The Rented Mule (18 page)

Clarence and Jenny looked at each other with eyes wide open. They both started smiling.

“Jesse Ray, you’re brilliant. This just might work.” Clarence remarked as he stood up.

“Hang on. She’s gotta read that specific e-mail and follow the directions, without saying anything to anybody,” Jenny cautioned.

“Oh, she’ll read it. Give me an hour to worm into her computer. From what we already know about her, I’m willin’ to bet significant body parts I’ll find someone she e-mails that could motivate her to go
exactly
where we want her… at any time we choose.”

“But how do you know she’ll read it in time?”

“Easy. I’ll profile how often she logs on, and if I need to, I’ll call, posing as the customer service rep from her Internet service provider. I’ll tell her we are havin’ issues and that I need her to check her e-mails to make sure that they’re bein’ delivered. She’ll do it.”

“And when she types a response?”

“It’ll come right back to me,” Jesse Ray said, slyly smiling. “I know what I’m doin’.”

They were all smiling now, thinking of what they needed to do next.

Clarence reclined on the bed with his back against the headboard, laced his fingers together behind his head, and nodded his consent to Jesse Ray.
Looks like a workable plan’s comin’ together
, he thought.

Jenny said, “Okay, boys, it looks like I gotta go make a date.” She waved her cell phone over her head as she walked toward the door.

Jesse Ray didn’t hesitate firing up his laptop. He cracked his knuckles and got busy.

SATURDAY—THE DAY

C
ooper hung a pressed shirt on the clip behind the driver’s seat of his pickup. He then casually tossed a waxed cotton travel bag on the passenger side floorboard. He looked around, worried that he might be forgetting something or some detail of the story. He realized that he was being paranoid. He took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and turned to walk inside to say good-bye to Kelly.

Last night’s dream was still fresh on his mind—sitting on a sandy beach at night, with a roaring fire, while Brooke, wrapped only in a robe, walks up and sits down on a giant blanket between him and the fire. Her robe falls off one shoulder. Cooper shook his head and stepped through the kitchen door—back into reality.

Kelly was watching the Food Network in the den while she sipped a cup of coffee. When she heard Cooper’s approaching footsteps, she slipped the remote control between the couch cushions.

“Do you need me to do anything before I leave?” he asked, afraid of the answer.
It’d be just like her to ask me to clean out the gutters or the garage,
he thought.

“Yeah, but go on. It’ll wait till tomorrow,” she replied, never taking her eyes off the television.

“Okay, then. Since it’s a late game, and we’ll be entertaining customers, I’m gonna spend the night rather than risk the drive… but I’ll be home early in the mornin’,” Cooper said, as casually as possible.

“Who all’s going?” Kelly asked, leaning forward to set down her mug on the glass-topped coffee table.

“Uh, me, Gates, and the main guys from Lawler Chemical. That’s a
big
account for us. And Gates may have invited some others from the office. I’m not sure,” Cooper explained and tried to sound like it was no big deal. “Oh yeah, and he invited one of the guys from MidState Bank, but I’m not sure if he’s gonna show. We hope he does. It might help us with the sale.”

“Who?”

“A guy named Mark Wright,” Cooper responded as he checked to make certain that he had his wallet in his back pocket.

“Seems like I’ve heard that name. Where would I have heard about him?” she asked, making eye contact for the first time. She then reached for her coffee.

“I have
no
idea,” Cooper replied, watching someone on television panfry green tomatoes just like Millie did when he was a kid. It instantly flooded him with memories of sitting on the kitchen counter, watching her cook.

“Just curious,” Kelly said and then took an obnoxiously loud sip of coffee.

Between that and chomping ice, she’s buggin’ the ever-lovin’ crap out of me these days
, he thought. He let out an audible sigh and said, “Anyway… I’m sure there’ll be some drinkin’, and
I don’t want any of ’em drivin’ home loaded and the agency being held responsible.”

“Good ole Cooper. Always lookin’ out for everyone. What hotel are y’all stayin’ at?” she asked and paused a moment too long before continuing, “In case of an emergency.”

Cooper swallowed hard and took an unperceivable deep breath. “Uh… you know, I don’t know… Mrs. Riley made the reservations, and Gates has got all the info. Just call my cell if you need me.”

