Inside the condo, I would find myself constantly peeking out of the doors and windows. Driving around town, I nervously glanced over my shoulder. Dick, on the other hand, appeared to be a nerveless wonder, impervious to the danger and relaxed almost to the point of lethargy.
In early April, after taking a phone call, he reported that Sonny would be arriving the following day with our stipend. "We'll meet at the end of a cull-de-sac of an abandoned housing development right off Interstate 75."
Returning from seeing Sonny, Dick explained that we were supposed to be on a per diem of seventy-five dollars for now. “Today, he forked over $1,175."
"That doesn't even cover our day-to-day expenses living modestly, even at the lower summer rates."
Dick leaned toward me. "Yep. Sonny said it can't be helped. That's the scale the FBI pays, and that's that. Considering what it's cost us to work for them so far, at least it's something to help tide us over. The Feds will make up our losses soon. We'll see the big bucks once the trials are over."
"We differ on that point," I said, shaking my head. "But the most important issue for me right now is why the FBI isn't protecting us. We have no coverage at all. We're out here on a limb all alone, while the Mafia is searching for us from shore to shore. And if they find us, you won't be alive to testify and I'll be found stuffed dead in the trunk of my car."
"I know, Baby. Sonny just looks away and changes the subject when I bring it up. Damn them to hell!"
"The Justice Department," I said, disgusted by the irony. "What a grisly joke! I'm going for a walk on the beach. Are you interested ?"
"Not at the moment. I need to make a liquor store run. You don't need to fuss with dinner. Let's dine out tonight, okay?"
"Great. See you later." I loved to walk the almost deserted beach at sunset. In Florida, spring was the best time of year. That was when warm breezes replaced the flock of 'snow birds’, those tourists then vacating the hotels and beaches and flying back to their northern nests.
Throughout this period, Dick's disposition remained calm and pleasant, which reincarnated a certain fondness for one other. I no longer found myself stiffening at the familiarity of his touch. As we sat by the pool one mid-April morning, he had a faraway look in his eyes. "I was thinking that we should have our cars painted a different color. Let's take them up to Earl Scheibs in Fort Myers, and take advantage of their fast in-fast out service."
"Good idea. That may help ease the tension a bit."
Dick's black Lincoln turned brown, while my Olds Cutlass went from terra cotta to gold. Arriving back at the condo, we walked around the newly painted cars, admiring them. Dick looked at me intently for a minute. "Why don't you change the color of your hair, as well?"
"I've always been a redhead. Are you sensing eminent danger?" I asked cautiously.
"Not really. Even so, it wouldn't hurt to alter your appearance."
Looking in the mirror after an afternoon in a beauty shop, I could hardly recognize myself as a blonde, but Dick liked the change. "Why don't you plan on keeping it that way. It really looks good on you."
I nodded, feeling like a lamb being readied for the slaughter.
The first week of May, Sonny made the third trip to hand Dick another $1,175. Later, Dick told me that the government was still paying us in arrears and Sonny was still stalling over traveling expenses he had turned in five weeks ago. And that didn’t include the five grand that had been due us before we left Sarasota."
"What did one of the FBI's finest have to say?"
"Not much. The only thing Sonny wanted to talk about was what more I can do for them. He said I'll be commuting to Tampa soon. Robert Merkle, the Attorney General, is getting the ducks lined up and ready for trial. Looks like Rodney Morgan, the assistant U.S. Attorney who originally handled the case, has turned it over to his boss for the trials. It's probably too big for him to handle. I don't know the entire set-up, but the Feds have everything they need to bring the first wave of people to trial. Now they're getting ready for me. Keep your fingers crossed," he added solemnly.
I stared at him for a moment, then turned away. I wanted to impress upon him that we still had nothing on paper. Instead, I forced myself to remain silent. He'd heard it all before, repeatedly, to no avail. The Feds had the ball in their court. All we could do was try to volley one back whenever they slammed it over the net.
