THE PLAN

There is probably no such thing as the perfect crime because people just cannot keep their mouths shut, like me. The fog is rolling in off the bay and it’s starting to get cold, so I had better get my story down while I can still sit outside.

Let me explain. I’m here at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel in San Francisco, and I just had a bellhop run out and by me a laptop computer and set it up on my balcony, facing famous San Francisco Bay, which is where I ended up after committing my perfect crime. It’s the least a man of my means can have done for him. Boy, I love San Francisco, New York, practically anywhere when I’m holding heavy. I can’t believe it’s only been a week! I’m sorry, but that stack of C-notes on the bed keeps trying to get my attention, back to my story.

As I said, it was a week ago today. There was really nothing to distinguish that Saturday from any other in recent memory, except I had a very bad cold or a light flu. I got out of bed because I wanted to look over the morning paper. Going straight for the paper every morning is more of a habit than anything else. I surely didn’t expect to find another Watergate on the front page. As a matter of fact, the front page held just what I’d expected, some information about the upcoming Super Bowl and the Miami Dolphins, who where going to be playing in it. Not being a sports fan, I skipped that article, which brought my attention down to a small headline on the bottom of the first page:

“RUTHLESS SUMGGLER USED LUXURY YACHT TO FOOL COAST GUARD”

This looks interesting I thought and proceeded to read on. It seems this individual used large and very expensive yachts, complete with uniformed crew, an old man on the back deck and even a phony nurse in attendance when conducting his business. Smooth, really smooth. However, as I read on, it appears this individual, whose name was Thompson, also killed a few of his cronies along the way. Some for the usual reasons, such as stealing $600,000.00 from him. Others, simply because they had made more money than they knew what to do with and decided to retire. Well, Thompson took care of their retirement. He had them gagged, wrapped in chains, put on board one of his boats, and brought out to the Gulf Stream, which is about three miles off the coast of Miami. Once there, they were put on the transom, shot five times each and dumped into the warm waters of the fast moving Gulf Stream. This Thompson, a real nice kind of guy.

Even though I felt like I was dying, I had to make a quick trip down to Islamorada, which is in the middle of Florida Keys, to help my girlfriend clean a house she owns and which she had contracted to rent. I didn’t drive for a change, because of the way I felt, and this gave me a chance to reflect upon the story I had just read. For some reason I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Though I know now it was fate, sweet, beautiful fate. It was getting late and there would be no cleaning that Saturday. We decided to get some fried chicken, take it to the house, and cuddle up with it in front of the television .That was the end of Thompson for that day.

The next morning I awoke first, and half because it was cold and half because I didn’t want to wake my girl, I just lay in bed not moving. However, my mind was going, going about a thousand miles a minute. And the only thing on my mind was Thompson. I kept thinking about all the cash the newspaper said he had accumulated. The part the struck home most often with me was how when things started to get a little warm for him, Thompson had a floor safe installed and encased in concrete at a close friend’s home. Thompson made frequent deposits and in a very short time, there was over $600,000.00 in the safe. At this point, his close friend rented a jackhammer, removed the safe, and took off. As alluded to above, when Thompson caught up with said friend that was the last anyone saw of him. The point being, this cat had a lot of serious cash lying around, and now that he was in jail for probably the rest of his natural life, it wasn’t going to him very much good. What a shame.


As I lay there, that cold Sunday morning, it came to me. I don’t know exactly when or how, but before I knew it, it was there, the whole, gorgeous, wonderful plan. There were a few minor details to work out, but by the time we got into Miami, even they had worked themselves out in my head. I did not have to do anything. The plan came to me, introduced itself, took me by the hand, and led me down the road to financial security. We got back on Sunday night and I couldn’t wait for Monday morning so I could do what needed doing.

Before I go any further, I want you to know that there was one small catch, or to term it another way, the entire plan hinged on the fact that Thompson was so far outside the law, that if he smelled a rat, the authorities would be the last people he’d turn to. But, it was a contingency I had to take into account. This is where my excessive reading paid off. A few months earlier, I had read in the paper that someone had approached a prisoner with a similar scam and the prisoner went right to the State Attorney’s office. When the individual went to pick up his money, he was arrested. No matter how I positioned the plan, it always came back to, “What if he goes to the authorities?” It was the one weak link. I would have to anticipate it, plan for it, and hope it didn’t happen. Nothing is for certain in this life, and to make the kind of money I envisioned, some risks were bound to be inherent.

