The Briefcase

By Bobby Sims

Jeff Sams finds his investigative skills are to be put to the ultimate test due to his own father being murdered. By coincidence, his commitment to find the one responsible teams him up with a friend working for the CIA who elicits his help in a national security breech against the United States. As the plot thickens, it unfolds into an international involvement as well as a connection to his fathers murder. The similar interest of both friends leads them down a parallel and dangerous path, which for Jeff culminates in a troubling and surprising conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524609610

Bobby Sims

The author was born in the Delta region of Mississippi. During that period and place of his youth, he was exposed to the past time of family storytelling as the most common of entertainments. His father’s side of the family was also strongly inclined to be observers of people, especially their peculiarities. Through the years, he concluded he had these same traits. As a result, he became a storyteller of various experiences during his own lifetime, especially the twenty-five years he worked for Delta Air Lines. As an avid reader throughout his life, he began to wonder if he could write a novel himself, which resulted in The Briefcase.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Monday, April 12, 2010

Early in the morning, James Rushin was cleaning up one of the offices at the government complex where he worked as a part-time janitor. As he bent over to pick up the trash can next to the desk, he noticed a black leather briefcase sitting inside the leg space. He had never noticed one being there at any time in the past. "The owner must have forgotten to take it home or secure it safely in the building," he thought. His curiosity got the best of him when he recognized it as similar to ones he’d seen in a large container in the shipping and receiving building, where he worked for the remainder of his forty-hour week. Typical of government purchases, only a few of these had been handed out for use. With no staff in the building yet, he decided to pull the briefcase out and open it up. He quickly pulled out the files inside. As Rushin narrowed his eyes and hurriedly scanned the documents, he could feel his face flush in shock. As he continued the shock turned more to the excitement of what was contained there, especially in one of the partitions. Finishing, he carefully returned the papers and briefcase.

After his janitorial duties were finished, he returned to the shipping and receiving warehouse. The first thing he did was to take the time to revisit the cardboard container over in a darkened corner of the warehouse, double-checking to see whether the briefcases were indeed an exact match to the one he’d just looked through. Confirming that they were, he concocted a plan to make copies of the briefcase’s contents. He had to dismiss his first idea of just switching out the briefcase with one of the empty duplicates, since the owner’s briefcase had a nameplate attached to it.

In the year and a half he had been employed, he’d been engaged in periodically absconding with various items from the warehouse. One of his jobs was refilling a large number of snack machines around the various buildings of the large government facility, so he’d begun stealing snack machine items stored there. He’d devised a system of removing them from the premises by hiding them in unused and forgotten briefcases. He would secure a few briefcases under his car’s back seat before leaving his job for his parents’ home, where he still lived. That night, unable to drop off to sleep, he worked out in his mind exactly how he would proceed. It finally came to him that he would need to copy the contents of the briefcase.

On Tuesday morning, before anyone was due to arrive for work, Rushin entered the office as he’d planned. Because this particular office didn’t have a copier, he would have to use the one in the secretary pool office. In the unlikely event that someone came in early, he had brought an empty briefcase, hidden in his large refuse container, to place under the desk until the copying was complete. He thought he could always swap the briefcase back later if that happened.

When he reached the secretarial pool copier, he tried to open the briefcase, but it was locked this time. That fact was enough to cause concern, but the panic mounted when he noticed through the window that the briefcase’s owner was approaching the building’s front door.

He’s not supposed to be here for another hour, Rushin thought. Quickly, he exited the room and turned into a nearby restroom, to keep from being seen by the owner. He hoped he could return the original briefcase later.

Unfortunately, that time never came. The office was occupied with one or more people all day. He decided to take the case home with him that evening and try to replace it early the next morning, hoping the empty one would not be discovered. Late that afternoon, his movements of the last two days were observed by a replay of footage from a hidden security camera. Quick plans were made to eliminate his intended greediness.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Odie Sams grimaced from his arthritic shoulder as he used his extension grabber to snare another can; flipping it into the plastic tub he’d attached to the front frame of his Honda four-wheeler using bungee cords. As he idled along sidesaddle, he could just barely hear the sound of traffic over the quiet throb of the Honda’s single-cylinder engine. The noise came from Interstate 40, which was almost a mile away from the county road he was trying to clean up.

