Memphis Legend

by Brian Crawford

  “Great minds think alike. You are going to bow down at my feet when you hear what I got for you. On tape, no doubt.”

  “So what do you got?”

  “The missing piece of the puzzle, my good man. Early this morning, I lined up the laser mic so that it is aimed directly at the office at the junk yard. It took a couple of hours to get a good spot and get the laser all lined up, but I did it. Just in time, I might add.”

  “Just in time for what?”

  “Junior was opening up the junkyard and his friend Tyler was with him when they had a couple of visitors. The visitors did not have names, but they were there to talk to Junior about you know who.”

  “Paul?”

  “Yep.”

  “Let me guess,” I said, “They were sent by the man that Paul owed the money to. The guy in Mississippi.”

  “His name is Strasser, by the way, and he’s not happy to hear that Paul is dead. He sent his men to get the money that Junior was supposed to collect from Paul. His men accused Junior of collecting the money and keeping it for themselves, and now Strasser wants what belongs to him.”

  “Hell, yeah! We have our connection. Way to go, Bird Dog! So, how did it play out?”

  Boyd said, “I thought there was going to be a shootout in that office. That Junior is a damn hot head. I couldn’t see it, but I heard the action of a pump shotgun, and then Junior started yelling at them. Told them to get the you know what out of there and tell their boss they had nothing to do with Paul’s death. Junior told them they didn’t have the money, but they were still trying to collect from the father. Something about making more threats on the father. Lots of yelling. It came real close to being a blood bath in there.”

  “Whoa.”

  “No shit.”

  “How did it end up?” I asked.

  “Strasser’s men left, but not before telling Junior they would be back. They made a point of telling Junior that Strasser was not going to be happy.”

  “So did you hear anything good from Junior and Tyler after Strasser’s men left?”

  “Just a lot of cussing from Junior. Basically, who the fuck does Strasser think he is kind of stuff. And that he still plans on collecting the money.”

  “And you got this all on tape?”

  “Yeah. I had to use a cheap Dictaphone placed next to the speaker, but I played it back, and you can hear everything just fine.”

  “I don’t know what to say, except good job, Sergeant.”

  Boyd said, “Did I happen to mention that I like this sneaky stuff?”

  “You did. Several times.”

  I could hear him chuckling over the phone.

  ***

  I praised Boyd a few more times before describing my visit with Special Agent Sande and his boss. He was as surprised as I was by the surly reception I received by Captain Evans. Both us agreed that the tape should get the response from the TBI that we wanted, the response that we needed to make the whole process legitimate.

  I was going to visit Special Agent Sande for the second time in the same day, but first I needed to warn John that Junior was still planning on collecting the money that Paul owed. John took the news better than I had expected. It was obvious that he felt guilty for not simply paying the debt; but ultimately, I think he knew he had done the right thing. If he paid anything now, Junior could make up any amount he wanted and squeeze as much out of John as he wanted. Which was also the reason I had not thought of using Ellie’s idea initially, although I still had to admit it would have been a lot easier. John had to stay tough. I hoped he had the fortitude.

  Twenty minutes after hanging up with John, I was sitting in the lobby of the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. Special Agent Mark Sande entered the lobby with a wry smile on his face.

  I said, “I’m sorry to keep bothering you on a Saturday.”

  “Don’t worry about it; it’s my weekend to work. I’m more surprised to see you back so soon. I seem to remember something about being impressed.”

  I shook hands with the tall, lean Special Agent casting him a big smile. “Oh yeah, you will be. Why don’t you go and get Captain Evans, if he’s still here.”

  “He’s not normally here on a Saturday, so he might be gone. He was finishing up a report; let me check if he’s still here.”

  Agent Sande escorted me back to his office gesturing for me to have a seat. “Cross your fingers, Doc.” He was gone for about 90 seconds. He returned alone bearing a sheepish grin. “You didn’t cross your fingers, did you?”

