Shake the Trees

by Rod Helmers

  “I knew you’d want to impress Mr. Brown. Here’s your card.”

  As if on cue, there was another knock on the door, which Tillis opened to reveal a dapper Jefferson Davis Brown peering into his BlackBerry. The Mouth fingered the side of the device with one hand and shoved a dusty bottle of red at Tillis with the other.

  “I think I saw this shit at Trader Joe’s on closeout,” Tillis commented as he studied the bottle.

  “Like hell you did. I paid $1,700 for that bottle at auction.” The Mouth finally looked up from his cell. “Hey. It smells good in here.”

  “You can thank Sally for that,” Tillis called after The Mouth as he strode past with his nose in the air.

  Sally stuck out her hand. “Déjà vu all over again.”

  The Mouth was momentarily taken aback as he shook Sally’s hand. Then he looked at Tillis. And back again at Sally. “Are you his partner?”

  “What’s wrong, Mouth? You got a problem with that?” Tillis asked.

  “No problem for you, Tillis. I think it’s wonderful for you.” The Mouth looked back at Sally. “For you. Not so much.”

  “It’s a living,” Sally replied.

  The Mouth put his nose in the air again and sniffed several times. “Do I smell lamb chops? Those little baby lamb chops with a mint dipping sauce perhaps?”

  “God, you’re good,” Sally said admiringly.

  As The Mouth began to explore the containers on the kitchen bar, Tillis pawed through several drawers until he discovered a corkscrew. “You want this swill in a glass, Mouth?”

  Sally grabbed the bottle away from Tillis. “How long do you think we should let this masterpiece breathe, Jefferson? You don’t mind if I call you Jefferson, do you?”

  The three consumed much of the rich French food and the bottle of wine The Mouth brought, as well as two excellent but less worthy bottles that Sally had put on Tillis’ card. They were now draped across the furniture in the living room. Full to the point of discomfort, but slightly anesthetized by the wine.

  “I think he’s innocent,” The Mouth mumbled.

  “I told you,” Tillis groaned as he adjusted himself in a wingback chair that fought his attempts to find a comfortable position for all four limbs.

  “I’m going to make some coffee,” Sally offered as she stood.

  “Buzz-kill,” The Mouth replied.

  “This was supposed to be a working dinner. I think coffee is an excellent idea.” Tillis said as Sally’s BlackBerry buzzed.

  Tillis finally accepted defeat and pulled himself free from the clutches of the unyielding piece of furniture. “I’ll make the coffee,” he said as Sally talked into her cell.

  In a few moments, Tillis returned to the room just as Sally completed her conversation. “What about the photo, Mouth. Did Sam recognize the blue-eyed girl?” Tillis queried.

  “I thought you’d never ask. As a matter of fact, Sam is quite well acquainted with the young lady. Her name is Ellen Hughes.” The Mouth smirked as he said the name.

  “No it’s not,” Sally countered. “That was forensics, and we got a hit on the prints from the passport index. The name of the blue-eyed girl is Elizabeth Hayes.”

  The Mouth shook his head from side to side. “Sam was adamant that the girl in the photo was Ellen Hughes. He said that Ellen was a blond with green eyes, but even so, there was no question in his mind that the photo was of Ellen. He said he’d bet his life on it.”

  Both The Mouth and Sally directed their attention at Tillis, who now looked like the proverbial cat that ate the canary.

  “You knew?” Sally asked in a tone that revealed she was both astonished and annoyed. “You knew that the blue-eyed girl and Ellen were one and the same? How?”

  Tillis shrugged. “I suspected. I was unable to locate our particular Ellen Hughes. It appeared to be a fake name. And there were coincidences.”

  Sally turned to The Mouth and nodded her head back at Tillis. “He doesn’t believe in ‘em.”

  The wine had left The Mouth a little slow on the uptake. “In what?”

  “In coincidence. Tell us about the coincidences, Tillis.” Sally sneered.

  “First of all, ignore what is easily altered. A trip to the drugstore for a bottle of Clairol and color-tinted contacts, and voila. Blue-eyed brunette becomes green-eyed blond. But habits are difficult to change. Industries have been built around that fact. So we have two exercise-obsessed caffeine addicted hot bodies. That’s a coincidence. Or not.”

