Blood Brothers (5 page)

Jerry found the building he’d been searching
for. He couldn’t recall the place when he’d learned the address and
thus, had to keep a keen eye out as he traveled up the road.
Falklands Reality was situated in a four-story brick building
butted in between an attorney’s office and a loan company. The
place didn’t look especially fabulous, but Jerry was wise enough to
know that a large percentage of the charm of these downtown
buildings was their ancient feel.

He pulled the car, a green Ford Taurus, into
a slot, thankful parallel parking was not required. Just like the
mind’s roadmap, driving skills grew rusty if not used for a time.
The first time he’d gotten behind a wheel in, well, almost twenty
years, he had broken out in a sweat before even turning the key
over in the ignition. He’d pulled onto the freeway and sailed up to
almost seventy-five. His butt hole had puckered so tightly he’d
walked funny for the rest of the day.

But, as with everything else, Jerry had
adjusted.

Now, stepping from the car onto the sidewalk,
Jerry felt much more confident than he had in a very long time.
Though he’d forgone the tie, he was dressed business casual: penny
loafers, starched and creased slacks, and a very nice shirt. His
slightly thinning black hair was recently barbered and had the look
of precision. Jerry’s walk was strong and sure. His demeanor was
purposeful. There was no way anyone would take him as not belonging
here. His only fear was that there was a chance someone might
recognize him.

Recognition was good, just not quite yet.

As he stepped up to the door of the realty
office, the door opened towards him and an old woman stepped
out.

“Oh, excuse me, young man,” she said.

Taking the door with a hand, he held it while
she walked out. The fragrance of recently cut flowers left too long
in the sun assaulted his senses.

“That’s so nice of you. Nice to see a man
with polite manners,” she said, her breath worse than the
flowers.

“It’s my pleasure, ma’am.” Then when the lady
was several feet from him, he muttered, “Hag.”

Inside, the flowers and bad breath were
replaced by the scent of furniture polish, lemon-scented at that,
and a light dose of cinnamon air freshener. Singly, the smells
would possibly be pleasant. Together, they were not much to speak
of.

The reception area was modernly decorated.
Cheap but attractive, it could be the waiting area in any such
office all across the country. Nothing stood out; nothing spoke of
uniqueness. The reception desk was wide and high, and Jerry stepped
right up to it. Seated at the desk, working at a keyboard, was a
middle-aged pudgy woman who thought that platinum blonde was a hair
color that truly befitted her. Unfortunately, Jerry would have to
disagree. There were ugly women, and then there was this.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her voice
seemingly coming out her nose.

“Yes, Derek Hallmark. I have an appointment
with Ms. Vaughn.”

“One second,” she said. She reached for the
phone, pressed a button, and spoke quickly. After she hung up she
said, “If you’ll have a seat, she’ll be with you in a minute.”

“What if I stand?”

“Excuse me?”

Okay, Jerry thought, she’s hard on the eyes
and has no sense of humor. Either she lives a lonely life or she’s
a dyke. Either way, she probably doesn’t get invited to many
parties.

“Never mind,” he said and sauntered over to a
small sofa, found an outdated issue of Newsweek, and settled in.
After about fifteen minutes a tall, and very attractive—it wouldn’t
take much compared to Blondie—woman whose only flaw, as far as
Jerry could tell, was that she dressed a bit too fashionably for
her surroundings. When she called his name, he noticed that she had
a delectable Southern Belle accent. Made you think of apple pie,
wide blade fans, and ladies in old fashioned dresses.

He smiled, tossed his magazine aside and
followed her through the doorway.

“Sorry if I kept you, Mister Hallmark.”

“Please, Derek, the mister part makes me feel
old.”

“Okay…Derek…I hope you’ll accept my
apology.”

“To apologize, Miss Vaughn, you’d have to
have done something wrong first. You were taking care of business.
Nothing in the world wrong with that. Personally, I like to see a
businesswoman stay on the top of her game.”

Despite the corniness of the remark, Jerry
saw the woman smile. And woman was stretching the word. Vaughn had
to be in her mid-twenties. That or she’d apparently stumbled on the
Fountain of Youth.

“Well, thanks. And by the way, call me
Carrie.”

