by Ron Fisher
“I called Kelly and invited her to tomorrow’s race,” I said. “I informed her we’d dropped the charade and you and I are going to the race as what we are. Friends. And Alvin? Well, let’s let Alvin be who he is, a scary new friend.”
“We are friends, J.D., no matter how hard you’ve resisted me trying to make you more than that. It’s just my nature. But if we change our story now, what about those people I’ve told we’re more than just friends? They’re going to think I’m a liar.”
“You’ve never struck me as someone who cares very much about what other people think of you. And I mean that as a compliment.”
“You’re right,” she said and laughed. “My reputation was shot a long time ago, so why not add liar to it.”
“Anyway,” I said, “your scheme enabled me to enter the community to meet the people I needed to talk to, and I thank you for that.”
“Okay,” she said. “You’re welcome.” She seemed to resign herself to the new plan.
“Could you call Kelly and tell her the particulars?” I asked.
“Of Course,” she said, “and I’ll get our tickets and passes from USEC.”
Natasha left, and I took Alvin’s lunch to him.
“Still no sign of Teddy?” I said after I’d parked the jeep and got into the Jag with him. I didn’t think Kroll and crew would be finished golfing yet, so I decided I could keep Alvin company for a little while.
“Holed up like a hibernating bear,” Alvin said, unwrapping his sub sandwich.
“I wish I knew if he had an ‘Anonymous’ mask and a polo mallet stuck in a closet.”
“When he leaves, I could look,” Alvin said.
I gave that some thought. “No, stay on him. If he’s bringing drugs for a Kroll party,
maybe we’ll catch him in the act. I wouldn’t want to miss that. Proof of the deal would give us leverage on him, which we could use to try to get him to open up about what else he does for Kroll. Like shoot his horse and help frame Jamal for it.”
I told Alvin about Wilson Kroll’s crowd of new house guests, his wife leaving with a packed bag, and we both agreed a party was on. I left Alvin to eat his sandwich and headed to Ronnie Dill’s house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
There was a beaten up old Chevy pickup parked in Ronnie Dill’s front yard when I arrived. It looked like daddy was home. I figured Ronnie would be home from school by now, too, so I got out and walked up to the front door and rapped my knuckles on it. A heavy-set balding man in a dirty wife-beater and a three-day-old beard opened the door. He took one look at me, glanced at my Jeep in the yard, and said, “We ain’t buying any,” and shut the door on me.
I knocked on the door again, a little louder this time. The man I assumed was Mr. Dill, opened it again.
“Are you fuckin’ deef? I told you we didn’t want any of whatever it is you’re selling. Now git off my porch.”
“I’m not selling anything, and I’m not going away. This is about Jamal Johnson, a missing boy, and I’m here to talk to your son Ronnie about him.” I lied and said, “Now you either get him to the door, or in about fifteen minutes you’ll have to deal with a yard full of Sheriff deputies. Now, go get him.”
He stood and looked at me for a couple of seconds, probably trying to decide if I was on the level or not. Then he turned around and yelled, “Ronnie, get your ass out here.”
I guess my bluff worked.
He gave me one last scowl and disappeared inside.
Ronnie appeared, and I said, “Come outside and let’s talk.”
He gave a nervous glance behind him, then came out, closing the door behind him. He followed me out into the yard and stood waiting for my question, wearing an expression like he was expecting bad news. This poor kid, I thought. He was like a beaten puppy, cowering at every human encounter. Over his shoulder, I saw the curtains in the window move. I kept my voice quiet, mostly out of spite, just so Ronnie’s old man couldn’t hear.
“I wanted to ask you about Jamal’s journal.”
He gave me a blank look, which was disheartening. He didn’t know anything about it.
Then a thought seemed to pop in his head, and he said, “Do you mean that notebook he was always writing in?”
“Yes, that’s it,” I said, relieved. “Do you know where he kept it?”
“No,” he said. “Jamal wouldn’t let anybody read it, not even Monique. I asked him one time what he was writing in there, and he just said, ‘personal stuff.’ I figured it was like a diary, you know—like girls keep. I kidded him about that, but he just said it was for the book he was going to write someday. I believed him. Jamal is killer smart.”
