Shake the Trees (21 page)

James had grown up in Miami when it was “Miama.”  When it was still part of the South.  In his only truly prescient political moment, James immediately realized the consequences of the exchange.  A come-from-behind victory had been promised and would be delivered.  This young heir to the Bush political legacy would wait another four years before moving to Tallahassee.

Yes, James thought to himself as he studied the dark and foreboding waters spread out before him, the old he-coon was about to walk.

CHAPTER 31

It was late afternoon in San Luis.  Sandi had returned home from Sante Fe after her meeting with Bartholomew Citron.  She now sat at her desk at the real estate office, and stared glumly out the window as an afternoon thundershower moved through the mountain town.  She tapped her fingers on her leg, waiting for the hands of the clock to slowly claw their way to 5:00.  Then her cell rang and she snatched it off her desk, hoping that it was Sam.  The display showed an unknown number. 

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

“Sam!  Are you okay?”

“I guess.  I’m with Jefferson Davis Brown.”

“Already?”  Sandi asked with surprise and some trepidation.

“Yeah.  He wants you to transfer my money at the bank to his account.  All of it.”

“I can’t believe he’s agreed to represent you!  That’s great!”  Sandi responded with relief and near delight.

“Really?  I mean I guess you’re right.  I’m confused, Sandi.”

“Sam, listen to me.  Everything is going to be all right.  Let me talk to Mr. Brown.”

“Sandi, did you tell him that I was your fiancée?”  Sam began to choke up as he questioned her.

Sandi was taken aback.  She hadn’t expected the question.  But she knew that Sam was in a fragile state, and that now was not the time for this discussion.  “We’ll talk about it when we get you out of there, Sam.  Okay?”

“Okay.  Here he is.”  Sam despondently agreed.

“Ms. Johnson?”  The Mouth bellowed.

“Yes, Mr. Brown.  Please call me Sandi.  And thank you so much for agreeing to represent Sam.”

“Well, Sandi, at this point, in light of Mr. Norden’s limited financial resources, all I can really agree to is seeing Mr. Norden through First Appearance.”  The Mouth spoke without emotion.

“First Appearance?”

“Yes.  I’m expecting the hearing will occur on Thursday morning.  The government has three days under these circumstances.  It will be an opportunity for Mr. Norden to enter a plea.  But more importantly, it will be an opportunity to get your fiancée released from this hell hole.”

“Is it bad?”  Sandi asked nervously.

“I don’t want to alarm you Sandi, but this isn’t a safe place for a man like Sam,” The Mouth warned with knowing authority.

“I’m scared for him, Mr. Brown.”

“I know, Sandi.  I know.  You need to trust me.  I’m doing everything I can here.”

“Do you think you can get him released on Thursday?”  Sandi begged.

“Like I said, Sandi, I’m going to do everything I can.  But you need to understand that the federal system is very different from the state systems.  Normally bail is not even a consideration in the federal system.  The sole issue is risk of flight.  And the prosecutor in this case is a bulldog.  He will argue that Sam is a flight risk given the amount of money he is alleged to have stolen.  That kind of money can buy a safe haven.”

“Sam didn’t steal anything.  He’s not going anywhere.”  Sandi retorted in a shrill and insistent tone.

“I understand, Sandi,” The Mouth answered calmly.  “But the United States Attorney for the Middle District of Florida says he did.  He will seek to keep him under lock and key.  If bail is an option, which as I said is unlikely, we’ll be talking several million.”

“Million?”

“Yes.  Sam is alleged to have absconded with $150 million dollars.  The federal government will want some assurance that Sam won’t attempt to flee the jurisdiction.”

“Sam doesn’t have that kind of money.  Nobody Sam knows has that kind of money.”  Sandi groaned.

Jefferson Davis Brown was disappointed.  Not about making bail.  He didn’t expect the issue of bail to come up at First Appearance.  Bail was very rare in the federal system.  He was looking for a deep pocket.  Not for bail.  For his fee.  “Well, Sandi, I will do everything in my power to find an alternative acceptable to the Court.  We will offer to voluntarily give up Sam’s passport and agree to house arrest with a GPS ankle bracelet.  And anything else the Court might request.”

