Shake the Trees

by Rod Helmers

“Million?”

  “Yes. Sam is alleged to have absconded with $150 million dollars. The federal government will want some assurance that Sam won’t attempt to flee the jurisdiction.”

  “Sam doesn’t have that kind of money. Nobody Sam knows has that kind of money.” Sandi groaned.

  Jefferson Davis Brown was disappointed. Not about making bail. He didn’t expect the issue of bail to come up at First Appearance. Bail was very rare in the federal system. He was looking for a deep pocket. Not for bail. For his fee. “Well, Sandi, I will do everything in my power to find an alternative acceptable to the Court. We will offer to voluntarily give up Sam’s passport and agree to house arrest with a GPS ankle bracelet. And anything else the Court might request.”

  “Sam doesn’t have a passport.”

  “Really?”

  “He’s never even been out of the country.”

  The Mouth had exhausted his tolerance for chitchat, and was ready to get down to business. “About the money, Sandi. Do you have paper and pen handy?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jefferson Davis Brown repeated the routing number of his bank and his account number by memory.

  “I’m leaving for the bank right now,” Sandi assured The Mouth. “It’s just down the street.”

  Sandi paused before she continued speaking. “Mr. Brown, I lost my husband a few years ago. I don’t want to lose Sam too. Please do everything that you can to help him.”

  The Mouth’s mind had already moved on to other things. “I will, Sandi. I’m certain I will.”

  Tillis sat in the lounge of the general aviation terminal of Tampa International Airport killing time. It was nearly 10 p.m. Monday night. He’d flown in from Orlando nearly four hours earlier, and identified The Mouth’s parked Gulfstream as he taxied his King-Air to the tarmac. Huge gold scales of justice adorned both sides of the big vertical tailfin. Tillis had brought his plane to a stop in the same row as the big jet, but a few spaces closer to the terminal.

  After determining that the two uniformed pilots playing poker in the corner belonged to the Gulfstream, Tillis had begun surfing the internet on his laptop. He was now cussing his good fortune. The value of his muscle car collection had skyrocketed. But it wasn’t for sale. Never would be. So the prices being paid for the sought after cars were unwelcome. There were still so many that he coveted.

  Tillis had assumed that The Mouth would enjoy drinks and dinner after his meeting with Sam, but he couldn’t risk missing the rock star lawyer. So he’d arrived early. Finally the cell phone belonging to one of the uniformed pilots buzzed, and the two quickly gathered their things together and left the terminal for the tarmac. The Mouth had obviously called ahead to make sure his plane was ready for takeoff as soon as he arrived. Tillis slowly collected his things and ambled into the shadows of the King-Air’s fuselage.

  “Hands up, white boy,” Tillis growled as he stuck his finger into The Mouth’s back.

  The Mouth threw his hands into the air as a look of fear flashed across his face. Then fear turned to confusion and finally to anger, and he spun around. “Who you callin’ white boy, motherfucker?”

  Tillis met The Mouth’s angry visage with a huge grin.

  “You,” The Mouth sputtered. Jefferson Davis Brown recognized Tillis as an adversary, but couldn’t quite place him.

  “Don’t you remember me Mouth? I kicked your ass in Miami last year.”

  Brown’s brow creased. He still couldn’t place the face. Then he realized he’d been trying to put a round peg into a square hole. Tillis hadn’t been opposing counsel in a prior case. He’d been an FDLE witness. A witness that had, in fact, kicked his ass. “Tillis, right? Just Tillis?”

  “Just Tillis.”

  “What the hell is your problem? You’re crazy as a damn tick.” The Mouth protested.

  “Everybody says you’re an Oreo. I just wanted to find out for sure. Now I know.” Tillis smiled.

  “An Oreo!” The Mouth exclaimed in near horror.

  “Yeah. You know. Black on the outside, but white on the . . .”

  “I know what a god-damned Oreo is you miserable son of a bitch. I ain’t no Oreo.”

  Tillis shrugged. “Actions speak louder than words, Mouth.”

  “That’s Mr. Brown to you.”

