Dead Money Run

by J. Frank James

Raising his right hand, he put his thumb up like he was looking for a ride, “One, you’re standing at the East Gate of the Atlanta Pen.” Then he extended his forefinger, “Two, this is the gate they usually let the prisoners exit from when they get out of the joint.” Next he popped his middle finger up. “And three, you ain’t got no car.”

  “You sound like a man who speaks from experience,” I said.

  He was smiling now like a cat about to eat a canary.

  “Look, let’s try and make this as easy as possible. Are you getting in the car or do we have to make this hard?”

  On the word ‘hard’, the rear car door opened behind the passenger side of the car. A dude the size of a gorilla on steroids exited the car. His face looked like it had gone fifteen rounds with a meat grinder and lost. The amount of scar around his eyes was so thick he had to keep blinking to see. Dressed in suit that had that slept in look, there was one thing you didn’t miss. On his feet he had the largest pair of Nikes I had ever seen.

  “Do I look that stupid to you, asshole? Here’s my answer.” I shot him a bird.

  “Enough of the hand signals. You were dumb enough to get caught. Now let’s see how smart you got while you were in the can.”

  In one motion, the canary swallower pushed off the Lincoln and unbuttoned his coat like he had plenty of practice.

  “I got it,” I said. “You guys are part of a circus. You in the blue suit, you’re a stand in for Rudy Kazzuti and the fat one dressed in the roof tarp, he’s a fill in for Bimbo the Elephant. When does the tumbling act start?”

  “Fuck you wise guy,” said Bimbo. Those were probably the only four words he knew.

  “I take it this is the hard part,” I said.

  “Just the way you like it, Lou,” said canary man.

  I was concentrating so hard I did not hear the door open behind me, just a voice.

  “Mr. Malloy?”

  One of the prison guards was standing in the doorway with a paper bag in his hand.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You forgot your valuables.”

  Walking to where the guard was standing, I took the paper bag from him. I felt like kissing him.

  “Everything all right here?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said over my shoulder. “These gents just need directions to the circus. Maybe you could give them some help?”

  My wallet was inside the bag and the two, one hundred dollar bills that I had on me when I entered the prison fifteen years ago, were still in the sack where I left them.

  Looking at the canary swallower, I said, “Everything is good if I can get you to call a cab for me.”

  “That’s the least I can do after fifteen years, Mister Malloy,” said the guard.

  I never knew the guard’s name, but when he came back to tell me a cab was on its way, the menagerie had gotten in their car. The canary swallower had started the engine and raced it a few times just to prove he had one. Then he made a U-turn in the street squealing the tires as Bimbo shot me a bird or his IQ. I didn’t know which and he probably didn’t either. When I turned around to thank the guard, he too had left. A few minutes later a cab pulled up and I got in. I told the cab driver to take me to the nearest Greyhound Bus station. My plan for the day was to buy a one-way ticket to Jacksonville Beach. I didn’t think I had seen the last of the circus team, but I didn’t care either.

  While in the cab, I took off my left shoe and sock. I stuffed the two hundreds under my foot and put my sock back on and then the shoe. It was a prison trick. Carrying money around in prison was never easy. Some guys went to the extreme of keeping their money in a small stainless steel tube and shoving it up their rear with a string attached so they could remove it when they had to. For me, the sock trick was more my style.

  Chapter 6

  At the bus station, I caught a break. The bus out of Atlanta was an express to Jacksonville. The downside was to get to Jacksonville Beach I had to take a local.

  It was two in the morning when the bus arrived at the Pearl Street bus station in Jacksonville. All I had in my pocket was the thirty-five dollars left from the hundred the prison had given me and the two, one hundred dollar bills under my left foot. Looking around the bus terminal, besides being tired, I felt a little lost.

  “You need a ride.”

  Turning around I saw a girl who looked to be about fifteen years old. No, make that eighteen.

  “Who were you expecting to see, Stanley?” she dead panned. I was so tired I wasn’t sure of the answer.

  “My name is not Stanley,” I said.

  “Please bore me with the details,” she said.

  “I need a place to sleep and a way to get to Jacksonville Beach,” I said.

  “I can do that. What’s your name? Mine’s Hilary Kelly.”

  I refocused my eyes and took a closer look. The girl was really a woman and who could pass for eighteen about ten years ago. She had crow’s feet at the corners of each eye and her complexion had seen more than its share of sun. Pulled down in front of her face was a floppy hat that made it difficult to get a good look at her. She looked attractive, in a cute sort of way. Besides, I was tired and had nothing to lose.

  “Mine’s Lou Malloy. Pleased to meet you, Hilary. You got a car or are you on foot.”

  “Motorcycle. You okay with that?”

  “Sure.” In for a penny, in for a pound my old Pappy used to say.

  I had never ridden on the back of a motorcycle before. It was an interesting experience. The little Honda bike didn’t have a sissy bar to hold on to, so I had to wrap my hands around Hilary’s waist to keep from falling backwards. The little bike had more kick than I thought it would.

