The Blackmail Club

by David Bishop

  At noon Jack’s doorbell rang. It took him a few extra minutes to get downstairs but it ended up being worth it. Young Roy’s mother, Janet Parker, stood on his porch holding a tray of food.

  “May I put this in your kitchen?”

  “Absolutely you may. What is it?”

  “Some Minestrone and home-baked bread.”

  He opened the door and Janet edged by. As she passed, he could smell the hot soup and her perfume. He also noticed her white shorts and tight cranberry top with spaghetti straps.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m doing okay. This was very thoughtful, but you didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

  “I know. That’s what makes it fun. I haven’t seen you since, well, since before Rachel died. I only talked with her a couple of times, but she was very nice. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  It was nice of her to say, but Jack would prefer that everyone just stop reminding him of Rachel, talking about her hurt. It brought back her last smile, their last lovemaking, her last laugh. Their never-to-be-filled plans and the unanswerable: Had he gone to lunch with Rachel and Nora that day might he have saved her? Of course, it was irrational, there had been no reason for him to have suspected she was in any danger, but feelings of helplessness are rash not reasonable.

  He smiled thinly. “Thank you.”

  She hugged him gently, taking care not to squeeze anywhere.

  “What are you doing home on a weekday?” he asked.

  “Took a half personal day. They give us several each year. I’ve had a bunch of errands backing up on me so I decided to bring you some lunch and then get caught up. I got lucky; today’s a nice sunny spring day.”

  Jack leaned his cane against the side of the refrigerator and walked toward the table slow enough to minimize a noticeable limp. “Will you join me?”

  “What kind of a message would it send if I wouldn’t eat my own soup? Sit down; it’ll just take a minute to put a little more heat in the soup and slice the bread. Roy told me you were beaten up. Give me the adult version. Where do you keep your bowls?”

  He pointed to the cabinet right of the sink, then gave her the same story he had given Sarah about a random attack.

  She looked over her shoulder. “My father’s taking Roy fishing tomorrow.” She smiled. “He’ll bring him back the next morning, could be like old times.”

  Jack thought her rear had moved a little more than would have resulted from the motion of slicing bread.

  “Janet, I’m having trouble just walking. I’m not ready.”

  “You’ll heal.” She poured the soup into two bowls.

  He smiled. “Rachel’s only been gone a little more than four months. I just don’t know …”

  She turned to face him. “That’s part of the healing too. There’s no hurry.” She placed the soup in front of him, a spoon on a napkin beside the bowl.

  They ate in quiet until she said, “That was nice of you a few days ago to offer to take Roy for a ride in a dump truck. He’s still at an age where dirt is fascinating. He’s really excited about going.”

  “Roy’s doing me the favor. I enjoy his company.”

  Janet had a pleasant smile that reached up to involve her eyes. She also had nice legs which she kept crossed, sitting sideways. “I’m barbequing some steaks tonight for Roy and me, along with some corn on the cob. Roy loves corn. If you’re up to joining us, call me by five and I’ll marinate an extra steak. If you don’t feel up to it there’s enough soup and bread here for another meal.” Her spoon clanked into her empty bowl. “I told Roy I’d pick him up at school so I’d better get a move on or I’ll never finish my errands.” Jack started to get up. “No.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “You stay right there. I can find my own way out.”

  She looked back over her shoulder, turning just far enough to offer an excellent profile of God’s generosity. “If you need anything, I’m just next door.”

  “Why don’t you take my Concorde? Roy loves to ride in it. When you get back just leave it at your place, I’ll bring it home after the barbeque tonight.”

  “Then you’re coming?”

  “I’ll call if I’m not. Okay?”

  “Speaking of your car, are you trying to sell it?”

  “No.” Jack raised his eyebrows. “What made you think so?”

  “Yesterday, when I briefly stopped home during my lunch break, I saw the water guy read your meter. Then he stopped and looked at your car. He looked it over pretty good because I saw him stand up like he had been looking underneath. I figured you had a for-sale sign in the window.”

