Lishan recalled reading the novel Ecotopia Emerging. The story involved an oil conglomerate and its threats to anyone who stood in the way of its profits. Oppression, death. Don’t upset the rich and powerful. This was the message imbedded in the cupcakes.
She’d been following government agencies and their oft-sly maneuvers since she was old enough to care about the world. Lishan could no longer just write about local affairs without weaving in a pitch for social consciousness. The world had grown too small. The isolationists of the early twentieth century had lost their battle to keep the United States separate from the world, though the new POTUS was doing what he could to wall off the country.
Now, here she was, challenging greedy food and Big Pharma CEOs and shareholders, along with any FDA officials on the take. Lishan was insignificant in their scheme of things, a mere pest, an irritant that could be eradicated with little thought to morals and justice. The FDA had a job to do. Protect the public. But would it be at the expense of its corporate sponsors?
Lishan understood the conflict. As a journalist working for a mainstream newspaper, she knew what her putative limits were. The trouble was, she was and always would be an advocate for the people, with more interest in justice than the bankrolls of the upper class.
After a shower, she brewed up a pot of her favorite Pachamama coffee and sat in the breakfast nook.
The cabin had a certain warmth to it this morning. Lishan craved feeling cozy, prompting her to put on her pajamas—the light blue ones with the Dr. Seuss characters—instead of street clothes. Sitting back in the comfy breakfast nook her grandparents had added off the kitchen, she looked through the paned window, out over the shoreline to the slight chop in the water. She jotted down a few words that came to mind when she thought about the avarice in the world: compassion, dignity, and honesty, wondering how these came to be replaced by that selfishness within the egos of so many of the human species. She recalled a favorite quote by Benjamin Franklin: “Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.”
She inscribed her next thought as a question mark on her notepad. What's my next step? She unpacked her messenger bag, smiling as she remembered that Erik had given it to her two years ago on her birthday. He playfully called it her metro-sexual bag, mostly because he liked the feel of the words as they slid from his lips.
Amid the stack of papers, she pulled out CEOs & Senators: Bedfellows With Your Food & Drug Administration. Now, before her, it seemed she had the guidance she looked for. She would see if she could talk with Alan Frazier.
Rockland Prison was near Albany, NY, 370 miles from D.C. Was it worth her time to catch a train and pay a visit in person? Perhaps it was her only option. Nevertheless, she didn’t know if her visit would be well received by Frazier.
Only one way to find out. Lishan got dressed and walked the mile to where her cell phone synchronized with a transmission tower.
“Hi. My name is Lishan Amir. I’m writing a story about food and our government. One of your inmates, Alan Frazier, came up in conversation. Is it possible to visit him, perhaps later today, assuming he’s agreeable to a meeting?”
The clerk fielding the call was pleasant enough, offering to call Lishan back shortly. It wasn’t long.
“Ms. Amir. This is Vice Warden Johnson from Rockland Penitentiary. I understand you wish to speak with a Mr. Frazier.”
“Yes. I’m writing a story about food and our government, and I would like it to be well-rounded.”
“You’re a journalist, I understand.”
Lishan hesitated. Was she getting herself in deeper trouble?
“Yes.”
“Hmm. I spoke with Mr. Frazier. He’s agreeable, though he might not tell you much. Come on up. D.C.’s not that far from here. Just ask any crow.”
Lishan could hear a muffled chuckle.
“Visiting hours usually end by eight, and, since you’re a journalist, we won’t make an exception.” Another chuckle. “He’ll be available at nine in the morning. Don’t be late.” The connection dropped.
Lishan realized the vice warden had hung up on her. And it bothered her that the prison had traced Lishan’s whereabouts already. Why the scrutiny?
She was in a quandary. Lishan didn’t mind butting up against the establishment, but she didn’t want to be absolutely foolish about it, including not getting reimbursed for this trip. It would cost her a few hundred. She perused the Amtrak schedule. Total time, with a transfer at Penn Station in New York, was seven hours. Then there was the taxi to a motel and the prison. One call to Amtrak booked her tickets, setting the trip in motion.
