by Alan Lee
“Okay.” I nodded. “Pretty simple operation.”
“Yeah, simple. Keeps everyone quiet.”
“Ever have thieves try to break in?”
“Sure, now and then. Alarm goes off and all the tenants release the dogs.” He grinned and his face turned a little red. “Bastards only try it once.”
“Wayne makes the moonshine himself,” I said. “What about the pot, do you know? They grow it locally?”
“Sure.” The grin on his face remained strong. “All that farmland, what else you gonna do with it?”
“Good question, Keith.”
“Grow pot!”
“Milk, moonshine, and marijuana,” I said.
“That’s what Franklin County is all about. Cows and liquor and gettin’ high.”
“And guns,” I said. “Don’t forget guns.”
“Yeah. Well. Folks here don’t much have call for guns. Wayne don’t bring ‘em and sometimes it’s hard for people like us to get them. We could. But got better things to do with money.”
“Do you worry about the police? Not much of this unit is legal.”
“Naw, police usually don’t care. We’re a quiet group else Wayne makes us leave. And if we leave, got nowhere to go. We don’t bother police so they don’t bother us. Right?”
“Keith, you’ve been tremendously helpful.”
Chapter Thirteen
Kix and I spent the morning at a playground off the greenway. He zipped down all the slides, gazed condescendingly at kids with less impressive fathers, and relaxed in the stroller while I jogged laps. I took him to his sitter’s house around lunch and his need for a nap was desperate.
Roxanne met me at the door. Laundry had exploded around her living room.
She accepted Kix and said, “Kristin called me.”
“You old women, gossiping over your tea.”
“Is that a quote?”
“Close to it.”
She smiled and shook her head at me. “In a classroom, Mack August? You filthy private cop.”
“Not that private, it turns out.”
“So it’s getting serious between you two,” she said.
“She says she can separate the physical from the emotional. Her idea, not mine.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I do not. The two seem intertwined, from my experience.”
“What about the other girl?” she said. “The one you’re not technically dating.”
“She’s still lovely.”
“You’re treading into dangerous waters, Mack.”
“And yet you look thrilled. Perhaps it is you who are the monster.”
“My world is laundry and dishes and diapers. I need this.”
I turned to go. “I’ll shoot your husband in the foot. Give you some drama.”
* * *
I met Ronnie and Calvin Summers at her office. He was already there, sitting on the corner of her desk, arms crossed. She stood when I entered and my breath threatened to mutiny.
He wore slacks and a pale blue golf shirt. I wore a blue blazer, mostly to hide my gun so Natasha the receptionist wouldn’t swoon.
“All right, August. Report,” he said.
“How about instead I return the remainder of your retainer and with it you purchase some manners.”
Ronnie sat down and her face paled.
He didn’t speak. Remained perched, arms crossed. The muscle in his jaw clenched as he thought.
I sat and smiled at Ronnie.
“Hello Mackenzie,” she said.
“Hello Counselor.”
“The fuck, August? You got a problem with me asking for updates?” he said.
“I’m not your employee. I’m a consultant. You don’t get to bark demands at me. You didn’t ‘ask for an update.’ You issued an order. Do it again and you’re on your own.”
“Christ. Everyone’s so sensitive.”
I shrugged. “I’m an old-fashioned kinda girl.”
“How the hell’d you get into Marcus Morgan’s good graces? That guy doesn’t like anyone.”
“The man’s got suspect taste in friends.”
Ronnie eyed me suspiciously. “Marcus Morgan? You work with Marcus Morgan? How do you know him?”
“I taught his son some manners. He respected it.”
“Marcus Morgan has strong ties to the underworld,” Ronnie said. “Are you aware?”
“Hey,” Calvin said without looking her. “Attorney. We’re using your office. Don’t need your mouth. Keep it closed.”
I held eye contact with her. “I am aware of who and what Marcus is. We don’t work together. We’re essentially wary acquaintances.”
Calvin said, “So, August. How about I ask nicer so you can unclench. Provide me with an update please. How’s that?”
“I’m making progress,” I said. “But it’s been tricky.”
“Tricky? Tricky how?”
“You failed to convey crucial aspects of your operation. Unearthing them has required time and effort.”
“Unearthing what?”
“You are a significant producer of moonshine and marijuana. Did you not believe that information germane to the task?”
“Marijuana?” Ronnie asked.
Calvin sniffed dismissively. “Didn’t know if I could trust you, August, that’s all.”
“You’re a drug dealer looking for an informant. Accept this professional advice free of charge: the informant probably works on the illegal side of your operation, not the legal.”
“You’re growing marijuana?” Ronnie asked her father. “How much?”
“Shut up.”
Helpfully, I offered, “Truckloads.”
“Dad.” She stood. “Is that accurate?”
He didn’t answer.
“Holy shit, Dad. You’re producing and distributing a Schedule I narcotic. On top of the deferred tax evasion sentence, this would put you away forty years. Fines in the millions.”
“Shut your fucking mouth.”
