Due Process

by Lyle O'Connor

  “So—how does it work—does someone call the shots of who gets zapped next or tells you who to kill like ‘Have gun will travel’?” My reference to the old Richard Boone TV shows “Paladin” didn’t go unnoticed.

  “It doesn’t work like that and you’re not Paladin. We are freelancers. We are offered opportunities, broader in spectrum, than what most Palatini could do on their own, or afford. We often work alone and at times we are asked to help each other. That is what the Society is about.”

  As Anna spoke, flashbacks permeated my consciousness. I recalled many dreams from the past few years of me upon a fiery warhorse draped in armor and charging into battle against apparitions of evil. Destiny herself had said this was my purpose. Somehow I believed it was ordained. Anna paused as if she were waiting for me to finish my thoughts. I didn’t feel free to question Max as to what part in the scheme he played but the etched lines on his face were verification of untold battles against injustice. He was a man of sophistication and grit; a man I wanted to know more about.

  “Who Is Max?”

  “Maximillian is Grand Master of Society Palatini. He was selected by a vote of the Society to coordinate efforts worldwide. Unlike your efforts of selecting one person, stalking and killing them for their crimes against humanity, we target organizations who are engaged in child exploitation and abuse. Think about it Walter, it’s the bigger picture you have dreamed about.”

  Anna paused for a moment then continued, “Maximillian is a clearinghouse for information and very ubiquitous when we have a need. He has a long history of taking care of business in the UK, much the same way as we have done in the US. In what the European courts have failed to do in their lapse of judgment, he has set the standard for righteousness. He executed those who profited from abuses to children. He operated much like you did when he started out. He had no idea others felt the same way or where to find them if they did. He also shares in being a product of child slavery. His rescue came at the hands of a British military officer who adopted him and bestowed upon him education and wealth. He served in the military and afterwards set a course to apply what he had learned through revenge.”

  “So how many Palatini are we talking about?”

  “There are too few!” Anna’s eyes welled up with tears, “There are perhaps half a million child abusers actively engaged in the world. They have websites overseas and pedophile associations that laws do not ban. If there were thousands of us, it would be too few.”

  “Is Nontawat a Knight?”

  “No, he is what we refer to as a resource. In his case, he does a lot of leg work or facilitates an operation. He has a miniscule vision of what we do. What he sees is what is important to him—the children in Thailand.”

  For every question Anna answered, two more popped into my head. My sarcasm was gone and I was interested in righting the wrongs of which she spoke.

  “How is it organized to work together?”

  “Much of our work is by networking information. Leads come through continuous gathering of information from sources we have developed. When we need further assistance, we contact Maximillian with those needs. It is not complex, really.”

  “So—why me?”

  “That’s easy; you were already freelancing. One normally thinks of a freelancer as a person with a service to sell. You, like the Palatini, provide a service, but ask for nothing in return. Maximillian and I thought it best we work together and perhaps accomplish more.”

  “Yeah, but I found you, you didn’t find me.”

  “Really—my police sources initially brought to light the likelihood of a serial killer preying on felony sex offenders. I didn’t know who you were personally when you contacted me through email but you confirmed who you were when tailing Darroe.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Do you remember following Darroe to his office, and subsequent stops at the grocery store when he returned to his house?”

  “Sure, I was on him like white on rice.”

  “Yes you were, and I surmise you thought your strategy very clever, but to the trained eye your intentions were obvious. I wouldn’t go so far as to say your methods were amateurish, but your techniques lacked professionalism.”

  “Maybe I’m not as good as you, but I still get the job done.” I was incensed by what she said, but she spoke the truth. Everything I’d learned I’d picked up on my own. I’d found applications from my time in the military and lessons learned growing up on the ranch, but there were no other teachers.

  “Don’t get all uppity and defensive. It was only noticeable because I was trailing Darroe too. I don’t know if you remember, but you went into the store to keep an eye on Darroe, I took a picture of your VIN number and ran it through my source. It’s easily visible through the windshield and they are located in the same place on all cars, bottom driver’s side of the dash. If you want to stay undetected cover the VIN with a sunglass case or other item you might normally have on your dash.”

