Bob couldn’t remember the last time he ate. He also didn’t remember the last time he slept. Though he stayed in the hotel suite, he was fed mostly meth and bath salts, turning, and merging his hallucinations with reality to where he didn’t recognize what was real and what was a fantasy created inside his head.
He only knew that at some particular time at night, Annie pushed him out the hotel room and he headed down the elevator and onto the gaming floor with the pack of drugs. He didn’t know what his fate was once he sold all the dope in the satchel.
He tried pushing that thought into the back of his mind. It was quickly forgotten. That woman security guard trailed him as he went to a man on the slots. The same man he sold to the other night played with frustration showing as he slammed the button furiously.
“Hey dude. Remember me?” He glanced up at Bob and nodded.
“What is it?”
“You need a little boost?”
He pretended ignoring him. “Shit! Yeah, this machine is fucked up! I need a break.” He pulled himself off the cushioned chair and headed toward the men’s restroom. Bob discreetly followed. Once inside he headed to the back handicap stall. He opened the door, but it was secured.
“I’m using it,” a man muttered with impatience.
“Sorry dude. I’ll just wait until you finish.”
“Whatever, there are four other stalls you know. Are you queer or something?”
“No, dude, I’m, you know.”
“No, I don’t know,” the man sitting on the throne stated in growing frustration.
“Is there a problem?” A voice asked from the far end of the rest room. Bob turned around and saw a bearded security officer, along with a Native with bow-low tie and long, braided ponytail, and packing a snub-nosed .38 revolver in his left holster.
“I’m trying to take a shit here, and this queer wants in my stall,” the man stated from inside the stall.
“I…I’m sorry,” Bob said as he started to leave after he noticed his buyer leaving the urinal and going back on the floor.
“What’s in the pack?” The Native detective asked.
“OH, nothing, honest,” Bob Stammered.
“I think we got us a white drug dealer here,” the security guard accused, glaring disdainfully at Bob.
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” the Native detective sneered.
“Put your yourself up against the wall, hands up where I can see them. Damn, Paul he got the routine down, don’t he? You don’t think he’s been in this spot before, do you?“
“I do believe he has been busted a time or two.” Bob felt the security guard frisk him and pulled out his wallet. “McCormach, Robert.” He glanced at the pack lying on the floor and the detective opened the flap revealing the drugs inside. “Hot damn, Mack. What do we have here? Let’s see, little baggies of white, crystals. I almost bet it’s crystal meth!”
“I don’t know how that got in there. I must’ve grabbed the wrong pack when I checked out of my room earlier,” Bob tried to alibi his way out, knowing full well, this was going to be a long time in the big house. Something he wasn’t prepared for.
Bob felt his right hand, and then his left forced behind his back and cool metal hand cuffs secured on his wrists. “You, my friend is under arrest,” Paul, the detective told him.
“Oh shit,” Bob exclaimed as the security guard roughly escorted him out the rest room and onto the gaming floor. He caught a glance of Daryl and Annie watching him being taken to the back of house area through a set of swinging doors where a large sign read “Employees Only.” They walked down a long and narrow hallway until they stopped in front of a door. The security guard placed him there, placing him on a metal folding chair and closed the door firmly.
He felt sweat emitting from every pore of his body. Bob’s knees jerked up and down involuntarily and his eyes scanned the tight confines of this holding cell. There were no clocks to tell him how long he had been here. He had no way of knowing what happened out there, whether Daryl and Annie were still here or split leaving him literally holding the bag and most likely going to federal prison for it.
Bob heard the horror stories from places like Leavenworth, which had a special punishment for drug dealers. His mouth felt dry and he searched desperately for someone to feel sorry enough for him to at least give him a glass of water.
He spotted that Native housekeeper passing by the room in her overcoat apparently coming to work her shift. She glanced briefly at him and glared as if she placed a hex on him for his sinful ways.
“Is it this obvious?” Bob asked aloud. She turned and continued to her station. “God, why are you doing this to me?”
He saw the detective come to the door, unlocked it with a key card and came inside. He sat down across from him in another folding chair. He cleared his throat before asking, “Can I get you anything?”
“A glass of water would be nice,” Bob replied neutrally.
“Who are you working for?” Bob shook his head. “Look, Bob…I can call you Bob, right?”
“Yeah, sure, Paul.”
“You are in deep shit here. And as far as I can tell, there ain’t no way you could afford to buy that much product, unless you mixed it yourself. I’m sorry but you don’t appear smart enough to mix crystal meth and not get yourself killed trying it.”
“You got me there,” Bob admitted. “I’m willing to work with you but I need certain guarantees too. Like witness protection.”
“I can’t deliver that. That’s out of my hands. Are you suggesting that this might be bigger than just you celling little baggies of junk?”
“I don’t know. I just know I was hitching a ride to Seattle and this couple picked me up, got me high, and then I wound up here.”
“Where are they now?”
“I don’t know exactly. They were on the roulette wheel when you busted me.”
“Surveillance, you got a copy?” He held his portable Motorola to his mouth.
“Surveillance, here.”
“Any one on Roulette two?”
“Not at present. Was a couple, one Native male, one white girl on that game until about ten minutes ago.”
“Are they in the building still?”
“Negative, video saw them exit the main entrance.”
