Fool's Eye Read online

  Fool’s Eye

  A Novel By

  Gregg Burton

  TAHLI’S PUBLISHING

  Published by Tahli’s Publishing House.

  WWW.TAHLISPUBLISHING.COM

  Copyright ©2011 by Gregg Burton. All rights reserved

  First Print September 2011

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK – MARCA REGISTRADA

  ISBN 978-0-9835150-1-2

  Printed in the U.S.A

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Written by Gregg Burton

  Edited by Carla Dean and Jonita Davis

  Cover graphics and design by Dashawn Taylor @ www.hotbookcovers.com

  Twitter: @AuthorGreggB

  Facebook/AuthorGreggBurton

  Fool’s Eye

  This book is dedicated to my beautiful wife Michelle Burton for all her love and support throughout this project.

  Prologue

  It was the summer of 1959. Two white men dressed in black suits, white shirts, and black ties walked down a long dirt road leading to a farmer’s main house. They used their black brim hats to block the sun beaming overhead.

  “Tell me again why we didn’t drive my car all the way up here,” asked the taller of the two men.

  “Because, Simon, it’s easier to gain a person's trust if they feel like you work as hard as they do.”

  “And you think walking in this God-forsaken heat is the way to show it? Just look at my shoes. I just got them spit-shined.”

  “Simon, don’t be such a prude. Did you really want to get all this dust on your new car? We left it on the road for this very reason. Now look, Simon, we need this last contract before we move into phase two of our plan.”

  John Price was the shorter of the two men, and also the wiser one. Neither of their last names was really Price. They chose the same last name to help break the ice with new marks. That was John’s idea.

  “Remember, just let me do all the talking,” John said upon approaching the porch of the farmer’s house. “We will have this contract signed in no time. I say an hour, tops.”

  “That’s fine by me, John. Let’s just hurry up and get out of this doggone heat.”

  John began walking up to the porch first. When he reached the second step, it made a loud cracking sound. He quickly stepped back down to the first step.

  “Watch that second step,” John said, patting Simon on the shoulder. “You might fall through it.”

  Simon studied the step for a moment. “Are you sure this is the right place? There is no way the woman could be worth what you say if she can’t afford to get a step fixed.”

  “She probably keeps it like that to warn her when someone is coming.” His partner replied

  Both men smiled. They hopped over the step, but were startled by a woman's voice coming from the side of the porch.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen. May I help you with something?”

  The woman staring back at them was wearing a yellow and white flower-print sundress. Her hair held highlights from a sandy blonde to a snow white. When the two men looked at her face, they could see the wrinkles near her lips and around her eyes from many years of smiling.

  “Sorry, ma’am. You startled us, just as I’m sure we startled you,” John said. He ran a quick check of his business jacket to make sure he still looked professional. “My name is John Price,” he said, holding out a hand to the woman. “This is my partner Simon Price--no relation. You must be Mrs. Barbara Hanson, I presume?”

  “Why yes, I am,” the woman replied. She apprehensively took John's hand and wondered how he knew her name. Her first thought was that the men were from the FBI and had come to ask more questions about the late Mr. Hansen’s mysterious death.

  Sure, Barbara Hansen had fed her husband small doses of rat poison before he finally keeled over on top of her one night in bed. However, the coroner that courted her once or twice ruled it a heart attack. No matter how many "suits" came to question her about the old senator’s death, Mrs. Hansen's story would remain the same.

  “It’s a beautiful day in Texas, wouldn’t you say?” John asked, smiling.

  “Why yes, it is. It’s always nice around here this time of the year.”

  “Are those bluebonnets you’re watering there, Mrs. Hanson?”

  John Price walked a little past Mrs. Hanson to smell the flowers. She was taken aback when Mr. Price asked about her beloved flowers.

  “Yes, those are my babies,” she responded with pride. “Now,” she continued, “how may I help you gentlemen today?”

  Simon remained quiet, which made Mrs. Hanson a little uneasy. John saw this and touched the woman’s hand

  “Oh, please forgive us, ma’am. We have come here today as representatives of the National Farm Insurance Company to offer you a chance to be a part of a new insurance plan. This is not only a great investment for you, but also a means of taking care of your family if--God forbid--anything happens to you. The best part is that the plan will cost you nothing.”

  “Oh?” responded Mrs. Hanson.

