The Last Of The Con-men

THE LAST OF THE CON-MEN

By

Earl Thompson

THE LAST OF THE CON-MEN

EARL THOMPSON

COPYRIGHT 2011 EARL THOMPSON

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PROLOGUE

The Brinks’ armored truck stopped in front of the First National Bank on Parker Avenue. Three men, armed with shotguns and holstered 9mm pistols, alighted. They were dressed in gray security guard uniforms with bullet proof vests.

They scrutinized the area before walking up to the door leading to the ATM machine. But that’s as far as they reached before they heard the command: "Don’t

move!" The voice was firm and powerful.

All three men stopped.

Hold your hands in the air and turn slowly, the voice once again commanded.

The men did as was requested. There were three thugs in front of them, dressed in black outfits and sporting black masks. The guards were all wondering where they had appeared from.

It was early in the morning; the street was empty.

The shortest of the three security guards was shaking terribly, obviously from fright. He made the mistake of gripping tightly on the gun which was about to fall out of his trembling hands; he was shot in the thigh by one of the thugs. He cried out in pain, at the same time dropping the weapon. He was holding his thigh from where the blood was flowing profusely. He looked at the blood on his hand and cried out, My god, I’m shot.

His voice was incredulous. I’m gonna die. He was looking up at his companions pleadingly, help me, he cried and dropped to his buttocks.

One of them was about to help him when they were told by the same voice that had spoken before, not to move. Drop your weapons, it continued.

The men were hesitant.

Now! he yelled.

Slowly the two who were standing threw their guns to the ground. They took those they had in their holsters and threw them down too.

One of the thugs tucked his gun in his waistband and went about picking them up, he also removed the ones the man on the ground had. He took them to a car nearby and put them into the trunk, he slammed it shut. He came back to stand beside his comrades.

The man who had been speaking since arriving on the scene, ordered one of the guards to open the back of the truck, the guard reluctantly did so.

The man who had already tucked his gun in his waistband climbed into the back, he threw out six bags. They were taken and put on the back seat of the car by one of the thugs.

The man in the back jumped out and was about to join his companions who were now in the car when he happened to glance over to where the man on the ground was being attended to by one of his friends. The man on the ground was in possession of a foot holster in which he had a snubbed nose .38 pistol. The man who was standing over him came up with it. He turned and the thug quickly pulled his gun from his waist and shot him in the neck, just where the bulletproof vest ended. The man threw up his hands and fell backward, barely missing his injured companion, the gun fell from his hand.

The man replaced his gun, ran to catch the car which was already moving, yanked the door opened, got in, slammed it shut and removed his mask.

They were three white men. The spokesman of the group was the smallest of all three; he had neatly kept beard and moustache; he was blond about forty years of age; his two companions appeared younger than he was, one had black hair, the other had red, fiery hair. The spokesman of the group was Collin Watson, a retired Engineer who had had enough of working for people. The black hair one was Andy and the one with the fiery red hair was Monty, all three were professional men who had given up work so they could concentrate on living easier. Andy was the biggest of all three. He was six feet tall and had muscles like steel.

What happened out there? Collin asked.

One of the guys pulled a gun from his friend’s foot holster; I had no other choice, answered Andy.

Damn son of a bitch, why the hell did he have to do that? asked an annoyed Collin.

Andy sighed resignedly as if he were remorseful over what he had done. I don’t know. All I know is that this is getting out of hand. I remember when they used to see our guns and respect it; now they no longer do. These guards are more daring than ever before

They abandoned the car on the side of the street and took another which was waiting close by. They drove to an apartment building where all three men went to an apartment suite and changed into regular clothing; it was a bachelor apartment belonging to Andy.

They sat around a table and discussed their next move.

Look, guys, I’m getting out of this, said Collin. I don’t care about Robbie anymore. He is sitting on his big butt and we have to be killing ourselves for him, and what does he do? Take most of the loot for himself. He can get himself someone else and put in my place.

