Victims

by L. A. Wilson, Jr.

  "My mom's," the man replied. "She's at work."

  Ellis handed him two twenties.

  "Get the door fixed before she gets back."

  The young man looked at him with both apprehension and curiosity as he accepted the money.

  "I've seen you with Jake Boney's crew, so don't try to tell me you don't know him. I want to know how to find him. I heard he was at Atlantic Station, but I can't find him. That means the paper ain't in his name. So you tell me what the deal is."

  "Look, man..."

  "Don't!" Ellis interrupted. "Don't lie to me. This isn't about you, but I can make it about you. You don't want to see me again."

  The young man took a deep breath and seemed to ponder his predicament.

  "He's in that high rise condo up the street from the ESPN Sports Bar. It's on the twenty-first floor."

  "You got a suite number?"

  "I dunno. I think it's the whole floor."

  Ellis tried to mask his surprise. "Whose name's on it?" He asked.

  "All I know is Mr. Amin," the young man replied.

  "Don't forget to get that door fixed," Ellis reminded him as he stood to go.

  "Hey!" The young man yelled. "You didn't hear none of this from me, okay."

  "Who're you?" Ellis replied and pulled the broken door shut.

  Ellis had always liked Atlantic Station. He had taken his wife there to an Asian restaurant called Nan's on their twentieth anniversary. He liked that concept of in-town living and had even fantasized about moving there when it was being built. His fantasies had lasted only until he saw the real estate prices which Savannah had already guessed.

  ◊◊◊

  He walked into the condo that had been described to him and knew immediately that this was luxury on an entirely different scale than what he had previously seen.

  His police credentials got him in the door but not past security. The security guard called to inform Mr. Boney that he had a visitor. To Ellis' surprise, Boney invited him up as if he had been expected.

  The guard entered a code on the elevator's keypad allowing it to stop on the twenty-first floor. Ellis was awe-struck as he stepped into the opulence of the world defined by the name emblazoned in gold at the entry--Amin. It appeared less formal than a business but not quite as informal as living quarters.

  He was greeted by a young, Nordic appearing woman whose blondness was overwhelming. She led him through a wide circuitous hallway decorated with what she described as original art and sculpture. She pushed a button outside one of the doors, and in seconds a silk-robed Jake Boney appeared.

  "Detective Carver. Come on in," he grinned.

  "Okay, man, how did you pull this off?" Ellis asked as he perused the suite’s furnishings, which were a continuation of the opulence he had observed outside.

  "Is that an official question or just curiosity?" Boney asked.

  "Both."

  "I provide transportation and entertainment to some well-appointed international business concerns," Boney explained. “Since they needed to coordinate some of these services on a national level, they felt that there could be an advantage to having me operate in-house."

  Jake Boney was a small time hustler--sometimes legal and sometimes not. He had apparently hit the jackpot although he suspected that much of his activity was still illegal. Women and drugs had been his forte and probably still were. Ellis was taken aback by his transparency, but that only meant that he had enough big guns in his pocket to feel secure.

  "You're not here to discuss my international business, are you Detective Carver?" Boney asked.

  "No. I really didn't know about it. Detective John Thomas had been calling you. I want to know why."

  "I'm afraid I don't know him," Boney replied.

  "Are these your numbers?"

  Ellis handed him the phone records.

  "These are mobile phones. I have several of them. They're business phones. I don't carry them personally."

  "Who has them?"

  "I can't tell you right off hand. My people pass them around. I'll be glad to check for you if you leave me a card."

  Boney was too smug for his own good. Ellis wanted to smack him in the face and make him talk, but he was on sick leave and not even supposed to be there. Boney apparently thought he was insulated in this place. Ellis handed him a card and absorbed his patronizing smile.

  "You probably already know this, Boney, but your Arab benefactors..."

  "Saudi," Boney interrupted.

  "What?"

  "Saudi. They're Saudi businessmen."

  "Whatever," Ellis continued. "Whatever you think, you're not in their league. If you bring any notoriety to their door, they'll drop you like a hot rock. Find me what I want to know, Boney, or you will see more of me than your new friends will be willing to tolerate. You've got my card."

  It was a curious thing--how relationships form. Jake Boney should not have been in his current position under any circumstances. He had probably provided something impressive to a man who had more money than good sense. John Thomas was in the mix as well. Ellis couldn't help wondering why his friend would need to make repeated calls to Boney or his cronies. Maybe it was nothing. They all needed to call thugs and snitches from time to time, but his friend was dead and Ellis didn't believe in coincidence.

  ◊◊◊

  "Hey, your boss called."

  Ellis frowned. He hated it when Maxine greeted him with problems, and if he got a call from the job, it was definitely a problem.

  "What did he want?"

  "He said he wanted you in his office at nine a. m."

  He grunted and took off his coat.

  "Why don't you have your phone?" She asked.

  "I'm on leave, Max. I don't need a phone if I'm not working."

  "Suppose I need you."

  "Use your mental telepathy," he smirked sarcastically.

  "So it's like that?"

  "Yeah, it's like that," he sighed. "You think I'm a good judge of character, Max?"

  "Not when you start talking to me like that."