When Monday morning rolled around, I stayed in bed until my girlfriend had left for work. I didn’t have to worry about mundane things of that sort, seeing as how I hadn’t been able to keep a job for more than a few weeks for the last two years. But that’s another story. As soon as I heard the door close behind her, I was up and on the phone. My first call was to the Broward County jail, inquiring as to Mr. Thompson’s attorney of record. When you’re in jail, only your immediate family can visit you, and then only once a week. But your attorney can see you anytime. If he had listed an attorney, then I would have to go through the attorney and that would mean contact with another human being, which is another weak link, another loose thread, another potential problem. I was afraid the man on the other end of the phone would hear the smile on my face when he told me, “No attorney designated yet.” Scratch one potential hazard.

This turn of events meant I’d have to get up to the jail in Ft. Lauderdale immediately. There was no time to waste. I went right to the closet and got out my blue pinstripe, three-piece suit. Makes me look just like an attorney. Ft. Lauderdale is about twenty miles from Miami, and its all city driving. You know how the not so good attorneys are never in the downtown section of town, but in the low rent fringes of urban sprawl? Well, on my way I stopped in the office of one of these gentlemen of the Bar and availed myself of a few of his business cards, which he had conveniently left about his outer waiting room. I wanted an attorney that practiced in Miami as opposed to Ft. Lauderdale, thus cutting down the chances of having the name recognized by one of the correction offices in Ft. Lauderdale.

I parked two blocks from the courthouse-jail complex. It wouldn’t do to have someone see my old Toyota if I’m supposed to be a big shot lawyer. Besides, if anything went wrong, I didn’t want anyone to get my license number. I walked into the jail annex and inquired of the officer behind the desk as to the proper procedure for seeing an inmate, explaining the family of a Mr. Thompson had sent me. I then handed him one of my new business cards. He in turn handed me a form to fill out, which basically wanted my name and the name of the prisoner I wished to see. After taking the form from me, inspecting the form, and looking at the business card I had given him, he said, “Because you’re not the attorney of record, if he refuses to see you, you’re out of luck.” I just smiled at him and shrugged my shoulders. I figured when you’re in jail you’ll see any body, if for no other reason than to break the monotony. I was right.

The name I was using, the lawyer’s name, was called. Because it was not my real name, I hesitated a moment, but responded before it could be called a second time. I was led into a small room with two chairs and one table. That was all. Even the walls were bare. The officer told me my client would with me in a minute, and please have a seat. I didn’t know if I was being watched, filmed, or what. My adrenalin was flowing like white water rapids, but outwardly, I looked extremely bored with the entire situation. I knew that to make this plan work, I’d have to come off as cool, calm, and collected to Thompson. After all, this man kills as easily as you and I go across the street to buy a newspaper, and besides, to accumulate as much money as he had, a portion of which I was hoping to alleviate him of, I had to give him his due. He wasn’t a dummy, even if he had been caught. I knew how I was going to play it; there was no doubt in my mind. Just bring him on. Let me at him. This is destiny. This is meant to be!

After a few moments, the door opened and a man in his middle fifties was led into the room. The guard said nothing; he just pointed to the vacant chair, turned, and left. I said nothing until the door closed behind him. They may spy on me, but I knew they were prohibited from listening in on a lawyer and his client. As soon as the door closed, I smiled, extended my hand, and told Thompson my name, the one on the business card of course. He shook my hand and leaned back in his chair with a smug look on his face. He then said, “Looking for work counselor?” I didn’t hesitate. “You want to be free of here?” I asked, looking right into his eyes without the slightest hint of a smile on my face. His smirk slowly faded and with it his air of cockiness. To him I sounded serious about getting him out of there, and that was no laughing matter. As I saw the look on his face change, I knew I was going to be in charge from then on. Now I had a chance to take stock of the slight man who sat before me. He didn’t look like a killer, but then I didn’t know what a killer should look like. The only thing that stuck me that day was the deadness of his eyes, brutally cold. He had an average face, not one you would remember in a crowd.

