Money Well Spent

You have a choice right now. If you make the right one I, WE will be behind you a hundred per cent, but if you make the wrong one, again, then we're over. Remember, I adopted Sandy. She now carries my name besides my heart, and I won't let you hurt either one by watching you slide down in to the pit you rose out of once. If you slip again, and force me to go for divorce, no judge alive would give you custody.

Think about it, are you willing to give up everything?"

Gwen wailed and promised to be good, shaking the whole time from withdrawals.

"All right then. Tomorrow, you go to rehab, and I don't mean the 28 day program, I mean real rehab, ninety days in a top facility. If you do well, then after a month we can see you. Do bad, and your stay gets longer, until they deem you unsavable. If that happens, you're on your own."

She went. Gwen did well, staying on point, following the program, saying and doing all the right things. The first time her family got to visit her, she cried the whole time, hugging her daughters and apologizing to Shaggy. He finally grew a little irritated. "Don't promise, Gwen. Do. Make me proud to be married to you again. This is your only chance, your one shot at redemption. Screw this up and it might be a long time before you get to see your babies."

If he was trying to scare her straight, it worked. For six months she was right by his side, not complaining once about the monthly drug tests he made her take, promising if she stayed clean for a year he would stop. We think she started resenting them there towards the end, but she took them.

Then, on the ninth month, she didn't show for her test, calling the lab and telling them she had a family emergency and would need to reschedule. It was two weeks before they could fit her in, and she said it would be fine. When the report didn't show up in the mail, Shaggy asked about it. "The lab had to reschedule, honey. I go in ten days, but if you want, we can go down to the hospital and get it done there."

He loved her, and believed her, so they waited. The weekend before she was to go, Shaggy came home to find her gone, along with everything of value that she was able to get into her car. When he checked, the bank accounts had been emptied. As luck would have it, most of their money was tied up in investments and couldn't be accessed quickly, so he was able to protect them. We didn't hear a thing for four months, until the money started to run out, and then we traced her through five pawnshops in three surrounding towns before the trail went cold. The security cameras at the last showed a rough picture. She looked like she had lost at least twenty pounds, her hair a stringy mess, the needle tracks plain on her arms. Shaggy watched, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Jim offered to get a team looking for her.

"She's past saving. It wouldn't matter if she came back and went through rehab again, she would just slide right back. I need to go home to my children, prepare them for what's to come, and see a lawyer, to make sure I retain custody."

After some pretty hard nagging from the girls, including Christy, who was home on vacation, he moved into the house with us, just to make everyone feel a little more secure. A few months later, the police showed up, asking about her. It seemed the people she had hooked up with decided to start a career in crime. They were on video robbing two corner stores, her carrying a shotgun they suspect she got from a recent home invasion. "This is her last known address. Have you seen or talked to her lately?"

Shaggy looked at the evidence, surprised he could still cry over her. When he composed himself, he answered all their questions. First, he gave them a card. "That's my lawyer. I'm suing for divorce on grounds of abandonment, working to get sole custody of my girls, making sure they are safe. I have not talked to my wife in five months, or seen her in six. If she does make contact, you guys will get the call. I'm done with her, but for the sake of our children I'll pray for her."

The cops were good guys, and knew us from Ninth Street. We had also sponsored a Police League volleyball team, and a softball team, always willing to give a little more when the cause was there. They apologized for coming, and the female hugged him, telling him he would get through this. She also gave him her card, telling her if he needed help, not to hesitate to call anyone on the force, someone would come. Jim and Christy walked them out.

They waited until a few hours later, and the detective, our volleyball coach, called, wanting me to meet them on the range. "We think it's going to end badly. The violence is escalating. They pistol whipped a clerk at the last robbery, even though he cooperated, while Gwen held the shotgun on the three customers who had been in the store. They're on film laughing like hyenas while they nearly beat the guy to death. It's just a matter of time, depending on how little or how much drugs they have in them, to cross the line and kill somebody, or run into somebody who decides to shoot it out with them."