Back at the cabin, her feet tucked under her on the cozy bench seat, she opened Frazier’s book. There was no doubt, no denying that she couldn’t ignore this lead. Thirty minutes later, Lishan drove the two hours to her apartment building to drop off her car and catch a taxi to Union Station. She thought she might arrive at the prison before 8:00 p.m. but decided there was no point in pushing it. Tomorrow morning would do just fine.
23
As the train whisked her along toward upstate New York, it seemed an excellent time to continue with Frazier’s book. She thought about texting Erik, but she didn’t want to risk any additional chaos just then. I’ll call him later was a passing thought, one that disappeared with the mesmerizing sound of steel wheels on steel track.
Lishan skimmed through the chapters over the next few hours. Five minutes into the book, Lishan took out her notebook and began taking notes—there were innumerable references to Jack Conner, ones he wouldn't like. If a quarter of the allegations were true, it was no wonder Frazier was pegged as a prime target of Conner’s. Two pages of notes later, Lishan arrived at her last stop. It was 7:30 p.m.
Before hailing a taxi, Lishan went to the restroom. On her way in, she noticed someone in the shadows, leaning against the wall near the door. Normally, Lishan would pay no particular attention, but the figure had taken a good long look at her. Leaving the restroom, Lishan didn’t see the stranger at first glance. As she stepped into a taxi, she noticed what she thought might be the same person stepping into a taxi right behind her. She told herself there was nothing unusual about this, but a feeling of increased vigilance stuck with her.
“Where to?” The congenial woman in her fifties reminded Lishan of her mother.
“I just need a good, clean local motel, one where I can get a bite to eat nearby. I’m heading out to the prison in the morning, if that helps in your suggestion.”
“Sure. Blaylock’s Motel is just ten minutes from here, near the outskirts of town. There’s a good restaurant at the motel, and it’s on Highway 60, the road to the prison.”
“Can I catch a taxi in the morning, out to the prison?”
“Hmm. Not easily. You’ll need to call.”
“Is it worth staying there? I don’t need a resort, but someplace comfortable and clean would be preferred.”
“Yes. It’s a nice motel, well-known here. The restaurant gets high marks for its organic food—uncommon in these parts.”
“Works for me. Say, how long is the cab ride to the prison from there?”
“Forty-five minutes. What takes you out there?”
Lishan chose her words carefully. She could feel the effects of the various cautions surrounding this inmate. Ultimately, though, she chose just to be open. What harm could there be?
“I’m doing some writing. There’s an inmate who has some details I’d like to understand.”
“I hope you’re not a reporter. The vice warden can’t stand ‘em. He dreamed up some charge against one once. The poor fellow had to go through a strip search.”
“Strip search! I thought those were virtually outlawed unless there’s probable cause to believe a weapon or some illegal substance is being concealed.”
The driver just nodded.
“You need to understand. The vice warden has friends in, uh, low places. He’s one of the Conner
boys. You’re not going to quote me, are you?”
“As in Jack Conner?”
“The very one. This guy’s a cousin. I think I know the fellow you’re going to visit. Alan Frazier. At least I know him through the papers.”
Lishan had quieted, lost in thought. Then she remembered the cabby’s concern. “No, I’m not going to quote you. Anyone who stirs up trouble for the Conner clan likely ends up on a blacklist somewhere.”
“Frazier was framed for unlawful surveillance, a felony. But behind the scenes, we know it was the libel in his book, which on its own wouldn’t have sent him to prison. Frazier got four years. Some say ‘only’ four years, but that’s still a long time in the clink. Him in Rockland, it’s a fitting revenge by the Conner boys, don’t you think? Be in a prison where a relative of the guy you accuse in your book runs the place? You sure you want to do this?”
