Access to Power

by Robert Ellis

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Olson. The man had stumbled onto something about RAVE that he called exciting. That was the word his wife had used. It had even been worth the price of a plane ticket, and from what Frank had seen, Olson didn’t have much money to spare.

  He reached for the bottle of spring water beside the telephone, his eyes drifting out the window at the rain. Trash bags were stacked along the sidewalks and he could see a stray dog sniffing the pile before his house. After a few moments, the dog ripped through the bag on top, pulling discarded food out and eating it in quick bites. When the light from a passing car glanced the sidewalk, Frank noticed the animal’s tail and realized that he’d been watching a rat.

  He shook it off, trying not to think about what was happening to the city. The changes occurred in slow increments, masking the decline for many of the city’s inhabitants. But Frank’s clients often remarked about it after winning an election and facing the prospect of moving here. They found the water supply undrinkable, trash pickup reduced to once a month, then adjusted to once every two weeks, potholes the size of shallow graves, crime out of control, the public schools failing, housing values falling by almost half in the last six years. If you removed the monuments and government buildings, what remained was a third world city.

  The bedroom door opened and Buddha hopped on the bed, wagging his tail and circling until he found a place to lie down. Frank turned to the door and saw Linda standing in the hall in a T-shirt and boxer shorts.

  “You asleep?” she whispered.

  “Uh-uh.”

  A moment passed. It looked like she was thinking something over.

  “Are you gonna say anything to the police about RAVE?” she asked finally.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why do you think they took our fingerprints, Frank? The real reason, I mean.”

  “I don’t know that either.”

  She stepped into the room, crossing to the window and staring out at the rain. He sat up, trying to ignore her bare legs and feet, her tangled hair. He noticed her eyes, tossing and turning. Something was eating at her just below the surface.

  “I left you because you changed,” she said.

  “We’ve been through this before, Linda.”

  She nodded. “When Olson walked out of that porno theater, you knew that he was really looking for his niece. You lied and said you didn’t. You called it an accident. You knew that the press would play the spot and destroy him for you. All you had to do was sit back and watch.”

  “Olson was running a dirty race,” he said. “He’d tagged Helen as a baby killer. You remember what his hit pieces looked like.”

  “You were the best. You didn’t need to make that spot. You could’ve found another way.”

  He looked at her, but didn’t say anything.

  “Now it’s happening with Merdock,” she said, her eyes still turned inward. “And even though I’m afraid, I want you to cross the line again. I want you to destroy him, Frank. It’s confusing.”

  “I know it is,” he whispered.

  She turned from the window, gazing at him for in silence.

  “It’s almost morning,” he said. “Try and get some sleep.”

  Chapter 51

  Frank hung up the phone. Mario didn’t like the idea, but finally agreed to meet him outside RAVE’s office at 9:00 p.m. Until then, Frank would concentrate on Merdock’s election to the Senate. He thought that he could slow the campaign down, but wasn’t sure he had enough time to kill it. Merdock had momentum—his campaign rolling down the runway like a loaded 747 that had just hit airspeed.

  Tracy walked in, sitting before his desk and glancing at the list on her notepad.

  “The talk radio campaign is shut down,” she said. “We’ve got new callers starting here tomorrow after you prep Merdock for the debate. The callers are friends. People I trust.”

  “Remember what they need to say. They were considering Merdock, but now they’re voting for Lou Kay.”

  Frank sat back in his chair, watching her write it down.

  “You okay with this?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Harry and Tom know something’s up.”

  Frank looked through the glass at his interns working at their desks in the war room. It was a small office. It couldn’t be helped.

  “What about the TV buy?” he asked.

  “The stations called. They want to know why your cutting back Merdock’s spots with only five days to go.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That it was a slam dunk. Pick up a newspaper and look at the polls.”

  It was the right answer. The phone rang. When Tracy picked up, she tapped the desk with her pen and gave Frank an anxious look.

