The Wrong Lawyer (8 page)

The cheap beer and
peanuts arrived within thirty minutes after Matthews and the General had left
my room.

By now it was
seven o’clock and I was hungry.

I perused the room
service menu and opted for a clubhouse sandwich and fries.

When I picked up
the telephone to place the order, a male voice said, “Yes, Mr. Kennedy, what
can I do for you?”

I placed my supper
order and also requested a copy of today’s local newspaper. When the chap asked
me which one, I responded “I’m bored here already so I’d like the latest
edition of all of them.”

Ten minutes later
there was a knock on my door and one of the guards handed me half a dozen
newspapers and I quickly scanned them all.

I must be in
Washington as I had suspected since all of the papers were Washington editions.

There was no
mention of Mr. Haddad in any of them. Presumably the story was too recent to
have made it into the papers.

My supper arrived
on a tray wheeled in by the same guard.

My mind was
whirring as I ate the food. There must be some way to escape out into the city.

The room was on a
high floor and there was no balcony. Also, this was not an interconnecting room
with a door leading to an adjoining room. The only exit was through the main
door.

When I had
finished eating, I flung the room door open.

Both guards
immediately sprang up and simultaneously blocked the doorway.

“You can remove
the serving cart,” I said politely. “It was very good. Thank you. It’s lonely
in here. Are you authorized to come in and keep me company?”

“No, sir; our
instructions are to ensure that you remain in the room and to bring you
whatever you need. Please refrain from opening the door again. If you require
anything, use the telephone to relay your request to the agent manning the line.”

“Sorry, fellows;
nobody informed me of those rules.”

From the way the
two guards coordinated the removal of the serving tray, it was apparent that I
had zero chance to make a run for it. At least I had been able to discover that
my room was at the extreme end of the plushy carpeted corridor.

A physical escape
was out of the question.

I popped open an
Old Milwaukee and sat on the sofa to reassess my situation, and I began reading
the various newspapers in more detail.

The idea popped
into my head, likely influenced by movies I had seen, that a possible way to get
out of this room would be to fake a heart attack.

With that general
plan in mind, I began to formulate a detailed course of action.

Although I
appeared to be in a hotel room, nothing had been left revealing the name of the
establishment. The room service menu’s cover had been removed and the
stationery in the desk was generic as was the toiletries in the bathroom and the
ice bucket and glasses. It was clear from looking out the windows that I had
been plunked right in the downtown area of the city, as there were high-rise
buildings everywhere within my view.

I supposed that it
was conceivable that I was in fact in some government building, although upon
further reflection, I highly doubted that. Even though I had been blindfolded, the
entire journey inside this building had been on carpeted hallways. Even the
elevator had plush carpet. This must be a commercial hotel. The glimpse I had
of the hallway outside the room was of a typical high-end hotel.

For the next
couple of hours I scoured the editorial pages of the papers.

One of the guards
suddenly entered the room and plunked my sports bag down on the carpet.

“Here are your
clothes and personal effects, sir. Your wallet and money will be returned to
you at a later time.”

I thanked him as
he departed and closed the door.

As I casually
unpacked my belongings and put them away on hangers or in drawers, it struck me
that the government was almost certainly taping any conversations I had in this
room. They had already demonstrated that they had perfected the technology.

Were they also
videotaping me?

If that were the
case, then a successful escape would be impossible if my actions inside the
room didn’t correspond with the medical emergency I was faking.

I tried to examine
the room with a view to spotting where a hidden camera might be cleverly
concealed, but that task was impossible for an amateur like me with no security
training.

The most likely
places were behind mirrors or inside air vents.

The concept of
writing out the details of my contact with and concerns about Bander Haddad
sprung to mind.

Then, when I was
examined by a doctor or rushed to the hospital, I could secretly hand the
letter off with instructions to deliver it to a newspaper.

The more I thought
about it, the more problems came to mind.

For one thing, the
doctor would almost certainly be in the employ of the government so he or she
would never pass along my letter.

An additional
impediment to success would be that I was no actor and had no idea how to
realistically fake a heart attack. I could see that little asshole Matthews
smirking at me while saying something sarcastic about what a pathetic idiot I
was to think I could fool the world’s top security professionals.

Another problem
was whether any newspaper would act upon my letter if it was delivered to them.

They likely had
layer upon layer of analysis and verification to plow through before any
decision could be made.

Almost certainly
they would contact Homeland Security before making my story public and I
strongly suspected that the government could easily apply enormous pressure on the
owner and editor not to run the piece.

The papers on the
coffee table were all well established, long-standing publications and a closer
inspection revealed that all of them were owned by huge media conglomerates
motivated by profit rather than public service.

I picked up the
room phone.

The same male
voice as before asked me what I wanted.

“I’ve read all
these papers and I don’t feel like watching TV. Can you have some grocery store
entertainment papers and magazines sent up? I’d especially like some of the
racy ones. Oh, and bring up a Sudoku book and perhaps a book of crosswords.
I’ll go nuts if I have to sit here watching TV all week. I’m supposed to be on
vacation enjoying myself.”

