There was no response. The guy in the white T-shirt shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
“Lot of upkeep on a car like that. And two bodyguards, now that takes some serious cash to maintain that kind of security.” White T-shirt looked straight ahead. Tattoo crossed his arms. Cole bent down and tried to see through the black tint of the window. “So, is he in there or what?”
“It’s time for you to leave.”
“That’s not friendly. Could get someone like you in a lot of trouble. It sounded a bit threatening.”
“He’s a cop,” said White T-shirt.
“So?” replied Tattoo.
“I get the distinct feeling you don’t like me. And that is just not friendly. So where’s Jefferson?”
“Not here,” T-shirt offered.
“Good, good that’s a start to a nice conversation,” Cole said smiling.
“You’re right, I don’t like you. I’m not friendly, and I’m tired you buggin’.” Tattoo stepped forward.
“See, there you go again. Your body language projects a definitely hostile message. I warned you about getting in trouble. I was being nice. I really don’t understand your unfriendly attitude toward me.” Cole gave him a big forced smile.
The sound of laughter across the street made all three men turn. A tall black man was in the center of a group of about eight in the crosswalk. He was head and shoulders taller than the women he held in each arm and a full head taller than the men in front and behind him. He wore an LA Lakers jersey with a long-sleeved purple turtleneck under it. As the group stepped from the street to the curb, the tall black man gave a quick jerk of his head in the direction of Cole and the two men guarding the car. From Cole’s vantage point, he saw the tattooed man shrug his broad shoulders.
The tall man broke from the group, saying something Cole couldn’t hear. He walked with the loping swagger of an NBA star. Cole knew this was his man.
“What’s goin’ on here?” The accent was on here.
“You must be Mr. Jefferson.” Cole smiled.
“You know I am. Who are you?” Tree Top Jefferson didn’t smile.
“I’m the guy about to cut off your meal ticket.”
“That so.”
“Yep, that so,” Cole said with his head slightly tilted to one side.
“Who is this fool, and why he standin’ right up by my car when I told you nobody gets next to it!” Jefferson stared at Tattoo.
“He jus’ now come up, Tree. I don’t know who he is!”
“How rude of me,” Cole interrupted. “My name is Cole Sage. From The Chicago Sentinel, you know, the newspaper. I would like to interview you, Mr. Jefferson. It could save you a lot of grief.”
“An’ what if I don’t want no interview?”
“Like I said, I could make things dry up around here. That is, if you are unwilling to help me out.”
“You talkin’ big shit. Why a newspaper in Chicago care ‘bout what I do?”
“Look, I don’t want to put your business out here on the street like some two-bit pimp. Where can we go to talk? Your friend Mr. Anderson has skipped town. How’s that for starters?”
“Who’s he?”
“Okay, I tried to be helpful.” Cole started walking down the street. “One, two, three—”
“Yo, hold up a minute!” Jefferson’s voice had gone up almost an octave.
Gotcha, Cole said to himself as he continued walking.
“Yo, ho’d up!” Jefferson jogged up next to Cole.
“You like coffee?”
“Whatever.”
The two men went into a small coffee shop and took the last table down the narrow alcove. Cole sat with his back to the wall, folded his hands, and placed them on the small table. Tree Top Jefferson looked almost comical trying to get his long legs to adapt to the cramped surroundings. In his constant effort to be cool, he finally stretched them out to the left of Cole and crossed them at the ankles.
Tree Top eyed the waitress who had just left with their drink order. “What’s yo’ game?”
“Just trying to help out a friend.”
“Who?”
“No one you know or would care about. Listen, pretty soon I’m going back to Chicago. When I’m gone, I don’t care what you do or to who. But we got a problem, and it isn’t with each other. Tell me about this diamond scam. How did you get in? Was it Richard Anderson?” Cole leaned back.
“How I know you ain’t police?”
“Don’t you know most of the cops around here?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, don’t I look a little old to be a rookie?”
Jefferson laughed and laced his long fingers behind his head. He was doing everything he could to give the appearance of being calm, but the little beads of sweat on his upper lip and forehead were giving him away.
