7 - Rogue: Ike Schwartz Mystery 7 (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

Ike received Charlie’s text message while waiting in Byron Yeats’ outer office. At first he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Charlie said he’d gone to Chicago on Company business. Judging from the message, that was not the case. Or perhaps he had gone on one unrelated mission and had stumbled on this information by chance. That did not harmonize with Charlie’s normal
modus operandi
and therefore seemed unlikely. Ike scratched his head and reread the text. The oddity was, Charlie never texted. He claimed he didn’t know how. Yet here it was, and not a simple line or two with abbreviations that took longer to decipher than it would have required to spell the word out. Here were whole paragraphs with names of individuals and organizations. As he knew less about texting than Charlie, or Charlie claimed to, he assumed he’d figured a way to attach a standard keyboard to his phone or make his laptop function like one. Bluetooth? Who knew? Either way, he was impressed. He would ask Charlie how he did it when he saw him next. He saved the message and rose when Yeats’ administrative aide signaled for Ike to go into the main office.

If a call went out for a slightly over-the-hill, middle-aged but fit college professor, probably teaching the Humanities, Byron Yeats could have come from central casting—tweedy, pipe in the breast pocket, horn-rimmed spectacles, and in need of a haircut—perfect. He greeted Ike cordially and asked if he would like something to drink. Ike declined both green tea and coffee. Thankfully, Yeats did not offer the sherry sitting in a decanter on a sideboard. Ike had had his fill of that beverage at the occasional faculty gatherings Ruth dragged him to on Sunday afternoons. Sherry, as far as Ike was concerned, was only good for cooking, and as an adjunct to split pea soup in lieu of vinegar. He’d been told terrapin soup also benefited from it as well. He’d yet to try that. Soup made from a turtle created a gap in his imaginings.

“You are an interesting man,” Yeats said as Ike settled into one of a matched pair of leather chairs across from his desk.

“I am? Why is that, Mr. Yeats?”

“It’s Doctor Yeats, actually—Sociology, Haverford. You are interesting, at least to me, A, because you are no ordinary sheriff, B, because you are here, I assume, to inquire into the accident involving Doctor Harris, and, C, you are way out of your jurisdiction if you do so. I will refrain from pointing out your past for the moment. It does feature in my estimation, however.”

“Since you know all these things, you might not want to set my past aside so quickly. If you looked into it, as I am sure you must have, you will have discovered that jurisdictional issues and the niceties of formal interrogation did not loom large on my horizon in the past. That could be the case again if I am looking for a particular killer or, rather, a potential one.”

“Ah, I see. And you believe I may be one, or am I just harboring one?”

“Four.”

“Four? And how did you arrive at that number?”

“I have my sources. You do run an organization that has in the past shown very strong contrary opinions to the government in general and certain issues in particular and you have attracted the notice of more than one agency because of it.”

“Ah, the FBI?”

“Among others.”

“Surely you do not believe opposing the federal government, or any government for that matter, constitutes sedition. We went through all that with the late, unlamented second president of the United States, if I recall my history.”

“John Adams, yes and no. I consider it a near sacred duty to oppose authority when there is a clear misuse or abuse of the power entrusted to it.”

“Then we agree. So what do you see as objectionable about my organization in-as-much as we are in basic agreement?”

“We are not discussing the fundamental right to disagree. I am drawn here because there is no provision in the Constitution or elsewhere that sanctions violence in the pursuit of that disagreement.”

“And you are under the impression that Let States Decide is purveying such action?”

“I am persuaded that possibility exists, though not stated, yes.”

“You overestimate me and the group I represent.”

“I think not. You have charted a very public course of action encouraging the members of your group to display their anger at the government.”

“First Amendment rights, Sheriff. We are guaranteed the right of assembly and freedom of speech, among other things.”

“The operative word in the amendment is ‘peaceably.’ The right to peaceably assemble. And the First Amendment right to freedom of speech does not, as Justice Holmes said, extend to the right to falsely shout ‘fire’ in a crowded theater. You are pushing the limits of the Constitution in some of your meetings and assemblies. It has consequences you cannot ignore, much as you might wish to.”

“And I would say to you, define ‘falsely.’ One man’s truth is another’s prevarication. The difficulties, when they arise, stem from the intimidating presence of police and the FBI mingling among our numbers jotting down names, taking pictures, not to mention a biased media. It is not we who are fomenting trouble.”

