“How’re we looking, Harry?” she asked.
“The usual. It’s mayhem, but we’ll get there. When’s Brand getting in?”
“Tomorrow,” she answered. “We need to keep him sober and focused. He can’t screw this veteran’s event up. It’s the big leagues now, just us and the Democrats, and they’re far more experienced at campaigning.”
“Chaos has always seems to work in our favor,” Stinson said. “It’s like this guy has some kind of evil guiding force.”
“Yeah. I just hope that’s not us.”
They were interrupted by a young aide knocking on the glass. Brenda motioned her in.
“There’s some old guy in a wheelchair out there,” the aide said. “He’s asking for you, Brenda. He’s out in the reception area by the elevators.”
“I’ll go see what this is about, Harry. Let’s get together at lunch and do a checkpoint on our to-do list.”
They both rose and left the office. Brenda made her way out into the lobby area. The receptionist motioned to a white-bearded man in a wheelchair. He wore a baseball hat with “US Marine Corps” and “Vietnam Veteran” stitched on it, and oversized senior-citizen sunglasses. He had a blanket placed on his lap, covering his legs. A paper bag sat on the blanket. There was something about him; her intuition tingled. He reminded her very much of her own late father, who had also been a Marine and Vietnam vet. God bless these guys, they’ve been through hell for this country. This one would look great on stage next to Brand.
She approached. “Hello, sir. I’m Brenda Holloway, Mr. Brand’s campaign manager. How can I help you?”
He looked up at her. “My name is Tommy Domingo. I’m a big supporter of Mr. Brand. I wrote you a letter.”
She remembered the letter immediately. “Oh, Mr. Domingo. Yes, I did receive that. I believe we responded...or meant to, anyway. Things have been crazy. I had to mail a letter out to you. I didn’t see any telephone information in yours, or someone would have called immediately.”
“Yes,” he answered. “I forgot to put it on there. My brain’s not what it was. Agent Orange and all that. I’d really like to be part of the event. I brought something to help bribe Mr. Brand,” he laughed. “It’s very rare and expensive—my favorite, but I can’t afford it for myself.”
He handed the bag to her, and she slid a box out of it. Oh shit. Brand definitely doesn’t need this. This poor guy probably spent his whole social security check on it. I can’t just throw it away or give it to someone else. I better think of something good.
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you, Mr. Domingo. But we can’t accept alcohol—campaign rules and regulations prevent it. I think Mr. Brand would be happy to know that you enjoyed it yourself.”
She saw the disappointment on his face. “In fact, perhaps you can tell him yourself. We’re interested in making you a part of this event, as one of the veterans on stage with Mr. Brand at the rally. I believe one of our staff was just working on the background verifications for everyone as the last step. Hold on, while I check on that.”
“Oh,” he said. “I hope he can find mine. There was a fire at the VA back home, and a lot of records were destroyed. They’re trying to rebuild them electronically, but don’t even get me started on the VA. It’s a nightmare, dealing with them.”
She took the opportunity to return the bottle to him, and she returned to the office area. She found Stinson huddled over his laptop at a cubicle toward the back of the room.
“Harry, what’s the deal with the checks on these vets? One of them is here, and I’d like to let him know where he stands if I can.”
Stinson rattled the keyboard with his fingers, then scanned a spreadsheet. “Which one?” he asked.
“Domingo. Thomas Domingo.”
“I haven’t been able to find anything on him. He’s the only one left that we have to verify, in fact.”
“Alright, well, he’s right out there in the lobby. Adorable old guy, for a Marine, that is. He’s okay. He was worried because his records are all screwed up. There was some kind of fire at the VA near his home. Just give me a pass and welcome packet for him and mark that task as complete. At least we finished something today.”
“It’s your call,” Stinson said. He pulled the packet from a file cabinet and handed it to her.
She returned to the lobby and found Domingo waiting. “Mr. Domingo, thank you for being patient. I was able to sort everything out. Here are your packet and pass. Read everything carefully, and follow the instructions to the letter. Security will be tight.”