Almost as if he could read my mind, Dick mumbled with embarrassment, "There's not much I can do about anything right now. Nor can I do anything about another little matter that really bothers me."
Frowning, I looked up at him. "What's that?"
"Well, during the money laundering scenario, somebody grabbed $90,000. I know that only $300,000 was washed through The Royal Casino, not the $390,000 reported in the newspapers! Three washes of $100,000 each. I should know. I counted out the money and watched as Davis's people in the money cage counted it again."
"What do you think happened?" I asked.
"Maybe one of the agents from the FBI, the DEA, or the IRS managed to get an additional ninety grand from the Fed's money chest for the sting operation, then didn't put it through the wash but kept it for himself. Or maybe they split the spoils equally among themselves. All I do know is that somebody got it--and that somebody wasn’t me!"
"It could have been a misprint in the newspapers," I offered.
"A misprint in a dozen different papers? Not likely," he said, grim faced. "After working with the bastards for seventeen months, I know how they lie and cheat."
A few days later, Dick reported that Sonny had just called. "He instructed me to appear in Tampa at the Attorney General's office on Monday morning. I'm due at Robert Merkle's office on a daily basis, five days a week. Sonny says it'll take anywhere from ten to twenty working days. The trials will take place in Federal Court in Tampa, and my testimony against Clark Rainier, Pete Shaffer, Peter Dottore, and Jacob Davis is crucial."
At dawn on Monday, Dick began the lengthy dog days of driving three hundred miles to Tampa and back, plus the daily briefings at the Attorney General's office. Exhausted and discouraged from a week of maintaining the grueling schedule, he dragged himself into the condo on Friday evening and slumped down onto the lime-colored couch. "The Feds want more information from our filing cabinet in storage, so I have to meet Sonny there early Monday morning on the way to Tampa."
Nervously, I pushed back a strand of blonde hair from my brow. "I trust the FBI has kept up the monthly storage payments?"
Dick frowned. "I'll find out. I'm beginning to question everything they say."
On Monday evening, Dick looked pale and weary. I handed him a drink as he flopped down on the couch. "The bastards haven't paid one penny on our furniture storage and the bill is over $600 and growing. Sonny paid a lousy $200 today in order to get to our filing cabinet. Bud Miller wanted the account brought current, but that's all the lousy Feds would cough up, so he accepted the pittance on the account."
"Somehow that doesn't come as a surprise," I replied.
"I argued with Sonny for half an hour about why they hadn't paid the storage as promised. He just gave me the usual shuck and jive dance. Damn them!"
I put a hand on Dick's forearm. "Look, if Miller's not paid he has the right to sell everything. I have a household full of beautiful furniture. It's bad enough that I’m running the risk of losing that, but it would tear me apart to lose my family photo albums that can't be replaced."
Dick looked up at me and shook his head. "Maybe Miller will alert us in time, call--"
"Call who? We left no forwarding address, remember? I’m sure Sonny didn't tell him to notify the FBI. And we certainly can't let him know where we are. I'd like to scream from the rooftops that it's the Feds who are the real gangsters here, not the Clarks and Deatons that they put behind bars! Like most Americans, I thought that our government represented the good guys. Dear Lord!"
"I know," Dick said flatly. "They get what they w
ant, and to hell with how they get it and who they hurt in the process."
"So, did Sonny manage to get what he wanted from our filing cabinet?" I asked, exasperated.
"Jen, I don't know. I had no choice."
"I see. So, we'll have to bring the storage current ourselves. Will you handle it or should I?"
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it myself."
The following morning, after a sleepless night, Dick turned to me. "How about calling Sonny? Maybe there's something you can do? Tell him that I'm getting physically sick and can't take any more of this bullshit!"
"Isn't it a little late for that?" I asked wearily. "Do you really think they care one iota? Asking me to call Sonny is the epitome of locking the barn door after the entire herd's been ripped off!"
"It can't hurt, Jen," Dick persisted. "Give it a try."
I pondered his request for a minute. "Okay. I'll try, but don't expect any miracles."
