A Peachy Criminals, page 11
Old Man Cranston spun around. When he saw Momma Peach he rolled his eyes. “Haven't you caused me enough trouble for one lifetime?” he griped.
“No, not really,” Momma Peach said with a grin as she perched her hands down onto her hips. “We both know that I can cause you more trouble if you want.”
Old Man Cranston shook his head. “I've got a bullet hole in my ceiling that needs fixing. One bullet hole is enough. What can I do for you, Momma Peach? You aren't here to fuss over my tomatoes, that's for sure.”
“Senator Rarey. What do you know about the man?”
Old Man Cranston’s eyebrows went up. “The senator from Missouri?”
“If that's the man, yes,” Momma Peach answered.
Old Man Cranston lifted his right hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “Does this have to do with the fight that happened earlier?”
“Maybe.”
Old Man Cranston nodded his head. “Walk with me to my office.”
Momma Peach followed him to the front of the grocery store and to the small office tucked into the far corner behind sturdy wooden walls. She walked into the office and closed the door. “I can barely fit in this office,” she complained.
Old Man Cranston sat down at a wooden desk crowded with invoices, inventory papers, order forms, and piles of paperwork that needed to be worked through. A coffee pot holding fresh, hot coffee sat next to an old-fashioned telephone. He picked up a coffee mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Coffee?”
“Sure, honey.”
Old Man Cranston grabbed a white coffee mug with little hearts on it, blew into the cup, and poured coffee into it. “My granddaughter made me this cup in her art class at school.”
Momma Peach graciously accepted the cup of coffee. “Best way to drink coffee is from a cup made with love, baby. I am grateful.”
Old Man Cranston sipped his coffee. “What's this about Senator Rarey?” he asked.
“I want you to tell me all you know about that man.” Momma Peach took a sip of her coffee. The coffee was strong enough to make a cat explode into a million little fur balls. “A little strong,” she coughed.
“The stronger the better. That's the way we drank our coffee in the old days when I served in the Army and I drink it the same way today,” Old Man Cranston told Momma Peach. “I might sell all of that sissy stuff folks put into their coffee, but I drink my coffee the way coffee is meant to be drank. Strong, black, no backtalk.”
“I can see that,” Momma Peach coughed again.
He sat back in his creaky, ancient office chair and took another sip of his coffee and then looked at a pile of order forms. “All this paperwork...it’s enough to drive a man insane. In the old days, things were much simpler.”
“Amen to that.”
Old Man Cranston sighed. “Okay, so you want to know about Senator Rarey?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Senator Rarey is an Independent...a real kiss-up, in other words. He plays ball with whoever pays him the highest. Take right now, for instance. You're aware that the Republicans won the House and the Senate, right?”
“I don't like politics. I don't vote for men. I know Jesus is my king,” Momma Peach explained.
“I second that,” Old Man Cranston smiled. “But still, Momma Peach, folks in this country seem to want to believe man and his politics can save their lives. That's why there's a big stink going around about this new medical bill the Republicans are trying to pass. The Democrats are furious. Those cry-babies are opposing the new bill with, let's just say, criminal intent. And it's funny that you should mention Senator Rarey, because as it stands right now, his vote can either pass or fail the bill.” Old Man Cranston took another sip of his coffee as Momma Peach absorbed his words. “A lot of money is at stake, too. Senator Rarey is in a position to come out a very rich man if he plays his cards right. Right now, he's most likely walking back and forth between parties checking on the highest bid.”
“This man, he's no good?” Momma Peach repeated.
Old Man Cranston shook his head. “Momma Peach, there ain't a decent politician in this country of ours. All the politicians up there in Washington are just as corrupt as a local thief trying to steal twenties from a cash register.”
Momma Peach decided to take a sip of her coffee. “It’s growing on me,” she said, suppressing the cough this time. “Honey, tell me, does Senator Rarey have any enemies that you might know about?”
