“Where have you been,” Susan asked, while putting groceries away in the pantry.
I leaned down to help her out. We were spending a small fortune feeding young Tom
every week.
“The snow blower needed oil and one of the cables had to be replaced,” I replied. “Real
fun stuff.”
“That's nice.”
That excuse came to me on the way home from William's. I knew Susan would tune me
out at the mention of the snow blower and having her poke around with questions about where I
really was this afternoon, I didn't need.
I looked around but didn't see Tom in the family room.
“Is Tom in the house?”
“No he took off for Charlie's. We didn't like any of the dogs we saw – too mangy, all of
them.”
I could have called that one because I thought we had all agreed to wait until next spring
to get a puppy and do it right. Of course, we wouldn't be doing that because my plan was to have
disappeared by then.
William told me I should draw up a list of everything needing to get done before starting
my plan. Thoughts crossed my mind about the end goal with the Czechs. What if they didn't end
up believing that I was dead? That was easily the biggest risk here.
“Charlie is spending the night with us, he's cleared it with Cheryl” Susan informed me.
“We're all having tacos.”
“Cool.” I put away two jars of pasta sauce and headed into my office.
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Staring at my computer, I wondered if I should tap into my chat room „team' that was
pretty helpful earlier this morning. Would they have advice for pulling off the faking of one's
death?
I sat down on the window seat, suddenly asking myself what I was doing. William Miler
was the best I was going to get in the most positive of circumstances, let alone this crappy hand
that I'd been dealt.
William may have been right on with his theory about the committee, I mean, how else
could Oleg have found me? But if Oleg was working for somebody on the committee, how was
this somebody connected to the Philadelphia murder? There had to be a connection between what
happened in Philadelphia and what was going down here in north New Jersey. I had to find out
who was on Dr. Lindor's trial committee. Granted, even if I learned who was behind all of this, it
didn't change Oleg's threat and that had to have my complete focus.
I was currently targeting mid-late February for my disappearance. Latest signals from the
Zyptorin committee indicated that trial results were to be made public in late April of next year. I really had zero idea how long it was going to take me to get all of my ducks in a row. I was
guessing two or three months, yet hoping it wouldn't take that long.
Susan was singing in the kitchen. She absolutely loved it when Tom had friends over for
dinner. The holidays were also rapidly approaching and my wife was fully aware that we only
had so many of these left before Tom became a full-fledged adult. She was particularly jazzed
about this upcoming holiday. Excuse me for not sharing in the glee.
A ray of quickly disappearing sunlight shined on me…a brainy moment hit my mind.
“Wait a minute, bud…if you have Oleg believe that somebody else is stepping into their
turf….also threatening me,” I told myself. “Then you don't necessarily have to make them
believe you are dead.”
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There was nothing like a moment of intelligence to bring a smile to my face.
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner! Dude, I own you!” Tom screamed, most likely at
Charlie, upon entering through the garage door.
I swore the whole house shook when Tom and his friends entered our abode, as nothing
got these particular two yelling at each other like their video games. The latest NFL game was a
huge hit apparently, hogging up Tom and Charlie's attention whenever possible.
“Tom, why don't you boys take that into the basement,” Susan shouted on instinct.
“Smells great Mrs. J!” Charlie exclaimed.
Susan was heating up some appetizers given that she liked to eat at 5pm on the weekends.
I tried to re-focus and started rubbing my head. Getting Oleg to believe that somebody
else was trying to shake me down was going to need some work. First of all, I didn't know when I
would see Oleg again. But I was thinking the idea of a competitor to them needed to be planted at
that unknown meeting. Also, it would need to be a hell of a story to make it all believable.
William told me that the crime scene that I created needed to look like a violent struggle,
including enough blood, hair and tissue remnants to highlight the forensics report. He said that
often times in knife attacks, small pieces of flesh are left behind. I had no idea, though, how I was going to leave behind pieces of my flesh to simulate a knife attack.
The blood and hair part of the crime scene was not going to be too difficult to arrange - I
would simply need to draw pints of blood a few times to make the volume needed for a believable
crime scene – so it didn't require much thinking ahead.
The location of this event was another key item to plan out. Our house was ruled out,
given that the last thing I wanted was for Susan or Tom to discover the crime scene. I probably
had the most control over my medical office. I would need to make sure it looked like someone
had taken me dead or alive because, obviously, my body would not be there.
