Fatal Greed (14 page)

Tony had a warm feeling inside. As Christmas lights blinked in perfect cadence outside the window of his downtown apartment, he poured his third glass of his favorite blended scotch whisky, Johnnie Walker Blue, then turned up the volume on his computer. Staring at the half-empty bottle, he thought about his close friend Johnny who died during the first Gulf War. At Johnny’s memorial service, this song, Bach’s “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor,” filled the large sanctuary. Another good Marine, and one who died honorably.
That’s how we should all leave this world,
he reflected.

Tony thought back to his days in the Marines, when his purpose in life was clear. Then it was taken away. He was dishonorably discharged for harassing a female recruit. He’d actually raped the naïve twenty-year-old but convinced the scared girl from Nebraska he’d really mess her up if she accused him of rape.

Tony pushed the sheer curtains aside and rubbed his sore ribs. He could see 216 West Main off to the far left. It wouldn’t be the home of J&W much longer—as long as he could successfully execute the many facets of this plan. Looking back toward town he saw a few shoppers scurrying to finish their last-minute Christmas Eve shopping. Obviously, these people had no concept how to plan their lives.

 
Back over at his computer station, Tony studied the email he’d constructed one last time. It included four JPEG files, the ones that would garner the most alarm and shock.

Chuck had approved the basic content. They were asking Tom, as the chairman of the zoning commission, to guarantee the rezoning of 216 West Main, allowing the site to become a natural-gas drilling location. Chuck’s team believed Tom was capable of finding a way to quietly complete this alteration, working around any open-meeting laws. They gave Tom a two-week deadline to accomplish the task, and wouldn’t accept any excuses or delays.

If Tom didn’t reply with a positive response within two days, the four images, along with a four-minute highlight video file of his most memorable moments with Carol, would be distributed to his wife, his fellow deacons at church, and his colleagues at work.

Tony was quite impressed with the program he’d written. If Tom forwarded the email, it would instead be sent back to
Tony’s
email box without revealing his address. It would take a seasoned system administrator to have any clue how to trace
Tony’s
email.

Click. Send.

Tony picked up his cell phone to share the news with his boss.

“The package has been sent.”

“And you’ve made sure it’s not traceable?” Chuck asked.

“Yes sir. This guy can barely operate his cell phone, let alone trace an email,” Tony said.

“What’s that noise? Are you in a church?”

Tony muted the German composer’s staccato organ and ignored the question. “Hold on one second, sir.

“Wow, that might be record time. Tom Newhouse just replied with a positive response.”

“Great, nice work.”

Tony nodded and smirked.

“Before the New Year hits, we’ll need to follow up with Raymond, our favorite middle linebacker,” Chuck said. “He knows more than he should. But for now, he’s valuable to us. Let’s prepare the email as we did with Mr. Newhouse. I think we’ll need to alter the content a bit, but I believe you said you had a few good images that might be useful?”

“We were able to salvage a couple of gems. How do you think a broadcast email of him naked, holding a whip over a white girl who is handcuffed to a bed would go across? Do you think it might affect his business plans?” Tony spoke with disdain.

Chuck warned, “Remember, this is only a threat. If we can’t convince him to comply and we follow through and send the pictures, he could make your life hell and put our operation in jeopardy.”

“After my last interaction with Mr. Williams, I’m convinced he’ll comply with anything we ask. Anything at all.”

Tony hung up and clicked the computer’s mute button. He leaned back in his chair and absorbed the perfect intonation. He closed his eyes and remembered the gratification of finally gaining control over Raymond…the blow to his larynx, the kick to his testicles, and the crack of his fingers. At the height of
Tony’s
intensity, he felt like a wild animal, liberated of all discretion and inhibition, similar to how he felt when he had his way with women.

I plugged in our Christmas tree lights, then stood back and admired the vignette. Our tree wouldn’t be mistaken for one of the masterpieces at the Taylor mansion. Limbs sagged, but our inexpensive ornaments, dangling from the tree with a simple thread or mangled hook, had yet to drop. Needles from the plantation Douglas fir sprinkled the floor. In a few days, an avalanche of needles would encircle the tree, eventually finding their way into every nook and cranny in the house. The lights blurred as my thoughts segued into the uncertainty surrounding my life.

I realized I sought symbolism when my life was most unsettled. I searched for an anchor, some type of reasoning that would explain why things occur and my role in them. Tiffany’s voice had called out to me…that I couldn’t deny. I still struggled with how to respond, in my actions and in my heart.

