by Lyle Howard
“Well, unless someone found his dismembered hands, and then used them to kill Sanborn, I think you need to start wearing glasses.”
“Please,” Bock interjected. “This bickering is getting us nowhere. For now, we will have to go under the assumption that Gabe Mitchell is indeed still alive.”
Shayla’s anger bubbled like acid as she pushed herself away from the table. “Let me go, August. Let me track him down, and I swear I’ll bring his head back to you in a sack.” She walked over to the window and put her hands up on the glass. Not only had Gabe Mitchell humiliated her, but he had also left her with a permanent reminder of his deceit. Her marred reflection scowled back at Bock from the window
“So I take it you’ve already come up with another plan, August? It hope to hell it doesn’t have anything to do with me going on television again.”
Bock grinned like a shark. “As a matter of fact, Captain … it does.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Shayla turned from the window, disbelief filling her normally inscrutable features.
“You will be going on television again, Captain,” Bock said, shrewdly. “And when you’re through, we will no longer have to worry about tracking him down … Gabe Mitchell will be coming to us!”
48
Gabe finally emerged from his bedroom around 1:30 the next afternoon. It wasn’t like him to sleep this late, but it had taken nearly three hours of fitful tossing and turning for him to finally doze off last night. Standing out in the hallway, he stretched from side to side and scratched his scalp to get the blood circulating. He could hear the sound of a television somewhere in the house, but he didn’t feel like making an appearance just yet, since he wasn’t his most presentable right now, clad only in the pale blue hospital bottoms he had pilfered. Letting out a lion-like yawn, he shuffled down the hallway toward the bathroom, smacking his lips, which felt like they had been glazed with mucilage. Still, lethargy was his only ailment at the moment and a long, hot shower was just the remedy.
Flipping on the light in the bathroom, Gabe was surprised to see a neat stack of brand new clothes sitting on the edge of the basin. He lifted the items one piece at a time and held them up to himself in the mirror. Another pair of dungarees, a t-shirt, underwear, and a tan, long-sleeved dress shirt that he might have chosen for himself, if shopping wasn’t one of his most dreaded things in life. It seemed that Bennett Chase had been a very busy man this morning.
Twenty minutes later, Gabe was showered, shaved, and refreshed, sitting on the edge of his bed in his new outfit, tying the laces on his tennis shoes, when he looked up to see Chase standing in the doorway.
“Another hour, and I was going to call for the paramedics. I’m glad to see you finally up and about.”
Gabe twisted the lace around his finger and tugged on the bow to secure the knot. “Thanks for the new clothes, Bennett. When did you…”
“Oh, I don’t sleep much these days,” Chase brooded. “I figure there’s going be plenty of that soon enough. I called a cab this morning and had it take me up to the store so I could get that stuff you’re wearing, and then it dropped me off at a nearby car rental place. They stuck me in a Dodge … drives okay, I guess.”
Gabe looked up. “Yeah, I’ll bet it’s not quite what you’re accustomed to.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know that car’s gotten me through some really hard times…”
“Yeah,” Gabe snickered, “like the Civil War.”
The old man put his fists on his corpulent hips. “Make jokes if you want, but I’m having that old car towed to the dealership as we speak, and they’re going to whip it into shape.”
Gabe stood up and straightened the cuffs on his jeans. “Why don’t you see what the dealership will give you in trade for it, Bennett? Get into something a bit more modern, say … a Model T?”
Chase shot Gabe a sarcastic grimace. “I’m glad to see all that tea hasn’t dampened your sense of humor. How many times did you have to get up during the night to pee?”
Gabe shrugged. “Never did. Slept right through the night.”
The old man shook his head in disbelief. “What are you, a camel? You must have drunk five pitchers of tea last night. The caffeine alone would have had me climbing the walls. Wait till you reach my age, when the only way you can sleep at night is to keep a pillow in the bathroom.”
