by Glenn Trust
Turning the SUV around in the clearing, George circled slowly giving Sharon time to examine each trailer.
Pulling along the drive out to the road, George watched the clearing in the mirror. Several girls came out of the trailers and walked towards the house, where Sonya stood on the porch.
“That’s not the place. The girls aren’t there.” He watched the small gathering in the clearing. “But I’ll bet your ass that Sonya knows where they are.”
Sharon nodded agreement. “Yeah, she does and she is nervous, terrified. Her hand was clammy wet.”
“Maybe she just perspires a lot.”
“Maybe, but she was nervous, and her palms were sweaty. Fits the pattern.”
Reaching the road, George waited as a large heavy-duty pickup with dual rear wheels turned onto the drive. The driver and passenger eyed George as they pulled by. Squinting, trying unsuccessfully to see through the SUV’s tinted glass. George mouthed the words ‘fuck you’ and then looked towards Sharon with a grin.
“Very adult, Mackey.” She gave a slightly irritated shake of her head. “Let’s go.”
“What,” he said innocently. “They couldn’t see.” Turning left, they stayed in character as Sally and Gary Purvis, and headed towards the Jameson’s place.
“Who was that?” Mike stepped from the big pickup and walked towards Sonya.
“Don’t know.” She shrugged, as if the visit from the 'Purvises' was no big deal. “They said they was lookin’ for a house to buy. The Jameson place down the road a piece. I thought it was a customer wantin’ to do some business in the Cove.”
Walking past her to the house, Mike stopped at the door. “Come on I got some business to take care of…inside.”
Sonya turned and put the ‘hey baby’ customer smile on her face. Business my ass, she thought. Business was supposed to mean someone paid for something when they bought it. These crackers didn’t never pay for nothin’.
48. Sobering Thoughts
Sitting at the bar in his Buckhead hotel on Atlanta’s north side, Richard Klineman sipped twelve-year-old bourbon. He wasn’t much of a drinker usually, but this night he was. Working on his second drink, he found that the trembling in his hands that had plagued him was subsiding. Klineman had been in the lion’s den, caught between two cats in a feeding frenzy, Budroe and Swain. So far, he had survived.
Coating his gut with mellow warmth, the bourbon relaxed him enough that he managed a smile. Had Swain known that Budroe was part of the scheme, he would have been apoplectic. Klineman would have been unceremoniously deposited on the curb by the state troopers in charge of security.
The smile vanished as he thought of his other partner back in Pickham County. Roy Budroe’s response to failure would have been much more severe.
Best not to think he decided. Sip the bourbon. That was best.
****
“We will see you soon.” Ramon Guzman spoke into his phone from the balcony of Eduardo Rivera’s suite in Trinidad. “My partner is very pleased with the progress we have made so far, and his men have things in order here.”
“Do they?” Roy Budroe laid back on the hotel bed, head propped on the pillows and the television remote in his hand. “Shit!”
“Pardon me?” Guzman’s brow furrowed and he cast an annoyed glance at Rivera seated beside him. “Were you speaking to me?”
“Oh, no…sorry Ramon.” Budroe’s thick face smiled. He had their attention. “No, I’m just watching a baseball game on the television, Braves and Dodgers. Do you know anything about baseball, Ramon?”
“Yes some. Not much I’m afraid. Is your team winning?”
“Well you see that’s the thing. They were doing pretty good, up five runs to one in the seventh inning. The team is playing well then all of a sudden, the second baseman starts committing errors. You know what an error is in baseball, Ramon?”
“I believe it is when a player makes a mistake on the field.”
“Right. Drops a ball he should have caught. Makes a wild throw to first base, things like that. Teams actually track errors made by players. Too many errors can change a game. Like tonight.”
“So your team has too many errors tonight?” Guzman was ready to end the call, but the gringo would not shut up.
“Something like that. They were winning, and now they might lose because of the errors the second baseman made. The whole team suffers because of the mistakes of one player.”
