Shake the Trees

by Rod Helmers

  After Sam partially regained his composure, Tillis continued. “Mr. Norden, I need to leave now. I have two requests. I assume that A.S.S. paid this headhunter Ellen Hughes for her services. I would like a copy of the cancelled check as soon as possible. And any other information A.S.S. may have in its files regarding this individual. Secondly, I would like you to escort Agent Cummings to Dr. Bob’s office so that she can seal and secure it. A forensics team will arrive shortly and you should have access again before Monday. The computer forensics team should also have completed its work by then. Oh, yeah. One other thing.” Tillis paused and looked in Sally’s direction. “What is it they say in the movies, Agent Cummings?”

  “Don’t leave town,” Sally replied in a monotone.

  “That’s it.” Tillis nodded vigorously for Sally’s benefit and annoyance, and then spoke in a deeper and more ominous tone. “Don’t leave town, Mr. Norden.”

  CHAPTER 19

  The prolonged bawl that terminated with a pitchy screech seemed to chide Sandi for running late. But it was a Saturday after all. Dustin woke up before she was out the door, so she’d fixed breakfast first. She was finally checking on the maternity ward when the cloud of dust caught her attention. Several eighteen-wheelers were rumbling up the dirt road to Chubb’s place, pulling flatbed trailers loaded with heavy equipment. Big bulldozers, front-end loaders, and monstrous excavators made the diesel engines struggle as the loads were pulled uphill.

  Then she remembered that Chubbs didn’t own the Circle M anymore. Everybody in San Luis knew he’d closed yesterday, and that 17.5 million dollars had been wired to The San Luis Valley Title Company shortly after lunch. It was a done deal. The largest land sale in the history of the valley, and Chubbs Mulligan was a rich man. Not just land rich, but money rich.

  As soon as she was done with the maternity ward chores, Sandi jumped in her old truck and drove over to the ranch house. But Rodger had already left to investigate, so she sat down with her mother and a steaming mug of black coffee.

  “What’s going on at Chubb’s place?”

  “Lord knows. Your daddy said it looked like a military invasion. He seemed real upset.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. He’s not a big talker.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Before Sandi had finished her first cup of coffee, Rodger Rimes burst through the door. His square jaw was firmly set and his face was flushed. His eyes held a malevolent expression. An expression that scared her. One she’d never seen before.

  Sandi pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “What’s wrong, Dad?

  Rodger Rimes held his hand up with his palm facing her, and turned away. As he looked out the double kitchen windows, she could tell he was taking several deep breathes in an attempt to calm himself. Finally he turned around.

  “The new owner of the Circle M is digging an irrigation reservoir. A huge reservoir. And it - some corporation - is damming up Canones Creek.”

  “They can’t do that,” Sandi nearly shouted.

  “The construction supervisor showed me a permit from the New Mexico Department of Natural Resources. Said there was nothing I could do about it.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Sandi responded defiantly.

  “If they dam up Canones Creek, this ranch will dry up and blow away. We’d need to sell the herd. There’d be no point to it.” Rodger spoke to no one in particular.

  “We have water rights! I’m gonna call that water lawyer Bartholomew Citron out of Sante Fe. He’s supposed to be the best there is. This is crazy.”

  “Sandi, its Saturday.” Rodger replied evenly.

  “I don’t care. I’m calling anyway.” Sandi snapped.

  Sandi talked to an operator employed by an answering service, and related the pertinent details and emphasized the urgency of the situation. Surprisingly, a paralegal called back a few minutes later. An appointment with Mr. Citron was set for the following Monday afternoon at 1:00 p.m. The paralegal said he would check with the Department of Natural Resources first thing Monday morning and see what he could find out. Nothing could be done until Monday.

  Sandi set the phone in its cradle and immediately picked it up again and dialed Chubbs Mulligan’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Marilynn. This is Sandi. Sandi Johnson. Rimes Johnson.”

  “Oh. Hi, honey. Is everything okay?’

  “Not really. Is Chubbs there?”

  “Sure, honey. Hold on.”

