by Scott Pratt
“I noticed Romano’s organization wasn’t named.”
“They’re not willing to go that far yet. But you can read between the lines.”
“You said you had a friend at the New Orleans paper,” Billy said. “Did you ever talk to him about what we discussed?”
“We talked, but he didn’t say much. He thought it was plausible that Romano’s gang could be involved somehow but hadn’t seen or heard any evidence of it yet.”
“What about Sonny Bradley’s murder?”
“It’s still under investigation. The guy was tied up in so many crooked deals, anybody could have wanted him dead. He didn’t have a lot of friends.”
“Yeah, but the fact is that he was controlled by Romano,” Billy said. “That connection isn’t going away.”
“I know the detectives have talked to Romano a couple of times. Nothing has stuck; he’s a Teflon guy with a lot of loyal people around him. Do you know something I haven’t heard?”
“I’m going down to New Orleans this afternoon and will know more. I told you we might help each other on this. Why don’t we meet when I get back?”
“I’ll be waiting to hear,” Birchfield said. “Good luck.”
Billy was nearing his exit as he looked down at his phone again. His fingers instinctively went to the top of his favorites list. After several rings, Rachel’s greeting came on and the phone kicked to voice mail.
“Good morning,” he said. “I know it’s early, but it’s been a couple of days and I was hoping we could talk. Please call me.”
Billy wasn’t sure where to start with that conversation, or how it might end, but he was anxious to have it.
Chapter fourty-four
Rachel called just as Billy arrived at his gate. Passengers were stirring in preparation for boarding, and he walked across the hallway to a quiet area to talk.
“I’ve got some bad news about John,” he said.
“Oh, no,” Rachel said. “He’s gotten worse?”
“No, I’d say he’s about to be released, if he hasn’t been already.”
“You don’t know?”
“He walked out of the hospital and came to the house last night.”
“Why?”
“He wanted to tell me the truth about what happened.”
Silence.
“He admitted that the cocaine came from Romano,” Billy said, “and he was supposed to be helping them.”
“Helping them how?” Rachel said.
“With Jarvis. They wanted to get him away from me and over to Sonny Bradley. When it wasn’t going like they planned, Romano apparently sent somebody up here for a visit. I don’t know if it was one guy or more. They had been watching my place, I guess, and it just happened that John and Jarvis were alone together that night.”
“So they have Jarvis?” she said.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense, if he’s still alive. I’m getting ready to fly to New Orleans and see Mark Fletcher. Hopefully we’ll turn up something down there that will break this open.”
“Surely the police are all over this. Shouldn’t you go to Detective Lewis and tell him your story?”
“I’m not ready yet. I need to be sure about some things first. We can’t afford any mistakes.”
Billy checked his watch and looked out the big window as another jet touched down on the runway.
“Let me ask you,” he said. “Does any of this surprise you?”
“What do you mean?” Rachel said. “It’s all a surprise to me.”
“Weren’t you the woman in the silver car?”
“What?”
Billy saw the Delta attendant across the way swing open the door to his gate and walk to the podium to make the first boarding announcement. Many of the passengers stood and started collecting their carry-ons for the short flight to Atlanta.
“I have to go,” he said, “but I need to know more about this. I’d rather talk face to face. I don’t suppose you’re planning to come back here in the next few days?”
“No, Billy.”
“All right, I’ll come see you.”
“Wait, that won’t —”
Billy clicked off the call, picked up his belongings and walked toward the jetway door.
Chapter fourty-five
The bag of cocaine was starting to dwindle after a week on the road, and so was the resolve of the men who had been beating the bushes for Jarvis Thompson.
Dante had run into one dead end after another on their loop from Florida to Tennessee and back. They had left Autumn that morning, heading west after one last conversation with his mother. Clarise said she hadn’t heard anything more about her youngest son, and her mind was even more scattered than usual. After the murder of Sonny Bradley, she was sure Jarvis was dead, too.
“No one is safe,” she told Dante. “What if they come for me?”
“Why would they want you?” he said.
“Because I took their money.”
“That was an investment that didn’t pay off. You’re not worth anything now; Jarvis is the only one in the family that is. If they have him, they don’t need you.”
Dante and his friends were a rough-looking threesome to start with. A week on the road hadn’t helped. They had been sleeping in an old brown van that Dante had stolen in Panama City, scraping by on fast food and cheap liquor while hopscotching around aimlessly. They were traveling with little more than a few belongings in a backpack.
Once their powdery fuel was finished, there wasn’t going to be much left to keep T.J. and Isaac in the game.
“Seventy-five miles to New Orleans,” Dante announced from behind the wheel as the van passed through Gulfport, Mississippi on I-10.
T.J. stared blankly at the interstate traffic from the passenger seat. “And then what?”
“I got a couple of ideas.”
“I hope they’re better than the ones you’ve had so far, bro,” Isaac said from behind. “This back seat is getting old. Real old.”
