by Scott Pratt
Landers planned the raid himself. About an hour before the SWAT guys were supposed to hit the front door, he’d go in to check things out, then at the appointed time he’d signal the start of the raid. Landers was looking forward to it, especially the part about checking things out.
A little after nine, he stopped by his place to shower and change. He put on a pair of jeans, a collared black pullover and a jacket, stuck his. 38 in an ankle holster, and drove out to the Mouse’s Tail around 10:15. It was a tacky joint, built of concrete block and painted powder blue. The front entrance was covered by a bright blue awning trimmed in black. A big gray mouse, grinning from ear to ear and with a tail that curled up into what looked like an erect phallus, had been air-brushed on the side of the building that faced the road.
There were twenty or thirty cars in the parking lot out front. Landers had to pay a ten-dollar cover to get past the blonde in the foyer. She looked like a high-end hooker, elaborate make-up and black spandex. Huge breasts. The ATM machine the murder victim withdrew the money from was sitting right beside the counter in front.
Blondie buzzed Landers through into the main part of the club. It was a large, open room, about a hundred feet long and forty feet wide. On each side of the main room were what appeared to be small anterooms, the entrances covered by black curtains. There were three stages, each about the size of a boxing ring, set in a triangle and complete with brass poles. Each stage was framed by mirrors and occupied by a naked, gyrating lady. Cigarette smoke hung in a cloud about ten feet off the floor, and a mirror ball was throwing light around the room. The music was loud. Landers had heard the bass buzzing off the walls from the parking lot. He didn’t recognize the song that was playing, but it was one of those lame rappers.
Landers did a quick head count. There were six people, all men, at the bar to his right and another thirty or so sitting at counters and tables around the stages. Besides the dancers and two waitresses, who were wearing extremely attractive tight white nurse’s outfits, there wasn’t a woman in the place. Landers didn’t see Erlene Barlowe anywhere.
He took a seat at a table toward the back. The redhead on stage was magnificent. She had a gorgeous face and she kept throwing her head around and making her hair fly. Her legs were long, her butt was tight, her breasts were small and firm, and she could move. Landers was sitting there fantasizing about taking her into the bathroom and showing her a good time when one of the nurses stopped by the table. Her little top was a zip-up that hadn’t been zipped up very far. Parts of her were falling out all over the place.
“What can I get you, honey?” she said.
“Club soda. Twist of lime.” The nurse gave Landers a look of contempt when he ordered the club soda. He would much rather have had a whiskey, but he never knew what might happen in a raid. He needed to stay sharp.
Nurse Betty brought his club soda a couple of minutes later. Cost him five-fifty. She gave him an even more contemptible look when he didn’t give her a tip. Landers called Jimmy Brown at 10:45. The raid was supposed to start at eleven straight up. Landers could barely hear Brown over the music. Brown said they were just pulling off the interstate. They’d be in position in five minutes.
That’s when Landers saw Erlene Barlowe, still wearing the leather pants and cheetah top she’d been wearing earlier in the day. She was standing by the bar. Nurse Betty was talking in her ear and pointing in Landers’s direction. The music had stopped and the disc jockey was telling the customers that touching the girls wasn’t allowed. Erlene spotted Landers and headed straight for him.
“Are you here to arrest me, handsome?” she said when she got to the table. “Or are you just a bad boy looking for a good time?”
“You remember the guy I was asking you about? The dead guy who wasn’t here? He withdrew some money out of the ATM machine out there in your lobby last night.”
“Well I swan, honey, I must have just missed him somehow.”
“My name isn’t honey. It’s Landers. Special Agent Landers. And you’re about to find out how much I hate it when sluts lie to me.” Landers took out his phone and dialed Jimmy Brown. “You guys ready?”
“All set. Standing outside the front door.”
“Go.”
