The Doorman

by Roger Weston

  “Congressman, I need assurance that we are taken care of. What do you mean—your missed meetings?”

  “You have my assurances. I know that much.”

  “I want your guarantee that none of the hawks in Congress are successful opposing the Omnibus Spending Bill. I also want assurance it won’t be released to House members until minutes before the vote.”

  “Delilah, you know I could never make a blanket promise like that.”

  “Are you sure? Don’t I have you on video accepting bribes?”

  “You were videotaping…?”

  “That’s right, Congressman. Either get onboard—or take the fall.”

  “You dirty little tramp. I could have your neck broken. Do you know who you’re dealing with?”

  “Back off, Congressman.”

  “You don’t try to blackmail this U.S. congressman. It don’t work that way.”

  “I said get away from me.”

  “You better tell me where those tapes are right now.”

  “Boys!”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” the congressman said. “Who the hell are these guys? What’s going on here?”

  “The lady said stay away from her.” It was a deep, manly voice.

  “Okay. Alright. No harm intended. Just got a little impassioned, that’s all.”

  Delilah piped up again. “Be careful, Grunewald. Our benefactor is a very powerful man. These men work for him, and they don’t like it when you threaten me.”

  “Now, wait a minute. I didn’t threaten anyone.”

  “Good. As I mentioned, we know that you have a lot of power on that committee. We want you to use that power so that we all benefit. We want your guarantee that nobody will have time to read the bill.”

  “I don’t like this. I don’t have as much power as you think.”

  “It’s very simple. Get it done, or the news media will be receiving videos of you accepting bribes and all records related to other benefits that you have received.”

  “Look, I’ll do what I can to help you.”

  “You do your part, Congressman, and you’ll enjoy another trip to the Caribbean very soon. You can drink rum and drown your conscience.”

  The congressman cursed several times. “Alright, you’ve got my word.”

  Then JJ shut off the volume. He said, “It went on for a couple more minutes, but you get the idea.”

  Chuck walked across the fresh-painted room. He turned back to JJ. “What’s in the bill they want to hide?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Great work JJ. Get some rest.”

  “I’m glad you came early.”

  “No problem,” Chuck said. “Look, if you hear me leave, don’t worry about it. I have a feeling that our friend across the street may leave at 11:30 like she did the last couple of nights. I’m going to follow her and see where she’s going.”

  “I’ll be ready at 4 a.m.”

  “Okay, look, you’re son is safe, right?”

  “Absolutely. He’s with his grandmother.” JJ put his handgun in a shoulder bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. The strap was like a sash that cut across is suspenders.

  After JJ left, Chuck dialed a number on his phone.

  “Ratlif, it’s me. How’s it going at the Capitol?”

  “Something is going on behind closed doors. I still don’t have anything concrete for you.”

  “There’s some connection to the Omnibus Spending Bill,” Chuck said. “See if you can find out about it.”

  “Okay.”

  “And watch your back.” Chuck hung up.

  He skimmed JJ’s log entries for the evening. As usual, they’d been painstakingly recorded. Chuck watched the mansion down the street through the telescope. At 11:25, he saw lights going off. He went downstairs and outside. He got in his car, which was parked out on the street. He left the lights off and waited.

  A car emerged from the garage of the Vogel mansion down the street. Chuck sunk down in his seat as it drove past. He waited twenty seconds then reached for the key in the ignition.

  CHAPTER 16

  Chuck followed Delilah to a nondescript office building in Salisbury, Maryland, across Chesapeake Bay from Prince Frederick, Maryland. It was a brown brick building—long and rectangular, a stretched-out shoebox with four doors spaced at intervals. This was truly a building that could have been designed on the back of a napkin.

  Pulling on a black knit cap that covered his face, Chuck snuck up to the structure. The building was totally utilitarian, nothing extra, nothing to distract from business, whatever that was. There was no sign to attract customers. There were no flower pots by the front doors, nothing welcoming. There was simply a brown wall and four brown doors. A little plaque by one door said US Shipping.

