The Killing Vote

by Bette Golden Lamb

  He wasn’t here. Nothing was here.

  She forced herself onto her hands and knees. Her head did a slow spin when she managed to stand on wobbly legs; she grazed her head on something loose. Reaching out, she felt heavy plastic coat hangers on a thick rod.

  A closet? Was she in a closet? She shuffled around, realized she was in a large walk-in.

  She stretched, explored the surface of a long, smooth shelf with tentative finger tips. She pushed a bed pillow and a blanket aside and wrapped her fingers around an iron. Jammed in a corner was woman’s shoe.

  What was she doing in an empty closet?

  She turned too quickly and the darkness filled with a maze of bright colors. Her chest tightened, her heart raced—she could barely get air. She squatted, forced herself into a deep breathing trance that soon quieted her, allowed her to stave off panic. The swirling colors disappeared.

  A thread of logic worked for her one second and was gone in the next. What was she doing in a closet?

  Then she remembered: Someone had attacked her. Smothered her.

  Chloroform? Was that what she smelled?

  Oh, my God, this is what Ted was afraid of.

  She’d been kidnapped.

  He’d tried to tell her they were in danger, but she’d ignored him, and now she was locked away with an old, forgotten shoe.

  * * *

  Al moved around the hotel suite in nervous quick steps. He hadn’t wanted to leave San Francisco for Washington, but Levi Black had put the squeeze on, said he owed him this one for screwing up the job at CORPS headquarters.

  Shit! Wasn’t my fault some old broad got caught in the crosshairs.

  So here he was in this swank hotel, high above the streets of D.C. instead of out in the burbs, where it was quiet, safe, and out of the way. Black said keep her in the city, close at hand; they’d be moving her out soon.

  It was a comfy spot, but he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

  He stopped pacing to look out the window at the snow fall. He could barely make out the people walking far below him.

  It always amazed him how seldom affluent people looked at each other or anyone else under ordinary circumstances. More like they expected to be admired as they walked with their noses tilted up, unaware of anyone. It was all about them.

  A piece of cake to bring the reporter’s wife into the suite. He’d carried her through the lobby, his French beret covering most of his face, nuzzling her like a newlywed. Once in the suite, he’d dumped her into the walk-in closet. But he’d pulled a muscle and his shoulder was killing him, pain shooting down his arm like a spike of hot electricity.

  And that made him think of Denny, blowing up that building in California, trashing the reporter’s house. How did he ever hook up with such a freak? A lousy old reporter not only out-drove that young punk, but out-smarted him as well. Al was finished with that loser.

  He stepped up to the closet and listened for a moment: Dead silence.

  At first he’d worried they might have hurt the old broad. Black would have his ass if anything went south with this woman. But Billy, his hire in Washington, just shrugged it off.

  “She’s fine, man. That knock-out shit will keep her out for hours.” With that, Billy’d flaked out on the giant king bed and gone to sleep.

  There was no escaping it: Al’s inner warning system continued to not only tickle, it shouted at him. Was he hooking up with another loser like Denny? They’d just nabbed a woman and he was already snoring.

  Black supposedly knew his onions, and he’d recommended Billy. But he’d also recommended Denny. What did that tell you?

  Still, if he couldn’t trust Black … well, forget about it … they’d worked together on and off for years. When Black called him, he came. No ifs, buts, or maybes.

  Then why was Al’s intuition clanging away like a fire alarm? And he was stuck with this jerk Billy until the situation ran its course.

  Look at him, curled up on the bed.

  Well, he’d just have to cram on his George W. mask, with the creepy smile, and throw her on the bed by himself. Scare the hell out of the snoring idiot.

  Al walked over to a huge flat-screen TV in the corner of the room and turned it on. It had been a long stretch since he had the time to catch up on his golf stuff.

  Wonder how Tiger’s doing?