  “He’s still out of the office, Mrs. Merdock. Is there a message?”

  Juliana had been trying to reach him all morning. Each time she had told Tracy it was urgent. Frank guessed that the U.S. Attorney’s visit to their house last night had come as an unwelcome surprise and that they were nervous about it. Frank stopped listening. When he looked away from Tracy, he saw Linda waving at him from her office on the other side of the war room.

  “I’ll make sure he gets it,” Tracy said, hanging up.

  Frank got out of his chair, taking the message from Tracy and crumpling it up as they walked out. When he entered Linda’s office, he found her at the computer paging through newspaper articles on the Internet. She turned as he closed the door.

  “Did you see the overnight poll?”

  “Lou Kay’s free-falling,” he said.

  “If they’ve been smeared, why aren’t they fighting back?”

  Frank took the chair beside her and sat down, wondering the same thing. The hit on Lou Kay as a wife beater was out there, yet Stewart Brown hadn’t responded with anything more than verbal denials. Given Brown’s knack for sleaze, Frank had been waiting for something decisive. He’d been hoping for it. Counting on it.

  “They need proof,” he said. “And I’ve been thinking it over. If it comes out as a spot, they’ll look defensive. It needs to break in the news so it won’t seem biased. If it were me, I’d save it for the debate tomorrow night. Now what have you got?”

  “Eight years ago, Juliana was all over the society pages in Fort Worth.”

  Linda clicked a window open on her monitor. An article from a Fort Worth newspaper’s archives appeared on the screen. Frank read the headline MERDOCK SR. ATTENDS CHARITY BALL WITH JULIANA DODSON. A black-and-white photo was attached. When Linda enlarged it, Frank moved in for a closer look and saw Juliana getting out of a limousine with a big smile on her face and Mel Merdock, Sr. on her arm. The old man was in his eighties and wore a black cowboy hat. Frank noticed someone behind them opening a walker and realized that it was their bodyguard. He looked young, in his thirties, his short cropped hair either blond or prematurely turning gray.

  “Juliana ran for congress right out of college,” Linda said. “A grassroots campaign. She couldn’t raise any money and didn’t get past the primary.”

  Linda clicked the print icon on the screen, then reached behind her as the printer fired up. Frank looked back at Juliana on the monitor, smiling in disbelief at what it implied.

  “She was doing Merdock’s father?” he said.

  Linda rolled her eyes, handing him the hard copy. “They spent a lot of time together. The old man died in bed, Frank. Three weeks later, she ran off to Vegas and married Mel. I guess she learned that money counts.”

  Frank glanced at the photo on the hard copy and shook his head at the thought of Juliana fucking the old man. If they won the election, she’d make a big splash on the Hill.

  “What about RAVE?” Linda asked.

  He folded the article, slipping it into his jacket pocket.

  “Tonight,” he said.

  Chapter 52

  D.C. Diner was on the Hill, too close to the Capitol to be called a joint. The booths were made of solid cherry, not Formica, the lighting as su
bdued as the sound. The diner did a big lunch business because of the way it had been engineered. The way it managed sound. As Woody often liked to point out, the booths were constructed in such a way that it was impossible to eavesdrop on a conversation at the next table. Secrets could be discussed openly. A perfect place for the Washington crowd.

  Tonight, like most nights, the diner was empty. Frank sat at a booth facing the windows and eating a burger and fries with a cup of hot black coffee. He checked his watch. Mario had confirmed their meeting and he still had almost an hour.

  He looked out the window and noticed a Lincoln pull to a stop at the curb. Two men were getting out. When the driver walked around the car, he realized that it was Jake Merdock. Frank’s eyes moved to the second man as he stepped beneath a street light. Frank wasn’t sure why it surprised him, but it did. It was the man with spiked gray hair.

