Cole laughed to himself as he recalled that Ann also loved the Irish men. “Yeah, I think it’s time for a revival of our support for the Irish and their beer.”
Stepping out of the hotel, Ann walked in tight, four-inch heeled steps. Heading eastward down South Market Street and alongside the Slave Market, they continued to catch up. Cole interjected into the conversation as they crossed Church Street. “Ahh, horse shit. Welcome to Charleston.” Ann laughed and pinched her nose. The downtown sector of Charleston was clogged with all sorts of transportation. Cars and bikes? Boring. Rickshaws and London-style black cabs, novel. And then there were the horse-drawn carriages. Stereotypical, yes. But very much a symbol of Charleston, nonetheless. Pats of horse manure could be found along any street in the historic area, i.e. the whole peninsula. They were unavoidable. Like the smell of the salt marsh, the random smell of horse symbolized home and evoked memories.
Cole and Ann walked into Tommy C’s and immediately pulled up at the bar. The scruffy bartender rested his eyes on Ann and asked what they would have, clearly wanting to place his own order. One glass of Ann, please!
“I’ll take a Palmetto Pale Ale.”
“Make that two,” Ann piped in. The bartender’s eyes had yet to leave Ann, and a grin crossed his face. The idea of a woman who drank beer clearly agreed with him. Ann turned to Cole to continue their reunion conversation, wherein the guy took the message and walked away to retrieve their beers. Moments later he was back, popping off the caps of both beers with an opener attached to the underside of the bar.
“Here you go.” His concaved-faced grin was back.
“Thank you, darlin’.” The g in Ann’s darling was dropped in typical Charlestonian smooth-talk fashion. Charlestonians’ lyrical speech caused words to merge together at their ends, with few hard consonants or vowels, only inflections. Vowels were held longer here. Their jaw-jutting made them pronounce house as ‘hoose,’ and their proclivity to add syllables caused words like state to come out ‘stey-it’ and boat as ‘bow-et.’ The bartender’s up-state Carolina roots were evident in his slight twang, something Charlestonians lacked. He took his cue and left with anticipation.
Having paid attention to the two accents play out, Cole sat back. “Awh, I miss you and the South. And I really miss the accent.”
“What do you mean?” Ann leaned in to hear more.
“You know what I mean. People here just have a certain manner in the way they talk and communicate. It’s like everything is a big flirt. Even an insult comes across as a compliment unless you know better. Just add a ‘bless your sweet little heart’ to ‘you’re an ass’ and it’s like turning vinegar into wine. And then there’s the style. Bow ties and bright colors are the norm for men and woman. It’s like a spring festival every day. People here love to look good and outsiders clearly agree that they do look good. Didn’t Charleston get named fourth for most attractive people in America, behind Miami and Puerto Rico, last year by some magazine? I think it got first one year.”
Cole thought to himself that indeed the city was colorful, the result of trade with the Caribbean in the city’s early history. Its colorful nature extended to its people, too. Pink gingham, yellow polka-dots, and lime green sundresses filled the streets. Palmetto-lined cobblestone streets stood out amongst all the color and only added to the city’s charm and beauty.
Ann smiled as she spoke. “Lord, you know this city collects accolades like a dog collects fleas. Most beautiful people, most mannered, top destination, best restaurants… the list goes on and on. We have this love-hate affair with our Southern roots and characteristics. We cherish them, holding them tight like the damn Yankees are coming to rip them from our arms, while also parading them around with pride as though to say, don’t you wish you had some of this crazy?”
They laughed at that thought. By no means was crazy unique to the South, but it sure did love to parade it around on the front porch, give it a drink and welcome the world to stare. YouTube had made them video stars for all to see. And, God knows if there was a hurricane anywhere between here and Japan, some Weather Channel or CNN caster would be coming to town to elicit a fool to talk about trailers, beer, and Granny like a good’ol country song.
Cole responded, “Well, I love your crazy. You need to get out to Denver soon so we can show it a thing or two.”
“You know it! Before I head back to Atlanta we’ll have to compare calendars and see when will work.”
