A Dead Man's Tale

by James D. Doss

  “A splendid idea.” The twinkle in Theodora’s blue eyes was barely concealed by her pink shades. “If you’re entirely certain that he is your friend, why don’t you give Mr. Parris a call and ask him to join us?”

  Sam Reed’s bulging eyes blinked. “You know him?”

  “Only by reputation. But I would be delighted to make his personal acquaintance.”

  I’ll call her bluff and watch her fold. The self-assured entrepreneur produced his brand-new BlackBerry and selected the programmed number for Granite Creek PD.

  Theodora mouthed, He won’t be in.

  Reed smirked at the cheeky attorney and mouthed right back, We’ll see about that. Hearing Clara Tavishuts’s voice in his ear, he said, “This is Sam Reed. Please put me through to Scott.”

  “The chief’s not in his office,” the dispatcher replied. “He’s in a meeting with the DA. Shall I connect you to his voice mail?”

  “Uh…no. Thank you.” The red-faced man disconnected.

  “You might wish to call District Attorney Bullet’s office.” The frisky young mare tossed her dark mane. “Chief Parris had a midmorning appointment with Pug, who is well known to my associates.”

  Samuel Reed had never before encountered such an unnerving woman. “You seem to be rather well informed.”

  The lady shrugged under her immaculately tailored jacket. “It’s a job requirement.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the waiter, who placed the bill facedown beside the gentleman’s coffee cup.

  After the young man had departed to deliver a similar invoice to Theodora’s driver, she said, “The Committee has noticed your remarkably consistent tendency to garner large profits from gaming.”

  Samuel Reed’s arms and legs went cold as a week-old corpse’s limbs. So that’s what this is about. In an attempt to conceal his fears, the flustered man fell back on bluster. “I do place an occasional wager, just like thousands of other men. If I am fortunate enough to guess right now and then, I don’t see why that should concern—”

  “Oh come now. Don’t be so modest.” She aimed a slender finger at his nose. “We don’t yet know precisely how you do it—but you have managed to fleece the firms represented by the Committee of an enormous sum.” The attorney wagged the pointing finger at him. “You have been a very naughty boy.”

  “This is patently absurd. I don’t know what your game is, but if you’re about to attempt some kind of shakedown—”

  “Don’t go out of your way to annoy me, Professor Reed. That would not be in your best interests.” Theodora removed her pink shades to laser two beams of blue fire at him. “I’m about the closest thing to a friend you’ve got in this world—and I’m liking you less with every minute that passes.”

  To avoid the woman’s sizzling stare, Reed glanced at the timepiece on his wrist. “Speaking of minutes, I still have time to get a haircut before noon. So let’s skip the seamy preliminaries and go directly to the bottom line.”

  “I’ve never seen a man so anxious to hear bad news.” Watching the nervous fellow fidget, Theodora helped herself to a triangle of buttered whole-wheat toast. After daintily nipping off an acute angle, she washed it down with a sip of tea and licked her lips. “You’ve messed up big-time, Samuel. My employers will tolerate a high roller lining his pockets every now and then, but you went way over the top.”

  “But—”

  “Shush!” She wagged the finger again. “The Committee has decided that you must make amends.”

  “Amends?”

  Theodora nodded. “Call it repentance—a turning around.”

  Well. That doesn’t sound so bad. “In the vernacular, I must straighten up and fly right?”

  “Either that, or you face certain consequences.”

  “Consequences is a rather off-putting word, Theodora.” The gambling man took a sip of coffee that he could not taste. “I would prefer to hear about how I am to make amends for my supposed sins.”

  “Now that’s the spirit!” The lady opened her purse to remove a pale blue envelope, which she offered to her companion.

  Grateful that she had not produced a cocked and loaded double-barrel .38-caliber derringer, Reed accepted the envelope between two fingertips. “What’s in it?” He winked at her. “A harmless white powder posing as anthrax? Or an insidious toxin derived from the lowly castor bean?”

