Flinch Factor, The (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-one

I didn't fall asleep until after three that the morning, but at least by then I had a plan. I needed to bring this Corundum investigation to a head one way or the other—more for Nick Moran's sister than anything else, but enough was enough already. I had to find the mysterious big guy and find out what he knew—or didn't know—and wrap it up.

By two in the morning, I had my plan. By three, when I finally rolled over in bed and closed my eyes, I had my partner. And by nine-thirty the following morning, I was parked across the street from 359 Dorantes in Amity, Missouri. In the driveway was the same black Dodge pickup, and along the curb in front of the house were the same three pickups from the day before.

To be safe, I restarted the engine, drove to the end of the block, and parked far enough around the corner to be out of the sightlines from 359 Dorantes.

I turned off the engine, angled the rearview mirror, and checked my appearance. I had on one of my mother's oversized sunglasses, bright red lipstick, and a pink scarf that covered my hair. Not bad.

I turned to my partner, who was seated on the passenger seat, head out the window, panting slightly. He was not as tough as Benny or as intimidating as Jacki, but he was every bit as brave and dependable as either of them.

“Shall we?” I said.

Yadi turned toward me, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. He wagged his tail. I clipped the leash onto his collar and opened my door.

Time to get into character. With my best version of a rural Missouri twang I said, “Ready, y'all?”

He closed his mouth and tilted his head.

“Let's get her done,” I said.

We got out of the car, walked around the corner and down the street to 359 Dorantes. We went around to the back, where the construction crew was at work on the enclosed porch.

As we approached the work area, one of the Hispanic guys straightened up, stared at the dog and me, and called out, “Yo, Rudy.”

From somewhere inside emerged the guy I'd seen get into the black pickup yesterday—the guy with the close-trimmed rust-colored beard. As yesterday, he was dressed in jeans, a short-sleeve Hawaiian-print shirt, construction boots, and a faded St. Louis Blues hat. Rudy, presumably.

“Can I help you, ma'am?” he asked.

“You folks are Corundum, right?”

He paused.

“Yes, ma'am. We work for Corundum.”

“Where's the big guy?”

“What big guy would that be, ma'am?”

“The one that stole my money, that's who.”

“Stole your money, ma'am?”

“You got that right, mister. He took my money and he ain't been to my house and he ain't done any work like he promised. I'd call that stealing, wouldn't you?” I peered around. “So where is that fat sneaky bastard?”

Rudy glanced down at Yadi, who was seated at my side and staring right back up at him. His tail was not wagging. Rudy looked back at me. He frowned and scratched the back of his neck.

“What money are you talking about, ma'am?”

“To do my patio is what money I'm talking about. He told me it would cost me two grand and he could get her done in under a month on weekends and I says that sounded just find and dandy to me and he says he needs a downpayment to get me scheduled and I says what kind of downpayment and he says seven-hundred fifty would do it and I says that sounds kind of steep to me but he says that's what his company requires so I went to my bank and took out that money and give it to him in cash and guess what? I never seen him again. Never.”

“Did he tell you his name, ma'am?”

“No, sir.”

“So how do you know he works for us?”

“That license plate, that's how.”

“What license plate?”

I gestured with my thumb back over my shoulder. “The one out there on the Dodge pickup in the driveway.”

“I don't understand.”

“It was parked at the other job, too. The one where your guy got my money. Well, sir, I copied down that plate before I give him my money. I got me a cousin on the police force. When I couldn't find your guy, I talked to my cousin and he ran them plates and guess what? That there truck in the driveway is registered to Corundum Construction Company, which means you are the sleazebags that pocketed my money. So where is he? I got to talk to him. Either he does my job next week or I want a full refund plus interest.”

They guy was clearly flustered. He looked at Yadi and then at the jobsite and back at me.

“Well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “we did have a big fellow who did some work for us once, but he's been gone at least two months.”

“Gone with my money is what you mean. What's his name?”

“Gene.”

