A Touch of Greed

by Gary Ponzo

  Behind the podium, in a walkway, hidden from the crowd of reporters, Samuel Fisk stood still while a couple of White House aides groomed him. One woman patted his face with a round sponge pad, while a male aide fixed his tie.

  President Merrick lingered next to him, examining the sheet of paper containing Fisk’s opening statement.

  “You ready for this?” Merrick asked.

  “I’m a little hungry.”

  “Of course you are.”

  Merrick seemed to scrutinize the speech until he dropped the paper by his side and looked at the two aides. “Are we about done here?”

  In a matter of seconds, Fisk and Merrick were left alone. The only sound came from the gaggle of reporters milling around, anticipating the sudden press conference.

  “What about the bomb?” Merrick asked in a soft voice.

  “What bomb?” Fisk replied, with an innocent expression.

  While Merrick stared, Fisk could see the wheels turning inside.

  “So, we don’t mention it?” Merrick asked.

  “Why?” Fisk said. “Nothing good could come from it.”

  Merrick nodded. “You think this United Palestinian Force is finished?”

  Fisk wiped his hands in the air. “They’re done,” he said. “They’ve exhausted all their resources and their top three officials have been spotted leaving Israel. Why kindle a fire which is already dead?”

  Merrick cracked a smile and handed the briefing notes back to Fisk. He slapped his friend on the arm and said, “Go get ’em, Tiger.”

  * * *

  Francisco Rodriguez sat on his leather couch with his feet up on the ottoman smugly watching his wall TV screen. The American Secretary of State was about to give a press conference and his sources had told him the Secretary would be announcing the President’s endorsement of the Mexican candidate for president. Rodriguez was already fifteen points ahead in the polls with less than a week before the election. No matter who the United States decided to endorse, the outcome was in little jeopardy. In fact, his advisors were even suggesting he would benefit more from a Salcido endorsement.

  Rodriguez was in the upstairs loft of his mansion, where he entertained guests and spent most of his down time relaxing. Two of his advisors were sitting on the couch alongside him, with drinks clinking in their hands. Three members of his security team stood in their defensive positions, by the door, the window and the back of the room.

  On the screen, Secretary of State Samuel Fisk approached the podium to a cacophony of camera flashes and shuffling feet and electronic devices being switched on or off.

  Fisk offered a genial wave, instructing the crowd to settle down.

  “I have a brief statement,” Fisk said. “After that I’ll answer any questions you may have.”

  Fisk glimpsed down at his notes, but Rodriguez knew there would be a teleprompter there as well to assist him. “The President has deliberately shied away from commenting on the upcoming election down in Mexico,” Fisk began.

  “This is true,” Rodriguez said, holding up his glass of whiskey and taking a sip.

  “But the recent events which occurred down in Denton, Arizona, have caused the President to favor one of the candidates and felt it was worthy of note.”

  Fisk, of course, was referring to the news that a tunnel was discovered between Antonio Garza’s complex and the Chizek Mine Company and the shipment of cocaine which was confiscated in the process.

  “Over the past few weeks we’ve been able to infiltrate the most powerful cartel currently operating in Mexico. The Zutons,” Fisk continued. “This organization has been responsible for over five thousand murders during the past decade and are becoming only more dangerous with every passing day. It is with this in mind which had us form an alliance with a great leader below the border. This man was able to penetrate the Zutons’ inner circle and offer confidential intelligence which allowed us the ability to find the Denton tunnel and seize the large amount of cocaine which was recently impounded.”

  This was excellent news for Rodriguez. If President Salcido were known to have collaborated with the United States to undermine the Zutons’ influence, he would be considered a great traitor. Did the American President not realize the importance of patriotism within his country?

  Fisk cleared his throat and took a sip from a small bottle of water. “This brave man has used his close relations with these cartels to turn over valuable information leading to numerous arrests, including the capture of one of the most dangerous assassins in the world, Antonio Garza.”