There was a scream from the lobby, and the door banged open. SWAT officers in black combat gear and helmets came rushing in. They looked like Navy SEALs. They had their weapons up and were yelling, “Police! Get on the floor! Get on the floor!”
Landers stood up and pointed his. 38 at Erlene Barlowe’s face.
“This is a raid,” he said. “Get your hands up against that wall and don’t move until I tell you to.”
The look on her face was priceless.
April 26
11:00 a.m.
Two weeks after my birthday, I finished up a hearing on a drug case in federal court in Greeneville and had just gotten in my truck to drive back to Johnson City when I looked at my cell phone and saw a text message from Caroline: “Call me. Urgent.”
Caroline had taken on the job as my secretary/paralegal two years earlier, after we made the decision that I was getting out. Since I was taking fewer cases, I needed to cut down on my overhead. The classes Caroline taught at her dance studio were held in the evenings, so she volunteered. When the lease was up on my office downtown, I helped my secretary find a job at another law firm and moved the essentials out to my house. The move saved me almost sixty thousand dollars a year, and Caroline took an on-line course and got herself certified as a paralegal. She turned out to be a quick study. I still had a small conference room downtown where I met clients, but it only cost me two hundred a month.
“What’s up?” I said when Caroline answered the phone.
“Could be good, could be bad,” she said. “A woman named Erlene Barlowe called early this morning. She was frantic. She said the police barged into her house and arrested a young friend of hers for murder and that she needed to hire a lawyer. She kept saying the girl couldn’t have done it.”
Right.
“She wants to meet with you. It’s been a long time since you’ve been hired privately on a murder case.”
“Billy Dockery’s mother hired me.” I’d never told anyone about Billy’s confession. Not even Caroline.
“You made a lot of money on that case, didn’t you?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“We could use it.”
“I thought we were in good shape.”
“We are, but a murder case? And this one could be big money, babe. It’s the case where the preacher was murdered. The one who was found in the motel room.”
“I don’t want to take on a murder case, Caroline, high profile or low profile. It could go on for years.”
“That’s why I didn’t make her an appointment.” She sounded disappointed.
I thought about it for a minute, weighing the pros and the cons. Curiosity finally got the best of me.
“Ah, what the heck, it won’t hurt to talk to her. Call her back and have her meet me downtown at one.”
It took me an hour to drive back to Johnson City. I ate a quick lunch at a cafe about two blocks from my conference room and walked in the door about ten minutes before one. There was a woman sitting at the table waiting for me. She stood when I came in. It was all I could do to keep my jaw from dropping. She was dressed in tight, black spandex pants and an orange and black tiger-striped top that nearly exposed the nipples on her very substantial breasts. Her hair was a shade of red I’d never seen before, on or off a woman’s head.
“Joe Dillard,” I said as I shook her hand. Her fingernails were at least an inch long and painted the same design as her shirt.
“Erlene Barlowe. You’re even better-looking in person than you are on television.” She smiled, and when I looked her in the eye, I saw that despite the shocking outfit, she was an attractive woman. I motioned toward the chair.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Barlowe?”
“Oh, honey, I have the most terribl
e problem. It’s just awful. A very close young lady friend of mine has been arrested for a crime she didn’t commit.”
“Close friend?”
“More like a daughter. I sort of took her in about a month ago.”
“Start from the beginning, Ms. Barlowe. Tell me everything you want me to know.”
“Please, sugar, call me Erlene. I suppose I should start by telling you that I own the Mouse’s Tail Gentlemen’s Club. My husband and I owned it together, but he passed away last year and now I’m running it. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you out there.”
I laughed. “Haven’t had the pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about it, though.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. We’ve had several lawyers come and go over the years. A couple of judges, too.”
Which judges? I considered asking her, but then I decided I didn’t want to know. I didn’t care what they did. Before long, I’d be moving on.
“Tell me about your friend.”
“Have you heard they made an arrest in the murder of that pastor from Newport? The one who was stabbed?”
“I think everybody’s heard.”
