Justifiable Homicide: A Political Thriller (Robert Paige Thrillers Book 1)

by Robert W. McGee

  Santos began to fidget. He knew his assignments would be coming soon and he was less than enthusiastic about what they might be.

  “Santos and Tomás, I have four guys for you, which you can share, but first let me explain why they need to be terminated so you can understand why it’s so important.

  “Are you familiar with the eminent domain laws?”

  Tomás shifted in his chair. “I’ve heard of them but I don’t know exactly what they are.”

  “I’ll give you a brief summary. The U.S. Constitution and some of the state constitutions give government the authority to confiscate private property for public use – public parks, roads, stuff like that. The problem is that in recent years the government has been confiscating private property for private use. Let me give you an example.

  “A few years ago, Daniel Frumpton, the big New York real estate billionaire, was building a hotel, condominium, restaurant complex in Fort Lauderdale. The problem was that he needed more land to do what he wanted to do and there was a little old lady who didn’t want to sell her home. It was on the spot where he wanted to build a restaurant. He went to the city council and convinced them to condemn the property and turn it over to him so he could build.

  “The little old lady had lived in that house ever since a few months after she got married fifty years before. She raised her family there. All her memories were in that house. Her husband had died and the kids had left home. It’s all she had.

  “The council gave its approval. It went to court and the judge gave his approval for the confiscation. She was paid a pittance for the property and most of what she received went to the attorney who defended her. She died a few months later of a broken heart. Frumpton stole all of her memories while he lined his pockets, but what’s worse, he pissed on the Constitution to do it. It’s an abuse of the eminent domain laws but, unfortunately, it’s not the only abuse. This kind of thing has become more common in recent years, especially since the U.S. Supreme Court held that this kind of abuse doesn’t violate the Constitution.”

  Santos looked shocked and angry. “They said that? How could they do that? I want to kill that Frumpton fucker, and the members of the Supreme Court, too.” His Latin temper had been aroused. Castro had confiscated his family’s property in Cuba. He was taking it personally. Maybe he couldn’t whack Castro, but he could whack this guy.

  “Actually, that is your first assignment. Frumpton, I mean, not the Supreme Court, even though there are a few of them we could do without. He has a place in Palm Beach that he visits on a regular basis. That will put him within range. Find out when he’s coming to sunny Florida, pick a time and place, and do it. As a TSA agent, you have access to flight records.”

  “That’s one guy. You said you have four for us.”

  “Yeah, Santos, I do. The other three are connected to Frumpton and the eminent domain laws.”

  Santos and Tomás smiled. They weren’t apprehensive about their assignments any more. They could see that they were being given an opportunity to do a good deed for America and they were looking forward to it.

  “Frumpton’s pulling the same stunt for some property in Aventura. Keith Ross, the city manager, is pushing it because he says it will create jobs and increase tax revenue.”

  “But the purpose of government isn’t to create jobs, it’s to protect property,” John added.

  “That’s right. I’m glad you weren’t absent from civics class the day they taught that lesson.

  “The case went to court and was recently decided against the four families who will have their homes confiscated.”

  “So who do we whack? Keith Ross, I hope?”

  “Yes, Santos, he’s one of the people on the list. The others are Jules Rapaport, the judge who gave them the OK, and Jerry Goldman, the attorney who represented Frumpton. Ross and Goldman should be easy to whack. The judge might be more difficult, especially if he thinks he might be a target. That’s why I want you to get the judge right after you get Frumpton.”

  “It will be our pleasure.” Santos smiled when he said it.

  “Those are the eight termites we need to exterminate first. We can add more to the list later. We have to start sending the message that America won’t stand for this kind of behavior and abuse of power.”

  Jim was curious. “Are you thinking about some other names for the list?”

  “Yes, I’m thinking about it all the time. My current thinking is that we need to kill more lawyers. Members of the plaintiff’s bar.”

  “Like who?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still doing my research. The tort system in this country is out of control. Remember that McDonald’s case, where the woman got a multi-million dollar settlement for spilling hot coffee on her crotch when she placed the coffee cup between her legs while driving through the drive up window?”

  “Yeah. I remember reading about it. It was all over the television, too. McDonald’s got sued because they failed to warn her the coffee was hot.”

  “I want to target the termite lawyers who file that kind of lawsuit. They’re making America the laughing stock of the world. They make doctors perform a lot of unnecessary tests just to protect themselves from lawsuits. Some of them are closing up shop because they can’t afford the malpractice premiums.

  “They cause drug prices to skyrocket because the drug companies have to raise their prices to pay multi-million dollar claims and liability insurance premiums. That causes the government to step in to regulate drug prices, even though it’s the government’s fault the drug prices are so high because they refuse to rein in the lawyers.”

  “Yeah, because the plaintiff bar is one of the largest contributors to politicians’ reelection campaigns.”

  “That’s right, Jim. Again, we don’t have to exterminate all of them. If we target a few, then broadcast to the world why we did it, that will send the message that they must stop engaging in that kind of activity or face severe consequences. Those who don’t get the message can get whacked later.”

