Blue Bloods of Bois D’Arc (27 page)

Chapter 63

Three weeks after plea bargain

Eddie told Troy to come by his office for a final briefing before reporting to his new job.

“Monday’s your first day at work, Troy. How do you feel about that?”

“I feel great. I just want to thank you again for what you’ve done for me. I mean it, man.”

“That’s our job, Troy. We help people solve their problems. I want you to think of me as sort of your guidance counselor since Judge Hamilton left you in my custody. I’ll want you to check in with me from time to time to tell me about how your job is going. You understand?”

“Sure thing. That’s okay by me. I never had a father or anybody take an interest in me. I might have amounted to something if anyone gave me some guidance—like you’re doin’. And I’m doin’ like you said, staying off weed, can’t blow this job. It’s the best one I’ll ever have.”

“Good thinking, Troy. I think you’re going to make me proud.”

“I’ll pay you back for the clothes when I start gettin’ a pay check. Hope to get my own place soon, too. Haskel’s gettin’ out next week and it gets kinda awkward when him and Janett get goin’ at night; know what I mean?”

“Yes, I think I do. Okay.” Eddie stood to signal the meeting was over. “Be sure you get to work on time Monday and every day, okay? Now go out there and make me proud.”

“Yes, sir, I sure will. Just you wait and see,” Troy said over his shoulder as he left Eddie’s office with a brand new positive attitude on life.

“You surely will make me proud, Troy, my friend,” Eddie said aloud with a sinister smile. He reared back in his executive chair and propped his five-hundred-dollar custom snakeskin cowboy boots on his desk. He would allow Troy a few months to make friends, get a feel for the job, and learn his way around. Then he would put his sinister plan into place. Troy was so indebted to him, he wouldn’t be able to refuse his part in Eddie’s diabolical scheme. Eddie’s lousy court-appointed fee was going to bring him millions of dollars’ worth of satisfaction as he sunk deeper into a delusional state of mind. The only loose end was what to do with Troy afterward.

Monday morning

Troy stopped at the guard shack to sign the entry log as hundreds of workers flowed through the guard gate. He picked up his temporary badge until his permanent clearance came through. There was a man sitting on a three-wheeled motor scooter holding a hand-written sign with Troy Blackmon written on it. He approached the man when he passed through the gate with the other employees.

“Good morning. I’m Troy Blackmon. You waitin’ on me?”

“Yep. Glad to meet you, Troy. I’m going to take you to Brent’s office. Climb aboard.”

Troy hopped in the scooter’s open bed, sort of like the bed of a pickup only much smaller. Besides Troy, it was carrying power tools and boxes of electronic parts. He grabbed hold of the side quickly as the driver hit the gas and made a sharp U-turn, almost tossing Troy over the side. The scooter whizzed through the facility past the engineering and administrative buildings toward the long row of hangars where he would be working. The driver wheeled the scooter into Hanger Number Four where Brent Ferguson’s office was located. They came to a stop just outside his door.

“This is your stop, Troy. Welcome aboard,” he said and left to deliver the parts in the bed of the scooter. Troy approached the office and timidly tapped on the door.

“Come in, Troy. I’ve been expecting you. Have a seat. As I told you in the interview, your job will be an all-around handyman. I’ll be asking you to do various jobs that come up. For the first couple of days, I want you to ride around with Levi, the guy that brought you here. He works out of the motor pool delivering parts and tools all over the facility. That will be the quickest way for you to learn your way around and know where things are. A word of warning. You chose not to join the union, and trust me, they already know you didn’t join. So I wouldn’t broadcast it around the hangar bays. Some of the union boys can get a little testy, so watch your step. Just do your job and things will work out fine.” Brent paused, trying to think if there was anything else he needed to tell Troy.

The sudden loud sound of a motor scooter muffler broke Brent’s concentration. “Here comes Levi now.” They stepped out of the office to meet him. “Levi knows you’re going to be riding with him. I’d advise you to sit down in the bed of the scooter,” Brent said as Levi stopped his scooter within a foot of where Troy stood waiting.

Brent turned to Troy. “Do you have any questions?” Troy shook his head and climbed into the back of the scooter and sat down immediately. Brent watched the two men on the scooter as they roared out of the hangar. He shook his head and said, “I hope I don’t regret this,” as he returned to his office.