“I don’t know whether to reach across this desk and rearrange your teeth or keep up the pretense that I am a gentleman. You said you investigated my past. Are you sure you want to continue in this way? Yeats, you either suffer from gross self-delusion or have become the worst kind of demagogue. I can’t make up my mind which, but in either case I am not interested in debating with you about what I take to be your skewed notions of law and order. I am here because your opposition and reaction to the work of the committee Ruth Harris chaired had near-fatal consequences.”

“Consequences? What consequences? We oppose it as we opposed the antecedent legislation that established Federal Curriculum Standards. There is no provision in the Constitution or anywhere else establishing Federal oversight of education in the separate states. The Department of Education needs to be eliminated.”

“Except for the composition of the Legislature, the Presidency, and the Judiciary, there is no provision in the Constitution for the establishment of most of the departments of government. But they exist and you and your organization benefit from their existence. If you are so keen on reform and return to fundamentals, consistency would require you also object to the Departments of Health, Transportation, Commerce, Defense, and all of the regulatory agencies that keep snake oil off the market, banks out of your pocket and, more immediately, your current tax-free status. Am I right?” ”

“You are, like most liberals, blind to the insidious takeover of our rights by a centralized government.”

Ike laughed. It hurt to do so. Laughter was no longer part of his program. “I’ve been labeled many things, but you are the first to pin that tag on me. I am not here to debate this. Nor is it my purpose to play Constitutional chess with you. Too much damage has been done to the fabric of society by people like you already. I am here to request from you the addresses and particulars of the names on this list. They are your members, as you know full well, and they lurk on the fringes of your organization. They are like rogue predators. You have provided them sanctuary and a mission. Any or all of them are capable of forcing Ms. Harris off the road.”

“You say it was not an accident?”

“Do not toy with me, Yeats, this is personal and I am not in a mood to play games.”

Yeats finally lit the pipe he’d been stroking with his thumb for the previous fifteen minutes, and disappeared behind a cloud of smoke, which had a significant measure of latakia, if Ike guessed correctly.

“I will concede that there are in this organization, as with every organization, a fringe of, shall we say, zealots—your rogues, if you will. I mean, look at any group and you will find them. Even in police departments. Surely you have among your employees one or two who will step over the line in the pursuance of a suspect or a lead. In point of fact, you are here out of your jurisdiction chasing after what—revenge? Does that not make you a rogue as well?” Yeats read Ike’s expression. “Did I hit a nerve? I did. So, how do you expect me to be held accountable for the occasional knuckle dragger who shows up at our rallies?”

“None of my nerves was even in the neighborhood, much less hit. Those fringe elements are responsible for violence that cannot be justified or excused. You know who these people are because, unless you are an idiot, you have them monitored by your own security people. Please don’t waste my time. I need their current locations and status.”

“Ah, but as we agreed, you are out of your jurisdiction. Forcing that from me would require a warrant of some sort and you can’t get one, so sorry, not going to happen.”

Yeats leaned back in his chair in smug silence.

“You can wipe that supercilious smile off your face. I have something better than a warrant. I will read you a message I received today and when you’ve heard enough, you will tell me what I want to know. You must not have been paying attention. I said this is personal.”

Ike retrieved Charlie’s text and began reading. When he started to read the list of organizations on the Homeland Security’s watch list he paused from time to time and looked up.

“Any of these sound familiar? You have a multiplicity of donors, surely one of these…I could ask Homeland Security to check, of course, and then, who knows what might happen? Agents might be here scouring your files, digging into the pasts of your employees and members, perhaps even looking at your books. As I said, who knows where that might lead?”

Yeats held up his hand, pulled a notepad from his desk, and began writing.

Having Yeats offer up the data was a start, but Ike had hoped for something better, something more immediate. The disturbing thought darted through his mind that he might be hunting the wrong animal. He pushed it aside.

