Black Point

by Sam Cade

  Somebody might see the light from miles away.

  Lucky packed the camera and quickly backed the van back out of the fire road. He sped off seeking U.S. 50 and the way back across the Chesapeake. He didn’t pass another car for ten miles. No radio. Nothing but the tapping beat of the wipers in a light drizzle and road water whining into the wheel wells. And thinking. Hard thinking.

  Rain stopped by Fredericksburg, Virginia, south of D.C. The van picked up speed making Emporia, Virginia in three more hours. He pulled through a twenty-four-hour McDonalds, stopped at a speaker to order.

  He ate fast in the truck. Lucky spotted a Holiday Inn Express, booked a room for a night, and got the Wifi sign in. He loaded the video into his computer, chopped himself out and popped it up to DataCage. Pinged Zeus.

  He went out to the van, took off the Maryland tag and installed a Florida license plate.

  Lucky hit the shower. He turned the water as hot as he could stand...he wanted to burn off his evil.

  It felt so damn good. With his eyes closed, he thought about Libby Grambling coming out of her shower, no doubt smelling spectacular wearing who knows what, finding Draper Sims gone. What the hell could she do? Call the cops? Tell ‘em she was bangin’ this married guy and he ran off after he got his rocks off. Of course he did. He’s done, sis. Maybe she could call his wife? Tell her if her husband shows up to send him back because she’s still got one more round in her. He laughed out loud, couldn’t suppress it.

  It was Saturday morning, 5:42, eastern standard time. He walked out of the bathroom feeling slightly edgy with one thought bothering him like a rock in your shoe.

  If your life’s on the line, leave no loose ends.

  There was one glaring loose end that needed to be taken care of.

  One last killing.

  A computer wizard.

  100

  Black Point, Alabama

  Saturday, September 7, 2019

  ZEUS SAT TRANSFIXED staring at the initial chopped-up video on his laptop, earbuds inserted in both ears. His coffee and muffin sat untouched. The film moved slowly, just tires stacking up, then Sims standing inside the tires. Everything silent. Then audio hit. Sims crying, pleading, cursing. Zeus saw the man was completely soaked. Zeus could almost smell the gasoline.

  A stick eased into the scene with a flaming rag on the end. The rag kissed the tires.

  Zeus’s left hand went to his mouth as Sims exploded in flames.

  And the screams, oh, dear God, the screams.

  He glanced around the room, shaken. Zeus took twenty-eight minutes to edit the rough video down to a two-minute film that might net $50 million on opening day.

  101

  Black Point, Alabama

  Monday, September 9, 2019

  TOLLESON’S TEXT HIT JAKE’S PHONE at 1:20 p.m.

  See if this helps.

  There was a photo of a current California driver’s license. Lucas Knight. He saw a head shot of a guy with a slim face and a shaved head. Looked younger than his age. Listed him as five-feet-nine, 157 pounds.

  Jake sent a copy to his email, connected his laptop to his mother’s cheap Canon copier and printed out an eight by ten color print on a sheet of glossy photo paper. He rushed down to Bill’s office to see Liz.

  “Afternoon, Liz.”

  “It’s a Monday, Jake. Please, just make it stop.”

  “Look, I’m trying to complete some of our files. Generally, we like to have photos of the major players in our investigations.”

  “You got mine?”

  “Nope. Hold it.” He pulled out his cell, swiped to camera, pointed it at Liz. “Wait, you got a bathing suit around here?” She laughed. “Aw, never mind. Moisten your lips.” She did. “Close your eyes. On three open them. One-two-three.” Click. He showed her the shot.

  “I can live with that,” she said.

  “Knight Force is working with a number of lawyers, but Lucas Knight’s photo isn’t on their website, Liz. We’ve got his California driver’s license to pull his pic from. Hate to waste your time, I just want to verify it.” Jake pulled the photo from a manila envelope, handed it to her.

  Immediate response. “Nope. Not the guy who came here. Our Lucas was six feet, maybe twenty-five pounds heavier, thick dark hair. This guy’s 5’ 9” and no hair.”

  “Well, dang. Wrong Lucas, I guess.”

  How can a guy be this hidden?