  “Nope. It’s not for sale. I’m sure I’ll see you tonight. I just want to wait a while to be sure I don’t stiffen up too much.”

  He hadn’t wanted to tell her that he needed permission from his temporary warden.

  She picked up the keys to Jack’s car. “Thanks. Roy’ll be surprised and pleased.”

  When she closed the door, Jack got up and went to the window to watch her fanny as she walked down the driveway, unlocked his car, stepped inside and shut the driver’s door.

  An instant later what she had said washed over him in a torrent. He flung open the kitchen door and staggered out onto the small side porch, “Janet!” He grabbing at the rail for support. “Janet. Stop!”

  She was looking down to insert the key into the ignition.

  “Janet! Janet! Don’t! Stop!”

  She looked up.

  He stumbled on the single step and sprawled down onto the driveway.

  She got out of the car, ran to him and bent down. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay.” He said from the ground. “Did the meter man read your meter too?”

  “Shit, Jack, who the hell cares? Are you hurt?”

  “Help me get up.” She did. He sat on the step. She stood in front of him with her hands on her hips. Her legs shoulder width apart.

  “Tell me,” he repeated, “what about your meter? Did the guy read your meter too?”

  “No. My meter gets read early in the month. Wait a minute. That’s odd. Why wouldn’t they read both our meters at the same time?”

  “Did you recognize him?” Jack asked, rubbing his leg.

  “He’s the meter guy. What’s to recognize? I wouldn’t know any of them if they stood at my door. Damn it, Jack, you scared me half to death, and nearly broke your neck falling off the porch, and all you want to do is talk about the frigging meter man.”

  “Forget about my falling. I may be being paranoid, but I want you to do exactly what I am about to tell you. Understood?”

  The expression on Janet’s face told him she was thoroughly confused, but that he had her full attention.

  He took his car key from her hand, her fingers white from the grip.

  “Inside the kitchen door, there’s an override button that opens the garage. Inside the garage there’s a flat yellow board on wheels. It’s a size you could lay on.”

  “My dad had one to work on his cars.”

  “That’s it. Bring it out here, also the flashlight that’s on the workbench.”

  She started to speak. Jack put up his hand.

  “Just do it. We’ll talk afterwards.”

  She opened the garage and brought the scooter bed and the flashlight.

  “Lean it against the porch rail.”

  She did.

  “Now, I need you to go home. Go in the back bedroom, and stay there. Now, the hard part, do not look out your windows. In fact, pull your drapes and stay back from the glass.”

  “You’re scaring the begebees out of me.” A moment later her expression changed and she put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. You think—don’t you?”

  “I’m probably just an ex-spook being melodramatic. Don’t worry. Just do exactly what I told you.”

  “Jack. Don’t lie to me. If that’s what you’re thinking, call the cops. You can’t—”

  “Janet. Okay, that’s what I’m thinking. I’m probably wrong, bu
t I want to err on the side of caution. But, yes I can. I’ve defused lots of bombs.” Actually, only one. And it was a long time ago. “It’s time to stop talking. Go home and do what I told you. Oh, first step inside and get me my cell phone. It’s on the kitchen table. I may need to call you to do something else.”

  Like move further away and take the neighborhood with you.

  She handed him the phone. Her face crowded with fright.

  “Go on now. I’ll get started as soon as I watch your fanny get inside your front door. It may be the last thing I ever see, so swing it girl.”

  She started to protest, but he put his hand his up, turned her toward her house and swatted her on the backside. “Go on,” he said. “I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

  Janet walked toward her house, stopping every few steps to nervously look back over her shoulder.

  Jack grabbed the porch rail and pulled himself up. First he tested the flashlight. It worked. He held the railing while he did a few partial squats, slowly rotated his arms, and twisted his upper body trying to improve his range of motion.