Old Man Cranston rubbed his chin with his left hand. “The leading Democrat, a man named Denny Hilltop, has made it his mission to destroy Senator Rarey. You see, Senator Rarey beat out a very strong Democrat who was a shoo-in to take Missouri. I was kinda shocked that the guy won the race, myself. But that's politics. Needless to say, Senator Hilltop was furious, demanded recounts, tried to slander Senator Rarey, accused him of rigging the election, attacked his family with insults, the works. Nasty business, politics. People say politics ain't personal...but it is...oh, politics is very personal and very ugly…and deadly, sometimes.”
Momma Peach stared into Old Man Cranston’s eyes. “So, when is this new medical bill supposed to come up?”
“The votes are being tossed into the ring next week.”
Momma Peach nodded her head. “I see.” Momma Peach took another sip of coffee, relishing the burnt-syrup richness. She was starting to get a taste for it. “What is this new medical bill, anyway?”
“Well,” Old Man Cranston explained, “from what I understand, the bill will force insurance companies to lower deductibles, but it will allow them to raise their premiums.”
“I think that's awfully dumb.”
“It is dumb. We'll pay more out of pocket even though our deductibles are lower, because everyone has to pay the premium no matter what. But that's not the worst part.” Old Man Cranston set down his mug of coffee. “A new pharmaceutical tax will be tacked on to our insurance plans, and we will be forced to pay a new federal tax on every prescription we fill. The Republicans are insisting this tax will help the insurance companies lower their deductibles. I call it extortion, plain and simple.”
“I think this new medical bill is just another way for the politicians to get rich and the pharmaceutical companies to get even richer.”
“That's because you are a very smart lady,” Old Man Cranston replied with a begrudging grin.
Momma Peach looked at an old wooden filing cabinet shoved into the right corner of the office and began to think. “If the Democrats, those snakes, oppose the bill, then they're likely to gain a lot of favor and maybe win back the House or Senate. Did I get that right?”
“You’re starting to understand politics.”
“And Senator Rarey is caught smack dab in the middle,” Momma Peach continued.
“His vote will make or break the bill,” Old Man Cranston agreed. “Now, you tell me why you're suddenly interested in this man, Momma Peach. What's Senator Rarey got to do with Detective Chan flying into Kung Fu mode against those two thugs?”
“I’m still putting the puzzle together, honey, but when I do you'll know the truth,” Momma Peach promised. “In the meantime, you sit tight and let my brain work.” Momma Peach stood up and kissed Old Man Cranston on his wrinkled cheek. “I sure am grateful for you,” she said and hurried out of the office before he could say anything, and was back out into the falling rain.
Michelle spotted Momma Peach walking out of the store and drove up to her. Momma Peach climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up. “Well?” Michelle asked.
“Honey,” Momma Peach said as she shook her head, “we got a game of dirty politics happening and some very deadly killers sitting at the card table. Take Momma Peach to the police station.”
Michelle nodded her head and drove off into the rain.
“We have to figure out a way to trap Agent Davison,” Michelle told Momma Peach as she gobbled down a snack bar. “If we can get the man to talk, we'll have a shot.”
“That killer won't be willing to let his tongue talk,” Momma Peach said and paced around Michelle's office. “You could call Mr. McCall and have him scare Agent Davison out of town, but what would that accomplish? Agent Green and Agent Brown, oh give me strength, would surely hang around like two ugly ticks attached to a hound dog’s ear.”
“And Old Joe is still not in the clear, too,” Michelle pointed out. She walked over to the window in her office and looked out into the rain. She spotted the black sedan cruising by outside. “They're circling the police station like vultures,” she told Momma Peach.
“If those snakes are here that means Old Joe is safe,” Momma Peach replied and continued to pace around the office. “We could contact Senator Rarey. But that man might be evil himself and have Old Joe killed. It's best if we keep Old Joe hidden.”
Michelle kept her eyes on the falling rain. “I'll give McCall a call,” she explained, “and dig up some dirt on Agent Davison.”
“Make sure the man doesn't spook Agent Davison, baby,” Momma Peach warned.
“I'll be careful.” Michelle walked over to her desk and snatched up her phone. She called the FBI headquarters in Washington and made contact with a tough, no-nonsense man. “Hello, Marshall, this is Michelle Chan.”