I was thinking the same thing, said Andy. Enough is enough. And things aren’t the way they use to be anymore; I’m getting out too.

Guys, I’m with you. I was thinking of bailing out a long time ago; I’m getting old, said Monty.

His friends looked quizzically at him; he was the least talkative of the group, but when he talked, they listened.

Care to divulge where you’re planning on going? asked Andy.

I am going to Jamaica, Monty said with a smile. I’ve heard so much about this country and now I’m in a position to afford somewhere there. Robbie doesn’t have to know where we are.

Are you suggesting we go with you? asked Collin.

I think it’s a good idea that we go together. It’s a small island, but big enough for us three, what do you say? said Monty

I’m with you, said Collin.

Count me in, said Andy.

Well, since we agreed, I suggest we catch the next available flight out of here that’s going to Jamaica, said Monty.

Two days later, they skipped the country oblivious to Robbie.

Once Robbie found out what they had done, he made a vow to find them, if it took everything he had. He was once a soldier and one who believed in punishing deserters to the fullest extent. After a year of searching and spending over fifty grand, he found out where they were.

CHAPTER 1

It was an unusually cool night as three men, one white with blond hair, clean shaven, about forty five years of age and two black men, one with bearded face and another with a scar to one side of his face, strolled casually through the Half Way Tree park in Kingston, Jamaica. It was early morning and hardly anyone was on the street but they were walking calmly and quietly.

Monty was sitting on a bench by himself; he was reading a newspaper; it was opened in his lap and his head was held down over it. The white man who was leading the group, stopped and held out his hands for both men to do the same. He approached the man on the bench by himself. He roughly pulled away the paper and dropped it on the ground. Monty looked up and fear was evident on his face; Robbie was the last man he had wanted to see.

Robbie had a smirk on his face, So we are in Jamaica, are we? he asked sarcastically.

Monty did not answer.

Robbie grabbed him in the front of his shirt and roughly brought him to his feet, he looked menacingly into his face, Monty, he said through clenched teeth, where is the loot?

Monty didn’t answer. Robbie slapped him across the face, swinging his head to one side; Monty spat blood. He looked in Robbie’s face, You’ll never know, he finally said.

Well, I guess if I won’t know, you won’t spend it either. Robbie looked smilingly into Monty’s face, Monty, I could make things easy on you, just tell me where the loot is and I promise I’ll let you live.

Monty knew how ruthless Robbie was; he knew that he was also greedy for money; all he wanted was to get his hand on the loot and then he, Monty would be dead; he thought he had a better chance of staying alive if he kept him guessing about the loot.

Not over my dead body, Monty said.

Robbie let go of Monty, stepped back, took a cigarette from a cigarette case he had in a pocket of his shirt. He closed the case and replaced it. He took a match also from a shirt pocket, lifted a heel and struck it, he lit the cigarette. He flicked away the match, and sucked on the cigarette, removed it from his lips and exhaled. Where is Collin and Andy? I heard they are here too.

Monty was not answering.

I see I’m not getting anywhere with you. I have always told you that that stubbornness of yours would lead to your demise, but you never believed me, did you?

I know you, Robbie, once I tell you where the loot is that will be the end of me.

Robbie laughed forcefully. Now come on, Monty, I have always treated you right, haven’t I?

No! You have never treated anyone right; you were always for yourself.

Monty, I treated you right; I was the brain behind the gang, without me, none of you could have survived.

You lie! Monty replied stubbornly. I was just as good, probably even better than you were. But you were always taking most of the loot for yourself, even though you have never actively taken part in any of our moves.

Robbie was obviously mad. I took you and I made you into somebody and this is the way in which I’m paid.

I was better off when I didn’t have you as a friend, Monty said.

Monty, you betrayed my trust in you. He dragged mercilessly on his cigarette. He pulled it from his lips, blew the smoke in the air and said menacingly, I’m going to make you pay.

You need me, Robbie, if I am dead, you won’t know where the loot is.

