Between Right and Wrong Read online

  He was uneasy with the intrusion and the phone call. “The phone call, hum, why did that caller feel familiar?” Phil couldn’t place anything that would link him to a past experience.

  Phil fed Roo and once again opened the computer. There were over 100 images. He went through them systematically, labeling and writing down what he saw in each one.

  Most pictures were of workers hauling boxes to the freight elevator and down to the basement. A few were of workers with tool carts working in the building obviously performing maintenance. Mickey was in a few of the pictures. He was always with an older man and appeared to be the man’s helper. Several pictures showed a large man, who Phil thought to be Paul because of his size, the difference in uniform from the others and the fact he was never performing any type of labor. Phil wrote down the characteristics: ring on right pinky finger, gold watch on left wrist, gold chain that dangled outside of his shirt, scar on left brow, brown hair, and clean shaven face.

  Phil looked over his notes after all the pictures were reviewed. He regretted deciding on trail cams instead of using video and sound recording.

  “Nothing here,” Phil thought, “except that’s a lot of boxes being moved. All mechanical systems should be off or on short run times to save on the electrical bill.” Phil reasoned out loud. It made no sense.

  Roo was laying on his feet; a normal position for the dog.

  “Why so many boxes? Air filters? What other supplies could logically take that many boxes to satisfy an empty building? And they appeared to be heavy by the posture of the workers.” Phil was perplexed. He had determined to get back inside the building but remembered the phone caller. “Why was someone concerned with him specifically and why did they warn him away? Competing bidder? Nothing else made sense, but even that made no sense. The caller called him Colonel.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Higher priority projects filled Phil’s time and caused him to leave the strange happenings on Elm Street for future worries. Mickey often left Phil messages, but they were of no new news. It seemed as if things were looking normal again.

  As he completed the older project reviews, inquiries started to come in from the firm’s financial group. They needed to gather all the present value information on the Elm Street building to create a Capitalization Rate and put together a bid. It was obvious someone in the firm wanted that building and needed to see if it was a good value. Phil called the realtor and set up another inspection. In three days, he would go back into the Elm Street building and finish what he had started. That night he was back in the building setting up ‘bugs’ in the areas he knew Paul frequented in the pictures. Phil also took time to place a couple of helpful tools in case of another attack. His plan was to give enough notice so he could complete the survey work his firm needed and also have an opportunity to listen in on any conversations of Paul and his crew. So far Mickey had been true to his word, but it wasn’t unlike Phil to check him for accuracy. While he had set up a recorder, a spare phone was also reconfigured to be a receiver, where he could listen into any microphone he wished or he could set it on voice activation where he received the signals from microphones that were receiving sounds.

  Phil reviewed his previous notes from the Elm Street survey. Going through the pictures recovered from his now repaired iPad, he noticed a large steel door in the basement that seemed out of place. It was on what appeared to be an exterior wall and was secured by a large hasp and lock. Phil remembered the lock looked new which was odd for a door to nowhere. He placed a note in the inspection sheet to look closer at that door and review the building drawings to see if there was indication of where it went.

  At work the next day, Phil called the team lead, Gary Hopkins. Gary had grown up in Dallas and was sort of a history buff. Gary was also sixty five years old, had worked for several realty firms and had been a city inspector.

  “Hey Gary, Phil. I am about to go try to finish the survey of the Elm Street property and was interested in what you know. Do you have time at lunch to talk?”

  Gary was usually a suit and tie guy. He rarely talked with anyone except to discuss projects and routinely left the office at lunch. Office talk was, he didn’t like many people and was a loner. Phil knew for certain he was extremely introverted and only talked about projects with the people in the office unless someone brought up a historical discussion where Gary would correct any misspoken facts. Most of the office thought of Gary as a know it all and would avoid him, so Phil was surprised when Gary accepted his lunch meeting offer.

  “Straight up noon?” Phil asked.

  “Yes, that will do.” Gary responded, “Subway is my preferred lunch place.”

