The Butterfly Conspiracy Read online

  The Butterfly Conspiracy

  James R. Nelson

  Chapter 1

  It was a short, wet cab ride from West 76th to Penn Station. A breezy summer shower pelted the cabbie as he unloaded one large suitcase and a smaller carry-on. Stephen and his parents dashed from the cab to the dry sanctuary of the terminal. Stella, Stephen’s mother, was rattling off a list of do’s & don’ts faster than Stephen could comprehend them, all the while dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

  “And remember, call us the minute you get to Uncle Phillip’s.”

  She then flung herself at Stephen, wrapped her arms around him and sobbed hysterically, “I really can’t believe you’re leaving already! You just got home. Martin, why are we doing this?” She asked her husband.

  Her sentence was cut short by another outburst of crying and Stephen was engulfed in a cloud of Arpege perfume.

  “Mom, please!” Stephen choked. “I’m about to miss the train!”

  Stephen wiggled out of his mother’s grasp. The clamor in Penn Station seemed to be growing as more and more passengers dashed in from the rain. Pools of water formed where travelers were shaking off umbrellas and stomping wet feet.

  Stella Moorehouse loosened her grip on her son. “But Stephen, I hate to see you go. You just got home three days ago.”

  Stella abruptly turned to face her husband. “Martin, I know we thought this was the best thing to do for Stephen’s sake, but, now that I think about it, sending him to your uncle, when he just graduated from the academy is probably a bad idea.”

  Martin scowled at his wife. “You know as well as I do that Stephen will have a wonderful time with Uncle Phillip. It’s all arranged. We agreed that, under the circumstances, it would be good for Stephen to get away. You couldn’t ask for a better place for a young man to spend a summer. Why coop him up in this dirty, crime- ridden city? Anyway, in just a few weeks, we’ll be headed up to see him, just as soon as I finish my first draft.”

  “Well then,” Stella snapped, eyes flashing, “I think we should cancel his trip completely. We can all go up together in a few weeks, as a family!”

  Stephen held his breath. He could see his newly formed summer plans, his freedom, start to unravel before his eyes.

  “No, Mom. I think Dad had a great idea. Just think about all that clean air. I can go hunting and fishing with Uncle Phillip. I can see animals in the wild. This is going to be quite an adventure for me.”

  “Hunting?” Stella turned with an incredulous look. “Fishing? You grew up in a penthouse in New York City. Wild animals? You don’t have a clue of how to survive in the wilderness.”

  “I won’t be living in the wilderness,” Stephen countered. “Did you forget where Uncle Phillip lives, the mansion and estate?” Stephen was actually hoping to be surrounded by Hollywood beauties, rather than wild animals, but he understood that argument would do even less for his cause.

  “Stella, we’ve had this discussion over and over,” Martin interrupted. “This is neither the time nor place to rehash this. Stephen has a train to catch. We have tickets to visit him in five weeks and we will all be coming back to the city together.”

  “I think it’s more of a drafty castle than a mansion, if you ask me. It looks like a prop from one of those cheesy movies your uncle keeps cranking out.” Stella remarked, still not placated.

  Martin glanced at this watch.

  “It’s time to board the train, Stephen. You need to get going”.

  Stephen breathed a sigh of relief. He wrapped his arms around his mother, planting a big kiss on her cheek “Love you, mom. I’ll miss you both. Please don’t worry. I’m looking forward to my summer in the woods!”

  Stephen turned to his father and shook his hand. “Thanks for arranging this, Dad. I’ll look forward to seeing you and mom in a few weeks. Hope you make good progress on your new play. I’ll call you when I arrive.”

  With a quick wave, Stephen grabbed his bags and headed towards Train 49, the Lake Shore Limited.

  Chapter 2

  Paulie De Luca straightened his tie in the mirror. At 6’2” and 240 pounds, he was all muscle. Paulie flexed his arms and watched as his suit coat tightened around his biceps. His reflection showed a nose broken at least three times and a thick scar under his chin. This did not bother Paulie. He knew his tough looks were an asset in his profession.