“That amount is a felony, not a misdemeanor—”
He twisted on the desk and struck her across the mouth with his fingers. She gasped and tumbled backwards.
I came out of my seat so quickly Calvin nearly fell off his perch. He wasn’t a small man but for this moment in time I eclipsed the rest of his universe.
“Summers,” I said.
“August, the hell, back off!” A fearful waver crept into his voice, pitching it higher.
“I’m not stupid enough to stick my nose into the privileged affairs between an attorney and her client,” I said. Our faces were separated by four inches. “Much less get in the way of family drama. And I don’t presume I can fix problems because I’m male and that she can’t because she’s female. But if you hit her again I’m going to squeeze your hand until the bones break. You won’t be able to stop me. It won’t be chivalrous. Just simple rage.”
He didn’t say anything but his perfect hairline began to dampen with sweat.
I wanted to ask him if he understood but he obviously did.
I wanted to ask her if she was okay but she obviously wasn’t. And it would demean her.
I sat back down, ignoring the dragon within, the animal hate that wanted to break his neck. I didn’t look at Ronnie.
She got up and went to the small refrigerator in the corner. Got an ice cube, wrapped it in a paper towel, and held it to her mouth.
“What,” Calvin said. “You think Marcus Morgan doesn’t strike his child? For discipline?”
“Marcus has a son. Who is in tenth grade. And I would bet he strikes neither his son nor his wife,” I said.
“I’ve seen Morgan kill people.”
“Me too. But he respects his family.”
“You’ve seen Marcus Morgan kill people?” Ronnie asked around the ice. She looked at both of us.
Her father didn’t answer but he looked as though he wondered if his silence would anger me.
“I have,” I said.
“Big
Shot here has caught the attention of the Mafioso,” Calvin said, indicating me with his chin. His voice still had a faint tremble. “Makes him think he’s something he’s not, maybe.”
“Counselor Summers, what was the nature of the evidence presented by the prosecution?” I asked. “It must have been solid for Calvin to push for a plea deal.”
“Accurate financial records,” she said. Her lip had begun to swell.
“Does that not narrow down our list of suspects?”
“No,” Calvin said. “No it doesn’t. And believe it or not, that’s my fault.” He stood and released a frustrated sigh and looked out her window. “I fucked up. I sent some figures to my accountant, Tom Bradshaw. He told me you came by and made an ass of yourself. Anyway. I hit the wrong button. I hit reply all, instead of reply, that kind of thing. You know how it goes. I sent the files to everyone. Well, most everyone. Everyone who matters. And anyone who doesn’t matter could have heard through gossip.”
“The files you sent were unmistakably incriminating?” I asked.
“No, not unmistakably. The numbers were buried. Had to go looking for them. Some nosey motherfucker did.”
“And there’s no way to discover who opened the files?”
“Not that we know of,” Ronnie said.
“I imagine everyone did, the ungrateful shits.”
I said, “Okay. This helps. If you want me to continue, I want to see the email and I want the names of everyone. Not just the legal side.”
“Got half a mind to fire your ass, August.”
“Gasp.”
“Then again, Marcus likes you. Duane likes you. They must see something I don’t.”
I asked, “What do you think, Counselor Summers? Should he fire my ass?”
“Considering the sensitive subject matter and your proven discretion, I see no reason for a change. Furthermore it would waste time.”
“Get me the names. Of everyone.”
“Apparently I don’t have the entire list,” she said.
“I’ll get you the names, August. Give me half a day and I’ll get you the names.” He slid off Ronnie’s desk and stalked out. “And you get me the fucking informant and get out of my hair.”
The heavy door slammed after his exit.
Ronnie and I sat unspeaking for sixty seconds. Somehow both of us shared the same grief and embarrassment. As though we’d done something wrong.
“I’m not going to,” I said at last, “but I’d like to rip your father’s ears off.”
She smiled and winced.
“Thank you. For not making that worse.”
“One day when you’ve had enough and you decide to kick your old man’s ass, I hope I’m there to see it.”
“Do me a favor, Mackenzie. Please leave. I need a moment.”
“Certainly.”
“I wasn’t joking, was I,” she said. “That night in the parking lot when I told you I was a wreck, that I didn’t deserve you.”
“Your father doesn’t deserve me, that’s for damn sure.” I stood and paused by her inner door. “You, on the other hand…wanna go to a baseball game with me tomorrow?”
“Yes, Mackenzie. Very much. I’ll get someone to cover my shift at the bar.”
I said, “You’re still bartending.”
“I am.”
“Your father makes you.”
She nodded and winced. “He does. But I enjoy it.”
“It’s a way he exerts control over you.”
She changed subject, “Will Kix be at the game?”
“He will. I’ll pick you up.”
“It’s a date,” she said.
“Control your raging hormones. We’re just friends.”
“Affectionate friends.”
“Manny will also be in attendance.”
“Your roommate?” she asked. “The beautiful one?”
“In our household he ranks fourth.”
“Tough competition. Close the door on your way out?”
She still had the ice pressed to her lower lip and water ran down her wrist. I winked and closed the door.
Natasha looked up from her desk and gave me a weak smile.