  John interjected, “What about Saul Steinman? Are we going to terminate him first? Where does he fit in the lineup?”

  “Let’s put him on the back burner. We can always get him. Have Paige keep attending the meetings to let us know what’s going on with his group.”

  “Should I tell Paige about our decision?”

  “No. I don’t trust Paige. He’s a professor and no professor is completely trustworthy. They all have their heads up their asses. Just let him keep reporting for now. Besides, he doesn’t know we plan to whack Steinman. He thinks we just want to learn what goes on at his meetings.”

  “Should I tell Mossad the heat is off their boy?”

  “Fuck Mossad. They always need something to worry about. Let them worry about Steinman. Besides, the heat isn’t really off. We can get Steinman a day or two after we get the others. Think of Steinman as the dessert after the main course.”

  Tomás and Santos had been listening in on the conversation. They couldn’t help it, since they were sitting across the table. They liked their assignments as well as the assignments their colleagues received, but Tomás wondered if he could do anything to stop the Steinman killing, since he didn’t think professors and journalists should be executed just for exercising their First Amendment right of free speech and press. He also wondered whether Santos would be willing to help him.

  77

  Nelson Fuller

  “The incorporation of a bank and the powers assumed (by legislation doing so) have not, in my opinion, been delegated to the United States by the Constitution. They are not among the powers specially enumerated.”

  Thomas Jefferson

  “Banking establishments are more dangerous than standing armies; and that the principle of spending money to be paid by posterity, under the name of funding, is but swindling futurity on a large scale.”

  Thomas Jefferson

  “We must not let our rulers load us with perpetual debt.”

  Thomas
Jefferson

  Nelson Fuller got his PhD in economics from the University of California at Berkeley about 20 years ago. He was a firm believer in the Keynesian economic theory that a country could spend its way out of a recession through deficit spending, in spite of the overwhelming evidence to the contrary. He fully supported the Federal Reserve Board’s policy of pumping money into the economy, even though the effect was to increase inflation and thereby rob people of the purchasing power of their savings. In fact, he supported any Federal Reserve Board policy that increased its control over the economy.

  In his mid-forties and of average height, he had orange hair, which was fairly long but thinning. Physically, he was not well suited for Miami. His pasty white skin started turning pink after being in the sun for five minutes. He had the kind of skin that was prone to skin cancer. He was better suited for Bellingham, Washington, the city that had the least number of sunny days in the country.

  His job as Chairman of the Miami branch of the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta was mostly administrative. He was just a branch employee at one of the 12 regional Federal Reserve Banks.

  The people in Washington didn’t much care for his opinion. He was upset about that, but planned to remedy that situation soon. He was ambitious and planned to use his current position as a stepping stone that would place him closer to the seat of power. He was the favorite to assume the chairmanship of the Atlanta Fed when the current chairman retired next year. In the meantime, he was enjoying the fringe benefits, one of which was having access to insider information about when the Fed was going to change interest rates. He also used the fact that the Fed had never been audited to enhance his personal wealth.

  The nice thing about knowing when interest rates were going to change was that it didn’t matter whether they were going to go up or down. You could make a killing either way, as long as you knew the direction of the change.

  A few years ago, shortly after assuming his current position, he set up a series of offshore accounts under phony names so that he could trade on his insider interest rate information. He had been able to pile up enough cash that he no longer had to work, but he had no intention of retiring. He was making too much money on the side for that, and he was into it for the power more than for the money. Once he made it to the Atlanta Fed chairmanship, he would be one of the 50 most powerful men in America; maybe one of the top 20.

  Nobody but a select few knew who the Fed was lending money to or under what terms and conditions. The fact that the Fed had never been audited since its founding in 1913 had allowed this corruption to fester. There were many opportunities to skim a little off the top here and there, especially when the Fed made loans to banks in Latin America, Asia and Africa. The people on the receiving end had been treating him very well. He set up a second group of offshore accounts to deposit their gifts.

  He followed a regular routine. He got to work shortly before 9am and left around 5pm. Some days he didn’t have a lot to do, but he made a point of always arriving on time and never leaving early unless he had a good reason so that he could set a good example. He ate lunch at the same three or four restaurants.

  He never flirted with the female staff. He followed a strict policy of don’t shit where you eat. He didn’t want any sexual scandals to derail his career path. He was married, with two sons, 17 and 20. He hadn’t cheated on his wife in more than 15 years.

  As an undergraduate at Princeton he experimented with homosexuality. His roommate in his junior year was a jock, who used to refer to him as his fuck cushion, because he was fat at the time and preferred to be on the bottom.

  ***

  Jim Bennett didn’t have much difficulty learning Fuller’s schedule. He almost always went to lunch between 12:50 and 1:10. He liked going around 1pm because it made the afternoon shorter. He seldom took more than an hour for lunch because he wanted to set a good example. Most of the restaurants he chose were within walking distance. He usually ate alone, although sometimes he used lunch as an opportunity to have a meeting. He liked to multitask.

