Bury Me When I'm Dead

by Cheryl A Head

  “You think she knows the whole thing?”

  “She knows enough to think what happened to Paul could happen to her,” Owens said sourly. “I think we just need to make sure she can’t ever talk.”

  “So, she shows up for a meeting with the old man, but instead of finding him, she finds me.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Who’s bringing the old man, you?”

  “I don’t know. Charlene Mack will probably want to drive him out.”

  “What about that Mack bitch? You think Stringer already gave her the rundown?”

  “I don’t think so,” Owens said shaking his head. “She doesn’t seem suspicious.”

  “You know I wouldn’t mind taking care of her, too.”

  Owens gave Barnes an icy stare. “Since you messed it up the first time?”

  “She was bound and gagged.” Barnes took a defensive tone. “No way she could’ve gotten loose. She should be dead.”

  “But she isn’t.”

  “Well then let me take care of her now.”

  “You shouldn’t have attacked her in the first place. We don’t have time for your personal vendettas. Your mistake might have messed up the whole deal. What if you’d been arrested, and they connected you to me?”

  Barnes shrugged. “That bitch had it coming.”

  Owens considered the idea that Barnes might no longer be useful to him. Maybe he needed a right-hand man with a bit more finesse. Someone who could pass muster with the concierge.

  “I think we don’t worry about Ms. Mack. It might arouse more suspicion if both Joyce and the Mack woman are killed. And don’t forget, Abrams will be there.” Owens took a long sip of scotch.

  “I could make it look like a robbery and take care of all three of ’em,” Barnes said with a malicious glint in his eye.

  Two women and an old man, that’s just your speed. Owens remembered his guy’s account of taking care of Paul and his cousin. He said Barnes made him do all the heavy lifting until it came to pulling the trigger. Barnes volunteered to do that.

  “You might be on to something, Barnes. If there’s one thing I learned in prison it’s not to leave loose ends,” Owens said.

  Kitty came out of the bedroom when Barnes left. She was in her designer exercise clothes, her hair held back with a lime-green headband. Owens liked women who looked equally good in evening gowns, swimsuits and sweatpants. Kitty did each style proud with her dancer’s body. She walked through the apartment as Barnes had done earlier.

  “Making sure the artwork is still here?” Owens joked.

  “That man gives me the creeps,” Kitty said, eyeing the empty glass on the table.

  “You sure you’re not being racist?”

  “You know I’m not. I’ve known lots of Black men.”

  “I’m sure you have,” Owens said sarcastically. He poured more gin. “You want one?”

  “No, I’m going to the gym.”

  “Really, Kitty. What is it you have against Barnes?”

  “He’s like some of the guys I met at the club. They always had an angle, always trying to play somebody. They get off on the power.”

  “So he can’t be trusted?”

  “That’s not exactly what I’m saying,” Kitty searched for the best analogy. “You can’t trust a crackhead because he can’t help what he does. Barnes knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s manipulative and likes to hurt people. When you’re not around he’s always flirting with me.”

  “Guys are always looking at you. So why wouldn’t he? I don’t mind that.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t want me, he just wants to show me he’s not afraid of you.”

  Kitty left for the gym and Owens mulled over her analysis. The sun was a streak of pink along the horizon and the air on the balcony was turning cool. Owens downed the rest of his drink and took the two empty glasses to the kitchen sink where he rinsed both and put them in the dishwasher. Not a hyena or a big cat. More like a snake.

  Charlie had landed in Birmingham a half hour ago and her heart sank when she listened to Mandy’s voicemail. Oh, God, how does she know I was with Franklin?

  “Everything okay, Mack?” Don asked as they were driving to the hotel.

  “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

  “Is your mother okay?” Don fished.

  “She’s fine, fine. So fill me in on what’s happening.”

  “Something’s bothering you. You’re agitated.”

  “Let’s drop it, Don.”

  The Mack partners were gathered in Charlie’s suite, each with a bottle from Charlie’s minibar.

  “So, Joyce is calling in the morning?” Don asked.

  “That’s what she said. And if things work out, I can meet her early and join you and Gil for the meeting with Freeman.”

  “Shouldn’t you call Owens before it gets too late?” Gil asked, using the tongs to pull more ice cubes from the bucket.

  “I guess I shouldn’t put it off any longer.” Charlie sighed.

  “Hi Owen. It’s Charlene Mack. You left a message for me to call?”

  “Well hi there, Charlene.” Owens had the exaggerated pronunciation of someone who didn’t want to sound like they’d had too much to drink. “Thanks for returning my call. How are you doing?”

  “I’m doing fine. How are you?”

  “Just hunky dory. I think I have the perfect place for a meeting between Mr. Abrams and Joyce.”

  “Oh, great. What do you suggest?”

  “Belle Isle. At the old skating pavilion.”

  Charlie knew the Flynn skating pavilion well. One of her fondest childhood memories was of twirling and gliding in her brand new pink ice skates on a bright Christmas morning. Her mother and father would applaud her execution of a spin, and after skating she would warm her hands around a cup of hot chocolate.

  “Hmm. That might work,” Charlie said.

  “It’s a public space, but not crowded and there’s a parking lot,” Owens added.

