Connie left Belk’s office with the feeling she was on a roll. This was going more smoothly than she had imagined. She went back to her bank and took out a $5,000 cash advance on her credit card. She decided she would set herself up in Miami Beach until she had settled with Rick. Then she could take a puddle-jumper plane to the Bahamas.
She studied her tourist guides to Florida, and decided it would be fun to stay in one of the old art deco hotels in South Beach. She might as well enjoy herself while she was waiting. She made hotel reservations at the Shelbourne in Miami Beach for the next evening in the name of Lucy Rivera, a childhood friend. She started to make airline reservations for Lucy as well, but then she realized she wouldn’t be able to fly without some form of photo identification in the Lucy Rivera name.
She was stymied until she remembered reading about chartering small planes in a spy novel. She flipped through the yellow pages until she found an air charter service. She arranged a flight to Miami for the next day, with the understanding that she would pay cash when she got to the airport. The agent acted as if that were normal, to Connie’s surprise. She mixed herself a celebratory drink and relaxed with her new feeling of independence.
Rick was growing more anxious about Connie’s whereabouts. It wasn’t like her not to come to work, and this was the second day in less than a week. She had not called in, and she wasn’t answering either her home phone or her cell phone. Rick wondered if she was hiding behind caller i.d. to avoid him. He could tell something was eating at her last night. After all, they did know each other pretty well by now. He was certain she was a little miffed that he didn’t get more excited when she had complained about Jimmy padding the maintenance expenses. He had needed a little time to think about that, though.
She was close enough to the inside of the operation that if she kept looking, she would find that her suspicions were correct. There was no way he could see for her to track the money past Jimmy and back to Sam Alfano; at least, Rick couldn’t think of a way. But he worried that she might put Jimmy in the spotlight; then she would expect Rick to get rid of Jimmy. Rick could just imagine how Sam would react if he were told that Jimmy had to go because Connie had uncovered their scheme. Sam would hold Rick responsible for the problem. He had told Rick to keep Connie in the dark.
Connie was too damned smart. Rick considered coming clean with her. She did, after all, know that the whole business was a scam. Maybe he should just tell her there was another level to the deception, but he thought Connie would have a problem with laundering drug money. Taking money from rich, vain fools was one thing, but even in his rock band days, he remembered Connie drawing the line at drugs. She had watched the havoc wrought by drugs on too many of her acquaintances. So had Rick. He didn’t feel great about having Sam for a silent partner, but he hadn’t known about the money-laundering angle until he was already committed. Of course, he had known Sam was shady, but he had assumed Sam was investing in the diet clinic as a legitimate business. It was only after the deal was done that Sam had explained Jimmy’s role. By then it was too late; Rick was locked in.
Rick tried to imagine what Sam might do if this all blew up. Sam could just shut them down, or he could probably make Rick or Connie or both of them disappear. But he needed them to keep the clinic running. Rick knew that in the broader sense, they were both expendable, but this was a business proposition. He was sure Sam would want to keep the clinic in operation. He couldn’t afford two failures in a row in such a short period. That would attract too much attention to suit Sam. Rick was quite peeved with Connie for putting him in this position.
Lizzie had picked Donald up at Memorial at 4:30 in the afternoon. It had taken him half an hour to get himself signed out, and he was now riding in the passenger seat of her van, worrying aloud about how he was going to pay for the hospital stay. He wanted to go straight to Lizzie’s and wash the van, but she prevailed on him to stop at Harry’s and get some supper with her. She was waiting for Donald to run down and stop jabbering so she could find out what had happened to him.
Everyone from the police, to Dave, to the owner of the ghost tour company was calling Lizzie about Donald. He had somehow gotten himself adopted by her, at least in their minds. She did feel some responsibility for Donald, although she couldn’t quite think of why she should. She liked the quirky little guy, and he had shown himself to be honest, reliable, and loyal. Her musing was interrupted as she and Donald encountered Dave in the parking lot of Harry’s, on his way to eat. Being on his own, he quickly agreed to join Lizzie and Donald. Lizzie thought maybe Dave’s presence would distract Donald enough so that they could ask him a question or two.
