by Jeff Siebold
“That’s huge,” she said.
“It was incredible. He used a scorched earth approach. Basically, if you were with him, you could get rich. If you were against him, you were as good as dead. ‘Silver or Lead,’ he used to say. Those were the options.”
“And you think Billy Forester was working for this Escobar,” said Tracy.
“There’s a chance. And by extension it’s possible that this entire ‘gang of conchs’ were working for Pablo. The Keys were a major entry point for drugs back then.”
“Makes sense. Your folks might have seen something and reported it. They could have been witnesses,” she continued.
Zeke nodded. “Sally confirmed it with the FBI. My folks were the witnesses for the Feds. And someone went after them.”
* * *
“Sally, how’ve you been?” asked Zeke, over the secured phone line.
“I’ve been naughty,” said the blonde researcher. “Since you asked.”
“Of course you have,” said Zeke. “I know you’ve checked with the FBI, but can we also run a credit check on Billy Forester? Former sheriff of Monroe County?”
Using the Agency’s vernacular, a credit check included a search of criminal records, military records, financial statements, employment history and much more, including an actual credit check.
“Sure can. That would be ‘William Forester’. He must be a key player.”
“I believe that may be so,” said Zeke. “He presently lives in Marathon.” He gave her the address.
“Will do. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”
“Thanks, Sally,” said Zeke.
* * *
“I wondered when you’d get to me,” said Billy Forester.
“I’m sure you’ve been tracking our progress. Owen Parks. Captain Brown. Skinny Gonzalez. Our trajectory was toward you the whole time,” said Zeke.
Forester was about six feet tall and looked to be in his sixties. His gray hair was cut short, close to his head in what looked like a quasi-military fashion, and his bearing was erect. Overall, he looked like a retired bird colonel.
Zeke was standing on Forester’s dock, while Forester was working on his fishing boat. Zeke had found the former Sheriff doing something to one of the vessel’s two fighting chairs.
Forester looked at Zeke and shrugged. “You’re digging around in something that happened thirty years ago. There’s no physical evidence of any crime. And I don’t think you have any witnesses. At least none that would testify…”
“Why do you say that?” asked Zeke.
“Look, I was sorry to hear about your folks. Sincerely. But there’s nothing to be done about it now.”
“Is this your place?” asked Zeke, looking behind him at the waterfront mansion that dominated the double lot.
“It is. I made some good investments along the way. I was in public service for thirty-five years. And the county has a pretty good retirement system.”
“You were a part of the gang that killed my parents,” said Zeke.
“How old were you when they died?”
“I was eight,” said Zeke.
“Like I said, I was sorry to hear about that. But I can’t help you.”
* * *
“So how does the story sound to you, so far?” asked Zeke.
Tracy thought about it for a moment.
“Well, like the puzzle is missing some pieces,” she said.
“I agree,” said Zeke. They were sitting in the living room of the Marathon cottage, looking at the water and talking. Zeke had just returned from his visit with Billy Forester.
“There seem to be a number of things that don’t fit quite right,” he continued.
“Like, why would you try to terrorize tourists to keep them away?” said Tracy. “Who would think a bomb would do that? Even a dud?”
Zeke was nodding. “And why was the West Wind targeted?” asked Zeke. “This wasn’t random. Owen Parks let that out. He finally implied to me that Billy Forester chose the target.”
“But he didn’t say why?” asked Tracy.
“I doubt that he knew why,” said Zeke. “He kept referring to the conch gang in military terms. ‘I was just following orders,’ ‘I was a soldier,’ things like that. Could be the soldiers didn’t know the strategy behind the plan.”
Tracy said, “But you do. It was the FBI connection.”
* * *
“The word that keeps coming to my mind is ‘frisky’,” said Zeke. “You’re still frisky.”
“I thought you needed a distraction,” said Tracy. She was sitting on the small couch next to Zeke, wearing one of his long sleeve shirts and nothing else.
“Well, you certainly had my full attention. And I’m growing fonder and fonder of that tattoo.”
Tracy said, “It’s in a great spot. Makes me shiver when you kiss it.”
She had a small tattoo on her neck, just below her ear.
“I know,” said Zeke.
Tracy stretched, content.
Zeke said, “I’ll pour us some wine, and we can watch the sunset.”
“Over the ocean. Nice,” she said.
* * *
“Most people react to situations in a similar way,” said Zeke, after they’d arranged their chairs on the cottage deck. “It’s based on both their experiences, and on their observations. We all watch how other people react to something, and we often mimic it. Particularly if it’s someone we respect.”
“Sure,” said Tracy.
“So as I interviewed the remaining members of the Conch Gang…”
“Is that what we’re calling them?” asked Tracy. “I was thinking something like ‘The Cocoon Boys’.”
Zeke smiled. “Whatever you like,” he said. “But there wasn’t a lot of consistency in their responses. It was like they were isolated from each other. Given different information. Everybody had a little bit different view of what was going on.
“Hmm,” she said.
“Parks knew about the mechanics of the operation, but I doubt that he knew the real motivation. He didn’t have a leadership perspective,” said Zeke.
