Diamonds and Cole (20 page)

“Santo de Christo,” Whisper said softly, “I have never seen such a thing. What are they worth, a million?”

“Not quite. Christopher said they were worth $40,000 wholesale. So, retail is about $250,000, give or take. “

Whisper gently poked at the stones. He looked up at Cole, grinned, and looked back down at the bag.

“So, you think you could move these?”

“Are you serious?” Whisper’s eyes widened at Cole’s question.

“Look, Christopher stopped paying for his wife’s care in the convalescent hospital about three months ago. I am not a rich man. I have a few thousand in the bank but not enough to cover what they’re demanding to keep her there. Could you buy these from me?”

“Man, I don’t know. This is way out of my line, you know?”

“Mine, too.” Cole smiled.

“You think I could do the car thing?”

“Yeah, but it’s going to get really hot around here for a while.”

“I hear you. Well, maybe I’ll make a trip to L.A. I have lot of family, you know? So, okay, let’s do this. Forty, huh?”

“No. I’m not looking for more than I need from this. I just want to pay Ellie’s bill.”

“What are you saying? You don’t want the money?”

“I only want enough to keep Ellie well taken care of until—”

“Eres un buen hombre....”

“I’m sorry?”

“A good man. She is a lucky woman to have you. It’s sad she didn’t have you all along.”

“Yeah,” Cole said looking at the table. “I’ll call the hospital and ask how much they need. Give me that, and you can have the rest. I’m grateful for your help.”

For a very long time, Whisper just sat looking at Cole. Anthony “Whisper” Perez was having a hard time knowing what to do with this Anglo from Chicago. All his life, he had been abused verbally and physically by people who looked and talked just like Cole Sage. This guy was different. He spoke from somewhere deep inside. He spoke to Whisper as an equal, a partner, someone who had thoughts and ideas that mattered. They had discussed politics, crime, social reform. Even when they disagreed, Cole never once made Whisper feel foolish or small. Cole spoke to him with respect and yet wasn’t afraid of him. Whisper wasn’t used to people coming on his turf who weren’t afraid of him. Even if it was just a little, it always showed in their eyes.

From the very beginning, Cole had spoken to Whisper from a position of authority. Not like cops or the guards in the juvenile detention center that Whisper so often frequented as a teen, but as someone who knew who he was and what he wanted. Whisper admired this authority. It was born of knowledge, like the sign he had read in the library in junior high: “Knowledge is Power.” Whisper had gone to the library out of boredom that day for something to do, maybe to tag the inside of magazines or draw pictures in the books, like he and his friends always did. But that sign, shiny Mylar letters on a black banner, had spoken to him like no teacher or counselor ever had. “Knowledge is Power”—that was what Whisper had wanted more than anything: power.

Now, so many years and books later, he knew that real power was not what he had. People feared him and maybe even respected his organization, if you could call it that. But the power that mattered, the power on the sign, was not what he had. This must change. Whisper wanted a change. Maybe this sad man from Chicago could show him how to get
his
kind of power. Whisper looked down at his hands as they scratched at the top of the table. He realized he had been staring at nothing. How long had he been doing this, seconds, minutes? He looked back up at Cole.

“You hungry? Javie’s made some chili verde today that will knock you over. Want some?”

“That sounds good.”

“Javie, traigame un cierto chile verde! And a diet Pepsi.” Whisper took a sip of the beer in front of him.

Cole took his cell phone from his belt clip and a small notepad from his shirt pocket.

“I’ll have the amount I need in just a moment,” he said dialing the cell phone. “This is Mr. Sage. I need the total amount to bring Mrs. Christopher’s bill current.” After several moments, the billing department of Eastwood Manor came back on the line. “I understand the prepayment, yes. That’s everything, no hidden cost, no funny business? I’m sure you don’t. Fine, I’ll have the money to you in—” He looked up at Whisper.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Thank you, see you then.” Cole clicked the phone closed, then wrote a number on the pad.

“So, where is this place?” Whisper asked, turning the pad around.

“Off Santa Rita on Calder. Eastwood Manor, not the greatest but not the worst, either. I hate her being in a place like that, but I don’t know where else she could go.”

“I’ll send someone over with a cashier’s check. That okay?”

