On The Run With Mike And Gunn

Ch. 5: The Boss Takes His Shot

            Robert Christopher was sitting at his desk, listening to the radio and tossing back one glass of scotch after another. It had gotten so that Robert Christopher was always finding a way to keep the drinks forever flowing into him, for to take in more than one social drink among friends and associates was to dishonor one's own reputation, but most certainly in private, during those rare moments when there's not much going on, Robert Christopher gave himself over to the same vice that afflicted over half the men under his employ.

This business of Big Mike quitting the business and seeking a straight job had Robert feeling every kind of bad. Michael Liebowitz was a good enforcer, and had for the most part served the Syndicate well. The only bad mark on the 'screw-off' column for ole Michael was the rampage he went on during the whole imported care debacle—a rampage that put a dozen good men in the hospital with every bone broken in their body, as well as a sharp strain to Robert's international relations. Were it not for Mike's resourceful venture into the drug operation in Powhattan, he would've been taken care of right away. But Mike was a man who recognized his own shortcomings, and he took the needed time to make the necessary reparations to his lord and master.

But now the servant has chosen to break away from the life, and Robert can't help but feel the deep-seated pains of rejection. So he drank his scotch and took a look at himself through the glass. He didn't like what he saw, but it's the best that a man had when he could no longer hold on to the façade he had so carefully crafted, the one that he had presented to his underlings and rivals for so long.

Robert was just about to pour himself another scotch when his phone rang. He sat the glass on his desk and picked up the phone. "Hello?" he grunted into the receiver. "Hurry up whoever you are—I am in no mood to handle business right at this moment."

"Mister Christopher? Of the Syndicate? This is Officer Grubbs. With the Richmond Police Department? I was instructed to contact you over a situation we have here."

Robert quickly changed his tune. "Yes Officer Grubbs. How's the Comissioner doing? Did he throw you guys a steak and beer party like I asked him to?"

"Oh he did Mister Christopher. Thank you for that. Most of the boys loved the new label. Now the reason I called you was to tell you we have a problem concerning the big guy today. Seems he got into a scuffle with his neighbor, broke his arm and dropped him to the ground. Then he drove off, and we've put out an APB on him."

Robert listened to the officer talk with grave intent. When the officer had finished, Robert said, "You were right to come to me with this. While I have no doubt that you could easily find Mike, I would consider it a favor if you'd allow me to handle the matter personally."

"We would have to conduct our own investigation," Officer Grubbs said to him. "Course we would be most glad to work with you in an effort to find Mike. We believe him to have made out with his partner, Johnny Gunn—had a squad car go and check his apartment out, but it was a no-go. The commissioner was hoping to ask for any information you have personally to assist with all this."

"You go ahead and let the commissioner know that I'll be in touch. Thank you for reaching out to me regarding this. Goodbye." And with that Robert hung up the phone, taking his half-drained glass of Scotch into his hand as he reclined back into his chair. Thoughts weighed heavy on his mind as he considered his options for several long moments.

The Richmond Police had every resource available to locate one lone ex-enforcer and his buddy. The fact that Robert had half the force on the Syndicate books ought to have suggested an overlap between dirty uniformed men and some other men who didn't wear uniforms but were no less dirty. But Robert Christopher was smart enough to know not to bridge the two groups of men who worked for him; if the chain of command were kept from connecting it made it harder for some upshot Assistant D.A. to patch them all together and follow them back to him. This proved to work for Mike's advantage, and Robert Christopher was met with a sudden moral dilemma.

Mike was poised to go far off into the deep end, so he needed to be stopped. But even as much as it was necessary, Robert couldn't help but feel for the young man. He snatched him from out of the army, listened to his story of woe concerning a less than ideal upbringing, and bonded more with the deranged giant than he bonded with his first and second wives. This situation was already convoluted as it was, and as Robert reached over and picked the phone back up he knew it was going to get even more convoluted before it was over.

Robert dialed some numbers and put the phone to his ear, listening to the awkward hum of the ringtone. A voice picked up on the other end, and Robert went head-first into his spiel.

"Hey there Sheriff, how are you? Are the streets of Chase City clean and safe? That's good, but listen for a moment. I ought to tell you that I know about your son—you know, the one that you and Brenda gave up at the orphanage, the one you've felt guilty for ever since. I wanted to give you the news, because there might be a chance that you'd get to meet the wayward child soon enough. I just thought you would want to know."

There were some frantic words screeched on the other end, but Robert had said his peace and was done with the matter for now. "I'll give you more information when such information is needed," he said into the phone, and then put the receiver down into the holder. He grabbed the scotch glass back up and took another sip, leaning back into his chair and pondering some disparate thoughts which were in some need of patching together for the good of the future.

The Syndicate was entering into a small world of trouble, and it threatened to implode on itself at any moment. But Robert Christopher was not without some mental resourcefulness, and he knew that things were good.

For now at least. So long as the world doesn't stop in the next several days, things were good. But with the scotch and other fiery liquids quickly running low on supply, Robert couldn't guarantee so much as the next several minutes.

He'd better be careful from here onout.