Chapter Eighteen
Mr. Brooks
Mr. Brooks was sitting in a leather club chair in the study eagerly waiting for news from Briscoe. The stickup should have been in progress at that moment. He tapped his right hand on the arm of the chair, and with his left, he sipped Cognac. Once he got the money from this lick, he’d be set. He planned to pay off all his gambling debts and loan sharks, then buy as much coke and pussy as he wanted. The phone rang, snapping him out of the fantasy playing in his head. He eagerly picked up the receiver.
“What’s good?”
“It’s Herb. We need to talk.”
Mr. Brooks slumped into the chair, disappointed that it was his attorney calling and not Briscoe. “I don’t really have time right now. Let me get back to you tomorrow.”
“No, we have to speak now. I just got off the phone with the Feds,” Herb stated.
“The Feds? For what?” Mr. Brooks’s spine stiffened.
“They were asking questions about you. Letting me know that they were looking into you. I tried to get more out of them, but they were evasive and vague.”
“Come on now, Herb, are you serious?” Mr. Brooks chuckled.
“Yes, as serious as two heart attacks. They on to you.”
“I have no idea what they’d want with me.”
Herb sighed. “Look, Phil, me and you go way, way back.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“And we’ve been through some really tough times and came out on top, in most cases.”
“Herb, I know all of that.”
“Then you know how this thing works between us. If you want me to do my best, then you have to give me something to work with.”
“I know, I know.”
“Okay, then start with the truth. And don’t leave shit out. Because trust me when I tell you, this ain’t no regular state investigation bullshit going down. This the damn Feds. And if they come knocking, nine outta ten times, they already have an airtight case to convict.”
“This is so fucked-up. I’ve got plans.”
“Plans? You’ve got plans? No. What’s so fucked up is you being so desperate for money. In between gambling, women, and snorting, you’ve been spiraling out of control. I tried to warn you.”
Brooks knew his attorney was right. He did warn him, but Brooks ignored it, hoping he could somehow keep up with his lifestyle.
“You’re right, you did warn me. But believe me, I have no idea what they want with me. I’ve got some things in the works that will solve everything. Just hold them off for as long as you can.” Brooks didn’t want to say any more than that. His plans had suddenly changed. He would get the money and leave the country. Fuck the gambling debts and bookies. He was officially on the run. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. “Come on now, Herb, things can’t be all that bad.” He tried to sound relaxed.
“Brooks, just sit down, and I’ma tell you completely what I’ve heard they know thus far. It would be better if we get a jump on some sort of defense. But to be brutally honest, my old friend, you about done for.”
* * *
Not ready to give up, Mr. Brooks drove around a good hour or so playing back in his head what his lawyer just told him. For years, he’d dodged the bullet, so to speak. He lived life on the edge, moving and shaking. He’d been broke, then rich, then broke again. This time around, the various businesses he had his hand in weren’t paying off as he felt they should. In his eyes, if money wasn’t making more money, then what was the point? Those business alliances were no longer beneficial and became expendable. Although he felt that he was smooth in the crimes he’d put into motion, his business partners saw through the plots and schemes.
When some of the stolen cars and parts showed up at a local chop shop that had got raided, the FBI was called in. Upon investigation and threat of serious jail time to everyone involved, they all quickly gave up Mr. Brooks’s involvement as the mastermind. And if that wasn’t enough to bring down his house of cards, when they came sniffing around the check-cashing business, Sal was already nervous and folded without much pressure. These, along with several other petty crimes and the murders at the check-cashing shop, pretty much guaranteed Mr. Brooks a long life in prison. He had to come up with a plan . . . quick.