Talion Justice

by Rick Bosworth

  Prisha saw Charles Hewitt’s face as she finished up her spiel. She smiled, which the eager candidate misinterpreted as the end of her interview. Both women rose. Prisha came around her desk and shook the woman’s hand, grasping her elbow with her left hand. She said she would be in touch soon, and directed her across her office to the door, telling the candidate that her driver would take her back to Capitol Hill.

  Prisha opened her door and grimaced at the sight of her program administrator, Linda Webb, sitting in her waiting area. Prisha had a distaste for Webb, with her slovenly appearance and rat face. But she was good at her job, which was to say she was treacherous and cruel. Attributes Prisha prized in a dutiful subordinate. Prisha intentionally kept Webb in fear, just off-balance enough to keep her in line.

  Prisha locked eyes with Webb, who returned a twitchy, tight-lipped smile. Webb looked more disheveled than usual, which was saying something. She had a sallow, cadaver-gray complexion, puffy bags under her eyes. Prisha could smell the cigarettes on her wrinkled clothes from across the room.

  Prisha asked her secretary to escort the woman candidate to her ride, and he jumped to her command. Prisha watched the woman go, letting Webb stew. She turned to face her when she was ready.

  “Do we have a meeting, Linda?” Prisha asked, keeping her distance.

  Webb stood, brushed at her tan below-the-knee skirt that was hopelessly creased. “Um, no, ma’am. But I… I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  What? Pissant admins don’t just waltz in and demand time with deputy directors. Prisha’s face held, but she resolved to make Webb’s life miserable this week, ruin her Thanksgiving.

  “I’m quite busy today, Linda. When my secretary gets back, you may schedule a time with him and get on my—”

  “Ahem… ma’am?” Webb interrupted. Prisha saw Webb’s hands were trembling as she clutched her bag. “It’s really important that I speak with you. It won’t be long. Please.”

  Prisha smiled, intrigued despite herself. This might be interesting. She invited Webb into her office, closing the door behind them. Webb shuffled in and plopped onto the first chair she came to. Prisha marveled at this woman, who had the sophistication and manners of a barnyard animal. The senior always sits before the subordinate. Prisha smiled at this lapse of etiquette, her big open smile meant to put Webb at ease, to lull her and loosen her tongue. Prisha took her seat across from Webb and motioned for her to begin.

  “So, was that one of the candidates to replace Charles?” Webb asked, up-talking in an attempt to soften the mood.

  Prisha ignored the question. She fixed Webb with her dark brown eyes.

  Webb’s tremors began anew. She cleared her throat. “Well, this is about Charles, anyway.”

  Prisha switched effortlessly into sadness mode, and for the next few moments she put on a performance worthy of her background in theater. She spoke of what a tragedy it all was. How some deranged person had broken into Hewitt’s home and killed the poor man in broad daylight. How the police thought it was a home burglary, and that Hewitt had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  And poor Charles—he had become so despondent before this dreadful incident. If only he had reached out to her. If only she had seen the signs. But his death had made her reflect on how valuable life truly was, and wouldn’t Webb agree? Prisha ended her performance with a flourish, asking Webb to bow her head and join her in a moment of silence for Charles Hewitt. Webb did.

  Prisha looked up through her eyebrows and watched Webb squirm. She allowed herself a tiny smile, which she carefully erased before raising her head again.

  “Okay, Linda,” Prisha said, breaking the silence. “Why are you here?”

  Webb fought her emotion. “I’m scared,” she said in a thin voice. “Charles’s death has frightened me. It’s keeping me up at night.”

  “Whatever for, Linda? His death had nothing to do with you.”

  “It… it might have had something to do with me.” Webb began to sob.

  “What are you talking about, Linda?” Prisha leaned forward. The woman now had her full attention.

  Webb avoided the question, but instead began to blather on about ODYSSEUS, how maybe it was a cursed project. How there had been other mysterious deaths in the past. She questioned whether they should continue, and offered that maybe they should just shut ODYSSEUS down.

  Prisha felt her anger rise. “What are you trying to say, Linda?”

