Bayliss didn’t answer, but kept his mouth firmly closed.
I turned my attention back to Eight-Ball. “There’s caustic soda on the floor of the cell building?”
“Yeah, along with a lotta other bad stuff,” he confirmed.
“You gotta watch out for the puddles, is all. Especially when something goes wrong and there’s a flood. All you can do then is hold your breath and pray. That’s why I was glad when the nurse bandaged my leg, gave me some pills, and told me to go home for the rest of the day.”
“And a damn lousy job she did of fixing him up. Why do you think I had to rewrap his leg?” the Reverend haughtily interjected.
But something Eight-Ball had said caught my attention. “DRG has a plant nurse?”
“Sure. Verena Harper.”
He grimaced, and the Reverend gave him a pill, along with a shot of whisky. Eight-Ball’s hand seemed to shake more than usual as he downed them both. Then he slowly began to relax.
“That poor woman. Seems Verena’s always having to take a sample of somebody’s urine.”
“What for?”
Eight-Ball stared into space, as though searching for the answer. “I believe they told us once. But for the life of me, I can’t remember no more.”
Maybe they were keeping track of the mercury level in each worker’s body to see how much they could withstand.
I now focused on Bayliss. “The other day, you said that Williams and Drapkin were washing each other’s hands. What did you mean?”
The Reverend’s chest swelled, as if taken with his own self-importance. “Just that. Each is helping the other out.”
“But how? Do you think DRG is giving money to fund Clark Williams’s upcoming campaign?”
“Of course! Big time. Any fool should know that,” he pompously imparted.
“Maybe so. Still, how do you know?” I countered, determined to pin him down. “And exactly what sort of proof do you have?”
Bayliss and Eight-Ball nervously exchanged glances.
“My cousin works as the cleaning woman at Williams’s campaign office. Damn if she didn’t see a piece of paper with all the contributions from DRG toted up.”
“Really? I’d like to speak to her.”
Bayliss began to fidget. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. She just went up north to visit my aunt.”
I looked over at Eight-Ball, who immediately glanced away, leaving no doubt that the Reverend was lying.
“No problem. You can give me the phone number then.”
Both men remained silent.
“Why don’t you just tell me what’s really going on? Otherwise, this information might find its way to the local newspapers, along with your name as a source. Maybe you’d prefer to speak to a bunch of reporters,” I warned the Reverend, beginning to apply the screws.
“Don’t do that,” Bayliss hurriedly replied. “It won’t do none of us no good.”
Eight-Ball shook his head like an old hound dog who knew when the jig was up. “I think you better tell her, Reverend. She did right by me. And it’s not like she’s after you.”
I grabbed my cue and ran with it. “That’s true. The only ones I’m interested in are Drapkin and Williams.”
“So that means you’re not out to make a scandal of me or my church?” the Reverend asked.
“Are you doing anything to hurt wildlife?”
The Reverend shook his head so vigorously that his jowls joined in the dance.
“Then absolutely not,” I assured him.
“And you swear you won’t bring me into this?” he nervously questioned. His fingers latched onto the gold medallion around his neck, as if for reassurance.
“I’ll keep you out of it,” I vowed, hoping I’d be able to live up to my word.
“All right then. Drapkin called me a while back, and we had a meeting in his office about a business proposition. He promised to make large donations to my church if I worked to deliver the black vote for Clark Williams.”
The very air around me began to quake.
“And you agreed to it?”
“Well, that old building of ours is falling apart and I figured, what’s the harm? It doesn’t seem to matter who gets in. They never do nothing for us anyway. Besides, he said that Williams would sweeten the deal. Golden Dreams owns the lot the church is sitting on. Drapkin promised the land was ours if Williams got elected.”
“But all I’ve ever heard you do is bad-mouth those two,” I replied in surprise.
“The Lord has shown me the error of my ways since then, and my soul has been saved!” Bayliss roared, as if preaching to his congregation.
