The Killing Vote

by Bette Golden Lamb

  The four-cell Maglite cut through the darkness; she could make out the large overhead timbers that kept tons of ore from crashing down and collapsing the tunnel. Even now she could hear chunks of rocks dropping.

  She loved the old gold and silver mines, had been through many of them exploring, sometimes alone, sometimes with other kids. They were a great place to go to cut class and get high. And whenever she wanted, or needed, to get away from her foster father, she’d hunt for a new mine to explore. She’d almost been buried for good once. Scared shitless, but never gave up; finally dug her way out. Never told anyone about it.

  She could hear Harlen Davis getting closer, could see the bright beam of his flashlight. He moved with heavy steps, scuffing his boots in the loose gravel.

  He was big, ugly, and mean. And he was coming to get what he wanted and expected from every girl in the area. And she’d promised to let him have it.

  “There you are you little tramp,” Harlen called out. Before she could say anything, he grabbed her and started running his hands up and down her body, across her breasts, between her legs.

  “What’s this?” he shouted. He pulled the gun from her waistband. He looked at the small Smith & Wesson .38 Special and laughed. Threw it on the ground.

  “Did you think you were going to stop old Harlen with that little pop gun? You’re sure a stupid little thing even if you do got beautiful tits.”

  He continued to laugh as he stripped off her t-shirt, jeans, and panties. Forced her down.

  “Stop it!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Leave me alone!”

  “Pussy’s gotta keep a promise. You promised Harlen. Gotta keep your promise.”

  She tried to roll away, but he unbuckled his belt and opened his fly. She was trapped as he rammed inside of her. She reached, reached until her hand closed around the butt of the gun.

  Not even drugs could erase that moment—the horrendous blast tearing at her ears … the look of surprise on Harlen’s face … the blood pouring over his shirt. Bright red blood that started in the center and spread everywhere.

  He died on top of her—a dead weight with chest rattles that echoed through the mine. In death, his body pressed down harder, harder until she couldn’t breathe.

  * * *

  Can’t breathe.

  “Stop struggling, bitch.” A mouth slobbered into her ear and spit ran down her neck as she tried to move away from him.

  He cut away her gag and bindings, picked her up, threw her on the bed, and ripped off her pajama bottoms.

  “You damn whore.” He laughed and laughed. “Gonna ride you like an ole gray mare.

  “Leave me alone. Get away!”

  “Give it to me. Now! “ He shouted in her face; the air between them filled with the smell of booze and garlic. And spit flew everywhere.

  She punched his head, his shoulders, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “Jumbo’s gone. You and me are gonna have some fun.” He squeezed her breast until she screamed, then moved his lips over her mouth; she bit down until she tasted blood.

  “Fucker!” He punched her in the face. Then again.

  She turned wild, scratched his eyes, and finally struggled out from under him. He yanked her by the hair and the sound of a switchblade snapping open silenced her.

  “Move one more inch, you bitch, and I’ll carve your face so bad even yer friggin’ mother won’t know ya.”

  Chapter 37

  “Yes?” The man on the other end of the phone had a no-nonsense voice and it was filled with suspicion.

  “My name is Ted Yost and I need to speak to Senator Savage. It’s urgent.”

  “Is that Y-O-S-T?

  “That’s correct.” Ted could hear the shuffling of papers.

  “Your name is not on her approved list of callers, Mr. Yost. I suggest you call the Senator’s office and either speak to someone there, or leave a message.”

  “Did that. Got me nowhere.”

  “Yes, well, this is her residence and she doesn’t conduct business from home, especially at this hour.”

  Ted was on hyper-drive, caffeine had gone down as easy as drinking water and his emotions were all over the map. It was now or never. He had to stop the rider.

  He placed a hand on his chest; it was being squeezed in a vice and he could barely breathe.

  He would not accept no. No was not an option He had to speak to Senator Savage. And it had to be now.

  “Look, tell the Senator that Nathan Sorkin told me to call—he was the one who gave me her number. I’m working with him and CORPS.”

