Deception in Savannah: A Humorous Novel of Murder, Mystery, Sex, and Drugs

by Charles Dougherty

  "So," Rick was pontificating, "I told the silly bitch where to get off. ‘Million dollars my ass,’ I said. My investors could roll you and your whole gang up for less than that. She wanted to know what I thought was realistic. I told her half a mil. She knuckled right under. Made me wonder if I’d cut deep enough. What do you think, Sam?"

  "I think you’re full of shit, Doc," Sam said softly, making Rick lean toward him to hear. "You fucked up when you started dealing without talkin’ to me first. I got a big stake in this, too. You upset that broad, we both go to prison. I don’t like that idea, but I could do it. You wouldn’t live for more than a week inside, though. I personally guarantee it."

  Rick was steamed. This dirt-grubbing redneck had no right to threaten him. He sounded like the godfather with a mouthful of grits. Rick was tempted to tell Sam to pay up and get out of the clinic. Sam would have to find some other pigeon to launder his drug money for him. Where would he be without Rick Leatherby?

  Now that Rick had laid this hit and run thing at Connie’s feet, if he got Sam out of his life, he would be almost clean. The most anybody could nail him for was a little hanky-panky with Mary Lou. He was sure he could talk his way out of that with Sarah, and nobody else would care. Now that he had the business up and running, he thought he should go raise some honest venture capital and get Sam out. Wonder what old "Shrimp Boat" would do then, thought Rick, as he gazed distastefully across the table at Sam.

  "We're done here, Doc. Get lost," Sam ordered.

  Rick was incensed. That big clown with rotten shrimp stink all over him thought he could dismiss Rick like a servant. Rick would show him. He went straight back to his office and started making phone calls to potential investors, starting with his father-in-law. He explained in an offhand manner that he was having some difficulty with his initial partner and now that the business was solid, he thought it was time to pay back his in-laws for all their help. He told Sarah’s father that this was a sure thing.

  Sarah’s father wondered if Rick had started prescribing for himself, but he listened with feigned interest, asking the appropriate questions, and finished up by asking Rick to send him the latest financials for review by his accountant. Rick was feeling smug, thinking he might actually show Sarah’s old man a thing or two.

  Day 13, Midday

  Joe was back at his desk, sorting through the pile of paper that had accumulated in the few hours this morning while he had been at Connie’s condo. He had already been on the phone to his friend in L.A., taking advantage of the time difference to catch him before his day spun out of control. His friend agreed to see what he could find out about Rick Leatherby and fax Joe anything that turned up in the way of records.

  Joe was amazed -- he already had a response to his query on Connie’s whereabouts. The Miami Beach police had wired him back that she was in the hospital there, the victim of an automobile accident, and not expected to be able to walk anytime soon. Joe called the listed contact at the Miami Beach police department.

  The irony of her having been run over was not lost on Joe. He wanted to talk with her, face to face. He had already spoken with Kathy and determined that she had barely met Connie. He was wondering where this would all lead when his cell phone chirped. He checked caller i.d. before he said hello to Bill Washington.

  "Joe, we don't have the okay from the court to look at any of Belk's client files yet, but he had an appointment with Connie Barrera written in on his desk calendar, in plain view. There's a check from her to him on the desktop, too, marked ‘for professional services rendered.’"

  "That's great, Bill. We just found Connie. A car ran over her while she was sunbathing on Miami Beach -- gonna be in the hospital down there for quite a while, I gather. We also got Belk's prints from the passenger side dashboard in Ski Cat's Navigator, so it looks like the witness had it right."

  When they hung up, Joe called Charlie Thompson, seeking authorization for a trip to Miami Beach to interview Connie. After a suitable amount of teasing, Charlie agreed that they needed to know what Ms. Barrera had to say about her involvement in the hit and run. He also wanted Joe to get the Miami Beach police to fingerprint her, to see if they could put her behind the wheel of the Mercedes.

