* * *
Jerry Anders completed his fourth day of work and it was payday. Everything looked good for the first time in a long time. He was learning the job and feeling comfortable with Gladys and a couple of the other machines. He had a paycheck he earned and Vickie told him that he was on the way to convincing Michael that he was going to make things right.
It was time to celebrate. He had earned a night out and decided to check out Sally's Suds, a hole-in-the-wall beer bar he passed on the way home from the print shop each night. He left the shop at 5:25 and by 5:35 he sat at the small, dark bar with a draft beer, savoring the moment. Country music played on a dinged-up jukebox in the corner. The bar was weathered oak with a burgundy edge of intermittently torn and taped vinyl over thick padding. There were two couples in the corner of the bar and two women in their thirties seated together at the other end of the bar. The music changed, and Jerry sang about having friends in low places along with Garth Brooks. One of the two women at the end of the bar looked at him and smiled. She had long brown hair and a sweet smile. She wasn't gorgeous, but she was cute in her way. He smiled back.
Half an hour later, Jerry finished his fourth beer. He felt a little buzz. He suddenly remembered that he was supposed to stay out of bars as part of the terms of his parole. He found himself looking around for his parole officer, John Linder. He didn't see Linder but figured he should make a quick exit. He left a tip on the bar and stood to find the brown-haired woman standing behind him.
“Hello,” she said, smiling.
“Hi,” Jerry said.
“I wondered if you would ever get around to coming by to say hello to me,” she said. She saw the tip on the bar and his readiness to leave. “I guess you weren't going to,” she says, as if her feelings are bruised.
“Well, I'm glad you came over here,” Jerry said, “but I really have to go.”
“You don't have time to buy me one little beer?”
Jerry hesitated. “Yeah, I guess I could do that.”
“What's your name, cowboy?”
“Jerry.”
“Hi, Jerry. My given name is Margaret, but everybody calls me Mindy.” She extended a hand.
“Okay, Mindy, sit down here and tell me about you.”
She sat and put her arm on his. “Well, I was raised in Chino. Came up here with my ex-husband when he found work here. Then when we split, he moved back, and I stayed. I'm really a homebody,” she said thoughtfully.
“A homebody?” he questioned, looking around.
“Yes,” she said defensively, “a homebody. But nobody wants to be home alone every night.”
Jerry could definitely relate. “I agree with that, Mindy.”
“Tell me about you, Jerry.”
He selected his words carefully. “I'm kind of new in town. I got a job working for a printer, and I like it. So I'm going to be staying awhile.”
At ten o'clock, they had gone through several more beers and were still talking at the bar. “You said you had to go earlier, but you don't have anyone waiting for you, do you?” Mindy asked.
“No,” Jerry says, “unfortunately I don't. I'm in between ladies waiting for me to come home at the moment.”
She liked his response and smiled at him. “I like you, Jerry.”
“Well, good,” he replied. “I like you, too, Mindy.”
She touched his hand. “Want to take me home?”
He smiled widely. “Yeah, I do.”
“You got a hundred dollars, darlin'?”
He was taken aback. “You mean you're a …” his words trail off.
“No, I'm not. But I have bills to pay, Jerry,” she snapped. “No need to be judgmental. My waitressing job doesn't pay all the bills, and I thought maybe you could help a little.” He was quiet, digesting what felt like too much information, so she added, “Okay, I like you Jerry. How about seventy-five? I just need a little financial help. This is not money to sleep with you.”
He thought about his check. She would get about a fourth of it, and he couldn't afford to spend it, but he heard himself say, “Yeah, that will be okay.” He was so damned lonely. “You got a car?” he asked. “Mine's in the shop.”
“Yeah, if you don't mind riding in an old pinto.”
“Good. Let's go to my place,” he said. Jerry put his arm around her. What a day, he thought to himself.
She looked up at him and saw the smile. “You really do have a great smile. Let's go, cowboy.”
He kissed her on the forehead. “Great,” he said. Jerry was taking good news where he found it, and there was more of it today than he had known in some time. He thought that in the new life he was building, he would like to have a girlfriend. Maybe in this new life he and Mindy could share expenses, and she could sleep with him every night. Suddenly, anything seemed possible.
Chapter 14
It was midafternoon when Lee arrived in Covington, Tennessee. He picked up a rental car and drove the short distance from the airport into town. He cruised past the town's focal point, a beautiful red brick courthouse with steep stone steps leading to huge white pillars. Beyond the courthouse and an adjacent park, he turned left and moved through the downtown area toward the post office. He stopped in one of four parking spaces outside, three of which were unoccupied. He went inside, where he found one service window, unmanned, and two adjoining alcoves, each with mailboxes on three walls.
Lee hunted until he located box 1731, the address designated for delivery of Carl Miller's retirement checks. The box is about knee high and located at the back of one of the alcoves. He looked around, processing surroundings and identifying locations from which to observe anyone accessing the box. Satisfied, he made his way back to the customer window. An elderly man with a gaunt face and a contrasting paunch is now at the window, wearing a nametag saying “Barney.”
“Good afternoon,” Lee said, warmly.
