Stump swiftly sidestepped a few feet, seized a bottle and hid it inside his magazine without anybody seeing him. He took another nonchalant look around. All clear. He stuffed the glass flask in his shorts. It was all remarkably simple.
His liquid gold safely stored, he traded the magazine for a cheaper one about bodybuilding and meandered innocently to the front, where he took a position in line behind the tall man with a baseball cap. As he waited his turn he noted an article about steroids. It reminded him of Richard. Then it was his turn. He plopped the magazine on the counter and paid for it with the money Myles gave him and stepped toward the exit. A quick push of the door and a couple baby steps later he’d made it outside—just as the man in the baseball hat and another guy whom he hadn’t seen backed him against the wall between them and a soda machine. “Sorry, kid. You ain’t going anywhere.”
Stump gulped. His eyes shot glances up the street and back to the big guys. Running off was out of the question. They had him outflanked, cornered and nearly screwed to the wall. His chin dropped to his chest. “Back inside,” the hatted one said.
The term dumb shit had become way too familiar lately.
Upstairs, in a manager’s office there was a two-way mirror that overlooked the store. On the sidewall there were four monitors: two for the inside of the store, and one each for the front and back of the lot. Somehow it never occurred to Stump that somebody could be spying on customers from the manager’s nest at night.
A dark-haired and pudgy uniformed lady of the security team held a cell phone as she pointed to a wooden chair in front of the monitors. “Sit over there.” Stump did as requested, which left him more or less in the middle of the room with his back to her. She stepped around from behind with her phone to her ear. “Give me officer Benoin. It’s Betsy McCracken—from the drug store, again.”
The police? That’s all Stump needed. One of the monitors flickered and a recorded image of Stump, near the magazines, came on. The lady pushed a button on a remote and the image began to move. Stump curled a lip of frustration as he watched himself snag a bottle of booze and ultimately work his way outside.
“Don’t you guys ever learn?” the lady quizzed, as if Stump had been there before.
What could he say? Blame it on Richard? He’d just get lectured about how that’s no excuse for what he did. The video started over, apparently on a loop.
“Officer Benoin,” she said into her cell. “Betsy McCracken here. I’ve got another one.” It was like something right off a TV show. Bad boy. Bad boy. Whatcha gonna do? Only this time Stump was the stupid one.
“Okay, see you in fifteen.” She hung up and returned her attention to Stump. “What’s your name?”
“Neal Randolph,” Stump said, hanging his head.
“How old are you, Mr. Randolph?”
He scuffed his nearly worn out tennis shoes across the floor. “Thirteen.”
She clicked her tongue. “Thirteen, huh? You young guys are all the same. Out to impress your buddies. Don’t think about the consequences. Don’t care who you hurt, just so long as you get your thrills. We’ll see if your friends are still impressed when you get hauled out of here in handcuffs.”
He thought about telling her that he was alone, but that wouldn’t make any difference. The underlying message was still the same. He screwed up.
“Stealing anything is bad enough, but stealing liquor at your age is even more serious. I don’t know where your parents are but you can take my word for one thing. We’re all going to make an example out of you.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Stump had been in the police building when his mom was in trouble, but the giant double-hung doors were much more intimidating when he was the one who was handcuffed.
“Over there,” a deputy said, while nudging him toward a dirty-looking wooden table.
“I’d like to call my mom,” Stump said, noting the irony. Here he was pretending to be a big shot, but the first person he wanted to call was his mommy.
“In a minute,” the deputy said. “Hold out your right hand, palm up.” Stump did as he was told and the deputy grabbed his index finger. “Roll it across the inkpad.”
“Huh?”
The deputy used both hands to guide Stump’s finger onto the pad, dousing it in ink. Then he rolled the finger over a precise spot on a thick official fingerprint card. “Next finger,” he said, seizing the middle finger. Under other conditions the procedure might have been interesting, but not at this moment. He and the deputy quickly found a rhythm as they progressed through the rest of his fingers.
“Here,” the deputy said handing Stump a quart-sized container of wipes. “After you clean up, the phone is on the desk behind you.”
A little later Stump was locked in a small room with a single table and four folding chairs. The only window was in the door to the hallway. If he were to run away, where would he go? They already knew who he was and where he lived. All he could do for now was wait and hope that his mom would cut him a break—just like he did for her all the times when she was in trouble. He scoffed. Fat chance. At least he didn’t have to worry about an angry dad who’d want to kick his ass.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Finally, just after ten, a beefy desk cop, who looked as if he’d just gotten out of college, popped his head in the room. “Your mom and dad are here,” he said in a stern, business-like monotone.
Dad?
The cop-kid stepped aside so Myles and Stump’s mom could get into the little room. Her face looked as rigid as the dead presidents on Mount Rushmore. “Hi, Mom. Sorry.”
She raised a hand like she wanted to hit him, but didn’t swing. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
Myles lightly clasped her elbow. “Why don’t we have a seat until we find out what happened?”
Stump’s mom sat next to him. “What made you do such a stupid thing?”
“You both do the same thing.”
“We sure as hell don’t steal things that don’t belong to us.”
