Red Clover (30 page)

“So, this guy, this small-town sheriff, trespasses on your land, grows marijuana, and then tries to pin it on you with that ridiculous arrest?” Bennett asked.

“I can’t prove anything, but I know that’s what he did.”

“What a piece of work. So what do you think he did with all the pot he cut out of the field after you caught him there?”

“I have no idea.”

“How much do you think was there?”

“Again, no idea, but at least an acre.”

“An acre? Are you kidding? That’s a hell of a lot of pot!”

“What if someone were to get caught with that much pot?”

“A hundred plants or more is considered a Class 4 felony. That’s hard prison time and a fine.”

“How much?”

“In Illinois, up to three years and ten thousand dollars I think.”

“No kidding.”

“What are you thinking, Lee? You’re not going to get involved in this...anymore than you already have, are you?”

“He’s a constant threat to CJ, and look what he did to me. If he’s in possession of that much illegal substance, shouldn’t he be prosecuted?”

“I think you’re asking for trouble.”

“I think I have a civil obligation.”

“And how do you think you could pull that off? Who would you tell?”

“I could turn him in to whoever he reports to.”

“My dear brother, what about the ‘blue code of silence’?”

“What’s that?”

“There’s a long-standing tradition among law enforcement officers to protect each other. You won’t find anyone on the force who will take you seriously.”

“Well, that’s not fair. So what happens to corrupt cops?”

“Nothing. That’s my point. Don’t go there, Lee. If you stir things up, he could do worse things to you than he’s already done.”

“I despise the man.”

“You have my advice. Stay away from that. May I change the subject?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve been in contact with Senator Wheland, thanks to Francine, as you know.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Well, when he was at the top of his game, he was on one of President Carter’s committees studying the law on immigrants and refugees, and their findings influenced a major law that was passed last year. It turns out he and I share the same beliefs on the law’s shortcomings, and he’s agreed to work with me on drafting a bill that addresses them. I don’t know how to thank Francine—this wouldn’t have happened without her help. Do you have any suggestions?”

“You can thank her in person on Thursday if you want. She’ll be here for Shaneta’s Thanksgiving dinner—Jamaican style.”

Bennett explained that with his children in town, he wanted to spend every minute with them and wouldn’t be able to make it.

After they hung up, Lee poured himself a glass of sherry and thought about the unparalleled joy of having a brother.

* * *

Lee had invited only five guests for Thanksgiving dinner—Dr. Rad, CJ and her boys, and Francine. Shaneta outdid herself with her preparations, which took days. The menu included corn soup, coco bread, jerk chicken, curried shrimp, baked plantains, sweet potato pudding, peas and rice, and rum cake for dessert.

Halfway through dinner, Francine, who seemed to be enjoying the food, asked Shaneta where she had found the unusual spices for the dishes.

“Not around here. We have to go to Milwaukee for them.”

“Milwaukee?” Lee exclaimed.

“Yes, you have heard of it, I presume.”

“Very funny. How do you get there?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Dr. Rad stared at his plate.

“Dr. Rad?”

“Mm-hm,” he mumbled.

Good grief, he’s taking her grocery shopping...seventy miles away, in Milwaukee?

The sound of someone knocking interrupted his thoughts. When he opened the front door, he was surprised and happy to see his brother.

“Bennett! Glad you could come. Come on in, man.”

“Don’t say anything, okay? Daphne pulled a fast one and picked up the children after they were at Mother and Father’s for just a couple of hours. I got pissed off and left.”

“No problem. We just started eating. Come on in and join us.”

It was the first time Lee had seen Bennett since his mother had told him she wasn’t completely sure about his paternity. He studied Bennett’s face—he had dark hair and green eyes like their mother, as did his brother, Nelson.

After dinner, Wayne and Travis asked if they could go out on the golf cart, so Lee took CJ and the two boys out for a ride, leaving the others at the house. When they returned a half hour later, Lee found Bennett and Francine deep in conversation.

“Where are Dr. Rad and Shaneta?” he asked them.

“We don’t know. After we all helped clear the table, they disappeared.”