I picked up the phone, dialed Sarasota’s FBI office, and asked for Sonny. After the usual amenities, I made my plea. "Is there anything you can do to expedite the witness protection program and reward agreements?" I glanced at Dick who held his stomach and stuck out his tongue in a silent message. "I'm calling because I'm concerned about my husband. He's having severe abdominal pains, and generally feeling very ill. And, Sonny, you did promise."
The man paused before answering. "Can you hold the line a minute, Jen?"
"Sure thing." I heard the click of a hold button, but then suddenly the button snapped again, opening the line. I could hear Sonny chuckling as he described to others in the office that Dick Lee's wife was on the phone. "Lee's so uptight that he's got his woman calling for him now." He laughed again. "Seems poor Dick's getting tummy aches. What do you think we ought to do, ship him a bottle of aspirin?" Loud bursts of laughter followed.
The floor seemed to give way beneath me and my skin crawled.
A moment later, the FBI agent returned to me in his best professional, well-modulated manner. "I'm sorry Jen, we're all doing the best we can."
"I see. Good-bye, Sonny." I bowed my head and related the conversation I had overheard. Dick breathed deeply, his face turning gray. "I'm calling an attorney," he said, his eyes avoiding mine.
So, nearly two years too late, Dick had finally decided to seek the help of an attorney. He hired James T. Thomas, Esquire, a Tampa man reputed to possess intelligence, courage, and experienced in dealing with the Feds. He accompanied Dick to his next meeting at the Attorney General's office.
On his return from Tampa, Dick shook his head. "The Feds want no part of signing anything for us," he said in a shocked voice. "Their attitude is unsympathetic and damned belligerent!"
"What did your attorney say?"
Dick sighed. "Thomas took me aside and told me that I should have hired him about twenty minutes after our first meeting with the Feds. I'm sorry, Baby."
"So am I."
A few days later, Dick called from Tampa, sounding frantic. "We're in a stalemate. The Feds won't agree to anything. Thomas is trying his damnedest to negotiate with them, but it's not going well."
The next telephone call brought more negative news. I steeled myself as Dick explained. "Jen, I can't believe what's happening. The Attorney General is talking about indicting me on an Obstruction of Justice charge if I don't testify."
"How's Thomas handling that?"
"Well, he told me to calm down and started calling the whole bunch of them fucking bastards. Then he asked them to be reasonable. I don't know what they're going to pull next, but this whole thing is turning into one hell of a life and death struggle."
I made an effort to remain calm myself. "Let Thomas handle it, Dick. It won't help to lose control."
Dick breathed hard into the phone. "Yeah, you're right. I just got so damned mad that I blew my stack."
When he arrived back later that evening, he couldn't eat the roast beef dinner, I had waiting for him. That night he tossed and turned and ended up in the spare bedroom. Early the next morning, he again trudged to Tampa. Upon his return late in the evening, I could barely bring myself to ask him what the day had brought. I put dinner on hold and handed him a drink as he sat down, his broad shoulders slumping.
"What happened?"
"They threatened me, asking if I understood what would happen to us if they should leak our names and location onto the streets before the trials? There's a good chance that the drug dealers and their multi-million dollar Mafia connections are alive and well, and have their ears turned on.'"
"My Lord," I whispered. "How did Thomas respond to that?"
Dick's voice quivered. "He's fighting them as best as he can, but each stick they drag out gets a little bigger."
When he arrived at the condo early Friday evening, I suggested we unwind with a swim in the deserted pool before dinner. We quickly changed into bathing suits and stretched out on lounge chairs with our legs propped up. I had always loved the pink glow of twilight when the crimson sun hovered on the horizon, then slowly sank from sight. Dick dove into the unbroken surface of the water and chalked up eight or ten laps to ease the week's tension. I handed him a towel as he stepped out of the pool.
"I'll build us a couple of drinks," he offered, shaking himself like a big bear. "Scotch okay for you? We've got some talking to do."