Depending on the moisture in the air, some days he couldn’t hear any noise at all. These days it seemed there was a continually growing amount of other trash to go along with the beer cans and bottles. At least it was easier picking up those things than the couch he’d seen in the ditch last week. Strangely enough, the couch had been gone by the next morning, since someone must have thought it was good enough for him or her.

How did the people of this country come to be so nasty? he thought. He couldn’t help but remember the words of Chief Seattle, the old Indian, who’d cautioned the white man of suffocating in his own filth. He couldn’t change the world, but maybe he could help keep this little stretch of road clean.

The sunlight over his shoulder glinted off a shiny object in the grass on the right side of the road about a hundred yards ahead. As he approached the object, it was lying fairly well hidden in the grass, but shortly he knew it was a briefcase. With his heart racing, he got off the ATV trying to keep his excitement subdued, but without success. He’d experienced the same feeling in the past when he discovered something that looked as if it would be quite useful or valuable.

Keeping his curiosity in check was difficult but he intuitively knew he didn’t want to be observed by anyone driving by seeing him going through it. He could wait until he got back to his house. The briefcase was scuffed and dirty, most likely from having been thrown out of a vehicle. He secured it on the back rack of his four-wheeler under an old lawn chair cushion he kept there for when anyone would occasionally ride behind him. He continued picking up trash on the right side of the road, heading toward the interstate. Once there, he would turn around and pick up the trash on the opposite side until he arrived back at his driveway.

As usual, traffic was almost nonexistent, but Odie hadn’t survived the booby traps and snipers of Vietnam and reached the age of seventy-one by being careless. Any movement on his periphery always registered in his mind, even as his eyes focused on the ditch line for trash. The black Ford Crown Victoria registered with him though as it passed by. With a quick glance he noticed it was occupied by two tough-looking men in suits and ties. The occupants had that look: definitely not a family on the way to the supermarket.

On his way back from the turnaround at the interstate and coming within sight of his driveway, he noticed the same car turning around in his driveway and coming back toward him. He made the typical country gesture of waving to them as they passed by, but he couldn’t help but observe that the wave wasn’t returned. The men were also looking at him in such a concentrated way that he felt uncomfortable, like he’d been caught doing something wrong. He thought, Oh well, just two city fellows looking for someone and with no country-waving experience. He continued on home. His house was back off the county road, located up a gravel driveway about three-quarters of a mile away on top of a five-hundred-foot ridge. The driveway first went over a much lower ridge, turning west and going through the valley before turning up to the house on the second ridge. He and his wife, Del, had built the house about twenty years earlier after his only sister’s two sons and daughter persuaded them to share in a portion of four hundred acres the three of them and their families had purchased. He’d ended up buying forty acres from them, with all four families living on the same ridge. Now that his wife had died, he was mostly alone during the day, since everyone else had day jobs to go to on a regular basis.

Arriving at his house, he pulled the four-wheeler into the garage, not waiting to take care of the trash. He was more anxious about finding out what was in that briefcase, he could see to the trash later. As he was retrieving the briefcase from under the cushion to place on top of the back frame of the four-wheeler he began to wonder. Why would someone toss such a nice briefcase into the ditch? Could there be money in there? Due to his anxiousness the lock refused the manipulations of the small blade of his pocket knife to get it open. Finally realizing he didn’t want to damage the case, he remembered that he had a large key ring full of old keys inside the house.

As he stepped into the garage with the keys, the popping sound of tires on gravel got his attention. He walked outside onto his circular drive. Coming up the ridge was the familiar pickup of his close hunting and fishing buddy, Clarence Lollar. Lollar rolled up, parked his pickup, and got out. He was about the same age as Odie, and he’d been widowed a few years earlier than his friend. Their close acquaintanceship had somewhat come about because of their shared grief experiences.

What’s going on? Clarence said.

Who wants to know? Odie replied, his tone irritated and his mind still on the briefcase.

Today was the day we were to go check on those deer dogs, you know.

