by Davis Bunn
The women moved with a lithe grace, matching his stride, never touching him but very attentive. Then the woman who had confronted Amy spotted her. The woman frowned and instantly turned back to the others. When the salesman stepped away for a moment, she spoke into the man’s ear. He stiffened but did not look Amy’s way. She kept on with her work, entering the next set of codes and numbers into her system, pretending not to have noticed them. The pile of documents and the computer screen shielded her trembling hands from view.
The man glanced over then, a quick cutaway, his gaze cold, contemptuous. He turned back and murmured something that caused the woman to laugh. She draped her arm over the man’s shoulder, dismissing Amy as being of no consequence.
She should have felt relieved. Safety was in remaining invisible. Only not this time.
The man pulsed with a barely suppressed tension. He rocked on his polished boots, heel to toe, heel to toe. He jangled his loose-fitting watch. He flicked his hand like an obsidian whip. He jammed his sunglasses into his shirt pocket, then drew them out and spun them around. Constantly moving, talking, watching.
Amy remained where she was, typing in one set of documents, then another. The drug dealer lounged by the salesman’s desk now, up by the main entrance. While all the eyes were elsewhere, Amy lifted her office phone and dialed the number to her cell. Her phone jangled noisily in the quiet room, with its high ceiling and polished floors. Amy answered with a cheery hello, then carried her phone across the room, ignoring the eyes that tracked her.
Once she was outside, she continued over to where the lot’s spotlights did not carry. The resulting blackness formed a wall that left her totally invisible to everyone inside. She searched the street, hoping to find Paul. But he wasn’t around. She dialed his number from memory. When he answered, she asked, “Where are you?”
“Back at the church. I needed to start the evening crew on their rounds. You need me?”
She watched through the dealership’s windows as the group rose from the desk. “No. It’s fine.”
“You sure?”
As the salesman shook their hands, he laughed at something the man said. In the silent darkness, the salesman looked like a frantic puppet. “Yes. I’m just ready to leave.”
“Wait for me. I’ll be back at the dealership in ten minutes.”
Amy cut the connection and turned on the phone’s camera mode. The customers were starting for the exit. She started toward them, holding the phone down by her side. She shot a dozen pictures before the entourage pushed through the glass doors. She passed them with her eyes downcast. They gave no sign that they noticed her at all. Then she walked back inside and slipped the phone into her purse. She could scarcely believe what she had just done.
She was sitting and trying to get her heart rate down when Bob Denton walked through the front doors. “What are you still doing here?”
“I was just finishing up.”
He glanced at his watch, shook his head, and said, “Where are you parked?”
“Just down the street.”
“Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”
“That’s not—”
“This area can get rough after dark. From now on, you need to park in the employees’ lot.”
Bob didn’t say anything when she unlocked the camper’s door. But Amy knew he did not like the look of her ride. She called Paul on the way home and asked him to stop by. Back at the church, she picked up her little girl and settled her into bed. When she stepped outside her door, Paul was waiting for her. Amy told him, “Three customers came in while you were gone. Two women and a man. It was them.”
“You’re sure? I don’t mean the woman. I’m talking—”
“I know what you meant, and yes, I’m certain. I took pictures.”
“Amy, I don’t like you taking chances—”
“They didn’t see anything.” She explained what she had done.
He allowed, “That was smart.”
“Thanks.”
“No, really. Smart as in a totally professional move.” He cradled her phone in both hands. “I’ll download these and bring the phone back.”
“Leave it till the morning. I’m beat, and my baby’s already in bed.”
He stopped her from entering the apartment with “Did you tell Bob?”
“Not yet. But I still think we should.” She opened her screen door. “Good night, Paul.”
He stood there watching as she entered her apartment. Holding the phone. Watching her with respect. She carried that look into her dreams. She had forgotten how good it felt to be strong.
CHAPTER 16
A thunderstorm swept through sometime after midnight. The first Amy knew about it was when she heard Kimmie’s squeals of terror that the big bad truck was coming to eat her. Amy pulled her daughter into her own bed and held her while the lightning shattered their calm. She could hear another child wailing in the apartment beyond the wall. Obviously, her daughter was not the only one wounded by forces beyond their family’s control.
The next morning Kimmie woke with sniffles and a fever. Though she was normally a lovely child, whenever Kimmie was unwell, she became clingy and gave in to tears for no reason at all. Amy knew she couldn’t take Kimmie to day care, so she phoned Lucy and was given the name of a grandmother four apartments down who looked after other families’ children. The Hispanic woman spoke little English but crooned a hello sweet enough to calm Kimmie’s fretting. At least long enough for Amy to dress and get out the door.
When Amy emerged from the apartment, Paul was waiting for her. She expected him to object once more about telling Bob Denton. Instead, he told her, “I just got a call from Granville. They have the lab results on your packet. It’s cocaine, and it’s close to ninety percent pure.”
