Cellar Full of Cole: A Cole Sage Mystery #2 Read online

  “Let me go!” Sophie demanded.

  Terry threw his thick arm across Sophie’s collarbone and pressed her against the vehicle. She was bent back across the car, making it difficult to breathe. Terry pressed close to her body and began rubbing against her.

  “Isn’t this more friendly?” he huffed. His hot breath was foul in her face.

  “Get off me.” Sophie’s words were choked. Terry’s arm moved up and was heavy across her throat.

  “We’re just getting—” Terry gave a sharp thrust of his hips, “—comfy.”

  Sophie felt his thick hand fumbling with her T-shirt. He slid his rough hand under her shirt and stroked her stomach. “Now, isn’t that nice?” he said softly. She felt the tips of his fingers hit the bottom of her bra.

  “Let me—” Sophie’s words were cut short as Terry’s arm pressed hard against her neck.

  In a quick push of his hand, Sophie’s bra was pushed up over her breast and she felt his thick rough hands move across her nipple. “There is... More here... Than I... Ever dreamed.” Terry’s words were accentuated with a sharp hard squeezing of her breast.

  Sophie realized she was completely powerless. Twice she started to black out and saw bursts of stars in her vision. Her efforts to twist free were met with more pressure from Terry’s thick belly. He was momentarily focused on fondling her, and the relaxed pressure on her neck allowed her to draw several deep breaths.

  “Like it?” Terry panted, as he looked deep into the anger that filled Sophie’s eyes.

  Sophie took a deep breath and spit into Terry’s reddened face. “You bastard. Jeff will kill you for this!”

  Terry took Sophie’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed down with all his raging might. As he moved back, he twisted and pulled as if trying to tear it from her body. Sophie screamed in pain and, as he pinched down harder, he threw back his head and gave a demonic laugh. He was almost at arm’s length and Sophie grasped his hand with both of hers.

  “How do you like it?” Terry growled, and Sophie thrust her knee into his groin.

  His hold on her breast was broken, and he hit her hard across the face with the back of his hand. “I should just kill you and be done with it.”

  She turned and was half bent, leaning against the side of the car. Terry hit her hard in the ribs and she fell. “Next time, I’ll give Melanie some of this.” He grabbed his crotch and pumped up and down. “Or maybe Aaron would like some, too. He’s more my taste anyway.” He panted. “You didn’t heed my warnings. Children or dogs, they’re the same to me, remember that.” Terry, still breathing hard, moved back and took in the scene. Sophie was lying on the ground, trying to get her breath. “I want the papers signed. This can only get worse for you.” He turned and started back to his truck. “Skinning one of your brats would be a challenge, but I’m up to it.”

  SIXTEEN

  The old green Volvo was gone. 313,000 miles, one engine, three sets of brakes, God knows how many sets of tires, two cassette players, and a year-old CD player. It was time for new brakes again, the engine burned oil, the tires were bald, and the CD player skipped every time he hit a pebble in the road. Just the same, Cole loved his old car.

  The decision didn’t come easy, but after his last trip to San Francisco, he knew she would never make it up and down all the hills, let alone the drive there. The final goodbye to Chicago was seeing the little black fart of oily smoke as the driver from “Kars 4 Kids” rounded the corner at the end of the block. Cole said goodbye to another friend.

  With the help of several friends and a couple of fried chicken and spaghetti dinners from Olajean, all of Cole’s earthly possessions were securely packed into his storage unit from PODS sitting at the curb. Within the next few minutes, the truck would arrive to load it up and send it on its way westward.

  The final walk through the apartment was complete, and with it, a swelling of emotion. His suitcase with a week’s worth of clothes and toiletries was in the trunk of his rented Toyota Corolla. He turned in his keys to Lilia Katz, the apartment manager. She gave Cole a brown paper bag of “little goodies” she had prepared for his trip.

  “Long way to California, you might get hungry,” she suggested as she handed him the grease-spotted bag. Lilia kept about six cats and always smelled of kitty litter. It was a nice gesture, but the bag and its contents would hit the first garbage can he came to, just the same.

