by Brown,Dick
By the time Rod finished her massage, Cass was like putty in his hands. The third quarter started and Cass stretched out on the couch with her head in his lap. She was asleep in a matter of minutes. Coach Knox must have given his team one hell of a pep talk at half time. The Rams came out looking like a different team. Their opening drive caught the complacent Vikings flat-footed when TJ pulled in a screen pass in the flat in full stride.
“Yes, yes!” Rod leaped from the couch, almost dumping Cass on the floor. “All the way TJ!” Rod shouted. When TJ crossed the goal line, Rod punched the air with his fist and did a little victory dance. “Cass! Did you see that? TJ caught a short pass and took it sixty yards for a Rams touchdown!”
“Jesus, Rod, you nearly broke my neck. What happened? Is the game over?”
“No, the Rams just scored on their first possession of the second half. I think they have finally warmed up.” In a more tender voice, Rod said, “I’m sorry I got carried away. I didn’t mean to drop you. I think they may have a chance now. You can go back to sleep, I’ll try hold it down.” He planted soft kisses on her neck.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll just go lie down on the bed. You can tell me all about it later,” Cass said. She left Rod and forty-eight thousand cold, raucous fans to their ball game, not feeling convinced her little heart-to-heart had done any good.
It wasn’t to be. Late in the game, the players were tired and cold, just trying to keep warm between plays. The Rams scored again but couldn’t overcome the huge first-half deficit. After interviewing the game’s most valuable player, Vikings quarterback Fran Tarkenton, the game announcer, Pat Summerall, and his cameraman located TJ. He had just finished an interview with some California reporters and was still wrapped in a team parka trying to get warm.
“TJ, Pat Summerall here. You played a great game. It looked like your touchdown run sparked new life into the Rams. What was going through your mind when you caught that short pass out in the flat in the third quarter?”
“I knew I had my man beat and the strong safety was out of position. I knew I could score if I could outrun the other defensive back, who had to come clear across the field. These legs aren’t what they used to be, but they got me into the end zone. It was a big break. I thought we could come back and win the game. I give them credit. They were the better team today.”
“Do you think the cold weather gave them the advantage?”
“No, they were just as cold as we were. We made some mistakes early and they just outplayed us.”
“Your catch and run play was the biggest play of the game and your legs seemed to respond just fine this late in the season. You mentioned your legs, that brings up my next question. I’ve heard rumors this might be your last season. Anything to those rumors?”
“Well, I tell you Pat, it gets harder every year and takes longer to recover each Sunday after getting pounded every play. I’ve given it some thought, but won’t make a decision until next year. I’ll see how I feel after the off season and make my decision before reporting to next preseason camp.” TJ thanked the veteran announcer and trotted off the field to the warmth of the locker room for a hot shower.
TJ’s professional football career ended the day after Christmas on a bitter note. He wanted to go out a Super Bowl winner, but he knew his body wouldn’t take another grueling season for a shot at Super Bowl V next year. He wanted to come home to heal and celebrate New Year’s with his friends and family. The beautiful home he had built for his family would be his base of operation until he got rested. His two younger brothers had left home—one for the Army and the youngest for college where he was getting his teaching degree, thanks to TJ.
Chapter 55
After the holiday
There was a Do Not Disturb sign posted on the inner office door the first day everyone returned to work following the holiday. Carolyn Everhart, the secretary shared by Jack and Rod, was given strict instructions to hold all calls. Rod, Jack, Special Agent Garza, Security Chief Johnson, and Safety Engineer Sadler were gathered around the conference table in intense conversation.
“I looked at all your security tapes for the previous months and found some people of interest I would like question,” Agent Garza said. “There seemed to be two or three other workers who might have been acting in concert with Homer Jones. I didn’t observe any conclusive evidence of collusion between them,” he said, “but their body language told me they were connected when they were seen with Jones or talking to each other. I would like to review their personnel files before interviewing them. Maybe something there will be useful. But I’ll warn you, gentlemen—they were very careful. I will point them out on the video for identification. I advise bringing them in for questioning. If they are involved, maybe they will make a mistake.”
“Good work, Manny,” Jack said, slapping his hands together. “Let’s take a look at those tapes. Cal and Gene can help identify the men when you point them out.”
The tapes had been carefully logged, which made short work of finding and identifying the suspects. Cal took the list of names to the human resource department and pulled their personnel files for Agent Garza. After an hour studying the men’s files, he summoned Woody Henshaw and Nate Barnwell on first shift to Johnson’s office. Cal briefed the men, saying as friends of Homer Jones they were part of an informal investigation into his death. Agent Garza conducted separate interviews with them lasting several hours. Woody Henshaw was first, then Nate Barnwell, who’d been secluded in a separate office.
The next suspect, Chavez Gutierrez, who worked second shift, was called into Cal’s office immediately when he arrived at work. He was detained in a separate office before his interview.
After his interview, the first suspect, Woody Henshaw, went straight from the security office to George Conrad, his union steward, and complained about the grilling by an FBI agent. Conrad listened as Henshaw ranted about the questioning.