  “Sounds good, meet you there.” Phil was pleased with Gary’s acceptance. If anyone knew the history of the Elm Street part of town, it was Gary.

  Phil was early to sub shop so he sat in the corner and worked through emails and loose ends. Gary walked through the door promptly at 12 noon. After getting lunch and small talk, they settled into the corner table where Phil brought Gary up to date on his survey of the Elm Street building. On the iPad, he showed Gary some features and the physical plant, then the picture of the door in the basement. “I am wondering about this door, Gary. Looks out of place and kind of strange. The building footprint is the property line and that door looks to be on the exterior wall. I don’t” Phil was interrupted by Gary.

  “Simple Phil. Elm Street and many other parts of downtown are linked by tunnels. Why the old Santa Fe Railroad station on Commerce had tracks leading into the basement and was linked to other buildings. Early to mid-1900’s, the trains and much of the movement between buildings was underground. You’ve seen the tunnels used still, over on Main and elsewhere. Don’t you know there were even more that have been abandoned through the years. I have researched some of it, but there is incomplete records and the old folks that could have given firsthand information are all dead. Likely that door was saved and kept in working order to allow access to underground utilities and probably the City has the key and access, or had. It may not have been used for a long time.”

  “Should we plan on blocking it in permanently if we buy the building for safety sake?” Phil wanted more information if there was any.

  “The insurance company may require it, unless there is a license from the city for access or an easement requirement. I can have Lesley from Research look into it for you. In the meantime, I just might be interested in looking at it myself.”

  “You are welcome to join me when I survey tomorrow.”

  For the only time Phil could remember, Gary looked excited, “Pick me up on your way.”

  As he walked back to the office, Phil couldn’t help thinking how Gary was going to look out of place in a closed up building with no furnishings, dust, debris, poor lighting, and possibly rats. Gary had always seemed meek and somewhat an office only type manager.

  Gary had gone the opposite way; to who knows where, when they left the sub shop, headed away from the office.

  The next morning Phil gathered his tools and iPad and headed to the garage. Gary was waiting by the car dress in blue jeans, boots and hardhat. He looked surprisingly comfortable and Phil realized Gary never really looked relaxed in dress clothes.

  After picking up the keys, they parked by the loading dock and entered the building. Gary headed straight for the basement while Phil lingered in the dock, taking notes and checking his listening devices as he casually walked the space. There was not supposed to be anyone in the building, but Phil had a scar to prove that one never knew. The one item, besides the building survey that had Phil’s curiosity was the boxes from the pictures and where they were now. By the time Phil entered the basement, Gary had tried all the keys on the locked door they had discussed and was sitting on an old chair staring at the door. Phil took the time to check the age of all the equipment, walked over and sat beside Gary.

  Gary sat still, reading glasses halfway down his nose, as usual. His grey eyes looked as if they were
seeing through the door making strange facial expressions, pondering the subject at hand.

  “Any great ideas?” Phil asked.

  “Very curious. My compass says we are facing east. But, east shouldn’t be right if this is a tunnel. Besides, the lock is not aged, it is fairly new. Unless my compass is way off we are facing the old downtown hotel. I checked some era maps I had and it didn’t show a tunnel going to this building, but if there was one it should be on the north or south wall. This door leads under or to the old hotel it would seem.”

  “It is lofts now, right?”

  “Yea, and I thought it was only one level below grade. This door could be more than one level down.”

  “Gary, I have to finish the survey.”

  “Ok I’m going to walk back to the office, maybe get a look at the façade and check out the street.”

  They parted ways. Phil cautiously went through the building with no surprises this time. As he finished walking the roof, he realized it had been a few days since Mickey had left him a message. Phil dropped off the keys at the realtor, then went to the office to download his survey into the office database for Finance to start their work. After an email to the Finance Director, Phil headed home. He had planned time off since this weekend was the start of duck season and he wanted to get to the lake a day early. He had been going out a couple of days a week, surveying where he would set his decoys and working Roo on retrieves to keep him sharp.

