The Money Game

by Michael A. Smith

  However, it wasn’t a feeling of invincibility that kept Marshon around, but rather his need to recuperate physically, as well as take care of business. Being on the run didn’t necessarily make him safer. However, Gail was Marshon’s last piece of local business. Given Max the Knife’s recent diagnosis and the events of the day, Marshon planned to leave the city Saturday morning.

  He did take care in meeting Gail. He sat on a padded bench on the mezzanine level, where he could see the hotel entrance, as well as the entrance from The Link. Those were the only two ways Gail could enter the hotel. She came from The Link, which Marshon found encouraging. It was the best route for anyone wanting to determine if they were being followed. The tail had no hallway to duck into. Still, Marshon stayed put and watched Gail walk completely around the mezzanine. In fact, she walked right by him as he continued to watch the two entrances to see who came in after her. Those who did looked fairly innocuous; either that, or they were very good at their job.

  After about ten minutes, Gail simply stood at the railing and waited. Marshon got up and walked around to her position and boldly sidled up to her.

  “Don’t look shocked. It’s me, Marshon, but tonight I’m Caleb McDear, your uncle from Chicago.”

  Gail looked shocked, but remained silent.

  “Let’s walk over to that bar, Spectators, and see if we can find a table in the back to have a drink,” Marshon said, taking her arm and putting it through his left arm, as if she were supporting and guiding her frail uncle who walked with a cane.

  Inside the bar, Marshon changed his mind and selected a table near the door, where he had a good view of the mezzanine, including the stairs and escalator to and from the lobby. On this Friday night, there were only a few businessmen at the bar, talking shop in low, hushed tones. The television set behind the bar was tuned to a channel where several experts analyzed stock market trends. The Dow had topped eighteen thousand during the day, and that seemed to both scare and encourage investors.

  Gail said, “I would never have recognized you.”

  “Good, although it is possible to smell me coming.”

  Marshon ordered a brandy from the waiter, and Gail asked for a glass of Chardonnay.

  “You saw the newscasts?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did your dad call?”

  “Yes.”

  “I assume he told you not to see me?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was good advice, but I’m happy you ignored it.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’m gonna keep it short, Gail. You know most of it. I’ve run the East Side Wheel for about seven years. Inherited the role from a friend of my father’s. He probably knew my mother, too. I did it for the money, period. Two robbers got killed there recently, although I wasn’t involved. I’ll still get the blame because I’m the guy in charge. I also let a half-dozen prostitutes like my mother live in my apartment building and pay me for protection. I don’t frequent them, nor do I judge them. They want to get out of the life, I finance their business ventures, if they got one. I blackmail some of their customers, if they deserve it. One of them was Williams, who tried to strangle one of the women. When I confronted him, he decided to kill me, and shot me in the back. In defense, I stabbed him to death.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yes, I’ve seen a doctor, twice. It’s a serious wound, but it seems to be healing okay. However, I’ve run out my string here. I’ve got to leave. I can’t go to jail, not even for a few years.” He didn’t know what else to say. “I just didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye, and telling you the truth.”

  “The police could be following me, you know. I tried to be careful, but they could be better than me.”

  “I know.” He was pleased she’d even kept the appointment. It meant a great deal, although he would have second thoughts if it meant jail. Love can be a dangerous thing.

  “Where will you go? Your place in the Caribbean?”

  “Yes, that was the plan before this mess. I’ll leave tomorrow.”

  “What time?”

  “Shortly before noon, I think.”

  “Are you staying here, in the hotel?”

  He hesitated, instinctively not liking all the questions. “Yes.”

  “I wish I could come.”

  “We talked about starting a new life in the Caribbean, remember? You had doubts then, and now there’s all this. There could be legal consequences for consorting with a wanted criminal. I’m sure your dad explained all that to you.”

  She nodded.

  “I’m truly sorry, Gail. I am what I am. I think you’ve always known that. If not, then you fooled yourself as much as I fooled you.”

  She nodded again. “Love indeed is blind.”