“Excuse me, I think you’re in my seat.” Cole’s back was turned when he felt a tap on his right shoulder. Looking up from his beer, Ann was smiling at the person standing behind him. Cole swung around and looked up, way up, to see Daniel Page grinning. At six-five, the young Denzel Washington look-alike towered over Cole, who was still seated at the stained-oak bar. “Daniel! Wow man, how are you? It’s been like forever.” Cole stood up and gave him a male hug. One of those ‘we’re cool enough dudes to hug, but world, we are not jumping in the sack together at the end of the night, okay?’
“Life is great, Cole. What brings you back to town? Didn’t you move even further away from Charleston to…is it Denver or Portland or something?” Cole felt his phone vibrating in his pocket as he went to respond. Years as a trial attorney, in and out of courts, had taught him to keep it on silent.
Disregarding the vibrations and looking back to Daniel, he replied, “Yeah, Denver, but don’t you worry. I’m always just a plane ride away from harassing you, little man. I think we still have to have that basketball match. It’s one and one right now, right?”
“Ha. In your wet dreams, man. It is two and oh; and you cried.” Daniel and Cole had been close friends since elementary school and giving each other grief was part of the job. Ann laughed at the competitive exchange.
Cole reached up and placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Man, I have missed your ugly mug.”
“Same here, Cole. So, what brings you to town?”
“Just visiting the family and taking in some Spoleto, nothing big.” As Cole talked, a woman in a tight-fitting dress crowded her way between Cole and Daniel to place an order at the bar. Daniel moved his eyes up and down the woman’s slender back and then back at Cole with a grin. He liked what he saw. Cole bent his neck to look around the blue-and-red striped summer dress obstructing his view to continue his conversation until she ultimately left, but not without her returning a flirting look at Daniel. Following the woman with his eyes, Cole said, “I can see you haven’t lost your mojo there, mister. Always popular with the ladies.”
“When you got it, you got it. And, when you don’t, you don’t. And, boy you got it. That’s what Momma always says.” Daniel flashed a pursed smile and lifted one brow while pinching his chin with his right hand, reminding Cole of the bad poses forced upon teens and adults at the old Glamour Shots photography center at Northwoods Mall.
Cole laughed. “Awh man, I better pull up my pant legs, it’s getting deep in here. Hey, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
Daniel looked over at the woman from earlier as he responded. “No real plans, why you ask?”
“Dinner…at SNOB…six-thirty?”
“Sounds like a plan! Ann, are you joining?”
Ann leaned into and over the bar to see around Cole. “Oh, and miss seeing you two testosterone-filled men keep pissing on each other like blind tick hounds? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” The two men laughed, shaking their head at Ann.
Getting up from his stool, Cole said, “Okay, Ann, are you about ready to jet? This boy is worn out. I slept like shit last night and we have a long day tomorrow.”
Ann stepped off the stool and shook out her dress. “Sounds great to me. See you Daniel.”
Cole looked back as he was about to walk out the door. Daniel had turned to the lady from earlier and was giving her the charm. Yep, he’s still got it. “Damn.”
CHAPTER 21
WALKING PAST WASHINGTON Square, Ann looked over at Cole. “What is it?”
“Someo
ne is calling me again. Didn’t they get the memo?” Cole shook his head as he looked down and began digging into his back pocket for his phone. He pulled it out after some struggle, damn tight jeans, and saw it was Jackie calling.
“Well, speak of the devil,” he announced into the phone as he brought it to his ear. Jackie was speaking softly; it was almost eleven p.m. on Friday night and she was likely trying to avoid waking Billy, Cole’s four-year-old nephew. A crowd of people passed by, making it difficult to hear exactly what Jackie was saying so he pressed his ear tighter to the phone. Being Memorial Day weekend, coupled with Spoleto, the streets were busy and loud with strays and couples.
“You need to talk to me? Huh? Can’t this wait till tomorrow?” Cole yelled in hopes that Jackie could hear him. “No? Why not? I’m out with Ann. I’m supposed to see you at brunch tomorrow to pick up Billy, right?”
From the comments Ann could tell that the conversation was serious. She looked at Cole in his jeans and his snow-cone blue gingham shirt and mouthed ‘dashing.’ Cole smiled and bowed with large accompanying hand gestures.
