Southern Harm

by Travis Casey

  He looked through the peephole and opened the door to a grinning Louie.

  Louie barged past him. "I'd say you're on the district attorney's shit list, Oscar. It's one thing letting me out of your sight, but not taking her call? That's an entirely different matter." He walked into the condo like he owned the place. "What's the saying? Hell hath no fury …"

  Johnny gave Louie a death stare as he walked by.

  Louie cast a glance his way. "Hello, No-Thumbs." He plonked himself in the red leather chair in the corner.

  Oscar followed him into the living room. "How'd you know about the call?"

  "Educated guess. As I was leaving, she flew past me with a face like thunder, yelling to her dad, 'The bastard hung up on me.' I merely assumed you were the bastard." A smug grin formed under his well-groomed mustache.

  He'd have to deal with the Stacey situation later, but that was between him and her. It wasn't anything he wanted to discuss with Louie. "That was real smart," Oscar said. "Parading yourself in front of the district attorney without me, when you knew I was part of the conditions. What the hell was so important that you had to clock me and go see the governor on your own anyway?"

  "Judd lost focus of how important this kids' project is. I needed to remind him how essential this development is, especially the underground parking facility."

  Oscar moved to the edge of his seat. "Why do you need a big parking lot, anyway? Don't you have, like, a pirate's map where X marks the spot? Can't you just go in with a shovel and unearth the treasure? Surely they didn't use a JCB digger to bury it in the first place."

  Louie looked at Johnny. "Are you getting all this down, No-Thumbs?" He turned his angry glare to Oscar. "Can we not discuss sensitive matters in front of your semi-retarded staff?"

  Johnny leapt to his feet with his chest pushed out and fists clenched at his sides. "Who you calling retarded?"

  Louie waved a sit-down gesture. "Only semi, Johnny."

  Johnny took a step toward Louie. "I'm gonna kill 'im, Boss. I swear to God."

  Oscar grabbed Johnny's arm, pulling him back. "It's okay, Johnny. Forget it."

  "Yes, Johnny, forget it," Louie urged. "Now why don't you make yourself useful and go to the kitchen and get me a drink. The good stuff. Some of that Pappy Van Winkle."

  Johnny looked to Oscar for approval.

  Oscar nodded. "And get one for yourself too. I'll have a glass of water."

  Johnny glowered at Louie, letting his brown eyes burn contempt into his wretched soul before going to the kitchen.

  Oscar spoke calmly and with an air of authority. "The jig's up, Louie. My grandfather told me all about your father trying to pull the same stunt on him, about digging up Harris State Park for buried treasures. There is no gold."

  "That's where you're wrong. There is, and I know where it is—roughly. And my father knew where it was."

  "Then how come he never found it?"

  "Because your grandfather was too stupid to find the right channels to keep the digging low-key."

  Oscar sprang to his feet. "Don't you call my grandfather stupid. He's the smartest man I know."

  "Then you must run with some pretty stupid people."

  "You son of a bitch." Oscar's fists tightened.

  Louie wagged his finger. "Now, now, let's not do anything rash. The assistant to the district attorney is watching our situation closely, as is the governor." Louie raised his arms victoriously, his tone full of cheer. "We're high-profile people, Oscar. We must work together for the good of the state."

  Oscar scowled, but Louie had a point. If Oscar beat the crap out of him—if he could even manage to do it—it would raise a lot of questions.

  Johnny returned with a tray carrying the drinks. "Everything okay, Boss?"

  "Yeah," he replied. "Johnny, could you leave us alone for a few minutes? I have a few things I'd like to discuss with Louie."

  Johnny set the tray down and patted an angular bulge in his suit jacket. "It might be better if I stuck around. You know, in case Mr. Gomez gets any funny ideas."

  Louie rolled his eyes. "Get serious, No-Thumbs. Now, beat it. Like your boss said."

  Johnny's hand slid into his jacket.

  "Johnny," Oscar snapped. "Don't."

  Louie glared at Johnny.

  Johnny jabbed at Louie with his hand, the one with only three fingers. "One day, Gomez, you're gonna get it. And I'm gonna be the one givin' it."