  They entered the diner and split up. Jake headed for Frank’s booth. The killer moved to the counter, swiveling the stool around so that he could watch. He wore a confident smile, almost cocky, and carried himself with an understated agility. Frank was careful not to hold the glance as the man stared back at him because he didn’t think he could hide the recognition on his face. He had a picture of the killer in his jacket pocket. Linda had printed it off the Internet. The man had been Mel Merdock Sr.’s bodyguard.

  Jake slid into the booth. “You eat here a lot, Frank?”

  He shrugged. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Just a friend,” Jake said flatly.

  A middle-aged waitress working alone called out from the counter. “Coffee, mister?”

  Jake nodded. As she walked over with the pot, Frank could tell that she sensed trouble. She poured the coffee without her usual banter and returned to the counter, keeping watch by the phone. When Frank turned back, Jake took a sip and set the cup down.

  “Too bad what Olson did to himself, huh, Frank?”

  Frank knew that he was looking for a reaction, but didn’t give him one. “What do you want, Jake?”

  “The U.S. Attorney stopped by the house last night asking a lot of questions.”

  “You held a fund-raiser, right?”

  Jake stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly.

  “Then save your worry for the debate,” Frank said.

  “We’re in a situation, aren’t we?”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You need us, and we need you.” Jake picked up his spoon, adding sugar and stirring it through his coffee in slow waves. “I know that you’ve been ducking our calls. We like you, Frank. We’re concerned about you. And we’re paying you a lot of money.”

  Frank pushed his plate aside. Jake set the spoon down and lowered his voice.

  “First your partner dies, and now Olson. You found the body, right? You were there. Maybe it’s a suicide, but maybe not. Who knows what it will add up to? I guess it’s not like a puzzle. The pieces don’t fit just one way. It must be distracting. Hard to get any work done when you’re under so much pressure.”

  “I’m used to it,” Frank said.

  He understood that Jake was speaking in code. He glanced at the gray haired man sipping coffee at the counter. Even though his face was turned, Frank caught the smile, the smirk. They thought they had him. They thought they owned him.

  “You’re used to it,” Jake repeated. “That’s exactly what I told the U.S. Attorney. He seems like a good guy, doesn’t he? A real straight-shooter. When he asked me about your character, I said that you’re the best there is. You’re the best, right, Frank? You’re a big shot. You really know how to handle pressure.”

  Frank met his eyes, then glanced at the wall clock. He’d had enough.

  “I’m late,” he said. “I’ve gotta go.”

  Frank picked up the check and walked to the register. He could feel their eyes on him and heard them starting for the door. When he handed the waitress a twenty-dollar bill and reached into his pocket for change, the man with spiked gray hair bumped into him. A quarter fell and rolled across the floor.

  “Sorry,” the man said.

  Frank knew that it had been intentional and watched the man pick up the coin. As he placed it in Frank’s hand, his eyes rose and met Frank’s in a dead stare. The man had murdered Woody and Olson, and what about those two kids? Alan Ingrams had been stabbed over forty times. Had Frank not been careful, he would have faltered. Instead, he held the glance until the killer smiled and walked out, getting into the Lincoln with Jake.

  “Nice-looking fellas,” the waitress said when they were alone.

  Frank nodded, passing her the quarter.

  “Keep it,” she said like it was dirty money. “Any nicer and I would’ve called nine-one-one.”

  She made his change and handed it over. Frank walked out, heading down the sidewalk to the rental car. As he passed the Lincoln, the man with spiked gray hair waved at him from the passenger seat. Frank watched them drive off, thinking it over. It wasn’t fear pulling at his chest. In the face of blackness, all he could feel was rage.

  He grit his teeth, unlocking the car and yanking the door open. Once he got the engine running, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in Mario’s number. The traffic looked heavier than usual for this time of night. He thought that he might be five to ten minutes late.