  “Sandi?” Chubbs spoke with marked concern in his voice. “What’s wrong? Marilynn said you sounded upset.”

  Sandi quickly summarized the events of the morning.

  Chubbs was devastated. “Sandi, you have to believe that I didn’t know anything about this.”

  “I know that Chubbs. That never crossed my mind. I’m wondering what you know about the buyer?”

  “Obviously not enough. I don’t know much at all. Only that the buyer is a corporation. A foreign one. Out of someplace called Myanmar.”

  “Myanmar?” Sandi responded.

  Rodger was sitting next to Sandi at the kitchen table and interjected. “Myanmar used to be Burma.”

  “I heard Rodger, Sandi; please tell him I’m sorry. I feel awful.”

  “It’s not your fault, Chubbs.”

  “Hell, no.” Rodger spoke up again. “Tell Chubbs this doesn’t have anything to do with him.”

  “The only other thing I know is the name of the corporation. I guess it’s the name of the guys that own it. Or maybe the owner has one of those two first names names. Uh. You know what I mean?”

  “Sure, Chubbs. What’s the name?”

  “Ned Ron Incorporated.”

  “Ned Ron?”

  “Ned Ron.” Chubbs answered. “Sandi, you tell Rodger I want to help get this thing straightened out. I’m gonna help make this right. Including with the legal expenses.”

  “I’ll tell him. Thanks, Chubbs.”

  Tillis handed Sally an intercom headset before he began to taxi to the active runway at Peter O. Knight.

  “Do we have teams on the way to Dr. Bob’s office and his residence?”

  “We do,” Sally responded.

  “Tell me about the puke,” Tillis demanded.

  “I told you. He puked.”

  “Not whether he puked. About the puke.”

  “What?”

  “You know. Chunky. Funky. Clear yellow fluid.”

  “You’re a strange man, Tillis.” Sally eyed him suspiciously for a beat before she continued. “Okay. I’ll humor you. Clear yellow fluid.”

  “Just what I thought.”

  “What?”

  “He’s sick with worry. Can’t eat.”

  “Are you going to arrest him?”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t think I have a choice. In a few weeks or maybe less a lot of elderly Floridians who signed their homes over to A.S.S. are gonna be kicked to the curb. We need to figure this thing out - sooner rather than later.”

  “So you think he did it.”

  “Nope.”

  “But you’re going to arrest him?”

  “We have means, opportunity, and motive. I think we’re good on probable cause.”

  “But you don’t think he did it.” Sally repeated.

  “No, I don’t.”

  Sally took a deep breath and slowly released it. “Why do you insist on talking in riddles?”

  “Look. Whoever did this is a stone cold killer. And smart. Really smart. Calm, cool, and collected smart. And they know it.”

  “That’s not Sam Norden.”

  “Exactly.” Tillis nodded.

  “Then why arrest him?”

  “Because that’s what they expect us to do.” Tillis answered.

  “Huh?”

  “Whoever did this thinks they’re smarter than we are. That’s good. Let’s keep it that way. Let’s keep them relaxed. Off guard.”

  “Why?”

  Tillis paused to look over at S
ally. “What happens if somebody shakes your tree and you’re not hanging on?”

  “You fall out?”

  Tillis nodded. “So we put this monkey in a cage. Then go out and shake a few trees. See what falls out.”

  “You’re a hard man Tillis.”

  Tillis turned toward Sally and gave her a toothy grin. “You have no idea.”

  “Oh, but I do. I understand that pharmaceuticals are extending more than life spans lately.”

  Tillis’ grin faded. ‘She’s good,’ he thought to himself.

  Tillis engaged the autopilot and began to relax. He was recalling a flight he had made to the Ten Thousand Islands nearly thirty years earlier. He’d been flying a piston powered Piper Seneca that T-Bone had purchased. His new boss at the FDLE had called him at home one evening and sent him down there to charter a local boat and captain to assist in locating a couple of DEA agents who’d managed to get themselves lost.