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I also thought about my car as a potential crime scene since somebody could attack me
while driving. That would possibly be harder in that it had to be made to look like I'd been forced
off of the road. There would be the need to ding up the driver and rear sides of the car yet I didn't know how I'd do that.
I drove around the neighborhood on the way back from William's street to see if Oleg
were anywhere near watching me, but didn't see them. Nobody seemed to be following me, so I
didn't know what was up with their routine. It'd be hard to pull my plan off if they were watching
me closely all of the time. If I did this at night, driving to whatever crime scene arranged by me,
the last thing I wanted was for Oleg to follow me. He needed to believe that I was either dead or
abducted by a competitor to him. And if these guys had a routine, I could plan around it.
I wondered if Oleg had been in this house because it wouldn't shock me, plus he had
access to Zeke in the back yard, after all. He and his thug friend could have bugged our house for
all I knew. I unscrewed the receiver of our landline but didn't see anything suspicious. Who knew
what kind of technology these guys access to? I had to think it was advanced, though. Right then,
I decided that all calls were to be made on my cell phone and preferably, all communication with
William was to be done in person.
“Hey stranger, what are you doing in here,” Susan asked while walking into my office.
I stood up from the window seat.
“How's the dinner prep going?” It was a weak attempt at changing the subject - it just
flew out of my mouth – though it didn't work.
“You seem so stoic. What are you thinking about?”
“Oh, thinking about the holidays,” I replied. “Do you have any idea how lucky we are?”
Susan smiled and walked over to me for a hug.
“You know, this window seat is beautiful this time of year with the early sunset.”
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We sat down on the seat, looking out onto our front yard. The house was strangely quiet
given Tom and Charlie's presence. Susan began to rub my left thigh.
The thigh or any real fleshy areas of the body were possible candidates for my crime
scene. Regardless, I needed to take the flesh from an area that would not produce a lot of blood or
require a lot of stitching. I had taken enough moles and cysts off of arms, under-arms, legs, backs, and necks, almost all of those requiring 1-2 stitches to close the wound. My practice probably saw
two patients a week with this medical issue.
“I'm proud of you Nick,” Susan said. “Most men in their mid-late fourties are not happy
where they are or what they have achieved.”
I gave Susan a long kiss. My lips were getting chapped, so I had to take care of that.
“And you think I'm happy?”
“Yes, Nicholas Johnson, I do,” Susan answered. “This drug trial committee could bring
great things to your career.”
“It is a big honor,” I said. “But I don't think most male friends of mine are unhappy. I
mean, yeah, Wall Street sucks right now and the Arbors aren't happy…”
How long could I keep this up? Did I really seem happy? In the past three days, our dog
had been killed by the guys planning on killing me and, maybe, my son and wife. Plus, I had
come to the conclusion that the best course of action for my family was to fake my death in order
to disappear. What was not to be happy about?
“Sorry for being dramatic about men your age, but I am proud of you,” Susan stated
firmly.
Susan slapped her hands on her knees and stood up.
“The appetizers should be ready. I'll tell the boys.”
“Sounds good, hon.”
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Many non fleshy parts of the body still weren't going to work if that area required steady
use like the hands, fingers, feet and ankles. Wherever I disappeared to, I would need to walk a lot
and carry things, so I would need these parts to be pain free.
“Boys, I have some chicken wings and potato wedges ready for you before dinner,”
Susan shouted from the top of the basement stairs.
I was definitely living parallel worlds, mentally concocting the best part of me to slice off
in one world and playing the holiday, fun with the teenagers, engaged in my marriage husband in
the other world - I was trying figure out which was more stressful.
As always, we would have everybody over at our house for both Thanksgiving and
Christmas this year. Stanley had his chair in our family room – he did his best to stay clear of the mayhem in the kitchen. Each year, Tom grew less and less interested in these family holiday
events, but I heard that was normal. How the Mom and Joan tag team massaged Susan's stress at
unhealthy levels. Oh, it was all fun!
I met the boys in the kitchen.
“Thanks Mrs. J! You guys rock!” Charlie exclaimed upon seeing the heaping portion of
hot wings.
He looked at Tom and threw his head toward Susan and myself.
“Hey, Mom, Dad….Coach is hearing I have a shot at third team all state,” Tom remarked.
“It's kind of a long shot, but still surprising.”
I walked up to Tom and mussed up his hair a little.
“That is awesome, bud!”