  Ever since he was a kid, Paulie wanted to be a ‘made man’. After supper, sitting on the porch with his older brother, he would watch the young mob guys go by wearing expensive suits, driving fancy cars and flashing wads of cash.

  But it was the women that got to Paulie most of all. The mob guys always had nice women. They were stylish, their nails always done and oh, they smelled so good. These guys seemed to have all the things that were lacking in the De Luca household.

  Paulie’s mother had run off with a New Jersey truck driver from Hoboken when Paulie was only seven. He lived with his bitter old man and his older brother, Frankie, since then. Now, at 34 years old, Paulie had almost made it, but not quite. He recently had a little problem with the cops that delayed his advancement with the boys.

  How was he to know that the storefront he had picked to shake down was a front for the cops? That little mistake had cost the mob a lot of money and delayed Paulie’s career path for at least a year. In fact, he was still running around doing favors, trying to get back in the family’s good graces.

  Paulie went downstairs and made a call.

  “Al, how many suits should I pack?” Paulie asked.

  “How the hell should I know?” Al screamed into the phone. “You just watch that damn kid. Make sure you keep an eye on him. You get the word to snatch him, and you snatch him. Don’t be asking no stupid questions. Take three suits, take six suits. It don’t make no difference. Just keep your eye on the kid.”

  “Where am I going to?” Paulie asked.

  “It don’t matter! You go where the kid goes. Paulie, Mr. Sabatini, is giving you this opportunity to get right with the guys. Don’t blow it. Cuz, guess what? You ain’t getting another one, you big muscle bound piece of shit.”

  Al slammed down the phone. He needed to get Paulie out of town fast. Paulie didn’t know how pissed off Mr. Sabatini really was. Al always liked Paulie, he had taken him under his wing. By the time Paulie got back, things should have cooled off quite a bit.

  Paulie knew it was a big deal. This was his big break. He had a feeling if he did good on this job, he wouldn’t have to be doing any more shit jobs on the street. He would probably be in. With that in mind, Paulie packed all his suits and a pair of patent leather shoes, then he tossed in pair of snakeskin shoes just to be safe.

  He got a chair from the kitchen and stood so he could reach the ceiling tiles in the living room. Counting to the fourth tile from the corner, he slid it aside, feeling around until his fingers found a hidden box. He took it down and replaced the tile.

  The box was dusty. Paulie found a towel and wiped it clean. He opened the box to make sure everything was in place. This was his tool kit. The blindfold was there next to several coils of rope and a pair of brass knuckles. A small revolver was under a false bottom. He took the box and jammed it into his carry on bag.

  Paulie reached under his bed and pulled out his most prized possession – a huge book entitled ‘Kensington’s North American Lepidoptera Field Guide’. The book was at least four inches thick and considered by many to be the premium butterfly identification book in print. Paulie had stolen it from a book store on Thirty-Third Street.

  He had become fascinated by butterflies when his 4th grade class had taken a field trip to Central Park and a state biologist had shown the class how to collect the insects
. Since that day, Paulie had amassed a huge collection of his own.

  He was looking forward to going to a different part of the country, no matter where, to see if he could add some new specimens to his collection. Paulie also packed a bag containing his butterfly net, a small jar of alcohol, some pins and a few wax trays for mounting his collectables. Paulie considered this to be his “secret hobby”. No one else knew about his passion. It just didn’t fit with the type of work he did.

  Penn Station was busy. After ten minutes of walking through the crowds, Al pulled Paulie aside and nodded towards a family huddled together talking near a marble column.

  “That’s them over there, the kid in the blue shirt. That’s the kid you need to keep track of. The kid’s name is Stephen Moorehouse and his parents are loaded.”