Barney gave him a nod, and then said, “What can I do for ya?”
“Well, I was just wondering what it costs to rent a small box.”
“Seventeen dollars a month,” the man said, and then added, “Movin' to town, are ya?”
“Thinking about it,” Lee said. “Oh, one more thing. What time is the mail put in the boxes each day?”
“Usually gets in around ten thirty,” Barney said.
“Okay, thanks,” Lee said, walking from the window. Satisfied, he checked his watch. It was four thirty, and he hadn't eaten all day. He made his way to a diner down the block and sat in the window with coffee and a sandwich, watching some of the town's nine thousand inhabitants beginning to close and lock stores and leave offices to make their way back to their homes.
Some people don't like unfamiliar places and the feeling of being an outsider looking in. Lee relished being a fly on the wall and watching others' lives unfold. His business was all about obtaining information critical to a client. Watching and listening was how he did that. Lee had developed being inconspicuous into an art form, and he had the ability to hide in plain sight. He could talk to people casually without being remembered. He garnered information from strangers in a subtle way that left them unaware that that they had provided information, or even been asked for anything.
After finishing his sandwich and watching the post office close for the day, Lee decided to find a hotel and settle in for the night. In the morning he'd find Miller picking up his paycheck, and they would have an interesting talk. Unless Carl Miller didn't pick up the check personally. With that thought, he punched a number into his cell phone and waited.
“Again?” a male voice offers.
“What kind of a greeting is that for someone you consider among your very best clients and who provides you with challenges to keep your job interesting?”
“Oh, oh, here it comes. What do you want?”
“Funny you should ask,” Lee said. “There is one little favor you can do for me. I need info on vehicles registered to a David G. Carter, resident of Munford, Tennessee.”
&nbs
p; “One little favor, my ass. I suppose this is a rush job, too?”
Lee smiles. “Not a real rush. I need it in about twenty minutes.”
“You are a funny guy. Give me an hour.”
“You're the greatest.”
“I'll call you as soon as I have it.”
“Perfect.”
At 7:00 p.m., Lee's phone rang. “Yeah,” he said.
“Yeah? What kind of a way is that to answer your phone?”
“It's how you know that I'm really me.”
“Good point. At least you are aware that your social skills are lacking.”
“Right,” Lee said, “but fortunately, I have you making great strides toward my personal betterment.” He paused and then said, “Did you get it?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“So impatient. One vehicle. A 2001 Silverado, white in color.” The caller then recited a license number.
“Terrific,” Lee said. “Great work as always.”
“Not that easy. Don't forget who you owe.”
“Never,” Lee said. “I'll even make sure I pay your bill.”
* * *
At 10:00 a.m., Mindy climbed out of bed and began to put her clothes back on. Jerry glimpsed at her through half-closed eyes and a throbbing headache, noting that she had a great ass even in daylight—it wasn't just a 2:00 a.m., six beer ass. He drifted off again, and next time he awoke she was fully dressed and smoothing her skirt as she looked in the mirror on the dresser.
“Come back to bed,” he said. “I need more of you.” He had a vague recollection of being inside her briefly before passing out, but he had been too drunk to retain the details he now wanted to savor.
“Sorry, lover boy,” she said, pushing a comb through her hair. “I have to go to work now.”
“Can I see you again?” he asked.
She looks over at him and reflects momentarily. “I think so,” she said. “I think I might really like you if you were sober.”
“Maybe tonight …” he said, letting the words go as he became more conscious. “What time is it?” he asked.
“A little after ten.”
“Oh shit, oh shit,” he said. “I'm late for work.” He looked around and focused on the alarm clock, as if some explanation might be found on the digital readout. “Did you turn the alarm off?”
“Yeah,” she said. “After you had me hit the snooze button about three times.”
“What the fuck are you trying to do to me?” he screamed. “You're going to get me fired.”
“Hold on,” she replied. “I tried to wake you up three or four times, and you just shook me off.” She paused, now angry. “You can't blame me because you didn't get up.” She grabbed her purse and walked for the door, where she stopped and turned back to look at him sitting up in bed. “And I've changed my mind about wanting to see you anymore. Fuck off.” She slammed the door behind her as Jerry climbed from bed in a panic. He would have to hurry to finish the big order that needed to be finished by noon today. “Shit, shit, shit,” he said to the empty room as he threw on his jeans, shirt, and shoes and ran for the door, the familiar feeling of his heart racing as it did whenever he had screwed up.
* * *
At 9:00 a.m., Lee sat outside the post office in one of the locations that allowed a clear view of the mail alcove containing box 1731. He moved between two locations that allowed visibility from outside the post office, in an attempt to minimize attention he might draw by lingering too long in any one location. He wore magnifiers when any nearby box was approached to assure that he could distinguish access to the subject box from access to the surrounding boxes. At 11:45 a.m. he was still waiting, and no one had accessed the box. He found a bench that allowed him a view of the alcove, although he had to walk to find a better angle whenever someone approached the area of the box.