  And lots of room for an ambush, Charlie recalled.

  “Well, when I talk to Joyce I’ll tell her that’s the place and find out when she can meet. I expect to speak with her tomorrow, or the next day,” Charlie said, ending the call.

  “I thought you were going to tell him the meeting was off?” Gil said.

  “What did he say?” Don wanted to know.

  “He’s come up with the Belle Isle ice skating rink for the meeting with Joyce.”

  “Belle Isle? That’s a horrible idea,” Don said. “One way in, one way out, and lots of places to hide if you want to attack someone.”

  “Well I agreed to it because it doesn’t matter. The meeting’s never going to happen. I’ll call Abrams in a couple of days and tell him Joyce backed out. Meanwhile, planning for an ambush at Belle Isle should keep Owens and Barnes in Detroit and out of our hair for a few days.”

  “Okay. I see there’s method to your madness. Well I’m going to bed,” Gil announced, abandoning his comfortable spot on the room’s leather couch. “Should we meet downstairs for breakfast?”

  “Yep. Good idea. Let’s make it for eight-thirty. My back still isn’t up to exercise.”

  “You coming, Don?” Gil held the door open.

  Don gave Charlie a lingering look. His hands were stuck deep into his pockets and his blue eyes clouded over with weariness. “You want another nightcap, Mack?”

  Charlie shook her head, “no.” Don was a man who didn’t like being away from home too long, and when he was, lost his determination.

  “I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

  Charlie’s back ached from the touch of cold airport surfaces and her heart ached from Mandy’s phone message. She dialed her number. The phone rang until the message option beeped. Charlie hesitated. “I’m sorry,” she said for the recording.

  Owens had two locked drawers in his desk. In the first drawer were business documents, tax records, personnel stuff and bank information. He didn’t trust his accountant so he
kept duplicates of everything and he’d hired a second guy to go over the accountant’s monthly summaries. The other drawer held six disposable mobile phones and his list of contacts: snitches, specialists in every form of crime, crooked politicians, dirty cops and call girls.

  Owens wrote everything in his own code and used his own indexing system. One of his colleagues derided him for being resistant to technology and for a few months Owens thought he’d found a suitable compromise when he’d hired Paul Stringer to memorize his personnel info, business contacts and offshore banking information. Then his sister got wind of it and the dummy skipped out on me with all my confidential shit in his head.

  Owens unlocked the second drawer and retrieved a notebook. He scanned down a column of letters, cross-referenced with a series of Roman numerals. That information sent him to a particular page in another notebook where he scrolled across a row of numbers. He wrote down the three sets of numbers he needed and picked up one of his phones to dial.

  “Hello?” A male voice on the other end was grumpy.

  “It’s Mr. Smith.”

  “Wait. Give me a second.” The phone was dropped and thirty seconds later the voice was back.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?”

  “Did you hear any more about that matter we discussed?”

  “Well, there’s no doubt he’s working with the authorities. I found some records he copied.”

  “What kind of records?”

  “Recent real estate transactions, leases.”

  “What about Stringer?”

  “Nobody has seen her for a while. Maybe she’s left town.”

  “Maybe. I may need to have someone visit your guy.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means if he’s become a threat to my interests, he’ll have to be taken care of.”

  “You never mentioned anyone getting hurt,” the voice cracked.

  “I’m mentioning it now.” His voice was menacing.

  “I’m not comfortable with that. He’s my father.”

  “Do you think I give a fuck, what you’re comfortable with? You’re my bitch.” Owens had heard a guy at Bayside Prison use that phrase once and had always wanted to say it.

  “Our agreement was I would provide you information. I’m not a criminal and I’m not going to let you hurt my father.”

  Owens looked at his notebook then traced his pencil down a row of numbers. “I’ve paid you ten thousand dollars in the last month.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “So if you want to protect your guy, and that ditzy sister of yours, you find out for sure what he’s up to, and where he’s hiding Joyce. And I need to know fast. There’s something going down here in Detroit next week, and I want to know what the FBI knows.”

  Owens disconnected the call and made an entry in his notebook. He put everything back into the drawer, locked it and put the key in his pocket. There may be a few more loose ends to tie up in Birmingham.

  Chapter 29

  Joyce called the next morning as promised.

  “I’ve decided to trust you, Ms. Mack. I have to trust someone.”

  “I appreciate that, Joyce.”

  “I’ve spoken with Grant. I know your partners talked to my mother yesterday, and I know they have an appointment with Grant this afternoon. Why don’t we stop the cat and mouse game and all just meet together?”

  “We’re willing to do that.”

  “How about at the house in Forest Park at one o’clock? Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Charlie said. “So, what made you decide to trust me?”

  “Oh, I checked up on you, I still have contacts in Detroit. They told me you don’t take no shit, but you don’t start any either.”

  “Ahhh. The Detroit seal of approval.”

  The partners were having a heated discussion about the Forest Park meeting around Charlie’s coffee table. Don wanted to inform his police contacts, but Charlie wouldn’t have it.

  “I made a promise to Abrams and to Joyce. No, Don, we’re not involving the police just yet.”

