Moon Underfoot (31 page)

They walked out to their black sedan after a free continental breakfast and were due to meet an official transport van to haul Tam to Jackson at 11:00 a.m. sharp. They were nervous about the transport and had decided to have a decoy van also. Tam’s gang was notorious, and they would do anything to free their leader.

“You sleep good?”

“Not really. My son lost his retainer for the third time, and my wife was pitching a fit.”

“I bet he’ll find it.”

“I sure hope so. My wife was pretty upset. Hell, she’s been upset…mainly because I wasn’t there to help with the parentin’,” he said as he put the key in the ignition.

“At least we got Tam. That’s got to be a career-makin’ night for us.”

“And Alexa. Maybe we can learn something from her.”

As they pulled onto the road, the senior officer’s cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number but could tell it was local by the area code.

“This is John Wesley. Yes. What!”

The other officer strained to hear what was being said but couldn’t.

“How in the hell did that happen? Have you put out an APB? We’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said in disgust and ended the call.

“What is it?” the driver asked.

“They mistakenly let Tam go. They had another Vietnamese man about the same age, height, and build. Apparently they swapped clothes, and nobody could tell the difference.”

“That Mercedes that he was in last night—we need to put out an urgent APB on it.”

The officer searched through his notes for the tag number.

“Dammit. We should have picked up the driver too, when we had the chance.”

“What about Alexa?”

“I didn’t think to ask. Let’s just get to the police station. Shit! I can’t freakin’ believe this!”

S
AMANTHA HAD PLANNED
on spending Sunday morning cleaning out closets, but she got distracted reading cherished old newspaper clippings about Friendship Cemetery, which dates back to the mid-1800s. Columbus was a hospital town for the Battle of Shiloh during the War Between the States, and an untold number of injured soldiers from both sides were brought there. Many of these soldiers were buried in Friendship Cemetery. In the spring of 1866, a group of Columbus women placed flowers on the graves of
both
Confederate and Union soldiers in an attempt to heal the nation. That act of kindness is credited with becoming our modern Memorial Day. Sam’s great-great-grandmother was one of those women.

Sam was deep in thought when her cell phone rang. Since it rarely rang on Sunday, she expected it to be important. She got up and sat on a small couch that was almost a hundred years old. Tom the cat climbed into her lap and quickly went to sleep.

“Hello,” she answered.

“Sam, it’s Walter. I hope I’m not interrupting something important.”

“I hope you’re not in jail.”

“No, I’m right here at the Henry Clay. Listen, I’d like to come see you tomorrow about a coupla things, if you have time.”

She didn’t want to tell Walter that she didn’t have any other meetings planned and he was free to come whenever, but she had learned to play the game. “I’ve got a full morning until ten thirty. You could come then.”

“I’ll do that, and maybe afterward I can buy you lunch.”

“Perfect. Can you clue me in?”

“We wanna start a college scholarship at a school, and I wanna discuss givin’ the Kroger money back,” Walter said.

“I think that’s a fine idea, Walter. We’ll talk about how to play our hand so no one is incriminated.”

“That’s why we want you to handle it. Maybe there’ll be a reward. If there is, you’re welcome to it.”

“Thank you, Walter.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Walter? Are you all right? You sound tired.”

“I haven’t been sleepin’ good. Turns out, stolen money can weigh heavily on you.”

“We’ll take care of it. This might help you rest: I have a friend who goes to church with the store manager who was having that fling. He and his wife have been going to counseling, and it looks like they’re going to make it. He’s broken, and he realizes what he almost lost. There are still some trust issues, obviously, but apparently, he really manned up and is committed to doing everything he can to save his marriage. He’s even gone back to church.”

“So, you’re saying something good came outta all this.”

“In a very roundabout way, yes.”

L
EVI AND MOON
Pie had spent all afternoon drinking Old Charter and trying to determine who had stolen the money. Each theory sounded more preposterous than the previous one. Only one scenario made sense to them, sober or drunk: the Tennessee Mexicans had stolen the money. They could not, however, agree on what could have been their motive. The Copenhagen lid was the deciding factor in settling on the Mexicans. They brilliantly determined that the gold
M
stood for Mexico.

At around noon, Tam had called Moon Pie, asking to borrow his FJ Cruiser for his trip home. Tam would leave his Mercedes, as collateral, behind the Gold Mine. Tam promised to either wire Moon Pie money for a new vehicle or have someone return it. Moon Pie agreed and told him how to quickly get into Alabama and then a southern route to avoid any roadblocks. Tam was highly agitated and concerned about Moon Pie’s money, but he was more anxious about maintaining his freedom. He promised to contact Moon Pie later.

