As the man opened his car door he was bathed in the dome light. Bald, tattoos on his neck and piercings in his lower lip helped distinguish him from what they would have considered to be a ‘normal’ visitor to the bridge at this time of night. He clutched a plastic bag when he emerged from the vehicle and covered the short distance separating them. He stood eight feet away.
The man gestured to a bench overlooking the Lester River. It was located twenty-feet to their left. In unison, all three bodies ambled to it.
He spoke. “I have it all. Show me the money.”
Hodges, held the briefcase he had bought at the Duluth Pack store earlier. He placed it on the bench. The dealer alarmed them at first when he reached inside of his jacket. They relaxed when he pulled out a tiny flashlight and flicked it on. When he reached down, unlatched the briefcase and raised the lid, shining the light inside to reveal the contents, Hodges acted. He withdrew the small caliber automatic and pointed it at the dealer who backed away a step with his hands raised.
“Shoulda known you weren’t for real. Stick me up for this?” He held the bag high. “You want it, you’re gonna have to swim for it.” He wound up to toss it in the river.
“We don’t want it,” Hodges said. The dealer stopped, confused.
He looked at them. “What the hell do you want?”
“Information. Tell us what you know about Tom Hecimovich and the last time you saw or talked to him,” Hodges said.
“So this really does have something to do with Tom, huh? I was beginning to think it was just bullshit.”
Hodges gestured with the gun, a gesture that said, ‘just tell us about Tom, asshole’.
Mancoat and Hodges heard the unmistakable noise of a pump-action shotgun being readied for firing behind them.
“How dumb you fellas think I am that I’d come out here without backup. That sound you heard was Freddy with a sawed-off, twelve gauge shotgun a fixin’ to blow a hole the size of Rhode Island through you two.” The emerging moonlight shone in his eyes, giving an otherworldly look to an already strange looking human being.
Hodges betrayed no emotion while Mancoat’s body trembled. “It would appear that we have a standoff,” he said.
“A Mexican standoff, I’d say. Ain’t that somethin’? Freddy, keep your gun on ‘em till we figure out what we’re gonna do.” He stood by the bench, keeping his eyes on Mancoat and Hodges.
“We have a conundrum,” Hodges said. “May I propose a solution?”
“Got a few solutions myself, but you go first. I’m curious.” The dealer, flipped the brief case off the bench and sat down.
Hodges kept the automatic trained on him as he moved. “All right, why doesn’t…Freddy, come into view and we both lower our weapons, then, like civilized men, we can converse. Since we brought you out here on false pretenses we will reimburse you an appropriate amount of cash, after you answer our questions. In the end, everyone goes their separate ways.”
The dealer rubbed his lower back. “Sorry, I got a bad disc. The doctor says I might need surgery at some point, but, all I got is Obamacare, high deductibles, copays, you know the story. Anyway, I digress. What kind of reimbursement you talking about?”
“It depends upon the information you provide,” Hodges said. Mancoat tried not to reveal his nervousness.
“About Tom!”
“Yes, everything you know would be very appreciated.”
“Freddy,” the dealer yelled. “Get over here!” Freddy turned out to be female. In the partial light of the moon, she looked about thirty, fine figure with short, black hair.
“Okay with you if we lower the guns on three?”
Hodges nodded.
“Okay, one…two…three,” the dealer counted. Freddy and Hodges slowly lowered their weapons.
“Now, Tom was a unique individual. I liked him, but he was a little messed up.”
That’s like this reprobate calling Al Capone a small time hood, Mancoat thought.
The dealer continued. “I’ve known him for a long time, and I suspect he may not be with us anymore. I don’t think you guys know Tom. You got my number from somebody else or maybe you got into his paperwork and found my number. I don’t know. Personally, I think Tom’s dead. Doesn’t make any difference anymore. He was a small piece of my business. One thing, you want to know is that he always used the name Richard Gabrielson when he bought from me—kind of a kick at his adoptive parents I think.”
“So you didn’t have anything to do with his disappearance?” Hodges asked.
The dealer looked hurt. “That’s a big negatory; Tom was okay and we had a mutually beneficial relationship, but you learn to move on. Anyway, I’d check with his adoptive parents, maybe they finally got tired of his bullshit act and offed him.”
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