He laughed forcefully again, I don’t need you for anything. I can find out what I want to know from another source. How did you think I found you?

Monty’s heart raced in his chest and a dry taste was in his mouth; he knew he was going to feel Robbie’s wrath, something he had tried on many occasions to avoid.

Robbie looked around at the black coarse looking thug with the scar on his face; he walked past him and shook his head. The man smiled, a wicked smile and then he surreptitiously produced a switch blade from the sleeve of his sweater. He pressed the button to release the blade. He walked slowly past Monty who was watching him.

Suddenly he turned, his left hand went over Monty’s mouth, he yanked back his head and slashed his throat. The blood gushed from his wind pipe. The man stepped back from Monty and watched as the inanimate body fell to the ground. He then bent and wiped the blade on Monty’s shirt.

Robbie stayed where he was and flicked the butt of a cigarette that was not completely smoked; it landed beside Monty’s body. With a shake of his head, he indicated for both men to follow him. The man with the scar, sheathed the blade of the knife in the handle and placed it in his pocket, he joined the two men who were already walking away.

John Williams, detective corporal of Police, attached to the Half-way Tree Police station, was feeling mighty exhausted that early morning as he entered his house. He took off his jacket and removed his shoulder holster with his Browning 9mm semi automatic pistol; he threw it on the bed. He dropped beside it indolently.

The phone on his bedside table rang; he picked it up, hoping it wasn’t from the station. Hello, he said grouchily; he was really exhausted and would rather be sleeping than to be talking to anyone right at that moment.

It was his cousin, calling from Clarendon, a parish about forty miles out of Kingston.

John, it’s so hard to get you, she said anxiously. Rodney is in jail.

John sat up, What? he asked, rather frightened. What did he do now?

You know how you were supposed to talk to someone about a job for him?

Yeah, but I told him he had to wait because I was busy; I had so much things doing; I was planning on coming down there today.

Well I guess it’s a bit late now; he was charged for larceny.

What did he steal now?

They said he was caught taking something from out of a store.

So he is charged for simple larceny?

So they say.

Do me a favor, will you? I need someone to get him bailed, I will try to get down there tomorrow in the morning; I can’t really guarantee anything though, because I don’t know what will come up in the morning.

Okay, I will see what I can do.

Thanks, Lorraine, I owe you.

That’s okay, John.

See you. He hung up and stood. Just what I need now, he said ironically, a cousin of mine in jail, just when I’m being looked at for promotion. Great. He took off the rest of his clothes and in his shorts, he went to the bathroom.

The phone rang, bringing John abruptly out of his slumber. At first, he was disoriented; the second ringing made him realized where he was and what had brought him out of his sleep. He reached for the phone, Hello, he said groggily; he was still feeling exhausted, having gone to bed only a few hours ago.

Willie, wake up, came the familiar voice of his partner, Johnson, We have got something for you.

What time is it? Williams asked.

Johnson was about to answer when Williams turned and looked at the clock radio he had on the other night table. Hell, man, it’s not even eight o’clock as yet.

Oh, boy, that’s the way the job goes; you’re a veteran; you must know that by now. Anyhow, we found the body of a white man this morning in the Halfway Tree Park; we think you ought to know.

Okay, I’ll be there. Where is the body now?

"At the morgue.

Any identification?

Yeah, we found an LA license in the name of Monty Clarke and some other documents which indicate he was living in this country.

What is it with the foreign license?

Probably hadn’t gotten around to changing it.

I’ll be there in the next half an hour. He hung up. He lived in Barbican which was a short drive from the area.

On his arrival at the station, the tall solidly built Williams was taken and shown to the crime scene. As he was previously told, the body had already been taken away and all that was left was the white chalk mark of where it was, where the neck was, there was a lot of blood. Williams’ partner Johnson was there with him, he was shorter than Williams was, he was stocky and sport neatly clipped moustache, he was older than Williams. Even though Jamaica’s climate is tropical, he was always dressed in a three piece suit.

