Diamonds and Cole (18 page)

“How deep are you into them?”

“Me? No, no I’m cool.”

“Here’s the deal. Game’s over. Anderson took the ball and ran off. But it’s the other guy. He’s the one I want to get to. What do you know about Allen Christopher?”

“I don’t know him, like,
know him
, you know? He was Anderson’s guy. But why should I tell
you
anything. What’s your game?”

“Look, Christopher tried to bribe a city official with some of these diamonds you been buying cars with.”

“How do you know about that?”

“That’s not important, the thing is—”

“To me it is!” Jefferson interrupted.

“Mrs. Anderson has been left behind. She told me what little she knows, hoping I’ll help her find her husband. On the surface, it’s a legitimate scheme. Anderson got a little greedy. Christopher is the money behind the stones. You know that, right? He’s a real estate salesman. He put up the money to buy the diamonds. Anderson got you and some other people to buy and resell stuff. He scammed Christopher and took off. No more diamonds for you and a hell of a bill for Christopher to pay. Thing is, Christopher doesn’t have any money.”

“One double mocha and one decaf. Anything else for you gentleman?” the bubbly blonde in the green apron turned and left before either man could even look up at her.

“You seem to know an awful lot. How you get on to me?”

“Chicago cops,” Cole said flatly.

This was a revelation to Tree Top Jefferson.

“Man, I don’t need this. Anderson said this was a straight deal, no problems. I don’t need no cops.”

“I don’t care about any of this. What you do is your business. I’m all about getting Christopher. You hear me? Next week I won’t even remember we met. Let me ask you something,” Cole paused. “What should I call you anyway?”

“People call me Tree.”

“Thank you. Tree, is your mother alive?”

“You leave my mama out of this!”

“Relax, I don’t mean any disrespect. Is she alive?”

“Yeah, she lives ‘cross town.”

“What if she got sick, real sick, and was dying. And her man dumped her in a rest home and stopped payin’. How would that make you feel?”

“He’d be dead. That’s how I’d feel.”

“Well, Christopher did that to his wife. She and I were once very close. I let her go. You see where I’m goin’?”

“You gonna kill him?”

“No, but he’ll wish he were dead. I want him put behind bars for a long, long time.”

“Man, I don’t need any of this. Sorry about your friend, but I don’t need this. I got a good thing goin’ on. I don’t need this shit at all. Chicago cops, shit, I don’t need this, man.” Jefferson was on his feet. “You don’t need to wait ‘til next week, you forget we ever met now—you hear me, right now!” He was screaming at Cole.

Cole took a long slow sip of his coffee. “You may need my help later,” he said softly.

“I don’t need nothin’! You hear me, Chicago? Don’t be comin’ to my town and be tellin’ me I need yo’ help!” Jefferson grabbed the back of his chair and threw it against the wall. The chair hit the tile floor with a clang, slid and thudded against the windows.

“Suit yourself,” Cole said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I suit me fine! I’ll suit
you
if you ain’t careful!” Jefferson’s long legs had got him out of the alcove and into the main area of the store.

Patrons put down their books and magazines and watched as Jefferson ranted and screamed, waving his arms about as he hit the front door. Then every eye in the store turned to Cole. Standing, Cole lifted his Double Mocha Venti and, with a broad smile and a light bow, silently toasted the gaping crowd. As he passed the counter, he slipped a $5 bill into the tip jar and left the store.

On the sidewalk, Cole shuddered. He hated confrontation and felt like he’d been playing tag with a cobra. Whisper had been easy. Tree Top Jefferson was a whole different thing. He was dangerous and unstable—it could be chemically induced or maybe he was just plain crazy. Either way, there was a volatility that made Cole’s stomach knot up. He had just jumped into the deep end of the pool.

FOURTEEN

Cole rolled and tumbled most of the night, finally falling into a deep sleep around dawn. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted from Jefferson. Richard Anderson, for whatever reason, had shielded Allen Christopher from Tree Top and probably anyone else involved with turning the diamonds into cash. Had Anderson planned on skipping town from the start? How hard was Christopher feeling the squeeze? Did he even know Anderson was gone?
Only one way to find out
, Cole thought.
 