They arrived at her office—Jerry saw this by
the placard next to the door. Jerry took the opportunity to extend
his hand. “Nice to meet you, Carrie.” The girl looked at him for a
moment, gave another smile and took his hand into her own. Her palm
was warm, silky, a stark contrast to his own. Her cheeks were
tinged with red. Everything was going according to plan. So far,
that is.

“Please, come in.”

Jerry took in the office in one sweeping
glance as he stepped over the threshold. The fact that her name was
not associated with the business was not the only indication that
Carrie was the low person on the totem pole. The small, cubed space
was only slightly larger than a storage closet, and Jerry had seen
bigger windows on tree houses.

Taking her seat behind a cheap desk, Carrie
began shuffling manila folders. “Okay, Mister…I mean…Derek. I
didn’t get a chance to ask you on the phone, but what exactly are
you looking for.”

Jerry tried to appear as if he were
considering this. In fact, he was performing from a script that he
had truly labored over. “I’d like something in the city. Big yard,
nice shrubs.”

Carrie gave the perfunctory nod. “What kind
of budget?”

“Say one to one and a half mil.”

She dropped the folders, swallowed hard and
looked up. “Say again?”

Good. Hooked, line and sinker.

“Now, that isn’t the absolute ceiling, but I
wouldn’t want to go too far above that.” Jerry saw the gears
grinding inside her pretty little head. No doubt she already had
her commission figured down to the last nickel.

“Well, all right. Have you any specific place
in mind?”

“No, not really. I’m from a small town in
Georgia. Beaumont. Ever heard of it?”

“Sorry. Can’t say I have.”

“Nice place, a lot like Benedict. Never heard
of the town before last week. An associate of mine suggested I take
a look around. So far, I’m quite impressed.” He made no secret of
smiling at her. “I’ve rode around, checking out the houses. I
really like the local architecture. Reminds me of home.”

“What brings you to Mississippi, if you don’t
mind me asking?”

“Of course not. Actually, I’m semi-retired. I
owned a computer security firm. Sold out to a company out of
Nashville. They kept me on in a small capacity, so I’ll be making
trips up there about once a month.”

“Semi-retired? I take it you made out pretty
well.” There was no denying the predatory glimmer in her eyes.

“You could say that.”

“How fortunate,” she said. Her hands began
flying over the keyboard. For such a looker, she typed
proficiently. “I think we might have a couple things you’d be
interested in. But to tell you the truth, most real estate in the
county goes for much less. Chances are I can find you a nice place
that you’d like to put some money into. How’s that sound?”

“I’m not opposed to that idea. When can we
get started?”

“Well, let me run off a few pages for you,
photos and amenities, etc. You look them over and Monday we can
tour the ones you like best.”

“Monday?” Jerry gave his best deflated tone.
“I was really hoping we could get on this today.”

“To tell you the truth, Derek, I have plans
to travel this afternoon. I won’t be back until Sunday
evening.”

“A small vacation?”

“No, not really. I have reservations in
Memphis for a few days. Shopping with some girlfriends, you know,
that kind of thing.”

“Oh, I see. Well, perhaps I’ll check with
another agency. I’m in quite the hurry. No hard feelings, eh?” He
stood, pushing his chair back.

“No, no,” Carrie almost shouted shooting up
with him. “There’s no need for that.” Watching the expression on
her face as the young agent envisioned the commission she had just
calculated disappear into thin air was as vivid to Jerry as if he
were watching it on a theater screen. “I actually don’t have to
leave until later. I’m sure that we can squeeze in several showings
before then.”

Jerry sat back down. “Are you sure? I
wouldn’t want to put you out. Cause trouble with
your…girlfriends.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m a woman. I can always
shop.”

Good, very, very good. Everything was playing
right down to the letter.

Memphis, Tennessee is birthplace of the
blues. Known as the home of Elvis Presley, the city squats next to
the Mississippi River. A place of history and of culture, Memphis
is the jewel of the area known as the mid-south. From its rich
suburbs to its inner-city dwellings, diversity is the buzz word
here.

From the outer edges to the center of
downtown, you pass through varying degrees of southern hospitality
and expose yourself to lifestyles not glimpsed anywhere else for
hundreds of miles around. Since the days of Sun Records and Jerry
Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash, Jerry Perkins, and the King himself, the
city has been a part of the country’s consciousness. But its
influence began much, much earlier.