She unlocked her camper and tossed in her purse. “What does that mean?”
“This isn’t being trafficked on the street. Ninety percent is the quality you’d find at the level of imports.”
“What about my photographs?”
“I sent them over. You were right, by the way. There wasn’t a hit from the local books. So we’re sending it to allies on the federal level.”
There was a great deal she did not understand. But she did not need to. “I have to be going.”
The day sparkled with a freshly scrubbed light as she drove to the dealership. She parked around the corner in her spot and walked past the puddles. The flags fluttered in the weak breeze, and customers were already milling about. The air was humid and growing warmer by the minute. Amy entered the dealership, greeted two passing salespeople, and seated herself at the desk. Her station was a cubby formed by three glass walls. Beyond the windows were two small conference rooms used by the salesmen, separating the floor manager’s and Bob Denton’s offices. Her desk was positioned directly in front of Bob’s door. Six new sales contracts awaited her arrival. She seated herself and got to work.
She studied Bob Denton every time he came into view. She liked how he carried himself, the respect he showed everyone, even those who scorned him behind his back. The work was exacting, but she knew she could do a good job. As the day progressed, she found two entries connected to used car transactions where Bob’s former assistant had made errors. Amy hesitated over the first one, but the second one would have resulted in an almost-four-thousand-dollar loss on the sale. So she rose and walked over to where Bob and a saleswoman listened as a couple demanded a further discount. Amy stood where he could see her, and she waited.
Bob gently refused the couple’s insistence. They left angry. The saleswoman was clearly disappointed by his decision. He listened to her with the same respect that he had shown the customers. Amy liked the way he handled the emotions and the deal, how he remained firmly resolved and calm in the face of other people’s storms. When the saleswoman’s heels clicked angrily across the tile floor,
Amy walked up and said, “I need to show you something.”
He followed her back to the desk, where she walked him through the process. He caught on faster than she expected. “All right. I’ve seen enough. What does that cost us?”
“Three thousand eight hundred and sixty dollars.”
“The accountants might have caught it in their quarterly audit. Then again, they might not have.” He leaned in closer to the screen. “Carey is responsible for both this sale and the trade that brought in the vehicle in the first place.”
“Yes.” Carey was the saleswoman with whom Bob had just quarreled.
“All right. Here’s what I want you to do. Let the sale go through.”
“But—”
“When this hoopla is done, I want you to come in early or work late, whichever is easier. Go back through all her sales. Let’s see, she’s been with us for almost two years. Do them all. It’ll require some legwork, because we don’t keep our records according to the salesperson.”
“I can do that.”
“I know you can.” He inspected her gravely. “Do I need to ask you to keep this quiet?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He rose to his feet, looking tired. “Thank you, Amy. This is good work. It’s more than that. I’ve had my suspicions. But I’m not good at accounts. And your predecessor was hired by my father.”
When he started to turn away, she decided there would never be a better time. “When you have a moment, there’s something else I’d like to speak with you about.”
But things picked up midmorning, and they did not have another chance to talk. Lunchtime came and went. Twice Amy phoned and checked on her daughter. The grandmother’s English was so poor that Amy finally asked Lucy to go down and have a look. Lucy phoned back to report that Kimmie had slept most of the morning and eaten a good lunch before crawling back into bed.
Amy’s lunch consisted of a bag of peanuts from the vending machine and another cup of coffee. Bob Denton was everywhere. He had a sales manager, but he preferred to vet each sale personally before signing off, particularly now, when their high volume and low margins meant a greater risk of error.
Around midafternoon, things quieted down. Bob stood outside the front doors, chatting with a couple of the afternoon crew. Amy went over and stood where he could see her. He jerked slightly, and she realized he had forgotten about her request. “Sorry, in the crush, I completely lost track.”
“It’s okay. Could I ask you to meet me at my camper in five minutes? It’s parked where you walked me last night.”
Amy could see the questions in Bob’s gaze. But she smiled and turned away, looking for all the world like just another employee having a word with the boss. She didn’t know if there was anyone besides Paul who had an eye on her and the company owner. But it seemed best for them to leave the dealership separately. She crossed the north lot, which separated them from the Hyundai/Subaru dealership next door. This morning she had learned that Bob was co-owner of that company and also held a majority share in the Cadillac dealership down the street. She unlocked the camper, stepped inside, and waited.
Bob knocked on the door, entered, and was startled to find Paul Travers slipping into the camper behind him. Bob asked, “Are you still having problems?”
“Thanks to you folks, things are okay. Please have a seat.” But Paul remained by the door until Granville climbed in.
Bob demanded, “What is going on here?”
“The lady has decided she’s going to tell you about an issue we’re facing,” Granville replied. “I’ve wanted to do this for days. The local cops insisted I keep quiet. So I’m not saying anything now. But I’m here.”
“I don’t understand a single word you just spoke,” Bob replied.