Ann whispered, “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know.” Cole responded while covering the receiver of his phone. “She’s acting weird. Something’s up. She’s demanding I go to Mount P tonight.” A quizzical look came over his face as he pondered why his sister was being so insistent.
Cole spoke into the phone. “Mount Pleasant? Tonight? Why?”
After a few moments of listening, Cole whispered back to Ann. “She keeps saying she’ll fill me in when I get there.”
Shaking his head in defiance, Cole responded to his sister. “Listen Jackie, I’m out with Ann and we’ve already had a few drinks. You’ve said no one’s is dead or dying, so let’s do this in the morning. I’ll come over earlier, say ten? But for now, Ann and I are going to close out the night.”
Jackie had relented. Cole ended the call with a rushed, “Yeah, I love you too.”
Ann’s eyes were big as she pushed for details. “What’s up?”
“Ugh, no clue. She was like in a panic but refused to say why. But she said it could wait till tomorrow. So it’s clearly nothing urgent. Funny though. She told me to watch out and make sure to watch out for you, too.”
Ann and Cole puzzled over the call for a minute more before brushing it off to wander the streets of Charleston, passing by cobblestoned streets and private gardens on their way back to the hotel. A horse-drawn carriage passed by without clients as it headed to the stables. Away from the main drag of Meeting Street, the thick air dampened sounds and made the city seem empty. Gas lamps lit their way with a warm glow usually associated with some European town. Reaching the hotel after their slow saunter through the side streets of the Peninsula, they parted to their respective rooms.
BACK IN HIS room, Cole picked up the phone and called Jackie back; he needed to know what in the world was going on.
Jackie pounced to answer the call, ultimately disclosing the reason for her earlier panicked call. “Yeah, some FBI agent, that’s all he would say.”
Cole saw his face narrow into a puzzled look in the mirror that sat across the room, as he wondered why an FBI agent would want to talk to him. The FBI didn’t scare him. He had worked for the Department of Justice in Washington, D.C. the first two years out of law school, where he interrogated FBI agents, Department of Defense personnel, and others. But that all related to environmental cases. Them calling now out of the blue, well…that was new.
Why would the FBI want to talk to me? At age three the FBI collected a copy of his fingerprints from a safety fair he attended at school. Since law school he had been fingerprinted at least half a dozen times in relation to school and licensing requirements in various states. Each event flashed in his mind with vivid accuracy. Trying to get away with a crime was the stupidest thing he could ever do.
Cole’s mind immediately went to the image of a typed document, a pending application for admission to practice in New Mexico. Damn those people are detailed. It had been one of the most difficult and prolonged admissions he had gone through, and he had been through ample, with four states already under his belt. His clients were all over and they didn’t want to use anyone but him. It was flattering and good for the wallet, but getting admitted to any state was a pain, with background checks, credit checks, and all sorts of checks. New Mexico had all but asked for a cavity search.
“Awh, Jackie, that’s just in relation to me getting licensed in New Mexico. They’ve been calling every place I’ve lived, worked, and obviously now been born, in the past few weeks as part of my application.”
“No Cole. This was an FBI investigator, not some bar association. He was looking for you. Detective Phil Betrous over in Charleston put him in contact with me. Agent Leas?” She paused on the line as if to see if Cole would respond. Hearing no response, she continued. “I told him you didn’t live here anymore, that you lived out in Denver. He said he knew that but he also knew you were in town. He refused to tell me why he needed to talk to you, just saying I needed to get you in touch with him, pronto.”
“You think one of my old criminal clients has gone crazy?”
“Cole, don’t joke about such things. Georgia is just a hundred miles away to Savannah and if one of your crazies comes here looking for you, the only person he is going to meet is my friend Mr. Glock 21.”
Cole regretted the guy that pissed off his sister now. She had always been tough, and if she hadn’t been in love, she would have introduced her ex-husband to Mr. Glock. But she was, and she didn’t. After, she was stronger than ever, with a splash of attitude in there that made her dangerous.