If you’re searching out outstanding live
music, you’d be hard-pressed to beat Beale Street. Only a few
blocks from the river and just a hop, skip, and a jump from
downtown, Beale Street is a festival of excess. Some Memphians
prefer the immortal Bourbon Street farther down south in New
Orleans, but the preference is, more often than not, due to
familiarity rather than true allure.

From piano bars to sidewalk beer stands to a
horse drawn carriage ride, the glitter of this place is hard for a
new inductee to fathom. Smells of wonderfully prepared food from
long-standing bar-b-que joints, hamburger diners, and even a
Brazilian steakhouse arouse hunger, and the promise of two-for-one
beers will satiate the thirst. At the end of Beale stands the
Orpheum Theatre, a fine playhouse still visited by some of the
world’s biggest productions.

From Beale you can move out and find AutoZone
Park, the home field of the Memphis Red Birds. The Pyramid, a
wonderfully designed, but ultimately costly mistake, gives the
skyline a unique distinction. Mud Island, more a sandbar than an
island just below the bridge leading off to Arkansas, boasts a
multitude of Mississippi River related family activities that
attract more and more people each summer. The zoo, located on the
opposite side of the city, also brings throngs from the tri-state
area in at least once a summer, sometimes twice or more.

In short, in a land of small towns, Memphis
reigns as the top metropolitan destination. For with big cities,
comes big city entertainment.

The Peabody, the city’s one and only
four-star hotel, sits only a few streets from the river, the
Pyramid, AutoZone Park, and Beale Street. The destination for the
elite, visiting dignitaries, touring superstars and such ilk, the
Peabody is the place for everyone to visit to watch the ducks
parade in and enjoy their indoor pool. The ducks have been marching
twice a day since the early 1930’s, and it seems like a visit to
Memphis isn’t complete without seeing them. Beyond the majestic
ballrooms, the elegant rooms and the valet parking is the famed
Sunday Brunch. Michael had dined there on several occasions, twice
even bringing his wife with him.

The drive from Benedict to Memphis had taken
a little over two hours and as soon as he was checked into his
suite, Michael ordered room service while he awaited his guests.
This little jaunt was much more than pleasure. Tonight he would be
inking a deal for a fifteen story building, only several blocks
away. Michael had purchased the building five years ago for a steal
and now, when the deal went through, he would make a profit of
almost five hundred percent. No chump change here. The purchaser,
Medrick Pharmaceuticals, was throwing a glitzy gala in the ballroom
downstairs, a real black-tie event. Stephanie used to accompany him
to such functions, but a time had come when he’d stopped inviting
her and she’d stopped volunteering. He always attended these events
stag, giving the cover story that Stephanie was home with Christal.
But that did not mean he would be spending the night alone.

At two o’clock this afternoon, however, he
had a quite different meeting planned. Entrepreneur Magazine was
doing an article on him, and he was meeting with a staff writer for
an interview and a photographer for a photo shoot. Truth be told,
he was really excited. He was wealthy, true enough. He had built a
land development company from scratch. He had achieved much more
than he’d ever thought possible, much more than anyone else would
have thought as well. He did not consider himself a bad person.
Perhaps he wasn’t the best husband the world had ever seen, but he
prided himself on being a good father. He contributed a respectable
percentage of his income to his community. Last year’s Toys for
Tots drive had been financed, in no small part, by none other than
Michael Cole. He was loyal to his friends, the few he had. But to
receive recognition for all his accomplishments thrilled him to no
end. Almost as much as the lifestyle he kept, recognition meant so
very much to him.

After all, what was anything worth, without a
tally?

Ordering lunch of a steak sandwich and pasta
salad, Michael ate watching CNN. Most days, he didn’t go a good
hour without getting updates from some news service or another. He
had the CNN ticker on all his computer screens, his Blackberry cell
phone dinged with the latest national and global developments and
anytime there was a TV around it was either turned to CNN, Fox
News, Headlines News or ESPN. While it was true that not very much
of the news covered on those stations had a direct impact on him,
it was always wise to know as much about the world around you as
possible.