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LIGHT OF THE ATMA – THE SPARK WITHIN
rogg was very displeased, to say the least, with this announcement. “For cryin’ out loud Charles! Can’t you carry out a simple order?!”
“But Sir, the boy is exhausted.”
Crogg, who was sitting behind the desk, looked at the clock on the wall then slammed his palm down on the desk top which sent a cracking sound throughout the room. “Captain Montgomery will be here tomorrow. Do you hear me Charles?! I have to get something straightened out with Peter tonight – not tomorrow – tonight!”
“But Sir,” Charles pleaded.
“But nothing!” He yelled as he stood up. “Wet a cloth, wipe his face and revive him!”
“But Sir, do you really expect me to do that?”
Crogg stepped from behind the desk and walked over to him. “I expect you to do it or pack your bags and get out!”
Charles knew he was not bluffing. “All right Sir, I’ll do as you ask.”
Charles left the study and went back upstairs. He was fuming with anger as he rung out the cloth in the bathroom basin. He walked over to Peter, sat down on the bed beside him and gently pressed the cloth to Peter’s cheeks. Peter moved with fast, jerking motions and pushed Charles off with sharp waves of his arm. Charles attempted to wake Peter again. He dabbed his face with the damp cloth once more.
“Get away from me and leave me alone!” Peter yelled.
“Master Peter,” Charles implored, “wake up, I must talk to you.” But Peter whined, griped and complained as he swung his arms with violent motions. Charles tried to put the cloth to his face again. “Master Peter, Mr. Crogg desires to talk to you in the coffee-and-tea room.”
Peter, with his mouth in the bedspread, mumbled hostilely, “I’m not going! Leave me alone!”
Charles went back downstairs and into the study to report back to Crogg. Holding the damp cloth in one of his hands, he stated as if to demonstrate, “I did as you asked Sir, but Master Peter refused to wake up. I made three attempts to awaken him, but he would not fully awaken.”
Crogg let out an exclamation of impatience and stared at Charles as though he didn’t really believe him. “Never Mind – Never mind – I’ll take care of it myself.” he bellowed with exerting thrusts of intolerance, and he waved Charles off again as though he were some sort of flying insect annoying him. Crogg turned his swivel chair and stared out the front window.
ed Beechwater and another man by the name of Earl Bathoway and one other known only as ‘Frenchy’ came rolling up the front driveway in Beechwater’s auto. “What in blazes do they want?” Crogg spoke to himself. Crogg’s disgust for them was as low as the praise he had for himself was high. The men entered the study with grumbles and groans, except for Frenchy, who had that unsettling air of quiet about him.
Beechwater’s rounded, three-hundred-and-fifty-pound body landed on the thick chair cushion which sank as all the air was pressed out of it. Bathoway, who was a scrubby man in spiffy clothing, pranced about the room as though he were a duke. And Frenchy stood quietly in the background like a man who could not be seen in the shadows.
Crogg lit his cigar and took some puffs. “Gentlemen, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Bathoway’s eyes begged for a cigar. “Help yourself,” Crogg offered, noticing the plea. “You too Frenchy – enjoy yourself while the enjoying is good.” And they both reached into the elegant cigar box and retrieved a handful as though the poison they were grabbing hold of was minted candy.
Beechwater cleared his throat to speak. “I heard through the grapevine that the boy is giving you a lot of trouble.”
“Trouble?” Crogg responded with a light tone, flicking off the remark. “Not at all, not at all. Anyway,” he added, “nothing that I didn’t expect. Keep in mind that the lad has just been through a trauma.
He’s a bit dazed, a little confused and looking for a friend; and in the middle of all of this he runs smack into my boys. So what’s a little clash of personalities? It’s not like you gents have never had to endure a little bump or two on your ride to success.”
Beechwater fumbled through his pockets for a little pillbox. “The kid makes me nervous I tell you.” He clicked the pillbox open. “I don’t like the idea of having that boy here with so much at stake.” Beechwater popped two pills into his mouth and made a sour face due to their taste and waved one hand for a glass of water, forcing Frenchy to dash off to accommodate his need.
“You worry too much,” Crogg told him, evincing a show of strength in his tone.
“Maybe so,” Beechwater mumbled, “but the boy still makes me nervous.”
“By this time tomorrow,” Crogg declared, “the lad will be on a ship bound for the shores of England. Then…well then, the sky’s the limit for us.