I pondered what to do with the information. Three days later we woke to the sounds of sirens. A neighbor three blocks over woke to intruders. They beat him badly, threatened to rape his wife and eleven year old daughter unless he gave them everything. They seemed to know what was valuable, and even knew where the safe was. When they thought they had everything, they tied them up, smashed their phones, and left.

Five nights later another neighbor experienced a home invasion, and again, the thieves were very well informed as to what they had of value. Two weeks later a house three doors down was invaded, and it was set afire when they left, because the thieves were angry over the amount of loot. The residents just barely got out alive. We sat over breakfast and thought about the rash of crime in our area, until Lindsey went pale.

"Oh My Gosh! It just hit me, we've been to every one of these houses as guests, including Shaggy. AND GWEN!" We called the police immediately, and when they came out we explained our fears. One sighed. "That sounds about right. Every house that was robbed was done by someone with a rough reckoning of their wealth. We've stepped up patrols in the area. Keep your doors locked, you guys would be the ultimate prize." Three hours later Gwen called Shaggy, giving him an almost incoherent diatribe about taking the girls, demanding he bring them to her. He agreed immediately, asking where she wanted to meet.

He could hear a struggle, a few screams, and a man's voice came on the phone. "Ignore the bitch. I do. We'll be seeing you soon, asshole." The line went dead. Shaggy called the police immediately, and they came over to get the recording he had managed to get of about two thirds of the conversation. "They're losing control. I know you have weapons, but you might want to get professional help, and just to be safe, never let the children out of sight."

Jim sighed when they left. "They're right, Shaggy. I'll be taking the girls to school and collecting them from now on. Be sure you tell the school that no one is to get them except for me or you, and call the police immediately if someone tries."

He turned to me. "Again, they were right. I'm going to hire enough guards to keep this area safe around the clock, until they're caught or..." He started to say dead, but saw Grace peeking over the stair railing. He nodded and Shaggy got up immediately, bringing her into the living room and cuddling her.

Both girls were traumatized by recent events, but the girls mothered them relentlessly, and they gradually came to accept the living arrangements. When Grace needed something, two Moms showed up, three if Christy was around. She would sigh as she held Grace, looking sad. She told us later she regretted not leaving the Bureau early enough to have kids. She and Jim were seriously talking about foster kids or adotion about a year after she retired, to give her time to acclimate to the real world.

We fixed up the old tack shop apartment, and Jim gave one guard his spare bedroom, so we had on site round the clock protection. When we left, even if it was just to the grocery store, two guys in an SUV followed us. JIm was starting to prosper, and we knew as soon as Christy retired they would find a nice house. He was doing a lot of business with the neighbors, car and foot patrols at night, just cars in the daylight. They identified themselves to the heavy police presence, so everyone knew who was supposed to be in the area.

Our neighbors were well to do, so they could afford it. Never having much to do with the police, several of the older ones, especially the widows and empty nesters, started insisting they have breakfast with them, so they could "inspect the house". This led to snacks, and coffepots left outside on decks and porches, and always ready for both the police and security people. They joked with each other they hoped the bad guys never got caught, because this was the best job they'd ever had.

They earned their money one night when one of the security patrols noticed a suspicious vehicle, reported it, and followed from a distance, the police hovering just out of sight. They stopped in front of a house at the end of a street, secluded, no close neighbors, a perfect target. Six people got out, pulling on gloves and masks. They were reaching inside the van when the floodlights hit them, and a voice demanding they drop their weapons and lie on the ground.

There was a moment of hesitation, then they heard a man clearly. "Fuck this! I ain't going back to prison."

To the shock of the authorities, two men pulled out military style rifles and started firing. The weapons were fully automatic, and they sprayed a lot of bullets very fast. Two of the three police cruisers were totaled instantly. Then two more rifles opened up, backed by shotguns. Outgunned, all they could do was call for backup and try to keep them contained.