“You gotta be big city. Nobody around here would be messin’ with my boys out there. I usually don’t go off and chat with just anybody, you know. Not good for my image.” Jefferson turned and faced Cole head on. “How you know Anderson’s gone?”
“His wife told me this afternoon.”
“Ain’t that a bitch?” Jefferson looked at the tabletop for a long moment deep in thought before he spoke again. “So, what about Christopher?” Jefferson paused and, as an afterthought, said, “You know him, too? Will he still give me the stones?”
“How deep are you into them?”
“Me? No, no I’m cool.”
“Here’s the deal. Game’s over. Anderson took the ball and ran off. But it’s the other guy. He’s the one I want to get to. What do you know about Allen Christopher?”
“I don’t know him, like, know him, you know? He was Anderson’s guy. But why should I tell you anything. What’s your game?”
“Look, Christopher tried to bribe a city official with some of these diamonds you been buying cars with.”
“How do you know about that?”
“That’s not important, the thing is—”
“To me it is!” Jefferson interrupted.
“Mrs. Anderson has been left behind. She told me what little she knows, hoping I’ll help her find her husband. On the surface, it’s a legitimate scheme. Anderson got a little greedy. Christopher is the money behind the stones. You know that, right? He’s a real estate salesman. He put up the money to buy the diamonds. Anderson got you and some other people to buy and resell stuff. He scammed Christopher and took off. No more diamonds for you and a hell of a bill for Christopher to pay. Thing is, Christopher doesn’t have any money.”
“One double mocha and one decaf. Anything else for you gentleman?” the bubbly blonde in the green apron turned and left before either man could even look up at her.
“You seem to know an awful lot. How you get on to me?”
“Chicago cops,” Cole said flatly.
This was a revelation to Tree Top Jefferson.
“Man, I don’t need this. Anderson said this was a straight deal, no problems. I don’t need no cops.”
“I don’t care about any of this. What you do is your business. I’m all about getting Christopher. You hear me? Next week I won’t even remember we met. Let me ask you something,” Cole paused. “What should I call you anyway?”
“People call me Tree.”
“Thank you. Tree, is your mother alive?”
“You leave my mama out of this!”
“Relax, I don’t mean any disrespect. Is she alive?”
“Yeah, she lives ‘cross town.”
“What if she got sick, real sick, and was dying. And her man dumped her in a rest home and stopped payin’. How would that make you feel?”
“He’d be dead. That’s how I’d feel.”
“Well, Christopher did that to his wife. She and I were once very close. I let her go. You see where I’m goin’?”
“You gonna kill him?”
“No, but he’ll wish he were dead. I want him put behind bars for a long, long time.”
“Man, I don’
t need any of this. Sorry about your friend, but I don’t need this. I got a good thing goin’ on. I don’t need this shit at all. Chicago cops, shit, I don’t need this, man.” Jefferson was on his feet. “You don’t need to wait ‘til next week, you forget we ever met now—you hear me, right now!” He was screaming at Cole.
Cole took a long slow sip of his coffee. “You may need my help later,” he said softly.
“I don’t need nothin’! You hear me, Chicago? Don’t be comin’ to my town and be tellin’ me I need yo’ help!” Jefferson grabbed the back of his chair and threw it against the wall. The chair hit the tile floor with a clang, slid and thudded against the windows.
“Suit yourself,” Cole said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I suit me fine! I’ll suit you if you ain’t careful!” Jefferson’s long legs had got him out of the alcove and into the main area of the store.
Patrons put down their books and magazines and watched as Jefferson ranted and screamed, waving his arms about as he hit the front door. Then every eye in the store turned to Cole. Standing, Cole lifted his Double Mocha Venti and, with a broad smile and a light bow, silently toasted the gaping crowd. As he passed the counter, he slipped a $5 bill into the tip jar and left the store.
