The Rented Mule (16 page)

“Oh, good. Keep ’em.” She had no intention of taking back her underwear after he’d had a night with them.
No telling what he did with them
.

“So your mom’s okay now?”

“Yes, she’s much better.” Jenny punched the elevator button.

“Glad to hear it,” Gates said genuinely.

As the elevator door opened, Jenny took a step toward it.

Gates quickly blocked her escape. “Not so fast. You owe me a complete date.”

“Ya think?” Jenny shot back.

“Yes, you do, and it just so happens that I need a date for the Auburn game Saturday night. We can ride over together. I’ll rent a limo, so we don’t hafta worry about drinkin’ and drivin’ or parkin’.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I have to be in Atlanta tonight.”

“Well then, meet me at the game. Auburn’s an easy drive from Atlanta. We host a big tent to entertain clients before the game. It’ll be fun.”

“Do your employees and spouses go?”

“Nope. Just me and Coop. He’ll go, but his wife never comes to the games,” Gates explained. “Come on, whaddaya say? It’ll be fun. Good booze, great game… besides, you owe me,” he insisted.

Jenny stared at him, thinking. She noticed his cell phone on his hip. “Give me your cell number, and I’ll call you back after I think about it.”

“Don’t make me beg,” Gates said, literally ready to drop to his knees.

“I said that I’d think about it… I do owe you a date… I suppose.”

“Yeah, you do. Here.” Gates handed Jenny his business card. “My cell number’s on it.”

Jenny took the card without saying anything and pushed the down button.

“We’ll have a blast at the game, I promise,” Gates insisted. He loved her body and knew that all his married frat buddies’ eyes would pop out when they saw her.

She looked intently at Gates and said, “I’ll call… soon.”

The elevator door opened. She stepped inside. Before the door closed, she winked at Gates and almost imperceptibly licked her lips.

Jenny now knew when the team should grab the Target.

C
ooper parked his truck and checked his watch out of habit as he walked briskly toward the office building. It was half past nine. The meeting at the kids’ school ran much longer than he had anticipated. The Booster Club wanted to erect a new scoreboard, and Cooper had been asked to lead the charge.
This is all I need—something else on my list!

“Good morning,” Cooper said to Mrs. Riley as he walked in.

“Mornin’. You doin’ okay?” Mrs. Riley asked, concerned.

“Yeah, not bad. Just got hit with something I wasn’t expecting. It doesn’t matter. How are things round here?”

“Same as always. Busy as a beehive. I have a bunch of messages for you. Oh! That new artist, Crystal, ya know the one with all the piercings,” Mrs. Riley whispered while she looked around to make certain no one else could hear, “she thinks she has carpal tunnel syndrome,” she rolled her eyes and continued, “and Jamie’s computer crashed… so you can just imagine her mood.”

“Another day in paradise,” Cooper said, exhaling audibly.

“Exactly. One other thing: there’s a Realtor lookin’ for you,” she said, glancing through the messages. “Here it is. He says that he
really
needs to talk to you.” She placed that message on top of the stack and then handed the pile to Cooper.

“Thank you. That’s a beautiful necklace you’re wearing.”

“Oh this? I’ve had it for ages,” she replied, throwing her right hand forward in a dismissive manner, and then asked, “Are you looking for a new house?”

“No, ma’am. I’ve got way more than enough house right now.” Cooper started toward his office and added, “He’s an old buddy. Maybe he needs some advertising.”

Cooper’s office looked as he had left it, except for a mound of paperwork on his desk. He let out a groan when he saw the six-inch stack of mind-numbing forms and compliance letters. He began unloading everything from his briefcase, making a pile on his desk next to the latest pile. Soon after he began the tedious slog through the governmental bureaucratic crap. “We need an office manager,” he mumbled aloud.

Cooper took a break, logging onto his computer to check e-mail. He couldn’t believe the volume of spam. Quickly deleting the obvious junk, he searched for any messages from Brooke and was disappointed. There were a dozen business e-mails that needed attention. His mind, however, drifted to the pink message memo from his real estate buddy who specialized in farmland. Cooper stared at the slip, at his computer screen, and then at the still substantial piles of paperwork, and decided to call his friend.

“Mossy Oak Properties,” answered the Realtor on the third ring.

“Hey, Will. It’s Cooper. How you doin’?” Cooper asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Hey, Coop. I’m good, man. Heard a rumor that you’d found the perfect property and were tryin’ to fly under the radar—tryin’ to buy it without anybody knowin’.”

