Diamonds and Cole: A Cole Sage Mystery

by Micheal Maxwell

  For more than an hour, Cole and Michelle removed the subscription cards from nearly every magazine in the library. Then, using their left hands and pens in a dozens colors—so, as Michelle believed—no one would be able to prove it was them, Cole and Michelle filled in the old lady’s name and address. For months, the old lady received dozens and dozens of magazines in her mailbox, followed by requests for payment for subscriptions she had no clue why she received. Cruel? To be sure. Payback? Gloriously so. Most importantly in Cole’s eyes was that the secret wasn’t revealed until long after the old woman’s death.

  In the years that followed, Michelle honed her ability to torment. Pizzas arrived at the door of some unsuspecting offender, subscriptions to three or four record clubs, and orders for gas, water, or electricity to be turned off. The closing of bank accounts and balances sent to a victim’s home was her final victory. With the account closed and the balance spent, seven days’ worth of checks bounced all over town like little rubber balls. Shortly after the bank stunt, Michelle married a law student and found out she was dancing very close to a felony. At the funeral of Cole’s aunt, his cousin had shared this revelation with him and thus ended one of the great careers in revenge.

  Cole’s years of undercover newspaper research had always seemed a bit more rewarding when accompanied by a bit of venom. He wondered many times how the little light he shed on a foul deed, otherwise unexposed, helped tilt the balance just a little in favor of the good guys. He did just enough to cause a lot of aggravation to unpunished villains who hadn’t broken the law but just caused an innocent person pain: The current address of a deadbeat dad who owed child support sent to a welfare mother’s caseworker; a tenant a poor landlord couldn’t get rid of who just happened to have an outstanding warrant tipped to the police; the restaurant owner who cheated waitresses out of their fair share of tips and whose sanitation violations the health department was happy to hear about. Cole seldom, if ever, disclosed his little role-playing episodes to anyone, and he liked it that way. Just like the Lone Ranger or the Bob Dylan movie, he like being Masked and Anonymous.

  Thumbing through the cards on the nightstand, Cole found the one for Sven Elias.

  “Sven? Cole Sage. Any word on our friend?”

  “Hello, Mr. Sage—Cole. Yes, he phoned yesterday. He asked if I had changed my mind, and I did just as you said. I told him I was still thinking about it. He became quite curt with me. Said he didn’t have all the time in the world. I think he’s under some kind of pressure.” Sven laughed softly. “I played dumb and said my wife wanted to know how many karats and what grade the diamonds were. Then he really got mad. It was pretty funny.”

  “Sounds like I’ve created a monster. Good job. Just don’t scare him off. I think I’m going to pay Mr. Christopher a visit. For now, it might be a good idea not to take his calls. Looks like this is going to come together real nice. Thanks for letting me in on the action.” Cole couldn’t help making Elias feel important. He was always a sucker for the underdog.

  “Thank you, Cole. I’m not real creative about stuff, and you have really helped me a lot.”

  “Take care, Sven.”

  Cole showered, dressed, and had breakfast with the help of the McDonald’s drive-through. It was a bright, warm Saturday morning, and on his way to Allen Christopher’s office, Cole passed three or four schools with soccer fields packed with brightly colored teams surrounded by lines of parents.

  As he pulled into the parking lot, Cole noticed a group of men in matching red jerseys gathered in front of the office. Four of them were playing catch. The others just stood around talking. Cole parked and approached the group. He could now see that the fronts of the jerseys said “BRAZIL REALTY” in bold white letters. The backs said, “HUMP DAY LUNCH LEAGUE.”

  “Beautiful day for a game!” Cole called to two of the men playing catch.

  “Sure is!” a tall, good-looking black man called back.

  “Mind if I borrow this a minute?” Cole said as he pulled an aluminum baseball bat from the canvas bag lying on the sidewalk.

  He didn’t wait for an answer and went through the double glass doors into Brazil & Associates Realty.

  “Allen Christopher’s office?”