Chapter Twenty-five

A few minutes past seven, Eden’s taxicab pulled up at the address Charlie had given her at the airport, a dingy storefront on an equally dingy street. A window to the right boasted a neon sign which flickered, buzzed, and read, “BAR.” Another to the left announced that “This Bud’s For You,” She didn’t think so. Two suspiciously green evergreens in plastic tubs, looking a little worse for wear, flanked the door itself. Overhead, the elevated tracks rattled as a train rumbled past carrying the last stragglers from the evening rush hour westward. She hesitated a moment before paying her driver. The door, she noticed, though deep in shadows, was painted a bright red and over it, at right angles but hardly visible from the street, hung a sign saying “The End Run.” She stared at the sign for a moment trying to decipher its meaning. She feared Charlie had pulled a very bad practical joke on her. She seriously considered turning back. The cab drove off, leaving her no choice but to push her way in.

The interior of the restaurant surprised her. She relaxed. It seemed he’d invited her to one of those known-only-to-the-neighborhood-and-a-select-few places where the food is always good, never excellent, the service friendly, and the ambience informal. Unless she missed her guess, it would be owned, managed, or dominated by a character.

Charlie waved to her from the bar. He helped her off with her coat and scarf and took her elbow to lead her into the restaurant’s dim interior. She sniffed at the mixed aromas of garlic, onions, tomato sauce, and Italian sausage. Things were looking up.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” he said, leading her to a booth away from the front door, the bar, and any but the most determined scrutiny.

“Well,” she said glancing around, “you’re right, I think. You will be invisible here from whoever it is you wish to be invisible from, if that sentence parses. You could hide Osama bin Laden in this joint.”

“The patrons of this establishment would dice him and put him in marinara sauce, were that so.” Charlie beckoned for a server. He ordered rye and water. Eden asked for Prosecco.

“We’re celebrating? Good.” Charlie canceled his rye and asked for a magnum of the sparkling Italian wine. “And bring us flutes, not the white wine glasses.”

“Tell me, what’s up with this place that I had to take a cab halfway to Iowa to meet you? Also, I came because the whole notion of a clandestine meeting intrigued me. So, why the cloak and dagger?”

“I could say force of habit. Ah, here he is!”

“Who?”

Eden followed his gaze and saw what she guessed was the character.

“Tony Agnelli, our host.”

Agnelli stood six-five. As nearly as she could tell, he had no neck. His shoulders simply bunched up and met his ears. He seemed nearly as wide as he was tall and moved with the assurance of one accustomed to having others step aside. Judging from his bulk, she guessed he may have exceeded three hundred pounds. Harry Potter’s Hagrid but without the beard. The closest thing she’d seen that massive and mobile was the USS New Jersey.

“Hey, Chucky,” Agnelli rumbled, and shifted course fractionally, enough to miss a table and chair, but not the waitress serving drinks next to it. Eden held her breath, expecting the crash of glassware and crunch of bone and sinew as USS Agnelli ran her down. But she pirouetted away at the last moment. An old hand, it seemed.

“Marie told me you made a reservation. What is this, you gotta make a reservation? This is The End Run. You don’t make a reservation.” He slowed his pace. Eden could almost hear the orders on the bridge. “All stop. Reverse,” and the clanging of the ship’s telegraph. He berthed gently at their table and his gaze settled on Eden. “How do you do.”

She got her second surprise. However massive and clumsy Agnelli appeared, his eyes were extraordinarily soft, kind, and a startling shade of Nile green.

“Tony, Eden Saint Clare.”

“Hi,” she extended her hand.

“Tony Agnelli. Nice to meecha. Any friend of Charlie here is a friend of mine.”

“Mr. Agnelli and I used to play football together. Tony was somewhat lighter in those days and we were both very much younger. Tony played every down, both ways, while I kept the bench warm for him for the rare moments when he needed a breather.”

“We played for the once-mighty Princeton Tigers, a lot of years ago.”

“You won a lot of games?”

“We had a few good years and a few not so good.”

“In the Dartmouth game, Charlie got mousetrapped and mashed his knee and was out of football forever.”

“It was the first and only time I actually got to play a down. I think we were losing forty–zip and the coach decided to rest the first string and most of the second, for that matter, and proceeded to clear the bench. One play and my march to the Heisman ended.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, but it sounds awful. What is a mousetrap?”

“You tell her,” Charlie said.

“Well, a mousetrap is when somebody on one side is maybe too good and coach wants to make him not so good. So instead of meeting him head-on like you’re expected to, you step aside and let him through. He thinks you missed your block. And then two guys who’re supposed to be somewhere else come from the right and left and bam, the guy who might be too good goes to the sidelines with his bell rung.”

