Siblings (11 page)
Authors: K. J. Janssen
Ron was in the bathroom shaving when his father made another of his rare appearances.
Ronnie, what troubles you this time?
Ron humorously replied, “Dr. Symington, I presume?”
One and the same.
“
What brings you here, today?”
Now, don’t be coy, son, you know that you conjured me up. What’s so pressing that you need to talk to your old dad?
“Okay, you’re right. I do need to talk with you. I’m in a real jam at the Center. I’m afraid I may lose my position as CEO.”
Well that is more important than a Thanksgiving dinner. By the way, I was pleased that everything went reasonably well for a Symington get together. As for this other mess, I hate having to say ‘I told you so,’ but you will remember that when you added the last three practices, I warned you not to make as a condition to their joining, that you would relinquish over all control of the Center in favor of a Board of Directors and operating committees, where each practice had an equal vote.
“
You don’t have to remind me. Peter and I went a few rounds over that when we accepted the applications. He said exactly what you said back then, so did Lynn, but I was so anxious to fill the empty space at the center that I ignored your advice and twisted Pete’s arm until he agreed.”
I remember when it happened. I had a sense of foreboding that if you signed those papers you would live to regret it. Now, here we are, with the wolf at the door.
“A wolf in the clothing of John Hazleton. He not only intends to challenge me for the CEO job, but he wants to remove our family name from the Center.”
I don’t know the man, but we can’t let him denigrate an institution that you have poured your life and blood into. I’ll be glad to help in any way I can to stop him. What does Peter say about all this?
“
Hazleton is threatening to unseat him as General Manager, as well. Pete’s ready to put up a fight. He hates Hazleton’s guts more than I do and that’s saying a lot. Actually it was Peter’s report on last quarter’s profits that triggered the situation. It seems that the empty office slots and some rental arrears have taken a toll on the Center’s profitability. Pete wanted to push through the applications of two promising practices in order to smooth over the financial results, but Hazleton blocked the idea. In the ensuing discussion, I threatened to challenge him as chairman of the New Business Committee and things went downhill from there.”
Well, what’s done is done. The important thing now is to stop him dead in his tracks. What do you know about the man?
“As far as I know he’s a happily married man. We know his wife Lorraine; they have a daughter who attends an out-of-town school and a son with a family. His practice is doing well. It’s one of the top grossers among the twelve active practices at the Center. Other than that all I know is what we have in his original application. He’s a politician through and through. He’s been cultivating a support group for the past year or two. That’s the thing that disturbs me the most. It’s as if he was waiting in the wings for Pete and me to drop the ball.
This thing with the growth slowing is apparently the catalyst he’s been waiting for.”
Don’t misunderstand what I’m about to suggest. Normally I wouldn’t stoop so low as to suggest that you invade another man’s private life, but this is an extraordinary circumstance. If I were you, I would hire a private investigator to look into the man’s background and lifestyle. I think that’s your best bet. If you can get something on him, perhaps you can get him to back down. That will be a lot better than a pissing contest between board members. It’s too important that all the practices work together for the good of the Center. You don’t want them picking sides. Not only that, any negative publicity about the Center might scare away future candidates and do irreparable harm.
“I think you’re right. The New Business Committee uses the two local private investigators to do their vetting, so I’ll have to look out-of-town.”
I suggest you play this close to the vest. It has the potential of backfiring if it isn’t handled properly. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t suggest that you keep a secret from Marilyn, but in this case I suggest you don’t tell her. You’ll probably have to share your plans with Peter. As far as anyone else, I advise that you two wait until you have something to work with. That way, if you can’t dig up anything, it’s better if no one knows what you’ve done.
“
I’ll get on it today.
Thanks for the advice, Dad. I hope someday we can get together like this and just shoot the breeze. It would be nice not having to have a crisis to bring you here.”
We’ll see, son,
and with that, he vanished.
They were seated in a booth at Sweeney’s.
Ron spoke first. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.” The card he was handed read PI Robert C. Rousch.
“Not a problem, Dr. Symington. What can I do for you?”