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s right. Excuse me, but may I sit and explain all the details to you?”

  Mrs. Hanson followed John's eyes to the bench they were standing next to on the porch. “Sorry. Where are my manners? Of course, you can have a seat. Would you gentlemen like some iced tea?”

  Simon spoke for the first time. “Yes, ma’am, that would be great. It’s so hot out here I bet the ice will melt before I have a chance to put the glass to my mouth.”

  Mrs. Hanson laughed. “Well, let me go and get that tea then. You boys have a seat and make yourselves comfortable.”

  Both men thanked Mrs. Hanson as she hurried into her house.

  Mrs. Hanson returned holding a silver tray with a glass pitcher filled with lemon ice tea and three glasses. She realized that an intense conversation was brewing between the Price men.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked, placing the tray down on a nearby table.

  “Yes, ma’am, everything is okay.” Simon Price said, standing so Mrs. Hanson could get to her seat. “Mr. Price thinks the Dodgers will go to the World Series this year and beat the White Sox. I was simply stating that the day such a thing happens, a nigger will sit down next to me at the dinner table and even say grace.”

  Both John Price and Mrs. Hanson closed their eyes and shook their heads slightly at his comments. Mrs. Hanson immediately realized that she disliked Simon Price more and more by the second. John Price, on the other hand, had kind eyes and a charming demeanor. He spoke with great confidence. Mrs. Hansen thought to herself, if John Price was a couple years older, he would be a great prospect for husband number five.

  John glared at his partner and spoke to Mrs. Hansen.

  “Excuse us for that random outburst, Mrs. Hanson. We sometimes forget we are in the presence of a lady. Now, as I was saying earlier, this is the opportunity for you and your loved ones to prepare for any unforeseen events. I do remember reading some time ago that you lost your
husband, Senator Hanson, to a heart attack. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, I did,” she replied, bowing her head. “God bless his soul.”

  “God bless his soul indeed,” John Price said. He took off his hat and bowed his head as well.

  John then raised an eyebrow to see if his partner had done the same. He was happy to see that Simon had followed suit.

  After a couple of ticks, John Price put his hat back on to finish the spiel. “Mrs. Hanson, I know the funeral expenses must have been costly. What we want to do at National Farm Insurance is provide people in our community the opportunity,” John pulsed, “the opportunity is to take care of loved ones after their departure from this earth with a one-million-dollar life insurance policy. You will not have to pay a dime for the next two years, assuming you pass all the physical exams from our company doctor.”

  “I don’t get it. You’re telling me that National Farm Insurance is just going to give me a million-dollar life insurance policy, and I would not have to pay one cent?”

  “Well, there is one catch,” John said. “The exams have to be paid for out of your pocket. It’s a one-time fee of one hundred dollars. I know that sounds like a lot, but it’s really a great deal for the policy you receive. Once you pay the hundred dollars, you will never have to worry about another fee again. Now, I know you must be wondering something. If my company is going to pay for the policy for two years, then why not the doctor fee?”

  “Well, now that you mentioned it...”

  “I’ll tell you why. Although the doctor works with our company, he is actually a freelance doctor who must be paid after every visit. However, we worked out a deal with him to make sure our customers receive the best medical exams available. His exams almost always insure a policy.”

  “Ohhh, I get it. I have to admit that is appealing, but it's a lot to think over. Do I have to make a decision right now?”

  “No, of course not. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you meet us at our office tomorrow. If you agree, we could do the exam right then and there.”

  “That would be great, gentlemen. Would tomorrow at noon be okay? Although I get up early, it still takes this old body some time to get moving around.”

  “Mrs. Hanson, please. You are far from being old. I’d say you’re a youthful forty-two years old.”

  Mrs. Hanson blushed. She knew the young fellow was lying to her. It felt good nonetheless.

  John Price gave Mrs. Hanson a card containing their office address. The men then said their goodbyes.

  John and Simon walked back down the dirt road to Simon’s new, shiny and black 1959 Cadillac.

  “We need to go and get Doc out of the bar so he doesn’t come in smelling like stale liquor tomorrow,” John said.

  “So do you actually think she’s going to come tomorrow?” Simon asked.

  “Simon, my friend, there’s not a doubt in my mind.”