“So, you have no idea where he would have kept it?” I asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.
“Somewhere in his house, I guess. Miss Millie don’t know? Ain’t much gets by her.”
“Not this time, I said. She doesn’t know where it is, and we’ve looked. I was hoping there may be something in that journal to help explain why Jamal went missing. Give it some thought. If you think of some secret place he would keep things, call me.”
As I started to walk off, he asked. “Is there any word on him?”
I shook my head.
He stood slump-shouldered and watched as I drove away.
I’d no sooner made it back to my stake-out spot at Kroll’s when Natasha called. She said she’d talked to Jamal’s girlfriend Monique again, and had nothing new to add.
At about five-thirty, the two cars with Kroll and his guests came back. They all disappeared into the house, and seemed in high spirits.
Later, a van arrived with the name of a caterer on the side. A man and a woman dressed in white chef’s jackets made several trips into the house, unloading dishes in elaborately covered silver salvers, along with folded white table cloths and a large arrangement of flowers. I guess even made-guys like a bit of floral adornment.
Moments later, another van arrived and delivered what looked like a couple of cases of champagne, and a box of booze.
My phone rang. It was Alvin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Our boy is on the move,” Alvin said. “Teddy’s just past Landrum gassing-up on Highway 14 south. Meet me at the intersection of Belue Mill Road and Highway 14. Google maps show it’s a four-minute drive from where you are, and you should be able to beat him there if you hurry. Pick a spot on the shoulder to park that heap you drive, and watch for his dark green Suburban. But don’t let him see you. I’ll be right behind him, and I’ll swing over and pick you up. Be ready to jump in, so we don’t lose him. And stay on the phone in case he goes in a different direction. Worst case scenario is we follow him in both cars with me guiding the way.”
“I’m already rolling,” I said, with Google Maps on my cell phone, showing me the way.
The intersection of Belue Mill Road and Highway 14 was heavily wooded on all sides, but someone had cleared a narrow strip of ground along the shoulder just before the two roads crossed. I pulled off the road onto it, parked, and pulled the sun visor down so Teddy couldn’t see me when he came by. I didn’t have to wait long—a green Suburban came flashing by headed south on 14, Teddy Crane at the wheel. I jumped out, locked the Jeep, and spotted Alvin’s Jaguar approaching from the north. By the time he pulled over and stopped, I was at the edge of the highway, ready to jump in. Alvin’s Jag barely came to a stop before we were off and running again. NASCAR Pit crews would have been proud of how synchronously we pulled it off. Teddy’s SUV was still in sight ahead on Highway 14, but probably too distant to recognize me in his rearview mirror.
“The small town of Greer is also this way,” I said, “but I think he’s heading to Greenville.”
“My money’s on Greenville, too,” Alvin said. “If he’s going for drugs, I’m sure the drug of choice for Kroll and his guests would be high-grade flake, and I doubt something like that is part of any stash Teddy keeps on hand. So, the city is most likely where he’ll find enough for a party.
”
I agreed with Alvin. I couldn’t see the Cleveland guys stooping to crack cocaine or meth, and money would be no object. They’d go for the purest nose candy the highlands of Colombia could offer—and this required a dealer with heavy chops. Like Teddy’s friend Eddie Smoke, I thought.
We followed Teddy at an inconspicuous distance, eventually coming onto Wade Hampton Blvd, where he hung a right, which would take him into Greenville proper. We’d guessed that one right, too.
Teddy led us through the city to the west side of town, the real estate becoming cheaper and shabbier as we drove. Teddy finally pulled into an apartment complex that looked more like a cheap motel than a building of permanent abodes. He parked at one end; we parked at the other. Alvin’s shiny new Jaguar would look out of place here, I first thought, until I noticed a couple of Cadillac Esplanades and a tricked-out Harley at the other end.
There was a large dumpster bin between Teddy and us. Alvin nodded at it. “We’d get a better look at them from behind that,” he said.