*****
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Tom was the tallest kid in his grade up until the sixth grade when Kevin Rogers sprang
up seven inches that year; and my son hated every minute of it. I remember Tom coming home
one day in second grade crying like mad over being teased about his height.
I stood a little over 6'2, never was much of an athlete and, frankly, I was pretty surprised
that Tom had gotten as far in soccer as he had. He never seemed to enjoy sports that much and I
never pushed him. Susan and I thought that he would be done with team sports by middle school.
He started to play a little bit of golf when he was 11 and was happier on the golf course than
running around on the soccer field or shagging down fly balls in the outfield.
Even in youth soccer, Tom was assigned to defense because he was slower than the other
kids. He tried really hard, but it was painful to watch him chase another team's forward after
being beaten on a play. By the fifth grade, Tom was clearly a better baseball player than soccer
player. He did try basketball one winter during fourth grade, only to complain that none of his
other friends played the sport. He lasted just that winter season and, while I thought it was the
running up and down the basketball court that drove Tom away from the game, he would never
admit this.
It is funny how friends can shape kids and Tom was no different. Charlie started jogging
during the spring of their seventh grade, and he tried mightily to get Tom to join him, so they
went out for two mile runs a few times. Tom, though, was getting quite vocal about his distaste
for soccer. We told him that he didn't have to play the game, but lying on the family room couch
was not an option either. That summer, Tom spent most of his time on the golf course - Charlie
got the hint.
Yet one July evening between 7th and 8th grades, Charlie started to press Tom to turn into
a goalie. Apparently, these two were playing the boxing game on Tom's Nintendo. We would
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find out later that Charlie and Tom bet the soccer goalie decision on the boxing video game. With
Charlie winning, Tom had to at least give the goalie thing a shot.
Tom and Charlie practiced in the backyard for the rest of the summer, where they set up a
goal. Charlie fired shot after shot at Tom. Those two did a number on my backyard fence and I
had to reinforce it over several weekends. I made them help out with the heavy lifting.
The following fall, Tom was the goalie for the eighth grade soccer team, He did alright,
letting in some easy goals, but, by the end of the season, Tom had developed an attitude while in
the net. It didn't hurt that he was growing into his large sturdy frame, well on his way to his 6'1
height by the end of freshman year. I thought he could grow to 6'3 through high school.
Last year, Charlie and Tom played on the freshmen team and Tom's skills improved with
each game. The Varsity goalie was a senior, so Tom competed with two other players for Varsity
goalie during his sophomore year and Tom won the job. We had never seen him happier.
*****
Tom looked up at me, smiling awkwardly with a mouthful of chicken. Susan came up
behind us and did her best at a group hug, giving us a little shake and saying,
“Go Johnson, Go Johnson, Go Johnson, GO!”
When Tom was little, the family would get into a huddle to shout that chant while
shaking each other gently. We still do it every now and then.
Charlie broke into hysterical laughter.
“You know, Tom tried to explain that to me last year, but he was right – you gotta see it
to believe it.
Tom looked real embarrassed and did his best to change the subject.
“Dad, all the dogs we saw today sucked. What are we going to do?”
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I looked over at Susan who shrugged her shoulders. Talking about the future was
pointless though me acting like everything was normal wasn't.
“I think we should find a well bred puppy in the spring, towards the end of the school
year.”
“Yeah, Mr. and Mrs. J? I want to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Zeke,” Charlie
chimed in.
Tom reached over to Charlie and nearly tackled him.
“Isn't he the sweetest thang?”
“Get off me, you doofus!” Charlie shouted.
I walked over to separate the two of them as they were definitely getting too big for this.
I could easily have thrown my back out and that was the last thing I needed.
Susan began to fry the beef and I dove into the hot wings.
It suddenly dawned on me that there was an auto junkyard in East Orange. I knew this
from a patient of mine who had a relative that ran the junkyard. He may even have owned the
land, yet that was unclear. Could I get my car to that sight, maybe crash my car enough? Make it
look like the car had been forced off of the road. Just how much damage does a car experience
under such a situation?
Munching on the hot wings, I began thinking about the best time of day to disappear. If I
left the house early in the morning, Susan would probably notice and could cause a problem for
me. Maybe coming to the office to see what was up or call Melanie or Mary. Yes, that could be a
problem.
