“Wait a minute! You don’t exactly sound like an above-the-board type of operation here!” I said. Guess I sounded a little braver than I felt, because it got quiet again.
“Mr. Owen,” said the east German, probably trying to be patient. “We are not an above-the-board type of operation here.” I remained respectfully quiet, until he said in addition, “We are the cartel.”
I had to think for a moment. “The cartel? You mean, as in drugs?”
“No, Mr. Owen, you have assumed the worst of us. Where are we located?”
“In the men’s room.” I said.
“Think bigger, Mr. Owen.”
I thought bigger, and said, “Lovely Chocolates?”
“Precisely, Mr. Owen. Chocolates. And more.
“You run illegal chocolates?”
“That is such a distasteful way of putting it, Mr. Owen. We simply run chocolates. It’s a business, like any other.”
“You run illegal chocolates,” I said, stalling for time. “Why?”
“We run a business, and chocolate is the one thing people won’t give up! Try as they may, Lovely Chocolate is, to some people, addicting.”
“Won’t give up? Illegal chocolates?”
“Correct, Mr. Owen,” said the voice, still remaining calm and polite, but getting a little impatient. “This has been a one-way flow of information. The name, please.”
“Why should I tell you? What are your intentions?”
“Mr. Owen, do you wish to sit here all night?”
“No.”
“Do you wish to ever see your home again?”
“Yes.”
“The name.”
“What are you going to do to him?”
“The name, please, Mr. Owen.”
I sighed. My legs were starting to tingle, as though there were ants biting them. This could get worse. Then I heard the sound of a weapon being cocked, which startled me.
“Franklin Burke!” I blurted. “His name is Dr. Franklin Burke! He was Cornelius Lovely’s personal family physician!”
I heard a gasp. “That nice doctor!” said a voice, with possibly a Greek accent.
“Are you sure, Mr. ‘Smith’? Can you verify this?”
“Yes, I’m sure, and no, I don’t think I can verify it.” I sat there for a moment before offering, “However, if you are capable, I’m sure you can obtain telephone records of Dr. Burke and Miss Lovely if you wanted.”
There were more murmuring among the group in the darkness, and then a Greek voice said, “We are capable; you have told us what we needed to hear. Thank you for the information, Mr. Owen.”
I heard feet beginning to move away from the stall. I blurted out, “Hey wait a minute! What are you planning to do?”
The Greek voice said, “We plan on taking care of the problem!”
The answer sank in quickly, and I said, “You’re not going to kill him, are you? No killing!”
All the feet stopped shuffling. I must have got their attention.
A voice with a Russian sound to it said, “Vy? Vy not?”
“Hush, you’re saying too much!” said a new voice with a Caribbean accent.
A British voice said, “What’s the harm of his knowing? He doesn’t know who we are!”
The Caribbean voice replied, “He knows what we do, and that’s all he needs.”
I repeated myself, loud enough for all to hear. “No killing! No killing!”
The German voice said, “Now I am curious. Why not, Mr. ‘Smith’? Wouldn’t that solve your problems as well? Wouldn’t this be of benefit to both our parties, Mr. ‘Smith’?”
I answered, “Because killing is wrong! It’s against the laws of man and God! It’s … murder.”
One or two voices laughed, but there were others who hushed the laughter.
The lady’s deep voice said, “What would you suggest, then?”
“I don’t know. Be creative. You’re smart; put your heads together; come up with something better. I’m sure you’re bright people… but don’t kill. Nobody likes that! Think of who you’ll hurt!”
“We’re thinking of the business we’ll save, along with the jobs we’ll preserve,” said a French-accented voice.
“Find another way! Do what’s right. Please,” I pleaded.
It got quiet. Then the German voice said, “No promises, Mr. ‘Schmidt.’” The feet started shuffling again, and I could see light from the workroom floor as the door opened and shut, until nobody was left in the room but me, sitting alone in the darkness.
As I wondered about the scene that had just happened, the door popped open again, letting in a little light. An Italian-accented voice said, “Mr. Owen, no police. Capiche? Sh-h-h-h-h!” I could imagine him standing there with a finger in front of his lips. Then the door shut, leaving me in total darkness, again.
He knew my name! That means they all knew; my cover was blown!
What kind of can of worms had I opened? If they kill Franklin Burke, not only will his murder be on my hands, but his wife and children would have no visible means of support, and all the children would have lost their father!
I’ve gotten Dr. Burke killed! It’s all my fault, and it was going to be hard getting out of there, both my legs having fallen asleep.
Back to the Counselor
I was a bit unnerved, to say the least, and sure felt as though I needed someone to shine the light on what I had just experienced. I drove slowly back to downtown Lovely, weaving in and out of traffic, wandering aimlessly through the streets until I parked in the lot of the medical center. “How did that mob at Lovely Chocolates know who I was?” I thought. The only possible answer was they knew because I had driven my own car to their parking lot. It would be nothing for a giant company to determine the owner of a car by the license plate; if they had connections in this computer age, they could run the license plate through the police station downtown and get my name from the computers in the state capital. “I’ll have to remember that,” I said to myself, as I peeled off the wig, beard, and glasses.
