by Cole, Bobby
Not fully thinking through the ramifications, she decided not to tell the others for a day or so to protect them, and the money, from Woody. She feared that if he threatened or hurt one of them, they might reveal her location.
She concocted her cover story on the way. She transformed herself into a country-music songwriter who needed extreme privacy to finish several songs…and she said that she might have a guest joining her later. The Golden Moon’s front desk understood Bailey’s need for discretion and allowed her to pay cash without asking for identification.
Bailey lay on the king-size bed in one of the hotel’s VIP suites. Her luggage was stacked neatly in the far corner. She sat up to take a drink of bottled water. She rationalized what she had done; she knew that the group would be proud of her for protecting their money. She had identified a threat and reacted.
Her whole life, she hadn’t had many material things or even time to herself. She had placed all of her dreams on hold while she worked to take care of her mother and pay all of her medical and then funeral bills. Bailey was beginning to see the money as a chance to escape her past and start fresh. But she also was beginning to hear disapproving voices, clear as day, of all those people who had been instrumental in raising her. She heard her mother, her grandmother, and one of her Sunday-school teachers she had long ago forgotten.
She lay back on the bed and wrestled with right and wrong, marveling at the amount of money in the room with her. She desperately wanted to recapture some of the time she had missed while taking care of others.
Out of the blue, she began thinking of Levi. There was something attractive about him—the person. It was something you wouldn’t notice necessarily if you only briefly talked to him. You gotta get to really know him before it’s noticeable. I guess it’s not so much noticed really as it is revealed, she thought.
Levi made her smile, and he made her belly-laugh—something she hadn’t done in the last five years. She looked at her phone, wishing he would call or text. She wanted to talk to him. Thanksgiving was in a few days. She had never been with a boyfriend for whom she was thankful. As Bailey grappled with new emotions and old thoughts, she drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 89
SEBASTIAN AND WALTER asked Lucille and Bernard to meet in the library of the old hotel. Outside the big windows, Bernard stared at the traffic on Commerce Street. It was as though he were in a trance. This meeting demanded privacy, so Walter asked the two other residents, playing cards, if they would leave. Once they did, Walter shut the door, turned to Lucille, and fired the first question: “Have you heard from Bailey?”
“No. She’s not answering her phone.”
“Is there some family she could be staying with?”
“Hell, she’s got over a million bucks; she could stay anywhere she damn well wants,” Sebastian aggressively chimed in.
“We don’t know that she took it,” Lucille said defensively.
Walter took a deep breath and held his hand up, indicating Sebastian needed to remain calm. Walter prodded, “Do you have any idea where she might be?”
“Why? What are y’all gonna do?”
“We just wanna talk to her,” Sebastian offered.
“Y’all sound like the cops on them TV shows.”
“Lucille, don’t you want to know what happened?” Walter asked. “This isn’t like Bailey…but the truth is, for this much money, people will do crazy things.”
Lucille remained quiet but fidgeted in her chair.
Walter tried to read her body language and get her to talk instead of shutting down. “What we did was wrong, and now somebody’s wronged us. We just wanna know who.”
“And why,” Sebastian said. Then he added. “Although…I suppose we know why.”
Lucille glared at Sebastian.
Walter knew that he needed to defuse the situation. “Okay, everybody, let’s just stay calm and focus.”
Walter shifted his attention to Bernard, who was still staring out the window. He was watching two Mexican men standing on the sidewalk. They were looking at the hotel building as though they were considering buying it. They made eye contact with him and then walked away.
“Do you know them, Bernard?” Walter asked, taking a hard look at the men walking down the sidewalk. “Bernard!” Walter said loudly enough that Bernard jumped. “Do you know them?”
“Who? Those two? Naw, I’ve never seen ’em before in my life,” Bernard answered.
“That was odd. Kinda creepy,” Walter said as he realized everyone could see them. “It’s like we’re in an aquarium and those guys were just watching.”