  “The end of the hall.” Cole was already halfway there as the receptionist tried to protest, “but he’s on the phone. Sir, sir!”

  Allen Christopher sat behind his desk, one hand across his brow, the other tightly pressing the phone to his ear. Cole closed the door behind him and pushed in the lock with his thumb. He turned and twisted the wand that closed the vertical blinds.

  “What the hell do you think—” Christopher began as Cole reached the desk and randomly pressed one of the buttons on the phone.

  “Oops, they hung up,” Cole said coldly.

  “Get out! Who the hell do you think you are?” Christopher started to stand.

  “We’re going to have a little talk. I suggest you sit down. I have something to say, and there is something I want. When I’ve said it and have what I want, I’ll leave. The only options are, when I leave, you’re still sitting in your desk, or I’ve splattered your brains all over that wall.” Cole pointed with the baseball bat at the wall behind Christopher.

  “What? Are you crazy! Get out of here!”

  Cole took the bat and raised it high over his head and, with every sinew in his being, brought it down on the top of the desk. The glass cover shattered and the bat sank deep into the highly polished walnut top. Christopher again started to stand. Cole took the end of the bat and jabbed him hard in the chest. Christopher fell back in his chair.

  “First of all, let’s get something straight. I really don’t care what happens to me. Do you understand what I’m saying? If I killed you and they fried me in the electric chair, I could care less. The only thing I ever cared about, I lost a long time ago. Now she’s dying. Why she married you, I will never understand, never. But it’s over. Your abuse, your games, all the bullshit ends today. Now, get in whatever drawer you hide things, and I want the power of attorney you had Ellie sign.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  Cole swung the bat, and the phone exploded against the wall.

  “All right, all right, don’t hurt me. It’s in the safe. I’ll get it.”

  There was a knock on the door. “Allen, are you okay?”

  Cole looked at Christopher and gave him a big fake smile and made the okay sign with his left hand while pointing the bat at him with his right.

  “Fine, Shelly. I was moving my desk, and the phone fell,” Christopher panted.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, yeah, be out in a minute.”

  “Well, okay.”

  “You lie so well,” Cole said in a disgusted sneer.

  Christopher knelt by the small gray safe in the corner, fumbling with the combination. He stopped, spun the dial, and began again.

  “You know, you really need to get your affairs lined up in the next few days. The police are going to keep you occupied for quite a while.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Let me be the first to tell you. Your friend Richard Anderson has left town. He won’t be coming back. He took the diamonds. A big order. You financed them.” Cole spoke in short, hard statements, like a prizefighter landing blows to a body. “Have you got $380,000, Allen?”

  “I don’t know any Richard Anderson.” Christopher’s shaky voice betrayed the lie.

  “Is that what you’ll tell the FBI when they come calling? Thin, Allen, very thin.”

  “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Tree Top Jefferson isn’t very happy, either.” Cole was like a very big cat playing with a mouse.

  “I don’t have anything to do with him.” Christopher was starting to breath hard.

  “You ever been to jail, Allen?”

  “Please stop. I can’t remember the combination.”

  “Why? You’ve done nothing wrong. Except for that little matter of offering Sven E
lias diamonds to change the zoning on the south side. Bribing a city official is a felony, you know.”

  Finally getting the combination, Christopher pulled down the handle and opened the safe door. The three shelves inside were covered with various documents and papers. He lifted a small stack of envelopes and sorted through until he found one with a folded sheet of paper clipped to it. He stood and turned toward Cole, then suddenly spun about to close the safe door.

  “Not so quick. Leave that open,” Cole growled.

  “You said you wanted the power of attorney.”

  “I do. But I’m kind of a curious guy. Get back in your chair.”

  As Cole moved toward the safe, he rested the bat on his shoulder and looked at Christopher as if daring him to try something. Christopher, sensing that Cole was just looking for an excuse to hurt him, returned to his chair.

  “There’s nothing in there of interest to you. It’s just papers. Birth certificates, insurance policies for my kids, nothing to do with you.”

  “Important stuff?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hard to replace?”

