Dugan's Luck

  Chapter 3

  The clock on the night stand had given off an eerie green glow. It seemed to intensify each time Benny stole another glance at it. And the glances were many, repeated with nervous regularity since he entered the room, latched the lock of the door and tugged the curtains tightly closed. He had lain in bed, fully dressed, the briefcase close at hand, but sleep would not come. Throughout the rest of the night he remained stiff as a board, intently listening for any suspicious noise that might alert him to having been found. The quiet did little to settle his nerves as he waited for morning and the next short walk he would have to make on an open street.

  Early morning light seemed to take forever but its arrival was announced as it crept through the narrow crevice where the curtains fought to remain sealed. Still, Benny Dugan remained on the bed until the green numerical glow gave him permission to get up and prepare to leave.

  The bank would open in a half hour. He brought no change of clothes. That would have been far to hard to explain to his companions the night before. But he would take care of that after the money was secured. Only then could he breathe a little easier. However, there would still be much to do before it was safe to retrieve the money.

  He went to the bathroom and switched on the light. The brightness was initially overwhelming after seven hours in a darkness only invaded by the fluorescence of the slowly changing display of time. He squinted at his reflection in the mirror. Lack of sleep had taken its toll, his eyes a bit dark and puffy. Turning on the cold water, he cupped his hands under the steady flow of clean water and repeatedly raised a deluge to his face. The water drenched his face breaking the groggy trance from lack of sleep.

  He relieved himself. He checked his pocket for the set of keys the bank had issued him. Still there. He unlatched the briefcase for a quick look. The rows of stacked hundred dollar bills were just as they had been the last twenty times he checked. One last look at the clock said it was time to go. Stopping at the door, Dugan put his ear to it. The clatter of room service delivering breakfast to those who would have a considerably less structured day could be heard, but no voices of Hogans. Or DelGatti.

  The cab driver glanced back to his fare through the rear view mirror. This wasn't the first time that he had picked someone up who looked as though he had slept in his clothes. Only usually, it was in neighborhoods a little less accommodating than this one which included four star hotels. Usually it was in front of an all night bar or casino or some such place that left certain patrons with little options at the end of the evening. And certainly never, to his recollection, had he picked up anyone dressed in such disarray in front of a bank. Apparently, in this case, monetary shortfalls did not seem to be the case. The cabbie made this conclusion as his eyes abandoned the rear view mirror, turned to look directly behind him and came face to presidential face on the hundred dollar bill his fare was giving him in advance. It was just a small part of the five thousand dollars Benny had taken from the briefcase that now waited in the safe deposit box at the bank. Just walking around money until DelGatti figured Dugan no longer walked the earth.

  Soon, they came to the house where Benny Dugan had directed the cabbie. His brother's car wasn't in the drive. Just as well. Maybe it would be easier that way. He'd hide the key and leave a note where it would be safe.

  “Keep the motor running” Benny told the cabbie. “I'll only be about ten minutes.”

  “Sure thing, buddy.” The feel of the hundred dollar bill had not receded from memory. Perhaps there would be more.

  Benny removed his brother's extra key from under the rock by the front steps. Just like in the movies, but hardly a safe practice in real life. Marion Dugan had lived at this house for at least five years and as far as he knew, no one had taken liberties with the key, except him. Perhaps if anyone did know it was there, the incentive to break into a house belonging to a guy who worked at a morgue held no substantial promise of reward.

  “What do you mean, 'he must of left'?” Red DelGatti's sudden rise in blood pressure could be measured through the wireless connection just by the the crescendo in his voice with each subsequent syllable. It was morning and he had been expecting the call hours ago, one that would alert him that the deal had been done. Between Joey and Sammy Hogan, it was Joey who drew the short straw and was put in the dreaded position of making the call.

  “Sorry, boss” The big man knew they had screwed up. Benny Dugan was nowhere in sight. They just didn't know how, exactly. A couple of drinks was usually hardly worth the bother for men of their size and still relatively young metabolism, but somehow, they had fallen under the influence of their specially concocted drinks and the girls who sat in their laps. When the fog lifted, only a handful of the fraternity brats remained, mostly because so did the girls. However, Dexter Thornton figured the safest bet was to split, which he did as soon as he was satisfied that DelGatti's two chaperones wouldn't be going anywhere for at least a few hours. At least no where beyond where their dreams carried them.

  “Listen, you morons. Get over to the Temptation right now.” DelGatti paused a second, then asked “Are you moving? Get over there and for your sake, Dugan better be having his morning coffee waiting for you two idiots to pick up the money.”