  “He’s dismissing me without actually listening to what I have to say. Fine, I’ll tell you what I have. You can deliver it to him and see if that don’t bring him out of his office.”

  “You sound pretty confident.”

  “Confident is too weak a word.”

  Detailing the recorded conversation between Junior and Strasser’s men only took a couple of minutes. When I finished, I reclined back in my chair, crossed my legs, and locked my hands behind my back in a gesture of pure confidence.

  “Fuck me,” said Special Agent Sande, “You said I would be impressed. I’m impressed. You haven’t even been gone two hours.”

  “What can I say, sometimes us amateurs just get lucky.”

  “No shit.”

  “So, you ready to get Captain Morgan in here now?”

  “You bet your ass, I am. Don’t call him Captain Morgan, though. He hates that.”

  Special Agent Sande was gone nearly five minutes before returning. This time he was not alone. Captain Evans burst into the room in a frenzy. “What the hell do you think you are doing, Dr. McCain? I thought I told you to leave the investigating to Chief Parker.”

  “No, you advised me, not directed me. There is a difference, you know. I thought about it for, say a split second, then decided to investigate even harder.”

  “Well, let me tell you now that you are being directed to stop all investigating of organized crime in Emmettsville and the surrounding area. In all of Tennessee for that matter.”

  “Aha, so you admit that organized crime exists in Emmettsville.”

  Captain Evans squinted his eyes at me, a look of absolute anger emanating from his face. “Look here, mister.”

  Someone else calling me mister.

  “I was with CIU for eleven years, and I’m telling you that you are a civilian and are not authorized to…”

  “It’s doctor, not mister, or you can call me L.T., and I was with NIS, a division of the ONI, part of the USN.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Doctor ?” yelled Captain Evans.

  “You are throwing out some alphabet soup; I can throw out some of my own. What is CIU?”

  “Criminal Intelligence Unit. We handle organized crime and gang activity in the state. What was that shit you were throwing at me?”

  “Before I was a doctor, I was a Lieutenant in the United States Navy assigned to the Naval Investigative Service, NIS, a division of the Office of Naval Intelligence. I became somewhat of a big deal in a short time for my ability to investigate undercover.”

  “Ok, so you are a veteran, big friggin’ deal. You are a civilian now, and you need to stop your investigation.”

  “No.”

  “Are you dense?”

  “No, just stubborn. And I am the only one doing anything in the murder of Paul Deland. So, I will stop when I am finished. I was hoping that someone like you was willing to help, but…”

  “Shut up, Dr. McCain!” he interrupted. “Listen carefully. If you go anywhere near Darwin Strasser, I will have you arrested for interfering with a police investigation. Do I make myself clear?”

  “I can hear you loud and clear.”

  “As for your dead friend, without a request from the DA in that county, I cannot, and will not help investigate. Am I still clear?”

  “Crystal, Captain Morgan.”

  I shouldn’t have called him that, but the temptation was too great. His face reddened.

  “Have your fun, Dr. M
cCain. You had better tread lightly around me. You don’t get to the position I’m in without knowing people that can make your life hell.”

  He was probably right about that one.

  “Sir, I can assure you that you do not want to go down that path with me. You might want to dust off your investigative skills and look into who you are dealing with here. I’m sure you will find that I have some pretty amazing political connections of my own. Food for thought.” The redness in his face was spreading into his neck and a small vein was bulging in his right temple. “Since you are not going to help me, Captain Morgan, I guess I am done here. I’ll see myself out.”

  I got up, turned, and left the office. I could hear shuffling behind me. Someone was following me out of the room.

  “Doctor, you didn’t let me finish. I need you to bring me that tape you made.”

  I kept on walking, waving my hand flippantly towards him. “Then you better get yourself a subpoena or a warrant. And hope I haven’t lost it by then.”

  I never looked back.

