Shake the Trees

by Rod Helmers

  “Anyway, the story goes that Truman went back to the Oval Office after your father refused the Medal of Honor, and worked himself into lather. He told his Chief of Staff that if a young kid from New Mexico had the balls to stand on principle and tell the President of the United States to go to hell, then he’d do the same thing to Macarthur. He knew Macarthur had his loyalists up and down the chain of command, and he didn’t want to give him the opportunity to resign with a rhetorical flourish. So he fired Macarthur that night on a nationally broadcast radio address. With no prior notice to anyone. And that was that. The old soldier simply faded away.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Tillis added. “And eventually we won the Cold War.”

  Sandi just looked at Tillis. Stunned and expressionless.

  “So, Sandi, your father is a genuine war hero, quite possibly helped change the course of modern civilization, and saved his grandson’s life. Not bad for one lifetime’s work.”

  At that Sandi burst into sobbing tears. Tillis looked a little panicky as Sally pulled Sandi into her shoulder. Sally shook her head. “I know it’s probably beyond the capabilities of your Cro-Magnon brain, Tillis, but these are the good kind of girl tears.”

  Tillis looked relieved, but still uncomfortable as he jumped to his feet. “I better go check on Rodger and your son.”

  Franklin Pierson had found his way to the plaza after hearing about the shootings. The huge amount of press was an irresistible draw, and he hoped to salvage something out of a bad day. He would have settled for a mere five seconds of decent face time on the nightly news. And the pitiful site of a blood-smeared boy and a white-haired old man sitting on the courthouse steps was a made-for-TV moment.

  After making sure he was in the camera’s eye, he placed his hand on the shoulder of the adolescent and looked down with concern. “Are you all right, son? Can I get you something? Maybe a soda?”

  Dustin looked up with annoyance at the man interrupting the conversation he was having with his grandfather. At the same instant, Pierson recognized the old man as Rodger Rimes. The man with the $17.5 million check.

  Dustin stood and looked up at Pierson with grim determination. Pierson began to take a step backwards, but before he could move Dustin pulled back his arm and formed a bony fist. Then with all the pent up fear and frustration of the morning, he slammed it into the stomach of the U.S Attorney.

  Pierson ejected a guttural sound and doubled over moaning. A reporter rushed forward for a comment. Franklin Pierson was unable to speak, but his pained and reddened face told the whole story.

  CHAPTER 44

  The small duplex was cloaked in complete darkness. Neither apartment showed any sign of life. James stood under heavy foliage contemplating the scene.

  Weaving through a throng of federal employees returning from lunch, he’d left the courthouse by a side door that afternoon - certain that he’d evaded the surveillance spotted the prior morning. A credit card in the name of E. Hayes and a driver’s license identifying the man in the out-of-focus photograph as Edward Hayes, were used to rent another car at a downtown location. James had intercepted a credit card offer mailed to Elizabeth under the name E. Hayes months earlier, and Dr. Bob prepared the fake license around the same time.

  Then he found a Wal-Mart and bought flashlights, a stocking cap, latex gloves, and some over-sized cheap tennis shoes. All of which he planned to later discard. James knew he looked odd in the attire he’d purchased, but that was the least of his concerns. He needed to cover his tracks. He didn’t want to leave any hair or fingerprints, or even a footprint that matched his size.

  After adjusting the beam of the penlight he’d purchased, James began to move toward the tiny rental unit. Following the shadows. All bent over and moving his head from side to side. Trying to make himself smaller, and scanning his surroundings.

  It was dark outside now, but no one seemed to notice. Concentration was focused inward. Sandi sat silently in the Tampa General Hospital waiting room. Remembering a grim-faced man.

  She knew the news was bad before he spoke. And then her world collapsed. Her young husband would never move again. Or even breathe again unaided by machine. The words tumbled and mixed together - blurred by time and regret. But the face was clearly etched into her memory. Visiting her repeatedly over the years. Showing no mercy and offering no respite.

