Siblings (7 page)

Chapter 12

Wilson pulled the buds from his ears, thinking he heard a knock at his door. The knocking repeated. He jumped up and went to the door. He looked out the peep hole and saw the Abbott brothers.

Out in the hall, George said, “Come on, Wil—open the door. We know you’re in there.”

Wilson undid the chain and opened the door. “What do you guys want?”

“Is that any way to talk to old friends?”

George Abbott pushed the door open and walked past Wilson, followed by his younger brother Bobby. “What a dump. Is this the best you can do?” They slumped down on the couch.

Wilson closed the door. “It works for me. You’ll have to wait a minute. I was just finishing a text message to my sister.” He picked up his phone, pressed a few buttons, and laid it down on the table next to him.

“How is the beautiful Margaret Symington these days? Did she ever get married?”

“Why should you care? She sure wouldn’t have anything to do with the likes of you two. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Willie boy, I’m just concerned about you. I felt real bad when you were sent to the stir. You know we would have helped you if we could’ve.”

“Yeah? Well, all you had to do was step forward and admit your role in the operation.”

“Now what good would that have done, Willie boy? Then we all would have landed in the slammer.”

“So instead you let me take the hit.”

“Willie boy, don’t think that I don’t appreciate what you did. I helped wherever I could.”

“Stop calling me Willy boy. My name is either Wilson or Wil. Get that?”

Bobby spoke up. “My, aren’t we testy? You’d think that after being called by just a number for three years, you wouldn’t mind what people called you.”

“No thanks to you.”

“Cut it out, you two. This is supposed to be a social call. Look, Wil, we didn’t come here to yank your chain. Believe it or not, I want to help you. I owe you a large and I’m not a man to turn his back on a friend. Why don’t we light up and enjoy some of this Guatemalan hash we brought with us. This is primo stuff; goes for three hundred a cube.” He reached in his pocket and took out a baggie with a dozen brown cubes the shape and size of dice.

Bobby provided three four inch long pipes with small bowls lined with a ceramic material. He offered one to Wil, who hesitated for a moment before he accepted it.

George handed Wilson one of the cubes and a lighter. “Now that’s better. You’re going to like this shit. It’s the best on the market.”

An hour later, George was ready to make his pitch to Wilson. “So, how did you like that?”

Wil had no intention of getting stoned, especially with the Abbott brothers. He smoked the hash, but only pretended to inhale. (Well, maybe he did once or twice to test the quality of the stuff). “Man, this is really good shit. How did you ever get a hold of so much?”

“We distribute it. Things have changed a lot since you went away. I’ve got new partners now and we only deal in hash. Grass is too bulky to handle and the profit margins are too thin. All that stuff about legalization has clouded the outlook for the stuff. Hashish is the big thing now. So far the law hasn’t messed with hash, so the market opportunities are solid.”

“Then I bet you can’t wait until grass is legal everywhere.”

“You got that right. When the capitalists eventually get their hands on it, it will be as common as cigarettes. The mystique will be gone. Human nature being what it is requires that there always be something that’s taboo, something that makes you important if you can supply it. Hash is that new interdict and we’re right there as suppliers providing a top-of-the-line product. I don’t have to tell you that our market is teenagers and the under thirty-five crowd. People in that demographic get their jollies doing stuff that’s forbidden or looked down on. Hash is quickly becoming society’s fashion drug.”

“So, Wil, the time is now if you want to make some big bucks. I’ve got a sweet little deal going with some high rollers who can supply me with all the hash I can handle without any up-front money. What I need is someone who can handle a large area south of town. Mostly middle class kids going to good schools who like to party on the weekends with the best stuff. You’ve got a young, innocent look, so you would blend right in with that crowd. The average deal is two grand with six hundred going to the seller. Hell, in a good week you could make three or four grand. I see brand new sports wheels in your future.” George hesitated for a minute to let everything sink in. “Does that sound like something that would interest you? You don’t have to make up your mind right now. I’m still at the same number as before, but don’t wait too long. Territories are going fast and its first come, first served.”

He turned to his younger brother. “I guess it’s time to go, Bobby. Leave the pipe and lighter with our friend. Here’s another cube for you to enjoy while you make up your mind. Oh, one more thing, my territory captains get a ration of three cubes free every week; my way of saying thanks.”

The Abbott brothers left Wil’s apartment about an hour and a half after they had pushed their way in.

As they exited, a man stepped out of the shadows and stood by the front door, watching as they got into the Jaguar parked at the curb. As the car pulled away, he headed toward the elevator, hesitated for a minute, then turned and left the building.

***

Wil grabbed his cell phone and dialed a number.

“Blaine here.”

“Mister Blaine, this is Wilson Symington. They were here today and they made me an offer to distribute hash for them. I recorded the conversation on my cell phone.”

“Good job, Wil. What did you tell them?”

“I didn’t give George an answer. I didn’t want to look too anxious. I think he assumed I wanted to think it over before I gave him an answer, especially given my history with them.”

“We’re going to have to get together. Can you meet me at Sweeney’s on Oak Street at noon tomorrow? It shouldn’t be too crowded on a weekend. I’ll have Special Agent Hawkins meet us there. If you get there first, find us a booth in the back.”

“Sure thing, I’ll see you then. I have some evidence too. George left me a sample of his stuff and a pipe. I’ll put it all in a baggie.”

“That’s great! See you at twelve.”

