Terminal Justice: Mystery and Suspense Crime Thriller

by Lyle Howard

  “Before you tell me what this is all about,” Chase continued, “there’s a lot of other stuff you need to know.”

  Gabe was almost afraid to hear the rest.

  “A lot of innocent people died last night on the river, Gabe.”

  Gabe was taken aback. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I could let you hear it on the news, but I think it would be better if I told you myself.”

  Chase went on to explain as much as he knew about the aftermath of the explosion and the carnage and loss of life left in its wake. Gabe was shaken by the news, his face crumbling to pieces from the weight of his grief. “How many died?” Gabe asked, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his borrowed bathrobe.

  “They’re not sure yet.”

  “What about Waxman’s friend?”

  “Kennedy?”

  “Yeah, Kennedy. He ended up alright, didn’t he?”

  Chase looked up toward the ceiling and grimaced with regret. “I’m sorry, son. He was one of the first ones they found.”

  Gabe stood up and began pacing around the kitchen like a caged leopard. “All of their planning … all of their attention to detail…”

  The old man turned his chair so he could follow Gabe around the kitchen. “Who are you talking about? All of whose planning?”

  “Those sons-of- bitches. It would have happened anyway…”

  “What would have happened anyway?”

  “All of those innocent people would have been killed anyway,” Gabe said, waving his hands in the air. “They didn’t give a damn about that … all those innocent lives probably never even entered into their equation. Even if I had gone through with it, all those other people would have died anyway…”

  Chase grabbed at Gabe’s sleeve as he walked by. “Come on, son. You’re rambling. Sit back down and talk to me calmly.”

  Gabe pulled out the chair next to Chase and sat down. His eyes were filled with an animalistic rage that could easily have been mistaken for insanity. “Don’t you see,” Gabe lamented as he leaned forward and took hold of the old man by his shoulders, “they’re nothing more than common terrorists who’re using terminal patients like us for their ammunition. I don’t know how long this has been going on, but someone’s got to stop them before any more innocent people die!”

  Chase pulled loose of Gabe’s grip and stared at him like he had been speaking in a foreign language. “What do you mean, they’re using terminal patients like us? Who is? What are you talking about?”

  Gabe ran his hands through his hair. “I know this all sounds crazy…”

  The old man huffed in agreement. “You think?”

  “You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you,” Gabe warned as he reached out and put his hand on Chase’s knee, “promise me.”

  The old man gnawed on his lower lip faintheartedly. “In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess…”

  Gabe leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I was recruited to kill Nathan Waxman.”

  The old man shot out of his seat like a teenager, and backed himself against the kitchen counter. “Recruited? By whom? Why?”

  Gabe stood up and walked over to Chase. He spoke in a whisper. “They strapped a bomb to my waist and gave me the credentials to slip through the crowd at the marina unnoticed.”

  Chase ran his fingers through his hair. “They knew I was dying and my face would be familiar to most of the security staff on the dock, and that’s why they chose me.”

  “Who chose you for Christ’s sake? You’re not making sense.”

  “I know it,” Gabe said, putting his hand on Chase’s neck. “I know how insane this all sounds. I barely believe it myself.”

  “So who put you up to this?” the old man asked. “And more importantly, why would you go along with it? You’re a police officer, for crying out loud!”

  Gabe rubbed his forehead trying to get the logical sequence of events in order. “First, this woman showed up at the hospital…”

  The old man’s eyes lit up. “You mean, the one with the stems that wouldn’t quit? The one that looked like an attorney?”

  Gabe realized Chase had actually met her too and pointed. “Exactly! That’s the one … her real name is Shayla Rand, and trust me: she was no lawyer.”

  “Great looking though.”

  “Not anymore,” Gabe snickered. “First she arranges to have me discharged, and, the next thing I know, I’m being whisked away by helicopter to some isolated slab of rock somewhere in the Caribbean.”