“Well, yeah, that’s true,” Cooper confessed. “How’d you hear?”

“It’s a small world, dude.”

“Obviously, I wasn’t flyin’ low enough.”

“Man, you oughta know you can’t fly that low round here. Not for somethin’ like this. At any rate, I hate it that I missed the commission… but maybe… maybe I’ll get invited to hunt.”

“Of course you will; plus, I’m gonna need an appraisal, so you can have that piece of business.”

“A turkey huntin’ invite?” Will asked hopefully.

“We’re not
that
good of friends,” Cooper replied, laughing.

“Man, that hurts! Will you at least tell me about it? Where is it, exactly?”

Cooper sat upright, excitedly explaining the details. He had always dreamed of owning a big piece of land and would much rather talk about it and wildlife management than just about anything else.

“It’s in Coosa County. It’s got beautiful hardwood timber; in fact, it’s got the prettiest stand of giant oaks and hardwood bottoms you’ve ever seen. There are several Indian mounds on the place, and one side’s adjacent to the Wildlife Management Area. I’ve been huntin’ on it for years, and I’ve fixed up an old house as my camp. It’s basic, to say the least… but it’ll do for a while.”

“Sounds perfect. Why’s it on the market?”

“It’s not. That’s the best part. It belongs to a woman who’s worked for my family for more than forty years. She practically raised me. She inherited it. The only thing she’s done with it is sell a little timber to put some missionary
kids through college. She didn’t even know ’em. That’s the kinda person she is—good as gold. She lost her kids in a car accident when they were babies, so she pretty much thinks of me as her own. I’ve been leasin’ the huntin’ rights for several years. A few years back, when I found out she was thinkin’ of sellin’ it, I got her to give me an option. It’s about to expire, so I gotta do somethin’, pretty quick.”

“Ya stealin’ it?”

“No way… I’ve offered her a very fair price,” Cooper replied.

“Sounds too good to be true.”

“It’s a special place to me and to her. All her people are buried on the property. There are several cemeteries, and all the old home places are still there—mostly just some chimneys and concrete steps; some could be fixed up. It used to be part of a big plantation. There was a little community on the place, too, till some disease came through, killin’ off everybody. Yellow fever, maybe. Anyway, it means everything to her for somebody to keep it in one big piece—fix up the houses and take care of the cemeteries. I gave her my word I’d do it.”

“How much an acre?”

“I’m not sayin’ till it’s done. I’m scared something’s gonna happen, and I’ll lose it.”

“Well, I can tell you this, Coosa’s red-hot right now. Whatever you’re payin’, you’ll do well. Let me know when you want that appraisal. I’ll help any way I can.”

“Thanks. I’ll get you the info in the next few days. I think I finally have the financin’ in place. I really don’t want to move this fast, but she’s startin’ to get calls ’bout it, so I need to pull the trigger pretty quick.”

After the conversation, Cooper wondered about Coosa County land being “red-hot.” He didn’t know why. He just
assumed close-in hunting property was in high demand. His thoughts drifted to a huge flock of wild turkeys he’d recently seen, and knew that he couldn’t let anyone else have his Promised Land.

J
esse Ray had spent several early morning hours manipulating and sabotaging Cooper Dixon’s e-mails, his computer’s Internet history and its bookmarks. Jesse Ray excitedly woke Clarence at two in the morning to show how this guy was not very computer-savvy. Cooper had 29,348 e-mails in his Deleted folder, a sign that he obviously didn’t know to delete its contents or that doing so was even necessary. Jesse Ray howled in laughter. Clarence, conspicuously silent, wondered if he had ever deleted his own.

Several hours later at seven, Clarence who had been pacing the floors thinking a hole in the job, decided to wake up Jesse Ray to get the day rolling.

“Jesse Ray, Jesse Ray get up!” he shouted as he walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth. “Get up, homeboy!”

“Man, what time is it?” Jesse Ray replied, without moving.

“Time to get your ass up. I let you sleep late. We got lots to do,” Clarence explained as he squeezed toothpaste onto his brush.

“Yo, Dog… won’t ya let a brother sleep another hour?” Jesse Ray begged as he peeked out from under the covers.

“Get your narrow ass up, and let’s get busy.”

“Leave me alone. I need my rest ’cause I got lots to do today, and I gotta be sharp.”

“Like what?”