  ***

  Although I had not known what to expect from the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, Captain Evans’ response was still a surprise. It was a surprise to LeClair as well, who was pacing around his office running his hands over his head in disbelief after listening to my account of both visits. Reluctantly, I had to admit that I might need Chief Parker’s help after all. I did not want to do that. I was convinced he had nothing to do with Paul’s death, but I still did not trust him completely. Or, more accurately, I did not trust his department. Too many coincidences had made me wary. Junior and his friends knowing Virgil’s name and John’s profession. Officer Crane’s fortuitous arrival immediately after winning the fight with Eric and company.

  LeClair and I were both impressed with Boyd’s performance so far. His one mistake — selling the liquor too quickly — seemed to be more my fault than his. And it was his performance today that discovered that the Estes brothers had been hired by Strasser to collect the money from Paul. It seemed like all I had done so far was beat people up. Of course, they had it coming.

  Neither of us had ever heard of Strasser, although LeClair stated he could ask around. It was outside his element, but he did know a guy who might know a guy if I knew what he meant. At first, I thought what difference did it make if we found Strasser or not. It was not like Strasser harmed Paul. He only wanted his money. From Junior and Jackson. The same men I was going to focus my entire investigation on. Which meant Boyd and I might be bumping into his men along the way. I changed my mind; it was best that we knew what we might be up against.

  Strasser would have to wait until tomorrow. Earlier the hospital had called. It seemed they finally realized I had been the victim of a crime in Emmettsville and not the perpetrator. It was not a requirement, but they were wondering if I wanted to work tonight and I had agreed.

  CHAPTER 30

  911.

  It was a little after nine at night, two hours into my first shift back in the ER since before Paul had gone missing. It was relatively slow, the quiet before the storm, which was not atypical for a Saturday night in Memphis before it got into full swing. Memphis Memorial Hospital was a Level 1 Trauma Center, the only one with that designation within 150 miles. Thus, the mundane world of stomach aches, whiplash patients, COPD complaints, and the like, would soon have to share time with those who fell victim to the nightlife in a city with such a historically high crime rate.

  For my part, I just finished placing sutures in the arch of a nine-year-old girl’s foot. She had dropped a plate on the floor while climbing on her counter top at home, then accidentally stepped on the broken plate when she jumped down off the counter. The girl had been a real trouper; a small grimace when I injected the lidocaine. After that, she watched me place each suture. Her squeamish father had to look away.

  It was during the lull in the action that I saw the 911 on my pager. Boyd needed me to call ASAP. I grabbed a phone in the nurses’ station and called Boyd at his hotel room. He answered on the first ring.

  “Dude, I hate to bother you at work, but we might have a problem.”

  “It figures that my first day back at work in a week and you have to pull out the bat signal. What’s up?”

  “I only saw Ellie’s car briefly the other day.” Boyd’s impassioned tone did not correspond to his normal relaxed demeanor. “Red, sporty American car is all I remember. That is, except the license plate: 4CASTR. Cute, I thought, so it stuck in my head.”

  “What are you leading up to, Boyd?” My voice quavered, my palms began to sweat.

  “Might be nothing, but in case no one has called you, I just saw a tow truck dumping off her car in front of the police station. It was super muddy and had weeds sticking out all over from under the car. It had definitely been in a ditch.”

  “How did the car look otherwise? Any extensive damage? Any way it looked like someone could have been hurt inside? Tell me, man. Now!”

  “That’s just it. It looked like it simply went off the road and got stuck in the mud. No obvious damage except to that plastic spoiler on the front of the car. It was completely ripped off.”

  “She was driving out to her folk’s house. Her sister was visiting from Nashville. Sorry, Boyd, I’m rambling a little. So, it didn’t look like it had hit anything?”

  “Nope, but I was wondering why it was at the police station. The tow truck left it there. If she simply drove off into a ditch, wouldn’t you expect the car to be towed to her father’s house or a garage?”

  “Stay by the phone, Boyd. I’m going to call her parent’s house.”