Even now, as Clarence spoke, Odie visualized the two men passing him in the Crown Victoria and looking at him and his four-wheeler ever so carefully. Odie realized that trying to double-track his concentration had made his tone of voice irritated. He tried to put the briefcase out of his mind and was about to respond in a gentler tone when Clarence must have noticed it sitting on the four-wheeler.

Where’d you get the briefcase?

Found it in my trash pickup today.

Looks like you did pretty well in the trash department today.

It’s just an old briefcase somebody didn’t want. I don’t expect it will be much use to me since I’m not the briefcase-carrying kind of guy. Maybe I can use it to store something.

Whats in it? Clarence replied.

Odie not wanting to share what he would find inside the briefcase replied caustically,

I’ll check on that later in my own time.

Odie hoped Clarence would read the voice inflextion and decide not to pursue the subject any longer. Clarence replied,

Well, you ready to go check on those dogs?

Today wouldn’t be a good day for me, as I have a good bit of work to do around the house, maybe another time.

Well, we can do it some other day, so I’ll check back with you later, okay? Clarence paused. By the way, I don’t know if you have heard, but as I was coming this way across Cadron Creek, I ran into the sheriff and a number of his deputies at the bridge. It seems like someone who was putting their boat into the creek at the ramp discovered a dead body. I don’t know all the details, but it seems like it was a pretty brutal death, according to Deputy Boyd, who was directing traffic. See you later.

When Odie didn’t answer, Clarence left with Odie thinking to himself, He probable thinks I’m not very friendly today, but I have to find out what’s in that briefcase.

Thumbing through the keys after Clarence disappeared down the ridge, Odie immediately found one that opened the case. Opening it, he found a variety of snacks inside, as well as partitions on the lid side of the briefcase. The papers appeared to contain a list of American names as well as foreign ones he couldn’t pronounce. There were pages containing strange numbers and data he didn’t understand. The list of numbered items all appeared to have serial numbers connected to them. Lastly, there were what looked to be payment records to and from various people, some with foreign names. Since it was such a nice briefcase, even with the scuffs and dirt on it, he couldn’t figure why someone would want to get rid of it. Even by his untrained eye, these documents appeared to be too important to throw away. Maybe the paper work was no longer of interest to anybody. The candy bar he’d tried to eat sort of confirmed that no one would want any of it.

Suddenly he remembered the car turning around in his driveway and the looks the men had given him as they passed by. Could they have been looking for the briefcase? He dismissed the thought and went inside the house with the briefcase, rummaged through his belongings and picked out items he could put inside to replace the sundry snacks while leaving the curious papers. He put the snacks in a large glass bowl on the kitchen counter, hoping some would be good enough to eat. He returned to the garage and sat down on the steps. He tried to put some things together in his mind about the morning’s events, especially the news about the murder. Finally, he got up, taking the briefcase with him, and walked toward the woods on the east side of the house.

About fifty yards from his house was a large stone fence, which was one among five he had built at various locations around his house. They’d been built in the old-time style of layering the various stones without mortar, fitting each stone together in its most supportive and accommodating way. This he had done after he retired from public work, and having the time to do so, he’d found the project to be an enjoyable and relaxing undertaking. Not only that, but it had been born of necessity due to the hundreds of rocks covering the ridge. The fence certainly had improved his grass-mowing duties around the house. His nephews and niece on the ridge had started calling him the Rock Man not long after he began the work.

In this particular fence, he’d created a hidden section to hide various items he thought might be of lasting value. The only persons he’d revealed the hiding place to, other than his deceased wife, was his daughter, Darcy, and his son, Jeffery. He’d built the hidden section in such a way that someone needed to remove only one large rock to access the open area inside the fence. He placed the briefcase in the hiding place, remembering how the kids and his wife had all laughed at this peculiar part of his character. Closing it back up, he returned to the house.

******************************

A few hours later, the driver of the black Crown Victoria pulled under a large oak tree located near a ninety-degree curve of the county road near the interstate. He just sat there in the shade, staring off into space, until his partner couldn’t stand the silence any longer and spoke out. Whatcha thinking about?

