The Pa-la-ti-'shan

by Neal Goldstein

  I took my blackberry out of my pocket. “Geez, I hate this thing.” I fumbled with the keyboard as if I was responding to an email. Kathy looked at the young man wearing the hoodie.

  “Uh-oh, it’s the governor. I wonder what he wants.”

  I held the phone to my ear.

  As the phone was ringing I said, “Good afternoon Governor.”

  “This is 911, what’s the nature of your emergency,” the operator asked.

  “No Governor,” I replied. “I’m at the bank, the Citizen’s Bank at 4th and Girard.”

  “Sir, this is 911.”

  “Yes, I know Governor.”

  “Is there some kind of an emergency?”

  “Yes, that’s right sir.”

  “Are you able to tell me the nature of the emergency?”

  “I really can’t say. Look, I’ll be finished here in a couple of minutes. I’ll see you soon.”

  The teller finished the transactions and handed me the receipts and petty cash.

  “Thanks, Kathy. I’ll just grab some deposit slips. I’ll see you next week.”

  I dragged my right leg as I walked over to the table where the hooded man and the woman stood. When I approached I slipped. Instead of reaching for the table I pushed the woman out of the way, grabbed the man’s right arm and elbowed him in his Adam’s apple.

  Hoodie had a Glock 45 caliber pistol in his right hand. He pulled the trigger when I elbowed him. The bullet entered my back and the entire left side of my body exploded in a searing white hot dagger of pain. The adrenaline rush hit me even harder, and I chopped at the man’s wrist with all of my force. He dropped the gun on the table and I smashed his head into the table’s surface. I could hear the approaching sirens getting louder.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Hoodie’s accomplice screamed as he charged into the main banking area. He scanned the room saw me smashing his partner’s head on the table. He pulled a weapon from the front of his waist and pointed it at me. Without thinking I grabbed the Glock I had knocked out of Hoodie’s hand and fired. I must have hit him. I heard him scream and I jumped on top of the woman I had knocked to the ground to shield her as the man continued to fire his weapon in our direction. The bullets struck the ceiling above where I had been standing seconds before.

  “Drop your weapons!” Two police officers had entered the bank with their weapons drawn.

  Within minutes the police had sorted out the chaos and called the EMTs.

  The Sergeant who arrived to supervise the scene was a friend of Bob Gronski’s who had helped out on my campaign.

  “Mr. Green, the EMTs will be here any second. He held a compression bandage to my side to slow the blood loss. When the EMTs arrived they gave me a shot of something and I drifted in and out of consciousness as they transported me to the Hospital.

  “Mr. Green, can you open your eyes?”

  I blinked and slowly focused on an Asian face that looked no more than 16 years old.

  “I’m Dr. Wu. Your surgery went well. We removed the bullet. You’re very lucky. The bullet missed your liver by a couple millimeters. No permanent damage; looks like it was only a bullet fragment.”

  “I’m going to remove the breathing tube now. OK?”

  I blinked.

  After he removed the apparatus he said. “I want you to stay still. Don’t try to move. We’re going to keep you here in recovery for a few more hours and then we’ll move you to a room.”

  “Your wife is here. The governor is also here. I’m going to let them in to see you now.”

  I looked up and Nicky was there. I could see she had been crying.

  “Oh thank god you’re ok.” She kissed me gently on my forehead. She held my face in her hands, and looked me straight in the eyes.

  “Don’t ever do that again promise me.”

  The Governor stood behind her and uncharacteristically said nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  Nicky’s Baby

  My room was filled with flowers, balloons and other stuff from well wishers. There was a poster with a crayon drawing of a stick figure that was supposed to be me with block letters that read: “YOUR MY HEERO, YOU SAVED MY MOMMIE.” Nicky told me it came from the 4 year-old son of the woman who had been held at gun point by the man wearing the hoodie. I was grateful she didn’t sue me for assaulting her when I knocked her down.