“Sam doesn’t have a passport.”

“Really?” 

“He’s never even been out of the country.”

The Mouth had exhausted his tolerance for chitchat, and was ready to get down to business.  “About the money, Sandi.  Do you have paper and pen handy?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jefferson Davis Brown repeated the routing number of his bank and his account number by memory.

“I’m leaving for the bank right now,” Sandi assured The Mouth.  “It’s just down the street.”

Sandi paused before she continued speaking.  “Mr. Brown, I lost my husband a few years ago.  I don’t want to lose Sam too.  Please do everything that you can to help him.”

The Mouth’s mind had already moved on to other things.  “I will, Sandi.  I’m certain I will.”

Tillis sat in the lounge of the general aviation terminal of Tampa International Airport killing time.  It was nearly 10 p.m. Monday night.  He’d flown in from Orlando nearly four hours earlier, and identified The Mouth’s parked Gulfstream as he taxied his King-Air to the tarmac.  Huge gold scales of justice adorned both sides of the big vertical tailfin.  Tillis had brought his plane to a stop in the same row as the big jet, but a few spaces closer to the terminal.

After determining that the two uniformed pilots playing poker in the corner belonged to the Gulfstream, Tillis had begun surfing the internet on his laptop.  He was now cussing his good fortune.  The value of his muscle car collection had skyrocketed.  But it wasn’t for sale.  Never would be.  So the prices being paid for the sought after cars were unwelcome.  There were still so many that he coveted.

Tillis had assumed that The Mouth would enjoy drinks and dinner after his meeting with Sam, but he couldn’t risk missing the rock star lawyer.  So he’d arrived early.  Finally the cell phone belonging to one of the uniformed pilots buzzed, and the two quickly gathered their things together and left the terminal for the tarmac.  The Mouth had obviously called ahead to make sure his plane was ready for takeoff as soon as he arrived.  Tillis slowly collected his things and ambled into the shadows of the King-Air’s fuselage.

“Hands up, white boy,” Tillis growled as he stuck his finger into The Mouth’s back.

The Mouth threw his hands into the air as a look of fear flashed across his face.  Then fear turned to confusion and finally to anger, and he spun around.  “Who you callin’ white boy, motherfucker?”

Tillis met The Mouth’s angry visage with a huge grin.

“You,” The Mouth sputtered.  Jefferson Davis Brown recognized Tillis as an adversary, but couldn’t quite place him.

“Don’t you remember me Mouth?  I kicked your ass in Miami last year.”

Brown’s brow creased.  He still couldn’t place the face.  Then he realized he’d been trying to put a round peg into a square hole.  Tillis hadn’t been opposing counsel in a prior case.  He’d been an FDLE witness.  A witness that had, in fact, kicked his ass.  “Tillis, right?  Just Tillis?”

“Just Tillis.”

“What the hell is your problem?  You’re crazy as a damn tick.”  The Mouth protested.

“Everybody says you’re an Oreo.  I just wanted to find out for sure.  Now I know.”  Tillis smiled.

“An Oreo!”  The Mouth exclaimed in near horror.

“Yeah.  You know.  Black on the outside, but white on the . . .”

“I know what a god-damned Oreo is you miserable son of a bitch.  I ain’t no Oreo.”

Tillis shrugged.  “Actions speak louder than words, Mouth.”

“That’s Mr. Brown to you.”

“Okay.  Actions speak louder than words.  Mr. Brown Mouth.”

“No.  Not . . . Goddamn it.  You’re an asshole.”

“I’d be careful about calling people an asshole, if I were you.  You know.  If my name was Mr. Brown Mouth.”

Finally The Mouth just stared at Tillis.  Open-mouthed.  And then began to laugh.  Tillis joined in. 

“What the hell do you want anyway?”  The Mouth finally asked.

Tillis took a gulp from a Diet Coke and sat back in the supple leather seats of the Gulfstream’s onboard bar, while The Mouth sipped a deep burgundy colored liquid that languidly clung to the sides of the crystal glass that he tipped from side to side in a lazy circular motion.

“I love a good red; a hearty burgundy or a full-bodied cab.  But I never acquired a taste for port.”  Tillis offered.