  “Yes, please, you don’t need them. Some are impossible to replace. They have nothing to do with Ellie.”

  “The magic words.”

  Cole reached in the safe and took out a stack of papers. Without directly taking his attention from Christopher, he began glancing through them.

  “Okay, you’re right, I don’t need this stuff.” Cole approached the desk and reached out his hand. “Give me that.” He indicated the envelope Christopher held.

  “Here! Now will you just go?” Christopher was trembling and his hand shook as he handed Cole the papers. “Please.” He began to cry.

  Cole took the envelope and removed the sheet of paper clipped to it. Unfolding it, he scanned the language and looked at the document. “How did you get this notarized?”

  “The girl up front.”

  “And Ellie’s fingerprint?”

  “While she was sleeping,” Christopher said softly.

  Cole would not look at him. Gone was the swaggering, self-assured cock of the walk. Instead, in front of him sat a defeated, sobbing fraud. Cole refused to let go of his anger. He held it close, it warmed him, yet there was something else. He knew he would never hurt Christopher physically. Somehow just getting the power of attorney was not enough.

  “Please, go. You got what you wanted.” With the back of his hand, Christopher wiped the snot that was running over his lips and onto his chin.

  “What did she ever do to deserve—” Cole stopped in mid-thought.

  On the wall next to the safe sat a large paper shredder. Cole reached over and flicked on the red power switch. The machine began to whir and small shreds of paper softly waved in the corners of the rotating blades. Cole folded the paper he came for and slipped it into his hip pocket. He paused just for a moment, then turned and started feeding the stack of papers in his hand into the machine. The rollers crushed and cut the papers in a matter of seconds. He reached in the safe and took another stack.

  “Oh, please. Please stop, don’t do that. My papers, please.”

  “My, me, mine, that’s all you’re about, isn’t it?”

  “My kids, that’s theirs, too, their future, please. Why hurt them?”

  “Why hurt anyone? Ellie has no future. Let’s level the field a bit.”

  Cole started slipping page after page into the shredder. Deeds, insurance policies, birth certificates, passports, letters, envelopes, old photographs, Social Security cards, an autographed picture of Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris, bank books, stock certificates, licenses—everything in the safe, shelf by shelf, was fed into the hungry jaws of the shredder. Christopher only looked up once, when something metallic in an envelope rasped and clattered as it went through the shredder’s teeth. The crisp crinkling sound of paper and the crunching thud of paper clips and staples fell silent to the smooth whir of the shredder’s fan. Cole was finished.

  “I guess that does it.” Cole clicked off the shredder and shifted the bat from one shoulder to the other.

  “Why have you done this?” Christopher’s body shuddered as he spoke.

  “Because I hate you.”

  Cole started for the door, then turned. On Christopher’s desk sat a bronze eagle on a thin marble slab atop a walnut box. The thing that caught Cole’s eye was the shiny brass plaque. He approached the desk and Christopher looked up at him. The tears had stopped. He wore a strange expression, a kind of mixture of resigned defeat and yet a look of knowing.

  Cole picked up the eagle trophy and Christopher shifted in his seat.

  “Top Producer 200,” he began reading. “You have learned to soar with the eagles.” Cole held the baseball bat in the middle and with a quick snap knocked off the eagles extended wing. “Looks like you’re grounded.” As Cole righted the trophy to put it back on the desk, the bottom panel opened, and a plastic bag fell out. “I’ll be damned.” Cole chuckled.

  Christopher, without thinking, grabbed for the bag. Just as quickly, Cole struck him with a swift blow to the wrist. Christopher recoiled in pain.

  “These look like about enough to bring Ellie’s account current and then some.” Cole turned the plastic bag in his hand, then stuffed it into his pocket.

