Moon Underfoot

by Cole, Bobby

  Katy begged her mom to stay in school. She wanted to attend the pep rally during last period for a big basketball game. Katy’s eyes filled with tears as she pleaded over and over until Morgan relented.

  “Okay, okay. But you gotta come straight to the car when you get out. I’ll be by the flagpole.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will. Thanks, Mom,” Katy yelled as she ran back to her class.

  As Morgan walked toward her Lexus, she called Jake to tell him what happened.

  Jake’s computer screens were a maze of stock-tracking charts when his direct line rang. He instantly recognized the number.

  “Hey, babe, what’s up?”

  “Can you talk a minute?”

  “Sure.” Jake was happy to take a break from watching the computer screens for the last hour. He was trying to determine if he had missed any market opportunities by going to Aliceville.

  “I’m worried someone’s stalkin’ us.”

  Jake exhaled. He felt the same but didn’t want to alarm her. She was a worrier, and she would get worse if any of her fears were confirmed.

  “I just went to the school to talk to the headmaster and the office staff…and asked them to keep their eyes open. I thought it was better to be safe than sorry,” she said, almost as if she were asking forgiveness.

  “I’m glad you did. I’m concerned too.”

  “Wadda we do?” she asked, pulling out of the parking lot.

  “Do you remember me tellin’ you about R. C. Smithson? You know, the deputy from Sumter County?”

  “Yeah, of course. The guy who rescued y’all.”

  “Right. Well, I called him earlier today to ask his opinion on what’s going on. Turns out he’s now a private investigator in Meridian.”

  “Really?” she asked, wondering why.

  “Yeah. He really didn’t go into why he changed jobs. At any rate, he agreed to drive up and talk to me tomorrow. He also said he’d look into the loose ends from that night at the Dummy Line for any connections.”

  “Do you trust him?”

  “I don’t have any reason not to. Katy really liked him, and he was a big help before. Maybe he can help again. He and Sheriff Ollie understand about that night, and they know those redneck thugs better than anybody.”

  “Well, then, what about gettin’ Ollie involved?”

  “He’s outta town till next week.”

  “Okay. Let’s see what R.C. thinks.”

  Jake could tell from Morgan’s voice that she liked the idea. He looked back at one of his monitors and said, “Babe, I gotta go. I love you. Bye.” Jake hung up.

  Morgan rubbed her baby bump, feeling slightly apprehensive about the future. Her mind then returned to the image of the smiling man disappearing into the darkness of her backyard. Morgan reached into her Coach purse for the comfort of the cold steel of her Smith & Wesson LadySmith.

  CHAPTER 32

  SEBASTIAN AND BERNARD casually walked into the Gold Mine. They knew of the security cameras and assumed they were active. Their goal of quietly checking out the place was shattered when Bailey bounded from behind the counter and hugged them both. So much for being inconspicuous, Sebastian thought.

  As Bernard chatted with Bailey, he discreetly slipped her a small envelope that contained the magnet and glue. Sebastian adjusted his reading glasses to study the posters explaining what happens to the purchased gold. The material was a confusing attempt to demonstrate the high overhead costs associated with reclaiming jewelry. He was not impressed.

  For show, Sebastian handed Bailey a small gold chain. She weighed it and offered him thirteen dollars, according to Moon Pie’s chart. It was exactly 50 percent less than most other dealers would have paid. Sebastian said that he would keep his necklace and thanked Bailey.

  “Can you attach the magnet?” Bernard asked quietly. When he heard the front door, he turned to see a filthy college-aged guy enter.

  “Yes, sir. I’m positive,” Bailey replied. When she glanced at the new customer, she sighed loudly enough for Bernard to hear.

  “Woody, you know you shouldn’t be here,” she said with frustration.

  “Anything wrong, miss?” Sebastian asked from across the room.

  “No, sir, I can handle this.”

  “I just came to see you. You ain’t been returnin’ my calls,” the young guy responded, but he was looking at Sebastian, trying to determine why he would get involved in a private matter.

  “You know Moon Pie doesn’t like you comin’ in here.”

  “I ain’t scared of him.”

