by Phil Truman
“He ain’t living with her,” Punch said. He wanted to stand up, but the big man blocked his way. “Scuse me,” Punch said, and the man moved aside to let Punch extricate himself from the booth bench. Once Punch stood, the big man still hulked above him by several inches.
“You mind telling us where she lives?” Red Randy asked.
“Well, uh,” Punch started. He looked up at the big man and then turned his head to look at the little man standing behind him and slightly to his left. He took a step back to make some space between himself and the big man, then cleared his throat. “I’m, uh... to tell you the truth, I ain’t real comfortable doin’ that. But if you got a message you want to give her, I’ll see she gets it.”
The big man’s jaw muscles worked, and he gave Punch a vicious look. “Aw right,” he said. “Tell her Red Randy’s in town. Tell her I’m looking for Goat. Tell her I got the thousand bucks I owe him. If he ain’t around, tell her I’ll give it to her and she can get it to her old man, or do whatever she wants with it.”
Punch looked surprised and then suspicious. “A thou, huh,” he said.
“It’s a debt I owe. I like to square my debts,” Randy said.
“Well, if I see her, I’ll tell her. Where can she find you?”
“I’ll be around. Staying at the Best Western out by the casino,” Randy said.
Punch nodded and said, “Scuse me,” again as he pushed through the small gap between Red Randy and his little toady. He took a seat at a counter stool as Red Randy and Threebuck stopped at the register by the door to pay.
“Who the hell is them two?” Punch asked Jo Lynn after they went out the door.
Jo Lynn pulled out a cup and saucer and poured Punch some coffee. “Couple of thugs came into town a week or so ago. They got some kind of interest in finding Sunny, but I don’t think it’s good.” She placed the coffee pot back on the burner behind the counter, and looked out the window to watch the two men roll away on their grumbling bikes. “Told me they knew her dad. Maybe they do. Last I heard he was in prison.”
“Yeah, they said they overheard me talking about Sunny to Hayward and...” Punch noticed Jo Lynn draw back and fold her arms across her chest. She shot ice darts from her eyes right into his. “It was just committee bidness,” he pleaded in his own defense. Then he added, “’Sides, me and Sunny is kinda on the outs these days.”
Not seeing any interest in Jo Lynn’s expression, Punch grabbed a menu and said, “You reckon I could get a Number Two breakfast?”
Like a judge and executioner listening to the condemned’s last request, she looked at him without compassion and asked, “How’d you want your eggs?”
* * *
Hayward and Soc stood on the corner across the street from Arlene’s waiting for their two marks to emerge.
“What was all that stuff about writing on a deerskin?” Hayward asked.
“I figured you had some sort of plan worked out, one where those guys would get Nan’s minutes,” Soc explained. “And all that engraving stuff, just didn’t make sense. I wanted to come up with something more believable. ’Sides, I thought I’d peak that fella’s interest a little more for whatever it is you got planned.... You do have a plan, don’t you?”
“Had to kinda come up with this on the fly, but I was thinking we’d let them characters know where we’re going to plant the ‘clues.’ I figured they’d want to follow us.” Hayward looked over at Arlene’s. “Wonder what’s keeping ’em. That dang idiot Punch is probably yapping away at ’em. I wouldn’t be surprised if he told ’em how to get to Sunny’s.”
Hayward became thoughtful for a second, before he continued. “That’s something else we need to be careful with. Don’t want them two getting anywhere near Sunny. I don’t know if she’s in with them or what, but my gut tells me she ain’t. Either way, we got to protect her, too.”
“Okay, so these two bad guys know where we’re putting Nan’s page. Then what?” Soc said.
“Well, this is the tricky part,” said Hayward as he scratched the back of his neck. “They see us going into Bobby John’s so they know where the page is. I think they’ll wait until dark and do a break-in. We’ll tell Charlie DuFranc we’re expecting as much and have him setup a stake-out. We’ll let them break in, mess the place up a bit, then bust ’em. That should be enough to put them away for a while.”