“They think I done some of them accidents. George, I swear I didn’t do nothin’,” he lied. “I think they’re crazy. If that damn Mexican FBI man thinks he’s gonna pin that fire on me, he’s got another think comin’. You gotta help me, George. I really need this job.”
“Calm down, Woody, nobody’s going to pin anything on you.” George rubbed his chin thoughtfully between his thumb and index finger. With a worried look straight into Woody’s eyes, he said, “Did you say FBI? You were questioned by an FBI agent? Is he talking to anybody else?”
“Yeah, I seen Nate sittin’ in another office when I came out.”
Concerned and baffled by the new development, Conrad drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly before speaking. “Here’s what I want you to do.” He rose from his chair, came around his desk, and put his arm around Henshaw’s shoulder. “I want you to go home and get control of yourself, you understand? And don’t say anything to anybody about this. I’m going to get our lawyer in here and stop this shit right now. I’ll charge today to administrative time. Now go home and relax. Everything’s going to be okay.” Conrad walked Woody to his office door. “Remember now, not a word to anybody.” He gave him a pat on the back going out the door.
Second shift had clocked in, the time Conrad usually punched out after checking the time cards for the second shift people. But he quickly returned to his desk and opened a black notebook and ran his finger down the page and stopped at the Southwest Region of Aircraft Workers United phone number. He quickly punched in the ten-digit number. A deep female voice answered after the first ring.
“Aircraft Workers United, Dallas office. How may I help you?”
“This is George Conrad, shop steward for Local 213 in Bois D’Arc. I need to speak with someone in the legal counsel’s office, please.”
“Just one moment, please,” the receptionist said with what Conrad thought was a northern accent.
After the third ring,
a man’s voice came on the line. “This is Stephano Bianchi, lead counsel for the Southwest Region of Aircraft Workers United. What can I do for you, Mr. Conrad?”
“I’m shop steward for Local 213 at RJ Systems in Bois D’Arc, and there’s an FBI agent here harassing some of my men over some accidents that have happened the last few months. I need legal representation for these men. Two have already been questioned without a lawyer present. Can you help me?”
“I think we can be of assistance. I need more information from you as to why they are being questioned.”
“There was a fire on one of the aircraft in a multimillion-dollar contract with a foreign country over the holidays and one of my men died inside it. He wasn’t authorized to be on site or near that aircraft, and the FBI was called in to investigate. They questioned two of my men as suspects before I knew about it. I didn’t know what else to do. I thought I should call for legal help.”
“You have done the right thing, Mr. Conrad. I will be there in twenty minutes. Until then, instruct any of your men they want to question not to say a word until I and my team get there. Thank you for calling. And remember, don’t allow anyone to talk to the FBI, or the company security people.”
The phone went silent. As soon as Conrad hung up, he hurried to the security department almost in a jog. He entered the outer office and stopped at the secretary’s desk.
“I’m Union Steward George Conrad. I want to speak to Cal Johnson.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Johnson is in a meeting. It may be some time before he’s available.”
“I know all about his meeting. He and the FBI are interrogating my men without legal representation. You go in there and tell him George Conrad has legal counsel coming from Dallas and for them to stop the interrogation right now—or I will tell him myself.”
“Have a seat, Mr. Conrad. I will give Mr. Johnson your message.” The rattled secretary hurried back to Johnson’s office and delivered the message behind Johnson’s closed door. His office door opened again and he accompanied Stephanie to the outer office.
“George, let’s go in here and talk,” Cal said, motioning Conrad toward a conference room. Johnson sat on one side of the table and Conrad sat on the other. “Now, George, what’s this about a lawyer?”
“You know damn good and well what it’s about. You called in the FBI and are questioning my people without my knowledge and without legal representation. Our union lawyer is on his way right now, and if you have anyone in your office being questioned, I want to talk to him. He isn’t to answer any more questions until our lawyer gets here. Then you can deal with him from now on.”
“Take it easy, George, this is just an informal interview, nothing to get upset about. It’s standard procedure to talk to any friends of Homer Jones to try and understand what he was doing in that aircraft during the holidays.” Cal leaned forward and said, “Special Agent Garza is asking some questions, but like I said, it’s just routine investigation stuff after the fire, that’s all.”
“Come on, Cal, cut the bullshit. That’s not what Woody Henshaw said it felt like. I want to see my man right now or we are going to have some real trouble when our lawyer gets here. So cut the chatter and let’s go see who you have in your office.”
“Fine, you want to play hardball, we can do that, too. Follow me.” Conrad trailed after the security officer down the long hallway to his office. When Johnson opened the door, Conrad saw Chavez Gutierrez sitting on a couch and agent Garza sitting two feet in front of him. Both men stood up when Conrad entered the room.
“Chavez, we’re through here. You don’t have to answer any more questions. You aren’t under arrest, so we’re leaving, comprende?” Neither Johnson nor Agent Garza attempted to stop them. When the two men, along with Special Agent Garza and Cal Johnson, reached the outer office, there were three well-dressed men in expensive suits standing in front of the secretary’s desk. The bewildered secretary was trying to explain that Mr. Johnson was in conference and wasn’t available.