“Gene what?”

He frowned. “Ma'am, we don't have your money.”

“According to my attorney, you do. And guess what else? If I don't get that work done or get my money back, I'm going to my cousin on the police force and get them boys to come out here and arrest all of you crooks.”

“We didn't take your money, ma'am.”

“One of your employees did, and according to my attorney, that's the same as your company taking it. Let me tell you, it wasn't easy tracking you fellas down, but now that I know the name of your company I can make sure I get some justice here. So let me ask you again. What's big Gene's last name and where does he live?”

“Let me talk to my boss, ma'am. What's your name?”

“I'm not telling you my name until you tell me his name.”

“If I don't know your name, ma'am, how am I supposed to get in touch with you?”

“You don't get in touch with me, that's how. I got me a lawyer, and a damn good one at that. Her name is Jacki Brand and she's about as big as that Gene guy of yours who took my money and, believe me, she'll either sue his butt or kick his butt. Here's her card.”

I handed it to him.

He studied the business card.

I said, “So here's the deal.”

I waited until he looked up.

“You got two days,” I said, “to find that Gene fellow and get him to contact my attorney. He's the only one we want to talk to, and he sure as heck better be ready to talk turkey. Understand me?”

He glanced down at the card and back at me.

“I'll pass it on,” he said.

“You be sure you do.” I looked down at Yadi, who was seated on the grass next to me. “Let's go, Tex.”

He gave me a puzzled look as he got up.

We walked in silence back down the sidewalk. As we rounded the corner, I checked to make sure no one was looking. I unlocked my car door and let Yadi go in first. He jumped up onto the seat and moved over to the passenger side. I got in, closed the door, started the engine, and turned to him with a smile.

“Dang, Yadi, that there felt mighty good. Maybe we need to trade in this girly car and get ourselves a pickup. Maybe with a hemi, huh? Dang.”

Yadi stared at me as I put the car in gear and drove off.

Chapter Thirty-two

The rest of the week passed in a flurry of activity, mostly involving other lawsuits in dire need of attention. As for the Frankenstein case, the settlement agreement with Ruby Productions was finalized and signed by all parties Friday morning. Attached to the agreement as Exhibit A was the form notifying the City of Cloverdale that Ruby Productions was withdrawing its TIF development proposal. Attached as Exhibit B was the stipulation of dismissal of the lawsuit. Attached as Exhibit C was my signed statement that I was not currently representing and did not have any present intent to represent any parties challenging a Ruby Productions project. Although that exhibit was a first for me, it seemed almost trivial within the weird context of the abrupt end of the lawsuit.

Nevertheless, all parties to the Frankenstein case, and especially me, were pleased with its resolution. Indeed, the only sour note came from Judge Flinch. He had greeted Rob Crane and me in his chambers with a big grin, apparently anticipating yet another nasty pretrial fracas to preside over. The grin faded when we told him we had come to submit settlement papers.

“These are important matters,” he told us, his voice laced with disappointment. “They deserve a public airing.”

I tried to reassure him. “This won't be your only TIF case, Your Honor. I'm sure you will get one suitable for TV. Perhaps there will be a starring role for Mr. Crane here.”

Flinch sighed. “Ah, let's hope so, Miss Gold, let's hope so. As Judge Ito would say, ‘The big wheel keeps on turning.'”

Later that Friday afternoon—after swinging by the house to pick up my mom, Sam, and Sarah—I drove over to Muriel Finkelstein's home for the celebration party. Jacki Brand had promised to drop by later. She was working late drafting a property settlement agreement in one of her divorce cases.

The party was on Muriel's front yard, which was festooned with bright holiday lights. The sounds of Frank Sinatra singing “Young at Heart” came from a boombox sitting on her front porch. There were three long tables laden with a pot luck feast, the highpoint of which was a platter stacked with slices and chunks of Cletus Johnson's legendary deep-fried turkey.