  It had been over fifteen years since I had been with a woman and, back then, I was just getting started. Holding onto her waist, I could feel her body flex with each turn and acceleration. I fought off the sexual experience. As she accelerated into each turn, she seemed to sense my arousal and leaned into me making things worse, but I worked my mind into thinking of something else. After about ten minutes we turned into a small court with twelve small trailers in it. Three trailers down, she stopped the bike in front of one that had seen better days.

  “Okay. We are here,” she said, bringing the bike to a stop.

  Here was not much. Someone had taken a can of silver spray paint and sprayed it on the outside to cover up some of the rust. The park was the size of a hundred by one fifty foot lot with hook-ups for the trailers. However, at two in the morning, I couldn't be sure of anything. I stood by the front door waiting for Hilary to unlock it. After she did, she stepped back and with the sweep of her hand, ushered me inside. Reaching around the door, she turned a light on. Inside, everything was built in. I was surprised by its compactness and how clean it was. Dropping my bag on the floor, I sat down on the couch. I was so tired my mind was a blank. I had some questions, but they would wait until later. Sitting down was the last thing I remembered.

  In my dream, I was talking with my sister. She was telling me how glad she was to see me and the plans she had for us. Said she wanted us to be like a family. I didn't remember what I said, probably nothing. After fifteen years, what was there to say? I tried to touch her and got a sense of falling toward her. She was smiling and reaching out for me when I felt movement around me.

  In prison, I learned early not to react too quickly to things stirring around me until I knew what was happening. Opening my eyes, I saw Hilary in a chair across the room with my bag opened on her lap. She was looking through it like a person who had searched bags before in a slow and methodical way.

  With one swift motion, I came off the couch and, swinging my right arm, hitting her on the side of the head, knocking her to the floor. She let out a scream and I hit her again. This time she didn’t make a sound. She just lay on the floor, looking up at me.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I yelled. She kept looking at me without saying a word.

  “I’m not going to ask again.”


  “Trying to find out who you really are.”

  “I told you. I’m Lou Malloy and I am an ex-con. I don’t have much more to add to that. Now it’s your turn.”

  “I told you. I’m a student.”

  “Bullshit,” I said. “You have just one more chance then its lights out.”

  I waited as she pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them like a school girl waiting for her turn on the trampoline. Finally her eyes dilated and, taking a deep breath, said, “Okay. I’m not in school, but the part about being a friend of your sister is true. She told me all about you. The robbery, your being in prison and that you were getting out soon. She even told me the day you were getting out. I figured there was an eighty percent chance that you would come to Jacksonville on a bus. A friend of mine works for the Greyhound Bus Company and they are just like the airlines. When you bought your ticket he gave me the heads up and the rest was easy.”

  “How could my sister know when I got out? I didn’t even know until after I learned of her death?”

  Nothing.

  “You better start talking,” I said.

  “I don’t know, she just did.”

  “What if someone was meeting me when I got off the bus?”

  “If someone was meeting you then they would have met you when you got out of prison. I figured the odds were pretty good that you would be alone. If someone met you at the bus station then I planned to move on. It was no skin off my nose. Besides, I figured I had nothing to lose.”

  “Yeah, you did,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Your life.”

  Chapter 7

  “So what do you want?” I said.

  “I want to find out who killed Susan and why. I want what you want.”

  “Why look through my stuff? You could have asked me.”

  “You would have lied. You’re an ex-con, remember.”

  Well, she had a point. I decided to cut her some slack, besides I needed a place to hang for a few days. I also decided to play my next card.

  “Who’s Jake Lockman?”

  For a few moments Hilary just stared at me. When she spoke I caught a bit of anger in her voice.

  “He’s a bum. How do you know about him?”

  At least she was up to speed on something.

  “He sent me a letter about Susan’s death. Just before I got out, I called him.” I then told her the gist of his call and about the condo and of my suspicions.

  “I’m not sure about the pimp part,” said Hilary. “I don’t think he’s that smart, but he’s a bum and probably one of the reasons why Susan is dead.”

  When I asked if she thought he killed her, she said, “No, but he liked to gamble and do drugs. He owes a lot of people money. I know Susan told him about you and the money. He probably used that to buy himself some time with whoever was holding his markers. He hung around the Casino where Susan worked from time to time. Always trying to make a score at the tables, but I heard he was barred from the place because of all the money he owed.”

  As Hilary told me the whole story about Lockman and Susan and how she had met Susan, her eyes started to water. By the time she finished her story, she was into a full cry out. I handed her a paper towel from a roll on the kitchen counter.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “They’re your paper towels,” I said.

  We sat talking about Susan longer than I wanted to. I needed a set of wheels. Riding around on the back of Hilary’s Honda was not my idea of public transportation. I needed some money and to get that I had to get to a place called Turtle Point, just north of Rainbeau, Georgia.

  “You know anyone with a car they would loan you for a few days?”

  Looking up she asked, “Why?”

  “Because I need a car for a few days and since you are the only one I know in this town, you’re it.”

  “I don’t know. I would have to ask around. They are probably going to want some money from me.”

  “How much,” I said.

