A powerful thunderstorm with straight-line winds rolled through town, damaging roofs and siding and blowing out windows. The storm hit some of St. Paul’s Hmong neighborhoods particularly hard. Drew Jr. swooped in and marketed his home-repair business hard in those areas. The damaged houses needed new siding and shingles. Wiskowski low balled all of the other contractors and consumed all of the business. Many of the Hmong folks didn’t speak or understand English well, so Wiskowski said he’d work with their insurance companies directly, handling everything if they’d just sign over the insurance check to his company. The result was predictable. Drew Jr. defrauded the homeowners and did substandard work on their homes, if any work was done at all.
Drew Jr. may have profited, but he underestimated the Hmong community. They went to the police, and the story made its way to the chief, who made it his personal mission to go after Drew Jr. Lyman was originally Drew Junior’s lawyer, since he was on retainer with the old man. But Lyman knew right away it was a bad case – the kid was a swindler, and that he wanted no part of it. Lyman found a way out of the case, and Drew Jr.’s defense was eventually handled by a lesser lawyer. The younger Wiskowski ended up with six years in Stillwater state prison.
“That was four years ago,” Lich said as Mac sped across the Interstate 94 over the St. Croix River and into Minnesota.
“So he’s coming after the chief and Lyman. An eye for an eye then, their daughters for his son. It makes some sense in a warped mind sort of way. How did Junior buy the farm in prison?”
“Apparently,” Lich said, “the kid was an operator inside, and went a little too far. Two months ago a fellow inmate on a life sentence shoved a shiv up his rectum, and Drew Jr. bled out.”
“Ouch,” Mac said grimacing.
“Not my preferred way to go either. Anyway, the old man and his other son went batshit in an interview on the radio.”
“Ahh, I remember hearing about that,” Mac replied, swerving through traffic.
“Yeah. He blamed the chief and the police for his kid’s death, claiming his kid never did anything wrong. He specifically ripped Lyman a new one because he withdrew from the case, claiming his old friend turned his back on him when he was most in need. He ripped the department because his other son was busted for pot possession after Drew Jr. ended up in the can, and Wiskowski claims it was a frame. So he’s got plenty of bile built up for us. And there’s one other thing.”
“Which is what?”
“Drew Sr. has cancer – terminal,” Lich said. “He found out maybe a month ago, and he’s going fast.”
“So what’s he got to lose?” Mac fished. “Take a last shot at the men you think are responsible for the death of your son before you’re six feet under.”
“Or so the theory would go,” Lich said agreeable.
“It’s a good theory,” Mac answered. “Wiskowski is smart, wealthy enough to hire people willing to help him, he’s got the motivation, and he doesn’t care what happens to him.” He thought about it for another minute and then said gravely. “If he doesn’t care, that may not bode well for the girls.”
“Agreed,” Dick answered. “We gotta move fast on this.”
“Then I assume they’re bringing the old man in?”
“As we speak. There’s a convoy coming up 61 now from Cottage Grove. Riley, Rock, Burton, and Duffy all went down and are bringing Ol’ Drew back up right now. We just might beat them there.”
The distance lit up brightly with multiple lightening strikes as Mac pulled into the police department parking lot.
“With this storm and Wiskowski coming in, we’re going to get thunder, lightning, and fireworks all at the same time,” Lich said with amusement.
He couldn’t have been more right. As Mac and Lich jumped out of the Explorer, the convoy carrying Wiskowski arrived, four cars strong.
“No, no, no,” Mac groaned as the convoy stopped at the steps, right where the newsies were waiting. The media had clearly gotten wind of the Wiskowski connection and descended on the convoy like locusts. “They should have gone in the back.”
“This should be interesting,” Lich mused. “Let’s hold back and let them get in. Besides, you should let Riles and Rock have some media time. We’re all sick of seeing your handsome mug on TV anyway.”
“Fine by me. I hate the media.”
“Riiiiiight,” Lich said rolling his eyes in disbelief.
“Whatever, asshole,” Mac answered angrily. He didn’t like the media exposure for any number of reasons. He knew he was a damn good cop, smartest in the department, but he was still in his early thirties and mindful that senior cops didn’t always like the young hotshot getting all the attention. But for now, he was out of the picture. The horde followed Wiskowski, and it wasn’t pretty.