Two of the security guards, the ones on foot patrol, had arrived at the back of the house and peeked around, assessing the situation, talking to the police the entire time. One of the intruders, looking for an escape route, got a little too close, and they dragged him back into the bushes, knocking him out with their fists and pistols. Another saw it and opened fire, spraying his companion and killing him instantly while the guards scrambled away to each side. They both fired, watching as the man grunted and sagged back, before returning fire. They realized he was wearing a bulletproof vest. They were both on the ground now to limit target options, and one screamed to the other to aim for the legs. Both emptied a fourteen round magazine each, hitting the robber five times, once in the knee, shattering the knee cap.

Before they could do anything about the fallen man the van roared around the house, running over him as it headed across the back yard, through the fence that divided lots, and on to the next street. Caught by surprise, the police scrambled to follow, but the van had dropped out of sight, into a district of empty warehouses, pulling into one out of sight from the street.

Chapter 18

It was a minor miracle, but the robber who had been shot and run over lived. He lost a leg, a finger, and a testicle, but he was alive. Knowing he would most likely face life in prison, as soon as he was able he got a lawyer and offered to sell his compatriots out, for immunity. That proposal was rejected out of hand, and they bargained back and forth until they reached an agreement. Looking at life, the prosecution offered him a deal. Tell everything and he would get ten to twenty-five years, and be eligible for parole in nine years. He was thirty, and he jumped all over the deal.

Their leader was an escaped convict, breaking out of a prison three states over, killing a guard as he went. Manson Franks was number nine on the FBI most wanted list. He had killed two more people on his way here, gathered a group almost as vicious as he was and like minded in their quest for easy money. He talked about Gwen like she was dirt under his feet. "The bitch is crazy. She screws all of us, but swears she loves some guy named Scooby or something like that. She's mainlining like crazy, I expect to wake up every morning and find her dead. She's a gold mine though, when it comes to information about high dollar houses and how easy they are to rob. Manson loves her though, he even gave her the shotgun. It scares the shit out of me to see her waving it around, wondering how high she is.

She keeps talking about the ultimate score, a house filled with all sorts of shit, with a giant safe in the basement. It's locked up like Fort Knox, and she swears it's protected by some crazy ghost, and doesn't want to go near it. Manson wants to, he just grins and says 'I ain't afraid of no ghost.' It's supposed to be our next job."

It wasn't. The whole group disappeared off the face of the earth for four months, no one knew where the rest of the group, four men and Gwen, were. Rewards were offered, tips were followed up on. The gang member in the hospital suddenly had a seizure and passed, quite painfully, from what I heard. He was without a doubt poisoned, but no one could be sure how, and the video systen somehow went down for two hours.

Jim kept up the security for another three months until he decided just spot checks would do. The police eased back, and we were back to living in a quiet neighborhood. Christy finally retired, and joined Jim, and she and the girls planned a wedding, to be paid for by me, apparently.

It was a very nice wedding, and I got to walk Christy down the aisle. There was a pretty good crowd, their old friends from the agency, his new friends among the local cops, a few scattered lawyers, mostly ADA's, with a few defense attorneys thrown in to make it interesting. Jen was matron of honor, Lindsey and Sandy were bridesmaids, and Grace was flower girl. The ring bearer was the son of the local Chief of Police. Shaggy was a groomsman, and Jim's brother was best man. Lindsey caught the bouquet, and her date for the event was one of the young patrolmen she had met when we had all the trouble.

Miss Agnes was very taken with Shaggy's daughters, especially the youngest one. I was surprised one day to see a new teddy bear on her bed. "Gram gave it to me. She had to show me where it was, though. Wanna see?"

Of course I did, she led me to her closet, reached inside and pulled. A false wall swung open, and the shelves were lined with dolls and toys suitable for a young girl. "Gram said I could have more if I was good to Teddy."

I smiled. Later on I checked. Teddy was one of the very first teddy bears ever made, and was worth quite a bit to a collector. It meant more to a little girl who was forced to deal with the loss of her mother, though, and deserved to be played with.

"Well, Gram, you've made another conquest. Are you going to adopt all the girls that come into this house?"