  Joe thought about what he wanted to find out from Connie. Obviously, he wanted her version of the evening of the hit and run. He wondered why she had left town unexpectedly and what she was doing in Miami Beach. He was curious about Ski Cat breaking into her condo and searching it -- maybe she could offer some explanation for that. He would certainly ask her what she knew about Jonas Belk, as well. It would be interesting to know if she had spoken to him since his disappearance. He had a photograph of Ski Cat to show her, too.

  Joe let the Miami Beach police department know he was on his way down, and advised them that Connie was a material witness in a fatal hit and run case. The Miami Beach police seemed pleased to learn that the victim of their negligence might be a wanted fugitive, although that puzzled Joe a little bit. He had not yet heard the full story of Connie’s accident, so he didn’t understand their enthusiasm.

  Jimmy and Sam were not happy with Rick’s foray into the realm of finance. They were sitting in Sam’s office out at the shrimp docks with Tony, going over what they had learned. The taped conversation between Rick and his father-in-law infuriated Sam, who certainly didn’t want anybody’s accountant reviewing the clinic’s financial statements.

  "Jimmy, you make damn sure to block any financials Leatherby tries to send to anybody," Sam ordered.

  "The cops found Connie," Jimmy reported, "and Ski Cat and his car have been connected to Belk’s disappearance, according to my guy at police headquarters."

  They agreed that Ski Cat’s demise at Kathy’s condo put her off limits, at least for a while. They wondered how Dave Bannon fit in, after the way he dealt with Ski Cat.

  "Think Bannon and Kathy Owens might be working with The Barrera broad?" Tony asked.

  "Could be," Jimmy speculated.

  "Nah. No way. Both of them are straight arrows, all the way back to grade school," Sam said. "Once the cops get to Barrera, the doc is gonna take the fall for the hit and run, for sure."

  The idea of Connie talking with Joe worried them. They both agreed with Sam that she would hang Leatherby on the hit and run, but they were more worried about whether she would disclose the money-laundering scheme.

  "There's no payoff for her in doing that," Sam argued. "She can't squeeze the money out of us if she blows the whistle on us."

  "But Boss, she's a woman. You know they ain't logical. Pure emotion, that's all that drives 'em," Tony countered with his own bigoted logic. "Besides, she might not know how much the cops know."

  That point did resonate with Jimmy and Sam. They needed to open a dialogue with Connie. They thought they might be able to buy their way into Connie’s good graces and get her to keep quiet about the money laundering. That would only work if Leatherby took the blame for the hit and run, though. If he kept trying to hang that on Connie, she might have no choice but to blow the whole operation.

  The longer they talked it over, the more convinced they became that Leatherby no longer added value to their business. He wasn’t able to run the clinic by himself, and it was a big expense without patients. He had demonstrated repeatedly that he couldn’t be trusted. If the cops tagged Leatherby for the hit and run, he couldn’t even serve as a figurehead for the clinic.

  "Okay, the doc's got to go," Sam reluctantly concluded. "We'll have to close the damned clinic. There's just no way to keep it going. We'll have to move the money through some of the other businesses, and cut back some."

  They agreed that suicide would be a plausible way to dispose of Rick Leatherby, given his part in the hit and run death.

  "We can make it look like he was overcome with guilt about that gal he hit," Jimmy offered, his mind already working out details.

  They decided Jimmy should take care of Rick this evening. There was nothing to be gained by waiting
. Tony, meanwhile, could go to Miami Beach this afternoon and make a deal with Connie as quickly as he could to ensure her silence. All she had to do was to tell Joe the truth about the hit and run and stop talking, and she would get her money. She still had the DVDs to guarantee her safety, so the deal should be attractive enough to her. They could take care of her and get their money back after the heat had died down.

  Kathy and Dave were having a late lunch with Joe. He was taking a mid-afternoon flight that would eventually put him into Miami late in the evening. He was explaining all the recent discoveries when his cell phone interrupted him.

  "Denardo," he grumbled, and was surprised to hear the voice of his friend in L.A.

