Shake the Trees

by Rod Helmers

  “Relax now, boy.” The big man began to rub his rough palms over Sam’s buttocks again. “When we’re done here, one of these boys will carve our sign into this woman soft ass of yours. We respect each other’s property ‘round here. You won’t have to worry none about them colored boys botherin’ you. Not no mo’ you won’t.”

  Sam squeezed his eyes closed as tightly as he could. He felt himself step outside his own body. And then he heard a scream. He thought it was his own, until he felt the two men release their grip on his arms. And then heard them scurrying away, like rats seeking the shadows.

  Sam opened his eyes. The room was now bathed in light from the previously locked door. Sam looked between his ankles and saw the big man writhing in pain on the floor. As he moved his gaze upward, he saw Reggie framed between his thighs. His stiff arm held the Taser gun he’d just fired.

  “That’s more’n I ever wanted to see there, Sweet Thang. Why don’t you straighten on up. And take that nasty sock outta your mouth.”

  CHAPTER 33

  James shook Elizabeth from her slumber before first light Tuesday morning. A hazy drug-induced hangover clouded her mind.

  “Elizabeth, you need to get up.” James prodded.

  “What time is it?” Elizabeth answered groggily.

  “It’s quarter to six.”

  “In the morning?”

  “Yes. It’s 5:45 a.m. Tuesday morning. Come on. Get up.” James pressed more urgently.

  “Why?”

  “It’s not safe for you here anymore. I have someplace safe for you to go. In the Keys. But you need to leave this morning.”

  “They don’t know who I am, James. I can stay here. I just won’t leave the condo.” Elizabeth muttered.

  “It’s not safe. Somebody might put two and two together. You said it yourself. They have your photograph. It’s better if you leave for now. Don’t argue with me. You need to listen to me.” James sternly repeated the magic words from the night before.

  “Okay.” Elizabeth meekly agreed.

  “I’ve laid out your suitcases. We need to get all of your things together and packed.”

  Elizabeth threw her things into the bags, while James deposited everything in her car. With that task completed, he had Elizabeth take a seat at the kitchen table and placed a cup of coffee in front of her.

  “James, you didn’t need to make me coffee. I know you can’t drink it anymore.”

  “I know it’s hard for you to start your day without it. And I need for you to concentrate on what I’m about to tell you. Okay?”

  Elizabeth swallowed and set her cup down. “Okay.”

  “First of all, I switched your plates last night. With a car a few spaces down. It was backed into a corner parking space. It hasn’t moved in weeks. If they come up with your name, and run the DMV records, you should still be okay for a while.”

  “Smart,” Elizabeth said as her brain began to work again.

  “Here,” James said as he handed Elizabeth a disposable cell phone. “And I bought one for myself as well. I entered the number for mine into the memory of yours. And visa versa. This is how we communicate from now on.”

  Elizabeth eyed the disposable cell phone as if it might bite her. “I had a bad experience with a disposable cell. Remember?”

  “I bought these on the other side of town. No way to trace the purchase.” James pointed at the cell phone in Elizabeth’s hand and demanded obedience. “Disposables on both ends for any calls.”

  “You’ve thought this through.” Elizabeth remarked evenly.

  James sighed. “I’ve been up all night.”

  “I’m sorry, James.”

  “What’s done is done.”

  Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped in submission. “Where do you want me to go?”

  “There are a couple of short-term rentals in Marathon. In the Keys. On the south side of Highway A1A. Past a small trailer park down there. I took my laptop to the coffee shop. They’re holding a small, furnished efficiency for you. It’s off the beaten track. Secluded. I printed a map and directions. You pay by the week. They like cash.” James handed Elizabeth a fat envelope.

  “I’m sorry, James.”

  “What’s done is done. We’re wasting time. You need to go now.” James spoke without emotion.

  “When will I see you?”

  “I don’t know. Soon. Get all the groceries and things you’re going to need for a while on your way down. So you don’t have to go out. Call me when you’re settled.”