“Why you leavin’ so early?” Kelly asked, back to watching her show.

“I wanna go by Millie’s farm. I need to get the tractor ready to start plantin’ food plots. It’s that time of the year, ya know,” Cooper responded, hating to say anything to her about the land.

Kelly wheeled around to look Cooper dead in the eye. “It’s always that time of the year. You spend more time workin’ up there than you do on our house. You know the one. The one that we actually own! How many times do I have to say it? We. Are. Not. Buying. That. Land! We don’t need to own any hunting land!”

“It’d be a good investment,” Cooper spouted. It was his only comeback.

Kelly spun back to face the television again, indicating her displeasure with him and the topic. “We need things done around here, and this house won’t last us forever. We need more room.”

“What? Four thousand square feet isn’t big enough?”

“Not for entertaining. Besides
I’d
rather have a beach house.” She stood and without looking at him, walked to her computer, signaling that the conversation was over.

Cooper started toward the back door, yelling, “I hate sand, and
I’ll
never own a beach house!”

“Your job is to supply, not demand!” she yelled in response as the door slammed.

Standing on the porch steps, Cooper realized they had contempt for each other. This was dangerous. Love could be rekindled, angers would calm, fears could be faced, jealousy could be controlled, but contempt—it was the death knell.

Cooper rushed to his truck, jumped in, and slammed the door. He hurriedly backed out of the driveway, avoiding eye contact with his gawking neighbor, who was watering his azaleas. Cooper punched the accelerator in an attempt to put both physical and emotional distance between him, Kelly, and their failing marriage. After a moment, he eased his grip on the steering wheel when he realized that he would be free for twenty-four hours and that Brooke clearly wanted him.
Tonight, my dreams are comin’ true!

C
larence sat in stunned silence, watching Jesse Ray and Maynard interact. He moved into his own room before Maynard arrived, enabling the cousins to bunk together. This was his first time to meet Maynard Scruggs. Maynard was a skinny white guy who dressed and acted liked he was Larry King, the radio and television personality, and he had the whitest teeth that Clarence had ever seen.

Clarence had given Jesse Ray a list of last-minute details that needed to be performed, including stealing several local license plates. Jesse Ray, now with an assistant, delegated the job to Maynard and instructed him how and where to get it done.

Maynard strut out of the room, obviously thrilled to be a part of the team and repeatedly promised to deliver. Clarence really didn’t doubt his skills, but he did have a few questions for Jesse Ray.

As soon as the door shut, he fired the first question, “That dude’s your cousin?” Clarence looked very confused.

“Second cousin, on my momma’s side.”

“He’s white!”

“No shit?” Jesse Ray replied, without even looking up from his computer. “I never noticed that. Is it a problem?”

“Not a problem. Just a surprise.”

“Dog, he’s
real good
at following directions. You’ll see. His only problem is… as you can see… he thinks he’s Larry King.”

“What’s up with that?”

“He’s obsessed with the guy. Worships the dude. Anyway, Maynard was born to a real young girl. The guy that got her pregnant was some pulpwood hauler that nobody knew. At any rate, growing up, Maynard always wanted to be on the radio. He loves the radio—worked his ass off as a kid to earn enough money to buy a little portable one. You never saw him without it stuck to his head. Early one morning he called the Larry King’s radio show—I think he said it was called “Open Phone America” or something like that—anyway they talked for about an hour. Since then, he’s been obsessed with the man.”

“And you don’t think it’s a little weird that he wears the same glasses and suspenders?”

“I guess I’m used to it. Like I said, he’s obsessed. You should see his trailer—everything’s Larry King. Even his livin’ room’s set up like the studio where Larry King did interviews—when you go to visit him, you don’t sit on the couch and talk. You sit on his set, and he interviews you.”

“What about his teeth, though? They’re so… white.”

“That’s one thing about him that doesn’t have anything to do with Larry King. He’s just addicted to teeth-whitening strips.”

Clarence laughed out loud. “And this dude’s a blood relative?”

“It’s a trip, ain’t it? But we don’t have time to get into all that,” Jesse Ray said, suddenly growing interested in his computer screen. “Look at this, Dog. I already got an e-mail from our Target, just like I expected.”