  “It’s just that… I may have done… a bad thing. And now Hewitt’s dead. I’m afraid.”

  “What did you do, Linda?” Prisha said, sounding out each word.

  More sobs.

  Prisha got up and fetched a box of tissues from her credenza. It gave her a moment to focus her thoughts. Stay in character and find out what this bitch did.

  Prisha handed Webb a tissue, placed the box on the low table. Prisha now sat down next to Webb on the sofa, invading her personal space. Another big open smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

  “It’s okay, Linda. You can tell me.” She looked into Webb’s cloudy, yellowed rat eyes. Webb’s shoulders relaxed. She leaned back into the sofa.

  “Well,” Webb began, “I met with some people two weeks ago. A man and a woman. I didn’t want to, but they threatened my daughter.” She paused. “I had to!” Webb scanned Prisha’s face for any sign of acceptance of this lie.

  “Who did you meet with, Linda?” Prisha asked, in the tone of an elementary school teacher trying to tease a tale out of an eight-year-old.

  “They said they’d harm my daughter if I didn’t cooperate.” Another lie.

  “Linda, who—?”

  “They assaulted my daughter’s boyfriend. They’re dangerous. And now Charles is dead. I’m afraid I may be next. Me and my daughter. Will you help me, Prisha? Please!”

  Prisha knew Webb was lying. Time to tell this woman what she needed to hear to loosen her tongue.

  “Of course I’ll help you, Linda,” Prisha said. She reached over and placed her hand on Webb’s leg, gave her a reassuring squeeze. “But you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. You’re not only a valued colleague, but I consider you a friend as well. You’re a brave woman, Linda. You can tell me. What happened?”

  The story started to tumble out. Slow at first, then faster.

  “I didn’t want to do it!” Webb said, her words spilling out now. “These people are dangerous. First Ryan and now Charles. Help me!”

  Prisha told Webb to calm down, take a few deep breaths. She told Webb she would help her, but that Webb had to tell her who’d threatened her.

  “I don’t know!” She lied. “A man and a woman. A guy with dark hair. The woman was a blonde.”

  “You don’t know their names?”

  “No.” Webb’s eyes went high right. Deception.

  “I want to help you, Linda. But I can’t unless you tell me the truth.”

  Prisha slid right alongside Webb now. Cigarettes and body odor filled her nostrils. Prisha hid her revulsion.

  “Don’t be afraid, Linda. I’ll protect you. I know a top-notch security guy. I’ve used him myself in the past. But you have to trust me.” Prisha waited for Webb’s eyes to find hers. “Do you trust me, Linda?”

  Webb nodded and smiled. “Okay,” she began. “It was that Medal of Honor guy. Frank Luce.”

  Prisha feigned ignorance. “Who?”

  “You know. The guy we fired five years ago. I’d forgotten all about him too. Had to look him up in our database.”

  “What did you tell him, Linda?”

  “Nothing! He already knew all about ODYSSEUS. The blonde knows too.”

  Prisha’s eyes narrowed. That’s how they’d found Hewitt. Webb had told them. Karlsson had said he couldn’t get an answer from Hewitt as to how he had been selected by Frank and Doyle. Prisha now knew why. Hewitt hadn’t known that Webb had betrayed him.

  “What else did you tell them, Linda?”

  “Nothing!”

&nb
sp; “What else, Linda?” Prisha said in a cold voice. She was about to let her volcanic temper flow.

  Webb blinked rapidly, wiped at her face.

  “I…” She lowered her voice. “I told them about Charles. They said they needed the name of the person closest to you. I gave them Charles.” Webb jolted upright in her chair. “I didn’t want to! They threatened my daughter!”

  “And what did they say about me?”

  “I think they’re coming after you. Us.” Webb’s rat face pinched, but no tears came.

  Prisha waited.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong! I just had this guy fired like you told me to. I was just doing my job.”

  Prisha thought for a long moment, and then it came to her. Of course. She could use this. It would be easy to have Karlsson kill Luce. But that still left Hewitt’s unsolved murder lingering, which could prove to be a much bigger threat to her in the long term. Better to pin Hewitt’s murder on Luce, then have him killed in prison for a carton of smokes. A smile crossed her lips.

