“I want you to know I understand what you’re going through. You’ve spent your life in the fast lane, and now you’ve come to a place that pretty much runs backwards. That’s got to be a real shock to your system. You know, this pace of life isn’t for everybody, and you might just be one of those people. When you were here before you had San Francisco to go back to. Being here was kind of like a vacation, even though it was a lot of hard work. Now, take this with the love it’s given, Kelly could make friends with that soda machine and talk to it all day long. You, on the other hand, don’t cozy up to people like that.”
“Well I don’t know about that.” Cole protested, but knew in his heart that Georgia was right. She always was.
“Oh, you can charm the cover off a baseball, but then you’re on your way. You’re used to extracting information and not worrying about ever seeing the person again. It’s a whole other ballgame letting people into your world and making real friends. I bet you a hundred dollar bill that Ernie is the only friend you’ve got in this town.”
Cole reached out to Georgia with his palm up. “Pay up.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s your other friend?”
“I got you babe,” Cole sang.
Georgia laughed, “Don’t flatter yourself. We’re not friends, we’re family. You’re stuck with me.”
Cole reached over and took her hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Well, it feels like we’re fixin’ to find out.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cole frowned and let go of Georgia’s hand.
“That means, my dear cousin, I see the taillights of your car headin’ out of here.”
Cole did not respond. He sat looking down at the tabletop and the last two bites of his sandwich. He did not want to accept what Georgia was saying. But, she hit the nail right on the head.
“Order up.”
Georgia stood up and patted Cole on the cheek. “Don’t worry sweetie, God’s got a plan. It will all be alright. You just don’t know what it is yet.” Georgia moved to serve the table of women. “Here we come, ladies,” she called across the room.
Cole took a long drink of his soda and watched as Georgia gracefully served the women at the table happily exchanging in heartfelt banter. He envied her transition. She was not the woman he first met in Wichita four years ago. As he popped the last two Fritos in his mouth, the image of Georgia’s mother, his Aunt Lottie, came to his mind. Although he didn’t know her all that long she held a very special place in his heart. He never realized until this moment how much he missed her. She was so wise, and so charming. What I wouldn’t give, he thought, to sit down and have a piece of her sweet potato pie and have a nice, long talk.
In a way, Georgia was just like her mother. She had a way of seeing through a problem and right to the heart of the matter. Cole knew without a doubt he just moved to the top of her prayer list. Her faith, and her love for him, would not let him stray far from her thoughts. He thought himself a very lucky man to have found these two strong, wonderful women. To have gone for so many years with no relatives and to be blessed with them was one of the greatest gifts of his life.
Cole stood, blew Georgia a kiss and waved at Ernie. “See you two later. Best Reuben ever! I’ll think about the dog.”
Brooke spotted Cole next door through the side window of Randy’s Computer Repair shop and waved happily. Cole couldn’t help but smile back at the lovely girl with the beautiful smile. He opened the door and stepped into the shop. “You look very chipper today.”
“Why shouldn’t I? It’s a beautiful day, business is good, and you’re here.”
“Flatterer.” Cole winked and crossed the room. “Where’s my favorite hacker?”
“Shhh! Don’t say that in here.” Brooke looked through the pass through where Randy sat.
“Why? Is the place bugged?” Cole gave the room an exaggerated visual once-over.
“Very funny.” Randy appeared through the archway into the work shop and approached the counter. “Come on back.”
“Why would I want to do that when the pretty girl is out here?”
Brooke rolled her eyes and blushed, and gave Cole a dismissive wave.
“What are you doing out and about? I thought you were writing the next great American novel.” Randy took his chair at the workbench. “Grab a seat.”
“It’s hardly that. Kelly hates it.” Cole pulled over a tall stool.
“She said that?” Randy’s eyes went wide.
“Not exactly, but I could tell.”
“What’s it about?”
Cole took a deep breath. “Which one?”
“How many are there?” Randy gave Cole a confused look.
“I’ve started, and gave up on, three so far.”
“I’m telling you, you need to write about your life and the weird, crazy stuff you have got caught up in. Just the stuff since I met you could fill ten books. Serious, write what you know. You are the one person in the world who doesn’t need to make stuff up.”
“You ever thought of being a motivational speaker?”
“Isn’t he wonderful? He always has the right answer!” Brooke stuck her head over the counter into the back room. “Sorry, I wasn’t eavesdropping, but you guys talk so loud they can hear you next door.”
“Hey, I didn’t come here to talk about my problems. All that book stuff isn’t important.” Cole looked into Randy’s eyes. He could tell he knew he was lying. “I just had lunch next door and thought I’d drop in and say hello.”
“Well, I’m glad you did. There’s a lull right now, we can have a chat. What’s this I hear about you getting attacked by Indians?”
Cole reached up and felt the lump on the side of his head. “Never a dull moment in Orvin town. It’s kind of a long story, but the long and the short of it is, I went to help get a friend of mine released at the police station and a riot broke out.”
“Is that how you got the knot on your head? I wasn’t going to say anything but, geez Cole, what happened?”