“No way. What’s she say?” Jenny asked.

Clarence moved to look over Jesse Ray’s shoulder to read the screen.

“She thinks I’m her sister, and she’ll meet me at eight o’clock tonight at Vaughn Road Park.” Jesse Ray smiled, gloating in his success.

“You da man! That’s perfect,” Clarence said and then clapped his hands.

“If you and Jenny are right, the park should be deserted with everybody watching football,” Jesse Ray said.

“It will be. But just in case, we need to study these photos Jenny took to make sure we grab the right woman.”

“I wanna grab her,” Jesse Ray said.

“Do what?”

“Yo, Dog, I’ve been workin’ out. I can do it. I wanna do it. You gotta let me.”

For years, Jesse Ray had wanted to break out of his geek role and saw this as a chance to prove his broader value to their missions.

Clarence looked Jesse Ray in the eyes. He had an idea of what was motivating him.
Hell, why not? Kelly Dixon’s just some spoiled housewife,
he thought.

“All right, but we gotta get you a wig this afternoon.”

“A wig?”

“Yeah, a wig. You gotta look like a woman so you can get close without freaking her out. Ain’t no tight-assed white woman’s gonna let a wormy-lookin’ black dude walk right
up to ’em in a dark park. You’d get maced or shot.”

Jesse Ray nodded.
I’ll do whatever it takes, even if that means I gotta be in drag
, he thought. He smiled big.

“When Larry King gets back, y’all go wig shoppin’.”

“My dear sir, I will be acquiring the whole ensemble,” Jesse Ray said in his best British accent.

“Easy there, princess. Don’t be overdoin’ it. You don’t need to look like the long-lost black daughter of the Queen of England.”

D
on Daniels had two weekend-getaway properties, a cabin on Lake Martin and a small deteriorating condominium at Gulf Shores. His late wife inherited the condo, and his bank had repossessed the lake cabin. This weekend Mr. Daniels had intended to escape, alone, to his lake cabin, for quiet reflection and planning. Mark Daniels and his son, however, showed up at the cabin early Saturday morning, unannounced.

Mark’s son was sleeping in the car when they arrived at the lake, so Mark roused him, and the boy followed his dad like a trained puppy. They walked down the steps to the deck overlooking the lake where his Uncle Don had been peacefully enjoying a cup of coffee.

“I thought you were going to the game with Gates,” Don accused as he peered across the lake, watching a hawk soar.

“I forgot it was my weekend with the kid; plus, I didn’t really wanna be around a bunch of drunks. I wouldn’t have
learned anything valuable from Gates anyway. We can’t trust a word he says sober much less after drinkin’ all day. Anyway, I thought I’d come for a visit and—”

“And what? Just what were you thinkin’? That we’d act like a normal family?” Don snapped.

“How’s the blood sugar today?” Mark asked, quickly changing subjects.

“Good. It’s fine. I doubt that I’ll need a shot today.”

Mark was Don Daniels’s heir apparent, and for several years Mark confidently believed his uncle’s succession plan was for him to ultimately take over; however, lately he had begun to suspect that Don was positioning the bank to be sold and that he would get completely cut out of the deal. Mark would lose out on the power and prestige that he believed was his birthright. He vowed that wouldn’t happen.

Mark nodded and then offered confidently, “Well, that’s great to hear. Ya know, I believe we’ll hear something about the agency by the end of next week.”

Don stood and motioned for Mark to follow. Mark indicated that his son should wait. The men walked out to the end of the long pier.

Don began examining some boards that needed replacing and said, “The auto plant opportunity is definitely happening. My contact confirmed it yesterday.”

“You still confident that the property is gonna be exactly what they want?” Mark said, hoping to keep the conversation alive with his aloof uncle.

Don kicked a rotten board into the water with disgust and turned to Mark’s son, who had slipped up unnoticed. “The thing about boards is, they never last. As soon as you put a new one down, the clock starts ticking till it’s time to
replace it. Boards are like people under the right forms of pressure—eventually, they all break down and go bad.”

Mark stared at the rotten board in the water and then glanced at his son, who was struggling to understand what was being said. Mark could tell that his uncle was deep in thought. Mark decided to remain quiet, for once.