  “The Bahamas?” Chase asked skeptically.

  Gabe scratched his head. “I guess it was the Bahamas … whatever … that doesn’t matter.”

  The old man’s eyebrows arched like a pair of window awnings. “And what did you do on this island in the Bahamas?”

  “I know how insane this must sound.”

  Chase walked over to refrigerator and took out a plastic jug of ice water. “I don’t think you do,” he said as he opened a cabinet and reached for a drinking glass.

  “There was this guy there waiting to meet me. He said his name was Bock, August Bock. Have you ever heard of him?”

  “Never,” Chase said sincerely.

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t doubt that. He spends most of his life in the shadows. Even as I think about him now, it’s a very unsettling image.”

  “How so?”

  Gabe instinctively rubbed his own legs. “He’s confined to a wheelchair, his face is hideously disfigured and he wears a patch over one eye…”

  “Sounds like he’s had a difficult life himself.”

  “Yes,” Gabe said, speculatively, “I’d be curious about that.”

  “So you meet up with this Bock character on the island and…”

  “And … he offers me $4 million.”

  The glass fell out of the old man’s hand and shattered in the sink. “Four million dollars?”

  Gabe nodded. “That was my reaction too.”

  Chase reached over the sink and closed the window blinds, as though shutting them would somehow keep the conversation more private. “And where exactly did he expect a dead man to spend $4 million?”

  Gabe began to pick the broken pieces of glass out of the sink. “He told me Casey would inherit the money after I was gone.”

  Chase opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a wastebasket for the glass. “And you believed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I wanted to believe him for Casey’s sake … but it didn’t matter anyway.”

  Chase dropped the last shard of busted glass into the plastic lined can. “And why was that?”

  “Because I turned him down.”

  Chase put his hand over his heart. “I would hope so.”

  Gabe took a deep breath. “But then the woman pulls Casey’s baseball cap out of a brown paper bag.”

  Chase’s face balled up into a snarl. “Those evil, scum-sucking…”

  Gabe coughed into his fist. “They said if I didn’t go through with it, they’d kill him.” The familiar pangs of nausea were returning to his stomach. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  Chase took a long swig directly from the mouth of the plastic water jug. “I’ve never heard of anything so villainous.”

  “I got the impression these people were old hat at this type of thing,” Gabe said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robe. “It was a well-oiled operation.”

  Chase walked back to the refrigerator and put the water away. “Did they say why they wanted to target Waxman?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Well, somebody wanted him dead.”

  Gabe winced at the pain in his stomach and turned toward the sink just in case. “Before this all happened, half the city would have liked to have seen him behind bars … or worse.”

  Chase closed the door to the refrigerator. “Because he got away with killing his wife.”

  Gabe shook his head. “But h
e didn’t do it.”

  The old man rolled his eyes in amazement. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Gabe coughed again and spit into the drain. “Let me finish…”

  Chase shrugged. “I can’t wait.”

  “I felt like my back was against the wall. I didn’t know where to go, so I managed to sneak away from where they were holding me and I contacted my old boss…”

  “The captain that came to visit you in the hospital…”

  “Exactly. I told him my story, and, in not so many words, he told me I was deranged and that I needed to spend whatever time I had left with my son.”

  Chase shrugged. “Well, I can understand that … it’s pretty unbelievable.”

  Gabe tore off a paper towel and wiped his mouth. “So, with nowhere else to turn, less than six months to live, and the promise of $4 million to secure my son’s future, I decided to go through with it.”

  Chase looked astonished. “You actually decided to kill the mayor? And then what?” he asked excitedly.

  “And then,” Gabe said, balling up the paper towel, “I was on the docks and I overheard these two patrolman saying they had proof of Waxman’s innocence and that it was all a set-up.”

  The old man’s mouth hung open. “Whoa, sensory overload! This story gets more incredible by the minute! You’re like James Bond, for Christ’s sake! So, who did they say set him up?”