When I reach his age, Gabe thought. That wasn’t a prospect he had been able to consider lately. “If it puts your mind at ease, I pissed like Secretariat when I woke up.”
Chase turned to walk out of the room. “Well, I’m glad to know you’re half human. Come into the kitchen; I’ve fixed you a plate of food.”
“Where’s Nate?” Gabe asked.
The old man’s voice faded down the hallway. “He’s glued to the television set. I think he’s gotten himself hooked on a soap opera.”
“Thanks again for the clothes,” Gabe shouted after him.
“Yeah, yeah…”
Gabe paused in the living room as he passed Nathan Waxman sitting on the couch in front of the television. “What are you watching, Nate?”
Waxman’s head was propped up on his hand, his eyes transfixed on the screen. “How do people watch this drivel? In the two hours I’ve been watching this crap, I’ve seen one miscarriage, one case of amnesia, and a kid whose aunt is really his sister. Does someone actually get paid to write this junk?”
Gabe picked up the remote controller. “So why don’t you just change the channel?”
Waxman snatched the clicker out of Gabe’s hand. “What, and miss what happens next?”
Gabe did a double-take. “Well, not to change the subject, but did you catch anything more on the news today?”
Waxman lowered the audio, but his focus remained mesmerized on the picture. “As a matter of fact, I did. There was a perfunctory little piece on Sanborn’s death, but they implied that, with your death, the case was now closed.”
Gabe took a seat on the arm of the sofa. “Of course they would. They want everything having to do with last night dead and buried. There was nothing else?”
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Panic maybe. Carelessness, hopefully. Believe me: when Leon Williams matches my prints, they’re going to have to do something. I just don’t know what … yet. The waiting is going to be the hardest part.”
Waxman fumbled with the remote, pointing it at the television, and the screen went totally silent. “That’s what I need to talk to you about, Gabe … the waiting. I don’t think I can do it anymore.”
Gabe slid down on the sofa next to the ex-mayor. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Well, there was another side story on the news that I haven’t told you about,” Waxman said, gesturing toward the blank television.
Gabe sat sideways on the couch facing Waxman. “Okay, you’ve got my attention.”
“They’re holding a memorial service for me this evening at Temple Beth David on the beach. My daughter’s going to be there.”
Gabe let out a deep, commiserative sigh.
“I can’t … I won’t … let her go through that, Gabe. Just the emotional upheaval of both her mother and my deaths will probably have me paying for therapists for the rest of my life as it is. I can only imagine what’s going to happen to my baby girl when I finally make my appearance.”
Gabe ran his fingers over his freshly shaved chin. “So, what do you want to do?”
Waxman’s expression turned grave as the phone rang and was quickly picked up somewhere else in the house. “It’s real simple. I know you’re not going to like this, but I’m coming out of hiding. I can’t do this anymore.” He reached out and put his hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and, rest assured, I will do everything in my power to see that this conspiracy is nipped in the bud. But I can’t just sit around here watching General Hospital and listening to old war stories while my daughter is walking past my cask
et. I just can’t do it.”
Gabe understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. He sat quietly for a long moment, trying to conjure up just the right words that would perhaps change Waxman’s mind … but in his heart of hearts, he knew it wouldn’t matter. If the roles were reversed, and it was Casey sitting before his coffin, he would do anything to prevent that misery for his child. “You’re right,” Gabe said with resignation in his voice, as he stood up and slipped his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I don’t have any right to hold you here.”
“Thank you for understanding,” Waxman said, looking up at Gabe.
“I’m not going to stand here and try to convince you to give me a chance. If I were in your shoes … well, I guess I am kind of in your shoes, but no matter … I still understand. I know firsthand how important your daughter is to you.”
Waxman fidgeted uncomfortably on the couch. “I keep forgetting about your son.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gabe said, waving his hand. “The last time we saw each other, it wasn’t a very happy meeting. I’ve really let the boy down. I was never there for him. I guess you could say I was a workaholic. Whenever I get,” he corrected himself. “Whenever I got involved in a case, I was like a dog with a bone … I just could never let it go.”
