Spider Lake (9 page)

John reached down and picked up one of the exquisite carvings. He walked slowly backwards and sat at one of the kitchen chairs. He held the carving up to eye level, turning it over and over with his fingers to see it at every angle. Allie was still at the box marveling at the row of peach pits turned into works of art. John wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Allie, I never once even seen my Dad whittle. He must have done these during his lunch breaks while on the job. They are beautiful.”

It was discussed over the remainder of the cooling dinner, the possibilities of displaying the tiny works of art in various places in their home, but finally agreed that the entire box, monkeys and all would remain as they were, but placed in a new place of prominence at the foot of Ben’s bed. The carved monkeys would act as little sentinels guarding the contents of the tool box below them, even though they were comically sucking their own tails.

utch McCann met Merriweather Rule while tending bar in a basement tavern on Van Buren Street in Chicago, where Rule would stop in from time to time after office hours for a drink. The two men were on opposite ends of the financial spectrum, the older Rule having inherited a small fortune in timber, and parlaying it into a larger fortune as a bootlegger during prohibition, and the much younger McCann moving from one job to the next just keeping his head above water.

Rule liked McCann because he never asked any personal questions. He would make pleasant conversation with Rule on nearly any subject from his station behind the bar. He also never showed any outward interest in Rule’s obvious wealth, which suited Rule just fine. Rule liked the fact that McCann could handle himself well in a fight. McCann had a way of dispatching unruly patrons with his ham sized fists and on one occasion, he stepped in-between a would-be thug and Merriweather’s wallet. Rule was naturally appreciative of the unsolicited rescue, and offered McCann a position as his personal driver and body guard.

Rule learned over time that McCann was very good at three things, the first being his natural ability as a driver. McCann was an artist behind the wheel, and would not allow himself to be passed— ever. The second thing Rule realized is that McCann had a serious green thumb. His yard, in the far northern suburb of Fox Lake, looked like a lush green carpet. McCann would spend all his free time in the pursuit of lawn and garden nirvana, which was an odd combination when you consider his third gift was his ability to seriously hurt people with his bare hands.

Over time, what started as a business relationship increased to be a friendship, and Rule’s fondness of the younger McCann was evident each year-end when he gave the younger man, now his grounds-keeper, a generous bonus comprised only of gold coins. At first McCann thought it eccentric that his bonus was paid in the precious metal, and later he surmised that his employer must have used gold as a tax hedge to hide any money he made during prohibition as a bootlegger.

What McCann didn’t know was that Rule had not only made a fortune by buying gold rather than stocks which would have obviously left a paper trail, but by doing so he vastly increased his personal wealth during the great depression. Rule was insulated from the collapse of the banks because his money in gold was not in the banks. He had never trusted the money institutions, and what he had amassed over time was so well hidden to the rest of the world, that nobody knew he was really worth tens of millions.

What Rule didn’t know is that there were two very different sides to Butch McCann. The one side which he knew to be a loyal friend and employee, and another very dark side which progressed over the years to covet Rule’s perceived wealth, and jealously obsessed over finding the secret of it’s hiding place. He patiently waited over his many years of servitude for the old man to make a mistake and divulge some clue as to where his gold might be.

McCann thought at first that the old man must have the gold in a safe deposit box somewhere. Whenever he got a chance he would search his employer’s study or library for a key. Later, when Rule became more reclusive and left the mansion less and less, he began to think that the cache might really be on the property. McCann’s belief that the gold was close was reinforced when even later, during the time in which the old man never left the property, he was sent out to random gold buyers in Minneapolis and Chicago to exchange the coins for ready cash.

The word got out about Rule’s gold throughout northern Wisconsin, and over time, it grew to become an urban legend, even though Rule was careful to send McCann further and further away with each new gold transaction. Now in his late seventies, Rule’s long-time staff of three which consisted of McCann, a part-time housekeeper, and a chef grew to four with the addition of a nurse named Rosa Sutton. McCann had never been suspicious of the housekeeper or the cook, but he didn’t trust the new nurse at all.

What ate at Butch was that whenever he was sent away on one of his two-day trips, the old guy was liable to slip up and clue the nurse to the location of his fortune. That was not an option for him. He knew she was Rule’s only real contact besides himself, and Butch judged her as someone who could not be trusted. He had to eliminate her, or to bring her in as an accomplice, so he decided to win Rosa’s affections and over time, they became a couple. Rosa had two young nephews temporarily staying with her, Frank and Jimmy, which annoyed McCann most if not all of the time, and he did all he could to avoid them.

Rosa would invite Butch to dinner at her home, and generally he could beg off and make an excuse, and get out of seeing the two brats. Rosa’s cooking was as bland as her looks, and he coaxed her out whenever he could to out of the way restaurants and supper clubs, just to avoid having to see the delinquent nephews and to escape from her awful cooking. It was during one of their dinners out after he felt she was truly in love with him, that he brought her in on his theory of the nearby gold, and not unexpectedly, she had her own ideas on the subject.

“Rosa, I need to ask you something and I am not sure how to approach the subject.”

She looked up from her plate of spaghetti with a puzzled look on her face. Butch was not a real conversationalist and he had gotten her undivided attention.

“What’s on your mind Butch?”