“I need you to investigate a business partner of mine, a Dr. John Hazleton. I have all the information you’ll need in this packet.”
Rousch reached for the packet and scanned its contents. “This should help me get started. I see you included his business itinerary. How recent is the information?”
“It’s the schedule he submitted for the next two weeks. Every practice must post their hours, so the General Manager can plan facility use and security. That last sheet is his personal datebook. I copied it when his secretary was away from her desk.”
“Is there any particular person or activity that I should concentrate on, aside from the doctor, or for that matter, anyone I should avoid?”
“Not that I can think of at this time. That may change as you check on him. I want photos of anyone he meets off the premises. If you can identify them, all the better. That would include any socializing he does during non-office hours. He’s a member of the Wallington Country Club. I’m also a member. I’ve arranged for you or any of your associates to have a guest pass under the name Stephen Gibbons.”
“That will work fine. How often do you want to meet?”
“Any time you have anything you feel I need to see. You have all my phone numbers. If you leave a message, be cryptic and use the Stephen Gibbons name. Is there anything else you’ll need?”
“I don’t think so. The information you gave me seems to be very thorough.”
“This is a top priority for me. I need answers quickly, regardless of the cost. Understood?”
“Yes sir, you’re very clear. I’ll be back to you promptly.”
Rousch finished the rest of his beverage, rose, and left the bistro.
A three day High-Stepper convention at Wallington House kept Wilson and his crew busy handling the overflow of vehicles. He welcomed the work and the overtime, which kept him from dwelling on the Abbott brothers and the promise he made to his PO and FBI Special Agent Hawkins. The element of danger was ever present and was beginning to win over his decision to work with the FBI.
One evening, as he arrived home, his cell phone rang. It was George Abbott calling. It had been three weeks since the Abbotts showed up at his apartment and made him an offer to be a distributor for their stash of hashish; it seemed as if it was a lot longer than that.
He answered on the fourth ring. “Wilson Symington.”
“Wil, this is George Abbott. We need to meet.”
“Okay. When?”
“How about right now? Bobby and I are about a block away.”
“Well, I don’t know. I just got home. I haven’t even had a chance to eat.”
“That’s perfect. We haven’t either. I’ll stop and get us some burgers and fries. You supply the drinks. Okay?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“See you in about ten minutes,” George said and the connection ended.
Wilson dialed Special Agent Hawkins. “George just called. He’s picking up food and they’ll be here in about ten minutes.”
“Great, I was wondering what was taking them so long. Don’t worry about anything. The bugs we planted around your place will record everything they say. Don’t try to play secret agent to get them to talk. Just be yourself and agree to whatever they propose. We’ll have plenty of opportunities to gather the kind of evidence we’ll need for a conviction. This is just the kickoff. I’ll set up a meeting at Blaine’s office for eight tomorrow morning. We’ll talk then.”
Wilson got a six-pack from the refrigerator, tore off the plastic holder, and put the cans on the cocktail table in front of the couch.
Ten minutes on the dot, the Abbotts were at his front door. He let them in and George put the bag of fast-food down on the cocktail table and placed a shopping bag on the floor next to him.
“Hope you like double cheeseburgers.”
“If you don’t, I’ll eat yours,” said Bobby with a laugh.
“You don’t have to worry about that. Cheeseburgers are my favorite fast-food. Sit down, have a beer. I have wine too if you don’t like beer.”
“Beer’s fine for us,” George said. “Here, have some fries. We don’t usually eat this shit, but this is a special occasion.”
Contrary to public opinion, George and Bobby were fitness freaks. Not in the sense of extreme body building, but serious nevertheless. They were upper torso specialists; biceps, triceps, forearms, pectoral deltoids, rhomboids and the trapeziums. They spent two hours a day concentrating on one group of muscles or another. Their powerful upper body, narrow waists, and slim hips made them attractive to the young women who frequented the bars and taverns in Wallington. Their diet usually consisted of chicken, fish, fruit, and veggies, with no room for sweets, breads, and most dairy and certainly not for “fast food.”