  He picked the standard lock and entered the office building. It was a one-story structure with around 12,000 square feet. It had 10-foot ceilings and concrete floors. The office building featured narrow hallways and vacant offices. Chuck moved toward the sounds of voices at the far end of the hallway.

  When he got up close, he eased forward to where he could steal a glance into the open door. He saw the backs of several men sitting around a long, rectangular board room table. The men were dressed in casual clothes

  Delilah was the only one talking. Chuck had been listening to her voice on recordings for a couple of days, so he recognized it immediately. Chuck was late for the meeting, so he had to listen carefully and figure out what she was talking about. He soon realized that she was talking about problems that had to be eliminated—people problems.

  “They’re threatening to shut off the flow. We can’t play softball any longer. Our benefactor is adamant that they must be stopped right away.” This from sweet Delilah, the socialite.

  Chuck’s mind replayed “benefactor.” He hoped she would be more specific.

  A man’s voice said, “Are there any limitations?”

  “Yes and no. It depends on which player you’re referring to. Rosa has to be taken out permanently. He’s playing around down there and his security is nonexistent. He feels very safe. Take advantage of that.”

  Rosa? Chuck thought. Who is Rosa? Holding his gun, Chuck edged closer to the door.

  “What about the others?” a man asked. “Rosa is just one part of the opposition. Rosa can say bye-bye, but the problem won’t go away.”

  “Rosa will have a tragic accident,” Delilah said. “For now, that’s how it has to be. Congress will deliver.”

  Congress? Chuck thought. They were talking about Congressman Rosa of Texas. They were talking about assassinating a sitting member of Congress. Chuck thought of the senator whose plane exploded last month.

  Delilah went on: “That will do it, comrades. The fear factor sinks in and dominoes fall.”

  Chuck reached into his pocket for his silencer, but was interrupted.

  “What the hell?” the voice came from behind Chuck, down the hall.

  He looked back. A big man had shown up late. He was reaching for his gun.

  “No,” Chuck said.

  The man pulled his gun and fired. Chuck fired back. As the man fell backwards, he blasted a second shot but it blew out a fluorescent ceiling light. Glass and mercury-laced powder rained down.

  Shaken to realize he’d survived, Chuck pivoted and stepped into the boardroom and waved his pistol. “Put that down. Drop it on the floor now, or I’ll drop you.”

  The tough guy hesitated. He’d been reaching for his pistol. Now he slowly used his thumb and pointer finger to draw his weapon and drop it his feet under the table.

  “Who are you?” Delilah said.

  “Some people call me Murphy, and your plan to kill Rosa has just been exposed.”

  “There is no plan, you fool. I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

  One of the thugs on the far side of the table lifted a pistol above the table and fired. The slug hammered Chuck’s bullet proof vest with violent force. In reaction, he shrieked. He must have fri
ghtened the others because three of them jumped to their feet and reached for their weapons.

  The report from Chuck’s gun crashed like thunder, and the shooter spun as he fell to the floor. As three men went for their guns, Chuck squeezed off three shots. Two of the men dropped to the ground. The third stood there with a dumb look on his face, trying to draw his gun, but his fingers weren’t working properly. Blood ran down his arm and chest.

  Delilah was down under the table with a dead hit-man.

  “Get down on your knees. The second time won’t be a warning shot.”

  The man’s eyes shifted left and right from fear.

  “Now!” Chuck said.

  The killer went for his gun.

  Chuck fired.

  The killer slammed back against the wall and twisted to the floor. His pistol fell from his hand. Another man on the floor made a sudden movement under the table.

  Chuck bolted out of the boardroom.

  He sprinted down the hallway like a flash of lightening. Fear turbo charged his knees. He hit the wall as he took the corner.

  Three shots smacked the wall right behind him.

  The door flew open and slammed against the exterior wall as Chuck sprinted outside and across the parking lot. He burned rubber and felt his cheeks pull back as he did zero to sixty in seconds. He felt as if he was roped into his bucket seat. His rental car soared down the road at ninety.

  “Benefactor,” he spat out, pounding his fist on the console. “Who is the benefactor?”