“Michelle, how are you?” Marshall McCall answered in a pleasant voice. “It's been a long time.”
“Years,” Michelle confessed.
“The years do pass quickly, don't they?”
“Unfortunately,” Michelle agreed. “Marshall, I hate to admit it, but I'm calling professionally and not personally.”
“I had a feeling. What's up?”
Michelle drew in a careful breath and glanced over to Momma Peach. Momma Peach was now standing at the office window looking out into the rain. Michelle knew Momma Peach was in deep thought but also listening to her every word. “It’s about Agent Davison.”
There was a brief silence on the line and Michelle could practically hear Marshall close his eyes and shake his head. “I've been trying to terminate that man from the Bureau for years, but I can never seem to collect enough substantial evidence to convict him. I can tell you that right now he is operating in shadow mode, which means...”
“Which means he can't be contacted,” Michelle finished.
“Exactly,” Marshall confirmed. “Agent Davison is in shadow mode, allegedly in St. Louis where he was to infiltrate a group of doctors and insurance agencies running a Medicaid scam. Senator Hilltop is the one who requested Agent Davison specifically for that. But Davison could be flying around the world right now and no one would know. I seriously doubt he's in St. Louis doing his job.”
“Senator Hilltop? Isn't he the Senator who is vehemently opposing the new medical bill?”
“With his teeth bared,” Marshall commented. “I shouldn’t say this, but Senator Hilltop has rallied the Democrats into a war with the Republicans over the new medical bill coming up on the House floor next week. And, as usual, the FBI has been ordered to turn a blind eye to all the dirty shots being fired across the aisle.”
“Marshall, has there been any word about Senator Rarey losing a family member?”
“Not that I'm aware of, why?” Marshall asked, concerned.
Michelle covered the phone with her right hand. “Momma Peach, I need to tell Marshall the truth.”
Momma Peach turned from the window and faced Michelle. Her face was serious. “Go ahead and tell your friend the truth. I reckon Agent Davison is up to his neck in troubles and might not be as spooked as I believe, but oh well.”
Michelle lowered her hand away from the phone. “Marshall, a few days ago, a man named Joseph Ingles witnessed three men shoot and kill Senator Rarey's son. He died in an alley behind a pool hall in St. Louis. The men who killed Senator Rarey’s son are currently in my town searching for Mr. Ingles. One of the men is Agent Davison. The other two men, whose names I don't know, appear to be hired killers.”
She heard the squeak as Marshall leaned forward in his leather office chair. “Are you sure about this, Michelle?”
Michelle described Agent Davison's facial features. “Does that description match up?”
“That's Agent Davison,” Marshall said. “This man, Mr. Ingles, who is he?”
Michelle closed her eyes. Old Joe's scheming face appeared in her mind. “Well, Marshall, Mr. Ingles is a small-time con man. He was at the pool hall the night Senator Rarey's son was murdered. Mr. Ingles was leaving through the back door when he saw Senator Rarey's son shot and killed. It was bad luck. And,” Michelle shook her head, “Mr. Ingles managed to hustle a few games of pool out of Senator Rarey's son before he was murdered. To the tune of a couple thousand dollars, apparently.”
“In other words, Agent Davison is trying to pin the murder on Mr. Ingles.”
“Yes,” Michelle said. “Marshall, I admit that Mr. Ingles is a con man who can't be trusted, but the man isn't a killer. He should have gone straight to the police, but when I called St. Louis and spoke to a detective, I could tell their police department was very corrupt. Mr. Ingles had reason to run.”
“I bet he did,” Marshall replied, thinking it over. He agreed with her statement. “Where is Mr. Ingles now?”
“In hiding.”
“Good. Don't tell me his location. Keep the man hidden. I'm flying down,” Marshall told Michelle. “In the meantime, stay away from Agent Davison. The man is very deadly, Michelle. And so is Senator Hilltop. I'm not surprised that Agent Davison killed Senator Rarey's son. Hilltop is sending a clear message to Senator Rarey to swing the vote in his favor or die.”
“The FBI isn't as blind as people think.”