“Mmm.  What’s with the Coke?”  The Mouth asked.

“When we’re done here I’m gonna fly myself home in that King-Air back there.”  Tillis paused.  “Where you pissed yourself.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Fly yourself?’

“Yes.”

“In that?”

“Yes.”

The Mouth studied his wine glass for a moment and then spoke.  “Look.  You come to work for me, and I’ll guarantee that in three months you’ll have a decent plane.  With pilots.  No more schlepping yourself around in something with . . . those things hanging off the wings.”

“Propellers.”  Tillis replied.

“Right.  Propellers.  No more of that shit.”

“You think I’d sell my soul to the devil for an overgrown penis extender and two smucks that just graduated from The Sunshine School of Flying and In-Flight Beverage Service?”  Tills responded in disbelief.

The Mouth shrugged.  “Here.  Take my card.  In case you change your mind.”

“Thanks.  I’ll give it to my cousin.  He got the runs after he ate Kentucky Fried.  I’ll have him give you a call.”

The Mouth sighed.  “Not to rush the moment, but why are you here?”

“Sam Norden.”

The Mouth shook his head from side to side.  “So now you’re Franklin Pierson’s butt boy.”

“Sam Norden is innocent,” Tillis replied softly as he took another swig from his Diet Coke.

“What did you say?”  The Mouth asked with sudden alertness.

Tillis let his eyes wander about the cabin of the big Gulfstream.  “This whole early French whorehouse boudoir thing you’ve got going on here is freaking me out a little.”

“What!  You don’t like it?  Do you know how much this cost?”

“Whatever rocks your wings.”  Tillis offered almost as an apology.

The Mouth wondered whether Tillis was being condescending or sincere.  Or just screwing with him.  Money usually insulated him against insecurity, but not with Tillis.  Eventually The Mouth finally found his footing.  “I guess since you showed me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

“Feeling really uncomfortable now,” Tillis shot back.

The Mouth sniggered.  “Let me put it this way.  I appreciate the fact that you’ve shared your take on the American Senior Security case with me. Now I have some interesting information to share with you.” 

“Feeling better already.  What information?”  Tillis responded.

“As you apparently are well aware, I had a long meeting with Sam Norden today.  He passed along something that came to light after you interviewed him.”  The Mouth couldn’t help but stop to take a sip of port and lend the moment a bit of dramatic flair.  “Robert Delgado Martinez, Jr., e-mailed Sam,” The Mouth continued.

“Dr. Bob e-mailed Sam?  When?”  Tillis asked with obvious interest.

“Sunday.  Two days after he died.”  The Mouth deadpanned.

“That Dr. Bob,” Tillis shook his head and took another swig of Diet Coke.  “He certainly was a resourceful fellow.”

“More than you know.  The message, which includes a large attachment of some sort, had been sent to a service.  The message was to be forwarded to Sam only if a condition had been met.”  The Mouth took another sip of port.

“I’ll bite.  What was the condition?”  Tillis responded.

“The failure of Dr. Bob to log in for a continuous period of time exceeding 48 hours.”

“That adds up.”  Tillis leaned back in his seat.

“It does?”  The Mouth inquired skeptically.

“I think Dr. Bob suspected a double-cross.  And rightly so.  He probably didn’t want to leave Sam holding the bag.”

“Pardon the cynicism, but in my experience crooks are rarely so concerned about their fellow man,” The Mouth countered.

“You don’t understand.  This Dr. Bob was a major piece of work.  But back to the main attraction.  What did the damn thing say?”  Tillis asked pointedly.

“We don’t know.”

“We don’t?”  Tillis looked at The Mouth with a blank expression.

“It was password protected.  And encrypted.  The encryption part probably isn’t a problem.”

“Who has the password?”

“Dr. Bob had it, I assume.”

“No shit.  Who else?”  Tillis barked impatiently.

“Hopefully Sam.”

“Hopefully?”  Tillis cocked his head to the side as he spoke.

“Yes, hopefully. I think Sam probably knows the password.”

“Okay.  I get it.”  Tillis smiled.  “He just doesn’t know he knows it.”