  He’d departed and arrived in the dark. An old friend who still had family in the area had made the arrangements. An over-sized johnboat called a Carolina Skiff was all that was available. It was captained by his friend’s much younger brother. A twelve-year old named Billy Bob Williams. He recalled their conversation vividly, even though more than a quarter century had slipped away.

  “Don’t forget the fishing poles and bait, Billy Bob.”

  “I thought we was goin’ to look for those DEA boys?”

  “Only technically. My instincts as a fifth generation native Floridian tell me that all you’d do is drive me around all night, and that we wouldn’t go anywhere near those boys. I don’t want to waste my time down here.”

  Billy Bob eyed Tillis suspiciously. “You talked like a yankee on the phone back there.”

  “That’s the language my boss speaks. I also speak passable Spanish. But my native tongue is Southern.”

  “What ya wanna catch?”

  “Snook. If we return with a cooler full of snook filets, there’s a nice tip in it for you.”

  Tillis smiled at the memory. As dawn began to break that next morning, two helicopters passed low overhead as the little Carolina Skiff made its way home with a cooler full of snook filets.

  CHAPTER 20

  Judge James Mason returned from a late Saturday morning run on the beach and was met by Elizabeth at the door. She wore nothing but a smile as she placed a mimosa in his still sweaty palm. Under the more is better theory, she had dropped three little blue pills into the concoction of freshly squeezed orange juice and champagne. Subsequently that morning, she’d twice ridden him to multiple orgasms. She was now relaxing on the oceanfront balcony. With the warm salt air caressing her cheeks and the sound of the breaking waves in her ears, she was thoroughly enjoying a glass of chilled champagne. Elizabeth was celebrating the culmination of several months of planning.

  Less than thirty-six hours earlier, the computer program written by Dr. Bob had sent $150 million dollars bouncing around the globe and ultimately to Myanmar. Slightly more than $132 million would remain in Myanmar for another twelve hours, and then electronically travel through several eastern European countries before eventually arriving in the Bahamas. Slightly less than $18 million had returned to the United States directly from Myanmar - wired to a bank in New Mexico. Although the origins of this transfer were less secure, she was willing to assume the risk. As a favor for Ellen.

  Elizabeth was also celebrating the sixth full week of being entirely free of any contact with Marc. Unfortunately, only two more weeks remained of the eight-week no outside contact portion of his rehab program. But she would not let the unpleasant tasks ahead interfere with the well-deserved satisfaction of the moment.

  Although James had initially been the unsuspecting beneficiary of Elizabeth’s celebration, he was now paying the price. He’d remained in bed, having thrown off even the sheet to eliminate any unnecessary pressure on his still remarkable but aching erection. His laptop was at his side. He’d googled priapism, and was now contemplating the logistics of a trip to the ER while still sporting a fully erect and rock hard member. He was sure that any hope of maintaining his dignified bearing would be lost to the embarrassment of having a nurse inspect his purple-headed boner.

  At the same time as James was researching his condition, Elizabeth was also feeling the need to be reassured. She was considering a quick trip to her favorite South Beach coffee shop so that she could log on and confirm - or just look at - the blinking balances in the numbered Myanmar accounts. But she felt guilty leaving James alone in his current but hopefully temporary state. She reached for her cell phone and dialed. The landline in the condo began to ring almost immediately.

  “I’ll get it, honey,” Elizabeth shouted.

  In a few moments, Elizabeth walked into the bedroom with the house phone in her hand. “It’s Lorna, James.”

  “Jesus Christ! How the hell did she get this number?” James whispered in a hoarse yet shrill tone.

  Elizabeth put the phone back to her mouth. “James wants to know how the hell you got this number.”

  James sprang off the bed as his manhood bobbled wildly about. “Elizabeth! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He whispered loudly and urgently.

  Elizabeth pulled the phone away from her head and looked at it with annoyance. “That bitch just hung up on me. She’s really angry. She said that you shouldn’t go anywhere. She’s on her way over here.”

  James began to frantically pick up his and Elizabeth’s clothes off the floor, and then scanned the room with a half crazed and wild-eyed look. “Aren’t you going to help me?’