  Elizabeth reached out with full eyes, barely finding her voice. “I’m sorry, James.”

  “You need to go, Elizabeth. You really need to go now.”

  It was 9:35 a.m. Tuesday morning. Sally sat at the Tampa International general aviation terminal impatiently waiting to deliver a blown-up photograph of the blue-eyed girl. She was in a hurry to complete the task and catch a cab to Peter O. Knight Airport and her Beemer on the other side of town. She wanted to get back to Orlando and jack up the lab - the fingerprints that had been e-mailed there the day before still hadn’t been processed.

  As Sally looked up from the big manila envelope on which she’d printed the name ‘Mr. Brown’, a commotion began near the front of the terminal. Then she saw bits and pieces of a beautiful Gulfstream taxi up to the passenger unloading area beyond the huge windows facing the tarmac. In a moment, steps hydraulically extended from the fuselage of the aircraft, and a nattily dressed black gentleman hurried down them.

  When The Mouth of the South entered the terminal, several people rushed toward him for an autograph. Sally was content to take the scene in from her chair. After The Mouth finished signing, he didn’t rush to leave through the opposite door as she’d expected. He stayed stationary and scanned the room, letting his eyes fall on each person there. Including Sally.

  Tillis had merely told her to deliver the photo to a Mr. Brown, who would then take it to the federal detention facility. As Sally’s eyes met those of The Mouth, it dawned on her. The Mouth of the South is Jefferson Davis Brown. Jefferson Davis Brown is Mr. Brown. Mr. Brown was looking right at her. ‘Damn Tillis’ she thought to herself as she leapt from her seat.

  “Mr. Brown, excuse me. Are you expecting a delivery from Tillis?”

  “Do you have the photograph?’ The Mouth asked abruptly.

  “Yes, sir,” Sally said as she extended her open right hand.

  The Mouth grabbed the big brown envelope out of her left hand, which hung at her side. “Thank you. I’m late.” Then he rushed out the automatic double doors to the parking lot, where a Cadillac limousine was waiting.

  Sally watched him leave and then walked over to the windows facing the tarmac. The big Gulfstream had retracted its stairs and was beginning to move. The huge gold scales of justice painted on the side of the aircraft’s tailfin reflected the morning sun. It took a moment for Sally to notice that the scales weren’t even. They weren’t even close.

  “You look like shit,” The Mouth said as Reggie delivered Sam to the same soundproof cubicle as the day before.

  Reggie patted Sam on the back. “One of the guards didn’t get the word that Sam was off limits, and was looking to make a few bucks on the side.”

  “In the meat trade?” The Mouth asked with an alarmed look on his face.

  Reggie nodded. “Don’t worry. I saved his ass.”

  “Literally,” Sam spoke glumly with a far off look in his eye.

  The Mouth looked relieved. “Thanks, Reggie. You know I’ll remember this.”

  “You bet, Mr. Brown. I’ll see ya’ll later. Buzz if you need anything.”

  After Reggie left, The Mouth put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so. I just feel sort of numb.”

  “Sam, look at me. I’m going to get you out of here. Do you understand me? Jefferson Davis Brown is on your side now. The scales of justice have been tipped in your favor.”

  Sam put his face in his hands and began to qui
etly sob. The Mouth put his arms around the hunched over figure and pulled Sam’s face into his shoulder. “I know its hard Sam, but you need to get a hold of yourself. You need to be strong for just a little longer. We’re going to get through this thing. Together. Awright?” The Mouth handed Sam a handkerchief that had been starched until it was nearly as stiff as a board.

  Sam blew his nose, sniffled and then straightened his shoulders. “Yes, sir. Mr. Brown.”

  The Mouth reached into his briefcase and pulled out the manila envelope that Sally had given him. Then he removed the photograph and studied it. The photo had been taken at an odd angle, and the resolution was grainy, but the features of the woman were still clear. She was beautiful. Brilliantly blue eyes and flowing chestnut colored hair. He pushed the picture in front of Sam. “Have you ever seen this girl before?”