  “So what did you find out from the VIN?”

  “I know who you are. Who you really are, or were, however you want to say it. I know where you were born, raised, and additional background information. I also know where your vehicle registered address is. I did my homework before we met.”

  It was an epiphany, “You killed Darroe!”

  “That’s right. When I saw you back off the shot at the rest area, I finished it.”

  “I couldn’t justify killing him. He may have gotten dirtbags off, but he did it legally.”

  “Remember, I told you the police uncovered child porn in his house?”

  “Yes, I remember thinking I wasn’t wrong after all; I should have followed my instincts and popped him.”

  “I knew it was there. It’s been a time-consuming operation to nail him. I ensured my sources discovered the porn he had when they were looking for a possible motive. The child porn was Brazilian made. Feller’s first hitch was in Brazil before he was kicked out of the country for dabbling in the pornography. That game is still in play. A Palatini is in Brazil as we speak searching for the source. When he finds it, he will disrupt their reign of terror.”

  I muttered under my breath, maybe there really is a God. In my wildest dreams I could never have imagined an organization of vigilantes aimed at protecting and preserving civilization from an onslaught of decadence.

  “I am willing to give it a try but I want it understood if I don’t like the way things operate, I’m free to return to what I was doing without any complications.

  “Fair enough” Anna quickly added. “I will contact Maximillian and we can arrange another get-together.”

  “Don’t worry about it; he plans on seeing me tomorrow.”

  The next morning Max was at the door bright and early. Anna let him in and ordered a pot of tea with the appropriate complements and then woke me. I shaved, showered, dressed, and joined them in the parlor. Not wanting to offend our guest I tried a cup of tea, confirming, once again, I am a coffee drinker. Maximillian went straight to the point, “Walter, now that you’ve had some time to consider our proposal, have you come to a decision?”

  “Honestly, I have reservations, but I’m willing to be part of the order, society, whatever as long as the condition I’ve given Anna is agreed to.”

  “Stand then, man, and swear an oath of allegiance to the cause.”

  He delivered the solemn oath of the Palatini and knighted me, “Scythian.” I took orders from no one, but made myself available to assist other Palatini in their endeavors and likewise they would be there for me. Max spent the rest of the day explaining how I might contact other Society members through him and interact with them. “Sources are never divulged,” Max said. “They are developed by Palatini for gathering information and are not passed around.” If I needed assistance I was to contact Max and he would put me in contact with a Palatini who might have the source I needed. If they obtained information that might be valuable, the Knight would pass it on.

 
Max was clear on one thing; his primary mission was high rollers with global influence. People making a buck off the child slavery and sex industry were his main targets. Whether they were involved making porn, acting in the films, kidnapping, or distributing the product—they were targets. I could still pursue my targets as before, but I was now able to look at the bigger picture and move against it in ways I could only have dreamed about before.

  Anna and I stayed on in Bellagio for a few more days. Frequently we walked the streets arm in arm, visiting the tourist attractions. Anna seemed affectionately closer now than ever before. I felt we had a deep bond between us; one that had potential to flourish. The last night was considerably awkward for me. As we finished up our evening meal, I felt the timing right for a little beating around the bush. “What are our plans next?”

  Anna seemed prepared for the question, “We go back to doing what we did before.”

  “Are we going to continue to work together as a team or what?” It seemed to be the worst possible question I could ask at the moment.

  “We are Palatini—by definition we are freelancers. We work independently unless we need assistance.”

  “I, uh, thought we had, uh, were a good team is all.” I felt myself backing away from what I wanted to say.

  Anna gazed at me with her bright blue eyes. I was tripping all over my words. What made it worse was I knew she was aware of my struggle. Anna more than once had rescued me from myself in conversation. It didn’t appear she was mindful to do it this time until she cracked a slight smile.

