Lady Justice and the Candidate (15 page)

CHAPTER 16

    As the private jet made its final approach into the Kansas City International Airport, I saw the familiar skyline of Kansas City in the distance.

    We had been cris-crossing the nation for four months and it was a relief to be back on my home turf.

    The schedule had been so hectic that on some days, I actually had to ask Sully what city we were in.

    I had certainly gained a new respect for the politicians, entertainers and sports figures that spend their lives in hotel rooms in different cities every night.

    It didn’t take long for me to realize that was not the life for me.

    I was anxious to get back to my boring routine, patrol with Ox during the day, curl up on the sofa with Maggie in the evening and then crawl into my very own bed.

    One more night and this odyssey would be over.

    After today’s election, win, lose or draw, the fact that Ben Foster had been assassinated would be revealed and I could get back to my real life.

    An entire floor at the Marriott had been secured for our entourage to follow the election returns.

    Mark Davenport had made arrangements for Maggie to be with us in the suite. In four months I had but one brief conversation with my lovely bride.

    This, too, gave me new respect and admiration for the men and women in our armed forces that bid their families goodbye for months on end as they deploy to cities and countries across the world.

    The election was up for grabs.

    After Ben’s last stirring speech --- actually my last speech --- the gap separating the three candidates had disappeared. It was a dead heat.

    Now that it was entirely possible that Ben Foster could be the next President of the United States, he was afforded the same security measures as the
president himself.

    As our motorcade left the airport and turned south on I-29 toward the city, I saw the patrol cars blocking access to the freeway at every cloverleaf and when we reached the downtown area, every car had been removed from the streets that led to our hotel.

    I thought of Ben’s jab at the president in the televised debate and I wondered how many millions of Kansas City dollars were being spent getting me, a common patrol officer, safely to my hotel.

    It was a sad commentary on our society that we must insulate our leaders from the people they are supposed to serve.

    It was nearly dark when the motorcade pulled into the rear of the hotel. We were to enter from the loading dock and take the service elevator to our suite.

    In just a few more minutes, I would be holding Maggie in my arms again.

    I watched as the SS agents emptied from the lead car and communicated with the other agents already on the scene.

    Even though I had seen the snipers strategically situated on the roofs of adjoining buildings, I wondered if it was possible that there would be one last ditch attempt to get Ben Foster out of the picture.

    When the lead agents were satisfied that all was secure, I saw one of them give a ‘thumbs up’ to Sully.

    With Max on one side and Sully on the other, we made our way to the service elevator.

    I breathed a sigh of relief when the doors closed and Sully punched, 'penthouse suite.'

    The elevator had risen about three floors when it came to a jerky halt.

    I remembered the night when Ben had been trapped in the elevator and I had to do his press conference.

    Just as he was pressing the key on his communication device, the ceiling access panel burst open and two men dropped into the elevator from above.

    With two, quick, well placed blows, Max and Sully were knocked unconscious.

    The interlopers were dressed exactly like the SS agents.

    One of them spoke in quiet, even tones, “Mr. Foster, please don’t scream or yell or we’ll have to kill you and your two agents right here, right now.”

    I nodded.

    “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he continued. “We’re going to get off at the next floor and go to one of the regular elevators and take it to the lobby. There will be a car waiting for us out front.

    “If you make any effort to contact anyone before we get in that car, we will kill you on the spot and I’m sure you can imagine the collateral damage that would ensue. A lot of innocent people would die.

    “Do you understand?”

    I nodded again.

    He spoke into his own device and the elevator started again. He punched the button for the fourth floor.

    “I think I know how this is supposed to end,” I said. “Please just give me the satisfaction of knowing why. Who sent you?”

    He just smiled as the elevator came to a stop and the door slid open.

    “No more talking until we get into the car. Got it?”

    “Yes, but ---!”

    “That’s it! Quiet!”

    They led me to one of the passenger elevators and punched the button to the lobby.

    When the doors opened, the crowd in the lobby spotted the man that they supposed was Ben Foster.

    The SS agents on the scene were surprised to see me, but did their jobs holding the pressing crowd at bay.

    I knew some of the guys and I briefly considered the possibility of screaming bloody murder, but I quickly realized that would put them as well as innocent bystanders in the lobby in danger.

    There was no doubt in my mind that they would do exactly as they had said.

    We made our way through the lobby and at the street, a limo was waiting just as they had said.

    Uniformed officers that had been summoned from the Kansas City Police Department to assist in crowd control were guarding the street outside.