Williams too, was mostly dressed in three piece suit, mainly to hide his shoulder holster. He walked around, scrutinizing the scene. He dropped to one knee as he noticed an unusual brand of cigarette butt on the ground. He took a pin from his wallet and inserted into it, he picked it up and looked closely at it. The butt was wrapped in white paper with a green circle around the bottom of it, there was the word Anderson around it and the letter R below the word in inverted commas. He took a plastic bag from his pocket and dropped it in, he stood and walked over to Johnson; he showed the butt to him.

What’s so strange about that? Johnson asked, unimpressed.

Have you ever seen this brand before?

Johnson scrutinized it more closely, No, I’ve never seen it, but then I’m no smoker.

We could be wrong, none of us smoke, but I’d bet my life this is not a regular brand.

Well we can find out when we go back to the station. Let’s go.

When Johnson and Williams arrived back at the station, they showed an old timer, a sergeant who had been in the force for thirty years; he had been smoking for much longer. He had bushy hair, bushy moustache; he had his cummerbund below his paunch and he was always shabby looking in and out of uniform. Bushy mustache and hair were not allowed in the force but anyone who knew sergeant Robinson, knew he didn’t care and they didn’t bother to trouble him; he would soon be retired anyway.

Sergeant Robinson looked closely at the butt; he shook his head; he had never seen that brand before. I have had cigarettes from the states, England and other countries, but I’ve never seen this one before. One thing I can tell you though is that this brand is not from Jamaica.

Thank you, sarge, said Williams.

You’re welcome. He returned the bag with the butt to Williams.

Williams went with Johnson to the C.I.B. office; he opened one of the drawers in his desk and threw it in. he closed it and sat. Johnson sat at his desk too.

So what do we learn from this now? Johnson asked.

That the guy who was killed was a foreigner, even though he may have been living here for awhile. It also means that whoever killed him may be a foreigner and not necessarily a Jamaican.

That’s Great, Johnson said listlessly, now we have foreigners killing each other here but we are still gonna be blamed for it.

Makes you feel like you would want to go to whatever country he is from and do the same thing, doesn’t it?

You can say that again.

A constable came from the guard room to tell Williams that a man was asking for him in regards to the murder they were investigating.

Send him in, Williams said

Sure, the young constable said and left to do his bidding.

A man in his early thirties came in; he was dressed in a business suit and had a military air about him. Williams showed him to the seat in front of him.

What do you want to tell us? Williams asked.

I wish I had something to tell you but my main reason for coming here is that I know the man who was killed and I happened to know he waits for a girl there, someone I know. I want to know if the body of a woman was found there too.

No, he was alone, or if she were with him, her body was not found there, said Johnson.

The man looked over at Johnson. I hope she is not dead; she is a good friend of mine.

What’s her name? asked Williams.

He looked back at Williams, Janice Jordan.

Williams took out his note book and wrote down the name.

What’s yours? he asked the man.

Calvin Roberts, I was once a soldier, I’m now a security guard and every time I’m coming off the late shift I always see them there together.

Do you know where she lives? asked Williams, while writing down his name.

Yeah, she lives in Barbican; the street is called Drummond Street; I think it’s twenty.

Thanks, Williams said, he wrote it down. Anything else you want to tell us?

I think that’s it.

Thanks for your help, Williams said.

No problem. The man stood and was about to leave when he asked, and what’s your name?

Williams, detective corporal John Williams.

I’m glad to meet you. He shook his head to Johnson as he was leaving.

The address the man had given to them was a neat little two bedroom house sitting solidly in the middle of a well kept lawn. It was obvious that someone was there because the front door was opened. Williams and Johnson walked up into the yard and was met by an attractive young lady, dressed in a shorts and a loose fitting blouse; she had a pair of slippers on her feet, the presence of dirt around it was an indication she had been doing some gardening. She had a machete in her hand, that too had dirt on it. There was a beautiful garden in the front of the yard.

At the sight of both men, she stopped and was wondering who they were, she looked questioningly at them.

Williams reached into his