Diamonds and Cole (17 page)

“Will you play me something?”

“What?”

“On the piano, something you wrote. It isn’t every day I meet a famous songwriter.”

She stared at Cole for a long moment. He looked away as she struggled to lift her weight from the low-slung couch. As she crossed the room, she turned and gave Cole a puzzled look, then smiled. The heavily padded leather bench creaked softly as she seated herself. Flipping through the notes and sheet music on the table next to the piano, she chose a doublewide sheet and placed it on the piano. The music that rose from the Steinway, as she began to play, was so light and airy it seemed to float around the room. Such a sentimental melody, and yet somehow familiar, like something from a 1940’s musical. As she played, Eloise Anderson’s spirit rose with the notes and, as she closed her eyes, Cole quietly slipped out the front door.

*
   
*
   
*

Finding Tree Top Jefferson wouldn’t be nearly as easy as finding Richard Anderson’s house. Cole knew people like Jefferson only came out at night, so he drove to Eastwood Convalescent to see Ellie. She dozed softly, the effect of a strong pain pill to help her lower back pain. Hours of sitting in her wheelchair took a toll on her spine and hips. Cole sat for almost three hours watching her sleep.

With her head softly raised by the pillows, Ellie looked peaceful and completely at rest. For the first time since he arrived, Cole saw in this still face the girl and woman he loved. Her face was now smooth, free of the grimace of pain, and the labored twist of muscles as she fought for breath was relaxed. Cole thought of times she napped under a tree in the park when they were supposed to be studying. He drifted back to when she slept after making love and the sound of her feathery breathing on his shoulder.

THIRTEEN

The air outside Eastwood Manor was cool and sweet with the smell of fresh mowed lawn and sprinklers as Cole made his way to his car. The sun was starting to set, and the breeze of evening had started blowing in from the east. A blast of captured afternoon heat greeted him as he opened the car door. He started the car and hit the switch to roll down all the windows.

“Hey, Mister, hey!”

Cole turned to see a heavyset woman in a white uniform running up the walk towards him.

“Are you Mrs. Christopher’s husband?” she panted.

Cole shut off the engine and got out of the car. “No, is something wrong?” He hadn’t been out of Ellie’s room for more than a minute or two and couldn’t imagine she was having a problem. She had been resting so peacefully.

“Well,” the woman hesitated, “it’s the—”

“What is it, is she all right? What’s the problem?”

“It’s the billing, sir. We haven’t received payment in three months. Are you family? We would really like to get this cleared up.” The woman spoke in rapid bursts almost as if she were reading from note cards.

“No, I am not family, just an old friend. Have you called her husband? Of course you have, I’m sorry, silly question. How can I help?” Cole tried not to show his fury.

“Perhaps you could review what we have in her file. I’m sorry to bother you about this, but Miss Ellie is so sweet and I would hate for us to have to....” The woman looked down at her feet and handed Cole a thick file folder with a blue tab. “This place ain’t the greatest, but the County Hospital is a whole lot worse. Maybe you could see if there’s a mistake somewhere.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Cole gave the woman a thin smile.
That rat bastard Christopher had already stopped paying when I saw him
, Cole said to himself as the woman turned to go back inside.

The file on Ellen J. Christopher wasn’t very thick. The address and date of birth were correct, and her diagnosis in black and white looked harsh and unsympathetic. Next to “Contact Information,” someone had made a note in the margin: “number changed.” Toward the bottom of the sheet in a bold hand were the words INSURANCE CANCELED in red pen.

The reception Cole got from the woman behind the “Billing and Insurance” counter was a clear signal that money matters were taken very seriously at Eastwood Manor. After several questions, that received sharp, short, unfriendly answers, Cole decided to change his approach.

“When was the last time you heard from her husband?” he said without looking up from the file.

“The day he checked her in,” the woman said curtly from behind the computer monitor. “Everything was fine until about three months ago, then we got notice of her insurance bein’ canceled. Called the husband’s number and it had been disconnected. We have sent a couple of letters, too, but no response. He dumped her. Happens all the time. Usually parents or an old aunt or something, not a wife.”