  “What’s a Moon Pie?” Sebastian asked Bailey.

  “The owner. It’s a nickname.”

  Sebastian and Bernard had heard the owner’s actual name but not his nickname. If they had, they would have remembered. Bernard chuckled.

  The young guy’s clothes were covered in grease and some metallic dust. He appeared to work as a mechanic or in some type of shop, maybe as a welder.

  “You can’t keep avoidin’ me.”

  “I’ve been busy. If Moon Pie sees that you’ve been here, it ain’t gonna be easy on me. So, go. Please leave, Woody,” she said as she motioned with her head toward the cameras.

  “You need a new job,” Woody said hastily as he glanced at the old men. “Are these old farts botherin’ you?”

  “Please leave. I’m askin’ nicely.”

  “One of my buds said he seen you and Levi together the other day.”

  “It was business. He works here too, you know.”

  “He sees you more than me. That’s gotta change…and soon.”

  “Woody! Please!”

  “If you don’t do somethin’, I’m gonna.”

  Sebastian turned to face the loudmouth. His own face was red with anger. “Son, if—”

  Bailey cut him off by placing her hand on his arm and saying, “It’s okay. Woody, please leave. I’ll call you later.”

  “Who are these old farts? They in here sellin’ gold teeth from their dead ol’ ladies?”

  “Why, you!” Sebastian lunged toward Woody, but Bailey still had his arm, stopping him. He glared at Woody.

  “Come on, ol’-timer. I’ll kick your ass so hard, you’ll taste shit for days.”

  As Bernard moved in, he quickly looked at Sebastian, who was just about to explode. It wasn’t good that Bailey was standing between him and Woody.

  She wheeled to face Woody and screamed, “Go or I’ll call the cops!”

  Woody had a wild look in his eye. After a tense moment, he snarled at Bailey, “I’m goin’, but this ain’t over…for any of y’all!” Woody kept his eyes on the group as he made his way out the front door.

  Sebastian badly wanted to punch Woody in the eye. It suddenly became his new life’s mission. “You gotta stay away from that boy. He’s nothin’ but white-trash trouble.”

  “I know, I know. That’s the guy y’all heard about—the one I can’t get away from. We used to date. He was different back then.”

  After several moments of silence, Bailey recovered her composure and changed the subject, saying, “I’m gonna try more codes later. I’ve been trying ’em between customers, and after four wrong ones, it locks me out for about twenty minutes. I gotta be careful not to go in there too often, ’cause Moon Pie will notice if he watches the security tapes.”

  “I knew it wouldn’t be as simple as Walter thought. We’ll be outside when you close to see if the balloons set off the alarm,” Bernard said.

  “Bailey, honey, you gotta get away from that loser.”

  Bailey looked up at Sebastian and said, “You’re right. I’m trying. He just won’t leave me alone. He’s very possessive.”

  Sebastian gently grabbed her shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. “I can help. And he won’t feel a thing—that is…unless you want him to.”

  CHAPTER 33

  IT WAS JUST past dusk when the half brothers pulled into the cemetery. The shadows were disappearing into the night. Darkness hid secrets, and criminals l
oved the obscurity it offered.

  “Yep, it’s a minivan. That’s real smart. Doesn’t attract attention,” Moon Pie said excitedly when he saw his contact.

  “Or women.”

  Moon Pie grunted and asked, “Is that all you think about?”

  Joe Walsh’s song “Life’s Been Good” began playing on the car radio. Levi started keeping the beat, singing, “My minivan does one eighty-five. I lost my license, now I don’t drive.”

  Moon Pie almost yelled, “Shut the hell up, and pull over there and wait for them to signal us. They’ll wanna make sure nobody’s followed us.”

  “We’re clean. I’ve been watchin’.”

  “You keep sayin’ that, but they don’t know it. These dudes are pros. They’re gonna be real careful.”

  “Why don’t you just call ’em or text ’em?” Levi asked.

  “I swear. Just shut the hell up!”