“Well maybe if I had a dad, he’d give me an allowance and I wouldn’t have to steal things either.”
“This isn’t about an allowance or even stealing. It’s about responsibility. I thought if we took you to that game you’d be grateful, but you don’t appreciate anything.”
Myles shifted. “If you guys don’t mind me butting in, I think we’d all be better off if we find out what’s up before we yell at each other.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she snapped. “You aren’t the one who has to get an attorney.” To Stump, “How am I supposed to pay for that? Huh? Did you even bother to think of that?”
“You can just get one of your friends to do it for free, like you always do.”
She shook her head and raised her voice. “I can’t afford to ask for more favors. I’m already in too damn much trouble.”
“Calm down,” Myles insisted. “You’ve got the cart in front of the horse. Let’s just see how things play out.”
At least now they were talking about his mom and not him. He looked straight ahead for what seemed like fifteen minutes while his mom ranted and Myles tried to be supportive. Then the cop who arrested Stump joined the room. “I’m Officer Benoin,” he said. “You folks Neal’s parents?”
Myles rose and extended a hand. “I’m Myles Cooper. Detective. LAPD. Friend of the family.” He swept his arm toward Stump’s mom. “This is Ms. Randolph.”
Benoin shook hands with both Myles and Stump’s mom before taking a seat at the head of the table. “First, I want you all to know that if things go as expected, you’ll all get out of here tonight.”
Myles nodded as if to say, ”See. I told you so.”
“A few weeks ago, the drugstore took inventory and discovered they were missing a lot of items, including some alcohol. They set up a security system, and decided to make an example of whoever was the first person they busted. That person turned out to be Neal. I tried to talk them out of pre
ssing charges, but the manager’s mind was made up.”
“What will happen to him?” Jean asked.
“If the drugstore won’t back down, he’ll have to attend a hearing and either admit or deny the charges. If he admits them, the procedure is fairly swift. There will be a disposition hearing and a judge will impose some penalty. In the worst case he will be sent to juvenile hall, but probation is more likely.”
Stump’s mom shook her head and sighed. “Probation? Juvenile hall? I can’t believe this.”
“If Neal wants to deny the charges,” Benoin continued, “there will be a pretrial hearing and other formal legal proceedings will follow.”
“Not going to do that,” Stump said. “That would be lying.”
Myles nodded.
“You can decide what to do on Monday morning at the hearing, but for now, let’s just get you folks out of here.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
“It’s him,” Miranda said to Don. She tilted the phone so that he could listen in. “Hi, Sweets,” she said, trying not to sound too lovey-dovey. “I’m sorry about our last meeting. I hope we can put it behind us.”
“I’d like that, too. I guess everybody has to have their little quarrels sooner or later.”
“I’m just glad it’s over. We were both awfully tired from too much celebrating.”
Mac chuckled. “Too much celebrating? Impossible.”
“Well, we sure tested the limits, anyway. I hope I’m going to see you today?”
“Rachel’s getting ready for work now, but I can come right after that. We visited her attorney.”
“I hope it’s good news?”
“The good news is that the bad news isn’t as bad as it first sounds. So don’t get shook up when I tell you that part.”
Don rolled his eyes. “Do you have access to the money or not?” Miranda asked.
“This estate stuff doesn’t work like we thought. Rachel doesn’t get a big check or anything like that.”
“But, we get the money somehow, don’t we?”
“Not yet. Most of it is tied up in CDs, mutual funds, bonds. Shit like that.”
“Huh? Is that the bad news or the good news?”
“It’s just a starting point. After we got married, Rachel became the beneficiary of the trust. She can sell off the investments and take the money out if she wants to but when she does that, it gets taxed, so people in her situation tend to leave most of the money in there and buy big things like houses and cars in the trust’s name.”
“But we don’t care about all that legal gibberish. We just need to know if we can get what we need.”
“We can’t just reach in a cash register and grab whatever we want. There are certain limits and procedures.”
“How much can we get right now?”
“Not very much ‘cause I’m not a beneficiary. We’re going to set up a joint checking account. Maybe put fifty K in it. I can probably get to some of it. Kinda like an allowance.”
Don bolted to his feet and kicked his flimsy chair over, while a previous discussion slipped into Miranda’s mind. “Would you get it all after she’s gone?”
Don perked up and tapped his ear, indicating he wanted to listen again.
“Great minds think alike,” Mac said. “I was wondering that too. That Pappy dude was pretty smart. He set it up so that if Rachel croaks, the money goes to her kids. I think that makes them the next beneficiaries or something like that.”
Miranda’s pulse surged. “Please tell me she didn’t say anything about being pregnant ‘cause—“
“Don’t worry about it. We covered that a long time ago. It’s all under wraps for now. She hasn’t even told Granny.”
“Okay then, what if she doesn’t have any kids when she dies?” Miranda said quickly, “It goes to you. Right?”
“Now, calm down. I told you this works out.”
Miranda breathed heavily into the phone. “I hope so, ‘cause I haven’t heard any good news yet.”
“It’s not as easy as you want it to be, that’s all. If she dies, and doesn’t have any kids, and if we leave things as they are now, then it all goes back to Granny.”