“Like now.”
Gabe nodded. “Yeah, I guess like now. I know that Leon Williams is going to get caught, that’s a given as far as I’m concerned. I just can’t live with the fact that…”
“…Bock might get away with it.”
Gabe began to pace ferociously, like a penned up tiger. “I’d bet my life he is. Him and his team of assassins are going to feel the heat, and they’re going bolt. Mark my words … it may not be tomorrow, or even six months from now, but one day you’re going to pick up the newspaper and read about another acquitted person having been killed in under mysterious circumstances.”
Waxman’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”
Gabe turned to him. “What?”
The ex-mayor leaned over his side of the couch and grabbed the first section of the morning paper. He unfolded it, and threw it face up on the coffee table. The paper spun around so that the headlines were facing Gabe. “You don’t suppose?”
Gabe quickly scanned the lead story. “Oh yeah, this is vintage Bock alright. This happened yesterday?”
Waxman nodded. “I still can’t believe it. I actually met J.R. Jackson once, when he spoke at a fund raiser for the University of Miami’s football program. He seemed like a real stand-up guy. I never believed he did those two horrible killings.”
Gabe studied the photograph of a group of curious onlookers surrounding the giant brown hole in a sea of green Bermuda grass. To him, it looked like a meteor had impacted the desert. “Well Nate, you more than anyone should know it only matters what August Bock thinks. The fact that this happened so soon after your assassination attempt tells me he’s getting more aggressive.”
Waxman stood up. “Why doesn’t the F.B.I. or some other government agency do something about these killings? You don’t think…”
Gabe shrugged. “I wouldn’t bet against him doing work for them. They could very well be Bock’s biggest client.”
The ex-mayor ran his fingers through his hair. “Gabe, I’d like to help, I really would … but my daughter means the world to me. I’m not cut out for…”
Gabe put his finger to his mouth. “No apologies necessary, Nate. I just need you to make me a promise.”
“Name it.”
Gabe turned introspective. “Whatever happens to me…”
“Gabe, nothing’s going to…”
The phone suddenly rang twice and went silent.
“Whatever happens to me,” Gabe asserted, “you’ve got to find this madman. No one’s going to believe a word of your story, and you won’t know who to trust. It’ll be like trying to catch a shadow in a darkroom … but he’s got to be stopped.”
Waxman frowned. “I thought you were going to ask me something easy, like taking care of your son.”
Gabe shook his head. “That’s a very kind gesture. But despite our differences, Casey’s in pretty good hands with my in-laws. They’re really good people when you cut away all the bitterness they still bear toward me.”
Waxman put his hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “Let’s not have any more of this ominous talk, Gabe. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“You’re wrong. As soon as Captain Williams gets those forensic results, I’m a dead man. I may have regained some of my strength, but I know what Bock has in store for me, and she’s one tough kitty. I don’t know whether I’ll make it through round two.”
“Then let me get you some protection.”
“From whom … anyone wearing a belt? I can’t keep running for the rest of my life. There’s got to be a showdown.”
“But you don’t even know how to find him.”
“I think I can help in that area,” Bennett Chase interjected, as he entered from the kitchen holding a notepad, a plate of food, and another large glass of iced tea for Gabe. “That was my buddy Daryl Blanding at Emery Air Freight on the phone. I think we might have struck pay dirt.”
Gabe took the dish containing an egg salad sandwich and a handful of potato chips. “What did he find out?”
The old man flipped through his hastily written memos. “He had to do some deep digging, but according to Daryl, Worldwide Dispatch Incorporated is a licensed and bonded international freight carrier owned by August Bock.”
“Very clever play on words, Worldwide Dispatch,” Gabe snickered between ravenous munches. It felt good to have an appetite once again.
