The Doorman

by Roger Weston

  Always a diligent student at these seminars, JJ had attempted to write out his own epitaph. Now he’d forgotten what it said. Either way, he never had unleashed the giant within.

  Now, someone was forcing him to play the game. His whole life really did look different. What did a man do when his life was on a short leash?

  It was time to walk away from his business and his passion.

  He had no choice. Not only was he a dead man, but he was presently in a dead-man’s house. He knew then that he was going to be the second victim to die in this death trap of a home. The walls seemed to be closing in on him. The air seemed to thicken to the point where he could breath but he could not satisfy his lungs. The house began to make sounds that he hadn’t noticed before—creeks, squeaks, and shudders.

  After checking the street both ways from two different windows, he locked up the house and popped the hood of his truck. He re-attached the battery cable and got in his rig. Spit was barking so he said, “Shut up!”

  The dog kept barking, so JJ got out and gave it a couple more treats. He remembered something he’d heard from a seminar leader: “As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.” Yes, that was the quote. JJ had always been good at remembering key quotes that really packed a punch. He started the big engine and gave his truck a minute to warm up.

  A big fan of inner imagery, he sat there and closed his eyes. He imagined himself as being alive and well. When images of his dead body flashed into his mind, he rejected them verbally as he’d learned to do from a self-help book. “I reject that image,” he said. “Get out of here.” Then he crowded it out by creating a mental image of himself alive and well, spending cash as fast as he could. He saw himself in the Bahamas, paying cash to a charter boat captain who would take him fishing.

  A pounding on the window startled him and caused him to shriek with fear.

  Peeling his eyes open, he saw that it was just the neighbor.

  JJ rolled down the window.

  “Sorry,” the neighbor said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s all right. What’s going on?”

  “I was just wondering if you and your partner knew how much you were going to sell the place for.”

  “What do you mean, my partner?”

  “The guy you work with. I’ve seen him walking around here when you weren’t around.”

  JJ was barely able to breathe. Finally he choked out, “What did he look like?”

  “Big guy with sunglasses, white hair, black eyebrows, and a white chin beard.”

  “I haven’t decided on a price yet,” JJ said. “I’ll let you know when I do.”

  He started to roll up the window.

  “Thanks. My brother is thinking of moving into the neighborhood and—”

  “Hey, I’ve got to rush. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Alright, no problem.”

  Backing out of the driveway, JJ’s view was blocked by the hedge. As he pulled out, a car appeared at high speed. JJ screamed.

  The car swerved to avoid hitting him. The driver laid on his horn. The car kept going. It was a jacked-up Mustang. The driver had probably been a teenager.

  “Open your eyes!” JJ yelled as the car drove away. “What’s the hell is wrong with you?”

  He backed out into the road and hit the brakes. The trucked rocked to a stop. He looked the road up and down. Still no sign of the white van.

  A voice played in his mind. “If you try to leave town, you’re dead. If you call the cops, you’re dead. Give me the money or you’ll be dead by tomorrow.”

  Somehow the killer knew his movements. He had to be careful or the killer might panic and kill him. He had to act as if everything was normal. His phone rang, but he didn’t answer.

  He followed the speed limit through the neighborhood. He pulled into the parking lot at Home Depot. He locked his truck and then checked on Spit, giving him a couple of treats. He checked on the money. It was all there in the cabinet.

  He locked the camper and went into the store. In the paint section, he was checking out colors when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  JJ grunted with fear and shock. He spun around. It was a big dark-haired guy. He thought of the description he’d heard from the neighbor.

  “What do you want?” JJ said.

  “Relax, my friend,” the stranger said. “I’m here to help.”

  “What do you mean help? Who in the hell are you?”

  “Name’s Chuck Brandt.”

  Wonderful.

  CHAPTER 5

  There was serious doubt in JJ’s mind that this stranger named Chuck Brandt met the description of the man that his neighbor had mistaken as his partner. Brandt was tall, but he had dark hair and no beard. The neighbor described the prowler as a guy with sunglasses, white hair, black eyebrows, and a white chin beard. He doubted if his name was Brandt.

  “You don’t look like you work here,” JJ said.

  “No, that’s not the kind of help I mean.”

  “What do you want then?”

  “It’s related to an investigation. I can’t go into a lot of details here.”

  “What investigation? You’re a cop?”

  “Just listen for a minute, will you? I know you have a major problem related to your new truck. I couldn’t approach you at your house because you’re being watched.”

  “What about my new truck?”

  “Buying it was a mistake. It advertized that you found the money.”

  JJ’s heart suddenly felt like a bass drum. “What money? What are you talking about?”

  “Okay fine, but I know you’re in danger.”

  JJ’s mind raced back through seminars on dealing with difficult contractors. No ideas seemed to fit this situation. “Who are you? I can start yelling right now, and store security will be here in thirty seconds.”

  Chuck pointed at his temple. “I know about the phone call you got, JJ, and I can help you.”

  “How could you know about any of my phone calls?”

  “You’re phone is not secure. Your calls can be intercepted.”

