Whitewash (50 page)

Tallahassee, Florida

Leon sat in the van with the windows rolled down. The hot night air stuck to him. He drank the last piss-warm soda in his cooler, the ice long ago melted. He couldn’t risk running the engine and the air-conditioning or he’d draw too much attention to himself. Plus, he was low on gas. What the hell was taking the old lady so long?

He sat patiently while he watched her go through her condo. Her blinds and curtains were pulled tight in every window, but Leon knew where she was by the trail of lights that peeked around the window frames. He figured her condo had to be similar to her neighbor’s, the Galloway woman, and he imagined which room she was in as the lights went on and off. If he was correct, she was spending some time in the kitchen. Probably fixing herself a late-night snack. He didn’t need a reminder that he was long past dinner. In Leon’s book there were two uncontrollable factors in life that could make a man do stupid, impulsive things. Those two factors were hunger and the need to take a leak. He’d hate to whack a little old lady before he got any information out of her just because he wanted a burger something awful.

Finally she was moving upstairs to bed, turning on and shutting off lights as she made her way. But even then her bedroom light stayed on for longer than Leon thought he could endure.

He popped a couple of Tums into his mouth just to have something to chew on. Son of a bitch! What the hell was she doing? It was close to midnight according to his cell phone.

A half hour later the bedroom light went out. Leon waited another grueling fifteen minutes, then he left the sauna of a van and found his way around to the back of the condos. This time his jumpsuit stuck to him in places that made it uncomfortable to even walk. In the silence he thought he could hear the sloshing of his sweat inside his shoes. Served him right for not wearing socks. How could anybody wear socks in this fucking heat?

He didn’t remember it being this dark on the patio side. He waited for his eyes to adjust. The moon was almost full. A good thing for seeing, not such a good thing for creating shadows. Finding the key to the Galloway woman’s condo had been a piece of cake. Leon doubted he’d find a spare to the little old woman’s condo. For one thing, she’d never think to leave a spare because she’d never forget her original.

He was thinking he could pry open a window or dismantle the lock on the sliding glass door. He’d figure something out. It might just take a little more work. He sneaked around the crepe myrtle, keeping close to blend in to the landscape, so close he could feel the branches scratching his back. But when he came to the old woman’s patio it was Leon who was startled and actually jumped.

Son of a bitch. He almost pissed his pants. Sitting there in the dark all calm and cool, sipping a glass of something tinkling with ice was the little old black woman, looking right at him.

“What took you so long?” she said.

Tallahassee, Florida

Leon sat in the van with the windows rolled down. The hot night air stuck to him. He drank the last piss-warm soda in his cooler, the ice long ago melted. He couldn’t risk running the engine and the air-conditioning or he’d draw too much attention to himself. Plus, he was low on gas. What the hell was taking the old lady so long?

He sat patiently while he watched her go through her condo. Her blinds and curtains were pulled tight in every window, but Leon knew where she was by the trail of lights that peeked around the window frames. He figured her condo had to be similar to her neighbor’s, the Galloway woman, and he imagined which room she was in as the lights went on and off. If he was correct, she was spending some time in the kitchen. Probably fixing herself a late-night snack. He didn’t need a reminder that he was long past dinner. In Leon’s book there were two uncontrollable factors in life that could make a man do stupid, impulsive things. Those two factors were hunger and the need to take a leak. He’d hate to whack a little old lady before he got any information out of her just because he wanted a burger something awful.

Finally she was moving upstairs to bed, turning on and shutting off lights as she made her way. But even then her bedroom light stayed on for longer than Leon thought he could endure.

He popped a couple of Tums into his mouth just to have something to chew on. Son of a bitch! What the hell was she doing? It was close to midnight according to his cell phone.

A half hour later the bedroom light went out. Leon waited another grueling fifteen minutes, then he left the sauna of a van and found his way around to the back of the condos. This time his jumpsuit stuck to him in places that made it uncomfortable to even walk. In the silence he thought he could hear the sloshing of his sweat inside his shoes. Served him right for not wearing socks. How could anybody wear socks in this fucking heat?