The neighbors cheered when we got out of the car, and several came over to shake my hand or give me a hug. I smiled and thanked them, but felt a bit unworthy of taking credit for the result. It's one thing to attend a client's victory party after obtaining a huge jury verdict or a stunning reversal of one on appeal. It's another to do a victory lap after your opponent has—apparently for unrelated financial reasons—decided to fold his cards and walk away from the table.

Even so, it was wonderful to see the joy and relief in the eyes of Muriel and her neighbors. Better yet, my kids were having a wonderful time. One of Sarah's friends lived in Brittany Woods, and the two of them eventually went back to the friend's house. There were several kids Sam's age, and before long they were playing a game of tag in Muriel's backyard. I chatted with the neighbors as my mother and Muriel moved from group to group. More than once I heard my mother's voice uttering that familiar mantra of hers: “My daughter the Harvard lawyer.”

Jacki Brand arrived around six thirty. She'd changed at the office and was wearing a red half-sleeve cowl neck sweater over dark jeans and leather boots. Muriel gave her a big hug.

“Hey, partner,” I said. “Plenty of good eats.”

“I can't eat much. We're going out to dinner tonight.”

She looked around and smiled. “This is wonderful, Rachel.”

“These folks are so happy.”

“They should be. You got them a great result.”

“I don't know how much credit I can claim.”

“Hey, if you hadn't filed suit and driven them crazy, this whole neighborhood would have been bulldozed by now. You're entitled to take credit.”

“Let's just say I'm not planning to look inside the mouth of this gift horse.”

“Good idea.”

“So did you finish your drafting?”

“Almost.” She raised her eyebrows. “I was interrupted.”

“By who?”

“Gene Chase.”

I frowned. “And he is?”

“One pissed off redneck, as near as I can tell.”

“Pissed off about what?”

“About some—and I quote—lying bitch who claims he took her money for some bullshit job.”

“Awesome.” I was grinning. “So he went for the bait.”

“Yep. Now we have to land him.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him that last time I checked, stealing money from a young widow constituted a felony in this state. I told him that if he kept insulting my client I'd just have to turn the matter over to her cousin on the police force. I also told him he ought to think long and hard about his employer, Corundum Construction. He told me he didn't work there anymore. I told him it didn't matter, because he sure as hell worked there on the day in question, and that's all that counted under the law. I told him to take the weekend to think it over, because if he forced me to bring a lawsuit, I'd be seeking a whole lot more than seven-hundred-and-fifty dollars. I told him I'd name Corundum and the owners and make sure it got in the newspapers and on TV and by the time I got done with them, I'd own their company and their personal assets, including that pickup.”

I was grinning.

“You said all that?”

“It was fun.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much. He kind of hemmed and hawed. I told him he had until the close of business on Monday to get me the money. If I hadn't heard from him by then, I would assume that he and Corundum had no interest in getting this matter amicably resolved. And then I hung up.”

“Nice.”

“Let's hope it works.”

From across the lawn came Sam's voice, “Jacki!”

We both turned. Sam was running toward us, his face lit up with a big grin. Jacki was one of his favorites.

She got down on one knee, and Sam ran into her open arms.

“Hey, big man,” she said.

He disappeared inside her arms as she hugged him. I looked on, smiling.

Chapter Thirty-three

Gene Chase beat the deadline. At five minutes past four on Monday, Jacki Brand stuck her head in my office.

“Guess who's here?”

I checked my watch. “Alone?”

“Yep.”

“Does he match the description?”

“He's big and fat. And a slob.” She shrugged. “Seems like Nick could have done a lot better.”

“Maybe he's got a scintillating personality.”

“Yeah, and maybe I'm the quarterback for the New England Patriots.”

“So that's what Tom Brady looks like in a dress.”

“Ho, ho, ho. Where should we meet?

“You're the one he called,” I said. “Let's do it in your office.”

“Go on in. I'll go fetch him.”