“Amen,” Eight-Ball concurred.
Uh-huh. More likely, Bayliss had learned that the donations weren’t going to be quite as large as he’d expected.
“That still doesn’t explain how it is you know that DRG is funneling money into Williams’s campaign,” I pressed.
“I know lots of things I haven’t yet told you,” Bayliss advised, with a dangerous gleam in his eye.
“Such as?” I skeptically inquired, hoping to rattle his pride.
“Such as that Golden Dreams is nothing more than the real-estate development arm of DRG. Drapkin is the real owner. Here’s a little something else you probably don’t know. Fish and Wildlife is planning to buy swampland from Golden Dreams for a hefty price tag. Gonna make it into a wildlife refuge, though I don’t know why. The place is as polluted as Purvis Creek.”
That was all it took—just that simple piece of information to bring the world raining down upon my head. I now knew that Regional Director Montgomery and Drapkin were far more than just old friends. They were involved in a lucrative deal for which Montgomery was bound to receive a hefty kickback.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, barely able to catch my breath.
“Absolutely. I spotted the proposal among a bunch of papers on Drapkin’s desk, at the same time that I saw the sheet listing DRG’s contributions to Clark Williams. Drapkin has given that man over a quarter million dollars! Can you imagine?”
I believed Bayliss. He should know. After all, the good Reverend had also been washing his hands in dirty money. I began to feel sick, remembering how I’d nearly been seduced by blind ambition myself—until reality kicked in and I realized what Bayliss had just said.
“Wait a minute. There’s no way Drapkin would have left you alone in his office to rummage around.”
“You’re right. He didn’t,” The Reverend revealed, and grew quiet.
“Hell, we’ve gone this far. You might as well tell her the rest,” Eight-Ball prompted.
Bayliss nodded in agreement. “Eight-Ball snuck me in one night while he was working late. That’s when I saw the conditions in that place. It’s also when I realized that Drapkin was stringing me along for pennies.”
“So you’re blackmailing him?” I asked, taking it the next logical step.
“No, we came to a stalemate. I promised not to reveal what I knew, in exchange for Drapkin’s silence about the few payoffs I’d received. Up till now, everything’s remained that way.”
“Then what’s changed?”
“The land grab here on St. Simons for one. Besides, Eight-Ball’s not the first man to get hurt on the job. Someone’s got to put a stop to what Drapkin is doing. And that means also derailing Clark Williams. Otherwise, he’ll become Georgia’s next congressman and nothing ever will change.”
I now knew what I had to do. “Eight-Ball, can you tell me exactly where the nurse’s office is located?”
“Why? Ain’t you feeling so good?” he asked, looking at me strangely.
“Let’s just say I’m trying to figure out how to make Drapkin clean up his act. And the best way for me to do that is to get hold of the employee medical records.”
I needed them now more than ever, since Gary’s test results had been swiped.
“Mr. Drapkin ain’t never gonna let you in there to poke around,” Eight-Ball warned.
Maybe the Reverend was wiser than I’d thought.
“Actually, I intend to find a way into DRG tonight,” I revealed, secure in the knowledge that neither man would betray me.
Eight-Ball carefully rolled down his pant leg. “Not alone, you’re not. I’m coming along.”
I looked at the shriveled figure, and knew the man had long ago paid his dues. “Sorry, Eight-Ball, but you’re in no shape to go running around. What I’m planning is far too dangerous.”
“Ain’t nothing more dangerous than what I do every day in that place,” he maintained, thrusting out his bottom lip.
“There’s an awful lotta widows whose husbands worked at DRG. Seems to me most of them died before their time. The way I figure it, Mr. Drapkin owes us a lot more than we owe him, and there ain’t never gonna be enough money to pay us all back.”
Eight-Ball had once again said something that piqued my interest. “Can you tell me how these men died?”
“Some of them got real bad shocks. I’m not sure what happened to the rest.”
“Do you remember any of their names?”