  CHAPTER 17

  St. Peter’s Catholic Church on Capitol Hill was a striking sight with its high ceilings and long narrow construction. Towering white pillars lined the left and right aisles, adding a regal touch to the place of worship. A certain kind of peacefulness drifted above the dark-wood pews and touched the soaring cross above the altar. The atmosphere here was so pure and holy that Lionel Ratlif felt dirty for the deed he had in mind. This seemed like the wrong place for it. The peace and purity here made him suddenly aware of how dirty he was—up to his neck in corruption and scandal.

  Feeling ashamed, he stood at the back of the church and watched the lone man in the pews with fascination. The man, Congressman Salvador Rosa, was on his knees in prayer. Rosa, who had been under surveillance by one of Ratlif’s informers, had been seen entering the St. Peter’s and praying twice already today. This was his third time. Lionel had been alerted and bolted over here.

  It was always difficult to talk to a man in private at the Capitol building without an appointment. Sometimes, it was hard to even find a man over there—even when the house was in session. Lionel never knew what watering hole around Capitol Hill to look in, at least not until they called him up and asked him to take a drunk congressman home. They always seemed to need a ride home, and they always thought to call Lionel Ratlif first, the beloved doorman who was as germane to the Capitol building as the Rotunda. The collective body of congressmen drank enough booze in one day to sink an aircraft carrier, and yet here was Congressman Salvador Rosa, praying in a church. He was known to be a religious man, but three trips to church in one day verified to Lionel that Rosa was in a crisis.

  For Rosa, church wasn’t just a place to see and be seen. He was not the only devout congressman, but for now they were in the minority. The very sight of him praying alone caused Lionel a certain amount of guilt. He resisted the powerful urge to interrupt Rosa’s worship and confront him over his situation. Instead, he waited. When Rosa finished his prayers, Lionel was waiting for him by the door.

  Lionel’s first impression was that Rosa was depressed. He looked fatigued and nauseous. His face could have been on the poster-board for a Broadway tragedy. He moved slowly down the aisle, drifting left and right like a shell-shocked man.

  “I’m feeling better now,” he said upon seeing Ratlif. “I can get through this day, after all. What are you doing here, Ratlif? You’re not the new doorman here, are you?”

  “I need to have a word with you.”

  Rosa straightened his blue sports jacket. “And how did you know to find me here?”

  “I’ve got eyes all over this town.”

  Rosa drew his wrist across his forehead to wipe away the sweat. He turned and half-slouching, he walked several steps in the other direction then came back.

  “What is it you want?”

  “Come on, Congressman. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I’m your friend, am I not? Was I not the one who got you your office assignment? Am I not the one who attends your parties and tells you everyone’s names? Haven’t we had dinner together? Didn’t I attend your daughter’s wedding?”

  “What do you want, Ratlif?”

  “You know what I’m after. You’re in trouble. I may be able to help, but I need to know what’s going on. Who did you meet with earlier in the Atlantic Room?”

  Rosa looked around nervously as if he thought someone might have overhead. The church was empty. “It’s none of your business.” He spoke in low tones. “Now I have to go. My assistant is waiting in the car, and I have several meetings to attend.” He started for the door.

  “Congressman, please.” Lionel put his hand on Rosa’s arm, stopping him. “I want to help you.”

  “Then leave me alone, Ratlif. You’re becoming a nuisance.”

  “Only after you answer my questions.”

  “I said No!” Rosa shouted. His voice carried through the church. “Aren’t you listening to me?”

  Lionel glanced around, fearing the priest would be coming to see what was going on. “But, Congressman—”

  “No, you stay out of my business!” Rosa shoved the door open and stalked over to a waiting car.

  Lionel followed him. “There’s something else I must tell you.”

  “Make it fast.” He stopped and turned.

  Lionel dabbed his forehead with his embroidered handkerchief. “Your life is in danger. I’ve been told to warn you. Credible threats have been made.”

  Rosa extended his hand to shake. “Thank you, my friend, but I already know that.”

  Rosa got in the car, which sped away.

