Dead Money Run

by J. Frank James

  “Roscoe say how long the vic’s been dead?” Ramiro asked.

  “About six hours, no more.”

  Ramiro was standing outside of the house. He really didn’t want to go in. He had seen enough dead people for one day.

  “What’s inside?” Ramiro said.

  “Six dead. Two, torn up pretty good. Four others and this one right here all have head shots. Professional hits, be my guess.”

  “Great,” said Ramiro. “Any idea who lives here?”

  “Shelia and Billy Marks.”

  “Marks, that name rings a bell,” said Ramiro. “Any history on these people going forward? Like where they work, where they’re from and what the hell happened here. They look like ordinary people.”

  “Not that ordinary,” said a voice from behind. Turning, Ramiro saw an Indian in a uniform with a badge on his chest.

  “And who are you, chief?” Ramiro said.

  “Name’s Two-Tree. I’m with the Timucua Tribal Police Force.”

  “You’re a little off your reservation aren’t you Chief?”

  “Not really, paleface. And it’s Sergeant Two-Tree to you.”

  “My question still stands, Sergeant.”

  “When I hear about one of our people being involved in a homicide, I’m obligated to check it out.”

  “Which one of these people belongs to you?” said Ramiro.

  “The dead woman inside, if it is Shelia Marks, belongs to us. She’s a Tribal Officer.”

  “I thought only Indians could be part of your organization,” said Goodnight.

  “Before she married Marks, her last name was Lightfoot.”

  “You happen to know what Marks did for a living,” Ramiro said. “This isn’t a cheap house.”

  “He was a dealer at our casino here,” said Two-Tree.

  “I didn’t think dealers made this kind of money to be able to afford a home like this.”

  “I don’t think they owned this place,” said Two-Tree.

  “You mean they rented this place?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know who the owner is?” Ramiro asked.

  “Someone named Reynolds.”

  “You got a number for him?” Ramiro asked.

  “I can get that for you, but right now I would like to get inside the house and see what the crime scene looks like,” said Two-Tree.

  “Looks like someone was cutting up meat,” said Goodnight.

  “Isn’t that what happens when you kill something?” said Two-Tree.

  “You Indians always did have a way of putting things in perspective,” said Ramiro.

  “We have a saying before we went into battle. Today is a good day to die.”

  “From the way this deal is falling,” said Ramiro, “it looks like that’s true every day lately.”

  Chapter 30

  “Hilary?”

  “Yes O Great and Powerful Wizard.”

  “I’m being serious. I think we need more muscle on our team. I can be in only one place at a time and I don’t want to leave you at risk.”

  “What, you think I can’t protect myself?”

  “No,” I said. “That’s not it. I’m worried about what’s chasing us.”

  “What did you have in mind?” said Hilary.

  “I know an ex-con who was a professional wrestler and while we were in prison together told me that I should look him up when I got out. From time to time he said that he would do a side job. I just knew him by his professional name.”

  “And what’s his name? Just don’t tell me it is something like the Scarlett Knight or something.”

  “Crusher.”

  Folding her arms across her chest, Hilary replied, “Sounds cartoonish, if you ask me. When I was young, I remember a cartoon that had a dog in it called Crusher.”

  “I never got to watch cartoons when I was young,” I said. “There were too many other things going on that kept me in stitches.”

  As we got closer to Atlanta I become more vigilant. Every car, truck or motorcycle was a threat. If I saw someone behind me more than one time my concern level went up a notch.

  “Do you think it’s safe to go into town with a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars wrapped around your waist and another three hundred grand in the trunk of the car?”

  “Not with you watching my back.” I said. “I have to find Northside Drive and NW Tenth Street. The gym where Crusher said he worked out was on the northwest corner.”

  After about two minutes of doodling on her iPhone, Hilary had the location and read out the address for me. I told her I could do that, but I wanted to give her something to do. She laughed and said, “In your dreams, Big Boy. I’ve seen you thumbing a cellphone and if God hadn’t given you forefingers you would still be in the dark ages.”

  Chapter 31

  We arrived at the Northside Gym thirty minutes after exiting I-20. Before we got out of the car, I gave Hilary the rules of the road, so to speak.

  “Okay, I won’t ask for an autograph,” Hilary said. “At least not right off.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Just let me do the talking. It’s been about three years since I last saw Crusher. Remember, caution is the better part of valor.”

  “You done?” said Hilary.

  “Yes.”

  “For your information, I was a member of the female wrestling team at my college and I was all-intramural for my weight class. I will not make a fool out of you in front of your friends. I have you know, I know the difference between a Flying Mare and a Full Nelson. Do you?”

  She had me there.

  “Flying Mare is something seen in Greek Mythology and a Full Nelson is a drink made famous by some sea captain who lived in Boston named Nelson. Take that Ollie,” I said. “How did I do?”

  “You missed it, but don’t worry. We have plenty of time to work on the moves later.”

  From the outside, the gym looked like one of those suburban shit holes where kids hung out and wrote graffiti on the walls. Besides needing a paint job, the letters on the sign above the front door were falling off and there were potholes in the parking lot. However, the inside of the gym was another story. It was equipped with the best of everything. There were four raised rings with a couple of wrestlers in each practicing moves. It reminded me of a gladiator school from the days of the Roman Empire that I read about while in prison.

