Diamonds and Cole: Cole Sage Mystery #1

by Micheal Maxwell

  * * *

  Filbert Avenue in the 1950s and ‘60s was the heart of the city. Sears, Penney’s, Woolworths and half-a-dozen jewelry stores anchored the heart of downtown. The city’s only two elevators were both on opposite corners of Filbert and Sixth Street. That was a long time ago.

  Now there were nightclubs advertising “Oil Wrestling” and “Amateur Iron Man Fights” on Budweiser banners. The jewelry stores had become Thai restaurants, and the Penney’s building was home to a Mexican nightclub and a Subway sandwich shop. Police cruisers patrolled from dusk until 3 a.m. In the summer, the sidewalks were crowded with club hoppers, hustlers out to sell drugs and thugs out to give anybody they decided to a hard time. The street glowed and sparkled with flashy signs and taillights.

  Cole felt completely out of place as he stepped from the public parking garage and onto the street. He saw no one even remotely close to his own age. He unconsciously pulled in his stomach and tried to walk taller. Scanning both sides of the street, he made his way along through the Friday night throng. Doormen and bouncers gave Cole a nod as he passed, and he was approaching the fourth club before he realized they thought he was a cop.

  As he crossed Seventh Street, he spotted the green and orange Acura at the curb. At each end of the car stood two very big, very bald, very white guys in sunglasses. The one at the tail end of the car wore a shiny black tank top. His arms were massive and completely covered with colorful tattoos. The man posted at the front of the car wore a white long sleeve T-shirt and had the jacket of a warm-up suit tied around his waist. They both wore nylon jogging suit pants and high-top tennis shoes. No one passed within four feet of them on the sidewalk.

  The light at Filbert and Seventh changed to green three times before Cole crossed to the Acura’s side of the street.

  “Nice car. Take a lot of diamonds to buy something like that,” Cole said to the guy with the huge parrots tattooed on his biceps.

  There was no response. The guy in the white T-shirt shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

  “Lot of upkeep on a car like that. And two bodyguards, now that takes some serious cash to maintain that kind of security.” White T-shirt looked straight ahead. Tattoo crossed his arms. Cole bent down and tried to see through the black tint of the window. “So, is he in there or what?”

  “It’s time for you to leave.”

  “That’s not friendly. Could get someone like you in a lot of trouble. It sounded a bit threatening.”

  “He’s a cop,” said White T-shirt.

  “So?” replied Tattoo.

  “I get the distinct feeling you don’t like me. And that is just not friendly. So where’s Jefferson?”

  “Not here,” T-shirt offered.

  “Good, good that’s a start to a nice conversation,” Cole said smiling.

  “You’re right, I don’t like you. I’m not friendly, and I’m tired you buggin’.” Tattoo stepped forward.

  “See, there you go again. Your body language projects a definitely hostile message. I warned you about getting in trouble. I was being nice. I really don’t understand your unfriendly attitude toward me.” Cole gave him a big forced smile.

  The sound of laughter across the street made all three men turn. A tall black man was in the center of a group of about eight in the crosswalk. He was head and shoulders taller than the women he held in each arm and a full head taller than the men in front and behind him. He wore an LA Lakers jersey with a long-sleeved purple turtleneck under it. As the group stepped from the street to the curb, the tall black man gave a quick jerk of his head in the direction of Cole and the two men guarding the car. From Cole’s vantage point, he saw the tattooed man shrug his broad shoulders.

  The tall man broke from the group, saying something Cole couldn’t hear. He walked with the loping swagger of an NBA star. Cole knew this was his man.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” The accent was on here.

  “You must be Mr. Jefferson.” Cole smiled.

  “You know I am. Who are you?” Tree Top Jefferson didn’t smile.

  “I’m the guy about to cut off your meal ticket.”

  “That so.”

  “Yep, that so,” Cole said with his head slightly tilted to one side.

  “Who is this fool, and why he standin’ right up by my car when I told you nobody gets next to it!” Jefferson stared at Tattoo.

  “He jus’ now come up, Tree. I don’t know who he is!”

  “How rude of me,” Cole interrupted. “My name is Cole Sage. From The Chicago Sentinel, you know, the newspaper. I would like to interview you, Mr. Jefferson. It could save you a lot of grief.”

  “An’ what if I don’t want no interview?”

  “Like I said, I could make things dry up around here. That is, if you are unwilling to help me out.”

  “You talkin’ big shit. Why a newspaper in Chicago care ‘bout what I do?”

  “Look, I don’t want to put your business out here on the street like some two-bit pimp. Where can we go to talk? Your friend Mr. Anderson has skipped town. How’s that for starters?”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Okay, I tried to be helpful.” Cole started walking down the street. “One, two, three—”

  “Yo, hold up a minute!” Jefferson’s voice had gone up almost an octave.

  Gotcha, Cole said to himself as he continued walking.

  “Yo, ho’d up!” Jefferson jogged up next to Cole.

  “You like coffee?”

  “Whatever.”

