The President's Killers (2 page)

THREE

The young crowd at O’Brien’s in Millburn, New Jersey, was packed so tightly around the bar that people had to clutch their drinks to their chests. Saturday nights were always hectic.

Denis Kinney, serving up one drink after another, had to force himself to keep smiling. He couldn’t get the afternoon’s infuriating interview out of his mind. The headhunter with the shaved head seemed decent enough, but the older guy was an arrogant ass.

The more Denny thought about the brush-off McQueen gave him, the more it angered him. The drive over to the hotel and the interview had taken up much of his afternoon, and he came away without even knowing what company or industry they were talking about. He’d worried about his lack of sales experience, and the subject never even came up.

He knew putting his resume on the web would open the door to weirdos, but he was getting desperate. He was going to show Meesh he intended to make something of himself.

At the end of the bar one of the regulars was holding his glass up for another vodka-on-the rocks.

As Denny poured the liquor, the cell phone on his belt vibrated.

“Call when u can,” the message said.

Meesh was apologetic. She didn’t like to interrupt him at work, but she hadn’t been able to reach him at his apartment during the afternoon.

“I have to go to L.A. for a couple days,” she said.

“Oh.”

“Tomorrow morning. Jason called. He wants me to go with him to a reception for the head of Korn-Ritter’s new subsidiary in L.A. We have to catch a nine o’clock flight.”

“We were going to go out for dinner.”

“I know. What can I say? Jason says it’s a very important deal.”

It annoyed him. Tomorrow would be exactly one year since they’d started seeing each other again. He’d made dinner reservations at Vittorio’s, a pricey place. He’d even ordered flowers for her.

“You couldn’t get out of it?”

“I tried… We’ve got a couple of meetings out there. I’ll be back Wednesday night. We can celebrate on the weekend.”

This would be her third trip with her snooty boss in two months. From the moment he met him, at a Korn-Ritter cocktail party, Denny disliked him.

“All right,” he said. “I better get back to the bar.”

“Why don’t you come over when you’re through? We can have our own little party.”

If he did that, she’d have to wait up for him. It would be a very late night, and no matter how hard they tried, it wouldn’t be the special occasion he’d imagined.

“Come on,” she coaxed.

“I told Ray I’d go out for a pizza when we’re through.”

Neither of them could think of anything else to say.

“I gotta go,” he said.

“See you on Wednesday when I’m back.”

The call on Monday morning changed everything.

“Jerry Lott, Denny,” the familiar voice said. “Can you meet me in Newark tomorrow?”

Denny was still sore over the way the Short Hills Inn interview had gone. “I’m tied up.”

“We got a great proposition for you.”

“I don’t have time to play games.”

“We can change your life, Denny.”

“Look, I’m… okay, okay. Fine, I’ll come.”

“Good. Tomorrow morning at the Rodino Building.”

“The Rodino Building?”

“Downtown, on Broad Street. Some of our clients work for Uncle Sam. I’m on the run these days. Meet me in the lobby at ten. By the elevators.”

FOUR

That night at O'Brien's one of the regulars was hitting on a young chick Denny hadn't seen before.

She was attractive, blonde like Meesh. But she didn’t have Meesh’s dimples and cute nose. The place was almost empty, and Denny kept peeking at the two lovers as he wiped cocktail glasses and placed them on a tray.

Their noses were almost touching. It made him wonder if Jason was hitting on Meesh at this very moment.

He thought about her trips to California, her fancy office, the big paychecks she got as a manager. It dwarfed the pittance he earned. And Jason probably made twice as much as Meesh.

Why hadn’t she told him she had a commitment she couldn’t break? He’d planned to use the dinner at Vittorio’s to bring up the subject of marriage again.

Meesh kept assuring him she wanted to get married, but not just yet. She wasn’t ready to start a family. She was in line for a promotion at Korn-Ritter and wanted to give her career a little more time.

He had no problem with that. Except he was beginning to wonder if they were ever going to get around to marriage.

By the time they closed the bar and cleaned up the place, it was past one-thirty. He went straight home.

