It was almost two o’clock that afternoon when I headed out from the office. Jacque looked worried. She knew something was up. Bob looked up from his computer, winked, and put the thumb and little finger of his right hand to his ear and mouthed, “Call me.” Mike looked as if he was about to throw up, but I smiled at him and winked.
“Back soon, guys,” I told them. “Hold down the fort.”
I drove slowly down Georgia, going over what I was about to do. It wasn’t the best plan I’d ever come up with, but it would have to do. There was no way I was going to let Tree get away with hammering one of my people, especially a kid like Mike.
It was five after two when I drove into the rear parking lot of the mall. There were a few cars, but no people. I eased on around to the front and parked a few feet to the left of Shady’s office door and the tinted window. I got out of the car, locked the doors, and walked to the office door.
I took a deep breath and thumbed the bell, then stepped to one side so I couldn’t be seen through the peephole. I took the baton from my belt, made a fist around it, and waited. A minute later the door opened. Just a little. I hit it with my shoulder, and the guy behind it went through the same stumble-and-fall routine as a couple days ago, but this time, before he could recover, I was on him. I hammered him upside the head with the closed baton. He didn’t see it coming and went down like he’d been hit by a truck. It only took a couple seconds to secure his hands with one of the ties, and then I ran down the passageway and didn’t stop until I hit Shady’s office door. The frame shattered. I almost fell through the opening into his office, but I managed to keep my balance.
Surprised? You bet they were. Two bounding strides and I had smacked Duvon over the head with the baton. He went down, howling in pain. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gold reaching inside his jacket. I was too quick for him. I flipped the baton across the room like a Frisbee, backhanded. It flew over the desk, barely missing Shady’s head, spinning end over end. Gold didn’t have a chance; the stainless-steel butt hit him full on the nose, which burst like a ripe tomato. He coughed once; blood spurted from the damaged snout, sprayed over Tree’s back and onto his desk. Gold howled, grabbed his nose with both hands, and sank slowly to his knees, moaning quietly.
I pulled the M&P9 and leveled it at Tree. “Don’t you move so much as a finger, Shady.”
I stepped quickly around the desk, keeping an eye on Shady, and slipped a tie over Duvon’s wrists. Then I went to Gold, bent down, felt inside his jacket, and relieved him of a 9 mm semi-automatic. I placed it on the corner of the desk, as far away from Tree as I could. Then, with my free hand, I slipped a tie over Gold’s wrists and pulled it tight. Next, I picked up the baton and slipped it into my jacket pocket. Then I turned and faced Tree, who was still sitting at his desk.
He hadn’t moved a muscle. His face had turned a funny color, but he leaned back in his chair and smiled up at me, only it wasn’t a smile; it was a teeth-bared grimace.
“What can I do for you this time, Mr. Starke?” It was barely a whisper.
“I want to know why your boys beat the shit out of my intern.”
“You mean the nosy kid, blond, with pimples? He stuck his nose somewhere he shouldn’t, an’ he got caught. Henry here,” he said and nodded down at the still sobbing Gold, “heard that he was asking questions about me in the gym. Simple. He needed a lesson. I had Duvon teach it to him, bust his nose for him, teach him to keep it out of where it don’t belong. He’ll get over it. Hell, who never had a busted nose before?”
“Okay, Tree. Listen up. The boy needs surgery, and you’re going to pay for it.”
“The hell you say.”
“The hell I do say. You don’t pay up, I’ll put a cap through your knee. I’ll put you on sticks for the rest of your days. You don’t think I’ll do it? Try me.”
He looked at me for a long time. His eyes flicked back and forth, between mine and the front end of the nine, thinking. Then he looked up at the ceiling, sighed, looked again across the desk at me, at the gun in my hand, rolled his eyes, leaned forward, pulled open a drawer and took out a checkbook.
“How much?”
“You gotta be joking. You’re gonna write me a check. How stupid d’you think I am? Cash, Shady. Cash. Five grand.”
He looked at me for a long moment, then shook his head and reached down between his legs.
“Hey. Whoa!” I shoved the nine a little closer to his face.
“Easy, Starke, easy. It’s just a floor safe.”
“Slow, Shady. Nice and slow. You pull anything other than money out of it and you’re dead.”
He pulled a wad of hundreds out of the floor safe, rolled his seat closer to the desk, and started to count. Duvon had pulled himself up onto his ass and sat against the wall. Gold was in the opposite corner, sniffling noisily through the blood. His suit and shirt were a mess. I watched as Tree counted out the bills. When he reached fifty, he tapped the edges to make a neat pile, then he handed them over.
“You wanna count it?” he asked.
I snatched them out of his hand. “Nope. I already did.”
I stuffed the wad into my pocket, reached inside my jacket and pulled out a tiny digital recorder, hit rewind, and then flipped the play button.
“I want to know why your boys beat the shit out of my intern.”
“You mean the nosy kid, blond, with pimples? He stuck his face where he shouldn’t an’ he got caught. Henry here…” It was a bit tinny, but it was clear enough.
“You get the picture, Shady? You call the cops, accuse me of robbing you, and I’ll hand this to Lieutenant Gazzara. You’ll do time for aggravated assault, and so will your crew.”
He glared at me across the desk, that same toothy grimace. “Get outa here, Starke, you crazy bastard. An’ don’t come back. If you do, they’ll fish your body out of the Tennessee. Oh yeah, an’ that’s two I owe you now: one for the cap you put in my arm, and one for the five grand. I’ll be collecting them both when you least expect it.”
“Any time, Shady. Any time. But you’d better make sure you get it right, because next time it won’t be your arm. Stick out your hands.”
“What for?” He glared at me through slitted eyes, the hate bubbling just below the surface.
“You know what for. Stick ’em out, or I’ll bust you upside the head with the baton.”
“Damn you, Starke. You’re gonna pay for this.” Reluctantly, he offered his hands, wrists together. I looped a cable tie around them and pulled it tight. He yelped at the pain.
“Now then, Shady. Be a good boy. Sit tight ‘till I’m gone, and all will be well.”
I took one last look at the two bloody Mouseketeers—yeah, that’s what I said, mouse—as I left, closing the door behind me. Back down the passageway, over the whimpering fat guy near the door, out into the weak winter sunshine. It was a lovely day indeed.
All in all, a good job well done.
---
Ten minutes later, I was back at my office. As I walked in through the front door, Mike looked up at me over his computer screen. I grinned at him and dropped the wad of cash on his desk.
“Here you go, Mike. Compliments of Mr. Tree. Enjoy.”
There was a noisy round of clapping and cheers from the crew. I grinned and shook my head. “Any messages?”
“Yes,” Jacque said. “Amanda Cole at Channel Seven wants an interview. When can you do it?”
“Interview? What for?”
“Profile, so she said. I think you should do it. It would be good publicity.”
“Nope. Not interested. That young lady has not been kind to me in the past.”
Jacque was not pleased, but she’d get over it.