  “There are close to $40,000 worth of stones there.” Christopher panted, messaging his wrist. “I tell you what, we could split them. You can pay for Ellie’s care for a while and I can—”

  “My God, is there no bottom to how low you’ll go? I can pay for Ellie’s bill? She’s your wife, you bastard! Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? You’re through. You can’t bribe me. Hell, you couldn’t even bribe that poor, innocent Elias. You have no way out. You’re going to jail, and what they’ll do to you in there, well, you’ll see.” Cole smiled at the thought. “I’m satisfied now. Goodbye, Mr. Christopher. Not that you would think of it, but don’t worry about Ellie. I’ll take care of her; the devil can have you.”

  With a click of the lock, Cole left the office. The receptionist stood gazing down the hall towards him. As he approached her, Cole brought the end of the bat up in a mock salute.

  “Mr. Christopher twisted his wrist rearranging his office. You might want to get him an ice pack. Oh, and don’t say anything about the way it turned out. He’s a little upset with the results. Have a nice day.” Cole was out the front door.

  “Hey, where’d ya go with my bat?” Asked one of the buzz-cut softball players still lingering in the parking lot.

  “I heard there was a rat in there.”

  “A rat?”

  “Yeah, but he turned out to be a mouse.” Cole tossed the bat to the mystified player.

  FIFTEEN

  “Well, mi amigo de Chicago!” Whisper smiled.

  “Buenos dias.” Cole nodded his head.

  “I never thought I would see you again. Have a seat.” Whisper motioned to the empty seat across the booth. “What brings you back—more discussion of current political affairs?”

  “Well, sort of,” Cole began. “Where’s your buddy?”

  “Luis? Oh, don’t worry, he’s always around somewhere.”

  “You remember the fellow I told you about ? Allen Christopher?”

  “The guy bankrolling the diamonds?”

  “Yeah, well, I think I’ve put him out of business.”

  Whisper pushed his Ray-Bans up onto the top of his head. “You didn’t kill him, did you?” He looked deep into Cole’s eyes.

  “No, nothing like that.” Cole pressed hard against the back of the booth as he stretched out trying to pull the baggie of diamonds from his pocket. “I got these.” Cole slid the stones across the table to Whisper.

  “Santo de Christo,” Whisper said softly, “I have never seen such a thing. What are they worth, a million?”

  “Not quite. Christopher said they were worth $40,000 wholesale. So, retail is about $250,000, give or take. “

  Whisper gently poked at the stones. He looked
up at Cole, grinned, and looked back down at the bag.

  “So, you think you could move these?”

  “Are you serious?” Whisper’s eyes widened at Cole’s question.

  “Look, Christopher stopped paying for his wife’s care in the convalescent hospital about three months ago. I am not a rich man. I have a few thousand in the bank but not enough to cover what they’re demanding to keep her there. Could you buy these from me?”

  “Man, I don’t know. This is way out of my line, you know?”

  “Mine, too.” Cole smiled.

  “You think I could do the car thing?”

  “Yeah, but it’s going to get really hot around here for a while.”

  “I hear you. Well, maybe I’ll make a trip to L.A. I have lot of family, you know? So, okay, let’s do this. Forty, huh?”

  “No. I’m not looking for more than I need from this. I just want to pay Ellie’s bill.”

  “What are you saying? You don’t want the money?”

  “I only want enough to keep Ellie well taken care of until—”

  “Eres un buen hombre....”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “A good man. She is a lucky woman to have you. It’s sad she didn’t have you all along.”

  “Yeah,” Cole said looking at the table. “I’ll call the hospital and ask how much they need. Give me that, and you can have the rest. I’m grateful for your help.”

  For a very long time, Whisper just sat looking at Cole. Anthony “Whisper” Perez was having a hard time knowing what to do with this Anglo from Chicago. All his life, he had been abused verbally and physically by people who looked and talked just like Cole Sage. This guy was different. He spoke from somewhere deep inside. He spoke to Whisper as an equal, a partner, someone who had thoughts and ideas that mattered. They had discussed politics, crime, social reform. Even when they disagreed, Cole never once made Whisper feel foolish or small. Cole spoke to him with respect and yet wasn’t afraid of him. Whisper wasn’t used to people coming on his turf who weren’t afraid of him. Even if it was just a little, it always showed in their eyes.