Moon Underfoot (27 page)

“I didn’t see it,” Levi said as he tried to close his eyes again.

Moon Pie tossed his iPad onto Levi’s lap, making him jump, and then sat back down in his recliner. “Google
Prairie, Mississippi, bomb plant
and you’ll find it. I don’t do ghosts.”

“Hell, Moon, half these big-ass old houses ’round here are haunted. And I thought you said you want to live in an antebellum mansion.”

“They’re cool, but I don’t want a haunted one.”

“Good luck with that. Even that fancy old Waverley mansion has that little-girl ghost in it.”

“I might could handle a little-girl ghost. But unh-uh, this thing at Prairie…that grabbed that reporter. I don’t wanna get grabbed,” Moon Pie said as he sucked the bottom out of his beer.

“Come on, we won’t even go in the building. We’ll just meet around back. It’s a safe place.”

“You got a point there,” Moon Pie said in a rare agreement.

“It’s a great place to do the exchange. You know it.”

“All right, but you gotta watch that video first.”

“Man, you’re such a badass and you spend all night out in the woods by yourself poachin’…and you’re scared of ghosts?” Levi asked, astonished.

“I don’t want no dead Confederate touchin’ me. That place is built on a mass grave of Confederate soldiers. That shit creeps me out, man.”

“Have you ever seen a ghost?”

“Once,” Moon Pie said as he leaned forward.

“Where?”

“In Clay County about four years ago. I got dropped off after dark at those rich folks’ huntin’ club on the west side of the Chuquatonchee Creek. I was watching a whole pile a deer in the moonlight in this bare bean field when an old man in a Confederate uniform and a top hat came out the woods across the field like he was going to a meetin’. I ain’t never been back…and that was one helluva good place to deer hunt too.”

“I think you musta been smokin’ that night.”

“Nope. I wasn’t stoned; I was in serious stealth mode. That old dude just about freaked me out. I’ve heard ’bout others seein’ him too. I ain’t the only one. He looked just like the pictures of Robert E. Lee. It was some crazy shit, man.”

“You seen Robert E. Lee walkin’ in the woods?”

“No, dipshit. I said he
looked
like Robert E. Lee. You know, that old-guy-with-a-beard look.”

“It was dark. How the hell could you see details?” Levi asked.

“The moon was real bright. I could see fine through that big scope I got. And you know I got cat eyes.”

“Okay. Fine. Whatever—just call them boys and tell ’em we’ll meet up tomorrow.”

“You found that video clip yet?” Moon Pie asked as he stood and started toward his bedroom.

“Almost,” Levi responded as he Googled the words
arboriculture degree
.

“Just watch it and you’ll see that the place is haunted,” Moon Pie said as he shut his bedroom door.

S
EBASTIAN TRIED COUNTING
the money while they drove, but the amount was so overwhelming that he couldn’t do it. He finally just laughed and then showed Bernard his long-lost rifle. Walter gazed at the bag, knowing they had hit the mother lode and that there would be repercussions beyond anyone’s wildest imagination. He knew it, but he was still thrilled at what they had pulled off. Three old men, with the help of a girl, a magnet, a stolen key, a surveillance camera, and a pocketknife, had managed to steal an absolutely absurd amount of cold, hard cash.

As Bernard parked the rented minivan in front of the Henry Clay, Walter told everyone to sit still. He could see a West Point police officer on a Segway patrolling on the sidewalk, making sure businesses’ front doors were closed. He was heading in their direction, and Walter didn’t want to be unloading the bags when he came by.

Bernard started breathing heavy. Walter had to place his hand on his shoulder and tell him to calm down.

“Oh shit, here he comes,” Sebastian said under his breath. “Act normal.”

“What’s normal about having a million dollars at your feet?” Bernard said without moving his lips.

When the officer saw the men, he rolled over to them and stopped, balancing on the Segway’s two wheels. The men had seen the Segway before, but it still seemed like the policeman was some futuristic supercop, and he certainly seemed out of place in a small, rural Mississippi downtown at night.

Sebastian, who was sitting in the passenger seat, opened his door, and the dome light came on, revealing the interior. Walter cringed but didn’t move.

“Evenin’, Officer,” Sebastian greeted.

“Y’all are out mighty late,” the officer replied, bending over to look inside at everyone.

“It’s been a long night. We had to go to a funeral visitation down near Jackson, and we’re just now gettin’ back,” Sebastian said respectfully.

“That’s why I’m wearing black,” Bernard offered.

The officer nodded his understanding as he watched a brightly painted lime-green Chevrolet Impala with spinning rims roll by. Everyone could feel the bass thumping from the music inside the car.

“How can that be enjoyable? It’s so loud,” Sebastian added, seizing the opportunity to change the topic.

“That will definitely cause hearin’ loss. There was a party goin’ on at Chocolate City, and now they’re startin’ to leave,” the officer said, irritated. “We’ll get some DUIs tonight.”

“That’s where we shoulda gone,” Walter said, moving toward the door to get out. “Probably woulda had more fun.”

“Or gotten shot,” Sebastian said, as if he knew something Walter didn’t.

