Between Right and Wrong Page 2

  No one dared question, nor think about threatening, Ernie Godwin from that day forward.

  Boot camp provided the twenty recruits that succeeded in completing the training, a good base of skills. No one graduated without the ability to run five miles, then shoot perfect scores with the pistol, rifle and shotgun. Each man became a skilled fighter who would continue to sharpen their abilities during their careers. When boot camp was over, the group all moved to the Technical School phase of training, yet remained in the same dorms. Professors from local colleges provided the accredited parts of the group’s next phase of training for the following two years. Classes were accelerated. At the end of the two years Phil would gain his Bachelors of Science in Engineering and some practical experience. Throughout school, the students were teamed with different experienced officers and sent on missions. After school ended, some of the graduates became lone operatives and some became team operatives. Phil was a lone operative.

  Captain Joe Gilliam had been his lead during most of the missions Phil cut his teeth on. Often they found themselves hidden in a tree, or lying next to each other in full Ghillie Suits inside a drainage culvert waiting to spot a target, or watching movements for intel. They would pass the time asking questions about each other. It was during one of these conversations Phil asked Joe, “Cap, when people ask you what you do in the military what do you tell them? Folks back home always are writing, asking.”

  “I tell them I must be a custodian because mostly what I do is take out the trash.” Joe said with a sly grin.

  “Funny but accurate, I would say,” Phil retorted thinking deeply, knowing the finality of their work.

  “We don’t give the orders, Partner” Joe was rarely this serious, “It’s easy to dwell on some of the outcomes, but we are sworn, remember. We follow orders and we are the good guys.”

  “Ernie must have trained me well, I never ponder the job after. I see the good in it, I guess,” Phil whispered.

  School and training had been hectic, and like all young men, the class of trainees needed to blow off steam and get away for a while. There was a bar, which amounted to nothing more than an unpainted shack on the edge of the swamp. It was at the end of a 15 mile dirt road made up of hundreds of mud puddles. Surprisingly it was Ernie who was first to bring the trainees to Swampy’s.

  The trainee’s rules stated no one was allowed off the base in uniform, so when Ernie ordered civilian dress for first time out, everyone scurried to comply. Loaded up in a few unmarked vans, they took off for the forty five minute trip.

  The dim lit bar was open air. The smell of dank musky water and dead fish greeted their nostrils as everyone exited the vans. Air so thick it could be peeled back like a curtain engulfed them. The sounds of mosquitoes and frogs echoed in their ears. The rough-cut wood bar and walls had been rubbed smooth by all those who needed them to maintain vertical positions. Behind the bar was a short wavy haired fifty-ish woman with wrinkled cotton shirt and pants. Her rosy cheeks and warm smile welcomed all who would be called her patrons. Apart from the trainees, the crowd looked to be a few locals and a well-groomed group of young men all wearing dark sunglasses.

  “Have a good time fellas,” Ernie reached for the totty the bar tender had deftly slid to him. “Oh, and don’t mess with the group at the end of the bar. They look nice but those ATF trainees might be too tough for you Airmen.”

  So it began. Ernie had challenged their ego in earshot of the young men at the end of the bar. A few rounds of drinks and some inflammatory words and, well, boys will be boys. Phil had never been excited about fighting. The self-defense classes had been, to him, interesting and needed, but more of a study of motion and reactions. So, Phil sat on his bar stool watching Ernie take notes of the bar room brawl with interest. Phil was determined not to be part of Ernie’s entertainment until Mike Brumbage was hit from behind and down on the ground. A kick to the kidney was too much for Phil to ignore.

  The ATF trainee was large. Six two and about one hundred ninety five pounds. Phil was still growing into his adult body. At five eight and one fifty, he was grossly out sized, but the big fella was about to start kicking Mike again.

