Moon Underfoot (5 page)

Jake vowed to do whatever the experts suggested. He worried about Katy, about Morgan, about everything…all the time. He was concerned about his marriage, and he was apprehensive about how he was going to pay for it all, since his income was falling along with the economy. Working as a stockbroker in a small town during a recession was proving to be brutal. Jake and Morgan both prayed. They didn’t know what else could be done.

On top of everything, this peeper had come along and threatened to erode every inch of their collective healing progress.

E
IGHTEEN MONTHS EARLIER,
in the predawn darkness of a spring Alabama morning, Ethan “Moon Pie” Daniels had to make a critical decision: abandon his drug-running buddy, Reese Davis, or stick around to face the real risk of being busted for several serious crimes.

A deeply suspicious sheriff’s deputy had attempted to interrogate Moon Pie while he was awaiting instructions on what to do with a woman he had kidnapped earlier, following the shooting death of his criminal gang’s leader. Subsequently, that same deputy had unsuccessfully attempted to tail Moon Pie’s vehicle. And when Moon Pie couldn’t contact Reese on the push-to-talk radiophone at their prearranged rendezvous point, his blood pressure had escalated. Then, at the instant his high beams illuminated Jake and Katy and the rescue party, looking like survivors of a suicide bombing, being escorted from the swamp by a uniformed deputy, his flight reflex kicked into overdrive.

Moon Pie had tried to contact Reese numerous times as he quickly drove away from the group that was congregating in the middle of that rural roadway. Each unanswered call intensified his bad feelings. Realizing that he had to run, he began implementing his preplanned disappearance into the Ozark
Mountains of southern Missouri. He took quick inventory of his readily available assets, cash, weapons, and illegal drugs that he could convert to cash later.

Moon Pie had feared this day would come, and he had a plan. He had always assumed, however, that he would be fleeing a drug task force, not a felony kidnapping charge, and Lord knew what else he’d be implicated in by his association with his redneck, drug-dealing buddies. He had only a few hours to get fuel and additional supplies with credit cards before law enforcement would be using them to track him, and since that nosy Alabama deputy had his tag number, he knew he had to get the hell out of Dodge. He set the cruise control at a safe sixty-five mph and headed north on Highway 45. Mindful that an APB would be out for him and his vehicle, when he spied a broken-down car on the side of the road, he considered it providential and stole its tag.

His time hiding out in Missouri had been frustrating. The local competition for selling drugs was intense. The Ozarks were ground zero for meth production, and he found the customer base to be even car-struck-dog crazier than he expected. He lasted only a month before giving up and moving to the Cotton Belt railroad town of Jonesboro, Arkansas, with a brilliant idea for a colossal scam. Jonesboro was only about eighty square miles, but it drew hunters from all over the state, as well as southern Missouri, western Tennessee, and northwest Mississippi.

He quietly assumed a new identity, paying for quality forged documents, and placed a cheap option on a vacant Kmart building. After a few months of advertising a new state-of-the-art indoor rifle and pistol range, he soon had over five hundred future members who paid him a thousand-dollar membership fee. He bailed on the real-estate option and radio-station ad debts, leaving Arkansas in the middle of the night with a pile of cash.

Moon Pie had changed his hair color, put on a few pounds, and grown a goatee when he moved back to Mississippi. He settled in Columbus, where he promptly opened a cash-for-gold
business called the Gold Mine—his front to launder cash from dealing drugs. He ran drugs on the Tombigbee Waterway, a 250-mile river system channelized in the 1970s by the United States Army Corp of Engineers to connect the Ohio Valley with the Gulf of Mexico. Columbus was close enough to his old base of operations in Tupelo to easily recruit some trusted criminal support, yet far enough away for him to feel somewhat comfortable with his new look and identity. The old river town was a perfect place to set up shop. It also allowed him to be near his old stomping grounds, where he could participate in his favorite pastime—poaching whitetail deer.

W
ALTER AND HIS
crew celebrated their success with fine food, wine, and a few cocktails at Café Ritz in downtown West Point. On their limited budgets prior to the robbery, they had rarely dined at a place like the Ritz, although it was only two doors down from their hotel home.

Walter made a point of explaining that this would not be a frequent event but that once a month they would have a foundation meeting, which would involve breaking bread. The foundation would cover the expenses, of course. “Might as well be fine food,” he added with a sly grin. That news excited everyone.

“I think we have our attorney,” Walter advised as he sampled a crab cake appetizer. “Should know tomorrow.”

“What’s our next step?” Bernard asked, shifting his weight and wishing he’d brought his hemorrhoid cushion.

Walter looked around the dining area to make certain no one could hear them and then answered, “Basically, we’ll have a little over a hundred grand after we pay the retainer to Sam.”

Everybody smiled, and Walter rubbed his forehead. “It’s a really good start, but we need more to help more folks if we want it to be self-perpetuating one day.”

After a moment’s pause to look at one of several old movie posters decorating the wall above Walter, Sebastian asked, “How much do you think we need?” He then took a loud sip of red wine.

“About six hundred and fifty thousand more,” Walter said emphatically.

Everybody grunted at once. That was a hell of a lot of money. More than any of them had ever seen…or could collectively imagine.

“That’s more than you originally thought. Almost twice as much,” Sebastian said with some concern.

