Bury Me When I'm Dead (29 page)

Chapter 35

The Mack partners gathered in the conference room for a meeting that was part logistics check-in, and part support group. The Belle Isle meeting would take place in a few hours and nobody was confident things would turn out well. Charlie would soon pick up Joyce at the hotel she'd checked into late last night, then the two would be wired with microphones. Don would have a ringside seat on the island, and Gil's role in the action was to stay at his computer, monitoring the live satellite feed generated by Agent Griggs in Birmingham. Judy assigned herself the task of chief worrier.

FBI agents were already in place in a half-dozen hiding places around the Flynn Pavilion. Don would take up position at a lookout post atop the nearby band shell where, with binoculars, he would have a sweeping view of the entire area. Next to him would be an agent with a high-powered rifle, ready to respond. Charlie and Don would both be armed, Don with his trusty .38 revolver and Charlie with a nine-millimeter sub-compact pistol.

“I hope you don't have to shoot anybody,” Judy said.

“I hope not, but even the FBI thought it was a good idea to have our weapons,” Charlie said.

“Be sure and test your communication device as soon as you cross the bridge,” Gil advised. “There's a Coast Guard station nearby and sometimes radio frequencies can be interrupted by their signals.”

“Got it Gil. But, I'm sure the FBI has accounted for that.”

“Probably, but this operation has plenty of room for error.”

“Too damned many moving parts if you ask me,” Don added.

He had been increasingly grumpy during the days leading up to the planned entrapment of Owen Owens. When James and Agent
Goodman dropped by the office on Friday for a final briefing, he was barely civil.

“I'm glad you'll be there and watching my back,” Charlie said to Don.

“I still think
I
should be driving Abrams to the meeting,” Don complained. “Then I'd be closer.”

“Well, you heard what James said. If Owens chauffeurs Leonard, the FBI won't have to go hunting for him later.”

“You guys better get started,” Judy said, pushing back from the table. “It's time.”

Everyone shook hands and Judy gave Charlie a hug so she could whisper in her ear.

“Don't forget the backup plan.”

Charlie patted her jacket pocket. “I won't.”

Owens had a busy morning with sales calls. He wanted his routine to be normal. He'd had a late lunch, got the car washed and stopped by his barber for a trim. It was a big day for him. The spring on the trap was set and now the only thing to do was be patient and wait for the rat to do its thing. He punched in Barnes' number on his phone.

“Is everything in place?”

“Yep. Any changes?”

“No. I'm still driving Abrams in. We'll be leaving at three.”

“Where should we hook up after?”

“Just come by the apartment tonight and we'll settle up.”

“Okay. I'll see you later.”

Owens returned the receiver to its cradle. He hadn't been able to sleep last night, but Barnes didn't sound nervous at all. He retrieved a piece of scrap paper from his shirt pocket and made a second call.

“Yes,” the deep voice said.

“This is Owens.”

“I've just been waiting for the word.”

“Well, this is the word. Wait until you see him leaving. He'll be riding a bicycle.”

The line disconnected.
Good. Barnes will take care of Joyce and then Barnes will be dealt with. Tonight I'll sleep like a baby.

He gave the sales order on his desk a cursory look, skimmed through a stack of pink phone messages, and after taking a sip of cold coffee, dropped the paper cup into his plastic-lined wastebasket. He pushed away from his desk. He tightened his tie, slipped into his sports jacket and opened the closet door to admire himself in the full-length mirror.
Maybe I'll get that tailor in Atlantic City to make me a pinstripe.

The WWJ weather report warned of a sixty percent chance of rain for the evening commute so he pulled his tan, half-length raincoat from the hanger, patting the small pistol in the inside pocket.

Time to take the old man for a ride.

Joyce had to admit she was having second thoughts about being a sacrificial lamb. To keep up her nerve she recalled the conversation she'd had with her mother last night.

“I'm glad to hear from you. Are you safe?” Anna asked.

“Yes, I'm fine, Anna. I'm staying in a nice hotel.”

The FBI had warned Joyce not to disclose her whereabouts to anyone. There was an awkward pause in the conversation. After a tumultuous two months of hiding, Joyce was short on information and Anna had learned not to ask a lot of questions.

“Don't worry, I'm in good hands. I think after today everything will work out alright.” Joyce tried to convince her mother and herself.

“Except for Paul,” Anna said woefully.

“Yes. Except for Paulie.”