“She didn’t do it, Mr. Dillard. I’d swear it on a stack of bibles. I want to hire you to represent her.”
“How do you know she didn’t do it?”
“Because I was with her all night. I drove her home from the club after her shift ended. She lives at my place and she never went out. She couldn’t have done it. And besides that, she’s the sweetest, kindest little thing you’ll ever meet. She wouldn’t so much as step on a bug, let alone kill a human being.”
Erlene Barlowe had an almost mesmerizing southern drawl and a sweet kind of charm about her. The fact that she was easy to look at, even in those wild clothes, made the conversation even more pleasant. I got the sense a few times that there might be more to Erlene than she wanted me to see, but there was something about her — maybe danger — that genuinely intrigued me.
After a half-hour, I glanced back over my notes. She said she’d taken Angel Christian, the girl who was arrested, into her home after Angel showed up here on a bus with another girl, a dancer named Julie Hayes, a little over a month ago. She said Angel reminded her of her dead husband’s beautiful young daughter, who’d been killed in a car accident. I got the distinct impression she’d convinced herself that Angel was the reincarnation of the daughter. She said Angel had suffered some serious abuse at home and was a runaway. She mentioned something about Angel’s hands.
I was more than a little concerned about a few things. Erlene told me that she’d initially lied to a TBI agent named Phil Landers. I knew Landers, and I didn’t care for him at all. She said Angel Christian wasn’t the girl’s real name. She said the police had obtained a warrant to take a hair sample from Angel, or whatever her name was, and one from Erlene. That meant DNA evidence would probably be involved, and DNA almost always proved to be devastating to defendants. The police obviously had witnesses or some other evidence or they wouldn’t have been able to get the warrants. And she said something about the police searching for a missing Corvette.
But Erlene was adamant about the girl’s innocence, and if she was telling the truth, it certainly didn’t sound like Angel had either the motive or the opportunity to commit a murder. I was tempted, but not so tempted that I was willing to take on a murder case that would probably wind up going to trial. I didn’t want to waste any more of her time, and I didn’t want to just flat out refuse her, so I decided to set the bar so high she’d either be unable or unwilling to jump it.
“Erlene, do you have any idea how much it would cost you to hire me on a case like this? A first-degree murder. I heard something about the death penalty on the radio, you know. And it’ll most likely go to trial.”
“Mr. Dillard, my husband provided well for me, both while he was alive and after he passed. Money isn’t something I’m concerned about.”
She shouldn’t have said that. The price I had in mind immediately doubled.
“I’m going to be honest with you, ma’am,” I said. “I’m planning to get out of this business sometime in the next year. If I took on this case, it would mean I might have to stay a lot longer than I want to.”
“Please, Mr. Dillard. I’ll pay you whatever you want. You’re the best lawyer around here. I’ve been hearing about you and reading about you for years. You’ve even represented some of my girls — just piddly stuff years ago — but they all spoke so highly of you. I wouldn’t want anyone else to defend my sweet little Angel. Why don’t you think of it as your last hurrah? You can go out with a great big bang.”
I took a deep breath. “You’ve only known this girl a month. Are you telling me you’d be willing to put up a quarter of a million dollars for her defense?”
She didn’t bat an eye. “Angel didn’t kill anybody, Mr. Dillard. I swear it. I’ll do whatever I have to do.”
“That’s the only way I’ll do it. Two hundred fifty thousand, cash, up front, non-refundable. And that’s just for me. You’ll also have to pay the expenses. We’ll need an investigator, and we may need experts. They’re not cheap.”
“Tell you what, sweetie,” she said, “why don’t you go down to the jail and meet Angel. When you get finished, you give me a call and I’ll have your money.”
April 26
3:00 p.m.