When he opened the door of his apartment, his big gold cat emerged from the bedroom, stiff-legged and sleepy-looking.

Denny stuck his finger out. “Bang-bang!”

Doc sank to the floor and lay on his side. Denny bent down and rubbed behind his ears.

He gave Doc some tuna flakes, poured himself a shot of tequila, and sank into the recliner in front of the TV. The cat hopped onto the chair and spread out on his lap.

“We blew it, Doc. Once upon a time the Mets and White Sox were going to sign us. Look at us now.”

When he got into bed, Doc hopped up and sprawled across his ankles. Lying there wide awake, Denny listened to the cat’s gentle snoring, the stillness interrupted every few minutes by the swish of a car on the street below or the muffled roar of an airliner thousands of feet above them.

It was crazy. Meesh was the high flier now, a rising corporate star, zipping all over the country.

A few years ago, he was the one with the brilliant future. Now he was probably an embarrassment to her, a bartender in a cheap neighborhood bar

“That Kinney kid throws as hard as Doc Gooden did when he first came up,” the Mets scout had told his high school coach. “He could be another Gooden.”

Nobody doubted he had a great future.

Well, he had only himself to blame. He’d pinned all his hopes on his athleticism. He was going to be in somebody’s starting rotation, drawing big fat paychecks. Who needed a college degree?

He shook his head. What an idiot! What would the old high school crowd think of him now?
Hey, Denny get me a beer!

“We’ve got a great proposition for you,” Lott, the bald headhunter had said. “An incredible opportunity.”

Denny didn’t believe that for a minute.

FIVE

Nothing went the way he expected.

In the lobby of the Rodino Federal Building, three people were standing at counters talking with clerks. Several others were waiting at elevator banks.

Jerry Lott was not among them. Denny stood next to the black marble wall beside the elevators and waited.

When Lott finally stepped out of one of the elevators, he was chatting with a plump white-haired woman. He looked heavier and his bald head shinier than Denny remembered. The olive-drab suit pulled across his shoulders and hips.

He saw Denny and broke away from the woman.

“C’mon,” he said, pumping Denny’s hand. “Let’s go out to my car.” 

Outside, the dark clouds looked ominous and the June air was heavy. A few rain drops were beginning to fall.

Lott led him to a red Lumina parked at a meter on the narrow street in front of the building.

He drove them down Broad Street, past Newark’s gold-domed City Hall and a long strip of cheap clothing and shoe stores, fast-food joints, pawn shops, and African hair-braiding salons.

“I was nuts about baseball when I was a kid,” Lott said. “I would’ve loved to play in the pros the way you did. Used to catch. Not bad, but I couldn’t hit a curve to save my ass. What happened to your arm?”

“Tore my right flexor pronator. I could barely raise my hand to shave.”

“So you quit shaving, eh?”

Lott laughed. He was much friendlier than he had been during the interview. He was even interested in Denny’s love life.

“What’s the girlfriend’s name?”

“Michelle. Michelle Walker.”

“Living together?”

“She’s got a place in Summit. I’m in Millburn.”

The street was clogged with cars and buses, but the sidewalks were almost empty. The rain was coming down harder now, and the street vendors’ carts, loaded with cheap neckties or purses and wigs, were covered with clear plastic sheets.

Lott adjusted the windshield wipers.

“Where we going?” Denny said.

“We’ve got a great opportunity for you, kid.”

He turned off Broad onto a narrow, red-brick street, then pulled into a parking area in front of an old warehouse. Behind them was a deserted train station.

“This is my office.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is where I hang my hat.”

Denny glanced at the cars on either side of them. “This what they mean by a corner office?”

Lott laughed. He removed from his breast pocket what appeared to be a black wallet. Inside was a silver badge. He handed the leather case to Denny. Across the middle of the badge were the letters S-I-G. At the bottom, in smaller letters: N-S-C.

“I’m with SIG.”

The name meant nothing to Denny.

“Special Intelligence Group,” Lott said. “With the NSC.”

It still meant nothing.

“National Security Council,” Lott said. “Ever read a long time ago about Ollie North and all that crap about Iran-Contra?”