“Copy that. It looks like you’ve been hung out to dry, Bob.”
“Son of a bitch,” Bob sighed in frustration. He looked up at the detective. “He went by Daryl and she called herself Annie.”
“Anything else?”
“They had a room here. Four-twenty I think it was. They were partying with another Indian but never introduced himself. He kept talking about killing me off and not liking the fact that Daryl and Annie put me here.”
“I’ll get you your glass of water, Bob,” Paul stated, getting himself up and going to the door and letting himself outside.
It wasn’t but ten minutes later two security guards came in and escorted him down the hallway and deposited him at the back entrance where a loading dock stood nearby. Bob recognized the Lexus and his body stiffened with fear as Annie stepped out of the car.
“Bobby, you naughty boy. Mom is going to be very angry at you for misbehaving,” she scolded him as the hand cuffs were removed from his wrists the security guards pushed him toward Annie. “Come on, let’s get home before something else happens.”
Bob looked at the security officers with beseeching glances at them, hoping they’d understand the danger he was in now. “Aren’t you going to do something?”
Both turned their backs to him and returned inside the casino. The entrance closed and secured with a resounding thud.
“Bob, get in the car,” Daryl ordered him.
“Come on honey, it’s time to go.”
Bob sighed in resignation. He went to the back door, opened it, and climbed inside. The stereo blasted out a Gun N Roses tune that he recognized from ten years earlier. Daryl shifted the car and they left the casino. Bob looked back wistfully with a hope that maybe that detective would follow him. But there was no one behind them.
One thing Bob considered to his advantage was how deep the snow appeared outside.
It must be four feet deep. I just have to time it just right to make this work. They’re going to kill me if I don’t get out of here. He felt this urge to defecate or vomit or purge himself of anything inside his churning gut. He stared out the window looking at the darkened landscape of snow-covered land intermixed with houses with no lights on.
“Where we going to do it?” Annie asked Daryl.
“I don’t care. Some place out in the middle of no where so no one can hear the shot.”
“We gonna bury him too?”
“Are you serious? It’s the dead of winter. The ground’s frozen!”
“Okay, you don’t need to be so nasty, Daryl.”
“Look, remember it was your idea to bring him in the first place. I only went along with it because if you or I got busted, like he did, then we both be in deep shit. Now we ain’t got no product and out fifty g. Bob, I hope you understand, this ain’t personal. Business is business, that’s all.”
“I know,” Bob replied looking at Daryl’s reflection from the rear-view mirror. Another song came up from Joan Osborn, called “One of Us.” Bob listened to the lyrics and for some reason this song gave him hope . The car began slowing to a stop, he spotted a house with its lights on in the living room, and he knew this was the time.
Bob opened the back door and pushed himself out from the car, smacking his hip against the hand grip. The pain felt barely noticeable and then he felt more pain as the snow- and ice-covered road caused his arm to go limp and his left leg lacerated from the rock salt on the pavement. “Ha, Ouch, ah,” he cried out as his body tumbled and then stopped. But he wasted no time as he leapt up and sprinted quickly to the house with lights on.
“Bob! Come back,” Annie yelled out to him. He never so much as looked back as he continued running up he plowed driveway to the entrance and he banged on the door. It opened and the first thing he saw was the muzzle of a large caliber handgun pointed at his face.
“Those people in that car are going to kill me!” He exclaimed to the woman dressed in pink flannel nightgown, curlers in her hair, and glower on her face.
“Get inside and shut up.” She looked outside briefly once Bob was in the living room. His entire body shook violently. He sat on the floor, tears welled up and fell down his face. “Looks like they took off,” she stated as she closed the front door and got to his level by getting down on her knees. “It must be your lucky day, young man, I just happen to be a cop for the town of Hastings. What’s your name?”
“Bob, Bob McCormach. They’re bad people. They got me selling meth.” He rocked back and forth as if he were a mental patient at a psychiatric hospital. His glassy eyes shot nervously from side to side.
“I’m going to call my dad and then we’re going to the hospital to get you checked out.”
“Oh God, don’t, don’t leave me!”
“I ain’t leaving you. Just chill, okay?” She went to another part of the house. She walked back in the living room and was talking on a portable house phone. “Dad, it’s Tammy. I got a situation here. I don’t know this crazy guy came pounding on my door telling me there’s some people out to kill him. I don’t know if I believe him or he’s on some drug high and is freaking out. Can you come over? Okay. Okay, I’ll see you in about five minutes. Be careful this road is all kinds of icy tonight.” She ended the call and placed the phone a nearby end table. “My dad is also a cop and he’ll want to take a statement. Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“Well, I think after we get you to the hospital, they can check you out and see if you got any injuries.
Bob nodded at her. A knock at the door caused her to go and ask, “Is that you Dad?”
“Yes,” came a reply from voice that had a slight Swedish lilt to it.
“Secret password,” she tested him before opening.
“Kalamazoo,” he replied. She unlocked the door and opened it. “What have we here?”
“I’m Bob. I think I got myself into trouble with some bad people.”
“Okay, let’s get in my car and you can tell me the entire story from beginning to end. My name is Carl Swenson. This is my daughter Tammy. You need to get dressed girl. Put on your uniform. You’re on official duty now.”
End chapter four
Jerry Schellhammer 