  “And grand. I’ll keep in touch, in case you ever change your mind. Things won’t always be this grim.”

  Gail leaned across the table and kissed him. She then stared into his eyes for several moments. The look on her face was one of contentment, which startled Marshon. Then, she stood.

  “Is there any safe way for me to contact you tomorrow?”

  His fondest wish had been granted. He handed her one of the two prepaid phones he’d purchased yesterday. “My number is in the only one in the contact list. It should be good for a couple of days, but don’t keep the phone beyond that. And, for God’s sake, don’t let anyone get hold of it!”

  Then, she was gone and Marshon finished his brandy. He called Hertz again and asked if they could have a car out front of the Hyatt at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. He’d drop it Saturday afternoon at their facility nearest to Lambert Field, in St. Louis.

  Marshon left the bar and walked to the railing, where he could see into the lobby. He immediately saw the two uniformed cops flanking two other guys wearing overcoats and hats, who were talking to the desk clerk. Marshon looked up at the balconies of rooms opening onto the atrium. He frowned at the sight of two men standing on their balconies, on the same floor as his room. They weren’t talking, but rather looking around intently. Marshon felt sick. Surely Gail hadn’t set him up!

  Marshon quickly made a decision and began walking around the mezzanine to the elevator bank on the other side. He got in and went to the third floor, where he could get into the top level of the parking garage. In the garage, he entered the stairwell and gingerly walked down three floors and exited through a door onto Main Street. As soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk, a cab exited from the hotel circular driveway and came his way. Marshon walked to the curb and waved. The cab pulled over. Marshon heaved a sigh of relief.

  Inside the cab, Marshon hesitated briefly before announcing his destination. It had to be somewhere the police wouldn’t think to look right away. It had to be someone he trusted implicitly. Only one name came to mind.

  21/Buffers All The Way

  The rocking motion woke Ace up. For a moment, he imagined himself in his bunk below deck on a navy destroyer plowing its way through ocean waves. Except this movement resulted from activity in the adjoining bedroom of the mobile home. Country and his girlfriend, Rhonda, apparently were making love — an activity appropriately accompanied by loud grunts and squealing noises.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, lit a cigarette, and rubbed his sore shoulder. Then, Ace pulled on a pair of jeans and went to the kitchen, taking a cold Budweiser from the refrigerator. In the cluttered living room, he sat on a tattered sofa. It was cold in the trailer because the furnace was on the fritz. It was the first Friday in November — D-day. If everything went according to plan, he would be rich by noon tomorrow — or, he would be in jail, or dead. Ace was confidently optimistic about the possibility of the first outcome and stoic regarding the alternative endings. Like he’d told Country after they’d killed Hank and Melvin, everyone was dying, day-by-day. Daring and wise people chose the time and circumstances of their final breath.

  Country lumbered down the hallway wearing nothing but bo
xer shorts. He vigorously scratched one butt cheek while his jaws worked over imaginary food.

  “ʼMornin’, Ace,” Country said, as he took a quart of orange juice from the refrigerator and drank from it in huge gulps. He yelled toward the back of the trailer, “Rhonda, you bring those breakfast sandwiches from Mickey Dees?”

  “On top of the microwave,” she yelled back and then came shuffling down the hallway. She wore light gray sweat pants and a pea green tank top that gapped open on the sides to provide a view of her breasts and underarm hair. She was short, squat and had Mongoloid features. Her reddish-yellow hair seemed to have been electrified.

  “Hi, Ace,” she said, and smiled broadly. He could never tell if she was looking directly at him or not, since her eyeballs weren’t coordinated.

  “We got an Egg McMuffin with sausage and two of them bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches, plus potato thingies,” Country said, looking through the sack Rhonda had brought home at 7 a. m. after completing her overnight shift at McDonalds, where she worked as a janitor. Following a little morning delight, breakfast was served.

  “You want a sandwich?” Country asked Ace.

  He took a swig of Budweiser and shook his head. When he was wired, he never ate. He watched as Rhonda took one of the sandwiches and walked back down the hallway, presumably to eat and then sleep. At least they were trainable.

