Deep Threat

by Scott Pratt

  “And that’s why it might take a little more firepower than usual. Isaac, look behind you, under the tarp.”

  Isaac leaned over the seat and pulled back the black cover. He shook his head.

  “What is it?” T.J. said.

  “Looks like about five or six AKs. And if I’m not mistaken, there’s some grenades in a box.”

  “Grenades? That’s a lot more firepower than anything we’ve ever gotten involved in. What have you dreamed up this time?”

  “Simple. Jarvis is out there somewhere and we have to track him down. For some added motivation, I’ve got something else that might be helpful. Look in the glove box, T.J.”

  The door opened and there was a gleaming baggie of white powder, almost two fingers deep. “I know how much you boys love the blow.”

  The passengers looked at each other with growing interest. They knew from experience that following Dante anywhere was risky. But he always managed to escape unscathed, charmed in some odd way. Besides, riding around in a nice car and getting high was better than standing on a street corner in Pensacola, waiting to get shot or arrested.

  “So we’re going to go cruising around looking for gangsters in a bright yellow Hummer, with a big sack of dust and a bunch of AKs and grenades?” T.J. said. “What could possibly go wrong?”

  Dante smiled. “I’ll get another car, so we don’t stand out so much. Just three brothers minding their own business.”

  “I thought you were off the blow, Dante? Sounds like you’re crazier than ever.”

  “I’m clean as a whistle right now, and it feels pretty good. My counselor would be proud. On the other hand, he’s probably pissed about his Hummer.”

  Dante circled around the block again and let the men out where he picked them up.

  “I’ll be back in two hours,” he said. “Be ready.”

  Chapter thirty

  Reporters were starting to circulate around Autumn and ask a lot of questions. Mark Fletcher was already ahead of the game. The private investigator had spent the day talking to acquaintances of the Thompson family, in particular to friends of Dante. Once cocaine became part of the story, Jarvis’s older brother was suddenly a person of interest.

  Fletcher was on his way back to Atlanta when he called Billy, who had stopped out on the edge of Pensacola.

  “Nobody sees much of Dante these days,” Fletcher said, “but he’s apparently still doing his thing. I hear his old man got him involved in the cocaine business back in high school, and he never got it out of his system.”

  Like Charles, Dante would come and go from the family home. Unlike the old man, he tried to look after Jarvis as much as possible. The brothers were still close until Jarvis left for college.

  “I always got along well with Dante – he was good to Jarvis, helped keep him out of trouble – but it was hard to get close to him,” Billy said. “He ran with a rough crowd, and you just never knew exactly what he was thinking.”

  “What are the chances he might be involved in this?”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t intentionally sabotage his brother’s future, but the cocaine begs the question. Where did it come from?”

  “Didn’t they have a sister?”

  “She disappeared years ago in Texas. Presumed dead.”

  Billy looked up to find a wide-eyed waitress standing at his table with pad in hand. He ordered a cheeseburger, no onions, fries and the local brew of the day.

  “What about Charles?” he said. “When was the last time anybody saw that worthless bastard?”

  “He hasn’t been around here in a couple of weeks at least. He supposedly was hanging out in New Orleans, but who knows? One guy said he didn’t think Jarvis even talks to him anymore.”

  Billy was getting another call and put Fletcher on hold. It was Rachel. She was still at the hospital with his father.

  “How’s John?” he said.

  “They think he may be coming around, but he’s not talking yet.”

  “What about Dad?”

  “He’s right here. Has been the whole time,” she said. “He’s not taking this well. And it’s not just John; he’s worried about you, too.”

  “Tell him I’m trying to figure all this out and will be back as soon as I can. Probably tomorrow.”

  Rachel was feeling numb, she said, and then a long pause.

  “We’ve been getting some calls at the office, too. Several of your guys are concerned about this publicity and said they couldn’t get hold of you. It doesn’t look good, and things are only going to get worse for business if Jarvis doesn’t show up soon and have a great explanation.”

  “I know. I’ve got a bunch of messages on my phone. Just tell them not to worry, that I’m taking care of things. Tell them I’ll be in touch soon.”

  “I’m not sure that’s going to be enough,” Rachel said.

  “For right now, it’ll have to be.”

  Billy flipped back over to Fletcher and shook his head as the waitress set a napkin and cold draft on his table.

  “How did I get into this, Mark?” he said. “I’m so turned around, I don’t even know what direction I’m going. And the floodwaters are rising. Any suggestions?”

  “Well, if somebody else was involved in this thing at your house, I’m guessing they’re tied to the Gulf – Florida or New Orleans, like you said,” Fletcher said. “It just seems like a lot of things lead that way.”

  Another call beeped in, and Billy took a quick glance at the ID. He didn’t recognize the number and let it go to voice mail with all the others.

  “I’m heading back to Tennessee in the morning,” he said, “but I want you to stay on this as long as it takes. If you need to chase it to New Orleans, do it. Hopefully we’ll get a break.”