  Rodriguez was shaking his head now, wondering if Salcido was aware of this press conference ahead of time. Surely he must understand he couldn’t possibly survive this announcement. There wouldn’t be enough protection in the world to prevent the Zutons from chopping his body into small pieces.

  “It is the reason I made a special trip to Mexico recently to speak with this gentleman,” Fisk continued. “He was instrumental in our covert operation and will continue to be an enormous teammate in our fight against the cartels.”

  At this point the screen split in half, showing the Fisk press conference on the left half and the right half showing file footage of Fisk’s visit with the two Mexican presidential candidates. Fisk was sitting next to President Salcido with a stiff back and a very formal expression common among two leaders who’d never met before.

  “So it is with great pleasure,” Fisk said, “to announce that President Merrick will be endorsing Francisco Rodriguez for President of the great nation of Mexico.”

  Rodriguez’s mouth hung open. “What did he say?” Rodriguez asked.

  On the screen now was footage of Fisk’s recent visit with Rodriguez, sitting next to him with his arm around Rodriguez, laughing and smiling. Rodriguez would dip his head close to Fisk’s ear because of all the noise in the room, making it seem as if he was talking secretively. He suddenly remembered Fisk constantly speaking soft to Rodriguez. Too soft at times.

  “No, no!” Rodriguez shouted. He stood up and found everyone in the room staring at him. “What are you looking at? He is lying.”

  Fisk was now giving details of the subversive plot Rodriguez had devised to infiltrate the Zutons’ followers and gain the confidence of their lesser known gunmen.

  Rodriguez felt his pulse pounding in his head, while his chest convulsed erratically.

  “No, this is all a big conspiracy!” Rodriguez called out, throwing his glass of whisky at the TV and shattering the flat panel screen.

  His security team observed him like a zoo animal, not knowing what to believe.

  Rodriguez had to think fast. With each passing moment, Fisk was offering more evidence of his imaginary scheme.

  He pointed his finger at his lead security agent. “Go get the car and bring it around back.”

  The man hesitated, uncertainty on his face.

  “Now!” Rodriguez yelled.

  The man exited the room, leaving an awkward void behind.

  The remaining occupants simply stared at Rodriguez with a trace of pity in their eyes.

  Chapter 30

  Nick and Matt watched the Diamondbacks play the Dodgers from Nick’s couch; they rested their stocking feet on the coffee table and sipped beers, while Tommy and Julie played with Thomas on the floor in front of them.

  Thomas anxiously crawled to Tommy with a big toothless smile and drool glossing up his lips. Julie looked on with a mother’s joyful expression as her son reached for Tommy.

  “He loves you,” Matt said.

  “He knows good people when he sees them,” Tommy cracked, a bandage still covering his chin and forehead to protect the stitches.

  The Diamondbacks’ new second baseman lined a double to right field and scored two base runners. Thomas briefly turned his head as the crowd cheered through the TV.

  Nick took a drink of his beer, then raised his bottle to receive a clink from Matt’s bottle. The two partners were taking some down time together, Nick trying to keep an eye
on Matt to make sure he recovered from the loss of Jennifer Steele.

  “You know,” Matt said, quietly, “she was the only woman I ever said, ‘I love you,’ to.”

  Nick had been reading up on how to deal with the death of a loved one. He knew Matt wasn’t going to get professional help, so he needed to administer some of his own.

  “She was special. No doubt,” Nick said. He let it hang there for a while. If it were a month from now, Nick would’ve added, “But you’re not even forty yet.” However, it was too soon for his partner to be thinking of the future. He needed to grieve and Nick was going to be there for him every step of the way.

  “You want another beer?” Nick asked, getting up.

  “Sure,” Matt said.

  Tommy was racing in circles now with Thomas cradled in his arms, squealing with delight.

  As Nick reached the refrigerator, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. When he saw the name, he walked out the back door and pushed the on button.

  “Hey, Walt,” Nick said.