He sat on the edge of the bed. It was nearly 10 o’clock. He rubbed his eyes and thumbed through a stack of business cards on the nightstand. He dialed the number for John H. Brazil & Associates.

“Mr. Brazil, please. Bob Borsma from Denver calling.”

“Just a moment, Mr. Borsma.”

“John Brazil, how can I help?”

“Good morning. My name is Borsma, Bob Borsma. I’m with Coloco Properties here in Denver. Got a minute?”

“You bet, what’s up?”

“I understand you’re the broker?”

“Yep.”

“I need to get some info on one of your agents if I may. He’s listed as a principal investor in a project our office is trying to put together. I don’t need facts or figures or anything like that. We’re just trying to get a feel for the players.”

“So, who’s your man? Oops, sorry—or woman. Gotta be PC.”

“Man. Allen Christopher. What can you tell me about him?”

“Allen’s been with us about a year, maybe a little less. Came from an office ‘cross town. You say he’s an investor?”

“Yeah, it’s a general partnership we’re putting together. Why, would that be a problem?”

“Well.” The line went silent.

Cole smelled blood, and his shark was in full-on. “Big producer, is he?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that. Tell me a bit about this project, Bob.” Brazil was being far too careful. Cole could almost hear the man ask himself,
How much do I tell this guy?

“Sure, are you looking for a project, John?” Cole decided to soften his approach a bit.

“Ah, no, no—just curious.”

“Eagle Rock is in its second phase. The Remco Investment Group pretty much controlled Phase One. We’re looking at about 800 homes in Phase Two. Median of about $450,000. The thing with Phase Two is the shopping center, and that’s where Allen has really shown an interest. We have Wal-Mart and Albertson’s on board so far. Starbucks and Blockbuster are pretty sure things. Couple in negotiation that I probably shouldn’t talk about quite yet. We figure right around $42 million after we split the cost of the highway refigure with the State. It’s a bit of a bear. We need to add an overpass. Solid project, John. We still need a couple of investors to tie it up.”

“Allen has bought in?”

“Not yet. We haven’t signed docs on Phase Two partners. John, do I sense some hesitancy on your end of the line there? I really need the straight dope. You see, Allen is the only out-of-towner in this deal. Unless I can bring
you
in.” Cole gave a slight chuckle. “Little humor there, John. So, what’s up? Is there something I should know?”

“Well, Mr. Borsma...” Brazil began.

“Bob, please.”

“Bob. I just don’t know where Allen would get the money for this kind of a project.”

“All tied up with stuff out there?”

“Not exactly. Hold on a second, can you?”

“Sure.”

Brazil got up and Cole heard the thud of an office door closing. “I’m back. Look, Bob, Allen Christopher is not a big producer around here. He’s pretty near the bottom, actually. I loaned him $4,500 about four months ago. Seems he couldn’t pay for his wife’s care in a rest home. I guess the insurance would only pay so much. So far, I haven’t seen a cent.”

Cole felt his jaw tighten.

“Here’s the weird part. He pulls up yesterday in a new Mercedes, now you call. I’m getting a bad vibe here.”

“Tell me something, John, just between us. He’s not involved in drugs, is he?” Cole thought he would throw Brazil a curve ball.

“God, no, at least—no, I can’t see that.”

“This is really upsetting. I was counting on his five mill to—” Cole paused for effect. “I’m sorry, please try to forget I said that. Guess I was thinking out loud. Hey, I’ve kept you long enough. Thanks for your help. Seems I need to have a little chat with our Mr. Christopher.”

“Bob, I, well, I feel there is something else you should know.”

“What’s that?”
Here it comes,
Cole thought.

“My receptionist came to me a while back and said a friend of Allen’s had been receiving packages from a jewelry wholesaler. She didn’t think anything of it the first time it happened. Allen explained the friend was a business associate and that was that. Thing was, he started getting about one a week. So, she came to me asking if it was all right. I got busy and then was gone on vacation. You know how it is. When I asked him about it, he said his friend needed the packages to be signed for and sometimes paid for, and since he was usually around, he didn’t think it would be a problem. I asked him what he was doing, and he basically told me it was outside of work and none of my business. I still get steamed when I think about it.”