  The next morning Phil called Gary’s desk. Phil had the day off but wanted to see if Gary had found out any new information. There was no answer so he left a voice mail. Phil and Roo drove out to the lake and put the boat in a slip he had rented so he could have the boat on the water and not have to deal with a possible crowded boat ramp. The first day of duck season usually found an abnormal number of hunters vying for a turn to launch their boats and get to the best spots. Phil tied the boat and checked the engine, fuel tank and all the lights, while Roo smelled every inch of the boat. Roo then sat on the marina walkway indicating the boat had passed his inspection. Phil brought out a life vest from storage and placed it by the tiller handle of the motor for easy retrieval in the morning. In the lockable storage, he put extra boxes of shotgun shells, extra gloves, a towel, duck calls, and an extra face cover. When he was satisfied the boat was ready, he and Roo drove to the grocery store. Phil went quickly inside to pick up some snacks and water for the hunt. The anticipation of hunting and the busy work it created, relaxed Phil. He had not even thought about work or the Elm Street property for several hours.

  Saturday morning he and Roo were in a cove with the decoys out and the boat hidden behind some brush waiting for sun up. He watched Roo sit quietly on his stand, out of the water, while he stood behind a tree in his chest waders. They could hear the ducks flying over, Mallards calling, Wood Ducks wailing, other ducks whistling. It was going to be a good day. Phil was on target getting two birds on the first group that came in. Roo swam out on command, getting the close bird first. Phil sent him again and Roo was performing without flaw, remembering the second fall and making a bee line to the retrieve. As Phil hung the birds on the keeper, he heard a boat coming closer. “Johnny come lately, messing up everyone’s hunt.” Phil told Roo as if there was a needed response. They were on a public lake and this happened more often than not, but Phil liked this area and usually had luck despite the errant jackass that came roaring into the coves scaring away everything. Around the cove came a jet ski with two people on it, to Phil’s surprise. It was a little cold to be riding a jet ski and it was really out of place. The two were bundled up with face covers and Phil started to yell at them when the one on the back turned his shotgun at Phil and fired several shots. The tree Phil had used for cover saved him. Barely. He crouched to be ready in case they returned when he heard Roo cry. Looking over at the stand he saw Roo, bloody and laying across the stand. He rushed over to look after his friend, listening for the Jet Ski. Roo’s face was bloody as was his left leg. In a rush, Phil half ran, half swam for the boat. Throwing his shotgun in the boat, he swung in and started the motor, getting to the stand and Roo. He gently plucked Roo from the stand and put compression on the bloody spots. There was a lot of blood and he knew from his military training to get the flow stopped first, then worry about looking at the wound later. As quickly as possible, Phil had the boat roaring down the lake, decoys and the rest of his gear behind him. The shotgun was for the Jet Ski, should he see it again.

  Phil knew the area and had used a veterinarian by the lake. At the boat ramp he ran the boat up on the shore, grabbed Roo and was in the truck headed for the vet with gravel flying behind him. At the vet, he carried Roo in slamming the door open as he rushed in. “Gunshot wound, he told the receptionist, and kept going into the first exam room that was open. She was at his heals calling out to Doc Liggins.

  “Let me take him.”

  Phil realized he was shaking physically. Everything from the lake to the vet was tunnel vision and all he could think of was Roo and how much he loved the dog. He realized he was weeping.

  The old vet entered and gently pushed past Phil who was standing still in a daze. Both he and his tech were working in coordination to assess the damage.

  “Son, I need you to go sit outside, we’ll do our best for your boy. Here take this towel and put it on your wound.”