  "Shut up and come here."

  He grabbed her and pulled her down to the couch on top of him.

  "And just what is it that you expect to happen now?" She laughed.

  "Where are the kids?" He asked.

  "Upstairs."

  "Damn! Why don't they go hang out in the streets like everybody else's kids?"

  "I guess they didn't know their dad was coming home horny."

  "I keep finding John's footprint where it shouldn't be," Ellis said as he kept Max trapped in his lap. "You think..." He hesitated without immediately completing the thought.

  "That he was dirty." Maxine inserted the final phrase.

  Their eyes met. You've been married too long when you start completing each other's thoughts, he speculated silently.

  "I don't like to think about that," he confessed.

  "I don't like to think about those kinds of things either," she agreed.

  He allowed his hand to slide across her rear.

  “What about this other situation?” He whispered.

  “You remember that cot in the basement?”

  “You think we have time?” He asked with lascivious anticipation.

  "Has something changed about you that I’m unaware of?"

  She laughingly planted a wet kiss on his mouth before he could think of an answer.

  ◊◊◊

  "Carver, I thought you were on sick leave," Captain Stubbs asked pointedly, seeing Ellis back at work.

  "I am," Ellis answered. "Uh, bad back."

  The captain looked at him over the top of his glasses with clear skepticism.

  "Anything over three days requires a doctor's excuse. You know that, right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I got a call from some firm--The Amin Group. They were inquiring about your coming there on police business. So you're going to explain to me what the hell you were investigating over there while you were on sick leave, right?"


  "Uh, well..."

  "Spit it out."

  "John was calling some people associated with that organization. I thought it might be important."

  "That's not your case."

  "I know, but..."

  "No buts. You bring me a doctor's excuse, and you keep your ass out of things that weren't assigned to you."

  "Captain, John was my friend."

  "That wasn't a suggestion," Stubbs added.

  "Yes, sir," Ellis responded. He was being dismissed, and he was treading on thin ice. He hadn't thought that Jake Boney had the balls to go over his head. On the other hand, maybe it wasn't Boney. Maybe it was one of Boney’s benefactors trying to hedge his bets.

  He spotted a figure leaning casually against his car as he exited the station. Ellis approached the man cautiously although he didn't appear to pose any immediate threat.

  "Ellis Carver," the man said as he came closer. "I've got a message for you from Mr. Boney." He handed Ellis a large envelope.

  "What's this?" Ellis asked, but the man was already leaving.

  The envelope contained names and dates. Now Ellis knew who had which cell phones on specific dates, but it raised another question.

  Jake Boney gave him precisely what he wanted. Boney obviously didn't want a confrontation. He didn't need to have his name publicized. If Boney preferred to be cooperative, who else could have ratted him out to Stubbs? Who else didn't want him to continue digging into John Thomas' death? This was one of the times that he felt like The Lone Ranger, but he didn't have time to dwell on it. He needed to find out who John Thomas had called so frequently, so he started at the top of the list.

  ◊◊◊

  Rachel Diamond had received the most calls from John Thomas, but Ellis quickly learned that wasn't her real name.

  "Hell, Ellis, these bitches don't tell me their real names. They all sport these Hollywood names. This is a cash business, so nobody has to know who you really are."

  Terrance Rains worked for Jake Boney and was much more accessible. He was lower on the totem pole representing the boots on the ground. He did the scheduling and passed the money so Boney could stay in the big office and appear untouchable.

  "Anyways, she don't work for me no more," he continued. "I ain't seen her in about six months. Just didn't call in one day. She stayed in that high-rise on Peachtree and North. Went up there, and all her stuff was gone. Manager said he hadn't seen her."

  "He should have noticed if a moving van came in and cleaned out the place, don't you think?" Ellis retorted with skepticism.

  "No vans, Ellis. You know how it works. We don't give nobody no six-figure condo. She got to stay there rent-free as long as she worked for us. Make no mistake. Everything in it was ours."

  Ellis wanted to ask how many of those places they had set up throughout the city--luxury accommodations where the well-heeled could discreetly play with creatures they could only dream about in their other lives. He knew, however, that he wouldn't get an answer. Rains would cooperate with him only as long as he didn't feel the threat of being involved or investigated personally. This was one of those businesses where paying the authorities to look the other way was an accepted part of the overhead. Ellis wasn't a crusader. He had no desire to rock the boat. He only wanted to know what had happened to his friend.

  "What did she look like?" Ellis asked.

  Rains pulled a handful of snapshots off a nearby bookshelf. He shuffled through a number of them and finally slid a few toward Ellis.

  She was a cute blonde, probably in her mid-twenties. In one picture she was leaning against a well-kept red '74 Corvette.

  "Nice car. That yours too?" Ellis asked facetiously.

  Rains craned his neck to get a better look.

  "Naw. That's hers. Mine's new and black," he replied with a hint of offense at the assumption that he would own an outdated car.

  "Can I keep this?" Ellis asked.

  "Sure. I got no use for it."

  The girl was leaning on the rear of the car, and the license plate was visible. If Rachel Diamond was not her legal name, the DMV would have the name and address of the owner of record. Even if the owner wasn't Rachel Diamond, he should still be able to get more information than Rains had been able to give.