  “The envelope contains a list of several nonprofit institutions. Beside each of them is a sum which you will contribute.”

  I knew it. A shakedown. Producing a pearl-handled Case pocketknife, Reed used the single slender blade to slit the envelope open. It contained a single sheet of matching blue stationery, upon which the names of eleven organizations were printed. As Reed read, his lips silently formed the words. He looked over the paper at Theodora. “These appear to be reputable charitable organizations; I’ve heard of several of them.”

  “Ten of the organizations have sterling credentials for worthy projects. Your contributions to them will be tax deductible and your generosity will feed widows and orphans and help to eradicate illnesses such as cancer, malaria, and diabetes.”

  “But the eleventh ‘charity’ is a front for…your employers.”

  “I would not say that, Samuel.” The lady shot a warning look. “And neither should you.” She added crisply, “But suffice it to say that the eleventh organization will be shut down shortly after receipt of your payment.”

  The physicist did a bit of mental arithmetic, then swallowed hard. “This adds up to quite a tidy sum.”

  “As have your ill-gotten gains at fraudulent gaming. I am authorized to advise you that your contribution to charities one through ten can be cut in half by revealing your system.” She wagged the finger a final time. “But don’t even think about lying to the Committee. Our experts are aware of every scam in the book—and a few that are not.”

  Amused by the irony of his situation, the man who had told Moon and Parris that he remembered the future shook his head and sighed. “I have no system—just call me lucky.”

  “Have it your way, Lucky. If you’d rather pay than disclose your method, that’s your choice.” Theodora took another nip of toast, another sip of tea. “But I daresay that even without the discount, your contribution will represent only a fraction of your ill-gotten winnings. The Committee’s purpose is not to recover the entirety of its members’ losses, but rather to put an end to your nefarious activities.” The lady had an afterthought. “Which reminds me of the other requirement. For as long as you live, you will not participate in any form of commercial gaming.”

  Reed arched his left eyebrow to its uppermost limit. “You seem to assume that my cooperation is a foregone conclusion.”

  “I assume that you are an intelligent man.” A pregnant pause. “In those rare instances when the offender is so foolish as to refuse the amendment option, the Committee provides severe penalties.”

  Droplets of sweat began to bead on Reed’s face. “Define severe.”

  “If all financial transactions on the list have not been made in the full amount within five business days—you should have all your affairs in order. The standard execution is three .22 slugs in the head.”

  “Such a lowly caliber.” He tried vainly to smile. “Would a request for 9-mm cartridges be considered unseemly?”

  “Given the gravity of your circumstances, flippancy is unseemly.” She presented a lovely smile. “Perhaps it will please you to know that the .22 slugs are hollow-points.”

  “I am suitably impressed, and herewith withdraw my request.”

  “So noted.” Her lips relaxed to the obligatory minimum upward curl. “You will naturally consider flight. I am directed to advise you that any attempt to avoid the Committee’s judgment will be futile and against your best interests. Try to hide in the Costa Rican rain forest, the vast plains of Outer Mongolia, or the disease-ridden hinterlands of Timbuktu. You might buy yourself a month or two—but you will be found. When you are, your death will
be neither swift nor easy. Your grisly remains will be photographed and provided to the supermarket-tabloid news media and bloggers who delight in the macabre. The Committee’s policy in instances of flight is to make a gut-wrenching example so that other potential rip-off artists will think twice about crossing them and then making a run for it.” Theodora finished her toast and downed the last gulp of tea. “I would love to stay and chat with you, but the secretary of the Committee is expecting my telephone call. Before I say, ‘Goodbye, Professor Reed,’ I would appreciate the courtesy of a response.”

  He thought about it for a couple of heartbeats, shrugged. “I’ll transfer the funds to the charities.” It was galling, but what else could a man do?

  “A prudent decision.” As the lady got up from her chair, her associate in the booth did likewise. “Goodbye, Professor Reed.”

  From force of habit, the gentleman got to his feet.

  The attorney looped the black leather purse over her shoulder. “The service in this charming little café was quite satisfactory. I hope that you will leave a generous tip.”