    I looked at the sea of blue uniforms and saw, on the curb right beside the limo, my partner, Ox.

    He was occupied holding back the curious onlookers, but as I was getting into the limo, our eyes met and I said, “Joey Piccolo.”

    The agent gave me a shove and slammed the door shut.

    “I said no talking! I ought to kill you right here!”

    He signaled to the driver and we turned onto the street and headed north.

    As we wound through the streets of downtown Kansas City, I saw the police headquarters building in the distance and wondered if it would be the last time.

    Eventually, I realized that the limo was heading to the Missouri River.

    That wasn’t a good sign.

    In the dark of a November evening, nobody would be by the river’s docks.

    When the limo pulled to a stop, I recognized where we were. It was the same loading dock where this adventure had begun four months ago, only this time there wouldn’t be a boat waiting for me when I was dumped into the river.

    “Get out!” the guy ordered, and pushed me toward the dock.

    “On your knees,” he said, pushing me to the ground.

    I looked at the muddy water swirling around the dock just a few feet away and realized that with a bullet to the back of the head and a cinder block tied to a foot, Ben Foster would really be dead --- and so would I!

    “I just don’t see how he could do this and not tell his own father,” John Williams grumbled as he drove to the Marriott hotel.

    “Well I do,” Willie replied, “Kids don’ tell dere folks a lot o’ stuff --- but dere bes’ frien’ --- dat’s different.”

    “All I know,” Mary said from the back seat, “is if Mr. Walt really is alive, I may kill him myself for making me hurt like that.”

    John turned into the entrance of the Marriott, “Hey, isn’t that Ox --- there by the street?”

    “Sho is,” Willie replied.

    Ox was surprised to see the trio, “What are you guys doing here?”

    “We came to see this Foster guy,” Mary said from the back seat, “only he ain’t Foster, he’s Mr. Walt!”

    “What makes you think that?” Ox asked.

    John quickly shared their suspicions.

    “Then what I heard is beginning to make some sense --- and Walt is in trouble!”

    “Where is he now?” John asked.

    “He just left in a limo. They headed north.”

    “Hop in. A limo shouldn’t be hard to spot.”

    As they searched the streets, John asked, “What tipped you off?”

    “Just as the guy got into the limo, he said, 'Joey Piccolo.' "

    “I remember dat guy,” Willie said. “Mr. Walt was doin’ an undercover thing wit Vince and dis Piccolo character nabbed him.”

    “That’s right, Willie,” Ox replied, “and if you and Louie the Lip hadn’t showed up, Walt would have been tossed off the cliff at Quality Hill.”

    “So by saying, 'Joey Piccolo,' John said, “he was telling you that he was being abducted.”

    “That’s the way I see it.”

    “Then we’d better hurry.”

    “Up dere!” Willie said, pointing. “Deres de limo!”

    They followed at a safe distance as the limo wound its way to the Missouri River.

    They watched as the two men led Walt to the dock.

    “Dey gonna whack him and dump him in de river,” Willie said.

    “We can’t just charge up there,” Ox said. “There’s too much open space. They’d kill Walt before we got there. We need a distraction.”

    John looked out of the car window and spotted a wine bottle that someone had emptied and tossed aside.

    “Willie, do you think you can impersonate a drunk?”

    “Sho can. I’ve had me some practice over de years.”

    “Then here’s what we’ll do,” John said, “Willie and I will be a couple of old drunks, stumbling down the river’s edge looking for a quiet place to polish off our bottle. While we have their attention, you can sneak up on them since you’re the only one that’s armed.”

    “The hell he is!” Mary retorted. “I don’t go nowhere without my bat!”

    “NO!” all three of them said at once.

    “Those guys are dangerous and you’d never get close enough to use that thing anyway. You just stay out of sight.

    “Let’s do this!” Ox said.

    I had dropped to my knees and figured that I was taking my last few breaths when I heard an ungodly noise coming up the bank.

    “
Oh my darlin’, oh my darlin’ oh my daaaaaarlin’ Clementine. You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorrrrrrry, Clementine
.”

    A couple of drunks were staggering in our direction.

    “Shit! Just what we need,” one of my abductors muttered. “I’ll get rid of them. You watch Foster.”

    As the drunks grew closer, I realized that it was Willie and my dad.

    “You guys beat it unless you want to get hurt,” the guy threatened.

    “We don’t want no trouble, mister,” Dad said with his best slur. “We just looking for a quiet place to drink.”