  “Okay. Actions speak louder than words. Mr. Brown Mouth.”

  “No. Not . . . Goddamn it. You’re an asshole.”

  “I’d be careful about calling people an asshole, if I were you. You know. If my name was Mr. Brown Mouth.”

  Finally The Mouth just stared at Tillis. Open-mouthed. And then began to laugh. Tillis joined in.

  “What the hell do you want anyway?” The Mouth finally asked.

  Tillis took a gulp from a Diet Coke and sat back in the supple leather seats of the Gulfstream’s onboard bar, while The Mouth sipped a deep burgundy colored liquid that languidly clung to the sides of the crystal glass that he tipped from side to side in a lazy circular motion.

  “I love a good red; a hearty burgundy or a full-bodied cab. But I never acquired a taste for port.” Tillis offered.

  “Mmm. What’s with the Coke?” The Mouth asked.

  “When we’re done here I’m gonna fly myself home in that King-Air back there.” Tillis paused. “Where you pissed yourself.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fly yourself?’

  “Yes.”

  “In that?”

  “Yes.”

  The Mouth studied his wine glass for a moment and then spoke. “Look. You come to work for me, and I’ll guarantee that in three months you’ll have a decent plane. With pilots. No more schlepping yourself around in something with . . . those things hanging off the wings.”

  “Propellers.” Tillis replied.

  “Right. Propellers. No more of that shit.”

  “You think I’d sell my soul to the devil for an overgrown penis extender and two smucks that just graduated from The Sunshine School of Flying and In-Flight Beverage Service?” Tills responded in disbelief.

  The Mouth shrugged. “Here. Take my card. In case you change your mind.”

  “Thanks. I’ll give it to my cousin. He got the runs after he ate Kentucky Fried. I’ll have him give you a call.”

  The Mouth sighed. “Not to rush the moment, but why are you here?”

  “Sam Norden.”

  The Mouth shook his head from side to side. “So now you’re Franklin Pierson’s butt boy.”

  “Sam Norden is innocent,” Tillis replied softly as he took another swig from his Diet Coke.

  “What did you say?” The Mouth asked with sudden alertness.

  Tillis let his eyes wander about the cabin of the big Gulfstream. “This whole early French whorehouse boudoir thing you’ve got going on here is freaking me out a little.”

  “What! You don’t like it? Do you know how much this cost?”

  “Whatever rocks your wings.” Tillis offered almost as an apology.

  The Mouth wondered whether Tillis was being condescending or sincere. Or just screwing with him. Money usually insulated him against insecurity, but not with Tillis. Eventually The Mouth finally found his footing. “I guess since you showed me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

  “Feeling really uncomfortable now,” Tillis shot back.

  The Mouth sniggered. “Let me put it this way. I appreciate the fact that you’ve shared your take on the American Senior Security case with me. Now I have some interesting information to share with you.”

  “Feeling better already. What information?” Tillis responded.

  “As you apparently are well aware, I had a long meeting with Sam Norden today. He passed along something that came to light after you interviewed him.” The Mouth couldn’t help but stop to take a sip of port and lend the moment a bit of dramatic flair. “Robert Delgado Martinez, Jr., e-mailed Sam,” The Mouth continued.

  “Dr. Bob e-mailed Sam? When?” Tillis asked with obvious interest.

 
; “Sunday. Two days after he died.” The Mouth deadpanned.

  “That Dr. Bob,” Tillis shook his head and took another swig of Diet Coke. “He certainly was a resourceful fellow.”

  “More than you know. The message, which includes a large attachment of some sort, had been sent to a service. The message was to be forwarded to Sam only if a condition had been met.” The Mouth took another sip of port.

  “I’ll bite. What was the condition?” Tillis responded.

  “The failure of Dr. Bob to log in for a continuous period of time exceeding 48 hours.”

  “That adds up.” Tillis leaned back in his seat.

  “It does?” The Mouth inquired skeptically.

  “I think Dr. Bob suspected a double-cross. And rightly so. He probably didn’t want to leave Sam holding the bag.”