The pot of gold merely has to be divvied up between us. If I were you,” he looked straight at Beechwater, “I would be thinking about what I’m going to do with my money, instead of spending my time worrying about a helpless, misfortunate kid.”
Frenchy came back into the room holding a glass of water and handed it to Beechwater who grabbed it with his pudgy fingers and gulped it down quite un-manneristically.
“You worry too much,” Crogg told him again.
“It’s the banking business,” Beechwater explained. “It’s not like it used to be. Too much regulation. Too many federal inspectors…”
“Poor, poor Ted,” Crogg droned out unsympathetically. “The only reason you’re complaining is because I forced you out of your estate and made you do some work.”
“I tell you, if you don’t get that kid out of here, it’s going to put us all in jeopardy.”
Bathoway joined in. “I agree with Ted. The boy’s got spunk – too much spunk, and he’s not afraid of speaking his mind either,” and he looked at Beechwater and Frenchy to see if they concurred. Beechwater and Frenchy nodded their heads in agreement.
Bathoway goggled at Crogg with his eyes ablaze. “A kid like that is dangerous – dangerous to our security!”
Crogg chuckled, making less of their concerns. “Who are you talking about here? He’s no general leading an army advancing against us. He’s a spoiled brat used to getting his way, that’s all.
And Gentlemen,” he added with a questioning tone moving his arms outward with his palms upward, “who’s he up against? He’s up against us – the smartest tacticians in Chicago.
There’s not a politician in town who doesn’t dance to the tune we call, is there? Now I ask you, how is one immature, inexperienced, runny-nosed kid going to threaten us?” Beechwater slipped the pillbox back into his pocket. “You know what they say about the young-hearted,” he warned. “They have a knack of revealing the truth we try to hide.”
“You’ve been hanging around Judge Walker too much.”
“I still think you’re underestimating the boy’s ability. He’s not a ragamuffin living in obscurity somewhere in the slums. He’s rich, and he’s famous, and he has a mind of his own! And tell me!” he demanded as he cleared his throat, “just how are you going to convince a boy with such ironclad willpower that a military school in England – the very idea of which he despises – is best for him?!”
“Too many rumors reach your gossip-hungry ears you fussy ol’ coot.” Crogg swiveled his chair this way and that as he puffed on his cigar. He locked eyes with Beechwater again and asked: “Did you liquidate that property on the south side?”
“Not yet, but we won’t have any problem with it – not that I can see. The immigrants are flooding in faster than they can find places to put ’em. We’re getting better offers everyday.”
“Good, keep the pressure on and squeeze every dollar you can out of the committee. They’re stingier than you are. And don’t take any excuses from those bleeding hearts. Their coffers aren’t as empty as they claim.” Turning to Frenchy he probed, “What about those stocks we have in the Exchange?”
Frenchy, the reserved man he was, spoke half under his voice. “Zay are stabilizing,” he mumbled with a heavy French accent. “Since you planted zoz articles in zee newspaper about how good you were managing zee company and how well it is doing financially, confidence in investors is rising.”
A big smile beamed across Crogg’s face. “Now that’s the ticket,” he commented. “Do you know what we need now?” he announced to the group of men, sporting a self-satisfied smile. “We need a little more show of spirit; and there’s nothing like the social pages to make the business pages better.” They wondered what he had on his mind. “Let’s throw a bash tomorrow night and have it splashed all over the papers. It’s just as you said Frenchy.” Frenchy gandered a look his way. “When spirits are up, investments go up!”
He swiveled his chair toward Bathoway and drew a puff on his cigar. Blowing it in Bathoway’s direction he instructed: “Make sure the editor, his society reporter and their photographer show up early.” Beechwater, who was gasping from the smoke that drifted in his direction, reached for his pillbox. “Pictures, that’s what we need – pictures,” Crogg continued. “There’s nothing more effective to bring the greed out of the envious than pictures of people who are successful.”
Staring at Bathoway with a demanding type of look in his eyes, Crogg added, “Oh, and be sure he puts the splash on the entire social page.” He drummed his fingers on the desk top as he gave it a few more moments thought. “No, no, you better make that two full pages. I want how ‘we’re succeeding’ to be the talk of the town.” He spun his head to look at Frenchy. “Make sure you drop the word tomorrow about some big goings-on. Use the ol’ story – ‘Ideas into
Gold’ – you know the one…and Frenchy – dames too. I want plenty of dames. Make it two to one. We’ll have some fun-loving men to entertain. Now remember Gentlemen, if anyone asks about the lad, spin ’em around the block.”