If I stayed out late at night, Susan would most certainly notice, but that might not be a
bad thing. I could make up some excuse to stay late at the office, something I hadn't done in
years. Or I could tell Susan that I had a Zyptorin committee meeting so that she didn't expect me
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home until late. I liked this idea the best…A night time Zyptorin committee meeting. That damn
drug caused this whole crap to fall on my family, why not use it to any advantage I may possibly
have had in that situation?
The doorbell rang.
I looked through the side window panel of the door to see Chris Patin standing there.
Chris was the youngest son of Ron and Linda Patin, neighbors to the east of us. Chris played
professional soccer in Italy.
“Chris, this is a surprise. It's great to see you,” I said, extending my hand for a shake.
I had no idea if Inter Milan's season was happening now or what.
“Hey, Mr. Johnson, my Dad just told me that Tom's team did great this year,” Chris
responded.
“Uh, yeah, you wanna come in?”
“Sure, just for a sec.”
Tom and Charlie arrived at the door and practically yanked Chris into the house.
“Dude, when did you get into town?” Tom asked.
“This morning…short trip,” Chris stated. “I hear you guys kicked ass at Morris County.”
Morristown got to the finals of the Morris County tournament where it lost 1-0 to
Madison. Morristown was the fourth best team in the state for points allowed and I suspected that
was why Tom was being considered for Third Team All State. He was only a sophomore, so that
award would have been a really big deal. Morristown had fielded just two teams in the past ten
years to generate more wins than losses.
“Yup, Morristown High doesn't know what to do with us,” Charlie said. ”It's been a long
time since we did this well.”
Chris laughed.
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“Don't worry, the Green Wave will be back on top next year.”
The Green Wave was the mascot for Delbarton, a Catholic prep school in town.
“Yeh, yeh….So what's Italy like?” Tom asked.
“Well, they're grown men in this league,” Chris stated coolly. “And they want to take my
head off every game.”
Chris lifted up his shirt and displayed an enormous bruise on his lower right back, over
the kidneys. I had heard the kidney punch was the most painful punch to withstand but I
wondered if the Refs were blindfolded or something during Chris's games.
“Whoa! That is a killer bruise, man!” Tom shouted. “Did you get that during a game?”
Chris nodded his head. I bent down and looked closer at the bruise, which was starting to
yellow around the edges.
“You should get this scanned, Chris,” I said.
“Already done, Mr. Johnson.”
Chris tucked his shirt back into his jeans.
Susan made her way over to us and shook Chris's hand.
“Hello, Chris. I'm sure your parents are thrilled to have you back,” she told him.
Ron Patin owned a company that made veterinarian equipment, having taken over the
company from his father 30 years ago. Older son Ken did not want to work for his father after
college. When Chris chose to play soccer in Europe, Ron became fully aware that he would have
to sell the company at some point. His disappointment grew unbearable, keeping Ron from
talking with his son for a year.
Chris smiled awkwardly. Linda Patin and Susan were solid friends, a bit unusual given
the 10 year difference in age. Susan was there for Linda when Chris and Ron stopped speaking.
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They went to dinner two or three times a month during this time and Susan knew that Linda
simply needed to vent for Susan was a great listener. I'd learned a lot from her.
“Right, it's good to be home,” Chris said. “Ken is here with his girlfriend, Lisa.”
Ken was five years older than Chris. He went to Morristown High and loved to give his
little brother crap about going to Delbarton for high school.
“Yes, I'd bet this quiet street of ours is a nice change of scenery for you,” Susan
responded.
Just then, I realized that neighbors of mine might have seen Oleg and his friend watching
our house. Maybe they hadn't, but I could make Oleg believe that neighbors were noticing him. It
was quite reasonable to think that someone had seen them and taken note. I could tell Oleg to be
more careful or someone was likely to call the police. He wouldn't want that and maybe he would
stop watching my house. I didn't want them following me to William's or Father
Mike's…anywhere for that matter.
I didn't know for a fact that they'd been in my neighborhood other than last Wednesday
night for the Zeke incident, yet I was guessing that they had and there needed to be a plan to keep
them away.
When was the best time to tell them this? Should I wait until closer to my disappearance?
Now I was hoping to see them sooner than that so as to try out my new strategy.
“It sure is a change. Milan is a loud, vibrant city,” Chris stated.
He glanced at his watch.
“Hey, it was great seeing you all. I gotta run.”
Susan reached in and gave Chris a strong hug. Chris would never know the emotions
baked into that embrace.
I opened the door for Chris and he walked back to the Patin home.