“You have a better plan?” Dante said.
“All I know is we’ve been riding around for a week, and now we’re headed the opposite way of home. Seems like we’re just chasing a ghost.”
“Here’s what we know for sure,” T.J. said. “Jarvis is missing, and there’s a good chance he’s dead. The guy in New Orleans who wanted to be his agent is dead. And now we’re going to New Orleans.”
“I been thinking,” Isaac said. “It looks like we’re dealing with the mob here. If they have Jarvis and find out we’re looking for him, these assault rifles ain’t gonna be enough.”
“There wouldn’t be that many men around him. It draws too much attention. If we can find out where he is, there’ll be a way to get him back. I believe that.”
T.J. reloaded the cocaine bullet and offered it to Dante. “Still holding off?” Dante nodded and T.J. inhaled an eye-watering hit before passing it to his friend in the back.
“You gotta do what you gotta do,” T.J. said. “This is a family thing for you. Me and Isaac owed you, but I think we’re about even now. We don’t need to die for no good reason.”
“When did you boys start worrying about dying?”
“Since we heard about that agent, rotting in some ditch, full of holes. That’s the same damn people we’re supposed to take down. Right?”
“I don’t like it,” Isaac said, growing more adamant. “You can’t give me enough blow to make me think we’re in a good situation here. We’re just walking into big-time trouble.”
“So you want to go home?” Dante said. They both nodded.
The van had crossed into Louisiana, and Dante drove on in silence until a rest area came into view. He flipped on his turn signal and exited.
“What are you doing?” T.J. said.
Dante stopped in a parking spot but le
ft the engine running.
“Get your stuff, and take that baggie with you. Maybe that’ll get you a ride home with some trucker. I’m going to New Orleans.”
“So you’re just going to leave us out here on the interstate?” Isaac said. There was no answer.
The men looked at each other and thought it over. They slowly piled out.
The side door slammed, and the van rumbled away.
Chapter fourty-six
Mark Fletcher’s juices were flowing again when he pulled to the curb at New Orleans International Airport.
He had spent twenty-five years as a detective with the Atlanta Police Department and never feared the high-profile cases. They were, in fact, the most attractive part of the job.
Overseeing security details and background checks for NFL teams was mundane by comparison, but the offer from the Falcons had been too good to pass up, so Fletcher became immersed in the strange culture of professional football. The rush of police work was addictive, though, and he missed it. And sometimes his past and present intersected in unusual ways.
It had been a while since a case had intrigued him like this one.
Billy barely broke stride as he approached the white Lexus sedan and tossed his laptop and carry-on bag in the back seat. He opened the passenger door and leaned in with a smile and firm handshake.
“It’s about time I saw that pretty face again,” he said.
Fletcher was a man of about sixty, a native Texan with long silvery hair and a tan complexion. He had a casual elegance about him and was remarkably stylish, unusual qualities for an ex-cop. Billy always admired the way he went about his business.
Years of working in the NFL had given Fletcher a good feel for New Orleans and its gritty DNA. He knew his way around town and how to deal with the locals.
“Good to see you, too, but sorry about the circumstances,” he said in that distinctive Texas English, which sounded like a Southern accent with a twist. “Let’s see if we can’t get to the bottom of this mess.”
Fletcher put the car in gear and ducked into the flow of traffic away from the airport. They were headed for a Marriott about ten miles outside of town, just off the grid but still close enough to the action.
“Yeah, I’m afraid things haven’t gotten any better since this all started,” Billy said. “I just found out last night that my brother is mixed up in it somehow. Romano’s guys had given him the cocaine the cops found on him.”
“What does that mean?”
“It was incentive for him to help them. Powerful incentive apparently. They wanted to get Jarvis away from me, into Sonny Bradley’s clutches, and were willing to do anything that might make a difference. They knew John had the habit and was vulnerable.”
“But it wasn’t working,” Fletcher said.
“Right, and I guess that’s why they came to my house that night. I don’t know what the plan was, but apparently it went all to hell. They end up nearly killing John and taking Jarvis. I’m guessing they brought him back here, somewhere.”
Fletcher shook his head in amazement.
“That’s an incredible story,” he said. “I don’t remember a big-time college athlete ever being kidnapped like that. A lot of people know what Jarvis looks like, especially now, so he’d be hard to hide for long.”
“I don’t understand the end game,” Billy said, “and that’s always a problem.”
“Listen, I’m sorry to hear about your brother.”
“Well, he’s going to be all right, at least physically. I may never speak to him again, but I can’t worry about that now. We just have to find Jarvis. It’s driving me crazy to think he’s out there and I’m not able to do anything to help him. That’s why I’m here.”
“What makes you think he’s still alive? Romano’s guys could have panicked and killed him. Hell, they could have tossed him in the river and nobody knows it yet.”