  "I shall look forward to that day, No-Thumbs. Now, for the last time—beat it."

  Johnny backed away. "I'll be back in five minutes, Boss."

  Once Johnny was gone, Oscar resumed the conversation with Louie.

  "Tell me this, Louie. If my grandfather is so stupid, how come your dad wanted his help?"

  Louie leaned back. "Roscoe Novak liked to brag about how well connected he was. When he lost his money through bad investments, he blamed my father and threatened to have those 'connections' put my father out of business. But my father had a better idea about how Roscoe might use his contacts. So he offered him a deal."

  "How did your dad know about the gold?"

  "In addition to investments, my father also had a loan company, much like the one I run. One of his clients, a soldier, came up short on his repayment plan. When Father explained that not repaying the loan had consequences, the client confessed to being in on the heist at Fort Knox and offered considerable remuneration in exchange for his life."

  "I have to call bullshit at this point. Why didn't Papa Gomez just go dig it up then and there?"

  "Because the soldier didn't know exactly where it was hidden. He wasn't there when the other two buried it and only knew it was somewhere in the northeast corner of the park. And to answer your previous question, a bucket and spade isn't going to hack it when looking for a fortune buried five feet deep in an unknown location."

  "Where's this soldier now?"

  "Twin Towers Correctional Facility, Los Angeles."

  "For?"

  "He avenged the death of my father. My dad was going to get the gold and give him a cut. He was a benevolent man, my father. He would have given a sizable chunk to Roscoe for helping as well. But Al Picardi didn't understand the risks involved with the markets. He blamed my father when he lost his money and killed him. Kenny Huber, the soldier we're talking about, knew his chances of finding the gold without my father's help were slim to none. So in turn, he exacted revenge on Al and fled."

  "How did he end up in an LA jail?"

  "Sadly, there is no honor among thieves anymore. His partners thought he was going to double-cross them, so they ratted him out for Al's murder. But you see, I owe Kenny a debt of gratitude for evening the score for my father, so I have taken over the task of getting the gold and giving him his fair due. We talk every week."

  "Like gold's going to do him a lot of good in prison."

  Louie shrugged. "Good lawyers don't come cheap. And with a good lawyer, he won't be in prison forever."

  "What about you? You got a Perry Mason on your team?"

  Louie smirked. "Of course, I do."

  "And you think you'll walk?"

  "Indeed, I do. I also have someone on the inside working for me."

  Oscar eyed his adversary. "I thought you'd be more worried about the people on the outside working against you."

  "They'd never live to talk about it. No, my inside guy doesn't have all of the details yet, but a lot of questions surround Miss Davenport's speedy exit from LA. Why would she leave in such a hurry that she wouldn't even say goodbye to Kenny Huber, whose case she was about to try?" He clicked his fingers. "Gone, and no one knows why."

  "She came to help her father. I know that."

  "I'm not buying it. There's more to it than that, and I intend to find out what it is. Then Judd and Miss Davenport will owe me a damn sight more than just a chunk of state park and an acquittal. Get on my side while you can, Oscar. I reward loyalty."

  Chapter 35

  Oscar would have more explaining
to do as to why he didn't have Louie Gomez tagging along with him, but he thought it best that he didn't bring him to the Jefferson County district attorney's office.

  He entered the building, nodding politely as the armed police officer barked instructions for him to empty his pockets and place the contents into the plastic tray. His belongings disappeared down the conveyor belt and through the X-ray machine. Even the flowers he had with him went through a high-security once-over, leaving three scarlet rose petals on the gray tiled floor. Oscar walked through the metal detector and came out the other side without setting anything off.

  A dark brown wooden sign pointed him in the direction of the district attorney's office.

  A somber-looking brunette acknowledged him as he came through the door. "May I help you?"

  "Any chance I could see Miss Davenport?"

  Stacey's assistant flicked her finger toward the flowers in his hand. "If you need a signature for those, I can sign. I'll make sure Miss Davenport gets them."

  "No, I need to see her in person."

  "Then I need to see your name in my appointment book, Mr. …?"