  JJ glared at him. “I don’t think I like you, and I’m done talking with you.”

  “You better think again. I’m the only person alive who can save your life right now. You don’t want to put the brakes on that, do you?”

  “Are you a cop?”

  “No, a cop can only help after a crime has taken place. You don’t want to wait that long, do you?”

  “No, but how can you help?”

  “I can give you protection and make your problem go away.”

  “No thanks. Not interested.” He started walking.

  “Your truck is no longer where you left it.”

  JJ froze. His stomach felt like it shrunk. His legs felt weak. For a moment he was unable to even make a sound. Then he croaked out, “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean it was very foolish to keep the money in the truck. If I wanted the cash, I could have taken the truck to a remote area and shot the dog with a tranquilizer. Instead, I just hotwired the truck and moved it across the parking lot. It’s still here. I moved it to show you that you can trust me. I’m here to help you. I want to help you because you can help me.”

  “Where’s my truck?”

  “Relax. It’s in the parking lot.”

  A lady with short blond hair and a massive purse came down the aisle and stopped just past them. She glanced at Chuck and JJ then studied a set of yard chairs with great interest.

  Chuck said, “Anyway, I recommend the Cadillac barbecue with all the bells and whistles. You won’t be disappointed. You can put that baby in the back of the truck and haul it down to the stadium for every tailgate party as long as you’re alive. Hey, I gotta run. See you around.”

  “Yeah, sure. See ya later.”

  JJ let him go. For a moment, he was relieved. Then he remembered that Brandt had messed with his truck. Was he telling the truth? Was his truck still in the parking lot? Was the loo
t still there? Forcing himself to walk and not run, JJ left the store and then walked the parking lot. He didn’t see his truck anywhere. His heart froze. It almost stopped beating. JJ walked the parking lot again. This time he constantly hit the unlock button on his remote key. Finally, he heard a beep. His truck was by several other trucks. He checked on Spit. The dog was fine and the loot was still under the bench in the camper. JJ left the parking lot, and drove around for a while. He ran a red light and tailgated several cars through neighborhood streets. Three times he turned the radio on and off. He turned on the AC, but it reminded him of the van in the neighborhood. Plus, he couldn’t think straight with the extra noise. He shut it off.

  He drove to a 50’s-style diner, a place called Porter’s. The interior walls were decorated with old paintings. Elvis music was being pumped over the sound system. JJ was suddenly hungry, so when the waitress appeared, he ordered a deluxe cheeseburger with a large order of fries.

  He sat by the window with a clear view of his 4x4. He tried to ignore it, however. He looked around the place to study the workmanship of the construction, but he wasn’t in the mood for that. He imagined that if anyone came for him, he’d go off-road—if he ever got the chance. He sat there and drank a cup of coffee along with his burger and fries while he guarded his truck. He remembered stories about how car thieves could steal a car in a matter of seconds. The thought filled him with terror. If anyone suspected that he had over a million in cash hidden in his truck, that money would be gone as fast as he’d gotten it. Every movement outside caught his attention. An old lady with a walker pushed by his truck, and he watched her as if she was a known carjacker.

  Who was Brandt? JJ brooded. Who was he!

  These thoughts caused his anxiety level to shoot up. It didn’t help that he was avoiding going back to the fixer-upper. Time was money, and he was not doing his job. Still, he was in no hurry to go back there. Two days ago he loved that house like his own baby. Now he dreaded it. He wished he didn’t own it. He might even sell it as-is, just unload it, if he lived that long.

  Yes, he was done with it.

  He was sweating like a pig. As he left the diner, someone bumped him, and he almost yelled at the guy, which was not at all like him. He wasn’t used to this much stress. He started to pull the truck out into the road but slammed on the brakes. A car laid on the horn and swerved to avoid a collision. JJ shouted at the man.

  “I’m losing it,” JJ told himself. “I’ve got to calm down.”

  He pulled into the high school and parked by the track. He walked two laps before he even began to calm down. After a third lap, his blood pressure dropped a little, but then he saw a blue 1966 Dodge Charger pull into the parking lot. It parked a few spots away from his truck.

  JJ began to breathe quickly. It was no white van, but who was it?

  “Just someone who wants exercise,” JJ assured himself. “No worries.”

  A man in a hoodie got out and walked onto the track. It was a big man, and he started walking toward JJ, who tried very hard to walk naturally. The man had his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, as if he was hiding a weapon.

  As he came close, JJ recognized the face. “What are you doing here?” he said.

  “Just out for a walk,” Brandt said. “Didn’t expect to meet you here.”

  “Yeah, right. How did you know I was here?”

  “That was easy. You should ask about the hard stuff. You should ask how I know you have only $87 in your bank account.”

  “You mean $86.70.”

  “That’s very good. I know who you’ve called and who has called you.”

  “What are you, some kind of spook?”

  “The important thing is what I can do for you. Let’s take a lap together.”

  “One lap.”

  They started walking.

  “I can help you,” Chuck said. “I’m sorry about moving your truck, but I had to get your attention fast. You don’t have much time. I intercepted the phone call. I heard what he said. We both know what’s at stake for you.”

