The Doorman
Page 15
“The law states that a killing which occurs during the commission of a crime is classified as a murder, whether or not suspect had any intention to kill. A man participating in a crime wherein an accidental death resulted is now guilty of murder—and even the death penalty.”
“Oh, my God,” Rosa said. “I wasn’t even supposed to be there. Grimes just wanted me to tag along with him.”
“I’m sorry to say it, Congressman, but that doesn’t matter. Nor will that sound likely to any jury when they find out that you had a clear motive and Grimes was a fraud.”
Rosa sunk further down in the couch. He wished the couch would swallow him up.
“I want you to know that I really feel for you. At the same time, however, I’ve been appointed as the new special prosecutor.”
Rosa moaned.
“There’s more bad news, Congressman. And it’s really bad. You were caught on video—flagrante delicto.”
“What’s that?”
“While the crime is blazing. We have video evidence of you in the back room. The screams of the victim are loud and clear. Juries will not respond well to that. We also have video of the victim thrown over the rail. Then, moments later, you’re seen looking over the rail from that very spot. You really have a problem. What scares you more, lethal injection or the electric chair?”
Rosa’s face turned gray.
“A witness identified you,” Hurst said. “He will testify for the prosecution.”
“But I’m innocent.”
“You’ve already admitted that you attempted a hands-on eviction. I’ve laid out the other crimes of which you are clearly guilty. Of all the cases I’ve tried, this is one of the most cruel and clear. Sadly, I predict that the jury will make one of the fastest convictions of my career. I already said that the dirt-bag deserved justice. Unfortunately, you went about it wrong. That saddens me, Congressman, because I like you. I really do.
“Look, I’m the prosecutor and I have a couple of options for you. Behind curtain A, you’re facing the death penalty or life in prison. Behind curtain B, well, this is Washington DC. Deals are sometimes made in this town. Maybe this is one of those times. Your second choice is to keep quiet about the Albanian foreign aid provision in the new funding bill.”
“What?”
“Don’t act so sanctimonious. We know about your past dealings. This shouldn’t be much of a stretch for you, but fine. If you don’t like it, then I’ll tell the boys to book you for murder right now and alert the press. Given that you’re a politician, this should create a lot of buzz. Not that you’ll see any of it. You’ll never know another day of freedom. The only buzz you’ll hear is that buzz right before they pull the electricity lever.”
Rosa covered his face with his head. Then he dropped his hand to his gut. He felt sick to his stomach. Of all things to think of at a moment like that, he thought of the House doorman, Lionel Ratlif. There was obviously no way he could help Ratlif or his mysterious friend now with their investigation into corruption. Nor was there any way they could help him. They had let him down. He felt like slapping Ratlif upside the head. Whatever happened to the doorman’s so-called friend who was going to shake the cage of the bad operators? It looked to Rosa like the Augean Command was wholly out of control and running rampant. The wolves had moved in and ruined him—absolutely destroyed him. He would avoid Lionel Ratlif as if the doorman had a contagious virus. He would probably avoiding mirrors, too—for a long time.
“Alright,” Rosa said to Prosecutor DePaul, “I’ll make a deal.”
CHAPTER 39
Lionel C. Ratlif fumbled with the key to the Senate Appropriations Committee Room, adrenaline pumping through his nerves. He entered and found himself looking at the stunned faces of Ian Byrd and Speaker Galloway, who sat across the table from each other. Congresswoman Marsha Carver sat next to Byrd. As usual, she was dressed in style from a fat slush fund. Her short, boyish black hair shivered as she put on her narrow, stylish glasses to get a better look at Lionel. Her hatchet face showed unveiled contempt. The three sat at the blood-red conference table, which was close to thirty feet long, a dozen blood-red leather chairs lining each side. Lionel walked boldly into the inner sanctum where the smell of corruption hung thick on the air, like sweat in a locker room.