  Paulie stared at the kid. The kid’s blue shirt was exactly the same color as the Karner Blue butterfly he had been looking at in his Kensington guide just that morning. It was the next butterfly he wanted to hunt down for his collection. Paulie had made a mental note to head up to Saratoga, one of the few remaining places in New York this butterfly could be found, to see if he could find one when he got back. Now this kid shows up wearing a blue shirt exactly the same color. This must be a sign.

  Paulie laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” Al asked.

  “Nothing, just something I was thinking about. I better go get a ticket,” Paulie said, turning toward a row of ticket booths.

  “That’s a great idea, Paulie. So where’s the ticket gonna take you, genius?” Al glared at him.

  Paulie turned back to Al with a befuddled look. “Oh, yeah. Where’s the kid headed?”

  “How do I know?” Al said, his voice rising over the din of the crowd. Several travelers diverted their path to make room around Al and Paulie.

  “You just jump on whatever goddamned train the kid gets on. Then give the conductor twenty bucks and tell him to keep the change. He ain’t gonna throw you off the train. Remember, not a word about this to anyone. You understand?”

  “I get it, I get it.”

  “This is just our little conspiracy, just between you and me. Don’t go talking like some big shot about what you’re gonna do.”

  Chapter 3

  Stephen glanced back to see his parents disappear into the crowd. He walked down the crowded platform, looking at the signs. The huge engines on the silver clad trains were making the platform vibrate. He double checked the sign. ‘Train 49, Lake Shore Limited’. Stephen felt his pocket to make sure the wad of tickets his uncle had sent him was still there. Stephen joined a line of people handing off their luggage to a porter and boarded the train.

  As the train moved out of the terminal, Stephen spotted his parents as they made their way out of the crowd. Fingers pointing, exchanging loud words, they were arguing all the way back to the cab stands.

  Stephen walked down the aisle and settled into a seat next to a window. He put his jacket and the sketchbook he always carried with him on the empty seat next to him, along with his carry on bag. He leaned back in his seat and checked his watch. Three forty-five, right on time.

  It had been his idea to take the train. Now that school was over, he had the whole summer to himself. A train ride to Michigan seemed exciting and adventurous. He had spent all of his life in New York City except for the occasional trip to Europe with his Mother and Father. This would be a great experience to see some of the country side, and besides, he needed to get away.

  It would be nineteen hours before the train rolled into Chicago, so Stephen had brought a few things to keep him busy. He had his sketchbook, of course, along with a few magazines, a book and a “Welcome To RISD” pamphlet. He would be starting classes at the Rhode Island School of Design in the fall and he had wanted to read up on the school before he got there.

  Al and Paulie watched as the kid got on the train.

  “Good luck, Paulie. Al said, slapping him on the back. “Don’t disappoint the boys on this one.”

  Paulie walked to the train car, turned to wave at Al, and disappeared into the doorway. Paulie walked down the aisle, spotted Stephen and took a seat a few rows in front. Thankfully, Al had given him a newspaper and every five or ten minutes, Paulie would peer over the top to make sure his “little butterfly” was still in the same place.

  About five o’clock Stephen tossed down the RISD pamphlet. He pulled a wrinkled envelope from his pocket and took out a letter. He had read the letter so many times, he could recite it by heart. Hhow Jill, his girlfriend for three years, wrote how she was not going to be backpacking though Europe with him for the summer, as planned. She explained how she had met another guy, Ralph, and was going to be traveling in Europe with him this summer instead.

  As he got to the part where Jill wrote she hoped he would understand and that she still wanted to be friends, Stephen stopped, folding up the letter and sticking it back into his pocket. He picked up his sketchbook.

  As long as Stephen could remember, he was constantly sketching. He knew the train would be an excellent place to do some character studies, wondering if passengers in New York would look the same as passengers in Chicago.

  “Excuse me, can I take a look at your magazine?” A man sitting in the aisle seat asked him.

  “Sure,” Stephen replied, tossing the periodical over. A close-up picture of a giant shark’s head was on the cover and the magazine featured a story about the new movie ‘Jaws’ that had just come out along with information about all the other summer block buster movies. Stephen wondered if there was a movie theater where he was going.

