Shake the Trees (24 page)

“What’s your point, Tillis?”  Lord asked gruffly.

“Sometimes we must act contrary to our nature.  To survive.  In this case, so that others may survive.”

“You compared me to a scorpion.”  Lord replied without emotion.

“Well, you are a politician.  And a lawyer.”

CHAPTER 35

James Mason sat in the car he’d rented in Miami and then driven to The Lakes in West Palm Beach.  The GPS tracking device he’d purchased was installed and well hidden under the dash, and he was now waiting for the 5:00 p.m. shift change, when hurried confusion would cloud employee memories of his visit.

Hopefully Marc would check himself out of the facility after his visit, and leave a trail he could follow to the money.  James knew that his plan depended on tact and emotional manipulation.  As had always been the case with Marc, force and intimidation would be counterproductive and produce a backlash of anger and resentment.

After he adjusted the seatback of the small sedan to a more comfortable position, James opened the sunroof and took in the intense but pleasant perfume of the lush subtropical jungle that surrounded the parking lot.  It reminded him of his own backyard, and he let his mind wander to a time when his children were young.

His daughters so obviously had Mason blood flowing through their veins, but Marc, or Jimmy as everyone called him then, was different.  He’d suspected Lorna of having affairs, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this difficult child was his own.  While he’d tried to push those suspicions to the deep corners of his mind, they were always there, and he knew that he’d treated Jimmy differently because of them. 

After mail-in paternity tests became available, and after Jimmy had become an adult, after he’d become Marc, James had surreptitiously obtained the requisite DNA sample.  Twice.  The first test was inconclusive, showing only some common genetic markers.  The results of the second test confirmed what he’d always known.  Jimmy was not his son.  Not a Mason.  He was not entitled to the fruit of the legacy created by his grandfather.  Not by virtue of his blood, and certainly not by virtue of his ability or character.

When the phone buzzed, Marc was on top of the housekeeper, pounding her deep into the mattress with more vigor and energy than he’d had in years.  He ignored the sound.  Soon there was a tapping at his door.

Marc didn’t slacken his frenzied pace as he shouted.  “What?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Mason, but your father is here to see you,” the young orderly replied.

“Later,” Marc yelled breathlessly as he continued to slam his pelvis into the young Guatemalan girl lying beneath him.

“It’s a family emergency, sir.  Your father is waiting for you in Conference Retreat C.”

“Goddamn it, what are you talking about?” Marc snarled as he teetered on the edge of achieving his goal.

“A family friend has passed, sir.”  The orderly offered tentatively.

Marc paused in mid-stroke as his brain processed the words. 

“No pare,” the frustrated young girl panted, oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place.

“Shut up,” Marc snapped as he rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed catching his breath.

Marc stood statue-like in his father’s unexpected embrace and spoke without apparent emotion.  “Dr. Bob’s dead?”

“Yes, Marc.  He’s dead.” 

“What happened?”

James grabbed Marc by both shoulders and looked him in the eye.  “He was murdered.  He was tortured and maimed.  And then murdered.  He suffered a horrible death, Marc.  Horrible.”  James struggled to maintain control.

Marc seemed uneasy with the minimal distance between himself and his father, and pulled away.  He looked out the window at something far in the distance, contemplating the implications of what he’d just learned.

“I should check myself out.  The company is going to need me now.”

“We don’t need to do this, Marc.  What’s done is done.  I’m here to help.  Before it’s too late.  You’re my son, for god’s sake.”  James words were full of compassion.

Marc bristled with anger.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m not sure about what you know, and what you don’t know, Marc. About what’s happened since you checked in here.”

“I don’t know a damn thing about anything.  This place doesn’t even get a freaking newspaper.”  Marc answered testily.

James looked at Marc with an expression of compassion and a little disappointment as well.  “Some of it went as you’d planned, Marc.  Sam Norden was arrested.  First Appearance is on Friday morning.”

Marc attempted to hide behind a veil of anger.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The torture and murder of Dr. Bob.  And, of course, the money.  The loss of all that money.  It was too much for her.”

“What?”

“Elizabeth told me everything, Marc.”

“She did?”  Marc blurted.

“Yes, she did.  But don’t worry, Marc.  I’ve sent her to a safe place.  Where the authorities won’t find her.”

“You did?”

“Yes, Marc, I did.”

“Why?”  Marc stood motionless in numb disbelief.

“Because you’re my son.  You’re my own flesh and blood, Marc.  No matter what you and Elizabeth did.  Right or wrong.  Good or bad.  That comes first.  That will never change.”

Marc was confused.  Confused by what he’d just heard, and confused by his emotions.