  As Sam looked down he immediately sucked in a gulp of air, and then stared at The Mouth with wide eyes. “That’s Ellen.”

  The Mouth flipped through the notes of his first meeting with Sam. “Ellen Hughes? Are you sure?”

  Sam nodded with conviction.

  “But the description doesn’t match,” The Mouth said as he looked back at his notes.

  “Ellen is a blond. With bright green eyes. But that’s Ellen. I’d bet my life on it.” Sam stated without a trace of doubt in his voice.

  The Mouth studied Sam, and for the first time began to truly believe that his new client was innocent. Which he hated - the pressure of defending an innocent man was overwhelming. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Sam. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  At that very moment in New Mexico, Dustin sat Indian style on the floor of the ranch house kitchen with a determined look on his face.

  “I’m not going to school. And you can’t make me.”

  “We’ll see about that, young man,” Sandi replied with more than a little anger in her voice.

  “You promised.”

  “What?”

  “You promised that I could go along. You promised that I could go to Florida to see Sam. You promised.”

  “Honey, we’re not going to Disney World. Pappy and I need to help Sam with some . . . With some business things.”

  “I don’t care. I want to see Sam too. You promised.”

  “I think you should let him come along,” Rodger interjected.

  “What?” Sandi asked in a shocked tone.

  “Oh my god,” Betty Rimes exclaimed as she threw her hands in the air and left the room in disgust.

  “There’s a lot more to getting an education than sitting in a classroom, Sandi. I think the trip would be good for the boy.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Dustin jumped off the floor and in a fraction of a second slammed the palms of both hands into the screen door, sending it careening open wildly until it struck the wall. He never turned around as he took the porch steps two at a time. “I’m gonna go pack my stuff.”

  For the first time that morning, Sandi was alone with her father. She didn’t have the nerve to ask him the prior night, but now realized that this would be her last opportunity before they left San Luis.

  “Dad, I don’t want to back you into a corner. I’m just gonna throw this out there. Whatever you decide is okay with me.”

  Rodger Rimes looked at his daughter. His eyes were filled with compassion and regret. Sandi stopped talking.

  “Honey, I called the banker at home last night. After you came back from town and told me what the lawyer said about this hearing. And about bail. News travels fast in a small town. Everybody knows about that reservoir. Most people think our ranch is going to turn into a dried up husk that won’t support cows. The money I could raise by mortgaging this place ain’t worth spit on a hot day. Not anymore. I’m sorry.”

  “You think the password is ‘Dawg’?” The Mouth asked again.

  “It was the nickname Dr. Bob gave me. I’ve thought about it a lot. That has to be it.” Sam replied with somewhat less confidence than he exhibited when he identified the photo of Ellen.

  Then The Mouth’s cell rang. Sam strained to hear, but could only make out The Mouth’s side of the conversation.

  “Jesus H. Christ, Tillis, I can’t believe I gave you this number.”

  “A working dinner? At your condo? Tonight? Shit, Tillis, I didn’t even know you cared.”

  “Screw you too.”

  “Pizza! Are you fricking kidding me.”

  “Whatever, you cheap bastard. But no barbeque. I mean it. Don’t like the barbeque. No sir.”

  With the cell phone conversation over, The Mouth turned back to Sam. Somehow Sam knew the conversation involved his case, and he put his manners aside. “Who was that?”

  “It pains me greatly to say this, Sam. But that was the man who is going to help me pull your ass out of the fire.”

  CHAPTER 34

  The Florida Bar Board of Governors meets on the first Tuesday of every third month. The meeting on this Tuesday was special. The Governor had unexpectedly requested an unscheduled and private audience with the members of the Board shortly before lunch. The group felt honored that the most popular governor in Florida history was seeking their input in the affairs of the State.