  This job’s made for a guy in my condition. I’ll be lying down the whole time.

  It took him a couple of minutes to move to the Concorde, ease down onto the scooter bed, and roll as far as he could under the car. It was a tight fit, but eventually he got near where he wanted to be—below the driver’s seat—and turned on the flashlight. Everything looked right.

  Maybe it was just what Janet thought, some guy who digs Concordes.

  Then he saw it: A block of C-4 plastic bonded explosive.

  Okay. Decision time. Do I do this or do I call someone? The police have a bomb squad, but that means an open investigation. The only case we’re working is Andujar so Metro could reopen their investigation, shoving MI to the sidelines. I could call the CIA or the Defense Department. They would handle it for me, but they would be required to advise the locals and that takes me back to square one.

  The block looked like a U.S. military issue M118 demolition charge, but he had seen some composition four plastic explosive made in Iran that looked very similar. In any event it had a kill range adequate to get Jack off the Andujar case, off everything. Not to mention destroying his car and part of his house, but it wasn’t enough to reach Janet Parker and his other neighbors.

  If old enemies did kill Rachel, this might be their work, but this isn’t the time for those thoughts. Clear your mind. Focus.

  The malleable C-4 had been shaped around the steel frame using an adhesive backing like what comes standard on the M118. He gently felt the surface of the putty like explosive. The end had been shaped into a cone pointing toward the driver’s area of the car.

  Whoever did this, knew how to direct the explosive thrust.

  If he remembered his training on explosives, this size blast would generate about seven-hundred tons of air pressure per square inch, as contrasted with normal air pressure of fifteen pounds psi.

  Focus.

  He slowly raised and lowered his arm so the flashlight would allow him to see all the sides and the top of the C-4. He had to find the detonator.

  There it is.

  An M8 blasting cap had been inserted into the block. An electrical detonator cord trailed off toward the front of the car. It was a basic setup designed to trigger the explosion by shock energy when the ignition key started the car. The detonator, a smaller explosive, breaks apart the compound chemicals of the C-4 and the resulting gases come under very high pressure and expand rapidly.

  They fucking explode. That’s what they do.

  A further inspection revealed no secondary detonation device or other booby traps. Jack took a moment to look out from under the car to be sure Janet had not come back or that the mailman or someone else was not approaching the property.

  He took a deep breath and pulled the detonator free.

  Absent the heat or shock energy of a detonation, C-4 is so stable that it will not explode if burned, cut, or even if a bullet is fired into it.

  Jack stored the C-4 in a combustibles safe in his garage, returned to his car, held his breath and turned the ignition key.

  After wiping his forehead and letting his heart rate ease some, he called Janet to assure her that the danger had passed. When she stopped crying, he made her promise not to discuss the incident with anyone.

  “You can take the Concorde now,” he said. “It’s safe.”

  “No offense,” she replied, “but I’ll drive my own car, thank you.”

  Chapter 22

  Max called an hour later. Jack, who had gotten back into bed after dealing with the bomb, eased his legs around to sit on the edge.

  “Hey, boss, how ya doing?”

  “I’m doing Jim Dandy, Max. A wee bit of a headache, but by the morrow the sun will be shining on the trail before me and the wind will be nudging me onward. Now, what do you have, you phony Irishman?”

  “It kinda hurts me, boss, when you poke fun at one side of me heritage.”

  “Is this when I’m supposed to apologize?”

  “Now’ll do just fine.”

  “I’m sorry, Max. May your ancestors forgive me and return to enjoy the grand pubs in Fiddler’s Green. How’s that?”

  “A grand and moving tribute my boy, if ever one’s been given, showing both your repentance and respect for those of my clan who came this way afore me. Now if you’re done, I’ll tell you what I got.”

  Jack flinched from the tightness that came with grinning. “I’m done, Max.”