  “They found Rodriguez’s body in the middle of a busy street. He was naked and missing a few limbs.”

  Nick shook his head in amazement. “Wow. How long did it take for the Zutons to get to him—four hours?”

  “If that long.”

  “Are they going to delay the election?” Nick asked.

  “They’re not changing a thing.” Walt said. “By the way, Ken seems to think there’s a large amount of money missing from Garza’s compound. He says the UPF paid Garza five million dollars to move the bomb. You know anything about that?”

  Nick looked over his shoulder at the house where Thomas had just screamed out a cry of laughter. He was so glad to be able to hear his son and know he was safe and in the arms of his cousin.

  “Yeah,” Nick said. “I just spent three million of it on diapers and formula.”

  “That’s not what I was saying,” Walt said, sounding disappointed. “I just thought you might’ve had a hunch.”

  “My hunch,” Nick said, “is that Garza probably buried it out in the desert somewhere.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Walt said. Then his tone changed. “How is Matt?”

  Nick saw some movement in the darkness of the woods behind the house, his investigative nature taking over, his heart rate increasing. “He needs some time,” Nick said. “He’ll be staying with us for a while.”

  “Sure,” Walt said.

  “How about Julio?”

  “Marco is adopting him,” Walt said. “Apparently Garza really loves that kid and insists Marco take him. Especially since Garza will never see the outside of a prison again.” Walt stopped for a moment and added, “How are you doing?”

  Nick squinted as a neighbor’s dog came trotting out of the woods wagging his tail. He took a deep breath and said, “I could use a break too.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Walt?”

  “Well, there is something else brewing,” Walt said.

  “Yeah?”

  Walt hesitated. After a few seconds, he said, “Forget it. I need you guys rested up.”

  But Nick already knew they would be talking about this again. After a couple of weeks at home, Nick and Matt would be climbing the walls, and by the silence on the other end of the line, Walt seemed to know it too.

  “Hey,” Walt said. “You need to get back to your family. Tell Julie I said hi. We’ll finish this conversation some other time.”

  Nick shut his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the problem,” he said. “We will never finish this conversation.”

  Epilogue

  Susan Walker had watched the two boys acting casual as they passed the orphanage for the third time. Nairobi was a hard enough place to raise HIV babies, but when scavengers were casing her garden, Sarah went into protective mode. Her shack was made from cardboard and mud with a sheet of corrugated tin acting as a roof, but it was home to over fifty abandoned children who needed her support.

  On the side of the orphanage was a garden surrounded by a plastic sheet to keep the rodents and thieves out. There was spinach and spring onions among others, but her prized possessions were the sweet potatoes which were just about to be harvested.

  One of the boys was checking out for onlookers, while the other came up closer to the garden. They didn’t notice Susan on her knees, tilling the dirt with a hand trowel. She took her largest sweet potato and came to her feet.

  The boy heading toward the garden froze.

  Susan held out the sweet potato and nodded. The boy looked back at his friend who gave him a look of approval.

  As the boy approached Susan, she handed him the prime catch and said, “I see you rummaging through my garbage at night. I don’t have much, but next time, come to me and I’ll help as best I can. Okay?”

  The boy looked astonished to hear such an offer. He snatched the potato from her outstretched hand and walked backwards, as if Susan might turn on him. After a few steps, the boys ran silently on their bare feet down the dirt path like jewel thieves being chased by the law.

  Susan sighed. She had so many needs, but the slums of Nairobi had no middle class. The adults in the area knew of her quandary and tried to protect the orphanage from scavengers, but the young kids with their hungry stomachs only knew survival and hadn’t yet discovered the etiquette of the slums.

  “Susan,” a female voice called from the shack’s front doorway. “Your formula has arrived.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Susan said, brushing off the dirt from her knees and heading inside.

  The front room held the older children who watched out for straying toddlers who might wander into the street. Susan patted one of her ten-year-olds on the head as she passed and went through the nursery where several of the nine infants were at different stages of crying from their basinets. Susan could tell by the tone this was their hungry cry, and although her order of formula was three days late, she was grateful to see the box sitting on the floor in her office.