There was no answer forthcoming, only silence again. His partner looked at him with a look of disgust and opened his passenger-side door, announcing that he was taking a nature-style bathroom break. Hearing no protest, the larger man jumped the ditch and headed off into the woods. On his return he found his companion ready to talk.

The driver was the smaller of the two in build with a darker complexion; he obviously held a degree of authority over the much larger man, who was more of a ruddy complexion. As soon as the larger man got back into the car and was seated, the driver tapped him lightly on the shoulder. With piercing coal-black eyes and a quiet but firm voice, he said, I’m telling you for the last time—don’t make a move without me saying it’s all right. Do you hear me?

After finishing his sentence, he reached up slowly and pinched the large man’s rather fatty cheek not so gently, continuing to look as if right through him. The large man appeared to start a reply, but when the smaller man shook his head, the intended and unsaid words left his mouth hanging open. The driver released his hold on his partner’s cheek, and the large man said in an almost childlike tone, I’m sorry, Gumbo.

The driver straightened and proceeded to explain in the same quiet but firm voice what he’d been thinking about so hard. Speaking as if he was confirming what he had been mulling over he began talking more to himself than his companion.

When we caught up with Rushin at the bridge last night, there wasn’t any sign of the briefcase on him or anywhere in the car he was driving; we also know that when we first pulled in behind him on Interstate 530, south of Little Rock, he gave no indication of knowing we were behind him. It wasn’t until he got on this sorry gravel road that he discovered we were following him and took off in that cloud of dust. With the darkness of night and dust in front of us, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t get rid of it before he got to the bridge. Most likely he would have thrown it out of the car somewhere between here and the bridge. Since he was driving so fast and with the number of curves in the road, there would only be a few straight sections where he would have been comfortable doing that. We’ll carefully check those few straight sections first, and take it from there.

Late in the afternoon, they were finishing up checking the road on both sides, all the way from the Cadron Creek Bridge to just before the interstate. As they are outside of their car searching around the ditches on both sides of the road, they notice a pickup truck coming their way. They quickly reentered their vehicle and sped away toward the inter-state not wanting to be seen searching around the roadside.

In the pickup was Odie going to the county dump with his trash. He had noticed them about two hundred yards ahead of him, and observed them searching around as if looking for something. When Odie got to the interstate, they were nowhere to be seen, but their actions caused him to continue having doubts about keeping the briefcase. Who are those men dressed in suits? What are they looking for? Are they connected to the murder Clarence was telling me about? If they were with the Sheriff’s department they wouldn’t have taken off like that would they?

Chapter 2

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Odie suffered through a seeming endless night of no sleep, since the events of the day before ran through his mind endlessly. After he got up and dressed, he slipped his Springfield 9mm automatic into his coat pocket. Since it was still early, he followed his usual routine and fixed himself a couple of poached eggs and a couple of strips of bacon. He kept some of his favorite already-baked biscuits in the freezer. It was fast and easy to use the microwave and have it all ready to eat in about five minutes. He piddled around, cleaning up what little he’d displaced the few days before and waiting for when he knew the sheriff would be in his office. He’d decided to go into town with the briefcase and turn it over to the sheriff’s office. He’d concluded that the murder at the bridge and yesterday’s strange behaviour by the men he had seen might not be a coincidence. For one thing, all of the Sheriff’s Department personel wore uniforms and these two strangers were overly dressed for this type of rural county. That was also the reason for the weapon in his pocket. He just had a gut feeling that the looks he had been given and their actions weren’t quite legitimate.

At about eight in the morning, Odie raised the garage door and walked toward its opening, with the intention of going to the stone fence to get the briefcase. Suddenly, the two strangers he had seen the day before approached the raised door. Startled but quickly recovering, he simultaneously put his hand into his coat pocket and tried to keep his voice in a casual speaking tone to cover his surprise.

Morning. How can I help you? he said.

The smaller man was the first to answer. We’re with an investigative agency out of Little Rock. We were wondering if you found a briefcase in your roadside trash pickup yesterday.

Odie was now on full alert and realized that, just by their demeanor, these two men weren’t people he could trust, regardless of who they said they were representing. No, I can’t say that I have. I’ve picked up a lot of different things over the course of the years, but I’ve never had the occasion to come across a briefcase.

