“Did you have adequate rest last night before viewing the DVD?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Were you sleepy when you watched the DVD?”
“No.”
“Inebriated?”
“No.”
“Mister Graham says that when he brought the DVD over, you were on your porch drinking s beer. Unusual time for a beer, don’t you think so?”
“Two a.m. is also an unusual time for a visit. Second, I have weekends off, and I just happened to be up.”
“Still, I would say that a beer at two a.m. is a bit unusual.”
“Perhaps for you it would be.”
“Would you like to view the DVD again?”
“No.”
“And why not?”
“I made it quite plain to Mister Graham that I did not know the men on the DVD. As for the last five minutes or so, it was scrambled.”
“It’s working fine now. Surely you can endure a seven-minute review.”
“Like I said, I viewed it last night. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go.”
“Why the rush?”
“The questions I’m being asked are redundant.”
“Did you recognize the people on the tape?”
“No.”
“Then we could speculate that one of the robbers was you, correct?”
“That’s ridiculous and potentially libelous.”
“Would you be willing to take a lie detector test?”
“Not without first consulting with an attorney at company expense.”
Graham chuckled. “I’m afraid that’ll never happen.”
“Then don’t ask me again.”
“Why would you need an attorney’s advice?” Charbonneau asked.
“You want me to take a lie detector test, which even though is inadmissible in a court of law, it would be prudent for me to seek advice first, especially since I think this inquisition is racially motivated.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I won’t dignify that with a response.”
“What if we laid you off?” Graham asked.
“I think that would bolster my case, especially if you didn’t layoff the seventy-five percent of employees who have less time than I, or any of the others who were here the night of the robbery.” Jayson began to relax. “You would also have to pay me sixty-percent of my pay, per my contract, so essentially you’d be giving me a paid vacation.”
“And if we fire you for malfeasance?”
“Lawsuit, and just like I found this job, I’ll find another.”
Charbonneau folded his arms across his chest and let out a snort of derision. “You told Mister Graham that there was six minutes of blank video on this disc.”
“Yes, I did.”
“We had no such problems viewing it here.”
“Then perhaps you two should take another look at it and see if you recognize the perps.”
“Sarcasm is the last resort of imbeciles,” Charbonneau snapped. “The fact is, you haven’t actually seen the entire tape.”
“I saw enough of it.”
Charbonneau smiled faintly as he posed his next question. “Do you have something to hide?”
Jayson grinned broadly. “If I did, would you expect me to tell you?”
“We have reason to believe that you know the robbers.”
“Graham made that same idiotic assertion earlier this morning, and I told him that I don’t think he would have come to a white employee’s house at two-thirty in the morning and asked if they knew a white robber.” Jayson bounced his eyes and a smirk between the two men before he added, “Now let me ask you a question, Charbonneau. Had the robber been a Frenchman, would it be good detective work for us to assume that you were in on it?”
“This is not a racial issue,” Graham said.
“I wasn’t speaking to you,” Jayson told him sharply.
“Well, it’s not a racial thing,” Charbonneau reiterated.
“Let you two tell it.” Jayson stood up. “You men have wasted enough of my time. If you want to charge me with something, send the police to my house. If not, don’t expect me to answer any more of your asinine questions unless I have an attorney present.”
Charbonneau stood. “I apologize if we offended you, Mister Owens. We pressed you because it’s our job to get to the bottom of this.”
“Better bring in the pros,” Jayson advised as he headed for the door.
T W E N T Y – S I X
2:26 p.m.
At The Top Hat Bar & Grille Jenny was engaged in the time of her life. She basked in the glow of her fellow bar patrons who sought to drink away their fear at her expense. For the first time in her life she flaunted the means to actually foot the tab for others, which in this case number fifty. Her kindness extended to more than one round of libations, but several. During her hours of revelry, she danced with almost every man in the joint, and at one point even shook her hips while topless.
Looking on were two National Guardsmen scheduled to patrol the intersection where the bar was located. Their day of ennui included not a single reason to make a traffic stop, so they took time to goof off.
“What would it hurt if we had a few cold ones?” Warren, one of the guardsmen, asked. He had an overbite so pronounced that he looked like a refugee from The Simpsons.
His partner, a black fellow named Porter, concurred. “We can kick it a few hours, keep our radios on and no one will be the wiser.”
They watched with interest as the skinny woman threw money around like she’d rubbed a magic lamp and a benevolent genie granted her wish for endless riches.
“She’s by herself,” Warren noted. “She’s dropped almost eight hundred dollars since she’s been here.”
“Bet there’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Me thinks the lady might be in need of an escort home.”
The two went back to their post and radioed in as if they’d been on duty all along, before they beat a path back to the bar and sat in their jeep as visitors came and went. At 3:50 Warren and Porter walked back inside.
Warren stepped to the bar and turned to the throng of inebriates. “This establishment will close in ten minutes.”
There was some grumbling, especially since those partying spent very little of their own money.
“Let me put this in terms you can understand,” Warren followed up. “Failure to depart immediately will leave you subject to arrest for public drunkenness, but this won’t be your typical bust.”