Lee surveyed the area. “Inside? How many places could they go?” He walked into the kitchen just as Dr. Rad and Shaneta were emerging through the back door.

“Everything all right?” he asked them.

Dr. Rad mumbled something and left for the living room.

Lee gave Shaneta a puzzled look.

“Don’t look at me that way.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course,” she said as she walked through the kitchen and toward her bedroom.

Lee joined the others, sans Dr. Rad.

“Where’s Dr. Rad?”

“He said something none of us understood and left,” CJ explained. “What’s between those two anyway, Soc?”

“I have no idea, and I don’t want to know. If he were alive today, not even the real Socrates could figure that one out.”

“I think we had better be going,” CJ said. “It’s past the boys’ bedtime.”

Lee watched as everyone got into their respective cars, except for Bennett who went over to Francine’s car. The two of them had a brief conversation before he got into his own vehicle and drove off.

Lee spent the next two hours doing the dishes, while Shaneta stayed holed up in her bedroom. When he was done, he poured himself a Scotch and relaxed with the previous day’s local paper. Halfway through the paper, his thoughts drifted to his next project—a project he considered to be a major component of his life plan. Becoming whole, as CJ called it. Uncertain this idea was the right one, he had decided to keep the details of it to himself, his architect, and builder for the time being.

Turning his attention back to the newspaper, a short article buried in the middle of page eight soon caught his attention. Twenty-eight-year-old Randal Grossman of Harvard, Illinois, had been arrested and held overnight in the McHenry County Sheriff’s Office for burglary, assault on an officer, bribery, and resisting arrest. Grossman had posted bail and was released. Arraignment had been set for Friday. Arresting officer, Bernard DeRam, was not available for comment. Lee tore the article out of the paper and put it in his wallet.

* * *

The Deer Bottom Inn was extra busy the next night. CJ looked harried as she greeted him. When she was free, Lee motioned for her to come over to him.

“Do you happen to know a local named Randal Grossman?”

“Sure. Everybody does.”

“Why? Does he have a reputation?”

“Francine went to school with him. Comes from a poor family, lots of kids, always in trouble. Has a long rap sheet. Everyone calls him Bulldog. And he
hates
Bern.”

“Why is that?”

“Bulldog tried to date Bern’s sister once when they were all just teenagers, and Bern beat the crap out of him. And, of course, it was Bern who arrested him most of the time over the years.”

Lee told her about his latest arrest. “Does this sound like him, or do you think he’s been falsely arrested, like what happened to me?”

“Knowing Bulldog, it could be true. He’s been in trouble his whole life.”

“Does he ever come in here?”

“Yeah. There’s a bunch of regulars who play pool on Saturday night, and he’s one of ‘em. Why are you so interested in
him
?”

“Just curious, really. What’s he like? Has he ever caused any trouble in here?”

“Just the normal rowdiness. He’s not a bad guy when he’s not getting into trouble. Hell, he can’t be all bad. He trains seeing-eye dogs on the side.”

* * *

As he contemplated his brother’s advice about staying out of DeRam’s business, Lee went through a mental exercise he’d learned from one of his therapists called “turning tables” when you’re at odds with somebody. There was no question DeRam would go after
him
if the circumstances were reversed. Why? Because DeRam was the type of person who would take any action needed to prevent potential threats against himself.
Get them before they get me.
His therapist had told him that if you can rationalize what the other person would do without compromising your own principles, then you should consider doing it yourself. As absurd as it sounded to emulate someone he despised, he decided maybe it could work in this situation.

* * *

The parking lot was full when Lee arrived at the inn, so he had to park on the side of the road behind a half dozen other cars. Up until then, he had avoided late Saturday nights at the inn, as they tended to be crowded, but on this night, to get the right opportunity to talk to Bulldog, he figured he had to be there right at closing time.

The veil of cigarette smoke was so thick, Lee had to stop momentarily inside the door to allow his eyes to adjust. The jukebox, which had been turned way up, blasted out a song by Metallica, one of CJ’s favorite bands.

Lee inched his way to the bar, and when CJ noticed him, she brought him a beer.

