by Glenn Trust
She had spent much of the night planning what she would say. Those last words were the culmination of hours of contemplation, considering ways past Sharon Price’s cool exterior and into her heart. It worked.
Several minutes passed without Towers making any further comment. She was a smart woman. There was a time to talk and a time to sit quietly and be the other woman in the room.
They sat quietly while Sharon sobbed, struggling to regain her composure. Finally, she looked up through reddened eyes. “I’ll do it.” She nodded and wiped away the last of her tears. “I’ll explain it to him. I’ll tell him I need him, I need us.” She spoke with conviction. “It’s true.”
Lifting off from the Everett airport in the governor’s King Air turboprop a half hour later, Towers was annoyed by the feeling of guilt that tainted her normal sense of satisfaction at a job well done. It puzzled her. Why should she feel guilty? The words she had prepared and spoken to Price at precisely the right moment were true. By the time they were on the approach into Atlanta, the feeling of guilt had subsided to an occasional twinge inside. It disappeared altogether, when she got into the town car that would take her back to the Executive Office Building. After all, the words were true.
75. Nice Day For A Ride
“Where d’you think you’re goin’?”
Marco lifted his head from the ignition key and looked at Luke and Henry Schulls, standing by the front door to Pete’s. “Thought I’d take a ride. Get out on the interstate and open it up some. You know wind in my face and all that shit.” He smiled.
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, boy…not unless we tell you to. You work for us now. Remember?”
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“Naw man, we ain’t shittin’ you.” Luke motioned to the county road that ran from the interstate to the west. “You wanna ride, stay out in the country. Too many cops on the interstate. Don’t need you getting’ picked up on some chicken shit traffic charge.”
Marco shrugged. “All right. Like you say, out in the country.”
The door banged open and Gary Poncinelli stumbled out, squinting into the bright sunlight. Seeing Marco sitting on his Harley, he threw his hands up in a gesture of submission. “It’s all right, man. I’m sober…sorta. I ain’t causin’ no trouble.”
Marco gave him a serious, semi-threatening nod. “Keep it that way.”
“Right. Will do boss.” Ponce climbed in the old pickup and headed towards I-95.
“You got that boy trained, all right.” Luke grinned.
Henry Schulls made no comment. His forbidding face was devoid of expression.
“Country it is, then.” Marco gunned the rumbling engine a couple of times and spun some gravel from under the back tire as he pulled out onto the County road, headed away from the interstate.
Luke turned to a couple of bikers lounging near the door, smoking a joint. “Buck, Ricky.” He nodded at Marco disappearing down the road. “Follow him. Not too close.”
“Aw Luke, he’s cool. You said so yourself.” The one called Buck, took a hit off the joint, inhaling and trying not to cough while Ricky complained.
“He’s new. Might be cool, might not. Follow him.”
“Shit.”
“Just do it. Now.”
The two slightly stoned bikers, grumbled but cranked their bikes and lurched out of the lot, trying to close on Marco who was already a mile down the road.
*****
The old pickup slid on the dirt road, stopping inches from the rear bumper of Sheriff Davies’ county pickup. Gary Poncinelli got out, slammed the door and grinned at the group gathered in the woods for the briefing.
“He’s in.”
“Good news.” Sharon stood by the pickup. Her cell phone laid on the hood the speaker on so that Andy could hear back in Atlanta. “Your little charade worked, then.”
“Like a charm. He was the hero of the day. In fact, he didn’t even have to ask. The head guy, the one giving the orders, Schulls, he offered him a job working for the group.” Ponce leaned against the pickup as the others gathered closer to hear his report. “Actually, it was more like he ordered Marco to join up, drafted him sorta.”
“Ordered?” Sheriff Davies brow wrinkled, considering what that might, or might not, mean.
“Yeah. Way Marco told it, he didn’t have much choice.” Ponce shrugged. “Anyway, he’s in.”
