“Dudes. Let’s track him,” Tommy grunted and like sheep nipped at the heels by a herding sheltie, we followed him blindly across the street.
The New Yorker walked casually enough, his gate a bit tilted, but his over-the-shoulder glances only made us more suspicious. Rick was convinced he was on the way to commit a heinous crime of unspeakable proportions.
“He’s probably going to find whoever hacked off his finger and kill the bastard.”
“Maybe chop off his head in retaliation or something,” he insisted.
Patrick thought he was off to cover up a crime he already committed. “You know, maybe he is hiding a body or two somewhere? Looks like the thug type.” (Hey, takes one to know one. No, I didn’t say that aloud.)
I wasn’t sure what to think. Mashnee wasn’t a place where folks came to commit crimes, or hide out from them either for that matter. It was a peaceful little community of tight-knit neighbors and welcomed guests, but even some of the locals seemed put off by this man. I was now convinced it was in fact, Mr. Pinky, that I heard the Barkcreep absolutely screaming at. Balling him out. About what, I still had no clue. But man was he pissed. Sounded like punches were about to be thrown.
“Let’s just see where he goes,” I said, dying to follow him. “Keep quiet and act natural.” I instructed the guys.
We kept our distance, careful to hide behind bushes or trees when available, and twice we had to duck behind parked cars because the guy suddenly turned and seemed to zero-in on us. It looked like he was nervous, albeit we could have been reading into that, or probably just out for an innocent stroll? Perhaps.
And when he crossed the street and headed toward my parents’ cottage (!!!), I almost dropped dead on the spot, my heart hammering like some witch doctors’ voodoo drums, loud, fast and hard! What the hell! “Guys, please tell me… no, is he going to my, gulp, folks’ cottage?!” I hissed.
Thank goodness he then veered off and headed straight for my beautiful next-door neighbors, Rochelle and Maxine’s cottage! What could he possibly want there? Should we stop him?
I happened to know they were gone off island for the day, to some kind of an art exhibit on Route 6A in Sandwich. They had told me about their plans that morning when I saw them out front of their cottage when I was stretching out to go jogging. In fact Rochelle joked that maybe they’d find me a new bandana on their travels! So nobody was home, that was for sure.
“What the what is this big lug even up to?”
“Hey, guys, I was nervous as hell, we can’t let him just walk into their house. I think we need to call someone. Maybe even the cops?”
“Oh,” Tommy retorted, “I didn’t realize Mary Ellen was with us today!”
The peer pressure was just too much… Against my better judgment, I relented, at least for now.
“You kiddin’ me! He’s just gonna walk right in there and steal their shit like a boss, ain’t he?” Tommy shoved me again just for good measure.
“And in broad daylight!” proclaimed Stick, wearing perhaps his dumbest-looking hat of the summer.
“Betya anything the door’s unlocked!” Big Patrick insisted.
We discreetly watched our number-one suspect creep around the cottage peering into multiple windows and even testing the front and side doorknobs, but he didnt go in. Was he just a dirty, old Peeping Tom who wanted to see some hot chicks undressing or something (Ok, who wouldn’t?), although it seemed rather obvious the girls weren’t home, or was there something more to this afternoon snooping, something downright sinister?
I panicked again…
“Hey, guys, seriously, maybe we really should call the cops?” My repetitive queries met with a barrage of chicken noises, middle fingers and rolling eyeballs. “Ok, it was just a thought…”
“We need to stay right here and see what he’s doing, Jimmyrocket. Stop your whining already and just watch, will ya?” Tommy ordered.
“Fiiine. She’s a TV crime reporter for a Detroit news station, ya know? The drop-dead stunning one, Rochelle, she’s sorta famous.” I filled them in, trying to act super cool for simply knowing her. “So, maybe that has something to do with it? Maybe she’s got a hot scoop on this pinky thug? Who knows!”
Like most homes on the island, the ladies left their shades up almost all the time and several windows open, to catch the offshore breeze that constantly dusted this part of the island and kept us cool. Even after what had transpired, a missing finger and dead guy, “home security” on the island was rather lax, making it all-too-easy to snoop around.
After a few more minutes of peering, Mr. Pinky left the girls’ cottage and headed toward the clubhouse, seemingly unaware he was being tracked.
With this creeping and peeping episode, Mr. Pinky had firmly solidified himself as the primary suspect, the odds now going up, in any and all shady activities on the island. Now, and for the foreseeable future. At least in our book and I believe we were the only ones keeping track!
Were we pushing our luck too far? Hell yes. Should we have stopped? Sure. Did we care? Well, I did. I mean… Hell No! After all, we were tough guys! So of course we kept following him.
Once at The Club our New Yorker headed straight upstairs to the Boat ’n Bottle Bar, manned by the creepazoid Barkeeper, Ben, and we saw them talking again rather heatedly. One thing looked clear, these two were certainly not friends, if anything, they acted like enemies, at least from our vantagepoint.
We were done spying for the day, but not snitching. I was waiting anxiously at our cottage and as soon as Rochelle and Maxine returned from their day trip, I hustled over to tell them what we saw. No way was I allowing that creepy pinky-less character to harass my gorgeous neighbors! They were upset and concerned, especially Maxine, although Rochelle didn’t seem nearly as surprised. I think she knew something about this guy…just my hunch.
The ladies told me they were going to confront the roughneck and maybe report him to Mr. Knight. I told them to be careful and asked if they needed my help…which they respectfully declined…perhaps if I were bigger and older they wouldn’t have! Damn my age, again!
Rochelle assured me she dealt with “snakes in the grass” like him all the time and was confident there wouldn’t be trouble. She thought she might know him from a previous encounter. She assured me it would be fine. I, on the other hand, was not nearly as sure. In fact, I saw trouble.
And from now on we’d be watching Ms. Vargas and her cottage, just a little closer (for professional purposes only). Naturally, living next door, that job of keen observer of cottage 16 would fall to me. Leaving little doubt that I was either going straight to hell or spending a lifetime in prison before this was over. Take your pick!
Chapter 56
Butcher
We needed more information and were intent on getting it.
Tommy’s follow-up plan was simple. And we were all ears.
We had one cottage, two parking lots, two sets of stairs, and one Boat ’n Bottle bar to stake out that night. And we were prepared. Our inventory included two sets of Batman and Robin plastic toy binoculars, courtesy of the Shifter boys, one pair of legit, high-powered military-quality binos, although the glass was badly cracked, courtesy of Ken and Patrick’s dad’s U.S. Marine souvenir war chest. Five packs of Black Cat firecrackers, one bottle rocket, and three loose M-80s, all gleefully supplied by Crazy Ed... along with two sets of walkie-talkies and a Polaroid camera Mary Ellen (Yes, that Mary Ellen!) lifted from her father’s “do-not-ever-enter” boat shed, at great personal risk of tarnishing her perfect record and stellar reputation, simply because she wanted to make us…
“Just a little bit safer, guys, come on, humor me. Take them; they work. I promise. Listen...crackle, crackle, It can’t hurt.”
Ok fine. Gotta love that girl. And we really did.
It was decided the planned undertaking would commence precisely one hour after dark—so we could meld stealthily into the unseen. We were repeatedly cautioned to steer clear of the Lump on the Bump de jour, be he Flim or Flam, as well as any cop cars patrolling the island, a sight which used to be quite rare but not anymore.