"So how’s the head this afternoon, Donald?" Dave asked, looking at Donald's ointment-smeared pate as they sat down.
"Head fine. Funny lookin’, though," Donald responded. "Gotta grow some hair. Can’t be no Black Caesar look like a greasy, half-plucked, roasted chicken, no way, no how."
The waitress came and took their orders. She looked askance at Donald, obviously thought about asking what had happened to him, thought better of it and fell back on asking him what he wanted to eat. Once they had ordered, Dave allowed as how he had been away from Savannah long enough so he didn’t know about Black Caesar. He asked Donald to relate the story, from scratch.
Donald realized that he’d been trying to round up all the wasps, and hadn’t paid attention to anything else since he’d placed his order. As he registered that Dave didn’t know about Black Caesar, the wasps all went back in their nest like magic had sent them.
Donald told Lizzie and Dave all about the ghost story and how he had planned to make it come to life for the tourists. He revealed that he had hoped to make some tips while he helped the tourists understand what Delia was trying to describe for them. He still thought it was a good idea, but he needed to work on that flaming headscarf some more. And he needed to keep people who loved New York from spraying him with pepper spray.
Dave said, "That's a good story. You might be able to make something work there."
"Yeah, but let us help you figure this out a little more before you try it again, Donald," Lizzie offered.
Donald liked the idea of their help, and immediately shifted his worry to how he was going to pay for the hospital. He had already calculated that he needed more income than he could generate from washing Lizzie’s van, and he didn’t think he could go back to being Black Caesar at least until he grew some hair, even with their help.
"Donald, you concentrate on getting well for the next day or two. I'll bet we can find some ways for you to make enough money to pay for the hospital," Lizzie said.
"The lady say I can take as long as I need to pay, long as I keep payin' somethin', but I don't like to owe people," Donald shared with them. "I need to get square with 'em before I can be easy in my mind."
Donald agreed that he would go home to his mother’s and rest. He thanked them for being his friends and helping him so much. Donald thought the world was a fine place to be as he got in the van with Lizzie so she could drop him off at Yamacraw Village.
Day 6
“Pigmeat, we gotta find somebody else to help us with this 'coon business," Billy complained. "We got 25 trained 'coons and 100 Yankees on contract. I can't cover all the geography by myself. Unless you're willin' to learn to drive and start checking some of the traps, I'm gonna have to hire somebody else to work with us."
Pigmeat grunted. Billy knew damn well that he could drive. He just didn’t go where there were people. That was their deal. He stayed in the camp on the hummock out in the abandoned rice fields, catching raccoons and training them. Billy would catch him in a weak moment every now and then and get him to come to Billy’s place, which was pretty far out in the swamp. It was still too close to all those people to suit Pigmeat, though.
He’d grown up out in the old rice fields of the Ogeechee River, living in his old man’s hunting camp. Pigmeat’s family had lived off the land out there for as many generations as h
e knew about. Mostly, it was a good life. It was buggy in the summer and sometimes it was cold in the winter. Pigmeat had been brought up to believe that God visited these tribulations on him to help him remember that he wasn’t in heaven yet. He needed to behave himself, work hard, and not complain. Then maybe he’d get to heaven.
Until he had met Billy out catching raccoons, Pigmeat hadn’t had anybody to complain to anyway, since the old man disappeared one night hunting alligators. Pigmeat figured he’d found a big one and maybe he was in heaven now. That was all right. It was just part of life. Sometimes you got the ‘gator; sometimes, but mostly only once, the ‘gator got you.
Pigmeat wasn’t sure what Billy was doing with the raccoons he trained, but he knew it had something to do with aggravating the Yankees who had started building big, fine houses all around the edges of Pigmeat’s swamp. That was all he cared to know. That, and the way Billy treated him, as if he was somebody, ensured Pigmeat’s loyalty. Pigmeat hadn’t met many outsiders in his life, and none that he liked, except Billy.