  “Why would you be intercepting my calls?”

  “As I said, I’m conducting a criminal investigation.”

  “Who are you?” JJ glanced back at his truck.”I’ve never seen you before today. Then you approach me in Home Depot, and when I leave the store, I find out you’ve moved my truck. I almost had a heart attack.”

  “That’s better than what you face tomorrow if I don’t help you out.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Who are you? You look familiar.”

  “As I said, I’m a guy who can help you in the situation that you’re in. That means I’m not the kind of guy who answers a lot of questions.”

  “Why do you care what happens to me?”

  Chuck shrugged. “Look, we’re all brothers, right? But the main reason I’m here is that you managed to turn up right in the middle of an investigation that I’m conducting.”

  “You’re a private investigator?”

  “No. I need you to stop asking questions and start listening. Can you do that?”

  “Alright, go ahead.”

  “The house you bought was owned by a friend of mine.”

  JJ stopped in his tracks. “What?”

  “He was working for me. He was a private investigator, and I’d hired him to do surveillance for me.”

  JJ squeezed his suspenders in his fists. “Surveillance?”

  “That’s right. He was a little over-zealous. He entered the home of a politician looking for evidence of a crime, but when he came out, he was carrying several bags of cash that he’d found in the senator’s freezer.”

  “A US senator?” JJ sighed.

  They resumed walking. They walked past the uprights and followed the curve of the track.

  “My surveillance man made a major mistake that cost him his life,” Chuck said. “The senator had dangerous friends.”

  “Oh, I’m gonna be sick.”

  “It’s worse than you think, but like I said, I can make this go away.”

  “You said that before. Be specific. How can you? I suppose you want me to give—”

  “Give what?”

  “Never mind. How can you help?”

  “Real simple. You help me, and I’ll make sure that the killer goes away.”

  “I said how?”

  “I want you to finish the job that my surveillance guy messed up.”

  “You want what? Your surveillance guy was killed.”

  “Do what I tell you, and you should be fine.”

  “Should be?”

  “Well, that’s better odds than you’ve got right now—much better.”

  “I don’t know anything about surveillance. Why me?”

  “Real simple. You know how to rehab a house. That’s what I want you to do. Just rehab a house that I have under contract. At the same time, you’ll keep an eye on another house down the street. You’ll keep records on who comes and who goes, what time—that sort of thing.”

  “A rehab, huh?”

  “That’s right. And nobody else but me will know where you are.”

  “And what about the hit man?”

  “You leave that to me.”

  “And what’s in it for me?”

  “You mean besides staying alive?”

  “Yes, besides that.”

  “How about finders keepers?”

  CHAPTER 6

  Washington DC

  House of Representatives

  The House Chamber was a beehive of activity. Members stood around and talked, their expensive suits lending glamour to their presence. They stood among the rich blue and gold carpet, the high wood panels, the huge paintings and shiny, richly-oiled wood desks and chairs. Their words floated in the air as things of the stage. Their movements appeared sometimes rehearsed. They were men used to having every movement observed, so they were performers.

  As congressmen filed in, Lionel C. Ratlif, the house doorman in big-framed glasses, shook hands.
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  He greeted members by name. Most were friendly and treated him with respect.

  “Thank you again for yesterday.” This from Nevada.

  “You are the man, Ratlif.” This from Virginia.

  “Mr. Ratlif, I’ve got a problem and nobody can help me. You’re my last hope.” This plea came from Alabama.

  Ratlif said, “Drop by my office at 3:00. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Alabama shook his hand with vigor. “Thank you, my friend. Thank you.”

  The distinguished gentleman from Nebraska stepped up to him. “What’s up with you today, Ratlif? You look like a tragic statue.”

  “I was born that way. Runs in the family.”

  The congressman shook his hand and then mingled with others.

  Speaker Galloway walked past without acknowledging the doorman.

  Ratlif took no offense at being ignored.

  Anyway, he had more important things on his mind. This was a very big day—and the members had no clue what was going on. Ratlif knew things that they could only dream of knowing. However, if they knew what he knew, they would more likely be having nightmares.

  Then Speaker Galloway did something he’d never done before. He turned back and deigned to speak to Ratlif. He said, “You know, Ratlif. We’re all princes and kings here. Why is it a guy like you never ran for office? You been standing at that door for twenty years. Why?”

  “Ignorance, Sir. Blind ignorance.”

  Galloway shook his head and moved on.

  Congressman Johnson from Alabama patted Lionel on the back. “What are you talking to that jerk for?”

  “I needed a dollar for gas to get to the next town.”

  Johnson laughed. “You’re golden, my friend. I’ll always be in debt for all you’ve done for me.”

  “Don’t mention it. On second thought, mention it often.”

  Johnson laughed and moved on.

  Ratlif addressed everyone by name. He knew the name of every congressman, plus most of the names of their family members and many pets. He could have blurted out their darkest secrets if he wanted to, but he hadn’t kept his job for twenty-five years for nothing. He knew what not to say, and he knew how to ask probing questions.