Page 56 of The List
THE FINAL DAY
B RENT STOOD IN THE SHOWER AND DOUSED HIS BODY WITH HOT water.
He was glad the weekend was over. The two days had been the longest of his life.
He’d worked in the yard most of Saturday.
To keep some semblance of a regular routine he and Ashley went out Saturday night, then took Lori Anne to an air show yesterday at the Screven County airport.
They hadn’t, as yet, talked with Lori Anne about him being her father.
But they would soon. After they became a little bit better acquainted.
On the way home they’d stopped by Hank’s house, where he learned nothing had been heard from Greene.
His mother sensed something was bothering him and tried last night to get him to talk.
But he knew, at least for now, it was better to keep things to himself.
Ashley had probed too. But it was bad enough that he might be in danger, he wasn’t about to involve her.
He thought about staying away from Ashley and Lori Anne altogether, but decided that if De Florio was watching he would already know all about his contact with her, and he didn’t want to do anything that would raise suspicions.
He hoped Greene was successful. Once public attention was focused on Lee and Hughes, neither would be foolish enough to harm anybody.
Or at least that’s what he’d tried to convince himself of all weekend.
He finished showering, stepped from the tub, and towel-dried his hair.
He walked out into the bedroom and switched on the radio set to WODS, the local FM station that had serviced Concord and Woods County for decades.
He’d always liked listening to the country-western format.
But his enthusiasm for the station had forever dampened Friday when he noticed on Bozin’s itemization that Lawrence Hughes owned a controlling interest.
“Good morning, Woods County. Here are the morning’s top stories. Tragedy struck Saturday as police report that local attorney S. Lou Greene was killed in a downtown Atlanta hotel.”
A chill shot down his spine.
“Greene’s body was found along with the bodies of Victoria Wyler, a thirty-eight-year-old vocational rehabilitation specialist, and her forty-eight-year-old husband, Burt Wyler, an Atlanta businessman.
Police theorize that Burt Wyler shot both, then killed himself.
Neighbors of the Wylers verified that the couple was having marital problems and had been separated for some time.
Greene and Vikki Wyler were shot with the gun found next to Burt Wyler’s body.
Wyler died from an apparently self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.
Police estimate the tragedy occurred sometime Saturday afternoon or evening and the investigation is ongoing.
No funeral arrangements have been announced.
Greene is survived by a wife and three children. ”
He never heard what the announcer said next. His mind reeled. He barely heard his cell phone ring on the nightstand. Coming back to reality, he reached down and grabbed it.
“Brent.”
It was Hank. And he’d used his first name.
Surely playing to anybody listening.
“I couldn’t talk with you about it yesterday, but you didn’t tell me you and Ashley were seeing each other.”
“I just didn’t think about it,” he said, trying to figure out where the conversation was going.
Hank laughed. “She’s a tough one. Better watch yourself.”
He faked a laugh too. “Don’t I know.”
“Look, why don’t we have breakfast in the mill cafeteria. I’d like to know more about you and Ashley.”
Hank knew all about him and Ashley and never ate breakfast at the mill cafeteria. In fact, he knew Hank religiously avoided the place. Obviously, he wanted to talk and thought a public spot the best location. “Sure, that’d be fine. I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”
Hank was right.
They needed to talk.
8:03 A.M.
B RENT WHEELED INTO THE MILL PARKING LOT AND HEADED STRAIGHT for the cafeteria.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought a car followed him from town.
The mill’s eatery filled an appendage of Building C directly adjacent to the main gate leading back into the central production areas.
It was used by almost all the employees, both hourly and salaried, and represented one of the few services the company contracted to an outside firm.
The daily breakfast included a small buffet, nothing like the extravaganza at the Comfort Inn, but a bargain at under $5.
Out of respect for Bozin, contract negotiations had been suspended for Monday and Tuesday.
So the IBEW committee, the only one yet to come to an agreement, had returned to the mill until Wednesday.
A memorial service was scheduled at St. Nicholas Catholic Church later in the afternoon and all company employees had been invited.
Until hearing the news about Greene, Brent had planned to attend.
Hank was ensconced in one of the red-and-white laminated booths, a cup of steaming coffee and a newspaper before him.