  Now she feared a different grim-faced man. On the steps of the courthouse, the wound hadn’t seemed so serious. A flesh wound they’d called it. And the doctor told her that the wound itself was not life threatening. But a major blood vessel had been severed. By the time Rodger had identified the bleeder and staunched the flow, Sam’s heart had pumped over three quarters of his blood volume onto the granite steps of Federal Plaza. Minutes more passed before the EMT’s were able to hang plasma and fluids.

  Sam’s body had responded by shutting down multiple organ systems. All in a valiant attempt to conserve the precious blood that still coursed thru his body. To preserve the most important organ of all - the brain. Now he lay unconscious. His vital organs teetering between life and death.

  The fear she felt was cold and stinging. But it cleared her mind of old heartache. She prayed that a grim-faced man would not steal from her yet again.

  The small penlight illuminated the peeling paint of the numeral two; the number of the unit he’d had reserved for Elizabeth online. James grasped the doorknob with his latex encased hand and turned the clump of paint and metal. The door was unlocked. He pushed the door open a fraction of an inch. Stopped and stood back. The idea of a dead body inside - a body he had known so intimately in life - had him spooked. He didn’t want to be there.

  His instincts told him to leave. But the potential existence of a note promised millions. And threatened disclosure and deniability. As his fingertips rested on the door, James knew that he’d been backed into a corner. Left without a choice. So he pushed the door wide open.

  Nothing happened. He turned the penlight off and slid it into his back pocket. A larger flashlight hung in its own belt holster. James stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

  The beam of the big flashlight was startling after relying on the tiny penlight. James swung the light toward the single window next to the door, confirming that the yellowed Venetian blinds were tightly shuttered. Then he began to scan the room.

  “It’s over there. On the coffee table.”

  James lurched and drew a sharp breath. The voice didn’t belong to Elizabeth. The beam of the flashlight bounced wildly before settling on the figure sitting calmly on a futon. His skin began to crawl, and the distorted geometric designs of the cushions added to the dizzying effect of the bobbing flashlight. The woman was Elizabeth. And she wasn’t. Blonde not brunette. Green eyes not blue. A deeper smoker’s voice. Not the sweet and clear tone he was used to.

  “Over there.” The figure nodded to the right.

  He held the beam of light like a sword, and was reluctant to swing the flashlight away from her. But she made no threatening movements, so he briefly illuminated the coffee table. A single folded white sheet of paper adorned its otherwise uncluttered surface.

  “Don’t you want to read it? It’s what you came for.”

  James held the beam of light steady as he stepped backwards. He picked up the note with his left hand and shook it open. Then held it away from his body and into the light that remained focused on Elizabeth. The words were written in her large and flowing style. ‘I love you. You were all that I wanted and all that mattered. Always true, Elizabeth.’

  “Sad isn’t it,” the raspy-voiced figure commented.

  “What’s going on here, Elizabeth?” James asked sternly. Attempting to reassert his authority over her.

  “It’s not Elizabeth.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Ellen.”

  James summoned his best judicial demeanor. “Don’t be ridiculous. You need help, Elizabeth. You need to listen to me. Listen to me, and I’ll help you. Okay?”

>   A deep-throated laugh filled the small room. “Oh, now that’s sweet. You’re an ass. A pompous, lying, scheming ass. You don’t deserve her.” She paused before adding a final comment drenched in sarcasm. “Okay?”

  James finally understood that he wasn’t speaking to Elizabeth. It was a chilling realization, but fascinating as well. A truly split personality was a rare psychological phenomenon. Something he’d only read about. Now he understood that new tactics were required.

  “That’s your opinion. I want to talk to Elizabeth.” James demanded.

  “I don’t think so.” Her tone was flat. She hesitated and then spoke again. “Maybe later.”

  “When?” James insisted weakly, knowing he’d lost control of the bizarre situation.

