Bury Me When I'm Dead (22 page)

Charlie's back ached from the touch of cold airport surfaces and her heart ached from Mandy's phone message. She dialed her number. The phone rang until the message option beeped. Charlie hesitated. “I'm sorry,” she said for the recording.

Owens had two locked drawers in his desk. In the first drawer were business documents, tax records, personnel stuff and bank information. He didn't trust his accountant so he kept duplicates of everything and he'd hired a second guy to go over the accountant's monthly summaries. The other drawer held six disposable mobile phones and his list of contacts: snitches, specialists in every form of crime, crooked politicians, dirty cops and call girls.

Owens wrote everything in his own code and used his own indexing system. One of his colleagues derided him for being resistant to technology and for a few months Owens thought he'd found a suitable compromise when he'd hired Paul Stringer to memorize his personnel info, business contacts and offshore banking information.
Then his sister got wind of it and the dummy skipped out on me with all my confidential shit in his head.

Owens unlocked the second drawer and retrieved a notebook. He scanned down a column of letters, cross-referenced with a series of Roman numerals. That information sent him to a particular page in another notebook where he scrolled across a row of numbers. He wrote down the three sets of numbers he needed and picked up one of his phones to dial.

“Hello?” A male voice on the other end was grumpy.

“It's Mr. Smith.”

“Wait. Give me a second.” The phone was dropped and thirty seconds later the voice was back.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?”

“Did you hear any more about that matter we discussed?”

“Well, there's no doubt he's working with the authorities. I found some records he copied.”

“What kind of records?”

“Recent real estate transactions, leases.”

“What about Stringer?”

“Nobody has seen her for a while. Maybe she's left town.”

“Maybe. I may need to have someone visit your guy.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

“What does that mean?”

“It means if he's become a threat to my interests, he'll have to be taken care of.”

“You never mentioned anyone getting hurt,” the voice cracked.

“I'm mentioning it now.” His voice was menacing.

“I'm not comfortable with that. He's my father.”

“Do you think I give a fuck, what you're comfortable with? You're my bitch.” Owens had heard a guy at Bayside Prison use that phrase once and had always wanted to say it.

“Our agreement was I would provide you information. I'm not a criminal and I'm not going to let you hurt my father.”

Owens looked at his notebook then traced his pencil down a row of numbers. “I've paid you ten thousand dollars in the last month.”

“I'm aware of that.”

“So if you want to protect your guy, and that ditzy sister of yours,
you find out for sure what he's up to, and where he's hiding Joyce. And I need to know fast. There's something going down here in Detroit next week, and I want to know what the FBI knows.”

Owens disconnected the call and made an entry in his notebook. He put everything back into the drawer, locked it and put the key in his pocket.
There may be a few more loose ends to tie up in Birmingham.

Chapter 29

Joyce called the next morning as promised.

“I've decided to trust you, Ms. Mack. I have to trust someone.”

“I appreciate that, Joyce.”

“I've spoken with Grant. I know your partners talked to my mother yesterday, and I know they have an appointment with Grant this afternoon. Why don't we stop the cat and mouse game and all just meet together?”

“We're willing to do that.”

“How about at the house in Forest Park at one o'clock? Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Charlie said. “So, what made you decide to trust me?”

“Oh, I checked up on you, I still have contacts in Detroit. They told me you don't take no shit, but you don't start any either.”

“Ahhh. The Detroit seal of approval.”

The partners were having a heated discussion about the Forest Park meeting around Charlie's coffee table. Don wanted to inform his police contacts, but Charlie wouldn't have it.

“I made a promise to Abrams and to Joyce. No, Don, we're not involving the police just yet.”

“Okay, okay,” Don acquiesced.

“I wonder if we should suggest a more neutral meeting place,” Gil said. “We don't know what we might be walking into.”

“Acosta's right, Mack. Like you said yourself, we shouldn't underestimate Freeman.”

“I know I said that, but that was before I talked to Joyce. She
wants help getting out of the mess she's in. She's not really a criminal.”

“Well, technically, she is,” Gil said. “Flight to avoid prosecution, conspiracy, and probably a few other things.”

“You know what I mean, Gil. She's not going to kill me or let Freeman knock me off. Which is more than I can say for Owens.”

“I could wait outside while you and Gil take the meet,” Don said. “Then if something goes wrong, I call the police and come in blazing.”

“Okay, wait. Let's just settle down and assume there won't be any need for gunplay,” Charlie cautioned. “We've all been to the house in Forest Park. It's quiet with regular police patrols, I don't think we'll have any funny business there. In fact, it's probably a lot safer than that restaurant Freeman suggested.”