  I hung up and dialed 411 for information. Within a couple of minutes, I was dialing the Carmichael house. My palms felt a little sweaty holding the phone. The phone rang four times and went to an answering machine. I did not leave a message. Instead, I hung up and dialed again. My hands were trembling slightly as I held the phone to my ear. The result was the same; I got the answering machine. The sound of the handset being slammed into the receiver echoed throughout the nurses’ station. Heads turned in shock.

  “So someone just told you about your car?” I turned just in time to see Dr. Pratt leaning in to talk to me. His palm was resting on my shoulder.

  “What about my car?” I asked.

  “You seem upset. I just figured security told you about your car.”

  “You lost me, Dr. Pratt. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “You own a red 500SL, don’t you?”

  “Yeah?” There was a questioning urgency to my voice that did not go unnoticed by Dr. Pratt.

  “Sorry to be the one to tell you, Dr. McCain, but someone trashed your car. Security found it in the parking lot with four slashed tires, and it looks like someone threw a brick through the driver side window.”

  “Dr. Pratt, I know I am scheduled until seven, but I got to go. Now! It’s important!”

  Dr. Pratt said, “Hey, were slow right now. Call a tow truck and report the car to the police. We can spare you for a few minutes.”

  “Trust me. It’s not the car. It’s just a stupid car.” I was no longer talking to just Dr. Pratt. I was talking to everyone within earshot. “I’m afraid Ellie might be in danger. Sorry, but I have to go.”

  ***

  The six-minute run to my apartment gave me plenty of time to think. My first thoughts were dark, unpleasant thoughts. Images of an injured Ellie ran through my mind. The images my mind conjured concerning what I would do to someone if she were injured were downright scary, providing a horrific insight into the lengths the human mind can go once the blinders of human decency have been removed. Retribution, if required, would be gruesome.

  Maybe the six-minute sprint had a calming effect, by the time I reached my apartment, I started thinking like a civilized man again, not one hell bent on revenge for a crime that he was not even sure had been committed.

  Once inside my apartment, I phoned the Carmichael house again. I got the same result. I did
not leave a message.

  Holy crap, I forgot to call Boyd back from the hospital.

  He answered again on the first ring. “L.T., what the hell is going on?”

  “Sorry, I called Ellie’s parent’s house and got the answering machine. More than once. Oh, and someone trashed the Mercedes. Four slashed tires and a brick through the window. I’m thinking that both cars being damaged on the same night is not a coincidence.”

  “Probably not, but why attack Ellie? If that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I don’t know. My inner voice just tells me they are related somehow. I can’t explain. But I also can’t explain why no one is answering the phone at her parent’s house. That is, unless she were injured and they are over at the hospital. But if that was the case, someone would have called me.”

  “Good point. Can I help in anyway?”

  “Yeah, get over to her parent’s house and watch over it. Just in case. Maybe my imagination is getting the better of me, but I got a bad feeling about this one. The little voice in my head is in overdrive right now.”

  “You got it, L.T. What are you going to do?”

  “I already left the hospital. I’m loading my guns, getting in the Cobra, and driving over as fast as I can. She better be okay, or…”

  The gruesome images of retribution re-entered my mind as I hung up the phone.

  CHAPTER 31

  Boyd was worried. Worried what L.T. might do to someone if he discovered that same someone had harmed Ellie. He had seen firsthand the depths that L.T. was willing to go to when he was protecting someone, especially someone he cared about.

  Boyd had been through hell and high water with L.T. and had never heard him sound the way he just did on the phone. If it had been panic he had heard in the former Lieutenant’s voice, he would be less worried. Instead, he had reminded Boyd of the man he remembered from the Cambodian jungle, only he sounded even more resolute now. No, Boyd thought, L.T. sounded completely hell-bent, with an unhealthy dose of crazy. It was the crazy that scared Boyd.

  The drive to Ellie’s parent’s house was short, only a few minutes. L.T.’s directions had been spot on. He even described a good location to scout the house from. Boyd parked his car in a field 200 yards short of the house, then walked another 40 yards in the dark to gain a vantage point of the old farmhouse.