Moon Underfoot (19 page)

Hunting’s economic impact is staggering. Hunters not only pay for their privilege to enjoy their natural rights to the outdoors, but also purchase food, gas, equipment, clothing, and the list goes on and on and on. Walter wished he were out there. Sebastian had offered to take him hunting on some land along the river that the Corps of Engineers made available for public. Walter promised himself that he would enjoy a hunt sometime soon, but for now, he had a crime to plan. He remembered what his favorite major league baseball player, Roger Maris, said: “You hit home runs not by chance but by preparation.”

Not having the codes continued to bother him, and he had devised a new approach that hopefully would solve the problem. Yesterday he’d purchased an expensive motion-sensitive and voice-activated video camera that he planned to have Bailey set
up in the office to capture the code being entered. It was a waste of time and too risky to attempt breaking in without knowing the code. It wasn’t realistic that they could guess the combination, and the safe was too heavy for four old farts and a girl to move…even if it weren’t bolted to the slab. The surveillance camera was their best bet, and hiding it seemed plausible because of all the junk in the office. To maximize their chances for success, Walter was willing to wait—as long as it took—until the camera captured the code.

Walter started thinking about his recent conversations with Jake Crosby while he waited on the rest of the crew to make their way downstairs. There was no means of getting the cash into a bank account without raising suspicion, except by making small deposits over an extended period.
Shit, we’re all too freakin’ old to even consider doin’ much of anything that extends any distance into the future.
Walter chuckled at the thought.

He could tell Jake was disappointed and knew he wasn’t willing to risk breaking any laws, and his brokerage wouldn’t allow it anyway. Jake had wished him the best and hoped he could help Walter in the near future.

Walter took a long sip of coffee and then changed mental gears to Samantha’s phone call yesterday telling him that Kroger had requested a meeting for Monday and that they had disclosed that they would have attorneys present. She was nervous—he could hear it in her voice—and that, in turn, made him anxious.

At about seven thirty, Lucille and Bailey came down for breakfast. Lucille had toast with homemade blackberry jelly. Bailey drank a Mountain Dew. Her eye didn’t look as bad as Walter had expected.

After a few more minutes, Walter tired of waiting for Sebastian and Bernard and pulled out the camera. “Bailey, this is what I want you to do. It’s real simple. This is a motion-sensitive video camera that makes no noise. I need you to position it so it can film Moon Pie entering the safe’s combination. If we can get that, we’re home free.”

“How do I turn it on? Do I have to focus it?” she asked, a bit intimidated.

“It automatically focuses, and all you have to do is turn it on by pushing this switch. Point it at the lock, and make sure it’s hidden. Make sure it’s at an angle so the person punching in the code doesn’t block the camera. You may have to experiment a few times. Here’s how you review it.” Walter demonstrated by filming Lucille.

“Okay. I get it.”

“From looking at your cell phone pictures, I seem to recall that there is a shelf with magazines and some other junk on the right-hand wall. Somewhere on that shelf would be perfect. You’ll just need a few minutes to set it up. Can you handle that?”

“Sure. Levi always leaves to get us breakfast after he opens up. It takes him about twenty minutes.”

“Be careful.”

“This is a
great
idea,” Bailey said enthusiastically as she looked at the camera.

“It should work,” Walter said confidently.

“Now, if he’ll just show up and unlock the safe today,” Bailey said thoughtfully.

“Bailey, honey, we’re really not in a hurry,” Walter said. Then he added, “Does your ex-boyfriend know that your grandmother lives here?”

“Yes. Yes sir. He does,” she said, shifting her gaze to Lucille.

M
OON PIE OVERSLEPT
and woke up pissed off at the world. He had a narrow thirty-acre property that he loved to hunt the first day of the season. It was basically a place to park his truck, but it bordered a nine-hundred-acre private farm in Noxubee County that was intensively managed for trophy whitetails. Every opening morning for the last three years he had killed a nice buck by being in the woods before the doctor who owned the fine place put out all his hunting buddies. The doctor’s friends typically made so much noise that nearly every deer on the place got spooked, and Moon Pie knew their primary escape routes. If the wind was calm or out of the northwest, he would be in great shape.

He jumped into his hunting clothes, grabbed his rifle, and dashed to the woods as daylight was breaking. He needed to kill a buck on opening day because it tied directly to his sense of self-worth—saying to whoever saw it that he was such an accomplished hunter that he could take a wall hanger in the first few hours of the season opening.

Moon Pie and Levi rarely missed a day of hunting during the season, and if they did, they went during that night. Levi also had two horses they occasionally rode on large, open properties.
Horse tracks weren’t obvious signs of poachers and were often dismissed as merely signs of a neighboring landowner rounding up lost cattle. They also road-hunted the beautiful Natchez Trace, a 444-mile, ancient, wooded road that sliced through prime whitetail habitat between Nashville and Natchez.

