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

by Robert W. McGee

  “I will.” He hung up and contacted Tomás to give him the same information. They would be working as a team.

  ***

  “Jerry, I’m coming down Thursday afternoon. I want you to get the paperwork ready so I can sign it.” Daniel Frumpton was in New York, talking to Jerry Goldman, his attorney in Aventura, Florida.

  “OK. It will be ready. When would you like to schedule the meeting?”

  “How about Friday at 10? That’ll give me time to do a few things before the meeting.”

  “OK. I’ll make sure everything is ready to go.”

  Jerry Goldman was almost finished preparing the paperwork that would transfer the property confiscated by eminent domain to the Frumpton empire. Construction firms had already been retained to build the condos, restaurant and marina Frumpton planned to put on the property once the title had been transferred. After he signed the papers, the families who were being evicted would have 30 days to vacate the premises.

  “Did Keith receive his little token yet?” Frumpton was referring to the $20,000 token of his appreciation Goldman gave to Keith Ross, the city manager of Aventura, in exchange for his support for the project. The gift was transferred in the form of cash in an envelope.

  “Yes, he received it last week.”

  “Good. We wouldn’t want any last-minute glitches to delay the signing.”

  “You know, Jerry, I really like this eminent domain stuff. As soon as the property’s condemned, the price drops by as much as 50 percent. As soon as the title transfers to me, the value goes up by more than 100 percent. I make a good profit before I even break ground.”

  “Yes, Mr. Frumpton, it is a very profitable way to do business.”

  “See if you can find me some more properties in the area that I can acquire this way. Something close to the water.”

  “Yes, Mr. Frumpton.”

  Daniel Frumpton didn’t suspect that he would not be making any more real estate acquisitions. Many people of retirement age migrate from the north to die in Florida. He would soon be one of them, if Santos and Tomás had anything to say about it.

  94

  It was Friday morning. Santos was working the afternoon shift at Miami International Airport, so he was free. Tomás had a flexible schedule and took Friday morning off. They waited in a parked car underneath Frumpton’s attorney’s building, wearing Aventura police uniforms with caps and sun glasses, to obscure their appearance in the event a camera recorded what they were about to do.

  Frumpton was due to arrive any minute. They knew about his schedule because Jim Bennett was monitoring Frumpton’s phone calls. They pointed the car toward the street so they could see when he arrived. It would be pointed in the right direction for an easy escape. Santos was really looking forward to taking out Frumpton.

  “Tomás, I really want to whack Frumpton. Let me do it. It’s for my family. Castro confiscated my family’s property in Cuba. I want to get back at people who abuse government power to confiscate property. I take it personal.”

  “OK. I understand. You can do him. But I’m doing the judge.”

  “Why? Do you have something against judges?”

  “Yes, I do. A few years ago one of those bastards revoked my driver’s license for not paying a parking ticket. I didn’t know it was revoked until I got pulled over for speeding. They never sent me a notice. The cops confiscated my car. I couldn’t drive for two weeks, until they could straighten things out. Teresa had to drive me to work and pick me up at night. It was a major hassle.”

  “OK, you can do the judge. Maybe if we get lucky we can do Jerry Goldman today, too. His office is in the building. If he comes down to greet Frumpton we can get them both.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think he’ll come down to greet him.”

  “Yeah, I don’t, either. Just a thought.”

  “We can get him later.”

  “What about the driver? Should we do him, too?”

  “I don’t know. The Boss wants to minimize the civilian head count, and I do too. The guy probably has a family. Let’s wait and see.”

  About ten minutes later, Frumpton’s car entered from the street and parked in a dark corner of the parking garage. Santos and Tomás got out of their car and walked toward Frumpton.

  As they got closer, they saw a couple getting out of their car and walking toward the front door. Tomás whispered to Santos, “There are a couple of people walking toward the building. Let’s wait until they go inside.”

  “OK, but we’ll have to stall Frumpton.”

