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THE MIDNIGHT SKULKER 34

Skokie, Illinois

Monday, March 5, 1974

2:20 p.m. Central Standard Time

“Marcie.”

“Hi. You try Edwin again?”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“The operator came on and told me ‘this was no longer a working number’.”

The line silent…. “So what are you going to do?”

“Soon as we hang up, I’m heading there to see what’s going on.”

The dark, gloomy day becoming darker and gloomier by the minute with sleety snow flurries heavily dusting the streets.  Mitchell took the Edens Freeway south to Touhy Avenue then west on Touhy to the storefront office of ‘Your Write Hand’.

Though the venetian blinds were closed along the large storefront window, there were no blinds on the plate glass door.

Shading his eyes with the palms of both hands, looking through the plate glass window of the closed and firmly locked door Mitchell saw…

 Standing in the cold with the frigid wind lifting the tail of his overcoat, it took long seconds for his mind to comprehend what his eyes saw.

The office furniture was gone.  On the floor were the four telephones that sat upon the now missing desks and, other than the phones, there was nothing.

Dazed at this. Not know what to make of this, he thought of calling Marsha but needed time to think.

With the streets becoming more and more unmanageable due to the now heavily falling snow and car rocking gusts of wind, what, under normal conditions, would have taken thirty-five minutes; giving him plenty of time to think, the trip from what used to be the office of ‘Your Write Hand’ to his home in Schaumberg took better than an hour.

Michael and Ellie in their rooms doing homework, Sammy and Sherrie were lying on the floor in the family-room watching television.

Hearing the garage door open and close, leaving the kitchen, Marsha was waiting for Mitchell as he came into the foyer, “So,” she asked anxiously, “did you talk to him?”

Removing and hanging his coat in the hall closet then, sitting on the decorative bench in the foyer, he wearily pulled the galoshes off.

Impatiently waiting for her husband to say something, “So?” Marsha repeated impatiently.

“They’re gone.”

“Huh? ‘Gone’, what do you mean, ‘they’re gone’?”

“Marcie, they’re gone! The Office was empty! The desks and chairs and furniture are all gone, there’s nothing there.”

“Hey, kids,” Going into the kitchen, “Dad and I have some stuff we’ve got to talk about so we’re going to go to upstairs for a little while, okay.”

Engrossed what whatever they were watching, Samuel waved his arm in response.

“I think we’ve been defrauded.”

Sitting side by side on the edge of the bed, “ ‘Defrauded’?”

“Yeah, ‘defrauded’! I’ve been thinking about it and that son of a bitch may have sold our territory to thirty other people.”

“He sent you to that, uh, ‘Motivational Speaker’ class and bought all that printing from you.”

“I didn’t even think of that, he owes me almost four hundred for the printing… That bastard!”

“You going to call the police?”

“Sure! Tomorrow I’ll find the local police station and report the son of a bitch.”

“Okay, so where do we go from here?”

Taking her hand, “Do you still want to move to San Diego?”

“ ‘Do I still want to move to San Diego’?  Yeah! Bet your ass I still want to move to San Diego! I love it there!  Besides, we sold this house and bought that house and think that we’d be hit with one hell of a law suit… or two, if we back out the deals.”

“Yeah, I think so, too! I love it there also and want to get away from this fucking cold place! But, Marcie, I don’t have a job.”

“Mitchie, you’re a salesman. You’ll find a job.”

To be continued

©November 12, 2011 / Mark M. Lichterman