When Red Randy and Threebuck came out of Arlene’s, Hayward tapped Soc on the arm and said, “There they are. Let’s go.” The two started walking down Main Street. It surprised them when the two bikers rumbled on past them as if they had no intention of following.
“Don’t look like they’re taking your bait,” Soc said.
“Well, let’s go ahead and deposit the envelope with Bobby John, anyway. If nothing happens in a couple of days, we’ll have to figure something else out.”
When Hayward and Soc came through the front door at Samuel’s Real Estate, Mary Ruth appeared to be talking to herself. She looked up at them, smiled her brilliant smile, and waved. At the end of her wave she extended her index finger upward to indicate to the two men that she’d be with them in a minute, then she pointed to the thin mike boom of her Blue Tooth phone headpiece, to non-verbally explain the reason for her “wait a minute” gesture. The end of her finger displayed a half-inch, blood red sculptured nail. She then looked away to continue her phone conversation.
Mary Ruth was a slender, pretty woman in her mid-thirties with a well-coifed head of brown-ish blonde hair parted down the center and extending down to her shoulders where it ended in soft curls. That day, as always, she’d dressed impeccably in tight, tailored business attire with a mid-thigh high skirt and an ample display of cleavage. Most suspected Bobby John had hired Mary Ruth more for her presentation than her office skills.
“Uh-huh,” she said to the invisible person in front of her. “No... Uh-huh... Yes... No... Uh-huh... You’re kidding!”
“Mary Ruth,” Hayward started impatiently. “Is Bobby J—”
Mary Ruth held up her hand again, and snapped her fingers before extending her index finger vertically once more with its scalpel looking nail. She gave Hayward another beauty queen smile with a touch of irritation. “Uh-huh,” she said into the phone.
Thus commanded, Hayward and Soc stood and waited, each with hands clasped submissively in front of them.
“Listen, I gotta run,” Mary Ruth said at last. She made it sound like she was annoyed. “Okay... Okay... Yeah, let’s do... Sure... Sure... Okay, bye.”
She pressed a button on the phone console, and smiled her lip-glossed smile again at the two men “Hi, you two. How can I help you?” She lean forward, elbows on her desk, cleavage first. How could any man get mad at Mary Ruth?
“We need to see Bobby John,” Hayward said with a smile of his own.
“Well, okay,” Mary Ruth said. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll tell him you’re here.”
The men settled into two of the French provincial cushioned armchairs in the waiting area while Mary Ruth punched up Bobby John. Somewhere above them Kenny G tooted his alto sax softly.
“Mr. Yost and Mr. Ninekiller are here to see you,” she said softly into the phone piece. “Uh-huh. Okay, I’ll tell them.” She tapped the phone console again.
“He’ll be with you in a minute,” she said. “Would you like something to drink? Some coffee? A soft drink?” Mary Ruth had, in fact, been a flight attendant before Bobby John made her an offer she couldn’t refuse.
“Naw, I’m good,” Hayward said. Soc shook his head no.
After five minutes, Bobby John rushed into the waiting room all smiles and cordiality, his hand extended as he approached the two men. He wore khaki slacks and a navy blazer with gold buttons over an aqua-colored button-down Oxford shirt, opened at the throat to reveal his gold chains and chest hair. The scent of Acqua Di Gio cologne swirled around him in a thick cloud. “Hayward, Soc, what a pleasure to see you.” He shook each man’s hand vigorously. “What brings you h
ere today?”
“We have some committee business we need to discuss with you.” Hayward assumed the role of spokesman. “Could we go to your office?” Neither man warmed to Bobby John’s disingenuous good ole boy charm, knowing the man’s propensity for bee ess.
Bobby John nodded and led them to his office. “Have a seat,” he said, indicating the two armchairs facing the front of his desk. He circled to the back of the large cherry-wood desk and seated himself in the big overstuffed leather executive’s chair.
“What’s this all about?” Samuels asked.
“We’ve got something we need you to keep in your safe,” Hayward said.
“My safe? Why, what is it?”
