Play Dead (Part 21)

I’m Fixing To Play Dead (Part 21).

I had the old money belt, with the 20,000 dollars cash safely tucked inside it, strapped around my waist underneath my shirt.

Somehow, having all that cash on me gave me a feeling of security and a renewed enthusiasm about chasing down my old thieving friend Leon, and recovering the money he has made off with from our motel room, as well as pursuing my goal of playing dead, disappearing and becoming someone else.

But there was another item inside the open safe. I could see the dark outline of it. It had also belonged to my Uncle Virgil. He had brought it back from Viet Nam. Said he had taken it off of a captured Viet Cong officer. It was a smooth black pistol of some Russian make with 12 rounds of ammunition in the clip.

I remembered he had always kept it next to his bed, and even though I had never fired it, I knew I could because he had taken it apart and put it back together at least a dozen times in front of me.

Without any further hesitation, I took the pistol out of the safe and placed it in the inside pocket of my leather jacket, closed the safe and backed out of my office, taking one last long look at it.

I grinned as I told myself that I was a burglar who didn’t have to worry about leaving fingerprints.

Back in the outer office I looked around in the simi-darkness at the workstations of my former staff and felt another twinge of guilt knowing that they all would soon be out of work.

But by now they all probably knew that I was dead because they all knew my itinerary and had heard about the deadly plane crash in Birmingham. With that in mind they most likely would see the writing on the wall and rush out to find new jobs, thereby, along with the efforts of the Government Office of Circumlocution, seal the fate of VegX.

I glanced up at the bulletin board and noticed a memo with the letter head of Talley Vinegate, Executive Director of the Office of Circumlocution, advising all employees there would be a meeting at 9 a.m. sharp on Monday morning concerning government inspection of all fruits and vegetables prior to being sold to the public.

VegX had popped up in the government’s cross hairs when they noticed the stupendous growth and cash flow involved, and now they were telling us we had to have bar codes on cabbages. They just didn’t get it, that VegX was a very profitable business because the government was not involved.

I couldn’t resist picking up a red grease pencil at the bottom of the bulletin board and writing “Cancelled so work can proceed,” across the full face of the document. “Let her mull over that first thing tomorrow morning,” I thought as I headed for the exit.

I left the VegX building feeling much better than I had when I entered it, pushing the memories away, because they were no longer what my heart and mind desired.

The Sunday night traffic was light and I managed to cross back over to the Waffle House and had only been lurking in the shadows of the parking lot when Red’s taxi arrived, tires crunching on loose gravel. I immediately climbed into the back seat and said, “Hey, Red. Did you pick up any fares while you was gone?”

“No, sir, Mister Cooper. I was so excited about a trip all the way to Birmingham, that I went home, grabbed a shower and a toothbrush. You were serious about that trip?” Red inquired.

“Serious as a heart attack, Red. We can get started if you’ll go back to my motel and let me pick up my bag.”

We had gotten off of I-285 and were passing Six-Flags when Red said, “By the way, I checked with my dispatcher, and the fare one-way is only three-hundred and fifty bucks.”

I fumbled around in the dark, extracted eight fifties from my money belt, handed them over the seat and said, “Here it is, including a fifty dollar tip.”

Red started talking after that, but his words began to overlap and sound like they were coming from further and further away as I drifted off to sleep with one hand on my money belt and the other on my pistol.

Red’s voice brought me out of a sound sleep. He must have had a hard time awakening me because he was saying, “Hey! hey, Mister Cooper. We’re coming into Birmingham. You need to wake up. I need an address of where it is you want to go.”

“No, I don’t. I’ll just have to give you directions as we go.” I had to pay close attention after that as I leaned over the seat and gave Red the directions I remembered when Leon and I had left yesterday. When I saw the entrance to the trailer park I said, “Pull over right there, at that trailer park entrance. My uncle lives about three rows back and I want to surprise him,” I lied.

As I got out of the taxi Red said, “I won’t be leaving town until tomorrow morning. If you want a ride back on anything just call that number on the card I gave you. It’s my cell number.”

“Okay, Red. Thanks for the ride,” I said as I closed the vehicle door. Then I watched the taillights recede into the night, leaving me standing in the dark sometime close to midnight. I turned toward the trailer park and started walking toward Leon’s trailer, and my heart skipped a beat as I thought how surprised Leon was fixing to be.