Moon Underfoot
Page 6
Bailey desperately needed the money, but she absolutely did not want to go on a road trip with Moon Pie. She did, however, want him to leave town so she could get to the cash in the safe. She thought she knew two of the three sets of numbers to the combination, but she wasn’t certain. Her mind started racing. Maybe if I go on this trip I can get the other set out of him and steal the cash later.
“Can I let you know tomorrow?” Bailey asked, stalling.
Moon Pie started to grin and then caught himself. “Sure.”
Bailey forced a smile, waved good-bye, and for good measure added a little extra swing in her hips.
Moon Pie quietly laughed as he watched her walk out the door. After he heard it shut, he spun his chair around to place the gold inside his safe. He had configured the interior of the Browning safe to serve his needs. Inside on the top shelf, he had six loaded semiautomatic pistols with extra loaded magazines; underneath on the left side stood three different-caliber hunting rifles he used when poaching, depending on the terrain, and two customized fully automatic black rifles he used for protection. On the right side were shelves for his purchased gold, and underneath were boxes of money.
At the moment, he had $260,000 in cash packed inside three Tony Lama boot boxes. He calculated that he’d have enough room in the safe for the duffel bag of cash he would pick up in a few days. All he had to do was take delivery, store it overnight, and then hand it off. It might be in his possession for only thirty-six to forty-eight hours. The Gold Mine’s security was adequate, and the heavy safe was against an internal wall, secured to the concrete slab with four five-inch-long wedge anchors.
Moon Pie had no worries. In front of him was a simple pickup and delivery of cash that would net him 20 percent, a great football game on ESPN on Saturday night, and a new place to poach Monday morning, when the landowner was back at work. Life’s good and gettin’ better…particularly if Bailey decides to go with me to Alabama. He leaned back in his chair, put his feet on his desk, lit a Marlboro Light, and smiled.
CHAPTER 17
LEVI JENKINS SAT in a Tuscaloosa, Alabama, jail wearing an orange jumpsuit with the sleeves rolled up to showcase the barbed-wire tattoos on his lanky arms. He was craving a dip of Skoal. He cussed under his breath for getting caught transporting the precursors for manufacturing crystal methamphetamine. He was especially disgusted at his situation because he had the biggest drug run of his career brewing, and he didn’t need this attention. Arguing his innocence had proven useless. No one was buying the story that his church was purchasing a case of Sudafed to deliver to the needy in Haiti.
The twenty-seven-year-old neophyte drug dealer knew that his boss and half brother, Moon Pie, wouldn’t help, so he called their cousin in Tupelo, who had finally passed the bar exam on his fourth attempt. He was a classic ambulance-chasing plaintiffs’ lawyer but with a gift for being hired by clients who couldn’t pay or who were seldom offered settlements, much less awarded judgments. After two minutes of cussing and ranting about issues of jurisdiction and licensing, the lawyer finally promised to see what he could do.
Back in his cell, Levi bragged about the big stick his lawyer would wave. Levi assured his cellmates that he would be out within twenty-four hours. What Levi didn’t know was that officials within the Mississippi Drug Task Force had already put the wheels in motion to spring Levi. All that was left was the final paperwork. The rail-thin drug runner was a well-connected small fish they hoped would lead them to a large fish—a fish significantly large enough to make their careers. The Alabama counterparts just had to make it appear that Levi’s less-than-competent cousin was responsible for his release.
Jenkins was known as Levi by everybody, but his momma insisted on calling him by his full name, Leviticus. He was from a wide spot in the road in Monroe County, Mississippi, called Becker Bottom. He perpetrated his illegal activities only on the unsuspecting folks in the surrounding counties—never in his own. It was one of a few codes that he followed. Levi was a two-bit hustler whose initial crimes were mostly scams. His most successful con to date was selling hot tubs and television satellite systems to folks who lived far out in the country. He convinced his unsophisticated victims to make deposits either in cash or by check written to him personally. No spa or dish deliveries were ever made. He had not graduated to violent crime just yet, but he was heading down that path with the allure of drug money—which his half brother, Moon Pie, was blazing.
Like many small-time criminals, he loved to talk about his conquests, embellishing the stories when the truth sounded just as good, maybe even better. Levi Jenkins told so many lies that he could hardly remember the truth.
When the jailers moved Levi into the main population, a huge guy accosted him—the common-law husband to a girl Levi had once dated. The mountain of a man had endured years of being compared to Levi’s two redeeming qualities: he was a big spender, and he was otherwise well gifted. Levi would spend his last cent to impress a date with expensive dinners, movies, concerts, gifts, and flowers. He would also listen to every story and small detail his date wanted to discuss. This and his other “characteristics” were endearing.
When Levi’s ex-girlfriend’s huge husband saw Levi, all he wanted to do was punch him in the mouth. Levi sensed the danger, but there was no way to retreat. After a few minutes of increasing tension between the two of them with each unanswered threat, Levi finally had to fight. The promise of violence fueled the other prisoners’ enthusiasm as they cheered and jeered from their cells. In short order, Levi had his ass handed to him. He had a bloody nose and a cut under his left eye, and was nearly unconscious from a relentless chokehold before the guards rushed in to stop the one-sided fight.