“You can’t take us to jail. There isn’t one,” a belligerent, biker typo yelled out.
“Do you think that’s a good or bad thing?” Warren walked up to the man who was several inches taller and who flexed oak tree-like arms. “We‘re not your local police force, but a military unit trained to repel with force anyone committing an act of aggression. We are not responsible for any injuries that result from your failure to promptly to obey our commands.”
The biker leaned forward and with gin scented breath replied, “And I’ll sue.”
Warren grabbed the man’s testicles in his hand and squeezed. The drunk man fell to the floor holding his family jewels as Warren stood over him. “You can’t sue the U.S. Government, asshole.” He turned to the crowd. “Now you’ve got ten minutes.”
He walked over to Jenny, who was surrounded by three men, all of whom flashed shiny, red-eyed leers. He shoved his way between the three horndogs and they staggered backward.
Warren lowered his voice. “Ma’am, my partner and I will have to escort you home. We received word that three men plan to follow you home and rob you.”
One of the three horndogs said, “We can walk her home.”
“You jerks are probably too drunk to recite the alphabet, let alone walk her home. Now go on about your business or get arrested.”
“We were just trying to help,” the man said, picking his coat up of the back if a chair.
“That’s nice o
f you, but should we allow you to walk her home and something happened to her, my partner and I could be court-martialed.”
Porter came over, squinting and frowning. “Having trouble, buddy?”
“No, these men were just leaving.”
The three departed, cursing under their breath.
“Sounds like we’re a sack full of ‘cockblocking assholes,’” Porter noted.
Warren ignored his partner and instead focused on Jenny. “Ma’am, we don’t mean to make this an inconvenience.”
“No problem, man,” Jenny said yawning. “I’m in a room at the Starlight Inn.”
“That’s just a few blocks from here,” Porter said. He smiled at Jenny, revealing a set of deep dimples and teeth so perfect Jenny thought he should have been the poster boy for the American Dental Association. “Let’s get in the jeep and we’ll get you home safe and sound.”
When they stepped outside, Jenny stumbled, only to be caught and righted by Porter. They helped her into the jeep, told her to buckle up, and then hit the road. Porter radioed back to headquarters that they were in transit to the motel to drop off an injured party.
“Why did you tell them I was injured?” Jenny asked.
“Technically a person who is under the influence is injured. It’s a military thing’s all.”
Warren drove and pondered altering the route to the motel, but thought better of it, fearful that she might panic. Instead he drove under the speed limit, his mind working on a plan to isolate the young woman. They rolled into the motel parking lot of a building painted a ghastly shade of green; the tint one sees when a drunk follows a drinking binge by wolfing down too much peppermint ice cream and later vomits. The white paint that trimmed the windows and doors was cracked and peeling. The rotted wood underneath would have turned the stomach of a termite.
He and Porter were not the least bit surprised to see several of the bar patrons waiting on her. Porter shoved them aside and followed Jenny inside her room, under the guise of “Wanting to check things out.”
When the door closed behind them he hit Jenny with a kidney punch so sharp that she fell to her knees, breathless. Porter then he grabbed a fistful of her hair and stood over her.
“Listen up, missy,” he said in a harsh whisper. “You’re going to grab a sweater and leave with us. I’m going to have my gun on you, so any attempts to yell or flee will be met with a gunshot to the kidney I just hit you in, got it?”
She nodded that she understood.
“Now where’s all this money you’ve got?”
She patted her pocket. Porter shoved his hand in, which made her cringe and gasp as if he was going to violate her sexually. He retracted a fistful of $100 bills that scattered across the floor.
“Keep quiet,” Porter demanded. He scooped up the money a bit at a time and tabulated it mentally as he did so. When he finished, he’d counted twelve hundred thirty-eight dollars. “Is this all of it? And if you lie to me, I’m going to take you up in the hills and cut your throat.”
She pointed to the dresser in the corner of the room.
Porter hopped over the bed and rifled through the top drawer. His eyes bulged when he saw the number of bills. He put it with the first wad of money and recounted.
Five thousand, five-hundred thirty eight dollars.” He asked Jenny, “How much cash did you start with?”
Jenny, who was still on her knees and fighting back tears, flashed five fingers, then two and then five more.
“Seven-five….five…naw, seventy-five hundred?” Porter shook his head. “At the rate you were blowing cash, you’d have been broke in four days. You’re better off giving it to us.”
He shoved the money into his pocket, snatched her by the waist of her pants and got her to her feet. Warren, who’d been rummaging through her things announced that he could find no sweater. Porter then pushed Jenny toward the door. He warned between clenched teeth, “Act normal and don’t screw this up, bitch!”
Porter opened the door and made sure to walk with his body pressed against Jenny’s back. She waved to her neighbors and got into the back of the jeep.
“When you coming back, Jenny?” Someone called.
“We’ll see you when you get back!” Cried another. “We’ll have dinner ready!”
“Wave to your legion of fans,” Porter told her sarcastically.
