The Rock 'N Roll Detective's Greatest Hits - a Spike Berenger Anthology (40 page)

The good
senator
had fooled the American people long enough. All that crap about kicking drugs and going straight… all the lying and cheating… the cover-ups…

All that would end tonight.

But the gunman thought he might as well enjoy the party for a little while.

No need to ruin the evening for all these people just yet.

B
erenger was on the lower level checking out the guests claiming to be press. When they demanded a statement from the senator, a few were quite hostile. Cramer did his best to explain that the senator would be down to say something soon, although Berenger knew the man had no clue when Perkins would decide it was time to do so.

The first hour of the party had gone smoothly and Berenger felt much less apprehension than he had earlier in the day. As long as the police kept the angry mob of—at last count—three hundred people away from the building.

“Everything okay, Suzanne? Tommy?” Berenger asked into his lapel.

“Fine in the main exhibit area, Spike,” Suzanne answered.

“Same up here,” Tommy replied from another floor. “Everybody’s pretty much sticking close to the food and booze downstairs.”

“Where’s the senator now? I haven’t had a chance to say hello.”

“In here with me, Spike,” Suzanne answered.

“I’ll find you.”

The senator stood with a small group of people in front of the glass cases containing Rolling Stones memorabilia. Perkins was incongruously telling them about a game of golf he’d recently had. Suzanne stood on the fringe of the gathering.

The senator saw Berenger and stopped his story. “Well, I’ll be… there he is!”

Berenger stepped up to his old friend and grasped the man’s hand. It was a bit clammy. In fact, Perkins didn’t look very well at all and he smelled strongly of alcohol. Not good form for his own fundraiser. He was a man under tremendous stress, and it showed. Nevertheless, the senator was making a valiant attempt at pretending it didn’t.

“Hey, Joe, where you going—” Berenger started to ask.

“—with that gun in your hand. Damn it, Spike, I
knew
you were going to say that and say it
exactly
the way you said it.”

Berenger shrugged. “Creature of habit. How are you, really, Joe?”

The senator smiled with a tinge of sadness that only Berenger recognized as such. “Hanging in there. And you? How’s this security thing working out for you? I hear you’re a PI, too.”

“I love my job, Joe. I get to go to all the cool parties.”

The senator laughed for a second and then drew his voice down. Leaning in to Berenger, he said, “Listen. They’re out to kill me. Every one of these people. And all those outside. I wouldn’t be surprised if
someone
here has a gun.”

“Joe, we’ve got things under control, but if you suspect someone, for Christ’s sake tell me. It’s what you hired me to do.”

The senator shook his head. “Let’s just say that if I was a betting man, and you know that I am, then I’d lay good odds that I’m right.”

Berenger recognized the fear in Perkins’ eyes. “It must be tough, Joe. All this… stuff.”

Perkins smiled sardonically and said, “I don’t know why I ever laid down that guitar, Spike.”

“You could always pick it up again.”

“Nah.” Perkins shook his head. “Those days are over. Look, I need to move on, lots of people to greet, hands to shake, you know…”

Berenger clasped the senator’s hand again. “Good seeing you, Joe. Take it easy, okay?”

By then, the man had walked away. Suzanne slid next to Berenger and told him that the senator’s group consisted of some legal big shots from Chicago, each of them with one or two assistants. The senator’s personal secretary, another aide, and a rugged Secret Service bodyguard completed the group

“The senator thinks his life is in danger,” Berenger said. “I don’t know if he was just making a dire comment on how rotten he feels, or if he was serious.”

“Well, there are a lot of people angry with him, but enough to kill him? That’s probably bullshit.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Berenger said. “Still, we can’t ignore it. Go to code pink and keep your eyes open.” He repeated the command to Briggs, who would relay it to the rest of the security guards stationed around the party.

Berenger walked past the John Lennon exhibit, into the main foyer, and took a position near the buffet that had been laid out in the middle of the floor. Although the level was crowded, full of the elite and wealthy—all there to contribute money to a falling star, a good number had apparently already left. Once they had seen the seriousness of the security situation, they didn’t want any part of it. None of the big name celebrities had shown up, and so far the band Chicago Green was nowhere to be seen. Berenger studied the faces of those still in attendance, trying to gauge how they really felt about the troubled senator. It was fairly obvious—although they did their best to pretend nothing was wrong, they all seemed uncomfortable. There were furtive glances here, some tightly controlled whispers there, and an intangible pall that hovered over the proceedings.

Wally Cramer ascended from the ground level and approached him. “It’s a madhouse. All the major groups with a reason to protest are outside. The NRA is out there protesting the senator’s stance on gun control. The Right to Lifers are there to tear down the senator’s pro-choice platform. There’s an Islamic group that doesn’t like his pro-Israel position. And then there’s everyone else—who just wants to see the guy hang for what happened to Rosemary Penebaker. I’m surprised they’re not throwing rocks.”

“The Cleveland police are pretty good, Mister Cramer. That’s not going to happen.” Berenger looked through the glass walls of I. M. Pei’s remarkable pyramid structure. “Don’t they know a man is innocent until proven guilty?”