Chapter 64

Payday

Eddie had contacted Roger Helms’s dealer and acquired a kilo of cocaine. Against Roger’s threat of bodily harm, Eddie couldn’t resist calling him to gloat about the plan he was about to set in motion to destroy Rod Miller.

“Eddie, I told you—don’t ever contact me again. My relationship with Cass is history. I don’t have anything against her new husband. I fucked up and I’ve paid my dues. I have a new life now. This is your vendetta and I’m sorry I ever agreed to get involved. Keep me out of it. If you get caught and mention my name as part of your crazy scheme and get me sent to jail, you are a dead man. That’s not a threat, it’s a promise, and you had better believe it.” Roger slammed his phone down without another word.

Later that week, Troy Blackmon had received his first paycheck. He sat in Eddie’s office, fidgeting with his hair, looking at the clock and tapping his foot, waiting for Eddie to show up. He knew it must be important for Eddie to have called him while he was on break to come by his office after work. Troy wasn’t told what the meeting was about. He assumed he wanted to make a copy of his first paycheck to show the judge. The longer he waited the more fearful he grew of Eddie and the power he held over him.

Eddie swooped in the door, late as usual. “Good to see you, Troy, how’s the job going?” Before Troy could respond, Eddie held up his hand to shush him. Then Eddie made a big show of putting his briefcase on the desk. He slowly opened it up. Still standing behind his desk, he casually flipped through the contents in his briefcase with a wild look in his eyes. His gaze shifted to Troy. “You have been out at RJ Systems for a while now. You must know your way around pretty well, right?”

“Yeah,” Troy said. “I know every nook and cranny of those hangars. Mr. Ferguson said I was doing real good. I’m gettin’ promoted to a parts runner next week. I’ll be driving all over that place on a three-wheeled motor scooter delivering parts, tools, and anything else the line workers need. I’m really excited about it. Plus, I get a pay raise, too. I brought you my paycheck like the judge said.”

“Congratulations, that’s really good, Troy, I’m impressed.” Ignoring Troy’s comment about his paycheck, Eddie sat down, leaned forward placing his elbows on the desk. He methodically clasped his hands interlocking his fingers, all the while his gaze was locked on Troy. He rested his chin on his clasped hands. “Now I think it’s time you did me a favor for all the help I have given you free of charge. That’s only fair, don’t you think?”

A concerned expression came over Troy’s face. “Yeah,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Sure, I owe you big time.” Troy’s voice quivered when he responded. “But what can a little old parts chaser do for somebody like you? You’ve got it made. You already have everything, man.”

“Not quite everything, Troy.” Eddie’s delusion of having Cass all to himself when he gets rid of Rod had taken over his mind. “I have a little gift I want you to deliver for me.

A gift for my good friend, Mr. Miller,” he said. “You know where Mr. Miller’s office is, right?

“Sure, he has a temporary office in the Saudi hangar.”

“Perfect. That will do nicely. I want you to deliver it to his office, but don’t give it to him personally. I want to surprise him,” he said with a sinister chuckle.

“Sure. I can do that.” Troy was apprehensive about the favor and Eddie’s strange behavior. Eddie wasn’t acting like the same person Troy had first met, but he had no choice but to do the bidding of his lawyer. “I go by there a lot, but he don’t spend much time in his office. He’s always out walking around the hangar and checking the work being done on the Saudi airplanes. They had some bad accidents on the planes a while back. That’s when he moved down to the hangar and is keepin’ an eagle eye on everything that’s goin’ on.”

“Is that so? Lots of bad accidents, you say. That’s interesting. Did they ever find out who was causing them?

“Some guy named Jones was trying to start a fire and burned himself up. They said he was the one that caused the other accidents, too. Haven’t had any more accidents since, so the cops said the case was closed, but Mr. Miller is keeping a close watch on things just the same.”

“Perfect. We wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to the company,” Eddie said, feigning sincerity. “Now about my favor, you don’t have any problem doing that for me, do you?”

“No, sir . . . I just don’t want to do anything that would cost me my job.”

Eddie looked sternly at Troy. “Let’s just say doing a simple favor is much better than having to go to jail and
pay a thousand-dollar fine with no job, isn’t it? Pay attention now,” Eddie said, “this is what I want you to do. Take this box and put it in Mr. Miller’s personal locker in his temporary office so it will take him a while to find his surprise gift.”