We got out and stealthily made our way over to it, each of us taking a side to peer around.
Teddy was out of his car and knocking on the door of a ground-floor apartment. He was wearing his slouch hat and cowboy duster. So far, I hadn’t seen him dressed any other way. When the guy chose a role, he stuck with it.
The door opened, and he went inside. A minute later, six young women came out and got into his Suburban. Four more girls followed them out and got into an older Buick sedan parked across the lot—with one of them taking the wheel. They wore clothes that left no doubt as to their profession: skimpy outfits that showed a lot of leg and cleavage. A hooker for everyone, including Kroll, if my math was correct. The wife was away, but was she too dumb to suspect what went on at her husband’s parties? They certainly had an interesting marriage.
“Our boy Teddy is supplying more than just drugs,” I said to Alvin. “He’s not only a pusher; he’s a pimp.” I wondered what Natasha would say.
Teddy came out with another man, middle-aged, dark-haired, and built like a cement block with arms and legs. I figured this was my first look at Eddie Smoke. He fit Natasha’s description to a T.
Teddy was carrying a small package, which I guessed were drugs, and stuffed it into the pocket of his duster.
Another man came out and said something in Eddie Smoke’s ear. I couldn’t swear to it, but Smoke seemed to glance in our direction before turning back to Teddy and saying something. Teddy got into the SUV with the girls and drove away, the Buick following.
I heard the scuff of a footstep behind us and turned around. Alvin must have heard it too, because he turned with me.
Three guys with serious attitudes were giving us a hard look. One was taller than me, and a little heavier, the other two were smaller, but no less unfriendly looking. The tall one wore jeans, a sweatshirt chopped at the shoulders, and shit-kicker motorcycle boots. He had more tattoos showing than unadorned skin. We’d let Smoke’s thugs sneak up on us.
“Who the fuck are you?” the tall one asked.
“City of Greenville Dumpster Inspectors,” I said. “We’re making sure this dumpster isn’t rusted out.” The two short ones glanced at each like they might even buy that, but the tall one wasn’t as dumb.
“Bullshit,” he said. “You got about three seconds before you find yourself in that fuckin’ dumpster with your asses kicked.”
“What if I said we were vice cops?”
“You’d be a lying sack of shit. I know all the vice cops.”
“DEA?” I tried.
He turned to his two sidekicks. “He thinks he’s funny,” he said. “You guys think he’s funny?”
I thought for a second one of them was going to answer yes, until the look the tall one was giving him changed his mind.
“He ain’t funny at all,” the sidekick said, as the other one nodded in agreement like a bobblehead doll.
I looked over my shoulder and saw Eddie Smoke and the man he was with making their way toward us. They were halfway here, and we were already outnumbered. It was about to get out of hand. I turned to Alvin, who had yet to say a word.
“I think it’s time to go,” I said to Alvin, nodding toward Smoke and the other guy who were closing in on us.
I took a step toward the car, and the tall guy put his hand on my chest and shoved me backward.
“You ain’t going nowhere, dickhead,” he said, opened his mouth to say something else, and Alvin chopped him in the nose with the side of his hand, and the guy went down like he’d been poleaxed. I heard Alvin yell “Contact,” right before he hit him. I had no idea what he meant by that.
One of the other hoods made a quick step up when the big fellow went down, and not to be left out, I gave him my best right hook to the chin. He dodged at the last second, and I caught him in the throat. He went to his knees hawking like he’d swallowed a chicken bone. The sound of running feet closed in on us from behind, Eddie Smoke, if that’s who he was, was pulling a gun from his belt. Alvin grabbed my arm, and we ran for it. We made it to the car, got it started, and peeled away before Eddie Smoke, and what was left standing of his gang, could catch up.
We were a block away before I asked Alvin what the hell he meant by yelling “contact” when he hit that guy. He sounded like a World War I aviator starting a biplane.
“The dude made the first contact,” Alvin said. “He pushed you, and that started it. At that point, we were within our legal rights to defend ourselves. So, I did.”