  "I don't have an appointment."

  "Then neither does Miss Davenport. Now, if I don't need to sign for the flowers, you can either leave them with me, or you can take them with you on your way out."

  Oscar leaned on the counter. "In that case, I'd like to make an appointment to see Miss Davenport. What does she have open today?"

  "Oscar? What are you doing here?" Stacey came out of her office and walked to the reception desk. She looked at his offering. "Oh, how nice. You brought Donna flowers? I didn't know you two knew each other."

  Oscar extended the flowers toward Stacey. "No, these are for you."

  Her face hardened. "I would have preferred a phone call—yesterday."

  "Yeah, about that. Can we talk? In private?"

  She sighed. "Five minutes." She turned and walked toward her office, Oscar followed.

  Stacey ambled around the side of her desk and sat in a high-back tan mesh chair. She leaned her head against the richly padded headrest, looking down her dainty nose at Oscar as he took a seat opposite her, still clutching the flowers.

  She looked busy. Case files were stacked on both sides of the desk, but an alley was left open in the middle, so he had a clear view of her pretty face—although, it was somewhat steeled at present. She picked up a pen from in front of her, clicking the end of it. Her silent glare was his encouragement to talk.

  Oscar looked around the room at the various diplomas and photographs. One with Jett Johnson squeezing Stacey by his side incited a course of jealousy. He averted his eyes quickly, pretending not to notice. "Nice place you got here."

  "Cut the crap, Oscar. What do you want?"

  He held out the flowers.

  She pointed to a corner of the desk. "Put them down. I'll have Donna see to them later."

  Oscar moved some files and managed to rest the flowers on the edge. Not even a thank you. This was going to be harder work than he thought. "About yesterday … sorry I didn't call you back. I had a lot going on."

  "Well, you didn't have anything going on with Louie Gomez, because he was at my freaking house—unescorted. Which, by the way, leads to my next question. Where is he now?" The quickness of her pen-clicking evolved to rapid fire.

  "It wasn't appropriate to bring him here."

  She lunged forward, slamming the pen on the desk. "Not appropriate? You bring a gangster to the governor's mansion, introduce him to my father—the most important man in the state—then let that same gangster wine and dine him, getting him all tanked-up and making stupid promises and offering cabinet appointments, ignoring the fact that the district attorney you're supposed to be dating, or at least have some kind of affection for, is trying to lock up the goddamn gangster you keep bringing around to suck up to my dad for political favors—of which I've yet to find out any details. And when you're busy spending quality time and bonding with your Dad, you send the freaking lunatic gangster around to my house on his own." Her eyes narrowed. "Not to mention, you don't take my call, then hang up on me when I do get a hold of you."

  "Stacey—"

  She slammed an open palm on the desk. "Shut up! I haven't finished. I should put you in jail for breaking the terms of the bail conditions, and him too. Is that why it wasn't appropriate to bring him here? Because you're shitting yourself that I'm about to lock both of you up?"

  "Stacey—"

  "I'm not done yet!" She pointed to the flowers. "And then you come in here with some two-dollar gas-station apology flowers, thinking you and Louie Freaking Gomez can keep coming around, smaroozing my father and playing me for a fool."

  "Smaroozing?" Oscar mouthed. He pointed to the flowers. "Those aren't two-dollar gas-station flowers—"

  "I don't give a granny's goose how much they cost or where they came from. Here's what's going to happen." She pulled herself forward, resting her forearms on the desk. "Louie Gomez is going down. If you don't want to burn with him, you're going to get me everything I need to lock him away for good. I want details of every crime he's ever committed, is committing, or intends to commit. Then you're going to testify at his trial." She leaned back, rocking in her chair. "Then you can go off and do your own thing and never have to worry about returning my calls again."

  "Stacey, don't be like that. There were extenuating circumstances why I didn't come with Louie to the mansion, or why I didn't return your call. I was … indisposed."

  "And now you're being disposed of by me."

  "Look, in the first place, I can't cross Louie Gomez. He knows too many people in dark alleys, and someone would get killed—probably me. Secondly, I don't want you to end it with us."