Eddie picked up the finely handcrafted mahogany box about the size of a cigar box with a gold inlaid Saudi flag on the top and an inscription below it. Eddie had spared no expense on his elaborate plan. He sat the box down on his desk and slid it toward Troy.

“Wow, that’s a pretty fancy box. What’s that funny-lookin’ writin’ on it say?”

The strange writing Troy asked about was written in Arabic, which Eddie knew Rod could read. It said
, To Prince Abdulraheem El-Amine from your American friend, Rod Miller
.

“It’s part of the surprise. Don’t worry about that, just concentrate on your job. Remember, I don’t want anyone to know you have anything to do with it or where it came from, understand?
No one
,” Eddie emphasized through clenched teeth. “This is just between us. Your job and whether you stay out of jail depends on your successful delivery of this box without anyone seeing you or knowing you put it there.”

“Yes, sir,” Troy replied. “But Mr. Winthrop, I don’t want to do nothin’ illegal and lose my job.”

“You won’t, just do as you’re told and remember, I kept you out of jail and I can put you back in jail.”

Troy’s hands shook when Eddie handed the box to him. “Now, go and do your job as soon as the first opportunity presents itself. Then call me.”

“I will, but don’t you want a copy of my paycheck for the judge?”

“Oh, yes, the paycheck. Have the girl in the copy room make a copy for me. If you complete your assignment satisfactorily for me within the judge’s ninety day order, I will take it to the judge and you’ll be home free.”

Chapter 65

Breakthrough

Jack was sitting at his desk reading through monthly departmental progress reports to make sure each department was working within the contracted deadlines and within budgets. Even as large as the company had grown, he was still a hands-on president and CEO.

Rod was down in the Saudi program hangar in his temporary office for the duration of the contract. He also reviewed the Saudi program engineering reports weekly before forwarding them to Jack. Rod met with the Saudi representatives who flew in every couple of weeks for a personal review of progress. He had established a great working rapport with the Saudi representatives and appreciated their input, which usually was only minor questions he answered easily. He believed the real reason for the inspection trips was to go to Dallas to shop. They could take anything they wanted back with them without having to go through customs, flying from the company airport on their personal jet.

Rod had signed his name to a revised contract guaranteeing the Saudi government that RJ Systems would complete the four Boeing 747 aircraft modifications in two years. The repair of the fire-damaged aircraft and the new replacement aircraft would not impede the quality or the schedule stipulated in the original contract.

Jack had turned the ringer off his phone so he could concentrate on the budget reports and instructed Carolyn to hold all his calls. So engrossed in his work, he didn’t notice the blinking red light on his desk phone. A tapping sound on the door finally broke his concentration. Scowling, he turned toward the door.

“I said I didn’t want to be disturbed, Carolyn, I’m very busy.”

The door opened partway and Carolyn sheepishly stepped halfway into the office. “I’m sorry, Mr. Workman, but I think you should take this call, it is really important.”

“Who is it?” he snapped.

“Special Agent Garza, sir. He said it was important.”

“Thank you, Carolyn. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

“I understand, sir.” She closed the door behind her.

Jack snatched up the phone. “This is Jack. Manny, what do you have for me?”

“Jack, I believe we have a break in your case. The agency shelved the case as solved after the fire ended the accidents and put it in cold storage. I wasn’t satisfied with that and retrieved it to continue reviewing the security tapes on my own time.”

“That’s mighty good of you, Manny, I really appreciate your dedication.”

“After reviewing the tapes for what seemed like a hundred time, I noticed that Jones frequently pulled Chavez aside for a brief conversation of less than thirty seconds.”

“We saw that before. What’s different now?”

“I took the tapes to Washington and had our lab concentrate on three specific interchanges the two men had. The audio lab amplified and recorded those sections of the tape ten times the normal sound level, but there was just too much background noise and distortion to understand them. Even running it through a filter to separate out the background noise, we couldn’t pick up much of what they said. But we got lucky on one of the conversations.”

Jack straightened in his chair. “I’m listening.”

“One of the meetings, Jones made the mistake of not obscuring his face from the camera. The video lab zoomed in on his face and the computer lab cleaned up the image enough so that we could see his lips moving. We brought in an expert lip reader and he interpreted every word Jones said.”

“That’s great, Manny, what did he say?”

“He mentioned a meeting with the
man
, that’s how he referred to the guy he was working for. Do you know of a bar named Roscoe’s Place?”