In all of Moon Pie’s illegal activities, he was as slick as a greasy BB. While law enforcement agencies were aware of his nefarious ways, Moon Pie had paid off so many locals with meat and drugs that they watched his back, making him that much harder to catch.

By nine o’clock that morning, Moon Pie was already pissed at himself for oversleeping. He’d stayed up late watching a
Swamp People
marathon and the doctor’s friends had beaten him into the woods by at least thirty minutes. As a result, he had missed an excellent chance to poach one of the doc’s big deer. After hearing someone shoot three times, Moon Pie slithered down from his perch atop a blown-down white oak and headed back to his truck. There were too many hunters on the doctor’s place for him to slip across the property line today, and since he didn’t know exactly when Tam would be arriving to exchange the drugs for the cash, he felt an urgency to leave the woods.

Tam Nguyen made Moon Pie extremely nervous. The late Johnny Lee had introduced them about four years ago, which was yet another reason Moon Pie felt compelled to avenge Johnny Lee’s death. Tam had been searching for trustworthy drug runners and compensated proven dependability through a unique profit-sharing program, and with greater reliability came greater base pay. In the Vietnamese criminal culture along Mississippi’s Gulf Coast, trustworthiness was frequently challenged and constantly had to be proven.

Historically, the Dixie Mafia, as it was known along the coast, had been run exclusively by good ol’ boys—white boys. Recently, however, a few Vietnamese—and Tam Nguyen specifically—had proven they not only were excellent shrimpers but also possessed
other talents, and they had staked a significant claim to a piece of the Gulf Coast drug trade.

Tam’s vision was to expand northward. To do so, he had to improve his distribution network. He would use Biloxi as a base, which worked especially well, since there was no port authority and any vessel could simply enter the bay and dock unchecked. Biloxi’s proximity to Interstate 10, a major drug route that went from Florida to California, and several interstates heading north, made Biloxi and the surrounding area ideal for drug trafficking.

Moon Pie had met face-to-face with Tam only a few times. Tam lurked in the shadows as much as possible. His trusted lieutenants did the heavy lifting. Because of Tam’s notoriety, he had to work and sleep in a different location every day, all the while maintaining a powerful and growing criminal empire. Rumors were that he had numerous bay houses and houses on the intra-coastal canals. When Moon Pie needed to talk with Tam, he called a prepaid cell phone, which was rarely operational for more than two weeks.

Moon Pie had heard stories of unfortunate souls crossing Tam. The tales ranged from more than one person being drowned in a shrimp net to another guy being hog-tied and partially fed to alligators; there was just enough of him hanging out of reach to be identifiable. One story circulated about a college kid on spring break who had been relentlessly hitting on Tam’s girlfriend. He went missing and was found three days later naked, frozen solid in a flash freezer at a seafood company. One of his shoes was stuck down his throat, and the other was up his rectum. The stories had the desired chilling effect—no one ever considered crossing Tam, ever. Moon Pie was one of the scores of true believers.

When Moon Pie got back to his truck, he retrieved the key from behind the driver’s-side front tire. The hair on the back of his neck stood. He felt that he was being watched. He tried to act casual as he peeled off a layer of clothes and glanced around
surreptitiously. Not knowing who was out there was killing him.
That damn doctor probably tipped off the game warden
, he thought.

Moon Pie had resented the doctor since the day he had purchased the land. Moon Pie had hunted the place years before the doctor started raking in the big bucks from Jackson socialites’ boob jobs and face-lifts.
Maybe it’s a damn good thing that I didn’t kill one today! With Tam coming up here and all, I don’t need any more hassles than I already got.

Moon Pie climbed into the truck and backed out, and, not seeing anyone or any vehicles, he slung gravel as he stomped the gas. As he neared the doctor’s gate, he slowed and laughed as he tossed out a double handful of roofing nails in front of the fancy entrance.

T
HE TENNESSEE MEXICAN
criminals had their regular Saturday-morning staff meeting in the back room of Shoney’s. They conducted their illicit business in almost the same manner as any legitimate growing commercial concern. The ringleader read off a list of projects and asked his staff for updates. By all appearances, this was a typical business meeting for the development of a new software program, not criminal activities. However, the sixth discussion item was the money given to Moon Pie for the
cocaína
.

“We have every reason to believe that this venture is on track, Jefe.”

“When will the first transaction be concluded?”

“By the end of business on Monday. We are electronically monitoring the money and Mr. Pie. We know exactly where both are.”

“
Excelente. Siga supervisando
,” the ringleader said before taking a sip of water. Then he added, “Tell me as soon as the money moves.”

“
Sí, señor
.”

To the group, el Jefe said, “Sources tell me that his organization can supply us well. We need them to
crezca grande
.”

With those comments about monitoring the money and growing their business, they moved on to the next item on the agenda—killing a known informant.