Denny remembered the term Iran-Contra but that was about all.

“Executive Order 12333,” Lott said. “Harry Truman. It gives the White House the authority to use the National Security Council for things the CIA or FBI normally do. Sometimes they figure we can do the job better. Our boss reports to the head of the NSC.”

Denny was impressed.

Lott looked at him. “We think you might be a good fit.”

“I thought we were talking about a sales job.”

Lott grinned. “We were stringing you along, kid. We’re Government. Very low-profile. We got to be. You’ll never get rich with us. But we’re a pretty damned elite outfit. And they take good care of us. Lots of perks. I’ve been all over this miserable world.”

Denny didn’t know what to make of it. It wasn’t something he’d ever considered. Government agencies didn’t pay all that much. On the other hand, his brother had been a cop in Irvington for four years. And the stories Rob told had always fascinated him.

“Interested?”

SIX

High-powered Government agency. Lots of travel. Probably better pay than he was making mixing drinks at O’Brien’s. It was tempting.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Lott said. “We start you out as a contract employee, on a part-time basis. Special assignments, whatever comes along. You do that for six months. Then after that, if you’re happy and we’re happy, we make it full-time. When you’re part-time, we pay you four-thousand a month plus expenses. Once you’re a career guy, the pay gets a lot better.”

It wasn’t at all what he’d had in mind.

“We’d start you out with surveillance stuff,” Lott said. “Maybe a little undercover work. Depends on our needs.”

They’d show him the ropes. At the end of six months he’d be given a battery of SAT-like tests, a medical exam, a psychological evaluation, and a polygraph examination.

SIG would run a security-clearance check. Once he received a permanent appointment he’d be sent to the SIG academy in Georgia for four months’ training.

“What do you think?” Lott said.

“Well, it beats the hell out of mixing margaritas.”

“Good. How soon you available?”

He hesitated. Could he trust what Lott was telling him?

“Let me tell you something,” Lott said. “We never get bored. I haven’t been bored one day since I joined this outfit.”

Denny stared out the window at the old brick warehouse. “I’d have to give notice. A couple weeks.”

“Good. One thing you need to understand. This is a rough business. We play hardball.”

“I used to do that for a living.”

Lott grinned. “Hey, that’s right. You should feel right at home. Except this is really the Big Leagues, Denny. And it’s not like working for Google or Facebook. You got to keep this under your hat. You can’t talk about what you do. Not even with the girlfriend.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Later on, sure. But not right now. Not if we’re going to use you for surveillance or undercover stuff.”

Denny shrugged. He could live with that. In fact, it might be kind of fun.

Lott gave him a handful of business cards. The name on the cards was Clay Willis, identified as a sales representative with Erickson & Company of Chicago. A fictitious company, Lott explained, that supposedly underwrote insurance for small businesses across the country.

Whenever the subject of his employment came up, he was to tell people he was a sales rep for Erickson.

“The agency will set up an account for you. In the meanwhile, I’ll give you cash to cover your expenses and pay. We’ll fix you up with a phony driver’s license, too. Got something to write with?”

Denny searched his pockets for his ballpoint pen.

“Here.” Lott handed him a pencil stub and gave him a phone number. Denny wrote it down on an insurance card in his wallet.

“You ever get in a jam — I don’t mean some piss-ant little problem, I mean a goddamn major crisis — call that number and ask for Mrs. Shamburg. But only if you’re in really deep shit.”

When they got back to the Rodino Building, the wind was blowing and the rain had picked up. Lott turned and shook his hand.

“Glad to have you aboard, kid.”

“What happens now?”

”We’ll contact you when we need you. Me or McQueen. One of us will give you a call.”

SEVEN

Michelle Walker had made up her mind. She was never going to speak to Denny again.

She’d phoned and text-messaged him a dozen times, both from L.A. and since she’d returned, but there had been no response. He hadn’t called or sent her any notes since the night before she left for L.A.