  “I would like very much to work together again but we are first and foremost Palatini. If our paths cross in work, and I’m sure they will, we’ll see each other there.”

  “I would like that.” Thataboy, I thought, what a manly response. I can kill people but I can’t talk to women.

  After dinner, Anna and I returned to our suite. Before retiring to our separate bedrooms Anna initiated a very long passionate kiss and embrace followed by a “Good night.” Wow! My emotions were tingling. It had been many years since I’d felt what came over me at that moment. Whether she knew it or not, and I suspect she did, my night was now more difficult. Lying there alone in bed with only an unlocked door between us my mind was going a thousand miles an hour. I had visions of her opening the door and walking into my arms. I couldn’t get through a whole thought before being bombarded by another and another. I was on overload; Palatini, Anna, bad guys, Anna, Destiny, Anna, who, what, where—it was chaos. Thoughts kept rushing at me with one not necessarily related to another. Often they collided, resulting in one beginning before the last one ended. The final results of my mental gymnastics; nothing made sense. At some point sleep came; otherwise I would have ended up a raving loony.

  A week passed uneventfully. Anna and I talked daily on the phone, but work, the kind the newspapers paid her to do, had taken her “in the field.” We made plans, but dreams and reality rarely merged.

  I was starting to get the itch again. A couple of newspaper headlines about bad guys and I was back in the swing of things digging through old records for a likely candidate. Apparitions, visions, and voices no longer directed me. Yet, somewhere within, Destiny dwelt. I could feel her presence. But, with Anna gone on assignment I never felt more alone.

  After a few days of contemplation I finally accepted the change in my life. It would not be the same anymore. I didn’t have people in my life before, now I would. By involving myself with Anna and the Palatini I had accepted a responsibility to have others in my life. Before my association with the Society, I didn’t feel anything and I was alone. Now, I felt lonely in their absence. It was a new dawn.

  Max called to say hi, or so he said, but then related the real reason for calling. “There is a piece of mail due to arrive soon. If things aren’t pressing I’d like you to attend.” I watched for the postman the next day and soon after his delivery I made my way to the trailer park box and retrieved a six-by-nine-inch padded picture mailer. Inside the envelope was a first-class round-trip airline ticket to Houston, Texas. Hotel accommodations booked in my name and a single sheet of paper with the name of my contact, Seymour Bludd.

  This was the adventure part Max had spoken of. From the hours spent together in Bellagio I understood the meaning of this rendezvous. My assistance was being requested. No weapons were necessary, only my attendance.

  I called Anna that evening to see if she too received such an invitation. She had not. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I know you well enough, you like being involved. Besides I’m knee-deep in something too.”

  My flight was scheduled to depart in three days. It was a much shorter trip than the last series of fights but I was still hesitant to get back on a plane so quickly. Nevertheless, I hadn’t decided on a project of my own, so I figured I might as well see how my Palatini counterparts got the job done. If I kept my eyes, ears, and most importantly my mind open, I could always learn something to adapt to my trade.

  Chapter 19

  … the greatest fault lay with those who created the market; the buyer of child porn”

  —Walter

  The phone rang catching me by surprise. I’d arrived only hours earlier and hadn’t contacted anyone since checking into the hotel.

  “Giddaymate,” the male voice said while sporting a chipper twang. “How are you this fine day?”

  Despite his optimism for a quick response, his call begged the question, “Who is this?”

  “It’s Bludd; Captain Seymour Bludd, mate. Did you have a good flight?”

  I really didn’t have any complaints about the flight, it was smooth and uneventful. Not having met Mr. Bludd previously, I doubted he wanted to hear about my disdain for air travel, especially since he called the meeting, “It was fine, thanks.”

  “Yes, well then, Maximillian and some other lads are in the bistro. Why don’t you join us for a cup? Whaddayah say, mate?”

  Not yet oriented to the hotel or for that matter what a bistro was. I said, “Can you tell me how to find this place?”