  Looking around the room, a grappler was hitting a heavy bag while another gym rat, the size of a Pee Wee Leaguer, was trying to hold it in place. The Puncher hitting the bag was as black as a crow’s wing and had a head so shinny it looked waxed.

  With each punch, the smaller man holding the bag came off the ground. I walked up with Hilary and asked if they knew anyone named Crusher. The Puncher turned toward me and said, “Who wants to know?”

  “I do,” I said.

  “And who are you, Bread?”

  “Don’t call me bread and I won’t call you Shiny. My name is Lou Malloy and this is my friend, Hilary Kelly. “

  The Puncher stepped away from the bag and flexed his shoulder muscles. He wore a white muscle shirt and white tights. With each body movement, he rolled his muscles in the direction of the movement. My guess was the move was to either scare me or impress Hilary. He was big, no doubt about it, but I had him in height by about four inches and I was committed. There was nothing I could do about it except to play it out.

  “You’re either the smartest honky I have ever seen or the dumbest. Only two ways this is going to go down, Bread. I either gonna whip your white ass or you gonna whip my black one. You good with that?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But don’t you want to get your cut man out here first?”

  Hilary was grabbing my arm saying, “Lou, let’s forget this part of the plan. Not worth it. Please…”

  The Puncher looked past me again and smiled at Hilary saying, “Don’t worry sweetheart, you’re next.”

  When he said that, I wrapped my right hand around the roll of quarters in my pock
et and let my hand drop to my side. The Puncher turned to tell everyone to step back and give him room. When he started to turn and face me, I hit him right on the tip of his nose with everything I had. I didn’t hurt him as much as I surprised him. Puncher was sitting on his fanny so fast he almost missed his landing. A steady stream of blood was coming from his nose and after a few more seconds, he rolled over on his side and put his hands to his face. As he did that, I stepped back and straightened my coat and rolled my shoulders. Two could play that game.

  Turning, everyone in the room was looking at me like I was some alien creature. Hilary’s jaw was hanging open and Pee Wee dropped his arms and said, “Oh my. I think he’s dead.”

  “No,” I said. “Get some cotton in his nose and put some ice on it. He’ll be good as new in about a week.”

  No one else in the place moved. I took another step back and everyone took a step back from me like a choreographed dance step. Finally Pee Wee said something to the effect of ‘Did I know what I just did.’ It was a stupid question and there was no reason to answer it.

  “I need to find someone named Crusher,” I said.

  Pee Wee pointed toward the floor and started to try and revive the Puncher when I heard a voice from the back of the place say, “Leave him be. He needed to learn a lesson and you gave it to him.” Looking up, the voice belonged to a well-dressed person wearing a white shirt and tie. Walking toward us, he held out his hand when he was about two feet from me.

  “Stuart Roseman. I own this place. What can I do for you?” I didn’t shake it. Looking at his hand, he dropped it and said, “Mister Malloy, you’re looking at Crusher lying on that mat out in the main area of the gym. Not sure what you need Crusher for, but it would seem he may have lost his usefulness.

  “Now, if I may, I will try and be of some assistance if you told me what it is that you needed Crusher for. I suspect that it is muscle. Have I got that right?”

  “You’re close,” I said.

  It had been about five years since I last saw Crusher and things change, but not that much. The Crusher I knew was white.

  “Yes,” said Roseman. “Generally when people come around asking for Crusher they need someone to provide protection, but from the looks of it, that’s not your problem.

  “My office is in the back of the gym. It might be more private than talking out here in the middle of the room.”

  As we followed Roseman back to his office, Hilary cut her eyes at me and I put my hand out in a placating motion. Roseman’s office looked efficient. Everything seemed to have a place. After we sat down, Roseman took a seat at his desk and was looking at me in an attentive way. I planned on waiting him out. Finally he said, “Let me try this on for size. You were in prison with Crusher and made his acquaintance on the inside, as they so often like to say. However, it would appear that you are quite capable of taking care of yourself. That being the case, I can hardly believe you feel the need for protection on a personal level.” Turning, Roseman looked at Hilary. “Ergo, the protection must be for you, Miss Kelly?”

  Hilary shifted and I sensed she was about to say something that didn’t answer the real question. “Roseman,” I said. “My sister was killed a few months ago while I was incarcerated. I’m looking for her killer.”

  “Are you an ex-cop?” he said.

  “No, I’m an ex-con and her brother. That should be cause enough.”

  “Agreed. So why does Hilary here need protection when she has you?”

  “I’m not always going to be around and some people play rough, real rough.”

  Sitting in his chair, Roseman put a finger to his lips. “This is about money, I take it? If you tell me otherwise, then I can’t help you. However, if it is about money, then I am your man.”

  People wanted to hear what they want you to tell them. Roseman was probably no different. What could he do for us? He might have fancy clothes on and look like he just stepped out of GQ, but at the end of the day we had to help ourselves.

