(2014) The Professor

by Robert Bailey

  She opened the back door to the office, and stepped out into the night. The parking lot was barren except for her white Mustang and the only sounds she heard were the passing of cars on Greensboro a few blocks up. She shut the door behind her, putting the key in the deadbolt and twisting it.

  “Kinda late for a pretty girl like you to be out.”

  Dawn turned to the sound of the voice, her stomach tightening into a knot. The lot was sparsely lit, and, for a moment, she didn’t see him. Then, standing by her Mustang, she saw a tall man, dressed in khaki pants and a golf shirt. As he stepped towards her, she noticed that his hair was sandy blonde and he had a patch of stubble on his face.

  “Can I help you?” Dawn asked, her voice shaky. She reached into her pocket for her cell phone, but then remembered that the battery was dead. Damn, damn, damn. The man was in front of her now. He had continued to approach as if his appearance was completely natural. He smiled at her, and extended his hand.

  “Yes, Ms Murphy,” he said, squeezing her hand until she shrieked in pain. “You can help me a great deal.”

  66

  Tom pulled the Explorer into Rick’s office at just past midnight.

  “Damnit,” Rick said, his voice hoarse from fatigue. After leaving Dawn’s apartment, they had driven up and down McFarland and Skyland Boulevards, checking restaurant parking lots, the Mall, and every other place they could think of. Nothing. Then, they had moved to the Strip on University Drive, walking in all the bars and restaurants there. Still nothing. Now, they were downtown and dead out of options.

  “Maybe she’s out of town,” Tom broke in. “That’s better than...” Tom didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to.

  Rick shook his head. “Why would she go out of town in the middle of summer school?”

  Tom sighed. “I don’t know.” He closed his eyes. Think, damnit. Think. He looked at Rick. “Do you know if she’s taken another job?”

  Rick shrugged, looking down at the floorboard. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since she quit. I have no idea. But–” he snapped his fingers and jerked his head up “–she clerked at Tomkins & Fisher last summer. Maybe...”

  But his words were drowned out by the sound of screeching tires, as Tom floored it out of Rick’s parking lot. Tomkins & Fisher was on 2nd Street. Three blocks away.

  Please be there, Tom thought, looking at the clock on the dash. 12.13am. It was so late. The trial would crank back up in less than nine hours, but Tom wasn’t worried about the trial or the case.

  Please be all right.

  67

  JimBone Wheeler couldn’t believe his luck. After dropping Wilma off at the hotel, he had picked up Dawn’s tail just before dark while she was leaving her apartment. He had followed her here, but had been forced to wait, because there were video surveillance cameras inside both the front and back doors of the law office. Now, nearly five hours later, the parking lot was empty, Dawn Murphy was alone, and there was no sign of the Drake kid or anyone else.

  Better to be lucky than good, JimBone thought, wrapping his hand around Dawn’s mouth with a chloroform-drenched paper towel as she tried to twist away from him.

  The knife was in his jeans pocket. He could stab her, take her purse and leave, and it would be a job well done. But where was the fun in that? Besides, why would someone just kill a pretty thing like Dawn Murphy? She was beautiful. Young. Sexy. Dawn stopped writhing, as the chloroform did its magic. JimBone looked down at her face, unable to contain his smile as he thought of the fun he was about to have.

  Beautiful, young, sexy women didn’t just get killed for money. They got raped. Sodomized. Brutalized. Then, only after having been properly defiled, were they killed, rumpled up in a garbage bag and thrown in the river.

  She’d be just another hot-to-trot co-ed killed by a crazed pervert. JimBone followed the news. A killing like this happened in college towns all the time. Or at least enough not to raise too many eyebrows.

  JimBone had parked on the curb on the street adjacent to the parking lot. There were no streetlights. No way anyone could see him unless they were looking for him. Just too easy, he thought, as he carried Dawn’s body up to the El Camino. He opened the door and was about to push her into the car when pain engulfed every part of his body.

  Someone or something was squeezing his testicles. Sonofa...