On the ride home from the bomb plant, Moon Pie had carefully cut off the ankle monitor. When they stopped at a convenience store in Aberdeen, Mississippi, Moon Pie—being the
sorry-ass white trash that he was—hid the monitor under the front seat of a bright-purple 1986 Cadillac Deville with gold twenty-twos. That was the only time he smiled all day.

By dark, Moon Pie began to sober up and take the imminent threat and his options seriously. He stumbled through his trailer and found seven thousand dollars in cash that he had hidden, while Levi texted his latest girlfriend.

“How much cash you got?” Moon Pie asked Levi.

“I dunno—couple grand, easy.”

“We need to talk about making a run for it.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Dude, these Mexican sumbitches ain’t gonna play. That was a lot of money.”

“What are you thinkin’?”

“I’m thinking about running up into either northern Missouri or Iowa. I can make some money killing big deer this time of year. You wanna go?”

“You know I hate cold weather,” Levi said.

“How can you be my brother?”

“Half brother, and the half my momma gave me don’t enjoy freezing my nuts off. Could I stay here and run the Mine?”

“They’re gonna want blood—especially after I skip town. That’ll be the first place they come lookin’. I’ll give you some money if you wanna go south for six months and find you somethin’ to do. You can take the houseboat.”

Levi nodded at the thought of floating down the river and docking near Mobile.

“We gotta do something. I expect they knew the minute that ankle monitor got cut. Those things got sensors.”

“You could tell the cops that we were robbed. You ain’t gotta tell them how much they took. They might catch somebody that we could toss to the Mexicans.”

“I can’t. Not everything at the Gold Mine is legit. Look, I’m gonna load up my stuff, clean out the store, and I’ll be gone
before it gets dark tomorrow. I don’t mind running. I made a small fortune last time on that gun-range scheme. We’ll stay in touch on Facebook; just don’t say where you’re at. We also got these prepaid cells.”

Levi looked around the trailer. He really didn’t want to leave.

Moon Pie looked closely at Levi. “Look, bro, it’s all rented, this trailer and the store, so we aren’t really attached to anything. That’s a good lesson for you to remember.”

“All right. I’m goin’ south. You think there’s still any oil-spill work left down there?”

“I doubt it, but you can always claim that you’re a sea turtle researcher or some shit like that, make up a fat résumé, and you’ll probably get rich.”

“I like those big old live-oak trees that grow near the coast.”

“Listen to me, tree nerd, we have a couple of days to get organized and then we gotta get lost. You understand?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Look, here’s two grand. That gives you four and the houseboat to get started. I got five. After things cool down, we’ll hook back up.”

They hadn’t been honest with each other. They both had more cash hidden.

T
HE MISSISSIPPI DRUG
Task Force had reached out to every state and federal agency to find Tam. They made a special plea to the state troopers along the major arteries leading to the Gulf Coast. They were running low on hope when the Columbus Police Department called to inform them that they had located Tam’s Mercedes parked behind the Gold Mine. The task force officers asked the Columbus PD to surround the building and wait for their arrival.

Traveling at over ninety miles per hour, the adrenaline-infused officers discussed how Tam’s hiding made sense and how the slightest mistake could result in a criminal’s capture when he was on the run. They also talked about how this was a deadly time for law enforcement and the public because desperate criminals routinely take desperate measures to stay free. Alexa had been no help, since she realized it was her fault Tam had been lured into the trap, and her lawyer had advised her not to talk unless he was present. They knew Alexa feared Tam’s rage and figured that she had seen it many times. Her lawyer would no doubt have her released inside the next twenty-four hours, and she was probably thinking through the next steps in
her life that would more than likely be without Tam, assuming he didn’t kill her.

As the officers approached Columbus, they were given the Gold Mine’s street address, which was programmed into the dash-mounted GPS. When they arrived, all the other units turned on their blue lights, and they lit up the city block with rapid-fire, intense light. The Columbus PD had a canine officer at the scene, and the sudden light show caused him to bark once at all of the activity. His handler was surprised at the dog’s uncharacteristic breach but understood his excitement.

As they strapped on ballistic vests, the officers were briefed on the layout of the building and possible scenarios. A captain from the Columbus Police Department explained that they had monitored the building from a distance, and no one had come or gone. No inside lights were on, and the Mercedes’s hood was cold.

“You think he’s still in there?” he asked.

“He very well could be, and this little dude is dangerous when cornered.”

“I suggest we send the dog in first and tell your men to expect that the suspect is armed and violent as hell and to act accordingly.”

“Roger that,” the captain replied. Then he walked a few feet away, talking on his shoulder-mounted microphone.

“You ready, John Wesley?” his partner asked.

“Sure.”

“Let’s do this.”

A group of six officers and a well-trained German shepherd rushed to the front door and crouched outside. One officer in a full protective suit and helmet punched the lock with a lock gun, and in less than ten seconds, the front door swung open.