  It was shortly after 11:00 a.m. when Governor Lord breezed into the room. His bright and sunny disposition was on display as usual. He was the picture of health, having briskly walked the few blocks from the Capitol building to the Florida Bar headquarters. He shook hands with each of the members of the Board, inquiring about their wives, husbands, and children by first names, as if he had been intimately associated with their families for decades.

  Then Governor Lord took a seat at the head of the long walnut conference table and began. “My good and distinguished friends, I have a serious matter to discuss with you this morning. I’m sure you have all heard about the looting of American Senior Security?”

  Governor Lord paused as the group replaced their smiles with serious expressions and nodded gravely. It was obvious that this group read the newspaper.

  “This situation has placed the health and welfare of many of the elderly residents of the State at risk. Some of our most deserving and vulnerable citizens have been placed at risk.” Lord spoke with grave concern.

  The Governor’s statement again elicited nods of assent, as well as grumbling about the unethical nature of the conduct that led to the unfortunate incident. Then the Chairman of the Board of Governors cleared his throat.

  Chairman Rutherford T. Sterling was the managing partner of the largest law firm in the State of Florida. The fourth largest in the nation. He was in his mid-seventies and his hair was white. His girth reflected a life of living well, as did his ruddy complexion. He spoke from the other end of the conference table in a clear and resonant baritone voice and with a very patrician Southern accent. “Mr. Governor, we are all concerned about these folks, I’m sure. We would be more than happy to refer this situation to our charitable giving subcommittee.”

  “Thank you, Rutherford. I appreciate that. I really do.” Governor Lord replied. “However, this matter is somewhat more complex than it appears at first glance.”

  Governor Lord held the attention of everyone present as he reached into his briefcase and pulled out several copies of the letter Dora Hufstedtler received from Marc Mason. Soon all members of the Board had a copy of the letter in front of them. Rutherford Sterling’s face quickly became even redder than its normal hue. He looked up and directed his angry gaze toward Governor Lord, but said nothing.

  The Governor looked each member in the eye and then began to speak. “I suggest to each of you that this letter establishes a prima facia case of legal malpractice on the part of Marc Mason. One of our own. As a consequence of this malpractice, the most vulnerable citizens of our great State were lulled into complacency. A complacency that their advanced years makes even more understandable.”

  Governor Lord paused momentarily and then let his gaze
land exclusively on Rutherford Sterling. “These fine men and women living out their final years have lost everything. They have lost their life savings. Soon they will lose their homes. They will be kicked out of their retirement communities and fall into the streets. And as you well know, the social safety net that is supposed to break their fall is full of holes. It is imperative that you and I and the other members of the Bar step up and do what is right. We must show the State of Florida exactly what we are made of.”

  Sterling was nearly frothing at the mouth. “What exactly are you suggesting, Governor?”

  Governor Lord responded calmly and plaintively. “It’s self-evident, Rutherford. The actions of attorney Marc Mason constituted legal malpractice. He is uninsured and his assets are clearly insufficient to reimburse the victims of his malpractice for their damages. The assets of the Client Misappropriation Trust Fund are more than adequate to meet these claims. If we act promptly and choose to forego the usual tactics of delay and obfuscation, we can save these seniors from a great deal of misery. We can give them their lives back.”

  “Because of that letter. Like hell. That’s blackmail. Pure and simple.” The words were ejected out of Sterling’s mouth, along with little white specks of spittle.

  “Rutherford, be reasonable. That fund has been accumulating assets since 1967, with hardly a claim ever having been made. It’s just been compounding and growing tax-free. At a prodigious rate I might add. Let’s step up and make this grand gesture of compassion. Maybe we’ll slip ahead of the used car salesmen in the ‘who do you hate the most’ polls.”

  “You can go to hell, Lord. It is the intention of this Board to transfer those monies to a newly created Pension Security Fund for the sole benefit of the members of the Bar. Who the hell do you think you are? Coming in here and trying to loot the coffers of this fine and august organization. The Florida Bar was here long before you came along, and it will be here long after you’re gone. You god-damn politicians make me sick.”