“Or a zoo,” Sebastian offered.
“Bernard, did you take that big bag to the police station?” Walter asked.
“Yeah, after Bailey and I bought some luggage for the money…I knew the police officer really wanted it.”
“Okay, just checking. We ran into him earlier and didn’t know how it got to him.”
Bernard looked at everyone at the table. “What? Did I do somethin’ wrong?”
“No, that’s fine.”
“So what are we gonna do now that we’ve lost all our money?” Sebastian asked. Then he added, more to himself than the group, “I don’t think my heart can take any more breakin’ and enterin’.”
“I don’t know. I sure would like to talk to Bailey. Anybody got any ideas?” Walter asked, looking at Lucille, who was waving at a guy standing on the sidewalk who was staring at them. He looked like he had just stepped out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog, except nothing was pressed.
“Who the hell is that?” Sebastian asked suspiciously.
“That’s Levi. Bailey works with him at the Gold Mine,” Lucille said.
Walter smiled. “Really? Invite him in. I’d like to meet him. We can finish this discussion later.”
CHAPTER 90
SAMANTHA SAT QUIETLY at her desk in a state of mild shock after the three old men explained the current situation. She would not have believed them if she hadn’t been in the Kroger meetings. After a long silence, she stood when there was a knock at her outer-office door. She walked to her coffeepot and filled a Styrofoam cup on her way to answer the door. The three men watched.
When she opened it, a middle-aged man gawked back, nervously asking, “Where’d the marriage counselor move to?”
“Are you really having marriage problems?”
“She was good to…you know…talk to.”
Sam handed him the cup of coffee, saying, “It’s black, just like your eyes will be when your wife finds out what you’re doing. Go down to the lobby and drink it, and think about what you’ll lose if your wife finds out that you’ve been cheating on her.” Samantha slammed the door and marched back into her office, where the old men were wild-eyed. “Men,” she said in disgust.
“Half,” Bernard said.
“Excuse me?”
“You lose half of everything in a divorce…I’ve lost half of everything three times. That’s why I’m so broke I can’t pay attention.”
Sebastian snickered, and everyone shifted in their chairs while Sam coldly looked them each in the eyes. When she got to Walter, she said, “Just so I understand, the money we were gonna give back to Kroger is gone?”
Walter, knowing his tail could be in a crack, sighed and said, “Yes.”
“And yet somehow, the three of you managed to lay your hands on nearly a million more dollars without getting caught or killed.”
Bernard smiled proudly and answered while Walter and Sebastian groaned. “That’s why we’re here. We want you to do some investigatin’ to see if you can find where Bailey Worden is. We know she’s got it.”
“You’ve been watching too many Perry Mason reruns. I’m not an investigator,” she informed them.
“Can’t you hire one?” Bernard asked.
“And pay him with what?”
“When we find the money, there will be plenty,” Sebastian said hopefully.
“Guys, I’m afraid y’all m
ay be close to getting in some serious trouble.”
Nobody said a word. They all looked at the floor. To Sam they looked like three grade-schoolers in the principal’s office.
“Where on earth did y’all steal the money, and who’s Bailey Worden?”
“Is this…what’s the word?” Sebastian asked.
“Privileged,” Sam almost screamed. “And whether I like it or not, I’m your attorney. So, yes, sir, what you tell me is privileged and will remain confidential. Now, tell me everything. Start at the beginning.”
CHAPTER 91
FROM WHERE JAKE was parked near the entrance to the mobile-home park, he could see Moon Pie’s trailer—the third single-wide on the left. A restored Bronco with the back open was parked next to it. The trailer park had been around since the mid-sixties, and several of the homes appeared to be that old. About half of the trailers had old tires on their roofs. Next to an overflowing green Dumpster was the frame of a swing set from which a small skinned deer carcass was hanging by its legs in a gambrel.