"Why you reckon Ol' Bully ain't got in the trap and come on home, Billy?" Pigmeat wondered aloud, by way of an answer.
Billy was wondering that too, but he figured Ol' Bully was just enjoying himself a little, living in the doctor’s backyard in that fine community with the gate to keep the riffraff out. Billy wondered if the doctor had a new neighbor. Sometimes new people would feed the raccoons because they thought they were cute. If Ol' Bully was feasting on table scraps, he might not be ready to come home yet.
That was all right; it was part of the business development strategy for Environmental Services. New people couldn’t resist feeding the raccoons. Then they discovered how brazen the rascals could be and called Billy. He thought if he didn’t hear from the diet doctor in a day or two, he’d have to go make a show of moving the trap. Most likely, though, Old Bully would get to missing his friend Pigmeat and get in the trap for a ride home. Even a raccoon could only stand to be around the Marshe Landes people for a little while, no matter what they fed him.
Connie had enjoyed her flight to Miami. The pilot was cute, but she was too intent on her plans to let herself get distracted by his tight blue jeans. Time enough for that after she had her money. She had taken a cab from the airport and checked into the Shelbourne under the Lucy Rivera name, paying with cash for a week in advance. Hotels in Miami Beach didn’t ask many questions of people who paid cash in advance.
She had mulled over the question of whether she should get set up with a new identity, but decided not to bother. Once she sprung the trap on Rick, the threat of disclosure would be the only thing that would keep her safe. It would be like détente, with mutually assured destruction the only guarantee of peace. She liked the brassy aspect of that scenario. It wasn’t Connie’s nature to hide.
Connie unpacked her suitcase and got settled in her room. She took out the DVD and put it in a beach bag. After eating a nice, fresh salad in a sidewalk cafe on Lincoln Road, she asked the waiter where she could find a shipping service. He directed her to a place about a block away, where she put the DVD in a padded envelope and sent it to Rick, at the clinic, for overnight delivery. She called Rick’s cell phone from a phone booth at the shipping service. He started in on her about where she was, and why she hadn’t come to work. As he droned on, Connie wondered how she could have spent so much of her life with him. She let him whine until he finally ran down.
After a few seconds of blessed silence, she hit him with her demand. "Rick, I've decided I need a new life, without you in it. You're going to buy out my share of the business, for $500,000. I'll give you a week to get it together."
Rick begged, he pleaded, he apologized, and he pleaded some more, but to no avail. She stood by her demand.
"I've made a video that tells enough of the story to put you and your investors in some real trouble, not to mention ruining you and the clinic. You'll get a copy by FedEx tomorrow morning. There are other copies around, in the hands of folks who will release them to the press if they don't hear from me regularly. You better hope nothing happens to me. Now you just get the cash together. I'll call you again in a few days with more instructions."
While Rick was still trying to talk his way out of his predicament, Connie hung up on him. That felt good. She thought she should go down to the beach and start working on her tan.
Rick was rattled. How could Connie abandon him, after all he had done for her? She obviously wasn't thinking straight. Maybe he should cut her loose; teach her a lesson. After he worked off his anger and disbelief at her ungrateful attitude, the downside of her potential departure began to intrude upon his pique.
He couldn’t see any way out of this situation that wouldn’t put him in a worse one. Connie knew he didn’t have that kind of money. Even his in-laws probably couldn’t come up with half a million on a week’s notice, not that they would let Rick have a nickel anyway. He couldn’t raise it with a second mortgage on the place at The Marshe Landes, either. That was in Sarah’s name. Her parents had made sure of that when they made the down payment. They had even hired a local lawyer to make sure Rick had absolutely no rights whatsoever to the house. He was allowed to live there as long as Sarah was agreeable, and that was it.