“What the hell are you doing in here, Ratlif?” Ian Byrd stood up. He was working his big jaw to the displeasure of his meaty face. His brows arched high over his eye deep sockets. “Get out of here, doorman!” He took off his camel’s hair jacket and laid it across his chair. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”
Lionel ignored him. His gaze flitted across the twin crystal chandeliers, and he imagined them crashing down onto the ends of the long red table.
“I’m talking to you, doorman. Get out.” Byrd stepped toward him, but Speaker Galloway rose and said, “Hold on a minute, Byrd. I think Ratlif has something to say.”
Ratlif said, “Stay away from me, you oversized reprobate.”
Byrd’s oversized fingers twitched as if he’d been stabbed. His meaty face had a minor convulsion. His eyebrows arched over his deep eye sockets.
Ratlif looked at Marsha Carver who kept her seat. “What’s wrong with your face, Marsha? You look pale. Rotten lunch?”
Fury possessed her eyes. She said, “Shut your mouth, Mr. Doormat: there will be repercussions for that.”
Lionel smiled. “If you were half as smart as your reprobate bodyguard, you’d shut up and listen.”
Byrd shot a look at Speaker Galloway, who shook his head. Byrd looked ready to beat Lionel to a pulp.
Lionel glanced at the box on the end of the table. “Is that the 4,000-page spending bill? Good. I want you to delete the sections that give foreign aid to Albania. Then order a new copy.”
“That’s it. Get out of here,” Marsha Carver said, “or I will call security.”
Lionel shook his head. “You won’t do that if you know what’s good for you.”
“How dare you talk to me like that!” Marsha Carver reached for her phone and started dialing. She said, “Juan, we have trouble in here.” Then she hung up and set the phone down.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Lionel said. “I came here to help you.”
Speaker Galloway’s gold bracelet flashed under the chandelier light when he put his gold pen into the inner pocket of his Italian sports jacket. “I thought I made myself clear when we talked in the dome. Was I not clear, Ratlif? Did I not warn you not to mess with us? Did I not tell you that we will destroy you if you mess with us?” He adjusted his yellow bow tie. “I expect you to open doors and keep your mouth shut. I expect you to manage your crew of janitors and washroom attendants, but I also expect you to know your place. You’re a doorman, but mess with us and you’ll be lucky work as doormat at the Y.M.C.A.”
“Are you through yet?” Lionel said.
The door opened, and a burly man of Hispanic descent entered the room. He carried a Billy club and looked eager to use it.
Marsha Carver said, “Take him out, Juan. Make sure he doesn’t come in here again.”
Juan grabbed Lionel’s arm and twisted it behind his back until pain flooded through his shoulder. He chirped in pain. Then he said, “There’s news. You three are about to take a belly flop into the cesspool of regret. I suggest you listen to me because otherwise I’ll be attending to the doors at your funerals."
"He threatened us,” Marsha Carver said. “My god, he did.”
“Let him go,” Galloway said. “That’s better. Fine then. You’ have some news? Let’s hear it.”
“You better have Juan leave.”
“He stays here,” Marsha Carver said.
“Given what I’m about to say, that could be a serious mistake.”
“Wait outside,” Galloway said, and Juan left.
“Smart move,” Lionel said. “Here’s the deal: Either you scrap the entire bill or you will live in fear of extra-judicial justice for the murder of Senator Skorman and a private investigato
r.”
Marsha Carver glared at him. “Did I hear you right? Did you just say extra-judicial justice?”
Lionel smiled at her.
“You’re going down, Ratlif!” Congresswoman Carver stood up. “You, Ratlif, are toast.” She laughed in a witchy way. “You bad boy, Ratlif. You little thief. You greedy man. You’re going to do what I tell you, Ratlif—or you’re going to drown in your own vomit. It’s all about obedience. It’s all about doing what I say so that I don’t destroy you. How does it feel to meet your better? You see, it’s all about a rigged game, Ratlif, but it’s not what anyone thinks. The game is rigged inside your brain. The game is rigged in your genes and in your blood. It’s about inferior breeds and Alpha dogs. Don’t you try to outrun me! You will do what I tell you to do, Ratlif, because you at least know your place. It’s time to decide, Ratlif. Are you a stupid dog, or are you a greyhound yourself? Are you a winner? Are you going to run with big dogs, or are you going lick up your own vomit and sit down in a puddle of piss?”