Jake had called in a favor from a Rotary Club friend who worked for the police department to get Moon Pie’s address. He still couldn’t believe that no one in law enforcement had warned him that this guy was living less than twenty miles away. Jake had also learned that Moon Pie drove a tricked-out late-model FJ Cruiser, which he couldn’t see parked anywhere.
Since Moon Pie’s vehicle wasn’t around, Jake decided to sneak a look in the windows. He pulled down his Mossy Oak fleece jacket to cover his pistol, which was jutting out of his back pocket. He then eased the pickup door shut. His heart was racing. He took a long, deep breath and slowly let it out through his nose in an effort to calm his nerves. Although he couldn’t see anyone, Jake assumed that someone was probably watching out for anything suspicious.
The windows at the rear of the first trailer were all covered in aluminum foil. Next to it was a sporty new orange Camaro that undoubtedly cost more than the trailer. The second trailer appeared to be unoccupied. Tall grass grew all around, and all of the window curtains were closed. Jake hugged the edge of the aluminum house as he peeked around the rear corner at Moon Pie’s trailer. From this vantage, he could see several bags were being packed into the back of the Bronco.
Jake’s cell phone rang, causing him to jump. He quickly disconnected the call from his office and placed the phone on silent. He didn’t move for several minutes in case Moon Pie or whoever was loading the Bronco had heard it. Jake said a silent prayer of thanks when there was no reaction to his turkey-gobbling ringtone.
Moon Pie’s trailer appeared to be deserted. Jake tried to listen for any sounds coming from inside, but he couldn’t distinguish any noise because of the constant drone of training flights overhead from the nearby Columbus Air Force Base. He had to look in the open window. Jake hurried across the dirt patch between the trailers and pressed flat against Moon Pie’s. Instinctively, Jake touched the pistol in his back pocket. It comforted him. Jake looked at the trailers on the opposite side of the park but couldn’t see anyone, so he turned to look in the window.
The inside of the trailer was a mess. Jake didn’t notice anything of importance. He really didn’t know what he was expecting to see, but he wanted a closer look. He eased to the next window. It too was open. He peered in and didn’t see or hear anyone or anything. The trailer appeared to be empty. Jake knew that if someone were walking around, he’d hear footsteps.
Jake slid down the side of the trailer. His heart raced. After quickly looking around to see if anyone was watching, he tried the handle. It was unlocked. He quickly drew his pistol, slowly opened the door, and quietly stepped inside. His body raced with a mixture of fear and the dump of adrenaline. How in the hell do the police do this shit every day? he wondered.
The trailer looked as if it had just been ransacked. It smelled of stale beer and cigarettes. Jake couldn’t hear anyone or anything. The place looked like it had never been cleaned. Hunting magazines, beer cans, and empty ammo boxes were strewn about. There were several antlers on the walls and the worst flying-turkey mount Jake had ever seen. As he looked around the living room, the smell of cigarette smoke was almost overwhelming, and then he realized that there was a cloud of smoke in the room. He wheeled around toward the kitchen and saw an almost completely burned cigarette, long with ashes, resting in a clear ashtray. He instantly knew that Moon Pie was in the trailer. His hands were shaking as he quietly eased the pistol’s safety into the off position. Jake’s logical, rational side was being blocked by a primitive emotion—the one that desired to kill the person haunting and tormenting his family.
As Jake started across the tiny den, he caught a blur out of the corner of his eye and spun around just in time to face his attacker. The adrenaline coursing through him significantly impaired his fine motor skills, causing his attempted shot to be off its mark. The attacker pistol-whipped him before he could squeeze the trigger again. Jake’s gun hit the floor an instant before he did.
Moon Pie kicked Jake’s pistol out of reach and then stood over him. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the room. Moon Pie put his free hand on his burning side. His fingers were wet and warm. He knew he had been hit but felt no pain. That would come later, when the adrenaline subsided. He pulled up his shirt and saw where the bullet had struck him. Another two inches and it would have missed. Dammit, Moon Pie thought as he lightly touched the wound.
