Sam goes undercover

Chapter 14

The Next Day

Dewey's Bar was a dive.

That was what Sam concluded when he entered the smoky filled bar. A guy could develop lung cancer just breathing the air in here, he thought.

A long bar with 4 stools was situated up front with several red seated booths on the side. Behind the bar was a murky long mirror with a shelf of beers and other drinks the business had to offer. In other words, it felt like home for Sam.

Sam looked longingly at the varieties of beer. He felt like a fox in the hen house, only he wasn't allowed any of the hens. Especially the cool, tall draft hens.

He sauntered over and grabbed a stool. Sam had been carrying a clipboard and placed it on the bar counter. His undercover prop.

Two stools over sat a bedraggled man, who could easily double as a homeless person. Wearing a rumpled jacket, unkempt torn hat and worn-down tennis shoes, he acknowledged Sam by lifting his drink.

"Hey," said Sam.

Sam Axe, Mr. Smooth Conversationalist.

The din of the place could not cover its squalid conditions. Although the actual counter had been clear of debris, on closer inspection, there was a stickiness to it. Sam decided not to touch anything else and was glad he would not be ordering a drink. It would probably make him radioactive.

The bartender with the nametag "Fred" came by to see what Sam wanted to order. To Sam, the name "Fred" was rather ironic being that the bartender looked very much like Fred Flintstone—if Fred Flintstone looked more thug-like.

Sam was tempted to order a beer, despite it possibly being radioactive, but he had to keep his wits about him.

He knew this was the bar shown in Maddie's photo, so perhaps this place was a key in finding the bank robber Tom Turner.

"Good day. My name is Charles Finley," said Sam, improvising, "and I am a supervising agent for AT and T. We have reason to believe that one of your customers by the name of..." Sam 'checked' his clipboard, "..Turner...has been making illegal cell phone calls from your place of business."

"Huh?"Fred the bartender looked puzzled, "And what's wrong with using a cell phone in here? This is a free country!"

Damn, Sam thought to himself.

Usually when he identified himself to be an official in some capacity and also threw in the word "illegal" somewhere, the other person would start yapping like an abandoned dog.

He hadn't had time to think up a good back-story since he had been rushed to move to a motel with Mike, Maddie, and Fi. He figured he'd just grab his old clipboard and let his talent do the rest.

Plus rack of beers was a distraction, too, he rationalized.

To give himself more time to think, Sam made a big gesture of looking at his watch, scowling. He hoped the bartender would get the fact that Chuck Finley was short on time and had to get back to the office.

Sam Axe. Method Actor.

Fred appeared perturbed. He wasn't buying the act. Sam better come up with a plan, and fast.

"Okay, without getting too technical, I will give you the short of it," Sam was talking fast, "As you know, with our cell phones, there have been a problem with disconnected calls. At AT and T, we have installed monitoring devices in our cell phones to insure certain airwaves in business areas were not being overused. That's the reason why calls were being disconnected—overworked airwaves. Our monitoring device WK402 detected that this Turner guy has been continually using your airwaves to make private calls, when he could be making them outside or in other business establishments. Now if you can tell me…"

But the bartender threw up his hands.

"Hey, Mister, I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Overused airspace?" He eyed Sam as if he was testing the veracity of Sam's words, "I never heard of an electronic device that...that checks airwaves!" He shook his head and decided Sam was up to no good. " Makes no sense at all. Ridiculous, in fact. So I think we're done here. In other words, get out!"

To further emphasize his point, Fred reached underneath the counter and produced a baseball bat.

"Hey!... whoa... whoa, right there!" Sam held his hands protectively in front of him, "I hope the reason you are displaying that bat is because you want me to join your powder puff softball league. 'Cause otherwise, buddy, threatening a phone company official is a federal offense. You might want to think about that and put that bat away now!"

Fred considered Sam's words. It took a while before he grudgingly set aside the wooden bat, as Sam secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

But Fred still looked outraged.

"I don't know what your game is," Fred growled, "but just get the hell out of here!"

Sam jotted some notes down on his clipboard as he shook his head.

"O-kay... but headquarters isn't going to like this report…" Sam warned, "especially after I check the box here that says: unfriendly sports fan."

Fred disgustedly walked off to wait on a group of three seated in one of the red booths.

Sam disappointedly stood up and got ready to leave.

"Psst, Guy, over here." It was the homeless man.

Sam was tempted to ignore him, but he glanced over the man's way.

The homeless man looked furtively about.

"Is it true?" the man 's voice was low, as he didn't want to be overheard, " Did your device WK402 really detect Tom Turner making those illegal calls?"

Homeless knew Turner's first name. He had Sam's attention now.

"So you know this individual… this Tom Turner guy?" Sam asked in a hushed tone.

He nodded.

"Sure do. Fred and Turner hang out together. But my inside voice tells me Turner's bad news."

Sam bet this guy had several inside voices in his head.

"Go on," encouraged Sam.

"I don't know if I should continue..." Homeless whisppered, with mistrust in his voice, "Being that I don't know you from a rat's behind!"

Sam unfolded a twenty dollar bill.

"How about if I quench your thirst for you, then?" appealed Sam.

Homeless smiled, showing crooked, yellowed teeth.

"Well, now... maybe I know more...but...how do I even know you're for real? You got an official AT and T identification card on you?"

Why am I not believed? Sam thought, to himself, how cynical is the world when people won't believe a complete stranger?

Sam leaned forward, but not too much forward, as he didn't want to get a whiff of the guy. Sam looked covertly about, as if he was revealing a grand secret.

"Look, Buddy," Sam whispered, "You've heard me say I was an agent for AT and T. That means we work secretly, okay? In disguise. Camouflaged. Incognito to the max. I'm so deep undercover, I don't even carry my ID—in case I get caught. You know what I mean?"

Homeless' eyes were large as he nodded gravely.

Sam smiled confidently. Someone out there should be polishing an Oscar statuette for him.

"Gotcha, gotcha," said Homeless and then privately answered, "all I can tell you is that Turner meets with Fred and two other guys every Tuesday like clockwork at 9 pm. They always sit in that way back booth. Real hush-hush talking going on. And I bet Fred knows all about that WK402 stuff already, but he's just playing dumb."

So now Sam knew the gang consisted of four guys, AND he knew where and when they usually would meet.

"Thanks, buddy, and for the record—I don't think Fred is playing dumb at all," Sam said with an easygoing smile, as he placed $20 on the bar counter.

Sam Axe, master of info-gathering. He was too good for this job.

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