“I know. But after talking with Sam, it’s clear to me that being well funded is the key to the foundation’s success. We need three-quarters of a million dollars,” Walter said in a low voice. “And we can’t do it robbing Krogers. It won’t work again. I have something in mind, though.” Walter had initially believed it would take them at least two years to raise the additional seed money. Now, he had a new plan—one that could net them about half the entire amount in one fell swoop.

Not fully understanding what was in his future, Bernard was relieved. The stress of the responsibilities to pull off the initial heist still had lingering effects. It was way more pressure than the average senior citizen needed.

The group had discussed splitting the hundred grand among themselves and helping their own families, but they had unanimously decided to pursue Walter’s original vision to create the foundation first. They all wanted to be a part of something bigger than themselves. They wanted to learn more, but they were nervous about what might be required of them.

Sebastian knew that kind of money wouldn’t come without a price, and he wondered whether an old chain-saw salesman, a gunsmith, and a skating-rink manager could actually pay the tab. He watched Walter and thought about all his charismatic talk of money and the foundation. Then it occurred to him that it
was odd for someone with his persuasive skills to be so broke. He hadn’t considered this before. Something didn’t make sense, but he didn’t want to derail the group’s discussion.
I’ll just do some research on my own
, he thought.

They were all enjoying the most exciting thing that had ever happened to them; most importantly, they had a goal, a purpose in life. They had called this their project. Now they were going to be able to help people. They considered themselves good guys, and the idea made their eyes twinkle.

“So, what’s the new plan?” Bernard asked excitedly.

Sebastian placed his wineglass down to focus.

Walter looked around the room like he was expecting someone to be eavesdropping. “Lucille’s granddaughter works at this place in Columbus called the Gold Mine. It’s one of those cash-for-gold places. Her boss is a real sleazeball, and according to Lucille, he keeps a pile of cash in a safe.”

“How much cash?”

“We don’t really know for sure how much money. She says it’s got to be over three hundred thousand. Boot boxes full of hundreds and twenties.”

“Hot damn!” Bernard exclaimed.

“He keeps trying to impress her by showing her inside the safe. He’s done it several times,” Walter said.

“Combination safe?” Sebastian wondered.

“Yes.”

“Can she get it?” Bernard asked.

“She’s trying. She thinks she knows two of the three numbers.”

Everyone squirmed a bit as they excitedly absorbed the new information.

“So, two things here,” Walter said, as he looked again to make sure they were not being spied on. “Lucille’s granddaughter, Bailey, is in trouble. Her boyfriend’s beating her. She says he’s into drugs. And this guy at work is harassing her, hard. Basically she’s fallen in with a bad crowd. She knows it but says she can’t
afford to get out ’cause her boyfriend will find her and just beat the crap out of her.”

Walter paused when the waiter brought their food. He took a sip of wine, glanced around the room when the waiter left, and continued, “So, Lucille told Bailey about our foundation…against my expressed wishes, by the way. At any rate, apparently this girl has her heart in the right place, and she immediately volunteers up this money…says she only wants twenty thousand dollars to start over somewhere. Her dream is to design clothes. She’s a really good girl, from what Lucille says, and she’s talented. I’ve seen some of her designs; they’re good, I guess. Bailey wants us to have the rest of the money for the foundation. That’s the kind of person we need to help. She’s practical. She’s willing to go to school and build a life for herself the right way. She just needs a little help up, not a handout.”

Sebastian took a big sip of his drink and let out a deep breath in obvious disgust. “For the record, after she’s someplace safe, I’m gonna castrate the boyfriend. He won’t even look twice at another woman when I’m done with him.”

Walter and Bernard stared at Sebastian. Walter went from stone-faced to a sly grin. He liked Sebastian. “He sounds like Earl.”

“Earl?” Sebastian asked.

“The Dixie Chicks,” Walter answers.

Sebastian said, “Oh yeah, and Earl had to die!”

Sebastian and Walter chuckled.

“Suppose the safe doesn’t have that much money. Why don’t we go to a casino and bet it all on a roulette wheel? We could double our money with one spin!” Bernard said.

“Or lose it all!” Walter said in disgust.

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea,” Sebastian offered.

“What?” Walter asked.

“Doubling our money…but let’s do it in the stock market. Let’s invest it. I hear about companies’ stocks exploding all the time on those money shows on cable TV.”

“It’s almost as dangerous as roulette.”

“Come on, Walter. You’re a smart guy. You out of all of us should appreciate the idea. This is the twenty-first century. Let’s modernize,” Sebastian said encouragingly.

Walter sat quiet, deep in thought.
The foundation needs an attorney for all things legal. A savvy investment manager could certainly earn his keep.
He was warming quickly to the idea, but for reasons of his own, he didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic.

“Makes sense to me,” Bernard offered.

“I know a stockbroker. Lives here in town. Good guy…I put a recoil reducer on a .243 rifle for him a couple of years ago.”

“Is he any good at investing money?”

“I don’t really know about that. He’s a nice guy, though.”

“Is he rich?”

“Well, he paid me four hundred dollars to make a rifle that barely kicks anyway not kick at all just so his daughter could shoot it…he’s got some extra money.”

Walter nodded his agreement. “I’ll Google him. If he passes that initial vetting, you can call him and set up a meeting.”