The Last Election (19 page)

The men with the Molotov cocktails laughed as they saw a man in the store waving his arms in sheer terror. They took their time, making sure everyone who was watching got a good look at what they were doing. Finally Torgersen looked at Dixon and said, “On three.” They each took three shuffle steps forward and launched the bottles toward the store.

As Joseph watched the bottles sail through the air, his last thought was of his son Danté. He whispered, “Please God, don’t let him die,” just as the firebombs hit the floor before him. Within seconds Joseph Franklin and his family hardware store went up in flames.

The trucks sped away from the scene with Agent Torgersen’s truck in the lead. He slowed down as they approached the service station from which their mission began. He smiled once he saw a white DMBC van in the parking lot in front of the station. Torgersen honked the horn a few times as he passed the van, while Dixon and the other agents in the trucks whooped it up and gave the occupants of the van the thumbs-up. Police cars heading toward the fire raced past the trucks as they drove off in the other direction. As the police cars sped past the service station, the DMBC van pulled onto the street and took off following them.

Chapter 45

The Detroit Metro Broadcasting Company was busy this evening. Reports were pouring in from the field showing violence and destruction throughout Detroit. Darius Robinson, the DMBC Newscast Producer, was trying to bring order to the disorder in the studio control room as the reports flooded into the station. It was he who decided what breaking news stories were broadcast and when.

The control room was filled with commotion. When Robinson stepped away to answer a call he had received on his personal hand held radio, no one even noticed. He answered by saying, “Lion One.”

“Lion One, this is Lion Three. The hardware store fire was just started. We will be pulling up any second," replied the voice on the other end.

“Good job, Three. Give me a live shot of the fire. Interview as many witnesses as possible.” Robinson smiled as he stuck his radio in his pocket and made his way back into the control room. He couldn’t wait to broadcast the story of a poor black businessman whose business was set on fire by a bunch of white hooligans. That would make the president very happy.

Darius Robinson had known President Bonsam his entire life. They had grown up in the same apartment building and spent much of their adolescence gallivanting the mean streets of East St. Louis. They were the textbook examples of juvenile delinquents, who over the years together shoplifted from stores, vandalized public property, and even made healthy profits fencing stolen car stereos.

They developed a strong and loyal friendship. Once when they were in junior high, they decided to torch an abandoned house just for kicks. As they fled the scene of the crime, the police caught Bonsam, but Robinson managed to get away. Bonsam spent eight hours at the Salem Police Station under intense pressure to give up the name of his accomplice, but he refused to sell out his good friend.

Robinson was grateful and made a stringent pact promising to support Bonsam in the future should the need arise. When Robinson entered the news business, Bonsam cashed in on the promise. Robinson became Bonsam’s best mole in the broadcast news industry, and over the years he skillfully recruited many reporters across the nation to support and ensure Bonsam’s rise to power. Robinson’s actions tonight at DMBC Studios would be the zenith of his career as an operative in Bonsam’s deceptive schemes.

“Darius, we are getting spectacular video of a business fire in the Cass Corridor,” called out one of the assignment editors. “It was definitely arson and it appears that there may have been people inside the building.”

Robinson was smiling on the inside but serious on the outside. “Good God, that is horrible! Tell the reporter to stand by and keep the video running. I’ll feed the information to the anchors. I’ll have Reaves cut to the reporter right away.”

Chapter 46

Clark and Martineau continued to watch in disbelief as the reports showed the rioting taking place across Detroit. Every report showed the downtown streets in the midst of bedlam and chaos. “My God, will you look at that? It’s total anarchy,” said Clark.

“Heaven help us,” said Martineau.

The lead DMBC anchor, Dean Reaves, was now beginning to report confirmed deaths. The number was low at this time, but Clark knew that at any moment the number could start to climb.

“We need to get a close look at downtown,” Clark yelled to the cockpit.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes sir,” Stryker yelled back.

“This is going to be a long ten minutes,” Clark said to Martineau.

“Didn’t the timing of the press secretary’s announcement seem to be more than just a matter of bad timing?” asked Martineau. “It was as if he were intentionally trying to stir up a hornets’ nest.”

“Well, he succeeded,” Clark replied. He paused for a moment. “This has Bonsam written all over it.”

Chapter 47

The Canadian Customs officials at the Ambassador Bridge had their hands full tonight. The Ontario-bound traffic was backing up for miles as people desperately tried to get out of downtown Detroit by crossing the border to the safety of Windsor. Plus, Canadian police officers weren’t letting any Michigan-bound traffic cross over into Detroit for obvious reasons, which was causing an unbelievable amount of gridlock on the Windsor side of the bridge.

Owen McGraw was standing in the main lobby of the Customs headquarters with several of his fellow Customs agents who were waiting for their shifts to begin. They had gathered around the lobby television and were watching the reports coming out of Detroit. As he was about to leave for his post, a news report came on that stopped the agents dead in their tracks.