  “It’s a different world over there,” Fletcher said, “but I know the landscape pretty well. I think I can get a quick read on the situation, once I get down there. This business in Atlanta shouldn’t take long.”

  “Just be careful. We’ve got some bad actors in this play.”

  “The world is full of them. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Billy had plenty to ponder as he finished his meal and threw a twenty on the table. He planned to get a motel room just up the road near the airport and catch an early flight home.

  As he walked out of the restaurant, he noticed a couple of young men sitting in a white sedan, parked a few rows away. They were paying close attention to him, it seemed. Am I getting paranoid now? he wondered.

  Billy slid into his rental car and tapped on the last message: “Hello, Mr. Beckett, this is Trey Birchfield. Would you give me a call? I think I have something that will interest you.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Birchfield wasn’t the typical Southern newspaperman. Far from it.

  A native New Yorker who used to work at the Daily News, he had never even been close to Tennessee before his wife took an accounting job with Sea Ray, the boat company headquartered in Knoxville, a few years back. Living in the South had been an adventure, personally and professionally, but Birchfield relished being the outsider and played it to his advantage whenever possible. He was known for his commanding presence at news conferences, asking questions with that biting Yankee wit. Most people respected him, with some fear and trepidation mixed in.

  Billy knew the reporter would be utilizing all his resources on this sordid tale.

  “Trey, what do you have for me?” Billy said.

  “Good afternoon. I’ve been spending a lot of time on this Jarvis Thompson story, trying to understand it, and thought we might talk for a minute. It’s the biggest story I’ve had to deal with down here and I want to do it justice as more things unfold. I want to be first and right.”

  “I can appreciate that. You do what you have to, but you know I can’t comment on the record. I’m not sure I shoul
d be talking to you at all.”

  “Mr. Beckett – Billy – I understand you’re in a tough position here,” Birchfield said. “There are a lot of questions, everything hanging in the balance.”

  “So ...”

  “What I’m wondering now is whether your brother was down in Autumn earlier this month. I think it could have an impact on how this whole thing plays out.”

  “I’m not following,” Billy said.

  But he was being followed. He could see in his rear view that the two men in the white car were now close on his tail. He swerved through highway traffic and made an abrupt right turn into a shopping center. The men shot past, the smiling passenger leaning out to mimic a gun with his right hand.

  Billy pulled to a stop in the parking lot and scratched his head. Local yokels? Or something else?

  “I can’t say for sure,” Birchfield was saying, “but I’ve gotten to know a source down there who’s telling me that some people aren’t exactly big fans of Jarvis. When I talked to the guy this morning, he mentioned that your brother had passed through with some woman in a silver car. He was supposedly looking for Charles Ratliff.”

  Billy hesitated. “So this is all off the record?”

  “Totally. I’m just trying to put some pieces together. It could be to your advantage.”

  “John was in Florida on business last week, but I don’t think he got over into the panhandle. If he did, I didn’t hear anything about it.”

  “Maybe not,” Birchfield said. “Of course, you hadn’t heard about a lot of things. Any dealings with Charles obviously wouldn’t be good. Outside of selling drugs and being a deadbeat in general, I don’t know what else he’s known for. That’s what people who are familiar with him say. The fact that cocaine has come up in this thing with Jarvis ... it just seems curious.”

  Billy scanned the parking lot for the men in the white car. No sign of them.

  “John knew Charles a long time ago, and just barely,” he said. “He played baseball with Jarvis’s older brother, Dante, at Florida State. That’s the only connection I know of. I don’t think I ever saw Charles at more than a couple of their games.”

  “Does John still see Dante anymore?”

  “Not that I know of,” Billy said. “Dante got kicked out of school and went back home. It was a shame, because he was probably good enough to get drafted. John had arm trouble and dropped out not long after. He went back to Sevierville. That’s all ancient history.”

  “Did John have drug issues, too?” Birchfield said. “I know Dante did.”

  Billy could tell he was being measured by the reporter and was going to play his hand close to the vest for now.

  “I’m being completely honest with you, Trey, when I say we don’t deal in drugs,” he said. “And I guarantee you that Jarvis doesn’t either. I think there’s more going on here than any of us are aware of.”

  Silence.

  “I don’t know you well,” Birchfield said, “but I’ve always heard Jarvis is a stand-up guy, considering all he’s had to go through. Our sports writers like him; they say he’s friendly enough and a good quote, which makes their lives a little easier. Obviously, he’s a hell of a football player. It would be sad if there isn’t a better ending than what we have now, but I’ll write the story however it presents itself.”

  “All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind. There may be people with ulterior motives trying to influence things.”

  “Why would they want to make Jarvis look bad?”

  “I don’t know at this point.”

  “And you can’t tell me anything more that would help me? Or help you?” Birchfield said.

  “How about this, Trey. You and I stay in contact, and maybe we can help each other. I’ll call you back soon, when I know more.”

