Southern Justice, Part 54

I’m Fixin’ To present part 54 of Southern Justice:

Ray McKinley was stumped when Joey Stika requested an address to send what ever he was going to send. Thinking that B. Wendell wouldn’t want anything from The Gentlemen’s Club coming to the office, he volunteered his home address and asked when he should expect delivery.

“You’ll receive it about this time tomorrow. You want the regular, deluxe or bonus package?” Joey confirmed and asked.

“Uh, boss said he wanted the bonus package,” Ray told him.

“That’ll give you three different eight-by-tens in duplicate and in living color—got the fee?”

Ray handed the envelope containing the cash across Joey’s desk to him and watched as he counted it. When he finished he stood up and said, “Nice doing business with you Ray. I hope to see you in the club real soon.”

Ray knew he was being dismissed, and it was none too soon for him.

As promised, a large brown envelope was delivered to Ray’s apartment Wednesday afternoon. When he opened his door he recognized the face of one of the burly bouncers from the Gentlemen’s Club. “You Ray?” the muscle bound messenger asked.

“Uh, yeah, I’m Ray,” he nervously answered.

Without another word the visitor handed a large brown envelope over to Ray, turned around, and walked away.

The envelope wasn’t sealed but it did have a metal clasp securing down the flap. Ray’s hands were trembling in anticipation when he sat down at his dining room table and began fumbling with the flap. His breath caught in his throat when he spread the contents of the envelope out on the table.

“Oh Lord!” he said out loud as he studied the first photo closely. He recognized the dancer named Shanna Martin sitting in the lap of a man whom he strongly suspected to be the lawyer, Roland James. The lady was completely unclothed. The second and third photos provided some startlingly incriminating actions as Roland’s face radiated with passion and wide-eyed glee.

Quite satisfied, Ray placed the photos back inside the envelope, knowing it was time to set up an appointment with lawyer James. He had to threaten two clerks with their boss’s wrath before he finally got through to Roland. Suddenly a voice came over the line saying, “Hello, this is Mister James.”

“Mister James,” Ray replied with a tone of malice in his voice, “I have a certain file of photographs concerning yourself, which I would like to deliver to you tomorrow morning, and discuss how you should respond to one of your clients—–”

“With whom am I speaking?” Roland angrily interrupted.

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Ray tonelessly answered. “What does matter is that this information is of a very sensitive nature and you probably wouldn’t want to meet me in your office.”

There was a moment of silence from Roland’s end of the phone line, while Ray was looking at his smiling face in one of the photos figuring that he probably wasn’t smiling right now.

Eventually he heard a faint voice ask, “Then when and where would you suggest we meet?”

“In the restaurant at the Marriott Perimeter Center at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” Ray told him and then demanded, “Be there, this is not a suggestion.”

“But-but-but how will I know you?” Roland stuttered.

“You won’t, but I’ll know you,” Ray informed Roland just before he hung up the phone.

Ray was feeling exhilarated. This was much more fun than his usual duties. Later on he arrived at the appointed restaurant early enough to be working on his third scotch before B. Wendell Hormel arrived.

After B. Wendell had joined him in the booth, Ray brought him up to date on the Roland James potential blackmail caper, with some embellishments of how he had reduced their quarry into a whimpering state.

B. Wendell took it all in while he stuffed food into his mouth. In between bites he said, “I’ll bet he’s sweating bullets right now.”

“You know he is. By the way here are your copies of the photos,” Ray said as he passed an envelope across the table.

“I can’t wait to take a peek at them,” B. Wendell said as he bit into a hunk of prime rib.

“I wouldn’t do it here, boss. If anybody else sees them they would probably throw us out of here.”

“Okay, I’ll look at them later,” B. Wendell said as he waived his martini glass for a refill. “You know what to do tomorrow, Ray!”

(tmdunagan@aol.com)