  ◊◊◊

  His luck was even better than he had expected. The Corvette was registered to Randolph Fisher who lived on Green Dolphin Street. It was a perfect discovery for a man who didn't believe in coincidences. He had discovered the neighborhood several years ago after getting lost while on an excursion north of the city at Lake Lanier. He mused at the time that the developer must have been enamored with 1940's era movies. Finding it again had not been problematic. When he rang the doorbell, he was confronted by an even prettier version of the picture that he carried.

  "Rachel Diamond?" he asked.

  The girl turned and bolted.

  "I'm a policeman!" he yelled. "John Thomas was my friend!"

  She stopped, turned partially and regarded him suspiciously.

  "I'm not here to cause you any problems."

  He raised his hands with his palms facing her in an effort to mitigate any perception of a threat.

  "How'd you find me?"

  He flashed the snapshot of the Corvette.

  She took a deep breath. "I'd forgotten about that picture," she said.

  "May I come in?" Ellis asked.

  Rachel nodded and invited him into the modest living room.

  "Who's Randolph Fisher?" He asked.

  "My father. He’s dead, but I kept renewing the license and registration in his name."

  "So you're Rachel Fisher?"

  She nodded in acknowledgment.

  "Holly Fisher was..."

  "My older sister."

  "There’s a lot going on here, Rachel. You disappear, Holly gets killed, my friend gets killed, and I’m trying to figure out why."

  "What makes you think I know?" She lit a cigarette and slumped into a nearby chair.

  "I've got a dead friend who called you several times on Jake Boney's phone. Was he looking for you or Boney?"

  She sighed and looked away, and her eyes abruptly clouded with tears.

  "It's all my fault."

  Her voice wavered as the words escaped. She began to cry, but Ellis made no move to comfort her.

  "How long did you work for Boney?"

  "Just a few months, but I wasn't a hooker. I needed the money for tuition. All I was supposed to do was to escort these guys to parties and events. That's all I did until..."

  She hesitated.

  "Until what?" Ellis asked.

  "Until one of them got pissed and beat me up in the back of a limousine," she answered.

  "Is that all he did?"

  She looked away without immediately answering.

  “No, it wasn’t,” she finally answered. Her expression left no need for elaboration.

  "You know who he was?"

  "Yeah, I know." Her voice was suddenly angry and defiant.

  "You want to tell me?"

  "What are you gonna do about it?"

  She stared at him and briefly waited for an answer. "I already told somebody, and they didn't do a damned thing. Call me dumb and naive, but that's when I figured it out--what they expected me to do. I couldn't go the police."

  "Why not? Were you afraid of Boney?"

  She laughed with a humorless chuckle. "The guy in the limousine was the police," she added.

  "Who?"

  "I didn't know at first, but I saw him on T. V.--Captain Marcus Stubbs."

  Ellis couldn't mask the surprise on his face. Stubbs was a by-the-book, old-school cop with grandchildren. He couldn't imagine his boss sinking to this level of depravity.

  "So you decided to let it go," Ellis speculated. He could understand that. Going up against the police was a daunting task. An outsider could never know how deep a sordid tributary would run.

  "No," she replied softly. "I told my sister. Holly found t
he entire thing fascinating--not just my problem, but the whole business. Jake Boney's limousine, escort and entertainment empire. It was the stuff that best sellers are made of."

  "She was writing a book about that stuff?"

  "Now you're getting the picture, aren't you? Even if you change the names, anybody with an IQ above 10 could put two and two together and figure out who the players were."

  "You know who killed her?"

  "I see I’m not the only one who’s naive," she said. “Cops don’t like to be outed. Holly had sent a synopsis and the first three chapters to a local publisher. There was some word of mouth buzz going around. I think that’s how the word got out. It wouldn’t take a lot to figure out where the information was coming from if one of the characters was raped by a top cop. I could have been next on their list. I hadn’t been back since Stubbs beat me up, and I wasn’t going to let them see me after that. They didn't know I was her sister, and I wasn't going to put myself in a position where they could find out.”

  "How did John Thomas fit into this? Why did he call you?"

  He watched her face change. There had been some sort of relationship there--a relationship that had been sufficiently close to inflict pain at its recall.

  "John was Holly's friend. He was a nice guy, but I never trusted him until now. But it’s too late, isn't it?"

  "What do you mean by friend?"

  Ellis almost hated asking questions to which he already knew the answer as much as he hated hearing the answer. It was, however, an answer that he needed to hear.

  "C'mon, man. What do you think it means?"

  "Did you know he was married?"

  "No, but he acted married. I'm not surprised."

  "Did you think he was involved in her death?"

  "I used to, but not now."

  "What changed your mind?"

  "I think he loved her," she answered openly in a voice suggesting that she was coming to grips with an understanding that had been difficult to reach. "He called me to tell me what he was doing--who he suspected. You're another crusader just like he was, aren't you? Well, here's a revelation for you. The police killed my sister. They killed her to keep the story from going public. Stubbs wasn't the only one getting free nookie. There were lots of others."