At 2:30 p.m., Lee watched a white, 2001 Silverado pull into the parking lot. He checked the Tennessee license plate against the one he had been given earlier in the day and saw that he had a match. He slipped a GPS inside the wheel well of the Silverado, then watched as a white-haired man of about seventy got out of the pickup and went directly to box 1731 and opened it up. Lee got into his car and pulled up to the curb. He watched as Miller's uncle, David Carter, returned with the mail and climbed into the Silverado. He stayed a comfortable distance behind the pickup and followed as Carter began the thirteen-mile trip back to Munford, Tennessee.
Lee considered his options. His illicit research through county records told him that the check should have been delivered to the box yesterday or the day before, so Carter should have it now. Would Carter now lead him to Miller? If not, things might begin to move too slowly. He needed to know where Miller was, his research showing no trace of him in either Covington or Munford. There were two things he felt confident about. The first was that Carter knew where Miller was, and the second was that, through one means or another, Carter would get that check to Miller. He had to follow that delivery. He had one more idea. Lee decided to beat Carter back to Munford and bug Carter's phone before Carter arrived. All he needed was ten minutes, so he hit the gas pedal hard and flew past the 2001 Silverado.
Chapter 15
Lee found the house without difficulty. It was a small, one-story structure, with white trim and blue shudders that were probably very attractive twenty-five or thirty years ago, but had long since fallen into a state of disrepair. Every part of the property appeared to be the subject of a little too much deferred maintenance. The exterior paint was faded and chipped. The underlying wood was splintering as it began to rot. The lot was entirely unfenced, and there were no lawns, just patches of dirt punctuated by weeds and wild growth; a patchwork that was left to its own determination without assistance from the resident. The good news was that the nearest neighbor was about a quarter mile away, and the house was shielded from view by trees and brush.
No cars were in the driveway, and the carport was empty. Lee walked the perimeter of the house, glancing through windows as he moved. The first window yielded a view of a small kitchen with a dropped ceiling and tiled countertops. In the second window, on the side toward the rear of the house, Lee saw through a bathroom and into a hallway. Seeing no sign of movement and hearing nothing inside, Lee walked to the back of the house, where he found a cement porch raised from the surrounding dirt by two weathered cement steps. He walked up the steps and then paused to look around. No one was watching. He turned the door handle and gave a slight push. The door creaked open, revealing a short, narrow hall that he followed to a small kitchen.
Before attending to his intended task of planting a bug in the phone, Lee searched for anything that might show Carl Miller's presence as an occupant or a frequent visitor. There were no decorative picture frames, and for that matter, no pictures at all. There were no flowers or plants. Lee opened the refrigerator and found no Tupperware and few groceries. The freezer was stocked with microwaveable meals. There were few furnishings, which included one recliner and a television with a fifty-inch screen. He walked down the hall to the only bedroom and directly to the closet. It contained only men's clothing, mostly jeans, overalls, and pullover shirts.
Lee looked briefly for documents that might be of assistance, but finding none, returned to his primary task. Where was the phone? He walked room to room and found that there was no land line. If Carter was going to call Miller to tell him the check had arrived, it was going to be on a cell phone, and he may already have done so. On the other hand, this check came every two weeks, so maybe there was a regular delivery or pickup routine and no call was needed.
He checked his watch and decided he was cutting it too close and needed to get out. He walked to the rear door and reached for the door handle in time to see the Silverado stop at the base of the steps. He turned and walked to the front of the house. As he quietly pulled the front door closed behind him, he could hear Carter coming in the back way.
Lee walked the two hundred yards to
his car at a brisk pace. With about a hundred yards to go, two eight or nine yearold boys dressed in shorts walked toward him. As they approach, the bigger of the boys, who had uncombed black hair and an inquisitive expression, spoke to him. “Hey, mister, who are you?”
He thought about ignoring the boys, but that was not consistent with his desire to be as inconspicuous as possible. “Just a visitor,” Lee said, matter-of-factly.
The inquiring boy folded his arms across his chest to make it known that there were answers needed. He would be a lawyer or a detective one day, Lee thought to himself. Right now, he was just an annoying kid.
“You know Mr. Carter?” the kid demanded.
Lee thought for a moment about how to handle this underage neighborhood watch program, and then said, “No, not well. How about you?”
“Yeah, he's our neighbor,” the kid replied.
Lee nods. “You like him?”
The kid was taken aback for a moment, and then, being a kid, his compulsion to honesty outweighed any toward discretion, and he said, “Well, sorta, but he's kind of cranky.”
Lee acknowledged with a thoughtful nod. “Well, you know, if you kids are a little nicer to him, you'll probably find he's not so cranky.” While the kid thought this over, Lee walked on. He glanced over his shoulder to see Carter step onto the front porch and look his way. Lee picked up the pace and disappeared into the trees. Now he would have to watch and wait. He scanned the area for a few places he could park and watch the house without being observed. With no other way to locate Miller, it was going to be a long day.
* * *
I look up from the e-mail I am writing at 6:30 p.m. to see Lisa standing in the doorway. She wears a black evening dress, a string of pearls, and a warm smile. “Hi, sweetheart,” she says.
“Wow. You look gorgeous. Please come into my office and take your clothes off; er, I mean, have a seat.”
[2017] The Whistleblower Onslaught Page 11