You’d better not be lying to us, old man, the smaller man said.

With that statement the larger man took a few steps to the side, obviously trying to gain a more advantageous position.

Odie turned slightly; trying to keep both of them in front of him, so he decided to at least try a bluff.

You know, I don’t have my hand in my coat pocket to keep it warm, so both of you need to leave my property at once.

As if the two strangers had practiced and used the move a number of times before, the smaller man turned to walk away, speaking in a submissive voice as if to direct Odie’s attention away from his partner. When Odie’s eyes followed his movement, the larger man suddenly charged him. As old as he was, Odie quickly began pulling his pistol out of his pocket, but since this large man was so close, his pistol was still inside his pocket when he pulled the trigger. The slug hit the large man in the meaty inside part of the thigh, stopping his forward motion and causing him to drop to one knee groaning.

Gumbo, this crazy idiot just shot me! he finally hollered.

Now with his gun out, Odie was in the process of moving his attention to the smaller man called Gumbo when the man grabbed his pistol, turning it back toward Odie’s body. Odie felt the force of a shot to the chest, a shot from his own gun. Odie grabbed his chest and realized the man now held his pistol when two more shots were fired into his body.

As he slowly crumpled to the garage floor in extreme pain and fading into unconsciousness he immediately thought, I should have turned the briefcase in yesterday.

At this point Gumbo swore at the larger man, obviously unhappy with how things had transpired.

You stupid fool, why did you go in on him, I was ready to leave him alone for now.

The larger man replied, I thought you were distracting him for me to go in.

Just keep your mouth shut while I get my belt around your leg, we’ve got to get out of here – there may be other people on this ridge that heard the gunshots.

He quickly got the wounded man into their car continuing to berate him about his moaning and groaning. They left the property as fast as possible.

As they were leaving, Odie reached to his neck, where the blood was escaping, and quickly drew his fingers into the liquid. He then reached out his fingers toward the concrete floor, but could only crudely scrawl out three letters from the five he intended: GUM. His final thought played itself out. After all the scrapes I escaped from in my lifetime, the end has to be in my own garage by a total stranger." With that his hand dropped lightly over the letters, and his last breath escaped him with a coarse gurgle.

Gumbo knew they would endure the wrath of the one who had sent them, since he’d made it very plain that until the briefcase was back in his possession, there would be no respite from him. More importantly, Gumbo knew how their boss valued quietness and guile over violence. He wasn’t afraid of his boss, since he believed he was able to handle most anybody or anything if it came down to it, but in this particular matter, he knew there was more riding on it than which of the two could hold sway over the other.

They made it back to Little Rock, going directly to the driver’s house, where he called his boss to discuss what had transpired and to find out what to do about his companion’s wound. Since he lived alone, he was told to stay where they were and that arrangements would be made for a doctor to visit the house and see to the wound. He couldn’t help but be impressed with how calm and assured his boss was, not to mention his ability to arrange a private visit for a gunshot wound on the quiet.

The doctor showed up not long after the call, and after his examination, they were told that the bullet had passed all the way through the fleshy part of the thigh. With a sarcastic voice, he finished up by saying, You’ll be okay; I got the bleeding stopped. It’ll be sore for a while, but that leg should carry you, at least until you get shot again.

After the doctor left, a second call was made to give a report, and after they had discussed all that had taken place, it was mutually decided that under the circumstances they could only let matters be as they were, at least until something indicated a change in those circumstances. Gumbo mentioned that his companion wanted to return to his own house, where he and his girlfriend lived, but he was instructed to keep him at his place until he had time to recover fully. He could tell his boss wasn’t happy about the circumstances, since two people were now dead, but one had been a direct danger to them. The suspicious old man had likely been unaware of anything at all.

