by Lou Bradshaw
“You know about Mona’s?” I asked.
“Did you think your bunch invented her? Hell, Mona signed my yearbook when I was a senior. That’s just between you and me of course.”
“When do you work next?” Fletcher asked. I told him that it would be Friday night and all day Saturday.
“Okay, the panel truck will be in here tomorrow. It won’t have any windows, so nobody will be able to see anybody. Ted, you clear it with his dad. Kid, you’ll be under surveillance as of right now. Your car was bugged while we’ve been talking. When you’re in that car, we will know exactly where you are.”
It was stuff right out of the movies; I was too excited to be scared. Fletcher laid out the plan, which consisted of setting up a turnover at the cabin. The cabin would be easy to bug and stake out, he told me. They would be waiting outside, and as soon as the handover was made the law would come busting in.
I was to ask for five thousand dollars, which didn’t matter because they weren’t going to let me keep it anyway – it would be evidence. As soon as the contact was made, Junior would get the dope and run it up to the cabin and put in the freezer compartment of my refrigerator. Since the refrigerator wasn’t hooked up yet, it wouldn’t freeze. I didn’t know if that was important or not.
Agent Fletcher decided that he would get the dope from the county now, just in case there was a last minute snafu with the Sheriff’s Department. Knowing that gang of politicians, I thought it was pretty good thinking.
* * *
The next morning as I was going from the library to the Chem. Lab this guy that I didn’t recognize called me from a few yards back, “Hey, Brickey, hold up a minute.” He seemed to know me, but I couldn’t place him. He was about my age or a little older, and seemed friendly enough. His clothes were like everyone else’s, cheap and serviceable. As he caught up with me, he came up on my left and placed his hand on my right shoulder. You’d have thought that we were old pals or something; maybe he was one of those people who touch.
“Keep walking,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “and act natural.”
I kept walking and asked, “Do I know you?”
“Fletcher needs to see you at your car at 11 o’clock, or as soon after this class as you can get there.” With that he slapped me on the back and said aloud, “See ya pal.” And he was gone.
Needless to say, I didn’t get much out of that Chemistry class, wondering what the FBI was wanting. When I got to the car I didn’t see anything of Fletcher until he pulled up behind me and rolled down his window. I leaned in, and he said, “Act like you’re giving directions”
I pointed to the west and made a motion to turn south, then pointed west again and asked, “What’s going on?”
“A little change of plans.” He said. “Instead of our people staking out the cabin, the sheriff’s people will do it. He wants to make the collar; it seems that he’s in a real fight this election, and needs a boost.”
“That cowboy doesn’t fill me with a lot of confidence.” I told him.
“Yeah, he is a little loose, isn’t he, but this is so simple he can’t possibly screw it up, unless he shoots himself in the foot or something.”
“I suppose it’s okay, but I don’t like him. Say, who was that guy who passed on your message?” Fletcher told me the guy’s name was Nolen, from the Memphis office, and I told him that I thought he was pretty young for an agent.
“Oh, I suppose he’s close to 30, but I’ve seen him look 60. That’s his specialty, he can mix with a lot of different crowds – a good man.”
I was impressed; they’d put the wheels in motion pretty fast. I saw Nolen a couple of times that day either coming or going. I had the feeling that he was never far away, and that made me feel a lot better.
* * *
Saturday afternoon Earl came back to the shop just cussin’ and fussin’ about one thing or another, people in general and city people in particular. He said, “Little Brick, you wouldn’t believe how lazy these folks is getting’. This morning I had a service call to go change a tire, and when I got there it’s a man that needs his tire changed. Not some crippledy old man but a healthy young fella.”
“Where the hell does the think he is New York City? It was the damnedest thing ever – a real dude. You know, he must a knowed that nigger that got killed out here last summer, cause he asked me if I hauled that wreck in. I tole him that it was you, but that you didn’t run the wrecker much anymore. You was a sign paintin’ college boy now, getting’ richer than Rockerfeller and smarter than Moses.”