“I’ve never been there, but I’ve driven past it,” Jack answered. “It’s a smoky little bar and grill in Farmdale, about ten miles west of Bois D’Arc. It’s pretty seedy. Mostly locals hang out there.”

“Thanks. We can backtrack from the conversation date on the tape and nail down the meeting date.”

“Great work—You boys are really good. That’s the best news I’ve had since the fire. What can I do to help?”

“Just keep doing your business as usual. And you might want to keep an eye on Chavez as a precaution. We’ll take it from here. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks a million. Make that thirty million, Manny. I’m going to buy you the best steak dinner in Texas when you make the arrest.”

“I appreciate that, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. This is just one small lead. We have a long way to go.”

“This may be a small lead, but before we had nothing. Great work!”

“Thanks, I’ll be in touch.”

Roscoe’s Place

A plain black unmarked Ford Fairlane pulled into the crowded parking lot unnoticed. The weathered clapboard building in Farmdale looked like it might have been a combination grocery store and gas station at some point in its life. The old gasoline pump’s hoses were rotted away and the glass over the gauges was long gone. Smoke curled skyward from a rusty smokestack on the backside of the building.
Too much smoke for a regular kitchen
, Special Agent Garza surmised.
Probably from a barbecue pit.
Almost every little eatery in Texas smoked their own brisket for their barbecue.

As he entered, cigarette smoke burned non-smoking Garza’s eyes as he scanned the dimly lighted room. He dabbed his tearing eyes as they swept the room. Shift workers were shooting pool with loud country music blaring from the jukebox. Wooden booths lined the walls surrounding the two pool tables in the center of the room. Racks of chips, pretzels, salted nuts, and cheese crackers were against the wall by the front door. The bar was straight ahead with a half dozen stools that badly needed new covers. He stepped up to the bar.

The friendly bartender greeted him, “Good evening, what can I get for you, neighbor?”

“Just some information,” Garza answered and held his credentials up to the bartender.

“FBI, huh? We run a clean place here, no drugs or girls, if you know what I mean.”

“Not the kind of information I’m looking for,” Garza replied. “About five months ago a man of medium build, kind of shaggy hair with a scrubby beard came in here. He’s about five-foot-nine, probably dressed in work jeans and cowboy boots.” He showed the bartender Homer’s personnel head shot. “You seen this man or remember seeing a man that fits that description?”

“Nope, ain’t seen him and that description fits just about every cowboy that comes in here. This ain’t Dallas. We’re just plain old hard-workin’ country folks. Sorry, I can’t help you.”

“He was with another man, better dressed and driving a fancy car, does that help?”

“Don’t get many like that in here. I stay pretty busy here at the bar. Maybe one of the waitresses might remember him. Millie works most every night except Saturday and we’re closed on Sunday, so folks can go to church.”

“That’s good to hear. I’d like to speak to Millie.”

“I’m afraid she’s home with a sick kid. Her sorry husband knocked her up and then left town. I try to help her out as much as I can.”

“I’m sure you do. Where can I find Millie? I need to ask her a few questions.”

“She just lives down the road a ways. Go west on 69 and take a left on Sawdust Road and go about three blocks. She lives in the two-story house on the left next to a vacant lot. There’s a ‘for sale’ sign in the front yard, but it’s been there for years, ain’t nobody in their right mind gonna buy that dump. She lives upstairs. A couple of old widows live downstairs.”

“Thanks,” Garza said, “I think I can find it. I appreciate your help . . .”

“Rusty, name’s Rusty. Tell Millie to come back soon as she can, I’m kinda shorthanded,” he said as Garza turned to leave. “You have a good evenin’, always glad to help the FBI,” Rusty called to his back as he left the building.

Ten minutes later, Garza was knocking on the front door of the rundown house on Sawdust Road. The porchlight came on, but it took several minutes for anyone to come to the door. He heard footsteps hurrying down stairs. The front door opened slightly and half of a face appeared. Garza couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman looking through the rusty screen door.

“Good evening, I’m FBI Special Agent Garza.” He flashed his identification. “I’m looking for Millie. Is she here?”

“What do you want with her? Is she in trouble?”

“No, she isn’t in any trouble. I just need to ask her a few questions; it’ll only take a few minutes. Do you know her?”

There was a long pause. “I’ll stay out here to ask my questions if that would make her more comfortable.” Garza waited patiently for a response.