  Ted heard a verbal exchange behind a muffled mouthpiece.

  “Mr. Yost, this is Angelle Savage. Thank you for calling. Nathan spoke to me about you.” A sudden pause told the story. The Senator was definitely under the gun. “This is a terrible time for you to call—”

  “I know,” Ted said.

  “You know?”

  “I know everything about the rider on Wednesday … that they’ve taken your friend to blackmail you.”

  Several seconds passed. “Nathan shouldn’t have told you.”

  “Senator, he’s your friend, and he knows you’re in trouble.

  * * *

  “Mel, I wanted you to stay with the Tanas. Bill can handle himself and you’d be safe.”

  “Are you kidding? I’m not letting you out of my sight again. The last time we were separated, I ended up drugged, snatched, and stashed. Believe me, I’m much safer here with you. If we go down, we go down together. And this time, Teddy bear, I go down fighting.” She pulled a set of brass knuckles out of her purse, slipped her fingers through the holes, and held her hand up for him to see. “Kelli gave them to me, said they would even the odds. Not even that heavy.”

  “Put those things back in your purse before the cabbie turns us in to Homeland Security.” He smiled but was serious at the same time. He looked up at the rear view mirror but the driver was minding his own business. “You’re becoming a regular thug, you know that? I’ll bet those kidnappers are sorry they ever met up with you.”

  She gave him a big smile and slipped the brass knuckles back into her purse as the car came to a stop.

  “This is it,” the cabbie said. Ted leaned forward and paid the fare. He and Mel walked up to the entrance of an elegant, two-story brick townhouse. Ted thought the white Greek columns were over-the-top, more like a movie set. But every house on the block had the same facade.

  Before they could ring the bell, the door swung open and a tall, lean man in his late forties stood at the threshold.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Ted Yost; this is my wife, Melissa.”

  The man studied them, looked as though he was going to ask for identification, but instead said, “Gabe Harrington,” and held out a hand. “I’m the Senator’s husband. Sorry I gave you such a bad time on the phone.” He stepped aside. “Come on in.”

  They moved into the foyer, where a grand sweep of staircase curved down from the second story. The living room was highlighted by heavy burgundy drapes, obviously made to imitate ancient tapestries. The room was a quirky mix of the old and the new, very comfortable, but could have been featured in Architectural Digest.

  The Senator, elegant in an emerald green suit, rose from the sofa. A tall and stately woman, she held out a hand, first to Ted, then to Mel.

  “No need to tell me what a mess I’ve gotten myself into. I already know.” With a sweep of her hand, she offered them a seat on the opposite sofa; her husband sat down next to her. “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. Would you care for something to drink?”

  Ted and Mel both shook their heads.

  “Look, Senator, I know how hard this is for you,” Ted said. “But we need to get the Joanne Paige problem out into the open and discuss it. And there isn’t a lot of time.”

  “Tell them, Angelle,” her husband said. “Nothing else has been working.”

  “Look, I don’t need a lot of details,” Ted said. “Nathan’s told me
most of it. They’re threatening to kill your friend, expose your past sexual involvement, if you don’t do give them what they want.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Senator, do you have any idea who’s behind all of this?”

  The Senator stood and walked to the window as though she were looking out, even though all she could see were the closed drapes with their intricate needlepoint patterns. She briefly fingered the coarse material as though there was comfort in the touch. “I think I can fend off the gay thing and Joanne being a prostitute, but I can’t live with her being tortured or murdered.”

  Ted shook his head.

  The Senator turned to face them again. “You probably think she can’t be much of a person.” Tears filled her eyes. Gabe moved to her side, put an arm around her waist. The rumors of their separation were either false or the Harringtons were very good actors.

  “Take your time, Angelle.” Gabe said. “You don’t need to tell them if you don’t want to.”