He made himself stop thinking about Sarah's parents. It was just making him angry, and it wasn’t constructive. He saw no way to take that kind of money out of the business that quickly. Finally, he reconciled himself to the notion that, as much as he hated the thought, he had to go to Sam Alfano. Rick knew Sam wouldn’t be happy. He had warned Rick to keep Connie out of the business. Of course, if Sam had put somebody a little smoother than Jimmy in place, Connie might not have picked up on the money laundering. Jimmy’s approach was too crude. As Rick thought about this, he recognized, of course, that none of this was his fault.
He began to see that if he was cool, he could make this a problem between Connie and Sam. His hit and run and his dalliance with Mary Lou didn’t have anything to do with Connie’s discovery of the money-laundering scheme. He didn’t have to tell Sam about the video; all he had to do was explain that Connie had figured out Jimmy’s scam.
In fact, he might be able to take the position that, because he was so tight with Connie, he would be able to negotiate this deal with her just to help out his buddy, Sam. He liked this better all the time. Now that he thought about it, half a mil was nothing to Sam. Connie just wasn’t thinking straight. All that color shit had befuddled her, probably.
He would use Connie to squeeze a million dollars from Sam, pay Connie her half a million, and pocket the rest. You had to be pretty quick to get ahead of Rick Leatherby. He decided to have a celebratory drink and sleep on this. If it still sounded right tomorrow, he’d drop it on Sam "Shrimp Boat" Alfano. Christ. Even the mob guys had dumb nicknames in the South.
Lizzie, as she had promised, was exercising all her connections to find work for Donald. She had spent some time with him, talking about what skills he had and what he would like to do with himself. That had gotten him all excited, but it was frustrating for Lizzie. Donald was still wrapped up in the Black Caesar idea, but he did agree with Lizzie that he probably couldn’t make enough money that way to pay his hospital bill.
Interestingly, though, the woman who owned the ghost tour business had been taken with Donald’s idea. She kept calling Lizzie about Donald. Since she couldn’t find Donald, she was treating Lizzie like his booking agent. They had known each other for years, so Lizzie wasn’t surprised. She had decided to put the woman on hold until Donald got himself sorted out, and she hadn’t told Donald about it. She figured the woman would take advantage of him without regard for what he should get out of the relationship.
Lizzie learned that Donald had never had anything but odd jobs, outside of the Army, where he had been a truck driver. He also had a commercial driver’s license, thanks to his military service, and a clean driving record. He had basic handyman skills as well. Donald’s father had made his living that way,
and Donald had grown up helping him. While Donald’s living expenses were modest enough, Lizzie knew he needed pocket money in addition to enough to pay off his hospital bill. This all seemed a little beyond Donald’s grasp, at least for the moment. He certainly wasn’t dumb, but he couldn’t seem to focus his attention on any one topic for very long.
Lizzie decided to call her cousin Billy Jones and see if he had any ideas for Donald. Billy was the original small-time entrepreneur, with countless projects going all the time. Some made sense and some didn’t, but most of them made money, however unlikely that seemed to folks without Billy’s insights. Billy had gone to grade school with Lizzie, and Dave, and Kathy, but by the time they started high school, he was more interested in moneymaking schemes than going to school. He had dropped out of tenth grade, but had done well for himself in an unconventional way.
He lived out on the very edge of the Okefenokee Swamp, Lizzie knew, although not exactly where. She pictured his place as looking like something out of a bad movie about backwoods southerners, and she wasn’t far from the truth. She knew from Kathy that he was making money hand over fist trapping raccoons that pestered the folks out at The Marshe Landes and several other developments. She hoped he could find something useful and lucrative for Donald to do.
"So, he can drive okay, Lizzie?" Billy asked, once Lizzie got him on the phone and explained her mission.
"I reckon, Billy. He was a truck driver in the Army, and he's got a commercial license."
Deception in Savannah: A Humorous Novel of Murder, Mystery, Sex, and Drugs Page 10