  “After you’ve paid the bill. It’s time to pay the bill.”

  The beam of the flashlight sparkled along the fine etching on the barrel. He strangely thought that the pearl handle seemed absurdly large in her small and delicate hand. Then for the second time in less than 48 hours, the big revolver bucked and roared, and an inch of orange flame followed the copper-jacketed ball that ripped thru his lung.

  James was already on the floor, but still felt himself falling. Into a hole. Down a well. Watching the circle of light at the surface grow ever smaller.

  Then Ellen appeared above him and laid the big revolver at his side. She spoke in the sweet, clear voice of Elizabeth. “I love you, James.” He felt her hands in his pockets as she found the keys to the rental car. And then listened to her footsteps as she left him to die.

  As the circle of light grew even smaller, and James waited for the last drop of blood to dribble from his body, his grasping hand somehow found the disposable cell phone that had slipped from his pants pocket as Elizabeth searched for the car keys. With achingly slow progress, his index finger found nine and one and one again. And finally the bigger send button.

  “Nine one one. What is your emergency?”

  Motionless and without the strength to answer, James silently considered the question. One recurring answer came and went with his ebbing consciousness. ‘My money. Someone took my money.’

  A confident and tired looking man walked into the waiting room, and Sandi immediately burst into tears. Rodger took her and Dustin into his arms as the doctor approached.

  “His organs seem to be working normally. He’s conscious but disoriented. We’re cautiously optimistic that he’ll make a full recovery.”

  Sandi took the young physician, not much older than herself, into her arms and hugged him. “Thank you.”

  After Sandi released him, the young man studied her with professional concern. “He’s been asking to see you.” Then he looked briefly at Rodger and Dustin before returning his gaze to her. “Just you for now. I think we better keep it to just you for now.”

  “Sure,” Sandi replied.

  “He’s been through a lot. I need to warn you that patients often experience hallucinatory episodes during these events. And as I said before, he’s still somewhat disoriented. He’s been mumbling. Sometimes unintelligibly. But he keeps asking for you.”

  “I understand,” Sandi answered as she looked at Rodger and squeezed Dustin’s bony hand.

  CHAPTER 45

  It was ten o’clock Friday morning and the press conference was about to begin. Governor Lord and Rutherford Sterling sat together on a stage that regularly saw amateur productions by the had-been and would-be actors and actresses residing at The Gracious Living Retreat. Lord beamed an honest ‘happy to be here’ smile, while Rutherford Sterling offered a fixed smirk that even those who couldn’t remember their own names instinctively knew was contemptuous.

  “Thank you all for coming. I’m sure that many of you saw the news reports yesterday concerning the shooting death of Marc Mason - the President and CEO of American Senior Security. I’m afraid that there is more tragic news to report.

  “Early this morning, the body of Federal Magistrate Judge James Mason was discovered in the Keys. He was the victim of a gunshot wound. James Mason was the father of Marc Mason. Both Marc Mason and James Mason were being sought by the FDLE in connection with the looting of American Senior Security.

  “The murder of an American Senior Security corporate officer one week ago in Ten Thousand Islands brings the death toll in this sad story of greed and violence to three. Please be assured that state and federal law enforcement will continue to do everything in their power to bring any and all culpable individuals who remain at large to justice.”

  A frail but full-bodied blue-haired woman stood and shouted to the Governor. “What about our money?” Several other elderly men and women murmured their shared concern.

  The Governor smiled engagingly. “Could I ask your name please, ma’am?”

  “Edna,” the woman answered defiantly.

  “Thank you, Edna. You’re the reason I’m here today.” Lord opened his arms in a symbolic group hug. “You all are the reason I’m here today. You are the reason this news conference is being held at The Gracious Living Retreat. I know that you’re concerned about how you’re going to pay for this wonderful facility in light of the failure of American Senior Security.”

  “Damn straight I am,” Edna snapped. The comment elicited a few scattered laughs and many more grumblings of annoyance.