“Oh, we are,” Marshall said, “at least that’s what we like people to think. I've suspected Hilltop of foul play for a long time. When he personally requested Agent Davison to fly out to Missouri for this special assignment, I knew something was up. Now I know what. But,” Marshall added in a serious tone, “if Mr. Ingles is killed, I won't have any ground to stand on. Michelle, protect that man with your life.”
“I will,” Michelle promised and they hung up. “Marshall is on his way.”
Momma Peach nodded her head. Her mind was heavy at work. “Honey, we're gonna catch us a bad fish. I am sure of that. What I’m worried about is the other two bad fish swimming behind the big bad fish.”
“Hired killers are outside of the law,” Michelle said and tapped her desk with her right finger. “The two men working for Agent Davison most likely have their information erased from every law enforcement database in the country and possibly even Interpol. The only justice men like that will ever face…is death.”
“To kill or be killed, that's the code of killers,” Momma Peach mused. “And to con or be conned, that's the way of a con man.”
“You're worried Old Joe is still hiding a few cards up his sleeve?” Michelle asked.
“I know Old Joe is scared, but if that old skunk thinks for a second he has a reprieve there's no telling what kind of con he might try to carry out.” Momma Peach shook her head. “I want to help Old Joe, and I sure am gonna try, honey...but I ain't so sure Old Joe wants to help himself.”
“We can't save the world, Momma Peach. What's important is that we're investigating a murder that implicates a very dangerous politician. This case is surely going to explode when it hits the spotlight, and further divide the country, politically.”
“I know, baby, and that's why I’m worried about Old Joe. If Old Joe thinks he can get his five minutes of fame in the spotlight and catch a few pennies while he’s at it, you better believe he's gonna jump on that bandwagon and toot his horn.” Momma Peach walked to the office door and opened it. “Okay, I think we've been at the police station long enough. Agent Davison must be mighty curious as to what we're doing in here and that's what I want. We best be getting back to the bakery, baby.”
Michelle drove Momma Peach back to the bakery. They found Old Joe in the cellar. Old Joe appeared happy and calm this time when they opened the hatch. “I wanted to make sure you were alive,” Momma Peach said, eyeing Old Joe as he crawled up through the trap door into the kitchen.
“Old Joe is just fine,” he told Momma Peach and flashed a smile at Michelle. Michelle frowned and wondered what the con man was up to. Old Joe stretched his arms and casually walked toward the back door. “My, that cellar is damp. Is it still raining?” Old Joe asked, acting suddenly sleepy. But before Michelle could react, he yanked open the back door and hurried out into the alley.
“I knew it!” Michelle exclaimed and began to give chase. Surely she could run down an old man. She slid to a stop at the doorway when Agent Davison stepped into view with a gun in his hand.
“Not a move,” Agent Davison warned Michelle and looked over his shoulder into the alley. Agent Brown sneered at Michelle as he pushed Old Joe along, dragging him down the alley. He threw him into the back seat of the black sedan. “If you value your lives, ladies,” Agent Davison said in a cold, deadly tone, “forget everything and go about your daily life as if nothing ever happened. If you insist on playing the Good Citizen, then expect to be met with lethal force. The choice is yours.” Agent Davison spotted the open trap door. “Clever. Very clever. Now, both of you, get down into that hole, now!” Agent Davison motioned at the trap door with his gun. “And you, Detective Chan, disarm yourself.”
Michelle looked at Momma Peach. Momma Peach nodded her head. “Stay calm,” Michelle told Agent Davison and fished out her gun from the ankle holster. She dropped the gun onto the kitchen floor and walked over to the cellar door. “Don't kill Mr. Ingles, please.”
Agent Davison made a disgusted face. “Are you kidding me, Detective Chan? That man has caused me a great deal of trouble and now he must die. But don't worry,” Agent Davison pointed his gun at Momma Peach, “some poison in a little peach bread and Old Joe will die nice and slow. His death, of course, will be blamed on you, Ms. Johnson.”
“That's been tried before,” Momma Peach told Agent Davison and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m coming for you, boy, like a hurricane blasting onto land I’m going to come for you.”
