Becoming The Infamous Todd by Zinnia Press

The Infamous Todd

Two Days _________ Past Dead

I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t look for trouble, It finds me. 2

Two Days Past Dead is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. 2010, 2011 BecHavn Publishing Group Copyright ÂŠ 2010, 2011 by Todd Kachinski All rights reserved. Published currently in the United States by BecHavn Publishing under the authority of Todd Kachinski and his heirs.

Reserved Edition

ISBN:

978-1-300-77695-6

Printed in the United States www.BecHavn.com Book Design: Todd Kachinski-Kottmeier

Dedication I dedicate the spirit of this book to

David Summers Who taught me to believe that I can make a difference.

I dedicate the compassion of this book to my eldest daughter

Cheryl Ann

Who taught me forgiveness.

I dedicate the story of this book to

My Parents

Who found the patience to teach their children to imagine a world they could have for themselves and the confidence to create it.

Finally I dedicate this book to

David Christopher Bradford of Brunswick Georgia

(1969 to 1994)

Foreword I rarely read the foreword to any novel before reading the story. I purchase most of my books and magazines to read the full-length version of the synopsis printed on the cover. To understand my story, it is critical for you to read this foreword. My name is Todd Kachinski-Kottmeier. Most people call me “The Infamous Todd” for all the wrong reasons. I would like to believe my reputation is only exaggerated because the people around me make my life stories so spectacular. Try to Google “Infamous Todd.” Yep that is I, the top one, well actually, most of them. This includes the restaurants and nightclubs. I have been manic all my life, right to the end. If I am dead by the time you read this book, Please do not say that I am in a better place when I die. It only cheats the awesome life God gifted me. I am not so vain as to consider my words integral to your daily life. I will say to you that my place in this world might best be left to gossip or even momentary laughter, as I am the most obnoxious person I know. I know this is true as even my best friends kindly remind me of this fact with their constant physical absence from my life. My obsessive-compulsive light burns brightly like a candle burning at both ends. I have paid the price for this in terms of my health and in my relationships with both friends and family. I have written many books, but this is the story that began it all. This is the second edition. Someone once compared my life to that of Forrest Gump, always in the right place at the right time, in my case, ‘’ the wrong place at the wrong time.’’ Do not get me wrong, as a restaurant consultant, owner, and chef; I have had the opportunity to be involved in almost a hundred restaurant chains. The market for vocational books is quite limited though. The original outline and summary for this book was in first person. An alarmed publisher discovered that much of the book was so accurate that its content constituted a legal

confession to felonies, many still within the statute of limitations; a place he did not want me to go. The second re-write of the story, for the first edition, changed the names of the not so innocent to protect them. I find it funny that we had to introduce them instead as fictional characters. This time the story got past the publisher but the editors felt the story was still too complicated. They then proceeded to remove my restaurant career, eliminated family members, erased my military service, blacked out both ex-wives and both my daughters, lightened any gay references, and finally morphed friends and acquaintances to carry multiple story lines. In my anger, from them constantly trying to change my story, the publishers had to remind me that this was a fictional story, nothing more, nothing less. I fought hard to keep most of the actual events of my life in this fictional story, by explaining to the publisher and the editors that even James Michener had enough actual events in his books to make the fictional tales seem realistic. One of the funniest lines in this foreword came at the suggestion of the publisher’s PR Department. The public relations manager thought it would be clever to get comments from the people who were actually involved in the adventures and quote them on the book’s jacket. My editor asked him, “What do they call a list with such names?” The overly dressed yuppie of a PR man just shrugged his shoulders just as my editor replied, “A list of witnesses for the prosecution.” All parties involved decided that once again, I should not fill in too many of the details of this fictitious story. It is best that I conclude my foreword by reminding you that the story I am about to tell is purely fictional. If, by chance, any events in this book match any events in reality, it is purely by coincidence. Yup, it is purely by coincidence. “The Infamous Todd”

Acknowledgements I want to thank personally my dear friends John Behr, Steve Hammond, and Dr. Christina Gonzalez, each of these are BecHavn Publishing Group’s Senior Editors. In addition, I want to thank Kenny Walker, Bryan Hadley, Stewart Carrier, and Ronnie Willis for taking moments from their lives to help me write this book. If it were not for their contributions, this book would still be 1,282 index cards sprawled across my bed, long past my deadline. In 1998, writer Daniel Wallace published his novel “Big Fish.” In the story, the lead protagonist beckons his son to his deathbed to tell him about his own life tale. The father’s stories were so fanciful that the son concludes that his father was fabricating his life story for whimsical effect. As the book ends, the father dies. In customary English fashion, the memorial for family and friends is held at the home. As the son arrives at the funeral, he is introduced one-by-one; to each of the actual people from the stories his father had told incredulously, discovering the actual validity of his father’s lore. In direct relation to this particular reference, I would like to thank some of the more incredible (and perhaps less credible) friends and family members that have shared their colorfully enriched craziness with me in my life. You are the people that have truly assured that my world would always be stranger than fiction. Because of that fact, I am sure that my readers will have difficulty believing that some characters ever existed beyond my imagination. We will keep that our little secret. “Happiness is truly in the details of your life” Infamous Todd 1981 ♣

Two Days Past Dead*

“Failure is often your self-conscience setting you up for a bigger reward” The Infamous Todd

♣

Chapter One

Hidden from view. You can read this FREE chapter on www.millionhugs.com, Amazon, Kindle, Nooks, Barnes and Noble…

* Facebook sneak peak of the fictitiously, colorful version of the retelling of the rumors leading up to Auggie becoming “The Candy Man.” A reminder, in any of this story matches my own, it is purely coincidental. 8

Two Days Past Dead “Live your life with the imagination of your youth.” The Infamous Todd

♣

Chapter Two It was 1977 and Auggie was trying so very hard to pinpoint the actual moment in his life that his behavior had changed. He had always been an out of control, Ritalin child, type-A personality from birth. Moreover, usually all of his wild activities involved making money. Auggie was always up to something that led to trouble. Most people go through life wondering if they were adopted. In Auggie’s house, his sisters constantly prayed that he was an adopted child. Everyone had always considered him a problem child, not your typical lemonade-stand type of kid. He was still small when his Protestant mother had gone to see the movie premier of “The Exorcist.” The next day she visited her minister to discuss the possibility that Auggie might be possessed. The pastor kindly sent her home with no further discussion on the matter. Auggie’s imagination had always brought him to the more bizarre moments of life. His enthusiasm unintentionally brought cohorts into his adventures. When he was twelve, he had convinced his sister Shirley to help him assess the value of the furniture in their home in the event that their divorced mother should suddenly die. He next convinced his brother David and their baby sister to join them in building a fort in the

woods that they would be able to call home upon that fateful time of their mother’s departure. This particular adventure lasted three weeks before they decided that living with their grandparents would be much simpler. In the mid-seventies Alice moved her three children from Auburn Heights to Holly, a small village twenty miles south of Flint. She had just married Donald Summers, a short Englishman she had met at the Pontiac Parents Without Partners Christmas Social. It was the third marriage for both. Alice fell for Donald rather quickly, although he was nothing like the men she normally dated. He was much quieter, more reserved, and much more distant than the rowdy, bad-boy drifters she had always seemed to attract. Donald was a successful car salesman at the Szott Ford dealership in Holly. Alice was excited to bring her new family to Donald’s small home on Holly Bush Drive. The in-laws lived across town on East Maple Street in Donald’s childhood home. Donald had another sister that lived three blocks away. That sister got Alice a job as an Assistant Manager at a Dutch Pantry Restaurant off U.S. 23 in the neighboring city of Fenton. Alice wanted a different path for herself and her four children. It seemed like the mature thing to do. After all, she was now past thirty. Having a carload of children made dating, much too complicated. Moving to Holly turned a new leaf for the entire family. Auggie and Shirley started classes at Sherman Middle School while their siblings took classes at Holly Elementary. The one single thing that Auggie would always remember from that first day in their new school was a penciled remark placed in the men’s room stall of one of the bathrooms near the gym. The graffiti read, “Flush twice. The cafeteria is on the other side of the building.” They had been to the village only once before the marriage and their subsequent move to Holly. One particular

visit happened during the annual Carrie Nation Festival. The town was bustling with shopping tourists. Alice had taught baton and pom-poms to adolescent girls in Auburn Heights. She had been successful in starting up a new troupe in her new town. Today, her Avondale Baton Troupe would walk in Holly’s parade celebrating some old woman with a hatchet that did not want people to drink. Auggie knew it was something like that, but the details were somewhat murky for him. During the move from Auburn Heights, Auggie had come across an empty, rusty old toolbox that was buried in the bottom of a closet in his new father’s home. To Donald, it was merely something the trash man should have removed years ago, but for Auggie, it had character. He was amazed that something so old had survived two generations. This move to Holly marked the eleventh relocation in his fifteen years of life. Nothing he owned had a story attached to it. Nothing he had ever possessed had managed to last for more than five years, but now he had a toolbox that had once belonged to his new grandfather and was now being passed on to him by Donald, his new father. Auggie was fifteen years old and owned nothing from his birth father. That man had vanished from his life when Auggie was only five years old. He felt honored that this simple rusty toolbox had history and now a part of his newfound heritage. “Auggie, you are moving to a new school. Anything in your past can vanish. Anything you ever wanted to be, you can become from this day forward.” whispered his new father. Those words inspired Auggie to be a better person, in his new school, with his new dad, with his new last name. His initial plan to repaint his toolbox red changed the moment that he saw the Day-Glo yellow paint downtown at McKay’s Hardware Store. Soon he had sanded, primed, and painted the old, bulky metal toolbox bright yellow. He plastered the box with decals purchased from the local five and dime

including a smiley face, peace sign, white cartoon daisy, and a sticker claiming, “If the van’s a rockin’, don’t come knockin’!” A green swath of felt now lined the insides of the bucket and removable tray. Auggie placed fifteen candy bars in the lower section of the box along with an artistic place card denoting “$1 chocolate bars” and “One quarter for three Mary Jane’s candies. His prize offering was a new product named “Bubble Yum” that he would sell for fifty-cents a pack. He cut out a piece of hard plastic to hold it to the top groove inside the old toolbox lid. Auggie would take this box to his new school. In 1975, the LifeSavers Candy Company had rolled out a new product called, ‘Bubble Yum.’ It was the first soft, gel-type gum sold in the United States. The Hershey’s Candy subsidiary was excited about its incredible success from day one. The product was actually so successful that demand quickly outstripped supply forcing Hershey to suspend their National advertising for the new gum. Within 5 weeks, Bubble Yum became the only candy Auggie sold in the large metal box. On the sixth week, Auggie reluctantly retired the metal box and replaced it with a purple LIFESAVERS gym bag. Later one afternoon, Auggie’s life changed while picking trash from the huge dumpsters at the Szott Ford dealership. His haul normally would be nothing more than a broken calculator, plastic bookbinders, or discarded picture frames. On this day, it was four boxes of some rather unusual business cards. To the best of Auggie’s knowledge, these cards were for inventory or stock numbers used for parts. He really did not care. What was important to him was that each box contained 250 thin-plastic stock cards, each with a unique number printed boldly in black. The next day, Auggie taped one of those plastic cards to each package of Bubble Yum. Any classmate purchasing five packages throughout the week could redeem the five plastic cards for a free package of gum.