  He began to sketch. His car was about one-third full. Most of the travelers appeared to be businessmen. There were a few families and one or two single women traveling alone, but Stephen saw mostly businessmen in suits. He occupied the next hour sketching the passengers around him.

  “Here’s your magazine back, thank you. Oh, that’s quite good!” Stephen glanced up.

  A short, pudgy man, wearing an obvious toupee, sat in the aisle seat.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been watching you draw,” the man said, leaning over an empty seat between them. “I think you are quite accomplished. Say, I’m heading to the dining car for a cup of coffee and something to eat. Care to join me? Maybe stretch your legs a little?”

  “Sounds like a good idea.”

  The pudgy man rose from his seat and motioned for Stephen to follow.

  Walking down the aisle, the man turned to Stephen, “I’m Dominick, but everyone calls me Dom.”

  “I’m Stephen. Nice to meet you, Dom.”

  They walked through another passenger car on their way to the dining car.

  A waiter appeared and Dom ordered two coffees.

  “So, Stephen, what puts you on a train headed for Chicago? I thought young people only flew these days,” Dom inquired.

  “They do if they’re in a hurry. I’d rather take some time and have the opportunity to see some of the country. And after watching the news on TV about the Eastern flight 66 crash, I’m glad I decided to take the train. I’m headed to Chicago first, then picking up a train to Milwaukee and then taking a bus to northern Michigan.”

  “That’s quite a trip.” Dom said, “So what’s in Michigan? Must be a girl, eh?” he smiled.

  Stephen felt a twinge and Dom could see he had struck a nerve.

  “No, I’m staying at my uncle’s house in Upper Michigan for the summer.”

  Back in the passenger car, Paulie glanced over the top of his newspaper. What the hell? Two empty seats greeted his gaze. The seats where Stephen and the fat guy with the cheap toupee had been sitting in were now empty.

  Paulie stood up and looked around. He frantically eyed the train car. Where was the little bastard? He had to be on the train somewhere. Was he in the restroom? Maybe, but not likely since the guy sitting next to him was gone too. The dining car? Paulie glanced at this watch. Five fifteen, yeah, almost dinner time. They had better be in the damn dining
car!

  Stephen could see the waiter heading their way with

  two cups of coffee on his tray. A large swarthy man in a suit that seemed way too tight came barreling down the aisle and nearly pushed the waiter over.

  The waiter stumbled backwards, then to the side. He leaned over to regain his balance as he steadied himself and the tray.

  The swarthy man threw himself into a booth on the other side of the aisle. He buried his face in a newspaper and shot a quick glance at the booth Stephen and Dom were sitting in.

  The waiter settled himself in front of Stephen and Dom’s table and set down two white porcelain mugs filled with steaming black coffee. Not a drop had spilled.

  “Nice foot work!” Stephen commented.

  The waiter stammered a gruff “hmmmmph”, picked up his empty tray and headed to the end of the dining car. Midway down the aisle Paulie stopped the waiter.

  “Hey, get me a cup of coffee.”

  The waiter scowled. For a moment Stephen thought the tray was coming straight down on the big guys head.

  “Sugar?” Dom asked?

  “Sure.” Stephen tore open a packet and poured it into his coffee.

  “How long have you been drawing?” Dom asked.

  “As long as I can remember, I take my sketchbook everywhere.”

  “Your sketches really capture your subjects. Looks like you’ve drawn everyone in our car, including me.”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Stephen responded.

  “No, not at all. Are you in art school?”

  “I just graduated from Bastion Heights Academy. I’m headed to the Rhode Island School of Design in the fall. I can’t wait. That’s why I’m drawing on this trip. I figure traveling by train would provide a much better place to do some character studies than on an airplane and I wanted to see some of the country, too.”

  “Bastion Heights! I’m very impressed,” Dom said. “If you attended Bastion, you must be a very well-connected young man. Your parents must be somewhat famous. Anyone I’ve heard of?”