  Moon Pie nervously watched the minivan. Suddenly his phone rang. He recognized the number as he answered, “Yeah. It’s me in the Toyota.” Levi turned the radio down and strained to hear the other voice. Moon Pie continued, “Yeah, we were careful. We’re clean. Let’s do this. Okay.” Moon Pie ended the call and then dropped the phone into the console.

  “Pull up next to ’em. Keep your eyes peeled. This won’t take long.”

  Moon Pie was obviously anxious, which Levi had never seen. Normally Moon Pie had ice water running through his veins. One time they had poached a giant buck in the middle of a bean field and had sunk an old Bronco in the mud trying to get it out as the game warden was walking toward them. Moon Pie never showed the slightest bit of concern. Levi assumed that Moon Pie was nervous about making a good impression on the Tennessee connection.

  Levi eased the FJ Cruiser next to the minivan. When he stopped, the van’s doors electronically opened slowly. Moon Pie got out and initiated a fist bump gesture to the other guy, who ignored it. Awkward, Levi thought.

  The passenger of the minivan was a very well-dressed Hispanic—maybe Cuban; Levi wasn’t sure. But he knew that the jeans the other man was wearing cost over $1,000, and the shirt and jacket were incredibly expensive too. Inside the van, Levi could see a beefy driver, who constantly looked around for danger signs. It occurred to Levi they all were just like animals at a water hole. Their senses were heightened because they knew predators were lurking somewhere. Watering holes were death traps. These particular animals knew that law enforcement could explode from the shadows and catch them at any moment. They were vulnerable. An added risk with this herd was that you could never trust others—ever. Levi tried to keep an eye on Moon Pie while scouting for signs of an ambush.

  The well-dressed Latino looked Moon Pie over slowly and then bent down and looked inside the FJ. Levi gave him a thumbs-up, while Moon Pie tried to act cool with his hands on his hips, looking like a cross between a Western gunfighter and an East LA gangster.

  “Y’all have a good trip down?” Moon Pie asked and immediately wished he hadn’t.

  The well-dressed man ignored the question and continued to look around. He spoke softly in broken Spanish-flavored English, “A perro cementerio. Good meet place. Yes.”

  A third, smaller man, who had gone unnoticed, jumped out of the van holding a metal-detecting wand.

  Moon Pie knew the drill, turned around, and assumed the position against his SUV.

  After a thorough search, the small guy nodded to the well-dressed man, who stepped to the back of the SUV, where Levi couldn’t hear the conversation. “I have the money. The product is good? ¿Sí?”

  “Yes. Only the finest. The folks I represent are excited about doin’ business with you.”

  “We need supply. Steady source.”

  Moon Pie knew that their source from southern Florida had been shut down in a high-profile bust. Their front was a top-tier accounting firm that specialized in the citrus and sugar business. Some missteps on the supporting documentation on tax returns caused the IRS to delve deeply enough to uncover suspicious reporting, which ultimately led to over $85 million in various assets being seized and several arrests, effectively taking down the domestic side of the cartel.

  “You’ll be pleased.”

  “Good. That’s real good.” The well-dressed man reached into the van and retrieved a blue duffel-type bag and held it up. “Nine hundred thousand US dollars.”

  “Don’t mind if I count it, do ya?” Moon Pie asked rhetorically and then motioned for his counterpart to follow as he walked to the rear of his FJ Cruiser. He opened the tailgate, but the dome light did not come on. He sat the bag down inside the cargo compartment, unzipped it, and took out the first of ninety stacks of hundred-dollar bills. He broke the band and dropped the bills into the hopper of a bank-grade currency counter that was plugged into an inverter hooked up to the SUV’s electrical system. It began whirling.

  “This won’t take but a couple minutes,” Moon Pie said, not looking up. He continued the process of counting every bill, just as his boss had requested. When each batch of ten thousand dollars came out, he grabbed the wad and quickly wrapped a rubber band around it and then placed it back inside the duffel bag. When Moon Pie finished, he zipped the bag shut, made sure that all of the broken paper bands were not near the door, and closed it. He turned to the well-dressed man, smiled, and lit a cigarette.

  Moon Pie was energized by the sight and smell of so much money.