Bubble Yum sold for a quarter a pack at all the local stores. Within a month, Auggie was snapping up every package entering Holly at full retail price. His first attempts to buy the gum wholesale through Cunningham Drugs, Hammond’s Grocery, and then finally Barney’s Market were summarily rejected. Auggie’s fortune changed however, when Martha Glick, the manager of the local ‘Ben Franklin store’ gave him his first break by selling him Bubble Yum at wholesale for a mere nine cents a pack. Martha was impressed by Auggie’s good business sense, considering his age. She wished with a sigh that her own teenaged son would show such initiative. Ben Franklin Stores are one of those retail shops that try to be a little of everything in small town USA. A little five and dime, tossed in with arts and crafts mixed with miscellaneous retail ware. Most people might never realize this, but Sam Walton of ‘Wal-Mart' fame started his career with a Ben Franklin Store. “Everything begins somewhere.” Auggie’s assimilation into the Holly School System had been radical. Few people could even begin to realize the vast network he had created throughout three local schools within the first four months of entering the new school. He had amassed a sales team of fifteen classmates from Sherman Middle School, Fenton High, and Holly High Schools to sell his Bubble Yum. By the end of the first month, he had twenty-two students in four schools including the Adelphian Academy of Holly. The agreement was for each friend to sell the gum at fifty-cents a pack, split the quarter profits fifty-fifty with Auggie, less payouts for cards exchanged, which Auggie credited upfront with a nickel per pack discount on initial charges. Under the belief that Auggie was paying twenty-five cents a pack, this seemed like more than a fair deal for all involved. Auggie continued to purchase all of the retail packages in town, thereby increasing demand, while guaranteeing both a

monopoly and the elimination of product for potential competitors. The demand became so high that the team started selling over a thousand packs a week. The new venture became more aggressive about the same time he met George Behr, a Holly High School Senior that also went to his Lutheran Church. George proposed selling to Auggie a box of twelve packs of Bubble Yum for one dollar a box. This increased profit a buckforty a box. Auggie never asked for proofs of purchase, but Behr worked as a stock boy for Barney’s Market, a point not lost on Auggie. Old Man Barney must have thought that his retail sales of Bubble Yum were through the roof as he increased the orders only to find his stock wiped out again by the end of the week. The following month ended with George procuring operatives at eight retailers throughout Davison, Fenton, and Holly ensuring a discounted supply of the coveted goods. The differences between Auggie and his parents could fill a book. It is important to note that his parents were Democrats in the seventies, each of them with their own secrets of past indiscretions. Auggie understood that his Mother, the flower child, had grown into the same kind of person she had so strongly protested in her past. Auggie continually pushed the limits of his parents’ liberal views. He was now a fifteen year-old in the ninth grade and owner of a booming underground business. A new gum craze was at full throttle in the United States and Auggie had now earned the nickname, “The Candy Man.” To his parents, Auggie was a goofy kid that mimics their favorite television show character ‘Jack’ from a new ABC-TV comedy that had premiered that spring called “Three’s Company.” They were amused that their dopey son was carrying a briefcase more than half a decade before another television character named Alex Keaton made it fashionable to be a Young Republican. They were just happy that he had settled

into his new town so quickly and seemingly without trouble. Every conversation they had about him determined that Holly must have brought him the stability he needed to just be a regular kid. The secret hiding place for all of his cash in his parents’ home was in the air conditioning vent blowing into the bedroom that he and his brother shared. By now, it was no longer possible to store the growing cash in the duct. This forced Auggie to start making plans for his first large purchase in order to disguise his newfound wealth. Up to his point, he had been explaining away his sudden riches by telling his parents that they came from mowing the neighbors’ yards. The sole purpose for why Auggie had begun selling candy was to have spending cash, just a little spending cash. By the time the cutting edge blockbuster movie ‘Star Wars’ premiered in May, Auggie’s stash of money was becoming so immense that he was barely able to keep it hidden in his room any longer. He decided at this point that it was time to concentrate on making a significant purchase. One that would diminish the stockpile of money that seemed to be growing out of control, yet not arouse his parents’ suspicion of its true value. His answer came in the form of a new gadget marketed in advertisements as the Apple II, a home-computing device that contained 48K of RAM with a price tag of $2,638.00. By June, Auggie had enough cash to buy one outright. His parents’ ignorance of this new technology served well to camouflage its value. He would keep his new toy at his friend Mark Alexander’s house, a place where his parents would never venture. Everything seemed to be so neatly in place, almost perfect. “Austin Chapman, Auggie Summers, Joshua Dunn, Tod Cornish, Arthur Ciel, Pamela Champion, Roger Bolivar, and Brandon Hammond… Please report to the Principal’s office.”

Two Days Past Dead “Run through life, for there is plenty of time to rest at the end.” The Infamous Todd

♣

Chapter Three Even in 1978, a student would never have been summoned to the Principal’s office over the P.A. system for having done something good. The fact that Auggie was being called along with seven others at the same time seemed seven times more ominous. The chances that all of the other students were being paged because their parents were all concurrently experiencing personal emergencies requiring an audience with the Principal seemed virtually impossible. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” With each step Auggie’s inner chorus would chant the curse word as he tried valiantly not to pass out in the middle of the hallway. He knew he was “busted.” Auggie had rehearsed this moment a hundred times over, but never had the scenario including so many people in his organization being busted all at the same time. In his mind… the lie, the story, the alibi had always involved some teacher catching one of his friends selling Auggie’s products in class. The irate teacher would demand that the activity cease immediately, as she escorted the violator to the Principal’s office to receive a smack on their wrist for selling ‘non-school sponsored items’ on school property. Only in his

“worst case scenario” might a connection to Auggie be uncovered. Were that to happen, Auggie would give that “awe shucks” look, receive his “slap on his wrist,” and move on. He had played all of this out repeatedly hundreds of times in his mind. It had to happen this way for this scenario to work out in Auggie’s favor. His pace quickened as he thought, “After all… how much trouble can a kid get into for selling Bubble Yum? He thought, “I do not look for trouble. It finds me.” Today though, the shit had officially hit the fan. Back and forth, his thoughts scrambled from one thought to another, each being interrupted by his inner voice quietly swearing; “Fuck,” one more time. The echo of his feet in the empty hall kept tempo with his swearing. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck...” He walked past his guidance counselor’s door, past the gym, and made a hard right toward the center of the school. From sixty feet away he saw the mob of people awaiting his arrival. “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck” the monotone words were now coming much faster than his steps. Standing in line at the front offices was not merely the Principal, but also his parents, two members of the Fenton Police Department, four officers from the Holly Police Department, his guidance counselor, seven members of his sales team, along with an assortment of their parents amassed waiting for Auggie. They were so crowded into the Principal’s office that they spilled down the hall, into the adjoining room and practically back into the lockered corridor. The police search of the school’s lockers had produced most of Auggie’s current stash, which was summarily confiscated. Just the portion of contraband they had found was

enough to shock all of the authorities involved; fourteen lockers, five feet tall, full of gum. “Fourteen full lockers of gum, I heard they found fourteen damn full lockers of gum. Fourteen…” the crowded rooms seem to mumble back and forth in unison. Not one person in Holly actually ever knew the true extent of Auggie’s operation, but by the time it had been discovered; the total of cash and inventory was in excess of five thousand dollars, making him the largest single retailer in the country for Bubble Yum bubble gum. The Principal gave Auggie a brief opportunity for an explanation. Auggie had practiced this cover story a thousand times over in his mind, but now decided to expand this well thought out alibi to include all of his friends. To his selling staff’s benefit, none of them actually knew the true scale of his operation. Auggie had always been very good at keeping those types of details to himself. The last thing Auggie wanted, was to create desire for people to compete against him. Without hesitation, Auggie recited his lines without blinking. Everyone in the room knew he was lying. The words came out of his mouth too fast and too perfectly. There was no pause, interruption or self-correction, and not a single clarification. They all knew he was lying. His unlikely explanation of the source of his merchandise was naively simple, yet remarkably effective. “I found it in a field near the railroad tracks past the rocks at Rosette Street and Saginaw, just across from that blue metal factory that makes some machinery; practically a whole pallet. I don’t know if it fell off of a train or out of the back of a truck.” That was Auggie’s story and he relentlessly stuck to it. Finder’s keepers. It was a slow Wednesday afternoon the day that the Holly and Fenton Police departments busted the students. The

police officers, led by Sergeant Theodore Ragan, had arrived at the Sherman Middle School with the intent of arresting Auggie Summers and seven students on charges of grand theft. A slow Wednesday in Holly was followed by a slow news day for the Detroit Free Press. Karl Mulligan, a junior editor who worked the past two decades on the local section for Oakland County sat solemnly at his huge oak desk. He casually flipped through arrest records and the county police blotter. Fortunately, for Auggie, the editor was in a playful mood, as his wife had announced just that morning that she was finally pregnant. They had been trying to conceive for the past six years. The short, stocky Hungarian laughed uproariously aloud while reading the police report of the previous day’s events in Holly. His unusual laugh caught some of the puzzled newspaper interns off guard. Mr. Mulligan was known in the pressroom as “Tank”, but hardly for his laughter or sunny disposition. His nickname was a rude endearment placed upon him years before, by his peers in college, due equally as much to his stature as his tendency for bullying people in order to get his way. Tank sat there at an overly large desk, which appeared to consume his short body. His bald head was the only part on his frame not overgrown with apish hair. In his hands was the police report detailing the exploits of a 16-year-old boy in the tiny town of Holly, allegedly caught trafficking candy of all things, across two Midwest towns. With budding amusement verging on glee, he continued to learn that it had taken four of the finest police investigators from both Oakland and Genesee counties to bring him down. The local law enforcement agencies had already ‘unofficially’ dubbed him “The Candy Man”. Again, he laughed. The following day, a playful article on the front page of the ‘Lifestyle and Entertainment’ section of the Detroit Free Press read:

Holly, Michigan – Arthur Pingolio Wednesday, SWAT teams from Oakland and Genesee counties stormed Sherman Middle School in Holly, Michigan. With guns drawn, in a daring daylight raid, the dualcounty police forces of both counties brought down the elusive candy kingpin, Auggie Summers. The combined squads Anti-Cavity & Plaque Force apprehended Mr. Summers, known in the confectionery underworld as “The Candy Man”. During the assault, armed with hundreds of tear gas cylinders and stun grenades, they smashed in dozens of windows and bulldozed over several cars in the parking lot with their armored tanks. Stunned students fell to the floor in terror as attack dogs ran through the halls feverishly seeking the sugary contraband. One band student, Jim Ferris, was seriously injured during the raid when a police dog tore off his leg, reportedly, because Mr. Ferris had spilled the crème from a Twinkie snack cake on his pants earlier that morning. The police dogs quickly tracked down fourteen school lockers, throughout four local schools, packed with the allegedly illegally gotten ‘Bubble Yum’ bubble gum. Mr. Summers, the mastermind behind the entire organization, along with a dozen or so of his candy-mob associates, were escorted away in iron shackles by armed guards. As they left the school building, Sgt. Theodore Ragan of the Holly Police Department was overheard telling the youth that, “Four out of five dentists would have approved of this raid”. The students thought the article was hilarious. A much dryer version of the police blotter detailing the actual events that had taken place, had appeared in The Detroit News, the Oakland Press, and the Tri-County News with much less fanfare. Teachers bragged that one day Auggie would do awesome things with his talents. His parents publicly scolded

him for the scandal, but behind closed doors, they secretly agreed that they were quite impressed with his ability to engineer such a successful business. Everyone in town ultimately agreed that this was not a funny story, yet, one by one, they were repeating it with amused smiles. In living rooms across the small town, parents discussed Auggie’s youthful behavior as if that was the reason the Michigan prisons were overcrowded. A local maverick restaurateur named Peter Duncan, personally found the follow up editorials on the subject hilarious, and sent them to his Colombian friend, Carlos Ledher. The police departments were highly embarrassed by the Detroit Free Press story for making them out to be buffoons. Due to a lack of witnesses or victims, all of the charges against Auggie were quietly dropped. No one came forward that was either willing or able to confirm, or deny Auggie’s ridiculous alibi. There was simply no proof of any theft. Not one single retailer had records of such a huge amount of stock missing as to fill fourteen lockers. The authorities would however, be sure to avenge their embarrassments over the next year. That spring, the Holly Library caught fire. Regardless of the fact that there was no reason for suspicion, Sergeant Ragan took a perverse kind of satisfaction in hauling Auggie in for questioning. There was no shred of evidence even remotely suggesting Auggie’s involvement in the fire. Over the next eight months, two dozen more fires of suspicious natures lit up the Township of Holly. The arsonist burned his way across the tiny village. The Press had already dubbed the criminal, “The Holly Arsonist”. In January, the “Historic Holly Hotel” became the latest victim of the firebug as it suffered damages in excess of a half million dollars. Each time a fire broke out there was the Sergeant. He would haul Auggie out of his class, placing him in handcuffs, so he could parade him out in front of the school to question him.

Auggie would solemnly stand there, as the flashing lights on top of the police car caught the attention of anyone in any of the dozen classrooms that faced the front of the school. For a half hour, he would interrogate him before releasing him from the handcuffs and driving away. Sergeant Ragan knew that Auggie was innocent of these crimes, but Auggie was a smug pain-in-the-ass kid hiding behind his “Aweshucks, I cried when President Ford from Michigan lost to Jimmy Carter from Georgia” personality. This was the Sergeant’s form of pay back. Each time, as the officer drove away, he would roll down his window and say, “It hurts to be publicly humiliated.” Auggie never took it personally. It was hard to feel self-righteous when he alone knew the whole truth of the candy’s origin.

Two Days Past Dead “Make these the incredible days flashing before your eyes the moments before you die” The Infamous Todd

♣

Chapter Four “Earth to Billy, Come in Billy!” snapped the fellow eleventh grader as she stole the cigarette from Billy’s mouth, “Are you going to smoke or just stare at the gym dorks on the field?” Billy Wilson stood there in the shadows of the gymnasium door watching some high school kids playing some free-style version of tag football in the snow. His curly, long hair covered his stunning brown eyes, as the late afternoon breeze brushed across his face. Billy had one of those farmer’s bodies passed from one male after another, generation by generation, not by the grace of working out, but a combination of good genes and high metabolism. “I could have easily played varsity football” Billy spoke, not watching Peggy’s eyes roll in disbelief. Billy was sturdy and had no problem standing his own ground. Her disbelief of her sixteen-year-old friend came from reality. Peggy could not picture her smoking-buddy forced to practice all week long as people yelled, especially Coach Champion. In her mind, she chuckled as she pictured him wearing the red and white Holly Bronco’s Junior Varsity jacket colors instead of his black Metallica windbreaker. Billy pondered

through the smoke on the merits of 1979, being the worst year of his life, though it was hardly over, neither the year, nor his life. The afternoon was spent. Soon the last bell would ring, discharging the students to the stream of yellow busses parked next to the school auditorium. In the distance, Billy watched a friend slowly approach his car in the student parking lot. They both laughed. “Auggie Summers is the weirdest kid in this school,” laughed Peggy, as she watched Auggie approach his Delta 88 station wagon. In his arm, Auggie still carried the tan vinyl fauxleather briefcase he had purchased a few years prior when selling gum. Auggie set the case in the back seat of the car that he had purchased from his parents during the long summer. As Auggie drove slowly past the gymnasium, he honked his horn at the two sophomores hiding behind the school. Auggie laughed at the thought of the two smokers tucked in the door well, often smoking pot, validating every high school cliché. ”Some day that dude is going to own the world. Did you know that Auggie wrote the song they had to sing when Holly got a postage stamp named after it?” Billy remarked wryly as he grabbed the stub of the finished Marlboro from Peggy’s mouth. “I’m going to be there beside him pimping bitches like you to any guy with five bucks in his pocket.” Billy laughed at his own joke as Peggy punched his firm arm. Billy took the last drag from the cigarette and tossed it into the grass just as the last school bell rang. As they entered the building, Peggy thought of Auggie the dork, selling hall passes to them, each time they had the urge to hide out in the auditorium. Auggie had become the “go-toguy” for unusual requests like fake driver’s licenses, and packages of pre-signed hall passes. Auggie was the man to see, to sneak into closed and locked rooms using the keys, which he had somehow acquired, almost certainly through unscrupulous means.

He was also the weirdo that glued brown felt material to a plastic bathroom trashcan, to resemble a horse head. He then sewed his own horse outfit to wear to the Holly Bronco Junior Varsity football games as the Bronco mascot. “No wonder our team lost” Peggy thought. For the remainder of his freshman year, Auggie had somehow managed to refrain from any more misadventures. In tenth grade, he had briefly held a position at the Holly Lanes Bowling Alley, and had even managed to get himself hired at Barney’s Grocery as a part-time stock boy. By eleventh grade, Donald Summers decided that it was time for his new son to get a respectable job. He needed to find a job for Auggie. Alice and Donald knew they needed to find a job for their son that would be so mundane that Auggie would be afraid to end his life working on a GM assembly line, pressing the same monotonous button. That opportunity came at the Mount Holly Ski Lodge in Holly Michigan. Here, Auggie would be employed, hand-boring holes into snow ski boards in preparation for ski boots to be attached to them. It was the late seventies and cocaine did not have a street value. The only people purchasing cocaine were the affluent, upscale sort, with disposable incomes. Mainly doctors, lawyers, stockbrokers, club owners and the like. Marcus Coldwater was the shift manager of the ski shop of the largest ski resort in southeastern Michigan. Marcus was also a drug dealer. He had heard the entertaining stories of Auggie’s ninth grade exploits from some of his employees during the first three days that Auggie worked for him. Marcus knew from the second they met, that ‘The Candy Man’ was the type of character that would do well selling his coin-sized, manila envelopes. Each beige envelope packed with plastic corners of sandwich bags filled with fifty dollars in blow. Auggie did not let him down. Auggie did not become a successful salesman just because he believed in the product. Quite the contrary. At that

age, Auggie had never tried any drug. To tell the truth, he had not tried cocaine, marijuana, pills of any sort; and at the present, had never even tasted alcohol. In fact, Auggie was still a virgin. What made Auggie successful was, just like the bubble gum, he was challenged by selling contraband. Making five bucks for each bag he sold did not hurt either; after all, minimum wage for grinding holes in skis was $2.90 an hour. Within three weeks, Auggie was selling more envelopes then all the other runners in the lodge combined. Within seven weeks, Auggie was bringing in eighty percent of all of the combined sales. By the end of the second month, unbeknownst to him, Auggie had once again gained the attention of Coldwater’s drug supplier. This would be the second time that Auggie unknowingly got the big boss’s undivided attention. Marcus Coldwater received his drugs from Peter Duncan himself, the man that received his cocaine directly from the shipments flown in from Columbia, to a small airfield in Holly Michigan. This same man had cut out the article about The Candy Man from the Detroit Free Press eighteen months earlier and mailed it to his friend Carlos Ledher. Carlos ran a rapidly growing Colombian network, which was now responsible for the distribution of hundreds of kilos of cocaine throughout the United States. Peter Duncan was a successful restaurateur in Michigan. The Duncan Food Group had several large restaurant operations in several towns across Michigan. Its flagship ‘Duncan’s Seafood Restaurant’, was on Woodward Avenue in nearby Detroit, just west of The Renaissance Center. His home in Groveland Valley Estates was actually a combination of two mansions with corridors that connected them. Between the two main buildings was the largest private pool in the entire state. He hosted parties and events for Michigan’s movers and shakers, about which many stories were printed in the society pages with much fanfare. His parties for

the uber-famous made Peter Duncan legendary, in a state known largely for fast cars, Motown, and rock & roll. The end of the winter ski season was rapidly coming to a close. Peter Duncan surprised Auggie one day by personally inviting him to join him for lunch at the Warwick Hills Country Club in Grand Blanc, Michigan. Warwick Hills was one of those upscale, expensive private clubs that held the honor of hosting the PGA Tour’s Buick Open each summer. It was a ‘home away from home’ for Peter Duncan. Not because it was so exclusive, but because during the PGA tour, the famed 17th hole was consistently voted as ‘the second largest outdoor party in the world’. The only party larger was the Florida-v-Georgia football game. Peter loved to drink, and when he drank; he got loud, very loud. On those occasions, he fit right in with all the other former blue-collar men that had become wealthy. Nevertheless, today was not the PGA Tour. Peter asked comfortably, “Auggie, when you sit around talking with your friends about your future, what do you tell them about yourself?” He watched with hidden amusement while the nervous teenager fumbled with a cocktail napkin. The small napkin was stuck to the bottom of his iced tea glass as he picked it up. Earlier, as their waitress was taking their drink order Auggie had made a long speech to her about how he would like his iced tea. He had gone to great lengths to convey to her how much he hated lemon, begging her to serve his tea without the customary citrus wedge; yet there, perched insidiously on the rim of his glass was a lemon. Auggie simply stared with accusation at the fruit, refusing to make a comment; but at the same time, made no motion to remove it. Peter gazed expressionlessly at the teenager, reminding himself of his guest’s age. Auggie sat inside the country club peering through the huge glass windows overlooking the magnificent greens. In the teenager’s effort to remain calm, he let out a breath, paused, and