“Where is he?” Mike Darlington’s face showed the concern they all felt.
“Good question. Schulls and that Big Luke fella were talking to him when I left. They probably held him up, and he didn’t want to lead them here. I’ll get back in a hurry to check on things.” He looked at Rince. “How’s the search going? Any luck?”
“No luck.” The wiry pilot shook his head. “Mike and I are working the grid. Lot of greenery down there, tree canopy. We may try some night flights, see if we can pick up lights under the trees in places where they shouldn’t be. It’s a longshot.”
“Yeah.” Ponce nodded. “Budroe may not even be in the area anymore. Made his appearance and hightailed it back to wherever he’s been hiding out…maybe out of the country.”
“I don’t think so.” All heads turned to Sharon.
“Go ahead, Sharon. You have our attention.” Andy’s voice was tinny and distant over the cell phone speaker.
“I’m getting to it. Don’t rush me.” She pulled a notepad out of the file she had laid beside the phone on the hood of the truck. “Budroe has been expanding his drug operations, across the south, Georgia and Florida mostly. He hasn’t felt the need to be present for any of that.”
“That we know of.” Andy was the only one who dared interrupt her train of thought, but then he was the boss now.
“Right…that we know of…but from Ponce and Marco’s report, his appearance at Pete’s Place was a big deal…a homecoming of sorts, like he hadn’t been around for a while. No, I think something big is in the works.”
“The sex slave trade again…resurrecting the business plan?” Andy asked.
“Maybe. There’s the newcomers hanging around…Spanish speaking…it fits.”
“Okay.” Andy made some notes on his pad for the briefing he would be giving the governor later then continued. “I don’t need to tell everyone that we need some hard intelligence before we move in, but I’m saying it anyway. We go in too soon and we’ll just be cutting off a tentacle and leaving the head in place. We need Budroe and his lieutenants, we need evidence, we cut off the head this time or this just starts up again. You and Marco need to work it for us Ponce.”
“Doin’ our best, Boss.”
“I know.” What Andy didn’t say was that jury selection in George’s trial was set to begin the following week. A break in the case now would be helpful, could make the difference for George. He didn’t say it because he did not want the undercover team to take any chances. This was a life and death business, not a game.
*****
Wind in his hair, Marco rumbled along the back roads of Pickham County. In the side mirrors, he watched the riders Luke had dispatched to follow him. They were holding about a quarter mile back. Shit. No way was he going to make the briefing in the woods.
He gunned the throttle, putting more distance between him and the followers, grinning as he watched them struggle to close up again. He continued to add speed. It was a nice day for a ride.
76. Cracking A Joke
“I gotta take this.” George looked at the number on the cell phone and then at the faces around the conference table in Trenton Peele’s law offices.
The younger attorneys and paralegals were indifferent. His failure to grasp the need to use every means to defend himself against the onslaught of Colton Swain made them wonder why they were there at all. Peele merely nodded and smiled.
Walking through the outer office, he picked up his escort, Agents Twilley and Simpson who had been reading the morning paper and talking to Peele’s young receptionist. George spoke as he walked.
&nbs
p; “Hold on. I’m going outside.”
“Okay.”
When he and his GBI escort had reached the street, George put the phone to his ear and moved away from the agents.
“What’s up, Vernon?”
“I don’t have any choice, George. You see that, don’t you? I just don’t have any choice.” Taft spoke in a nervous rapid fire, spitting the words out breathlessly. “You see it, George…how it is…he’ll kill me…Lonna too.”
“Vernon, slow down and tell me what in the hell you’re talking about.”
“It’s Roy.”
“Budroe?”
“Yeah. Who the hell else do you think I’m taking about? Jesus, George, pay attention.”
“What about Budroe?”
“He gave me this paper. I’m supposed to learn it and then meet with someone.”
“You saw Budroe?”
“Yes?”
“Where?”
“Shit George. How the fuck do I know! Lonna was driving. I know it’s just over the Florida line. We went a long way on a dirt road. Now, will you listen to me?”