He answered in the
affirmative and hung up.

Twenty minutes
later my door opened and the guard deposited the requested items on the carpet
and closed the door without uttering a word.

Over more beer, I
glanced over the selection and discovered that one of the smuttier ones had a
Washington office.

I decided that “The
Capitol Independent” was the best choice to receive my letter. Besides being
printed and based locally, it was also quite irreverent in its slant on the
political news.

For the next hour
I sat in the bathtub with the shower curtain drawn closed and pretended that I
was working on Sudoku and crossword puzzles while taking a leisurely bath.

In fact I was
composing my detailed letter explaining exactly what had been done to me and
how Mr. Haddad was having purposely false evidence publicly used against him by
Homeland Security. The only name I had been able to obtain so far was that of
Special Agent Matthews but I was especially precise in chronicling his involvement
in this travesty of justice.

I folded the
letter into as small a package as possible and wrote out on a scrap of paper
the name of the political correspondent from the small independent newspaper
and the address of their office. Then I wrapped it in the flimsy plastic which
had individually protected a small paper cup in the bathroom. I secured my
treasure with a bit of scotch tape I had brought into the bathroom from the
desk drawer.

With extreme care
and caution, I secreted my little bundle of evidence in the palm of my hand and
then hid the package under the pillow of my bed.

For the next
couple of hours I drank the Old Milwaukee and tried to formulate how I could
possibly convince a doctor or ambulance attendant to deliver my letter to the
newspaper.

By the time I had
polished off my fifth beer, I was no closer to concocting a successful
strategy.

I went to bed both
disillusioned with the American government and despondent that my letter would
never get delivered.

Linda Page was
still very much on my mind and in the night I had dreams of us making love in
this lavish hotel room.

When I woke up, a
perfect plan became evident.

The biggest
impediment to the success of my fake heart attack ruse was finding anyone who
would deliver my message to the newspaper. No one sent by the government to
attend to my medical emergency would risk their careers by passing along my
letter.

Therefore it was
crucial that I find someone who was definitely not working for the government.

My horny dream
provided the solution.

The first thing I did
was to make the bed.

Then I quickly
shaved and showered and put on the plush bathrobe which had been hanging in one
of the closets.

A different male
voice answered the phone when I picked it up.

“Special Agent
Matthews and that guy who looked like a general both said I could have whatever
I wanted while I was staying here.”

“Of course, sir;
what can I get you?”

“I’m supposed to be
in Las Vegas right now, not stuck alone here. I’m randy right now and I want a
young hooker sent up as soon as possible. She needs to look like she’s underage
even though she’s not, and she’s got to be stunningly pretty. I want a girl who
is really new to the game and who will agree to comply with any unusual requests
I might have. Someone who aspires to be an actress would be perfect. In Vegas
I’d be getting myself a different girl every day.”

“I’ll have to
discuss your request with my boss,” the voice replied.

“Well, do it
quickly, young man. If I can’t have my hooker, then my time of cooperation with
you bozos is over.”

“I’ll try to get
right back to you, sir.”

He hung up.

Five minutes later
the phone rang. It was Special Agent Matthews.

“We’re not in the
escort business, Kennedy. You’ll have to jerk off instead.”

“Screw you,
Matthews. If you can kidnap a Canadian lawyer, you can damn well send me a
delicious young morsel for breakfast. That’s what I do when I’m in Las Vegas.
Back in Kingston I’ve got to play the role of the respectable old lawyer. On my
holidays I like to do what I damn well please, and this morning I’m in the mood
for a gorgeous young girl.”

“If I send you
what you want just this once, will you promise to behave yourself for the rest
of the week alone?”

“I will Matthews, but
only because I think so highly of you. I guess I can live with one single
morning of illicit pleasure especially since you’re paying for it. Just make
sure the chick is young and pretty and inexperienced.”

Matthews promised
to have a suitable girl sent up to the room within the hour.

I was exceedingly
nervous.

For one thing, if
the young woman blabbed to the agents outside that I had given her a letter to
deliver, then my plan would fail and there might even be painful consequences
for me and for her.

If the hooker
turned out to be a drug-addled pro, then she would promise me anything but
discard the letter as soon as she left the hotel. That’s why I had requested a
girl new to the escort business.

Assuming that I
was being both listened to and watched, I tried to devise a scenario that would
ensure at least some privacy for the girl and me.

Thirty-five
minutes later, the door opened and a lovely young blonde stepped into the room.
The door closed behind her.

She certainly
looked like the perfect candidate.

“Hello, I’m Tom
Kennedy. Thank you for coming. What’s your name?”

“I’m Mandy.”

“You’re very
lovely, Mandy. Have the financial arrangements already been made by my
employers?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve
been paid in full including the tip.”

“Excellent, young
lady; were you informed that I might have some peculiar preferences?”

“Yes, mister, but
you’re not allowed to hurt me.”

“I would never do
such a thing, Mandy. My special requests simply have to do with the fact that
I’m old and kind of wrinkly, and I’m also a bit shy about having a beautiful
young girl in my hotel room. You’re incredibly pretty. Have you done any
acting?”