  THE AFTERNOON SQUALL PETERED OUT after twenty minutes. Jake powered up with two granola bars dipped in honey and a small bottle of grape Powerade. He loaded his kayak onto the Cruiser and drove three hundred yards to reach the sandy Black Point beach. He took off his shirt, tossed it in the truck, put on his Ray Bans, and launched the kayak.

  The air carried the hangover of humidity from the squall, but also brought the sweet delicious smell that only fresh rain could bring. He paddled around the pier then pointed south towards the Magnolia Hotel and Point Clear, a perfect route to steal a glance at the bayfront estates.

  At an hour in on his paddle, he developed a sheen of sweat highlighting the contours of his chest and muscles. The evening breeze had kicked up, bringing a chill to the sweat. He stopped paddling to watch some pelicans dive bomb a school of fish. He was floating in silent saltwater tranquility when his cell rang.

  He saw Garrison’s name. “Good evening, Randy.”

  “Well, it’s not a good evening here. I’ve been sitting in a dead stop on the GW Parkway for the last thirty-five minutes. Amanda’s got my favorite spaghetti getting cold on the damn table as we speak.”

  “So, you’re calling people because you’re mad or bored?”

  “Both. But I got a call twenty minutes ago. I was going to touch base this evening. We believe another lawyer has been taken down but might not be connected to our case. This guy was up to some shit.”

  “I thought they were all up to some shit.”

  “Well, yeah, that’s probably right.” Garrison laughed. “But anyway, it’s not totally confirmed. We suspect it’s Draper Sims out of Atlanta. It’s an odd story so far. He’s got a trial going on here in D.C. but met a much younger woman in a cottage Friday night on the eastern shore of Maryland. The daughter of one of his biggest clients.”

  “Is Sims married?”

  “His wife thinks he is. He went missing late Friday night. His babe was taking a shower, got out, and he was gone. No sign of a tussle. Front door locked. Sims’ car in the drive. She waited two days to report it. None of Sims’ colleagues could reach him. His work cell phone was ringing at the rendezvous cottage. The woman, Libby Grambling, answered it and said they had a business meeting.” Garrison laughed at that.

  “Let’s make this quick, Jake, traffic’s starting to move. Speculation is that Draper Sims was burned to death standing in the middle of some big truck tires. This was all on federal land, a wildlife refuge. Oh, damn, the guy in front of me just tapped the car in front of them...damn, got to get off, I’ve got to get around this bullshit. Bottom line. I need you to get to Cambridge, Maryland fast to meet the detectives. Gotta go.” The phone went dead.

  Jake turned the kayak around, paddled north back towards his Land Cruiser and tried not to let this news interrupt his qi, as Woo called it, his life energy. Most of his thoughts have focused on getting a picture of the CEO of Knight Force

  Now, this.

  102

  Monday Evening, September 9, 2019

  Coffee Loft

  ZEUS TAPPED THE SEND KEY on an email. He leaned back, took a last sip of his fourth coffee of the day. A smile eased across his lips as he pictured Wild Bill Burnham’s face as he opened it. He checked his watch. 6:27 in the evening.

  Two miles away, Wild Bill sat back in his chair, boots resting on his mini fridge, boasting about his past athletic ability on the football field to W.C. Powell, one of his bodyguards. W.C. made the mistake of asking about the high school jersey encased in plexiglass on the wall.

  “You’ve heard of Zeke and Izzy Washington, right?
”

  “Of course. Former pro running backs.”

  “That’s right. They were on my high school team, along with Montoya. Well, it was my blocking that got those two dumb fucks into college. If it wasn’t for me those two would be riding on the wrong end of a garbage truck right about now.”

  Bill’s computer chimed. An email. He leaned to look, maximized his email page from the task bar.

  Titled: PLEASE OPEN IMMEDIATELY.

  Sender: panic@protonmail.com

  “Shit, W.C., come around here, boy.” Bill’s body tensed. “Awwww, God.”

  The guard hustled behind Bill and looked over his shoulder. Two attachments. Bill popped one open. Another invitation.

  The Perfect Week, Bill.

  We’re Looking For a Press Release

  ‘Black Point Philanthropist Donates $30 Million’

  The Crispy Critter In this Video

  THOUGHT WE WERE KIDDING

  Too!!