  Plowing into him like a linebacker, the big man went down. Phil took his position but surprisingly the big man was on his feet in a flash and visibly unhappy with Phil. Practice in Martial Arts is one thing, but this was a bar fight and the man came at Phil with a fury of punches. A crashing right took Phil back into the bar. The man rushed to pin Phil who saw him just in time to spin out of the way. He was at the man’s left and swung a hard right to the chin, bringing the man to his knees. Adrenaline pumping, Phil’s hours of practice took over his brain and a left knee knocked the big man to his back. Phil stood over him, not wanting to pounce. It was a mistake. His opponent was skilled. A leg whip brought Phil to the floor. In a blink they were face to face ripping lefts and rights to each other’s face. Phil’s vision blurred but survival instincts took over. He tipped back enough to bring a kick straight into the man’s face and followed it with a full mount. A left to the temple put the man out. Suddenly Phil’s vision broadened and he realized that all the other fighting was over and the crowd was watching him and his foe.

  Mike leaned over and picked Phil up off the man. “Thanks bub”, Mike’s favorite saying. “I owe you one.”

  Phil was still fuzzy from the fight and could only nod as Mike helped him regain his senses.

  The room was silent. Both groups looked at each other not knowing what to say or do.

  Ernie broke the silence, “Bobbie dear, how much we owe you?”

  “Nothing is broken and your boys were pretty entertaining this time, Ernie,” She smiled, there was slight laughter in her eyes, “Drinks come to fifty five and the mess at twenty. That’s discounted since you fellas put on the show.”

  “Pay the lady, boys” Ernie was out the door with a wave and heading towards the vans.

  Every one of them reached in their pockets and laid cash on the bar, tip included. Each waived a goodbye, a “thank you, ma’am,” tipping their hats, as they scurried out the door to the vans.

  That was the first of many such outings. Ernie used the visits as training, of sorts. Sometimes their opponents were AFT trainees from the nearby Federal Law Enforcement Training Center; and sometimes it was Marine recruits training somewhere in the swamp. These Air Force trainees became first rate fighters in that bar and, by the end of their time in Georgia, a tightly knit team. Phil, Ernie noticed, was tactical and calculated, even when emotional.

  CHAPTER 3

  Monday morning in the office started as usual. Phil was typically first to arrive. He made the coffee, poured a cup and sat down to review his workload. There was a new project to purchase an aged office building and convert it to lofts. Usually the structures were overbuilt for residential. Phil would assess the viability and integrity for the new intent.

  Phil loved walking the spaces that made up his assigned projects. He gained appreciation for buildings built before 1960 as they usually exhibited craftsmen’s handiwork. The masonry was perfectly straight and the grout in exacting form. Woodwork was fitted and millwork was obviously made with precision hand tools guided by caring hands. He also loved the drawing sets. As fine as computer design and drawings were, there was an artistic value to a set of prints drawn out on a drafting table. Letters were all done by hand with a cartoonish touch. Those who hand drafted the drawings and designs had a deeper insight into the soul of the buildings.

  Lou Luciano was the Superintendent and Lead Construction Manager for the firm. Lou had previously owned a construction company for years, travelling all over the country to build projects for congressmen, bankers, and even a few government buildings. Lou was no taller than six foot, and had been a weightlifter in college until an accident with a table saw cut off part of his thumb and the ends of his fingers on his left hand. An infection had atrophied muscles in his forearm and left him sick for months. It ended his career and hopes in weight
lifting but never effected the passion he had for construction.

  The firm had hired Lou as he aged and tired of always being on the road away from home. Lou thought of this job as retirement and turned his business over to his son, Lou Jr.

  Lou and Phil commonly walked the Firm’s projects together. Lou’s intimate experience in construction provided insight into the complexity of changing a building’s intent. Teaming Phil with Lou had led to increased profits for the company by eliminating most surprise changes during projects and allowing more and more projects completed on time and under budget. The success had not gone un-noticed. Both men were humble and always pointed out the other’s talent as the reason for success.

  Lou was now a home body. He was over sixty years old. Lou’s wife of forty four years was ailing and Lou refused to travel unless he could be home each day. Phil understood Lou’s feelings on travel. He had travelled enough in the military and for Phil, there was Roo to think about.