He didn’t remember it being this dark on the patio side. He waited for his eyes to adjust. The moon was almost full. A good thing for seeing, not such a good thing for creating shadows. Finding the key to the Galloway woman’s condo had been a piece of cake. Leon doubted he’d find a spare to the little old woman’s condo. For one thing, she’d never think to leave a spare because she’d never forget her original.

He was thinking he could pry open a window or dismantle the lock on the sliding glass door. He’d figure something out. It might just take a little more work. He sneaked around the crepe myrtle, keeping close to blend in to the landscape, so close he could feel the branches scratching his back. But when he came to the old woman’s patio it was Leon who was startled and actually jumped.

Son of a bitch. He almost pissed his pants. Sitting there in the dark all calm and cool, sipping a glass of something tinkling with ice was the little old black woman, looking right at him.

“What took you so long?” she said.

Pensacola Beach, Florida

“She could simply disappear,” Russ suggested. “Become somebody else.”

“I’ve thought about that,” Eric said.

Truth is, he
had
already considered it. He was leaving the idea open as a contingency plan though he didn’t think Sabrina would agree. If it did come to that, he knew Russ and Maxine could easily make it a reality.

Russ came off a bit immature. Max had once commented on his dimpled boyish grin being irresistible. Here was a fit, trim, muscular, good-looking young guy who seemed totally unaware of his charisma, a total innocent when it came to women. That was Maxine’s take. Eric, on the other hand, knew Russ played the part simply because he could pull it off. He reminded Eric of a younger version of himself. Eric had been doing it for years, figure out who—not what—people want to see and become that person. That was exactly how he had gone so easily from being Eric Galloway to Eric Gallo.

But he also knew Russ was a gentle sort of intellect who, at first, Eric would never have believed capable of any criminal behavior. Russ told stories about identity theft and online fraud, some of which Eric guessed—though Russ would never admit—were actually tales from his previous life. And Russ never mentioned being incarcerated, not even in jest, but Eric recognized a homemade prison tattoo when he saw one. He suspected Russ Fowler wasn’t his real name, either, and he suspected the so-called hobbyist “Dumpster Diver” had not really stopped. He’d only gotten better at not getting caught.

As for Maxine, she came with a story all her own. Eric had actually met her in Washington, D.C., not a great place for starting over when your previous life included senators and congressmen, many of whom Maxine knew from what she liked to joke were “horizontal” relationships. One of those relationships ended up giving her HIV and forcing her into early retirement at the age of twenty-eight. Eric had directed her to a Pensacola physician who was discreet and could care less about politics or gossip. The rest she had done on her own.

She had a nice chunk of money that Eric didn’t ask about or want to know the origin of. He only guessed that the source might be a guilty congressman’s donation to her health insurance fund. With that donation, Max was able to change her identity and bought the salon on the beach. Seems she was a natural at creating new looks for others, as well. After all, she had already managed a whole transformation for Eric’s sister. Sabrina’s picture was all over the local and national news, yet a news junkie like the Mayor hadn’t recognized her—a true test if ever there was one.

Eric was glad he had talked Sabrina into going up to the apartment and trying to get some sleep. Of course, that was after he convinced her that there was only one way into his second-floor apartment and they were all sitting in front of it. He knew she’d hate this—them batting around her options, trusting strangers to have a hand in her future, her well-being.

“This is serious stuff,” Howard was saying. “This company’s dumping waste into a major waterway. A company that’s getting government funding.”

“Not to mention tax incentives,” the Mayor added. “Probably some government subsidies, too.”

Eric waited for someone to suggest they contact the State Attorney’s Office, the EPA, maybe even the Justice Department. Of course, he wasn’t surprised when none of them did.

If Sabrina needed to disappear and become someone new, this was the group that could make it happen better than any witness protection program.

Pensacola Beach, Florida

“She could simply disappear,” Russ suggested. “Become somebody else.”

“I’ve thought about that,” Eric said.