  JimBone grabbed for his crotch, but then his face was pressed into the windshield. Howling in pain as his balls were squeezed together, JimBone felt hot breath on the back of his neck.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” a deep male voice said, as the pressure intensified. JimBone tried to elbow the man, but it was no use. The man was too strong. JimBone reached into his pocket for the knife, and the pressure on his balls suddenly eased. Turning on a dime, JimBone lunged with the knife, missing badly and sprawling on the pavement. When he got up, a pistol was pressed into his forehead.

  “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to bring a knife to a gunfight?”

  “Jesus Christ,” JimBone said, looking at the man, who was as tall as him and black as the ace of spades.

  “No, dog. Bocephus Haynes. You’re as far from Jesus as you’re ever gon’ be.”

  JimBone gulped, then turned his head as tires screeched behind Bocephus. Bocephus also turned, taking a couple of steps back. When he did, JimBone’s survival instincts kicked in.

  And he ran.

  “I don’t think so, motherfucker,” Bocephus screamed after him, and JimBone heard the sound of the gun firing up in the air.

  JimBone Wheeler never looked back.

  “She’s OK!” Bo yelled, calling over his shoulder and pointing back at Dawn, who was crumpled against the side of an old El Camino.

  Tom and Rick reached Dawn at the same time, and Rick knelt down and placed the side of his head on her chest.

  “She’s breathing,” he said, looking up at Tom.

  Tom stepped back and looked in the direction where Bo had been running.

  “Wait here, Rick.”

  Tom ran back to the Explorer and put it in gear. After a couple of minutes of driving, he caught up with Bo, who was running at a dead sprint and approaching the bridge that connected downtown Tuscaloosa to downtown Northport.

  Underneath was the Black Warrior River.

  “Jesus,” Tom muttered. He saw another man stepping over the railing of the bridge. Bo was fifteen yards away. Ten. Five.

  Bo lunged for the railing

  “Bo!” Tom yelled out the window of the car. But Bo was too late.

  The man on the bridge jumped.

  68

  “I can’t believe you kept following him,” Tom said, looking across the booth at Bo, who looked as pissed as Tom had ever seen him.

  “I can’t believe I let him get away,” Bo said, tapping his knuckles on the table in disgust. They were at the Waffle House on McFarland. Both of them had a cup of coffee in front of them. Rick was out in the Explorer with Dawn, who had just come to a few minutes ago, while Powell Conrad paced back and forth across the tile floor, talking furiously into his cell phone.

  “I don’t care if they’re off tonight, Sheriff, we need more people searching the banks of the river,” Powell yelled into the phone, causing Tom to chuckle with pride. His former students were showing off tonight. Tom squinted across the booth at Bo.

  “So when did you find her?”

  “’Bout five minutes before y’all got there. I checked every law office downtown for a white Mustang hatchback, and finally saw it just after midnight.” Bo paused, taking a sip of coffee. “You still need the bartender, Burns?”

  Tom shook his head. “No, we don’t need Burns to testify anymore, because Wilma Newton admitted to everything he was going to say. Send him home.”

  “So the cross went well?” Bo asked, his face breaking into a grin.

  Tom shrugged. “It probably could’ve gone better...”

  “Aww, don’t play that poor-mouth routine with me, dog. You nailed it, didn’t you?”


  “It went pretty good,” Tom said, smiling. “I couldn’t have done it without your help, Bo. The stuff you dug up from the Sundowners Club was golden. I can’t thank you...”

  “No need for that now. You coming back is thanks enough for me. Now, when are we going after the school?”

  Tom smiled. “First things first, Bo. We got a trial to win.”

  “Well, it looks like you’ll have your star witness tomorrow,” Bo said, nodding towards the front door. Tom turned to see Rick, leading Dawn by the arm towards them.

  Dawn blinked as her eyes adjusted to the lights. She held tight to Rick, but looked at Bo. “Thank you so much, mister...”

  “Haynes,” Bo said. “Bocephus Haynes.”

  “Yeah, thanks again, Mr Haynes,” Rick said, extending his hand, which Bo shook.

