“I’ll handle it, but I need you to keep an eye on Jordan Bailey. I don’t think he is involved, but he could be in danger – as well as the whole Bosley family.”
“I’ve got the Milan police department watching the dealership – they’ll let me know if the brothers make a move or if Al and his group get rough.” I felt good about his answer.
I described the man who met with Mickey last night and asked if he might know who he was. Leroy just started to laugh.
“Certainly, that was Travis Luckey. I just let him out of jail yesterday. We were holding him on a domestic abuse charge and somebody made his bail.”
“Do you know who made his bail?” This was strange.
“Nope, but I suspect it was our friend Mickey. Somebody wired the bail money and sent along a train ticket to Hot Springs. Ain’t that weird?”
Yes it was and getting weirder by the second. “Hot Springs?” I questioned.
“Yeah, maybe he’s going for his health – but I doubt it. Probably going to the horse track. The ticket takes him from Humboldt through Memphis, Jonesboro, Newport, Little Rock and then Hot Springs. Carson, this guy is a loser with a capital L. His wife left him because he gambled - then she turns around and marries another man almost as bad. Last week we arrested Travis for beating up on her and, frankly, to protect him. Her current husband, Curtis Turner, has gambled his life away too, but he would kill Travis if he could get his hands on him. Travis is scheduled back for a preliminary hearing next Friday, but I suspect he won’t make it. Good riddance – he’s nothing but trouble.”
“Wow, OK. That’s nothing I need to be involved in – I don’t think. Please keep me posted on Jordon Bailey and the Bosley’s, if they make a move. I’m headed back to Memphis after my meeting with Mr. Dollar. I’ll call you before I leave Jackson with an update.”
I left the sheriff’s office and headed toward Jackson. I made a point to drive by the Humboldt airport – Phillip Chaney’s Cessna was still there – parked in the same spot.
I also noticed a new sign for the airport and one that I hadn’t seen last night. I guess Mary Ellen’s party had really been good for the flying business around Humboldt!
A Sign Above the Bar Reads:
“We’re Not Happy Until You’re Not Happy”
A n uninviting place, but sometimes we must do what we must do.
I don’t normally carry a weapon – my grandfather’s .38 always rests comfortably in the Ford’s glove box. However, on this occasion I thought it prudent to stick it in my waistband – hidden by my jacket.
Walking to the back of Murphy’s, I asked the bartender if Al Dollar was around.
“Who wants to know?” he asked giving me a dirty look.
“Tell him Carson is asking for him. And while I’m waiting – get me a Budweiser and a cold glass,” I said in a nice voice.
I never got the beer. This big ape grabbed me from behind and threw me over a back table and into a couple of customers. When I came up, I was looking at a very shiny and very big knife.
“OK Cop,” he said showing me the knife and walking straight at me. “Before I field dress you on this table, you got any last requests?”
“Just one,” I said sticking my .38 under his chin. “I want to see Alfred E. Dollar and the sooner the better.” He didn’t move.
It was my turn to be tough. “Now, since you probably don’t have brains - unless you want whatever is in your head under that dirty hair deposited on the ceiling of this smelly bar – drop the knife. I’ll count to 3.” I heard the knife hit the floor.
“OK – good boy. Congratulations, you’ll live to die another day. Now, are you Alfred E. Dollar or do I need to look somewhere else?”
A voice from behind me said, “I’m Al Dollar. Put the piece away and let’s talk. Sorry about the rough stuff, just taking precautions, we never know. And while I’m on the subject – who the hell are you? Some auto broker or something? I don’t know you.”
“You don’t need to know me. Do you know Joe Brody or Alex Russoti? I asked.
“Sure – who doesn’t. They handle the rough stuff for the Memphis crowd – since Bubba and Bobby went big time. Why?” He was calming down – this was working.
“Look, I’m not here to swap resumes. Just understand I represent these guys. Can we move on?”
“Sure, sure. What have you got?” Now he was curious.
“I’ve got 4 full auto carriers that I need to unload fast. I need somebody to take them and turn them for a healthy share – quickly.”
“Why the rush?” he hesitated.
“Look, I can’t add a lot, but will tell you what I do know – okay? These guys in Milan owe the Memphis crowd some money – some real big money. They are willing to dump these cars to cover the debt – that’s what I know. We need someone to take them off our hands and turn them for a share – understand? If you’re not interested, maybe you could tell who might be.”
“What kind of share?”
“$2,000 apiece and I’ve got 30 cars – you in?”
I saw him smile. “Hell yes I’m in. When can I get the cars?”
“Soon – tomorrow maybe. These guys are leaving the country in a couple of days and I need to wrap up the loose ends as quickly as possible. Where can I have them delivered?”
He took the bait. “Wait a minute. Milan? Leaving the country? A couple of days? Are these coming from Bosley Buick? Yes, has to be them. Those bastards owe me money. That ain’t happening man. No deal! Get out of this bar before I kill you myself. Those bastards can’t do this to me!” He was furious.
He grabbed the big guy and they both ran out of the bar. My plan had worked.
~
I used the payphone outside Murphy’s bar to call the Gibson County Sheriff’s office. Jeff answered.