Lionel smiled at her and tapped on his collar mike. “They’re listening, but they’re not impressed.”
“He’s wired,” Carver said. “The little rat is wired.”
“Are you ready to listen?”
Galloway said, “Sit down, Carver, and shut your mouth for once.”
They all sat down, except for Lionel, who got out his electronic notepad and set it up on the table, propped it up to show its screen.
After a moment, the image of Chuck Brandt lit up the screen.
Marsha Carver cursed under her breath. “That’s Chuck Brandt—the—the assassin—the most wanted man in America.”
“He cleared his name,” Ratlif said. “Be careful what you say.”
“You’re walking a razor’s edge, Ratlif. That’s how you get cut.”
On the screen, Chuck Brandt said, “As my good friend Lionel Ratlif said with great eloquence, be careful with your words. There are always consequences associated with words—always.”
Marsha Carver shrunk down in her chair.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Chuck said, “esteemed members of the Congress, your friend Martin Hurst the distinguished attorney from Seattle, is on his way to the morgue. Sadly, he was associating with trans-national criminals—and dirty politicians. Choose your friends carefully. The criminals just had a terrible accident. A couple of them are dead, buried in the rubble of a building in Maryland. They were in the demolition business, but a job went bad. Big accident.”
Marsha Carver cursed.
All the blood drained out of Speaker Galloway’s face, leaving him with a gray complexion. “That’s my house in the background,” Galloway mumbled. “He’s at my house.”
“It’s a sad end for those killers,” Chuck said. “Tragically, they made a mistake. Evidently they made a mistake while rigging explosives for the demolition of an abandoned building. Absolutely tragic—and I mean that. I just happened to be in the neighborhood and saw what happened. It always ends badly for criminals, gentlemen.” Chuck threw a quick glance back over his shoulder at Galloway’s house. Then he said, “If you have any dealings with criminal syndicates, you’d better scrap your plans immediately. Then maybe draft your confessions for the upcoming investigations. But your biggest worry has to be that you’ll reap what you sowed—just as your friends did. Very sad day. I will be eager to see what you do. I will be watching and waiting. I will be watching very carefully. I will be waiting...waiting…waiting. I am very patient. I am especially patient when my good friend has been murdered. I do not sleep at night. I am like your shadow during the day. Take my advice: do the right thing. Don’t make the same mistake that your friends did.”
After a minute of dead silence, Galloway said, “Alright, Ratlif, you win.” He began tearing up the pages of the bill that rested in front of him on the table.
“Help me,” he said.
Reluctantly, Marsha Carver and Ian Byrd opened the box on the end of the table and began to help him tear up pages.
Lionel opened his own door on the way out. As Ratlif stepped aside, four Marine military police officers walked in.
“Get out of here,” Carver said. “You have no jurisdiction here.”
An MP grabbed her arm. “Put your hands on the wall.”
He patted her down and cuffed her.
“Get your hands off me.”
“You are under arrest for terrorism as an enemy combatant. You will be eligible for a military tribunal at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.”
Other MP’s manhandled Byrd and Speaker Galloway.
“You idiot,” Marsha Carver said. “That’s absurd. I am a US senator!”
“Not for much longer, ma’am. When you blew another senator’s Lear jet out of the sky, you became a terrorist.”
“You brute, get your paws off me! There will be consequences. I am a US senator. My lawyer will free me within an hour, and you will be sorry you were ever born.”
