I’m Fixing To Play Dead (Part 56)

It was difficult to comprehend, but here I was, a live person again with a driver’s license and a social security card. No more hiding in the shadows, I thought. And later this morning I would also be in possession of a checking account and a Visa Card, all through the kindness of two beautiful women. Life was good—except that one of those women was in jail wrongly accused of murder.

I had one new pair of slacks and one new polo shirt left. After I had showered and put them on I picked up the bag Sissy had left in my room which I was supposed to transfer my money into. Even though Leon had gambled a few thousand of it away, it was still almost $600,000 in 50 dollar bills.

The new bag was actually a huge black briefcase—the kind that opened from the top with two flaps for a lid and slits in them for the handle to go through. It reminded me of something an old time peddler might have carried, but it was constructed of shiny black leather and I had to admit I would much rather walk into a bank with it than my ragged old Oleg Cassini suitcase.

When I got close to completing the transfer I started thinking how all my money would soon be locked away in a safety deposit box, and the thought caused me to slip a bundle into the two inside pockets of my leather jacket, a total of $10,000.

I had almost completed the task when I got a niggling feeling of I don’t know what, but it caused me to stuff the last ten bundles, $50,000, deep inside my duffle bag and cover them with my dirty clothes. My hands were barely out of it when Sissy came in and said, “You about ready to roll?”

When we were parked in the lot of the bank, before we got out of the Lexus, Sissy extended her hand and said, “I got a present for you, Sonny Boy.”

She handed me a glossy new leather wallet. I took it and slipped my new driver’s license and social security into separate clear plastic slots. “Thanks,” I said, “I haven’t had a wallet in a long time, or what seems like a long time.”

She smiled, grabbed the car door handle and said, “Come on, let’s go get you a credit card to go in it, too.”

They were just too friendly in that bank. The moment we walked in a man in a dark blue sit approached us. “Hello, Miss Sessions,” he said while he used both hands to shake her one. He turned to me and said, “And you must be Mister Cooper, the associate Miss Sessions called about. Welcome, sir. I’m Neil Campbell.”

While he was shaking my hand he continued, “I have all the paperwork prepared, if you will both just follow me into my office.”

After I had signed my fake name to a large number of papers that Neil kept sliding in front of me he said, “How much would you like to deposit into your checking account, sir?”

I reached inside my jacket, pulled out one of the bundles of fifties and said, “Five thousand dollars.”

For some reason the amount seemed to bother Sissy. “Uh, are you sure you want to put that much in the checking account?”

“Why not?” I asked.

She shrugged and sad, “Okay, that’s fine, it’s your money.”

About that time a well dressed matronly woman appeared, introduced herself and offered to escort me to my safety deposit box.

I hated leaving my money, but when I closed the door of the box and heard the metallic clicking sound I figured couldn’t nobody get at it but me. When I came out of the vault room I saw Sissy and the banker standing next to each other in the lobby.

When I reached them the banker reached out for what I hoped was a final handshake and said, “It’s been a pleasure, Mister Cooper. Here’s your checkbook, your Visa and a key to the safety deposit box.”

As soon as we got into Sissy’s car she said, “Okay, here’s the plan—the one where you can came back to life, save Louise, and then be dead again.”

I was all ears.

She continued, “This is Friday. You could drive back to Atlanta this afternoon, replace your lost and real driver’s license tomorrow morning and be back here by tomorrow night. I talked to the lawyer this morning and he said they would probably extradite Louise to Mississippi on Monday or Tuesday. We could drive down there on Monday, if that’s all right with you.”

“What happens after we get there?” I asked.

“The lawyer is going to set us up an appointment with the district attorney in Biloxi, you’ll tell your story and we’ll get Louise out of jail.”

Deep down I didn’t like her plan, because there were too many holes in my story—too many details I would have to leave out, plus I didn’t think anybody would believe it. Besides, I could probably be charged with accessory to car theft, firing a weapon in public and who knows what else.

“What happens after we get Louise out?” I asked.

I knew I was hooked when she said, “After that it’ll just be fixing to be me and you.”