  Gabe shook his head. “They didn’t. I’m guessing it has to be whoever paid Bock to have Waxman killed after he was acquitted.”

  “But isn’t that what they would call ‘hearsay’ in a court of law? You can’t believe the word of two cops that you overheard talking.”

  Gabe agreed. “I know that, but when I confronted Waxman face to face, I just knew it. Call it my gut instinct. Call it whatever you want. I could see it in his eyes. He was really torn apart by his wife’s death. I know that look. I’ve worn it myself.”

  “So now Bock has to assume you’re both dead. That’s why you didn’t want me to let the mayor get in touch with anyone.”

  “An advantage I’d really like to keep.”

  “So, what’s your next move?”

  Gabe took a labored breath. “The first thing I’ve got to do is get some more of my medicine. I don’t know how long I’ll make it if I don’t. I think I should wait until dark though; I want to stay as inconspicuous as possible. If you’ll let me borrow your car, I’ll go see Dr. Sanborn at the hospital. He’ll write me a prescription.”

  Chase undid his robe and threw it over one of the kitchen chairs. He was a sight to behold in just a t-shirt and an enormous pair of boxer shorts. “You’re not going anywhere unless I go out and get you some clothes first.”

  Gabe followed his friend out into the living room. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, Bennett.”

  The old man turned and held out his hand. “You’re sending me away with a bang, son. I’m the one that will never be able to repay you.”

  Uncharacteristically for both men, they stood in the center of the living room and hugged … friend to friend … father to son. When they pulled apart, Chase looked up at Gabe’s swollen face and smiled. “You know, I still can’t believe he didn’t kill his wife. Everything pointed at him. I was so positive…”

  “Then I’m glad you weren’t on my jury,” Nathan Waxman announced, as he stood stark naked in the doorway of the guest bedroom.

  38

  All three men sat around the kitchen table while Nathan Waxman devoured the tuna fish hoagie that Chase had brought back for him. Both men were wearing their new clothes—Gabe, a pair of tan jeans and a long sleeve navy blue pullover, and Waxman, denim blues and a red and blue plaid, long sleeved cotton shirt. Their shoes were identical—blue and white running sneakers—Chase having opted for economy over style.

  Waxman took another swig from his diet cola, his eyes darting back and forth dubiously at both men over the raised lip of his glass. His mind was still mired in quicksand and an incessant buzzing plagued his hearing. He hadn’t said much since emerging from his slumber, choosing instead to remain reticent until he had completely sized up his situation. Like any experienced politician, he learned much from just observing the mannerisms of his opposition. Whether it was during an election debate or arguing for legislation, Waxman could smell doubt or sense apprehension a mile away. His wife had been the same way. In this modern era of ascending to higher office by slinging mud and climbing over the disgraced reputations of your revered adversaries, a candidate who was worth his salt couldn’t aspire to any major political position without that intuitive skill.

  Taking the last few bites of his sandwich, Waxman’s analysis of the two men sitting across from him was ambiguous at best.

  Gabe Mitchell…

  On the apparent physical side, he’s battered to a pulp, so he’s obviously not afraid to mix it up, if the situation demands it. But there is a sorrow on his face. His brooding eyes reveal a tormented soul—a tragic manifestation Waxman himself was acutely familiar with.

  The old man, Bennett Chase…

  He was the wild card in this scenario. Not quite sure of how he fits in here. This was obviously his house, but he doesn’t seem like the conspiratorial type. Apply four pounds of pancake makeup and he’d look to be more at home under the big top. Where was the connection between these two men?

  Judgment is reserved on him for now.

  They were both eyeing him like he was some kind of a science experiment, which would have made anyone feel very self-conscious. Whether it was out of their concern for his well-being, or the fear that he was going to do something drastic, neither man ever appeared to blink.

  He decided to try something and held out his drinking glass.