On the sidewalk, Cole shuddered. He hated confrontation and felt like he’d been playing tag with a cobra. Whisper had been easy. Tree Top Jefferson was a whole different thing. He was dangerous and unstable—it could be chemically induced or maybe he was just plain crazy. Either way, there was a volatility that made Cole’s stomach knot up. He had just jumped into the deep end of the pool.
FOURTEEN
Cole rolled and tumbled most of the night, finally falling into a deep sleep around dawn. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted from Jefferson. Richard Anderson, for whatever reason, had shielded Allen Christopher from Tree Top and probably anyone else involved with turning the diamonds into cash. Had Anderson planned on skipping town from the start? How hard was Christopher feeling the squeeze? Did he even know Anderson was gone? Only one way to find out, Cole thought.
He sat on the edge of the bed. It was nearly 10 o’clock. He rubbed his eyes and thumbed through a stack of business cards on the nightstand. He dialed the number for John H. Brazil & Associates.
“Mr. Brazil, please. Bob Borsma from Denver calling.”
“Just a moment, Mr. Borsma.”
“John Brazil, how can I help?”
“Good morning. My name is Borsma, Bob Borsma. I’m with Coloco Properties here in Denver. Got a minute?”
“You bet, what’s up?”
“I understand you’re the broker?”
“Yep.”
“I need to get some info on one of your agents if I may. He’s listed as a principal investor in a project our office is trying to put together. I don’t need facts or figures or anything like that. We’re just trying to get a feel for the players.”
“So, who’s your man? Oops, sorry—or woman. Gotta be PC.”
“Man. Allen Christopher. What can you tell me about him?”
“Allen’s been with us about a year, maybe a little less. Came from an office ‘cross town. You say he’s an investor?”
“Yeah, it’s a general partnership we’re putting together. Why, would that be a problem?”
“Well.” The line went silent.
Cole smelled blood, and his shark was in full-on. “Big producer, is he?”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that. Tell me a bit about this project, Bob.” Brazil was being far too careful. Cole could almost hear the man ask himself, How much do I tell this guy?
“Sure, are you looking for a project, John?” Cole decided to soften his approach a bit.
“Ah, no, no—just curious.”
“Eagle Rock is in its second phase. The Remco Investment Group pretty much controlled Phase One. We’re looking at about 800 homes in Phase Two. Median of about $450,000. The thing with Phase Two is the shopping center, and that’s where Allen has really shown an interest. We have Wal-Mart and Albertson’s on board so far. Starbucks and Blockbuster are pretty sure things. Couple in negotiation that I probably shouldn’t talk about quite yet. We figure right around $42 million after we split the cost of the highway refigure with the State. It’s a bit of a bear. We need to add an overpass. Solid project, John. We still need a couple of investors to tie it up.”
“Allen has bought in?”
“Not yet. We haven’t signed docs on Phase Two partners. John, do I sense some hesitancy on your end of the line there? I really need the straight dope. You see, Allen is the only out-of-towner in this deal. Unless I can bring you in.” Cole gave a slight chuckle. “Little humor there, John. So, what’s up? Is there something I should know?”
“Well, Mr. Borsma...” Brazil began.
“Bob, please.”
“Bob. I just don’t know where Allen would get the money for this kind of a project.”
“All tied up with stuff out there?”
“Not exactly. Hold on a second, can you?”
“Sure.”
Brazil got up and Cole heard the thud of an office door closing. “I’m back. Look, Bob, Allen Christopher is not a big producer around here. He’s pretty near the bottom, actually. I loaned him $4,500 about four months ago. Seems he couldn’t pay for his wife’s care in a rest home. I guess the insurance would only pay so much. So far, I haven’t seen a cent.”
Cole felt his jaw tighten.
“Here’s the weird part. He pulls up yesterday in a new Mercedes, now you call. I’m getting a bad vibe here.”
“Tell me something, John, just between us. He’s not involved in drugs, is he?” Cole thought he would throw Brazil a curve ball.
“God, no, at least—no, I can’t see that.”