The guards aggressively and effectively subdued Levi and his huge foe, making sure neither one had any more fight left in him. When Levi tried to stand without permission, an older guard kneed him in the groin, even though it was immediately obvious to everyone that Levi wasn’t going to cause any more problems. Levi’s enormous assailant loved the outcome. While Levi rolled on the nasty jail floor, two suddenly sober University of Alabama fraternity brothers huddled in a corner vowed to never drink again.
The sheriff shouted obscenities at the top of his lungs as he hurriedly entered the jail block, angry that his men had momentarily lost control of the prisoners. When he saw the situation, he knew any lawyer could successfully challenge the guards’ reaction to the fight. He loathed lawyers. His day had just gotten complicated, and the handling of what he assumed to be an irrelevant prisoner had just become a nightmare.
Writhing in intense pain, Levi swore to himself to never be incarcerated again. Grimacing, he obeyed the deputies who pulled him to his feet.
CHAPTER 18
JAKE SAT AT his cubicle and allowed the Internet to answer a few questions about Samantha Owens. He felt sneaky doing it, but no one in Jake’s circle of office friends knew her. There wasn’t much information available. She had gone to college at the W in Columbus. She had earned her law degree at Ole Miss and just recently had passed the bar. Her Facebook page was blocked. There really wasn’t much more information available. She wasn’t listed as a member of any law firms in Columbus. That seemed odd.
Jake got his morning started by checking a waterfowl-migration map online and a few select stocks that were anticipating bad news while he waited for eight fifteen to arrive so he could make the call.
“Law office,” a cheery voiced answered after four rings.
“Samantha Owens, please,” Jake stated.
“May I tell her who’s calling?” the cheery voice responded.
“Jake Crosby. I’m a broker with Morgan Keegan.”
“Hold, please.”
Jake refreshed the satellite image page that followed a radio-collared mallard drake that was currently just north of Memphis, heading south.
“This is Samantha Owens,” a similarly cheery voice said, very businesslike. She sounded younger than he was, but it was hard to tell.
“I’m well, thank you.”
“Good. I must admit you’re a new name around here.”
“I just moved back to the area,” she responded, careful not to tell too much. She didn’t trust men. “What can I do for you, Mr. Crosby?”
“Yesterday I met with Walter Severson about me helping manage his excess cash reserves and…well, he gave me your name and said his foundation was just getting established and that you could help me.”
“That is correct. He hired me to start a foundation, but it’s not operational yet.”
“I see. He indicated that he had the money but it was all cash. Since we can’t take cash deposits here, I was hoping you could give me an estimated time that you think the foundation would be active.”
“Mr. Crosby—”
“Please call me Jake,” he interrupted.
“And you can call me Sam. Jake, it is going to be at least a week before the foundation’s legally on its feet. We still have a lot to do. Mr. Severson and his friends are retired gentlemen with a lot of free time to dream and wish and hope, but they’re gonna have to let the paperwork catch up to them.”
“I understand. Well, as soon as you can cut checks, I’d appreciate a call so we can get his brokerage account set up.”
“I’ll do that…and…if you know anybody needing an attorney, please remember me,” she shamelessly pleaded. Sam was also relieved to have somebody participating in the foundation who sounded somewhat normal.
“Yes, ma’am,” Jake responded politely. “Somebody around here always needs a good lawyer…and besides, you have such a nice-sounding receptionist.”
Sam blushed and moved the phone to her other ear. “Could you tell?”
“I had an idea.”
Sam laughed at herself and her attempt to impress. “We’re pretty new around here. My actual secretary is a single mom, and there’s a big play at her daughter’s school today.”
“No need to explain or be embarrassed.”
“Thank you. It’s been difficult getting established. Oh, one thing you mentioned—something about cash being a problem.”
“That’s right. We can’t take cash to open an account. As I’m sure you’re aware, financial transactions are no longer private, since banks and brokerage firms now have to comply with what’s called suspicious-activity reports, which basically obligate banks and brokers like me to report transactions that could be considered suspicious or over ten thousand dollars, but for the most part, all financial businesses, even precious-metal dealers, report every transaction over five thousand. It’s a nightmare, and if I don’t report it, I’m the one who gets in serious trouble. Big Brother is watching. At any rate, the tax issues are probably going to be the worst part of it, though.”
“I hadn’t fully considered all that.”
“You need to find a good community banker and tax attorney. They can help.”
“Thank you, Jake. I’ll be in touch.”
“Sure. Just have your secretary call my secretary,” he quipped and heard her laugh.
CHAPTER 19
WALTER WASN’T AN hour into his second shift since the heist when he knew something was amiss. The store associates’ attitudes were notably different. A cashier carefully whispered that the manager had been in meetings all day, and she had heard a rumor that he was going to be fired. Everyone was on their best work behavior. The young, big-breasted, tattooed cashier who the manager had been lusting over was visibly upset. She’d been crying. Walter thought the store hadn’t operated this efficiently since he began working there. Hell, I might have even done Kroger a favor, he rationalized.