Eight-Ball’s forehead puckered into a nest of wrinkles as he tried to think. “Let’s see. There was Joe Fellows, Ralph Moore, and Bill Norris. There’ve been plenty of others. I can see their faces plain as day. But for the life of me, I just can’t recall who they were.”
“That’s all right,” I assured him, and wrote down those three.
“I’m coming along, Miss Rachel,” Eight-Ball stubbornly insisted. “DRG’s taken too many lives and there are ghosts with no names who need to be repaid.”
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, still having my doubts.
“As sure as I need to be. Besides, you’re gonna want me around,” he slyly added. “You see, I got the keys to the kingdom, and that’s the easiest way to get into DRG.”
He jingled a set of shiny keys before me, like precious pieces of Blackbeard’s gold.
“How did you get those?” I asked in amazement.
“You forget. I gotta be able to get in there night and day to do maintenance work.”
“But you said you only did a little of this and that,” I responded, beginning to regard Eight-Ball with newfound respect.
“Sure, cause that’s exactly what Mr. Drapkin and his foreman tell me to do. Fix things the best I can, doing a little of this and a little of that. That man don’t wanna spend a plug nickel on any repairs.”
“I had me a daddy like that,” the Reverend mused, shoving his way back into the limelight. “He held on to a nickel for so long that the buffalo shit on the Indian.”
I purposely ignored Bayliss just to drive him crazy.
“Okay, Eight-Ball. You can come,” I relented. “But you have to promise to take it easy and rest whenever your leg hurts.”
“It’s a deal,” he agreed and glanced impatiently toward the living room. “When are those women ever gonna leave, anyway? Don’t they know they got men waiting for them at home? Besides, I want Venus to come in here and whip us up some dinner. We might as well eat a good meal, seeing as how there’s plenty of time to kill.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, already raring to go.
“Just that it won’t be safe to head over until after ten o’clock.”
I began to realize it was a good thing that Eight-Ball was coming along. He’d be able to save me time, frustration, and possibly, unexpected trouble. I just hoped he was up to it. The last thing I wanted was for his leg to get any worse.
The class wrapped up as the ladies broke into a rousing rendition of “I Am Woman” that very nearly shook the roof. Venus came into the kitchen shortly after, looking positively radiant in a pair of satin fuchsia pajamas.
“Damn, if I don’t feel empowered just knowing those women are gonna go home and kick them some butt,” she declared, throwing on an apron. “Now ya’ll get out of my way while I cook a meal that’ll make Eight-Ball feel better. And I expect you to stay, Rachel. Seems to me, you could use some meat on those bones.”
I liked this woman better and better. But then the way to my heart was easy. Just say I look thin, and don’t call me ma’am.
We sat down to a hearty meal of macaroni and cheese, collard greens, and spoonbread. I didn’t even want to think about the calories. But then Venus had said that a gal shouldn’t look too thin. I was on my second helping when a cell phone rang. I looked up to find everyone staring at me.
“For chrissakes, Rachel. You’re the only one in here with one of those damn things,” the Reverend reprimanded.
“Oops. Sorry about that.” I said, and flipped open my cell phone. “Agent Porter,” I mumbled through a mouthful of macaroni and cheese.
“You were right! Happy now?” a weepy voice wailed in my ear.
“Candi? Is that you?” I asked, washing down my food with sweet ice tea.
“I can’t believe I’ve been such a fool all this time! Stupid, stupid, stupid!” she bawled, while smacking what sounded like her palm to her forehead.
“You’re not stupid, Candi. Whatever it is, you’ve probably just been misled. Now what are you talking about?”
“Wendell and I have been nabbing manatees over near DRG,” she revealed, with a loud sniffle.
“How?” I asked, barely able to contain my excitement over the fact that Candi had cracked.
“Howard said all we had to do was stretch a net across the area at high tide to catch them. And he was right. The manatees always leave DRG and the pulp mill as the tide rolls out, and that’s when we’d snatch one. Then we’d just pull in the net.”