When her cell phone rang at 11:10 P.M., she was in bed struggling to keep her eyes open and make sense of the sea of numbers in the latest report on the new Korn-Ritter commercials. She let the phone ring a half-dozen times before reaching for it, then stopped. She didn’t want to answer it.

It rang some more.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

An awkward silence.

“Were you in bed?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry…How are you?”

“Okay.”

“How was your trip?”

“Okay.”

“How about if I come over when I get through?””

Her entire body tightened. She’d gone over this moment a hundred times. She took a deep breath. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Meesh…”

“We fight too much.”

“I don’t blame you for being ticked off.”

“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be, Denny.”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

She didn’t reply.

“How about if I get away from here early? I’ve got something I want to tell you. Some good news.”

“I’m going to go to sleep, Denny.”

She was still awake when the doorbell rang. It kept ringing until she finally got out of bed and turned on the lights.

She looked through the tiny peek hole. In the darkened hallway Denny looked like a puppy locked outside in the rain, the boyish face grave.

No matter how much he’d hurt her, no matter how furious she’d been with him, her anger melted at the sight of him.

She opened the door and he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her on her cheek, her forehead, her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I started to call a half-dozen times…”

She understood. He would never admit it, but he was jealous. He thought she was too chummy with Jason. The same lack of trust that had wrecked their relationship in the past.

For God’s sake, Jason had a wife and two kids. He was in deep trouble at Korn-Ritter. She was only trying to help him avoid losing his job.

She clung to Denny, hungry for his touch. They sank to the floor and he tugged at her satin pajama bottoms. She felt his hand sliding up her thigh, felt his fingers between her legs.

His cheek was pressed hard against hers. He was panting, his heart pounding against her breast. He squirmed out of his jeans and spread her legs.

It was the hottest, most passionate sex they’d had since they made love on her parents’ living room floor when they were high school kids.

They held each other in silence.

Then, moist with perspiration and still entangled in his arms and legs, Meesh told him how precarious Jason’s position was at Korn-Ritter. She wanted Denny to understand she was merely trying to help someone who had been supportive of her.

“I know he’s got problems,” Denny said, “but he’s a pompous ass.”

“Okay, sure, he loves to hear himself talk. But that’s only because he’s insecure. He’s insecure, so he has to let everybody know how important he is.”

“In other words,” Denny said, “what is commonly known as a pompous ass.”

She yanked one of the hairs on his chest, giggling. “Well, maybe a teeny-weeny pompous ass.”

Their mouths met again. Suddenly, she drew her head back. “All right, what is it?”

“What?”

“The news you couldn’t wait to tell me.”

“I’ve got a new job.”

“Really!”

She knew how humiliating he found it to be working as a bartender. He’d been a big star in high school. Co-captain of the wrestling team. The best pitcher the baseball team had ever had.

Everyone assumed he’d go on to become a big baseball star. “Sure to reach the majors,” their yearbook said.

And when he hurt his arm and the bubble burst, he had to give up his dreams. It was devastating. He began to drink too much. She was afraid he was going to end up like his father and brother. But he hadn’t. When he finally came to terms with the fact he’d never be a professional ballplayer again, he changed. He was more serious about everything, almost grim in his determination to make something of himself.

She pressed his fingers to her lips. He’d always had to earn his own way. His mother was killed in a car accident, and he was reared by a grandmother and alcoholic father.

His father had been an auto mechanic, a good one, but he couldn’t hold a job. He died of cirrhosis of the liver when Denny was in junior high, and now Denny’s brother, only four years older than he was, had a drinking problem.

Denny was the only one in the family who’d ever set foot in a college classroom.

“What kind of a job? What are you going to do?”

He kissed her. “Can’t tell you.”

“What do you mean?” She held his head and blew into his ear.

He tried to squirm away. “It’s a secret.”

“Come on!” She clamped her teeth on his ear lobe.

“All right, all right, I’ll tell you!”

When she released his ear, he smothered her with kisses.

“What is it?”

“You’re not going to believe this.”

“Come on!”

“Your one-time jock — oh, I can’t. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

”Denny!”

“Okay, okay. I’m going to work for a damn insurance company.”