The words floated through my mind. "Yes, especially yours. Get busy."

"We're trying Mom."

Jim and Christy came home from their honeymoon tanned and relaxed, and seemed in no hurry to move out of the apartment. The had confiscated the tack room, using it as an office. Our documentary on the Merchant and Monroe families, concluding with the opening of the vault, was very well received. It got us more than attention and profit, it got us sued.

The long lost Merchant saw the video and was enraged, so he sued us for the contents of the vault. it made good press but little sense, because he was very clear, in writing, that I bought the house, the buildings, and the grounds, 'as is'. His lawyer was sharp, but had no legal basis to pursue the suit. The press had a field day, and one tabloid featured a shot of me, and one of him, side by side. The resemblance was eerie. He looked like me in twenty years, if I took up drinking and stopped exercizing. The made up headline was "Cousin vs Cousin".

Jen couldn't get over how much we resembled each other. "It's so weird," she kept saying. Lindsey and the rest of the family agreed.

Personally, I didn't like the man. He called once, demanding to be let in the house to do 'inventory', and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Mom didn't seem to like her descendant much. "Relax," I told her. "It would take a court order for him to walk through those doors, and no judge alive would give him one." I politely declined, and hung up on him. He called several more times, getting more abusive every time. I was about to change numbers when Jim advised against it. "Record him," he said, get your lawyer to take it to the judge, and get a restraining order."

I recorded the next three calls, each more abusive as he ordered me to turn his 'heritage' over to him. When the judge heard the recordings, he granted the restraining order. Except for court, he was to stay at least a thousand feet away from my property, me, or my family, and was allowed no communication at all except through lawyers. I got a screaming rant when he was served, gave it to my legal team, and four hours later he was in jail for the weekend, going before a Judge on Monday who explained in clear terms that the next incident and he would be held for the duration of the trial, except for when court was in session.

Jim and Christy, doing their job, investigated the man. Seems he had squandered quite a bit of money over his forty-five years, the sale of the house was the only thing that kept him solvent. Faced with the thought of selling his penthouse condo and vacation home, he came up with the idea of suing me after watching the documentary, in the wild hope of getting something from me.

He lost the suit, and almost lost his vacation home to the lawyers for legal bills. I offered him some memoriabilia of his anscestors, and he shook with anger. "Screw those snobby people. They're why I'm living in Califoria. They threw my Dad out, banished him to California, and threatened to cut off his inheritance if he ever came back. I never knew any of them, and I don't want to be reminded now."

In one of our final meetings, I shocked the family by offering him an olive branch. With everything going on, we had yet to open the safety deposit boxes. I took the keys with me to our last meeting, and offered him his choice of keys, if he signed the papers and went away. He conferred with his lawyers, and came back to me.

He didn't speak, but let the lawyer do the talking. "My client insists on all the keys. He considers them part of the inheritance you denied him."

I stood, signalling the family and lawyers. They also rose. "Well then. When this is all over and he's back in the land of the fruits and the nuts, poorer than he was when he started this, I wonder how often he will obsess over this offer, and what he might have found had he accepted our generous gift. I forsee a lot of sleepless nights for your client. Good day. We'll see you in court."

We were standing by the elevators when a junior associate came running up to us. "Come back! Our client is willing to negotiate."

I grinned. "Your bosses have a dog of a case. All I need to do is sit back and let the trial run it's course. I think I'll get my team to come up with a few roadblocks, maybe stretch this thing out. I think I'll shoot for a year. By the time it's over, you won't have won anything, and your client will be too broke to pay you. Have a pleasant evening."

He was standing in shock, mouth hanging open, as the elevator doors closed.

"You're not really going to do that, are you honey?"

I cuddled Jen a little, grinning. "No, I'm already tired of the whole thing. That was just a message to his lawyers, a motivational technique. They now know that I have enough money to drag this along forever, and he's not solvent enough to last in the long haul. I'm sure a better offer will be forthcoming. Very, very soon."