James continued,  “Marc, I need to apologize to you.”

“You need to apologize?  To me?”

James again placed both of his hands on Marc’s shoulders.  ”I lied to you.” 

“You lied?”

“Oh, I may not have said anything that was untrue.  But I lied just the same.”

“About what?”  Marc was lost in a fog of confusion.

“About the company, Marc.  About Rebel Life.  I mean American Senior Security.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”  Marc made a pitiful attempt to reclaim some of his earlier anger.  

“I own it, Marc.”

“Own what?”  Marc answered meekly as everything he thought he knew - everything he thought he was - slowly disintegrated under the weight of his father’s words.

“I own American Senior Security.  I owned Rebel Life.  Grandfather gave it to me.  A long time ago.  He started the company, along with others.”

“A Cayman holding company owns it,” Marc replied in half-hearted defiance.

“Yes, and I am the sole shareholder of that company.  Your great-grandfather was involved in many things, Marc.  And he wanted his interest in Rebel Life to remain confidential.  So he formed the Cayman holding company, and then gave it to me shortly before he died.”

“You lied to me.”  Marc replied with the weak words of a child.

“Yes, Marc, I know.  I should have told you, but then I thought you wouldn’t help me.  I knew you could turn that company around and make it successful again.  I saw my grandfather in you, Marc.”

“You did?”

James nodded.  “I was going to tell you.  After . . . I wanted to give you the company after you saved it.  Hell, it doesn’t matter now.”

Marc abruptly turned away from James and furtively brushed a tear from one eye.  As if shooing way a fly.  “I need to go now.  I need to check out of here.”

“I understand, Marc, but there’s something else. Something I didn’t tell you earlier.  I didn’t want to alarm you before we talked.  The authorities were following Elizabeth, Marc.  Before I sent her away. They’ve photographed her.”

For the first time that day Marc looked truly frightened.  James reached out and grabbed him by the arm.  “I need to get you away from here, Marc.  Out of the country.  That’s why I came.”

Marc looked out the window and set his jaw.  “I can’t.  Not yet.  There’s something I need to do first.”

“All right, Marc.  I’m not going to try and force you to do anything.  But I want to help.”

“You do?”

James smiled.  “You’re my son, Marc.  That’s all that matters now.  If the authorities come looking for you, they’ll flag your tag.  Just leave your car sitting where it is.  I’ve rented a car.”  James handed Marc the keys.  “I’ll catch a cab and fly home.  And here - take this disposable phone.  I bought one for myself as well.  I’ve programmed the number for yours into mine, and visa versa.  If you need anything, I want you to call me.  Please?”

Marc began to fidget.  “Are you sure?  You’re putting yourself at risk.  For me.”

“We’re blood, Marc.  It’s not a choice, is it?  I’ll make arrangements to get you out of the country.  Under the radar.  You let me know when you’re ready.  But hurry, Marc.  Please hurry with whatever it is that you need to do.”

Marc looked at the floor for a long moment, and then abruptly walked toward the door. James studied the back of the man he’d called his son.  He knew nearly everything he’d just said was a lie.  But this much was true.  Marc bore an eerie resemblance to the photographs he had seen of his grandfather as a young man.

CHAPTER 36

Sally arrived at Tillis’ door shortly before 6 p.m. Tuesday evening with the doorman in tow.  Both carried several aluminum foil containers that smelled heavenly.

“That doesn’t look like pizza,” Tillis observed suspiciously as he opened the door.

“Doesn’t smell like pizza either,” Sally offered with a smile.

“I thought I asked you to pick up some pizza.”

“I distinctly remember you asking me to pick up pizza ‘or whatever sounds good’.”

Tillis tipped the doorman and then surveyed the containers lined up on his kitchen bar.  “What sounded good?”

“Le Petite Bistro.”

“That snooty overpriced French place downtown?”  Tillis grumbled.

“I knew you’d want to impress Mr. Brown.  Here’s your card.”

As if on cue, there was another knock on the door, which Tillis opened to reveal a dapper Jefferson Davis Brown peering into his BlackBerry.  The Mouth fingered the side of the device with one hand and shoved a dusty bottle of red at Tillis with the other.

“I think I saw this shit at Trader Joe’s on closeout,” Tillis commented as he studied the bottle.

“Like hell you did.  I paid $1,700 for that bottle at auction.”  The Mouth finally looked up from his cell.  “Hey.  It smells good in here.”

“You can thank Sally for that,” Tillis called after The Mouth as he strode past with his nose in the air.

Sally stuck out her hand.  “Déjà vu all over again.”

The Mouth was momentarily taken aback as he shook Sally’s hand.  Then he looked at Tillis.  And back again at Sally.  “Are you his partner?”