“For crying out loud,” Miranda bellowed, “that’s even worse.”
“I know. But cool your cookies for a minute while I finish the story.”
“Pleeeeze,” she said rolling her anxious eyes while Don mouthed the word “dumbass.”
“I was just as bummed out as you are. Then the attorney asked me to leave the room so that he could talk to Rachel in private. It was torture, sitting in his lobby pretending to read a magazine while they were discussing all that money.”
“I feel the same way. Would you please tell me the good part before I come through the line and strangle you?”
“Turns out she has the option to change the subsequent beneficiary from Granny to anybody she wants.”
Don poked Miranda gently in the ribs. She smiled and pushed his hand aside. “Okay,” she said to Mac. “That’s better.”
“It was beautiful. Rachel told the attorney that Granny said the money was for both her and me.”
Miranda grinned at Don. “I’m beginning to like this again,” she said.
“I told you They decided that if anything happens to Rachel, I would automatically get half of the trust and her kids. would get the other half. Then I’d be their guardian until they’re old enough to manage their share by themselves.”
“But, there won’t be any kids.”
“Yeah, I know, and you’re going to love this part. If that happens, I get that half too.”
Miranda squealed and blew out a deep breath. “I love that old woman,” she said, while Don flopped backwards onto the bed and kicked his feet in the air.
“If it wasn’t for Granny saying the money was for both Rachel and me, I don’t know what Rachel would have done.”
“Perfect,” Miranda said, while Don held two thumps up.
“Not quite. There are still two hurdles.”
“Hurdles? I hate hurdles.”
“First, Rachel can change her mind anytime she wants to. Even after everything is finalized.”
“That doesn’t seem right. Once she gives the money to you, she shouldn’t be allowed to take it back. She’d always have you by the balls. You couldn’t make a move without her threatening to remove your name.”
“No shit,” Mac said. “The other thing is the attorney has to draw up some papers, making me the co-beneficiary or something like that. Nothing is official until Rachel signs it.”
“When’s that?
“Monday. Then it’s official.”
“So all we have to do is make sure Rachel signs that paper on Monday, then you can get to the trust?”
“Not right away, but I’d be next in line, instead of it going back to Granny.”
“Wow. You’ve gotta kiss Rachel’s ass this whole weekend. Take her places. Tell her you love her. Do anything she wants.” Don pretended to spit.
“Nothing to it,” Mac said. “Compared to what we’ve been through, that should be easy beans. Now all we gotta do is hope she doesn’t have a period. That could screw up everything.”
“Don’t even think like that. You just concentrate on keeping her calm and happy until those papers are signed.”
“Alright. Now, I did my part. When can I come over? I need you.”
“Just give me 45 minutes to get a few things cleaned up.”
Miranda no more than tapped the off button when Don broke in. “I’ve always loved my brother.”
She playfully slapped his arm. “You’re a lying sack of shit.”
“Maybe so, but I’m a rich sack of shit.”
Miranda wrapped her arms around him. They hugged and kissed and hugged again before she pulled back slightly. “You do realize I have to go be with him for a while?”
Don hesitated and then shrugged. “I guess he deserves a reward after putting up with that cow.”
She kisse
d him again. “Thank you for making all this possible, Donnie,” she whispered.” I know this hasn’t been easy for either of us, but I’m feeling way better now that I know there’s enough money for everybody.“
Don stroked her hair with a tenderness he hadn’t shown for ages. “But you forgot one thing,” he said.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” Miranda asked, her eyes half-closed.
“My brother said he can only get to fifty grand at a time, and that cow ain’t gonna let him pull that off more than once before she changes the rules. If you really want to take care of Mickey we’ve got to kill her. Then Mac gets control of the entire trust and we can grab it all at once.”
Miranda’s face went pale and she covered her mouth. “Oh my God, Donnie, I was so excited I didn’t put that together.”
Don looked into her eyes. “It’s taken us four months to get this far. I think we should go through with it, for Mickey’s sake.”
Just then her burner rang again. The caller’s number was unfamiliar.
Chapter Fifty-Six
“Before he cheats...”
Miranda scoffed. Usually when she was alone in her SUV she welcomed the poignant lyrics of Ms. Underwood’s songs, but not this time. She turned the music off. If only her situation were that simple.
Neither Don nor Mac would go along with dragging this mess out. That meant the whole scam pretty much boiled down to an “all or nothing” situation. If she stopped the con right now, she’d lose the money she gave the gynecologist and Mickey would be doomed to spend his remaining days in crowded and substandard government facilities—sometimes doped up—and always with little hope of ever getting better. That would amount to her passing a death sentence on her own brother. She certainly couldn’t pull that trigger.
The only other option wasn’t much better: Rachel had to be killed so that the entire trust would revert to Mac. That would take care of Mickey, but Rachel didn’t deserve to die any more than Mickey did.
It would all be so much easier if she didn’t inject her feelings into everything and everybody. When she approached it without the jumbled emotions, she agreed with Don: The least bad choice was to eliminate Rachel. But even if she were to go along with such a repulsive idea, Mac would have to be in on it. How in the world was she going to get him to kill the mother of his imaginary child?