Truth is, he
had
already considered it. He was leaving the idea open as a contingency plan though he didn’t think Sabrina would agree. If it did come to that, he knew Russ and Maxine could easily make it a reality.

Russ came off a bit immature. Max had once commented on his dimpled boyish grin being irresistible. Here was a fit, trim, muscular, good-looking young guy who seemed totally unaware of his charisma, a total innocent when it came to women. That was Maxine’s take. Eric, on the other hand, knew Russ played the part simply because he could pull it off. He reminded Eric of a younger version of himself. Eric had been doing it for years, figure out who—not what—people want to see and become that person. That was exactly how he had gone so easily from being Eric Galloway to Eric Gallo.

But he also knew Russ was a gentle sort of intellect who, at first, Eric would never have believed capable of any criminal behavior. Russ told stories about identity theft and online fraud, some of which Eric guessed—though Russ would never admit—were actually tales from his previous life. And Russ never mentioned being incarcerated, not even in jest, but Eric recognized a homemade prison tattoo when he saw one. He suspected Russ Fowler wasn’t his real name, either, and he suspected the so-called hobbyist “Dumpster Diver” had not really stopped. He’d only gotten better at not getting caught.

As for Maxine, she came with a story all her own. Eric had actually met her in Washington, D.C., not a great place for starting over when your previous life included senators and congressmen, many of whom Maxine knew from what she liked to joke were “horizontal” relationships. One of those relationships ended up giving her HIV and forcing her into early retirement at the age of twenty-eight. Eric had directed her to a Pensacola physician who was discreet and could care less about politics or gossip. The rest she had done on her own.

She had a nice chunk of money that Eric didn’t ask about or want to know the origin of. He only guessed that the source might be a guilty congressman’s donation to her health insurance fund. With that donation, Max was able to change her identity and bought the salon on the beach. Seems she was a natural at creating new looks for others, as well. After all, she had already managed a whole transformation for Eric’s sister. Sabrina’s picture was all over the local and national news, yet a news junkie like the Mayor hadn’t recognized her—a true test if ever there was one.

Eric was glad he had talked Sabrina into going up to the apartment and trying to get some sleep. Of course, that was after he convinced her that there was only one way into his second-floor apartment and they were all sitting in front of it. He knew she’d hate this—them batting around her options, trusting strangers to have a hand in her future, her well-being.

“This is serious stuff,” Howard was saying. “This company’s dumping waste into a major waterway. A company that’s getting government funding.”

“Not to mention tax incentives,” the Mayor added. “Probably some government subsidies, too.”

Eric waited for someone to suggest they contact the State Attorney’s Office, the EPA, maybe even the Justice Department. Of course, he wasn’t surprised when none of them did.

If Sabrina needed to disappear and become someone new, this was the group that could make it happen better than any witness protection program.

Tallahassee, Florida

“So what the hell’s going on?” Leon tried to remain calm, his head pivoting around, looking for others, maybe the cops. But she was alone.

“You’re not going to feed me some line about going door to door checking air conditioners, are you?”

“There’s been a lot of outages,” he attempted, though he’d already noticed the baseball bat leaning against her chair. How could she possibly have known?

She pointed to a chair across from her and then to an extra glass on the table already filled with ice. A bottle of whiskey sat beside the glass, open and waiting. She had to be kidding. Who the hell did she think he was? Even with a baseball bat she was no match for him. He sat down anyway and pulled the bottle over. He poured a full glass and took a sip. Not the expensive stuff, but not bad. Hell, in this heat he would have drunk gasoline had she served it to him on ice. He chugged the first glass and poured another.

“How did you know?” he finally asked. It was silly to pretend different.

“I noticed your van sitting out there when I drove up. But no one in the neighborhood seemed to be up. No lights. No commotion.”

“Coulda been waiting on a part.”

“So I called the company,” she said as if she hadn’t heard his explanation. “Their dispatcher told me they didn’t have a van out in this neighborhood.”

“Son of a bitch!” He was fucked now.