  I was supposed to rest but the never-ending stream of visitors made that impossible. Dr. Wu and his team had removed the bullet fragment from my back. Apparently, when the gun discharged most of the bullet hit the bank table and only a small fragment ricocheted to my body. Dr. Wu was right, I was extremely lucky a 45-caliber bullet from that close range would have been devastating.

  Nicky was still shaken and very angry with me. How could I have acted so recklessly? No matter what I said, that it was instinctive, reflexive, all the ‘ives’, she wasn’t buying. Of course she was right. I should never have taken it upon myself to attempt to stop the bank robbery. It was beyond stupid. But I knew I had done what had to be done. I had vowed to myself long ago that I would never again stand by and allow an innocent person to be in harm’s way and allow that to happen without trying to stop it.

  The local media was all over the story. Kathy the bank teller made me sound like the character Bruce Willis played in the Die Hard movies. Vernon Odom interviewed Bob Gronski; he was even worse. Bob exaggerated the Mosul incident beyond any semblance of reality.

  “That’s just the way he is,” Gronski spoke directly to the screen. “We would have followed him to hell and back. Bernie Green’s too modest to tell you himself. He’s a hero. He saved my life, just like he saved the lives of those folks in the bank.”

  “That’s right Jim. District Representative Bernard Green is a local hero. This is Vernon Odom reporting live from Temple University Hospital.”

  Jim Gardner with his patented look of concern said, “Thank you Vernon, and thank you again Representative Green.”

  I wanted to throw up. I was no hero. I was stupid and lucky. I could not wait for my 15 minutes to pass. I was looking forward to the next news cycle. Perhaps a congressman or senator would be exposed as a pervert, or a vice president would shoot somebody. I realized that the longer the story stayed in the news, the greater the chance that some enterprising journalist would look for a new angle and come up with an entirely different story, a story I did not want to reveal.

  “This story has legs,” the governor called as soon as Jim Gardner and the entire Action News team had signed off. “I understand Charlie Gibson is going to make you the ‘Person of the Week’ on the national news this Friday. Who knows maybe Andy Rooney will mention you on 60 Minutes.”

  “This is way over the top. I’m sure it will blow over and the media circus will move on to the next freak show.”

  “No, the mayor is going to give you a citation for bravery. Every politician worth his salt is going to find a way to have their picture taken with you. The Speaker and I will come up with something classy and understated when you get back to Harrisburg. O’Grady has been in touch with the White House. If I know him, you’ll be sitting next to the First Lady when the President makes his next State of the Union address.”

  I was content with the knowledge that the next State of the Union was more than six months away. I figured my celebrity would fade in six days; I wished it had only lasted six minutes.

  Dr. Wu let me get out of bed the next morning. The doctor told me I could probably go home by Friday. I forgot how much bullets hurt. As soon as I got out of the bed I remembered. Nicky helped me walk down the hall. I winced with every step.

  “Are you alright?” she asked.

  “As long as I have you,” I said.

  “Bernie, I really wanted to say it serves you right. Now I’m going to cry.”

  The next day it was a lot better. I was able to get up on my own and walk the entire floor without too much discomfort. When Nicky went home for the night I asked the night nurse if
she knew Helene Schmidt. She told me she had worked with Schmidt in OB. I asked if she could get in touch with her. She told me Helene was on duty and she was sure she would want to meet the resident celebrity.

  Within the hour there was a knock at the door, it was Nurse Schmidt.

  “Mr. Green, Melody told me you wanted to see me.”

  Helene Schmidt was a woman in her mid-forties. She projected a quiet competence, the kind of person you wanted in the delivery room in case something went wrong.

  “Thanks for stopping by. Please come in and have a seat.”

  She sat down and waited.

  I wasn’t sure how to begin.

  “Nurse Schmidt.”

  “You can call me Helene.”

  “Thanks, Helene. I guess you’re wondering why I wanted to speak with you.”

  She nodded.

  “Well, I’m trying to find out something for my wife. Are you the Helene Schmidt who worked at Wilkes-Barre General Hospital in 2001?”

  “Yes, I worked there.”

