Moon Underfoot

by Cole, Bobby

  When Levi finally dragged in, Moon Pie snuffed out his cigarette and cussed him for not responding to his calls or texts. The only way Levi finally got him to settle down was by telling him the story about seeing Jake Crosby at the concert. Moon Pie loved the message that he had passed to Jake and laughed hard about it.

  “You know, truth be told, Crosby did me a favor.” Moon Pie lit another cigarette.

  Levi’s eyes were closed. All he wanted to do was to go to sleep. “How so?”

  “I’ve told ya, I wouldn’t be the main runner in the area if Johnny Lee was alive and kickin’.”

  “Yeah, but he was your friend.”

  “He was an asshole. Always wantin’ to fight. He had a plate put in his head after he fell off a four-wheeler and was just plain mean after that.”

  “What about Reese?” Levi asked without much interest.

  “He shoulda never even called me that night. They shoulda handled it themselves insteada draggin’ my sorry ass into it and then makin’ me promise I’d avenge Johnny Lee’s murder.”

  Levi hovered somewhere between sleep and boredom while he listened to Moon Pie rant. In between nodding his agreement, Levi kept thinking about trees and out-of-state colleges. He knew that he needed to get away from his half brother’s bad influence and make his own life—one that didn’t include looking over his shoulder for the police or a rival runner. All he needed was the ability to pay the bills while he focused on school. About fifty grand is all I need.

  “Okay, in the morning I’ll get them to meet us at the Barton Ferry boat ramp,” Moon Pie said as he stood to go to bed.

  “Bad idea; there may be duck hunters scoutin’ the river. The first three-day season comes in next week,” Levi explained.

  “You gotta better idea?” Moon Pie said as he turned off the television.

  “What about the abandoned bomb-makin’ plant in Prairie? It’s a huge place, and nobody’s ever there. It’s easy to hide and defend. Plus, it ain’t that far.”

  “The reason nobody’s ever there is cuz it’s haunted, dumb ass. Don’t you remember that TV show filming up there and that good-lookin’ reporter gettin’ attacked?”

  “I didn’t see it,” Levi said as he tried to close his eyes again.

  Moon Pie tossed his iPad onto Levi’s lap, making him jump, and then sat back down in his recliner. “Google Prairie, Mississippi, bomb plant and you’ll find it. I don’t do ghosts.”

  “Hell, Moon, half these big-ass old houses ’round here are haunted. And I thought you said you want to live in an antebellum mansion.”

  “They’re cool, but I don’t want a haunted one.”

  “Good luck with that. Even that fancy old Waverley mansion has that little-girl ghost in it.”

  “I might could handle a little-girl ghost. But unh-uh, this thing at Prairie…that grabbed that reporter. I don’t wanna get grabbed,” Moon Pie said as he sucked the bottom out of his beer.

  “Come on, we won’t even go in the building. We’ll just meet around back. It’s a safe place.”

  “You got a point there,” Moon Pie said in a rare agreement.

  “It’s a great place to do the exchange. You know it.”

  “All right, but you gotta watch that video first.”

  “Man, you’re such a badass and you spend all night out in the woods by yourself poachin’…and you’re scared of ghosts?” Levi asked, astonished.

  “I don’t want no dead Confederate touchin’ me. That place is built on a mass grave of Confederate soldiers. That shit creeps me out, man.”

  “Have you ever seen a ghost?”

  “Once,” Moon Pie said as he leaned forward.

  “Where?”

  “In Clay County about four years ago. I got dropped off after dark at those rich folks’ huntin’ club on the west side of the Chuquatonchee Creek. I was watching a whole pile a deer in the moonlight in this bare bean field when an old man in a Confederate uniform and a top hat came out the woods across the field like he was going to a meetin’. I ain’t never been back…and that was one helluva good place to deer hunt too.”

  “I think you musta been smokin’ that night.”

  “Nope. I wasn’t stoned; I was in serious stealth mode. That old dude just about freaked me out. I’ve heard ’bout others seein’ him too. I ain’t the only one. He looked just like the pictures of Robert E. Lee. It was some crazy shit, man.”

