by Ron Fisher
“There is another way, J.D.” Alvin said.
I stopped talking and looked at him.
“We can blow the Dollar brothers’ fucking heads off,” he said.
“I’d rather we let that be the back-up plan, Alvin.”
Alvin just grinned that grin of his at me.
#
We found the Jiffy Cab Company in a seedy industrial area in West Greenville. It was a white-washed cinderblock building that looked like it was once a gas station. A couple of old gas pumps sat out front, for cab use only now. Several white sedans of varying ages sat about, all with a red “Jiffy Cab” and a phone number painted on the front doors.
Alvin and I parked out front and went into the office. A bleached blond with bright red lips and large breasts sat a switchboard. She looked like one of Smoke’s call girls, slightly beyond her prime but not bad, now earning her money in a different profession. Behind her was a closed-door that said “Private.” Another door to her right stood open and led to the service bays.
I told her who we were and why we were there. She punched a button on her switchboard, said something quick and low into her mouthpiece, and the private door opened. Out came another of Smoke’s thugs that I recognized. I heard Alvin grunt beside me. He knew the man too. Alvin had broken the guy's nose in our fight with them a year ago.
He glared at me, then Alvin, and back at me.
“We were expecting only you,” he said to me, and nodded at Alvin. “Not this mother-fucker. He has to stay out here.”
I started to object, but Alvin placed a hand on my arm. “That’s okay. I’ll keep Betty Boobs here company. You need me, just holla.”
I went through the door and found Eddie Smoke sitting behind a cheap metal desk. A couple more of his thugs leaned against a wall. I recognized them as the other two that Alvin and I had tangled with. One of them was Raspy Voice. They both glared at me, but Raspy Voice’s look was especially intense. Smoke gestured me to a chair in front of his desk, and I took it. He hadn’t changed since I’d last seen him. The same too-black hair that suggested a dye job, low hairline and hooded eyes that gave him a simian look, and a body like an oil barrel.
“You come to interview me for a story?” he said, almost smiling.
“I came to ask you about something.”
“Yeah? What?”
“I want you to tell me who’s behind the trafficking of opioids over in Pickens and Oconee Counties.”
I felt, more than saw, the thugs leaning against the wall stand up a little straighter.
He sat and studied me for a moment. “Even if I knew anything about that, why the fuck would I talk to you about it?”
“Because a hunch tells me you wouldn’t mind seeing their demise.”
Smoke turned to the three thugs along the wall. He said, “Pat him down.”
They came over, pulled me out of the chair, and frisked me like professionals.
“No wire,” one of them said when they’d finished.
“Why would you have a hunch like that?” Smoke asked me.
“I know that the product on the street over there is different from the product over here. That says to me there are two different operations going on in the Upstate. I’m only interested in the one over there, I don’t care who’s doing what over here. But my guess is, whoever it is, they wouldn’t like to see anybody encroaching on their territory—if that isn’t happening already.”
Smoke asked, “So, what’s your interest? You’re writing a story about this?”
“Someone in the drug business over there badly hurt a woman I care about, and I want to find out who. I don’t care if it makes a story or not. I’m not out to write about the evils of opioids, I’m out to find the assholes who beat her up and nail them to the wall. I thought doing that might be in our common interest.”
Smoke said slowly, “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, your hunch is right and I wouldn’t mind the demise of these people in Pickens County. What exactly do you want from me?”
I was right. Smoke and these Pickens County guys were competitors. “I want names, and anything else you can tell me about them.”
“So, you think I’m a rat?”
“No, I think you’re a businessman, and this would be good business for you. Nobody will ever hear where I got my information, and I will never speak your name or use it in anything I write. In fact, I wasn’t even here.”
The wheels were obviously turning in Smoke's head.
“The Dollar brothers,” he finally said.
“Laverne and Sonny?”
“Yeah. Laverne runs things. Sonny’s a tough-guy, but Laverne’s crazier than a shithouse rat. A fucking psycho. They ain’t been in business long, but they seem to be expanding rapidly. Let’s just say that whoever’s got that business on this side of the Saluda River is probably starting to feel the Dollar brothers’ breath on their behinds. And they can’t be too happy about it. Now is that all?”
“That’s it,” I said.
“Now go away, and don’t come back.” Smoke looked at one of his thugs and gestured to the door.
The man walked over, opened it, and stood looking at me.
As I got up, Smoke added, “You know why I’ll trust you to keep your mouth shut, Bragg?”
I didn’t give him an answer. I didn’t think he expected one.
“Because if this comes back at me in any way, whatever happened to this woman of yours won’t be nearly as bad as what I’ll do to you.”
With a sense that I’d just made a deal with the devil, I nodded at Eddie Smoke and left.
#
I took Alvin back to get his yellow convertible, and we went inside and had hamburgers at the Clock. While we ate, I filled Alvin in on what Eddie Smoke had to say.
“That’s confirmation enough that the Dollar brothers are who we thought they are. So, what’s our next step?” he said.
“As I said, I’m going to see Sheriff Bagwell with it and see what he’s going to do. For a cop, he’s not a bad guy. Maybe he’ll go after the Dollar brothers without trying to force me to reveal Eddie Smoke as the source.”
