Yes to Maybe Read online

  Yes to Maybe

  by Jacob Power

  Copyright © Jacob Power (2016). All rights reserved

  http://www.jpowerdesign.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Other works by Jacob Power

  Frank Winston

  The Beginning

  “Tim, your place is going to be robbed tonight,” said the voice on the phone.

  “What,” said Tim. He stood at the bar of his pub while Charlie, his head cook, walked through the door connecting the area behind the bar to the kitchen. “What do you mean my place is going to be robbed?”

  “Just that,” said the voice. “You owe me money, and I’ve been patient. If you’re not going to pay me, then I’m going to take your booze.”

  Tim recognized the voice now. After saying “Hello” and the shock of the first words coming over the receiver, he wasn’t sure who he was talking to, but now he did. It was an associate of his, a silent partner in his establishment Maybe’s Bar and Grill. Tim had worked for this man while he was in college, and it was this man who helped him establish his own bar. The only setback was Tim was now part of Mickey Russo’s web of “organized business,” as Mickey liked to call it.

  “Mickey,” Tim spoke into the receiver as Charlie made himself look busy behind the bar. “What are you talking about? I’m up to date with all my payments except one, and they’re paying me this weekend.”

  “This weekend isn’t the due date,” said Mickey. His voice sounded like scraping gravel, a lifetime of drinking, partying, and smoking cigars scarring his vocal chords. “You know the deal, and this isn’t the first time this has happened. You’ve been late for the past few months, and I’m getting tired of letting things slide with you.”

  “If it’s all about the money I can give you that until my guy pay me,” said Tim. “I was merely waiting on them so I can hand it over without causing any problems for myself.”

  “Hold on a sec,” said Mickey. He cleared his throat and made a sound as though he hocked up and spat out a ball of phlegm. “You mean to tell me that you have the money to pay me, but you decided to not pay me instead.”

  “Not exactly,” said Tim. He looked over at Charlie and noticed him sneaking shots of Rumple Minze while he eavesdropped. Tim pointed at him and motioned for Charlie to cut it out and get back to the kitchen. In dramatic fashion Charlie raised his hands in apology and walked back through the door.

  “Not exactly,” repeated Mickey.

  “I try not to mix my business with the others,” said Tim. “You know that.”

  “I don’t care,” said Mickey. “I’m not running your business, or the businesses you manage for me under our little branch of the tree. I’m asking for my money, which you have and aren’t handing over. And the thing is, this isn’t the first time you’ve done this, but it’s the last time I’m going to let you slide. It’s time to pay, Tim. So, your place is going to be robbed tonight.”

  Tim let the words sink in. It was true, he could pay Mickey the share normally allotted to him, Tim had plenty of money saved up over the years, but as simple as that seemed it was more complicated. As a member of Mickey’s web Tim, like other bar owners in the area associated with Mickey, had their own silent partnerships with other businesses who needed help getting started, or making payroll, or a multitude of financial needs. In exchange for money, or security, or even services entrepreneurs repaid their “loan” with a few percentage points of their profit each month with no expiration date in sight. This is what Mickey encouraged, and this is what Mickey’s “boys” did. What bothered Tim was Mickey’s reaction to Tim’s predicament. Mickey, even though he was a hard ass he was fair, and all about keeping the books to any, and all, business ventures legal. He, and all of his associates, paid their taxes and reported their earnings. Sometimes, however, a business would suffer a strange mishap such as a fire, stolen merchandise, missing shipments, and so on. As a result of such crimes, police reports would be filed, insurance claims would be made, and payments that were not available suddenly found their way to Mickey. It was a pyramid of money coming in from the vast facets of Monroe city businesses slowly making its journey to one man. The web also worked as a cyclical flow of bureaucracy as one entrepreneur relied on others until the only new money entering the system came from the unknowing and unconcerned citizens of the area. In Tim’s situation one of his silent partnerships was late, but they were habitually late and Mickey knew this, but never raised a fuss.

  “Look, I’ll just come over right now and settle this,” said Tim. “There’s no reason for all this drama.”

  “Drama?” said Mickey. “There’s no drama. Even if you do come by and pay me in full, your place is still getting robbed tonight.”

  “Why?” said Tim.

  “Because the order’s been given,” said Mickey. “The play has been set and is already in motion.”

  “Wait,” said Tim. He could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was, especially for Mickey to call and let him know what he was planning on doing. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I just thought I’d do the right thing and give you a heads up.”

  “But there’s a problem with this,” said Tim.

  “I don’t think so,” said Mickey.

  “Forgive me here Mickey,” said Tim, as he began he realized how the quiet in his bar felt like another presence making it more obvious that Charlie was listening in on the conversation. “David, God rest his soul, isn’t around anymore and he was your main guy to do something like this.”

  “That’s true,” said Mickey, “but I’ve got somebody real special. I call him ‘The Kid.’”

  “The Kid?” said Tim. “What make’s him so special?”

  “He has skills I think would be useful,” said Mickey. “He’s got raw talent, and we have similar interest. I feel like this is someone I could really mentor.”

  “Similar interests? Mentor?” said Tim. “Who is it? This town is only so big.”

