Walking Money

by James O. Born

  “And her sister?”

  “Jeanie said that she doesn’t know anything about the money and wishes that Dooley would’ve killed you.”

  “So she’s free?”

  “Yep.”>

  “Good.” Sutter nodded as he slowly worked his way up and out of the recliner, then strolled through the open sliding glass door. “Looks like the case is all wrapped up.”

  Tasker said, “Not quite. There’s still the money. No one knows where it is.”

  Sutter nodded. “No one knows if it really exists. All you have is the statement of a fugitive who probably stole it in the first place.”

  “True.”

  “Bill, what would you do if you had that money?”

  Tasker eyed him carefully. “Why?”

  “I mean, you wouldn’t turn it in to the FBI or anything stupid like that, would you?”

  “Again, I’d have to ask why?”

  Sutter ignored him. “Because they’d just tie it up in forfeiture, then turn it over to a government general fund. No one would even notice it. Everyone involved with it is either dead or in jail on enough charges to keep them locked up a long time. It has no value other than being a million and a half bucks.”

  “I don’t like where this is going, so I’ll ask one more time: Why?”

  Sutter took one step to the side and lifted the lid to the grill. “This is why.”

  Tasker stared at the clean grate and empty grill. “So?”

  Sutter looked down at the grill. “Oh shit!”

  “What? Jesus, Derrick, what the hell have you been talkin’ about?”

  Sutter moved to the front of the grill and opened the lid again like it was a magic trick. Then he did it again.

  Tasker asked, “What’re you doing?”

  Sutter took three long steps into the living room and sat down in the recliner. “Bill, I gotta tell you something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Remember when I came by about three nights before the shit at the mall?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When you were upstairs, I hid the cash in your grill.”

  “You planted more cash in my grill?”

  Sutter stood, raising his hands in defense. “No, no, man. Nothing like that. I figured the FBI had searched this place already, so it was safe. That’s all.”

  “You did take the cash from Tina and Jeanie.”

  “I thought how everyone was after it but you, and you were the only one on the hook for it. You deserved it for a legal fund. Now I say you still earned it, so you could do what you want with it.”

  Tasker cocked his head. “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “No, it’s fair. All the shit you been through, you definitely earned it.”

  Tasker sat down now, looking toward Sutter. “You know Mac is coming by in about five minutes.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I came by now, so I could say hey to both of you.”

  “And implicate me in a felony.” Tasker stared at him straight-faced.

  “You’re missing a big point, Bill.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Where’d the cash go?”

  Now Tasker smiled.

  Sutter’s eyes snapped open. “You found it. You took it.”

  Tasker continued to smile, his laugh lines filling out.

  Sutter shook his head. “I’m in the presence of greatness. Where is it?”

  “I can’t tell you, but I know where it will be.”

  Now Sutter broke into a broad grin. “You sneaky sly dog.”

  “You think I’d be home for a week and not cook out?” Sutter said, “I didn’t expect to be laid up a week when I hid it there. Now, where is it?”

  Before Tasker could answer, there was a knock on the door. Tasker purposely didn’t say anything to Sutter as he opened the door for a sharply dressed Mac Nmir.

  Mac nodded to Tasker and smiled at the sight of Sutter. “What’re you doin’ here, slick?”

  Tasker said, “You don’t want to know.”

  “That’s good enough for me.” Mac sat on the couch.

  Sutter said, “Actually, I came by to talk to both of you.”

  Mac asked, “Oh yeah, what about?”

  Tasker’s stomach tightened.

  “You remember the night you took out Dooley?”

  Mac said, “That was the same night you said that the day the FBI saved you was the day you quit police work.”

  “Exactly. That’s what I wanted to say.”

  Tasker looked at him, amazed. “You’re quitting the job?”

  Sutter nodded. “Yep, I put in an application with the FBI. A minority, experience, I’m betting they pay me a signing bonus.”

  Tasker couldn’t contain his smile as Mac tried to keep his customary cool.

  Sutter kept it up. “I’ve seen enough excitement. I’m ready to slow down.”

  Mac asked, “You’re serious?”

  Sutter handed him his neatly typed application. “And I listed you as a reference.”

  TASKER was still laughing to himself over Sutter’s announcement when he pulled his Cherokee to a stop in front of the downtown Miami strip mall later in the day. The well-kept inner-city mall had a mini-mart, a dry cleaner and the new offices of the Committee for Community Relief.

  Tasker grabbed the satchel off the seat and walked through the front door of the four-room office, which, unlike the old office, bustled with activity.

  A middle-aged woman with her hair held back by a series of rainbow clips smiled at him. “May I help you?”

  Tasker returned the smile. “The director is expecting me.”

  She led him back to the small office in the rear and then backed away silently.

  Tasker waited for the new director to look up from his cluttered desk.

  The sixty year-old extremely fit-looking man smiled at his old friend.

  “Hello, Billy. What brings you over here?” asked Deac Kowal.

  “Wanted to see how retirement was treating you.”

  “Never busier.”

  “How’s the CCR?”

  “Could be better. For all the fund-raising that snake Watson did, he spent even more. We’ve sold everything extravagant and now we’re almost in the black. It’ll take a while, but we’ll be able to help the area.”

  “This might speed things up,” Tasker said, handing the satchel across the desk.

  Deac looked in it and then closed it up quick. He kept his small round face neutral, saying in a low voice, “Billy, tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

  “If you think it’s an anonymous donation that could be wasted sitting in evidence or could be put to use by you instead, you’re right.”

  “You didn’t . . .”

  “No, Deac, I didn’t. But someone did and I ended up with it and the cash belongs to the community. That’s why it’s called the Committee for Community Relief.” Tasker smiled like he had won a debate.

  Deac kept his face calm, then slowly reached up and rubbed his gray temples. Finally, a smile spread over his face and he said, “God bless you, Billy.”

  Tasker smiled. “I think he forgave me, Deac, and that’s one big blessing.”

  After his visit, Tasker trotted out to his Cherokee and jumped onto I-95 northbound toward West Palm Beach.

  DEAC Kowal, twenty-nine-year veteran of the Miami Police Department, five weeks into his retirement, could not keep his eyes off the cash inside the canvas satchel. It was a little over one and a half million bucks. It danced in his head like a green-tinted cartoon. He could give half to the CCR and still have a hell of a retirement. Maybe give five hundred thousand to the CCR and really live it up.

  He scooped up the satchel and headed out to his battered Mercury Sable, tossing the money into the backseat. He headed down Fifty-fourth Street waving to a couple of people he knew on the sidewalk. He passed that goofy kid Cedric Brown everyone called “Spill,” in his “Black Power Forever” shirt, and even waved to him. He turned south on Seventh Aven
ue, headed toward his small house. He needed some time to decide what to do with the cash. He thought of it as taking the money for a little walk.