I took a seat off to the side in Jacki's office, over at the worktable. Though there were two chairs facing Jacki's desk, I didn't want to make him uncomfortable by sitting that close. He'd be plenty uncomfortable without having me up in his personal space.

Jacki entered the office, followed by Gene Chase. He was definitely big: maybe an inch taller than Jacki. And definitely fat: a big gut that bulged over his belt in front and on the sides, arms thicker than my thighs, and a chin that disappeared into a neck thicker than my waist. He had on a faded Cardinals t-shirt, sagging Wrangler jeans, and scuffed work boots. He was bald on top with scraggly brown hair on the sides that flared out into long sideburns. There was a lizard tattooed on his right arm and a scorpion on his left.

Jacki's observation mirrored my own: Nick could have done better than this sluggo. A whole lot better.

“Have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the chairs facing her desk. “That's my law partner over there.”

Chase glanced over at me as he took his seat. He was holding a manila envelope in one fat hand.

“Where the girl?” he asked in a rural twang.

“She's not here,” Jacki said.

“That's just crap. She's the one made all them BS charges, not me. I got a constitutional right to confront my accuser.”

Jacki leaned forward in her chair and gave him a sub-zero stare. “Gene.”

“Huh?”

“I'm getting tired of your routine.”

“Hey, I'm just saying—”

“Gene.”

“What?”

“Cut the bullshit.”

He stared back her, eyes blinking.

She nodded toward the envelope. “What's in there?”

“One of them legal documents.”

“What legal document?”

“It's what you call a release.”

“Who calls it a release?”

“The lawyers, I guess.”

“Whose lawyers?”

“The ones for the company.”

“You mean Corundum?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Who are those lawyers?”

“I got no idea. But I think they is the ones that wrote this thing up.”

“Let me see it.”

Chase seemed momentarily flustered. “Well, she's the one gotta sign it. Like I say, the money thing is bullshit, but I'm supposed to give it to her anyway even though I told them it's bullshit but I got orders and them orders says give her the money but she don't get no durn money unless she signs that there release.”

Jacki said, “I'm not letting my client sign anything until I see it. Hand it over.”

“Well, okay, but you understand the rules?”

“Yes, Gene. I understand the rules. Here's my rule: either give me that piece of paper or get the hell out of here.”

He hesitated, eyes blinking, mind apparently in vapor lock, and finally placed the envelope on the desk. Jacki pulled it toward her, opened it, and removed a single sheet of paper. She skimmed it and turned to me.

I stood. “I'll make copies.”

I took the document before Chase could react, stepped out into the hall, made two copies, and returned to Jacki's office.

“Here you are,” I said.

I handed the original to Jacki, a photocopy to Chase, and took the other back to my chair.

I read my copy as Jacki read hers. It was a fairly standard belt-and-suspenders release form in which the person (whose name was to be written in on the blank line), on behalf of herself and “her heirs, executors, administrators, trustees, agents, attorneys, insurers, representatives, successors and assigns, and anyone claiming through or under them,” in consideration of the payment of $750.00, “completely and irrevocably releases, remises, acquits and forever discharges Eugene Roy Chase and Corundum Construction Company its officers, directors, subsidiaries, successors, predecessors and otherwise affiliated entities, regardless of the form by which the entity is or was doing business, attorneys, agents, employees, subcontractors, assigns, past, present, or future, as the case may be, from any and all actions, causes of action, losses, damages, attorneys fees and claims, of any nature whatsoever, whether arising in law, contract, equity or otherwise, from the beginning of time to the date of this Release, regardless of whether such claims are asserted, alleged, known, unknown or unknowable.”

I raised my eyes to meet Jacki's gaze.

Interesting
, her expression seemed to say.

I nodded.

She turned to Chase. “So you brought the money?”

“I got it here with me but I'm telling you again this whole thing ain't right. I didn't make no promise to your client. I never took no money from her. I'll swear on a Bible. Maybe she got me confused with someone else, but—” he shook his head, resigned “—I guess that ain't no matter now. I'm supposed to give her the money and she has to get that release signed in front of one of them notary republics. Those are my instructions. So if you can get your client over here on the double we can get this thing done and get out of here.”