  Sally turned back to The Mouth. “Doesn’t he piss you off? He pisses me off.”

  The Mouth was sulking about the performance he’d just witnessed by Tillis. But he had another card to play in a bid to recapture the attention of the small group. He nodded at the laptop lying on the coffee table near where Sally was sitting. “Wireless broadband?”

  Tillis nodded and gestured, as if to say ‘be my guest.’

  Sally stood and handed the computer to The Mouth. “I’ll get the coffee.”

  The Mouth checked his BlackBerry for Sam’s e-mail address and password, and then pecked at the laptop.

  Soon The Mouth had Dr. Bob’s message to Sam and its blinking cursor on the screen. Then he handed the laptop to Tillis. “As host, I think you should have the honor.”

  Tillis found a pair of reading glasses nearby and studied the screen, while Sally poured coffee and peered over his shoulder.

  “You have the password, Jefferson? You figured it out?” Sally asked.

  “It seems that Dr. Bob gave Sam a nickname on the first day they met. ‘The Dawg.’ And consistently referred to him as ‘Dawg’ thereafter.” The Mouth explained.

  “A four letter word. It fits.” Sally added.

  “So do five letter words, and six and seven letter words,” Tillis said. “I take it you haven’t tried this yet?”

  The Mouth shook his head from side to side.

  “Here goes nothing.” Tillis typed and hit the enter key. Soon a message appeared on the screen. “PASSWORD REJECTED. After three failed attempts this message will be permanently deleted. You have two attempts remaining.”

  Tillis stood and handed the laptop to The Mouth. But said nothing.

  “Shit,” The Mouth commented after looking at the screen.

  Sally continued to stand behind the chair in which Tillis sat. Her brow was furrowed and expression perplexed. She tried to shake the veil of heavy French food and too much wine from her brain, and walked over to where The Mouth sat. Then studied the four blinking asterisks in the password entry field. “Tillis, what did you just type? I mean what letters did you type?”

  “D O G G.”

  “What?” She exclaimed.

  “You said four letters,” Tillis replied defensively.

  Sally and The Mouth looked at each other in disbelief. Finally The Mouth spoke with derision in his voice. “White people.”

  “No shit,” Sally added.

  “What?” Tillis asked.

  “Dawg. D - A - W - G. Dawg.” Sally explained.

  “Honky. H - O - N - K - Y. Honky. With a ‘y’, not an ‘i’.” The Mouth added.

  “All right. All right. If you’re correct about the password, it’s not going to matter anyway. Go ahead Mouth, try it.” Tillis mumbled blithely.

  The Mouth typed the correct four letters and hit the enter key. “PASSWORD REJECTED. After three failed attempts this message will be permanently deleted. You have one attempt remaining.”

  “We’re screwed. You’ve gone and done it now, Tillis.” The Mouth moaned.

  “Me? You’re the one who got the password wrong.” Tillis countered.

  Sally shook her head in disgust as her Blackberry buzzed. “Everybody quiet. Nobody types another freaking letter.”

  “Really? Are you sure?” Sally said goodbye and laid her BlackBerry down, and then looked hard at Tillis. “You’re not going to believe this. I had someone in Orlando following up on the Elizabeth Hayes ID, and . . .”

  Sally paused. Her
BlackBerry had buzzed again, but this time with a slightly different tone. Sally looked down and furrowed her brow. “Hold on. This e-mail is marked urgent.” Sally snatched the device off of the end table. “It’s from my former friend at Homeland Security. Holy shit! Now that’s what I call a coincidence.”

  Tillis was becoming impatient. “Step away from the BlackBerry and tell me what the hell is going.”

  Sally took a deep breath to calm herself and collect her thoughts. “Elizabeth Hayes works for the federal court system in Miami as a secretary. For Magistrate Judge James Mason.”

  “It’s not an uncommon name,” Tillis cautioned.

  “I thought you didn’t believe in coincidence.” Sally grabbed the laptop and began to type. “Let’s google His Honorship.” In a few moments she was smiling from ear to ear. “Magistrate Judge James Mason. Father of three. Including attorney Marc Mason, President and CEO of American Senior Security.”

  “Well I’ll be damned. And the evening turns on a dime.” Tillis said with a smile.