  "Hey, Joe. Got the Leatherby stuff, but there's too much to fax. I've sent it out to copy, and I'll FedEx it to you in a little while. You should have it in the morning."

  "Boy, that was quick," Joe remarked. It had only been an hour since they had spoken.

  "Well, I checked our records and found a huge amount of information on Leatherby. The drug guys were after him and some others who were mixed up in a chain of weight-loss clinics out here. Looks like Leatherby's part was to prescribe any sort of mood-altering drugs that a patient might want. They couldn't really make a case, though. The whole clinic thing was kind of in a gray area. All the publicity got the clinics shut down and Leatherby left town. He was messing around with that woman named Connie Barrera that you asked about before."

  "Anything more on her?" Joe asked.

  "She was a 'color consultant.’ Worked for a franchised operation that preyed on peoples’ vanity kinda like the weight-loss clinics. There was no evidence that she had anything other than a romantic relationship with Leatherby. They both left town at about the same time."

  Joe thanked his friend and related the salient facts to Kathy and Dave.

  Kathy was still shaken by last night’s events. When Joe had told her this morning that Ski Cat had broken into Connie’s place a few days earlier, it did nothing to settle her nerves. She was slightly consoled to learn that Connie had some shady connections. That might explain why Ski Cat had broken into her condo, but it didn’t explain why he would want to search Kathy’s home.

  Dave and Joe discussed the implications of Rick’s activities in California.

  "Where do you reckon Leatherby got the money to open his clinic here, Joe? Any mention in the file?" Dave asked.

  "Have to wait until I get the package in the morning, but I doubt if there’ll be much more in it that will help us. That's a good question, though," Joe replied.

  That turn in the conversation prompted Kathy to remember her chat with Connie on their adjoining balconies a few days ago.

  "You know, when I met Connie the other day and she mentioned working at the clinic, I told her about all the rumors about the nursing home that used to be in their building. She really started asking lots of questions when I mentioned all the speculation about drugs and money laundering. I thought it was strange, and I got uncomfortable with gossiping and kind of changed the subject," Kathy volunteered. "Wonder if there's drug money behind the diet clinic?"

  Joe rubbed his chin in thought. He could make all that fit together, sort of. It was like a jigsaw puzzle with some extra pieces, though. He still couldn’t come up with any reason why Ski Cat would search Kathy’s place. Ski Cat was definitely a drug dealer, but he was small time. There was no way he could have financed the clinic, or even come close. That did beg the question of where Ski Cat got his drugs. No doubt, he had been part of a larger operation. Some of the jerks they had arrested in that ill-conceived raid on Ski Cat’s place might know, but chances of any on them talking were slim.

  Depending on what he learned from Connie, Joe might be able to leverage a search warrant for Rick Leatherby's office. That could be difficult, though. He would just have to wait and see what Connie could tell him. If he did somehow manage to get a look at the clinic’s books, he would be stymied. He didn’t have anybody around who could make an analysis of the business. When he talked about this with Dave and Kathy, Dave volunteered to do the analytical work.

  "I've got an MBA, by way of credentials, and I made a living sorting out failing businesses for years. I do know my way around a set of books – even a shady set of books. I've seen most of the tricks before, when I was consulting, unfortunately."

  "Thanks, Dave. If I get a look at the books, maybe we can hire you as a consultant. City probably can't afford what you usually charge, though."

  "I'm flexible," Dave countered.

  Day 13, Evening

  Tony hated flying, even in first class. His body just didn’t fit the airline seats. He had to get the flight attendant, a blatantly gay, black kid, to bring him a seat belt extension. That pissed him off before he even left the ground. He remembered when he had been young and fit. Back then, flight attendants had been called stewardesses, and they had been young and fit, too, not to mention being female. Obviously, they had been hired for their looks and their personalities, unlike this fairy today; he seemed so light in his loafers that Tony figured he could fly to Atlanta without using an airplane.