“You mean Solomon?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s the guy. I knew it was one of them Bible Jews.”
While I had him in the mood to talk, I asked what the guy looked like and what he was driving. I pumped him for as much as I could get, but you had to be careful, because Earl was crafty smart in a hillbilly way. He could read more in the tone of a voice than most folks could in a Sunday paper. So I didn’t want to press him too much.
“Oh, he’s about my age, with a lotta teeth and Elvis hair. He’s a real good dresser, let me tell you, had on one of them slick suits, kinda shiny and changes color when he moves. Got gold jewelry just a drippin’ offa him – a real classy guy – kinda like I could be if I waren’t tied down to the old lady. He was a bit too skinny, though, I’d a been building up some muscles, you bet. And too damned lazy to change his own tire.”
About that time, a customer pulled over the bell hose and Earl had to leave. I didn’t get the kind of car from him, but I wasn’t going to get greedy. The fewer suspicions he had the better I liked it. As soon as he was out of the shop, I was on the phone letting Junior know about it.
* * *
A little after 4:30, a call came in; the voice on the other end identified himself as Joe Smith. I asked him how I could help him, and he said, “Well, I think I’m gonna need some signs made. When can I come by and show you what I’m thinking about?”
“I’m just getting ready to close up for the weekend, but I’ll be here Monday night, or you can come by before that and talk to Brick, the owner, about cost and such.”
“No, I’d rather talk to the guy who was gonna do the work. What time Monday night?” I told him that I was there from 4 until 8 p.m. – there was a pause on the other end. Finally, he said, “I’ll see you Monday after 4.”
“How’d you learn about our shop?” I asked out of curiosity. “You don’t sound like a local?”
“Oh,” he replied, “a mutual acquaintance recommended you – fella named Dickey.”
I nearly panicked at the mention of Lloyd’s name; there was no question in my mind what this was all about. I have no idea how I was able to control my voice, or even have one, but I did and asked, “How is old Lloyd? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“He’s slowed down some. Last time I saw him he was a bit under the weather.”
“That’s too bad.” I said. “Anyway, I’ll see you Monday afternoon. You know where we’re located?”
“Sure, no problem there. I’ll see you then.” And he hung up.
I just sat down and lit a cigarette; it was a Lucky, and like it, I had a feeling that my own luck was going up in smoke. I watched it burn in my shaking hands. That was funny; I couldn’t remember my hands ever shaking before. I guess that was why I could paint signs. But they were shaking at that moment. I was still sitting there when the door opened.
“You okay, Brickey?” It was Nolen, and I was damned glad to see him.
“Yeah,“ I told him, “just kinda nervous, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh yeah, I know exactly what you’re going through. I’ve had those feelings a couple of hundred times myself, but you did just fine. Why don’t you close up here and take a ride with me; I got a couple of cold ones in the car.”
We drove out to the overpass and parked. I sat there and shook while Nolen cracked open a couple of Michelobs. Guys like me didn’t get too many chances at Michelob. I was starting to like
at least one FBI man.
About half way through the beer he said, “I know you’re scared, Brickey. You’d be a fool not to be, but don’t let it beat you down. You’ll be covered the whole way. I know about the switch from the Bureau stake out to the local forces, but the sheriff’s men will be Johnny on the spot when you need them.”
“I sure as hell hope so.” I said.
“From what I heard your friend, Earl, say, this guy sounds like it could be Phil Matlock, a Memphis hood. He’s about 30, tall and slim, a flashy dresser, and wears a lot of gold. He smiles all the time, and has a great set of choppers, always poppin gum into his mouth. Kinda reminds you of the classic used car salesman type.”
“He came up out of the delta a few years back and has become one of Bardone’s top men. The thing to remember is that he’s a borderline sociopath. You know what that means?”
“No idea.”