“I gotta hack back into the server and get Cooper’s social. Once I’ve got it, I’ll make it appear that’s he’s in financial trouble, in a large way. Financial Armageddon! When his and his old lady’s credit cards quit working, it will hit the fan!”

“Damn, son, I hope you don’t ever get pissed off at me.”

“So I can go back to sleep?”

“Nope. There’s a list of things I need you to go buy for us. Right there by the phone.”

Jesse Ray reached over, grabbed the note, and then read aloud from the list: “Duct tape—three; four lightweight sleeping bags, pillows, and cases; DVD player; two cases of beer; four cases of water; food for a week for four; toilet paper; paper towels; paper plates; plastic utensils; big-ass cooler on wheels; three bags of ice; wasp spray; coffeemaker; filters; coffee… dude, this’ll take me awhile to round up,” he said as he continued reading the list to himself.

“We are gonna need all that and more. Get whatever you need to make yourself comfortable.”

“I gotta take a shower first and wake up.” Jesse Ray swung his feet to the floor, stood, stretched, and scratched his butt cheeks with both hands.

Clarence picked up his keys, stuffed his wallet into his back pocket, and headed for the door, saying, “I’m gonna grab breakfast. I can’t think on an empty stomach. I’ll be here when you get back from shoppin’.”

“Dog, you’re actin’ strange. You seem… I dunno… worried. Somethin’. I ain’t never seen you worried befo.”

“What the hell you talkin’ ’bout?”

“Well, for one, you just brushed your teeth with my toothbrush,” Jesse Ray pointed out.

“Aww! Man, you serious?!” Clarence started spitting. “I guess… well, I ain’t worried as much as preoccupied. I woke up tryin’ to figure out how to monetize this new information we got from Jenny… and I guess I’m kinda anxious for her to get on back. Just got a lot on my mind, that’s all. Add a toothbrush to that list.”

“Already did, and one for me too… now chill, Dog… we’ll figure it out… we always do.”

D
on Daniels gently slid a vintage Montblanc pen into his pocket when he finished signing the legal papers. He carefully folded the pages and then sealed them inside an envelope before giving them to his secretary to route back to their attorney. Checking the clock on his credenza, he pushed away from the desk and stood. It had been a grueling, monotonous week. He was ready to get the hell out of the office. Leaving early on Fridays was the first step in escaping what he had grown to hate and despise.

“I’ll be out the rest of the afternoon,” he informed his secretary, “but I’ll have my cell phone on, if it’s important.”

“Yes, sir. What about Cooper Dixon? He’s called three times today.”

“I’ll call him later this afternoon,” he said, pulling on his suit coat. “Maybe. If he calls again, tell him I’m in a meeting.”

“Yes, sir. A man called a few minutes ago, while you were on the phone,” she replied, handing him a note. “He wouldn’t leave a name, just a number.”

“Thank you.”

He looked at the message and then turned and walked purposefully back into his office to return the call. He sat down at his desk and then punched in the number. Staring out the window, he anxiously waited for an answer.

As soon as the call connected, he said, “It’s me, what do you have?”

“Things are happenin’. Toyota suddenly ramped up their efforts to get their next plant going, and it’s lookin’ like Alabama’s gonna get it. It’s not official… yet. Only a handful of folks know, and just like you thought, there are a couple of sites that make the most sense.”

“What’s the time frame?”

“Within the next few months, they’ll announce that they’re lookin’, but as you know, it’ll already be a done deal. They want at least one thousand acres, close to an interstate. The governor will take care of all the tax credits, and the state will be issuing bonds and takin’ what property Toyota can’t buy by eminent domain. They paid twenty grand an acre for the site near Tupelo, Mississippi, so somebody’s gonna get rich when they buy the ground for this plant.”

“I know all about how that Mississippi deal was made,” Don Daniels said with a sly grin. “And I’m gonna be on the front end of Alabama’s opportunity.”

“As long as my retainer’s paid, the information keeps flowin’.” Without another word, the connection was broken.

Don Daniels did a quick mental calculation: 1,200 acres times $25,000 was a cool $30 million, less acquisition costs and retainers. This was “go to the house” money—an opportunity to retire rich. He was willing to do whatever it took to make it happen. For several years, he had been silently piecing together contiguous small land tracts in anticipation of this event. Much to Don’s frustration, most of these tracts
had been owned by his family many years ago. Since the governor was a close ally, as were several state legislators, Don was confident that enough official incentives and unofficial influence could be placed upon the Japanese automaker to find his site acceptable.