“It’s okay, Stephanie, I’ll take care of this.” He turned to the three men and inquired, “May I help you, gentlemen?”
Cal stepped forward to greet the men. The man in the forefront was of medium height with a stocky build. He had olive skin and thick black hair slicked straight back.
“I’m Aircraft Workers United legal counsel, Stephano Bianchi,” he said in a strong Boston accent as he stepped forward and extended his hand to Cal. “I’m here to represent the men you are questioning concerning an accident that happened recently. These men were questioned without benefit of legal counsel. If no charges have been filed, this man is free to go and you should contact me before you question any other union employees. Here is my card. Gentlemen, this meeting is over.”
Special Agent Garza spoke up. “Mr. Bianchi, these men were being interviewed informally and never requested legal representation. Nor were we holding them against their will. Chavez is free to go, but you should advise your clients not to leave the county. We will definitely be in touch.”
Conrad guided Chavez around Johnson and Garza and followed the attorney and his two aides toward the door. Before they left the office, Conrad turned and gave Johnson and Garza a smug smile. “Nice talking to you,” he said as they left the office.
Chapter 56
Collusion in Dallas
Eddie Winthrop sat in Wellington’s, an upscale club owned by a former Dallas Cowboy quarterback. He was nervous and on his second scotch and water, waiting for Roger Helms, who was still on probation. Eddie checked his watch. Roger was almost half an hour late. He decided if Roger didn’t show by the time he finished his drink or in ten minutes, whichever came first, he would leave and mark it off as a bad idea. Just as he drained the last drop of scotch and water, a tall, large figure came into view headed in his direction.
“Sorry I’m late, there was an accident that closed down Harry Hines Boulevard,” Roger said, taking a seat at Eddie’s table. “I’m not sure why I’m here, Eddie. What’s this all about?” The waiter took his drink order. “To be honest, my only recollection of you was being a jerk and trying to embarrass me and Cass in front of her friends at your country club party.”
“You’re right, I was being a jerk trying to impress Cass after too many drinks,” Eddie admitted. “I just thought a couple of Cass’s exes would have something in common to talk about.”
“What’s there to talk about? I screwed up. What’s your point? I don’t even know you. But I do know you and Cass were never together.”
“Technically you’re right, but she flirted and led me on from time we were little kids right on through high school, only to dump me for that crippled football player, Rod Miller. She even had sex with me while they were dating, but later threatened me with a rape charge if I ever told Rod,” Eddie continued his delusional fantasy. “And her deposition helped get you convicted. I thought you might be interested in some payback, that’s all.”
“I’m listening.” Roger finished his drink and motioned to the waiter for another.
“I want to destroy her charmed life for what she has done to me and the company that her asshole husband practically runs single-handed,” Eddie said in a stern voice. “If the company goes under, it will probably sink her grandfather’s bank as well. Sound interesting?”
“Not really. I fucked up and am still on probation. Why do you think I’d risk going to jail to help you?”
“Not a problem. All I want from you is to put me in touch with your dealer.”
Roger’s first impulse was to refuse. But he remembered his resentment towards the condescending Randolph Worthington. “I’ll give you the last contact information I have, but I don’t even know if he’s still alive.” Roger said. “What you do with the information is strictly your business. I don’t want to know what you do with it. Never call me or see me again, under
stand? This meeting never happened.” Roger fished a pen from his coat pocket, wrote down a number on a napkin, and handed it to Eddie.
“Nice talking to you, Eddie.” Roger pushed away from the table, tossed down a couple of bills to cover his drinks, and walked away without a handshake or a goodbye.
Chapter 57
A month later
The fire investigation was going nowhere. All persons of interest had alibis for the night of the fire. Their lawyer kept a tight rein on them until they were cleared as suspects for lack of evidence. Homer Jones had never revealed to his accomplices who was paying them. That information died with him and destroyed the only lead the FBI had. The investigation ground to a halt and the FBI pulled the plug on it. The only bright spot was that the rash of accidents stopped. That left only the theory that Jones had acted alone. Special Agent Garza wasn’t satisfied with that conclusion, but he had nothing but his gut feeling that the three other men he had identified from the security tapes were involved.
TJ returns home
A parade honored TJ for his All-Pro career in the NFL, complete with cheerleaders and the high school marching band. Miss Bois D’Arc braved the chilly January weather in her bare-shouldered LA Rams royal-blue evening gown with full-length white gloves. She waved to the cheering crowd lining the street from her elevated throne. Sharing the float were her homecoming attendants on a redecorated homecoming float with Rams colors. TJ sat on the back of a new Cadillac convertible next to Mayor Barnhart, smiling and waving to an adoring crowd of fans. A flatbed trailer with some of his former high school state champion teammates waved and shouted to the fans crowded along the street.
After the parade, an informal group gathered at the country club for a luncheon where Mayor Barnhart, serving his sixth term, presented TJ a key to the city. Members of his state champion high school team, including Rod Miller, were also present to honor the town’s new legend. The conversation went quickly from the good old days of football to politics. Among the politicians at the gathering were President of the Dallas Democratic Cause for Justice, Lamarque Washington, and his assistant DeAndre Gilbert.