  His flight didn’t leave until almost five o’clock. It was just a little past ten. Cole needed to do one more thing before he caught his plane, but it could wait for now. He took a seat on the stoop to wait for the truck.

  The sun felt warm on his legs as he stretched them out in front of him. His thoughts replayed the events of the last couple of days. Some bitter, some sweet. The goodbyes were hard. The cards and tokens of friendship and outpouring of love let him know he would be missed. In all that happened, he really didn’t think of those he was leaving behind and how his move might affect them.

  He knew he would miss Olajean and Tom, that was a given, but he never realized how much Tom’s wife meant to him. Of all the notes, cards and letters, hers touched him the deepest. Her letter spoke of her fondness for him and how much his friendship meant to Tom. She spoke of her concern for Cole and the prayers she offered up during his dark years. Most touching was her perspective on his reconnecting with Ellie and how her passing touched them. She wished him happiness and encouraged him to let Erin and her family fill the void in his heart. Most of all, and most surprising, was her encouragement that Cole find a woman to share his life.

  Cole took the sheet of flowered paper from his pocket and read the note again. “No one should be alone, Cole, and you have so much to offer a woman. I pray God gives you someone to walk through life with. From what you have told me of Ellie, I’m sure she would tell you the same thing. You’ll always have a spot in your heart that only Ellie will fill, but a heart is a wonderful thing. There’s always room for more love, and it never diminishes the love we already have. Stay well and you better call or write often!” Cole slipped the note back into his jacket pocket; of all the cards, it was the only one he kept.

  The PODS truck arrived right on schedule. Cole verified his new address in San Francisco and the driver provided him with receipts and copies of delivery instructions. The driver made a point of letting Cole know that he was real lucky to get a pick-up on a Friday. If he was fishing for a tip, he was to be sorely disappointed. The entire process took less than five minutes, and soon Cole stood on the sidewalk beside his rental car, his last link to Chicago on the back of the truck. Cole took a deep breath; he was no longer a resident of Chicago.

  Tonight, he would sleep in his apartment in San Francisco. Chris Ramos called to say that a bed was made up with new sheets and pillow, and the refrigerator was loaded with non-fat milk, Diet Coke, and cartons of Thai take-out. The cupboard, he promised, was well stocked with shredded wheat, corn flakes, and Rice Chex. Most importantly, there was a brand new 12-cup Cuisinart coffee maker, a pound of fine-ground hazelnut coffee, and a box of No Sugar Added Hot Cocoa mix. Cole would have all weekend to relax before beginning his first week at the Chronicle.

  As he unlocked the Toyota’s door the obnoxious overdriven notes of “California Here I Come” blared from his cell phone. A parting gift from one of his “happy helpers” no doubt. As usual, he fumbled, patted and panicked until he finally pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.

  “Cole?” The voice was familiar, but he wasn’t placing it.

  “Yes,” he replied, a little stronger than he intended.

  “It’s Sophie.”

  “Hi! I was getting in the car. All my stuff is on the road, and I’m officially moved out. What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to—” Sophie’s voice trailed off.

  “What’s wrong?” Cole sensed the distress in her voice.

  “It’s Terry, he—”

  “What is it, Sophie?”

  “He came
to the house. He attacked me. He’s been arrested, but they let him go. I just don’t understand. He threatened to kill the kids. He violated the restraining order, he hurt me, and they let him go!” The distress turned to anger.

  “Are you all right? Where are the kids? Where’s Jeff?” Cole spoke slowly and with all the concern he could convey.

  “I’ll be fine. The kids are fine. Jeff’s outside. But they let him go! Cole, how can they do that? They said it was a technicality. What does that mean? He’s out there; he could come back. He is so evil, Cole, he said he would skin my children.” Sophie broke into sobs.

  “I’ll make a call and get back to you. Jeff’s there and I know Terry won’t do anything when he’s there. He’s a coward. I’m not going to say ‘don’t worry,’ but believe me, Terry won’t do anything when a man is around. Let’s see what can be done. Go be with Jeff. Don’t stay in the house alone with your worries. Promise?”

  “Please, Cole, find out what went wrong. I am so afraid.”

  “I’ll call you right back.”