  “Yes, boss” Joey said, the shade of concern he felt before the call escalating to a full blown panic. “Right away boss. We'll go get the money.”

  “Yes, you will” DelGatti assured them. “Because if you don't, the dynamics of our relationship will have a profound change. Understand me?”

  The silence that followed gave every indication that the underlying message was more than likely received, however the choice of words left the Hogan brothers in a state of confusion.

  “Just do it, morons!”

  Twenty minutes later, they were standing at the door to Benny Dugan's apartment in the rear of the Temptation. Joey knocked with a pounding force upon the door. “Dugan. Open up.” No sound could be heard from the other side of the door. Again he tried. “Dugan, open the door or I'll knock it down.” The door didn't open. Neither did anyone else bother to investigate what the ruckus was about. No one usually stirred before noon. The two goons stood in a vacuum of sound other than that of their own voices. That void persisted behind the door to Benny Dugan's apartment, but it was about to be broken. Sammy offered his services and put every ounce of his weight into a plunge at the door. They heard the sound of a crack as the wood splintered the jamb. One more thrust of his body against the door and he stumbled in past the now open doorway.

  The apartment was pitch black until the light from the hallway followed them. The curtains remained closed as they usually were, the view out the window hardly worth the effort of ever opening them. Making it into the bedroom, the bed stood in its usual state as well, unmade so as to make it hard to tell if Dugan had decided to come back to sleep last night. There were no signs that he had. They began to sweat under the pressure of their predicament. They threw the mattress up and over, half expecting a briefcase full of money to suddenly appear. When that failed to happen, they experimented with the tactic again by uncovering anything and everything where one might hide the money; the closet, the cushions of the sofa in the living room, all the kitchen cabinets, as well as the oven and refrigerator. Even if Benny wasn't there, on the desk in the corner sat his computer that did slumber. Hitting a few keys on the keyboard woke it up to present the password screen. That got Joey and Sammy nowhere. And then they checked the trash can beside the desk. On top was a printout of a receipt for TransContinental Bus Lines. Someone had made a reservation and that bus was scheduled to leave in two hours.

  Inside, Benny went to his brother's bedroom and opened the closet. A lone suitcase, something resembling a classic find at a downtown pawn shop, rested on the floor in the far corner. He took the suitcase and placed it on the bed. Once open, the smell of musk or mildew, or who knows what from years of non-use drifted through the air. There was no time to worry about what he considered a m
inor triviality.

  Marion may not have been built quite the same as his brother, the younger a little less toned in the torso, but his clothes would fit the elder close enough without looking like the selection was made by accident. Benny picked out a half dozen shirts from the closet as well as a change of pants. In a nearby dresser, he grabbed a handful of dark socks. He had to dig into the bottom of the drawer where they had been buried by his brother's usual selection of white crew socks. The underwear drawer gave him pause. He didn't know how he felt about wearing another man's briefs. Sensing no foul odor to complement that which the suitcase already offered, he took a handful without another thought. Benny haphazardly arranged everything he borrowed from his brother in the likewise appropriated suitcase. He would pick up toiletries later.

  In the kitchen, a pad of paper rested on top of the counter near the phone. Benny inked out a short note:

  'In case you find this before I call to explain, make sure to keep the key in a safe place. I will let you know when it is safe and what to do with it. Careful. Lots of money at stake.'

  Benny returned to the bedroom and the open closet. In a corner on the top shelf was a stack of magazines. He knew what they were without looking and figured it would be a sure place where his brother would find the note and key sooner or later. Probably sooner. So he lifted up the stack of girlie magazines to slip the items underneath. That was it. He was done. Benny could hear the cabbie revving his engine, getting a little antsy. He turned away from the closet and faced the bed. As he grabbed the suitcase, he heard something drop.

  A hat box that had been sitting on top of the stack of magazines had fallen to the floor. It landed upside down, its lid now resting askew below the box. Benny's first thoughts went to letting his imagination try to fathom what other items of perversion his brother kept in there. Carefully, he lifted the box. The lid remained on the floor. The contents separated from its container as the box was lifted away.

  Benny's balance immediately succumbed to the sight. He abruptly fell on his ass, his arms bent at the elbows barely catching himself from falling all the way over. Resting on his forearms, the sight caused an involuntary attempt to crawl backwards and away from what lay between his legs. Having rolled into position, appearing as if she looked right at him, was the missing part of Angel.