“I see.” Guzman sensed there was more to this than a discussion of baseball.
“Yeah, it’s one of the things I like about baseball. Teams track a player’s stats. Too many errors and the player is gone…contract cancelled. He pays for his mistakes.”
Guzman was silent. The thinly veiled threat was easily understood.
“Well, Ramon. I’ll see you and your partner when you get here. Stay in touch.” Budroe disconnected and turned the volume up on the television.
“Everything all right?” Guzman’s face had a look that puzzled Rivera.
“Everything is fine.” Looking thoughtfully out to the bay Guzman added, “We should move quickly.”
****
“What’s been going on all day?”
“Nothing. Everything is quiet.” Seeing the look on the big man’s face, Cleet added nervously. “Really, no problems at all. Smooth as a baby’s ass.”
“And the boys from the islands. They taking care of things?”
“Yeah, no problem there.”
“How do you know?”
“What do you mean?”
“You say they are taking care of things. No problems. Smooth as a baby’s ass.”
“Right.” Cleet nodded nervously. “Why all the questions?”
Leaning across the trailer’s dining booth table, the big man stared him in the eye. “I’m just wondering how you know everything is fine, when you and Mike leave those two here…alone…while the two of you go knock off a piece of ass with the whores. How exactly does that work? You psychic or something?”
“No…we just thought…”
“No more thinking. Understand? I told you, one of you is always with one of them. They are never to be alone. Understand?”
Cleet nodded.
“Say it.”
“I understand. But…”
“Shut the fuck up.” He didn’t raise his voice often but when he did it had the effect of silencing everyone else. “You forget what I told you one more time and you’ll be cryin’ for your mama wishin’ she hadn’t birthed you. You get my meaning?”
Cleet nodded again.
“Go get that dumbass partner of yours. I’m gonna tell him the same thing while you take a turn standing guard with the spic.” He shook his head in disgust. “Probably have to use smaller words.”
****
The headlights bobbed through the trees and brush until they came around a bend into a small clearing. The four people standing beside the two vehicles squinted into the light.
“How’s the first day on the job?” George grinned at Andy as he walked from the old pickup to join the group.
“Not bad. I’m certified as an expert on the price gun, and I can calculate state tax in my head without a calculator.” He looked at the faces around him. “Everything is fine guys. Quit worrying. I’m just the new hired hand. Nobody pays me any attention, and I just keep my ears open. Piece of cake.”
“Okay then,” George continued. “We saw you didn’t check into the motel.”
“Change of plans. I got a better deal. The Banks have offered me a room. They live close. Keeps me close to the action. Seems better than going ten miles to Deerton every day.”
The group nodded. This was Andy’s show. If he wanted to be closer that was fine as long as he let them in on what he was doing.
“Okay. Just keep us in the loop with any changes.”
“I will,” Andy said nodding. “Just didn’t have time today.”
“Good.” He turned to Sharon. “Why don’t you bring everyone up t
o speed on what we found out.
Sharon nodded. “We went by Nicks Cove. It was pretty clear that Juanita Lopez and the other missing girls are not there.” She paused and looked from face to face. “I am also pretty sure that they know where the girls are. My guess is they are close.”
Jake Beery spoke up. “Yeah, that’s possible. This whole country is full of back roads and hunt trails. Lot of them interlock. Bunch of them just end in the swamp. We could spend weeks tracking down all the little trails and clearings around the swamp. Some of them been around a hundred years or more.”
George looked at Rince. “We need to narrow down the possibilities.”
Happy to have a chance to contribute, the little man spoke rapidly. “I’ll get up at first light. Start scouting. High enough that it doesn’t attract attention, but looking for openings in the tree canopy. They must have some kind of set up we should be able to see.”
“I don’t know,” Beery said with a doubtful shake of his head. “Pretty thick out here. Look around. You’d have a hard time spotting this little meeting place from the air.”
