to see his way out the back, he grabbed the pillowcase and backpack, stuffing the gun and pepper spray into the open mouth of the bag, and dashed for the fence and the motorcycle beyond. At first he ran in the wrong direction, the sounds of the woman still fresh in his ears and unsure if it was his memory or if she was still screaming that loudly. He stopped, knelt down and looked around to get his bearings, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. Remembering where the Yamaha was hidden, he ran for it, jumping over the low brush and pulling the backpack around his shoulders as he went. Upon reaching the bike he undid a couple of buttons at the top of his shirt, stuffed the few items and the pillowcase inside, slammed the helmet down on his head and lifted the bike from the dirt. A quick kick of the starter and he was on his way back down the tracks and the path to a paved road.
“Faster, faster!” he told himself, “she’ll be on the phone by now, faster, faster!”
He rode like Steve McQueen, in a race for his life, until he got to the blacktop where he knew he would have to regain his cool and not draw attention to himself. In the distance he could hear sirens screaming toward him, but he fought the urge to accelerate and start going cross-country. Alternating red and blue lights were flashing dead ahead and coming at a breakneck speed.
“Keep it together! Damn it Lester, keep it together!” He commanded himself, his right hand itching to crank up the rpm’s.
The Sheriff’s vehicle raced past him, not giving him a second look, he spun his head around and watched the lights become smaller as the car hurled down the road. Lester saw before he heard it, the brake lights on the squad car suddenly lit up, the screeching of the tires barely audible over the sound of his own bike, but undeniable that he’d been made. The Sheriff’s unit desperately tried to stop and turn around, sending the vehicle into a broad slide and landing it in a ditch, dust and smoke covering the scene and for a moment blinding the driver. Breland cussed, rocking the transmission from reverse to drive, and back again, in an effort to work the car out of the predicament he’d put it in.
Lester didn’t wait around to see if the deputy was really after him or not. He downshifted, increased the torque and left a trail of rubber, as he high tailed it for home and the safety it would provide.
“Felix better be pretty damn happy,” he said, thinking of the.38 in his pack and how much he’d love to use it on the Chicago gangster right about now.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Iggy pulled his sunglasses down on the end of his nose, peering over the top to see if it improved his ability to see down the country lane. He looked at his watch, having to extend his arm as far as he could to read the time.
“Should have spent the few extra bucks and got the bifocal,” he said, to himself. “Where are these guys? I’ve got to be back at the office in a couple of hours.”
At the conclusion of their last clandestine meeting they had agreed to meet one final time before sending their hired thief in for his ultimate mission. With the past outings paying off better than they had anticipated, it was time to move their agenda along. Iggy had waited a long time to get his hands on some big money; the eight years had eaten away at him, slowly killing him inside with nothing really to show for it, other than less hair and more fat. He had to admit that Jeremy had been good to him, advancing him a little here and a little there, but not any of the big money that had been promised him from the outset.
“That stupid, greedy Beverly Davis,” the thought repeated itself in his mind in various slurs and slanders. “If she’d only been reasonable at the outset, I’d be laying on the beach, margarita in hand and some Caribbean hooker massaging my neck.”
Different scenarios had played out in his imagination over the past eight years, each complete with beautiful women, exotic locations and lots and lots of money. When Jeremy’s dad passed away it looked like cooler heads were going to prevail, and Beverly would concede and see the will as overreaching and unfair, in light of only a two-year marriage. In an attempt to avoid years in court and numerous parties contesting the will, Jeremy had his attorneys draft an offer to his stepmother with a cash settlement without having to liquidate the estate. He had thought it more than fair and Ignatius had agreed. The will would have been settled, leaving all the assets, or at least most of them intact. Jeremy would have to sell off some of the smaller holdings to come up with the five million he had offered, but after the way they had bonded in the Atlanta hospital, he felt it very generous.
The realtor had also considered it quite reasonable, and in theory, thought they had a deal, until the lawyers got involved. Iggy recalled the greed and avarice that the council on both sides had shown. At the time, their suggestions and advice seemed to make sense, but in hindsight it was clear they had more interest in dragging the negotiations out as long as possible. At the time of his father’s death, Jeremy estimated the entire estate worth about twenty five million, however, Bev’s attorney’s estimated the value closer to forty million, even after Beverly Davis, realtor, had done an assessment and found the value closer to her stepson's.
Over these long, past eight years there continued to be one piece of information that Jeremy never disclosed to anyone, not even Iggy. The property that his father owned south of Moody Air Force Base would be a gold mine when, and if, the US Government decided to expand. The possibility had been bantered around a number of times but kept behind closed doors. Very few had access to the information but the congressman that Jeremy worked for was one of the privileged. The aide was not even sure if the congressman knew that technically his top aide owned the property, or at least half of it, if the will should be upheld. What the younger Marshall did know was the time was not right, at least not yet, and the ‘IF’ in the equation of the government buyout loomed very large.
As Iggy looked back over the rollercoaster of a ride in and out of court, himself always taking a backseat, not letting on that he was anything but an interested party representing the county, he had always been there for Jeremy, a confidant and source of information in all of the legal shenanigans. He was glad that his conspirator trusted him; he was the closest ‘friend’ he had and would miss him when they concluded their business arrangement.
The possible buyout of five million had been buried, along with a number of other equally fair offers, but meetings turned into, “he said” — “she said”, name calling affairs that Jeremy had recounted to Iggy through their coded communication system online. Eventually the two sides squared off in a battle over the authenticity and veracity of the will. Jeremy contested and sent the proceedings into court after court, along with every other relative, including his mother, contesting for a portion of the estate as well.
It was incredible how much money could be poured down a drain and into a legal firm's pocket once the ball is rolling. They just never roll the ball very fast, just enough to suck every nickel they can out of their clients, all the time telling them that they were keeping their best interest in mind. Iggy and Jeremy had learned to hate attorneys and the legal profession at large.
“Yup, eight years I’ve been doing this,” Iggy said, looking into the driver’s side mirror of his older model sedan, adjusting his sunglasses in the process. “Pretty damn tired of it!” he concluded.
A car turned down the lane from the main road, paused for a moment, then proceeded until it came to a stop next to Iggy’s vehicle. A smiling Felix stepped from the driver’s door, brought two fingers to his forehead in a makeshift salute, and greeted the heavier fellow.
“You been waiting long?”
“Well, I for one was on time. Where you been? I can’t believe Jeremy’s not here. He’s always on time. Do you think he didn’t see the location notice I posted?” the sweating director asked.
“I got it, no reason he should have missed it. Did you catch what our friend did today just a short ways from here?” Felix asked.
“No, how would I have access to that information? Is it already on the news or something?” he responded, somewhat irritated.
“Nothing on the news, but I’ve got a scanner and there’s all kinds of shit on there about a break-in where a woman was assaulted. Had to be our guy. He’s pulling out all the stops, the extra five grand you put in his mailbox looks to have paid off,” a very chipper Felix informed the more serious Iggy.
“When Jeremy gets here we need to talk about this last job we have for him. Hope you’re up to it,” he said, looking for a response from Felix.
“I do what I get paid to do, little man, and don’t you forget it. I’ll hold up my end of the deal, don’t fall down on yours,” Felix said, still remaining cheerful.