  Chapter 53

  It was a run-down building in a section of the city that didn’t benefit from a government cash fix. They were on the second floor at the end of the hall. The print on the pebbled-glass door read RAVE, THE COMMITTEE FOR THE RESTORATION OF AMERICAN VALUES AND ETHICS. As Mario knelt down to examine the lock, Frank looked at the open toolbox on the floor and what his friend was wearing. Mario had dressed for the part. He was playing the role of a locksmith on a routine after-hours business call.

  “Can’t you just pick it?” Frank asked. “And what’s with the overalls?”

  Mario reached for the toolbox, in a foul mood. “I don’t know how to pick a lock, Frank. And I really don’t feel like going to jail. Now give me some room.”

  Frank stepped back. Then Mario jammed a screwdriver into the door hinge and started banging it with a hammer. The noise was horrific. Frank checked the hall. When he turned back, Mario had popped the pins and was lifting the entire door away.

  “Jesus, Mario...”

  But they were in.

  Frank stepped over the mail on the floor that had been pushed through the door slot, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. It was a single room, stripped of any furniture. A telephone and answering machine had been set on the windowsill. An empty cardboard box that once contained a case of Popov vodka was being used for trash.

  “What did you expect to find?” Mario asked in a nervous voice.

  “Just what we’re seeing. Check the answering machine.”

  As Mario moved to the far side of the room, Frank picked up the mail and began sifting through it in the light from the hall. Olson’s trip to Atlanta crossed his mind. Frank had no doubt that RAVE’s office in the South was nothing but an empty room as well.

  “No messages,” Mario said, bolting for the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What about theirs?”

  Mario stopped and turned around, heading back to the windowsill as if under protest. When he flipped the answering machine open and found the greeting message button, a man’s voice began reading the announcement:

  This is RAVE, the Committee for the Restoration of American Values and Ethics, your watchdog on Capitol Hill. Contributions may be sent to six-one-six Jefferson Drive, Washington, D.C. Two-zero-zero-zero-seven. Thanks for your support.

  “You recognize the voice?” Mario asked.

  Frank shook his head, tossing junk mail onto the floor until he spotted a windowed envelope in what remained of the pile. It looked like a check and he opened it. His heart skipped a beat. The check was made out to Lou Kay’s ex-wife.

  “What is it?” Mario asked.

  “Two hundred and fifty th
ousand dollars made out to Sylvia Kay.”

  “I knew she was lying,” Mario said excitedly. “If Lou Kay had beaten her, it would’ve come up. Who’s paying her off?”

  Frank held the check to the light. “There isn’t a name printed at the top. All we’ve got is the account number.”

  Frank looked at his watch. It was only ten. With election day less than a week out, Tracy wouldn’t be leaving the office for another hour or two. He flipped his cell phone open and entered the number. As he waited for her to pick up, he wrote the account number the check was drawn from on the envelope.

  Mario moved closer, eyeing the check carefully. “It’s been laundered by a third party, Frank. Probably sent here for hand delivery. Sylvia Kay ruined her ex-husband, but the election’s not here yet. It’s not a done deal until he loses. I’ll bet strings are attached to this money. Some sort of contract.”

  Frank raised his hand as Tracy finally answered the call.

  “It’s me,” he said into the phone. “I need Merdock’s bank account number. The one in Dallas he’s wiring the TV buy from.”

  He waited a moment. She was already at the computer and he could hear her punching up the account. As she read Merdock’s bank account number to him, he wrote it down on the envelope.

  “I got it,” he said to her. “Thanks.”

  Frank closed his phone and pocketed the check, handing the envelope with both account numbers to Mario. “See if you can find a withdraw from Merdock’s bank that covers this check. Stewart Brown and Lou Kay need proof that they were smeared. We’re gonna give it to them.”

  “What are you gonna do with the check?”

  “Make a photocopy and send it back,” Frank said. “You need to call Eddie. I want him watching this place. I want to know who picks up the check. Better tell him to bring a camera.”

  “He’s scared shitless, Frank. He’s hiding out.”