“Simplified, it means he has little or no conscience. He has no qualms about harming another human being. They’re no more to him than an insect. I’m telling you all this so you’ll know what to expect from him, and not be lulled into any false sense of safety, because of his smiling nature.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small pistol, probably a .22 or .25. “Kid,” he said, “this is a very cold piece. It has no known history and no serial number. Don’t even ask where it came from. I’ve run ballistics on it, and it came up zero. You stash this at the cabin where you can get at it in a hurry, if you need it. Just point it in his direction and start pulling the trigger till it’s empty. But that’s only if it looks like he’s going to get nasty.”
“If that should happen, you tell me that it was his gun, and he dropped it in the scuffle, and you picked it up and went blank. Trust me, we’ll believe your story.”
“Okay.” I said, holding that gun and wondering what the hell I was doing.
“You know how to use one of those don’t you?”
“Huh, oh yeah, we start learning to shoot at about 6 years old in these parts.”
“Okay, Bucko, I’ll take you back to your car now – you go home and go about your business like nothing’s happening – if you can. Tomorrow you take that gun up to the cabin and stash it so that you can get at it.”
“Oh, by the way, here’s the key to your cabin door. We put a pad lock on it so nobody would be likely to stumble onto a half million dollars worth of heroin in the refrigerator.”
“Holy shit!” I stammered. “A half a m-m-million dollars! They said it was worth a lot of money, but nothing like that – Holy shit!”
“No, my friend, we’re talking a lot of money. That’s why this is so important; this caper could take down a lot of high rollers, but we gotta pull it off first.”
“Holy shit!” I said again. I was repeating myself, but that was the only thing I could think to say.
“Look, Brickey, I won’t lie to you. This thing could get rough. We’ll do everything we can to keep you from getting hurt. That little gun you got there is only a .22, but it can kill. And will slow a person down a lot. I know that you’ve never killed anyone, but you’ve got to prepare yourself to do it if you have to.”
“No.” I said to myself. “I never killed anyone, unless you count stompin’ and kickin’ a sicko child molester to death, that is. If this Matlock guy is a child molester, then I won’t have a problem.”
Chapter 32
I had a date planned for that evening; in fact it was a double date, which would have been uncomfortable to cancel, and the last thing I wanted was to be alone. I wasn’t hoping to get lucky, I was hoping I could keep myself together and not ruin the evening for everyone else. Peggy and I were meeting Mack and his date for dinner at The Cedars Restaurant in Springfield at 7:30. It struck me that there were an awful lot of places named for trees in this area, but then trees were one of our best features. Our other best feature was rocks; and I guess the Limestone Restaurant doesn’t have the same pizzazz. After dinner we were going to a late movie at 10 o’clock, well that was late for Springfield.
Of course they were late; Mack usually was, so we weren’t too upset about it. We waited in the bar, where a five dollar bill slid across the bar got us a couple of draft beers. The $5.00 was on top of the $2.00 for the beers, which we nursed at a table.
“You okay?” Peggy asked. “You seem a little edgy tonight.”
“No, I’m fine,” I lied, “just had a rough day, a lotta work.”
She wasn’t buying one damned bit of it. She had never seen me nervous and distracted like that. Her first reaction was that it was her, and the more I tried to tell her that it wasn’t, the more she was sure that I wanted to dump her. As I’ve said before, I have no idea how the female mind works. And that wasn’t an age related thing; I’m still in the dark.
Finally, I said to her, “Peggy, listen to me and listen real good, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t understand love, but you’re as close as I’ve ever come to it. When I’m not with you, then I want to be with you, and when I am with you, I don’t ever want to be not with you… what the hell did I just say? I couldn’t even follow that myself, and I’m the one who was sayin it.”
She started to laugh and cry at the same time, and said, “I don’t know what you said, but it was beautiful and what I needed to hear.” Then we went through some nose blowing and eye wiping. “Then what is it, Lee?”
Before I knew it I was spilling my guts about the whole set up, excluding the $4500 of course. I gave her the whole 9 yards including the 4 dead bodies and the partridge in a pear tree.