Agent Davison laughed. “You southern people sure have a strange sense of humor. Now get down into that hole before I decide to make you both eat a bullet.”
“No, not really,” Momma Peach said with a grin as she perched her hands down onto her hips. “We both know that I can cause you more trouble if you want.”
Old Man Cranston shook his head. “I've got a bullet hole in my ceiling that needs fixing. One bullet hole is enough. What can I do for you, Momma Peach? You aren't here to fuss over my tomatoes, that's for sure.”
“Senator Rarey. What do you know about the man?”
Old Man Cranston’s eyebrows went up. “The senator from Missouri?”
“If that's the man, yes,” Momma Peach answered.
Old Man Cranston lifted his right hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “Does this have to do with the fight that happened earlier?”
“Maybe.”
Old Man Cranston nodded his head. “Walk with me to my office.”
Momma Peach followed him to the front of the grocery store and to the small office tucked into the far corner behind sturdy wooden walls. She walked into the office and closed the door. “I can barely fit in this office,” she complained.
Old Man Cranston sat down at a wooden desk crowded with invoices, inventory papers, order forms, and piles of paperwork that needed to be worked through. A coffee pot holding fresh, hot coffee sat next to an old-fashioned telephone. He picked up a coffee mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Coffee?”
“Sure, honey.”
Old Man Cranston grabbed a white coffee mug with little hearts on it, blew into the cup, and poured coffee into it. “My granddaughter made me this cup in her art class at school.”
Momma Peach graciously accepted the cup of coffee. “Best way to drink coffee is from a cup made with love, baby. I am grateful.”
Old Man Cranston sipped his coffee. “What's this about Senator Rarey?” he asked.
“I want you to tell me all you know about that man.” Momma Peach took a sip of her coffee. The coffee was strong enough to make a cat explode into a million little fur balls. “A little strong,” she coughed.
“The stronger the better. That's the way we drank our coffee in the old days when I served in the Army and I drink it the same way today,” Old Man Cranston told Momma Peach. “I might sell all of that sissy stuff folks put into their coffee, but I drink my coffee the way coffee is meant to be drank. Strong, black, no backtalk.”
“I can see that,” Momma Peach coughed again.
He sat back in his creaky, ancient office chair and took another sip of his coffee and then looked at a pile of order forms. “All this paperwork...it’s enough to drive a man insane. In the old days, things were much simpler.”
“Amen to that.”
Old Man Cranston sighed. “Okay, so you want to know about Senator Rarey?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Senator Rarey is an Independent...a real kiss-up, in other words. He plays ball with whoever pays him the highest. Take right now, for instance. You're aware that the Republicans won the House and the Senate, right?”
“I don't like politics. I don't vote for men. I know Jesus is my king,” Momma Peach explained.
“I second that,” Old Man Cranston smiled. “But still, Momma Peach, folks in this country seem to want to believe man and his politics can save their lives. That's why there's a big stink going around about this new medical bill the Republicans are trying to pass. The Democrats are furious. Those cry-babies are opposing the new bill with, let's just say, criminal intent. And it's funny that you should mention Senator Rarey, because as it stands right now, his vote can either pass or fail the bill.” Old Man Cranston took another sip of his coffee as Momma Peach absorbed his words. “A lot of money is at stake, too. Senator Rarey is in a position to come out a very rich man if he plays his cards right. Right now, he's most likely walking back and forth between parties checking on the highest bid.”
“This man, he's no good?” Momma Peach repeated.
Old Man Cranston shook his head. “Momma Peach, there ain't a decent politician in this country of ours. All the politicians up there in Washington are just as corrupt as a local thief trying to steal twenties from a cash register.”
Momma Peach decided to take a sip of her coffee. “It’s growing on me,” she said, suppressing the cough this time. “Honey, tell me, does Senator Rarey have any enemies that you might know about?”
Old Man Cranston rubbed his chin with his left hand. “The leading Democrat, a man named Denny Hilltop, has made it his mission to destroy Senator Rarey. You see, Senator Rarey beat out a very strong Democrat who was a shoo-in to take Missouri. I was kinda shocked that the guy won the race, myself. But that's politics. Needless to say, Senator Hilltop was furious, demanded recounts, tried to slander Senator Rarey, accused him of rigging the election, attacked his family with insults, the works. Nasty business, politics. People say politics ain't personal...but it is...oh, politics is very personal and very ugly…and deadly, sometimes.”