“It gets better,” Chase added. “According to Daryl, WDI only has one helicopter and one private jet in their entire fleet, yet the company showed a net profit last year in excess of $238 million! You wanna tell me how that’s possible?”
“Surely that kind of profit must’ve raised a red flag with the Interstate Commerce Commission,” Waxman surmised. “They’re supposed to regulate that industry.”
“Not if you’ve got the right people in your pocket,” Gabe observed between bites. “Don’t forget August Bock is a former Federal Prosecutor, and if he’s already got a well- respected police captain on his payroll, who’s to say someone at the ICC isn’t punching a WDI timecard as well?”
“Just how did your friend get all of this information?” Waxman asked of the old man, skeptically.
“He told me most of it’s a matter of public record,” Chase admitted. “I guess you’ve just got to know where to look.”
“So what else did he find out?” Gabe asked as he washed down his sandwich with a long pull of tea.
“He says the plane and helicopter are housed in a private hangar at Opa-Locka Municipal Airport in North Miami. He reminded me that we’ve got a mutual friend, Eddie Chao, who still works the fuel pumps out there, and Eddie says he sees the plane all the time, but not so often the helicopter. Eddie even managed to get us an address for the company off one of the fuel bills. It’s in downtown Miami,” he said, handing the notepad over to Gabe.
Gabe licked his fingers clean of potato chip crumbs, took the pad, and recited the address. “Tower of the Americas, eh? So the son-of-a-bitch is right here in Miami. Well, that answers the question as to why they flew me off to that secluded island. Bock didn’t want me to know that they pitched their tent right here in my own backyard.”
“What are you going to do now, Gabe?” Chase asked.
Gabe turned to Waxman. “I know how anxious you are to get back to your daughter, but now that I’ve got this address, I’m going to ask your indulgence for just a while longer. The only thing I have going for me is the element of surprise, and, if you show up at that memorial service before they know I’m still alive…”
Suddenly, something on the television screen captured all three men’s attention. There was a special news bulletin breaking into the afternoon soaps. Waxman pointed the remote control at the
TV and raised the volume. The perfectly coifed male anchor from the evening news, Scott Newman, was shuffling a stack of papers at the news desk. “There’s been a strange twist to the murder of a doctor last night at Jackson Medical Center. For the latest on this late breaking story, we’re going live to our correspondent Pam Wallace at the City of Miami Police department…”
Waxman, Gabe and Chase all exchanged suspicious glances.
“They’ve matched the prints,” Gabe muttered, grimly.
The camera was focused on a podium standing before a blue curtain, and, in the foreground, the heads of a congregation of reporters filled the bottom of the screen. Over the visual scene came the disembodied voice of the female reporter. “This is Pam Wallace live at the City of Miami Police Department, where, in just a few seconds, Captain Leon Williams is about to give a press conference on a very bizarre development in the murder case of a prominent doctor last night at Jackson Medical Center. At this time, we don’t know all the details, but we’ve been told … uh, hold on a second … Captain Williams has just entered the room, and it looks like this press conference is about to begin…”
“Tape this,” Chase directed Waxman.
The correct button on the remote was pressed, and the tape deck went to work.
Dignified as ever, but not looking well-rested, Leon Williams strolled to the podium and exchanged polite pleasantries with a few of the reporters in the crowd. He was followed into the room by two uniformed officers, who guided an older white couple to stand in the background by the blue curtain.
“Those bastards!” Gabe screamed, running up to the television screen.
“What’s the matter, Gabe?” Chase pleaded, as he almost had to restrain his enraged friend.
“Those are my in-laws,” Gabe said, pointing at the older couple flanking Leon Williams.
“I don’t understand,” Waxman said, leaning forward on the couch.
Gabe instinctively knew what the outcome of this press conference was going to be. He just couldn’t believe August Bock would stoop to such a heinous tactic, but then he reminded himself of who he was dealing with.