  “You probably don’t remember this; it happened about eight years ago, and you’ve probably helped deliver hundreds of babies since then, but you assisted in the delivery of my wife’s baby. My wife was 19 years old, and she put the baby up for adoption. She never knew who the adoptive parents were. Anyway, she just wants to know that her daughter is OK.”

  “Eight years ago, I’ve assisted in a lot of deliveries in that time. There have been a lot of young women in similar circumstances.”

  “I know. The thing is there is no record of an adoption. The baby disappeared and I promised my wife I would look into it. My wife is Nicole Miller.”

  As soon as I mentioned her name I could tell from her reaction that she remembered what had happened.

  “Do you remember Nicky? Do you know what happened?”

  She nodded.

  “Can you tell me? My wife just wants to know that her daughter is being properly cared for.”

  “I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to talk about this.”

  “I understand. I asked my father-in-law. For whatever reason, he refuses to discuss it. The doctor who delivered the baby passed away five years ago.”

  “Yes, Dr. Bauman.”

  “I promise you, I’ll never tell anyone you were my source. It’s just I love my wife very much. I see her pain whenever she talks about giving up her baby. She knows she can’t undo the past. She just wants to make sure the child is being properly cared for. Please.”

  “I remember your wife. Wilkes-Barre is a small town. Bobby Conrad was the local hero. He was the golden boy, star of the high school football team, a real good kid. The Conrad family was well known and respected in the community. Bobby’s grandfather owned the mill. His dad was the up and coming District Attorney. I remember the tragedy, how the entire town was in mourning when a drunk driver on I-80 killed Bobby and his mother. Mr. Conrad was never the same.

  When Doc Bauman told us Nicky was going to have a baby, we all knew Bobby was the father.” She sighed and stared at Green for what seemed an eternity as she struggled with this memory.

  “What happened to the baby?”

  “Mr. Conrad took his granddaughter.”

  “You mean he adopted her?”

  “No Mr. Green, there was no adoption. He just took his granddaughter.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  Keeping My Powder Dry

  I spent a sleepless night trying to decide if I should tell Nicky about my conversation with Helene Schmidt before making absolutely certain that it was completely accurate. How could Conrad have taken the baby without proper authorization? Had Nicky’s parents consented to this? What happened to the baby? No matter how I tried, I could not make any sense of it.

  As the dawn approached I decided to wait a day or two while I sorted it all out before telling Nicky. However, I couldn’t help feeling that I was betraying her by not making an immediate disclosure. My resolve to get to the bottom of things had more or less dissolved in a sea of guilt by the time Nicky arrived to take me home.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to come home?” she asked as soon as she walked into the room. “You look like you were up all night. Were you in a lot of pain?”

  I almost blurted out the whole story right then and there. “I …”

  Before I could finish, Bob and Marti Gronski arrived.

  “LT, who’d of thought we’d be helping to take you home from the hospital,” Gronski said as Marti pushed his wheelchair through the door. We’ll make quite a scene, our wives pushing our wheelchairs out of the hospital. I bet that’ll make the 11 O’Clock news,” he laughed.

  Gronski was right; the press had assembled outside the entrance to the hospital to chronicle my release. They approached as our wives pushed our wheel chairs through the door. I tried to jump out of the chair as soon as we crossed the threshold but the flowers and other mementos well-wishers had sent me were piled on my lap.

  Marti Gronski drove us to our apartment in the van that had been specially adapted for Bob. Sam the doorman even offered to help me to our apartment. I practically had to wrestle with him as I made my way to the elevator.

  Nicky watched my every move to make certain I was all right.

  On the ride from the hospital I had decided to tell Nicky everything as soon as we were alone. Just as I was about to tell her what Helene Schmidt had disclosed the phone rang. “It’s the Governor.”

  “Tell him I’m sleeping, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” I whispered.

  “Governor, Bernie’s sleeping, I’ll have him… Yes sir.”

  She held her hand over the mouthpiece. “He said it’s important; you know how he gets. It’ll be quicker if you get it over with,” she said as she handed me the phone.