with a sweeping, bizarre hand-gesture, accidentally spilled the iced tea glass with one hard smack. Peter tried to rescue his Hoyo de Monterrey cigar from the ashtray, as the glass twirled on the table, but he was too late. He tried his best to not look pissed off. “Calm down Auggie. You are nothing like the person I was expecting to meet. You look like you’re about three seconds away from pissing your damn pants” Peter said as he extended his hand, placing it on the nervous boy’s shoulder. “It’s okay. We are okay. In ten seconds, I can have that cigar replaced. Your tea my friend, may take a little longer.” With that, Peter let out a loud laugh catching the attention of the other diners. Peter knew instinctively that Auggie did not have the slightest idea of the expense to buy the fine cigar. Peter ordered another iced tea, reassured by the waitress that it would be delivered sans lemon. “I took the liberty of having your background checked by a police friend of mine. My source tells me you are only an okay student in spite of the fact that the Oakland County school system tested your IQ at 159 in 1973. This tells me one of two things about your mediocre grades. Either you do not care about school, which I do not believe, or that you are trying to do too many things at one time, and the results are, at best, mediocre. “Auggie… Never let your knowledge be a mile wide but only an inch deep.” “I’m okay, just a little overwhelmed,” the teenager said as he pushed back on his leather chair. “I’m just a little nervous being here right now. I’m just a nobody. In your world Mr. Duncan, in places like this, people like me are dishwashers and golf caddies.” “That’s where you are wrong Auggie. I can promise you that I know few grown adults with the natural ability that you have of convincing people to follow you.” Peter took another large drink from his beer before continuing. “Years ago, you caught my attention as The Candy Man. I laughed so hard reading that damned article in the

Detroit Free Press that I nearly choked. To tell you the truth kid, I sent out one of my busboys to buy about ten of the papers to send to friends that share my sense of humor. My personal copy, still sits fading away under the glass on top of the desk, in my home.” Again, Peter laughed loudly, this time catching the waitress off guard as she approached the table with a fresh tall glass of iced tea. “Auggie, I knew as I read that article, that I should be your mentor, now here you sit. I get what I seek in life and I want to teach you how to do the same. Coldwater told me you want to have restaurants like me, is that true?” Peter watched silently, as Auggie again stared with distaste at his iced tea, where yet another fat lemon sat perched, dripping juice down the side. Peter reached over with a quick laugh and snagged the lemon off the rim, startling his lunch guest. “I want one place,” Auggie said, blushing as he realized that people were quietly talking about him, with interest, behind his back. “I want to open a place like ‘The Kit-Kat Club’. You know, like in the movie ‘Cabaret’.” Auggie could feel his guard loosen as he found some common ground in their conversation. “Tell me about that place you want to own someday. Will it be a big business somewhere in Michigan?” The senior restaurateur seemed genuinely interested, as he watched his second pilsner of beer melt away the frost on the chilled glass. “When do you find the time to do all of this planning?” Auggie paused long enough now to begin analyzing the robust, loud Peter Duncan. He concluded that the man’s overly jovial outward nature most likely hid a bully. He began to understand that Peter was using the success of his restaurants to finance his drug operations, which in turn were now financing his rapidly growing Duncan Food Group. “Mr. Duncan, there is a small family restaurant near my home called Sam’s. I like to go there when I get a chance to just sit around and make notes. Most of the notes are actually

drawings. I want to call my place The Cabaret Club, kind of set up like a roaring thirties art deco speakeasy. It will have a German influence with dark-colored décor. I hope that it will give off the kind of German vibe, that at any moment, in through the door will walk Marlene Dietrich. The food will be very German-American with a great collection of imported beers on draft.” “I will have the ladies wearing their long hair braided and in low-cut dirndl dresses, the type you see in Bier Gardens. The busboys will wear faux lederhosen with matching Bavarian Hats with a feather.” Auggie had described his place so many times, to so many people that saying it aloud now, to his appreciative lunch companion came out easily, yet sounded unrehearsed. This was a fact that was not lost on Peter Duncan of the Duncan Food Group of Detroit, Michigan. The atmosphere at the table now changed. Peter’s face became quite serious as he leaned in toward Auggie’s face. He literally placed his forehead against the teenager’s by firmly placing his right hand on the back of Auggie’s neck. Auggie felt a quick panic. “Is this man going to kiss me?” he thought with alarm. He felt his face turn red. He was too nervous to look up or try to look away. His heart began to race when he realized that this grown man would not let go of his neck. Peter held the back of Auggie’s neck in place for an uncomfortable amount of time. The smell of Michelob, Aqua Velva and cigar smoke caused Auggie involuntarily to try to pull away, but the much larger man’s hand held him in place. Slowly Peter started to speak, each sentence punctuated with a pause. “This is the man I expected to meet today.” “This is the man I knew you were Auggie Summers.” “Those fifty words you just spoke, told me more about you than any newspaper article, school record, or investigator ever could.”

Peter released the teenager’s head. He laughed as he realized how stunned the kid had become over the past thirty seconds. Good, he thought. Now I have his attention for the rest of his life. Auggie sat there as the server set down his ground round burger with thick fresh cut fries. “My name is Lauren, if there’s anything else you need, let me know.” Auggie let out a breath of relief and thanked the beautiful young woman. He watched as Peter Duncan’s eyes followed the girl as she walked back out of the dining area. As soon as she was out of earshot, Peter looked back at Auggie and spoke in a calculated tone, “Lauren Acevedo, born February 24 to Roberto and Carline Acevedo in Northville, Michigan. Graduated Fenton High School in 1976, and easily has one of the nicest….” Peter paused as his eyes glanced again at her small ass; a sly, perverted smile crept across his face, “nicest smiles of any of the waitresses here at Warwick. You see, Auggie, I make it a point to know my environment; to know my people.” “Why me, Mr. Duncan?” asked Auggie. “When you have a hundred other people working for you? I know you don’t take all of them out for a burger and fries at the most expensive restaurant in town.” Auggie felt pleased with his confidence at asking such a powerful man such a direct question. It did not make sense. He already knew that the cocaine supply came in from Peter, but people at Auggie’s level remained on the other side of the velvet rope, pushed away from people like Peter Duncan. There was a quiet pause at the table. He could tell that Peter was selecting his words carefully. It was not that he did not already have a reply, as he had prepared for this moment, before arriving for lunch. It was not that he was not capable of thinking on his feet, or even that he felt challenged by the newfound aggression of the teenager. It was something more personal than that for Peter. It had changed the direction of his intended response. “Something about you Auggie can be trusted. I have to admit that the

glimmer in those bright green eyes of yours tells everyone that wickedness runs through you. I had planned on telling you that I saw something of me inside of you Auggie, but as I started to tell you that, something dawned on me.” “What’s that Mr. Duncan?” “I never had a mentor. You know… someone to show me what to do, keep me out of trouble. I have watched your mind spinning a million miles a minute trying to calculate each move I’ve made during our lunch. Coldwater told me your energy level was so much higher then the other dealers. At the ski resort, he said you intimidated them into submission without once raising your voice. Moreover, most likely, without even realizing that you were doing it. He said your charm is so sincere that if people failed to buy drugs from you they actually felt guilty. Coldwater also said you do not do it primarily for the money like the rest of them. You do all of it because you like the challenge, the game, and the rush that you get from winning. Pretty fair conclusion Auggie?” It was Auggie’s turn to be quiet. Not that he disagreed. It was because he had never had anyone describe him with the very same qualities that he saw in himself. “Auggie, I’m going to give you the job of night manager in my kitchen at my Shadow Grove Country Club in Holly. The course has no night business, so I can use you and that car of yours for special package deliveries. You’ll get a decent paycheck and some extra perks along the way.” “What kind of packages?” Auggie asked as he fumbled to retrieve his napkin from underneath the plate. Peter Duncan downed the last of his beer in one quick gulp, then paused before whispering, “Big packages. Very, very big packages.”

Two Days Past Dead “When all else fails, read the directions” The Infamous Todd

♣ Chapter Five 2.20462262: the number of pounds in a kilogram. In the late seventies, not many Americans had any idea what a kilo represented. The kilo, to the average American, was just part of the failed Metric system that the U.S. Government had attempted to change the country over a few years prior. Even to this day, a kilo calls to mind the drug trade for the majority of Americans. Cocaine shipments coming into this country is wrapped in black Visqueen. It is a heavyweight, strong, yet flexible, waterresistant plastic available in large tarpaulin sheets. South American cocaine producers use this to spread to dry the gravy like mixture of processed cocaine. Once dried, the Visqueen is tightly wrapped around the drug, and heat-sealed, thus ensuring an airtight packaging for shipment. A circular imprint and code designating the weight of each block is stamped onto each bundle. The wrapped blocks arrived via undisclosed route into the Great State of Michigan. The majority of the shipments received on Thursday nights, were flown onto a field situated north of the Shadow Grove Golf Course and Country Club in Holly, Michigan. A van would place a dozen blocks into its cargo area for the quick journey to Shadow Grove. Once the driver and crew arrived at their destination, the bundles were

carefully weighed, then unwrapped in the secure privacy of the caddy shack. Employees broke the hard blocks apart, placing each eight-ounce portion in a blender with precisely three ounces of inositol. Inositol is cyclohexane, a carbohydrate. Though not a technically a sugar, it is almost tasteless, with a small amount of sweetness. The repackaged mixture, weighing 2.2 lbs was placed into a press for a full week to allow the new chemical compound to harden, before being sold as “PURE”. Customers in Michigan were still decidedly affluent doctors, lawyers and the rich. Cocaine was far from a recreational drug for the masses. Each kilo sold for $14,000. It was common for Auggie to deliver one or two of the new smaller two pound “re-bricks” to a dealer each month. Auggie developed a clever guise for the delivery of his packages, designed to elude discovery of their true nature. His line if caught included an intricate cover story and precise flowchart, which he explained much to the amusement and delight of Peter Duncan. It instantly became the new procedure for out-going deliveries. Each package Auggie wrapped wearing black utility gloves, in beautiful, delicate, cream-colored wrapping paper from the Magic Paper Gift Wrap Company. The small package was nestled inside a gift bag along with a cute little teddy bear and a box of mints. He attaches a card from the Hudson’s Company to the package with the prettiest blue bow; he had a friend hand write a note bearing the message: “To Grandma, with all my love, Henry.” Peter Duncan had certain affection for Hudson’s of Detroit. He was constantly telling anyone that would listen that it was the tallest department store in the world and the second largest department store, after Macy’s, in the United States. The idea was that, in the event that a package should happen to be discovered by a policeman, the officer would be told the following memorized cover story:

“A customer (describe Dan Akroyd from Saturday Night Live, without using his name), approached me at my job and offered me $40, two twenty-dollar bills, to deliver this prewrapped package to his grandmother at this address (each delivery had a fake secondary address that was in the same proximity of the actual destination). I am sure his name was Randy Walker (be vague) or something like that. He said that he had just bought the gift for his grandmother the day before in the Shadow Grove Pro Shop.” Police, attempting to verify the story with the Shadow Grove Pro Shop would receive confirmation that, “Yes, in fact, a regular customer (describe Dan Akroyd from Saturday Night Live, without using his name,) had indeed bought a heavy wooden gift box of golf balls for his grandmother the day before using a hundred dollar bill.” Once having confirmed the story to the police, the clerk would explain to the officer that as the shop did not offer delivery, it was common for a customer to solicit one of the caddies on the golf course to deliver it for them for a fee. The clerk was fairly confident that the customer approached Auggie from the kitchen. Should said telephone call from the police ever actually occur than a well-planned evacuation of all drugs on the property would immediately begin to shut down all operations at the golf course. Skipping one beat in the delivery system would not only cost the operation thousands of dollars a day, but would also put at risk the safety and freedom of a half dozen people. Auggie was no longer the small child that had directed childhood talent shows or helped set up fairs in the backyard of his parents’ home. He was no longer the pubescent boy selling seeds from catalogs or holiday greeting cards from out of the backs of comic books to raise money in order to buy a family of Sea Monkeys.

Auggie was no longer the young and innocent teenager that had dressed his brother and sister as aliens and sent them out in public, so that he could secretly photograph people’s reactions. Auggie was no longer the impressionable young man learning tap, ballet, or jazz dance at the DJ Dance Studio. His days of mistakenly eating Baker’s Chocolate and catching potpies on fire in his parents’ oven were now long gone. From this day on, the innocence of his antics of last summer’s Polaroid pictures taken of his little sister’s "kidnapped” stuffed dog would become only a distant memory. The term ‘The Candy Man’ was about to take on a completely different connotation. This moniker, if applied to him now, would not sound quite as cute and innocent in news stories or shared at family get-togethers. Selling drugs leaves stains on people’s souls, and Auggie was no exception.

Two Days Past Dead “Often the green grass on the other side of the fence… is only very healthy weeds.” The Infamous Todd

♣

Chapter Six Toilet Paper. Auggie had no idea of the importance the month of October 1979 would have on the rest of his life, but his role in the activities of this date would define every moment of his future. For the rest of his life though, he would know that his life had been forever altered by something as simple as toilet paper. On the other hand, more precisely, the lack of it. Little did he know that later in life, while being indicted by the Grand Jury of the United States, his defense would be “toilet paper”. Later in life, when questioned about the path he had taken in life, he would answer curious friends and startle acquaintances with the reply that it had all happened because of toilet paper. He could not begin to know that one day he would write a book based loosely on his exploits containing a chapter titled, “Toilet Paper”. Before this day, he knew only one fact about toilet paper. That single fact was that Americans consume more toilet paper than the entire world combined. Autumn marks the countdown in Michigan when golf courses begin shutting down for the season. It is the time of year that groundskeepers start making arrangements for the care of

their well-manicured greens and facilities throughout the cold, harsh winters of the Great Lake State. Employees of the Shadow Grove Golf and Country Club were well aware that the month of October. For them, Fall was the onset of reduced paychecks. Other than the occasional holiday parties or rare winter wedding reception, there would be no business at the club. The time of year when any entertainment available to young people, such as Auggie, would be limited to homecoming dances, high school activities, and possibly a girlfriend or two. October 18, 1979 began no differently for Auggie than any other Thursday in October. Not too hot, not too cold, perfect weather for Michiganders to wear that great sweater that grandmother had given them last year for Christmas. The restaurant was now empty, as the few dinner guests had dispersed just as the fall sun had begun to fade into night. The staff was busily cleaning up dirty bus carts before refilling the gold smoked-glass salt and peppershakers on each table. Most of the employees had already departed, leaving a lonely busboy that was probably about fourteen years old, walking table-to-table collecting the remaining dirty dishes to take to the dish pit. Inside the kitchen, Auggie instructed the few remaining cooks to wrap up the still-hot food from the line. He shouted to the fry cook to be sure to rotate the stock before he went home. The acrid smell of the greasy, gray water in the mop bucket used to swab out the walk-in cooler earlier wafted in from the lobby, causing him Auggie to yell at the last waiter to “Quit using the old water to mop the lobby floor Myron!” The last dishwasher grumbled, as he scraped stuck on Lotza Motza cheese off a plate, while a Nacho platter and a burnt skillet soaked in a nearby three-basin sink full of silverware. In another hour, the entire staff would be gone, leaving Auggie, Louie the bartender, and a small room of friends that Peter Duncan had assembled in the “Grand Bleu” Ballroom.

A small hand written sign dangled on the banquet room door stating, “CLOSED”. For some reason, two rather large men stood patrol outside the door. Throughout the night, employees had been whispering that they had heard a rumor that Peter and The Duncan Food Group were planning to sell the property to some men from Puerto Rico and that they were planning to build a resort off the interstate. When pressed for details though, the men remained silent. These rumors had been greatly exaggerated by the time the meeting commenced in the Grand Bleu Ballroom this Wednesday evening. It had actually been Peter himself that started the rumors to dispel any relevance as to the true nature of the meeting. Auggie knew the real reason for the six men gathered, drinking inside the banquet room. None of the men intended to purchase the dilapidated Shadow Grove property. None of them was from Puerto Rico, and the goons at the door were more than capable of dissuading any curiosity seekers from making the unfortunate mistake of trying to enter the room. None of the last customers or any of the staff had noticed that each of the men carried a pistol hidden under their suit coats at the small of their backs. Auggie noted to himself as he entered the room that this was the first time that he had ever seen a gun that did not belong among his grandfather’s hunting collection. Louie the bartender and most of the other men in the room seemed relaxed. He could tell that Louie was instinctively ignoring the conversations of the four men seated before him. To Louie it seemed like just another day. Soon, only the armed guards remained on the outside of the property, yet Auggie could feel tension in the air. He found himself using the restroom more frequently than he normally would have, more from stress than any actual need to relieve himself. On this occasion, he was permitted to use the toilet in the lobby’s main restroom.

During regular operating hours, these facilities were off limits to the staff. As he entered the carpeted locker room of the country club’s lavish washroom, he walked past the dark forestgreen walls, over tiled floors now chipped from years of golf cleat traffic, and into one of the faux wood toilet stalls designed as a water closet for Shadow Grove’s distinguished golfers. As he sat on the toilet trying to pee past his fears from seeing so many guns, he noticed someone had written on the stained cedar plank to his right above the toilet paper holder. In sloppy black marker someone had scribbled, “Your mother sucks good cock.” Auggie burst into laughter as he read the reply written below it in faded blue ink, “Shut up Dad. You’re drunk. Go home.” The rest of the employees had clocked out almost an hour ago. One by one, they had crunched their cards in the old gray time clock before returning them to the slotted rack and going on their ways. They had departed that night oblivious to the fact that among the group of men drinking with Peter Duncan was his dear friend Carlos Ledher. For the employees, this had been just another day at work. For Auggie though, today had been unlike any other day he had ever known before. Tonight his reality collided with the potential of real violence. Before this night, all of the people he had met through his new career in the drug business were always happy to see him and excited to be getting the drugs he was dropping off. Up until now, he had felt like some kind of teenaged cruise director aboard a ship filled with an appreciative crew. Up until tonight, the most disturbing situation Auggie had encountered had involved a customer that happened to be a famous hard rock musician. The Detroit rocker, best known for high pitch squeals and feathered hair insisted that the package Auggie was attempting to deliver was under weight and began yelling at Auggie.

Auggie, as rehearsed, had refused to leave the bundle in question, making certain that it remained securely sealed for the return trip to Shadow Grove. Auggie reported the altercation and from there, the event went up the chain of command until the situation was resolved. There were no guns involved; no violence occurred…just happy thoughts of butterflies, party nights, and high profits for all. Tonight however, was immensely different. Only Louie and Auggie were walking in and out of those doors. Auggie’s stomach would knot each time he entered the room. Each of the two large men guarding the door easily outweighed the hundred-fifty pound high school Senior by a hundred pounds or more. Each time Auggie would enter the room both of the goons would glare at the poor kid as if they were going to punch him right smack in the face and break his nose. They just had that look of intimidation. What made matters worse was that in Auggie’s nervousness, Auggie smiled. The more nervous he became, the harder he smiled. To them, the teenager was an irritant, like a gnat flying around your face as you sit at a picnic table in a park just trying to relax. Once inside the hall, Auggie had to cross the length of the room, over the dance floor and up to the small banquet table where the unusual gathering of men sat. The room easily held two hundred people, which made the intimate group seem even smaller. Off to his left, Auggie could dimly make out the shadowy figures of the armed guards stationed on the outside perimeter of the country club. It was then that Auggie came to the realization that if the police were to suddenly burst in and raid the place, there was sure to be gunfire erupting all around him resulting in bloodshed and more than likely, death; perhaps his own. “Oh God,” he thought as his stomach gurgled a loud noise of displeasure. He needed to use that fancy bathroom once more. Maybe he would find another clever joke scribbled on the wall of

the second stall as witty as the drunken father remark from his last visit. “Auggie, sit down.” Auggie froze upon hearing his name come out of the stranger’s mouth with such seriousness. He glanced over at a very drunk Peter Duncan. The teenager could not figure out if the smirk on Duncan’s face was from the whisky, or if it unnaturally foreshadowed something pertaining to the impending conversation. “Do you know who I am, Auggie Summers?” Again, the unassuming stranger spoke. In front of him were a dozen small cocktail napkins with scribbled lines and oblong circular shapes best shared with Amway presentations. “No sir. I only know that you are a good friend of Mr. Duncan’s.” The men all laughed in unison with their heavy Colombian accents. Auggie did not understand what the joke was. “Yes Auggie Summers, the boss, and I are friends.” With that said, he leaned across the table to shake Auggie’s hand. “My name is Carlos. I would tell you my last name but I am afraid you will call me Mister. The last thing I want is for my father to walk in through the doors.” The group laughed again at this remark as Auggie smiled nervously as he extended his hand to shake. The looseness of Carlos’s grip took him by surprise. He had expected the man that was obviously the head rooster in this group to have a firm, hard handshake. He hoped he had not offended the Latino with his own aggressively firm handshake. Better yet, he thought, maybe he did notice it and thinks here is a man that is assured of himself. “Whoa, whoa Tiger… leave me my fingers, Mr. Summers”, he laughed as he pulled back his hand, teasing the teenager for his aggressiveness. “Now have a seat.” Auggie let