Beechwater struggled out of the chair and walked over to the desk. He leaned his heavy hands upon it to talk to Crogg. “Do you know how many people know that the boy is here in this mansion?”
“Rumors,” Crogg rebutted. “You know how unreliable rumors are, don’t ya’ Ted? At least you ought to know; you started enough of ’em yourself. Besides, if it does get out that he’s here, he’s here because he trusts me.”
“You’re likely to land us all in jail, you know that?!”
“It’d take the president to keep you in jail Ted, and as far as I recall, don’t you have something on him? Something about a little loan?”
“That’s all up and up!” Beechwater claimed.
“Sure I believe you. I just happen to know where the money came from that’s all; five thousand over the table, fifty thousand under the table – naughty, naughty.”
“You have more eyes than a fly!” Beechwater hurled.
“The point,” Crogg declared as he stood up, “is to keep your shirt on, keep your mouth shut, and do as you’re told – then you can retire.”
“I’ll have you know I can retire now if I choose,” Beechwater asserted.
Crogg opened one of the desk drawers and took from it a package of papers which he dropped on the desk top. “You could if it weren’t for these.”
Beechwater stared in disbelief as he peered at his gambling markers piled up on the desk. “And where did you get those?”
“The point is,” Crogg stated, “I own you, because you owe me. Now if you really want to retire, you’ll be a good boy and do as you’re told.”
Beechwater reached for his pillbox again. Mumbling some words under his breath, he chewed the pills and shivered from the bad taste. “I’ll see you in hell one of these days!” he blurted out.
“Yeah,” Crogg reacted with a taunting tone, “both you and Judge Walker.”
Beechwater stormed out of the study, leaving the doors open. Bathoway, who was standing there looking at Crogg, apologetically excused, “I think he has some condition.”
Crogg glanced at Bathoway. “Keep an eye on him, and if he does anything I disapprove of, let me know.” Both Bathoway and Frenchy left without anymore said.
As Bathoway, and Frenchy were getting an earful of Beechwater’s hostility toward Crogg by his cursing all the way down the driveway, Crogg pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. His mind went on Peter and his eyes drifted upward in the direction of Peter’s room.
He left the study and went upstairs to check on him. Peter was sprawled out on the bed cover. Crogg walked over to him and gave him a nudge or two, but Peter was out like a light.
A scheming look of such deleterious proportion came over Crogg’s face, that if an observer were to have seen that glare at that moment, he would have known that Crogg had only the worst doom in mind for Peter.
Not being a trusting soul, Crogg posted a servant outside the door, giving him a cock-and-bull story as to why he was there to guard Peter. “Notify me immediately if the lad comes out. He’s been a bit irrational and I want to tend to his needs.”
Crogg then went back downstairs and called in a favor from a locksmith. After he made that call, he called a friend. “Hey Toots,” he greeted, “want a tour of heaven?”
“Sure!” the gal on the other end replied.
“Great, I’ll have my driver pick you up.”
“WHAT’S LIFE
WITHOUT A FEW CHALLENGES?”
ometime later, who was to show up but Judge Walker himself! He pushed his way into the mansion, showed himself into the study, then ordered the butler to find Crogg.
Needless to say, Crogg was a bit aggravated when he entered the study and saw Judge Walker. “What did you pull me away from my – uh – business for Judge? You know how I hate to be disturbed when I’m in a business meeting,” and he walked over to the desk and took a cigar from the cigar box.
As he unwrapped it and ran it under his nose, Judge Walker spoke. “Do you know what this is?” The judge pointed to a telegram in his hand. “I’ll tell you what it is. The boy’s grandfather is stirring up a lot of trouble on the other end.”
Crogg smirked as he set his eyes on Walker. He lit a match and touched the flame to the end of the cigar. He gave it a few puffs and speaking in between the puffs he took, he remarked, “What’s life without a few challenges Judge?”
“I’ll tell you what life is with your kind of challenges!” he ranted with an irritation in his voice. “It’s thirty years in the penitentiary, that’s what it is!”