“So, what happens?” Cole moved to face the woman.

She was thin, about 50 and had eyes with dark circles that were magnified by her thick glasses. Her nametag identified her as “M. Skillings, Office Manager.” She wasn’t mean or particularly nasty, just matter of fact. Her detachment obviously came from too many bills unpaid and too many relatives who didn’t care about those left to their care. Cole knew charm, wit, or heaven above wouldn’t move this woman from her assigned duty.

“We will file papers on the first. That will give her about three, maybe four weeks, and then it’s off to County.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. Unless someone steps forward, pays the back billing, and provides confirmation that payment will be secured for at least 12 months. Her condition is terminal, so the company watches billing pretty closely.”

“Eastwood Manor, First in Care.” Cole read aloud from the brochure on the counter.

“Care isn’t free, sir.”

“Respect for your patients is,” Cole growled from clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry if I have been too frank, sir. I’m only following company procedures.”

“I’m sure you are.” Cole took a deep breath. “Look, this isn’t a pleasant situation for either of us. Give me the forms or whatever it takes and I’ll take care of this. I do not want Ellie bothered about this, do you understand?”

“Of course, sir.” Skillings gave Cole an icy glare as she spun around to a rack of papers behind her. “Fill these out and return them with a cashier’s check for the amount attached.” She shuffled some papers together, slammed the stapler down and handed the papers to Cole. “Since you are not immediate family, we will require a six-month advance on payment.”

Cole turned and left the building.

As he drove downtown, Cole tried to figure out if he had enough money to cover nine months of Ellie’s care. He lived a very simple life and sometimes put his entire check into a savings account. He couldn’t remember the last time he checked the balance and had no idea what he might’ve put away. It didn’t matter; whatever it took, he would pay. So would Christopher.

*
   
*
   
*

Filbert Avenue in the 1950s and ‘60s was the heart of the city. Sears, Penney’s, Woolworths and half-a-dozen jewelry stores anchored the heart of downtown. The city’s only two elevators were both on opposite corners of Filbert and Sixth Street. That was a long time ago.

Now there were nightclubs advertising “Oil Wrestling” and “Amateur Iron Man Fights” on Budweiser banners. The jewelry stores had become Thai restaurants, and the Penney’s building was home to a Mexican nightclub and a Subway sandwich shop. Police cruisers patrolled from dusk until 3 a.m. In the summer, the sidewalks were crowded with club hoppers, hustlers out to sell drugs and thugs out to give anybody they decided to a hard time. The street glowed and sparkled with flashy signs and taillights.

Cole felt completely out of place as he stepped from the public parking garage and onto the street. He saw no one even remotely close to his own age. He unconsciously pulled in his stomach and tried to walk taller. Scanning both sides of the street, he made his way along through the Friday night throng. Doormen and bouncers gave Cole a nod as he passed, and he was approaching the fourth club before he realized they thought he was a cop.

As he crossed Seventh Street, he spotted the green and orange Acura at the curb. At each end of the car stood two very big, very bald, very white guys in sunglasses. The one at the tail end of the car wore a shiny black tank top. His arms were massive and completely covered with colorful tattoos. The man posted at the front of the car wore a white long sleeve T-shirt and had the jacket of a warm-up suit tied around his waist. They both wore nylon jogging suit pants and high-top tennis shoes. No one passed within four feet of them on the sidewalk.

The light at Filbert and Seventh changed to green three times before Cole crossed to the Acura’s side of the street.

“Nice car. Take a lot of diamonds to buy something like that,” Cole said to the guy with the huge parrots tattooed on his biceps.

There was no response. The guy in the white T-shirt shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

“Lot of upkeep on a car like that. And two bodyguards, now that takes some serious cash to maintain that kind of security.” White T-shirt looked straight ahead. Tattoo crossed his arms. Cole bent down and tried to see through the black tint of the window. “So, is he in there or what?”

“It’s time for you to leave.”

“That’s not friendly. Could get someone like you in a lot of trouble. It sounded a bit threatening.”

“He’s a cop,” said White T-shirt.