  The terminal for TransContinental Bus Lines was in an old one story building on the edge of downtown. It resided on a corner lot in what was in a bygone era a fashionable bank. Today, its high ceiling and ornate columns exuded nothing more than elegance eroded. Although still functional for its current purpose, its state of condition was supported by only adequate maintenance deserving of the patrons relying on the bus terminal in an era of modern transportation.

  The Hogan brothers had selected one of the wooden benches along the back wall, strategically placed next to an open top trash receptacle. From there they were afforded the opportunity to watch those arriving and departing the old building. They had been waiting for an hour while trying to blend into their surroundings along with those who waited on nearby benches for the announcement that it was their time to board. Some read. Some slept. Some lounged under a canopy of newspapers that served as a barrier for the bums that lurked beneath. The Hogans utilized their newspapers in a more traditional way, pretending to read as they held it up in front of them, an attempt to obscure themselves from view, hidden from the one who may recognize them before they caught sight of their prey. The seat was hardly comfortable, nothing like the soft sofa in DelGatti's office where they spent a good share of their leisurely time.

  “I'm going for a smoke” announced Sammy Hogan.

  “Can't you wait?” Joey countered with a touch of disdain toward his brother. “If Dugan's still coming, he'll be here soon.” He afforded a pause to lean over for a spit.

  “No, I can't wait.” Not that his brother had any right to condemn his habit. Sammy liked to smoke, but found Joey's chewing tobacco habit repulsive.

  As Sammy stood to go, Joey cautioned his brother. “Stay out of sight. Don't let him see you first.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Outside, the parking lot contained a few rows of cars, but was largely empty. At the back of the building was a three-sided wood structure with an open front made from fence pickets. It served to corral a couple of trash dumpsters. On either side of the corral, an array of cardboard boxes and discarded blankets marked the homes for a few of the city's homeless. Between the corral and the main entrance was a recessed area within the side of the building furnished with vending machines and a picnic bench. A few others huddled around the bench, a can in one hand, a cigarette in the other, casually passing the time. Sammy Hogan went to join them.

  By the fifth drag of his smoke, a taxi cab pulled into the lot. The passenger in back bent forward to pay his fare, then opened the door. He backed out of the cab while gathering his belongings. A suitcase and a hat box.

  Benny Dugan turned around and looked frantic as he surveyed the area. No one seemed to be paying him any mind. He looked toward the dumpsters and stared. Was he doing the right thing? What if he had left the box and his careless brother's secret was discovered by someone else? There was too much at stake. It was more than just brotherly love that motivated him to eliminate the evidence. If found, his brother would have little defense. Besides, Benny Dugan was not about to let anything foil his plans for the two of them. But since making his exit out the back door last night, Benny had began to question the validity of his thinking and the grand plan he had concocted.

  By Sammy's estimation, a count of three went by as Benny held his gaze across the parking lot. He couldn't tell what he was thinking or what specifically had caught his attention. But all that mattered was that Dugan appeared not to have spotted him. Sammy should have the jump on Dugan. But then Dugan began to walk quickly toward the dumpsters.

  Benny's stride changed to an accelerated cadence, one he hoped would not make him appear as someone with something to hide. Nevertheless, he felt quite vulnerable as he juggled the hat box under his arm. It seemed to keep sliding erratically between his arm and torso as he hastened. Dugan must not let the box fall from his grip, or heaven forbid, roll open to expose the contents before he could deposit it and break from its company.

  Sammy was about to follow his prey but after a few steps it became obvious just where Dugan was headed. Sammy remained under his own cover in the alcove watching Dugan's strange behavior. Whatever he was about to throw away must be of interest and maybe he could get it without a struggle or a scene.

  At the dumpster, Dugan made a few more awkward glances around him to see if anyone was watching him.

  Sammy Hogan stood behind the others still smoking and drinking within the alcove, and none of them seemed to pay attention to anything but their own conversations.

  Dugan set down his baggage and cautiously lifted the lid of the dumpster. He somewhat methodically shuffled the contents aside trying to access an abyss in the depth of the container. He retrieved the hat box at his feet and set it in the spot cleared about half way down. He then haphazardly rearranged the contents over the box, grabbed the suitcase and resumed the suspicious movements as he hastened toward the door to the bus terminal.

  Behind the veil of the other smokers, Sammy Hogan waited until Dugan crossed the parking lot, passed the alcove and went inside. Hogan would let his brother Joey intercept him. Something was fishy the way Dugan acted while getting rid of the box. Surely he wouldn't stash the money in the dumpster, but whatever it was, it was worth checking out.