  “It’s the hotel pub on the second floor. Easy to find; she’s at the top of the foyer stairs where you registered.”

  “Give me about ten minutes or so and I’ll be there.”

  “Alright mate, ten minutes it is.”

  At midafternoon the restaurant was virtually empty of patrons, allowing me to easily locate my host. Rather than clustering in a corner and appearing secretive, the men had chosen a strategically located table at the center axis of the bistro. This might appear meaningless to some, but I recognized it as a deliberate security precaution. The potential dangers to Palatini members at this clandestine meeting were many. The four men rose from their chairs as I approached.

  One man stepped forward offering his hand in alliance, “Seymour Bludd is the name, mate.” Bludd was a robust fortyish looking fellow with a large barrel chest, bald and wearing coveralls, T-shirt, and deck shoes. Gesturing in the direction of the man standing to his left, he said, “Of course you’ve met Maximillian?” Max extended his hand to greet me, “Happy to see you could make it.”

  Bludd continued his introduction, “Russell Gunn,” gesturing to the man next to Max. “Call me Rusty,” said the tall, lanky man. I utilize immediate impressions of strangers to judge how to best converse with them. Gunn appeared friendly; his body posture told me this was a deception intended to disarm the unsuspecting and a front for a man far more defensive and reserved. I extended my hand to Gunn, who looked at it before making the mental connection to respond with a handshake. Gunn broke eye contact looking past me toward the entryway, giving me the impression he was looking at someone other than me. Resisting the urge to turn and look for myself I relied on the others, who were not looking behind me. It was a defensive posture. Rusty was notably American, midthirties, and casually dressed in slacks and polo shirt.

  Bludd turned his attention to the remaining man and with a slight hand gesture, said, “Donnie Brook.” The man stretched out his hand
to greet me, “Pleased to meet you, sir.” This gentleman struck me as refined in manners and appearance. He had a notable foreign accent, sounding like Bela Lugosi in the old Dracula movie yet looking like Tab Hunter with wavy blonde hair. His bronze suntan gave him a youthful look for a man I put in his forties. Judging from my own height, Donnie was six feet tall and of average weight.

  “Yes, well then, let’s sit,” Max said.

  Max started the round-robin off providing a short personal history of himself followed by Bludd. Captain Seymour Bludd was Australian by birth but at an early age had decided on a life of adventure upon the high seas. Although he admitted his employment, piloting tugboats was far from glamorous, it had made substantial provision for his lifestyle and provided him a view of the world not seen by many. As he described it most people would prefer never to see it or acknowledge its existence. He was actively recruited by Max more than ten years ago and had been instrumental in “taking out” objectives. Max asked Rusty to weigh in next.

  Russell Gunn grew up in Clearwater, Florida and followed his dad into a machinist trade in avionics. He was now independently employed. No one talked numbers, but Rusty made his first “target” on a personal response to a family situation. It wasn’t enough for him and he soon found a second target, then a third. He had a run-in with the law on the third occasion where he was a person of interest—a fancy term for suspect—in the murder. An informant provided Max with details. Max provided Rusty with a top-notch legal team and finances. The prosecutors never made the case. Rusty was brought on board three years ago.

  Donnie Brook was an actor in European pornography. In some sense it explained his shorter-haired Fabio appearance. I had difficulty listening to him at first; it seemed he was part of the problem, not the solution. As a young man he had bought into the allure of the sex stage and the money being made available. He traveled from Yorkshire to Hungary and Portugal at the whim of producers and distributors. While in Hungary he refused to “act” with a young girl who was being forced into the business by Serbian Mafioso. After receiving threats for his defiance he returned to England. The producers again wanted Donnie to engage with a girl who was playing the part of a fifteen-year-old, but was reportedly nineteen. He met with the so-called agents from the Czech Republic and decided against the project. The agents turned gangsters on him. After a little roughing up they let him know he was selected to do this project. If it was a problem with this girl they had many others.