out a faint sigh of relief and quickly introduced himself to the other two strangers seated at the table. He pulled a single stacking banquet chair, with a rip in the seat from a nearby stack, brought it over to the table and sat down directly in front of the group leader. For a moment Auggie thought, “ENTP. Myers-Briggs, that’s what my hand shake says about myself.” A slight smile snuck up on his face as he realized that the chances of Carlos knowing anything about Myers-Briggs just seemed plain silly. To the left of Carlos sat the very intoxicated Peter Duncan, his face glowing red from the shots of whisky from the glasses that now lay crowding the table. A younger, longhaired man they called Durango sat off to Peter’s left. Auggie noted that Durango and Peter seemed to be the only people at the table drinking hard liquor. Next to Auggie sat a short man that the others referred to as Rat. What a terrible nickname Auggie thought. “Auggie, I bought a bunch of property two hundred miles off the east coast of Florida from Peter. Half an island; in a few months I will have the whole island all to myself.” Carlos paused and pulled out a package of Benson & Hedges. The room went quiet. Everyone watched in silence as Carlos slowly removed the plastic wrap from the cigarettes. As the wrapper fell to floor, Carlos caught a little redemption slip of paper and placed it in his pocket. There are certain times during a person’s life that a particular moment seems too surreal to define as reality. It is at these moments that a person’s brain is pushed to its limits of comprehension and the ensuing moments seem more dream-like than real. For some people, it may be the brief seconds during a car accident while their startled body is still in motion. To many, it may be the incredible moment during childbirth when the infant crowns upon entering the world. Sadly, for some, it is that sliver

of time as the last syllable exits a personâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mouth that has just told them that someone they cherish has died. For Auggie Summers, this surreal moment began in the Grand Bleu Ballroom of the Shadow Grove Golf and Country Club. He sat there in the very plain Midwestern hall usually used for Bar Mitzvahs, business mixers, conferences, the wedding receptions of various upper middle class families, or for the occasional end of the year proms, winter celebrations, and such. The old parquet dance floor was cracked, and the tables that looked so elegant with their clean and starched tablecloths were now collapsed, sitting stacked one on top of the next, at the far end of the room. The abandoned room revealed the tables to be ugly round pieces of plywood with folding metal legs attached that they really were. There were rows of stacks, of chocolate brown vinyl upholstered banquet chairs scarred by multitudes of cigarette burns, some ripped and torn, and plastered with gobs of old dried-up chewing gum scattered around the room. Auggie spotted one chair on which a wad of used bright green gum held fast. It looked to be the exact same color that Bubble-Yum did as it had the day it came off the production line. Dancing eerily against one of the faintly flickering fluorescent lights, high above them on the twenty-foot ceilings was a single, solemn black balloon that had entangled itself on one of the fire sprinklers before it had lost its ability to hover on its own. The smell of ancient, stale tobacco smoke was apparent in the room even as several of the men sitting at the table were currently smoking fresh cigarettes. The ashtray in front of them was empty, testimony to the impeccable service that Louie provided them. A thought flashed through Auggieâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mind about the potential of the tip that the bartender would receive for this eveningâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s service, and the likelihood that he might be taking home a few extra dollars himself tonight. Surely, a man that had enough money buy an

island must certainly tip well, but then again, this was the same man he had witnessed collecting a proof of purchase slip from his cigarette pack in order to obtain some type of reward. Nothing so far this day had seemed to hold any kind of simple, black and white answers. Perched to Auggie’s right was one of Michigan’s most influential restaurateurs, extremely drunk, yet still powerful in both his stature in the community and for his accomplishments throughout the state. Beyond Peter, further still to Auggie’s right, sat a stranger that Auggie knew somehow fit into this odd scenario, but was not actually a part of the conversation. Facing directly ahead of Auggie was Carlos Ledher. This perplexed the teenaged boy, who barely qualified for any kind of recognition in life beyond his having just reached puberty. For some reason, that he was currently unable to comprehend, these powerful men before him were determined to include him in their plans. Distracted by his own monumental imagination, Auggie had somehow failed to realize that Carlos had now been speaking directly to him for the past few minutes. “It should be so easy to fill this position that I present to you Auggie. There are a million kids your age that would sell their own mothers for the chance to do what I’m offering you.” Carlos continued to speak while Auggie struggled in vain to recall what Carlos had said to him during his mental absence. Anything at all that might give him the slightest clue about the subject at hand. Carlos reached over and patted Peter Duncan on the back, startling his drunken compadre. “You see Auggie, my good friend… Peter owns a business venture. He quietly sold me that property and the rental houses there on a small island in the Exuma district of the Bahamas last year. For the past seven months, my associates here have assisted me in acquiring the remaining few homes. I have a problem though, Auggie. A special problem that I believe you are the perfect person to resolve for me.

“Are you interested?” Auggie sat there in quiet embarrassment. He still had no clue whatsoever as to what it might be that Carlos thought he might be interested by. Every eye around the table focused on him, awaiting his reply. Nervously his mind raced, hoping to ask a question that would not reveal his ignorance. “I’m still in high school…” Auggie offered lamely. Carlos burst into a bout of laughter, which echoed off the walls of the vast, dark banquet hall. “I know Tonto, I know you are still in high school, but you are ready to graduate now. I am sick and tired of running out of goddamned toilet paper on my island. There are fifty miles of ocean separating us from the nearest roll of toilet paper sitting somewhere on another fucking island. It happens now on a weekly basis, and that does not even begin to include everything else we struggle to keep stocked on Norman’s Cay.” All four of the other men laughed in unison as Carlos continued. “If we can just have you making the arrangements to keep the island stocked with toilet paper and other supplies...” he said trailing off. “Tell me Auggie, if you could live anywhere in the entire world that you wish, where would you want to live? If you could have any job, what would that job be?” Finally! Auggie thought. A question he understood. “Sarasota, Florida. I want to own a restaurant and live in Sarasota, Florida.” Auggie smirked at his rapid reply. Carlos smiled knowingly. This was the only reply he needed from the impressionable young teenager before him. Peter Duncan smirked, knowing that one-week prior he had told Carlos the exact reply that Auggie would give to that single question. Peter had heard these very words spoken aloud by Keli, his dining room manager. Keli had heard these words from Jamie, one of his bartenders as she was speaking with Jami, the opening barback. Sami, one of his waiters had overheard a dishwasher, Hector, telling Shelly, the busser, of a conversation

he had heard Auggie having with the local produce supplier, Tony. Of course, Peter had related the story to Carlos as if he heard it straight from the horse’s mouth. Everyone at the table was smiling now. Even the two strangers in the room, who were oblivious to everything, were smiling simply because everyone else was now smiling. “Auggie, what if I told you that in thanks for accepting this position, and for helping me to solve all of these problems, that I would finance a small café for you in this town and pay you enough cash to obtain a respectable car and a place to live? Damn son! I think that would get you so much pussy that your dick would beg you to be a virgin again, just so it could get a rest.” This time everyone laughed, even Auggie. “Tell me Auggie, what would you do?” Once again, all eyes focused on Auggie. The vast darkness of the room seemed to close in around his shoulders. No one in the room made a sound. Even the cigarette smoke in the air around him seemed to stand still in that moment. The fluorescent light on the ceiling slowly darkened and flickered back to life. A trickle of sweat zigzagged down Auggie’s spine, making him realize for the first time all evening that the palms of his hands were soaked with sweat. With a slow, controlled breath, Auggie paused before speaking. He did not look at the stranger to his left. He did not look at the second stranger that was now standing behind Carlos. He would not look at his mentor, Peter Duncan. He knew that his surreal moment was about to reach its culmination. Of that, he was certain, but for this one second he needed Carlos to know that he was the only other person that existed in this room. “Mr. Ledher…” he paused with the realization that his mouth was almost too dry to speak, and then soberly forced out his words.

“I would leave with you tomorrow to make that dream my reality. I would leave my home, my family, and my life to make that dream my reality.” The last word had barely left Auggie’s mouth before Peter Duncan let out a laugh so hard that you could almost hear it rattling off the windowpanes surrounding the Great Bleu Room. “Auggie, my dear little friend, I bet you would. I bet you would!” With that, the other men’s’ laughter joined Peter’s own. Carlos held up a hand to quiet the room. “Go home Auggie Summers. Go home tonight to your family, and as you drive there… think about our conversation. Then look into your family’s eyes and tell them that you want to leave school. After they are finished beating the shit out of you, you call Peter and we’ll make the arrangements.”

Days Past Dead “Never confuse famous with infamous.” The Infamous Todd

♣

Chapter Seven The meeting in the Grand Bleu Room for Auggie came to an abrupt conclusion. Carlos glanced at Durango and using the back of his hand to gesture, he shooed Auggie away. Durango offered to escort Auggie to his car, hoping that his walk through the country club’s kitchen to the employee’s parking lot would give him a moment to speak to Auggie one on one. Durango had met Carlos through George Jung; the writer of the semi-autographical book “Blow”, which later became a big budget theatrical release starring Hollywood actor Johnny Depp. “Tell me big story Auggie while we walk”, Durango said in his thick Latino accent. Durango knew that Auggie was terrified of his presence in the room. He hoped talking to the teenager would calm his fears. After all, Durango thought, this was going to be the “goto-person” on the island for toilet paper. Durango saw the benefits of having a good relationship with the kid that ensured the luxuries of the mainland. Auggie tried to get past the thoughts jumbled in his mind. He would have little time to create a good lie during his short drive home to talk to his parents about quitting school. The country club was only seven miles from his home near Bush Lake. A great lie that would allow him to leave his home and school, would take longer than the ten-minute drive. “Auggie, my dear new friend, tell me that most bizarre story you make when you needed money. I hear you do stuff in

