Moon Underfoot (7 page)

These suppliers now had a chance to move a sizable load of cocaine to a Tennessee distributor, who had just made a recent connection serving several larger cities in the Northeast,
doubling demand, which was serious market growth for the coast suppliers.

In two days, Moon Pie would receive a down payment of $900,000 in cash to pass to his suppliers. He could sense that the money was about to really begin to roll in. With the cash-for-gold business, originally envisioned to be only a front, being surprisingly profitable, and this new distribution deal he was about to make, he would soon become wealthy.
In a year, I’ll have enough cash to burn a wet mule
, he thought.

After years of being a small-time criminal, struggling to survive, Moon Pie had finally positioned himself for success, but he still had one nagging issue—one unfinished piece of business he thought about every day: killing Jake Crosby. Moon Pie had followed the story on the Internet of what had happened at the Dummy Line that night. He still had unanswered questions, but he did know that Jake had killed Johnny Lee Grover and Reese Turner. Those guys were like family to him. He had made a vow to Reese on that fateful night, and he planned to keep that promise.

Over the years, Moon Pie had developed patience—a trait that had helped him successfully evade conviction for his multitude of crimes. He knew that if something immediately happened to Jake, he would be the principal suspect. He also knew that by lying low, with each passing week, everyone would return to their normal behavioral patterns. All he had to do was wait for the right time and place. He could be very, very patient. In fact, he enjoyed the thought of Jake’s anxiety at not knowing if or when he and his family were going to be terrorized again. And now that Morgan had seen him watching their house, they would all be on an emotional roller coaster that he alone controlled. Moon Pie smiled.

Moon Pie had seen Jake at his office and at home, and he had even let Jake walk within ten yards of him in the woods one Saturday morning while Jake was plowing a food plot. Jake had gotten off of his small tractor to take a leak, and Moon Pie had
planned to kill him and run over him with the tractor to make it look like a farming accident; however, two other guys had driven up, and Jake had immediately left with them. The anticipation of what was to come for Jake was becoming more and more enjoyable to Moon Pie.

Over time, Moon Pie decided to make Jake’s death look like a hunting accident, since those were rarely investigated as rigorously as other deaths. He’d never be linked to it. And with Jake gone, there wouldn’t be anyone to protect his hot wife and little girl. Another sinister smile crossed Moon Pie’s lips.

W
ALTER SEVERSON SPENT
the morning googling the name Sebastian had given him. He didn’t learn anything about Jake Crosby’s stock-picking abilities, but he spent a solid hour reading about Jake, his daughter, and a young couple being victimized in a series of violent crimes about two years earlier. Three cups of coffee later, he was convinced that he wanted to talk to Jake, so he called the brokerage office to set up a meeting for early afternoon because Walter had to work the late shift at Kroger that day.

Walter was sitting on the deck of Proffitt’s Porch, a remote “lakeside restaurant” between West Point and Columbus. He shook Tabasco on his gumbo before he even tasted it. He’d become addicted to the hot sauce since moving to Mississippi. He loved that it was on nearly every Southern table. He wished he had discovered it earlier in life. Each time a red drop splashed onto his food, he cussed the bland Northern cooking he had grown up eating.

He checked his watch, knowing Jake would be arriving soon. He scanned the parking lot for BMWs and Mercedeses—something appropriate for a stockbroker. Nothing fit the bill. Halfway through his cup of gumbo, he noticed a dirty Chevrolet
four-wheel-drive pickup roll into the gravel parking lot. He watched a fortysomething-year-old guy wearing khaki pants and a dark-green button-down shirt get out and climb the eatery’s steps. He carried a camo fleece jacket in his left hand.

“Mr. Severson?”

Walter accepted that this was the man he was scheduled to meet. He had expected more, however, someone who looked a bit more like he actually worked in a financial institution. This guy’s demeanor, coupled with his dress and vehicle choice, was fitting for a sporting-goods-store manager, not a money manager.

“Yes, that’s me. Nice to meet you, young man,” Walter said as he stood and extended his hand.

“Jake Crosby. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“I really appreciate you coming on such short notice.”

“Not a problem. I had to move a few things around, but I got it done,” Jake lied. He didn’t want anyone to know he was starved for clients and that if he didn’t add a few soon, he’d be fired.

“Do you mind if we eat outside?” Walter didn’t want anyone overhearing their conversation.

“No, sir. I actually prefer that. I came prepared…just in case,” Jake said, holding up his jacket.

Walter chuckled to himself as his potential financial manager slipped on camouflage at a restaurant. Then he remembered that Mossy Oak Camo was based in West Point; consequently, practically the whole community wore camo as fashion.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” Jake asked with a smile, seeing the smile in Walter’s eyes as he watched him pull on the jacket.

“No, I’m not. I’m from Minnesota, but I retired to the area recently. Is that a bad thing?”

“No, sir,” Jake said with a grin. “After a while, you’ll have a new accent.”

Walter smiled. He liked Jake. He said, “I’ve become quite the fan of the hospitality and Southern idiosyncrasies.” He held up
a bottle of Tabasco and said, “And this stuff. Can’t seem to get enough of it.”

A college-aged waitress arrived to take their orders. The two men exchanged pleasantries for a while. Jake was hoping to land a client, and Walter was hoping Jake would give him an opening so he could ask him about when he had killed the rednecks.

“Well, Mr. Severson, what specifically can I help you with?” Jake finally asked.

“Please call me Walter.”

“Okay, Mr. Walter. What can I help you with?” Jake’s Southern upbringing wouldn’t allow him to call him simply Walter just yet.

Walter smiled at the politeness. “Basically, I’m starting a foundation and have cash I’d like to invest for fast growth. I’m looking for a good broker, someone who can make me some money while protecting the principal.”