  “Yeah, we can do that. We look like police.”

  When they got within about ten feet of Frumpton, Santos initiated the conversation. “Good morning Mr. Frumpton. We’re here to see that nothing happens to you while you’re here in Aventura.”

  Frumpton looked surprised. So did his driver, who had just opened the door for Frumpton. The driver looked professional, probably ex-military. He was probably packing heat. That could prove to be a problem if they weren’t fast enough.

  “Do you think I’m in any danger?”

  “No, sir, just a precaution.”

  After the couple entered the building, the mood changed. Santos and Tomás pulled out their guns. Santos did all the talking.

  He reached over and opened the car door. “OK, Mr. Frumpton, get in the back seat.” Frumpton looked startled. He wasn’t used to being commanded to do anything. The driver’s right hand made a slow move toward the inside of his coat. Tomás saw it and pointed his gun at the driver’s head. “Don’t try anything or I’ll kill you.”

  The driver stopped and slowly raised his hands, while maintaining eye contact with Tomás as best he could, given the fact that Tomás was wearing sun glasses. Tomás perceived that the driver was still a threat. He thought about what to do while Frumpton got into the back seat.

  “OK, back up, slowly. Take out your gun with two fingers and put it on the trunk of the car. If you try anything stupid, I’ll kill you.”

  The driver did what he said, never losing eye contact. It was something an ex-cop or ex-military would do. He definitely had some training.

  After he placed the gun on the trunk of the car, Tomás motioned to the driver’s pocket. “Now take out your cell phone and put it on the trunk.”

  The driver reached into the right pocket of his suit coat, took out the cell phone and placed it on the trunk.

  “Now step back.”

  The driver stepped back. Tomás took the gun and cell phone and put them in his pocket.

  “Now open the trunk.”

  The driver took out his keys and opened the trunk.

  “Get in.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Get in.”

  The driver got in. He looked up at Tomás, expecting the worst. Instead of shooting him, Tomás gave him instructions. “We don’t like killing civilians, but I will kill you if you don’t do exactly as I say. Don’t make any noise and don’t try to escape for 10 minutes. After that, you are free to go.”

  As he finished his sentence, he heard two discharges from Santos’s gun. Santos had just put two .22 caliber slugs into Frumpton’s head with his Ruger Mark 3 Target pistol. It came equipped with a built-in suppressor, so it didn’t sound any louder than a good fart.

  The driver heard the sounds, too. He nodded his head vigorously to indicate agreement with the terms Tomás had offered. Tomás closed the trunk. He’d donned gloves so he wouldn’t leave any prints. He didn’t realize what a good deed he’d done. The driver was a veteran. He had a wife and three kids, two girls and a boy. He would be home in time to have dinner with them, although he would have to find a new job. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to get a reference from his former employer.

  Santos closed the door and turned toward Tomás. “What should we do now? Goldman is upstairs waiting for Frumpton. Should we get him now or should we get him later?”

  “Let’s get him now.”

  Santos tucked the Ruger into his belt. The
y walked through the front door to the elevator. They got off on the third floor and turned left, toward Goldman’s office. It was a small office, but large enough to have a receptionist.

  The receptionist was blonde, perhaps in her mid-twenties. “May I help you?” She spoke with a slight southern drawl. She looked startled by the appearance of two police officers standing in front of her. The police usually don’t come to visit attorney Goldman. He does most of his work behind the scenes, often in the shadows.

  Santos stepped forward. “Yes, we’d like to see Mr. Goldman.” He felt good about assassinating Frumpton. He thought people who used the law to steal property needed to be dealt with severely, but he was also nervous. After all, he had just killed someone and was about to execute someone else. Although he had killed before, he never really got used to it, especially when he did it from close range. Shooting someone from a hundred yards away was one thing. Squeezing the trigger on someone who was gazing into your eyes pleading for mercy was something else. Even though Frumpton was a parasite, he was also a human being, a husband and a father.