  “You seen Robert E. Lee walkin’ in the woods?”

  “No, dipshit. I said he looked like Robert E. Lee. You know, that old-guy-with-a-beard look.”

  “It was dark. How the hell could you see details?” Levi asked.

  “The moon was real bright. I could see fine through that big scope I got. And you know I got cat eyes.”

  “Okay. Fine. Whatever—just call them boys and tell ’em we’ll meet up tomorrow.”

  “You found that video clip yet?” Moon Pie asked as he stood and started toward his bedroom.

  “Almost,” Levi responded as he Googled the words arboriculture degree.

  “Just watch it and you’ll see that the place is haunted,” Moon Pie said as he shut his bedroom door.

  CHAPTER 63

  SEBASTIAN TRIED COUNTING the money while they drove, but the amount was so overwhelming that he couldn’t do it. He finally just laughed and then showed Bernard his long-lost rifle. Walter gazed at the bag, knowing they had hit the mother lode and that there would be repercussions beyond anyone’s wildest imagination. He knew it, but he was still thrilled at what they had pulled off. Three old men, with the help of a girl, a magnet, a stolen key, a surveillance camera, and a pocketknife, had managed to steal an absolutely absurd amount of cold, hard cash.

  As Bernard parked the rented minivan in front of the Henry Clay, Walter told everyone to sit still. He could see a West Point police officer on a Segway patrolling on the sidewalk, making sure businesses’ front doors were closed. He was heading in their direction, and Walter didn’t want to be unloading the bags when he came by.

  Bernard started breathing heavy. Walter had to place his hand on his shoulder and tell him to calm down.

  “Oh shit, here he comes,” Sebastian said under his breath. “Act normal.”

  “What’s normal about having a million dollars at your feet?” Bernard said without moving his lips.

  When the officer saw the men, he rolled over to them and stopped, balancing on the Segway’s two wheels. The men had seen the Segway before, but it still seemed like the policeman was some futuristic supercop, and he certainly seemed out of place in a small, rural Mississippi downtown at night.

  Sebastian, who was sitting in the passenger seat, opened his door, and the dome light came on, revealing the interior. Walter cringed but didn’t move.

  “Evenin’, Officer,” Sebastian greeted.

  “Y’all are out mighty late,” the officer replied, bending over to look inside at everyone.

  “It’s been a long night. We had to go to a funeral visitation down near Jackson, and we’re just now gettin’ back,” Sebastian said respectfully.

  “That’s why I’m wearing black,” Bernard offered.

  The officer nodded his understanding as he watched a brightly painted lime-green Chevrolet Impala with spinning rims roll by. Everyone could feel the bass thumping from the music inside the car.

  “How can that be enjoyable? It’s so loud,” Sebastian added, seizing the opportunity to change the topic.

  “That will definitely cause hearin’ loss. There was a party goin’ on at Chocolate City, and now they’re startin’ to leave,” the officer said, irritated. “We’ll get some DUIs tonight.”

  “That’s where we shoulda gone,” Walter said, moving toward the door to get out. “Probably woulda had more fun.”

  “Or gotten shot,” Sebastian said, as if he knew something Walter didn’t.

  “Y’all live here?” the officer asked, motioning to the old, historic hotel.

  “We do. Yes, sir.”

 
“Okay, good. Then y’all are home.”

  “Home sweet home,” Bernard gushed.

  “Sorry one of your buddies died,” the officer said, clearly not in a hurry to leave. He seemed to relish conversation.

  “At our ages, we attend lots of funerals. But it’s much better to be in the audience than it is to be the center of attention.”

  “Yes, sir. That’s a good way to look at it. Hey, do y’all need any help carryin’ those bags in?”

  “No, thanks. We’re just gonna leave them. It’s just some of our friend’s old stuff, and we’re gonna sort through it tomorrow,” Walter said, hoping the officer would leave so they could haul the bounty upstairs. He had no intention of leaving it in the van. West Point was safe but not safe enough to risk a million dollars.

  “I wouldn’t. Just between us, we’ve had some vehicle burglaries that haven’t been reported to the paper just yet. Let me help y’all,” the officer said, stepping off the Segway.