“A cop that isn’t an asshole. That’s a new one,” Alvin said.
“By the way, you got Mrs. Johnson’s cookies she told you to bring me?”
“You know, I was gonna’ bring em’, but somebody came in and ate every single one.”
“And you don’t know who that somebody was,” I said.
“No, but they said he was a fine-looking man, and a snappy dresser.”
“You owe me, Brown,” I said.
Before we headed out, I called Bagwell to see if he was in his office. I told him we were coming to see him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Bagwell was waiting for us. When we walked in, he completely ignored Alvin, whom he’d never met, and focused a pissed-off look on me.
He said, “I’d like to know why you didn’t tell me last night that you’d been in that biker bar in Clemson again, just hours before somebody shot up Eloise’s house. Was that something else you had to wait until today to tell me? Were you going to tell me about that at all? You’re doing it again, Mr. Bragg, interfering with my investigation. It’s got to stop.”
Mr. Bragg again, I thought. I kept falling in and out of his favor. “Who told you I was there?”
“You saying you weren’t?”
“No, I was there. I just want to know who told you.”
“Chief Watson has a guy in plain clothes dropping by there about every night now, just to keep an eye on the place. He’s been doing it since I told them about our interest in that Dixie Demons Hound-dog fellow. He recognized you, and said you had some kind of altercation in there. A young woman involved.”
“The young woman is a reporter at the Clarion, who foolishly took it upon herself to go in there undercover to see what she could find out about drugs being sold out of the place. I went to get her out of there before she got herself hurt.”
Bagwell didn’t
say anything about me also being there on Monday. Chief Watson's man must have missed me that night.
“I guess you know the Dixie Demons have cleared out?” I said to him.
“Of course I do, it’s my job to know. Now, tell me who you think fired an automatic weapon into your sister’s house last night, and why they did it.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you then. I was waiting until I had more to back up a theory that I have. Which I did. I’m here now, ready to tell you everything I know, and everything I think.”
“I’m all ears,” he said.
Bagwell suddenly looked at Alvin as if he’d just discovered him standing there, which was surprising. If Alvin Brown was in the room, you noticed. Bagwell must have really been consumed with chewing me out.
“Who is this man?” he said.
“Alvin Brown, a friend.”
“What is your part in this, Mr. Brown?”
Alvin said, “Just lending moral support. Here for J.D. in case he needs any help.’
“Moral support,” Bagwell repeated, and stared at Alvin. He obviously didn’t know what to make of him. Then he turned back to me.
“Talk to me, Mr. Bragg,” he said.
“It starts with the reason Kelly was assaulted. The severity of her beating just didn’t jive with me. I didn’t buy a horny biker wanting to teach her that kind of lesson for just turning down his sexual advances, however humiliating it might have been. So, I concentrated on other possible scenarios. Like I told you, I found out that Kelly has been working on a story about the opioid crisis in Pickens County, a follow-up to that editorial she wrote a couple of weeks ago. This led her to the Tiger’s Tail.
“But Kelly didn’t go there to write a story about the Dixie Demons being in town. She was there because she knew someone was dealing opioids out of there, and that they had supplied the pills that caused the death of a woman named May Burgess. Kelly was there to see what else she could dig up.
“So, she was sticking her nose into something that could put her into harm’s way from many directions. From the dealer who sold May Burgess the opioids that killed her, to whoever is behind the local distribution of those drugs, or anyone who is associated with that business in any way. Including the Dixie Demons outlaw motorcycle gang. I haven’t found evidence that they’re involved in the opioid distribution here, but I haven’t found anything that says they aren’t either. The only thing I do know is that they are friendly with the guys who run the Tiger’s Tail, two brothers named Laverne and Sonny Dollar, whom I know Kelly did have suspicions about.
“Today, I got substantiation that Laverne and Sonny Dollar are indeed behind the distribution of opioids in Pickens and Oconee Counties. And I think that’s who shot up Still Hollow last night. They know I’m sticking my nose in their business. Just like Kelly was doing when they hurt her too.”
“How the heck do you know all this?” Bagwell said.
“I’ve got sources, Sheriff.”
“Who are these sources?”
“They’re confidential, Sheriff. You know I can’t give them up.”
Not only would it break the journalist’s unwritten law to give up Eddie Smoke or April Cheney, I thought. Eddie would kill me and the Dollars would kill April. I couldn’t have Bagwell go confronting either of them.
Everything I was saying made Bagwell even angrier. The redness rose up his neck from beneath his shirt collar.
“So, you’re saying that the Dollar brothers attacked and beat Ms. Mayfield?”
“Yes, they either did it themselves, or had it done. I know the Dixie Demons that were here have alibies, but I still haven’t completely given up on them being involved in this business somehow. They could’ve brought in someone else to help the Dollars with their problem. Whoever did it wanted to stop Kelly from snooping into their business. Whether they meant to kill her, or just got carried away and went too far, or were interrupted by the pizza guy at the door and fled before they could finish the job, I couldn’t say.”
“This is who you think did the drive-by shooting last night? The Dollar brothers?”