Crogg plopped himself in the chair behind the desk and leaned back. “Keep your shirt on Judge. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Why panic?”
“I’ll tell you what the panic is. This telegram happens to be from the lieutenant governor from the state of Massachusetts. It seems the boy’s grandfather and he are very old friends. And from the long distance calls I’ve received from Boston today, he’s causing so much trouble that the entire police department is worried. Do you know what you’ve done?” he stormed, slamming the telegram on his desk. “You’ve picked on the wrong people with this little scheme of yours, that’s what you’ve done!”
Crogg took in a deep breath of smoke. “Stop spitting out worries and tell me what the telegram says.”
Walker picked up the rumpled telegram and waved it in the air. “They’re pushing for an official investigation on this end, that’s what it says! And that means, your goose is gonna get cooked and mine along with it!”
“Why I even keep you on the payroll makes me wonder sometimes,” Crogg scoffed.
“I tell you, people are going to jail over this one!”
“So – a few small eggs get fried. What’s the big deal?”
“I’ll tell you what the big deal is. I don’t want to end up on the griddle with the rest of ’em.”
“Confidence Judge, confidence. You just gotta have more confidence!”
The judge threw his hands up in the air then slapped them to his sides in frustration. “You think this is just one big game, don’t you?”
“Isn’t it? Can puppets do anything on their own? Keep something in mind Judge, this is my show! I’m the puppet master, the one who pulls the strings, and you and all the others, are no more than small-time players in the performance.” Crogg opened his desk drawer, took from it a pencil and pad and threw them on top of the desk in the judge’s direction. “Now scribble down what I tell you, then send it off in a telegram to Boston.”
After Crogg dictated the ‘official’ return response, he instructed, “Now go about your business Judge – whatever business judges like you may have. I have a little cutie waiting with her motor running for me.” He got up from the chair, gave Judge Walker that – ‘don’t ever turn your back on me’ – look, then walked from the room, leaving the judge to stand there alone.
“Business meeting huh!” the judge complained to himself as he crumpled up the telegram and threw it in the waste paper basket. Feeling cross with Crogg, he huffed with frustration then left the mansion, not bothering to close the doors.
It was ten p.m. when the locksmith arrived. Crogg took a break from his so-called business activities and told him that he wanted the lock on Peter’s apartment door changed.
Crogg dismissed the servant on guard with the instructions to return when sent for. Crogg and the locksmith stood in the hallway in front of Peter’s door. He pulled from his pocket a large roll of bills; taking two one hundred dollar bills from the stack, he flashed them in front of the locksmith’s face. “These two are yours if you can change that lock without disturbing the boy who’s sleeping inside, and set a record doing it.”
A greedy glint shone from the locksmith’s eyes – and in no time at all Crogg was the proud owner of a new set of keys. As he bounced them in his hand he asked, “Now are you sure the old ones won’t work at all?”
“Not a chance. This is a special design of my own creation. Only the keys I’ve given you will work in this lock. No other key will do.”
Crogg had the locksmith shown out and the servant sent for to re-guard the door, then went about his business.
THE SAME EVENING IN
While these scenes were being played out in Chicago according to Crogg’s direction – different scenes were being enacted in Boston.
Sir Charles, Tom’s political friend, had the Boston police department in a flurry all day long. Sir Charles was sitting at his home late that night, thinking partly of his own political ambitions, about his family, about his past, and in the back of his mind, he was pondering Tom’s problem. Suddenly his candlestick, telephone rang. He reached over and lifted the telephone with one hand while he put the receiver (ear piece) in his other hand and put it to his ear.
“Hello.” He said speaking in the mouth piece as he lifted it close to his mouth to be heard.
“Sir Charles Quarterly?
“Yes?”
This is Judge Walker from Chicago.”
“Oh yes, Judge, what can I do for you?”
“Out of courtesy for you Sir Charles, I decided to call you tonight because of the urgent response you tagged on your request for information concerning Peter Smith.”
“You don’t know how much I appreciate this Judge.”
“That’s all right Sir Charles,” and Judge Walker went on to read what Crogg had dictated.
“Thank you,” Sir Charles said . . and uh, if you ever need a favor…on this end. . . ” and they both hung up.
Sir Charles stood up, put on his hat and coat, and wrapped his scarf around his neck. After telling his wife where he was going, he walked out into the chilly night air.
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