“Good to see you,” Hank said in a raised voice, obviously playing to the audience. “Get yourself something to drink or some food.”
Hank’s eyes said he should play along. So he filled a plate with eggs, grits, and toast. He wasn’t the least bit hungry but understood the importance of appearances. He grabbed a glass of orange juice and sat. Hank started to talk. Animated. His expressions not matching the words.
“Obviously, you heard about Greene.” Hank smiled for whomever may be watching.
He got the idea and faked laughter. “Sure did.”
Hank gazed down, turning his attention back to the newspaper. Today’s Savannah Morning News . “You better eat some of that food. A couple of security guards just moseyed in for coffee.” Hank glanced up and continued to act like they were having an amicable morning conversation.
He forced himself to take a few bites of egg. “We’ve got trouble, Hank.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” Hank slid him the folded newspaper. “There’s a front-page article on Greene. If you believe what’s there, seems Cue Stick got caught in the sack by a jealous husband. He and the woman were found naked.”
“That’s crap, Hank, and you know it.”
“So what happened?”
“Hell if I know. But if Greene was whacked because he knew too much, guess who’s next?”
“Good point.”
“We blew our one chance by trusting him.”
“They’re not going to get us if I can help it.”
“You have something in mind?”
“We’re going to get the hell out of this mill.”
“We shouldn’t have come in the first place.”
Hank shook his head. “That would have sent red flags everywhere. No. They’re still unsure about us. They have to be or else they would have already moved. The better tactic is for us to show up, then slip out quietly and find the cavalry.”
“That may not be so easy.”
“Now who’s underestimating who?”
“I have a huge measure of respect for the people we’re dealing with,” he said.
“Sit tight and keep your cell phone close.”
“What are you up to?”
“You’ll see.”
9:04 A.M.
B RENT GLANCED UP AS ONE OF THE ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANTS appeared in his doorway. “They want you over at the front office.”
“You know why?”
“They just said your help was needed on something right now.”
He thought about checking in with Hank but decided against it. Like Hank had said earlier, appearances needed to be maintained, so he grabbed his jacket and cell phone and left his office, walking straight to Building A.
The day seemed another summer scorcher. Both yesterday and Saturday had been marred by afternoon storms, a few turning violent with thunder and lightning.
Today’s stifling humidity signaled a repeat in the making.
The envelope with the originals from Bozin was safely hidden away in his parents’ garage, which seemed like the best place for it.
The tape recording was gone, surely now in the hands of Hamilton Lee and Larry Hughes.
Inside Building A he zigzagged the carpeted halls directly to the CEO’s office and announced his presence to the assistant.
The wooden door leading into the CEO’s private office was closed, but a man informed him they were waiting in the main conference room, the same room where, eleven days ago, he’d first talked to Christopher Bozin.
He crossed the hall and opened the door. Two men sat at the long table.
“Come in, Brent,” one man said, rising and extending a hand to shake. “I’m Hamilton Lee.”
He kept his hands glued to his side.
Lee seemed to understand. “That any way to treat your employer?
He said nothing.
Lee withdrew his hand and motioned to the other man. “You remember Mr. De Florio, don’t you?”
He shot a stare at De Florio. Did he kill his father? Or was it one of his associates? No matter. Even if he didn’t personally perform the act, according to Bozin, De Florio definitely oversaw it all. He resisted the temptation to leap across the table and strangle the son of a bitch.
He had to be smart here. Real smart.
“Why don’t you sit down?” Lee said. “Jon, please close the door.”
With little choice he took a seat along with Lee. De Florio sat after closing the door, which Brent noticed De Florio locked.
Lee said, “I understand you have some writings of Chris Bozin.”
“I understand you have a tape recording.”
Lee grinned. “I see why Hank Reed relied on you. You’re quick. Let’s just say the company decided not to associate itself with Mr. Greene.”
So the fool had tried blackmail. What an idiot.
Did Greene think Southern Republic was just playing around?
How did he think he could successfully pull that off?
He congratulated himself on not succumbing to Greene’s offer of holding on to all the originals.
Greene had been persistent, but something told him not to do it.
Though now dead, he felt little sympathy for the bastard.
Greene’s recklessness had placed them all in jeopardy.