  As Lionel stood outside of the church, the lenses of his big glasses automatically darkened. He stood there for several minutes trying to reconcile Rosa’s unusual behavior. He knew that the congressman was a religious man. If he knew something about the assassination of Senator Skorman and skullduggery surrounding the Omnibus Spending Bill, his conscience was condemning him. Rosa was fighting a battle for his very soul. He knew he could be called to account unexpectedly.

  As Lionel walked down the sidewalk, he felt certain he was getting close to something corrupt and vile buried in the dark. He would expose the hidden sin and bring the evildoers to justice. No man alive had a sharper nose for the stink of DC betrayal than the doorman. Only fools thought their disgrace would stay secret when Lionel C. Ratlif was in the House.

  He paced in the church’s parking lot, thinking that Rosa was either a fallen angel or a victim of devils. Lionel was thrilled, though, because he sensed that he was getting close to ripping away the masks of the phonies.

  Still, he was irritated that he still hadn’t learned anything solid he could report to Brandt when murder had risen its ugly head. Lionel felt truly embarrassed that he didn’t know the hidden details of trouble and where it would hit? Then he stopped walking. A smile formed on his lips. Maybe he knew something after all. He wondered what Chuck Brandt was doing. Suddenly, he heard the roar of an engine.

  He turned.

  A car swerved onto the sidewalk and sped toward him.

  Instinct kicked in.

  Lionel dodged and threw himself onto the street between two parked cars.

  The speeding Cadillac kept going.

  Lying on the pavement, Lionel heard screeching tires and honking horns.

  Brushing himself off, he stood up. He looked around with panicked glances.

  The offending car was lost in traffic. The street was back to normal. In DC, that meant the des
picable players would begin scheming their next move.

  He thought of Chuck Brandt. He decided he was going to have to talk to Brandt very soon. It wasn’t just Rosa who needed protection.

  CHAPTER 18

  La Plata, Maryland

  At the junior high of contractor JJ Johnson’s son, the white van’s engine started. In the van, Gavin Grimes drove half a block and pulled over. He sat there a minute watching the Johnson kid, but was getting bored. He grabbed the mirror and adjusted it. He looked at his eyes. They were a bit red from allergies. He ran his hand through his white hair and admired his look--the thick black eyebrows and a pointed white chin beard. He believed that his look made a statement in excellence. He studied the narrow nose and thin, almost cruel lips. He knew that he was a man who could gain the confidence and respect of people at will. It was his gift. It always had been. He knew that he would soon be putting his talents to use once more.

  He skimmed the court transcripts again then the phone transcripts of Congressman Rosa’s conversations with his neighbor. He figured he must have read them a hundred times by now.

  He gazed down at the pistol on the seat then glanced at JJ’s son just as the kid turned the corner.

  Gavin put the van in gear and drove. He took the corner, pulled over and waited. He watched the kid with binoculars. At the eighth house on the right, the kid turned up the driveway. He entered the front door with a key.

  Gavin smiled. Now he knew where the kid was staying. He did a U-turn and drove the other way.

  CHAPTER 19

  St. Peter’s Catholic Church on Capitol Hill rose like a precipitous, icy Arctic Island. The church had a beautiful stone façade and high tower that almost resembled a lighthouse in a dangerous sea. Lionel Ratlif was back again. He stood outside in front of the church and listened to the rumble of the city. He looked over his shoulder and scanned the area with frightened eyes. He felt a tinge of guilt to once again be harassing Rosa at church, but after all, the sins had to be dragged out into the light, and the lawmaker needed an ally.

  Lionel thought of his friend Chuck Brandt, who was in town. The doorman wished he would show up here right now to give him protection. Brandt had done so much for Ratlif. Once, years ago, when Ratlif had found himself within striking distance of one of the congress’s elected rattle snakes, Brandt had intervened. Lionel had no idea what Brandt had done, but he made the problem go away. The man who had nearly destroyed Ratlif had been turned into a frightened mouse. He had gone from tormenter to respecter. He had gone out of his way to show Ratlif respect. It had been embarrassing at times.