***

“Special Agent Hawkins, please.”

“Hawkins.”

“Byron, its Norm Blaine. The Abbotts just made contact with Wilson Symington.”

“I know. The agent I assigned to keep an eye on Wilson just reported in. They went to his apartment house and stayed about an hour and a half. It was about time for them to make contact. I wonder why it took them so long.”

“He didn’t say, but he had the presence of mind to record their conversation and he said he has some physical evidence.”

“That’s great. Do you think he’ll work with us?”

“Well, the fact that he notified me about their visit and recorded the conversation is a very positive sign. I’m going to be optimistic. I’ll see you, at noon tomorrow at Sweeney’s”

Chapter 13

Six Months Earlier

Two days after his release from jail, Wilson showed up at the office of his probation officer for a nine o’clock appointment. He expected to meet a “tough-as-nails” PO who looked like the ones portrayed on TV. Norman Blaine, as it turned out, was a soft-spoken man, who on the surface appeared to be sincerely interested in returning Wilson to society as smoothly as possible.

Wil had already been hired by Wallington House to supervise their valet service, an interview that Norman Blaine arranged, so he expected today’s meeting would mostly be a pep-talk about the price to be paid for returning to a life of crime and a rule setting session.

Norman met him at the outer door to his office. “Let’s go back to my office where we can have some privacy.” He closed the door and gestured for Wilson to sit in a chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

Wil was the first to speak. “Before we start, I want to thank you for arranging an interview with Mister Simpson over at Wallington House. We had a long talk and he gave me a job supervising the valets. I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Wil. You got that job on your own merits. Bill Simpson called me after you left and thanked me for recommending you. He was very impressed with you. Actually, I want to talk about something else this morning.”

Wilson was prepared for this.
Here it comes, lecture time. That serious look on his face says it’ll be a beaut.

“Last week I got a call from the Regional FBI office, from a Special Agent Byron Hawkins. He’s part of a taskforce looking into drug distribution in Wallington and the surrounding area. They have a slew of leads on local distributors and a link to a national syndicate. He asked me to enlist your help. In particular he’s interested in the activities of the Abbott brothers. The FBI knows you were distributing for the Abbotts and they figure now that you’re out, George and Bobby Abbott will eventually make contact with you. When they do, the FBI wants to know about it.”

“I’m no snitch.”

“I know. You‘ve more than demonstrated that, but don’t you see? This would be an opportunity to set things straight; to exonerate yourself, as it were.”

“I spent three years exonerating myself. That’s the only obligation I recognize.”

Blaine looked disappointed. “Wil, I didn’t mean to throw this at you so suddenly. I spoke with the attorney that represented you and he pointed out that your involvement with distributing drugs for the Abbotts was your first brush with the law. You have a college degree and have everything going for you. On top of that, there are a lot of people pulling for you.”

“I don’t want to be rude, Mr. Blaine, especially since you did stick your neck out for me, but I don’t want to get mixed up with those guys again. All those things that you point out are exactly why I don’t want to be involved with George and Bobby. They’re nothing but trouble and I want to keep my distance from them. I want to make a fresh start.”

“I understand that, Wil, but do you actually think that they’re going to leave you alone? Don’t you realize that they consider you a trustworthy person who refused to rat them out? I’ll guarantee you that when the opportunity arises, George and Bobby Abbott will be around to visit you and they’ll have a tempting offer that you may not be able to resist.”

“I’ll tell you what I told the warden and the chaplain when I left prison. I will never distribute drugs again or associate with anyone who does. That’s the God’s honest truth. If those guys try to get in touch with me, I’ll tell them the same thing. Look, I’d like to help you, but it would mean getting involved with that life again. I just won’t do it. I became an embarrassment to my whole family; I’m the black sheep.”

“It doesn’t have to always be that way.”

Wilson was getting angry. “I said no and I mean it.”

“You realize that if the Abbotts do contact you, you’ll be tagged as a suspect by the FBI, like it or not.”

“Wait a minute—that’s not fair. I can’t control what they do.”

“Of course it’s not fair, but that’s the way these investigations go. Will you at least let me know when they eventually contact you? We’ll turn whatever information or evidence you have over to Special Agent Hawkins and that will be that. They’ll know then, that you’re an innocent bystander. Will you at least do that much for us?”

Wilson thought about the question for a few minutes. “I guess I could do that; anything that will keep them from harassing me, but I want you to understand up front that I won’t testify against them in court. I don’t want my name tied to any prosecution.”

“I can’t promise you anything, but I’ll pass that on.” Norman glanced over Wil’s file and closed the folder. “Here’s my card with my cell phone number on the back. If you hear from the Abbotts, call me right away, day or night. Aside from that, I don’t think we’re going to have to meet regularly. Just give me a call once a week and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you.”

“Thanks, Mr. Blaine.” They shook hands and Wil left the PO’s office.

***

Norm dialed a number. “Special Agent Hawkins, please.”

“Hawkins.”

“Norman Blaine, here.”

“Yes, Norm, how can I help you?”

“I just had a meeting with Wilson Symington. He was reluctant at first, but he’s agreed to call me if the Abbotts make any contact with him.”

“Will he work undercover for us?”

“He says no. He wants no part of any contact with the Abbotts. He’s come part of the way, though, by agreeing to call me if they contact him, but I just don’t feel that he’s there yet.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to wait and see. Call me the minute you hear anything more.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”