I couldn’t do anything about the murder or the growing anxiety at work, not on Christmas Eve. Tonight was a night to treasure the ones you love, and my thoughts started with Marisa. I looked back at our tree, thinking it was symbolic of our relationship—meaningful and original, and it could only improve as years passed.

As the blustery north wind swirled in the backyard, I hauled in three loads of firewood to the hearth. It had rained the previous night, so I knew the fire-starting process would take extra effort.

I wadded up old newspaper and strategically placed the clumps of paper and firewood in the fireplace, then struck a match. I repeated the process again and again, but a flame didn’t materialize. Plenty of smoke, but no fire. You’d think all I had were two rocks to rub together. I might as well have been a castaway on a deserted island.

I wondered when Marisa might get home. The bank had closed two hours earlier. Most likely, she had a couple of last-minute gift ideas or couldn’t resist a sale with seventy-five percent off everything in the store.

I heard the back door alarm beep. I quickly rose, smacking my head on the metal frame of the fireplace. I touched the top of my head and closed my eyes, holding back a string of cuss words.

Marisa dashed in carrying two large red and green sacks and one smaller plastic bag tucked under her arm. Maybe I’d find a new suspense novel under the tree Christmas morning.

“Hey there, sweetie. No looking.” Ms. Claus ran through the kitchen and back to the bedroom.

I refocused on the fire-starting project. Three more attempts with no success. Sweat trickled down my lower back. My hands had turned black, and we’d nearly run out of old newspaper.

“Baby.” Marisa had come out to the living room in her comfy sweats. “Do you need some help?”

“No, I got it. The wood is real wet. Damn it.” I’d just failed to start the fire on my tenth attempt, then realized I’d cursed on Christmas Eve.

“Unless we want the fire department showing up with axes on Christmas Eve, you might want to see if the damper is open,” she suggested.

I turned and saw a cloud of smoke curling into the room.

“I thought we never closed this thing,” I said.

“Only when there’s no fire,” she added.

An unearthly screech swelled. “
Freakin
’ smoke alarm!”

I struggled to unhook the damper while Marisa ran to open the front and back doors. She also flipped on the living room ceiling fan. After what seemed liked hours, but was more like five minutes, the wailing alarm finally stopped. The temperature in the house had dropped twenty degrees.

Thankful to hear myself think, I leaned my head back. Out of nowhere, a newspaper wad hit me on the side of my face. I grabbed a couch pillow and flung it like a Frisbee, connecting with Marisa’s right cheek. A pillow and cushion fight broke out, ending with both of us red-faced from blows to the head and wild laughter.

Still determined to create fire, we tossed in old folders, financial statements, canceled checks—anything we could find—hoping something would catch. The fire finally ignited.

After dinner, we sat in front of the crackling flames, shadows dancing on the textured ceiling. We didn’t say anything. Tonight was a spiritual night.

I pictured Reinaldo sitting in his sterile cell. I wondered if he thought about living the rest of his life behind bars. Only he knew if he was innocent. For now, he’d have to find a way to deal with incarceration.

I went outside to pick up another stack of logs. I looked up at the sky and saw a vivid star glowing between the spotty clouds. Knowing what night it was, what it represented, I felt humbled. As a teenager, I took solitary walks on Christmas Eve. On those nights, more than any other, I could feel a Godly presence in the world. Tonight, I had the same feeling.

“God, thank you for all you have given me, and for how lucky I am to share this life with my precious Marisa.” I prayed aloud while staring at the gleaming star. “I don’t know what to think of this voice I hear from Tiffany. I worry about Reinaldo. Help me to understand how you want to use me in this crazy world.”

Renewed and uplifted, I walked back in the house.

“I heard you outside.” Marisa scratched my shoulder. “I know it was a private moment, but I’m so proud of you for opening up in prayer. This is the night to do it. I’ll do the same before my eyes shut tonight.” She ran her fingers along the top of my hand. “It’s been an amazing year. Not all good. But we need to lay down our cynicism for at least one night and think about what’s possible for us, for the world.”

I took Marisa and held her tight. “It’s hard for me to put in words, but you mean so much to me.”

We fell asleep spooning each other, Marisa’s body cupped in mine, and my heart in hers.

Cocooned with Marisa in our bed on Christmas morning, a loud clatter wrestled me from a deep sleep. The racket wasn’t coming from the rooftop. At least in my half-awake state I didn’t think so.

I rolled out of bed not wanting to wake up Marisa, who shifted her legs. I paused, unsure which direction to turn. The persistent rumbling sounded like a heavy-duty diesel truck. Who would be delivering furniture or an appliance on Christmas day?