On the way to the jail, I seriously considered not taking the case. I’d made up my mind to get out, and the time had come. Lilly would be graduating in a month, and I only had a couple cases left. But the money… wow! A quarter of a million? Would she really pay it? That kind of money would go a long way toward giving Caroline and me some peace of mind. I decided to wait and make up my mind after I talked to the girl.
As soon as the door to the attorney’s room opened, I realized Erlene Barlowe had been telling the truth about at least one thing. The girl was beautiful. I stood up while two guards held her elbow as she shuffled into the room, shackled at the ankles. They helped her into the chair as though they were seating her for a gourmet dinner, then backed out the door. For a second, I thought they might bow. The door closed, and I sat back down.
“I’ve never seen that before,” I said.
She smiled absently.
“Guards aren’t polite to inmates, male or female. I’ve never seen a guard help an inmate with a chair.”
Her hair was the color of polished mahogany and flowed like a mountain waterfall from her head to just beneath her shoulders. Her nose was small and thin and turned up slightly. She had almond-shaped eyes that were a rich brown. Her left eyebrow was slightly higher than her right, giving the impression that she was perpetually interested, or maybe perpetually perplexed. Her lips were full and protruded ever so slightly, and even in the standard-issue orange jumpsuit, I could see that her body was magnificent.
“My name is Joe Dillard,” I said. “I’m a lawyer. Erlene Barlowe asked me to come and talk to you.”
“I’m Angel,” she said, “Angel Christian.” Her voice was a gentle soprano.
“Do you understand why you’re here, Miss Christian?”
“Yes.” There was a slight pause. “Murder.”
She put her elbows on the table and began to cry softly. I’d seen hundreds of clients cry, male and female. I’d grown hardened to tears and the accompanying sounds, but the crying of this beautiful young girl touched me. I stood up and knocked on the door. A guard opened it immediately.
“Do you guys have any tissue around here?” I said.
The guard glanced over my shoulder at Angel, then scowled at me. “What’d you do to her?”
“Nothing. Do you have tissue or not?”
“Hang on, I’ll find something.”
He disappeared briefly, returned with a roll of toilet paper, and gave it to me with another scowl. I closed the door and handed the roll to Angel.
“Best we can do, I’m afraid.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m crying.”
“Don’t worry about it. I see it a lot.”
“I can’t believe this,” she said through a sob. “Do I have to stay here? Can’t I go home to Miss Erlene’s house?”
“I’m sorry, I’m afraid you’re going to be here for a while. Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“Nothing happened.” She sniffled and blew her nose.
“Are you telling me you didn’t have anything to do with Reverend Tester’s murder?”
“I didn’t kill him. I didn’t do a thing to him.”
“Did you know him?”
“I never saw him before he came into the club that night. I was waiting tables. I waited on him.”
“Tell me about it.”
She bit her lower lip and gathered herself. “He ordered a double scotch on the rocks. He started flirting with me right away. A couple of times he yelled all the way across the bar at me, you know, making a scene. Then, as he got drunker, he started quoting the bible and acting really strange. Every time I got near him, he would try to rub up against me. He finally tried to kiss me and asked me to leave with him. That’s when Miss Erlene and Ronnie came over and asked him to leave.”
“So that’s it? You didn’t see him again after he left, and he was alive and well when he walked out the door?”
“That’s it, I swear. They told him to leave. I didn’t see him again. Then a couple of days later, a bunch of policemen came to Miss Erlene’s house. She told me not to talk to any of them, so I didn’t, but one of them had a piece of paper that said I had to give him some of my hair. They tore Miss Erlene’s house all to pieces. Then they came back this morning and put me in the car and brought me down here.”
As she spoke, something kept nagging at me. It took me a few minutes to realize what it was, and when I did, I could only wonder. Sitting in front of me was one of the most beautiful young women I’d ever encountered, with a body so sexy that under normal circumstances I’d have either been aroused or, at the very least, distracted. But despite the incredible packaging, Angel didn’t emit even a whiff of sexuality. Talking to her was very much like talking to a child.