“You said he was more like a soldier,” said Tracy. “Taking orders.”
“Yes, he was, I’m sure. It probably scared the hell out of him when the bomb went off.”
“And the others?” she asked.
“Well, I doubt that Captain Brown was involved in their murders. He didn’t know that they were FBI witnesses, and both Parks and Gonzalez said he was on the periphery of the organization. Not someone in whom you’d confide all your secrets. Particularly your illegal secrets,” said Zeke.
“So he was probably low level in the organization?” asked Tracy.
“They probably kept him in because of his father’s connections. And maybe even as leverage on his father, if they ever needed it,” said Zeke.
“It seems to be taking shape,” said Tracy.
“But Billy Forester was in a leadership role. He probably had the most to lose. And he was in a position to run the operation.”
“As sheriff? You mean he could have coordinated the operation to keep the tourists and the mainland fishermen out of the Keys?” asked Tracy.
“Sure. Plus, his digs right now are way above ‘public servant’ level. His boat alone has got to be worth $700,000.”
* * *
“So, are you heading back to the northeast soon?” asked Tracy. “I hate to leave, but my flight out is tomorrow afternoon.”
“It’s a quick flight to Atlanta,” said Zeke. “You can visit every weekend, if you’d like.”
“I can,” she said. The sun was glimmering, looking as if it were settling slowly into the blue ocean. “That would be nice.”
“To answer, yes, I’ll be heading back to Morristown, New Jersey next week. We’ve got something going with the FBI on a money laundry operation,” said Zeke.
“Is Morristown anything like this?” Tracy asked.
Zeke looked around. Then he looked at Tracy and
shook his head. “No, it’s not. It’s a whole other world.”
* * *
“We can’t have this coming back on us,” Julia Conners said. “There’s too much at stake. That’s why we pay so well. For distance.”
The two men stood across from her, looking down at her desk. They were relaxed and unshaken.
“Why don’t you let us do our job, and you do yours?” said the body builder. They were in Conners’ office at Pawns 4 All headquarters. They had completed their last assignment and were reporting in.
The second man, more disheveled in appearance, said to his partner, “I think she’s micro-managing.” Then to Julia he said, “Didn’t they teach you about that in Business School? Micro-managing? It’s a bad thing.”
Julia Conners looked from one man to the other. They were a true contrast, the shorter man immaculate in his appearance from his suit to his shoes to his coiffed hair to his designer glasses. He was fit and athletic looking. The slightly taller man was disorganized and disheveled. The odd couple, she thought.
She ignored the comment. “Mr. Kirby brought you in for a reason. I suggest we focus on the next part of the program.”
“OK with me,” said the second man. The bodybuilder nodded.
“We caught another one skimming,” she continued.
“Checks and balances,” said the slightly taller man. “You need checks and balances. You can’t afford to wait until the audit to discover this sort of thing.”
“Working on that,” said Conners. ”But in the meantime, this one’s got to go.”
She recited a name and an address from memory. The bodybuilder nodded again. He asked, “When?”
“As soon as you can, Harry,” said Conners. “As soon as is reasonable. We need to demonstrate that we’re taking action.”
“Demonstrate to whom?” asked the slightly taller man.
“To your boss, Wilbur,” she said.
* * *
Jack Thurmond stepped out of his office onto the plush hallway carpeting and walked to the waiting area. He was frowning a bit, possibly with the news of their Baltimore franchisee’s death.
Clive and Zeke stood as he approached. Clive extended his hand and Jack shook it.
“Glad you could make it, Mr. Chamberlain,” said Thurmond to Clive. “I want you to meet our staff and our leadership.”
“Nice office space, Pardner,” said Zeke, louder than he needed to and glancing around the open area. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over Morristown Green.
“Thank you, Mr. Ryder,” said Thurmond, still distracted. “We’ve reserved a conference room. This way, please.” He started walking toward an interior hallway.
“I noticed that this is the Union First Bank of New Jersey building. Has Pawn 4 All been associated with the bank for long?” asked Zeke.
“We have,” said Thurmond, over his shoulder. “They funded our start-up. Then, a few years ago, they funded our expansion plans… We have a very good relationship with the bank.”
Zeke agreed. He’d reviewed their financial statements for the past four years. During that time their gross revenues had increased exponentially.
The men entered the large conference room and took seats around the table. There were a dozen empty chairs, and they clustered their seating around one end of the table. Thurmond sat on the end, with Clive and Zeke next to him.
“I’m having water and coffee brought in,” said Thurmond. “And tea for you, Mr. Chamberlain.”
“Well, thank you,” said Clive.
“Today, we’d like to get you oriented with our processes,” said Thurmond, “and give you the assistance you’ll need to transition your operations to Pawn 4 All franchises.”
“That’s good, Pardner,” said Zeke. “And we’re looking forward to meeting Mr. Kirby and the others.”
* * *
After a few hours of procedural meetings with middle managers in the Pawn 4 All headquarters, Zeke and Clive were led back to the waiting area. The receptionist, a blonde twenty-something with smooth skin, said, “I’ll let Mr. Thurmond know that you’re back. Please have a seat.” She dialed a number.