“Jeff, this is Carson. I need you to reach Leroy on the radio and give him a message – it is urgent - life or death. Can you do that?”
“Absolutely, he said you might be calling. What is the message?” he asked quickly.
“Just tell him that Al Dollar took the bait and the fuse is lit. I’m confident he and his muscle are headed to Milan as we speak.”
“Okay, will do. Can he reach you at Chiefs?”
“No, I’m headed back to Memphis, but I’ll call back when I can get to a phone.”
~
I put the nose of the Ford in the wind and pushed the speed limit on Hwy 70/79 headed back home. It was still early on Saturday afternoon, and I think I could actually smell the ‘Starlight Lounge’ as I got closer to Memphis. I was going to easily make happy hour and I was anxious to quiz Rita about Charlotte Luckey – not that I was personally interested, but I did think her story was an unusual one.
At the ‘Starlight’ , I put the Ford in her usual parking spot and stopped at the phone booth out front.
I called Larry Parker – again. I left an urgent message for him to call me at the ‘ Starlight Lounge’ or at home as quickly as possible. I was getting concerned – failing to return my calls was not like Larry.
My next call was to the Gibson County Sheriff’s office – I needed to catch up on the evening’s activities. Scotty answered.
“Hey Scotty, this is Carson. Is Leroy available?”
I heard Scotty put the phone against his chest and then a muffled yell, “Hey Leroy – the bastard’s on the phone now. You want to talk to him now or have him call back?”
I didn’t hear Leroy’s reply, but assume it was positive. “Hang on Carson. He’s going to take the call in his office – it’s a zoo around here.” That didn’t sound good!
In less than a minute Leroy picked up. “Carson, I am going to kill you. No, I’m first going to arrest you and ‘then’ I’m going to kill you.”
“Leroy, what did I do?”
“You set this bomb, you light the fuse and when it goes off we pick up the pieces. And, oh by the way, you’re not here to help and are probably sitting at some nightclub in Memphis – right?”
I was definitely not going to answer that question!
“Okay, tell me what happened.” This was going to be good – I’ve never seen Leroy so mad!
~
M ost of it happened like I expected. However, never underestimate a pissed off bad guy – they usually aren’t using good judgement.
Leroy’s story was the funniest thing I have ever heard or thought about.
Evidently, Al and his muscle partner had spotted the Milan police watching the dealership and didn’t want to tangle with them.
They either waited for the Milan police to leave on another call, or more than likely, placed a police call themselves to pull the deputies off their stakeout.
It was a busy Saturday at the dealership and the showroom was full of customers, salesmen, employees, new cars and interested citizens getting an early look at the 63 models. This was definitely a busy day at Bosley Buick – and it was going to get busier!
When the Milan police made their exit, Al made his move.
His `58 Oldsmobile was traveling about 60 miles an hour when he hit the front of the showroom - almost square with the entrance door. Before the showroom cars and carnage stopped him, the Oldsmobile had reached the Customer Service desk, which was located at the rear of the showroom.
Luckily, he hadn’t killed anybody with his drive through the showroom – but not because he wasn’t trying – and he was far from finished.
Al and his muscle partner exited the Oldsmobile with guns in hand. They first shot Charles Bosley when he came out of his office to see what was going on. He had two serious chest wounds, but was expected to survive. They next shot the shop foreman who charged them with a wrench in both hands – he was also expected to survive, but may never walk again.
Next, muscle man kicked down Carlon’s office door, where they found him hiding under the desk. They didn’t shoot him, but beat him without mercy – his survival status was still in question.
The drive through carnage had ruptured several gas tanks on the Oldsmobile and the showroom cars. By the time the police arrived, several were already fully engulfed in flames – only adding to the damage and danger.
Al and muscle man surrendered without a fight. However, by that time the whole dealership was ablaze, and the fire department was struggling to keep the fire from spreading to cars parked outside – both customer and dealership owned! According to Leroy, nothing like this had ever been seen or even dreamed of in Gibson County or anywhere else – it was a total disaster!
“Leroy, I am speechless.” I really was.
“Carson, you just thank your lucky stars that no innocents got seriously hurt in this fiasco. It could have been much worse – believe me.”
“I do believe you,” I was laughing but didn’t want Leroy to know! “I had no idea anything like this would happen.”
“Yeah, well, you got your wish – all the bad guys are in jail. Both the Bosley Brothers are in the hospital, but have been arrested. Albert E. Dollar is upstairs in my jail and singing like a fresh fed canary. If they live, both the Bosley brothers will be spending most of their remaining days in prison – no doubt. As for Mr. Dollar, he’ll probably cut a deal with the DA and get some reduced time – but attempted murder is some hard paint to wash off – we’ll see. His idiot accomplice will probably get the worst of it – stupid is as stupid does (where have I heard that?). Anyway, your client will certainly walk, as we both knew she would – so you can cash your check with a clear conscience.”
“What about Jordan Bailey?” I was concerned about him too.
“He was run over – by a green station wagon, I think. Hard to tell, everything in the showroom was destroyed by the wreck or the fire. It broke his right leg and he’s got a lot of glass cuts and bruises – but will survive.”