the school nobody thinks of. Tell me that story.” Durango smiled allowing the bright Hazel-hued Harvest moon to reflect across the gold that embraced each tooth that remained in his mouth. Auggie noted a genuine smile framed by poor dental hygiene accentuated by the huge scar that ran from the high on his cheekbone to the cleft of his chin. Durango merely wanted to hear the candy story. The teenager did not realize it, but the people around Carlos would wait for that damned story to start, earmarking the moment of Carlos passing the threshold of rational sobriety. “Last year”, began Auggie with a slight smirk on his face, “The Six Million Dollar Man met Bigfoot.” He paused as he mentally collected the details before continuing, “All of a sudden, everyone was talking about Bigfoot living in Michigan. I thought it was funny that so many people could possibly believe that the North Pacific Sasquatch could be living in the woods of Michigan.” “One day I was sitting in my 9th grade lit class listening to Whitmore Koop. We call him Wiki for short because he was one of the smallest students in our school. Wiki sat there in our Lit class explaining that the tale was only a cover for government-suppressed documents. I sat there in class as Wiki talked on and on about this damned story. For three days he talked about Bigfoot and for three days I found myself astonished that so many people in our class were being caught up by his enthusiasm.” “On the third day I decided to walk home from Sherman Middle School. I used the railroad tracks as a short cut to walk to the end of Bush Lake where the road ends. About the time I got half way home, I noticed a huge dead dog rotting away in the gravel that banks the railroad tracks just before Grange Hall Road. I stood there in the damned sun gagging while I laughed.” “I found myself starting to laugh even harder as I walked past the carcass. The meat was already falling from the bones and the stench was sticking tightly in the early summer air. A

plan began to formulate in my mind. All I could think of was… Whitmore Koop. I wanted so badly to tell him how I had found a dead Bigfoot.” Auggie realized that he had Durango’s undivided attention. As they strolled through the vast empty parking lot dotted with thugs posted on the property protecting tonight’s guests, Auggie noticed a smile on Durango’s face. He felt relieved to discover a regular person under the rough exterior of this dangerous man. Durango realized now that this was not going to be The Candy Man story as told by the Detroit Free Press. “I went back to school the following day after I spent the night reveling in the humor of my Whitmore Koop plan. Once again I sat there listening to him talk on and on about Bigfoot. When I could not hold it in anymore, I pulled my chair closer to his desk. I leaned over, glancing slowly to the left and then slowly to the right. Whitmore looked at me puzzled. I leaned in conspiratorially to whisper my tale in my most serious tone.” “Mr. Koop, I never told you this, but my dad works for a relocation program for the military. It is their job to monitor activity of the Sasquatch Bassett Clan relocated after their core group exceeded four members. They have problems reproducing because they live a life like Beta fish, alone. I explained to him that when growth of human civilization encroaches on their habitat the government relocates them. They secretly relocated two of them here to Holly. That is the reason they moved us here, so my dad could monitor them. The government is having problems because the female died a few months ago. The male buried her in their camp, in the woods behind our home on Holly Bush Drive. I then told Wiki that the male had vanished and as of right now they could not find him.” “I tell you Durango, at that point I was laughing my ass off inside. Wiki was hanging onto every damned word.”

Auggie could now see his car parked under the far streetlight as he continued his story, “I told him that I had to wait until the following Friday to show him the camp site. I told him that it would cost him five bucks, but we would have to wait until Friday. This was when my father would be away in Detroit for a top-secret meeting to discuss the Sasquatch Bassett Clan monitored across the United States. I also told Wiki that it was very mean to call them Bigfoot, as it was frowned upon in the deepest corridors of this secret world. The school bell rang then and we all left. I really did not think anything more about it until I got to class the following day.” “What happened the following day? Did he call your bluff?” asked an extremely curious Durango Ochoa. “To the contrary Durango, Whitmore Koop came to class with his $5 already in his hand. Then he started begging me to let his friends join us for the trip at $5 per person. Reluctantly I agreed. I was so surprised that my face did not reveal the pure laughter tearing me apart inside. I went home that evening, grabbed some rope out of the neighbor’s garage, and headed back down the tracks and to that dead carcass. I placed a slipknot around the legs and pulled the rotting corpse down the gravel. I pulled it about a quarter of a mile down the tracks and into the woods behind our home. The smell was unbelievable as the gravel tore into the rotting carcass. Once I got it into the woods I cut up some branches and created my version of a Bassett Clan camp and returned the sticky rope back to the Wright Family’s garage before they noticed it missing.” “Friday came pretty fast and Whitmore said he would meet me after school. I was shocked when I met him on the west soccer field along with four of his friends. Each friend was holding their own five-dollar bill. I told them that we would have to sneak the group down the railroad tracks, so the government would not see us approaching the makeshift camp.

During the half mile walk, at no point did one person inside the group show any doubt that this was anything less than, a legitimate expedition. On the other hand, with every single step I took, I was waiting to get my ass kicked by these five guys once they realized that I had just scammed them out of five bucks apiece for a bogus Bigfoot Adventure.” “I had the luxury of several days to work on the camp, so the details were quite intimate to the Bigfoot hysteria all over the United States. I had spent several hours at the Holly Township Library researching any information about Bigfoot that I could toss into the camp pretending to play stupid while Wiki explained the significance based on his knowledge. I had taken the hair from the dog and placed it inside the eating area. I had taken the bones and laid them out in a long plot of where the dead female Sasquatch was buried.” “I explained to my fellow classmates that we could not stay long since the government agents assigned to this detail could catch us. I then explained to the group that there was a great risk that the male Sasquatch might find us in his camp and possibly make us his next meal. Wiki explained that he would only kill us because he heard they were vegetarians. We all decided that either way it is best to leave.” “It was not until we got back to the middle school that I realized that one of the dumb-ass students had stolen one of the longer bones from the gravesite. In pure terror, I looked at the kid and explained to him the clan was named after famed Explorer, John Bassett and the Bassett Clan was known for their great tracking skills and his safety was now in danger. I told Dennis Watson that the creature would track him down to kill him and his entire family for stealing his mate’s bones.” “Do you think the guy kept the bone?” asked Durango, totally engrossed in the story. “I doubt it. This was Dennis Watson. He was in fear for his life over the damned bone. Personally, I was more afraid he would turn it over to his mother, who would think it was a

human bone and then call the Holly Police Department. The Holly Police Department and I already had a long, long, history, much longer than any teenage boy in a small town should have with his local police department.” Auggie had arrived at his car and got in. Before he could drive away, Durango gestured for Auggie to roll down his window. Durango knelt down beside the car, putting his face uncomfortably close to Auggie, he whispered, “You are a strange bird, Auggie. I need to warn you before you leave tonight. There are two paths a man can take in life. Well, I should say there are only two paths you can take with us. One path brings you danger because you did not to take the other path. The other path could bring you happiness. Both paths are crowded with thorns.” “Auggie, we will put money in your pocket, a chick on your dick, and we will get you that restaurant that you always dreamed about in Florida. You need to decide tonight which path you want to take with our organization. My job is to protect Carlos. In three seconds, I would give up my life for Carlos, but I am okay with that because in two seconds, I will take anybody else’s life. “I see a good person inside you, Auggie. I do not know why you would want to risk your future with us. Up until this point, your exploits have been very funny and extremely entertaining. Your stories make people laugh. The adventure you are about to go on is fun. It will give you dollars and even give you pussy. Trust me, it will give you a restaurant, but to walk this path, you have to be willing to understand that you are putting your life on the line with every single step you take.” Auggie could feel his hands clench around the hard plastic of the steering wheel. He could smell the smoke of the Salem cigarettes that Durango had smoked earlier. He looked through his windshield, staring straight ahead across the driving range of the golf course, and said,

“I want to live the great adventure. Carlos asked me what I wanted to do for a living. To me, he was asking about for a paycheck. I want to own a restaurant for a paycheck, for a living, for respectability, and for my purpose. In life, though, I want to be a writer some day.” “Ernest Hemingway had died just a few weeks before his 62nd birthday. He actually died the same year that I was born. I am sure his family stopped blaming me years ago,” Auggie added with laughter. He noted that it was a joke lost on Durango. Auggie continued, “Ernest Hemingway once said to write about life, I would have to live it. Every person I know makes fun of me because everything I do becomes a story. I want to think that the rest of my life, everything little thing I do can become a clever story.” With that, Auggie turned his head and stared straight into Durango’s eyes. He paused before stating with the most deadly serious tone, “I want this to be my adventure.” From the rearview mirror, Auggie watched as Durango’s figure slowly vanished behind his car as he pulled out of the parking lot. The faint red glow of a newly lit cigarette faded into the darkness as his station wagon eased its way out onto North Holly Road. Auggie’s imagination seemed organized on his drive back from the club. He remembered a time from when he was in the 8th grade. He read an article that said that most mentally retarded people in the world discovered that, they were mentally retarded, accidentally by overhearing their parents talking in another room. For the next three weeks, Auggie would lie on his bedroom floor waiting to hear his parents talk about his retardation. This would confirm that the reason he had so many problems in life. As Auggie pulled up to his parents’ house, he remembered how much the year had changed for him. Earlier in the year, he had convinced a friend of his, Janet Asbury, to run

for Class President for Holly High School. Janet had no intention of running for student government, but found herself caught up in Auggie’s infectious enthusiasm. Auggie explained to his unassuming friend that his campaign plan could convince the majority of students to vote for her if she would only run. A few weeks before the election, Auggie used the keys that he illegally acquired to the high school, used the alarm codes that he had discovered through means never discussed, and the money earned through illicit means to buy one thousand 22 x 28” posters of legitimate reasons explaining why people should vote for Janet Asbury. Auggie entered the school during the two weeks prior to the election to attach the huge posters throughout the entire high school leaving no space on any wall by more than six inches at face level. To offset expenses, he went into Big Mama’s Pizza downtown and convinced them to pay for the posters (plus his fee). Auggie explained to the manager of the downtown pizzeria that for three weeks their business would have uninterrupted advertising as the posters flooded the hallways of Holly High School. When school resumed on Tuesday after the holiday weekend, a thousand posters explaining why Janet was the best person to represent the Class of 1980 extended down five sets of halls, the gymnasium, both locker rooms, the auditorium, lunch room and all sixty-two classrooms throughout the entire high school. Auggie further rationalized that, according to student government (SGA) rules, in place nationally and sanctioned by the School Board stated, “It is in violation to remove voting signs from the walls during the voting period.” This forced the remaining candidates of the high school to put their crude, hand drawn signs above eye level of the huge posters that were printed professionally by a local print shop.