“You actually thought that through before you hit him?”
“Didn’t have to think,” Alvin said. “It’s one of the things I teach.”
“I was too scared to think,” I said. “I just hit the guy to keep him from hitting me.”
“But you didn’t have to hit him in the throat,” Alvin said. “A blow to his hyoid bone could’ve killed him. We just needed to discourage them enough to escape. Never use more force on an opponent than is required. That’s another thing I teach.”
“I was aiming for his chin,” I said. “But I missed.”
Alvin turned to me, his face serious. “You need to be more careful next time,” he said. “Only kill the people you desire to kill.”
Next time? Desire to kill? I just stared back at him. There were so many things wrong on so many levels with what he said I didn’t know how to respond.
“It would probably be best to keep your Jag hidden for the rest of the time you’re here,” I said. “So that there isn’t a next time.”
“I don’t do hiding to well,” he said. “There will either be a next time with these guys or not. It’s up to them.”
“I guess you’re right. So, what do we do?”
Alvin looked over at me again and grinned. “We say 'fuck it' and get on with things. We got Teddy Crane by the short hairs. He’s a pimp and a drug peddler. What’s he gonna’ do? And when Eddie Smoke sees we ain’t coming back at him, he’ll lose interest in us. Teddy Crane is the one Smoke needs to worry about. Crane will probably sing like Whitney Houston if he’s ever arrested.”
“Can’t argue with raw logic,” I said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
We went back and picked up my car, parked Alvin’s Jag behind a little church off a side road near Kroll’s place, and Alvin and I took up my regular place behind the trees outside the castle. There was no sign of Teddy’s SUV, so he either had come and gone, or we were way off in where we thought he was bringing the drugs and call girls. But I didn’t think so. The sun was already down over Hogback Mountain, and Kroll’s place was ablaze with lights. A shindig was definitely going on.
I turned to Alvin. “Think we should go take a closer look, just to satisfy ourselves Teddy delivered the merchandise?”
Alvin nodded. “Probably best to wait until it gets a bit darker.”
“There’s bound to be security,” I said. “We’ll need a plan.”
“Get in quick, stick to the shadows, and run faster than them if
they chase us,” he said.
“That’s your plan?”
“You got a better one?”
“What if there are cameras?”
“Who they gonna’ show the pictures to? What they gonna say, ‘look here officer, some guys been looking through my windows at us snorting coke and fucking prostitutes?’”
“They'll know who we are.”
“They already know who we are.”
Obviously, Alvin took this sort of thing more casually than I did.
We sat and watched the house as an occasional shadow moved across the curtains on the downstairs windows. The three cars from before still sat in the circle drive out front. No other guests had joined them unless they were dropped off while we were tangling with Eddie Smoke’s people. I didn’t think anyone else was coming. That would unbalance the boy-girl ratio, and someone would have to take seconds. Kroll’s class of guests probably wouldn’t go for that.
The front gates between the stone pillars were closed, and it was a safe bet the place was locked-up tight, so probably no outside security guards. Everyone there was in on the fun. We’d have to make our way onto the property near where we were parked, where the fence was easier to cross over, and there was a good cover of trees skirting the pasture and leading to the side of the house.
Finally, it was as dark as it was going to get. I turned off the dome light in the Jeep, and we got out and walked around the car and crawled over the rail fence that fronted the pasture. So much for Wilson Kroll’s security gate. There were no horses out, as far as I could see. Kroll, I’m sure, had them stabled for the night. When we got to the house, we split up, me coming in from the side to try to get a peek through a front window, Alvin circling the house to check out the back and the other side.
I edged up to the window where I saw the shadows on the curtains and looked through a split in them. Music came from the room, and several couples were slow dancing. The female half of one couple was a young redhead in yellow leather hot-pants that I’d seen get into Teddy’s SUV earlier. Another female I recognized was leaning over a coffee table snorting lines of coke with the silver-haired man who rode to the golf course with Wilson Kroll. So, Mission accomplished. Teddy was Kroll’s procurer of dope and girls—at the least.