  Cole called Tom Harris’s cell phone to make sure he got hold of him right away. “Tom. Where are you?”

  “In my office? You’re supposed to be winging your way to the Golden Gate, aren’t you?”

  “I need you to check on something for me. Terry Kosciuszko,” Cole spelled the last name, “got picked up for violation of a restraining order and assault. I’m guessing on the assault, but the restraining order for sure. Can you find out what happened?”

  “Hold on.”

  It only took a couple of minutes for Harris to come back on the line. “I swear to God, Cole, sometimes I feel like I work with the Keystone friggin’ Cops. It seems this guy nearly tears this woman’s tit off and slugs her a couple times. That’s the assault part. There is a restraining order telling him to stay away from the whole family and their property. So, there’s the violation.

  “But get this, the Will County Sheriff’s department goes to pick this guy up, and he tries to bolt back into the house. The deputies pursue and grab him. Once inside, they find all kinds of stuff—guns, kiddy porn, and all kinds of duplication equipment. They get so excited, they rough the guy up and forget to Mirandize him. Seems the guys they sent out were new on the job and well—” Harris paused. “Kosciuszko lawyered up. By the time the county guys sort it out, Kosciuszko has been released, gets home, and stashes any and everything incriminating. They come back with a warrant to a clean house. A real comedy of errors.”

  “So, where’s it stand?” Cole asked, eyes closed, leaning against the car in disbelief of what he was hearing.

  “He gets off. They are so red-faced they won’t pursue any part of it for fear of incurring the DA’s wrath after the first screw-up. What’s your interest in this?”

  “The woman is a friend of mine. She can’t understand how he got away with attacking her.”

  “Makes two of us. His attorney must have really laid into them.”

  “This guy’s nuts, he’s not going to stop. Do we know anybody down there that could help?”

  “Nobody.”

  “I’ll let Sophie know the story. Not that it’s going to make her feel any better. They are scared to death. She said he threatened to kill her kids.”

  “Great way to leave town, Sage. Sorry.”

  “You stay well, Tom.”

  “You too, buddy.”

  Cole planned to pay Terry Kosciuszko a visit before he left town. The dirty picture stunt was reason enough, but now he assaulted Sophie, threatened her children. Jeff was a good man and a good husband, but he either couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do anything about his brother. If the system let people like Sophie down, somebody had to step up and put a stop to it.

  Cole warned him. Cole wasn’t a violent man, but some people just needed to be taught a lesson. The strong must protect the weak; Cole saw it on the schoolyard of his elementary school, the mean streets of Chicago, and in the jungles of Southeast Asia: The bully became the agent of terror in the hearts and lives of those who couldn’t fight back.

  It was as though the people on the road knew Cole was on a mission. The traffic seemed to open up and push him along. The usual 45-minute drive to Plainfield only took 35. The radio in the rental car was clear and loud as the miles ticked by. Cole still didn’t have a plan; he wasn’t working on a plan. He was focused, mostly just staring ahead. He seemed to lose himself in the thunderous rolling beat of “Kashmir.” The Led Zeppelin dirge segued into the ending medley from Abbey Road, and for nearly 20 minutes, there was no interruption. Finally, the pseudo-stoner voice of the announcer proclaimed it was another Rock Block Weekend and rattled through a promotional message about winning a Custom Harley Chopper if you were caller 69 when you heard “Born to Be Wild” played on the “Home of Classic Rock”, but Cole didn’t hear it.

  The red Toyota Corolla idled just in front of the gate of the Kosciuszko farm. The large wooden gate was closed, and this time it was padlocked. On either side of the gate, the razor and hog wire fence stood as an ugly warning to passersby. A newly attached red-and-white NO TRESPASSING sign hung at an odd angle with a rusty piece of wire.

  Cole pulled forward and nudged the gate with slow even pressure. He could hear the wood groan and the nails pull. A crack and a low screeching sound signaled that the rusty bolts were pulling out of the rotting 4-by-4 post on the right side of the gate. Cole kept his foot on the accelerator and slowly pushed forward. Not that it would have mattered anyway, but Cole completely forgot he was not in the old Volvo. A loud crack split the left gatepost, freed the old rusty hinges, and the gate fell flat in front of the car. Cole smiled, nodded at his victory over the padlock, and rolled over the gate.