“This is really upsetting. I was counting on his five mill to—” Cole paused for effect. “I’m sorry, please try to forget I said that. Guess I was thinking out loud. Hey, I’ve kept you long enough. Thanks for your help. Seems I need to have a little chat with our Mr. Christopher.”
“Bob, I, well, I feel there is something else you should know.”
“What’s that?” Here it comes, Cole thought.
“My receptionist came to me a while back and said a friend of Allen’s had been receiving packages from a jewelry wholesaler. She didn’t think anything of it the first time it happened. Allen explained the friend was a business associate and that was that. Thing was, he started getting about one a week. So, she came to me asking if it was all right. I got busy and then was gone on vacation. You know how it is. When I asked him about it, he said his friend needed the packages to be signed for and sometimes paid for, and since he was usually around, he didn’t think it would be a problem. I asked him what he was doing, and he basically told me it was outside of work and none of my business. I still get steamed when I think about it.”
“John, I appreciate your candor. I have a funny feeling Mr. Christopher hasn’t been on the square with me. Thanks again. I hope we get to meet someday.” Cole hung up before Borsma had a chance to respond.
In Ellie’s file at Eastwood Manor there had been a copy of a check Christopher had written. When the office manager wasn’t looking, Cole had jotted down the account number on the back of the form she’d given him. He looked up the phone number for the Century Banking Company.
“Bookkeeping, please,” Cole said in a cheerful voice.
The sound of laughter and talking preceded a woman’s voice saying, “Hi, this is Brenda. How can I help?”
“Good Morning, Brenda. Phillip Potter here, I’m with People’s Credit Union in Oxnard. Sounds like your day’s going pretty good so far.”
“I’m really armpit deep in alligators,” she giggled. “One of the girls just got engaged, so we’ve been sort of celebrating. I am so behind! How can I help?”
“Got a check here drawn on an account with you folks. Can you tell me if it will clear?”
“You betcha. Account number?”
“O2
-34-6792, belongs to an Allen Christopher.”
“Oh,” Brenda said flatly.
“Ooo, I don’t like the sound of that,” Cole said mockingly.
“How much this time?”
“Forty-six hundred and change.”
“Oh, brother. I don’t even need to look, Phil. No way, Jos￩.”
“Great. Tell me something. Does this guy have a history of this?”
“He keeps just enough in the account to keep from having it closed. Got a big overdraft, so some of his checks roll over. It drives me crazy. I’m always on the phone either declining payment or trying to get him to make a deposit. Argh,” Brenda growled.
“Yeah, I’ve got a second one here for another of $3,200. My customer was going to sell him a car or truck or something, then he came back and was buying a trailer. Customer dropped off the checks, so I’m checking while he’s at the teller window. He’s not going to be happy. What’s the bride-to-be’s name?”
“Jessica.”
“Well, tell her congrats from me. Thanks, Brenda.” Cole hung up. That was too easy.
He loved to stir things up. Maybe it was just a mean streak. Being able to get the information he needed was a skill, but then being able to add a little poison to a bad guy’s life was a pleasure. Everybody likes to be sneaky, but Cole relished it, savored it, and replayed it over and over. In less than five minutes, he found that Allen Christopher was broke, had a bad track record with his bank, and had driven a very large wedge between himself and his boss. To sprinkle gasoline on the fire, Cole made the inquiries as a dignified real estate mogul and a friendly, thoughtful bank employee. Any denials by Christopher would only reaffirm people’s preconceived notion of what he was all about. Cole smiled at the thought of Christopher being confronted by his boss as to how he thought he was going to invest in a huge building project when he still owed him $4,500.
Cole remembered first learning the art of the anonymous payback. When he was about 10 years old, he had made a trip to the county library with his teenage cousin, Michelle. She had told their parents they were going to do homework, but she taught Cole something he remembered far longer than anything he learned in the third grade. An old lady down the street had told Cole’s aunt that Michelle was with a bunch of girls in a car smoking. The woman had seen them cruising downtown on Friday night when Michelle was supposed to be at the home of a sick friend. The plan now was payback.
Diamonds and Cole: A Cole Sage Mystery Page 14