  As Samuel Reed watched the long-legged lady depart with her tough-looking driver tagging along, it occurred to him that, painful as it would be, making the payoff was much like getting an abscessed wisdom tooth pulled. The sooner the thing was done, the better. I might as well visit the Cattleman’s Bank and get things moving. Slipping the blue envelope into his jacket pocket, popping the spiffy gray homburg onto his head, the freshly fleeced man set his face like flint and headed—as they say in these here parts—thataway.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Comparing Notes

  The lawmen placed their orders (grilled almond trout for Charlie Moon, baked lasagna for Scott Parris). They waited until the waiter had closed the door to the Silver Mountain Hotel’s bijou private dining room before resuming their conversation.

  The tribal investigator kicked the exchange off thusly: “So you told Pug Bullet what we wanted him to know.”

  “That I did.” The chief of police popped the lid on a crystal candy jar and helped himself to a complimentary chocolate mint. “Now, no matter how things turn out, the DA can’t complain that he wasn’t informed about our mutual suspicions of Sam Reed’s…ah…” The strain of recollection creased his brow. “His nefarious activities.”

  The Indian smiled at his friend’s latest conquest. Scott had mastered about a dozen words from his girlfriend’s list.

  He offered the heavy candy jar to Moon and watched the Indian help himself to a chewy caramel. “Now tell me how things are going with our slippery friend.”

  Moon commenced to unwrap the sugary treat. “From what Theodora tells me—that was her name today—Sam Reed was more than a little suspicious about her story.” He paused to invite the expected response.

  “No kidding.” I told him Reed wouldn’t go for it. “The scam was pretty hokey—a lawyer representing a mysterious gambling industry committee that deals harshly with cheats. Either make restitution or wake up stone cold dead some warm morning.” The cop snorted. “Who’d go for a con like that?”

  “Sam Reed did.” Moon grinned at his friend. “He caved in the end.”

  The chief of police was goggle-eyed. “He actually bought all that guff?”

  “Swallowed the whole boulder, moss and all. My lady friend tells me our big fish turned green at the gills when she explained what’d happen if he didn’t make the payoffs to the specified charities.”

  Being a typical male, Parris hated being wrong. “It was awfully fortuitous that he bought that lie about those charities being fronts for criminal elements involved in gambling.”

  Moon corrected his friend’s misconception. “Theodora told him the truth—that with one exception, the charities were on the up-and-up.”

  The town cop’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Exception?”

  Charlie Moon placed the unwrapped candy on the saucer beside his coffee cup. “The lady has to cover her expenses.” And make an exorbitant profit.

  The county’s senior sworn officer of the law wished he hadn’t heard that. This business was getting downright nefarious. “Where was you when the lady pulled the con?”

  “Right there in the Sugar Bowl, in a corner booth behind a couple of potted palms. I watched the whole thing go down.”

  “I bet that was entertaining.”

  “More fun than a three-ring circus and all the cotton candy you can eat.” Moon popped the caramel into his mouth and chewed for a while.

  Parris exhaled a wistful sigh. “Wish I could’ve been there with you.”

  “Me too, pard. But somebody had to deal with the DA, and that was your department.”

  “So what’d Reed do after the lady made her pitch and hit the street?”

  “Soon as Theodora took her leave, our bad boy made a beeline for Cattleman’s Bank.”

  “That’s great, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t mean to sound mean, Charlie.” He jutted his chin. “But I wish she’d taken that slippery rascal for everything he owned.”

  “You don’t really mean everything.”

  “Yes I do—right down to his skin!” The vindictive cop grinned. “And left him wearing an iron-hooped wooden barrel, like in the old comic strips.”

  “That’s way too ambitious, pard. When setting up a scam, the secret to success is knowing just how far to push the mark.”

  Parris picked up a sticky red Gummi Bear. I don’t know why kids like these things. He returned it to the crystal jar. “You figure Reed’ll eventually figure out he’s been had?”