  She got up and escorted them to Goldman’s office. “Right this way.” She was so startled at seeing two police officers appear in the office that she didn’t notice the blood splatters on Santos’s shirt.

  “Mr. Goldman, there are two police officers here to see you.”

  Goldman looked up from his desk. They waited for the receptionist to leave, then closed the door. Goldman looked worried. He could sense that something was wrong.

  Santos took out the Ruger and pumped two slugs into Goldman’s head. His head jerked back after the first round hit and blood spurted onto the paperwork on his desk. He slumped in his chair. They turned around and walked out, closing the door behind them. As they passed the front desk, Tomás turned to the receptionist, “Mr. Goldman doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Goldman died instantly, although it didn’t matter. They came to deliver a message and they’d delivered it. The Sons of Liberty wouldn’t claim responsibility or explain the reason for the hits just yet, though. They wanted to wait until the other two abusers of the eminent domain laws could be dealt with. If things went according to plan, they wouldn’t have to wait long.

  95

  The aftermath of the double killings was predictable. Although killing an attorney was not a big deal, assassinating a New York real estate magnate in Miami was. Especially Frumpton, since he was well-known in both Miami and New York. The manner in which it was done also caught the attention of both the police and the press. It was the top news story of the day.

  The FBI placed the Aventura police under a microscope, since it appeared that two of their members were the assassins. The FBI was called in to investigate, since the Aventura police couldn’t be trusted to conduct the investigation. There wasn’t any apparent motive, which baffled them.

  Cameras had caught two people dressed as Aventura police leaving the building at the time of the killing but no one could identify them. They wore sun glasses and caps and their heads were pointed down on the way out the door. There weren’t any cameras covering the parking lot, so the police and FBI didn’t know what kind of car they drove. Frumpton’s driver wasn’t very helpful. All he could offer was the same description they already had from the camera.

  No one suspected it was the work of the Sons of Liberty. The modus operandi was completely different. They used a .22 caliber pistol instead of a shotgun with Frag 12 rounds. No one contacted the press to claim responsibility.

  Santos and Tomás changed their clothes, got cleaned up and went to work. Santos placed the blood splattered shirt into a black plastic bag and tossed it into a garbage bin. They still had two uncompleted homework assignments – Jules Rapaport, the judge who put his stamp of approval on Frumpton’s eminent domain case, and Keith Ross, the city manager of Aventura, who supported the confiscations. Their days were numbered.

  96

  Jules Rapaport

  Jules Rapaport was an above-average student, both as an undergraduate and in law school. He earned his law degree at the University of Miami, not an Ivy League school, but it was local, which allowed him to continue living with his parents until age 25, and it was generally considered to be the best law school in Miami. It was also the most expensive, but that didn’t concern Jules. His father, a prominent local attorney, paid 100 percent of his tuition.

  Jules enjoyed his college and law school days. He didn’t have to worry about tuition, paying rent or a part-time job. He could concentrate on his studies. His parents bought him a car for high school graduation so he would have a way to get to school. Whenever he needed clothes, his mother took him shopping, which got to be annoying when he hit his teenage years. He lost his virginity at age 21 to a nice Jewish girl in his sociology class. After law school he worked for his father’s law firm for several years, accumulating experience and wealth, which he invested wisely. He got married, started a family and eventually became a judge.

  Much of his wealth was the result of shaking down high tech companies. From his undergraduate finance courses, he learned that high tech company stock prices tended to fluctuate wildly, especially when they were in the start-up stage. Whenever a high tech company announced a new product, the stock price would shoot up, as speculators tried to cash in. Whenever the market learned that a high tech company was having a cash flow problem, its stock price would plummet, since cash flow problems often led to bankruptcy. Often, high tech companies would be turning out new products and having cash flow problems at the same time, causing their stock price to jump one week and plummet the next. Jules also learned that trading on insider information sometimes caused stock prices to jump or plummet rapidly.