  “He wants more soda,” Chase said, as the chrome legs of his chair screeched on the floor when he pushed his hefty frame away from the table.

  Waxman pulled the glass back, and Chase mistrustfully lowered himself back onto his chair. “What? Now he doesn’t want more?”

  Gabe raised a swollen eyebrow. “We were staring at you, weren’t we?”

  Waxman wiped the corner of his mouth clean with a paper towel and pushed his plate away with his thumb. Thankfully, he was able to decipher Gabe’s question even through the filter of white noise that droned in his ears. “Yes,” he answered simply.

  Gabe reached out and put his hand on Chase’s shoulder. “We apologize,” he said. “We’re just glad you’re getting your strength back. Is there anything we can get for you, Your Honor?”

  Waxman grimaced, massaging his temple. “Aspirin?”

  Chase retrieved the drug from a cabinet over the sink filled with pills and medicinal syrups. “Here,” he said, taking Waxman’s glass, “let me get you something to wash that down with.”

  Waxman swallowed the pills and, tilting his head back, closed his eyes while he waited for the tablets to take effect. “Please don’t call me that,” he said, groaning toward the ceiling. “I’m not the mayor anymore.”

  Gabe leaned forward to begin his interrogation. “Are you up to answering some questions, sir?”

  Waxman brought both palms down on the table with a thunderous slap. “Am I up to answering questions? Where do I start? In the last 24 hours, I’ve been shanghaied, had my beloved ship blown to bits, woke hard of hearing with a swarm of bees zipping around inside my head, and found myself dressed like a country bumpkin, and sitting in an air force museum across from one guy who looks like they just dug him out of the ground, and another one who should already know if I’d been naughty or nice.” Bits of tuna flew from his lips as his anger reached a fevered pitch. “And you’ve got the chutzpah to want to ask me questions? What stops me from walking out that door right now,” he said, jabbing a finger toward the living room foyer, “and having you two lunatics turned over to the proper authorities?”

  Gabe’s countenance turned solid as sheet rock and he said, “I guess I do.”

  Almost in unison, Chase confirm
ed that matter-of-factly with a wave of his thumb in Gabe’s direction. “I guess he does.”

  Waxman fell silent for a moment as he considered his odds. He was never much of a fighter, having been taught early in life to use brains over brawn. There really wasn’t much of a decision to be made here. This wasn’t his home court; this wasn’t a political arena. Words had no clout compared to a good left hook, and he quickly came to the conclusion that it probably wouldn’t be in his best interest to provoke the man who looked like he had just gone 15 rounds with Evander Holyfield. “Well…” he declared, “I’m not answering any of your questions until I first get some answers of my own.”

  “Fair enough,” Gabe said, easing back in his chair. “Fire away.”

  The questions came fast and furious and Gabe tried to answer as many as he could, as concisely as he could.

  “So you’re telling me that both of you have been diagnosed…”

  “It’s a fact we’ve both come to terms with, right Bennett?”

  The old man nodded in confirmation when Waxman looked over at him. “Spin of the wheel, luck of the deal.”

  “And that’s how you met?”

  “In the terminal ward,” Gabe said. “It’ll create friends in a hurry.”

  Waxman empathized with both men’s situation, but it still didn’t excuse what they had done to him. He had to know more, and the questioning went on for almost another hour.

  “And you know nothing about this August Bock character?” Waxman asked.

  Gabe shrugged. “I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on who he is.”

  “I’ve never heard of him either. Despite what the press and half the city might think, I’m just an average guy and I really don’t associate with any shady people.”

  Outside the kitchen window, a garbage truck rumbled to a stop as the regular bi-weekly trash pickup was made. Chase walked over to the window, pushed the blinds to one side, and gave a familiar wave to the garbage collector who waved back.

  Waxman rubbed his forehead. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined such a thing. “You know, I still can’t believe what you’re telling me. This is something straight out of a paperback thriller.”