  Stepping out from his point of observation Sammy quickly realized he would have to hurry before someone beat him to it. Up until this point, he didn't pay much attention to the large cardboard boxes that rested within the parameter of the dumpster enclosure. Apparently neither did Dugan. As soon as the deposit had been made, a blanket covering the front of one of the boxes had begun to flutter. Peeking from behind the door to his domicile, the homeless man had watch
ed Dugan hasten away. It was then time to investigate what new treasures awaited.

  Simon Abernathy had been living in his box for a few months, ever since the day his world vanished in a flash. Before that, a high-rise apartment was home. The stockbroker's identity was stolen and his account hacked. Drained dry, he found himself destitute. And desperate. He just needed to hang on until he could get a break.

  Abernathy had the lid of the dumpster peeled back. There was nothing of interest on top. There rarely is, at least not for very long. It's first come, first served, finders keepers in this world. However, a red square box with gold trim, barely visible down a layer, showed through the garbage. He brushed the top trash aside and lifted the box with both hands.

  He didn't even get it all the way out of the dumpster before a second pair of hands, which seemed to come out of nowhere, had grabbed ahold of the box. A stranger, apparently unaware of the unwritten rule that was honor among bums. The rule of first at two-handed possession. But Simon Abernathy wasn't about to relinquish his find without a fight. Sammy and Simon played tug-o-war for a few seconds before the thug came out victorious. But not before the top of the box went askew and the contents became visible.

  The sight affected the two men instantly, and simultaneously as if an unseen power had flipped a switch controlling all movement. Each of them tried to process what their eyes saw but brains either could not, or did not want to acknowledge. Simon Abernathy, once a man of means, was less accustomed to staring death in the face. But that was precisely what some cruel fate had trust upon him. At least he thought it was death. Although the face looked very much alive. Her eyes retained a bit of sparkle, were wide open and returned his stare with a look that seemed just as confused as he was.

  The spell was broken when the other pair of hands clamped down to claim the box and its contents. As Sammy Hogan spun around, he knocked his adversary to the ground, not intentionally, but with a shear rush of adrenaline that fueled the involuntary motion of sending an elbow out as he clutched the box and rotated away from the scene. Now, for the second time in but a few minutes, someone sauntered suspiciously from the dumpster enclosure while no one else took notice of the red box being carried back and forth across the lot.

  The first thing Benny Dugan did upon entering the TransContinental Bus Lines was look up at the clock that was built into the opposite wall. He still had twenty minutes before needing to board. It took a count of two for the implications of the time to run through the proper channels in his mind. His thoughts were sluggish as the vision of Angel's eyes staring back at him continued to haunt him. By the count of three, he resumed the quick paced walk to the door of the restroom beneath the clock.

  It was Benny's own countenance that haunted him now. He dropped the suitcase to the floor and stared at his reflection in the mirror. A man ravaged by a shaken confidence stared back. The long night, lying on the bed wide awake, not being able to sleep, was only the beginning. He had had far too much time to contemplate all the things that could yet go wrong with his convoluted plan. That plan now felt far removed from his original vision of grandeur.

  Of all the things Benny considered that could have gone wrong, Angel's demise never entered into the equation. That episode had a somewhat opposite effect. Her murder had been like the straw that broke the camel's back, the event that set Benny on a quest to break out of a life that had soured over the last few years. It had been a life that turned too many wrong corners, or more probably, it hadn't turned at all. Either way, he came to see nothing in front of him but dead end, until coming up with the idea for the way out.

  So why did her reappearance put everything in jeopardy? It wasn't just fear for his brother and his welfare that had been in his thoughts, even before finding the box. But now, in his mind, Angel's eyes surely were an omen of pestilence yet to come because of faith in an ill conceived plan.

  He didn't even hear the restroom door swing open. As he gazed blindly into the mirror, conscious thought hovered somewhere beneath where the clatter of heavy footsteps could be heard racing in his direction. It wasn't until a second before the man jabbed Benny from behind that he recognized the new face in the mirror.

  “Taking a little trip, scumbag?” Joey Hogan pressed his face right next to Dugan's. The smell of the thug's rich tobacco breath escaped his gritted teeth. The pressure from the gun barrel shoved into Dugan's back caused him to grimace. “Where's the money?”

  “I don't have it, Joey” Dugan defiantly told him. They'd known each other for years, even though none too intimately. Still, he didn't think Hogan would shoot him. Especially here anyway. The gunshot would reverberate throughout the whole building.