  “You don’t know him,” said Mickey.

  “Try me,” said Tim. “You’ve told me this much so far, you might as well paint me the whole picture.”

  “OK hotshot,” said Mickey. “The Kid, as I like to call him, is Desmond.”

  “Desmond?” repeated Tim. “You don’t mean Jim Reid’s son?”

  “The very same.”

  “I thought you two split the sheets after his wife died,” said Tim. “I was under the impression he was out of the organization.”

  “He is,” said Mickey, his anger flaring up slightly. “And that’s my business, not yours.”

  “I understand that,” said Tim. “I’m not prying but I don’t think Jim would be too happy about his son working for you.”

  “That’s not your problem,” said Mickey. “Besides, he’s someone who needs a little guidance and I’m the one to help the kid out.”

  “So you’re going to have Jim Reid’s son rob my place?” said Tim. “Because of one payment that I can handle in 20 minutes?”

  “You got it,” said Mickey.

  “What if I stop this so called robbery?” said Tim.

  “If you want to stop it, that’s your prerogative,” said Mickey. “I’m just letting you know what’s hitting you so I don’t have to hear your whining tomorrow. You want to stop it? Go ahead. You want to call the cops and get The Kid thrown in jail? That’s on you. Regardless of what you do, I’m getting my money one way or the other.”

  The phone clicked loud in Tim’s ear and he stared at the receiver a moment before returning it to its cradle. He was still a bit taken aback by the whole conversation, as strange as it was, but he was sure he wasn’t letti
ng anyone rob his place. Siting on the stool closest to the phone he decided to not make the payment as promised. If what Mickey said was true, there was no point in paying since the robbery was set to happen. At the very least he could stop Desmond, call his dad, and let Jim handle the boy. Tim’s head began to swim at the complexity of the whole vicious cycle he was envisioning with all the players involved. He shook his head hard trying to rid the feeling from his mind as Charlie re-entered the bar.

  “What’s the plan boss?” he said. “I need to call a couple of guys to keep an eye out, make sure nobody comes in guns a blazing?”

  “No,” said Tim. “No need for that.”

  “But…”

  “No buts,” interrupted Tim. “I know Mickey. He’s not going to send someone in here to do a stickup. He’ll have this Kid do the deed after we’re closed.”

  “So, what do you want to do?” said Charlie.

  “There’s nothing to do,” said Tim. “I’m going to let it happen.”

  “You’re what?” said Charlie.

  “Yeah,” said Tim. “I’m going to let the kid come in and do his job, but I’ll be waiting for him. I’ll catch him and turn him loose on his dad. Then I’ll pay Mickey what I owe him, and all will be right in the world.”

  “If you say so,” said Charlie.

  “I do,” said Tim. “That’s how it’s going to go. Now get back to work. I’m docking you for those shots I saw you take.”

  The night went by as any other night at Maybe’s Bar and Grill, except for Tim’s paranoia. He served his clientele with a watchful eye on incoming and out going patrons not sure what he was looking for. In one instance he thought he saw Desmond and his brother Sean, but taking a second look proved unfruitful. He knew he was being unreasonable with himself in thinking Des would come while there was a crowd. He knew Mickey had always sought out his retribution with an air of the boogeyman.

  That was what David was. David had been with Mickey as far back as Tim could remember. Though they had no visible dealings with each other, their relationship was covert in the sense that David handled situations Mickey need not be involved as to maintain an alibi, appearance, whatever. It was David who was the enforcer, or angel of death, to Mickey’s kingdom. But, David was now gone. Some time after the accident with Desmond’s mother, where David plowed over her with his van while half drunk, David committed suicide. It was Mickey who found him with his throat slit in David’s house that night a few weeks ago. Of all the ways to die, David went out bloody and violent, much like his entire life had been. And now, Desmond is filling in David’s shoes? The irony continued to make Tim’s head swim anytime he thought of it, the tragedy of it all. Tim even felt anger at this new bit of knowledge regarding Mickey’s interest in Desmond. It bothered him not only because Desmond was still in high school, but that Desmond’s father had worked so hard to separate himself from the organization only to have his oldest son fall in to Mickey’s grasp. All the other bar owners in town under Mickey’s control knew what Jim was trying to do, but Jim had not been disrespectful about his move for independence. He was honest with Mickey, and the others, about his purpose. He saved money to buy out Mickey’s share. If what Tim knew was to be true, Jim had finally accomplished his goal, but it was the price of his wife’s life that sealed the transaction. Any other business man or woman seeking out of Mickey’s control would be granted with smiles as money changed hands only to have some terrible fate befall the business after their transaction was completed. Their business would catch fire, or vandalized, or any number of terrible fates would befall the owners making their beloved business die. Jim’s fate, it was rumored, was to be the death of his business by fire, but the accident happened instead, and Jim became the only former associate of Mickey Russo to keep his business.

  The last customer had finally exited, the grill and all the materials utilized by the cooking staff cleaned, and the place swept. Charlie waited by the bar to find out what his boss’s plan was to be for the remainder of the evening. Tim shook his head when he saw Charlie waiting for him.