“What’s wrong, Mouth?  You got a problem with that?”  Tillis asked.

“No problem for you, Tillis.  I think it’s wonderful for you.”  The Mouth looked back at Sally.  “For you.  Not so much.” 

“It’s a living,” Sally replied.

The Mouth put his nose in the air again and sniffed several times.  “Do I smell lamb chops?  Those little baby lamb chops with a mint dipping sauce perhaps?”

“God, you’re good,” Sally said admiringly.

As The Mouth began to explore the containers on the kitchen bar, Tillis pawed through several drawers until he discovered a corkscrew.  “You want this swill in a glass, Mouth?”

Sally grabbed the bottle away from Tillis.  “How long do you think we should let this masterpiece breathe, Jefferson?  You don’t mind if I call you Jefferson, do you?”

The three consumed much of the rich French food and the bottle of wine The Mouth brought, as well as two excellent but less worthy bottles that Sally had put on Tillis’ card.  They were now draped across the furniture in the living room.  Full to the point of discomfort, but slightly anesthetized by the wine.

“I think he’s innocent,” The Mouth mumbled.

“I told you,” Tillis groaned as he adjusted himself in a wingback chair that fought his attempts to find a comfortable position for all four limbs.

“I’m going to make some coffee,” Sally offered as she stood.

“Buzz-kill,” The Mouth replied.

“This was supposed to be a working dinner.  I think coffee is an excellent idea.” Tillis said as Sally’s BlackBerry buzzed.

Tillis finally accepted defeat and pulled himself free from the clutches of the unyielding piece of furniture.  “I’ll make the coffee,” he said as Sally talked into her cell.

  In a few moments, Tillis returned to the room just as Sally completed her conversation.  “What about the photo, Mouth.  Did Sam recognize the blue-eyed girl?”  Tillis queried.

“I thought you’d never ask.  As a matter of fact, Sam is quite well acquainted with the young lady.  Her name is Ellen Hughes.”  The Mouth smirked as he said the name.

“No it’s not,” Sally countered.  “That was forensics, and we got a hit on the prints from the passport index.  The name of the blue-eyed girl is Elizabeth Hayes.”

The Mouth shook his head from side to side.  “Sam was adamant that the girl in the photo was Ellen Hughes.  He said that Ellen was a blond with green eyes, but even so, there was no question in his mind that the photo was of Ellen.  He said he’d bet his life on it.”

Both The Mouth and Sally directed their attention at Tillis, who now looked like the proverbial cat that ate the canary.

“You knew?”  Sally asked in a tone that revealed she was both astonished and annoyed.  “You knew that the blue-eyed girl and Ellen were one and the same?  How?”

Tillis shrugged.  “I suspected.  I was unable to locate our particular Ellen Hughes.  It appeared to be a fake name.  And there were coincidences.”

Sally turned to The Mouth and nodded her head back at Tillis.  “He doesn’t believe in ‘em.”

The wine had left The Mouth a little slow on the uptake.  “In what?” 

“In coincidence.  Tell us about the coincidences, Tillis.”  Sally sneered.

“First of all, ignore what is easily altered.  A trip to the drugstore for a bottle of Clairol and color-tinted contacts, and voila.  Blue-eyed brunette becomes green-eyed blond.  But habits are difficult to change.  Industries have been built around that fact.  So we have two exercise-obsessed caffeine addicted hot bodies.  That’s a coincidence.  Or not.”

Sally turned back to The Mouth.  “Doesn’t he piss you off?  He pisses me off.” 

The Mouth was sulking about the performance he’d just witnessed by Tillis.  But he had another card to play in a bid to recapture the attention of the small group.  He nodded at the laptop lying on the coffee table near where Sally was sitting.  “Wireless broadband?”

Tillis nodded and gestured, as if to say ‘be my guest.’ 

Sally stood and handed the computer to The Mouth.  “I’ll get the coffee.”

The Mouth checked his BlackBerry for Sam’s e-mail address and password, and then pecked at the laptop.

Soon The Mouth had Dr. Bob’s message to Sam and its blinking cursor on the screen.  Then he handed the laptop to Tillis.  “As host, I think you should have the honor.”

Tillis found a pair of reading glasses nearby and studied the screen, while Sally poured coffee and peered over his shoulder.

“You have the password, Jefferson?  You figured it out?”  Sally asked.

“It seems that Dr. Bob gave Sam a nickname on the first day they met.  ‘The Dawg.’  And consistently referred to him as ‘Dawg’ thereafter.”  The Mouth explained.

“A four letter word.  It fits.”  Sally added.