The only ongoing mystery was what had become of the briefcase. If it fell into the wrong hands, the information inside could mean the undoing of a number of people. Since the three of them were the only ones who knew about the contents of the missing briefcase, they felt somewhat insulated from any discovery of the facts it could reveal, at least at this time.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Cathy Washburn, wife of Odie’s nephew, Randle, had missed Odie the day before at church services. She had always taken the lead and made a practice of periodically checking up on Odie and his wife ever since they retired. Even after Odie’s wife’s death, she continued to come by occasionally to see whether everything was all right with Odie and to learn whether he needed anything. Since she hadn’t dropped by for over a week and since he hadn’t been at church the day before, she decided to stop by his house after she got off work.

As she pulled around the circle drive on the west side of the house, she noticed that the garage door was down, but nothing was out of the ordinary. When she got out of her car, she noticed the unmistakable metallic smell of blood. She also noticed that Odie’s two cats were sniffing at the bottom of the closed garage door. As she got closer, she noticed a large pool of blood, which the closed garage door had partially concealed. O my goodness, what is going on here? With trembling fingers she entered the four-number opening code for the door; she’d memorized it from the many times she came by to feed the cats when Odie and his wife were away on trips.

When she saw Odie lying in the disgusting sight and smell of his disintegrating body, all she could do was give a primeval half moan and muted scream. Shakily walking to the side of the driveway, she gave in to the urge and threw up. Sweeping her hair out of the way as she sank to her knees, she was totally blinded by tears. How could this have happened? She thought.

Gritting her teeth and gathering her wits, Cathy called 911 and managed to call the rest of the families on the ridge. She dialed the only number she had for Jeff, Odie’s son, but didn’t get any answer. She left a short message. This is Cathy. Call me. This is urgent.

Cathy spent the rest of the afternoon answering questions from the chief deputy sheriff, and even the sheriff got in on the act. The questions totally exhausted Cathy, and many were repeated several times.

Later, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, when the phone rang. She heard Randle stir beside her as she told Jeff about finding his father. She tried to stay calm, but her voice broke as she essentially recited the same details she’d given the deputy sheriff. Jeff listened in total silence until she was finished.

I’ll be there as soon as possible, he said.

Jeff called Darcy, the oldest sister of the family, who lived in California with her husband and children, but he was able to leave only a message for Shannon, his younger sister who was always hard to reach. She lived her own life according to her own model, so there was no telling where she might be at the time.

Jeffery Martin Sams was forty-five years old, having graduated from high school in 1983. He served six years as a US Army Ranger, in such hot spots as Grenada and Panama before deciding to give up the military life for a civilian one. He then worked seven years as a policeman with the Chattanooga, Tennessee, police force, eventually being promoted to the position of homicide detective. He met his wife, Callie, on a weekend visit there when he was going through mountain training at Camp Merrill, located near Dahlonega, Georgia. An army buddy he’d kept up with since leaving the service called him one day and told him about this large security firm in Woodmont, Maryland, where he worked. They were actively seeking those of just his background for employment. After his buddy told him the starting salary, he checked it out, arranged an interview, and was hired. ASI, which stands for Alliance Security International, had been good to him and his family for the past fourteen years. He and Callie had gotten married a little over a year after they met in Chattanooga and now had a son and daughter.

He and his sister, Darcy, didn’t have the opportunity to get back home very often because of the distance to Arkansas, but during those rare times they did, he and Darcy seemed to be able to pick up where they had left off from their previous visits. With Shannon, however, you never knew when she would appear or disappear. The family as a whole had pretty much seen her behavior as normal for her and accepted it for what it was.

******************************

Five days later, on Saturday, April 24, all the family gathered to lay Odie’s body to rest alongside his wife, Del, who had died some three years earlier. They all gathered, along with a few relatives, back in the Mississippi Delta, where Odie had been born and raised. Del had been raised in Laurel, Mississippi. After marrying Odie, they had made their home close by his kinfolk in the Delta until they moved to Arkansas. Odie had told his friends that they moved to get away from the helicopter-size mosquitoes.

Even Shannon had finally been contacted and showed up to surprise some of the family. It was a time of reconnection to the Delta land the whole family had been born into and raised in, with the exception of Del and some of the spouses. There was not only the sadness of Odie’s death but also the nostalgia of being back in familiar surroundings.

The last to leave the grave site was Jeff and his sister Darcy who were especially close.

"So help me Darcy, I’ll find out who did this if it’s