“Y’all live here?” the officer asked, motioning to the old, historic hotel.

“We do. Yes, sir.”

“Okay, good. Then y’all are home.”

“Home sweet home,” Bernard gushed.

“Sorry one of your buddies died,” the officer said, clearly not in a hurry to leave. He seemed to relish conversation.

“At our ages, we attend lots of funerals. But it’s much better to be in the audience than it is to be the center of attention.”

“Yes, sir. That’s a good way to look at it. Hey, do y’all need any help carryin’ those bags in?”

“No, thanks. We’re just gonna leave them. It’s just some of our friend’s old stuff, and we’re gonna sort through it tomorrow,” Walter said, hoping the officer would leave so they could haul the bounty upstairs. He had no intention of leaving it in the van. West Point was safe but not safe enough to risk a million dollars.

“I wouldn’t. Just between us, we’ve had some vehicle burglaries that haven’t been reported to the paper just yet. Let me help y’all,” the officer said, stepping off the Segway.

Walter tried to stay calm as the big sliding door slung open. Bernard accidentally hit the horn as he was exiting the car.

Sebastian was near panic too but had noticed a shopping cart in the hotel lobby and had an idea. He quickly said, “Just help us get the big bag into that shopping cart, and we can roll it inside and use the elevator.”

Sebastian rolled the cart to the curb as Walter slid the big bag to the edge of the vehicle for the officer to pick up. They all held their breath.

“This thing’s pretty heavy. What’s in it?” the officer asked as he dropped it into the basket.

“You a hunter?”

“No, sir. Never had time.”

Sebastian pulled his recovered stolen rifle out from under the seat. “Our friend collected huntin’ magazines. That’s what’s in there.”

The officer barely looked at the gun since it wasn’t unusual to see hunting rifles in Mississippi at this time of the year. All he said was, “Well, y’all sure got enough to read for a while.” He dropped the smaller bag on top. The officer climbed back on the
Segway as Sebastian and Walter started pushing the cart away. “That’s a nice bag—that big black one. Where did ya get it?”

Walter stared at the bag and scratched his head. Bernard and Sebastian waited.

“Do you mean where did he buy it?” Walter asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t know. But I tell you what—after we get it unloaded, you’re welcome to it.”

“No, I couldn’t do that.”

“Seriously, we don’t need it, and if you want it, I can bring it by the station later in the week for you,” Walter said as he looked at the officer’s name badge.

“No, I couldn’t let you do that.”

“Seriously, it’s not a problem. We don’t need it.”

“I’ll be honest—I sure could use a bag like that to store my SWAT gear in.”

“Give me a couple of days and it’ll be yours,” Walter said, smiling broadly.

“That’s awful generous. I’d really appreciate it. Thanks,” the officer said as he admired the bag one last time, waved at the old men, and then quietly rolled down the street on the side of Rose Drugs.

The old men stood on the sidewalk, watching him ease away. After he rounded the corner, they all let out deep breaths and at least one quiet “Oh shit!”

Walter turned to Sebastian. “If he’d been a hunter, you know he woulda wanted to see the magazines, don’t you?”

“Then I’da said they were
Playgirl
s. I doubt he would’ve wanted to see those! You see, I was thinkin’.”

All three doubled over laughing, slapping their legs.

Walter finally said, “That’d start one hell of a rumor—three old dudes at the Henry Clay were caught smugglin’ in big bags of
Playgirl
magazines.”

“Thank God it didn’t come to that. My image woulda been ruined,” Bernard said with a smile.

They all heard another car’s bass, thumping louder than the first one’s. “Good grief! Let’s get inside before we get robbed,” Walter said, clearly annoyed.

T
HE TENNESSEE MEXICANS
not only were professionally organized but also had talent—not just muscle. They had players with sophisticated computer skills. The technical guy spent hours each day tracking their various money exchanges and drug shipments thanks to tiny, state-of-the-art GPS chips.

This Sunday morning he logged on to check the status of five different packages. He immediately noticed that the Mississippi money had moved overnight. Following protocol, he alerted his boss via prepaid cell phone.

“The Mississippi money has moved.”

“Where is it right now?” he asked, and then took a sip of a Starbucks canned coffee.

“It’s moved west about seventeen miles. It’s still there right now.”

“¿Dónde está?”

“Commerce Street. West Point, Mississippi. I can get exact if you want.”

“No. They probably made the exchange last night. Keep an eye on it. We’re to settle the deal
un pequeño número de días
. Until then, I want to know where the money goes. Also, el Jefe
wants to know everything we can provide about this organization. I want to cut Moon Pie completely out.”

“¡Sí, por supuesto!”

“¡Gracias!”

J
AKE—A TYPICAL
Baptist—sat on the back pew, staring past the music minister at the choir, which was singing “Blessed Assurance.” Next to him, Morgan wrote a check for their tithe and then placed it into a small envelope. On Jake’s other side, Katy had gotten comfortable and was almost asleep. Jake resisted the urge to elbow her like his momma would have done to him. But he knew she was exhausted, because he was too.