  That’s what happened when the government tampered with free enterprise, Tony ranted to himself. Airlines used to make money and arrive on time. They didn’t give your seat away to somebody who paid more. Stewardesses had been pretty and friendly. Throw the feds into the mix and the airlines went bankrupt, flights were canceled, they lost your reservations, and little black fairies brought you your champagne in first class. Tony hoped to hell they didn’t legalize dope. They had already fucked up gambling -- nobody but the goddamn Indians could make a living at that anymore.

  When Tony got going on one of his tirades with Sam, Sam would say, "Yeah, Tony, and we used to play high school football, too. We done all got old, and slow, and rich. These are the good old days, boy. Don’t be lookin’ backwards all the time."

  Tony would hush when Sam said that. Sam was rich, all right, and he looked like he could still play high school football. Tony had lots of money, it was true, but he still had to spend all his time dealing with scum like that crazy Ski Cat. No way could he still play high school football, either. He wondered how Sam stayed so fit. Sam was always working out and watching what he ate. Tony wished he could work out, but at 5 feet, 9 inches and 325 pounds, just breathing was enough exercise to make him hungry.

  Tony relaxed once he got settled on the next leg of his flight, from Atlanta to Miami. He was on a bigger plane. Maybe the cabin service would be better. He ordered himself a double martini from a flight attendant who looked like his mother. At least she brought him the seat belt extension discreetly, without being asked for it. She even buckled it for him, and pinched him on the ass. Damn, it was going to be a long flight. At least they would feed him something on this one besides low-fat pretzels. He was just finishing his drink and the salted nuts when his mother’s blond twin brought him a second drink. There were only two people in first class besides Tony, so she had plenty of time to chat.

  "Going to Miami for business or pleasure?" she asked.

  "Business," mumbled Tony, in his grouchiest voice.

  "I'm based in Miami. Gets lonely for a single girl, 'cause all the cute single guys are gay. Maybe I could show you around some."

  Just what I need, thought Tony, a sixty-year-old broad with the hots for me. He silently cursed the federal government again for interfering in his life by requiring the airlines to hire geezers as well as faggots. He hoped Dopey had gotten the message he left at the hotel. Maybe the flight attendant would see Dopey meet him and think he was gay, too, or at least screwed up enough to hang around with a black kid who looked like one of the Seven Dwarfs. Then maybe she wouldn’t follow him to his hotel.

  Joe was having a completely different travel experience from Tony’s. He had a tourist class seat on a no-frills airline, with the added bonus that his connection from Atlanta to Miami stopped in Orlando. He was on the Disney express, he realized as he boarded,
slightly out of breath from running for his connection after the flight from Savannah had been late. He figured there must be a requirement that at least 70 percent of the passengers on this flight had to be less than five years old and wear Mickey Mouse ears. He was surprised at the anticipatory ears. He wondered where they got them. There must be some sort of pre-flight induction center where they issued the ears and taught the songs.

  He found himself seated in the middle in the middle of a family of four. The parents were sitting in the aisle seats, and Joe had a three-year-old to his left. On his right sat her seven-year-old brother.

  "Either of you folks want to swap seats so I don't split up your family?" Joe offered.

  "Oh, thanks," the mom said, "but we both like aisle seats, and this way the kids can't pinch and slap each other."

  Joe wondered if he could get bonus frequent flier miles for sitting in the demilitarized zone. He decided, once they reached cruising altitude, that the parents were overly critical. Joe had joined in the singing of the mouseketeer song during taxi and takeoff, and had become fast friends with the two children.

  The parents were absorbed in the movie, and paid no attention to their offspring. Once the flight leveled off and everyone had soft drinks, the three-year-old spilled hers in Joe’s lap. He was glad that she was too young for coffee. The seven-year-old was a conversationalist.

  "Are you going to see Mickey?" he asked Joe. "Why don't you have ears? You know the song. You should have ears."

  "Well, unfortunately I'm on my way to Miami for work," Joe explained. "I won't get to see Mickey this trip, so I left my ears at home."

  That apparently made sense to his seatmate, who then asked, "So are you a businessman, like Daddy?"