  “Pardon the cynicism, but in my experience crooks are rarely so concerned about their fellow man,” The Mouth countered.

  “You don’t understand. This Dr. Bob was a major piece of work. But back to the main attraction. What did the damn thing say?” Tillis asked pointedly.

  “We don’t know.”

  “We don’t?” Tillis looked at The Mouth with a blank expression.

  “It was password protected. And encrypted. The encryption part probably isn’t a problem.”

  “Who has the password?”

  “Dr. Bob had it, I assume.”

  “No shit. Who else?” Tillis barked impatiently.

  “Hopefully Sam.”

  “Hopefully?” Tillis cocked his head to the side as he spoke.

  “Yes, hopefully. I think Sam probably knows the password.”

  “Okay. I get it.” Tillis smiled. “He just doesn’t know he knows it.”

  “Not yet.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Tillis had returned from his tarmac meeting with The Mouth. He realized that his refrigerator still contained no food as soon as he stepped in the door of his penthouse condo. Then his BlackBerry buzzed. It was Sally.

  “Where are you?” Tillis asked.

  “Tampa International.”

  “Tampa?”

  “Yeah. We left my Beemer at that little airport you flew into. Remember?” Sally replied.

  “Oh, right. Your black and white Beemer. Say hi to the seagulls for me.”

  “Funny. I should be in Orlando in about three hours.”

  “Did you make any photo quality reproductions of your picture of the blue-eyed girl?” Tillis asked in a business-like tone.

  “Yeah. I ran four or five copies at Miami-Dade. Came out better than I expected.”

  “You know. I don’t feel comfortable about you driving back in the dark this late. After your long day and all. Get a nice hotel room near the airport at government expense.”

  “Cut the crap. I’m tired. What do you want?” Sally snapped.

  “I’m hurt. But now that you mention it, I would like you to deliver a copy of the photo in the morning. I’ll get you the details later. How’d the fingerprints come out?”

  “Beautiful. I e-mailed them to Orlando. They should be running the data bases as we speak.”

  “E-mailed?” Tillis asked doubtfully.

  “Tillis, I told you that they don’t lift the prints with this process. They photograph them. Digitally. I e-mailed the packet to Orlando.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit, Tillis.”

  “Sleep tight.”

  “Five-star?” Sally asked.

  “Three.”

  “Damn.”

  Tillis hit the end button and pulled a card from his pocket, and then dialed The Mouth’s private cell phone number.

  “Hello?” The Mouth sounded sleepy and maybe a little drunk.

  “Hope I didn’t interrupt your special time. You know. When you count your money.”

  “Damn it. Tillis. I gave you the card with my private cell phone number on it, didn’t I?”

  “Do you plan on meeting with your client again in the morning?”

  “No.” The Mouth grumbled.

  “Because I figured that you probably were. You know. To work through this password thing.”

  “What do you want, Tillis?”

  “Well, if you were going to be at the general aviation terminal at Tampa International at around 9:30 in the morning, I thought I would deliver you a photo of the blue-eyed girl I told you about.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d like you to show it to your client.”

  “Again. Why?” The Mouth responded skeptically.

  “Call it a hunch.”

  “Jesus. I’m gonna kick Duke’s ass.”

  “Huh?” Tillis sounded confused.

  “Never mind. I’ll be there. I’m turning my cell off now.”

  It was late Monday night. After her conversation with Sam and Jefferson Davis Brown, Sandi had locked up the real estate office and gone to the bank. Then she went home and filled her dad in on everything. After that it was time to take care of the maternity ward. Later she spent time with Dustin going over his spelling words. Unfortunately, she ran out of things to do, so she watched the news and Letterman. Anything to take her mind off Sam, and what he must be going through.

  As Sandi sat at her tiny kitchen table, she could see that a light was on in the ranch house. That meant her father was still awake; her mother would have been in bed hours earlier. Sandi got up and checked on Dustin. He was sleeping soundly. She stepped out on the front porch of the cabin and quietly closed the door behind her. After taking in a deep lungful of cold mountain air and admiring the low-hanging stars, she put her head down and walked quickly up the narrow dirt road.