  “A hundred dollars.”

  “I have thirty-five dollars on me and I can throw thirty bucks in until I get to Rainbeau. How much can you throw in the pot?” I didn't tell her about the two bills under my left foot.

  “You want me to go with you?”

  “You know someone else in this town I know with a driver’s license?” I said.

  “No.”

  “Well, there you have it. Call someone and get a car. I’ll make it worth their while.”

  “What, you going to part with the five dollar bill?”

  “Trust me,” I said.

  “That’s what all the johns say.”

  I watched her get up off the floor and walk across the room. Picking up her cellphone, she punched in some numbers and put the phone up to her ear. If she was going to give me up, now was as good a time as any.

  “Sammy. This is Hilary. I need to borrow your car for a few days. Yes, I’ll give you a hundred dollars. Yes, I will bring it back with a full tank of gas. Okay. I will be right over.”

  After she punched off her phone, Hilary said, “You have the thirty-dollars?”

  “Thirty-five,” I said. “I figured I would go all in.”

  “That’s white of you,” said Hilary.

  Walking over to the sack that I had brought from prison, I took out my small roll of prison money. I thought about the money under my foot, but I decided it was better to keep Hilary committed for now. I gave her the rest of my prison money and kept the two hundred for a rainy day.

  “Here,” I said. “Try to make it last.”

  Taking the money from me, she turned and walked to the back of her trailer and took a box down from a shelf, lifted the lid and took out a hand full of cash and started to count out more money. When she was done, she put the box back and walked to the front door.

  “How do you know I won’t take your money and run,” I said.

  “You can’t go anywhere. You don’t know the town and you probably can’t ride a bike.”

  Chapter 8

  I watched Hilary walk across the lot to a trailer, four trailers down. I spotted a four door sedan parked in front that had one of those ‘donut’ tires on the rear wheel behind the passenger side of the car. The only thing the car had going for it was it had four wheels. Once I reached Turtle Point, the car would have served its purpose. From there the car had to make it to Savannah where I planned on picking up a better one.

  When Hilary came back, she was driving the car. I watched her park it and come inside.

  “I thought I asked for a car not a hearse,” I said.

  “Look, Lou, around here you take what you can get. You want me to give it back?”

  When we left, I asked her if she knew where Rainbeau was. She pointed north.

  Before we left, she packed up a few things and the box full of money.

  “You saving for a rainy day?” I asked, pointing at the box.

  “That’s the grad school I probably will never go to.”

  It took us two hours to get to Rainbeau. It was straight up I-95. When we reached the town’s exit, I told her she had to go a little further north to an exit called New River.

  “So we’re not going to Rainbeau, I take it.”

  “Close enough,” I said. “Get off at exit sixty-seven and turn right. Just past a little building called The Littlest Church in America, take a left on Turtle Ridge Road.”

  Hilary shook her head and said, “I have to hand it to you. You sure can hang out in some strange places.”

  “I didn’t pick it,” I said. “By the way, I think we are being followed. Two shooters in a red car picked us up as we passed the Jacksonville Airport exit.”

  “You sure,” said Hilary with tension in her voice.

  “Pretty sure,” I said. “Keep going and we’ll see if they get off with us.”

  “Where did the name Turtle Point come from?”

  “The place had been a nesting place for a particular type of se
a turtle. It was also the site for a small airfield for local use. When World War II came along, the Army took it over and built a larger landing area to train pilots to track German subs off the Georgia coast. The base ended the place’s use as a turtle sanctuary.”

  “Bet they couldn’t do that today,” said Hilary.

  “Not so sure about that,” I said. “Anyway, when the Army bought up all of the land around the point and put the airfield here, the name stuck, but the turtles moved on.”

  “There a runway on the place?”

  “At one time,” I said, “but it was pretty torn up when I last saw it.”

  “How come you know so much about this place?”

  “I had fifteen years to think about it,” I said.

  “How did you find this place?”

  “I didn’t. Henry Lowe did. Lowe served as an aircraft mechanic in the war and worked here while he completed his service. Besides, at the time, I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter.

  “After about six miles you are going to see a sign for a wildlife center, but it should be abandoned, at least it was when I was last here,” I said. “Pull in there and wait for me to open the gate. The place still looks abandoned. No need to worry about visitors. Nothing more than a couple of old buildings, some torn up runways and ponds for wildlife in the area and two of the biggest gators I ever saw.”

  “How many gators have you seen so far?” asked Hilary.

  “Just these two, but they’re big enough.”

  Other than the sign being knocked to one side, everything looked pretty much the same.

  After driving through the gate, I walked back to close the gate and looked to be sure the car I had seen earlier was still tailing us. When I saw a flash of red at a bend about two miles down the road, I walked back to the car and got in and gave Hilary the good news.

  “It looks like we are still being followed,” I said.

  Turning toward me with a look of fear, Hilary said, “How do you know?”

  “Trust me,” I said. “They’re driving a red Mustang convertible. They might as well have rented an Oscar Mayer Wienermobile. Only thing better would have been a flashing red light on top.”