by Silla Webb
The beginning. Where exactly is the beginning? Where it all began for Big John, or from the moment I entered his twisted underground world of lies? Determined to leave no leaf unturned, I start with where it all leads back to me. Black Pike.
“Big John Simon had a sharp business sense and didn’t care who was harmed in his path. As long as he was making millions of dollars, he gave zero fucks about anything else. Black Pike was closed after the strike in the late eighties. MSHA deemed it unsafe due to the crumbling roof. Big John sold Black Pike, even had legal documentation as proof of sale. In all reality, the sale was a front. He used Black Pike as a landfill for waste and slurry from other mines, among other things.” I pause briefly, clearing my throat. Damn, it’s hot in here. “Can I get some water?” I ask nobody specifically, then watch as Alisa leaves the room, returning only seconds later with a bottle of water. I remove the cap, draining the contents quickly, quenching my thirst.
“Coal wasn’t the only game Big John was good at. He was co-owner in Dalton Trucking, owner of Braxton Excavation, as well as a few smaller businesses that he used as a front to shield Black Pike in his shell corporation–Kings’ Triumph.” I lean back in the metal chair, lacing my hands behind my head. “I was the game changer. Big John had the right connections, but I had the intelligence and capability to launder money, making it nearly untraceable. I was a valuable asset to his business making us all millionaires.”
“Money laundering?” Alisa questions. “Just how deep does this run?”
I grin at the agents like the Cheshire cat, knowing full well that I have enough intel to bring down half the politicians and criminals across the South. “Deeper than you could imagine. We had contracts with criminals, hiding their properties and assets so they could evade taxes. We laundered money for politicians so they’re illegal hobbies didn’t go noticed in the public eye.”
“How many shell corporations were there exactly? We need all the facts, Josh.”
“Too many to count, really. I formed Destin Andrews in Delaware about nine years ago, then slowly began structuring more and more shell companies within, making it difficult to trace any laundering or trade transactions. Big John willed Braxton Excavation and Black Pike to me upon his passing. There is documentation of every transaction, I can assure you. James McCoy kept a detailed ledger as a way to ensure the accountability with our business partners.” Transaction ledgers were also a very important key for blackmail opportunities, as well. If Alisa hasn’t stumbled across the ledgers at James’ office in all this time, my guess is they’re in safe keeping. But who knows where.
Agent Ball-Sack clicks a button on the recording device, then places it in his pocket before standing up. Stretching his arms above his head briefly, he looks down to Alisa and says, “Let’s take ten. I need some coffee, and I have a feeling we’re just getting started.”
Alisa nods then looks over at me. “Take a breather. You’re doing very well. Can I get you anything?” I reply with a shake of the head. With that, she nods and leaves me alone. Alone inside my head…where the darkness lies. The buzzing light fixture overhead sings silently, soothing me to a calm. I drag my fingers through my hair, it’s grown long through the months.
The room is small and dank, only a small metal table and three chairs occupying the space. Red chips of paint speckle through the top layer of gray that’s peeling back and cracked along the walls. I’ve adapted to confinement. Solitude gives me peace, time to reflect through my innermost dark thoughts. It’s when I’m in the company of others that I begin to feel the suffocating need to escape. Incarceration will do that to you.
“Are you ready to proceed, Josh?” Alisa’s voice startles me. I nod, ready to get the truth out in the open. Agent Ball-Sack turns on the recording device, placing it back in the center of the table, again, silently encouraging me to begin.
“This is all so complex. The FBI has been investigating Black Pike for several years and could never find a trace of ownership. How did you slip up? How did an attorney uncover what we couldn’t find? Our resources are far greater,” Agent Ball-Sack comments.
“I fucked up. Paid off a lackey to do a job from the wrong account. Simple paper error. I’d been runnin’ on no sleep and a fifth of Jim Beam, up to my eyeballs in worry and paperwork. Simple fuckin’ mistake.” I laugh inwardly, considering how monumental that one error had been.
“So you’ve told us how everyone fits into the equation, except Drew Varney. What was his role in the business?”