“John, I appreciate your candor. I have a funny feeling Mr. Christopher hasn’t been on the square with me. Thanks again. I hope we get to meet someday.” Cole hung up before Borsma had a chance to respond.

In Ellie’s file at Eastwood Manor there had been a copy of a check Christopher had written. When the office manager wasn’t looking, Cole had jotted down the account number on the back of the form she’d given him. He looked up the phone number for the Century Banking Company.

“Bookkeeping, please,” Cole said in a cheerful voice.

The sound of laughter and talking preceded a woman’s voice saying, “Hi, this is Brenda. How can I help?”

“Good Morning, Brenda. Phillip Potter here, I’m with People’s Credit Union in Oxnard. Sounds like your day’s going pretty good so far.”

“I’m really armpit deep in alligators,” she giggled. “One of the girls just got engaged, so we’ve been sort of celebrating. I am so behind! How can I help?”

“Got a check here drawn on an account with you folks. Can you tell me if it will clear?”

“You betcha. Account number?”

“O2-34-6792, belongs to an Allen Christopher.”

“Oh,” Brenda said flatly.

“Ooo, I don’t like the sound of that,” Cole said mockingly.

“How much this time?”

“Forty-six hundred and change.”

“Oh, brother. I don’t even need to look, Phil. No way, Jos
￩
.”

“Great. Tell me something. Does this guy have a history of this?”

“He keeps just enough in the account to keep from having it closed. Got a big overdraft, so some of his checks roll over. It drives me crazy. I’m always on the phone either declining payment or trying to get him to make a deposit. Argh,” Brenda growled.

“Yeah, I’ve got a second one here for another of $3,200. My customer was going to sell him a car or truck or something, then he came back and was buying a trailer. Customer dropped off the checks, so I’m checking while he’s at the teller window. He’s not going to be happy. What’s the bride-to-be’s name?”

“Jessica.”

“Well, tell her congrats from me. Thanks, Brenda.” Cole hung up. That was too easy.

He loved to stir things up. Maybe it was just a mean streak. Being able to get the information he needed was a skill, but then being able to add a little poison to a bad guy’s life was a pleasure. Everybody likes to be sneaky, but Cole relished it, savored it, and replayed it over and over. In less than five minutes, he found that Allen Christopher was broke, had a bad track record with his bank, and had driven a very large wedge between himself and his boss. To sprinkle gasoline on the fire, Cole made the inquiries as a dignified real estate mogul and a friendly, thoughtful bank employee. Any denials by Christopher would only reaffirm people’s preconceived notion of what he was all about. Cole smiled at the thought of Christopher being confronted by his boss as to how he thought he was going to invest in a huge building project when he still owed him $4,500.

Cole remembered first learning the art of the anonymous payback. When he was about 10 years old, he had made a trip to the county library with his teenage cousin, Michelle. She had told their parents they were going to do homework, but she taught Cole something he remembered far longer than anything he learned in the third grade. An old lady down the street had told Cole’s aunt that Michelle was with a bunch of girls in a car smoking. The woman had seen them cruising downtown on Friday night when Michelle was supposed to be at the home of a sick friend. The plan now was payback.

For more than an hour, Cole and Michelle removed the subscription cards from nearly every magazine in the library. Then, using their left hands and pens in a dozens colors—so, as Michelle believed—no one would be able to prove it was them, Cole and Michelle filled in the old lady’s name and address. For months, the old lady received dozens and dozens of magazines in her mailbox, followed by requests for payment for subscriptions she had no clue why she received. Cruel? To be sure. Payback? Gloriously so. Most importantly in Cole’s eyes was that the secret wasn’t revealed until long after the old woman’s death.

In the years that followed, Michelle honed her ability to torment. Pizzas arrived at the door of some unsuspecting offender, subscriptions to three or four record clubs, and orders for gas, water, or electricity to be turned off. The closing of bank accounts and balances sent to a victim’s home was her final victory. With the account closed and the balance spent, seven days’ worth of checks bounced all over town like little rubber balls. Shortly after the bank stunt, Michelle married a law student and found out she was dancing very close to a felony. At the funeral of Cole’s aunt, his cousin had shared this revelation with him and thus ended one of the great careers in revenge.