  The room was no more than a closet where she would sit on an upside down bucket and scribble her letters to different organizations for funding which would never come. But Susan was the ultimate optimist. She had to be, because no one else was.

  She tore open the box from America and as she ripped apart the inner packaging, she stopped. Inside the box was a briefcase. Susan’s heart dropped as she realized this wasn’t the formula for her babies. She tried to contain herself as the infants next to her sobbed. She immediately considered where she could scrounge up enough milk to make a diluted version of lunch.

  Susan snapped apart the latches and opened the briefcase. She pressed a hand to her mouth and shrieked. Inside the briefcase were stacks of hundred dollar bills. Too many stacks. She touched one of the piles with trembling fingers. It looked real. She tried to imagine the amount and quickly realized it must’ve been millions.

  Just then an eighteen-month-old girl with chocolate brown skin staggered up to Susan wearing nothing but a diaper. Susan scooped her up and dropped the girl on her knee.

  “Hey there, Tasha,” Susan said, following the toddler’s eyes to the briefcase.

  “Yes,” Susan said. “It’s a gift from God.”

  Tasha lifted an envelope from the mound of money and shook it.

  “What’s this?” Susan asked, taking a pack of bills and handing it to the girl in trade for the envelope. The girl seemed agreeable to the exchange.

  Susan opened the envelope and read the note inside:

  HUG A BABY FOR ME.

  LOVE, TOMMY

  Susan’s eyes filled with tears. She couldn’t even dream of what this meant for her children. Susan coddled Tasha in her arms. “Baby, I think we’re going to get you some shoes today.”

  If you enjoyed A Touch of Greed, you may like to try L.J. Sellers’ Detective Jackson series. On the following page is Chapter 1 of Secrets to Die For.

  Secrets to Die For

  A Detective Jackson Mystery
/>
  by L.J. Sellers

  Wednesday, February 13

  Raina shut off the motor and glanced up at the puke-green doublewide with a chunk of plywood over the front window. The near dusk couldn’t hide the broken dreams of the trailer’s occupants, Bruce and Cindy Gorman. Raina wasn’t here to see them. She was here for Josh, their eight-year-old son.

  As a children’s support advocate, Raina had been assigned to monitor Josh six months ago, when the state of Oregon had taken temporary custody and placed the boy in foster care. Her primary responsibility was to stay in touch with Josh and to ensure the system did not fail him. During that time, the Gormans had danced all the right steps–anger management for him, parenting classes for her, and a rehab program for both. So now Josh was back in their care, and this was Raina’s last official contact…for now.

  Her heart was flip-flopping, just like it did on her last day of high school. She was happy for Josh, but she despised Bruce and would be glad to never see him again, even though she knew it was petty to feel that way. Raina wished she were more mature, more objective, like the other CSA volunteers. At twenty, she and Jamie were the youngest in the group. Raina had become quite fond of Josh and would miss him terribly. She loved their long walk-and-talks along the river path, with Josh pointing out every bug he saw. It had been like having a little brother. Her counselor had been right when she’d advised Raina to do some volunteer work. Giving was the best way of receiving.

  Raina stepped out of the Volvo and pulled in a quick breath of frigid February air. The smell of dog shit assaulted her senses. So much for her lofty ideals. She hurried to the door, hoping the dog, a Boxer named Brat, was either locked in the bathroom or deep in the woods behind the trailer. Raina shivered in the cold foul silence. The house was at least a half mile from the nearest neighbor.

  Bruce pulled the door open a few inches before she could knock. “Josh is in bed, so come back tomorrow.” His voice was raspy from a lifetime of cigarettes, and his hairline had gone north on both sides. Bruce should have been a big man, but years of slouching took inches off his height and an old meth habit left him scrawny in a way that rehab couldn’t fix.