Dec 15, 20175 min read

Garden Grove: 5 The Coffee Clutch – Vern Lezkowitz by LV Gaudet

Garden Grove Cover - McNally - front cover

A figure prowled in the darkness by the entrance of the roughed in road leading into the Garden Grove jobsite, the shape revealed in the shadows of the trees and bushes by the light of the stars and moon and distant streetlights. The form was tall and wiry and appeared to be male. The figure came creeping up the road into the Garden Grove Meadows housing development, keeping to the trees and bushes along the edge to avoid being seen.

He paused outside the small trailer office, the mud-spattered light above the door showering him with speckled grimy light to reveal his identity.

It was Vern Lezkowitz, owner of Bruce Copeland’s biggest competitor Lezkowitz & Sons.

There could be no good reason for Vern Lezkowitz to be skulking around Garden Grove in the night.

He grasped the padlock locking the door, giving it a tug. It is secure. He released it with a callousness that suggested the item had somehow insulted him.

He moved on to a group of tractors, one of a few groups of equipment parked on the hard mud of the ruined ground across from and near the corner of the office. He climbed up the outside of one Cat with a front loader bucket. Holding on with one hand, he reached down and started pulling a tool from the tool belt around his waist.

He froze, eyes wide as he looked around, listening.

Did he hear a sound?

A scrape, maybe a foot scuffing on the roughed in road.

A snap. A branch? He turned and looked in the direction he thought it came from. That way was houses, some with a line of bushes and trees blocking out all but the roof of the houses on the other side of the greenery.

Sliding the tool back down into its loop on his belt, he got down slowly, careful to be quiet. He had finally gotten up the nerve to do this and did not want to get caught. Vern Lezkowitz is not a man to take risks that would get him into a confrontation he was not guaranteed to win. It is one thing to bully the men working for him, employees too scared to stand up for themselves out of fear of losing their jobs. If he is caught skulking around the Garden Grove site Copeland and his guys will put the boots to him.

With both feet on the ground now, Vern moved to peer cautiously around the tractor.

He is sure he heard a noise again, but still can see nothing.

There, movement along the edge of the road; in the grass beneath the trees bordering a house.

“Someone is coming! Did Copeland hire security for this site?” he thought, feeling the rush of panic over the possibility of being caught.

With one last long look to make sure nobody would see him, he scampered quickly across to another tractor and from there went behind the trailer office.

He peered around the corner of the wheeled building before running across the field for the trees some distance behind it, the last stand of old growth forest separating the backyards of the old houses along that stretch of road from the new development.

He breathed a sigh of relief after reaching the shelter of the trees, stopping to look back at the construction site. He watched for a moment and was sure he saw movement. He counted them. One, two, three, four? He could not be sure just how many.

“Damned kids,” he muttered, assuming now that it had to be local teens who were bored and looking to get into trouble. He half thought of going back and chasing them off, but did not want to be seen by anyone or deal with the confrontation.

He turned unhappily and started making his way through the trees and bush, the fallen leaves crunching under his feet despite his efforts to walk quietly. He swore an oath at the noisy leaves.

Vern could swear he heard another set of feet crunching in the leaves, following him. The sound matched his own steps but was off just a fraction, a weak echo of his own movements.

He stopped and so did the crunch of leaves beneath his feet.

Nothing. He listened to the silence, the breeze in the trees and bush, and the sound of a distant vehicle passing on the highway. He could see the headlights moving in the distance as if it passed through the edge of the field. That side was open field all the way to the highway.

He started forward again, the leaves crunching beneath his feet. After four steps, he was sure he heard it again; someone else’s feet crunching behind him almost in perfect unison with his own.

Vern stopped again, looking around. He looked up at the sky through the trees with a frown. The night seemed darker somehow even though the moon and stars in the sky still put off the same light as a moment ago. He was in the middle of the small copse of trees. Ahead of him was a clearing where the trees seemed reluctant to grow. Around it, the old oak trees seemed more twisted than the rest.

Watching for whoever was following him, he moved forward into the small clearing. He looked at the strangely twisted trees, thinking how it looked like they were somehow dancing and frozen suddenly in mid movement by his arrival.

A cloud moving slowly across the sky finally covered the moon, making the night suddenly darker and the shadows deeper.

A chill crept over him and he shivered, the darkness of the night deepening further, seeming to close in on him. The rest of the world suddenly seemed unimaginably far away, shut off from him. The blackness engulfed Vern.

Vern felt dazed and confused, uncertain what had happened or why he is there outside surrounded by trees. He blinked as he looked around, trying to focus on his surroundings. It is dark and he can see the moon and stars in the sky where they peeked through the sporadic clouds. He is at the edge of a small clearing in the bush with no memory of how he got here.

Disoriented, he doesn’t even know where here is.

He felt older suddenly too, drained, like something had just sucked some of the life out of him. He looked down at his hands and, for just a moment, they looked withered. He shook his head and blinked his eyes, looking at them again and they were normal, if a little thinner than he thought he remembered. His face itched and he raised one hand to scratch at it.

Vern looked up again, studying his surroundings to get his bearings. He can see a field through the trees. He made his way to the edge of the small copse of trees and looked around. He is on the edge of a small town. Headlights in the distance revealed the location of the highway. To his left across the field are the looming shapes of heavy construction equipment.

He realized now where he is. That is the Garden Grove site. Vern shook his head in dismay.

“Odd,” he muttered and moved on through the trees to the crunch of dry leaves beneath his feet, moving away from Garden Grove and towards yards that he hopes will bring him quickly to the street. He has no idea where his truck is and can only hope he finds it quickly, assuming that is how he got here.