“Oh, it’s no big deal... well, it’s kind of a big deal. It’s the winning essay for the Founders Day Essay Contest the Kiwanis is sponsoring for the high school kids. We... the Kiwanis, didn’t want to announce the winner until the Founders Day evening ceremony. The Kiwanis want to make a big deal out of it seeing as how we’re giving the winner a three thousand dollar scholarship. Got this official sealed envelope and all.” Hayward waved the envelope with the Kiwanis seal on it. “Me being in the Kiwanis, they wanted to hand it over to the committee for safe keeping, and you’re the only one on the committee with a safe.
“Who won?”
“I can’t tell you that. They asked me not to reveal it. Thought we could trust you to keep it safe... and secret.”
Bobby John didn’t really give a damn about who won, unless the kid’s parents, or someone they knew, wanted to buy a house. “Well, sure,” Bobby John said. He reached across the desk to take the envelope from Hayward. “Glad to help out. It’ll be safe with me.”
“We appreciate it,” Hayward said.
Bobby John’s Blackberry started chiming “Stars and Stripes Forever.” The two men got to their feet.
“We better be going,” Hayward said.
“Take care,” Bobby John said, and looked to his cell phone’s display to see who was calling.
Back on the street in front of Samuel’s Real Estate office, Hayward said to Soc, “Well, that was easy.”
Soc turned to face him. “Look over my left shoulder, but don’t make it obvious.”
Hayward squinted. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”
“The alley, about a block up and across the street,” Soc said.
Hayward shifted his gaze to that spot, and could see, half-hidden in the shaded alley, their two marks sitting astraddle their bikes, arms crossed at their chests, black shades on, heads turned toward Soc and Hayward, apparently watching them.
“Bingo,” Hayward said, and the two elder men started walking back toward Main Street.
Chapter 21
Bobby John Cuts a Deal
When Mary Ruth looked up from her computer her smile quickly faded. The two men who’d come through the door looked ominous and scary. One was tall, muscular, and dark-skinned; the other, smaller, thin, and had a three or four day growth of facial hair. Both wore leather “biker” jackets open to show t-shirts with partially obscured printings on them. They wore jeans and heavy boots, and they had their eyes covered with dark aviator shades. On the big one’s face a long scar coursed diagonally across it, the middle part being concealed by the shades. His large shaved brown head, sitting atop a thick neck, gleamed with sweat. A Confederate flag bandana covered the top of the small guy’s head, and a braided ponytail lay over his left shoulder. His lips formed a smirk.
Mary Ruth swallowed hard and rolled her chair sideways to shield herself a little more behind the computer monitor. “Can I help you?” she asked, trying as much as she could to keep her voice from trembling.
The big one spoke. “Is this the office of Bobby John Samuels?”
“Y-yes,” Mary Ruth answered.
“Is he in?”
Mary Ruth swallowed again, and thought about her answer. “Uh-huh,” she answered finally.
“We’d like to speak to him, please,” the big one said flatly.
“Do you have... uh... could I tell him who’s calling?”
The two men looked at each other for a second, then the big one said, “We can’t give you our names, ma’am. But you can tell him it’s about some law enforcement business.”
“Law enforcement?” Hints of surprise and skepticism edged her expression of fear. Her hand came to her throat.
“That’s right, ma’am,” said the big one. “If you could tell him we need to speak to him, we’d appreciate it.”
The little one snorted out a laugh, and the big one looked down at him with reproach.
Mary Ruth punched a button on her console. “Bobby John, there are two men here to see you about a matter of law enforcement?” The announcement sounded like a question. She kept her eyes on the two men as she listened to Bobby John’s response.
“I don’t know, they didn’t...,” She nervously glanced up at the two. “You just need to come out here and talk to them... Now!” she said.
Mary Ruth tapped her console again and smiled halfheartedly at the two. “He’ll be right out,” she said. She licked her front teeth, and asked, “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, thanks, ma’am,” the big one said.
“Yeah, I’ll take a Coke if ya got one, darlin’,” the short guy said. He continued to smirk.
“Well, uh, I’ll go get you one,” said Mary Ruth. She quickly got up from her chair and started backing toward the hallway. “What kind would you like?”