  This Week, Bill. Chop Chop.

  A cold sweat busted out on Bill’s forehead. He clicked the second attachment, a video, hit play. Within forty seconds of film, Bill and W.C. saw Draper Sims pleading maniacally, then burn to ashes in agony.

  Bill’s face fell into his hands. His left hand broke away, pointed toward the bathroom. “Wet cloth.”

  Bill leaned backwards resting his head on the chair’s headrest, laid the cloth over his face, and started to hyperventilate. “Drink. Pour me a damn drink, W.C.”

  JAKE GAVE A FINAL PULL ON HIS TIE DOWN STRAPS cinching down the kayak on the truck’s roof rack. The sun was settling on the horizon with violet hues surrounding the billowy dead still coastal clouds. Folks arrived at the pier at sunset hour like it was a daily Mass, a religious experience. The nightly throng was in attendance, sitting on benches, lawn chairs, and blankets on the ground.

  Jake strolled over to a shirtless country boy strumming his guitar as he sat on the tailgate of a worn Chevy pickup. He was kicking out an old Buffett tune, “Tin Cup Chalice.”

  ...give me oysters and beer for dinner every day of the year...and I’ll feel fine...I’ll feel fiiiine...

  Jake dropped a five in the good ol’ boy’s cigar box and made a snap decision to walk out to Shuckers on the pier, grab an outside table, and order a dozen oysters, a cold draft beer and enjoy the twilight.

  His phone rang as he hit the pier. Bill. Jake’s qi was destroyed before he heard the first word.

  “What, Bill?” Exasperated.

  “It’s them, Jake, it’s them. It ain’t Shedd, it ain’t nobody else. It’s them. They just burned a lawyer to ashes, I just watched it.”

  Bill’s voice was weak. He sounded like a man about to pass out. “Where are you?”

  “The office.”

  “I’ll be there in three minutes.”

  Cresting the top of the bluff, Jake’s phone rang. He answered without looking at the caller, expecting the drama king.

  “What?”

  “Jake, it’s Marcia. I just left the coffee shop. Your boy was there for three hours and just pulled out. He was very focused. Agent Benton was there this morning for two and a half hours. Theo’s putting in some extra time.”

  “Thanks, Marcia.” Jake held the phone with his left hand, shifted gears with his right, no hands on the wheel. “Need you guys on it for the rest of the week. I want daily reports including total minutes. Oh, just to keep you up to date. There’s a possibility another lawyer went down in Maryland. I’m on that right as we speak. Pass that on to Andy and tell him I’ll speak with him tonight. I might leave for Maryland tomorrow.”

  “Will do.”

  Bill’s office front door was unlocked. Jake hustled up the stairs to the second floor.

  “You Jake Montoya?” W.C. Powell blocked the door to Bill’s office. His right hand fingered a holstered pistol.

  “Yeah, Bill just called. I was down the street.”

  W.C. extended his right hand for a shake. “W.C. Powell, sir.”

  “Just Jake, W.C.” He pushed past the guard.

  “Show me what you got, Bill.” Jake saw a man that had the look of an ICU patient going south, sweating, ghostly pale. Fear wrapped across Bill’s face.

  “I can’t look at it again. It’s two attachments. It’s pulled up to the email.”

  Jake looked at both. Some trick, he thought. Dropping somebody into four tires then blowtorching the man. He wouldn’t look at it again, either.

  “What’s your plan on the trailer parks?”

  Tears came out of Bill’s eyes. He sniffled. “Gonna call the Mobile and Black Point papers tomorrow. Alert them to a coming press release.”

  “I’d say that’s your only choice.” Jake placed his hand on the computer mouse and forwarded Bill’s email to his own Bureau email address.

  “I’ll be heading to Maryland tomorrow. That’s where this happened. Within the last hour we got word of it.”

  Jake spoke to W.C. “You and Lorenzo are taking a week off, right?”

  “Yeah. Could be any time. Mr. Knight said very soon.”

  “Oh, okay. How’d y’all get here when Mr. Knight came to town?”

  “On the company plane. Mr. Knight is a pilot.”

  “Oh, that’s cool.” Jake held off on any more questions. He didn’t want to throw up red flags.