  *****

  Mrs. Hanson watched the two young gentlemen walk down the dirt road and out of her sight. When she was sure they couldn’t see or hear her, she slammed the tea tray on the ground and cursed as loud as she could. Where were those two little bastards three years ago when she married her latest late husband, the senator? If they had shown up sooner, she could have gotten a million-dollar policy on him before his orchestrated death. Instead, she received a lousy one hundred thousand dollars, which ended up being only seventy thousand dollars after taxes. Then again, timing is everything.

  No matter, she still had the looks needed to get another man to place a ring on her finger. Although she had not thought about remarrying, that million-dollar payout easily changed her mind. Now, she just needed to find a man to fall in love with her and convince him to marry in the next month or two.

  *****

  John and Simon Price drove two towns over to get Doc and bring him back for his role in the next day’s con. The only good thing about Doc was that he was a real doctor. Not a good one, but he did have a license.

  Simon looked over at John a couple of times as he drove.

  “Say, partner, you okay over there? You look like a nigger just stole your cornbread.”

  Simon placed his hand on John's shoulder. John slapped it off.

  “Simon, do you ever get tired of the nigger jokes?”

  “Hey, why do you have your panties all in a bunch?”

  “I don’t. I just have a lot on my mind. You know Mrs. Carter’s two years are up tomorrow. We need to pay her a visit after we finish with Mrs. Hanson.”

  “Wow! Has it been two years already? It sure is funny how time flies when you’re having fun.”

  “Yeah, and before long, you start to realize it’s not all that fun anymore.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  John was really getting tired of Simon’s colored jokes. To make matters worse, they were only funny to Simon. John did get a kick out of Simon’s comment about saying grace with a nigger, though. He wondered how Simon would feel if he knew he was doing that every day. Maybe not saying grace, but Simon was damn sure eating next to one.

  See, although John looked and acted like a white man, both of his parents were half black. His mother and father both had white fathers and black mothers. When the couple joined hands in marriage and gave birth to John, he came out as white as his grandfathers.

  Those who were in the house when John was born thought his mother had been raped by a white man, which was not uncommon in the Shreveport, Louisiana. Luckily for John, his father was a smart man and saw his eyes in his son’s. His father was also smart enough to know that John had to stay out of the common areas because some white man would probably say the baby was stolen. The boy was kept home and homeschooled.

  John's mother, who was very book smart, taught him everything he would need to survive academically. John's father…well, his father taught him how to survive in the white man’s world. John's father knew everybody would treat him as a white man when he got older, and he wanted his son to succeed in their world. So, John’s father taught his son, the con. It was the only thing John’s grandfather ever taught his father. Because John’s grandmother worked in the master’s house, John’s father watched closely as his illegitimate dad/owner persuaded people into believing the most outrageous things. He was truly a master making a person hand over their hard-earned money for a pipe dream.

  John’s father also taught him how to defend himself from knife or fist. One important piece of advice he had for John was to try to avoid getting into an altercation with a man with a gun. If he did, run.

  John quietly chuckled under his breath as he thought of his father’s wise words.

  “What’s so funny, John?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just thought of a joke my father once told me.”

  “Hey, I got a joke. Want to hear it?”

  “Sure, Simon, why not,” John replied, feeling another nigger joke coming on.

  “Damn it. I need to use the can first.”

  “Me, too. Why don’t you pull over on the side of the road so we can both empty our bladders?”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea, buddy. You’re always the one to come up with the plan, huh?”

  “Whatever you say, Simon.”

  “No, I’m serious. If I wouldn’t have met you, I would have never learned how to con those old people out of their life insurance.”

  Simon pulled the car over, put it in park, and got out. John got out of the car, as well. By this time of the day the sun had hid behind the forest and the moon was peeking up from the top of the hill. When John stood upright from the vehicle, he felt a shiver run though his body.

  “Then again,” Simon continued, “you’ve always found a way to pick the meanest, greediest sons-of-bitches on earth, and when they turn up dead, the cops always give a half-ass attempt to figure out what happened to them. Because of you, John, I have seen more money in the last four years than I’ve seen in my entire life.”

  Both men walked a little
ways into the wooded area to relieve themselves.

  “Oh shit, I almost forgot to tell you the joke.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  “No, I swear, John, this one will kill you. Okay, so what do you call a nigger-loving queer?”

  “What?!” John looked over at his partner angrily; ready to punch him in the mouth. He found himself looking at the open end of a Colt 911.