Jenny again waved at them, but dared not look at them. She felt like a failure, for she’d been “rich” (by her definition) for all of nine hours. She’d helped scam a bank and now she was being taken, which she could not help but accept as poetic justice. The words of her counselor at the Catholic high school she once attended rang in her ears:
Jenny Lorraine Peppertree, you have no desire to serve God or learn anything worthwhile. Nothing good will ever come to you because people like you only care about the pleasures of the flesh, and are bound for ruin.
Dread seeped into the marrow of her bones. She recalled hearing a police officer on a daytime talk show state, “When a gunman takes someone against their will, if he succeeds in getting the victim to a second site, there’s a ninety-five percent chance they’ll be murdered.
I can’t go to the cops and tell them I was robbed of my share of the loot from a bank robbery… Even if these two don’t kill me, what can I do? I can’t go back to Roy and Cash and ask for more money…Who am I fooling? Dead folks tell no tales... Maybe if they slow down I can jump and…
She looked at the speedometer and decided that thirty miles per hour seemed a bit too fast. She turned in time to catch Porter staring at her, as if he’d read her mind. He elbowed her in the face, which left her dazed and her nose bloodied.
Warren sped in the opposite direction from which they came and drove to a school yard situated near a shrouded hillside. The shrubbery provided them cover from curious neighbors. Warren slammed on the brakes, jumped from the front seat and ran around to the back of the jeep, where he grabbed a three-foot long scabbard that contained one of their machetes.
He grabbed a garbage bag while Porter squeezed Jenny’s arm, snatched her from the backseat, and threw her to the ground. He kicked her in the stomach, and forced her to her feet at gunpoint.
“Get moving,” he ordered.
They pushed her to a courtyard, further away from prying eyes. Warren looked on, grinning.
“Get on your knees, and assuming you believe in such things, make your peace with God,” he growled.
Jenny hit her knees and began to sob, Warren put the bag over her head.
“Pl-please don’t kill me….I won’t tell anyone…I can’t report it anyway…”
Warren removed the machete from the scabbard and twirled it over his head.
“Wait,” Porter said. “Bitch what are you talking about?”
“That’s the bank robbery money…”
“Are you shitting me?” Porter’s eyes lit up. “You’re the chick who was with the brothas that hit PCB?”
“Y-yes.”
“What are the guys’ names who were with you,” Warren asked, lowering the machete.
“Roy Owens and Cassius Parker, who goes by the nickname Cash.”
Porter removed the bag, knelt before her and made strong eye contact with her. “Bitch, you better not be shitting us.”
“I swear on my mother’s grave I’m telling the truth,” Jenny sobbed.
”How much money did you-all get?”
“Seventy something thousand.”
“The paper said close to a hundred grand.”
“They lied.”
“Then how come you only got Seven?”
“That’s all I wanted…I-I….acted as a hostage and that’s all.”
“Where can we find these fellas?”
Jenny was hesitant with her answer until Porter grabbed her by the neck and repeated his question.
“In the Willow Apartments,” she gasped.
Porter looked at Warren. “You know what I’m thinking?”
“Yeah, we kill the b
itch, keep her money, and then hunt down this Owens and Parker, and then rob them.”
‘Ex-fucking-xactly.”
Warren raised the machete above the head of the whimpering Jenny. “Say your prayers, whore!”
His eyes widened and he clenched his teeth. A loud bang followed and the machete fell from Warren’s hands. Porter went for his pistol and rolled to the ground in one motion. He squeezed off two shots. The first struck Jenny in the neck and she fell forward, dead. His second shot was wild and hit nothing but the eave of the school’s roof. A fusillade of shots took both he and Warren out of further misery.
A quartet of National Guard soldiers moved forward. They were armed with machetes and took off the heads of the three, fearful they would reanimate. Mays stood over the bodies as they were doused with accelerant and set afire. A second jeep arrived and a lone white haired man stepped out.
“How did you know to come to the school?” He asked Mays.
“Simple. They were to go drop a woman off and report back to their post. When they did not relay their twenty, I gathered a trio of men and we went to the motel. The residents there told us they left with this woman and that the woman looked scared. More important, they said the woman was spending money like a drunken sailor. I suspected something shady was up, so we tracked their jeep via GPS.”
“Damn shame, two crooked soldiers,” the man replied.
“Don’t be so surprised,” Mays said. “During times like this, greed becomes contagious.”
***
4:49 p.m.
Jayson spent a few hours in his backyard listening to the strains of smooth jazz and enjoying the contents of a bottle of Carlo Rossi sangria. When he was sufficiently buzzed, he went indoors to check his telephone messages. There was a lone message from Graham. Expecting the worst, Jayson activated the playback mechanism.
“Uh…Mister Owens, I’d like to take this time to apologize to you for the misunderstanding we had today. I would like for us to meet, say tomorrow at two, at Chez Franchot’s. I think we should discuss your promotion. You have been a fine and loyal employee of Pittsburg Community Bank. Please give me a call back at five, five, five…”
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