“You and Wendell did that all by yourselves?” I questioned in disbelief.
“Along with four of his other workers. Then Wendell would give the critter a tranquilizer shot, and we’d roll the manatee on its side, slip a stretcher underneath, and slide it into the van.”
I now remembered the yellow truck that had been sitting outside Wendell’s office. No wonder its interior had been padded with foam rubber. I could only imagine what manatees must have thought as they were immobilized in slings and transported in the dark inside a coffinlike trailer.
Candi started to sob even harder. “I always felt real bad about that part. But it seemed they’d have a better life, not having to worry about where to get food or sleep at night. I even stayed in the back with them during the ride, putting water on their skin to keep it moist.”
It’s amazing what we do, under the guise of trying to help Mother Nature.
“I’m glad you called, Candi. You’re doing the right thing,” I said, hoping to pump her for more information.
“What made you decide to finally tell me?”
Candi’s wails grew even more distraught. “You know that little baby I was trying to feed yesterday? Well now she’s sick and I’m afraid she’s going to die! I don’t know what to do. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”
I would gladly have reached through the phone and throttled her, if I’d been able.
“I told Howard about it. But he said it was no big deal—to just go out and catch a few more. He even joked that we should make real manatee burgers out of those that are dead. At least then we could make a few extra bucks. I can’t believe this is the man that I thought I loved.”
She paused, as if waiting to be consoled. What could I say, other than that she was one more woman who’d made a bad choice?
“I wasn’t gonna tell you this, but another two manatees started to swim kinda funny a few hours ago. Not only that, but now Wendell is missing.”
“What do you mean, he’s missing?” I asked, hearing alarm bells go off. Perhaps he’d taken the money and fled the country, realizing that things were starting to fall apart.
“All I know is that he went to see Howard this morning and never came back,” Candi revealed. “Wendell got all upset after your visit
yesterday. He started thinking maybe you’re right. Maybe people will stop coming to the water park if manatees keep getting sick. So, I told him exactly what you said. That Howard’s been dumping mercury into the marsh and it’s killing all our manatees.”
“You mean, Wendell really didn’t know?”
“Not until he spoke to you. His life savings are invested in this place. Maybe it’s silly, but I’m beginning to worry. He was really angry when he left. I’m afraid he might have decided to drive off the road, or kill himself or something. I called Howard a little while ago, but he said that he hadn’t seen Wendell all day.”
I was starting to have a bad feeling about this, myself. It was just possible that the fireworks I’d so carefully put in place had erupted in a major explosion.
“I’ll make some calls and see what I can find out,” I promised. “I’ll also arrange for an expert to come and care for the manatees.” Bureaucracy and red tape be damned. I only hoped it wasn’t too late. “Just do the best you can for them tonight.”
Candi began to sob once more, as though her heart would break.
“Are you going to be all right?” I asked, softening against my better judgment. What I really wanted to scream was, why didn’t you listen to me before this? Only I knew the reason all too well. She was another woman trying to please a man while attempting to claw her way up the career ladder.
Candi took a moment to blow her nose. “I’ll be fine. Spud called a while ago, and he’s here with me now.”
Wouldn’t you know? Spud had a lot in common with lowlife vermin. He instinctively sensed when it was safe to crawl out of his hole. Even worse, he now got on the phone.
“Hey, Porter. So are you gonna kick Drapkin’s crummy ass, or do I have to do it for you? Nobody’s gonna hurt my girl. Right, sugar?”
The last part was delivered in baby talk. I presumed he’d been speaking to Candi, since I now heard heavy smooching on the other end of the wire. That’s another problem we women have. We tend to repeat the same mistakes, being all too eager to give men the benefit of the doubt.
“Stay out of this, Spud! Or I swear the only time you’ll see Candi is when she visits you in jail,” I warned.
Coastal Disturbance Page 22