“Rosa, have you heard any stories about old man Rules gold?”

“Of course, everybody has. The old guy gives away gold coins each year at Christmas. He has you out exchanging gold coins all the time. The whole staff knows why you take those trips Butch. Why do you ask?”

“Has he ever mentioned anything to you?”

Rosa raised an over-plucked eyebrow. “What do you mean by mentioned anything?” She was not sure what he was asking about. “Mr. Rule and I don’t talk much Butch. What little conversation we have is usually involving his health.”

Butch had to be careful in his approach of the subject. He knew that he had to sound as casual as he could, and not to reveal himself all at once. Rosa was easy enough to manipulate, but if he was wrong about her and she was more honest than he thought, she could make trouble for him. “What I mean is, has the old man ever spoken to you about his gold?”

“Why Butch McCann, whatever do you mean?” She was being coy now, and Butch was somewhat relieved. “Do you mean has he ever told me where he hides it? Why sure just the other day he was saying; “Rosa dear, come here and change my bed pan, and by the way, I have my gold hidden in a secret compartment underneath my bed. Just open the secret trap door and get me some would you? ” What do you think he might say to me about his gold Butch? The old man may be a bit feeble, but he has enough of his marbles to keep his secrets secret.”

“Okay okay, you made your point. Let me ask you this. Does he ever talk in his sleep?”

Rosa was smiling a mischievous smile. She was now happily twirling her spaghetti noodles around her fork and seeing her lummox boyfriend Butch fidget across the table made her feel somehow more powerful and even excited. She didn’t answer him. She wanted to watch him sweat a little. She returned to her meal knowing full well that she was beginning to annoy him.

“Well? Has he?”

“Do you know what your nickname is Butch? My nephews say that in school they call you Digger McCann.”

Butch could feel the blood rushing to his face. He did not like the attitude that Rosa was taking, and he had to fight back the urge of shoving her small stupid head into her plate of Italian food. She looked up at him, still wearing her Cheshire-cat grin, and finally answered his question. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“Maybe maybe not? What the hell does that mean?”

Now Rosa knew that she was playing on the edge. The sudden redness in Butch’s face indicated to her that she had better play along fast, or he might use his fists to do some creative reconstruction work on her nose. She had seen that same look on her ex husband’s face many times, and it normally resulted in a cuffing. “Okay Butch, I was just fooling around. No, he doesn’t talk in his sleep, nor has he given me any information of any kind that you could use.”

She was very careful not to include herself in that last sentence. If Butch thought that she was withholding any information from him, or the possibility of her being in any way a rival for the gold, things would go badly for her. She could play Butch only so far, and she instinctively knew he was dangerous. She added, “If I ever hear or see anything, I will let you know. I promise.”

Butch was still agitated, but the veins in his temples had lessened their pulsing, and he felt that he was regaining his composure. She was close to wearing her dinner at the very least, and almost just as close to having fragments of the Tomahawk Supper Club’s dinnerware as a permanent part of her countenance. He looked at the woman sitting across from him and wondered how in the world he could even kiss her. She looked like a cheap imitation of Lucille Ball. Her bleached hair had an orange-ish tint to it with jet black roots. She plastered her lipstick on in such a way as to make herself look like a deranged circus clown. The things a man has to go through for money.

Rosa had stopped eating. She had also stopped smiling. She was scared now. She could see in her boyfriend’s eyes a cool, feral savagery. The look made her feel like taking flight. And then, just as quickly as it came, the man’s face softened and she knew that she had dodged a bullet. Butch turned his frown into a wry smile.

“Rosa, you don’t want to play around with me. I am a serious man. I can be— well let’s just say if you press the wrong buttons I can be very unpleasant. I need to know that you are with me, that we are playing on the same team. I need to know that I can trust you. If I felt that I couldn’t trust you it would be a shame.”

“I’m sorry Butchie. You know I can be a little distracted sometimes. Please don’t be mad at me Butchie.”

“Rosa, I have told you not to call me that.” He could feel his blood pressure beginning to elevate once again. Sometimes he thought he had better communication with his dog.

“Okay Butch I keep forgetting. I won’t say Butchie any more.”

Butch rubbed his temples with the heels of his fists. He could feel a migraine coming on. He called to the bartender for another martini. Rosa pouted and began moving her food this way and that on her plate. She had lost her appetite. Then she said in a whisper, “Butch, you think the gold is on the property? I think it is. It has to be. The old man never leaves, and he still comes up with the coins. Where could he be getting them from? He has to be getting to it when we are all sent away.”

Butch looked up and focused all his attention on Rosa.

“What do you mean when we are all sent away? He sends me away out of town for a few days on business, but you are all still on the job!”

“No Butch. Don’t you know? When you go to Chicago or Minneapolis, the staff is all sent out. When you leave on business, we are all off the property.”

ver the course of the next several days, as Ben delivered Sam his meals, he was sent on various errands at the old man’s request. One day it would be a wooden panel, on another it would be butcher’s wrapping paper and Elmer’s glue.
 
With each and every meal, Sam was adamant in having Ben convey to his parents his eternal gratitude for their Christian hospitality. The old man seemed to be filling out his clothes a bit more, no longer seeming to swim beneath them.