  She looked him dead in the eye. "I noticed who's first and who's second on that list. What does that tell you?"

  "I can switch them around if you want, but I can't see you if I'm dead."

  "No, you can't. And you can't see me if I'm not around, either." She examined her manicure. "After you help me put Louie Gomez away, I'm going back to LA. Jett Johnson just bought a new yacht. I think I'll go out there and be his first mate."

  "Oh." That stung more than he would have thought.

  He wasn't sure how to broach the next subject, or if he'd need a hard hat, but he had to pitch it.

  "Can you go back to LA?"

  "Of course I can. What kind of question is that?"

  "Louie says there's something fishy about the way you left LA. He thinks there's more to it than you're letting on."

  Her brows pinched together. "That's absurd. There's nothing to know." She upped the speed of her rocking. "Now, I need whatever you can get on Gomez, and I need it fast. Get on it."

  "Okay …" He stood up. "Louie keyed my grandfather's car forty years ago, so there's one charge you can nail him on. I'll see what else I can get out of him before the trial." He turned toward the door.

  Three steps into his exit, Stacey called out. "So what does Louie think he knows?"

  So, Little Miss Innocent did have a curious side after all. Oscar shrugged. "Don't know. He's not too sure either. Just says he's got some guy on the inside—an inmate, Kenny Huber—who might know something about your sudden exit."

  "Oh."

  "Do you know this Huber guy?"

  She avoided eye contact "The name rings a bell."

  Stacey got up, took Oscar by the arm, and led him to the door. "I got a million things to do. Thanks for stopping by. And thanks for the flowers. I'll see you later." She pushed him out of her office.

  She returned to her chair and picked up the phone.

  The governor answered.

  "Dad, we got a problem."

  Chapter 36

  "The Novak-Chambers residence," an overacted voice declared.

  "Oh, hi, is Oscar there?"

  "I'm afraid Mr. Novak-Chambers is out at present. May I be of some assistance?"

  "Yes, this is Melanie Harper. I was hoping to speak to Oscar.
"

  The posh accent came to a grinding halt. "Miss Harper, how pleasant to talk to you. Louie Gomez here. Are you still writing interesting articles about Louisville's finest and most-elite citizens?"

  "When I can get the scoop, yeah. Do we know each other?"

  "Only by me reading your column."

  "I'm flattered."

  "Not at all. I find it delightful."

  "Thank you. Could you give Oscar a message for me? Can you ask him to call me? I have a few questions I'd like to ask him. You know, to confirm or deny some rumors that have been flying around."

  "Perhaps I can help. I'm his roommate."

  Her excitement jumped through the line. "Oh my God. Is he gay?"

  "Even if he is, I'm not, so no, it's not that kind of arrangement." Louie plonked his feet on the coffee table. "What rumors have you been hearing, Miss Harper?"

  "A little bird tells me he's been dating the governor's daughter. I think the people of Kentucky would be interested to know what the governor's daughter gets up to, and with whom. Any insight?"

  "Oh, my goodness, you are intuitive. I can give you the scoop, but I'm looking for a little insight myself. I have the utmost respect for gossip columnists, Miss Harper, I really do, but do you do any investigative journalism as well? You know, fact-finding missions—real stories based on truth, that kind of stuff?"

  "I can assure you, Mr. Gomez, all of my stories are built on fact-based research."

  "Then perhaps you'd like to research this: why would an LA prosecutor like Miss Davenport suddenly arrive in Frankfort—having left a prominent position, where she can take down high-profile misogynists and sexual deviants and get her picture in the paper—to take a job as a second-string consultant to the district attorney's office, where busting moonshiners is headline news—mainly to notify locals their supply line has been cut off?"

  A short silence followed from Melanie's end. "To be near her father, I would guess."

  "So it would seem—and so she would have us believe. But why is there no record of her leaving the DA's office in LA, nor any reason why she left cited anywhere? It seems strange to me that she left without explanation days before a high-profile murder case she was about to try. There could be a story in that for you if you're prepared to dig. All I ask is that you give me the information long before it ever gets into print. I would make it more than worth your while."