  “Bill, I’ll be in touch. W.C., you guys need to be on high alert.”

  Jake hustled out of the building, hopped in the Land Cruiser and grabbed his phone. He dialed Garrison.

  “Didn’t we just speak?” Said Garrison.

  “Yes. You home?”

  “Just walked in. I’m staring down at a rewarmed plate of spaghetti with Italian sausage, clams, and ground beef. Make it quick.”

  “Your guy in Maryland is now on our plate. They just sent a video to Wild Bill Burnham. And, man, it’s ugly. I’m going to forward it to you in about fifteen minutes. I hope to be in Cambridge tomorrow or next day.”

  “I thought Burnham paid up?”

  “He did. Five mil. Now they want him to donate his $30 plus million dollars-worth of trailer parks.”

  “That chubby schmo has thirty million in damn trailer parks?”

  “I MADE LASAGNA AND SALAD if you’re hungry,” said Bonnie. “I’ve already eaten mine.” Jake walked in the cottage feeling exhausted. “Sounds great, Mama. Give me fifteen minutes.”

  He popped on his computer, went to his work email, and forwarded Bill’s email to Randy Garrison. He needed to make a call that he didn’t want his mother to hear. She was her own social media site. He walked outside and went to the corner of Fels and Great Bay Road, stood in the orangish glow of a streetlight looking at the last hint of pink horizon over the bay. Dialed Andy Grissom.

  “Andy, it’s Montoya. Things are hopping. Marcia and Mark Benton are doing fine on their surveillance of Theo Fuller. An hour ago I received news that we have a lawyer burned to death in Maryland. I’m heading up there tomorrow.”

  “What can I do?”

  “It’s a big ask on short notice. I need two people at all times watching Burnham.”

  “I thought he had top-dollar protection.”

  “Yeah, that. Let’s just say we’re back-up on them, okay? I’ve got suspicions about the guy they work for. So no interaction with the bodyguards. I don’t want them to know we’re watching. Your guys need to be very concealed. And there’s one more thing.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I need a camera with a telephoto lens with the guy’s on Bill’s office. I want shots of everybody coming and going. I think the owner of the security outfit is bringing in two new guys soon. I’m running background on him. Can’t find much. His general description is white, forties, a trim six-feet with thick dark hair, neat haircut.”

  Andy repeated the description as he jotted it down. “Got it.”

  103

  Black Point, Alabama

  Wednesday, September 11, 2019

  THEO HAD A BRAINSTORM. He just needed a little lu
ck. And, he felt Bill’s desperation was the luck he needed.

  “What’s up, Lorenzo?” Said Theo, walking towards the door to Bill’s second-floor office.

  “Chillin’, keeping an eye on your daddy.”

  Theo knocked, heard Bill say come in. He entered, careful to close the door. “Hate to bother you, Bill, but I might have something for you.”

  “Oh, yeah. And what’s that?” Theo felt the irritation. That’s right, Bill, bring the attitude.

  “Liz told me about the squeeze on you with the trailer parks.”

  “She’s got a big damn mouth, that woman.”

  Theo maintained a look of calm and put up a hand. “Just hang on, Bill. She wants to help. We both do. I know somebody that can offer a solution. I gave him a call and talked in generalities about the situation.”

  “Do tell, Theo.” Bill shook his head, sarcasm in his voice. “And, who might that be? Some friend of the Russian you tried to bankrupt?”

  “Nope. Jack Halloran, a tax specialist in New York. He’s regarded as one of the best tax men in the country. He’s handled a lot of complex work for the mega bucks crowd at the investment house I worked for. And, he’s accepting no new clients.”

  “And, how does that help me?”

  “He owes me a favor. A big favor.”

  “Owes you a favor?” Bill snorted. “How could that be?”

  Theo pulled up a chair, sat down and crossed his legs. Confident now.

  A smug grin unfolded on Theo’s face. “Seems old Jack accidentally finds himself on Tinder from time to time. Now, understand, Bill, Jack’s fifty-six, married with three grown children, seven beautiful grandchildren, and is quite proud of his role as an elder in a very prominent Episcopalian church. Not to mention his top drawer status in the rarefied New York business and legal community. A man of the highest morals and ethics.” Theo winked at the last statement.