“I thought you were the positive thinker,” Billy said with a slight grin. “I just have a feeling. Jarvis is tough, and it wouldn’t end like that.”
“So why didn’t you just go to the cops in Knoxville?”
“I still might, but a lot of it is speculation right now. I want to take a day or two to digest what John told me and see what transpires down here. I’m still trying to understand how kidnapping Jarvis helps Romano’s cause. What’s the motive? If the kid isn’t playing football, making lots of money, what good is he to their operation?”
Fletcher thought about it for a few seconds and pursed his lips. He had seen all sorts of crimes through the years, from all sorts of angles, and knew motivation was a hard thing to rationalize. Crazy people do crazy things.
“Maybe he’s just a pawn,” Fletcher said. “A very prominent pawn for sure, but just a piece in a bigger game.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember, I said I’d learned something about Romano. About his son, actually.”
“His son?”
“Yeah, Paul Romano. He was supposedly being groomed to take over the family business one day. I heard he’s nuts, too, but in a different sort of way. Well, he had a falling out with his father a couple of years ago and decided he was going off to be a musician, of all things. He tried to put all the mob stuff down here behind him.”
“Where is he now?” Billy said.
“From what I understand, he’s in South Carolina. In Charleston.”
“That’s interesting. Do we know what he’s into these days?”
“Not exactly, but he had been playing in some local band there. I don’t think it amounted to much. The people I talked to said he was struggling and may be drifting back toward his father. They’ve been seen together a few times lately.”
Billy looked puzzled.
“So how does the son fit into all of this? Is there some link to Jarvis?”
“That remains to be seen,” Fletcher said, “but it’s worth thinking about. He’s another player on the board. Do you have a certain way you want to come at this?”
Billy took a minute to collect his thoughts.
“Somebody down here knows where Jarvis is,” he said. “That’s where everything starts. We have to tap into that network somehow and get some answers. And we need to do it fast. The longer this goes on, the less chance we’ll see him again.”
“I just haven’t gotten very far yet with the people I know. The New Orleans underbelly is different; it’s more guarded than some other places. Sometimes it takes a few days. Do you have any contacts here?”
“Not really, but there are some players who were clients of Sonny Bradley’s. I know Dexter Early, the Saints linebacker, was one, and I think the Johnson kid who plays for the Pelicans. I’ll see if they’ll talk to me. They’re going to need a new agent anyway.”
“That means Romano will know you’re in town pretty soon, if he doesn’t already. It doesn’t take long for word to travel here.”
“That’s good,” Billy said. “By the way, do you have an extra gun?”
The old detective raised an eyebrow.
“Of course. But we don’t need guys like you getting involved in gun play down here. I know your dad’s a cop, but I thought you were a lover, not a fighter.”
Billy smiled. “I’ve always been a fighter. This is just a different kind of fight.”
An intense look came over Fletcher’s face as he drove. He finally had another mission he could sink his teeth into.
Chapter fourty-seven
Billy laid back on the hotel bed and started scrolling down the screen. Two dozen calls from clients alone. He either needed to start answering the phone or quit looking at it.
A burning sensation roiled his gut; he could feel his business slipping away. The cardinal rule – there had to be constant contact – had been broken and now he was forced to play catch-up and manage the damage on the fly. That
never worked for long.
He wished Rachel were still around to help soothe hard feelings. She was always good at that.
Most of his clients, Billy figured, wouldn’t be scared off by all the bad publicity. Not yet anyway. The mutual trust they had built would hold things together, and the players would just go about their business until they knew more. There were far more important things than agents to worry about late in the NFL season.
At the same time, even an indirect connection to kidnappings and cocaine and payoffs could damage reputations and spread like wildfire. None of the players needed that taint. If one or two of Billy’s more prominent clients got antsy and decided to leave, others would likely follow. To some, changing agents wouldn’t be a big deal. Happened all the time.
Billy wanted to hear from Marvin Buckles. The Dolphins defensive end was one of his first clients, a free-spirited Oklahoman who was unfailingly upbeat. He stayed in contact with several of Billy’s other clients and would be the best barometer of their current mindset.
“Marvin, I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch, but I’m running around and trying to figure out what the hell is going on here, and it’s just taking more time than I thought,” Billy gushed over the phone.
“Slow down there, man, I know you’ve been busy. I heard your brother is better, which is good. Anything new to report on Jarvis?”
“No, but I’m down in New Orleans working on some things. I just didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?”
“Forgotten everything. I just haven’t been myself lately.”
“I’ve talked to several of these guys ... we’ve been trying to follow the news,” Buckles said. “Sounds like a big mess. We’re all worried about you.”
Billy’s eyes suddenly grew moist and his voice cracked with emotion.
“Listen, don’t worry about me,” he said. “You worry about you, having a strong finish to the season. You know I’ll be right there fighting to get you everything you deserve when it’s over.”