"Sounds good. I'll jump in while you're gone. Make mine tall and not too strong, will you?"
He returned with two mixed drinks and a bottle of Jack Daniels tucked under his arm. I climbed out of the pool as he placed the glasses, along with the half-full bottle, on a metal table between the chairs.
We both voiced what our hearts already knew--that although the Feds would not keep their promises to us, they could, and probably would, make good on their threats of leaking our names and involvements to the Mafia.
"But, whatever happens, I'll be glad to see some of those dirt bags behind bars." Dick looked at me with a sly grin. "Did I ever tell you about the time Clark made it with an eleven-year-old girl?"
I stared at him.
"I'm serious. He bragged about how great it felt because of the tight fit. Two young sisters, I think he said. I remember sitting in his office at the time. Jackson had left for the day so he didn't hear it."
"I don't believe it," I said, a little too fiercely, suddenly feeling chilled by the cool breeze on my wet body. "From what I know of Clark, he isn't that sort of man. You must be mistaken."
The minute the words left my mouth, I knew I'd made another mistake. Dick jumped to his feet and began pacing the length of the pool, talking to himself while referring to me in the third party: "I'm so sick and tired of being called a liar by that bitch. One of these days I won't put up with any more of her insults. I'll close her mouth for good."
His furious response immobilized me, as he continued talking to himself as though I wasn't there. I rose to my feet, picked up the wet towels and my empty glass. Again, I remembered the sage advice I had been given. "Get yourself out of harm's way, if at all possible."
"Uh, Dick, I need to get some milk and eggs. Be back soon." I didn't know if he had even heard me.
"What I have to do, is to kill her," Dick ranted with his head lowered as I started to walk away. "I have no other choice. I have to kill her."
Returning from a nearby deli twenty minutes later, I came in and began to put things in the refrigerator. Dick glared at me from the kitchen table, scooped up a filled ice bucket, a tall glass and an unopened bottle of Jack Daniels, and stomped into the spare bedroom, slamming the door. For the remainder of the weekend, I had been replaced as his best friend by a bottle of booze. At mealtimes, I fixed a tray, tapped lightly at the door and asked him if he wanted to eat. He'd take the tray without meeting my eyes, quickly banging the door in my face to resume his self-imposed exile.
During daylight hours, I took long exploring walks along the rock-strewn beach. At night, I curled up with a good book.
Late Sunday evening, Dick finally emerged from the spare bedroom. True to his usual behavior patterns, he behaved as if nothing unusual had happened between us. Pouring a glass of iced tea, he sat down at the kitchen table and took a sip, before looking across the room at me.
"I hate having to go back to Tampa in the morning. I don't know what new game the Fed's have up their sleeve, or what ammunition Thompson can use to win the war."
Wanting to make peace, I joined him at the table. But I was finding it increasingly difficult to switch gears from a state of apprehension and fear to a concerned wife and strategy partner. I could not force myself to feel a sense of togetherness with Dick, even though we discussed the most important issue in our lives--which was our lives. My heart and soul was far away, only my numbed body remained. I tried to smile and nod my head occasionally as Dick spoke of unlikely possibilities in the unfinished deadly game.
Before leaving for Tampa at 6:00 A.M. the next morning, he placed his hands on my shoulders and drew me close to him. "I'll see you later, Pussycat. Try not to worry." He kissed me good-bye. Dick and attorney Thomas would again meet at the U. S. Attorney's office and square off against the might of the Justice Department.
After he left, I decided to rid my pent-up emotions by cleaning the condo. While changing the sheets in the spare bedroom, I again thought of something my Mother used to say, `It's always a good idea to look under a bed when you're cleaning. You never know if a banana peel, dirty underwear or a person is lurking there.' I thought of my Mother and Father often. What would they think of their daughter now? I knew they wouldn't approve! Under the bed, I found a pornographic paperback called "Daddy's Tiny Girls."
Tyranny of a Lover...Diary of the Wife of an Undercover informant Page 21