  * * *

  Melissa tried to make sense of it. Where was she? A hotel, or maybe a vacant house? The iron, pillows and blanket on the one shelf suggested a hotel room. If so, probably upscale, considering the size of the closet. And it smelled clean and fresh.

  She couldn’t help but laugh at the irony—she had to get kidnapped to get out of that crummy, run-down mess of a hotel where she and Ted were supposed to be safe.

  Where was the light switch? She felt along the wall on either side of the doors. Nothing; probably on the outside

  She sat down on the floor, tried to think back.

  Out of a dark memory she could hear two men talking to each other. So there was probably at least two of them. Her thoughts were interrupted by voices on the other side of the sliding doors.

  Voices. Television. Someone had turned on the television. The comments were about golf. Golf? In the middle of winter? Sunny skies wherever the commentator was.

  She needed to get out the damn closet and find a way to call Ted. And if she couldn’t do that?

  Can’t think about that.

  Instead, Melissa remembered when a creep broke into their house while Ted was gone, away on another assignment. The man pulled a knife, threatened to kill her. Focus and determination to survive made her strong; saved her

  * * *

  Al couldn’t believe Billy was snoring so loud he could barely hear the TV announcer describing the golf shots.

  Snort, hold your breath, snort, hold your breath. Creepy.

  He put on the George W. mask, got up, and stepped over to the closet where they’d stashed the woman. His plan was to quietly open the door, pick her up, and carry her to the bed. Sure as hell better than her waking up in a dark closet—that could give the old broad a heart attack.

  He tapped the rocker switch for the closet light, then slowly slid the door to one side, not wanting to startle the woman.

  Before he’d moved the door more than a few inches, it shot out of his hand and crashed open.

  And there she was, charging straight out at him, swinging up at his crotch with a steam iron and down on his head with something else.

  Al cried out and crumpled to the floor, excruciating pain coming from both his crushed testicles and left temple. He tried to grab her ankle as she raced past him, but she was too fast. When he rolled back, his nose rested on a woman’s spiked heel.

  She was out of the hotel room door and gone before he could sit up.

  Billy kept snoring.

  * * *

  Melissa ran full out, couldn’t remember the last time she’d moved that fast.

  She kept listening, looking behind her when she ran down the stairway.

  Nothing. There was no one.

  She didn’t stop until she was through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. A cab pulled up in front of the hotel with arriving guests—she jumped into the back seat, reached for the lock button and pressed down hard.

  “Drive!” she shouted before he could even ask where she was going.

  She looked back, then scooted down into the seat, smiled as she gave Bill Tana’s address.

  “There’s an extra fifty in it if you put the pedal to the metal.”

  “In this snow storm? You gotta be kiddin’.”

  * * *

  Bill Tana opened the door and stood there, his mouth hanging open.

  “I need some money for the cab.” Melissa said. “A hundred bucks ought to do it.”

  “What?”

  “The cabby. He’s waiting in your driveway.”

  “Oh!” Bill reached for his wallet, trotted out to the pay the taxi driver, and was quickly back. “How’d you
get away?”

  “Luck!” She looked around “Where’s Ted?”

  Bill grabbed her around the waist and rushed her into the house.

  “Careful, people will talk,” she said, forcing a lightness she really didn’t feel.

  “Did you call the police?”

  “All I wanted to do was get away from there.”

  He took her into the living room, sat her down on the sofa, and just stared at her. Loud, wall-shaking rap music came from the upstairs.

  “Ted?” she said again, looking up at Bill. “Isn’t he here?”

  Kelli Tana came into the room from the kitchen, dropped her dishtowel, ran to Melissa, and gave her a kiss and a tight squeeze. “How—”

  “I’ll call Ted,” Bill interrupted.

  “Where is he?” Mel asked. “I thought he’d be here with you.”

  Bill held up a hand, grabbed a phone, and punched in a series of numbers. “She’s here,” he said and hung up.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Your asshole husband lost it when they nabbed you. Let’s just say we’re not on speaking terms at the moment.”