The man smiled. “Thank you, Brenda. This means so much to me. Hey, one more thing. I have a hell of a time getting around in places like that in this buggy. Could I go to the place before the event and scope it out?”
“Oh, sure,” she said. “We have people there pretty much full-time these last few days. Just show your pass to the security team. I’ll let them know to expect you. Be careful though, it’s chaotic. You’re officially a guest of honor, Mr. Domingo. Thank you for your service to our country.”
They shook hands again, and the man rolled off toward the elevators.
Poor guy. That felt good, my good deed for the day, Brenda thought to herself.
23 Preparations
Tommy rolled out of the handicap taxi van and continued to the event center. Workers were scurrying around, going in and out of the gaping entrance, carrying scaffolding, lighting, stage decorations, and other large items on forklifts.
He repositioned the badge hanging around his neck and scanned for the employee entrance. He found it, then waited for the most opportune moment to move inside without being stopped. Soon, he found his opening. He rolled over, and a security guard opened the door for him.
“Thanks, buddy,” Tommy said, holding his pass out.
“Better grab a hard hat,” the guard responded, pulling one from a stack for him.
Tommy placed it over his baseball cap and continued on. He used the elevator to get to the concourse level, then surveyed the stage from his vantage point.
He had found that as a disabled person, he was invisible and people would leave him alone. As long as he kept the badge prominent and acted as if he had business there, nobody challenged him. I’m sure it will be different tomorrow, at the main event.
He made his way down to the stage area, and then backstage. Now I’m getting somewhere. He stopped, winded and in pain. He was no longer able to physically exert himself for more than a short period of time, and the pain in various parts of his body had grown excruciating at times. It’s growing within me. All over within me.
A middle-aged woman with a clipboard in her hand approached him.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said in a melodic voice. “What are you doing wandering around here all by yourself?”
He tried to recover and think quickly. “I’m a vet, and I’m going to be here tomorrow for the Brand event. I just get nervous about the layout, being in this chair and all. I got kind of a condition, actually a couple of them. I’ve got to be comfortable with everything in advance.” He waited for her response, hoping she wouldn’t involve security. The last thing I need is to be searched. If they do that, I’m done.
She smiled at him. “I can tell how excited you are. Probably almost as excited as me! I just worship Mr. Brand, and I hope I get the chance to meet him. Oh, my God how amazing would that be?” She squealed with glee at the thought.
“Yeah,” Tommy said. “That would be amazing. I’m hoping to meet him, too.” And take him out.
“Tell you what, young man,” she said. “I’m Gloria. I’m in charge of this area. I’ll give you the tour myself. Then you’ll be right at home tomorrow.”
Tommy brightened. “That would be perfect. Thank you, ma’am.”
She took him to the stage and the various auxiliary areas that were used for performers and events that took place regularly at the venue. They entered a large room that was being elaborately decorated with obscenely large pictures of Brand. “This
is going to be the staging room. It’s where you and the other vets are going to be holding while you wait to go out onto the stage. Mr. Brand will be coming in here to do a private meet-and-greet with all of you before the whole thing starts. Isn’t that exciting?”
“It certainly is,” Tommy said. He scanned every detail, making mental notes. “Excuse me, do you think I could ah, use the facilities?”
“Certainly. They’re right there through that door.”
Wheeling himself into the holding area’s men’s room, he scrutinized its layout. He rolled to the large handicapped stall and pushed his way into it. I always used the handicapped one for its extra space; now I need it.
He got up slowly from the wheelchair and unzipped the tiller bag, carefully withdrawing a heavy-duty plastic storage bag. Inside of it was another bag, and inside of that bag was a black semi-automatic handgun, fully loaded with an extended clip. This should keep it dry.