“Drew was the heir to Big John’s underground financial schemes. It didn’t take long for him to learn the ropes. Once Big John was comfortable with his competence and business ethics, he handed everything over to Drew, making him the shot caller. But Drew was greedy. He had everything a man could imagine but wanted the one thing that didn’t belong to him, yet he felt it should. Simon Energy. Being his right-hand man, I’ve always listened to any instruction given, without question. That was my mistake. Drew thought by sabotaging Simon Energy, it would scare Carly into selling the business. He ordered me to hire an insider to damage equipment at Simon Energy.”
“And did you follow through?”
“I did one better than that. I fuckin’ hired a guy and joined in on the fuckin’ party. I hated Carly as much as he did. She came along at the wrong time and fucked everything to hell.
“While that’s all another mark against Mr. Varney, the bigger picture is right in front of us, Agent Pack,” Agent Ball-Sack interrupts. “I’m more interested in your laundering activities, Mr. Moore. We need names, dates, and transaction history,” Agent Ball-Sack requests, sliding a legal pad and pen across the table.
“Fuck you! I’m giving you the information you need to build a case against Drew and James. I’m not going to bury my ass deep under every cartel and politician we’ve ever worked with. I may have a shit future ahead, but I’d like to continue breathing, nonetheless.”
“Mr. Moore, you agreed to comply with this investigation. The more information you can give us, the more leverage we can give the state’s attorney for your charges. Do you not understand that?” He begins to argue, but I have no patience for this shit right now.
“I’m done. Fuck you both, the FBI and your fuckin’ investigation.” I shoot up from the table slamming the chair roughly against the paint chipped wall. “GUARD!” I shout, stepping toward the door, anxious to leave.
“Josh, WAIT! You really need to hear me out!” Alisa yells, slamming her hands down on the table with a loud thud.
“You can’t be serious, Agent Pack.” Agent Ball-Sack chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Agent Warren, out!”
“As a heart attack. Please, let me speak with Mr. Moore in private,” she replies with a shaky voice.
Agent Warren gives Alisa a curt nod before shooting a concerned look in my direction. “I’ll go get some coffee…be right outside when you’re ready for me.”
The urgency in Alisa’s voice alarms me, so I pull the chair back under my ass, resolved to hear her out. When the door clicks closed, she presses pause on the recorder, then braces her hands on the tabletop while she steadies her breath. “Josh, I didn’t want to bring this up, to use this against you as a bargaining chip. You have done some sinister things in your life, but deep down inside I know you are still a father.”
“Alisa, don’t bring my damn kids in the middle of this,” I shout. Everyone knows they are the weakness to my rotten core.
“They’ve been in the middle of it all this time! They’re not safe!” she yells, tossing a newspaper in my direction. I loosen the wrinkled fold, and my eyes immediately lock on the horrific image printed center of the front page. Fear and shock withdraw the air from my lungs. My eyes scan over the news article several times before the realization of what that bastard’s done finally sinks in.
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me!” I kick the chair I’d been sitting in with all with a brute force, the chair smashing against the r
ed-chipped wall before I even realize I’ve raised to my foot. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him!” My voice rings loudly in my ears. He’s their fuckin’ uncle and has resorted to taking their home, nearly killing someone just to get the attention of who? Savannah? Carly? Me?
“Josh, calm down!” she I pace the small space, the feeling of detonation lingering just around the bend of my sanity. “I don’t want to alert Agent Warren that there would be any reason for his presence in here while we discuss this, Josh. Please, promise you’ll keep your temper in check?”
I pin her with a pointed glare, and she takes that as my queue that she has my full attention. “There hasn’t been an arrest in the arson at the Simon Estate. We are simply speculating that Drew was responsible at this point. But you have the power to bring him down. He nearly killed a man in that fire! What if it’d been one of your children? What if they’re next?” I hear Alisa explain, but I’m wound up so tight that I pace the small space, trying to calm the fury snaking up by my back.
“Wait, what fuckin’ evidence do you have that Drew was involved? Give me fuckin’ proof that he’s so off the rails that he’d take a chance at killin’ his own niece and nephew.”
Alisa’s lip trembles as her words fall from her mouth on a hushed whisper, “I-I was with him that night, Josh. At the Montgomery Hotel, just like any other Friday night.” She rolls her lip between her teeth, her gaze casting aside from my murderous glare.
I’m. Fuckin’. NUCLEAR. Rage burns deep in my veins, and my hands ball into fists of their own volition to keep from reachin’ out and clasping around her fuckin’ throat.