  The two men went into a small coffee shop and took the last table down the narrow alcove. Cole sat with his back to the wall, folded his hands, and placed them on the small table. Tree Top Jefferson looked almost comical trying to get his long legs to adapt to the cramped surroundings. In his constant effort to be cool, he finally stretched them out to the left of Cole and crossed them at the ankles.

  Tree Top eyed the waitress who had just left with their drink order. “What’s yo’ game?”

  “Just trying to help out a friend.”

  “Who?”

  “No one you know or would care about. Listen, pretty soon I’m going back to Chicago. When I’m gone, I don’t care what you do or to who. But we got a problem, and it isn’t with each other. Tell me about this diamond scam. How did you get in? Was it Richard Anderson?” Cole leaned back.

  “How I know you ain’t police?”

  “Don’t you know most of the cops around here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, don’t I look a little old to be a rookie?”

  Jefferson laughed and laced his long fingers behind his head. He was doing everything he could to give the appearance of being calm, but the little beads of sweat on his upper lip and forehead were giving him away.

  “You gotta be big city. Nobody around here would be messin’ with my boys out there. I usually don’t go off and chat with just anybody, you know. Not good for my image.” Jefferson turned and faced Cole head on. “How you know Anderson’s gone?”

  “His wife told me this afternoon.”

  “Ain’t that a bitch?” Jefferson looked at the tabletop for a long moment deep in thought before he spoke again. “So, what about Christopher?” Jefferson paused and, as an afterthought, said, “You know him, too? Will he still give me the stones?”

  “How deep are you into them?”

  “Me? No, no I’m cool.”

  “Here’s the deal. Game’s over. Anderson took the ball and ran off. But it’s the other guy. He’s the one I want to get to. What do you know about Allen Christopher?”

  “I don’t know him, like, know him, you know? He was Anderson’s guy. But why should I tell you anything. What’s your game?”

  “Look, Christopher tried to bribe a city official with some of these diamonds you been buying cars with.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “That’s not important, the thing is—”

  “To me it is!” Jefferson interrupted.

 
“Mrs. Anderson has been left behind. She told me what little she knows, hoping I’ll help her find her husband. On the surface, it’s a legitimate scheme. Anderson got a little greedy. Christopher is the money behind the stones. You know that, right? He’s a real estate salesman. He put up the money to buy the diamonds. Anderson got you and some other people to buy and resell stuff. He scammed Christopher and took off. No more diamonds for you and a hell of a bill for Christopher to pay. Thing is, Christopher doesn’t have any money.”

  “One double mocha and one decaf. Anything else for you gentleman?” the bubbly blonde in the green apron turned and left before either man could even look up at her.

  “You seem to know an awful lot. How you get on to me?”

  “Chicago cops,” Cole said flatly.

  This was a revelation to Tree Top Jefferson.

  “Man, I don’t need this. Anderson said this was a straight deal, no problems. I don’t need no cops.”

  “I don’t care about any of this. What you do is your business. I’m all about getting Christopher. You hear me? Next week I won’t even remember we met. Let me ask you something,” Cole paused. “What should I call you anyway?”

  “People call me Tree.”

  “Thank you. Tree, is your mother alive?”

  “You leave my mama out of this!”

  “Relax, I don’t mean any disrespect. Is she alive?”

  “Yeah, she lives ‘cross town.”

  “What if she got sick, real sick, and was dying. And her man dumped her in a rest home and stopped payin’. How would that make you feel?”

  “He’d be dead. That’s how I’d feel.”

  “Well, Christopher did that to his wife. She and I were once very close. I let her go. You see where I’m goin’?”

  “You gonna kill him?”

  “No, but he’ll wish he were dead. I want him put behind bars for a long, long time.”

  “Man, I don’t need any of this. Sorry about your friend, but I don’t need this. I got a good thing goin’ on. I don’t need this shit at all. Chicago cops, shit, I don’t need this, man.” Jefferson was on his feet. “You don’t need to wait ‘til next week, you forget we ever met now—you hear me, right now!” He was screaming at Cole.

  Cole took a long slow sip of his coffee. “You may need my help later,” he said softly.

  “I don’t need nothin’! You hear me, Chicago? Don’t be comin’ to my town and be tellin’ me I need yo’ help!” Jefferson grabbed the back of his chair and threw it against the wall. The chair hit the tile floor with a clang, slid and thudded against the windows.

  “Suit yourself,” Cole said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  “I suit me fine! I’ll suit you if you ain’t careful!” Jefferson’s long legs had got him out of the alcove and into the main area of the store.

  Patrons put down their books and magazines and watched as Jefferson ranted and screamed, waving his arms about as he hit the front door. Then every eye in the store turned to Cole. Standing, Cole lifted his Double Mocha Venti and, with a broad smile and a light bow, silently toasted the gaping crowd. As he passed the counter, he slipped a $5 bill into the tip jar and left the store.

  On the sidewalk, Cole shuddered. He hated confrontation and felt like he’d been playing tag with a cobra. Whisper had been easy. Tree Top Jefferson was a whole different thing. He was dangerous and unstable—it could be chemically induced or maybe he was just plain crazy. Either way, there was a volatility that made Cole’s stomach knot up. He had just jumped into the deep end of the pool.

 

 

 

 

 

  FOURTEEN