I pulled down a blind from our bedroom, then rubbed my eyes. What the…? I wasn’t going to curse on Christmas day, at least not this early. I trotted to the front door and yanked it open.

“Pop, what the heck are you doing here, and what are those horses doing here?”

“Merry Christmas, son.” Pop grinned as he patted the side of one of two dark-chestnut
Morgans
eating grass in our front lawn. “I thought I’d surprise you and Marisa.”

He picked up the morning paper and tossed it to me, while I shivered in my boxers.

“By the looks of it, I think I accomplished that goal. I didn’t mean to shock you, just give
ya
a personal Merry Christmas.”

“You and your not-so-tiny reindeer,” I said. He came up and gave me two strong thumps on my back. Ever since Mom died, Pop had become more affectionate. Because we didn’t see each other often, his hug reminded me how much I’d missed it.

I led him into the house. Marisa, bleary-eyed, stood in the kitchen making coffee with a blanket around her.

“There’s your better half,” Pop said.

“Merry Christmas, Pop. Give me a hug,” Marisa said.

“Michael,” Marisa said looking out the front window, “I’m assuming you saw horses eating our grass?”

Pop and I both laughed. “They’re actually two of Santa’s most prodigious reindeer. They’re hungry after a long night traveling the world.” I winked at Marisa, then gave her a smooch on her cheek.

Marisa finished making coffee, then cooked us a southern breakfast: fried eggs, grits with red-eye gravy, oven-baked toast smothered with butter, and piles of bacon. The smell of the mouthwatering bacon filled the house, momentarily overtaking our tree’s evergreen scent.

“This tastes so good, reminds me of Michael’s mom’s breakfasts.” Pop took another bite of his grits and gravy.

“You know I never met her, Pop, but I’m glad you gave me her recipe book,” Marisa said.

Pop laid his hand on top of Marisa’s. “Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell us the real reason behind your trip south? It couldn’t have been to avoid the cold weather,” I said.

Pop bit into his fifth piece of bacon. “As you know, your Uncle Lonnie has twin grandsons, and they’ve been hoping Santa would bring them a horse for the last three years. They’re both twelve now, and he thinks they’re ready. I’ve been wanting to downsize the old farm anyway. Your place is about halfway, so I thought I’d make two surprise stops today.”

“Nice gesture, Pop,” I said. “You’re going to make a couple of kids real happy.”

Pop nodded and smiled.

I think he wanted to ask when he’d have grandkids of his own to spoil, but he knew the question was off limits. Marisa wouldn’t address the topic of producing grandchildren until a ring was on her finger. Period.

As we cleared the dishes from the filling breakfast, the doorbell rang. I thought the president of the homeowners association might have already written up a formal complaint for the horse invasion.

“Hey, Karina.” Karina held tight to her little
schnoodle
, Scruffy, named after
Reinaldo’s
daily five o’clock shadow, as Brent and Ricky stood like statues in the yard, staring at the horses. “Come in…out of the cold and away from the horses.”

“Thank you, Michael.” Karina waltzed in with more energy than I’d seen in weeks.

“Aren’t we forgetting a couple of little rug rats?”

“Oh, of course.” Karina blinked her eyes, like she’d forgotten her kids were still outside. “Brent, Ricky, come on inside.”

“But, Mom,” they both said in unison.

“That’s a one.” She held up a single digit and held a lasting sneer in their direction.

I shut the door and the bitter wind ceased, but the kids were just getting started.

“I can name him whatever I want, and I want to name him Lassie,” Ricky said, crossing his arms.

“Don’t you know that Lassie is a dog’s name? Geez, Ricky, you’re stupid.”

I shot a glance at Marisa, then over at Pop, who raised both shoulders.

“Hey, Marisa, Merry Christmas to you and Michael. And you must be the horse man.” Karina nodded toward Pop, who walked up and shook her hand. I completed the introductions.

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to name him Rudolph. And I’m going to jump on him and he’s going to fly me into the sky.” Ricky flung his arm upward, a dimpled smile forming on his face.

But that didn’t last long.

“If that horse gets in the air, then I’m Santa,” Brent retorted, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at his younger sibling.

“You’re not Santa!” Ricky took a swing.

“Well, that horse isn’t Rudolph, dork.” Brent pushed him back.

“Okay,” Marisa shouted, taking a quick look at Karina, who seemed oblivious. “Who wants a candy cane? Follow me. But you have to be polite and nice to each other.”