  “But I need to.” She reached for her husband’s hand and they walked back to the sofa together. “Joanne and I grew up in a small Nevada town, a place where everyone knew each other’s secrets. Joanne was my only real friend—she saved my life. How could you not love someone like that, someone who would give up her life for you? We were lovers until I left for college. Then, I left town, left her behind.”

  “Never saw her again?” Mel asked.

  “Years later I ran into her. But it was a brief contact.” Tears ran down Angelle’s cheeks; she swiped at them with the back of her hand. “I never asked what she was doing with her life. I treated her like a stranger.” Her hands covered her face. “I could have helped her.”

  “It’s not your fault she’s a prostitute,” Gabe said.

  “Maybe not, but I feel responsible. I was so ambitious, embarrassed to even talk to her—she was dressed in trashy clothes and wearing gobs of makeup. I couldn’t wait to get away. That’s the kind of friend I turned out to be.”

  “Do you think they’ll really hurt the woman?” Mel asked.

  “Yes!” Angelle reached into an end table drawer. “This is the note they sent me yesterday.” She held it out to Ted and he read it aloud.

  Senator Savage:

  We have your “friend,” Joanne Paige. If you want her to live, you know what to do on Wednesday. Her life is in your hands.

  Do the right thing and she’ll be released. If not, you’ve been warned.

  The words hung in the air.

  “What do you plan to do, Senator?” Ted asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Will you carry the rider?”

  Angelle straightened like a rod of steel had been jammed up into her spine. “Mr. Yost, I don’t speak to anyone in advance about pending decisions, political or otherwise .You have no right to ask that question.”

  “We know what a desperate situation this is,” Melissa said. “But you can’t run away from this.”

  “And you can’t give in to them,” Ted said. “You can’t give them the rider.”

  “And my friend? They’ll kill her.”

  Angelle Savage’s face sagged and she seemed to age several years. “I won’t let them kill Joanne. Even if it means doing something despicable, even if it makes me despicable. I’ll do what has to be done.”

  “You can’t!” Ted said. “You know you can’t. Think of all the people this involves.”

  “Joanne is only one person” Mel said. “This rider could mean millions of people will die.”

  Angelle stood suddenly. “Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I’m stupid, unfeeling?”

  “Are you sure it’s not your political career you’re worried about?” Ted said, pointing a finger.

  “Mr. Yost! Stop that right now,” Gabe, said. “You’re underestimating my wife.”

  “Senator, do you have any idea who sent that note?” Ted said.

  “I don’t know who sent it, but I know who’s behind it. It has to be the work of Wade Wilson. It’s got his MO all over it.”

  “The lobbyist?”

  “The filthiest man in Washington politics. He’s the kind of egomaniac who sets things in motion and disappears when it’s time to pay the consequences.” Angelle looked away from the Yosts.

  “But it might not be him,” Ted said.

  “Wilson all but threatened me with exposure the other day. He gave himself away by emphasizing the word ‘friend’ in that note.”

  Ted was doubtful.

  “Don’t you see? It has to be him. This is a massive power struggle. We can’t even imagine the amounts of money involved.” Her eyes pierced Ted’s. “He warned that everything was on the line. I didn’t take him seriously enough. How could I imagine he would do something this dirty?”

  “Do you think he was also behind my kidnapping?” Mel said.

  “You were kidnapped?” Angelle said. “And they let you go?”

  Melissa shook her head. “Let’s just say, I managed to get away.”

  The Senator’s face was a pasty white. “Oh, my God. If they took your wife, they will kill Joanne.” She turned to Melissa. “But, why you, Mrs. Yost?”

  Gabe’s voice filled the room. “Damage control.”

  Angelle Savage stood abruptly. “I’m sorry. Sorry for all the people who are going to suffer because of me. Sorry for being so … so selfish. But I have to stand by Joanne. I can’t allow them to kill her.”

  Chapter 38

  Ted was agitated, couldn’t calm down as he paced back and forth in the Washington News-Sentinel reception area. He’d tried to sit, but kept sliding out of the room’s sculpted plastic chair.

