Moon Underfoot (18 page)

“You should tell me the code. What if you’re gone and I need something? How am I gonna get in there?”

“I’ll tell you then. That’s why we got cell phones.”

“Dude, you can trust me. I’m your brother.”

“Half brother, and there’s over a million dollars cash in there right now. I can’t trust nobody. Maybe Momma. Maybe. But she ain’t gettin’ the code either.”

“It would show how much you trust me.”

“Like I just said, I don’t trust nobody.”

“Not even me?” Levi asked as he looked down.

Moon Pie could tell Levi’s feelings were hurt. Deep down, he wanted to trust Levi. He rode Levi’s ass hard all the time, but that came with the territory. Moon Pie actually needed and wanted somebody he could trust with everything. He stared at his half brother and knew he shouldn’t tell anyone the code.

“That bag of money ain’t mine. If it doesn’t get in the right hands in a few days—you see this thing on my leg—I’m dead.”

“That’s exactly why we need to take it up a notch. Help each other. I got your back.”

“You got my back?”

“Yeah, I do, brother.”

Moon Pie wanted to change the subject. “I’ll think about it.”

“Come on.”

“I said, I’ll think about it. Don’t push it!”

Levi looked at him with a slightly cocked head.

Moon Pie smiled. “Come on. Let’s go get a beer. I’m thirsty.”

S
EBASTIAN CALLED WALTER
on his cell phone, insisting that they meet that night. It was almost ten, and Walter could hear the intensity in his voice. Something either really good or really bad was about to happen.

Lucille sat in Walter’s recliner, occasionally glancing at
Law & Order
while trying to guess what Sebastian was so worked up about. She was concerned about her granddaughter and berated Walter for not asking Sebastian any questions. His explanation that cell-phone communications were not secure and shouldn’t be trusted didn’t do much to mollify her. Only the fact that she had talked to Bailey just a few minutes prior and knew she was driving back to spend the night reduced her stress level somewhat.

When the knock came at the door, Walter immediately looked out his peephole and then opened the door. Sebastian allowed Bailey to enter first, and Bernard followed her.

“Got any coffee?” Sebastian asked.

“Sure,” Walter answered as he shuffled toward the kitchen. “So, what’s up?”

“Oh, we just had a little run-in with Bailey’s
ex
-boyfriend Woody,” Sebastian replied as he watched her hugging Lucille. “We thought it best if she stayed here for a while.”

Walter poured coffee and asked, “Then I’m guessing he’s still alive?”

“He’s breathin’.”

Walter looked at Sebastian and Bernard and then at Bailey, who was standing by a small suitcase that looked thirty years old and a grocery bag full of something.

“Okay. What happened?” he finally asked, since no one was volunteering information.

“We watched him follow her from the store after work, so we discreetly tailed him.”

“We got lost twice,” Bernard offered, holding up two fingers for emphasis.

Sebastian sighed. “We couldn’t keep up, but I figured I knew where they were going.”

“He drives like Grandma Moses,” Bernard added with a grin.

“Anyway, as I was saying, by the time we got there, he had kicked in the door and had knocked her around some.”

Everyone turned to look at Bailey. Lucille made her stand by the floor lamp, and they could see that she was going to have a black eye. Aged tempers rose.

“I had a good
talk
with the little shit, and since we couldn’t lock up Bailey’s apartment, I insisted that she come and stay here. I knew that’s what Lucille would want.”

“I’m glad you did,” Lucille said, and she stroked Bailey’s hair as only a grandmother can do.

Walter unwrapped a cigar and stuck it in the corner of his mouth while he thought. “Anything else? What about the store?”

“The owner was there when we drove back by a little while ago,” Bernard said.

“Is that normal, Bailey?” Walter asked.

“No sir. I don’t think so. But they coulda just been gettin’ back from their trip.”

Walter sucked on his cigar and looked around at the group. Sebastian gulped his coffee, and Bernard was scrounging for cookies. Bailey looked shell-shocked, and Lucille looked concerned.

“We still goin’ in tomorrow night?” Sebastian asked.

“It’s pointless until we know the code to the safe,” Walter said, staring out a window at the red flashing light on the town’s only microwave tower.

“Anything else?”

“Nope.” Sebastian didn’t want to discuss his idea in front of Bailey.

“What took y’all so long to get here? The store closes at six.”

“Oh, we took her out to eat, to cheer her up,” Bernard said.

Walter realized everybody was spending the stolen money like drunken sailors on leave and sighed deeply.

“We used some of our emergency-expense-account money you gave us,” Bernard added quickly.

“Well, if that’s it, I’m taking this baby to my room for a good night’s sleep. Walter, you see? She needs our help.”

“I do.” Walter was unfortunately aware that most abuse cases start with a few punches to the gut and then slowly escalate. But when a man hits a woman in the face, it’s real rage, and the severity of the abuse progresses quickly. That’s what had happened to his daughter, and he had failed to recognize the signs. It haunted him daily.

Lucille and Bailey walked for the door. Sebastian opened it for them.