“You were with him?” I bite out, my tone low and venomous. “Care to explain what the fuckin’ hell you mean?”
I can’t wrap my head around her vague confession. I dig the heels of my palms into my eye sockets to relieve the cloudy haze that’s blinding my sight. A heavy silence falls across the small space, not even an inhale of breath can be heard from Alisa. I pierce my eyes open and shoot my glare in her direction. The confident agent is gone, and in her place sits a trembling woman with a mark of uncertainty on her face.
An unfamiliar urge to piece together the broken woman fills my gut. Maybe it’s the connection we share that Drew broke her, too, just like he shattered me. But for her own sake, knowing that the confession she’s battling to release could sway my reaction from calm to unhinged, I keep my distance.
“He was late…” she begins, staring down at the same peeling Formica tabletop. How fuckin’ strange is this? She was interrogating me just minutes ago, and now I’m the one hungry for some fuckin’ answers. My how the tables have turned. If I weren’t so intent on hearing what she has to say, I’d probably fuckin’ gloat.
“I really hadn’t thought much of it at first, I just assumed he may have been stuck at the office or in a meeting. He called me upstairs to the room rather than meeting me at his usual booth in the hotel bar. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he was wearing a plain gray t-shirt and slacks, a very uncommon attire for Drew. When I kissed him, I noticed a small smudge across his cheek, and I rubbed the pad of my thumb over it, erasing the mark. It stained my thumb and the scent was unnoticeable, but I chalked it up to being from a walk-through safety inspection at one of the mines.” She inhales a slow and ragged breath, one intended to calm, though Alisa was growing more distraught the further she ventured into her tale.
“After we…” she clears her throat, “I had gone into the bathroom to freshen up and found the evidence in plain sight. His usually neatly pressed white button-down shirt was hanging on the robe hook with smears of gray and black soot staining the crisp fabric. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, again lying to myself that he’d only gotten dirty at the mines. But then I considered—Drew hates the fucking mines. The soot, the dirt, the acrid scent that fills the air. One inhale of the fabric was more than enough proof than I’d ever need—right there in black and white. The scent was so putrid, that of burnt rubber and smoke. At the time I didn’t know how the fire had started, but it’s been ruled an…” she pauses and looks up at me, her eyes wide in disbelief and caution. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this!” She shakes her head as realization dawns on here that I turned the fuckin’ tables on her.
“Oh hell no!” I pound my fist against the chipped Formica to gain her attention, a hint of a threat in my voice. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ gain conscience now! Spill the fuckin’ details, Alisa. Every last, sordid detail,” I demand.
Her eyes glass over with unshed tears as she continues. “It was ruled to be an intentional electrical fire. The fire marshal hasn’t released his official report yet, but we received the final report earlier in the week.”
“You’re too fuckin’ close, Alisa! Ridin’ the damn fence is gonna get you killed, and at this point, I can’t say you don’t deserve what’s comin’ to ya.”
“All I have is circumstantial evidence, Josh! And can you imagine how well it would go over if I were to go to my superior, or fuck, even my damn partner and admit—‘So I was fuckin’ the suspect I’ve been investigating for the last two years when I came across this evidence in the hotel suite we frequent.’ This, Josh,” she pleads, her hands clasped together in a praying gesture, “is why I need for you to work with me. I’m in too deep, and I’m drowning in the depths that is Drew fuckin’ Varney.”
Alisa’s fucked this situation seven ways from Sunday, but the gravity of everything falls like lead upon my shoulders. So many fuckin’ unanswered questions race through my mind, the veins and arteries collapsing and swelling quickly, clapping against my temples with an impending migraine.
I sold my soul to the Devil long ago, a fate so grave and dire from the very moment I signed on the imaginary dotted fuckin’ line, but it took years for me to hit rock bottom. I’ve lost my freedom, my family, the precious moments I’ll never be able to recover of watching children grow and flourish each day. And by God, if the only way to climb back to the surface is on the FBI’s back, I’ll fuckin’ do it now. Even if I’m knocking at death’s door, my redemption will be great because for once I’m going to do right by my children, by Savannah, and protect them from Drew fuckin’ Varney.
In
DEPTHS OF DARKNESS
THE BASTARD TALE OF DREW VARNEY
(BURIED SECRETS BOOK 4)
Expected Release-Summer 2017
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