“Or his knee filled with relocated cartilage and ligaments.”

“That’s awful.”

“That’s football.”

“What happened to you?”

“I ended my collegiate career with a limp as the team’s Assistant Manager.”

“Charlie was on an academic scholarship and put himself through college. He goes to Desert Storm with the Marines, gets medals, and disappears, only to come out in the spook business. You be nice to this man.”

“And what about you, Tony? Did you play any more football?”

“Oh yeah. I had the other kind of scholarship, so I played. The Bears drafted me in the seventh round. I sat on the bench a year and got traded to Miami. I sat on their bench two years and then moved to Buffalo and some other teams. Never made the big time. Quit when the only job I could get was on Al Davis’ Raiders and it looked like another year on the bench or maybe the practice squad.”

“Tony is being modest. He was a heavy-duty fullback. The game changed around him and runningbacks got lighter and faster.”

“I was a dinosaur.”

“So now you work here, Tony?”

“Not work, own. People might have thought I was a big, dumb jock, but while all those high draft choices were out buying pimped-out Caddies, trophy wives, and swimming pools, I bought tax-free munis and blue chips. I built a nest egg big enough so my family can live up north of Winnetka and I can lose money on this restaurant.”

“You have a family?”

“Six kids, wife, two dogs, a cat, a rabbit, no mortgage, no car payment, no worries. Football was good to me…Marie!” Tony bellowed so loudly three men at the bar spilled their drinks. “Menus. These people are hungry.”

“None for me,” Charlie said. “I know what I want already.”

“You really don’t need a menu, Charlie?”

“No, I always have the house specialty.”

“Then make it two.” Eden declared.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Tony said, “it’s kind of like, you know, a guy thing.”

“A guy thing? You don’t mean for men only, do you?”

“Oh no, it’s not that. It’s just that girls usually don’t—”

“Girls? Whoa, this woman can eat anything a man can, ex-football players included.”

“Well, sure, but…”

“Eden, you should at least look at the menu.”

“Don’t need to.”

“Sight unseen?”

“Blind.” Oh God, she thought, please don’t make it mountain oysters.

“Okay, be right out.” Tony, engines full ahead, set off toward the kitchen.

Eden studied Charlie.

“Okay. What did I just order?”

“Liver and onions.”

She let it sink in a minute. “You did it to me, didn’t you?”

“Did what?”

“You guys just mousetrapped me.”

Charlie grinned. Eden sat back and twisted her wine glass by its stem. “Can we be serious for a minute?”

“Certainly. What is it?”

“You’ve known Ike for a long time, right? You’re his friend. You’d do anything for him?”

“Probably.”

“I worry about him. It’s like he’s obsessed with this search for the person who hurt Ruth.”

“Don’t you want to catch the guy, too?”

“Sure, but I want a whole Ruth and a sane Ike more. Look, finding the person isn’t going to change anything. And I swear, I sometimes think Ike’s head will explode if he doesn’t slow down. Tell him to call it off.”

“He’s a tough guy, Eden, he won’t explode.”

“Tell me the truth, Charlie. Is all this running around looking for an antigovernment crazy going to work?”

“Probably not—no.”

“Then why…?”

“You need to know how personal this is for him.”

“You are referring to what happened to his wife in Switzerland, I guess. Ruth told me the story.”

“There is that, yes, and other things. Ike is a very righteous man. I mean that in the Old Testament sense. When he sees injustice, he wants to make it right. At the moment, unfortunately, justice is looking like a needle in a haystack. A needle, by the way, that probably isn’t really there.”

“But why, then, are you all spending so much effort when you don’t believe it will work?”

“He will not rest until he’s satisfied he’s done everything possible. And if you’re sincere about wanting him sane, you will understand, it’s the way he is. He needs to hunt. After a while, when he steps back from the thing and lets his intuition rather than his emotions run the case, he will focus and finish it. So, that’s why I am helping him. He will be okay, trust me.”

“I guess I must. Listen, Charlie, I have a big day tomorrow. If you’ll call me a cab, I’ll take a miss on the house specialty. Tell Tony I said thanks, but no thanks.”

“Stay. You have to eat and he won’t bring you liver. He will have a small filet and a house salad out here in five. Stay.”