  “Somewhere down the road, he’s bound to get a little suspicious.” The rancher shook his head. “But right now, the fella’s spooked like a high-strung horse that’s just stepped on a timber rattlesnake. Theodora did a first-rate job on him.”

  Scott Parris could not suppress his natural curiosity. “Where do you know this woman from?”

  “Met her on the res, about nine years ago.” Moon took some time to enjoy the memory. “I did the shady lady a favor when she and her daddy were arrested for running a gambling scam on our Southern Ute casino.”

  Parris found a coffee-flavored truffle in the jar. He undressed the red-foiled sweet straightaway. “Sounds like crime runs in this family.”

  “Yeah. Today, Poppa was her driver.”

  The cop chomped down on the tasty treat. “Ware’s er mobba?”

  “Theodora’s momma’s doing five to seven in an Illinois clink. Sweet little old lady took a big fall for real-estate fraud.”

  “Sub fabbly.” Parris swallowed.

  The Ute nodded. “Crooked as a bucket of corkscrews.” Moon’s smile wouldn’t go away. “But I like ’em.”

  “Well, it’s all over and done with. Still, I wish there was some way to make Sam Reed pay big-time for setting up his wife and that…that nefarious Chickasaw.” Parris searched the candy jar for a sweet delectable and found it—another truffle, this one with raspberry crème filling. “Aside from the killings, he made us look like dopes.”

  “Let’s not be too hard on Professor Reed. Don’t forget that he gave me that insider tip about the hoof-and-mouth outbreak down south of the equator—and that you’re four hundred bucks the better from that wager he paid up on.” Moon’s winnings, in the five-figure range, were also a considerable consolation to him. But this was still not the proper time to mention this enrichment to his buddy.

  “I haven’t forgotten about that, Charlie. But Reed didn’t make the bet or drop the cow-disease tip to help me and you.” Parris popped the truffle into his mouth. That is de-lish! After properly savoring the treat, he completed the thought. “That was all part of the bastard’s plan to get us on the stakeout, so—in case he was suspected of doing something underhanded in connection with what was going down—he’d have a couple of highly respected—practically legendary—local lawmen to provide him with an iron-clad alibi.”

  Moon was amused by his friend’s overheated s
elf-esteem.

  “I’d like to see him suffer a little more.” Parris licked his fingers. “But I guess hoaxing him into donating a chunk of his fortune to widows and orphans is enough to even the score.”

  “I wasn’t trying to even a score, pardner. Way I see things, we did him a big favor.”

  Parris squinted to see Moon’s point. “By discouraging his gambling habit?”

  The ardent poker player shook his head. “That part was his punishment.”

  “Then what was the big favor?”

  “Maneuvering the rich man to give away money he doesn’t really need to desperate folks who don’t have two thin dimes to rub together.”

  “Excuse me, Charlie—but I don’t believe Sam Reed would consider that an act of kindness on our part.”

  “Not today, maybe. But I bet that he’ll end up feeling mighty good about what he’s done.”

  I bet. The two magic words. “How long before this transformation happens?”

  Moon: “Oh, let’s say by this time next month.”

  “Even money?”

  The Indian nodded. “Let’s say a U.S. government engraving of Tom Jefferson.”

  Scott Paris did not have a two-dollar bill, but common copper pocket change was legal tender for all debts, public and private. “You’re on.”

  “Sucker bet,” Moon said with evident pity. “By this time next week, all ten of those charities will be letting Sam Reed know how much good he’s doing in the world.”

  Parris produced his characteristic snort. “Which is just another way of saying they’ll be filling his mailbox with requests for more donations.”

  “They’ll also be showing him pictures of skinny little children who’ve got enough to eat, and sick people who’re getting effective treatment.” The Ute Catholic ended his sermonette with: “Good works are habit-forming.”

  Parris was about to make a snappy comeback when their conversation was interrupted by a barely perceptible thumping on the dining-room door.

  “Wa-hoo!” the hungry cop hollered. “Bring on the grub!”