  About a week after Bennett received the assignment to get information about Fuller’s schedule, he and Wellington met in the lobby of Wellington’s downtown office building.

  “Hi John,” he said, extending his hand. They shook, and Wellington said, “Let’s go outside. It’s a beautiful day and I don’t want to talk in the lobby in front of all these cameras.”

  They walked out the front door, turned left and stopped about 50 feet later. They stopped a few feet short of the alley because there was a truck there loading merchandise and making a lot of noise. The alley was also a little smellier than usual because the garbage hadn’t been picked up yet.

  Jim reached into his pocket, pulled out a flash drive and handed it to Wellington.

  “Here, John. This has all the information you’ll need. It’s password protected but I didn’t make up a password for it. I figured that if you did it you might be able to remember what it was.”

  “Good thinking, Jim. I’ll try to think of something I can remember. What kind of stuff is in here?”

  “Fuller’s going to be an easy hit. He’s regular. He follows a pattern. Comes and goes at the same time. Goes to lunch around one o’clock at the same restaurants, usually alone. Most of them are close to a parking lot or on-street parking. I have it all written down, with photos and my personal suggestions.”

  “Thanks, Jim. The Boss will be proud of you.”

  “Thanks, John. I appreciate that.”

  They shook hands and said good-bye. Wellington went back to his office, plugged the flash drive into his laptop and skimmed it for content. There was more than enough information to complete the task. Since a good password contains both letters and numbers, he chose one that had both – F6211212518, which included the first letter of Fuller’s last name, plus the numerical equivalent of his name. F was the 6th letter of the alphabet, U was the 21st, L the 12th, E the 5th and R the 18th. He slipped it into his pocket and went back to his Commerce Department work.

  78

  Wellington looked over at Paige. “Pass the meat loaf, please.” Paige picked it up and passed it to him. As he placed the palm of his left hand under the plate he could feel the heat. As it passed beneath his nose he could smell it as the steam rose. Paige and Sveta were at the Wellingtons, having dinner.

  Sarah picked up a bowl and passed it to him. “Don’t forget the potato salad.” He took it and put a few dollops on his plate, just enough to satisfy Sarah. It was her mother’s recipe. John didn’t especially like it. He told her that several times over the years but she didn’t get the message, so after a while he stopped mentioning it. He just ate enough of it to keep her happy. He would much have preferred mashed potatoes today. They go much better with meat loaf, but Sarah didn’t know that. Although she was a pretty good cook, some of her food combinations left a lot to be desired.

  Alicia, their six-year-old daughter, was wearing a pretty yellow and blue dress. She sat politely at the table, waiting for the food to come to her. Sarah sat next to her, helping her put it on the plate.

  Wellington noticed that his son, Jack was wearing his baseball cap at the table again, which was not unusual. During the summer it was usually welded to his head. “Jack, take off your cap, please. We’re at the dinner table.” Jack responded by silently hanging it on the post of his chair, to be retrieved as soon as dinner was over.

  “So, Sveta, what kinds of food did you eat growing up in Russia?” Sarah was curious to learn about what people ate in other countries. Although she read about it in books, it was always better to get a first-hand description.

  “One of my favorites was borscht, especially in the winter.”

  “I’ve heard of that but what is it?”

  “It’s a kind of vegetable soup. The main ingredient is beets. My mother used to make it by chopping up beets, onions, carrots, celery and tomatoes and adding some spices like crushed garlic, sugar, a few pints of beef stock, a bay leaf, salt and
pepper. Maybe she would put in a little red wine vinegar, too. Sometimes it would actually have chunks of beef in it, and maybe a chopped up boiled potato. Then, when it was nearly ready to serve, she added some sour cream. It was delicious. It goes very well with thick, Russian black bread, too.”

  “That does sound delicious.”

  Wellington added, “It sounds like a lot of work to me.”

  “Oh, John, it’s not work when you enjoy cooking. You wouldn’t know because the only cooking you’ve ever done is pushing the button on the microwave.”

  “Do you still make it?”

  “No. John is right about the work. It is much easier just to buy it at Kalinka. It’s a Russian deli on Collins Avenue in Sunny Isles Beach. I sometimes add a little something to it after I get home, like sour cream, which I can also buy at Kalinka.”

  Alicia was sitting quietly, listening and absorbing every word of the conversation. Although she had met foreigners before, they were almost all Spanish speaking. She went to school with some of them. Sveta was the only Russian she had ever met. She was fascinated by her accent.

  Alicia’s curiosity finally got the better of her. “Did they have supermarkets in Russia? And microwaves?”

  “No, they didn’t, not while I was growing up. All those things came later.”

  “Then where did you buy your food?”

  Sveta smiled. “We bought it on the street or in small shops.” She didn’t want to go into further details, like the fact that there were sometimes shortages of basic goods, or that you often had to bribe a store keeper to sell you something. Some store keepers deliberately kept their shelves empty. It provided them with opportunities to earn extra income by selling food and other products under the table – or out the back door. The shortages were the result of central planning. Bribery was the natural result of market forces, trying to match supply and demand at a market clearing price.