Cole chuckled. “Okay there Dirty Harry, I’m sure whatever it is it isn’t serious. How did he know I was here? I’ll call this when I hang up. I bet he called my office this morning. They wouldn’t have seen it as serious. The FBI calls me frequently on my cases and I use ex-FBI agents on occasions as investigators. But this is clearly different. Those guys don’t fly cross-country to give me a surveillance report.” The puzzled look returned to his face.
“Give me his information and I’ll call him tonight or in the morning.” Cole was concerned but didn’t want his sister to worry. He assured himself that whatever the FBI wanted it was nothing big and didn’t directly involve him. It likely was one of his crazy criminal clients back in Douglas County, or so he chose to believe until he heard otherwise.
Moments after getting off the phone with his sister, he called the number she had given him. Damn voicemail. He left a message and tried to forget it. He was on vacation and didn’t want to deal with whatever the FBI wanted.
CHAPTER 22
Day six-ninety.
AS WITH THE LAST thirty days or so, the dream had come, waking Cole in the middle of the night. The morning routine that followed was the same. Slowly he forced the wall to go up while staring at himself in the hotel bathroom’s black-framed mirror to create the facade of having it together.
Seated in the passenger side of Cole’s rental Ann waved her hand across her bare legs. “Can I just tell you, I am so in need of this beach day. I mean, look at me…ghost!” They had taken it easy their first morning in Charleston, having a quick breakfast at a dinner in Mount Pleasant to meet his sister and grab Billy for a beach day. To Cole, Billy was pure entertainment; almost always happy and very inquisitive, things Cole loved to be around… needed to be around. His ability to swing from tantrum to crying to bliss and come out completely unscathed instilled hope in Cole.
Jackie had pressed about the FBI call during their brief exchange at brunch, but Cole brushed it off. He had no desire to mess up his Saturday at the beginning of the day. Things that could potentially go bad were always best left to the end of a day, in his opinion,
Reconnecting to the present conversation, Cole said, “Yeah, I was going to talk to you about that. It’s bad enough you didn’t shave those Frankenstein legs, but if I’m going to have to look at them you should have warned m
e to put my sunglasses on earlier.” Cole smiled an ‘I got you’ look.
Ann looked with wide eyes, her mouth open. “Why, I oughta…”
Leaning away and placing his hand in the air to avoid a possible swat by Ann, Cole laughed. “Careful. Children…” Billy looked up in the rear-view mirror and laughed. “I told you we could have run to the Super Piggly Wiggly to get you some stronger sunscreen so you wouldn’t burn, but, noooooo… you said you wanted to get some sun. So don’t complain to me when you are as red as a lobster.” Ann stuck her tongue out at Cole and then turned to peer out the window.
As they approached the old Ben Sawyer Bridge between Mount Pleasant and Sullivan’s Island, Cole’s mind flashed back to the image of the bridge knocked down, one end submerged in the water below, by Hurricane Hugo twenty-four years earlier. He could still see Oprah walking the streets in her TV special, surrounded by homes sifted into the streets and boats washed ashore.
Passing over its grated supports, Bruno Mars started singing about being locked out of heaven on the radio. Cole reached for the knob and turned it up to join in. Ann followed the chorus as Billy covered his ears in feigned pain. In an attempt to make Billy laugh, Cole switched up the words to ‘locked out of Chucky Cheese.’ Billy broke out in a high pitched squeal of a laugh.
Moments after the impromptu concert, they parked the rental on the sandy lot of the Sand Dunes Club where Cole had lifeguarded in college. Owned by the local power company, it was run like a country club for employees until the island residents complained enough to gain access in exchange for quelling their disputes about traffic and noise.
Billy immediately ran under the elevated pool’s deck after being set free of the seatbelt he had struggled with for the entire drive to the barrier island. Pressing his face against the glass, Billy peered into the round underwater windows to catch a glimpse of the legs in the water. “Billy, come on, this sand is hot, boy!” Seconds later Billy ran past them, taking the lead to the beach on a narrow, sticker-laden path running between the pool and a large white stilted home. “Hey, you know that’s Mark Sanford’s old house, right?” Cole pointed to one of the homes along the beach drive.
The Trees Beyond the Grass (A Cole Mouzon Thriller) Page 8