  Phil walked down the hall to Lou’s office. Behind the piles of files and the hanging racks of building drawing sets, was Lou, pouring over one of the design specifications.

  “You going with me today to see the Elm Street property, Mr. Lou?”

  Lou looked over the thick dirty glasses he wore, “Will have to be after lunch.” His gravelly voice retorted. “I have to get this project review out. Hey, go without me, maybe I have taught you enough to keep you dry behind the ears.” Lou smiled.

  “All right, I understand, next time just say, ‘I’m old and walk too slow for you’.” Phil quipped.

  Lou chuckled and waved Phil off. There was no delaying an assessment of this job. Prime real estate did not stay on the market long in Dallas no matter if the economy was good or bad.

  Phil drove to the realtor’s office and picked up the key to the property on Elm. Parking around the back, he entered through the dock door as instructed, and pulled out his IPad to start his notes. Experience in these abandoned buildings taught Phil to dress appropriately. He kept jeans and older dress shirts in the office and had changed into them prior to driving over; slipping on a pair of work boots to finish the ensemble.

  The power seemed to be shut off, so he worked by headlamp and stairs instead of elevators. The elevators would be assessed prior to an offer, by a licensed elevator tech. His evaluation went quickly. The building owners had gutted most of the floors enough to see the infrastructure and the mechanical systems; probably to eliminate any asbestos and lead based paint which would have prevented a clean sale. The smell of dust and musty air filled his nostrils. Some light filtered through the dirty windows but enough walls and stacks of boxes remained to keep the head lamp on for the duration of the inspection.

  Phil had finished the dark, dank basement and was working on the upper floors when he thought he heard a noise. In the corner of his eye he saw it coming too late to react.

  A familiar gravelly southern drawl creeped into his ears. “Phil, Phil you ok boy?” Lou spoke slowly.

  Phil opened his eyes to see Lou leaning over him. He felt a cold wetness on his face and wiped it. Blood.

  ‘Got concerned about you, not answering your phone, what happened?” The concern in Lou’s voice was evident.

  “Don’t know, I was doing my assessment and then I thought I heard something, but that’s all I know.”

  Phil felt his pockets for his wallet and keys. Both were still there. Checking his wrist, he found his watch was intact. “Do you see my IPad and glasses?”

  “Over there” Lou pointed a few feet away. The IPad was smashed, and the glasses had a bent temple from the blow. “Let me help you up and get you to a doc.”

  “Do I look that bad?” Phil was shaky still.

  “You ain’t winning no beauty pageant.”

  Lou reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, “here, wipe your face”.

  Phil complied and Lou looked at the wound above Phil’s right ear. “Not too bad, don’t even think it will need stitches, but won’t hurt to let a doc see you”.

  “If you say I’m ok, it’s good enough for me. Don’t really like seeing a doctor unless it’s unavoidable” Phil was clearing the cobwebs.

  “Phil, what happened?” Lou hoped he would remember more now.

  “I got smacked in the head Lou. Gee you Navy guys are slow”

  “Us Navy guys don’t let people smack them upside the head. Must be your lack of training in the Air Farce; so much for ‘Kinder, Gentler”.

  “They didn’t steal anything. It doesn’t make sense.” Phil was thinking back, retracing his steps before the ambush.

  “Maybe a warning.” Lou was serious.

  “Competition for the building?” Phil quizzed.

  “Maybe. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Not everyone in this business is as straight laced as we are.”

  “Let’s get out of here, Lou.”

  Phil was thinking. Why an ambush; it was not a robbery, and they could have made it seem that way even if it wasn’t. A message? Someone didn’t want them buying the building, or….. Or there was something going on in the building and Phil almost saw it. Or did someone know about his extra-curricular activities from last weekend?

  It was enough to make Phil curious and that meant some further investigation.

  “Phil I’m calling Myra, come over and eat supper with us. She was a nurse, you know, and she can look at your little boo boo.”

  Phil smiled, “Lou, it is really nice of you but I don’t want to intrude. By the way, how is Myra?”