“Yes, I didn’t actually see them, the windows on the SUV were tinted too dark. But I’m sure it was them, and maybe a guy they call Doughboy. He’s the dealer that sold the opioids to May Burgess. He hangs out at the Tiger’s Tail. There’s also a bartender named Terrell Dent there who has to be involved in this too.”
“How do they know about you?” Bagwell asked.
“Like I said, I’ve been snooping in the same place as Kelly, and asking the same questions.”
I didn’t tell Bagwell about Alvin probably breaking Sonny Dollars wrist, or the high-speed car chase through the center of Clemson. Laws were broken then too, some of them by us.
Bagwell leaned back in his chair, trying to sort through all of this and decide if he believed me or not.
“Do you know the Dollar brothers, Sheriff?” I asked.
“Yes, I know them. They’re part of a family with a decades-long history of run-ins with the law. But until now I thought they were just small-time criminals with the habit of going looking for trouble and finding it all too easy. As to drugs, cooking some meth, maybe. Or dealing some weed and a few pills. But I could never even prove that. I’ve got nothing on the scale of what you’re talking about. What actual proof do you have?”
“You now have all I’ve got. I was hoping you could take it from here.”
“Everything you’ve got seems to be hearsay,” Bagwell said. “From sources you won’t name. There’s not enough here to bring them in, or even get a search warrant for their place.”
“So, you’re not going to do anything?” He didn’t like me saying it.
Bagwell suddenly got up and left the room. “Sit tight,” he ordered.
I’d obviously gotten under his skin, or was it that I’d gotten out ahead of him with what I’d found? Especially since he didn’t seem to have an inkling of what the brothers might be up to, right in his backyard. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened between Sheriff Arlen Bagwell and me. It was my efforts, not his, that led to the man who killed my grandfather a couple of years ago. Bagwell was a proud man; he didn’t like me getting ahead of him then, and he wouldn’t like it now.
Bagwell returned in about ten minutes. “I’ve called the DEA, and an agent from their Greenville office is coming over. He’ll be here in thirty to forty minutes. We’re going to wait for him. I want you to tell him everything you’ve told me.”
Alvin groaned. He didn’t enjoy the company of law enforcement, regardless of the reason.
“Do I need to be here?” he asked me.
Bagwell answered. “Why don’t you stick around, Mr. Brown? You can lend us your moral support.”
I got the feeling Bagwell wasn’t through trying to find out exactly who Alvin Brown was.
I still hadn’t told Bagwell about the motorcyclist who made the threatening gestures to Eloise and me. If he didn’t know by now that I’d managed to place her in danger, he never would, and I was tired of hearing him blame me for it. I knew that well enough already.
“So, tell us a bit more about the Dollar brothers while we’re waiting,” I said to him.
He seemed to roll that around in his mind for a moment. “There used to be five brothers. They had a hell of a reputation growing up. Rough bunch, most of it before my time, but I’ve had a few run-ins with them. Two brothers are dead now, one died in prison, the other in a motorcycle accident. Three brothers and a sister are left, along with their families, all of them living on the old family property, a rambling old auto junkyard just north of the town of Central. In addition to selling used car parts, they run a wrecker service too.
“I think Wade, the oldest brother and maybe the only one married at present, runs the salvage and wrecker business, along with a couple of grown children. Don’t know if the other two brothers or the sister help in the business, but I’d guess they do. Sonny, the youngest, rides motorcycles an
d belongs to a local motorcycle club that gives us trouble every now and then. Sonny is a tough guy, but the middle brother Laverne is the worst of them. He’s probably insane, and pure mean. He beat a guy to death in his younger days and went away for a few years, and did another stint for a while for drugs, I think. He’s approaching fifty now. The local police may know, but I wasn’t aware that either brother had anything to do with that Clemson biker bar until you just told me. That’s all I know.” Bagwell finished by saying, “And now, I’ve got some work I can be doing while we’re waiting on the DEA.”
He escorted us down the hall to an interrogation room with a one-way window in a wall and a video camera mounted in a corner, up near the ceiling. There was a metal table in the center of the room surrounded by four chairs.
“There’s coffee, candy, and cheese crackers in the vending machines down the hall,” he said as he left. “Help yourself.”
#
An hour had passed when Bagwell returned with a man he introduced as Agent Ben Underwood, the DEA Agent in charge of the Western South Carolina area. He was about my age, dark, shaggy hair, and with that three-day-old unshaved look that still seemed to be in style. He was dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, gray hoodie, and worn Nike crossovers. I got the feeling he might do more undercover work than deskwork.
Underwood looked at Alvin. “He’s the reporter, you’re the friend,” he decided.
Alvin just nodded.
He kept his eyes on Alvin a moment longer, then turned to me. “So, what’s this all about? What have you got to tell me?”
I told him everything I’d said to Bagwell. Evidently, Bagwell had already filled him in on Kelly’s assault, my relationship to her, and my intent to follow the opioid story. Again, I didn’t mention April Cheney, Eddie Smoke, the midnight motorcycle rider, or Alvin going undercover in the Tiger’s Tail.
After I’d finished, he frowned at me. “And you won’t give up your sources?”
“That’s correct, I won’t.”