  “Don’t you mean Charles?”

  “Huh?”

  “As I recall, it was Charles who fired Luce, not you. Fired him for cause, then stripped his TS clearance. Those two never got along. It got ugly, remember?”

  Webb was clearly confused.

  “You remember, don’t you, Linda? You were right here in this office with me when Charles fired Luce. They exchanged words, almost came to blows. I had to threaten to call security to get him out of my office. You remember now, right?”

  Prisha saw the realization wash over Webb’s face when she finally understood the story her boss was spinning.

  “Yes! That’s right,” Webb said with relief. “Now I remember. It was Charles who fired him.”

  “Good, Linda. So that puts Luce at the top of the suspect list in Charles’s murder. A disgruntled employee who hated his boss enough to kill him. Regrettably common these days. And Luce fell apart after his firing, as I understand it. He’s a homeless guy now. Pathetic. He must have thought about killing poor Charles for five years before he manned up enough to do it. Sad.”

  Webb beamed. “Yes. That’s it,” she said, and shook her head. “Thank you for helping me, Prisha.”

  Prisha reached out and clutched Webb’s hand. “That’s what friends are for, Linda.” She paused. “And I know a detective with Metro PD. I’m going to pass along the information you just shared with me, see if we can get justice for Charles.”

  Webb’s eyes grew wide. She tried to pull her hand away but Prisha held tight.

  “I don’t want to get involved,” Webb squealed. “Please don’t mention my name.”

  Prisha brought her big smile back. “Don’t worry, Linda. You can trust me. I’ll take care of this.”

  Webb sighed deeply. The color was beginning to return to her face.

  “But Linda,” Prisha said, “tell me more about this blonde woman.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  November 24, 2016

  Doyle’s Hotel Room

  Outside Beltway, WDC

  Thanksgiving Day. I was eating takeout with Doyle in his hotel room. I’d rather have been by myself, having a beer with Angie at my place, but Doyle had insisted I come over. Didn’t want me to be alone today, I guess. Truth was, I wasn’t feeling very thankful these days.

  It had been eight days since Hewitt died in my arms, and nothing had gone right since. I felt like shit, couldn’t shake the thought that it was all my fault he was dead. Doyle and Sarah had both tried to convince me otherwise, but it didn’t stick. I had passed the days since his death in a stupor, going through the motions. We tried to step back to Linda Webb, reboot our plan, but she was evasive and non-responsive. She had stopped returning my calls completely, only replying back to Sarah sporadically. The three of us discussed making another hard approach against Webb, but my heart was not in it. Not now. We had come so close with Hewitt. I felt we could have had Prisha with some luck and a little more time. But now we were pretty much back where we’d started.

  I’d thought a lot about things this past week. How my plan had put Doyle and Sarah at risk, how it had gotten Hewitt killed. All three were grown adults, adults who made their own choices for their own reasons. Doyle and Sarah out of love for me. Hewitt because I’d blackmailed him into it. At least that was how I saw things now, but I still didn’t feel good. Maybe I should have stayed on my own. Maybe everyone would have been better off.

  “Eat up, Frankie,” Doyle said. “You haven’t touched your turkey.”

  I had ordered a turkey sandwich at a local deli. Doyle worked on his pastrami on rye. I poked at the turkey, tore off a piece and stuck it in my mouth. It was cold. It didn’t taste like much.

  “It’s our fault, you know,” I said.

  Doyle sighed. We had been through this before.

  “Hewitt was a fundamentally decent man who got in over his head,” Doyle said. He wiped mustard off his hands with a paper napkin, then balled it up and tossed it back into the takeout bag. “He sat by and did nothing as Prisha bent ODYSSEUS to her will. He was already deep into this by the time we came along.”

  I shrugged. Picked another piece of cold turkey off my sandwich and started chewing.

  “We gave him the chance I think he’d been waiting for, for a long time. We gave him his shot at redemption.”

  “We got him killed, Quinn.”