  “No problem,” Bo said, standing from the booth. “Now, I understand that Ms Murphy here is going to play a major role in a trial that starts in about–” Bo looked at his watch “–seven hours, so I’m going to leave y’all to it. Professor, let me know if you need anything else.” Bo started to walk away, and Tom called after him.

  “Bo?”

  Bo turned at the door, a tired smile on his face.

  “You gonna stick around?”

  “I’m always around, dog.” Bo winked and bowed slightly. Then he turned and walked out the door.

  For a moment, there was silence as all three of them watched through the glass windows as Bo strode to his car. Even Powell, continuing to blare instructions through his cell phone, stopped pacing and watched Bo walk away.

  “Thank God for him,” Rick said, turning to face Tom. “You sure picked the right guy to help.”

  Tom just nodded. Any debts that Bocephus Haynes had ever owed him had been paid in full. And then some.

  “Is somebody gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dawn’s groggy voice startled them, and Tom and Rick both turned to her. Dawn wrinkled her eyebrows, looking back at each of them and then down at the table. Rick’s eyes also went to his coffee cup.

  This is awkward, Tom thought. It was the first time the three of them had ever been together.

  “Yes, Ms Murphy,” Tom finally said. “But first there’s something I need to say.” Tom paused, searching for the right words. “I owe you both an apology. Ms Murphy, you got caught in the school’s plans to force me out, and they used you as a pawn. Our interactions were entirely innocent, but, because of the way things looked, they were able to spin it into something it wasn’t. I’m sorry for the embarrassment the allegations have caused you. I’m also sorry for instructing you not to tell Rick that I was paying you to be his law clerk. I should’ve known the truth would eventually come out. I was trying to help Ruth Ann and Rick without sticking my own neck out there. For that, I’m sorry.” Tom stopped and turned his eyes to Rick. “And Rick, I...”

  “Save it,” Rick interrupted, his voice harsh. Tom’s stomach tightened and, for a second, he feared that he had made a mistake in rehashing the situation.

  “You came back today,” Rick continued. “If you hadn’t walked in the courtroom when you did, the case would have been toast.” Rick paused, and looked Tom in the eye. “You put your neck out there today, Professor. Whatever issues there were between us are water under the bridge.” Rick hesitated, and then turned his head to look at Dawn, who met his gaze. For a moment, neither of them spoke and Tom could feel the energy of the feelings between them.

  “I’m sorry about the things I said,” Rick started. “I...”

  “You’re forgiven,” Dawn broke in. “If you forgive me for not telling you about my arrangement with the Professor.”

  Rick smiled. “Done.”

  Again, they just looked at each other and Tom looked away, wanting to give them their moment.

  “But y’all still didn’t answer my question,” Dawn finally said, turning to face Tom. “What is going on? Why did someone try to kill me tonight?”

  Before Tom could answer, Powell Conrad plopped down in the booth, slamming his cell phone down on the table. “Well, folks, after a whole lot of encouragement, the Sheriff’s office and the city police department have every available deputy searching the river right now. If the bastard ain’t dead, we’ll get him. And if there’s a link to Willistone, we’ll find it.”

  “Nice work, son.” Tom said, hearing the fatigue in his voice. We have got to get some rest, he realized.

  “Will somebody pleas–” Dawn started, but her exasperated voice was drowned out by Tom.

  “Wilma Newton changed her story today,” Tom said, slowly rising from his seat. “We called her to the stand, and she said her husband’s schedules were fine and that he was never forced to speed. She said he never doctored his logs to meet the ten-hour rule.”

  “But she told us those things,” Dawn said. “I was there.”

  “I know,” Tom said, smiling down at her. “And tomorrow the jury is going to know. You are our first witness tomorrow morning. Look, people, tomorrow is going to be a long day.” Tom slapped his hands together and looked at each of them, before zoning in on Rick. “We have to counter Wilma with Dawn and then we have to be ready for Jameson. You can bet his folks will be singing the same song Wilma did today, except with more force behind it. Plus, he’s got an expert and we don’t.” Tom paused. “We’ve got to fix that.”