  “I want my cocaína in cinco días,” the Latino man said firmly, holding up his hand, fingers spread.

  Moon Pie took a long drag as he translated and then nodded and said, “You’ll get it by then, I’m sure. We need about that long to provide a secure drop-off.”

  The well-dressed man reached into his pocket and withdrew something. He held it up to Moon Pie’s face and then bent down and pulled up Moon Pie’s pant leg so he could attach the GPS ankle monitor. “It stays on tobillo until I have cocaína.”

  Moon Pie nodded. He wasn’t really surprised. These guys were serious. He could learn a lot, and if he delivered as promised, he could make more money than he had ever dreamed. And if he continued to impress them—and he could tell from their expressions the bill-counting machine had—opportunities could abound. If he failed, he knew that they would kill him.

  Moon Pie looked at the ankle monitor and then with false bravado said, “You’ll get your cocaína, hombre.”

  The man smiled wickedly and with a quiet chuckle said, “I will…or…I will have your head, Señor Pie.”

  CHAPTER 34

  TWO EXHAUSTED OFFICERS from the Mississippi Drug Task Force sat in their hotel room, worrying about the next few days. Their most reliable confidential informants were certain a significant deal was about to go down. The two officers had been trying for longer than either cared to admit to break the supply chain of narcotics moving from the Gulf Coast into northeast Mississippi. Every time they got close, a small thread would unravel, ultimately exposing their efforts. It was as though the bad guys had a sixth sense or perhaps someone inside local law enforcement tipping them off. A leak was their worst fear. That meant all of their efforts were wasted. Information of this kind was invaluable to drug dealers, and they were capable of corrupting almost anyone with their seemingly unlimited cash.

  They didn’t know whom they could trust, so this time they hadn’t told anyone what was going on. The pressure from their superiors in Jackson and from the governor himself—who personally told them to “tighten up” after a friend’s son overdosed—was weighing heavily and added significantly to their stress levels.

  Spread out and taped to the wall of their hotel room was a puzzle of information they had accumulated on Moon Pie, Levi Jenkins, and six others. Their number-one target was Tam Nguyen, the Mississippi Gulf Coast’s drug king. He operated from Biloxi to Mobile but never came out of the shadows. They had a few old pictures of him, but that’s it. Basically, they were chasing a ghost. They sensed they were closer than ever as they studied the wall and sipped stale coffee. T
hey had surveillance photos and mug shots of all the other suspects and their known associates, and they knew that both Moon Pie and Levi were traveling to some type of meeting, but they had given up trying to follow them. The officers had been quietly planning a sting operation for weeks. They had confirmed intelligence that Tam’s future wife, Alexa, was an extremely enthusiastic fan of the band Rascal Flatts and had attended every concert event within a six-hour drive of her home.

  Having exhausted every other avenue to flush the drug king from hiding, they decided to try something out of the box. They contacted Rascal Flatts’s management, carefully explaining their situation and plans. The manager explained that Rascal Flatts loved to support the military, law enforcement, and especially programs protecting kids. After detailed discussions confirming that neither the band nor the crew would actually be near the undercover operation, the manager said they would gladly help. The task force officers thanked him and said this was a perfect fit for a sting. Law enforcement already had Alexa’s e-mail address. They just needed an official e-mail from the band to be sent to her.

  The officers had found her on Facebook under the alias Alexa. Her real name was Donna, but apparently she found Alexa to be more interesting. She was an aspiring swimsuit model, and by the volume of posted photographs, she obviously loved to have her picture taken. They carefully studied all three hundred–plus images. One candid shot provided them with a current photograph of the elusive Tam.

  The plan was to invite Alexa and a guest to a private meet and greet with the band before the concert. The officers were confident that she couldn’t resist the invitation and would drag Tam along. Since the concert was several hours’ drive from Tam’s home, hopefully his guard would be down. In an effort to tighten the trap and have fewer bystanders around, the actual takedown would be not at the concert hall but next door, inside the Hilton Garden Inn. Only recordings of the band members talking and singing would be played in a darkened hospitality suite. The best part—Tam would be expecting security at the event to protect the band.