  Ace had stayed in the trailer for nearly a week now, even before the Tuesday night fight at Kandie’s apartment, after which he and Country had disposed of Hank and Melvin. He doubted anyone would think to look for him or Country in this location. Rhonda’s singlewide sat behind her senile uncle’s rickety old farmhouse located at the end of a gravel road in the boonies. Ace had picked up the Toyota Sentra from the parking lot near Kandie’s apartment building, and returned the car to his former landlord’s home, parking it on the street. The last two days, Ace and Country drove Country’s pickup, as they got ready for D-Day.

  Country sat at the table opposite Ace. With his mouth full, he nodded toward the back bedroom where Rhonda slept. “Now there’s a good woman.”

  Ace didn’t disagree. “She’s a peach. Serves you morning pussy followed by a gourmet breakfast. What else could a man ask for?”

  Country nodded his emphatic agreement.

  “Let’s have a little talk, Country,” Ace said, thinking this was a good moment since the dummy had his mouth full and couldn’t ask questions.

  Country nodded to indicate he was listening.

  “We’re a team, Country, you know that, don’t you?”

  Country swallowed so he could say, “You’re my best buddy ever, Ace.”

  “We’ve done things together that could get us some jail time, Country. I don’t want to be in jail ever again.”

  Country became so animated he actually put down the breakfast sandwich. “I was in the county jail down home twice, Ace. Once for ten months. The sheriff caught me knocking the heads off parking meters, so’s I could get at the change.”

  “I didn’t know they had parking meters in Dogpatch.”

  “Jail down home ain’t all that bad, Ace. I knowed everybody, including Myrtle Jones, who does the cookin’ for people in jail. Best I ever ate for free for nearly a year.” Country sat back and smiled, as if his being jailed was a coup he executed against the county.

  Ace took a swig of cold beer. “You go to jail up here in the big city, asshole, and the jailhouse niggers’ll have you for lunch.”

  Country deliberated on that thought for several moments. “Yeah, I believe you, Ace. We ain’t got many niggers down home. And if they get ʼem in jail, the deputies take turns beatin’ the hell outta ʼem.” Country’s eyes became as wide as his smile. “One time down home …”

  “Stow it!” Ace interrupted. “What I was gettin’ at is that I got to be able to trust you. Know that you won’t spill your guts to anyone — the cops, Rhonda, or anybody else.”

  Country drew an imaginary zipper across his lips as he resumed eating his sandwich. “Won’t tell nothin’ to nobody, Ace.”

  “Good. And you gotta do exactly as I say.”

  “Whadaya want me to do, Ace?”

  Ace took a deep drag on a Camel. “We need some money, right?”

  Country looked dejected. “Yeah, Ace, I’m ’bout broke now that we quit Biederman’s.”

  “That’s a job for beaners, niggers, and other losers. Minimum wage. It’s depressing to even walk through that place and wonder how those people stand it. It was a place to make pocket change until the right opportunity came along. Which it has. Like I told you before, I got a plan that’ll make us a million dollars. Tomorrow.”

  “Wowee, Ace! A million dollars!” A bewildered look came over Country’s face. “Where we gonna get that much money, Ace?”

  “Someone from a bank is gonna deliver it to us. Your job is to pick up the money.”

  “I can do that, Ace,” Country said, his mouth open wide and eyes bulging in anticipation. “Where do I go?”

  “I’ll show you today. The main thing is for you to do exactly as I say, Country. I don’t have time to argue with you or explain everything, okay? I want you to pretend you’re a soldier — a private. And I’m a general. I tell you to do something and you say, ‘Yes, sir,’ and fuckin’ hop right to it. Understand?”

  Country stood at attention in his underwear, saluted, and, with his mouth partly full, said, “Yes, sir, General Ace!” Sitting down, he added, in a dejected tone, “I never was in the army, Ace. They wouldn’t take me. I flunked their test, I think.”