Charlene Mack had suggested she have breakfast in her hotel room rather than eat in the restaurant. They would stop somewhere for a quick lunch and then meet with the FBI before they drove to Belle Isle. Joyce peered into the mirror; she looked haggard and needed some color in her hair. There hadn't been much time for vanity of late. Her maroon pantsuit fit her well and she'd put on her favorite polka-dot blouse. As an afterthought she brushed on a bit of mocha-plum
lipstick.
Charlene Mack is an attractive woman, energetic and passionate. I wonder if I'll ever feel that way again.
The TV weather girl said showers would come later, so she unpacked the green all-weather coat she'd thought to bring. She sat on the room's overstuffed loveseat and sipped bottled water.
It will be good to see Mr. Abrams.
She couldn't help noticing the water bottle shake as she raised it to her lips.

“It's George Farr from Farr Insurance on line one, for you, Mr. Abrams,” Alicia announced.

Abrams looked at his watch, he had to leave in a few minutes and Farr was always long-winded. “No, I can't take his call now. Tell him I've got an appointment away from the office and will be gone the rest of the day. I'll call him tomorrow.”

“He's returning
your
call, sir.”

“Oh, yes. That's right. I wanted to speak with him about the Rotary meeting.” Abrams ran his hand along the top of his thinning hair, then tapped his fingers on the desk.

Alicia had been assigned to Reliable Restaurant Supply by the temp agency, filling in for the regular girl who was on vacation. She wanted to do a good job so they would ask her back but she wasn't sure she wanted to work for Mr. Abrams again. He seemed awfully confused and not nearly as nice as the agency coordinator described.

“Uh, I just can't speak with him right now. Uh, what did you say your name was?”

“Alicia,” she said with attitude.

“Right. Alicia. Look, tell him I've gone for the day. You know, say the usual stuff.” Abrams was agitated.

Alicia sucked her teeth. “Okay, Mr. Abrams.”

“Thank you, uh, thank you.”

Abrams had already forgotten her name again. He never thought he'd feel so anxious about seeing Joyce. It wasn't until his wife asked about it last night that he allowed himself to revisit the disappointment of her betrayal. Of all his workers, it was odd that this Black woman was the one who reminded Abrams the most of himself.
Because he and his wife had no kids of their own, he liked taking young people under his wing, offering them advice and sharing the information he'd learned the hard way. Joyce could have had any number of careers. She was smart, creative, and cared about the people she worked with. His wife said he should be willing to forgive Joyce, not because it would help her but because it would heal his own hurting soul.

Abrams looked through the glass door and watched Owens schmooze with the temp. When Owens came to Reliable, he was already a seasoned salesperson. He wasn't the kind of man Abrams preferred to spend time with, but he'd been very supportive about everything that was going on the last couple of months. Owens had been happy to drive him to the meeting with Joyce.
It's good to know there are still people who will go out of their way to offer a helping hand.

“You ready, boss?” Owens asked.

“Yes, I'm ready Owen. I really do appreciate you driving me. To tell you the truth, I'm a bit nervous.”

“Not to worry, I'll get you there and back in one piece. Oh, and you better take this.” Owens pulled an umbrella from the stand next to the assistant's desk.

“We'll see you tomorrow, Alicia.” Owens turned a sixty-watt smile on the girl.

“Okay, Mr. Owens. Goodnight, Mr. Abrams.”

“Uh yes, uh, Alicia. Goodnight.”

Charlie and Joyce were shirtless as a female FBI agent fitted them with earpieces and adjusted the tiny microphones clipped to their bras. It was awkward. “Just speak normally, we'll be able to pick you up,” the agent instructed. Joyce's hair was long enough to conceal her earpiece but the agent gave Charlie a headband to wear.

“You'll be able to communicate directly with Special Agent Saleh, but the equipment is sensitive so let's try it out.” They practiced with the communications gear, switching out earbuds, tweaking until they
had the best audio level, relocating the mics until the sound technician was satisfied everything worked properly.

James was to manage the Belle Isle operation from a massive tactical truck parked on East Jefferson Avenue several blocks away from the bridge. Three agents sat before an impressive array of high-tech video screens, soundboards, and a microwave console.

“Can my partners hear me?” Charlie asked James.

“Yes, but they can't speak to you. Only I can do that.”

“How many men do you have at the location?” Joyce asked nervously.

“About a dozen, and the Detroit police at the mini-station have been alerted but they won't be directly involved. The only agents you might see are the two dressed as workers. They'll be in the parking lot or inside the pavilion. Because of the construction, the pavilion itself is closed to visitors.”