“How will you—”

“My old man has an account for his rentals. He’s always moving money in and out, buying and selling houses. They won’t ask, I won’t tell. Kind of like the Army.” Whisper laughed hoarsely. “Then I give it to him in cash later. Little by little, he puts it back in.”

“Here you go.” Javie the barman set a bowl down in front of Cole containing large chunks of pork in a thick green sauce. “Tortillas coming up.”

“Gracias, me gusta chile verde mucho.” Cole smiled as he stumbled through his gringo Spanish. “You’re not eating?”

“I ate a little while ago. So, what you think, good, huh?” Whisper said, like a proud father.

“Mmm, wonderful.”

“Enjoy.”

After a second bowl, a discussion of world and domestic affairs, and the promise of a subscription to
The Sentinel
, Cole was about to take leave of his new friend when Whisper stopped him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“You think a guy like me could ever go to college?”

Without missing a beat, Cole said, “Of course. You’re smart, smarter than a lot of the people your age working at the paper. I think you would do very well.”

“You’re telling me the truth?”

“I would never lie to you.”

“I believe that,” Whisper said softly.

“So, you want to? The community college here is very good. What do you want to study? History, politics?”

“Could I be a writer? Like you?”

“I would hope you would aim higher.” Cole smiled sensing the compliment. “Yes, America needs a voice like yours.” Cole’s smile had gone and he looked the young man straight in the eyes.

“I don’t want to go to school around here. Too many people know me. How ‘bout Chicago, do they have a good community college there?”

“Last time I checked, there were about 120 colleges in and around Chicago.”

“How do I start?”

“You’re serious about this?”

“Yes, sir.”

Cole was amazed by this turn in the conversation. Whisper had called him “sir.” He fought back a smile, then decided to let it go.

“I tell you what. How ‘bout I help you? I mean, I can do some research, find out which ones are best. Which ones have good journalism departments.”

“I want something else, too. Sort of your permission.” Whisper looked down at the table. Like a shy little kid asking a favor from a big brother, he continued. “I don’t know a lot about colleges and stuff, but they have what you call ‘scholarships’?”

“Sure, we can apply for financial aid, no problem.”

“No, no nothing like that. I got money. This is something special. I seen them in stuff I read. They have the names of companies and people, like on PBS, you know? So, I was thinking the extra money from the diamonds. What if we called it a scholarship? And named it after your lady Ellie? Could we do that?”

Cole couldn’t breathe. He just stared at Whisper, Anthony Perez was reborn . Then, he felt tears rolling down his cheeks. He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to move. He felt a pride and honor like he had never known. This street hustler who wanted out and to become a writer, wanted to pay tribute to Ellie. It was the best gift he had ever been given.
She will be so proud. No, she can’t know
. How would he ever explain where the money came from?

“I think,” Cole began, “there could be no finer honor in this life than if that happened.” He reached up and brushed the tears from his eyes. “Everything you do, everything you achieve, everything you accomplish in life will be Ellie living on in some way. It is a beautiful thing, my friend. A beautiful thing.”

Whisper reached across the table and shook hands with Cole. Then he put his finger to his lips and whispered, “Not a word of this to anyone. When I leave, it will be to escape some heat or the cops or something. I will make up a good story and then disappear. No strings, no one will follow, no one will know where I went or what I’m doing. A clean break, cold turkey. Will it work?”

“We will make it work.”

“It’s a deal then.”

Cole stood at the end of the booth. “I am very proud of you. If you were my own son, I couldn’t be prouder.” Then he turned and walked toward the door.

“Hey, watch your back. Word on the street is you pissed off Tree Top big time. Be careful, amigo, we’ve got work to do.”

Cole looked in his rear-view mirror more than usual on the way back to the motel. Everything seemed normal. All the same, he wished Whisper hadn’t warned him. Cole tended to worry. Now he would hear every footstep, tick, creak, and bump in the night—and a motel makes lots of those. As he drove, he thought of Ellie. He hadn’t seen her in a day and a half. He needed to get to Eastwood, but things were finally coming together. Maybe later, after he made some calls. A light gray pickup cut in front of him, and he had to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting it. The violent jerk of the car shattered his thoughts and put his focus back on the road.

