the FBI will get into it…but…it is a small amount so who knows what they will do?”

Mr. Wilkins thanked the auditor. “You mean he did this for a measly twelve thousand dollars? Now that seems incredible. My God…this would break Henry’s heart. You also said you were sure that nothing else was missing. I say we wrap this up as soon as possible. Switch those accounts over to our new computer system and let’s keep this among ourselves. We don’t want our competitors laughing at us. So, I’ll leave this all up to you Mr. Harrington…thank you gentlemen for coming in.”

Nonnie and her boss sat in the office talking and mulling over the past incident. Nonnie agreed one hundred percent with her boss that Henry should never hear about this. “Poor Henry,” she said. “He worked so hard all his life for this company…and now this.”

“He surely did. This Schmidt seemed so perfect. I have a feeling that the police will be able to run him down. But I will recommend to the board that we do not prosecute. My God…twelve thousand dollars…the audit to prove a case against him would cost us three times that. Thanks Nonnie. Let’s get out of here early today…whatcha’ say?”

“Amen.”

Friday, Nonnie sat opening the mail. She immediately picked up a post card from her friend Henry. She smiled when she saw a scantily clad island girl carrying a basket of fruit on her head walking on the beach. She flipped it over.

“Hello from my bit of paradise. Hope things are going well back home.”

Henry.

Editor’s Note: Norm is a Peoria historian and author. norman.kelly@sbcglobal.net

This is a work of fiction.