“What are you doing here this late?” she shouted.

“Just bummin’.”

She shot him a doubtful look. “Hmmm. Forget to shave today?”

He shrugged and smiled.

“Nice threads.” She raised an eyebrow.

She’d noticed the black leather bomber jacket he had bought for the occasion.

“Can’t talk. Too busy,” she said.

Lee nodded and made his way toward the back room where there was a pool table, a couple of foosball machines, and a dartboard. He was vaguely familiar with foosball—he had seen some of his fellow college students play it in the student lounge. And while he certainly understood the concept of pool and darts, he had never played either one. He positioned himself within viewing distance of the two foosball games underway, his back to the pool table, and sipped his beer.

Lee stared blankly at the foosball players. The two closest to him were twenty-something-year-old males. The other pair appeared to be boyfriend and girlfriend. He fixed his gaze on them, but his ears were tuned in to the conversation that was going on behind him at the pool table. As soon as he heard the name Bulldog, he shifted his position in order to see the pool players.

When Lee was certain he knew which one was Bulldog, he finished his beer and went outside. It was one-thirty, a half-hour from closing time.

Fiddling with a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, he waited nervously in the shadows of the building, hoping the jacket, two-day beard, and cigarettes would make him seem a little rough around the edges and thus more credible to someone like Bulldog. But he had never smoked before, and now he wished he had practiced beforehand.

When closing time arrived, Lee lit up the cigarette and took a long drag. He coughed hard and became lightheaded, fearing he might pass out. When he recovered several minutes later, people were streaming out of the bar and heading for their cars. Bulldog was one of the last ones to emerge. A little shorter than Lee and much stockier, the man walked with a decided limp, something Lee hadn’t noticed in the bar.

Lee took in a deep breath and then shouted, “Hey, Bulldog!”

The man turned toward Lee.

“Gotta minute?” Lee asked.

“That depends who’s askin’.”

Lee walked toward him, the half-burned cigarette dangling from his two fingers. “I hear you train seeing-eye dogs,” he said.

“So?”

“How does one go about getting one? I know someone in need.” He raised the cigarette up to his mouth, pretending to take a puff.

“Midwest Guiding Eyes. They have a facility in Poplar Grove.” He turned toward the street and started walking. Lee walked beside him. “What did you say your name was?”

“Lee. And there’s something we may have in common.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Sheriff Bernard DeRam. Got an opinion of him?”

Bulldog stopped and looked directly at Lee. “Calling that lying piece of shit a degenerate would be an insult to low-lifes everywhere.”

“Like I said, we may have something in common.”

27 | Fueling the Fire

Lee sat at his kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee, enjoying his solitude now that Shaneta had moved into the guesthouse. His meeting with Bulldog had been nothing short of enlightening. It turned out that Lee, CJ, and Bulldog weren’t the only ones with an axe to grind with the good sheriff. Throw DeRam’s brother, his sister-in-law, and his sister-in-law’s sister into the mix, and there would be enough players for a friendly game of volleyball…or a decent-sized lynch mob.

He had given Bulldog sufficient information to fuel the fire, and now all he could do was sit back and wait. In the meantime, he contemplated his new project. Lee’s trust account, having met all its conditions, had been officially closed, allowing him to jump into things without prior approval—something Lee now appreciated more than before.

The new venture was expected to take up close to three hundred acres—five acres for the main building, greenhouses, and storage structures, and the rest sectioned off for evergreens, fruit trees, ornamentals, and shade trees. He hoped the mild weather would hold out until they broke ground—once they had the foundations poured, they could work through the winter, and then he could achieve the desired June Grand Opening date.

Creativity and unconventional thinking would be required to bring the project to fruition. Lee decided to seek advice from the most unconventional thinker he knew: Dr. Rad.

“I’m trying to combine retail sales, wholesale, and services into one business model,” he explained to Dr. Rad one evening in his lab. “I have developed a model for each of these segments individually, but when I try to integrate them, I run into trouble. I’ve spent hours researching this, and I can’t find anyone in the industry who has done this.”