*
   
*
   
*

When Cole got to his room there was a note on the door. “Brennan. Please call.”

Great
, he thought. “
When are you coming back? I got a paper to run here. How much longer you gonna be?”
Cole could hear it now. He stuck the note in his pocket and unlocked the door.

As he entered the room, he caught an ever so slight whiff of an unfamiliar smell. Was it cologne, air freshener? Whatever it was, he hadn’t smelled it before. Cole took the phone book from the drawer in the desk and opened to United States Government. It was then that something caught his eye.

Cole had a habit of keeping his clothes pushed to the left side of the closet. A jacket, three shirts, and a pair of slacks were all pushed slightly to the center. Someone had moved them. The bed was still unmade. He stood and walked to his suitcase that was sitting on a folding rack near the closet. The suitcase was closed. He knew he had left it open because he had accidentally grabbed an extra sock. He had tossed the sock back into the suitcase as he had gone to brush his teeth.

He returned to the phone and rang the front desk. “This is Mr. Sage in 218.”

“I’m so sorry your room has not been made up, sir. Our maid had to go home sick. You see, her daughter is a maid, too, and had to drive her. It should be done this afternoon. I am very, very sorry.” The soft Indian accent of the manager only added to Cole’s concern.

“Has
anyone
been in my room?”

“Oh no, sir. I am the only one here and I have been in the office, except of course to bring you your message. Did you find it?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“The maid should be back by four o’clock. Again, my apologies.”

“No problem.” Cole hung up.

He turned again to the phone book. After identifying himself to three different people and partially telling his story three times, he was transferred one last time.

“Fergusson.”

“Can you take a report?”

“Depends.”

“Look, you’re the third person I’ve talked to. You people make it hard to turn in the bad guys. My name is Sage. I’m with
The
Chicago Sentinel
. If you want to check me out, call Tom Harris, Precinct 51, Chicago. I’ve uncovered some things I thought you guys might be interested in. I was diggin’ around for a friend of mine and uncovered a scheme that involved interstate mail fraud, bribery of an elected official with stolen property, and probably a bunch of other things you’ll find if you start poking’ around.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Who’re we talkin’ about here?”

“Allen Christopher. He’s a realtor. It seems he defrauded a wholesale diamond broker in Washington. He ordered several hundred thousand dollars worth of stones and doesn’t have two nickels to pay the bill. Then there’s Sven Elias, the County Zoning Commissioner here. Christopher offered him diamonds in exchange for Elias’ changing the zoning for a project Christopher was trying to put together with an outfit back east called Malcor Manufacturing.”

“Bingo!”

“Excuse me?”

“Bingo, Eureka, whatever. The duck just came down. You said the secret word.”

“I don’t follow.” Cole was a bit surprised by Fergusson’s excitement.

“Malcor. It’s a front for the mob. Castigleone Family from Detriot. This guy, Christopher, you think he knows they’re organized crime?”

Cole couldn’t help grinning. “Well, you’d know better about the mob than I would, but from the way he’s connected with the small time hoods around here, I wouldn’t doubt it.” Cole covered his mouth for fear he would laugh, then coughed. “Sorry, think I’m catching a cold. This whole diamond thing seems too well conceived for some small town realtor—who, by the way, sells very little real estate. He’s got street punks buying cars with the diamonds, then turning them for cash. Pretty smart, huh?”

“Evidently not smart enough. Let me get some people on this. Is Elias willing to help us?”

“Yep, a real Boy Scout,” Cole replied. “He’s been contacted twice by Christopher, and the last time, he got real pushy.”

“Got any other names?”

“A local smalltime hustler who was swapping the diamonds for cars, goes by Tree Top, last name Jefferson. When I talked to him, he tried to give me the name of an ex-con named Anderson as the top dog. I think this is a cover that Jefferson and Christopher cooked up. Probably not much to it. Anderson is small potatoes and doesn’t have the brains or money for a scheme like this. Jefferson’s real jumpy and will probably turn on Christopher with a little coaxing. Oh yeah, and a guy named Brazil, John Brazil. He is Christopher’s broker at the real estate office. Christopher got money from him and didn’t pay it back. He’ll be happy to talk. That’s kind of how I got involved in all this. An old friend of mine is Christopher’s wife. “