Charlie's phone rang the cavalry charge.

“Hi Judy, what have you got?”

“You're not going to believe this,” Judy began.

“Wait a minute, let me put you on speaker, Don and Gil are here.” Charlie fumbled with the buttons on her phone until Gil held out his hand and she relinquished it.

“The phone repairman is here,” Judy's voice was tinny through the mobile phone's speaker.

Before Judy could continue, an aggressive knock at Charlie's door startled the group. Don instinctively rose to his feet, his hand moving to his revolver.

“Hold on a minute Judy,” Gil said.

“Who is it?” Don asked, standing at an angle to the door.

“FBI,” a male voice replied.

“What's going on?” Judy shouted.

Don leaned into the peephole, stepped back and released the handle of his revolver. When he opened the door, James and another man stood in the hallway. James displayed his ID badge.

“Oh hell. We know who you are,” Don said turning his back to the open door.

“James, what are you doing here?” Charlie asked.

“This is Agent Goodman,” he said, nodding toward his companion. “I'm here with a warning.”

“A warning?” Don asked.

“Charlie, is everything alright?” Judy's disembodied voice rang out.

“Yes, Judy, but we may need to call you back,” Gil said.

“No, that won't work. That's what I was trying to tell you,” Judy said. “The telephone guy is here and he says our phones are wiretapped.”

Don, Gil and Charlie looked at each other.

“He can't remove the taps without damaging our phones, but he can put in new phone lines,” Judy added.

“What the hell?” Don shouted.

“This is your doing, isn't it?” Charlie stared hard at James.

Agent James Saleh unconsciously slipped a finger in the front of his collar, letting air attack the rim of perspiration forming. He walked a tightrope. If not for Agent Goodman, he would have disclosed his recent efforts to help the Charlene Mack agency. But his superiors considered their missing person case a hindrance to the FBI's interstate trafficking investigation. His orders were to warn them off any further inquiries about the Stringer family, or Owens. James knew Goodman was in tow to keep an eye on him.

“It was the agency's decision,” James responded blandly.

“Judy, it seems the
FBI
has tapped our phones,” Gil announced.

“So I heard.”

The two agents stepped into the middle of the room. James pulled a chair up to the coffee table but Goodman, who reeked of FBI, refused to sit. He was an inch or two over six feet, clean shaven, and square jawed. His brown eyes were alert and his mouth a straight line. Goodman alternated between letting his hands hang at his sides and folding his arms across his body but he was never at ease. To further advertise his occupation, he wore a “men in black” outfit. James was less ‘by the book,” because he still sported the long hair and full beard of his undercover persona.

“I apologize for the wiretap but we had to know how and when your actions might interfere with us,” James said.

“I assume you got a court order?” Gil asked.

“We did.”

“Man, I really liked you a whole lot better when you were Yusef,” Don said.

The remark wasn't meant as a joke but James laughed aloud. The stiff Agent Goodman even let out a guffaw, and the tension slipped a few degrees.

“When did you tap our phones?” Don asked.

“Right after Ms. Mack got attacked. We figured she must be making someone nervous and we were concerned about what might be in her notebook.”

Don and Gil glanced at Charlie, who gave an audible sigh.

“No need to be embarrassed by the loss of your notebook. We pulled footage from the surveillance cameras on 24th Street. Barnes followed you from the barbershop and cold-cocked you, there wasn't much you could've done.”

“So you have eyes and ears on everything?” Gil said.

“No, not everything but we have Owens' home and office phones tapped and we've had the Stringer house under surveillance for a while.”

“What about Joyce?” Charlie asked.

“She's incidental to our case really, but we're keeping an eye on her as a person of interest.”

“Why?” Charlie again.

Goodman cleared his throat.

“I can't really talk about that,” James said.

“What
can
you talk about?” Don asked.

“Owens has an informant on the Birmingham police force. We don't know who it is yet, but the information you've been sharing with them is somehow getting back to Owens,” James said to Don.

“Are you sure?” Charlie asked.

“We're sure,” Agent Goodman inserted himself.

“The Forest Park house is also on Owens' radar,” James said. “Is that where you're planning to meet Ms. Stringer today?”

“You mean you don't know?” Charlie asked with sarcasm.

“No. Ms. Stringer is using a disposable phone and we don't have a tap on your mobile.”

“Hallelujah!” Judy shouted through the speaker phone.

“We're meeting Joyce and Freeman in Forest Park this afternoon,” Charlie said.

James and Goodman shared a look. Goodman removed a notebook and pen from his jacket pocket and made a quick note.

“What time?” James asked.

“One o'clock.”