He walked over to the front door to see if anyone was coming after hearing the gunshot. When he was satisfied that no one either had heard the shot or cared enough to investigate, he closed the door and locked it. He walked over to Jake’s gun, picked it up, and then put it into the back waistband of his pants. Moon Pie, breathing heavily, had a wild look in his eyes as he stood over Jake, trying to decide what he would do next. He looked again at his wound and knew that he would live but that Jake Crosby wouldn’t.
CHAPTER 92
AFTER DRIVING BY the police station four times, the Tennessee Mexicans were convinced that the money bag was inside. The GPS tracking program installed on the laptop showed the bag’s location in the middle of the municipal police station. The Mexicans were pissed. They turned their attention to the ankle bracelet on Moon Pie.
According to the tracking program, the Chocolate City Club was their next stop. They closed the computer when they pulled through the packed parking lot of the juke joint. By the types of vehicles in the lot, they knew that they would not be welcome. Neither one wanted to go inside to look for Moon Pie, so they quickly decided to wait and follow Moon Pie to a more private location. No matter how well armed they were, this was not the place to make a scene. The Mexicans drove back to West Point and parked downtown by the granite memorial to Delta-blues legend Howlin’ Wolf.
“Why he was named Howlin’ Wolf?” Guillermo asked in broken English, shutting his car door.
“Who knows? Why would somebody be named Moon Pie? This Southern rural culture fascinates me,” Julio said, as he lit a long cigar.
“Americanos locos.”
Julio walked closer to the monument and carefully read the inscription. “Guillermo, take my picture. Señor Wolf is famous.”
Guillermo snapped a quick picture of his boss with his camera phone. He marveled at how Julio acclimated himself to the area before a confrontation. Guillermo knew this wisdom was the result of years working the streets. It provided Julio with the confidence to move slowly and precisely when the situation warranted. Julio made it a point to understand his quarry.
“What now, señor?” Guillermo asked, anxious to do something of value.
“I want to go back by the old hotel where the money bag stayed for a day and see what we can learn. We may have missed something,” Julio said, pointing with his cigar.
“Tengo hambre. ¿Desea comer?”
“We will eat soon. Paciencia,” Julio replied, checking his holstered weapon hidden under his camel-hair jacket.
CHAPTER 93
IT HAD BEEN a long Sunday for Levi
, hanging out at the Gold Mine, waiting. Since he and Moon Pie had exchanged clothes, the local cop watching the store had him pinned down until Levi was sure that Moon Pie was safely out of the state. He was growing more concerned about the Tennessee Mexicans finding him or mistaking him for Moon Pie. Levi finally called a friend to give him a ride to Moon Pie’s trailer. As expected, the police officer followed, and when Levi got out at the trailer park, he waved the police car over.
When the police officer pulled up and rolled down his window, Levi leaned in and asked, “Afternoon, Officer. Is there anythin’ I can do for ya?”
The confused policeman stared at Levi for a few seconds, processing the incongruity of the person asking the question wearing Moon Pie’s clothes. He grunted and drove off.
Once inside Moon Pie’s trailer, Levi grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator and started to look around. The place appeared to be messier than when he had left. The first thing Levi thought was that the Mexicans had found the place and trashed it, looking for their money. Levi quickly glanced into his small bedroom. Since it looked exactly as he had left it, he assumed that Moon Pie must have left in a hurry. Levi changed out of Moon Pie’s clothes into his own, packed a bag, and left to go find Bailey, driving an old, uninsured pickup truck that Levi hated.
When Bailey wasn’t at her apartment, Levi went straight to the Henry Clay Hotel and found himself standing out front, waving at her grandmother inside.
Lucille didn’t really like that Walter and Sebastian were so anxious to talk to Levi, but she too wanted to know about Bailey, so she motioned for him to come inside.
After Lucille made the initial introductions, she offered Levi a seat at the table. She smiled at him as he sat down. “Levi, have you heard from Bailey?”