“You heard,” I said.
“I heard everything.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Let’s just say…I hope you break his hand.”
Chapter Fourteen
I picked Ronnie up from her apartment at the River House, a former industrial building modernized for residential millennialism, complete with climbing wall and bar. She wore shorts and an off-shoulder white tunic with a notch collar. I maintained my composure and opened the passenger door for her but instead she slid into the backseat and began playing with Kix.
Kix, the faint-hearted philanderer, did not maintain his composure. He reacted like it was Christmas morning.
“Oh, Mackenzie. He’s so unbelievable gorgeous.”
I drove toward Salem. “Don’t get worked up. He performs thusly for all the hot girls.”
“Just how many am I competing with?”
“Perhaps you should wear your engagement ring more often. You know, as a pneumonic device.”
“Are you still dating that awful woman?”
“How do you know she’s awful?” I said.
“A woman’s intuition. She’s awful.”
“I detect a hint of jealousy.”
“Hell yes you do.”
“It looks good on you.”
“She’s awful. Trust me, I’m an attorney.”
“Your reasoning is backwards,” I observed. “And mendacious.”
“Have you seen the awful woman today?”
“No.”
“Texted her?”
“No,” I said.
“She’s not the one for you.”
“You know this?”
She shrugged a shoulder, a motion I admired in the rearview. “I intuit it. I am perspicuous.”
“What’s a boy to do? All the good girls are taken.”
“Kix doesn’t care that I’m engaged. Why should you?”
“Kix is a slut.”
“Mackenzie! No sir.” She laughed, perhaps my favorite sound. Even the toddler stopped babbling to listen. “I object.”
“A spade is a spade.”
“What did you do today? Track down nefarious informants?”
“I visited with Mr. Stokes, the property manager. You know him, I believe,” I said.
“I do.”
“He might be your biggest fan.”
“He’s harmless. Better than most men,” she said.
“And I poked my nose around the Calvin Summers marijuana plantation.”
“Plantation? So it’s more than just a few clay pots?”
“An entire field. Maybe more.”
She closed her eyes and let her forehead rest on the side of Kix’s car seat. He patted her cheek.
“An entire field,” she said.
“Met a nice man named Ruben Collier. He nearly opened fire with his shotgun when I arrived but we hashed out the misunderstanding. He’s giving me a thorough tour tomorrow.”
She groaned softly.
“Hashed out,” I prompted. “Get it?”
“Yes Mackenzie.”
“I’m incredibly funny,” I said. “And I’m positive Calvin Summers is not attached to the moonshine and marijuana operations in any legal or traceable way. Otherwise he’d be a fool, and he isn’t. Criminally incompetent perhaps but not a fool. I’m going to probe deeper into his infrastructure.”
“Mackenzie, I do not wish to pry into your methods. But. What will you do when you discover the informant’s identity?”
“An insightful question.”
“Because I know you. To some extent. You have a soft heart. And I’m curious what will happen if the informant has a family. Is just trying to make ends meet. What if the person is not ‘nefarious’?”
“Let’s you and I just off that bridge together, if we come to it,” I said.
/> She nodded to herself and her eyes were momentarily fixed on something far beyond my mirror. “Okay. If you need my input, I will jump with you.”
We arrived in Salem after the first pitch had been thrown. My son couldn’t stomach all nine innings so we usually came late and left early. And my old man couldn’t stomach sitting in the stands with the hoi polloi so he’d rented a private box. This was the Salem Red Sox’s second game of the season and the night was warm. The heaters in our box were turned off.
Timothy August sat in the front row of the balcony with Sheriff Stackhouse. They’d both come straight from work, wearing white button-up shirts with the collar loosened. Each held a beer, that necessary nectar of America’s pastime.
Ronnie sat in the chair behind the sheriff and gave her a friendly hug around the shoulders. “Hello beautiful.”
“Veronica Summers, hey babe. It actually hurts to look at you. I was young and nubile once. My Lord, look at those legs.”
“One must dress up for the August household. Have you ever seen such a collection of perfect masculinity?”
“I’d marry any one of them,” Stackhouse said. “But at the moment I choose the one most experienced.”
“I’ll happily take the leftovers.”
Manny observed, “These white women, so…what’s the word?”
“Prurient,” I said.
“That is not it.”
“Lubricious?”
“No. Horny, is what I thought.”
Stackhouse patted Manny’s knee and said, “Even better.”
Ronnie held Kix on her lap and fed him dry cereal throughout innings two through five. Manny and I engaged in highly suspect scorekeeping, scrutinizing each other’s sheets for unforgivable errors. Stackhouse and Timothy August held hands and chatted affectionately and in general displayed a disgusting amount of friendliness. Hot dogs were consumed by all. Our attendant, a student at Roanoke College by the looks of her, waited breathlessly on Manny and kept his cup full. Every so often, reluctantly, she filled ours too.
The Sox hit a home run in the fifth and Ronnie asked, “Is he good?”
“That’s Andrew Benintendi,” I said. “He’ll play in the majors soon.”