  “Do you mind my asking, Edna; do you know a lady named Dora Hufstedtler?”

  Edna looked down at the embarrassed looking woman sitting next to her. “Well, Dora, stand up for heaven’s sake.” Edna sat down, disgusted that she was no longer the center of attention.

  Governor Lord smiled down at Dora. “You may stay seated if you wish, Mrs. Hufstedtler.” Then he looked out at the audience.

  “This past Sunday, Mrs. Hufstedtler gave one of my FDLE Special Agents a letter she received from American Senior Security. Most all of you received an identical letter. In that letter, President and CEO Marc Mason wrote that he was an attorney, and that he considered each and every one of you to be his client. And he reassured you regarding the viability of the company. The legal characterization and consequences of these statements is certainly open to question under such extraordinary circumstances. Nevertheless, The Florida Bar has graciously chosen to use monies held in the Florida Bar Client Misappropriation Trust Fund to satisfy the obligations of American Senior Security.”

  Dora Hufstedtler slowly rose to her feet with an arthritic grimace. “Does that mean we get to stay?” She asked hesitantly.

  “Yes, Dora, you get to stay.” The Governor answered with heartfelt emotion.

  The assembled crowd greeted the news with relief, and directed their admiration toward a glowing Dora Hufstedtler.

  Soon Edna was back on her feet. “How do we know this so-called Client Misappropriation Trust Fund has enough money?”

  “Well, Edna, that’s another good question. Fortunately, I can assure you that the Client Misappropriation Trust Fund is well endowed. There is more than enough money to satisfy the obligations of American Senior Security.”

  Then Governor Lord held up a hand, wordlessly asking the crowd for its forbearance. “I’m sure there are many other good questions. Which is why I asked Rutherford Sterling, President of The Florida Bar Board of Governors, to attend this press conference with me. Mr. Sterling was a passionate voice in this matter. Please join me in welcoming and expressing our profound appreciation to a legendary attorney, a great humanitarian, and my good friend Rutherford Sterling.”

  It was a sunny spring morning in South Georgia. The day was warming, but it was still pleasant. Tillis was walking the trails of Longleaf, inspecting the stands of small grains he’d seeded to fatten up the bobwhite quail. A good morning to be alive, Tillis thought, trying to shake off his disappointment. Over the course of the past week, he’d worked his tail off. Still, in the end, events hadn’t broken his way.

  He’d flown to Thomasville that morning after visiting Sam in the hospital. And after learning that the body of James Mason had been
found in the Keys. An open line on a 911 call from a cell phone led authorities to the scene. Sally went down with a top forensics team out of Miami-Dade, but he wasn’t hopeful.

  Tillis knew that for the most part, people made their own good luck. And he’d done his best to make his. A surveillance team was put on James Mason, but somehow he slipped away. And a BOLO had gone out to all local, state, and federal law enforcement for Marc Mason and Elizabeth Hayes aka Ellen Hughes, but to no avail. Now two more were dead. And Elizabeth Ellen Hayes was still at large.

  As he studied the weaving grass, a sign of unseen birds, Tillis thought that time had been slipping away lately. The moment teetered between peaceful and melancholic. Then his cell intruded. Tillis looked down and saw that the press conference must have concluded.

  “How’d it go?” Tillis answered.

  “Sterling assumed his role as generous humanitarian with aplomb. Fortunately, he’s on his way to Miami and I’m headed back to Tallahassee.” Governor Lord replied as he sat alone in the rear seat of a black Suburban making its way to Venice Municipal Airport.

  “And I thought you two were going to make that whole yin yang thing work.”

  There was a pause in the conversation before Governor Lord spoke again. “Where are you?”

  “Longleaf.” Tillis grudgingly offered in clipped reply.

  “Now what?” Lord asked.

  “Now what what?”

  “Now what about the money?” Lord asked with some impatience.