  “She’s feeling perky as of late and it’ll do her some good to see a face besides mine.”

  Lou’s house was single floor ranch style, with red brick facade. Myra was ready when they arrived. She had a sewing table laid out with bandages, antiseptic wash, gloves, and antibiotic cream. In ten minutes Phil was cleaned up and doctored. Myra moved gracefully through the house, directing both men to the table as she slipped into the kitchen. The smell of wholesome food and fresh yeast rolls billowed out to the dining room where she sat them.

  Supper was pot roast and the trimmings. A meal that stuck to a man’s ribs.

  “You’re a lucky man Lou,” Phil sat back and breathed, “what a meal, I don’t know if I can walk!”

  “Thanks Phil,” Myra beamed, ‘Lou don’t eat like he use to. It’s nice you finally made it over to visit.”

  After dinner, Lou toured Phil through the house. Each room was filled with memories of the couple. Lou’s military pictures and some ribbons from his service in the Navy, and the couple’s parent’s black and whites photos in fancy frames lined the hallway back to the bedrooms. The living room was neatly organized with a cloth couch and unique tables.

  “Lou made all the tables you see, Phil,” the pride was obvious. “And the picture frames in the hall.”

  “Good with your hands, Lou,” Phil observed.

  “Working on furniture was about the only thing Lou Jr and I did without arguing. I have a full wood working shop out back. These are my favorite pastime.” Lou said pointing at the furniture. “That and flying that helicopter of mine. One day you will go up with me, Phil.”

  “Not big on flying things without wings,” Phil smiled at the thought of how many times he had been in a chopper. “One day I will take you up on it.”

  Phil’s phone rang. “It’s the realty office for the Elm Property.”

  “Hi Lisa. Yes I still have the key. Say did anyone else get a key from you lately?”

  Lou could hear Lisa’s gruff deep voice from a few feet away, “only others that have the key besides me and the owners is the contractor who is maintaining the building while it’s empty.”

  “I’d like to talk to them Lisa, if the owners don’t mind”

  “I’ll check and let you know, Phil.”

  “What did you say the company name is?”

  “Second Chance Services, bring the keys back soon as your done please,” she replied without emotion.

  Myra was looking t
ired, so Phil said his goodbyes and drove to his storage unit. Picking up a duffle bag he kept in one of the lockers inside his unit, he drove home. Pam had come over and fed Roo, yet Roo was exited as usual when he entered the house from the garage and greeting Phil with a favorite ball in his mouth. A few minutes in the back yard throwing the ball for Lab and playing was all he had energy for today. His head was pounding from the injury and bed seemed like a good idea.

  Elm Street was on the way to work and Phil had a plan. Tuesday morning Phil stopped at the property, he grabbed the duffle from the back seat and went quickly through the dock door. He spotted a ladder, using it to position some modified trail cameras he pulled from the bag. After setting all of them up at different locations; Phil pulled out his note pad wrote down all the camera positions. The IPad would be sent to the IT shop for a new screen, so the paper note pad would do for now.

  Later in the week Phil stopped in the building again, this time using the key he had copied, and placed the cameras back in the duffle; pulling the memory cards for review later. Lisa had not called him about talking to the maintenance company, so he called her to see if he had permission.

  “The owners said no Phil. Not altogether strange seeing how they are selling and don’t want some errant statement to effect anyone’s bid. Ask for what you want at the pre-bid.”

  Phil hung up. No help, he thought. Perhaps the cameras would provide some kind of information.

  CHAPTER 4

  Friday’s mail brought the message of a new “job”. It came as usual; a plastic covered hunting magazine with the purple dot in the right hand lower corner. After microwaving a quick dinner, Phil opened the magazine to the feature story. The story was about a business owner who poached game from other people’s property and often harvested game that was immature. The man was newly out of prison and was thought to have a black market in selling the photos of the hunt. In the article was coded the date of the job to be done and where further instructions could be found. Phil noted the information and placed an ambiguous message in his phone’s calendar.