Rince nodded. “True enough. But I’m not gonna be looking for a couple of cars in the woods. They have to have a camp of some kind. There were trees and canopy in Vietnam, but you can spot a camp even if it’s camouflaged…if you know what to look for. I’ll be looking.”
“No offense intended,” Beery said. “Just thought you should know the lay of the land.”
“None taken,” Rince said with his normal cheerful exuberance. “Actually I could use some help spotting, if you can get away. Having someone along who knows the country would better our chances.”
Beery laughed softly. “Hell, I’m the sheriff of Meacham County. I can do whatever I want. I’ll meet you in Moultrie in the morning.” He looked at Rince and asked curiously, “What exactly does first light mean?”
Laughter filled the little space around the vehicles. Good, George thought, they needed to laugh. He looked around wondering what was on the other side of the trees in the dark. How secret was their secret meeting place?
“It’s fine,” Jake said, seeing his eyes scan the tree line. “We’re far enough out, no one is gonna hear us. Maybe a gator or possum. Not much else.”
George nodded. “Okay then, I guess we have a game plan for tomorrow.” He looked at Andy. “You be careful. We’re close, but we won’t be standing over you. If you run into these assholes, they could be anybody, and you might not know it until it’s too late.”
“Geez.” Andy said smiling. “First Mama Sharon and now Papa George. Knock it the fuck off. I’m gonna be fine. Let’s find those girls, okay. They’re not gonna be around here long.”
The others nodded. That was the problem. Time, and it was in short supply.
****
“You awake?” Monica turned on her side on the cot, facing Juanita.
“I’m awake, but be quiet. They might hear.”
“Hmm. I don’t think it matters.”
Juanita turned her head. “No? Why not?”
“Because I don’t think we are going to be here very long.”
“What do you mean? They have to move us at some point, but at least right now we are safe.” She thought of Monica’s bare-assed display to the guard earlier. “They haven’t made a move to touch us.”
“That’s the point,” Monica whispered. “They are saving us…for something” She thought for a second “…something not here.”
“Where?” Juanita turned on her cot facing Monica, keeping her voice as low as possible.
“I don’t know. But I do know one thing.”
“What?”
“If we are going to get out of here, it has to be before they take us where they are going to take us and do whatever they are going to do. This is just temporary.”
Juanita considered her new friend’s words and fought the fear down that made her heart pound. There was no time for panic. They had to think and listen and wait. A chance might come, but it would only come once, she was sure of that. When it did, they had to be ready.
49. A Disagreeable Son of a Bitch
Standing for a moment in the morning air, Andy breathed deeply. The sun was shining sideways through the stand of pines to the east, the contrast between shadow and light making everything stand out sharply. Drifting and swirling along the ground, the low mist that had formed overnight began to creep up, clinging to the trunks of the trees as it slowly dissipated, warmed by the sun. It was a good time of day.
It reminded Andy of visits to his grandparents’ house out in Bostwick, Georgia when he was a boy, the mist hanging over fields that had grown cotton for almost two centuries. They still grew cotton. There was even a gin in the little crossroads town where farmers brought huge trailers of raw cotton in to be ginned and baled.
The difference was that the cotton was not planted and picked by slaves anymore. The only remnants of that past era were the scattered log shacks that dotted the backcountry. They had been slave shacks, and then sharecropper shacks, and then tool sheds and then finally heaps of wood and timber slowly rotting away in the Georgia sun. No one talked much about the old shacks, black or white. It was not a time people wanted to remember or think about. Andy’s grandparents had gotten along well with everyone in the community, black and white. They didn’t talk about the shacks either.
This morning reminded him of those times with his grandparents. It was the closest thing to a vacation he had had as a child growing up in Atlanta. It felt good not to be surrounded by the city streets and traffic noise, the sirens and hurry. Maybe that was it. Everyone was in a hurry back in the city. Here, no one seemed to hurry too much.