Zeke and Clive sat again, waiting for Jack Thurmond. There seemed to be a lot of activity in the office, people coming and going, stopping by the receptionist’s desk, picking up files and escorting apparent visitors back and forth.
A nearby office door opened and a woman walked out. She looked to be in her forties, with brown hair tied in a complex bun and wearing a red business suit with a mid-thigh matching skirt. Her makeup was subtle, expertly applied, and she had a golden tan.
“…all the involvement we can afford right now,” she said, finishing her sentence as she walked by Clive and Zeke. Two men followed her from the office. The first was obviously a bodybuilder, a short man with biceps that pushed against the fabric of his dress shirt, and a weightlifter’s tight buttocks under his suit pants. Zeke noticed that he walked on the balls of his feet. It looked awkward.
“We’ve got to take care of this, though,” he said, shaking his head as he followed her.
The second man was single-file behind the body builder. He was average height and slightly pudgy around the middle. His brown suit was a sloppy fit, and his green shirt contrasted poorly with it. As he passed in front of Zeke and Clive, he looked at each of them with a cold, blank stare. His expression was one of boredom and disinterest.
When they had gone, Zeke stood and stretched and walked to the door of the office they had exited. The name on the door read, “Julia Conners, Vice President- Risk Management.”
A few minutes later, Thurmond came out of his office.
“Good timing,” he said. “I want to get you in to meet our President, Mr. Kirby.”
* * *
“Great to meet you,” said Kirby, and he shook Clive’s hand heartily. “My pleasure.”
Zeke and Clive had been ushered into Kirby’s office by Thurmond, and after the introductions, they took the available chairs across from Kirby’s desk.
“Well, I’ll share with you that we’re very pleased to have you two as franchisees,” he said jovially. “Glad to have you in the Pawn 4 All family!”
Chester Kirby looked like a miniature person, maybe three-quarter size. He wore a thousand dollar suit and a three hundred dollar haircut. Zeke noticed that he smelled of Pour un Homme by Caron.
“We’re glad to be here, Pardner,” Zeke said, as Clive nodded, showing a smile.
“What do you think of the operation?” Knowles asked.
“Well, Jack has been taking good care of us,” said Clive. “We’ve met a lot of your staff, and we’re impressed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chamberlain,” said Knowles, smiling. “Did you have any questions so far?”
“Well, no, the operational part of it seems pretty solid,” said Zeke. “But we’d like to know more about how the, eh, money thing works.”
“Mr. Ryder, that’s a great question,” said Knowles, almost patronizing. “I’m sure Jack has given you the 30,000 foot overview.”
Thurmond nodded.
“The specifics, the details, will be covered later this afternoon. You’ll meet our VP of Risk Management, Julia Conners. She runs that part of the operation.”
“We’re heading there next,” said Thurmond.
Chapter 22
The door to Julia Conners’ office was slightly ajar, and Zeke heard her talking on the phone as they approached. Jack Thurmond stuck his head in the door and mouthed something to Julia, probably, “We’re here,” and stepped back out into the hallway.
“She’s wrapping up a phone call,” Thurmond said apologetically. “Just be a minute.”
“I must say, your operation is pretty impressive,” said Clive. “From your processes to the support staff, even to your training. It’s blinding.”
Thurmond looked confused.
“He means it’s excellent, Pardner,” said Zeke by way of interpretation. “Very impressive.”
Thurmond’s
face cleared. “Well, we’ve been at it for a while.”
In character, Zeke put his hand on Thurmond’s shoulder and squeezed. Thurmond visibly drew back from his touch.
Julia Conners called out, “Come in, Jack.”
The three men entered the large office and stood together in front of Julia Conners’ desk. Thurmond introduced Ryder and Chamberlain, and they shook hands with the woman. She had a dazzling smile, and her jewelry matched her red jacket and skirt. Her handshake was firm, exuding confidence.
“This office is in charge of risk management,” said Julia, still smiling. “We assure that the company avoids potential problems.”
She has a crisp, sharp voice, no nonsense, thought Zeke. Her manner was self-assured, even a little condescending, but in a rather kind way.
“What type of problems have you seen, Miss Conners?” asked Clive.
“We handle most anything that threatens our franchisees,” she said. “It might be media, or legislative. We’ve had problems with security and the police. One operator was being harassed by neighboring businesses. Essentially, anything that disrupts operations.”
“Interesting. Just how do you handle things like that?” asked Zeke.
Conners looked at Zeke and smiled. “It seems like every individual problem has a unique solution,” she said. “We have in-house attorneys and lawyers on retainer, of course. And public relations people to handle the media. Our Security personnel are some of the best anywhere, and they’ve been trained to work with local law enforcement.” She paused. “But my job is to get out in front of it, to prevent the threats from even happening. Keep things working smoothly.”
Thurmond nodded. “And Julia’s done an excellent job with that,” he said.
* * *
Harry and Wilbur were dressed casually, wearing jeans and windbreakers; Wilbur had on a Baltimore Orioles ball cap and Harry a knit watch cap. They pulled the door and entered the pawnshop from Fayette Street.