  “Hello governor, what can I do for you?”

  “That fucker Cinaglia, he’s trying to put me in the shitter with him. The U.S. Attorney is asking me all kinds of questions about kickbacks and stuff.”

  “Did you contact Mike Bollinger? I’m sure he’ll be able to address all of this on your behalf.”

  “I think someone is setting me up. I haven’t taken any kickbacks from Cinaglia, or anybody.”

  “Well then, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “You think so? Then why is Monroe Sterling filing a motion to withdraw as Cinaglia’s counsel, claiming that his prior representation of me poses a conflict of interest in his further representation of the Senator? And, why the fuck is the U.S. Attorney subpoenaing Earl Samson?”

  “Governor, I have no idea?”

  “Oh, and another thing, what does Jack Collins have to do with all this?”

  “Jack Collins? Have you heard from Jack?”

  “No not me,” the governor replied. “Mike Bollinger told me Jack’s on the list of potential witnesses for the Government. What the hell would he know about any of this shit?”

  “I really don’t have a clue. I’ve been somewhat out of the loop.”

  “Sure Bernie. But why don’t you see what you can find out.”

  Jack Collins was back and had something to do with the Cinaglia case. That was interesting. Maybe I should call Mike Bollinger and try and find out what he knows about the case and Sterling’s motion to withdraw.

  “I’ve got to run out and pick a few things up for dinner. Will you be all right?”

  “Sure, but Nicky I need to tell you something.”

  “OK, we can talk as soon as I get back.”

  “OK.”

  I called Mike Bollinger.

  “It’s good to hear from you, I don’t think Brinkley Smoot ever really had an authentic hero in the firm before. Everyone here is very proud of you.”

  “Thanks Mike. I wonder if you can tell me what you know about Monroe Sterling withdrawing from the Cinaglia case. The governor just called me. He’s very upset about the U.S. Attorney’s questions and the subpoena issued for Earl Samson. Normally I would just chalk it up to the governor’s parano
ia. But well, it’s a little late in the game for defense counsel to attempt to withdraw. I mean the trial is scheduled to start next month.”

  “You’re right. This is highly unusual. I’m having difficulty understanding how Sterling’s former representation of the governor raises a conflict. And this subpoena of Earl Samson has come out of nowhere. When are you coming back to work?”

  “Next week.”

  “OK, we can talk about it then. We should know more about the reasons behind Sterling’s withdrawal from the case, assuming the Judge allows it. Take it easy Bernie.”

  “Yes sir, thank you sir.”

  “Book, it’s me. Got a minute?”

  I filled Zeebooker in on my conversation with Helen Schmidt.

  “Did you tell Nicky?”

  “Not yet. I mean I was going to tell her everything, but I keep getting interrupted. Here’s what I’d like you to do.”

  By the time Nicky returned Zeebooker and I had laid out a strategy for checking out Schmidt’s story. If Zeebooker confirmed it I would give her all the details. In the meantime I would keep my powder dry. Why upset Nicky unnecessarily? After all, it had been almost eight years since she had any information about her daughter, one or two more days couldn’t make a difference.

  WXPN was playing Steely Dan’s “Hey 19.” It was one of our favorite songs. Nicky started to sing along with the chorus as she sat down next to me.

  “So what did you want to talk about?”

  I winced as she moved closer.”

  “Sorry,” she said as she moved away.

  “No, it’s alright I want you close to me.”

  She moved back carefully.

  “So, what’s up?”

  “It’ll keep,” I said and kissed her as David Dye the XPN DJ played Sade’s “No Ordinary Love.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Conflict of Interest

  Monday morning I limped into Brinkley Smoot to a hero’s welcome. I was really getting tired of this but didn’t want to offend anyone. By the time I got to Bollinger’s office he was preparing to leave for court. “Why don’t you come along? You can sit with the governor and keep him calm while the judge hears Sterling’s motion and the U.S. Attorney’s argument. It ought to be an interesting morning.”