Hearing the pickup approach on the road, Andy walked to the single set of gas pumps and emptied the trashcan there, and then the one by the store’s front door. Carrying the full bags to the trash dumpster at the side of the store, he heard the vehicle slow on the road and then crunch over the gravel, coming to a stop in front of the store. He walked around the side in time to see the big man step out of the pickup and walk inside. Andy pulled the ball cap low over his eyes. He had seen this man before.
The door opened with a violent jerk, throwing it back on its hinges. The man walked through and began gathering supplies, mostly bread and sandwich items, some beer and snacks. Sweeping with the old broom Jerome had given him, Andy watched him rummage through the aisles. Filling his arms, he would deposit a load on the counter where Jerome Banks waited and go back for more.
“Ring it up and bag it as I bring it.” He looked at Jerome. “I don’t want to be standing around this shit hole all morning.”
Jerome smiled his patient smile. “Thought I’d wait until you were done. You know, in case another customer comes in before you’re through.”
“I don’t give a fuck about another customer. Ring it up.” Turning, he eyed Andy, who had moved his sweeping to the front aisle near the cash register. “What you looking’ at? You eyeballin’ me?”
“Naw, man.” Andy hunched over his broom and looked up mildly under the brim of the ball cap. “I ain’t eyeballin’ nobody. Just sweepin’ up. That’s all.”
Shaking his head, the big man pushed past Andy headed to the dairy case. “Fuckin’ retard.”
Jerome started ringing items up on the cash register and bagging them. He gave Andy a shake of his head, warning him just to stay quiet until the big man left the store.
Back at the counter with his final load, the man deposited several dozen eggs, cheese and bacon. He looked at the sacks of items Jerome had already bagged and shook his head again. “Fuckin’ robbery, prices you charge in here.”
“You must be runnin’ a pretty big camp.” Jerome rang up the eggs.
“What’d you say?” he said, looking up from his wallet.
“Runnin’ a big camp. Somewhere out in the backcountry.” Jerome looked up from the register, the ever present smile on his face. “Scoutin’ for deer season or ducks? Gators, maybe?”
Wi
th surprising quickness, the big man’s hand reached across the counter, grabbing Jerome by the front of his shirt. “What I’m doing is none of your goddamned business.”
Andy stood up straight and took a step towards the counter. Jerome shook his head.
Looking over his shoulder, the big man eyed Andy. “That’s right. You stay where you are and keep sweepin’, or there’s gonna be two dead assholes on the floor.” Releasing Jerome’s shirt. He threw him backwards a step. “What I’m doing today or any other day is none of your goddamned business. You poke your nose in or say anything to anybody about me and what I’m doin’ and you won’t ever say anything again. You understand?”
Jerome nodded.
The big man turned to Andy. “How about you? You hear what I say?”
Andy nodded, his hands clenching the broom tightly. He understood. He understood that the first chance he got he would pound this asshole’s face into mush, or put him in jail. He wasn’t sure right now which he would prefer. For the moment, he stood where he was and waited while the big man paid and grabbed the sacks in his large hands.
“Who the hell was that?” Andy stepped to the counter and watched the man pull out of the lot, spinning gravel out from under the pickup’s tires.
Tugging at his shirt to straighten it, Jerome said, “Damned if I know. He’s been in a few times. Always the same thing. Stocks up on supplies and doesn’t say anything. First time I ever tried to talk to him.” Jerome chuckled good-naturedly. “Reckon I won’t do that again. Disagreeable son of a bitch, ain’t he?”
Not feeling quite so good-natured about the confrontation, Andy managed a smile at Jerome’s profanity. It was the first time he had heard him swear in the few days he’d been working at the store. “How long’s he been around?”
“Oh, on and off…” Jerome looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “I’d say a month or so. Seen a lot more of him the last week or two.”
Nodding Andy walked towards the front door. “I got to finish dumping the trash.”
“Okay,” Jerome said pulling a ledger book from under the counter. Looking up from the page, he called after Andy. “Got a beer truck comin’ today. When you get done, you can make some room in the cooler. Whoever that cracker is, his camp drinks a lot of beer.”