“So do five letter words, and six and seven letter words,” Tillis said.  “I take it you haven’t tried this yet?”

The Mouth shook his head from side to side.

“Here goes nothing.”  Tillis typed and hit the enter key.  Soon a message appeared on the screen.  “
PASSWORD REJECTED.  After three failed attempts this message will be permanently deleted.  You have two attempts remaining.”

Tillis stood and handed the laptop to The Mouth.  But said nothing.

“Shit,” The Mouth commented after looking at the screen.

Sally continued to stand behind the chair in which Tillis sat.  Her brow was furrowed and expression perplexed.  She tried to shake the veil of heavy French food and too much wine from her brain, and walked over to where The Mouth sat.  Then studied the four blinking asterisks in the password entry field.  “Tillis, what did you just type?  I mean what letters did you type?”

“D O G G.”

“What?”  She exclaimed.

“You said four letters,” Tillis replied defensively.

Sally and The Mouth looked at each other in disbelief.  Finally The Mouth spoke with derision in his voice.  “White people.”

“No shit,” Sally added.

“What?”  Tillis asked.

“Dawg. D - A - W - G.  Dawg.”  Sally explained.

“Honky.  H - O - N - K - Y.  Honky.  With a ‘y’, not an ‘i’.”  The Mouth added.

“All right.  All right.  If you’re correct about the password, it’s not going to matter anyway.  Go ahead Mouth, try it.”  Tillis mumbled blithely.

The Mouth typed the correct four letters and hit the enter key.
“PASSWORD REJECTED.  After three failed attempts this message will be permanently deleted.  You have one attempt remaining.” 

“We’re screwed.  You’ve gone and done it now, Tillis.”  The Mouth moaned.

“Me?  You’re the one who got the password wrong.”  Tillis countered.

Sally shook her head in disgust as her Blackberry buzzed.  “Everybody quiet.  Nobody types another freaking letter.”

“Really?  Are you sure?”  Sally said goodbye and laid her BlackBerry down, and then looked hard at Tillis.  “You’re not going to believe this.  I had someone in Orlando following up on the Elizabeth Hayes ID, and . . .”

Sally paused.  Her BlackBerry had buzzed again, but this time with a slightly different tone.  Sally looked down and furrowed her brow.  “Hold on.  This e-mail is marked urgent.”  Sally snatched the device off of the end table.  “It’s from my former friend at Homeland Security.  Holy shit!  Now that’s what I call a coincidence.” 

Tillis was becoming impatient.  “Step away from the BlackBerry and tell me what the hell is going.”

Sally took a deep breath to calm herself and collect her thoughts.  “Elizabeth Hayes works for the federal court system in Miami as a secretary.  For Magistrate Judge James Mason.”

“It’s not an uncommon name,” Tillis cautioned.

“I thought you didn’t believe in coincidence.”  Sally grabbed the laptop and began to type.  “Let’s google His Honorship.”  In a few moments she was smiling from ear to ear.  “Magistrate Judge James Mason.  Father of three.  Including attorney Marc Mason, President and CEO of American Senior Security.”

“Well I’ll be damned.  And the evening turns on a dime.”  Tillis said with a smile.

“It gets better.  The Cayman government came through on the shareholders of the holding company.  Or should I say the shareholder.”

“No way,” Tillis said and then held his breath.

Sally nodded her head.  “Yes way.  James Mason of Miami, Florida.”

The Mouth rubbed his palms together vigorously.  “This is my kinda case.  I’m gonna shove a dirty federal judge up the ass of a prick U.S. attorney.  Does it get any better than that?”

The three dinner companions moved toward the door.  Amidst the banter that signaled that the evening was drawing to a close, Tillis’ cell rang.  He looked down at the display.  An unknown number.  He nearly ignored it.  Thirty minutes earlier he would have.  But the coffee had worked its magic.

“Tillis.”

“Mr. Tillis.  This is Francis Jensen, Director of The Lakes.  I hope it’s not too late to call.”

“Not at all, Mr. Jensen.  And its just Tillis.”

“Oh, yes.  I remember now.  I would have called earlier, Tillis, but I was away from the facility for several hours today.  It was unavoidable.”

“I understand,” Tillis replied amiably.

“Well, it seems that Mr. Mason checked himself out this afternoon.  After a visit from his father.  Apparently there was a death of a close family friend.  Again, I apologize for not contacting you sooner.”

“Thank you very much for letting me know, Mr. Jensen.  The FDLE appreciates your cooperation.”

“Good evening, Tillis.”

Tillis tossed his cell onto the sofa and smiled at Sally.  “That was the Director of The Lakes.  A cut dog just barked.  Care to guess his name?”