“I’m Millie,” the face finally responded. “Why do you want to talk to me, I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I know you haven’t, Millie. I’m just looking for one of your customers that came into Roscoe’s about five months ago.” He held up Homer’s picture. “Ever see him? He looked like most of your regular customers, about five-nine, average build, scruffy beard, dressed in work jeans and cowboy boots. But the man he was with was probably dressed in a suit and driving a fancy car. Does that ring any bells?”

Millie opened the door wider so he could see her tired face peering through straggling bleached-blonde hair with dark roots showing. She was frail, almost anorexic looking. He stepped closer, but stayed outside the rusty screen door.

“He looks kinda familiar. There was this guy that came in a while back with some dude dressed in all black. Kinda looked like Zorro on TV wearing his long leather duster. They were having some kind of big argument. Every time I came close they shut up. Then the dude in black got up and put a handful of quarters in the jukebox. He must have played ten or fifteen songs—the jukebox was still playing on his money when he walked out in a huff. The other man that looked like your picture stayed and got really drunk. He could hardly walk. Rusty got a couple of the boys shootin’ pool to take him home. He was in really bad shape.”

“Can you describe what the man in black looked like?”

“He was a little taller than the other guy, maybe five-ten, I couldn’t see how big he was under that duster. He kept his hat pulled down low and his head down. Couldn’t see his face.”

“Can you remember anything else? How did he pay for his drinks?”

“He paid cash. He just got up and threw down a couple of ten-dollar bills and walked out. It was the biggest tip I ever got and he didn’t even drink his beer. The guy with him drank it down and five or six more after that.”

“You said Rusty got somebody to drive him home. Do you know who?”

“Yeah, Lenny and Buster. They shoot pool there every night. Lenny makes more hustlin’ pool than he does drivin’ a Pepsi truck, I can tell you that.”

“Thank you, Millie, you have been most helpful. I hope your daughter gets better soon. Rusty said he needs you back as soon as possible. Good night, and thanks again for your help.”

“You’re welcome, I hope you find him.” Millie’s eyes followed Garza to his car, then closed the door and the porch light went out.

Special Agent Garza drove straight back to Roscoe’s. He poured some water on his handkerchief from the bottle in his car to be ready to wipe his burning eyes when he reentered the smoky building. He got out of his car and walked toward the bar. As soon as he entered the smoke-filled room, Rusty called out to him.

“Welcome back, mister. Did you talk to Millie? Did she say when she was comin’ back in?”

“Yes, I had a good conversation with her, but she didn’t say when she would be back to work. She did say she remembered the guy I’m looking for. She also said you had some guys take the man home because he was too drunk to drive. Is Lenny here tonight?”

“Yeah, he’s that tall, skinny drink a water on the back table.”

“Thank you.” Garza wiped his eyes with the damp handkerchief before walking into the cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke hanging over the pool table. He approached Lenny and waited until after he made his shot.

“Excuse me, I hate to interrupt your game, but would you mind answering a few questions for me?”

Lenny lined up his next shot and without turning his face away from the pool table asked, “Who the hell are you, and why would I want to talk to you?”

“I’m FBI Special Agent Manuel Garza.” He showed his badge.

When Lenny jerked his head around, he was facing Garza’s shield only inches from his nose. “Holy shit, we got a real G-Man here boys.” He put his hands up in mock terror. “I’m just messin’ with you, man. What does the FBI want with me?”

“Just a few minutes of your time that’s all. I have a couple of questions for you.”

“Fire away, G-Man. I got nothin’ to hide.”

“Thank you. Several months ago, Rusty said he asked you to drive this man home. He was too drunk to drive. Do you remember him?” Garza held up Jones’s photo.

“That’s him, but he ain’t local. I checked his wallet and his driver’s license said his name was Homer C. Jones from Bois D’Arc, about ten miles from here. I didn’t want to do it because it was late and I had to get up early to drive my route. Then I seen he had a wallet stuffed with twenty-dollar bills. So I got Buck here”—he nodded toward a short man with his belly hanging over his belt at the other end of the pool table— “to follow us in my car and took a couple of twenties each to cover our time and expenses. I think that was fair since I didn’t even know the guy. We were doin’ him a big favor by drivin’ him home in that wreck he called a pickup. We coulda rolled him for all that wad of money, but I just drove him home, that’s all. Man, his wife was really pissed. Me ’n Buck carried him in the house and dumped him on his bed and got the hell outta’ there. Does that answer your question, Mr. G-Man?”