  “What are you still doing here?” Tim said.

  “I’m here for you,” said Charlie. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’m here to help.”

  “That’s nice,” said Tim, “but I think I can handle a 16 year old kid.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Charlie. “You seen some of them high school kids recently? Especially the football players, they’re built like brick shit houses.”

  “It’s all right,” said Tim. “I know this kid. He’s not a bad guy, just going through a lot here lately with his mother dying and all.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, just yet,” said Tim. “I figure I’d make some coffee and hang around until he showed up. Then, I’d call his dad and let him handle it from there.”

  “Huh,” replied Charlie. “I’m not so sure. What if he brings a crew with him?”

  “Then I’ll get out of the way, and let them take everything,” said Tim. “And I’ll go see Mickey tomorrow, give him his money, get back my stuff, and all will be good.”

  “So you’re just going to sit here and wait for them to walk through the front door?” said Charlie.

  “I don’t think they’ll be so polite,” said Tim.

  “You know what I mean,” replied Charlie.

  “No,” said Tim, “I know what you mean. I parked my car across the street over there in the shadows and I’ll wait for them there. I figure they’re going to need a pickup to haul all this stuff out of here and there are only three doors in the entire place. The front is too out in the open, the side door is right against a six foot high wooden fence, and the back door. The back door, as you know doesn’t have much room either, but it’s accessible to the side of the house where the parking lot is. It’s not unusual for a cop to see a random car in the parking lot of a bar.”

  “But there’s no cars out there right now,” said Charlie.

  “I know that,” said Tim. “I’m going to wait for them to show up, go in, and take it from there.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to hang around?” said Charlie.

  “I’m sure,” said Tim. “Go home.”

  Maybe

  He locked the back door once he convinced Charlie to leave, counted, and recounted, the money from the registers, and took inventory of his stock of booze behind the bar. From there he went to one of the back rooms he converted into a cooler for the majority of his supply of beer. Inside the room sat cases of beer organized by brand, an ice machine, and a safe. He turned the combination, opened the safe, and placed his money and inventory sheet inside. After he closed the door of the metal box he wondered if he should take the night’s haul with him in and not leave it for Desmond to take. Tim decided to leave the money. The safe was large, and heavy, enough that it took more than just a few people to move the gargantuan relic. Plus, Tim was sure Desmond, and whomever he brought with him (most likely his younger brother Sean) wouldn’t get that far in cleaning him out. He turned out all the lights of his business, walked to the front door and stepped outside. He gazed up and down the street, looking for out of place shadows, suspicious cars parked down the street, anything that looked out of place. Nothing. With nothing more to look or listen for he made his way across the street.

  Tim gave himself a mental pat on the back for having the idea to park his car in the shadows of the lot across the way from Maybe’s. He sat between the Peeking Restaurant and an old white house now housing a hair salon on the first floor. The spot provided plenty of cover to keep him concealed, as well as a full on view of the business. In his car, Tim sat and waited. The view of the business was almost straight on. It provided enough of a vantage point to spot if anyone came in or out of the back door, and thus far nothing appeared to have changed. The bar and grill was an old garden district home of Monroe. The original purpose of the building long since abandoned was transformed into a busines
s years ago when Tim bought the building with the help of Mickey. Tim was a year out of college with not much to show for his efforts when he decided he wanted to open a bar. It seemed natural to him since he worked for Mickey as a bartender, bouncer, door collector, and bar back during his university days. He saw what type of money came through this form of business, as well as the money that politely never got reported on tax forms. After leaving Mickey’s Saloon upon graduating Tim tried his luck at banking only to find his heart not in the monotonous day job. Upon visiting his old employer for beers with friends Mickey pulled him aside to talk.

  “How’s My Guy,” Mickey said. It was common knowledge most, if not all, of Mickey’s employees were unofficially assigned nicknames. Normally when someone earned the moniker “Numb Nuts,” or “Shit for Brains,” employees knew that worker’s days were numbered. “My Guy,” was Tim’s sobriquet.

  “I’m hanging in there,” replied Tim.

  “Good,” said Mickey. “The bank treating you OK?”

  “Not bad,” said Tim. “It’s not like running a bar.”

  “Oh?” said Mickey. “How do you mean?”

  This started the conversation of Tim’s unhappiness with the “real world,” and his desire to get back to what he did while in college. Mickey’s smile seemed almost knowing of Tim’s dilemma as though it were all a part of Mickey’s plan. It was Mickey who knew of a small house on the market in the garden district. That he wouldn’t be any real competition to Mickey since the place was across town and closer to the river.

  “I don’t have the kind of money it takes to start up a place like that,” said Tim.

  “I thought you were a banker?” said Mickey. “Borrow the damn money.”

  “I don’t know,” said Tim. “I’d have to convert the house to make it work.”

  “I’ve seen the house, it wouldn’t take much,” Mickey said. “The actual kitchen is in the back. You’d have to get new stuff in there, but it’s got everything you need as far as connections. As far as the rest of the house, you’d probably have to knock down one, maybe two walls. The rooms are big and open into each other. You’d have to put in a bar, tables, chairs, and stools, and I think you could be up in no time.”