  Billy now had plenty to think about, and his mind was racing as he eased back onto the highway.

  Talking to Clarise had been a waste of time. He may have just given her more venom to spew, if that were possible. He already knew she had cozied up to Sonny Bradley. The New Orleans angle was worrisome on several fronts.

  Why would John be looking for Charles? And the woman in the silver car?

  Billy was starting to let the worst-case scenario, that Jarvis wasn’t even alive, feed his fears. No matter what happened down by the river that night, wouldn’t he have surfaced by now if he were able?

  Maybe John would be talking by the time Billy got back to Knoxville. Of course, that wouldn’t fix the damage that had already been done to at least a couple of careers.

  At this point, it was all starting to seem like a salvage operation.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  There was a sense of relief in the ICU waiting area when Billy arrived. The doctors expected John to regain consciousness any time and were inside with him now. Pretty soon he’d be able to talk to his family – and the police.

  Billy walked up to Rachel and gave her a hug, then put an arm around his father.

  “You okay?” he said.

  Franklin nodded but was unconvincing. Billy knew the career cop wanted to do something – anything – to help but felt powerless to act. This was out of his hands.

  “What did you find out in Florida, son?” Franklin said.

  “Nothing for sure, but there are some leads we’re working on. Hopefully John is going to help us out here real soon.”

  A doctor walked into the room, and he was smiling. Finally some good news.

  “I think our man is coming around,” he said. “You should be able to speak to him soon, if we can get at least a small window of opportunity. We’ll have to contact the detective, too, so he can be here.”

  The legal ramifications would have to be sorted out. At a minimum, John would face charges for cocaine possession, which wasn’t going to help his state of mind. And Billy wasn’t off the hook either.

  For Jarvis, who knew? Each day that passed added to the growing sense of dread.

  The doctor returned about a half-hour later and said John was conscious and talking. His family could see him, one at a time.

  “You go first, Dad,” Billy said.

  Franklin was escorted into the back, and Billy sat down beside Rachel. They had run the emotional gamut and knew the ordeal was still far from over. It showed on both of their faces.

  “I really appreciate you waiting here with my father,” Billy said. “It means a lot to me.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “This will all be over soon and we can get back to normal. I promise.”

  Rachel registered a look of disbelief. “Normal? We may never see normal again. I don’t think you can promise anything at this point.”

  After ten minutes, Franklin walked out of the ICU, his eyes misty but a smile on his face. “Billy, go see your brother,” he said.

  John was groggy but seemed aware of his surroundings. His head was bandaged and his face was still swollen and blue.

  Billy eased over to the side of the bed, reached out and grasped John’s hand. He’d never seen his brother look so utterly helpless.

  “Hey buddy, didn’t I warn you about hanging out in these rough neighborhoods?” he said. “We’ve been worried about you. How are you doing?”

  John flexed his neck and grimaced. “Not so good,” he whispered.

  “Do you remember what happened? You and Jarvis were down at the dock.”

  “No.”

  “We can’t find Jarvis. Did you guys get into a fight or something?”

  “The last thing I remember is watching a football game on the boat,” John said. “He was with me.”

  “Was there a problem?”

  “No.”

  “John, the paramedics found cocaine when they treated you on the boat. It was some really pure stuff, and they said you definitely had been using
that night. The police also found some in Jarvis’s backpack.”

  John’s chest heaved and his eyes welled with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Really sorry.”

  “Does it have something to do with Charles Ratliff? I heard you were looking for him when you were in Florida last time. You know, Jarvis’s father?”

  “I don’t understand. Charles?”

  The pain medication was kicking in again, and John started to fade. A nurse stepped to the bedside to check his vitals.

  “You might want to come back later,” she said to Billy. He took a long look at his brother, squeezed John’s hand and walked away.

  Detective Lewis was standing in the waiting room, talking to Franklin when Billy returned.

  “How’s your brother?” he said.

  “Pretty out of it, but I think he’ll be okay. I asked him about Jarvis, and he doesn’t remember. The meds have knocked him out again, so it’ll be a while.”

  “We really need to know what he knows, whatever it is,” Lewis said. “No one close to Jarvis can say what happened. It’s all just speculation. I’m going to have one of my men wait here, and hopefully when John wakes back up we can talk to him.”

  The doctor was standing nearby with a nurse at her station, looking over John’s charts.

  “Any idea how long he’ll be out?” Billy said.

  “I would expect most of the night. With these head injuries, it’s hard to predict. It’s getting late, so why don’t you go home and get some rest. Come back in the morning and John should be able to talk some more. He’s getting stronger.”

  Billy went back over to the detective, who was growing noticeably impatient.

  “It doesn’t sound like we’ll hear anything from him tonight,” he said. “Can we do this in the morning? I’ll meet you here and answer any more questions that might come up.”

  “That’s as long as I’m willing to wait. I’ve got a lot of people on my ass to figure this out.”

  The family and the cops weren’t the only ones waiting. The national buzz surrounding the case was growing.