Amy waited until the four of them were seated at the dinette table and the AC was starting to cool the interior. Bob gave the camper a long look, taking it all in. When he was focused upon her, she started. “Bob, someday I hope I’ll be able to tell you what your trust in me has meant. Right now all I can do is tell you what has been happening.” She quickly gave him the full version of events, starting with the powder found on Drew’s desk alongside the money. And the woman who had tried to warn her off. Paul then chimed in with an overview of how he had come to be here, and the teams patrolling the church perimeter, pushing the boundary of safety ever closer to the house. Granville remained silent, his hands laced across his ample belly, gazing out the side window. When Paul hesitated, Granville spoke for the first time since entering the camper. “Give him the rest.”
Bob looked from one to the next. “There’s more?”
“The DEA has a house near the church under surveillance,” Paul told him. “They have barred the local cops from making an arrest. We’ve observed kids dealing on the street out front. I tried to take this to friends I still have in Washington, and I was ordered in no uncertain terms to stay out of it.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Paul said, “The powder Amy swept off the desk was ninety percent pure. Coke on the street rarely goes above thirty percent. We think there is a link between the house and the coke on Drew’s desk.”
“I don’t follow—” Bob started, and then his eyes widened in horror. “Federal agents suspect I’m involved in drug smuggling?”
“We’re fairly certain the feds don’t have you on their radar,” Paul said.
“We think somebody at your dealership could be,” Granville said. “But we don’t have any evidence.”
“Because of one salesman gone bad?”
“They came back last night,” Amy said.
“Who did?”
“One of the men who bought the Corvettes. And two of the women. They didn’t work with Drew.”
Granville asked, “You did their paperwork?”
“This morning,” Amy replied. “A top-of-the-line Camaro. Seventy-two thousand dollars. Cash.”
Bob demanded, “Who handled the sale?”
It pained Amy to say, “The woman. Carey.”
He sighed. “I’m trapped. Everything I’ve worked so hard to build up, all the sacrifices . . .”
“Bob, please listen to me.” Amy waited for him to lift his gaze. “I’ve had nineteen months of living with constant fear. I’m trying to put that behind me now. And learning to trust people again is part of this.” She took a hard breath. “I trust Paul. And Granville. And you. They say they will keep me safe. I believe them. And I believe they will do the same for you.”
Granville smiled across the table at her. “I’m sure somebody somewhere has offered me a nicer compliment. But right now I can’t remember who that was.”
“I agree,” Paul said.
Bob asked them, “What can you do?”
“Whatever it takes,” Paul replied.
“It’s why I was glad Amy wanted to speak with you,” Granville said. “So we could all plan together.”
Paul pointed out, “Like I said, we don’t think the DEA is aware of this connection. We’ve spoken with the local police, though. Your assistance could help enormously. If you’re willing.”
“If I’m willing? Are you serious? Three generations and my family’s good name are on the line.”
They spent another forty minutes talking things through. Bob’s phone buzzed six times until he finally checked the readout and said, “I’ve been gone too long.”
They shook hands all around and were about to leave when Bob Denton surprised them by saying, “Maybe we should close with a prayer.”
Bob Denton set a slow pace on their return to the dealership. Amy was grateful for the time and the silence, as she had found herself deeply impacted by the brief prayer time. Her husband had said often that the best way to judge a man was by listening to the way he prayed. Bob Denton prayed with a blunt simplicity. He was a strong man, yet
he was comfortable with humility. He had prayed for his company and for the people and the families who trusted him. He had prayed for clarity, for wisdom, for protection, for strength. He had prayed for Amy and Paul and Granville and the church. About midway through, Amy felt as though her late husband had joined them. Darren seemed to stand in the corner and smile at her, as though everything about this moment was fine in his translucent eyes.
Bob said something as they entered the lot. Amy was so wrapped up in her thoughts that his words did not register. Then she found herself staring at his hand, offering her a set of keys. She glanced over at what stood beside them and said, “You’re giving me a car?”
“Of course not, Amy. I’m in the business of selling cars. This is a sale. Pure and simple. I’m offering you this Malibu, and I’ll take your camper in exchange.”
“Bob, you know full well that truck isn’t worth the tires it rides on.”
He pretended shock. “How on earth do you expect to work at a car company if you can’t accept a good deal staring you in the face?”
She studied the vehicle. The silver Malibu gleamed in the light. “It’s too much.”
“You may have just saved my company.”
“All I did was tell you the truth.”
“Which they wouldn’t have done unless you held their feet to the fire. Don’t deny it. I saw it in their faces. Even Granville, who’s been my friend for twenty years.”
“He wanted to, it’s just—”
“They are professionals. They are taught to suspect everybody.” He jangled the keys. “One owner, eleven thousand miles, came in yesterday on a trade. Still under warranty.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You need this car, Amy. That truck of yours isn’t safe. How many miles does it have?”