Coming to the medical center was almost an automatic reflex, in slow motion, because I really didn’t plan on returning. However, seeing Miss Planter again for the second time in a day might prove to be beneficial. She’d know what to think about this. My mind felt as though it had run away; my heart was still pounding, and I was breathing in an almost irregular manner when thinking about the consequences of my actions. I hated to admit this to myself, but there were times I could be a wimp. Now I had stepped into a world I would rather not know anything about, the world of high dollars, business, and of murder, incorporated.
I entered the building and got on the elevator to the third floor. It was getting late in the afternoon, but Miss Planter should still be there. I entered the reception area, and there was Phyllis, the little receptionist at the desk, talking on the phone, which is where most young people seem to spend their time, but when she saw me, she said, “I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.” Then turning to me, she said, “Hello, Mr. Owen! I wasn’t aware you had an appointment…” while scrambling through her calendar book.
“I don’t have one,” I replied. “I just needed to see Miss Planter for a moment.”
“I’ll let her know that you’re here; she’s with her last appointment now. Can you wait? She shouldn’t be long.” She looked up from her schedule book, changed expressions and said, “My goodness, Mr. Owen! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“Yes, that would be good,” I said in return, ignoring her observation. “I can wait.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said and headed towards the office door, then went inside to let Miss Planter know I had arrived. Apparently the last appointee had already left through the back door because Miss Planter came immediately to the waiting room.
“Randall! What happened?”
“Do you have a minute?” I asked.
“Yes! Come on in; come inside!”
I was so shaken up, I didn’t even realiz
e she had called me by my first name; I think the receptionist did, though. She looked a little stunned by this.
“Miss Rozzell, you can go home early. The other doctors have gone, and I won’t need you anymore today.”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
I walked into the office and had a seat in front of the desk; Miss Planter sat in another chair next to me. She held my hands.
“Tell me what happened! What did they say?”
“Something terrible has happened.”
“What? Tell me!”
“Okay, here goes,” I said. “Are we still covered by code of confidentiality?”
“Yes, yes, of course! Now spill it!”
I took a breath, trying to calm down, and said, “I may have killed Dr. Burke.”
“Killed! What do you mean?”
“I mean dead, murdered, deceased, passed-away, post-mortem…”
“I get that! How?”
“Well, you recall this morning when I told you I was to see the Lovely Chocolate Factory’s board of directors?”
“Yes.”
“Everything went pretty much as I thought it would, except nobody on the board was interested; most of them were quiet.”
“Okay. So?”
“I didn’t give the name of the boyfriend of Susan Lovely.”
“And?”
“And afterwards, I … was in a room and found myself surrounded by a group of people who wanted the name of Dr. Burke.”
“They wanted his name? Why?”
“They want to kill him!”
“Oh, no! Who are these people?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see their faces; I only heard their voices.”
“They kidnapped you?”
“No, they… surrounded me.”
“How could they surround you without your seeing them?”
“They turned out the lights!”
“Oh, my! Did they rough you up?”
“No, they didn’t touch me. They just wanted information.”
“They didn’t identify themselves?”
“They did, in a way, but they’re a group of very bad people.”
“How do you know they’re telling the truth?”
“They’re telling the truth, all right. They’re not like us. Many of them had foreign accents.”
“If you could recognize their voices, you can identify them for the police!”
“No! Not the police. They said tell no one.”
“You told me!”
“Yes, well, you’re covered under the code of confidentiality.”
“Did you give them his name?”
I hesitated and said, “After much convincing, yes.”
“We have to warn him!”
“Yes… yes, you’re right!” I said, as the lightbulb came on in my head. “That’s right! I knew you’d know what to do! But not through the police!”
“Then it will have to be you… or me!”
“No, no, Miss Planter, not you; I don’t want you involved in this I just needed to know what to do.”
At that moment, the realization came to me that I had a grip on both of her shoulders. We looked into each other’s eyes; this was a moment of complete desperation and revelation; she needed protection. I pulled her towards me and held onto her; she didn’t resist and put her head on my shoulder. I held her until she was fully enveloped by my arms, and kissed her on the forehead. She looked up to me, and then I was kissing her all over her face and lips. This was a strange development in the almost-doctor/patient relationship. I hadn’t had those types of feelings in years. I realized that I loved her! I loved Karen Planter.
Warning Dr. Burke
“I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go… now!” I released her from my grasp, charged out into the reception room, leaving Miss Planter standing in dismay. I ran down the hall towards the elevator, skipping it again in favor of the stairs.
“Got to warn him. Got to warn Franklin Burke!” I said as loud as I could, running down the stairs, making sure to hold onto the rail, thinking about the drive I’d have to make back through traffic over to the west section of town, where the nicer homes were.
Running down the stairs, the thought of the better homes flashed through my mind; many of the old-time mansions had been built there as a result of the chocolate factory, since it certainly affected the local economy. In later years, the newer, gated communities in that area could make the same claim.