I didn’t take too long in sizing him up. If I were going to be in charge, I would have to carry the conversation. I would set the tone of our relationship. I next referred to the connections I had in the Broward County jail, which would be of great assistance in getting him free. I went on to tell him that even though I could get him on the streets, I would have to get him out of the country for my own protection and peace of mind. I explained that if I didn’t take the extra steps to assure he wasn’t recaptured, I would not be able to sleep at night. He had no problem with that. I didn’t think he would. I told him that if he mentioned my plan to anyone, and I meant anyone, he would never see me again. To help him along with his silence, I told him that my contact had informed me that a ringer was to be placed in his cell, a ringer being a stool pigeon. For the pieće de résistance, I told him I could arrange for someone to be put in with him and if word got back to me that he even so much as whispered my plan in his sleep, he could rot in jail for the next six hundred and fifty years! Up to that point, it was my aim to convince him that I could deliver and that I was deadly serious. I gave him no particulars. I was feeling him out. He then asked for details. I told him he would only be told what he needed to know, having heard it that in a movie somewhere. I suggested we discuss the money aspect of the plan, to see if he could afford my services.

“My fee is $750,000.00, plus expenses,” I told him. I was prepared to defend my reasoning by explaining that, a) he would be spending at least that much for his defense, b) prosecutors in South Florida, when taking drug cases to trail, had a conviction rate of over 90%, this according to Trial Magazine, which is published by the Florida Bar Association. In addition c) if he ever wanted to see the light of day again, I was his only hope. However, I didn’t need any of that. All he said was, “What guarantee can you give me?” I answered, A lot better than anyone else can, and besides you’ve got my business card, you know who I am, and you know where to find me. With your reputation, I’m going to return your money if I can’t get you out of here.” It never hurts to play up to someone’s ego. It will keep them from thinking every time. He then asked me when I wanted the money, and because we both wanted to get the plan under way, I asked him if he could have it together by the day after tomorrow, Wednesday. He said he could. I then proceeded to elaborate on the plan, and how it was going to work.

Through my connections in the Broward Sheriff’s Office, I would have him transferred to the hospital. He of course would have to be really sick or injured. We could not take the chance of having his request denied, things would have been set up, and people would be waiting for him to arrive at the hospital. I told him I would make sure he got to the hospital. Once at the hospital, I would have it arranged for someone to take his place in bed, while he was put on a waiting plane, which would take him to a small island in the Caribbean with its own landing strip. He would be there before it was known he was missing, and the person taking his place would know nothing. That person could not revel anything even if he wanted to; “He’s just a dupe,” I told Thompson. After lying low for a while, another plane, a larger one, would pick him up and take him to a safe country in Europe. Where complete with a new identity, he would be left on his own. It all sounded good to Thompson. I thought it would.

I had already worked out the scenario as to how I’d end up with the money in my greedy little hands. I had assumed he would have to make a phone call to someone on the outside to secure the money, and physically hand it to me, and I was right, again. I told him how, when, and where I wanted the money transferred. $750,000.00 for me, and $250,000.00 for expenses, up to and including the new identification in Europe. We also agreed that he would not hire an attorney, as an attorney would be just one more potential hitch in the plan, someone to ask unnecessary questions. I told him I would return to the jail one more time because it would be necessary in order to get him admitted to the hospital. We stood to shake hands and Thompson took a firm grip of my hand, looked straight into my eyes, and said, “If you screw me, I’ll have you killed.” The way he said, I’ll have you killed, instead of I’ll kill you myself, I knew he had no doubt that was exactly what was going to happen if I didn’t come through. I said, “I’ve taken that into consideration,” and I didn’t lie. I then turned and knocked on the door, leaving Thompson sitting back down in the chair. I did not look back.

I walked out of the jail into the bright sunlight. I don’t think my feet touched the ground once during the two-block walk to my car. There are not words in the universe to describe how I felt at that moment. I knew only one thing for certain, as I walked out of that courthouse-jail complex, I needed a drink. So, I stopped at the first lounge I saw. Besides getting a drink, I wanted to give the women in there a chance to see a real man. Someone who had done something, instead of the losers with which they usually associate. It didn’t matter. I didn’t see anyone through my thoughts. I was too engrossed contemplating what had just gone down.

As stated earlier, I was apprehensive that Thompson might rat me out after I left. After speaking with him, I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. You see, the entire plan revolved around the fact that no one, only Thompson and myself were privy to the plan. Time after time, you hear about people being arrested because someone talked, or an anonymous tip came in, or whatever. It’s all the same, someone talked. As long as it was only Thompson and myself, my chances were good. That’s the reason I couldn’t bring anyone else in on the plan. And I didn’t trust Thompson to keep his mouth shut, I expected someone else to be at the money pickup, probably the cops. I wasn’t going there without a plan.