“Tough luck, ma’am. US law allows the military to indefinitely detain without trial American terrorism suspects arrested on US soil. Your only right is to be shipped to Guantánamo Bay.”
“You’re nobody.” She spat on him.
With the back of his hand, he wiped the spit of his face. He said, “Ma’am, you’re a disgrace to the citizens of this country. You have no honor. Therefore, you have a right to a prison cell and monstrous cell mate. That’s better than you deserve. If you have any rights beyond that, the military tribunal will let you know. I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
They led Marsha Carver out.
CHAPTER 40
When Rosa emerged from St. Peter’s Catholic Church on Capitol Hill, Ratlif was waiting for him.
“I owe you an apology, Ratlif. I should have trusted you, but I didn’t.”
“Forget about it.”
“That won’t be easy. I owe you, Ratlif. You saved my life.”
“I’m just glad to help.”
“Tell your friend how much I appreciate his help. You two not only saved my life, but you got justice for Senator Skorman, who died too soon. He was my friend.”
“You know they’re going to need you to testify at the military tribunal, verifying that Skorman was threatened—and his assassination was used as a warning.”
“I will do the right thing. I have made mistakes, but I will do the right thing and redeem myself.”
“The Skorman family will appreciate that, sir.”
“I know. Galloway and Carver will be at Guantanamo for a very long time along. Same with the former US ambassador to Albania.”
“And what about you, Rosa, what are you going to do?”
“I’ll run for the speaker’s job. It’s time someone fought for what is right in this town. It’s been too long.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Congressman. You know you can count on my help.”
“Thank you. I’ll need it.” Rosa shook hands and turned to go. Then he turned back and said, “One more thing about your friend, the one who shakes the cage?”
“What’s that?”
“Tell Brandt our country is in trouble, but the two of you have changed the mindset around the Capitol. Members are nervous for the first time. I know you’ve seen this. For the first time, some of them fear they could be held accountable. They see what happened to Carver and Galloway. They see that corruption actually has consequences. He opened some eyes. The war to save this country will last for decades, but tell Brandt that he helped us win an early battle. Now we must all fight on. We must move forward with honor and enforce the law.”
“I’ll tell him.”
CHAPTER 41
Potomac Neighborhood
Chuck and JJ walked into one of the mansion’s living rooms, which had now been converted into a library. He stopped and looked around. The living room had eighteen-foot ceilings and fifteen-foot high windows. The newly finished eight-foot high bookshelves featured glass doors. Sunlight shined in through the tall windows and lit up the golden drapes.
“Man, you’ve done a nice job in here,” Chuck said.
“Thank you. My son helped me. It’s been a lot of fun.”
“That’s great.”
“Well, anyway,” JJ said, gesturing. “You see the Greek Revival tradition in the design here. That’s what I tried to capture here. You see the plaster busts.”
Chuck admired the library.
Two Sheraton-style settees covered in yellow brocade rested on opposite sides of the fireplace. A Neoclassic painted and gilded mirror hung grandly above the white marble mantel.
Pilasters with elaborate capitals flanked the doors and windows. Corniced molding with graduated layers lined the upper walls and ceiling. The chandelier at the center of the ceiling was set in a background of molded medallion and other foliage ornamentation.
A painted sofa by the fireplace caught his eye. Covered in tufted red velvet, the crimson sofa had curved legs and ornately-carved feet. The chairs had scrolled carving across the back supports.
“I think we’ll make a profit when this place sells,” Chuck said.
“I’m already doing pretty well, thanks to you.”
“I guess you are.” Chuck thought of JJ’s $1,100,000 in cash.
JJ’s kid crutched in. “Hi, Mr. Brandt.”
“Hey, Luke. How ya doing?”
“I’m fine. Thank you, sir. Thank you for what you did.”
“You’re welcome.”
Luke said, “Dad, I’m going down to the 7-11 Store.”
“Hold on a little while. I’ll give you a ride.”
“No thanks, dad. I’ll be fine.”