  Walter tried to stay calm as the big sliding door slung open. Bernard accidentally hit the horn as he was exiting the car.

  Sebastian was near panic too but had noticed a shopping cart in the hotel lobby and had an idea. He quickly said, “Just help us get the big bag into that shopping cart, and we can roll it inside and use the elevator.”

  Sebastian rolled the cart to the curb as Walter slid the big bag to the edge of the vehicle for the officer to pick up. They all held their breath.

  “This thing’s pretty heavy. What’s in it?” the officer asked as he dropped it into the basket.

  “You a hunter?”

  “No, sir. Never had time.”

  Sebastian pulled his recovered stolen rifle out from under the seat. “Our friend collected huntin’ magazines. That’s what’s in there.”

  The officer barely looked at the gun since it wasn’t unusual to see hunting rifles in Mississippi at this time of the year. All he said was, “Well, y’all sure got enough to read for a while.” He dropped the smaller bag on top. The officer climbed back on the Segway as Sebastian and Walter started pushing the cart away. “That’s a nice bag—that big black one. Where did ya get it?”

  Walter stared at the bag and scratched his head. Bernard and Sebastian waited.

  “Do you mean where did he buy it?” Walter asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t know. But I tell you what—after we get it unloaded, you’re welcome to it.”

  “No, I couldn’t do that.”

  “Seriously, we don’t need it, and if you want it, I can bring it by the station later in the week for you,” Walter said as he looked at the officer’s name badge.

  “No, I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “Seriously, it’s not a problem. We don’t need it.”

  “I’ll be honest—I sure could use a bag like that to store my SWAT gear in.”

  “Give me a couple of days and it’ll be yours,” Walter said, smiling broadly.

  “That’s awful generous. I’d really appreciate it. Thanks,” the officer said as he admired the bag one last time, waved at the old men, and then quietly rolled down the street on the side of Rose Drugs.

  The old men stood on the sidewalk, watching him ease away. After he rounded the corner, they all let out deep breaths and at least one quiet “Oh shit!”

  Walter turned to Sebastian. “If he’d been a hunter, you know he woulda wanted to see the magazines, don’t you?”

  “Then I’da said they were Playgirls. I doubt he would’ve wanted to see those! You see, I was thinkin’.”

  All three doubled over laughing, slapping their legs.

  Walter finally said, “That’d start one hell of a rumor—three old dudes at the Henry Clay were caught smugglin’ in big bags of Playgirl magazines.”

  “Thank God it didn’t come to that. My image woulda been ruined,” Bernard said with a smile.

  They all heard another car’s bass, thumping louder than the first one’s. “Good grief! Let’s get inside before we get robbed,” Walter said, clearly annoyed.

  CHAPTER 64

  THE TENNESSEE MEXICANS not only were professionally organized but also had talent—not just muscle. They had players with sophisticated computer skills. The technical guy spent hours each day tracking their various money exchanges and drug shipments thanks to tiny, state-of-the-art GPS chips.

  This Sunday morning he logged on to check the status of five different packages. He immediately noticed that the Mississippi money had moved overnight. Following protocol, he alerted his boss via prepaid cell phone.

  “The Mississippi money has moved.”

  “Where is it right now?” he asked, and then took a sip of a Starbucks canned coffee.

  “It’s moved west about seventeen miles. It’s still there right now.”

  “¿Dónde está?”

  “Commerce Street. West Point, Mississippi. I can get exact if you want.”

  “No. They probably made the exchange last night. Keep an eye on it. We’re to settle the deal un pequeño número de días. Until then, I want to know where the money goes. Also, el Jefe wants to know everything we can provide about this organization. I want to cut Moon Pie completely out.”

  “¡Sí, por supuesto!”

  “¡Gracias!”

  CHAPTER 65

  JAKE—A TYPICAL Baptist—sat on the back pew, staring past the music minister at the choir, which was singing “Blessed Assurance.” Next to him, Morgan wrote a check for their tithe and then placed it into a small envelope. On Jake’s other side, Katy had gotten comfortable and was almost asleep. Jake resisted the urge to elbow her like his momma would have done to him. But he knew she was exhausted, because he was too.