“Is that money your money, Gene?” Jacki asked.

“Pardon?”

“Is it your cash or did you get it from Corundum?”

“I don't see why that matters.”

“I don't give a rat's ass what you see. Just answer the question.”

He looked down. “It's the company's money.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“Rudy.”

“Who's Rudy?”

“He's the man your client talked to on some job site. Rudy used to be my foreman.”

“What's Rudy's last name?”

“Hickman.”

“So Rudy Hickman gave you the money?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And he gave you the release?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And he gave you the instructions?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You don't work for Rudy anymore?”

“No, ma'am.”

“You work for Corundum?”

“No, ma'am. Not for a couple months.”

“Where do you work?”

“At the Chambers Warehouse on North Broadway.”

“Doing what?”

“Loading dock.”

Jacki leaned back in her chair and glanced over at me.

I nodded.

“Gene,” I said.

He turned to me, eyes narrowing. “Yeah?”

“How'd you like to keep that seven fifty?”

He frowned. “What do you mean by keep it?”

“What if we could get you a signed release to give to Rudy but you could pocket the money? Does that interest you?”

“Well.” He seemed both confused and tempted. “I'm not following your drift here.”

“You can keep the money if you can give us the information we need.”

“Information? About what?”

“Nick Moran.”

The way his head snapped back, eyes wide, you'd have thought I tasered him.

“Moran? What do you mean?”

“Tell me about you and Nick Moran.”

“I don't understand.”

“Just tell me.”

“About what?”

I sighed and shook my head, more for effect than anything else. “Gene, we have a witness.”

His eyes widened. “Witness? To what?”

“In Forest Park. The night Nick died.”

“I didn't kill him.”

“I didn't say you did. But you were with him, Gene. We have a witness who saw you drive his pickup truck. He saw you park it on that lane in Forest Park. He saw you get out of Nick's truck and get into the one that belongs to Corundum. Next morning the police found Nick dead in that pickup, which was parked exactly where you left it.”

“I didn't kill him.”

“He died that night, Gene. You were the last person to see him alive.”

“No way. I never saw him alive.”

“What does that mean?”

“He was already dead.”

“He was already dead when?”

“When I got in that truck.”

“Which truck?”

“His, I guess. That one I drove.”

“In the park?”

“No. Before.”

“Where did you get in his truck?”

Chase's eyes were blinking rapidly, his face flushed. He leaned back in his chair and looked down at his thighs. He was tugging at his earlobe.

“Where was his truck, Gene?” I asked in a gentle voice.

No answer.

“Gene?”

“Hold on.” He held up his hands and shook his head, still looking down. “Gimme a second.”

“How long had you known Nick?” I asked.

“I didn't know him. Not at all.”

“Then how do you know his name?”

“It was in the news.”

“What news?”

“The next day. After they found him.”

“You're saying you didn't know his name until then?”

He held up his hands. “This is going way too fast.”

“We can slow down,” I said.

“No, I got to think this over.” He stood. “I got to go off and think this over real good before I say anything more.”

“Don't you want to do this deal?” Jacki said. “We're talking seven hundred and fifty dollars. Just give us the information about that night, keep the money, take back a signed release, and no one will ever know the difference.”

He seemed torn as he stood there, shifting from leg to leg.

“This wasn't supposed to happen,” he said, to no one in particular.

“What wasn't?” I asked.

“This here. I didn't do nothing wrong that night. They asked me to come over and pick him up and drive him to the park and I done it and that was supposed to be all. And now this? Well, it's gotten a little too complicated for me. I gots to think this over.”

“You can tell us about it,” I said.

“I don't know about that.” His voice was almost an octave higher. “I got to go. I just do. I'll talk to you all later.”

And with that he dashed out of Jacki's office. We heard him lumber down the hall.