Momma Peach stared into Old Man Cranston’s eyes. “So, when is this new medical bill supposed to come up?”
“The votes are being tossed into the ring next week.”
Momma Peach nodded her head. “I see.” Momma Peach took another sip of coffee, relishing the burnt-syrup richness. She was starting to get a taste for it. “What is this new medical bill, anyway?”
“Well,” Old Man Cranston explained, “from what I understand, the bill will force insurance companies to lower deductibles, but it will allow them to raise their premiums.”
“I think that's awfully dumb.”
“It is dumb. We'll pay more out of pocket even though our deductibles are lower, because everyone has to pay the premium no matter what. But that's not the worst part.” Old Man Cranston set down his mug of coffee. “A new pharmaceutical tax will be tacked on to our insurance plans, and we will be forced to pay a new federal tax on every prescription we fill. The Republicans are insisting this tax will help the insurance companies lower their deductibles. I call it extortion, plain and simple.”
“I think this new medical bill is just another way for the politicians to get rich and the pharmaceutical companies to get even richer.”
“That's because you are a very smart lady,” Old Man Cranston replied with a begrudging grin.
Momma Peach looked at an old wooden filing cabinet shoved into the right corner of the office and began to think. “If the Democrats, those snakes, oppose the bill, then they're likely to gain a lot of favor and maybe win back the House or Senate. Did I get that right?”
“You’re starting to understand politics.”
“And Senator Rarey is caught smack dab in the middle,” Momma Peach continued.
“His vote will make or break the bill,” Old Man Cranston agreed. “Now, you tell me why you're suddenly interested in this man, Momma Peach. What's Senator Rarey got to do with Detective Chan flying into Kung Fu mode against those two thugs?”
“I’m still putting the puzzle together, honey, but when I do you'll know the truth,” Momma Peach promised. “In the meantime, you sit tight and let my brain work.” Momma Peach stood up and kissed Old Man Cranston on his wrinkled cheek. “I sure am grateful for you,” she said and hurried out of the office before he could say anything, and was back out into the falling rain.
Michelle spotted Momma Peach walking out of the store and drove up to her. Momma Peach climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up. “Well?” Michelle asked.
“Honey,” Momma Peach said as she shook her head, “we got a game of dirty politics happening and some very deadly killers sitting at the card table. Take Momma Peach to the police station.”
Michelle nodded her head and drove off into the rain.
“We have to figure out a way to trap Agent Davison,” Michelle told Momma Peach as she gobbled down a snack bar. “If we can get the man to talk, we'll have a shot.”
“That killer won't be willing to let his tongue talk,” Momma Peach said and paced around Michelle's office. “You could call Mr. McCall and have him scare Agent Davison out of town, but what would that accomplish? Agent Green and Agent Brown, oh give me strength, would surely hang around like two ugly ticks attached to a hound dog’s ear.”
“And Old Joe is still not in the clear, too,” Michelle pointed out. She walked over to the window in her office and looked out into the rain. She spotted the black sedan cruising by outside. “They're circling the police station like vultures,” she told Momma Peach.
“If those snakes are here that means Old Joe is safe,” Momma Peach replied and continued to pace around the office. “We could contact Senator Rarey. But that man might be evil himself and have Old Joe killed. It's best if we keep Old Joe hidden.”
Michelle kept her eyes on the falling rain. “I'll give McCall a call,” she explained, “and dig up some dirt on Agent Davison.”
“Make sure the man doesn't spook Agent Davison, baby,” Momma Peach warned.
“I'll be careful.” Michelle walked over to her desk and snatched up her phone. She called the FBI headquarters in Washington and made contact with a tough, no-nonsense man. “Hello, Marshall, this is Michelle Chan.”
“Michelle, how are you?” Marshall McCall answered in a pleasant voice. “It's been a long time.”