They exchanged idle chatter for the ten minutes it took to eat up everything down to the last french fry, which George grabbed quickly as his older brother started to reach for it. Wilson gathered up all the papers and cardboard fry cartons. He grabbed three empty beer cans and the garbage and dropped them into the waste basket in the kitchen. When he returned to the room, he was ready to talk business.
“We’re ready to start doing business in the territory I designated for you. I want you to start this weekend. I talked to a couple of guys that will be your contacts. They’ll be the buyers for the university frats and gangs that we will be supplying. You’ll pick up the product at a designated spot and deliver it to them. You’ll get a receipt for the goods. That’s it. This time you don’t have to get involved with collections or anything else. It’s all prepaid.”
“That sounds like you’re just using me as a mule. I thought I’d be involved in selling the stuff and building up a clientele. You’re not giving me a chance to build up commissions.”
“Don’t get your nose out of joint. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to make big bucks, but I need you to handle these deliveries first. I’ve already made the sales, but to show my good intentions, I’m going to pay you the commission anyway. As soon as you give me the receipt from our customers, I’ll pay you $5,500; that’ll be in cash. You got any problem with that?”
Wilson looked a little ashamed. “No, of course not. That’s very generous.”
“I told you I felt bad about you going away. This is our way of thanking you. Now, you just be ready when I call.”
Wilson nodded. “Don’t worry, I will be.”
***
Wilson arrived at his PO’s office before Special Agent Hawkins did. Blaine sat him down with a bottle of water. “Well, the big day has finally arrived. Any regrets?”
When no answer was forthcoming, he looked Wilson square in the eyes. “You’re not having any reservations, are you?”
“Not exactly.”
“That’s not much of an answer. What’s going on?”
“Well, yesterday when George and Bobby were at my place and we were eating fast-food and downing a few brews, they seemed, I don’t know, real. I got to thinking about the tough life those two boys have had. Their mother died when they were pre-teens and their father raised them until they left the house at the age of twenty-one; George first, followed by Bobby a year later. I hear that their father was a real bastard. He got drunk all the time and whipped them with his belt. Their father was a steel worker. He tried to get them apprentice jobs, but they screwed around just to humiliate him. It worked and they both were fired. Their father never forgave them for the embarrassment he suffered at the hands of his fellow workers because of their antics. Last year he died in an accident at the plant. That’s how the boys got seed money to start up with drugs. I have to be honest, Mr. Blaine, I kind of feel sorry for them. Life just seems to be stacked against them. They’re really victims, not perps.”
“Whoa! Wait just a minute. How can you be sorry for those sociopaths? They’re old enough to know exactly what they’re doing. Don’t be fooled by their hard life. They know what they’re doing is wrong. They know people are being hurt. You saw the pictures. Innocent people are dying and those two are up to their necks in it.” He stopped long enough to gauge whether he was getting through to Wilson, whose face was expressionless. It was apparent Wilson didn’t want to hear this, but he decided to continue anyway. “George and Bobby are hoodlums in every sense of the word. You saw those pictures Special Agent Hawkins showed you. They deserve to be put away for a long time to drive home to them that the so-called victimless crimes they support have real consequences. Those boys are a menace to society and they will be prosecuted.”
“Okay, I hear what you’re saying, Mr. Blaine.”
“Wilson, the FBI is going to put the Abbott brothers away, with or without you. I thought you were solidly on board with this. What do you find so wrong with our closing down these drug rings and getting those death-dealing drugs off the street?”
Wilson covered his face with his hands and sighed. “Nothing, of course. I guess I’m just getting last minute jitters.”
Blaine put his hand on Wilson’s shoulder. “Look, son, I know it isn’t easy to play Judas. It takes a lot of courage, but when this is all over, the world will be a better place and you’ll have a clean record. The Abbots will be in prison where they should have been instead of you. So let’s get rid of all doubt and be ready for Special Agent Hawkins when he arrives. We’re going to do this and we’re going to do it together. Right?”
“Yes, sir!”