He turned back to remove the tank lid and froze. Oh, shit. It’s tankless. He hurriedly replaced the gun in his tiller bag, flushed the toilet and wheeled himself back into the holding room. His mind was racing; he was panicking. He tried to think and realized something was wrong—his thoughts wouldn’t come in an organized manner. Oh my God, it’s even in my brain again. He thought back to the seizure he’d had in the park not so long ago. I can’t afford that now. Just a little longer. Please, just give me a few more days.
He rolled back out to the hallway, where Gloria was writing on her clipboard. “Sorry,” he said. “Everything takes longer than it used to, especially in this thing. I’m still getting used to it.”
“That’s okay, sir. Thank you for serving our country. I’m sorry though, but I don’t have much more time. I want to show you one more thing. Something very special—the green room.”
She took him back into the hallway and then to the room next to the one they’d just been in. “I’m sure you can tell whose room this is!” she said excitedly.
The room was elaborately appointed, with expensive new carpeting and wood and leather furniture. There was a large walnut bar set up. He noticed the entrance to what he thought was a private restroom. “Wow, it’s amazing. It’s like we’re in his own lavish penthouse apartment,” Tommy said.
“Yep. I can just imagine myself living here with him. Servants and all that. Another bourbon, Mrs. Brand?” she laughed.
He was still trying to engage and stall her while he tried to think. He noticed that the room had a private lavatory. He pointed to it. “Listen, I’m sorry to be a pain in the ass. I don’t feel well. Do you mind if I go one more time? Then I’ll get out of your hair.”
She hesitated. “I better take you back next door. I don’t think anyone but the king should go in here! They probably replaced the toilets with gold-plated ones,” she laughed again.
“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll make it, seriously. It’s an emergency, and I don’t want to mess up this carpet.”
“Oh, goodness,” she said quickly. “Yes, please, hurry then.” She rolled him over to the entrance and held the door open for him.
He entered and surveyed the room. It was set up like a residential bathroom, and it looked like some of the fixtures had just been replaced in anticipation of Brand’s arrival. There were no stalls, just a lone toilet with a water tank.
Relieved, he checked to make sure the door was locked, then got out of the wheelchair and retrieved the gun from the tiller bag. He opened the tank and carefully placed the plastic bag containing the gun into the water, then replaced the tank cover. See you tomorrow, friend.
He flushed the toilet and ran the sink for effect, then exited the room.
She greeted him on the other side, looking anxious. “I’ll tell you a little secret—I’ve done it too,” she said. “Number two. It’s strange, the little ways we try to connect ourselves to greatness.”
“Thanks so much,” Tommy said. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time. I have a doctor’s appointment.”
He was feeling very weak, and allowed her to push him back to the employee entrance. He felt that, in that one small concession, he had given in, accepted what was happening to him, although it still seemed surreal. He still found himself thinking of his disease as something temporary—like a flu that he would eventually recover from.
He used his cell phone to summon the taxi van again, and while he waited, he tried to figure out how to adapt the plan to the new circumstances. How the hell am I going to get into Brand’s personal shitter tomorrow?
24 Meet and Greet
After a long, restless afternoon nap filled with both horrible and blissful dreams, Tommy forced his eyes to open. He focused on the smoke-stained ceiling of his cheap motel room. Examining its water stains, he imagined the bathtub from the floor above crashing down onto him. What a way to go, after all this.
He’d slept far longer than he’d intended to. The pain that was slowly creeping through every part of his body was more subdued when he slept and remained still.
At times, he was tempted to lie in bed until it was over. It seemed that all was lost; that in just a week he was no longer physically or mentally capable of pulling off this one last deed for the world before he checked out.
Tommy thought about Tara and wondered what she was doing at that very moment. As he often did now, in these times of self-pity, he began to replay the mistakes he’d made in life and how he wished he could undo each of them. It brought him to the tortured life of his son Bobby, the tortured life of people like Moses, and the homeless man he had met while serving Thanksgiving dinner to those less fortunate.