“Years,” Michelle confessed.
“The years do pass quickly, don't they?”
“Unfortunately,” Michelle agreed. “Marshall, I hate to admit it, but I'm calling professionally and not personally.”
“I had a feeling. What's up?”
Michelle drew in a careful breath and glanced over to Momma Peach. Momma Peach was now standing at the office window looking out into the rain. Michelle knew Momma Peach was in deep thought but also listening to her every word. “It’s about Agent Davison.”
There was a brief silence on the line and Michelle could practically hear Marshall close his eyes and shake his head. “I've been trying to terminate that man from the Bureau for years, but I can never seem to collect enough substantial evidence to convict him. I can tell you that right now he is operating in shadow mode, which means...”
“Which means he can't be contacted,” Michelle finished.
“Exactly,” Marshall confirmed. “Agent Davison is in shadow mode, allegedly in St. Louis where he was to infiltrate a group of doctors and insurance agencies running a Medicaid scam. Senator Hilltop is the one who requested Agent Davison specifically for that. But Davison could be flying around the world right now and no one would know. I seriously doubt he's in St. Louis doing his job.”
“Senator Hilltop? Isn't he the Senator who is vehemently opposing the new medical bill?”
“With his teeth bared,” Marshall commented. “I shouldn’t say this, but Senator Hilltop has rallied the Democrats into a war with the Republicans over the new medical bill coming up on the House floor next week. And, as usual, the FBI has been ordered to turn a blind eye to all the dirty shots being fired across the aisle.”
“Marshall, has there been any word about Senator Rarey losing a family member?”
“Not that I'm aware of, why?” Marshall asked, concerned.
Michelle covered the phone with her right hand. “Momma Peach, I need to tell Marshall the truth.”
Momma Peach turned from the window and faced Michelle. Her face was serious. “Go ahead and tell your friend the truth. I reckon Agent Davison is up to his neck in troubles and might not be as spooked as I believe, but oh well.”
Michelle lowered her hand away from the phone. “Marshall, a few days ago, a man named Joseph Ingles witnessed three men shoot and kill Senator Rarey's son. He died in an alley behind a pool hall in St. Louis. The men who killed Senator Rarey’s son are currently in my town searching for Mr. Ingles. One of the men is Agent Davison. The other two men, whose names I don't know, appear to be hired killers.”
She heard the squeak as Marshall leaned forward in his leather office chair. “Are you sure about this, Michelle?”
Michelle described Agent Davison's facial features. “Does that description match up?”
“That's Agent Davison,” Marshall said. “This man, Mr. Ingles, who is he?”
Michelle closed her eyes. Old Joe's scheming face appeared in her mind. “Well, Marshall, Mr. Ingles is a small-time con man. He was at the pool hall the night Senator Rarey's son was murdered. Mr. Ingles was leaving through the back door when he saw Senator Rarey's son shot and killed. It was bad luck. And,” Michelle shook her head, “Mr. Ingles managed to hustle a few games of pool out of Senator Rarey's son before he was murdered. To the tune of a couple thousand dollars, apparently.”
“In other words, Agent Davison is trying to pin the murder on Mr. Ingles.”
“Yes,” Michelle said. “Marshall, I admit that Mr. Ingles is a con man who can't be trusted, but the man isn't a killer. He should have gone straight to the police, but when I called St. Louis and spoke to a detective, I could tell their police department was very corrupt. Mr. Ingles had reason to run.”
“I bet he did,” Marshall replied, thinking it over. He agreed with her statement. “Where is Mr. Ingles now?”
“In hiding.”
“Good. Don't tell me his location. Keep the man hidden. I'm flying down,” Marshall told Michelle. “In the meantime, stay away from Agent Davison. The man is very deadly, Michelle. And so is Senator Hilltop. I'm not surprised that Agent Davison killed Senator Rarey's son. Hilltop is sending a clear message to Senator Rarey to swing the vote in his favor or die.”
“The FBI isn't as blind as people think.”
