Chapter 24
Frank Hill stared intently at the latest copy of the Houston Chronicle spread in front of him. His attention was focused on a news story buried on page 14 about a cop who had been killed in an exchange of gunfire when she surprised a burglar in an Albany, New York residence. The article went on to say that a detective in the neighborhood heard shooting and rushed to the scene. The burglar took off but it was too late for Blanch Nicholson, an eight-year veteran of the Albany police department.
Hill tossed the newspaper aside and started pacing. He picked up his cell phone and checked it for messages. He set it down and it immediately began to ring. He picked it up eagerly.
“Hans. Where in the hell have you been?” he yelled.
“Sorry, Frank. This isn’t Hans. Your little terrorist puppet is dead.”
Schultz scowled “Who is this? How did you get my number?”
“This is Richard Coleman.”
There was a moment of silence in which I could feel Hill thinking. Hans is dead. That means Roxanne is still alive. I should have killed her years ago. Damn it!
“Mr. Coleman. I don’t know how or why you got my telephone number, but I think it is highly inappropriate for us to talk—you know, with your son in prison and everything.”
“Listen, Frank. I’ll make it brief. . . . I know you set up my son and killed my daughter-in-law. I just wanted to warn you that MidSouth Bank is about to take a hit that’s going to knock it on its ass.”
“What are you talking about?” he said.
“That’s all I can say. You just better watch your back because you’re about to get your ass kicked.”
“You son of a bitch! You don’t scare me. There’s nothing you can do to me or MidSouth, but since you’ve had the audacity to threaten me, I’m going to see to it that you crash and burn. Trust me.”
I laughed. “I don’t think so. We’re on to you and so are the feds. Your days are numbered. Have a nice day.” I said, and hung up the telephone.
Hill just stood there for a moment breathing heavily, then he went to his desk, pressed his intercom and shouted, “Hazel, get me a new cell phone with a new number and cancel my old account.” He picked up his regular telephone and dialed a number.
“Let me talk to the warden,” Hill said. The receptionist asked who it was and upon hearing it was Frank Hill said she’d put him right through. There was a long silence then the warden came on the line.
“Yes, Frank. How are you?”
“Not worth shit.”
“Oh,” the warden said. “What’s wrong?”
“Word has it your preacher friend is up to no good.”
“What do you mean? I haven’t noticed anything unusual going on.”
“Well you better take a closer look because informed sources say he’s about to do some serious damage to MidSouth Bank.”
The warden gasped in amazement, “But, I don’t see how he could possibly hurt your bank from prison.”
“I’m telling you he’s up to something and you better find out what it is and fast or I’ll cut off your little annuity.” Frank scowled.
“Okay, calm down. I’ll get right on it.”
The warden had been receiving $500 a week which came in the form of a deferred annuity. He told people it was from his former employer but in actuality it was money paid by MidSouth for him to keep a close eye on Matt Coleman. There was also an understanding that if Matt became a problem, one phone call would be all it took to end the problem—permanently.
“Good. Has he had any unusual visitors lately?”
“No, just the usual. His parents, his attorney, and his friend Jason.”
“Jason?”
“Yeah, Jason Reynolds. He comes once a week religiously.”
“Is that right? Well, the next time he visits let’s put a tail on him for a few days and see what he’s up to.”
“Okay, and in the meantime I’ll take a closer look at his Bible study group and see if there is more to it than meets the eye.”
“All right. Call me immediately if you find anything out.”
Hill hung up the phone and leaned back in his big executive chair. The call to him had rattled him so much he couldn’t keep his mind off Matt. What the hell is he up to? He doubted Matt or anyone could possibly hurt him but he couldn’t take a chance at anything going wrong at the bank. His position as chairman was the source of all his wealth and power and he loved having both. So, he decided to send a couple men to Dallas and another contingency to Albany, New York to help Hans’ partner find Bill and Roxanne. He wondered what else he should be doing. Suddenly he hit the intercom button.
“Hazel, get Senator Bennington on the line.”
He sat at his desk biting his fingernail as he waited. A voice came over the intercom. “The senator is on line three, sir.” He picked up the phone.
“Senator?”
“Yes, Frank. How are you?”
“You tell me,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“There hasn’t been any talk of investigating MidSouth Bank, has there?”
“Why, no. I assure you that issue is dead. Why do you ask?”
“Richard Coleman called me and warned me something big was coming down. I don’t know if he was just trying to scare me or what.”
“If there was something in the works, he certainly wouldn’t have called to warn you about it.”
“Right, it’s probably just a bluff, but he sounded so confident it unnerved me a bit.”
“I’ll ask around and see if there is anything on the horizon, but frankly I doubt it.”
“Thanks, Senator. Sorry I bothered you.”
“No trouble.”
Frank hung up the phone. He picked up a pencil between his fingers and started tapping it slowly at first, then faster and faster. Finally, he took the pencil in both hands and broke it in two. He got up, went to his bar and poured himself a scotch. He guzzled it down and poured another one. He was about to pour a third when he slammed the glass down on the counter and exclaimed, “Damn you, Coleman!”
Plastic Gods, A Rich Coleman Novel Vol 2 Page 41