  “Okay, okay,” Don acquiesced.

  “I wonder if we should suggest a more neutral meeting place,” Gil said. “We don’t know what we might be walking into.”

  “Acosta’s right, Mack. Like you said yourself, we shouldn’t underestimate Freeman.”

  “I know I said that, but that was before I talked to Joyce. She wants help getting out of the mess she’s in. She’s not really a criminal.”

  “Well, technically, she is,” Gil said. “Flight to avoid prosecution, conspiracy, and probably a few other things.”

  “You know what I mean, Gil. She’s not going to kill me or let Freeman knock me off. Which is more than I can say for Owens.”

  “I could wait outside while you and Gil take the meet,” Don said. “Then if something goes wrong, I call the police and come in blazing.”

  “Okay, wait. Let’s just settle down and assume there won’t be any need for gunplay,” Charlie cautioned. “We’ve all been to the house in Forest Park. It’s quiet with regular police patrols, I don’t think we’ll have any funny business there. In fact, it’s probably a lot safer than that restaurant Freeman suggested.”

  Charlie’s phone rang the cavalry charge.

  “Hi Judy, what have you got?”

  “You’re not going to believe this,” Judy began.

  “Wait a minute, let me put you on speaker, Don and Gil are here.” Charlie fumbled with the buttons on her phone until Gil held out his hand and she relinquished it.

  “The phone repairman is here,” Judy’s voice was tinny through the mobile phone’s speaker.

  Before Judy could continue, an aggressive knock at Charlie’s door startled the group. Don instinctively rose to his feet, his hand moving to his revolver.

  “Hold on a minute Judy,” Gil said.

  “Who is it?” Don asked, standing at an angle to the door.

  “FBI,” a male voice replied.

  “What’s going on?” Judy shouted.

  Don leaned into the peephole, stepped back and released the handle of his revolver. When he opened the door, James and another man stood in the hallway. James displayed his ID badge.

  “Oh hell. We know who you are,” Don said turning his back to the open door.

  “James, what are you doing here?” Charlie asked.

  “This is Agent Goodman,” he said, nodding toward his companion. “I’m here with a warning.”

  “A warning?” Don asked.

  “Charlie, is everything alright?” Judy’s disembodied voice rang out.

  “Yes, Judy, but we may need to call you back,” Gil said.

  “No, that won’t work. That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Judy said. “The telephone guy is here and he says our phones are wiretapped.”

  Don, Gil and Charlie looked at each other.

  “He can’t remove the taps without damaging our phones, but he can put in new phone lines,” Judy added.

  “What the hell?” Don shouted.

  “This is your doing, isn’t it?” Charlie stared hard at James.

  Agent James Saleh unconsciously slipped a finger in the front of his collar, letting air attack the rim of perspiration forming. He walked a tightrope. If not for Agent Goodman, he would have disclosed his recent efforts to help the Charlene Mack agency. But his superiors considered their missing person case a hindrance to the FBI’s interstate trafficking investigation. His orders were to warn them off any further inquiries about the Stringer family, or Owens. James knew Goodman was in tow to keep an eye on him.

  “It was the agency’s decision,” James responded blandly.

  “Judy, it seems the FBI has tapped our phones,” Gil announced.

  “So I heard.”

  The two agents stepped into the middle of the room. James pulled a chair up to the coffee table but Goodman, who reeked of FBI, refused to sit. He was a
n inch or two over six feet, clean shaven, and square jawed. His brown eyes were alert and his mouth a straight line. Goodman alternated between letting his hands hang at his sides and folding his arms across his body but he was never at ease. To further advertise his occupation, he wore a “men in black” outfit. James was less ‘by the book,” because he still sported the long hair and full beard of his undercover persona.

  “I apologize for the wiretap but we had to know how and when your actions might interfere with us,” James said.

  “I assume you got a court order?” Gil asked.

  “We did.”

  “Man, I really liked you a whole lot better when you were Yusef,” Don said.

  The remark wasn’t meant as a joke but James laughed aloud. The stiff Agent Goodman even let out a guffaw, and the tension slipped a few degrees.

  “When did you tap our phones?” Don asked.

  “Right after Ms. Mack got attacked. We figured she must be making someone nervous and we were concerned about what might be in her notebook.”

  Don and Gil glanced at Charlie, who gave an audible sigh.

  “No need to be embarrassed by the loss of your notebook. We pulled footage from the surveillance cameras on 24th Street. Barnes followed you from the barbershop and cold-cocked you, there wasn’t much you could’ve done.”

  “So you have eyes and ears on everything?” Gil said.

  “No, not everything but we have Owens’ home and office phones tapped and we’ve had the Stringer house under surveillance for a while.”

  “What about Joyce?” Charlie asked.

  “She’s incidental to our case really, but we’re keeping an eye on her as a person of interest.”

  “Why?” Charlie again.

  Goodman cleared his throat.

  “I can’t really talk about that,” James said.

  “What can you talk about?” Don asked.

  “Owens has an informant on the Birmingham police force. We don’t know who it is yet, but the information you’ve been sharing with them is somehow getting back to Owens,” James said to Don.

  “Are you sure?” Charlie asked.