  “A man your age should have been in bed hours ago,” Sandi said as she pushed open the door to the ranch house kitchen.

  “I’ll second that,” Rodger replied.

  “Can I heat you up a glass of warm milk?” Sandi asked.

  “I prefer this,” Rodger replied as he held up a tumbler of straight whiskey.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Pull up a chair. It’s a free country.”

  “So they say. Some might disagree.” Sandi glumly commented.

  “Yeah. I know. I can’t get Sam off my mind either.”

  “I guess we’ll know something on Thursday.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” Rodger commented deliberatively.

  “About the hearing?”

  “Yeah. About the hearing. Did The Mouth tell you anything else about that hearing?”

  “Nope. I’ve told you everything, Dad. Almost word for word.” Sandi answered.

  “I think we ought to go.”

  “To the court hearing?” Sandi asked with surprise.

  “Yup.”

  “You and me?”

  “Yup.”

  “In Florida?”

  “Yup.”

  “Fly?”

  “Hell, no.” Rodger growled.

  “Damn. And I was on a roll too.”

  “You know I don’t mind the flyin’ part. It’s all those damn people. The lines. All that security crap. And you know I like to carry Betsy when I travel.” Rodger explained.

  “Dad, if were going to drive we need to leave soon. Like in the morning.”

  “I know.”

  “And what about the cattle? And Dustin?” Sandi thought out loud.

  Rodger guffawed. “You know what, Sandi. I’ve messed you up pretty good, haven’t I? You think about the damn animals before you think about your own kid.”

  “Dad, that’s not true. It just came out that way. Mama can take care of Dustin. You know that.”

  “I know, honey. I have some business to take care of in town first thing in the morning. Then I’ll go see Chubbs. He’ll look after things for us.”

  Sandi laughed. “Mama’s gonna love that.”

  “When I get back from town we’ll leave. Take turns and drive straight through if we have to.”

  “I’ll go by the office and forward the phones. And hang a sig
n on the door.” Sandi added.

  “Let’s get some sleep, honey. We have a long couple of days ahead of us.”

  Sandi stood up and walked over to her father and threw her arms around his broad shoulders. “Thank you, Dad. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you so much. You know that don’t you?”

  The old man patted his daughter on the back. “I know, honey. I love you too.”

  It was Tuesday. In the very early morning hours. Sam had been awoken twice by his mother’s pale and silent lips. Now he was hearing words, but her lips weren’t moving.

  “Get your ass up, boy.”

  Sam tried to shake the grogginess from his brain as he looked up at a strange face. “Who are you?”

  “Just get your ass up.” The man shouted.

  It was only then that Sam realized the man was dressed in a guard’s uniform. “Where’s Reggie?”

  The guard ignored Sam’s question and pulled him from his cot. Then he gathered Sam’s pink shirt into a ball, which he held in his fist as he pushed Sam out of the cell and past several other cubicles that were bathed in low light. Soon the two came to a door, which the guard unlocked and opened. Sam was propelled forward by a parting shove and stumbled into the darkness. Then he heard the door lock behind him.

  Sam could sense that there were others in the space, and as his eyes adjusted to the near darkness he found three forms. One was much larger than the other two. The two normally sized figures grabbed Sam’s arms. The large one spoke with a redneck twang.

  “You’re lucky we got you. Not them colored boys.”

  One of the men holding Sam by an arm shoved something in his mouth. The odor was pungent and unmistakable. Sam started to gag, but even his throat seemed to sense that any attempt to resist was in vain.

  The large man undid the tie on the pink scrub pants Sam wore, and slowly pulled down the underwear beneath them. With the pink scrubs and white underwear pooled around his ankles, the big man began to caress Sam’s buttocks with his huge and leathery paws.

  “Almost feels like a woman’s ass. You should know, boy. I ain’t no faggot. I like the women plenty. I ain’t no pervert.”

  One of the other two men roughly grabbed Sam by the hair and pushed his head down almost to the floor. As Sam looked between his legs in the near darkness, he saw the big man’s pink scrubs drop to the floor as well.