“No sir, but I’m
trying to land any type of modeling gig.”

“You’ve certainly
got the face and figure for it, and I wish you every success in your endeavors.
If you don’t mind, I’m going to draw the drapes before we disrobe.”

“That will be
fine, mister.”

I pulled the
drapes completely which plunged the room into virtual darkness although there
was still just enough illumination to see Mandy.

My hope was that
any cameras set up in the room would be unable to function properly under these
circumstances.

I approached Mandy
and took her hand.

“Do you want me to
take my clothes off now?” she asked innocently.

“Just your jeans
and panties,” I replied. “I’d prefer it if you left your blouse and bra on
while we’re in bed. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, sir, if
that’s how you like it.”

I put my arms
around this luscious creature and put my lips to her ear and whispered.

“While we’re in
bed, we have to speak in a soft whisper, Mandy. This room is bugged and I have
a special request for your ears only. By the way, this is your lucky day. You
won’t be having sex with me. That’s not why you’re here.”

Mandy giggled and
whispered back, “Is this your special fantasy, Tom?”

I guided Mandy
under the covers and carefully climbed in after her.

I was naked and it
was difficult not to get aroused. Her face was literally suitable for the cover
of a fashion magazine. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why she chose
to be a paid escort.

I reached under
the pillow and retrieved the letter.

“Please listen to
me carefully, Mandy. I’m a retired lawyer from Canada. The creeps at Homeland
Security have kidnapped me and are keeping me in this hotel room until Saturday
morning. I’ve written a letter outlining what has happened to me and need to
have the letter delivered to a newspaper. The reason I pretended to want a
female companion this morning is because it was the only way I could think of
to ensure that the person to whom I gave the letter was not working for the
government. My special request is simply that you hide this letter under your
bra and deliver it to The Capitol Independent newspaper office on Bradley
Avenue. The address is written out for you.”

“I don’t know,
Tom. Will that get me in any legal trouble?”

“I certainly don’t
think so, Mandy, but that may depend on what you decide to do after you deliver
the letter. If you simply deliver it and not provide your name, then no one
will ever know who you are. On the other hand, with your incredible good looks,
you may decide to become part of the news story and tell the newspaper reporter
who you are and how you came into possession of my letter. In that case, you
might become famous and it could launch you into a lucrative modelling or
acting career.”

“What if I refuse
to do it?” Mandy asked.

“Then I’ve given
it my best shot, Mandy. I can’t dream up any better way to get the letter
delivered. I thought of faking a heart attack but was certain that any doctor
they sent would work for the government and simply hand the letter over to the
people who are holding me here. This is your and my one shot at becoming a part
of history. I assure you that what Homeland Security is doing is highly illegal
and needs to be exposed in the media. If you decide that it’s not something you
want to be involved with, then that’s that. You can leave and forget you ever
met me.”

“I hate my life
right now,” she whispered. “I never in a million years thought that I’d be
turning tricks to earn a living.”

“Then here’s your
chance to escape your current circumstances, Mandy. With any luck both of us
will be considered heroes for getting this message out to the press.”

“Okay, I’ll do it,”
she replied softly. “What do we do now?”

“You can put the
letter under your bra and then we’ll get out of this bed and you can leave.”

“Don’t the people
who are watching and listening expect that we’re having sex?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you want to
have sex with me? I’ve already been paid for it.”

“I need to feel
deep attachment to someone before I can have sex with her, Mandy. Besides, the
thought of an old fart like me making love to a perfect specimen like you is
preposterous.”

“I like the way
you think, Tom, but take it from me, if the bad guys are really listening, then
we’ve got to make them believe that we’re doing what they think I’m here for.
Otherwise they’ll get suspicious and maybe search me on the way out.”

“Good point, young
lady. Let’s fake it.”

“We’ll have to
kiss and moan like we mean it,” Mandy insisted.

“Very well, if
that’s the sacrifice we have to make for our country,” I joked.

Mandy tittered and
pulled me toward her. Kissing her was almost orgasmic and most of the sounds of
pleasure I made were genuine.

Finally we faked
our mutual orgasms with the accompanying sounds of extreme sensual pleasure.

“That was fun,”
Mandy giggled. “Pull the drapes open as soon as you get out of bed. The people
need to see that my lipstick is all messed up. Leave the rest of the
performance to me.”

I still had an
enormous hard on as I flung the drapes open.

It was
embarrassing to be seen like this but Mandy played her part brilliantly.

“It looks like
you’re ready for an encore already, Tom,” she said aloud, “but my time is up.
I’ll just flush this incriminating evidence away and pretty myself up before I
leave.”

For effect, she
held up a condom as if it contained a load of my semen and Mandy daintily
picked up her clothes and purse and strolled into the bathroom.

I heard the toilet
flush.

A few moments
later she reappeared looking as pretty as a picture as if she was now ready for
her next appointment.

“Goodbye, Tom.
Have a great day.”

With that
pronouncement, Mandy opened the door and the guards let her go down the hallway
unaccompanied.

I continued the
charade by showering again before I got dressed.

Then I ordered a
massive breakfast.