Lishan paused, looking out the window. She could see the motel up ahead. Two stories. Bright and cheery looking. The neighborhood looked safe enough. “Green Gables” announced the restaurant.
“I think I’ll still go ahead with it. What have I got to lose?”
The cabby gave Lishan a cautionary look. “Plenty. I would tell you I’m sure you’ll be fine, but I can’t.” The driver stopped in front of the lobby. “Do you want me to wait for you?”
“No, but thank you.”
The cabby looked out the driver-side window at a passing taxi. “I should tell you I think you were followed. This happened once before with a guy headed to the prison. You sure?”
Followed. Lishan could feel her heart rate increase. She thought she was just writing a few articles so these companies, and the government, wouldn’t feel like they could run roughshod over the public. Perhaps those with a sense of entitlement would stop at nothing. No irritation was too small. When she thought about it, she knew it was no surprise.
“Yes, I’m sure. I have to go through with this. Thanks for the ride and the tips. Take care.”
The motel did have a nice feel to it. Sitting on the outskirts of town, it felt like a gateway between the city and country. Lishan took a room on the top floor, settled in, and then headed down to Green Gables. She was taken with the extravagance of the menu. Her parents had always preached the benefits of organic foods during her upbringing, but she, of course, had to run the teenage rebellion until she was older.
She ordered vegetarian lasagna, built with layers of spinach noodles and a side of organic asparagus.
“This is quite delicious. My compliments,” she offered to the waiter, who simply smiled. Some of her friends used to compare “health” food to cardboard. Her dinner was anything but.
As Lishan headed to the elevator to get to her quiet, and hopefully uneventful, room, she was approached by a medium height, well-built man, perhaps in his thirties.
“Yes?”
“I have an urgent message for you.”
“From?”
“The vice warden.”
The vice warden. Lishan didn’t like the feel of this. “How did he know I was here?”
“He always checks up on visitors he’s unfamiliar with. Can we talk?”
While she didn’t think she was in any imminent danger, she wasn’t sure where this vice warden was taking Lishan. Likely, though, this would be a wasted trip if she didn’t talk with the intruder.
Lishan perceived a hint of Hawaiian ancestry, which meant he could likely have been of early Hawaiian descent combined with Filipino, Japanese, Chinese, Pacific Islander, or a mix of any or all—possibly European American as well. He wore linen slacks and a silk long-sleeve black shirt.
“My name is Beck,” he said, extending his hand,
“You no doubt already know my name.”
He sat down on a couch in the lobby. “Please sit down,” he encouraged. His demeanor was professional at least.
“The vice warden wants me to ask you some questions, all in the name of security. Surely you understand.”
“Of course.”
“My apologies for the hour. You didn’t check in until late.” He busied himself for a few seconds in his briefcase.
Lishan took in the high quality of the Le Donne bag. He had a business-like manner about him, but he did seem gentle enough. Lishan felt herself relaxing a little. “Are you hungry? I believe the restaurant is open until 11.”
“Do you mind? I’ll take care of it,” Beck offered.
“We can dicker.”
They returned to the same booth she sat in earlier. Beck ordered a couple of hors d’oeuvres and a bottle of Cabernet.
“It’s been a difficult day, and I promised myself some wine before the day is over. Again, I hope you don’t mind.”
Lishan’s guard tightened at the mention of wine. She wouldn’t be the prey in a cat and mouse game. How much trouble could she get into, she wondered. Perhaps the cabby was mistaken, and the vice warden was just doing his job. Thoroughly.
“What questions do you have for me? You said...Beck?”
“Yes. You see, we protect the rights of our pris…our inmates. Your reasons for coming can’t conflict with their well-being. I need to know a little about you and specifically why you are here.”
Lishan’s face tightened, almost unperceptively, as she attempted to accurately size up the situation. Worst case was that she wouldn’t get the interview. At least that was what she imagined. Was she overlooking anything?