Cole winced. “That bad, huh? I was hoping it had gone down.”
“Looks like you’ve been in a bar fight.” Randy leaned in for a better look.
“Yeah, I got hit with a protest sign.”
“Where did you find a protest around here?”
“There were a bunch of Indians raising Cain in front of the police station.”
“What was that all about?”
“The police rounded up four guys for the murder of Warren Poore and, believe it or not, they were all Indians.” Cole shook his head.
“And you know who that needs bailed out of jail?”
“That’s the long part of the story, a guy named Michael Blackbear. He’s a veteran trying to get his wife home from Iraq. He went to the Center asking for help. Warren said he couldn’t, wouldn’t, didn’t know how, or something. Anyway it seems Michael wrote a couple of nasty letters to Warren. The cops found them in the files during the investigation and figured that was enough reason to bring him in as a suspect.”
“Did he do it? Wait, dumb question, otherwise you wouldn’t have bailed him out.”
“You haven’t heard the best part yet. Kelly got trapped the next day inside the Center when about fifty angry Indians decided to protest that, too. We went out the back door just as they broke the front windows out. This place is getting nuts.”
“You’re not kidding.” Randy slipped a disc into the tray on the computer and pushed it in. “It’s really changing around here. I mean, remember the first year or two we were here? There was no crime to speak of at all? Have you seen the news about the guy holding up all the jewelry stores?”
“No, I’ve been kind of busy. This whole thing with the murder of the Poore’s, Kelly and the drama at the Children’s Center, then throw into the mix my assistance on Michael Blackbear’s immigration problem, I haven’t had a moment to read or watch the news these days.” Cole gave Randy a jerk of his head as if to say, ‘go on’.
“You mean a burka?”
“Yeah, yeah, the head dress with the mesh screen across the eyes. The news has been calling him the Burka Bandit.”
“Oh, clever.” Cole rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, he’s robbed three jewelry stores so far. So, even though they’ve got him on two security cameras, there’s no way to tell who he is.” The computer on the work bench beeped and Randy typed something on the keyboard. “Where in the world does somebody around here get a burka?”
Cole was suddenly transported from the room. Time and space swirled around his head. There was a rolling, cramping ache in his chest. Bits and pieces of conversations, fragments of images, and phrases from his note pad, all played back like a grainy, distorted video. He grasped frantically at thoughts and ideas knowing the familiarity of all those things pointed only one way.
“Iraq.”
The word tasted dirty in his mouth as he realized that a returning soldier from the war would be the obvious person to have one. He knew, at that moment, the Burka Bandit was Michael Blackbear. A wave of nausea came over him.
“Funny. I’m serious, where around here would somebody get a burka?”
Cole ran his fingers through his hair and interlaced them on the back of his head. He closed his eyes as thoughts rushed through his mind. Michael had tried everything he knew, he was just grasping at straws when he tried to get Warren to help him. He said there was another way. No, he said there was a different way. Oh, what did he say? His thoughts screamed inside his head. Cole slowly turned his head and looked at Randy.
“You alright? You look like you just saw a ghost.” Randy was clearly perplexed.
“They wouldn’t. They would have brought one back with them from the Middle East. I know who it is!”
“What?” Randy stared at Cole waiting for a response.
“It’s the guy I got out of jail!”
“You kidding me? How do you know that?”
“I just put two and two together. Think about it. You’ve got a guy desperate to bring his Muslim wife to the United States. In his mind, he’s exhausted every avenue to get it done. Even though I’m trying to help him, it’s not moving fast enough, he said to me, “maybe there’s another way”. Well, the only other way would obviously cost a lot of money. Money that he doesn’t have. Who else is gonna have a burka, but a guy who served two terms in Iraq and has a Muslim wife?”
“That’s crazy, but it’s just crazy enough to be right.”
Cole pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He flipped through his contacts and hit the number for Detective Bishop. Cole glanced up at Randy and raised his eyebrows.
“Bishop, Cole Sage here. I know who the Burka Bandit is.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes, it’s Michael Blackbear.”
For a long moment Bishop did not respond. “Michael Blackbear? The guy you helped spring from jail? The guy that you said was some kind of decorated war hero? Now you think he’s robbing jewelry stores and shooting people?”
“Think about it, it makes sense. He’s a veteran. Who else is going to have a Burka?”
“Look, Sage. Do you have any idea how many veterans there are in this county? Tell you what, you write books or do whatever it is you do, and leave the detective work to me.”
The line went dead. Cole was stunned. He looked at Randy, bewildered and exasperated. “He hung up! He didn’t even want to hear what I had to say. He hung up!” Cole flipped the phone repeatedly in his hands.
“Sure makes you miss Detective Chin, doesn’t it?” Randy recalled what a great team they were back in the day.
“More than you know, buddy. More than you know.”
CHAPTER 17
Michael Blackbear woke and looked at his watch. It was 1:35. He had been asleep nearly twenty hours. He rolled and felt a dull ache in his side. For a long moment he didn’t recall even getting home. He made it into the house but passed out on the sofa. The vile acrid taste of vomit was still in his mouth as he tried to stand and go to the kitchen. A ray of light was streaming through the front windows. He bent over the sink, splashed his face and rinsed out his mouth.