  “It gets better. The Cayman government came through on the shareholders of the holding company. Or should I say the shareholder.”

  “No way,” Tillis said and then held his breath.

  Sally nodded her head. “Yes way. James Mason of Miami, Florida.”

  The Mouth rubbed his palms together vigorously. “This is my kinda case. I’m gonna shove a dirty federal judge up the ass of a prick U.S. attorney. Does it get any better than that?”

  The three dinner companions moved toward the door. Amidst the banter that signaled that the evening was drawing to a close, Tillis’ cell rang. He looked down at the display. An unknown number. He nearly ignored it. Thirty minutes earlier he would have. But the coffee had worked its magic.

  “Tillis.”

  “Mr. Tillis. This is Francis Jensen, Director of The Lakes. I hope it’s not too late to call.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Jensen. And its just Tillis.”

  “Oh, yes. I remember now. I would have called earlier, Tillis, but I was away from the facility for several hours today. It was unavoidable.”

  “I understand,” Tillis replied amiably.

  “Well, it seems that Mr. Mason checked himself out this afternoon. After a visit from his father. Apparently there was a death of a close family friend. Again, I apologize for not contacting you sooner.”

  “Thank you very much for letting me know, Mr. Jensen. The FDLE appreciates your cooperation.”

  “Good evening, Tillis.”

  Tillis tossed his cell onto the sofa and smiled at Sally. “That was the Director of The Lakes. A cut dog just barked. Care to guess his name?”

  CHAPTER 37

  Elizabeth pulled down one of the thin metal slats of the yellowed and grimy Venetian blinds. It was late Tuesday night. Everything was inky black under the heavy and overgrown vegetation that surrounded the 1950’s era flat-roofed structure. Its stucco was once white, but now only light grey peeked through the few spots not obscured by clinging vines. The one room efficiency apartment in which she stood comprised one-half of the building; its mirror image was on the other side of a common wall.

  She’d arrived early that afternoon, and waited for nearly an hour before a bare-chested man with an enormous belly arrived in an old beat-up station wagon. He appeared to be in his sixties and his stringy grey-white hair hung limply around his ears, almost touching his shoulders in places. He’d sweated profusely as he lumbered up to Elizabeth in grimy flip-flops and exchanged a key for cash. After allowing his eyes to slowly trace the outline of her breasts, he offered to help with her groceries and luggage.

  Elizabeth had politely but firmly refused, repelled by his appearance and the sickeningly sweet odor that seeped from his pores. The man persisted, following Elizabeth to the trunk of her car. As she reached for a bag of groceries, he brusquely ran his hand up the inside of her thigh until he met soft resistance and then leaned over her, nearly folding her in half with his bulging gut as he pawed at her breast with his other hand. Elizabeth squirmed away, and after distancing herself threatened him with a 911 call. The smelly man produced a gurgling laugh and plodded away, offering a final leer as he heaved his damp and pasty bulk back into the station wagon.

  Upon entering the room, Elizabeth had been met by a wall of stale and humid air. An old Sears room-sized air conditioner hung precariously from an unframed and irregularly cut hole positioned up high on an exterior wall. Although the unit emitted an alarmingly loud rattling noise, it eventually produced a slight breeze of cool air that smelled of mildew. An avocado green refrigerator sat in the kitchenette with its door hanging open; an apparent attempt to save on the electric bill. Elizabeth had closed the door and plugged it in, and was relieved to hear a satisfying hum.

  She’d brought in her luggage and groceries, and put away the items requiring refrigeration. Then unpacked a few things. But soon collapsed on the lumpy and sagging bed. Overwhelmed by an all-encompassing wave of depression, she’d slept fitfully for several hours before rising to find the bathroom. Fortunately it was already dark, and she’d made a point of leaving the light off as she sat lightly on the rust-stained porcelain fixture.

  And then she heard a vehicle idle to a stop outside her door. Feeling her way across the darkened room, she’d found her open suitcase on the floor, and quickly rummaged through the partially unpacked bag and grasped the item so unexpectedly discovered there a few hours earlier.

  The big .45 caliber Smith & Wesson revolver felt heavy and unbalanced in her small hands as she stared at the big-bellied man on the other side of the streaked and dirty glass. He seemed to waver as he approached the side-by-side doors of the two units. She could hear his big key ring jangle as he studied the dangling objects in the weak light. He finally found what he was looking for and a key slid silently into the lock. The door opened slowly and he stepped inside. One hand still rested on the doorknob as he listened and tried to see through the darkness.