  “Last night I stopped by Dr. Andujar’s building.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I gave Nora the names and addresses of three other buildings cleaned by Clark’s Janitorial. My contact told me Clark’s supervisor stops by Friday nights about ten. I could go back then and tail the supervisor to identify more of their buildings.”

  “Hold off on that. Instead, find out who owns Clark’s Janitorial and get a picture.”

  “You got it.”

  Jack stretched his sorest leg. “You be careful, Max. This bastard has no qualms about killing. Benny Haviland worked for that janitor service and now he’s on a slab in the morgue.”

  “I’ll ID the owners today. The picture’ll follow. Boss, could Haviland have used his janitor keys to get the blackmailer into Chris Andujar’s office? That could’ve been how he learned whatever he used to blackmail your friend.”

  “That’s one possibility. But what else would’ve been in Chris’s office?”

  “Files on his patients,” Max said.

  “That’s another possibility. Maybe Chris wasn’t blackmailed, but learned that some of his patients were being blackmailed.”

  “Your friend could’ve been murdered just to keep him from spoiling the game.”

  “That possibility gets complicated because Chris kept track of the patients in his files and his computer only by code numbers. No names.”

  “Could your friend have been in on it? I know you don’t want to hear that.”

  “There’s still a lot more questions than answers, Max.”

  “You keep taking it easy, boss.”

  “You know you can call me Jack?”

  “I know.”

  Before hanging up, Jack told Max about the C-4. “Keep mum about this. We don’t need your old pal Sergeant Suggs horning in. But you stay on your toes, Max. The blackmailer knows we’re looking for his trail. This thing with my car shows he’s raised the stakes.”

  “That he has, but you appear to be the target, not me.”

  Jack hung up and called Nora. He told her the same thing he told Max. When she asked why he suspected something was wrong with his car, he told her about Janet Parker bringing lunch and about her seeing someone at his car.

  “Give me your gut, Jack. Is this Andujar or your past intelligence work for the government?”

  “Andujar. That’s a guess, but I think it’s a good one.”

  “Based on?”

  “While I was in Europe and the
Middle East, I talked to people who would have known or at least heard rumors if Rachel’s death was revenge against me for my intelligence work. If the terrorists had wanted to take me out, they had much better chances while I was over there.”

  “Okay,” Nora said, “that makes sense. It also makes Rachel’s death look like a straight accident. But this attempt on you may still be someone trying to settle an old score.”

  “It’s not likely. In any event, we can’t be distracted.” He listened to his partner take a deep breath before he said, “Max told me he spoke to you. Did any of the other buildings cleaned by Clark’s Janitorial make a connection?”

  “I was checking the addresses when you called. I’m almost done.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

  He watched the wind froth up whitecaps on the Potomac until Nora came back on the line.

  “One of the buildings is where Radnor does his shrinking. There’s no connection on the other two. Other than defusing bombs, have you been taking it easy like I told you?”

  “Nobody likes a smart aleck, Warden Nora. My neighbor, Janet Parker, invited me over later for a barbequed steak dinner. Will you parole me in the custody of her and her son?”

  “First, homemade soup and bread, now dinner. Is she young?”

  “Young enough to have a ten-year-old son.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  “Yeah, mighty pretty actually. I’m just looking for a juicy hunk of meat.”

  “That’s exactly what concerns me. I’ll parole you in the boy’s custody,” she said.

  “I’m going to be more careful in the future about bargaining away control.”

  “Quit whining. I’m letting you out of jail in the morning.”

  “I can hardly wait.” Jack said.

  “If you call me after you get back from the barbeque, I’ll slip into one of my special warden outfits and come visit your cell.”

  Nora hung up.

  The suggestive remark had caught Jack unprepared. He had watched Nora walk, inhaled her fragrance, and looked at her rising breasts when she leaned forward. She had touched his arm and his leg, even squeezed his behind during the open house, but this was the first time either of them had openly spoken of their attraction.