  Hell, face it, waiting for anything was not his strong point. And he was especially uneasy coming to his old friend, Hy Muller, to dump this whole mess in his lap. It could either be a great coup or a flat-ass dud.

  Stop speculating. Think.

  He pulled out his notebook and scribbled down the mantra he’d used since his college days.

  Time the crusher,

  the killer,

  the enemy,

  Time.

  The repetition organized his thoughts.

  At least all the parts of the puzzle were in place. Desisto was a conspiracy. No other word for it. And it had begun with Hygea’s Garrett Rudge and his agenda to gain approval for selective euthanasia. A new national end-of-life protocol.

  John Bradberry had refused to believe the ethics committee would go along with the Hygea proposal, and that that would be the end of it. But Ted wasn’t as optimistic.

  Angelle Savage seemed determined to save her friend, make everything legal by slipping in the necessary rider onto a Medicare appropriations bill. A bill that had to be passed before Congress adjourned for the holidays.

  Time. There was no time.

  He shifted back and forth in his seat again. Was it only yesterday when possessions, money, and power weren’t foremost goals? Sure, people wanted all of that, but personal values counted for something.

  Time had put him out of step with a world where ethics and altruism were all but gone. Corporate greed had finally set the pattern for everyone, right down to the man in the street..

  He hunched over in the chair, studied the floor in the newspaper’s reception area. Muller had tried to put him off until Tuesday, but Ted had insisted on a face-to-face meeting today, telling him only that he had a time-sensitive, exclusive story, with serious national implications.

  Ted dug into his wallet and pulled out a hidden, crumbling one-dollar bill. He pressed it out with care. Written across George Washington’s face were the fading words:

  I owe you one, buddy ⸻ Hy.

  And I’m here to collect, my friend.

  The door flung open and a bald man about Ted’s age, dressed in wrinkled slacks, rushed toward him. The two men collided into an embrace, pounding one another on the back.

  They stepped back and got an eyeful of each other. “Son of a bitch! How the hell are you?” M
uller said. “Come on, we’ll play catch-up in my office.”

  They entered the work area, where reporters sat at their desks, tap-tapping on computer keyboards, finger-fucking smartphones, and yammering into the mouthpieces of head-mounted telephones. Ted felt a twinge of nostalgia, wanted to linger, but Muller pulled him through a door, its clear glass imprinted with: Hyman Muller, National News Editor.

  “Grab a seat, man.” When he saw Ted pondering two wooden chairs stacked high with newspapers, magazines, and books, he added, “Just toss that stuff on the floor. I’ll probably never get around to looking at half of it.”

  “How do you do it? I mean, how is it they haven’t tossed an old guy like you out the door?”

  “Yeah, I wonder that every day.” He laughed as he sat down behind a desk cluttered with almost as much paper debris as the chairs. “Except I’m smarter than most of those dudes out there, and twenty times faster digging out all kinds of stuff by phone and online.” After Ted managed to clear one of the chairs, Hy pointed toward the news room and added, “‘Cause they’re young doesn’t mean they’re smart.”

  “Keep trying to convince myself of that almost every day.”

  Muller leaned forward, arms sprawled across his desk, and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Ask me, they don’t teach those little shits how to be closers once they do get a foot in the door. And they hang around here longer than asparagus pee, but they stay just as green.”

  Ted shook his head. “No, man. That’s not it. It takes talent and passion. Two things you’ve always had.”

  Muller leaned way back in his chair with a confidence that said he’d done it many times and knew just how far he could go without tipping over backwards. “Been following your blog. Some good stuff. Even stole a line here and there.”

  “Thought I recognized my style in some of your better pieces.”

  That earned him knit-eyebrows and a piercing look. “All right, man. It’s time to stop this small-talk shit. Why in hell did you think you needed to drag me in here when I was home thinking about possibly getting it on with the wife? And by the way, that’s not so easy to accomplish these days. So this better be good; it better be damn good.”