  She slowly brought the barrel of the big revolver up to the man’s temple, and was surprised by the resistance to the pressure of her thumb. Then the resistance gave way and the distinctive sound of the cocking hammer reverberated through the little room.

  “That’s the last sound you’ll ever hear, you smelly son of a bitch.”

  “No. No. I stay next door. I’m a little drunk. I must have got the wrong door by accident.” The man explained breathlessly.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Just calm down, all right? I’m on probation. I don’t need any trouble. I’ll just leave. I won’t bother you again.”

  “Close the door.”

  “What?” The man seemed convinced he’d misheard.

  “Close the damn door,” she said in a firm voice.

  “Okay. Okay. What’s your name, lady?”

  ”Ellen. What’s yours?”

  “Slim.” The man’s eyes finally left the gun and wandered around the room.

  “Close the door, Stinky. It’s time to pay the bill.”

  “It’s Slim.”

  The big-bellied man pushed at the door behind him, and his eyes returned to the now wavering long-barreled gun. The door almost closed, but not quite. The man looked back for only a moment, and then lunged forward.

  The big gun roared and nearly bucked itself out of her hands as a substantial portion of the man’s brain and a large chunk of his skull separated itself from the rest of his body. He crumpled onto the floor and a pool of blood immediately began to collect around his head. She turned on a small table lamp and studied the man for only a moment, and then admired the intricately engraved firearm for a much longer time.

  Finally she spoke to the unmoving figure on the floor. “Sorry I didn’t mention it earlier, but I’ve had a really shitty couple of days.”

  Ellen went back to bed after she’d put the hole in the stranger’s skull. Or holes; one very small and the opposing one quite large. Elizabeth woke three hours later, wondering if the whole thing had been a bad dre
am. But the smell of cordite still hung in the air. Things were starting to get out of hand. And now Elizabeth had to deal with the aftermath. Elizabeth had to clean up the mess.

  Elizabeth studied the body and shook her head. With a heavy sigh, she took four long strides into the small bathroom and pulled the shower curtain from its hooks. After pushing a small coffee table and a worn armchair aside, Elizabeth laid the plastic sheet on the terrazzo floor and rolled the body onto it. She soon returned from the kitchenette with a spatula and several towels. The man’s hairy chest scoured the bits of brain tissue and bone from the spatula as she scraped the floor clean, and the towels soaked up the coagulating blood.

  After finding the keys on the floor, Elizabeth backed the fat man’s old station wagon up to the front door. A quick inventory of the vehicle produced 100 feet of grimy nylon rope. Elizabeth wrapped up the big-bellied corpse in the shower curtain, and tightly tied one end together with the nylon rope, rolled the body over, and tied the other end as tightly as the first. Then she snaked the rope through the foul-smelling vehicle, around the support pillar between the front and rear doors, and back toward the apartment where she tied it off on a rusted metal railing embedded in the concrete slab near the front door.

  As the car slowly idled away from the dilapidated duplex, the bulging flowered shower curtain thumped over the threshold of the front door. Elizabeth again backed the vehicle up to the bizarre scene, and tied a second knot in the now shortened rope. Then she retrieved a sheet of deteriorating marine plywood from the side of the little building - stacked there along with a multitude of other semi-discarded items. She propped the plywood against the open tailgate and adjusted the warped plank until one end rested on the concrete steps and the other protruded well into the rear of the vehicle.

  Once more the car moved forward and this time the homemade body bag slid up the plywood ramp. Elizabeth threw her arm over the seatback and strained to observe the process. She could see the old piece of plywood bulging under its load, about to fall off the tailgate, so she punched the gas and the corpse was propelled into the back of the station wagon in one final burst of motion. Elizabeth slammed the vehicle into park and strode back into the kitchenette of the one room apartment, quickly selecting a large knife with a serrated edge. Then walked back outside and sawed thru the knots of nylon rope attached to the metal railing. After tossing the rope into the vehicle, she again climbed behind the wheel. Soon the old car slowly rolled through the dark tunnel of vegetation leading to the street.