“Ask away. Don’t get too personal, though.” She smiled, barely, as though making a small joke.
Beck held back any response. With a baguette and Brie, alongside a bottle of California’s Stags Leap Cabernet, he continued.
“Perfect,” he said to the waiter who filled his, then Lishan’s, glasses. As the waiter turned to leave, a five-dollar tip in hand, he winked a smile at Beck, likely wishing he were in Beck’s shoes.
“So, you’re a reporter.”
“Uh, that’s…”
“Ms. Amir, you’re a reporter. We…I know this. I’ve done my homework. It’s not a bad thing. But be honest with me.”
Lishan straightened a little and came on just a bit stronger. “Before we proceed, I would like to know the nature of your work. You mentioned homework. It’s appropriate that I know.”
He took a bite of the soft cheese, followed by a long sip of wine. “My homework. I’m a detective. Private. The vice warden likes my work. I always come through for him.” He let the tiniest of a sly smile escape.
Lishan could feel the tug of the alcohol. It was warm and disarming—a caution, given the nature of the conversation. “How did a man like you get hooked up with…”
“The prison? Ah, yes. I earned my MA in psych from Rutgers. My parents had a few bucks. I tried my hand as a family therapist for a few years, but I got bored. I wanted to reach out and shake some of my clients. I decided it was time to get out of Dodge. I had connections, one of them the vice warden. He needed a few people tracked down this past year. I’ve been snooping ever since. But enough about me.”
“What can I tell you that you don’t already know?”
“Okay. You can’t tell me about your recent exposé. You can’t tell me about your dislike for the government, at least regarding what you call its dishonesty with the public. I can tell you that you’re just a speck in the ointment, just another wannabe out to change the world. But when you start interfering with the sources for revenue—be it a large company or a government official—then sometimes, just sometimes, they push back a little. Okay, more than a little. So, you can tell me…why bother with this interview, assuming Frazier will tell you anything and assuming your editor will allow any of this to go to print…which he won’t?”
Won’t print? The nerve, Lishan thought privately, suppressing a smile. She raised her glass. “To everything you think you know.”
She could tell from his eyes that she caught him off guard. He smiled, but it was weak. In an effort to regain a footing, he offered a counter toast.
“Here�
�s to life and getting what we want.”
Lishan’s eyebrows lifted. She refused to toast.
“Something I said?” Beck looked troubled.
“Getting what we want? I can’t toast to that. Getting what you want—at any cost?”
“I didn’t quite mean it that way.” Beck knew he had lost control of the situation. He clearly didn’t like it.
“Then how did you mean it? It sounded selfish. To hell with anyone else, you might say.” Lishan looked as though she was going to leave.
“Listen, I…” Beck paused. “Can we…”
Lishan stood up.
“You can tell the vice warden I am simply a voice for the people. No harm will come from my talking with Frazier.” Lishan motioned to the waiter. It was time to leave. “Beck, I’m tired. I’m sure you won’t mind if we call it a night.”
Beck was stymied. He reached for the check, but Lishan was too fast. Besides, she wouldn’t have let him pay for her. Putting cash down for her portion, she put the waiter’s American Express folder back on the table, opened.
“Good luck to you, Beck. Report whatever you want.”
Beck just sat there, at a loss for words.
In her room, the clock on the laminated nightstand read 11:14. Up at 7:00 a.m.? How long did the cabby say it would take? Forty-five.
Lishan thought about the meeting she just left. What a self-centered ass. No wonder there is so little unity in the world. Containing her thoughts, Lishan moved on to tomorrow’s visit.
“Hi, I’d like to have a taxi pick me up at eight in the morning.”
“You’ll have to call back in the morning. The dispatcher went home with a headache.”
The voice on the phone was no-nonsense. Lishan decided pleasantries would be the safer bet. “Hmm. What time do you open?”
“Weekdays it’s seven. But tomorrow is Sunday. Someone should be here by eight. Maybe.”
Silence Her Page 12