  “How?” Rick asked, also standing.

  Tom smiled. “I don’t know... but I’ve got an idea. For now, though, we need to get some rest. And given what’s happened already, I think we should stick together. Let’s all go to my house. It’s probably dusty, but it’ll do for the night.”

  “Good idea,” Powell chimed in. “I could probably arrange for an officer to watch–”

  “No,” Rick said, cutting Powell off and turning to Tom. “Whoever the man that tried to kill Dawn is, he probably knows where we all live here. If he survived the fall, then he’ll come back for more. An officer won’t stop him.”

  “Well, son, do you have another suggestion?” Tom asked.

  Rick nodded. “Yes, sir, I do.”

  69

  JimBone made the call from a pay phone in Northport at 6 the next morning. His clothes were still wet, and his testicles were so sore he could barely walk. Fucking nigger bastard, he thought, already planning his revenge. He had heard of the great Bocephus Haynes, Pulaski’s only black trial lawyer. And he was certain that Mr Haynes would hear from him again. But first, he had to break the news. The phone picked up on the first ring.

  “Well?” Jack Willistone said, forgoing a greeting. Even at the break of day, Jack sounded alert and irritated.

  “No dice, boss. I about had her in the car, but Drake and the old geezer showed up before I could get away with her.”

  “Jesus Christ Superstar,” Jack muttered. “Did they see you?”

  “I... I’m not sure. There just wasn’t enough time to set it up,” JimBone said.

  Silence filled the line. JimBone knew to keep his mouth shut and not to apologize.

  “OK, Bone. Just be at my house next Wednesday.”

  JimBone smiled, relieved that payday was still going forward. “Will do, boss.”

  Jack Willistone slammed the phone down, and began to pace the floor of the kitchen. It wasn’t like JimBone to fail. No one could account for the old SOB’s surprise yesterday; even Jack had been caught off guard by that. But nabbing the girl should have been easy as pie. Must’ve been out of his control, Jack thought. Then he shook his head. It didn’t matter. Failure was failure. Bone will be taking a pay cut. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  Jack sighed and gazed through the bay window to McFarland Avenue below, where he could still see the remains of the Ultron plant. He knew there wasn’t anything else he could do.

  Buck Bulyard was dead. Dick “Mule” Morris was dead. Willard Carmichael and Wilma Newton were bought and paid for. The Ultron plant and the documents it held were ashes and dust, and Faith Bulyard had been “handled”.

/>   So what if Murphy testifies? Taking her out was just added insurance. Newton’s testimony is out there, even if it is tainted, and there’s nothing sweet little Dawn Murphy can do to take it away.

  Jack smiled and lit a cigar. Murphy is irrelevant. With what we’ve done, Tyler should be good enough to either win outright or keep the verdict below the policy limits.

  Jack blew a smoke cloud in the air, and chuckled softly.

  Either way, I win and the merger goes through...

  70

  As the sun began to rise over the cotton field, Rick walked out onto the porch. Billy Drake leaned against the railing, holding a 12-gauge shotgun. Three packs of birdshot were lying in a box on the ground beneath him. Behind his father, Rick noticed that a hunting rifle and a .38 caliber pistol were leaning against both rocking chairs.

  “Got enough ammunition?” Rick asked, handing Billy a mug of coffee and taking a sip from his own.

  “I think we’d manage pretty good. He’d have to bring a pretty big posse to get past this porch.”

  Rick nodded and drank some more coffee.

  “I’m glad you patched it up with your teacher,” Billy said. “I always liked him. He played for the Man.”

  Rick knew that his father had been offered a scholarship to play football for Bear Bryant, but had turned it down. Billy Drake hadn’t gone to college. Instead, he’d taken over the family farm when his own father died of a heart attack when Billy was eighteen.

  “I like the girl too,” Billy said, chuckling. “And I can damn sure tell that you do.”

  Rick turned his eyes from the rising sun, and gazed at his father. “Is it that obvious?”