This strange behavior that defined Auggie, he never considered himself a “juvenile delinquent.” He never sold the Bubble Yum because it was against school policy. He did not see himself as a rebel. He pulled into the driveway of his parents’ house. By now, it was late and he was quite surprised to find his family sitting around the brown Formica table in the dining room playing a game of Uno. His grandmother was at the head of the table. His mother and father sat at opposite ends playing with his two sisters. “I need to talk to you about something fairly serious,” Auggie said as he pulled up a stool next to his mother. Nobody at the table looked up from their game. He could tell that each one of them was strategically planning for their turn to discard. “What do you want, Auggie? Can not this wait?” asked his mother. “Actually, I want to quit school. I have a chance to work at a camp near Grandma’s house in Florida that helps juvenile delinquents. The camp promised me they could make me the assistant kitchen manager at the facilities.” If I go down there in the next couple of weeks. “The Sheriff’s Youth Ranch?” asked his grandmother. “Ummmm…. yeah,” Auggie said, seizing onto that piece of specific data to create validity to his lie, praying that his grandmother was not leading him into a trap. His mother, without looking up from her cards, paused, “Well, I guess it is up to your grandmother.” Auggie looked over to his grandmother waiting for an answer. His grandmother set down a green marked Uno card forcing his sister to laugh. Without looking up from her cards his grandmother said that she would be leaving the following afternoon. He would have to be packed and ready to go. Not one person had any reaction at all. In fact, they kept playing the game. They totally changed the conversation

completely, before going on to argue about some rule about the game. Auggie sat there in his parentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dining room, his brain spinning, waiting for debate. He sat there at the brown kitchen table, thinking of point and counterpoint for any question asked. He sat there on the stool, waiting for his family to question him about throwing away his education. Auggie waited, but not one person looked up from the table. Auggie excused himself from the group and went up to bed. For Auggie, it was a very quiet night.

Two Days Past Dead “If you are not having fun, you can only blame yourself” The Infamous Todd

♣ Chapter Eight The drive south to Florida to join Auggie’s retired grandfather was very typical for a Michigander. There were periodic stops to fill the huge gas tank of the luxury Lincoln Town Car. Meals at one of the many bright teal Stuckey’s along the way offered discount prices on pecan logs. The only layover of any length was at a Holiday Inn or was it a Best Western or a Motel Something or Whatever. The Atlanta Combined Statistical Area was making its move on securing its title as the capital of the South. Part of that growth forced the government to overhaul Interstate 75 that dissected Atlanta. Driving through Atlanta took Auggie and his grandmother several hours. It was the first time during the thirty-two hour trip that his grandmother addressed her grandson about dropping out of school. “Auggie, I do not really know if you have this job working for the Sheriff’s Youth Ranch or what ever it is called. I think it is called the Sheriff’s Ranch, hum”, with that she forced her car into the passing lane practically running someone off the road before giving them a finger and mumbling that she had the right of way because it is a passing lane. Auggie adjusted his seat belt securely around his waist. Driving rules and his grandparents did not necessarily match reality.

His grandmother looked in the mirror again watching the man behind her flail his arms back and forth. She continued, “I want to believe that this job exists, but I find it coincidental that a mere twelve hours before I left Holly that a random job offer from 1200 miles away came rolling out to that little hick town where your stepfather moved you to.” Auggie said, without skipping a beat, “I have always wanted to live in Florida ever since you took us there as children. I have been looking for a position down in area long before you got here. I purposely found a position at Live Oaks, in North Florida, knowing that I could use you as my ticket to get out of Holly. I knew that if I stayed in Holly, I would end up doing something that I thought was silly but something that would get me arrested and placed in jail. In a small town like Holly, it does not take much for word to get around every time you do something wrong.” This was the only time anyone ever spoke about Auggie’s quitting school. As the Lincoln inched its way foot-by-foot, mileby-mile, through the crowded interstate, weaving through construction zones, Auggie started to think of the ramifications of the decision that he had just made for the first time. People like Auggie make great stories. They go through life challenging situations in a way normal people never comprehend. Every week they try to exceed expectations of the people all around them. By nature, they force simple tasks to become complicated. They force complicated tasks to become immense projects. Soon they are destined to fail because they set themselves up by requiring each success to be larger then the previous accomplishment. Throughout Auggie’s life, he never had a friendship that survived more than a few months. His energy burned with such intensity that either people attracted to him were caught up in his enthusiasm or ultimately, they sought to be around the “bad boy.”

An incredible number of people love being around the “bad boy.” His high energy and manic behavior was too hard for people to assimilate into their own lives, so usually within months they would push Auggie away. To steal the quote, “Auggie is like Baklava; best taken in small portions.” Every single one of Auggie’s friends had been told by Auggie’s mother, Alice, “If Auggie could only use all of his talents for good things; he could be such a great child.” Not a single person tried to stop him from leaving school, from leaving home, no one stopped him to ask him “why?” He stared out the window at a sea of yellow cones and barricades, at torn up pavement and workers in bright orange vests. He sat there next to his grandmother on a seat as large as a sofa wondering if the last time a vehicle this size was on land was the year that Noah was filling it with animals two by two. Auggie wondered why he had tried so hard all his life to go out of his way to do things that ended up hurting the people that he loved so much. It was the first time during the trip that the excitement of the adventure overshadowed by the reality of those frightening possibilities. It was the first time during the trip that Auggie realized that there were two other possible outcomes for his future. He could end either in prison or be killed. Suddenly, it dawned on him that if caught, his family would never speak to him again. He was a kid raised in a small Midwestern family; surrounded by Midwestern values, with a proud Lutheran heritage. He closed his eyes and thought of the innocence he found so attractive living in Holly, Michigan. Each step, each day, each week would bring him closer and deeper into the drug cartel. This makes no sense, doubting his sanity, as the construction zone dissipated behind them as they finally left the city. Auggie turned his head sharply to look out the passenger’s window just as he began to cry.

Once you leave Atlanta, you hit a vast empty stretch of road dotted with a multitude of exits offering Georgia Peaches, Shelled Pecans and Sweet Vidalia Onions. They passed an elderly man holding a sign destined for Miami. Auggie’s grandmother made some disparaging remark regarding the man being homeless. Auggie thought, “How come a teenager crossing the country with no job and no home we call adventurous, yet when a grown man does it we call him a vagrant?” Auggie contact person in Florida was to be a man named Jesse, the airstrip manager in Dover, a small town near Lakeland. Lakeland is just east of Tampa on the west coast of Florida. Carlos covertly used the airstrip for drugs flown into the southern region of the United States. It was Jesse’s responsibility to make sure that Auggie made it to the island the following week. Auggie was to contact Jesse on two occasions, the first being the rest stop at the Georgia-Florida line in order to verify Auggie’s arrival in Florida. The second call was to ensure that he made it to Clearwater, Florida. “I am calling for Jesse. I am pretty sure that’s the name they gave me,” Auggie said as he nervously placed the phone call from a Stuckey’s just north of the Florida border. He watched through the huge glass restaurant window as his grandmother pumped gas into the car believing her grandson was inside using the restroom. The person on the other end of the line paused for a second and placed Auggie on hold. Several minutes later, a very young boyish voice came across the telephone line, claiming to be Jesse, “This is Jesse.” “Hi, my name is Auggie Summers. Peter Duncan told me that when I got to Florida to give you a call to let you know that I made it into the state.” “Welcome to the Sunshine State, mi amigo. Where are you at right now?”

Auggie looked around, noticed no signs. He did not have the slightest idea, but they would be arriving in Clearwater later that evening. “Well, amigo, we got you flying out of here in two days.” “Damn it,” responded Auggie, catching the voice on the other end of the phone off guard, “I did not realize that things were going to be moving this fast. I’m going to need your help because I told my grandparents that I was going to work over at the Sheriff’s Youth Camp as my cover to get down here.” “Are you fucking kidding me,” asked Jesse on the phone, “of the 5,000 lies you could come up with, you decided you wanted to use an alibi associated with the sheriff’s department?” “I did not say I was bright. I just said I was going to camp to work in their kitchen as an assistant manager. My grandmother put it all together and came up with that name. I agreed before I thought it through and now obviously, we have to show her that in two days, I have to legitimately start my new job.” Jesse paused for so long, that Auggie wondered if he had hung up on him. “Okay, dude. Christopher is Carlos’ assistant, He tells me that your specialty is being really creative at pulling stuff out of your ass that just somehow makes sense. I need you, in the next thirty seconds, to tell me how we are gonna pull this off. I need you to give me your “Candy Man” story on how we are gonna make this lie believable.” Auggie stood there with a smirk on his face, realizing that the reference to “Candy Man” meant that this unknown voice on the phone knew of his history. He sat there on the phone feeling the kind of cockiness that comes from knowing that perfect strangers know you by reputation. Without pausing Auggie said practically in one breath, “I want you to hire someone that has a bus to go over to the sheriff’s department in two days. I want it to pick me up at seven in the morning. Put four teenagers waiting to get on the bus that

look like they are going to be camp counselors including their duffel bags and luggage. Find some old lady with a clipboard, looking important. Stand her out front of the bus checking in the kids. Have her pissed at me because I’m late, because I was supposed to be there at seven o’clock. This will give credibility to my story because it is inside the parking lot of the sheriff’s office. The sheriff’s office won’t blink an eye about a bunch of kids loading up in the parking lot.” Quickly, Auggie breathed in to catch his breath before continuing, “My grandparents will think it is legit because of all the other kids getting on the bus heading to the camp. Moreover, they are all waiting at the sheriff’s office. And most importantly, because we are now late, my grandparents won’t have time to ask any questions.” There was a long pause on the phone followed by uproarious laughter. Auggie actually heard the man on the other end of the line snort as he said, “You are the Candy Man! I promise that you are the only person that would ever use the sheriff’s department as a cover!”

Two Days Past Dead “My hair is naturally blond. I still have the L’Oreal box to prove it.” The Infamous Todd ♣ Chapter Nine Holly, Michigan at Christmas time has streets lined with the prettiest Christmas decorations. Snow will fall forming frost, like Norman Rockwell paintings. Carolers actually walk houseto-house singing Christmas carols. Huge Christmas ornaments dangle precariously on light poles. A large round clock sits downtown letting the travelers entering the village know that it is time for them to enjoy Christmas in Holly, Michigan. Everywhere you look downtown you will find beautiful meadows and pastures glazed and dusted lightly from the snow that fell upon thce ground the night before. A random snowmobile can often be seen in the distance as travelers approach frozen lakes covered with schoolboys playing ice hockey. Girls in pretty, white outfits and pink frilled ice skates float like swans across the frozen lakes that make Holly such a magical place to live. Christmas in Michigan is truly a magical time, especially inside the memories of Auggie Summers. In all of his imagination, there had never been anything more beautiful than those wonderful memories. All of that changed for Auggie the day that his airplane landed on Norman’s Cay. Norman’s Cay is a pinpoint on a little dot inside a smaller dot that most Americans themselves cannot find on a

map. To locate Norman’s Cay, a tourist would have to know the location of the Bahamas in comparison to the State of Florida. Once they find the Bahamas on the map, they need to know the part of the Bahamas with the distinction of Exumas, which is a chain of 365 cays over a 120-mile expanse that runs parallel to Nassau. Each island has their own sandy beach dotted with huge conch shells, bananaquit birds, tropical foliage, and caves that to this day scuba divers still have yet to explore fully.

Carlos decided to purchase Norman Cay the year before for $950,000. It included a yacht club, ten small cabins, and a tiny private airstrip. The 165 acres of Norman’s Cay contained a small community of homes that one by one, Carlos and his thugs either purchased or…

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