I wanted to make the money drop in a public place, to lessen the chances of being picked up. I had told Thompson how I wanted the money prepared and wrapped. If anyone was going to be observing me picking up the money, I wanted to make sure I got out of there, free. So I prepared a duplicate package to look just like the one that was to be left for me. Then I had to come up with a distraction. I found that in a desk drawer, ten Chinese firecrackers.

I’d seen Thompson on Monday afternoon and the drop was to take place Wednesday afternoon, exactly at two o’clock. I wanted a crowded, outdoor type of place. Gulfstream Race Track was made to order, and how appropriate, seeing as how Thompson got so much use out of then real Gulf Stream.

I had told Thompson exactly at what level, what column, and at what side of the track the money should be left. I got to Gulfstream at one-thirty, at one-fifty I started for the drop zone, at one-fifty-nine I lit the sixty-second fuse on the ten Chinese firecrackers, which I had in a brown paper bag. Having put the firecracker bag on the floor, I proceeded to walk towards the appropriate column. It was at that moment I saw it, a Kentucky Fried Chicken bag, an exact duplicate of the one I had under my jacket. A few seconds later, the firecrackers went off. Without hesitation, I switched bags and kept walking, not knowing if anyone was looking for me. In the split second it took me to switch bags, every eye in the place was looking in the direction of the firecrackers, and if someone was looking for me, they’re still there looking.

I walked quickly through the crowd, down the stairs, and out to my car before I allowed myself a look at the contents of the bag. It was all there, one million dollars! Part of the plan was completed. I had gotten the money in my hands and I was still on the streets. I hadn’t been arrested, which was a definite plus.

Now that I had the money, I could disappear and no one but Thompson would be any the wiser. Of course, I would have to worry about the fact that Thompson could have me tracked down and taken care of. After all he could afford it, and he had nothing else to do while sitting in his cell for the rest of his life. No, I would follow through with the plan as originally conceived.

It was now Thursday morning and the money was well hidden. I went back to the jail with my paper work. I had no trouble gaining admittance. After all, I was now the attorney of record. When Thompson came into the room, we both smiled. He obviously had been informed as to what transpired yesterday. He complimented me by saying how smoothly I had handled myself, and that his courier hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of me. That’s the way I planned it, but said nothing. We had things to do.

I brought with me a specially prepared piece of paper. It looked like an ordinary document that could be found in any courthouse in the country, except for one thing. I told Thompson that on the upper right-hand corner was enough arsenic to kill a rat. (It wasn’t arsenic, but that was something Thompson didn’t need to know.) I had put it on with an eyedropper, and when it had dried, it left a barely visible stain. I directed him to take it back to his cell and when alone, rip off that section and swallow it. Then burn the remaining paper and flush the ashes down the toilet. I told him not to notify anyone for at least forty-five minutes after digesting the paper, no matter how bad the pain was. I explained how my man would be waiting for him in the infirmary. There would also be a doctor there, and it was the doctor that had to be fooled. I went on to tell him that if he got to the infirmary too soon, they would send him back to his cell, thinking he was faking. I told him his pupils had to be dilated and his pulse quicken to a certain point to assure being transferred to the hospital. I told him that this was it. If he had any qualms, now was the time to address them. He just shook his head and said, “I want out of here.” I said, “Okay, I’ll see you at the hospital.”

I left the jail and once again walked to the two blocks to my car, through this time I was aware of where I was and what I had to do. The first thing I had to do was to get the money and go buy myself a car. After paying cash for a spanking new, though nondescript BMW, I stopped only long enough to purchase an attaché case and put the remaining $950,000.00 in it. I then drove to the beginning of the Florida Turnpike, calling my girl on the way. I told her I had some business to attend to, not to worry, and that I would call her in a day or two. I then proceeded to drive straight through to San Francisco. It took me fifty-six hours to get here and check in. Not that I needed to come here, I just wanted to.

That’s my story. I’m just waiting for the bellhop to bring me the Miami papers from yesterday and today.

There’s a knock on the door. Excuse me a moment.

Ah … here it is, just a small piece in the paper:

“PRISONER KILLS SELF WITH POISON”

Well, I told him it would kill a rat.