“Dr. Pepper.”
“Oh. Okay. Uh, would you like diet or regular?”
The short guy shook his head and widened his smirk. “I ain’t on no diet, Sugar,” he said.
Mary Ruth slipped around the corner and Bobby John appeared. When he first saw the two men it startled him, and he stopped behind the reception counter, keeping it between himself and the two. Mary Ruth disappeared into the break room down the hall, but she leaned against the wall at its entrance to listen to the conversation.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” Bobby John asked. He sniffed twice and pinched his nostrils with a thumb and forefinger, then sniffed again.
“Are you Bobby John Samuels?” the big one asked.
“That’s right. And you are?”
“We’re with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms,” the big one said. He made no gesture to shake Bobby John’s hand, nor did Bobby John offer his.
Bobby John could feel the blood drain from his face. He swallowed and tried not to look scared...or guilty. “ATF?” he asked feebly. He sniffed again. He hoped to God they didn’t have a search warrant.
“I’m Agent Wesson and this here is Agent Smith.”
Bobby John looked back and forth at the two. “Smith and Wesson, huh?” He sniffed and nodded, with a little laugh.
“That’s right,” said the big one, but he didn’t smile back.
“Could I see some ID?” Bobby John asked. Suspicion started to edge his expression and voice.
“I’m sorry Mister Samuels, but we can’t show you ID’s. We’re undercover, and we need your co-operation.”
“Wull, what’s this all about?” Bobby John asked. He took out a handkerchief to mop the sweat that had popped out on his forehead.
The one who called himself Agent Wesson answered. “We’ve been watching the two older guys who left your office about ten minutes ago. Do you know them?”
“Who, Yost and Ninekiller?”
“That right. We have reason to believe they’re involved in some terrorist activities. They’re dealing in arms and explosives. We’ve been watching them for some time.”
Bobby John’s eyes widened in shock and disbelief. “Terrorist activities? Hayward and Soc? No, I can’t believe that. Why, they’re old war heroes. What’d they do?” He sniffed again and looked at the big man.
“It’s not what they’ve done, Mr. Samuels. It’s what they’re planning to do,” Agent Wesson said. His expression remained impassive. Bobby John could see his
own reflection in the lenses of the man’s shades. The small man, Agent Smith, nodded in agreement with his partner.
“Wull,” Bobby John said as he looked back and forth between the two. “What’re they going to do? I mean... man, Hayward and Soc? I just can’t believe this.”
“We can’t tell you that either, but we’re going to need your cooperation.”
“What kind of cooperation?” Bobby John asked. His eyes narrowed. He looked at the two, again with suspicion... and he sniffed.
“Did they recently bring you an envelope?” Agent Wesson asked.
Bobby John hesitated a few seconds. Finally, his eyes darting, he answered, “Yeah?”
“We need for you to give us that envelope,” Agent Wesson said.
“Why? It just has the name of a high school essay winner in it. It’s from the Kiwanis.”
“Is that what they told you?”
“Yeah.”
Agent Wesson looked down at Agent Smith. Agent Smith grinned as he looked up at his partner. Agent Wesson looked back at Bobby John, his expression still impassive.
“That’s not what’s in the envelope. You need to turn that envelope over to us.”
“What is in the envelope, then?” asked Bobby John.
“We can’t tell you that, Mr. Samuels. Let’s just say it’s a matter of national security, and your cooperation would be considered an act of patriotism,” Agent Wesson said. “Also, there’s a reward for information that could lead to the arrest and conviction of known terrorists.”
The more questions Bobby John asked, the more he started to become emboldened. “Sure seems there’s a lot you fellas can’t tell me. You walk in here looking like a couple of outlaw bikers, tell me you’re with the ATF, and don’t show me any ID’s. You tell me a couple guys I’ve known for fifteen years are terrorists, but you don’t tell me what they’ve done or are doing. How am I supposed to believe any of this?
“Maybe I better call the police department and see what they know about you two.” Bobby John pulled out his BlackBerry.
“You don’t want to do that, Mr. Samuels,” Agent Wesson said matter-of-factly.