It was too bad he’d have to wring her neck after all. He thought maybe he could just stumble over something in the condo that would have been enough to find her neighbor. It was a stretch, but he figured he was due some luck. Guess he figured wrong, way wrong.

That was when the cat rubbed up against his legs. A huge white thing that almost glowed in the dark. The purr sounded like a distant engine rumbling. An old woman and her cat, Leon thought. Jesus! He couldn’t get a break. He’d have to do the cat, too. Just out of courtesy.

Then he noticed a plastic container on her side of the table. The lid had been removed and left in the middle. In the moonlight he could see the white label with large black lettering that read, PORK CHOPS. His stomach actually growled as if on cue.

“I know who you are,” the old woman said.

Leon caught himself licking his lips. Should he eat the pork chops before or after he offed her and the cat? Stupid impulses, he remembered. He probably should eat before.

“I want to hire you,” she said and Leon was sure he heard her wrong.

“Hire me? Whadya mean hire me?”

“What’s your price to turn the tables?” Her tone was surprisingly professional, not a tinge of fear or apprehension. And she did seem to know exactly who he was.

“Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whoever hired you to murder Sabrina Galloway,” she continued, all matter-of-fact-like. “I want to hire you to make sure that person never, ever hurts her.”

“Murder? Old woman, you’re talking nonsense.”

But Leon started sweating again. Did she know who had hired him? Nah, that was impossible. It didn’t matter, anyway. The guy had pretty much told Leon he’d leave it to the State Patrol to take care of Galloway. Leon was on his own to take her out, so technically he was no longer hired. He no longer had a client. There would be no payout. He’d screwed that up royally. Other than the measly ten thousand dollars he got up front for expenses, this was a total fucking waste of a trip.

“I can pay you cash up front,” the old woman calmly said like she could read his mind. She lifted a foil-wrapped package from the pork chop container.

He started to tell her to save her breath since it’d probably be her last one. But then she pulled open the foil. Forget about keeping a poker face, Leon felt his jaw drop and his eyes widen.

The old woman was serious and she had a serious wad of cash. She peeled off a chunk about an inch tall, a relatively small chunk considering what was left. Hell, the thing was as tall as a loaf of bread. She slid the small chunk to the middle of the table. On top was a crisp Ben Franklin. If those underneath were also hundred-dollar bills there had to be at least twenty-five to thirty-five thousand in just that one stack.

“It’s not only about money, old lady. She saw me. And no matter how plain this mug of mine is, I’m not changing it,” Leon told her.

The whole time he tried to keep his eyes off that container. It had made his mouth water when he thought it was pork chops. Now that he knew it was stuffed tight with hundred-dollar bills it made his mouth water even more. “Besides, what makes you think I won’t tell you what you wanna hear, slit your throat and take that container full of cash anyway?”

She sat back and nodded like she was considering it. She reached for her glass, rattled the ice to stir it up a bit and took a long sip of the whiskey.

“Now see, I was thinking you were a businessman, not a petty crook.” She continued to sip her whiskey. She was pretending it didn’t matter to her one way or another whether he took her deal. “Doesn’t make sense for a businessman to do something that’s not necessary.”

“She saw me,” he said. It was as simple as that.

“What if I guarantee she won’t remember a thing about you? Me, either, for that matter.”

Leon laughed. “How the hell can you guarantee a thing like that?”

The old woman sat forward, hesitated, but only for a second. Then wrapping the foil around the huge loaf of cash she slid it over to him.

“Is that enough of a guarantee?” she asked.

Son of a bitch, Leon thought. There had to be over a quarter of a million dollars in that foil.

He looked up at her and this time she caught his eyes and held them. Over the years Leon had seen a lot of things in his clients’ eyes: revenge, greed, power, even hate. But he’d never seen anything like this.

Leon opened up the foil. He brought out the solid stack of bills and held it in his hands. It was still cold from its storage in the freezer. It was, indeed, a tight stack of hundred-dollar bills, more than twice the money he’d ever been paid for a hit. He rewrapped it in the foil, including the small chunk from the middle of the table. He stuffed it under his arm and stood up.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he said.

Then he left.