  Jake had spent over an hour last night and then again this morning looking for Scout. She sometimes got confused, but it wasn’t like the old Lab to just wander off. He couldn’t help but think that she had been stolen.

  As he looked around the congregation, Jake considered that no one knew of his problems. He was alone in a tough situation. He thought about the words on the napkin and imagined how cold and calculated the note appeared. A chill went up his spine when he thought about how close to his family Moon Pie had actually been.

  As the lights dimmed and the preacher stepped into the pulpit, Jake whispered to Morgan, asking if he could borrow a pen. Briefly, she thought that he was going to take notes about the sermon, but then she realized he was going to make a to-do list. As she opened her purse wide in search of the pen, Jake saw her pistol resting in a side pocket. He pointed at it, and when they made eye contact, she shrugged her shoulders. Jake was surprised she had brought a weapon into church.

  He scribbled a note on the back of the bulletin: “Did you bring it on purpose?”

  She took the pen from his hand and wrote, “Yes.”

  Jake took the pen and looked up at the preacher, who seemed to be looking straight at him. When the preacher finally looked away, Jake pulled up his right pant leg above his boots so Morgan could see the handle of his pistol. “Me too.”

  Morgan then wrote: “Good! Listen to the sermon. You need to set an example for Katy.” She underlined you and example.

  Jake sighed and looked down at Katy, who was sound asleep, and then up at the preacher, who was hitting his ministerial stride. Jake folded his arms and crossed his legs in an effort to get comfortable.

  When Jake realized that the sermon was about vengeance, he decided to pay attention.

  CHAPTER 66

  AS DAWN CRACKED that Sunday morning, Moon Pie was leaning against a giant oak along the Tombigbee River in Monroe County, Mississippi. The property owner was a Columbus ER doctor who Moon Pie knew, through a paid source, was working that morning. Moon Pie intended to capitalize on the deer movement he knew would follow the storm front that had blown through that area the previous night. Everything in the woods was dark from the all-night soaking rain, allowing Moon Pie to walk silently on the wet leaves. He plumed his breath in front of him to check the w
ind and then pulled down a face mask and set off to walk a wooded ridge bordered by the river on one side and an oxbow lake on the other. This was prime ground, intensively managed, and nothing less than a 150 buck would excite him. I only have about two hours before I gotta leave to meet those Gulf Coast gooks to make the trade.

  Moon Pie eased through the hardwoods, always careful to not walk on bare areas that could leave tracks. It was taking him fifteen minutes to stalk a hundred yards. He had seen several does and a couple of small bucks when a group of mallards flushed at the far end of the oxbow and flew right over him. He instinctively dropped, knowing that something had spooked them. He positioned himself behind a cypress knee and patiently waited.

  Within a few minutes, he noticed a hunter wearing an orange cap moving on the far side of the oxbow. Moon Pie found him in his scope and tried to determine who it was. The hunter’s face was partially obscured by a neck gaiter. Moon Pie then tried to study him with binoculars, but they weren’t as clear as his scope. When the hunter moved deeper into a thicket, Moon Pie leaned back against a cypress tree. Since he had a moment, he decided to check his phone. He saw an hour-old text from his informant, a janitor at the hospital: “Dr just left ER swapped shifts said he was going hunting U o me $50 or some backstrap.”

  Moon Pie swore to himself. He appreciated the heads-up but was pissed at himself for not checking his messages earlier. He was caught up in the beautiful morning and ideal conditions. Moon Pie spotted the hunter again and cranked up his scope to twenty power. He was pretty sure it was the doctor—the same guy who had almost caught him poaching last year.

  The doctor couldn’t have been hunting. He was walking at a steady pace. It was as though he were looking for something or somebody. Moon Pie realized that he was being hunted, and he loved it. He cautiously glanced around and knew he was trapped. The doctor had rounded the edge of the oxbow and would be on top of him soon. If he stood, he’d be seen, and the doctor probably had a radio like last time. He envisioned that the doctor was trying to drive him like hunters sometimes push deer—trying to force him in the direction of a waiting game warden. They’ll never catch me.