“We prefer you meet her somewhere else,” James said. “Why don't you meet her here?”

“I don't think that'll be possible,” Charlie said. She wants to keep a low profile.”

Goodman excused himself and left the suite.

“Where's he going, to order a spy satellite?” Don quipped.

“This hotel is probably one of the safest places to meet Ms. Stringer. Owens' people are still looking for her in North Birmingham but not downtown. Plus, thanks to Ms. Mack they think she might be in Detroit.”

“Okay, so say we can convince Joyce and Freeman to meet us here, then what?”

“We've reconsidered your idea about laying a trap for Owens,” James said slowly.

“Why?” Charlie asked.

“Thanks to Mr. Sparks we have good physical evidence on his contacts, bank accounts and inventory hubs, but he has access to expensive lawyers who might be able to exclude that information at trial. We need something else to pin on him, something that really scares him. He has to feel like a rat trapped in a corner.”

“Something like attempted murder,” Charlie stated.

“Can't you already tie him to the murders of Paul and Andrew?” Gil asked.

James shook his head. “No. That case won't hold up.”

Charlie watched James carefully. For a second, he looked as if he might say more, but stopped himself.

“So you want us to convince Joyce to be a guinea pig?” Charlie asked.

“Wasn't that your original plan?”

“Well. Yes,” Charlie conceded.

“I think we can work together to get Owens. And Barnes,” James said, sweetening the pot.

Don responded to another knock at the door and Goodman returned with news which he whispered to James.

“As I was saying, let's cooperate on this. Our goals are the same,” James said.

“For the moment,” Charlie said. She looked at Don and then Gil. They returned glances that were angry and suspicious, respectively.

“I have a couple of favors to ask,” James said. “We'd like to keep the wiretaps on your office phones for now and we'd also like to monitor Ms. Mack's cell phone. It'll allow us to track her whereabouts.”

The sound of Judy's harrumph filled the room. Don was more direct.

“Oh, so
now
you're asking permission? What other taps haven't you told us about?”

“We have a tap on Ms. Mack's home phone,” James said matter-of-factly.

Charlie gave James an evil look but he didn't back down from her stare. She did a quick mental inventory of a week's worth of personal calls. Conversations with her mother, a few to the office, one with Mandy and the booty call to Franklin. Don was now pacing about the room and Goodman was back in alert mode. Only Gil remained the cool observer. James doubled down.

“We'd also like you to keep this conversation confidential. If you get a call from the local police, stonewall them.”

“You're a son of a bitch,” Don said with venom.

James remained a cool breeze, not changing his posture nor demeanor. It was now clear to Charlie how he'd managed to be successful in the FBI, even though his religion and nationality worked against him.

Don initiated a loud and animated conversation with James. Anyone passing in the hall would think the occupants of room 1840 might be on the verge of physical violence. When Charlie's mobile rang, she moved to the bedroom to hear the caller. When she returned to the living room the color was drained from her face. Don stopped his tirade.

“What is it, Mack?”

“That was Joyce. She asked if we'd mind having the meeting here
at the hotel. They'll be here at two-thirty. On Friday. Tomorrow. I'm sorry, Don.”

With that, the partners of the Mack agency resigned themselves to the FBI's superior hand. Don took a seat on the couch next to Charlie. Goodman relaxed by leaning on the back of one of the room's stuffed chairs.

“Judy, I guess we can let you go now.” Charlie looked at James for permission, he nodded.

“Okay, but call me later when you can talk.”

“Sure, I'll call. But we won't be having a private conversation.”

“Right. Maybe I'll come up with some codes,” Judy said, before hanging up.

“Ms. Novak is quite efficient,” James said. “I understand she's the one who tracked down the Haldeman connection.”

“You obviously know a lot about us, Agent Saleh.” Gil addressed James formally.

“I make no apologies for out tactics, Mr. Acosta. It comes with the territory, as I'm sure you must know. ‘El deber es nuestro maestro.'”

“Duty is our master,” Gil translated for his partners.

“Anybody need a drink?” Don asked.

“It's mid-morning,” Gil said.

“Then why does it feel like midnight?” Don said ruefully.

“Let's order a pot of coffee, instead.” Charlie moved to the desk for the menu.

The Mack partners spent the next hour in a frank conversation with the FBI about the requirements of their working relationship. Charlie, Don and Gil were to share anything they learned with James, and if he wasn't available, with Agent Goodman. Agents Saleh and Goodman would share nothing, and that's just the way it was. James tried to play peacemaker by dangling one last tidbit of information.

“Grant Freeman, Jr. is assisting us in our case but Joyce isn't aware of that. He's been very helpful.”