  “That’s not how I see it. We all thought we’d have more time. If I’d thought Prisha would strike that fast, we would never have left him alone like that.” Quinn rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “I really thought we’d have a little more time,” he said, more to himself than me.

  I turned my head and looked out the window. Doyle had a corner room on the third floor. My mind drifted to my last Thanksgiving, at a homeless shelter outside Albuquerque. Then to Nicole and Teddy, having turkey in their shitty apartment. I thought of Sarah and Victor, in their beautiful home and loveless marriage. I had somehow believed I could fix all this. Set the world right again. I wasn’t so sure now. The harder I tried, the more the universe tittered.

  Prisha held all the cards now. All the resources of the U.S. government were at her disposal. Hewitt had told Karlsson everything, and he had undoubtedly told her. Hewitt’s death proved Prisha had no problem using Karlsson to play outside the lines. And she must have access to hundreds of Karlssons. I would never get to her now. Never get my pension and government benefits restored. Or my good name. What the hell had I been thinking?

  Time for a new plan. One I could do alone, without jeopardizing anyone else. One that would pay out before the cancer got me. I’d been thinking about it all week. Angie and I had worked the idea out together. She approved.

  “Hey, Quinn, you know anyone who could help me make some quick money?”

  “Frankie, you know that—”

  “I mean it,” I said.

  Quinn saw I was serious. He folded his hands on his lap and studied me for a moment.

  “What kind of money you talking about?”

  “Seven hundred fifty large,” I said.

  Quinn snickered. “I can tell you one thing, Frankie. You don’t want to get involved with that. Those people swim in the deep end of the pool.”

  “How about armored cars?’ I asked. This was what Angie and I had come up with. “You know any guys that do armored car work?”

  “Why you asking me these questions, Frankie?” He looked at me quizzically.

  I explained to Doyle my realization that I would never get my money from Prisha. We had given it our best shot and failed. Got a man killed, too. I told Doyle I’d given it a lot of thought this past week and had decided on armored cars. I would rob an armored car. One dare-to-be-great moment for all the marbles. Catch the right load and I’d have the money I needed to set up Nicole and Teddy. Course I might need a second gun, and maybe someone to help me wash the money. I was counting on Doyle to help me with that.

  Instead, he just laughed. “Yo
u can’t rob an armored car, Frankie. What—you just going to walk up and bang on the back door? Open up and give me all your money. It’s not trick-or-treat, Frankie.”

  I persisted.

  Doyle said he had known a few crews back in the day who did armored cars. Most of them had someone helping on the inside. All the guys he knew were dead or in prison now. Sometimes they got a big payday, but it was dangerous. Unlike bank tellers, those guards were armed and would shoot back. And those trucks were like tanks, twenty-five thousand pounds of hardened steel and bulletproof glass. Doyle said it took a lot of training, skill, and luck to pull off an armored car job. He’d never got involved in it. Too much heat and too much risk. It was a federal crime, and he didn’t need any more feds up his ass. He told me I was stupid for even bringing it up.

  “I could learn. With my military background. Train hard and just hit it.”

  “Oh, so old Frontal Assault Frank is back now?” Doyle asked.

  “I think I could do it. The hell with all this ladder-stepping shit. We tried it—it didn’t work. So, yeah, I’d rather just walk up to an armored car and take my chances.”

  “And what if those guards don’t see it that way?” Doyle asked, rising to his feet. “What are you prepared to do?” He stood behind his chair, hands braced on the backrest. “Are you going to shoot them? Kill them?”

  We both knew I wouldn’t kill anyone like that.

  “Maybe just in the leg, you know?” I said weakly. “Just enough to get them to do what I ask.”

  Doyle laughed at me again, this time with a bite.

  “Did you hear what you just said right now?” he asked rhetorically. “Stop talking nonsense, Frankie. I know our plan’s not perfect, and that Hewitt was a setback, but we have to stay the course here. Regroup. We’ll find another way to get to Prisha. Trust me.”

  I really wanted to trust Doyle on this. But I just couldn’t see how we were going to get to Prisha now.