  Hogan looked down at the suitcase. He pushed Dugan aside toward the sink where he collided with the counter. Hogan kept the gun trained on him while opening the latch to the luggage. That's when Benny first saw the silencer on the end of the gun barrel. The relationship with his fellow DelGatti employee suddenly became more suspect.

  Hogan flipped open the suitcase and much to his dismay looked down into nothing but a pile of clothes. He grabbed at the top layer and threw a few shirts out to the floor. The money didn't appear. His free hand rifled through the remainder of the contents. Nothing.

  Standing up, Joey Hogan lunged at Dugan again. Only this time Benny saw it coming. “Where is it, Dugan?” They grabbed ahold of one another and matched strength in an awkward tussle for supremacy. Dugan didn't seem to be aware of the returned pressure near his side. Nor did Hogan feel his finger stiffen in the struggle as it inadvertently squeezed the trigger.

  The silencer did its job. The retort was barely audible, although the two men immediately knew what had happened, Hogan for the sudden dead weight in his arms, Dugan for the sensation of pain so intensely defined that he lost all vertical stability. His body collapsed to the floor. At the sight of the red splatter, his eyes closed and all movement came to an end.

  Hogan couldn't believe what just happened. He didn't mean to kill him. He just wanted to scare him into handing over the cash. Without it, DelGatti would not be happy. He stuffed the gun back in the holster under his jacket and stepped over the body lying among the scattered articles of clothing. He needed to escape before being found out. It was a desperate attempt to buy time, but on impulse, he repositioned some of the loose clothes on top of the body, then exited the restroom before he would have to kill someone else.

  Joey Hogan hurried through the bus terminal lobby trying to look innocent, a hard thing to do while turning his head from side to side checking to see if anyone watched him leave. Luckily the woman at the ticket counter was currently playing kissy-face with some jerk. Only one person paid any attention and only because Hogan, looking everywhere but straight ahead, brushed against the guy as he passed. Joey Hogan stopped only long enough for a quick glance. Surely the bum was of no consequence and he hurried out the front door. Simon Abernathy watched the man leave, staring at his back, but still thinking of the man's face that was eerily reminiscent of the last person he had bumped into.

  Sammy intercepted his brother in the parking lot as he walked back toward the building after securing the box in their car.

  “Where's Dugan?” Sammy asked.

  “Let's go” came Joey's nervously delivered words as he huffed by.

  “But what about..?”

  “Now, Sammy. Let's go.”

  Abernathy stopped dead in his tracks just a few feet after passing through the restroom door. He couldn't believe his eyes. Or his luck. Lying in a jumble on the floor was a multicolored answer to his most immediate wants. The rainbow of fabric blinded him, his focus momentarily unable to fan out beyond what lay on the surface. The clothes on his back were long overdue for a change. His nerves fired erratic impulses of joy inside him.

  It was only when Abernathy managed to regain mobility, walking toward the pile of garments that he noticed the splatter of red moisture that seemed to leak from underneath. He reached for the sleeve of a vaguely famil
iar shirt that angled out near the bottom and gave it a tug. His nerves fired again. This time a wave of shock went through Abernatyhy causing him to jerk back, lose his balance and fall hard on his ass. It was then he realized that the sleeve was still occupied, and the occupant wasn't moving.

  Abernathy stood. He pulled back the clothing on top to reveal the lifeless form of a man. His eyes zeroed in on the point of origin where the blood had oozed out. He was no doctor, but it didn't look good. How do you check for a pulse anyway? What he really wanted to know was how could he go his whole life without ever experiencing the sight of a dead stranger, the up close and personal type of experience that would constitute a tall story he could tell for years to come, and then today have that experience twice in the span of but a few minutes? At least this one still had his body attached, so maybe there was a chance for him.

  Luckily for Benny Dugan, Abernathy wasn't that far removed from the civilized world. He would have the police alerted. They would call an ambulance. But first, since the man, dead or alive, had more serious issues, Simon doubted that the one on the floor would begrudge him for taking advantage of a little of his charity. Just in case the man should wake up at any minute, Abernathy quickly scooped up most of the clothes and put them back in the suitcase. One red and white striped shirt remained on the floor away from the body and just out of range from the splatter of blood. He removed his tattered, well-worn and considerably fragrant shirt and put on the clean striped one. He grabbed the suitcase and took one quick approving look in the mirror before exiting the restroom.