Free The Aviary by Wayne Greenough

 
     
The Aviary
     
     
    On the passenger bus Stacey Ryan stretched out his long legs into the aisle and relaxed. He smiled and held back the desire to shout his happiness to the six people seated near him. Hey, hey, hey, I’m discharged from the Navy and from now on it is money, money, money, and Jim Turner.
    Ten years ago, Stacey in the process of robbing Turner, was slick talked into becoming the man’s partner in crime. Turner was a shyster lawyer who could make money legally or illegally where there supposedly wasn’t any to be had.
    And now, according to the letter he’d received from Turner, the man had found a deal that would put them on easy street for an indefinite time.
    The letter told Stacey to stop at a certain place just out of the city, phone his office and then wait for him to show up.
    The bus came to a halt. Stacey glancing out of his window saw a restaurant, two stores and a gas station. This was the place.
    The bus driver stood. “This is a five minute stopover. The city is only ten miles away.”
    Stacey grabbed his bags, stepped from the bus and remarked to the driver, “This is as far as I’m going.”
    In the restaurant the waiter was all smiles and high pitched voice. “Yes, sir, and what will it be for you today?”
    “I’d like a big thick steak, medium done, French fried potatoes, plenty of black coffee, and a beer.”
    The waiter left. Stacey lit a cigarette before tapping in Turner’s phone number on his cell phone.
    A woman answered, “This is Mr. Turner’s office.”
    “I would like to speak to Mr. Jim Turner, please.” Excitement caused Stacey’s heart to race.
    Several seconds passed. “Jim Turner speaking,” a rough voice said.
    “This is Ryan.”
    “Sit tight. I’ll be right there.”
     
    Stacey had finished his meal, was working on a third cigarette, a fourth cup of coffee when Turner walked in. Turner’s left eyebrow shot upward, signaling Stacey to not recognize him.
    He knew exactly what to do. While Turner sat at the upfront counter drinking coffee, Stacey waited until he figured Turner would be about finished. Then he stood, grabbed his bags, paid his bill and walked out.
    His feet pounded a blistering hot pavement for close to two hundred yards when a car stopped next to him.
    “Hey, buddy, would you like a lift to town?” the driver asked.
     
    In the car, Stacey laughed. “Turner, you old son-of-a-gun, how are you?”
    “Just fine, Stacey, never better. Sorry that I had to put you through the cloak and dagger nonsense, but this is such a big deal that if anybody discovered we knew each other it could queer everything for us. If this pans out, be prepared to spend millions, twelve to be exact.”
    Stacey smiled. “You’re talking my language. So stop flapping your jaws. Tell me what it is.”
    “Be patient, my boy. First we’re going to my current residence and enjoy a nice bottle of aged scotch.”
     
    “All right, Turner,” Stacey said as Turner poured him a third scotch. “Give me the skinny on your latest scam.”
    “Okay. Six months ago and elderly man walked into my office. His name was Matthew Hamilton. He wanted to make out a will leaving all his money and worldly possessions to his niece, a one Doris Meadows, age twenty-seven, who was living with him at the time. Hamilton was a retired oil man, and Doris was his only next of kin.”
    “Turner, you keep saying Hamilton was. What is he, a stiff?”
    The lawyer laughed. “As usual, Stacey, you’re racing ahead of me. I didn’t think too much about that money at the time, as there was no possible way for me to latch on to it. Now there is a way. Hamilton has checked out, killed in a car wreck, two months ago. Doris Meadows has inherited everything.”
    “Okay,” Stacey said before sipping his whiskey and grabbing a second cigar. “So how do we get Doris Meadows’ money?”
    “That’s simple, Stacey. You’re going to marry the gal.”
    Startled, Ryan swore and coughed. “I’ll