“Leroy, what you have told me is good news – I think. Regardless, you’ve got the bad guys and I can turn my attention to other matters here in Memphis. I’ll call you next time I’m in town.”
“Carson, please don’t. Just please don’t come to town – that would be better. I’m not sure I can win an election now, and with you around, I’m sure I’ll need to look for another job.”
He was kidding – I think. “Take care Leroy,” I said hanging up. “Talk with you soon.”
~
I hung up the phone still trying to imagine Alfred E. Dollar driving through the front of the showroom and then shooting up the place. I wish I could have been there.
~
A s always, Rita greeted me at the door. If I had been gone an hour, a day, a week or several weeks, her greetings were always the same – just like I had been away for a long time and she was very glad to see me again.
Business at the ‘Starlight Lounge’ was just starting to pick up, so I found myself a table and asked Rita to join me when time permitted. As usual, she made that happen in just a few minutes.
“What’s up Carson? How are you and that stewardess getting along?”
“We’re still sorting out our laundry, but I wanted to ask you about something else. A few days ago you talked about your beauty school and mentioned a girl named Charlotte Luckey. Remember?”
“Sure, what about her?”
“I met her – last night at the party in Humboldt.”
“Oh good Lord Carson – don’t tell me that! I told you that girl is no good – she’s got money and men on the brain and probably in most of her other personal private places. You can do better – stay away from her.”
“Rita, you misunderstand. I just met her – well, I guess I actually didn’t meet her – I observed her, would be a better way to put it.”
“And?”
“Just tell me what you know.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s hurt some good friends of mine – not physically or anything serious – but I have a hunch her name and/or activities will be trouble again – soon.”
Little did I know, just how right I was.
Rita told me basically the same story I had heard from Judy – the stalker, beauty reviews, men etc. Rita did know a little more about Phillip Chaney and his family background. They were rich and honest - to her knowledge. Father, Forrest Chaney, was a widower and seemed to have no desire to remarry. Phillip had, and did, fill a role as playboy – but she knew of nothing illegal or remotely dishonest about either of them.
That was good enough for me.
“Have you talked to Monica recently?” I asked.
“Yes, every day. And everyday she asks me about you. She’s getting nervous and I think getting ready to file her divorce papers.”
“Rita, do me a favor. Call her this evening and tell her not to do anything until she hears from me. I have a hunch she can walk away from this situation in excellent shape, but she doesn’t need to do anything yet. I’ll call her tomorrow with an update, but I’m just not up to it tonight. I’ve had a long day and am outta here when I finish this drink.”
Rita got up to leave. “I’ll tell her you will call tomorrow – right?”
“Correct, I promise.”
~
I made a slow drive back to my apartment – still trying to figure out why I had not heard from Larry Parker.
I stopped in the basement bar – more from habit than anything else. Business at the ‘Down Under’ was slow for a Saturday night – Andy didn’t have live entertainment tonight, so the crowd was light. I had a short J/C and took the elevator ride home.
Taped on my door was a handwritten message from Larry Parker.
Meet me at Police Headquarters, Memphis City Hall at 8:00 AM Sunday morning.
Urgent.
Larry
City Hall
R epeating myself, I am not an early person. Eight o’clock on Sunday morning was not a time I ever knew existed – much less participated in. However, Larry’s message was urgent and I knew he was serious – Larry was my friend.
Parking was no problem; the garage was almost empty. The desk sergeant directed m
e to a third floor conference room. I grabbed a cup of stale coffee from a pot in the hallway and knocked on the door.
Larry quickly opened the door and before I spoke, I noticed he was not alone. He introduced me to Chuck Hutchinson, Memphis Police Chief and Carlton Scruggs, Shelby County Sheriff.
Larry spoke first. “Carson, I have taken the liberty to brief the chief and sheriff on our conversation of last week. And, I am going to assume you are not aware of any events that happened while you were out of town.”
“Larry, I respect your judgment in sharing information and, no, I am not aware of anything. I’ve been in Humboldt working on a case and attending a private party with some friends. I did, however, try to call you numerous times and left a number of messages.”
“I know, I got your messages, but considering recent events, I thought it better to talk face to face.” He was scaring me.
“Larry, I am all ears. Tell me what’s going on.”
His story.
On Friday, following our Thursday conversation, he had stopped by the Commercial Appeal office to talk with Bernie Taylor. Bernie had not shown up for work and had not called.
Later that afternoon, his office got a call from the Arkansas State Police with an inquiry about Watson Clark. He picked up the message and returned their call. They were looking for information on two former Memphis residents – Watson and Amy Clark. Someone had murdered them both – they had been blown up in a trailer residence belonging to an Amos Duncan – exactly the place I had visited on Wednesday! It was undoubtedly a contract killing, and he believed it was involved with some of the things I had relayed to him during our Thursday lunch conversation.
Because it was in Arkansas, Larry didn’t know if anyone in Memphis was aware of my visit to the trailer, but thought it best to not contact me until we could meet in person.
“Wow.” Was all I could say. “Well, where are we?”
The Price of Beauty in Strawberry Land Page 8