  Wound? Wound? Phil looked down at his right forearm. It was dripping blood. He hadn’t even felt the sting. He walked to the bathroom and pulled off his jacket and shirt. He could feel a pellet still under the skin, but that seemed to be as much damage as had been done. He pulled his waders down and checked for more damage. None, the tree and the water he was standing in, had been enough cover to protect him. He fidgeted with the pellet. He could feel it and got it out of the entry wound. Buckshot. Lead buckshot. Those were no duck hunters. They shot him on purpose. Damn, damn, he thought. My Roo. There were other thoughts he had too. Deep, dark thoughts of when he found those two.

  The vet found Phil, “I don’t know what happened out there but you must be lucky and your dog is gonna live.”

  “He looked bad, Doc, tell me everything.” Phil could feel tears well up in his eyes.

  “I got to take out that left eye. He needs some number of stitches otherwise. Most were grazing him and gave him some nasty cuts that did bleed plenty. One got his left eye. His right eye is ok though. Two inches to the right and we wouldn’t have had anything good to say. Also, that was buckshot. I got to go operate. I will call you and let you know how it goes. He’ll need to stay overnight, so unless you want to sit around here, I’d go take care of that wound.”

  “My boat.” Phil remembered he had left it on the bank with all his gear and shotgun. “Please take care of Roo and call me.”

  “I will.” Doc gave a faint wave and was headed back to Roo.

  When Phil got to the boat ramp, his boat was nowhere in sight. Worried, he walked over to the marina where a teenage boy met him on the gang plank. He looked to be in his late teens, wearing torn blue jeans, deck shoes and a marina hoody.

  “You the guy with the boat left on the ramp?”

  “Yes, do you know where it is?”

  “Third slip; your shotgun is unloaded and inside. Saw you carrying the dog, is he ok”

  Phil gave him the short story and thanked him for taking care of the boat. “Say do you know anyone who owns a red jet ski?”

  “Yea, well, I did. Dad had one stolen last night sometimes.” The boy’s eyes narrowed a bit. “So, does this have anything to do with the dog getting shot?”

  “Yes,” Phil was going to get all the information he could. “Any word on where it might be?”

  “No, Dad says we’ll be lucky if we ever see it again.”

  “Any clue to who took it?” Phil was losing hope of gaining any information.

  “There was some tattooed guy here yesterday sort of snooping around, acting weird and asking for rental prices. Looked like prison tattoos to me.”

 
“Really, you know what prison tattoos look like?” Phil was curious.

  “I Googled the one he had on his left wrist. I’m wanting a tat but Dad says I have to wait until I am out of his house and Mom, she just freaks out when I mention it.”

  “What was the tattoo?” Phil queried.

  “It was two triangles that kind of looked like a squared off hourglass. Looked like teardrops inside of one.”

  “Thanks, anything else?”

  “The guy walked around like he was mad or something.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “I don’t know, um, about my Dad’s height, round face, his hair was greased back and dark. Oh, Dad is 5’10” and, he looked stout.”

  Phil paid the marina, loaded his boat and shotgun and drove back to the storage unit, leaving the boat and truck in their usual places. Phil had no concern for the equipment left on the lake. He was driving the Volvo back to the house while his thoughts now were only on Roo; though in the back of his mind, he was planning a special hell for two people he hoped he could find.

  Once home Phil deftly put up his gear and his shotgun. His worry for his buddy was all he could think about. He remembered Roo as an eleven pound puppy. The first time he saw Roo was at the breeder’s house. Phil had his choice of the three remaining males and was there to pick one out to bring home. All the puppies were at the edge of the enclosure, jumping up on the short fence in an effort to get to Phil. All the puppies except Roo. Roo was sitting in the back of the pen with eyes fixed on Phil. As Phil walked around the pen, Roo would turn, never taking his eyes off of Phil. They brought all the puppies out of the pen at Phil’s request. He found a stick and threw it for the puppies to go get. Roo was always the first to the stick. When all the other puppies were tired of the game, Roo was still interested. There was never a doubt in Phil’s mind that Roo was anything but perfect. On the trip home, Roo wasted little time snuggling up to Phil’s leg then fell asleep, a habit maintained into adulthood.