I released a breath, glad that Marisa noticed the kids needed some attention before a sibling war erupted. The kids marched in a line behind my frizzy-headed girlfriend still wrapped in a red blanket.

Karina watched the kids walk away, but didn’t say a word to either. She just continued where she left off. “Besides wishing you a Merry Christmas, I just wanted to say thank you,” she said.

I paused, looked at Pop and back at Karina. “I’m not sure—”

“You got our Christmas card?” Marisa yelled from the kitchen.

“Actually, it was your recent visit that woke me up and helped me come to my senses. I’d been feeling so sorry for myself, I forgot I still had a lot to be thankful for, starting with my friends,” she said.

It was a nice compliment, but weren’t parents supposed to be thankful for their kids, even if they did fight like cats and dogs?

Karina gave me a hug, and Scruffy licked my face. The dog squeezed out of Karina’s grip and onto the floor, then immediately ran to the Christmas tree.

“Why don’t you take your coat off and enjoy Christmas day with us?” Marisa had walked back to the foyer, while both boys watched the horses through the front window, their sticky fingers smudging the glass as they licked their respective candy canes.

“Thanks for the invite, but I just wanted to drop in and say Merry Christmas. I’m actually leaving to go visit my mom in Stillwater.”

“All of you, right?” I eyed Brent and Ricky.

“Yes…uh, of course. All of us. Yes, all of us are headed up to Stillwater.”

“We had to get up extra early and travel on Christmas Day. No fun,” Brent said with his back to us.

Karina shifted her eyes for just a moment, but it appeared she had a filter that shut off any emotional response. Or was it an emotional connection with her kids that was missing? Something was off, that much was rather obvious.

“Everything okay?” I asked, knowing she’d think I was referring to her mom, but I’d actually meant that in a more general sense.

“Yes, she’s feeling pretty good these days. I would have left yesterday, but I met with Arthur yesterday morning, and we agreed I should take some time off. Michael, thank you for planting the seed.”

“We’re glad your mindset is so positive. When you get back, call us, and let’s get together,” Marisa said.

Positive? Positively unaware and clueless, I thought.

“Of course. Now where is my little Scruffy?”

We turned to see Scruffy grunting out a gift under the Christmas tree right next to the wrapped presents.

We all yelled. Karina blushed and ran to pick up Scruffy.

I cleaned up the feces but saw stains on the tree skirt. “I think this is a gift we’ll treasure forever.”

We escorted Karina outside and the kids scurried over to the horses, one of whom let out a visible snort. Ricky jumped back about three feet, then ran and hid behind his mom’s leg for security. Scruffy jumped out of Karina’s arms and began a barking assault on the monster horses. Minutes later, with her dog finally contained in the seat next to her, and the kids strapped in the back seat, Karina backed out of the driveway to head to Stillwater.

“Have a great Christmas,” she said through the open window. Scruffy leaned his head out and barked twice more at the horses.

I waved, then noticed the two kids swatting at each other.

“Did you see all that?” I asked Marisa as we closed the door.

Her brown eyes got big and she let out a tired breath.

“Did it just get quiet in here?” Pop chuckled as he was putting on his coat.

We returned the laugh. “Leaving already, Pop?” I asked.

“I need to get back on the road. I can’t wait to see the expressions on those boys’ faces.”

Marisa handed Pop a travel mug full of coffee. “I want to make sure that southern breakfast doesn’t make you fall asleep driving.”

We gave Pop a hug goodbye. I thumped his back this time.

“Love you, Pop.”

“I love you too, son. Merry Christmas to both of you.”

The door shut and Marisa and I just stared at each other.

“What the—”

“Don’t use that word on Christmas.” Marisa raised a cute eyebrow.

“Who was that? I’ve never seen Karina so out of touch with her kids. And no mention of Reinaldo either. It’s like he never existed.”

Two surprise visits on Christmas day, each headed opposite directions, possibly in more than just a geographical sense. Marisa and I had another cup of coffee and contemplated what we had just witnessed. We had no answers to Karina’s almost disturbing demeanor, only more concern—for her, the kids, and Reinaldo. And I couldn’t let go of my desire –my mission—to find Tiffany’s killer.

Knowing we couldn’t spend our entire holiday fretting over something we couldn’t control, I watered the tree while Marisa made herself busy in the kitchen. I approached her while she put glasses in the cabinet. I kissed the back of her neck and her shoulders quivered.

Marisa turned and leaned against me. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

She took my hand and walked me over to the tree. Then we shared our gifts with each other, wrapped and unwrapped.