  “I swear, for two people who love each other, you get into more fights than a street gang.”

  Kelli laughed. “Ain’t it the truth?”

  * * *

  Ted came crashing through the doorway, paused a moment, and looked at Melissa. Then they were in each other’s arms, crying and talking at the same time.

  “I should never have let you go off alone.”

  “And I should have listened to you.”

  “What happened? I thought I’d lost you.”

  “Did you think you could get rid of me that easily, Ted Yost?”

  Ted looked at Bill and Kelli. “Has anyone called the police?”

  “It won’t do any good,” Mel said. “I don’t know the name of the hotel where they took me, let alone the floor and room number.”

  “And you can bet they were gone as soon as she was out the door,” Bill said.

  Ted kissed Mel again. “I can’t believe you’re safe and really here. How’d you get away?”

  They all listened while she told them what happened.

  “Those jerks didn’t stand a chance,” Ted said, squeezing her hand.

  “The woman has stones,” Bill said to Kelli.

  “Listen asshole.” A quick step and Ted was at Bill’s side, staring long and hard at his friend. “I’ll take that ten-thousand-dollar check now. Then I’m going to tear it up in front of you, and I don’t ever want to hear about it again. Do you read me loud and clear?”

  Then they were into a bear hug, pounding on each other’s back.

  “Asshole.”

  “Asshole.”

  Chapter 26

  Ted and Melissa sat at the Tanas’ dining room table. It was covered with so much food they barely had room for the place settings; the aromas made Mel’s stomach growl like a lion on the prowl.

  It was a huge spread of all the fun things a good deli can provide—piles of sliced pastrami, corned beef, a variety of cheeses; gobs of chopped chicken liver; huge bowls of potato and macaroni salad; puffy potato knishes; kosher pickles; corn rye; and on and on. Everyone was digging in, eating and talking all at once.

  Even with their mouths stuffed, question after question was mercilessly thrown at Melissa, prodding her to tell the story of her kidnapping and incredible escape for the third time.

  “The iron I can understand.” Ted’s voice was filled with the same awe as the first time he’d heard it, “but a shoe with a spike heel? Whatever made you even consider using it?”

  Melissa laughed so hard she couldn’t stop. “That’s the trouble with men. You think to get something done, you need to run out, buy all kinds of materials, special gadgets and tools, and even then, you’re still looking for more gizmos to accomplish the simplest task. Women use whatever falls into their hands and get the same job done without all the fuss.”

  “Unless there’s another woman around,” Bill had a big smile on his face, “then you’ll talk it to death.”

  “Forget all that,” Kelli said. “I want to know how scared you were.” She placed a hand on Melissa’s arm. “Now that you’re safe, that is.” She gave everyone an apologetic smile. “I’m such a dragon.”

  “My wife’s a ghoul. Of course she was scared. I know I would have been.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a wuss,” Ted said.

  Mel laughed, chomped down on a pickle. You two can’t ever let up on each other, can you?”

  The two men smiled.

  “Not only was I scared out of my wits, I was confused and my imagination was in hyper-drive.” Mel slathered two slices of bread with mayo and piled on a mountain of chopped chicken liver and a thick slice of red onion.

  After a big bite of the sandwich, she said, “When I woke up in that damn closet and got myself together there was no time to be frightened. If I ever thought it through I would’ve gone into catatonic shock.”

  She reached for Ted’s hand, looked into his eyes. “There was that one horrific moment when I thought I’d never see you again. I couldn’t deal with that.”

  Ted jumped up and pulled her up into his arms. “I can’t live without you, Mel.” He gave her a big kiss that smeared mayo and chopped chicken liver all around both their mouths. “I’m never going to let that to happen again.”

  They kissed again until the Tanas started hooting.

  “Think we could learn a thing or two from these guys?” Kelli said. She reached over to squeeze Bill’s hand.

  “I’ll see what I can do about getting you kidnapped,” Bill said.