“Y’all call us if you need anything during the night. Anything at all,” Walter said. The other men voiced like sentiments.

“Oh, Bailey—you work tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, sir. Levi and I almost always work Saturdays.”

“I need to see you before you go in. It’s important. I’ll explain to everybody in the morning. Seven thirty.”

When the door shut, Sebastian set his coffee cup down and pulled off his overcoat. He rubbed his hands and stood up like a Baptist minister about to preach in front of his own momma.

Walter was a bit taken aback.

“I got an idea.”

“Yeah, I figured something was up. What is it?” Walter asked.

“Look, I know we all wanna kill the little prick, but he ain’t worth goin’ to prison over,” Sebastian said.

“Yeah, so what are you thinkin’?” Walter prodded impatiently.

“When we steal the money from the gold store, we frame that little peckerhead for it.”

Walter let a smile creep across his lips. He picked up his cigar and pointed it at Sebastian and Bernard. “Gentlemen, that’s a damn fine idea.”

“I’m bettin’ Moon Pie will get to him, and presto, he’s outta her hair,” Sebastian said. Then he added, “And hopefully the gene pool.”

“Bailey said that he and the owner guy don’t get along anyway,” Bernard said, wanting to contribute.

“It’s just brilliant,” Walter said.

“But how do we frame him, specifically?” Bernard asked.

Sebastian laughed, and all eyes turned to him. He carefully retrieved something from his handkerchief. “With this?” He proudly held up the smokeless-tobacco can, making sure he didn’t add his fingerprints to it.

“A lot of people dip, dude,” Bernard said sarcastically.

Walter looked at the can in Sebastian’s hand, studying the unusual top. “What’s this jerk’s name again?”

“Woody Walker,” Sebastian said with a chuckle.

Walter said excitedly, “Bernard, my friend, lots of folks indulge in the pleasures of smokeless tobacco or, as you refer to it, dip, but how many have a sterling-silver lid with a gold-plated
W
?”

“I thought you’d like that,” Sebastian said, watching Walter’s eyes and seeing his mind race.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bernard said to no one in particular.

“Does he know you have it?” Walter asked excitedly.

“Nope, and by now, he’s probably missing it. But he doesn’t have a clue that I’ve got it.”

“It’s just perfect! This just might work. Good thinkin’,” Walter said as he patted Sebastian on the back.

J
AKE HAD LONG
since kissed Katy good night. Now he lay on the bed with his arms crossed behind his head while Morgan washed her face and prepared for bed. It had been a long day and an even longer week. Katy had sensed that her parents were on edge and had asked some questions about their safety. Hearing Katy’s concern made Jake realize how important it was for him to take the primary responsibility for the protection of his family.

The police periodically drove by the house, the Old Waverly security was heightened at the guard’s gate, Morgan had alerted the school officials, and in general, the entire town of West Point was looking out for them. It was comforting to know folks genuinely cared—but it wasn’t going to be enough.

Jake wondered if he or his family were being stalked, if someone had deliberately burned down the camp house, and if any or all of this could be related to the events of the Dummy Line.
Maybe it was just a Peeping Tom spying on Morgan. She’s hot and parades around the house all the time in a tank top with no bra and skintight yoga pants or shorts. It’s hard not to look. And the camp was old and the wiring was probably shot. Or maybe a bunch of drunk kids did it for kicks; it happens. If
somebody was lookin’ for revenge, they’d have done it by now. Hell, that night was front-page news for days, and it stayed in the papers for weeks.

“Do you still have your pistol in your car?” Jake yelled to Morgan.

“Nope. I keep it in my purse now.”

“Good. But you gotta get your concealed-carry permit.”

“What’s that?” she asked, brushing her hair hard enough that Jake thought it should hurt.

“You have to have a permit if you’re gonna carry a pistol around with you.”

“Do you have one?”

“Well, no, but I don’t carry mine around with me everywhere either. It’s in my truck, though.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Yeah, I was just lyin’ here thinkin’ that.”

“I hate that we’re havin’ to think about this, Jake.”

“Me too. It’s not anybody’s fault. It just happened.”

Morgan came and sat down on the bed next to him. “I’m not blamin’ you, babe.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to imply that you were. Tomorrow R.C. will be here, and he’ll be able to help us think through this. He’s pretty street-smart.”

“I’m glad you called him,” she said, walking back into the bathroom.

“I think I’ll teach Katy how to shoot your LadySmith this weekend. Just so she knows.”

“Jake, she’s only twelve. She’s kinda young, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. I can’t believe I haven’t taught her already. I don’t want her to be afraid of handguns, just to respect them like she does her rifle and shotgun. And, I want her to understand that gun control is about bein’ able to hit what you aim at.”

D
AWN BROKE CLEAR,
cool, and crisp at 6:33 a.m. Walter had been up for an hour. He knew that one of the largest armed forces in the South was positioned all across Mississippi to take part in a tradition as serious as Thanksgiving—opening day of deer season. Tomorrow, hundreds, if not thousands, of smiling young girls and boys, holding their trophy deer, would have their pictures in small-town newspapers across the state.