“Go ahead.”
“The paper has bad stuff on it…about you.”
“What kind of bad stuff?”
“Bad stuff…like how you were being paid off by the people from the Caribbean…the ones who wanted to buy the girls…that whole thing last year….how you killed Boss Stimes because he found out that you were in on it. Stuff like that!”
“Okay, Vernon, calm down. So, who are supposed to talk to about this and when?”
“Don’t know. Budroe wouldn’t say, just that he would let me know.”
“I appreciate the tip, Vernon. I’ll take care of it.”
“George, there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He says, I do this and me and Lonna are free. We can go, do whatever we want. Lonna wants me to do it…she don’t care about what you and me talked about.”
“Do what you need to do, Vernon. Maybe you won’t have to talk to the people he wants you to meet, but if you do, do what you have to do to protect you and Lonna.”
“Th-thanks, George. I j-just don’t know what else to do.”
“It’s okay, Vernon. Don’t take any chances with Budroe.”
“N-no, I w-won’t.”
“And delete this call from your phone’s call history. Wouldn’t want Lonna or Budroe to find out we’ve talked.”
“How do I do that?”
“Figure it out, Vernon, but do it.”
“Right.”
George ended the call and then dialed Sharon’s number.
“Hey Mackey. I was hoping you’d call.”
“I can’t talk now darlin’, but get hold of Rince. Let him know Budroe is somewhere south of Pickham County, over the Florida line, out in the country. There’s a long dirt road leading to wherever he is.”
“A dirt road? That doesn’t exactly narrow it down George.”
“It’s a dirt road in Florida, That’s more than we had before.” He smiled. “By the way, I have been missing that sharp tongue of yours.”
“Whatever.”
They disconnected so that Sharon could get hold of Rince flying high with Mike Darlington somewhere over Pickham County. George put the phone in his pocket.
“Everything all right?”
George nodded at Bill Twilley. “Everything’s fine. Let’s get back inside and see what legal strategy Trenton Peele and his ace team of lawyers are cooking up.” He stopped and felt his pocket, false concern in his eyes. “Gee, hope I didn’t leave my wallet on the table.” He chuckled.
The two agents laughed and followed George back into the building. It was good to see him crack a joke.
77. Lessons To Learn
The five motorcycles roaring up the dirt drive kicked up a plume of dust that swirled briefly and then wafted away in the afternoon breeze. Marco road abreast and slightly back of Luke who led the way.
A middle-aged, thickly muscled man stepped from the screen door out onto the porch. He wore greasy work clothes with a patch on the left shirt pocket that said A-1Garage. On the right, the name Leroy was embroidered in feminine looking cursive writing. The man held a shotgun.
“Well, Leroy. I reckon you know who we are…and why we’re here.” Luke stood at the bottom of the porch stairs, Marco to his right. The other bikers fanned out to the sides.
“You’re the son of a bitch that killed my horse.” Leroy lifted the shotgun to port arms and racked a round in the chamber.
“Wouldn’t do that, Leroy.” Luke looked around at the bikers. Two had nine millimeter pistols in their hands. “These boys get the wrong idea, they’ll shoot holes all through you, then go inside and do the same to your wife…Peggy I believe her name is. Might do some other things to her too. Be hard to stop them when they get their blood up.”
“You get the fuck off my land. You ain’t dealing with some woman now. You’re dealing with a man who knows how to use this.” Leroy shook the shotgun in Luke’s direction.
“That so.” Luke sighed. “Sorry to hear that.” He looked at the biker to his left who took a step forward, raising the pistol.
Before Leroy, or the bikers, could react, Marco took three quick steps up to the porch. He stood just inches away, nose to nose with him.
“Get outta the way! You boys want a fight, you gonna get one!”