  Sitting forward in my chair, I said, “Mister Roseman, that is your name, right?”

  He didn’t say anything, but nodded his head in the affirmative like some wise old sage.

  “I don’t really know you. Furthermore, I don’t know what you can do for us even if I asked you to do it. Since I don’t know you and Hilary doesn’t give a shit what you can or can’t do, that leaves the game up to you to win or lose. You think you can help us, then tell us what you can do and we’ll decide whether you’re in or not. How’s that grab you?”

  We sat looking at each other while Roseman brushed the front of his shirt with his hand like he had something on it that wasn’t supposed to be there. It was a tell indicating he was about to do something and he was trying to distract us. As he did that, I reached inside my right coat pocket and cocked the Python. I was prepared to shoot through the desk. A person could hear a pin drop.

  Whatever Roseman was planning, he gave it a pass when he heard the hammer on the Python click in place.

  “I know who you are. You were part of the gang that lifted a cool fifteen million dollars from the Outfit that owns the Indian Casino on Cumberland Island. I remember the day of that caper like yesterday. You see I was on the island that day doing some work out at the Georgia Research Center there. I used to be a professor at the University of Georgia.

  “At the time, I thought you boys had a lot of balls to pull that off. I still think that. But, I’m not interested in being your enemy or, for that matter, your friend. I’m interested in being your partner. To be that, I have to convince you that I’m trustworthy and have something of value to give you. The only way to do that is to earn it. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to put this on top of my desk,” and with that he placed a Colt pistol, it looked to be a .32, on top of his desk and said, “I’m going to get up and let you two talk it over. You haven’t been on the outside long enough to get to where you need to go without someone like me helping you. I figure you are here looking for that someone or something. Otherwise, you would be gone. Fifteen million dollars is a lot of money, even nowadays. The people you took it from want it back. I could get them to pay me to give you up, but then I’d spend all my time looking over my shoulder waiting for someone to come up behind me.”

  When Roseman finished with his little pitch, he got up from his desk and said, “Okay, I’ll leave you two to talk it over.”

  Like a pair mongooses watching a snake, Hilary and I watched Roseman leave the room. The effect of that was not lost on us. Had the Colt he placed on the desk been loaded, it would have made a bigger impression. Hilary was the first to say something.

  “I thought I had seen everything, but I never saw anything like that. What do you think he wants, Lou?”

  “What they all want, money. The question is, how much? Now we have to figure out how to do this without him nosing around.” After I said that, I held my finger to my lips to cue Hilary and she played it perfectly.

  “I was thinking that we might as well trust him. We have nothing to lose. Besides, he seems like such a nice guy. Maybe he can get the Puncher to help too. I felt so bad for him. Do you think he’s alright?”

  I gave Hilary the look. She was starting to overdo it. When she saw me, she just waved her hand in front of her face and kept talking.

  “I declare, Lou. You are just the nicest guy. Beating up people one minute and wanting to help them out the next. Doesn’t it just give you a warm feeling all over?”

  I was tempted to tell her that it did and that it was running down my leg.

  “Yeah. Let’s get Roseman back in here and tell him we’ll get back to him tomorrow with our decision? What do you say, Honey Bunch?”

  Hilary looked at me and stuck her tongue out. After a few more minutes Roseman opened the door and walked back into the room. He reminded me of a poker player that had drawn the fourth ace in a stud poker after betting the pot.

  “So what do you guys say? Do we have a deal?”

  “Y
eah,” I said. “But we need to think about it and let you know for sure tomorrow. How’s Crusher doing?”

  “Spots, that’s who was holding the bag, took him down to Grady Hospital. He should be okay. He is a tough cookie.”

  “Yeah, if you ask me,” I said. “He looks tougher than a garlic fart.”

  Roseman was grinning from ear to ear. He knew he was in. In fact, everyone was grinning. He grinned figuring he had us by the short hairs. Hilary, because she figured she was looking at a dead man and me, because I was the one who was probably going to kill him.

  Chapter 32

  When we got to the car, I unlocked the door with the keyless entry button. Then I pushed the button that started the engine. I waited for Hilary to get in before I said anything. She talked first.

  “Would you have shot him?”

  “Definitely,” I said.

  “Do you think he’s for real?”

  “No and yes,” I said.

  “I know the ‘no’ part, what’s the ‘yes’ part?”

  “He didn’t figure out what he said to us on his own. Someone had to tell him. That’s the first thing. Secondly, he overplayed his role. If he was as bad as he thought he was or as bad as he wanted us to think he was, he’d have taken a shot at me and turned me in for the reward from whoever has the contract out on me or I should say, us. Lastly, I don’t know who Puncher is, but the Crusher I know is white and he is about twice Puncher’s size. Besides, Crusher would have fought me pretty even. The one I knocked down was so muscle bound he probably couldn’t tie his shoes without falling over. Still, Roseman’s probably an in for us to some higher ups. Finding the person who killed my sister is going to be like looking for a snake in a hay stack.”

  “I think you mean needle,” said Hilary.

  “No, I stand by what I said.”

  I put the car in gear and drove out of the parking area. As we exited the lot, a white rice burner fell in behind us.