“Oh, we are,” Marshall said, “at least that’s what we like people to think. I've suspected Hilltop of foul play for a long time. When he personally requested Agent Davison to fly out to Missouri for this special assignment, I knew something was up. Now I know what. But,” Marshall added in a serious tone, “if Mr. Ingles is killed, I won't have any ground to stand on. Michelle, protect that man with your life.”
“I will,” Michelle promised and they hung up. “Marshall is on his way.”
Momma Peach nodded her head. Her mind was heavy at work. “Honey, we're gonna catch us a bad fish. I am sure of that. What I’m worried about is the other two bad fish swimming behind the big bad fish.”
“Hired killers are outside of the law,” Michelle said and tapped her desk with her right finger. “The two men working for Agent Davison most likely have their information erased from every law enforcement database in the country and possibly even Interpol. The only justice men like that will ever face…is death.”
“To kill or be killed, that's the code of killers,” Momma Peach mused. “And to con or be conned, that's the way of a con man.”
“You're worried Old Joe is still hiding a few cards up his sleeve?” Michelle asked.
“I know Old Joe is scared, but if that old skunk thinks for a second he has a reprieve there's no telling what kind of con he might try to carry out.” Momma Peach shook her head. “I want to help Old Joe, and I sure am gonna try, honey...but I ain't so sure Old Joe wants to help himself.”
“We can't save the world, Momma Peach. What's important is that we're investigating a murder that implicates a very dangerous politician. This case is surely going to explode when it hits the spotlight, and further divide the country, politically.”
“I know, baby, and that's why I’m worried about Old Joe. If Old Joe thinks he can get his five minutes of fame in the spotlight and catch a few pennies while he’s at it, you better believe he's gonna jump on that bandwagon and toot his horn.” Momma Peach walked to the office door and opened it. “Okay, I think we've been at the police station long enough. Agent Davison must be mighty curious as to what we're doing in here and that's what I want. We best be getting back to the bakery, baby.”
Michelle drove Momma Peach back to the bakery. They found Old Joe in the cellar. Old Joe appeared happy and calm this time when they opened the hatch. “I wanted to make sure you were alive,” Momma Peach said, eyeing Old Joe as he crawled up through the trap door into the kitchen.
“Old Joe is just fine,” he told Momma Peach and flashed a smile at Michelle. Michelle frowned and wondered what the con man was up to. Old Joe stretched his arms and casually walked toward the back door. “My, that cellar is damp. Is it still raining?” Old Joe asked, acting suddenly sleepy. But before Michelle could react, he yanked open the back door and hurried out into the alley.
“I knew it!” Michelle exclaimed and began to give chase. Surely she could run down an old man. She slid to a stop at the doorway when Agent Davison stepped into view with a gun in his hand.
“Not a move,” Agent Davison warned Michelle and looked over his shoulder into the alley. Agent Brown sneered at Michelle as he pushed Old Joe along, dragging him down the alley. He threw him into the back seat of the black sedan. “If you value your lives, ladies,” Agent Davison said in a cold, deadly tone, “forget everything and go about your daily life as if nothing ever happened. If you insist on playing the Good Citizen, then expect to be met with lethal force. The choice is yours.” Agent Davison spotted the open trap door. “Clever. Very clever. Now, both of you, get down into that hole, now!” Agent Davison motioned at the trap door with his gun. “And you, Detective Chan, disarm yourself.”
Michelle looked at Momma Peach. Momma Peach nodded her head. “Stay calm,” Michelle told Agent Davison and fished out her gun from the ankle holster. She dropped the gun onto the kitchen floor and walked over to the cellar door. “Don't kill Mr. Ingles, please.”
Agent Davison made a disgusted face. “Are you kidding me, Detective Chan? That man has caused me a great deal of trouble and now he must die. But don't worry,” Agent Davison pointed his gun at Momma Peach, “some poison in a little peach bread and Old Joe will die nice and slow. His death, of course, will be blamed on you, Ms. Johnson.”
“That's been tried before,” Momma Peach told Agent Davison and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m coming for you, boy, like a hurricane blasting onto land I’m going to come for you.”
Agent Davison laughed. “You southern people sure have a strange sense of humor. Now get down into that hole before I decide to make you both eat a bullet.”