  “No James, I’m not. I’m going to Half Moon for a double shot non-fat no foam latte.”

  “What? You’re leaving me here alone? No. No. You’re right. You should probably go.”

  “James. That wasn’t Lorna. It was me. I called the landline from my cell.”

  “What? Why would you do something like that?”

  “I thought that little Willie could use some shock therapy.” Elizabeth nodded at James’ midsection. “It appears that I was correct.”

  James looked down at his now deflated member, and a smile of relief spread across his well-tanned face.

  Her features froze as she stared at the screen of the laptop. The sounds of the coffee shop receded and her entire world resided next to the blinking cursor. Zero balance. Every one of the Myanmar numbered accounts had a zero balance. Her mind ratcheted through several plausible explanations, but always returned to the most obvious scenario. She’d been screwed by Dr. Bob.

  Elizabeth was angry. At Dr. Bob, of course. But more so at herself. She was stunned at her own naivety. She’d always assumed that Dr. Bob’s relationship with James precluded anything like this from happening. He worshipped James; James was a father figure on a pedestal. And Dr. Bob knew how she and James felt about each other. Dr. Bob understood that James could never be allowed to learn of their scheme. That he’d never approve. She and Dr. Bob had agreed that this was the best way to help a man who was too good to help himself. Or had they?

  Elizabeth slammed her laptop shut and walked down to the hard sand along the water’s edge. She was trying to calm herself and think logically. Perhaps Dr. Bob had a good reason to transfer the money ahead of schedule. Upon reflection, this seemed plausible. Maybe even probable. She and Dr. Bob had agreed that they would have no contact - electronic or otherwise - until everything had died down. But she needed answers, and she needed them now.

  The soft sand slowed her deliberate gait as she made her way back up the beach to a corner drug store a few doors down from the coffee shop. After purchasing a disposable cell phone, she found a bench with an ocean view and sat down while she considered her options. The disposable cell would display as an unknown number on Dr. Bob’s BlackBerry. It was quite possible - even likely - that he would choose not to answer an unknown number. But using her own cell was out of the question. There were too many unknowns to take that kind of a risk. The same was true of lea
ving a voice message.

  She punched in Dr. Bob’s number on the tiny keypad of the disposable phone and hit send. A pleasant computer generated voice answered after five rings and provided a series of menu options. Elizabeth selected the option of entering a number instead of leaving a voice message. 0101911. All digital code was comprised of a series of 0s and 1s. If Dr. Bob was watching, he would immediately understand that there was a digital emergency. A computer problem. And his BlackBerry would have already collected the number of the disposable cell phone. She could only hope that he’d realize who had made the call.

  After Tillis left the A.S.S. offices, Sam continued to fulfill his duties as CEO. He was devoid of emotion and acted with an eerie efficiency. He convened a meeting of the remaining Division Directors. He instructed the Director of Finance and Investments to freeze all financial transactions of any nature whatsoever until further notice. He designated the Director of Operations as the point man in dealing with the FDLE, and told him to provide complete and total access and cooperation. Then he returned to his office and called the firm’s accounting supervisor at home.

  She was grilling hotdogs and hamburgers for her nine year old’s birthday party, and wasn’t happy about having her weekend interrupted. Nevertheless, she was able to quickly direct Sam to the computerized vendor files, and hung up without the usual civilities. He soon discovered that the $10,000 check to Ellen Hughes remained outstanding. It had never been cashed. He wrote down her telephone number, address, and social security number. Then dialed the number. It had been disconnected. He logged onto the internet and brought up Mapquest. The Miami address was a phony - it didn’t exist. He was sure the social security number was also fraudulent.

  Sam had now been awake for over thirty-six hours and had nothing left. He closed his eyes and slowly leaned forward. Waiting for his forehead to come to an ever so gentle rest on the glass-topped desk. But his head and entire body continued on through the glass. And then just as effortlessly through the carpet and everything below. Through time until his forward motion was arrested by a tan plastic chair surrounded by the complete void of empty space.