Walter did feel bad for what he had done to Kroger, even though their business insurance would likely cover the loss. Most people didn’t realize how philanthropic the company was within their respective communities and that they were the number-two retailer in the country. Walter figured that given the right setting, pitched to the right Kroger executive, they probably would donate to his foundation as much as he had stolen, provided the foundation was legit. Right now, however, he didn’t have the time or the life expectancy for legit. If the foundation ever got cash flush, he’d pay back the grocery giant. Kroger had a secret IOU with his foundation. That thought made him smile.
During Walter’s shift, as he helped customers find the correct aisles for products they needed and straightened the blue buggies, he marveled at how his group of old-timers had pulled off the theft. Their plan to steal no more than two-thirds of the cash from the weekend bank deposit had worked for two reasons. First, the deposit initially appeared to be intact, and it would take some time to determine exactly what was missing; and second, the manager had created the perfect opportunity by concentrating on the stripper giving him lap dances in the back office—the private bump and grind necessitating the temporary disabling of the office’s security cameras.
Walter had studied the store’s timing. He knew when and where the money moved, when the dances occurred, and, most importantly, when the security system went down.
As a trusted associate and because of his age, Walter was almost invisible to the other employees. His most valuable attribute was that he was trusted. He could go anywhere without question. Early in his tenure, Walter had ingratiated himself to management by always running errands for the manager and assistant manager and doing odd jobs away from work; consequently, it was not uncommon for him to be around when receipts were tallied.
That busy weekend’s sales receipts, including cash, were piled on the manager’s desk, to be organized and counted, and then picked up by armored truck on Monday. Sunday evenings were prime lap-dance times, since the manager’s wife would be at church. After the stripper slipped out the rear door and the manager went to the restroom, Walter simply walked into the office carrying an empty barbecue-grill box and hurriedly filled it with most of the cash. He carried the box to a concealed space behind several pallets of merchandise, and with a big yellow label, he identified the box as being customer pickup to ensure that no one would attempt to put it back into stock. He then placed the box in the appropriate spot in the hold bin and returned to bagging groceries.
Earlier that morning, Lucille had purchased the last matching grill with cash and then returned it late that night, complaining that it was missing the bottom grate and the handle. As if they had read the script, customer service paged Walter to exchange it, which he did with the one stashed in the back. When he returned to the customer-service counter, Sebastian was pitching a fit about some incomprehensible injustice that completely overwhelmed the manager and the customer-service staff. When the customer-service representative saw that the grill boxes were the same, with Walter holding the receipt, she waved the old woman through without a second glance. The automatic doors opened, and the cash went out.
Walter had almost headed straight to the back to take a blood pressure pill. He could feel his pulse in his ears, which had begun to ring. That didn’t bother him; he hadn’t felt so alive in years, maybe ever. He certainly hadn’t felt this alive since his daughter’s murder.
CHAPTER 20
MOON PIE WAITED impatiently for Levi to arrive at the Gold Mine. He passed the time by looking at pictures in the Commercial Dispatch—the Columbus newspaper that covered almost everything that happened in the Golden Triangle, the area formed by Columbus, Starkville, and West Point. Moon Pie loved to see the published photos of everyone who had been arrested recently. Their mug shots and criminal charges were right there for all to see. Moon Pie rarely read an article, but he savored perusing the pictures.
Mustard dripped from his gas station sausage biscuit as he flipped the pages and glanced up to check the time. When he heard Levi’s truck pull up near the back door, he finished the sausage and tossed the biscuit into the trash. Moon Pie was pissed, and he took a deep breath to calm himself.
&
nbsp; The moment Levi stepped through the back door, Moon Pie punched him in the stomach. Levi buckled over and then dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.
“That’s for being stupid,” Moon Pie barked, his fists clenched by his side.
“I deserve that,” Levi said under his breath but loud enough for Moon Pie to hear. Those simple words of repentance kept him from getting a further ass kicking.
Moon Pie flopped back down in his desk chair and stared at his half brother sitting on the floor, catching his breath.
“Just what in the hell were you thinkin’?”
“Man, I was just tryin’ to make some extra cash, bro.”
“Don’t I pay you enough?”
Levi slowly stood, walked to an armchair, and sat down. “I just wanted to make some extra foldin’ money, you know. I’m really sorry, Moon.”
Moon Pie glared at him. He didn’t like incompetence. “You’ve developed a bad habit of doing things without tellin’ me or askin’ me, and some bad shit always happens.”
“I know. I know.”
“And I get a call from our cousin at midnight saying you’ve been arrested? Just how in the hell did you get outta jail so fast, anyway?”
“I don’t know…maybe he’s learnin how the system works.”
“I don’t know why we even use him.”
“He’s family, and he’s cheap.”
“He’s an ambulance chaser!” Moon Pie said in a louder-than-normal voice. “We can’t go to the next level with him watchin’ our back.”
“Well, I’m out. He got me out. And fast too.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Moon Pie lit a Marlboro and aggressively exhaled the smoke. He was suspicious of Levi’s quick release. After another long drag from the cigarette, he made up his mind.
“Take your shirt off.”
“What?”