  Terry’s old pickup sat parallel with the house and nearly against the front steps. Cole walked to the door and pounded on it with the side of his fist. He hardly hesitated before he pounded it again.

  The clicking of locks was nearly drowned out by the cursing and grumbling from behind the door. “You better have a damn good explanation why you are trespassing on my property!”

  Cole stepped back, and when the door showed the first sign of opening, he kicked it hard just below the doorknob. A dull thud reported the door hitting Terry in the head. Moments passed, and Cole stepped back, prepared to kick the door again, but it began to open. A fat red face was visible in the crack. Terry groaned, and the door flew open.

  “Sage!” Terry bellowed from the doorway. A round red mark was beginning to swell up on Terry’s forehead. His face was flush with anger.

  “I got a visit from the police. Your little pack of perversity almost did the trick. Except for a lucky interception, I could have been in a most embarrassing situation.” Cole inched closer as he spoke.

  “I can’t control the mail. ‘Fraid I don’t know what you’re talking about anyway.” Terry grinned, but his halting speech exposed his mind’s futile attempt at finding an answer.

  “I didn’t say anything about the mail.”

  “I want you off my property. Now!” Terry was regaining his bravado.

  “When I was here before, I told you to stay away from Sophie and Jeff.”

  Terry interrupted. “I just paid a friendly visit.”

  “She said you hurt her.” Cole’s anger was bubbling just beneath the surface.

  Terry smirked and said sarcastically, “Just a little game of Tittie Twister. She’s not really my type, too old, tits are too big. I wish Melanie would have been there. Then we could have played some real fun games.”

  Without thought or warning, Cole hit Terry hard in the nose. Terry threw his cupped hands over his broken nose and blood gushed from between his fingers.

  Cole batted the fat man’s hands away from his face. “Look at me!” Cole shouted. “This has gone from intercession to personal. This is my fight now. Sophie’s out, Jeff’s out, and the kid’s are not to—” Cole sputtered with anger. “The police screwed up. I am here to tell you I won’t.”

  Cole slapped
Terry’s fat red face with a furious open hand. “You know what they call that on the streets of Chicago?” Cole slapped him again even harder and shouted. “Do you?”

  Terry mumbled something unintelligible. He was crying.

  Cole slapped him again with all the force of his rage. “We call it a bitch slap. I thought I would introduce you to it. See, you’re going to go to jail. You’re going to go for a long time, and your fat ass is going to be locked up with some very big, very black, very horny lifer who needs a cellmate to keep him company during those long, lonely prison nights. You’ll be his bitch, and to keep you in line, he’s going to slap you just like this.” Cole slapped him again.

  “I’ll kill you,” Terry blubbered through blood, snot, and tears.

  “Please try!” Cole shouted as he backhanded Terry across the face.

  Terry lunged at Cole, and Cole hit him hard across the jaw. The momentum of Terry’s weight and the adrenalin-fed rage powering his attack provided enough power to knock Cole from the steps and against the back of the pick-up. The force knocked Cole’s cell phone from his shirt pocket and into the dirt.

  Terry punched Cole, landing blows to his ribs and shoulder. A glancing blow caught Cole in the side of the neck. Terry’s arms flailed wildly, and Cole rolled out of the way of most of his punches. Terry fell against the bed of the pick-up. Cole was on him in an instant. He punched through the soft flab of Terry’s back to hit his kidneys. He tried to roll the fat man, but he clung to the truck with all his might. Cole grabbed his wrist and, with a quick forceful wrenching, was able to twist Terry around. When he did, he saw urine running down the inside of his legs, and the front of Terry’s green shorts were soaked.

  “Sophie would have given you worse, but she couldn’t. You’re a coward. This is just the beginning. If I hear so much as a hint that you have made any contact with Sophie or her family, I’m coming back.” Cole pulled his shirt away from his body and looked down at the bloody, snot-covered wet spot. “Thanks for the DNA sample. I’ll be having it tested to get a match with the envelope you dropped off at the police station. You’re through. No more Red Hot Angels.”