  Kelli slapped his hand, then smeared mustard on it.

  “Yeah, well, this is the way we old folks get it on,” Ted said, laughing.

  “Watch who you’re calling old,” Mel said and nipped at his ear.

  “Why don’t you two get a room?”

  “Seems to me, the last room you sent us to was nothing but a flea bag. And why the hell didn’t you invite us to stay here in the first place? Some way to treat Patty’s God father.”

  “Yost, you’re such an ass. I did invite you. Told you these people would find you no matter where you touched down. But, no, you wanted to play the Tanas’ noble protector. So I found the worst hotel I could come up with.”

  Mel and Ted both laughed.

  “I tried to stop him,” Kelli said, but we all know that’s impossible.”

  The telephone interrupted. “Let the house princess who’s way too busy to eat with us pick it up.”

  “Probably Tommy anyway,” Bill and Kelli said in unison.

  But a voice shouted down from the upstairs, “It’s for you, Uncle Ted.”

  Just as Ted picked up the downstairs phone, Patty called out. “Please don’t talk too long. I’m expecting a call from—”

  “—Tommy,” everyone said.

  “Ted Yost here.”

  “It’s me,” Nathan Sorkin’s voice was low and somber.

  “I had a feeling it might be you, especially since you’re the only one I gave this number to. What’s happening back in San Francisco?”

  “Myra died. Never woke up.”

  Ted sank back down into a chair, covered his face. It was a long moment before he could speak. “When?”

  “Early this morning. Her sister called me about an hour ago. I was just getting ready to go over to the hospital. Insist on seeing her.”

  “Nathan, I’m so sorry. I feel terrible—”

  “I know. I kept calling the hospital over and over, pleading with them to tell me how she was, what was happening. They wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  “Nathan?”

  “Stonewalled me. Again and again. When I called this morning, they finally said I’d have to get in touch with the family for information. Then I knew.” There was a long pause. “My poor Myra.”

  “Nathan—”

  “—we have to nail them, Teddy. They killed her when it was me they were af
ter. She died instead of me.”

  Chapter 27

  Dick Abrams loosened his tie, allowed his body to sink back into the familiar mold of his custom leather desk chair. He hummed a Beatles favorite as he rolled an electric razor across the sharp features of his face and enjoyed the soft buzzing sound. It was transcendental.

  When he was ready to work again, he looked across the room at two large, framed pictures: President John Armistead Tyler positioned next to a painting of the President’s ancestor, John Tyler Jr.

  One of Abrams goals as Chief of Staff was to make certain his boss wasn’t labeled with the earlier president’s derogatory nickname, “His Ascendancy.”

  “Not on my watch,” Abrams mumbled.

  Still, placing those portraits across the room was an idiotic thing to do, but too late to correct it without getting a whole lot of grief from the media, the rest of the White House staff, members of the Cabinet, and probably the President himself.

  He hadn’t voted for this president in the primary, didn’t even like him all that much. The man had the vision of a slug and it was downright childish in the way he played on his familial coat-of-arms. Who even cared that President William Henry Harrison caught pneumonia at his inauguration and died a month later, making John Tyler, Jr. president? It was all too long ago.

  Yet, he and Tyler had been thrown together as a result of common party interests, ranging from rampant fiscal irresponsibility, to lack of party focus.

  The populace was growing restless. Abrams carefully followed the reports of demonstrations filled with loud, nasty rhetoric. And guns! Guns were showing up everywhere.

  At this rate it wouldn’t take long before the U.S. he knew would be a thing of the past.

  He’d walked away from a long Senate hitch that Indiana’ electorate had given him almost automatically every six years. And he’d enjoyed being a Senator. But the White House, with its closed doors, kept him fired up in a different way. He was at the core of everything local and global, public and not so public. He could have impact. Really get things done.

  Ambition’s a killer.

  And it didn’t take long for W. Wade Wilson to present Abrams with the right opportunity.