An elderly man was in tears as he told the reporter what he had witnessed. “They drove their pickup trucks right up to Joe’s hardware store then ripped off the entire storefront. Poor old Joe was standing there pleading for mercy, but them cowboys just up and firebombed the store with Joe still in it.”

“Can you describe the men who did this?” asked the reporter from DMBC.

“Yeah, they was some white country boys. Five or six of them. They was driving great big pickup trucks, two of them. Brand new ones with a back seat with their own doors. They was all jacked up, the body way up high over the wheels,” said the man. He paused for a minute and then the tears returned. “Oh, them farm boys killed Joe Franklin in cold blood.
Ol
’ Joe would never hurt nobody.”

McGraw shook his head in disgust. “It’s going to be a long night,” he said as he left the headquarters building and made his way to his booth. The Customs agent he was relieving stepped out of the booth to allow McGraw to enter. As McGraw took his seat, his colleague patted him on the back as he peered at the never-ending line of cars that were honking their horns and said, “It sucks to be you, eh.”

As his colleague walked off, McGraw settled into his position and called the next car forward. As the car was pulling up he looked further down the row of cars heading his way. Much to his surprise he saw a couple of decked-out Ford F250 pickups only four cars away, loudly revving their engines.

The driver who had pulled forward was waving his passport at McGraw and calling out, “Hello?” McGraw ignored the driver as he picked up his phone and placed an urgent to call his boss.

Chapter 48

Stanley Kaczmarek was confused as he drove through the downtown streets that were quickly becoming a war zone.
What is going on? It is early on a Monday night!
He looked over at his wife Lidia and could see she was frightened. In their 38 years together, he had never seen her so scared.

Stanley just wanted to get out of the city and back to Hamtramck, but that was proving difficult. Every street he turned onto had people on it yelling and fighting. He was about to make a right turn when he saw someone bash out the windshield of a car on that street. He looked to his left and saw a car on fire. He gunned his engine and drove straight on, not really sure where he was going.

Stanley drove fast but cautiously, and after traveling less than a mile the street seemed clear of rioting. He allowed himself to relax a little. He took Lidia’s hand and squeezed it gently. She turned and gave him a smile. To Stanley she was just as beautiful today as she was when they first met all those years ago.

Without any warning a car bolted out of a side street and stopped perpendicularly directly in front of the
Kaczmareks
’ car. Stanley slammed on the brakes. He looked at Lidia and saw that the fear in her eyes had returned.

The driver of the other car climbed out and walked toward Stanley’s door. As the driver closed in, Stanley saw that it was a woman, and she was wearing a jumpsuit that had a badge pinned to it. She motioned to Stanley to roll down his window, which he did.

“Sorry about that sir, but I had to stop you. It’s not safe to continue up this road. The rioting has gotten out of control and the police are blocking off the area.”

Stanley relaxed once again. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said. “Which way should I go?”

She pointed to the side street from which she had come. “Just turn down there, there is someone at the end directing traffic to safe streets.”

Stanley smiled and said, “Thanks.”

She smiled back and said, “You’re welcome. Please be careful.”

Stanley made the turn and entered the side street. He had only driven a short way when it appeared that the street was blocked off only a few yards ahead. “What’s going on?” he said as he gazed into the darkness of the street ahead.

He looked in the rearview mirror and saw headlights coming up fast behind him. He looked at Lidia and said, “Everything is going to be all right.”

The car behind him stopped close to his rear bumper and the driver got out. It was the woman again. As she approached, Stanley rolled down his window to ask her what was going on. When she reached the window, she drew a handgun and pumped a bullet into the heads of Stanley and Lidia Kaczmarek.

Chapter 49

Agent Gisela Schroeder looked through Stanley Kaczmarek’s wallet as she walked back to her car. She pulled out her radio and clicked the button. “Lion One, this is Lion Four, over.”

“Go ahead Lion Four.”

“Couple. Two elderly Caucasians,” she said as she looked at Mr. Kaczmarek’s driver’s license.

“
Oooh
, a couple of Polacks.
Opa
would have been so proud,” Schroeder said to herself. Her grandfather had been a prominent member of the Third Reich back in the old country. Her father had always said that little Gisela would someday grow up to be just like her grandfather, and he was right.

“Perfect. DMBC van is on the way. You know what to do.”

“Roger, out.” Schroeder smiled as she put down her weapon and radio. The kills exhilarated her. She couldn’t wait to tell Erik Torgersen all about them. She knew that her longtime lover would be most impressed.

Schroeder unzipped her jumpsuit and stepped out of it, revealing that she was dressed like a $20 hooker. She had on a skintight white blouse that was only buttoned half way up, her large pearly white breasts nearly spilling out of the top. She wore a short leather skirt that also left little to the imagination. She caked on some bright red lipstick and then shook her head from side to side as she let down her long blonde hair. She slipped on a pair of black Stiletto shoes that perfectly matched the full-length fishnet stockings that were stretched tightly up over her long, supple legs. Finally, she removed the necklace with a swastika pendant that she had been wearing and went to the end of the street to wait for the DMBC van.