“Peggy-Margaret, I’ve got to ask you to please treat all that as highly confidential. I’m hung out on a limb here, and you’re the only one who knows the story. Mack doesn’t even know. Brick knows very little, and that was given to him by Trooper Bradley with Tom Fletcher’s okay. If any of this gets out it could mean very big trouble – the worst trouble. It could take a year or longer before it comes to light.”
She didn’t say anything, just reached into her purse and pulled out $7.00, and said, “Get us 2 more beers, please.”
I started to do the chivalry thing and buy the drinks myself, when I saw Mack and his latest great legged doll. I started to raise my arm to get their attention, and she took the sleeve of my sports jacket, and stopped me. She looked up at me with those big blue eyes, which were still kinda watery and scared, and said, “Brickey, I knew you were trouble the first time I kissed you. I liked it too much…oh what the hell let’s get some food.”
The way everything was arranged was as follows: Mack rides to Springfield with me; I drop him at the sorority house; he collects his date and calls a cab; they come to The Cedars; meanwhile I pick up Peggy and come to The Cedars where we sit and drink beers at $3.50 each.
Mack’s little doll turned out to be just that, another little doll. A certified, bonafide, and notarized carbon copy of all the other little cheerleaders he had dated over the last 4 to 5 months. The difference was that this one, Stephanie, was a little older and more polished. She at least knew what J.F.K. stood for – the initials, not the man, and that was at least a start.
Miss Stephanie was sure enough something for the eyes all right, but beneath that teased and sprayed hair do there wasn’t much between the ears but Jello. Now, Jello is okay for jiggling on a spoon and flinging it at your sister, it isn’t worth a damn as scull filler.
Stephanie was from Ladue, a plush St. Louis suburb. The only reason she came to Southwest was to please Grammy. She had gotten her teaching degree from Southwest, and sooo wanted little Stephie to carry on the tradition; Grammy must have been worth a chunk. She never said it in so many words, but according to her, St. Louis was the cultural capital of the universe, and the colonials out here in the provinces were just too quaint. I would never have guessed that a person with a head full of Jello could talk so much.
The waiter took our order for 3 prime ribs, rare, and one sirloin, medium well; I’ve always lik
ed my meat cooked. Shortly after he left he returned and asked Mack if we would care for some mock Champagne. Mack’s eyes lit up, he got a big grin, and he said, “Sure.”
“Oh fab.” Cooed Stephanie. “I do hope it’s imported and not from California.”
Peggy looked at me and mouthed the words, “Mock Champagne?”
I squeezed her knee under the table and smiled; as if to say, “What could it hurt?” She removed my hand and slapped it playfully. The waiter returned with the bottle stuck in a chrome bucket filled with ice and wrapped in a towel. He made a big deal of opening it with a pop from the plastic cork, and a good deal of foam.
Mack made a toast, Stephanie said, “Chin-chin (whatever the hell that meant).” Peggy and I sipped the ginger ale.
Little Stephie couldn’t believe it when she learned that we were not Greeks, but plain old GDIs. She really went into a spin when she found out that we were locals, and worse yet – we lived at home. She covered it up with Jello chatter about Skip and Toadie, which I took to be her dog and her frog. Except that Toadie had a Corvette, and old Skip drove an Austin Healey. I figured that they had different drivers license rules in St. Louis, or maybe it was just in Ladue.
Mack was starting to get a little embarrassed and rolled his eyes at some of the inane comments she was making, and by the time we were ready for desert she was making some dandies. He started to pour more of the fake grape; Peggy and I declined, so they finished the bottle. By the time we were half through the cheesecake Stephanie was giggling and finding humor in almost everything.
Mack took up the bottle and looked at the label, then he caught my eye, and gave me a really confused look. I smiled and nodded indicating that I knew. He smacked himself in the forehead with heel of his hand, something I had seen him do a million times when he realized that he had just done something stupid. I smiled and nodded indicating that I knew – and agreed.
The check came; we paid up, lit up, and were finishing our coffee. Stephanie was saying something hilarious – at least she thought it was – about Slippy and Turdie. Yep, she was ripped on California Ginger Ale.