“That don’t seem too smart.” Marco stayed close, not giving Leroy room to lower the shotgun’s barrel towards the biker with the pistol. “Won’t be much of a fight. These boys’ll kill you and then your wife.” He jerked his head towards Luke, still standing at the bottom of the steps. “You heard what the man said.”
“He killed my horse! Did it for no reason!”
“Money you’re gonna make partnered up with us, you can buy a stable full of horses. You should think it through before things start that can’t be stopped.”
Leroy’s eyes narrowed. “You talk funny. Where you from, boy?”
Marco laughed. “New York.”
“New York! Shit. You’re a long way from home now.” Leroy looked over Marco’s shoulder at Luke watching from the foot of the steps. “You shouldn’t a kilt my horse.”
“Maybe.” Luke nodded. “We had to make a point. You didn’t know us from Adam.” He looked around at the three bikers still on the ground, guns in their hands, and Marco on the porch, still face to face with Leroy. “You need to do like that crazy ass New Yorker says. We told your wife. We’re telling you. Pay up. All we want is our share. Then we’re gone.”
Marco looked him in the eye from six inches away. “Do it, Leroy.”
Seconds passed slowly as Leroy considered his options. He nodded. “I reckon you saved my life, and Peggy’s…” He nodded at the bikers below. “And a couple of them too.” He looked at Luke. “You come inside. This fella here too, the New Yorker. The rest stay outside. I’ll pay up. Then you leave.”
Ten minutes later, Luke was tucking the cash inside his shirt. The biker who had been ready to shoot it out with Leroy glared at Marco.
“Pussy.”
Marco smiled and threw a leg over the Harley’s seat. “That a fact.”
“Yeah it’s a fact. We shoulda killed him, fucked his wife and killed her too. Teach them a lesson, set an example.”
“Uh huh.” Marco nodded. “Yeah, I see your point. We show up with no cash and two murders that might get traced back to us…that’d be just what the boss would want.” He shook his head as the Harley rumbled to life. “You’re an idiot.”
Luke’s big hand darted out and stopped the biker from pulling the nine-millimeter from his waistband. “He’s right. We’re here for cash, not blood. You learned a lesson here. Let it go.” He looked into the biker’s eyes. “I mean it, or you’ll deal with me.”
The man’s hand pulled away from his waistband, empty. Luke’s eyes followed Marco, already pulling down the dirt drive. It was a lesson all right. There might be some other lessons t
o learn.
78. The Best She Could Hope For
“What are you doing?”
“Lying in bed. Waiting for you to call.” Sharon pulled one leg out from under the sheet, enjoying the feel of the cool, night breeze blowing across her from the open window. The air smelled green and full of life and made her feel that all was right with the world, even if it was very wrong.
“What are you wearing?”
“Why Mr. Mackey, what kind of question is that to ask a girl in the middle of the night.”
“Horny kind of question.”
“I see.” Sharon smiled and closed her eyes at the deep rumble of his voice in her ear, so close, and yet, so far.
She tried to imagine him lying on the hotel bed in Macon, probably in his boxers on top of the sheets. He never liked being covered up, kicked the sheets and blankets off most nights, uncovering her in the process. She would jerk the bedcovers back over her and knee him in the rump for good measure usually waking him in the process. Confused and wondering what he had done to merit a kick in the backside he would yawn, turn over and go back to sleep. The smile on her face broadened.
They were quiet for a while, listening to each other breathe, being as close as they could over the phone. There was no need to talk, just be together, however they could manage it. She wondered how they would survive if the day came that they could no longer even talk by phone, alone like this at night. There were no telephones in prison cells.
Sharon’s eyes opened. There was something they…she…needed to discuss. She’d been thinking about it all day, not sure how to open the subject or what to say. She selected her words carefully.
“I had a visitor today?”
“You did? Who?” His voice was dreamy, half asleep, the phone propped against his ear on the hotel bed pillow.
“Pamela Towers.”
George sat up in the bed, fully awake and attentive. “Towers? What did she want?”