All those regrets reminded him of his mission. Brand stood for everything he hated about the people who treated others that way. For many of them, Brand was their hero, the leader of their hateful cause. I’ll cut the head off the snake, is what I’ll do.
That brought him to the meeting he was supposed to attend that night, in the back of the Army/Navy store, with a group of white supremacists, and it gave him the energy he needed to get up from the bed and get himself ready. Ready for battle.
He rose from the bed, fighting off the pain and pity, feeling like Lazarus as he got to his feet. I can do this. I have to do this. He made his way slowly to his pills and took them, doubling up on the ones for pain. Unable to stand up long enough to shower, he used the bathtub. He dressed slowly, in excruciating pain, then fell into the wheelchair and picked up the phone to call the taxi van. This fucking thing was supposed to be a prop. Now it’s a necessity.
The van arrived as he waited by the motel office. It was the same driver—a middle-aged black guy who liked to wear his hat sideways.
The man was always helpful and courteous to Tommy, making sure that he was properly loaded, secure, and comfortable before moving on. He’s always respectful to me, yet I ignore him. Why?
Tommy philosophized, reaching deep into the psyche of his former and current self. He realized there was a time when he would have disliked the man just because he wore his hat differently—because it wasn’t on ‘right.’
Why should he have to conform to my way of wearing a hat? How important is that, really? Or the type of music I like, or the way I speak. It’s ignorant. I was always the ignorant one, and I never realized it until the last few years. People don’t understand—it’s all in how you choose to look at things.
Now when he saw someone like this, he decided instead to see them as people who had been crapped on their entire lives. Hard-working people who never really had much of a shot. People who would always struggle and probably never have a nice vacation, home, or car. People who would be passed over for opportunity after opportunity in favor of someone who looked ‘right.’
“Hey, I don’t think I ever asked your name,” Tommy called to him from the back of the van.
The man glanced in the rearview mirror, looking surprised. “Taquan. Some friends call me TQ.”
“How ya doing, TQ? I’m Tommy. I’m sorry I haven’t been very frie
ndly on these trips. I got a lot on my mind, and I’m kinda sick, you know?”
“I think we all got a lot on our mind these days, sir.”
“Call me Tommy.”
“Tommy. Sorry,” TQ said.
“You talking about Brand?”
“Yeah, but I don’t like to get into the politics with my passengers. Turns out bad.”
“Alright. Well, I’m no fan, TQ. The man’s the goddamn anti-Christ. I believe it. I’m no Bible-thumper, but I’ve seen the passages about it, and he’s the guy.”
“Well I am a Bible-thumper, and you’re damn sure right. I never thought about it that way. I hope my mom and grandma don’t figure that out; they’ll be all crazy, yelling about the ‘end of days have come.’”
“I always ignored him as much as I can. Now he’s one step away, and I’m afraid to ignore him. Good thing the polls show him pretty far behind the Democrat.”
“Polls showed him pretty far behind all them Republicans, too,” TQ replied.
“Damn if you aren’t right. Okay, now I’m more scared.”
They laughed as TQ pulled up to the Army/Navy store. Tommy paid him with a generous tip. “Nice talking to you. See you on the return trip, if you’re still working.”
“I’m always working, Tommy. Always working. Got bills to pay and a daughter who’s dreaming about college. Smart kid.”
TQ helped him get down the ramp and then drove off. The shop lights were off. Tommy rolled up to the front and peered through the glass. He could see movement inside, and then heard a bolt thrown back on the door. “Come on in,” someone said.
The door swung open, and he rolled in. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Ralph and three other men standing by a glass counter drinking coffee from foam cups.
“What’s with the wheelchair?” one of the men asked Ralph. “You didn’t say the guy was a cripple.”
“I have to use it sometimes,” Tommy said. “More often than not these days. Anyway, it’ll help me with your plan. It hides things, and they don’t search them that carefully. And I’m dying, which makes me a dangerous motherfucker, with nothing to lose.”
Vigilante Angels Trilogy Page 39
