Ghosts of the Past by Mark H. Downer Page A

want to keep tabs on her whereabouts at all times. Understood? Thanks, I’ll phone you shortly.”
    Allen had already pulled out his business cards and was busy writing down the details Rocca wanted on the backs of four cards. While he was completing the information, Rocca had repositioned himself back between his amorous companions and was giving instructions to the driver through the slight crack in the privacy windows.
    Fifteen minutes later, they were back in front of Kitty O’Sheas and the rear door on the limo once again had been opened. Rocca whispered into the ear of the blonder of the two blonds and she shifted her gaze from the floor to Allen. After an exchange of kisses, Ginger smiled deviously at Allen and moved from her position in the back seat, to the side of Allen’s arm.
    “Thank you for the information Mr. Allen, I am very grateful to you for having thought of me. Ginger is your reward for the evening. Let us call it a good faith gesture on my part. If anything comes of this enterprise, I can assure you that you will have enough money to buy thousands of Gingers. I will be in touch.”
    “Thank you Mr. Rocca!” Allen could hardly contain his enthusiasm. “Your generosity is much appreciated. I look forward to working with you!”
    Ginger escorted Allen from the car, and the two of them headed north on the sidewalk and disappeared into the front door of the Hilton as Rocca’s limousine pulled into traffic on Michigan Avenue and headed north into the city.
     

Chapter 7  
    May 20, 2001. Louisville, Kentucky.
    The doorbell startled Dr. Karl. He had just sat down at his kitchen table to consume a toasted bagel with cream cheese, and relax with a nice cup of coffee and the morning paper. He certainly wasn’t expecting any visitors at 8:28 a.m., looking up at the clock on the microwave. The bell rang again impatiently.
    He reached the front door as the bell rang for the third time, and opened it up with a jerk. “Would you mind not ringing the doorbell again please!”
    Standing side-by-side on the front porch were Jimmy Syron and Jay Nieron. Syron’s face had a crisscross bandage around the nose, leaving the purple tip exposed, and he leaned at an angle on a cane in his right hand. Nieron appeared to be supporting him as well.
    “Are you John Karl?” Syron said with a snarl.
    “Johann Karl.” Karl replied.
    “Close enough!” Nieron chimed in as he helped lead Syron through the door and into the small foyer.
    “Excuse me, but who in the hell do you think you are barging into my home?”
    “We have a package for you, special delivery. I believe it’s a letter you’re looking for.” Syron continued.
    “Ah, yes! Yes, please come in.” This was sooner than Karl had expected the letter to surface, and the messengers left a lot to be desired. Nevertheless, this was a welcome intrusion.
    Nieron offered the envelope and Karl took it. He pointed to the tapestry couch in the adjacent living room, “Please have a seat”, while he sat in the striped wingback chair across from the coffee table separating them. He tore open the envelope and removed the single sheet of paper.
    After turning it back and forth twice and then checking the envelope again, he looked up at the pair. “This is a photocopy, and where’s the rest?”
    The two wretches looked at each other and then back at Karl. “What do you mean the rest?”
    “This is only the front of the letter. There is a back that contains the map. The map is what I need.” Karl was growing uneasy and irritated. What have you done with the map?”
    “Fuck you old man!” Syron jumped to his feet, his face twisted in pain. “That’s all there was!”
    “Calm down Jimmy.” Nieron stood and grabbed him.
    “No, you don’t understand there was more than just this!” Karl shook the paper at him.
    “No, you don’t understand you old fart!” Syron exploded. He came over the coffee table, disregarding any pain, and slammed the end of the cane into