“So?” replied Tattoo.

“I get the distinct feeling you don’t like me. And that is just not friendly. So where’s Jefferson?”

“Not here,” T-shirt offered.

“Good, good that’s a start to a nice conversation,” Cole said smiling.

“You’re right, I don’t like you. I’m not friendly, and I’m tired you buggin’.” Tattoo stepped forward.

“See, there you go again. Your body language projects a definitely hostile message. I warned you about getting in trouble. I was being nice. I really don’t understand your unfriendly attitude toward me.” Cole gave him a big forced smile.

The sound of laughter across the street made all three men turn. A tall black man was in the center of a group of about eight in the crosswalk. He was head and shoulders taller than the women he held in each arm and a full head taller than the men in front and behind him. He wore an LA Lakers jersey with a long-sleeved purple turtleneck under it. As the group stepped from the street to the curb, the tall black man gave a quick jerk of his head in the direction of Cole and the two men guarding the car. From Cole’s vantage point, he saw the tattooed man shrug his broad shoulders.

The tall man broke from the group, saying something Cole couldn’t hear. He walked with the loping swagger of an NBA star. Cole knew this was his man.

“What’s goin’ on here?” The accent was on
here
.

“You must be Mr. Jefferson.” Cole smiled.

“You know I am. Who are you?” Tree Top Jefferson didn’t smile.

“I’m the guy about to cut off your meal ticket.”

“That so.”

“Yep, that so,” Cole said with his head slightly tilted to one side.

“Who is this fool, and why he standin’ right up by my car when I told you nobody gets next to it!” Jefferson stared at Tattoo.

“He jus’ now come up, Tree. I don’t know who he is!”

“How rude of me,” Cole interrupted. “My name is Cole Sage. From
The
Chicago Sentinel
, you know, the newspaper. I would like to interview you, Mr. Jefferson. It could save you a lot of grief.”

“An’ what if I don’t want no interview?”

“Like I said, I could make things dry up around here. That is, if you are unwilling to help me out.”

“You talkin’ big shit. Why a newspaper in Chicago care ‘bout what I do?”

“Look, I don’t want to put your business out here on the street like some two-bit pimp. Where can we go to talk? Your friend Mr. Anderson has skipped town. How’s that for starters?”

“Who’s he?”

“Okay, I tried to be helpful.” Cole started walking down the street. “One, two, three—”

“Yo, hold up a minute!” Jefferson’s voice had gone up almost an octave.

Gotcha
, Cole said to himself as he continued walking.

“Yo, ho’d up!” Jefferson jogged up next to Cole.

“You like coffee?”

“Whatever.”

The two men went into a small coffee shop and took the last table down the narrow alcove. Cole sat with his back to the wall, folded his hands, and placed them on the small table. Tree Top Jefferson looked almost comical trying to get his long legs to adapt to the cramped surroundings. In his constant effort to be cool, he finally stretched them out to the left of Cole and crossed them at the ankles.

Tree Top eyed the waitress who had just left with their drink order. “What’s yo’ game?”

“Just trying to help out a friend.”

“Who?”

“No one you know or would care about. Listen, pretty soon I’m going back to Chicago. When I’m gone, I don’t care what you do or to who. But we got a problem, and it isn’t with each other. Tell me about this diamond scam. How did you get in? Was it Richard Anderson?” Cole leaned back.

“How I know you ain’t police?”

“Don’t you know most of the cops around here?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, don’t I look a little old to be a rookie?”

Jefferson laughed and laced his long fingers behind his head. He was doing everything he could to give the appearance of being calm, but the little beads of sweat on his upper lip and forehead were giving him away.

“You gotta be big city. Nobody around here would be messin’ with my boys out there. I usually don’t go off and chat with just anybody, you know. Not good for my image.” Jefferson turned and faced Cole head on. “How you know Anderson’s gone?”

“His wife told me this afternoon.”

“Ain’t that a bitch?” Jefferson looked at the tabletop for a long moment deep in thought before he spoke again. “So, what about Christopher?” Jefferson paused and, as an afterthought, said, “You know him, too? Will he still give me the stones?”