At the bottom of the stairs, I ran past the security guard, pushed the glass doors open and ran down the concrete steps to the parking lot, as only a man with a mission would. I jumped across the small grassy area and landed on the asphalt of the parking lot, just in time to see something move to my far right and hear tires screech at the same time. I stopped moving and froze as a large dark blue van pulled up in front of me, blocking my path. Three men jumped out, flashing badges and yelling “FBI! Get in!”
I’m wasn’t in the habit of entering vehicles where I didn’t know the driver, except in Walter’s case, so I hesitated until I felt someone pushing me from behind. Falling into the side door of the van, two of the burly men jumped and handcuffed me, then gagged me with a bandana and threw a cloth bag over my head.
I didn’t appreciate my treatment from the civil authorities, and I especially didn’t like the fact that my mission had been interrupted, so I began to kick and thrash about until I felt something like a hard metal object push against my ear, with it making a “click.” A voice said, “Make any more movements, Mr. Owen, and you will be shot resisting arrest.”
Since I didn’t want to be shot, I calmed down considerably. I tried to ask, “Where are we going?” but it came out illegibly, since I was gagged. I felt very frustrated and, at the same time, a little frightened. It hadn’t really sunk in what sort of a predicament I was in. I was on my way to save a life and had been side-tracked and man-handled by government agents, wondering what law I had broken, besides being involved with the disabling of an FBI helicopter.
We drove for what seemed like an hour. The agent let up on the gun next to my head, so I moved very slowly, trying to get comfortable with my arms behind my back, and me resting on my stomach on the floor of a government van. It had already been a long day, but now I wondered what would happen in the near future. And what was with the gag and the blindfold? What did they want, information? I had no info, other than Walter’s electric pulse bazooka used 10 ”D” batteries, and I didn’t remember if they were regular, rechargeable, or alkaline. I didn’t want to rat on Walter, since I’d already “Judased” one person recently. And if they wanted information, why the gag? Wouldn’t they encourage my talking, even if it were only rambling? I hoped I wouldn’t be experiencing any waterboarding.
“We’re there,” said a voice. “Up, Mr. Owen.” I tried to roll over to sit up, but it was a little crowded in the back of the van. I felt two hands grip each arm near the shoulders, and I was pulled out of the van and made to stand up.
“This is for your protection, Mr. Owen. We couldn’t have you heard or seen in our custody; that’s why we’ve treated you this way. If the cartel saw you with the authorities, you’d be history.” Oh. Well, why didn’t they say so earlier? They knew about the cartel, that I had some sort of association or connection with them. If they wanted me to talk about a chocolate gang, I think I could hold out and not crack here, since the FBI wouldn’t threaten me the way that organized crime would. On the other hand, they did hold that pistol to my head. Or was that really a pistol?
We walked a little ways, but I was slow to put my feet in front of me since I still couldn’t see anything. I wondered if I would be fingerprinted and processed; this should have been an interesting experience, since I had never been booked or arrested before.
We went through a number of doors, and I could feel the temperature change, and knew there was carpet in some areas, but other than that I was helpless knowing my surroundings; I must have been quite a sight for all the o
ther FBI agents and bureaucrats.
The same voice said, “Sit here, Mr. Owen,” and I was made to sit in a heavy hard chair, probably wood and metal.
I waited. Thank goodness for the waiting; it gave me a little time to gather my thoughts. The authorities already knew about the cartel, but I couldn’t risk telling them anything. They picked me up at Miss Planter’s office, which means they knew about her! If the cartel saw this, they might get to her, and I couldn’t have that! So I made my mind up to keep my mouth shut, for good this time.
I heard the opening and shutting of a door. “You can unshackle him,” someone said. Someone grabbed the handcuffs behind me and I felt the “click,” as keys were being administered to the cuffs. They fell apart and my arms dropped beside me. I reached up towards my head and heard another voice say, “Wait a minute.” The voice jerked the mask off and untied the gag-knot behind my head; I was free. There was a glass of ice water on a table in front of me, and two official-looking men across the table. They were wearing long-sleeved white shirts with ties and badges and shoulder holsters, with guns in the holsters, snapped shut. The room was about 15 X 20 feet, with one exit door and a large mirrored window next to it. I must be putting on a show for somebody; maybe I was being videotaped.
“Drink of water, Mr. Owen? It’ll get that taste out of your mouth.” I grabbed the glass and drank it all and put the glass down. “Thanks… I think,” I said, although still a bit thirsty.
“Mr. Owen,” said the smaller man, “I’m Special Agent Huebner and this is Special Agent Belken. You’ve been brought here under cover to answer questions about the people you had contact with earlier today. We need to know everything you’ve done from the time you entered the Lovely Chocolate Factory at 1:30 p.m. until the time we picked you up for questioning. You’ll need to start talking as soon as I give you the go ahead.”
I looked around and saw a third agent standing directly behind me, to keep me under control, I supposed. I didn’t plan on making his job tough. He was huge and had a shaved head and blond biker’s mustache; with a horned helmet, he could have been a Viking.
The Lovely Chocolate Mob Page 19