This was sounding like an account Jake needed. On Monday morning, he had endured a scathing lecture from his boss about growing his client base. Walter’s foundation may be an answer to his prayers. Jake wanted to know how much money he had but didn’t want to sound too eager, so he just said, “That’s what I do. I would love to help you. Our firm is one of the most trusted brokerage houses in the country. I must say—and I’m sure you already know this—that the market right now is not as…vibrant as it’s been in the recent past, so we need to discuss your expectations.”

“Growth is important.”

“We can grow it as much as anybody. I don’t mean to scare you, but the market’s just tougher these days. We have to work even harder and sometimes take more risks, but our offices have access to the best analysts in the world, and, well…basically, we have our finger on the pulse of global finance and trends.” Jake laid on the last line a little thick, but he had heard his boss use it successfully.

“I see.” Walter looked down. He really didn’t know what to ask.

“Tell me about the foundation,” Jake asked, and then he took a bite of the sandwich the waitress had placed before him a few moments earlier.

Walter glanced around and then gave Jake his prepared speech. He could tell that Jake was honestly impressed. Everyone who heard about it loved it. There was something appealing about grandparents assisting their grandkids. It felt good. The foundation would actually benefit two people at once; the old folks felt good about helping, and the younger folks got a needed boost in life.

“So how much capital do you need to fund it?”

“Right now we have about a hundred grand, but in the next few weeks, I expect it to be significantly more.”

Jake was disappointed but didn’t show it. The words
significantly more
sounded promising, though.

“Mr. Walter, I need this as much as
you
need this to grow. I promise I’ll bust my tail for you. We can talk every day if you like,” Jake said honestly.

Walter appreciated Jake’s openness. He liked Jake, and he especially liked his willingness to work hard at growing the investment. Walter knew the others would agree with his decision, but he wanted to know more about the young man, so he said, “To be honest with you, Jake, I Googled you to see what was out there, and it seems as though you had a rough go of it a few years back.”

“Yes, sir. That was a tough night,” Jake said, looking down at the table.

“I know it’s none of my business, but does it bother you now?”

Jake was accustomed to people asking questions about that night. It had been a living nightmare, and people were naturally curious.

“No, not really. My daughter and wife still have some side effects.”

“It doesn’t haunt you to have killed two people?”

“No, sir. Not in the least. I knew those men were gonna kill us—me, my daughter, and this teenage girl that we found. What does haunt me is that there are still two members of that gang out there somewhere.” Jake pointed, looked around indiscriminately, and then continued, “I really worried the first few months about some type of retaliation, but now I feel like I gotta get back to normal…wherever that is.”

“I’m sorry, son. I had to ask. I needed to know for the foundation.”

“I understand. That night…I…I just did what I had to do—what most anybody would’ve done.” Jake was growing a bit uncomfortable.

Walter sensed Jake’s change in demeanor. “Okay, Jake. So what do I do? Just bring the money to your office tomorrow?”

Jake’s disposition lifted. “Sure. You can come in today or tomorrow, if you like, to fill out the paperwork, and your bank can wire the money or you can bring by a cashier’s check.”

Walter said, “Um,” as he rubbed his face and looked around. “The money’s in cash.”

Jake was stunned, his eyes wide. “We can’t accept cash, Mr. Walter. Can’t you just write a check on the foundation’s account?”

“We don’t have an account just yet. We will soon, though.”

Jake was trying to think fast.
Surely there’s a way to make this thing work.

“I just hired a lawyer named Samantha Owens in Columbus to set everything up,” Walter added, hoping to calm Jake’s obvious concerns.

“Oh, I see. So this is just being formed?” Jake was trying to think if he knew Samantha Owens. The name did not ring any bells.

“You betcha. Brand-new.”

“Well, you can’t just walk into the bank and deposit a hundred grand without having to fill out serious paperwork. Banks
are now required to report any cash deposits over ten thousand dollars. They call it suspicious-activity reports. It’s just the government’s way of making sure they get their cut if someone’s not reporting income or if it’s from illegal activities.”

“I didn’t realize that.”

“I mean, you’re legitimate, so there’s no worries, but the bank and even our offices would face hefty penalties, including jail time, if we didn’t file the reports. But I’m sure your lawyer will know what to do.” Jake paused for a brief moment, hoping to keep this deal alive, and said enthusiastically, “How about I call her to work on the details?”

Walter nodded and began looking through his notebook for Sam’s telephone number.

Jake took a deep breath and glanced out across the big lake at the foot of the restaurant and noticed something interesting.

“Mr. Walter, ever seen a bald eagle?”

“Sure,” Walter said, looking at Jake, who was pointing out over the lake. “But it’s been a while.” He followed Jake’s gaze to see a majestic bald eagle floating a few feet above the water’s surface and said, “Oh, wow!”

“There’s a huge nest at the back of the lake. That’s the male hunting for fish. We might get lucky and see him catch something.”

“I had no idea there were nesting eagles here.”

“There used to be a lot more, but apparently use of DDT in the sixties and seventies really took a toll on the population. It’s building back now, and federal protection really helps.”

“Sounds like something that interests you,” Walter said, noting that Jake seemed more enthusiastic when talking about the eagles than investments.

“Oh yes, sir. I love wildlife. My wife and I eat here regularly, just hoping to see the eagles.”

“That’s remarkable,” Walter said reverently as he watched the big bird. “Your wife likes eagles?”

“She likes salads,” Jake said.

Walter quietly chuckled. Jake sensed a tiny connection with Mr. Walter Severson falling into place. So far, he actually liked him, which was more than he could say for over half of his clients.

“I’ll talk with your lawyer to see if we can’t work out how to quietly handle the funding issues. How does that sound?” Jake figured the lawyer surely had a plan.