Miriam, I have failed you. How could I have let them steal the jewels? I must think how to do this. Michael splashed his face again, cupped his hands and took another mouthful of water, rinsing hard and spitting. He thought of the Coyote and the $40,000 he needed to bring his wife and son across the border. What if they didn’t have to cross the border? He suddenly stood as straight as the wound in his side would let him. What if I just went to Mexico? What if they just came that far? We could live there, or go farther south to Central America or South America. His words and thoughts brought a wide smile to Michael’s face.
I can do this. All I have to do is meet them there. He went quickly to the bedroom and got the card with the Coyote’s number just in case, but surely it would cost less than half to get them as far as Mexico, anything beyond that, we could live on. Dollars go a long way south of the border. He looked at the number and chuckled. That’s it, that’s what I’ll do.
He pulled off his bloody T-shirt and tossed it into the basket in the corner. He looked in the bathroom mirror at his bandage. It was completely blood soaked. Peeling it off he turned to see the one on his back. It looked fine. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his jeans. He turned the water on in the shower, removed his socks and underwear and stepped inside. He couldn’t remember when he last took a shower. Brown, dried blood ran down his leg and swirled down the drain. He rubbed his hands through his hair and the warm water seemed to clear his head. Except for the dull pain in his side, he felt renewed. He peeled the bloody bandage away and let the warm water hit his chest, shoulder and run down his side. He ever so gently cleaned the blood from his body. He washed, shaved, and shampooed his hair. Rinsing and turning off the water, he stepped from the shower a new man.
He dressed in clean clothes and returned to the kitchen. He opened a can of raviolis from the cupboard, got a beer from the refrigerator, and took a seat at the table. “I will need road money”, he said out loud as he took his first bite. Then he remembered the dead jeweler. He knew that adding murder to the robberies would intensify the search for him. I need to do this quickly, and then I need to leave.
His thoughts were racing with this new plan. Where can I get money and lots of it? Banks are no good, most have a guard. Grocery stores? Pawn shops? Department stores? And then it hit him, a check cashing place. What day is it? He wondered. He looked at his watch, it was Thursday afternoon. Friday would be their big day, Thursday they would have to be prepared. He checked his watch again; it was nearly 2:00.
He glanced around the bottom of the sofa for his phone and realized it must be in the car. Outside, he found his car parked at a weird angle in the yard. The window was down. He opened the driver’s door and spotted his phone in the passenger seat. Not wanting to reopen his wound that was beginning to heal, he rounded the car and opened the passenger door and retrieved the phone. Walking back into the house he spoke a voice command, “Okay, Google. Check cashing”. On the screen he saw USA Payroll Advances and Check Cashing. The directions said it was ten minutes away.
Michael went into the house and pulled his large military issue duffle bag from the closet. He began stuffing his clothes, and anything small of value, along with pictures and a small, framed display of his medals from the wall. He took the bag and put it in the trunk of the car. Then he retrieved his gun and money from Mary Wilson’s shed. He entered the house one last time. He removed the small satchel of mementos from his bottom dresser drawer. As he closed the front door, he realized it would be for the last time. He kissed the tips of his fingers and touched the front door. You’ve been a good house. He got in the car and headed for town.
Orvin seemed quiet for a Thur
sday afternoon. It was the lull between school being out and folks getting off work. USA Check Cashing was situated in the parking lot of a building once occupied by a car rental company. Orvin just didn’t have enough business to keep them operating. There were two cars parked on the side that Michael figured belonged to employees. There were no cars in front. He reached in the glove box and slipped out his powder blue burka. He carefully determined his exit route. He parked far enough away from the building that it would be difficult to read his license plates, and his car was common enough that he could easily disappear among the other makes and models of the same color. He dropped the clip from his gun. There were only three bullets, more than enough he thought. I won’t be shooting it anyway.
He wadded up the burka tightly and moved toward the side of the building where the blinds were drawn. The large red and blue neon sign in the window shone brightly. As he stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the building, a car pulled up. A woman in her mid-forties got out of the car, crushing her cigarette on the pavement as she blew a plume of smoke into the air. She looked at Michael but didn’t smile. For a moment he thought of going back to his car, but then realized she might work into the plan quite well.
He followed her into the building to see a young man of no more than twenty sitting behind the glass counter. He looked up from the magazine he was reading. The woman stepped to the window and slid her check into the transaction tray.
“Good afternoon, Jennifer.” The young man recognized the return customer. He turned to open a drawer and took out a stack of bills. At that moment Michael slipped the burka over his head. He knew the clerk hadn’t looked in his direction. As the clerk began to count cash on the counter in front of him, Michael stepped forward and shoved the gun into the woman’s neck.
“Hey!” Michael shouted straight into the slotted speak through unit in the bullet resistant glass. “I want you to put all that, and every cent you have in this place, in a bag. Do it fast or I will blow her head off. I know you don’t want that, so give me the money now.”
Soul of Cole Page 18