  “Maybe they didn’t think you’d do what you were told,” Ace replied.

  Country looked hurt. “Well, I woulda.”

  Ace stared at the dummy, blew smoke in his face, and flicked ashes on the table. “If I told you to shoot someone, would you do it?”

  Country screwed up his face in an expression that simulated thought. “I guess so, Ace.”

  Ace shook his head, rose, and got another breakfast beer out of the refrigerator. “That’s why they wouldn’t take you into the army, Country. I ordered you to do something and you guessed you might. It sounded to me like you wasn’t sure.”

  “I don’t really wanna shoot nobody, Ace.”

  “When I was in the navy, if an officer told me to drop to my knees and give him a blowjob, I got down and sucked his dick, even though I didn’t want to. You understand what I’m saying?”

  Country screwed up his face. “I don’t think I’d like to suck some guy’s dick, Ace.”

  Ace slammed the beer bottle down on the table, sat, and shoved his face close to Country’s. He didn’t speak until the dummy finally said, with emphasis: “But I’m gonna do what you tell me, General Ace.”

  “Good and no fuckin’ questions, whether you like my orders or not. Understood!”

  With a hangdog look, Country said, “Yeah, Ace.” He stuffed the last potato hash brown into his mouth.

  “How much money’d you make last year working at Biederman’s and those other places you told me about?”

  Country chewed and swallowed, saying proudly, “Almost ten thousand dollars. Rhonda didn’t even make that much.”

  Ace got up from the table and walked into his temporary bedroom, reached under the mattress and pulled out what was left of the $10,000 Marshon had given him. Ace considered it a good sign, or certainly good luck, that he even had the money, given the television newscasts that began airing Wednesday noon. Marshon was on the run. Luckily, before his world fell apart, the nigger prince had sent Richey to make the second payoff to Ace. On the other hand, Ace would keep his word and leave town tomorrow, about noon, if all went well.

  That wasn’t the only newscast that caught Ace’s attention, however. There was another one yesterday, reporting that Sheriff’s deputies had pulled a car from the lake in Canyon Park Wednesday morning, and discovered the bodies of two men in the trunk.

  Ace spent a sleepless night trying to calculate all the possibilities. Even though the
four men he’d killed were not linked together and were in fact separate incidents and cases, he knew how the cops operated. They loved linkages. Marshon, Richey, Ace, Country and Kandie were linked together because of these killings, even though he didn’t know much about Marshon’s various business dealings. Marshon couldn’t know anything about Hank and Melvin, unless Richey told him. However, the cops would continue to ask questions, and they’d eventually find the weak links — Kandie and Richey, who would spill their guts. By then, it would be too late.

  Ace wasn’t one for regrets. He’d just as soon not have killed Hank and Melvin Tuesday night, but that couldn’t be avoided. It was them or him. The only thing he regretted was that they’d found the car so soon. Obviously, someone nearby had seen everything, but probably had been too far away to identify them positively — although that didn’t make any difference, since he was suspect number one, anyway. The positives were that both Kandie and Country accepted his actions and remained good soldiers. He was certain they’d perform equally well tomorrow, right up to the time he didn’t need either one of them anymore.

  Ace returned to the kitchen table and dropped the money in front of Country.

  “Gollee! I never saw so much money, Ace!”

  “It’s about ten thousand dollars, the amount of money it takes you a year to make. I picked this up in the past few weeks, without much effort at all. If you do exactly what I tell you today and tomorrow, I’ll give you ten times that amount of money, Country.”

  For once, Country was silent as he tried unsuccessfully to perform the multiplication in his head, or envision that amount of money.

  “That’s a hundred thousand dollars. Ten years’ worth of work, but you’ll get it all tomorrow, if you do what I tell you. You can buy an RV and boat and pay cash for ʼem. Would you like that?”

  “You bet, Ace.”

  “You do what I say, and you can buy everything tomorrow.”

  “I think that RV places closes at noon on Saturday, Ace. Will I have my money by then?”

  “Absolutely. You still got the cell phone I gave you?”