“Mob mentality doesn’t take that into account,” Cramer replied. The man forcefully slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. His bald head was even redder and wetter than before. “Damn him! How could he screw it up so badly? This is going to wreck
all
of our careers!”

“Take it easy, Cramer. You’ll have a stroke. Press secretaries can always find work.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

As Cramer hurried towards the bar, Berenger scanned the crowd on the floor. Who would be the most likely candidate to have a gun, other than the Secret Service bodyguard? Even Berenger wasn’t carrying; he had left his Smith & Wesson Model 638 “Bodyguard AirWeight” in New York. He didn’t think the fundraising party warranted being armed.

Berenger’s thoughts were interrupted when there was a loud crash on the building’s glass wall. A few women inside screamed. Someone in the mob outside had finally thrown something—a rock or a brick. The glass didn’t break, but there was now a large crack and spider-web pattern spreading from floor to ceiling.

Berenger spoke into his lapel. “Hank, did you see who did that?” Deputy Chief Hank Gould was the point man with the City of Cleveland Division of Police’s Special Operations department, stationed in front of the building.

“No, but I heard it,” the man replied. “I’ll have my men push the barriers further back.”

“Do that. Thanks.”

“Oh, and we just received a bomb threat.”

“What a surprise. Is it for real?”

“We doubt it. But the bomb squad is on the way. If I think there’s a real threat, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.”

The senator’s group emerged from the main floor exhibit area. Berenger kept his eye on Cramer, who was standing at the bar with a drink in his hand. Sure enough, the press secretary suddenly slammed down the glass and walked purposefully toward the senator. Cramer’s right hand moved up and into his jacket, as if he were reaching for something. Berenger’s internal alarm went off, and without thinking he bolted toward the press secretary. The two men collided with a much stronger impact than Berenger had intended—they both sailed across the floor and landed hard.

“What the
hell
?” Cramer shouted. “Berenger! Owww!”

Berenger pulled out Cramer’s right hand and saw that he was clutching a digital camera.

“Shit, Mister Cramer, I’m sorry.”

“You dumb ass, get off of me!”

Berenger stood and helped the press secretary on his feet. “I’m sorry. I saw… I thought…”

“What? You thought I had an AK-47 hidden inside my jacket? What’s
wrong
with you?”

“Spike!” Berenger turned to see Senator Perkins behind him. The man was not happy. “What the hell’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Joe. Er, sir. I made a mistake.”

The man spoke in an angry whisper. “These are my
donors
, for God’s sake!”

“The man’s a nut, senator,” Cramer said. “I told you not to hire him.”

Suzanne pushed through the crowd that was standing around the trio and grabbed Berenger’s arm. “Spike.”

“What is it?”

She looked at the senator and at Cramer. “The news. They just broadcasted it.”

Perkins’ face fell. He knew what was coming. “Miss Penebaker died.”

Suzanne nodded grimly. “Yes, sir. A few minutes ago.”

SIDE B

F
or a moment no one moved. Oddly, it wasn’t the senator who reacted first. It was Cramer.

“You bastard,” he spat. “Now it’s going to be a
murder
charge!” He lunged at the senator but both Berenger and the bodyguard intervened.

“Calm down, Cramer,” Berenger said. “Whoa. Take it easy.”

Cramer angrily shook them off and stopped moving. “Get your hands off me. Leave me alone!”

“Berenger?” It was Gould on the In-Ear device.

The PI held up a finger and spoke into his lapel. “Yes, Hank?”

“That bomb threat. I think maybe you ought to start the evacuation.”

“You mean it’s for real?”

“I don’t know. These things are always bogus, but we can’t take a chance. The boss says to pull the plug.”

“All right, thanks.” He turned to Cramer and Perkins and announced, “All right, listen up, gentlemen. The Cleveland police just informed me there’s been a bomb threat. We have to get everyone out of here.”

The senator’s eyes widened, but not particularly in fear. “What? I can’t leave yet!”

“Sorry, senator. Your safety is more important, right?” Berenger nodded to the bodyguard and said, “Get Senator Perkins and his entourage out of here, on the double.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Perkins held up his hands. “I haven’t spoken to the press yet. I
have
to do that. Are they still downstairs, Wally?”

“Yes, sir, they are. They’re, uh, waiting for you,” Cramer said, but the look on his eyes betrayed the fact that he’d rather evacuate the building.

“Then let’s go. I’ll make it short,” Perkins said.

“Joe, I don’t advise you to—”

“Spike, don’t worry about it. There’s something I have to say to the American people.”

“As head of security for this event, I have to say—”

“—that you’ll defer to me. It’s
my
event and you’re working for me.” Perkins looked at Cramer. “Wally, if you’d rather get out of here, I can do this myself.”

“No… no, I’ll go with you,” the press secretary stammered.

The senator looked at the bodyguard. “I guess you’re coming?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Me, too,” Berenger said. “Let’s do it.” He turned to Suzanne and ordered, “You’re in charge of the evacuation. Get everyone out. I mean everyone. We’ll take care of the press.”

She nodded and ran toward the command station. The four men moved to the down escalator and rode it to the ground level, where the hordes of television, print, and radio journalists were clamoring for attention.

T
his was the moment the gunman had been waiting for. It had come down to this. The fact was that he had no choice. It had to be done.