  Jules put the two ideas together and sued high tech companies. He would track their stock prices. Whenever he saw a rapid rise or rapid decline, he would threaten to file a class action lawsuit for insider trading. He didn’t bother to look for actual proof of insider trading. There almost never was any, because rapid fluctuations in stock price were part of the normal market process for start-up companies in the high tech industry. The mere fact that the stock price fluctuated was enough to give him the excuse he needed to shake them down.

  After threatening to sue, or perhaps shortly after filing suit, he would call their attorney and offer to settle out of court for a few hundred thousand dollars. They would usually pay him what he asked, just to get rid of him, since the alternative could be disastrous for the company. Banks would hesitate to grant loans or refinance existing loans. The stock price would drop. The cost of litigating a class action lawsuit, combined with the bad press, could bankrupt a fledgling company, and both Jules and the opposing counsel knew it.

  He never thought of himself as a parasite. In law school, they taught him there was no such thing as a bad lawsuit. If it didn’t have merit, some judge or jury would determine that fact and would find the defendant not guilty. Justice would be done. The defendant would have his day in court.

  Jules and his family didn’t attend synagogue except on the high holy days. He preferred spending Saturdays with his family. He followed a regular pattern. More often than not, he would spend Saturday morning taking his family for a ride on the family boat, a 40-foot cabin cruiser. Not exactly a yacht, but it’s all he could afford on a judge’s salary, which was supplemented by the income generated from the investment portfolio he accumulated while working for his father’s law firm.

  Santos and Tomás knew he was a predictable guy. They learned his schedule. They knew he would be visiting his boat between 8 and 9 o’clock on Saturday morning. They were looking forward to meeting him.

  97

  The definition of a boat is a hole in the water you throw money into. Jules’s boat was no exception. Boats cost several thousand dollars a foot and his boat was 40 feet long. The docking fees, insurance and maintenance added up to several thousand dollars a year. It burned 40 gallons of gasoline an hour when cruising. He cruised a few hours practically e
very Saturday.

  Sometimes he took the family around the canals in Fort Lauderdale, which some people call the Venice of America. Once a month or so, he took them to Biscayne Bay for lunch. A couple times a year he took them to the Bahamas, which was only five hours away. Today he wouldn’t be taking them anywhere, if Tomás and Santos had their way. They would be saving him a few hundred dollars in gas.

  Tomás and Santos arrived at the marina around 7:30. They brought along some fishing gear and pretended to fish on the dock about 50 feet from where Jules’s boat was docked, but they didn’t have any worms on their hooks or any lures on their lines. They didn’t want any fish to interrupt their plans.

  They wore gloves, which seemed a little unusual, but nobody paid much attention to them. Their caps and sun glasses looked a lot like the caps and sun glasses on sale at the marina kiosk. They blended in, except for the fact that they looked Hispanic. There weren’t many Hispanic club members, although that was changing.

  Jules and his family arrived at 8:15 and headed straight for their boat. Tomás and Santos noticed their approach and prepared to activate their plan. They waited until they were all on board. Jules carried an ice cooler and a bag of what appeared to be food. His wife, Leah, carried a black knapsack. Becky, his eight year-old daughter, and Evan, his eleven year-old son, had dark blue backpacks.

  After stowing their stuff either below deck or on the main deck, they took their positions. Becky and Evan put on their life jackets and walked to the bow of the boat. They liked to sit at the front when it pulled away from the dock. Leah remained below deck, unpacking the contents of her knapsack. Jules started the three engines and fumbled around with some dials on the panel. Then he walked to the front of the boat to unhook the ropes that secured it to the dock.

  As he walked to the stern to unfasten the ropes that secured the back of the boat to the dock, Tomás and Santos jumped into action. They boarded from the back, blocking Jules as he walked toward the ropes. Tomás pulled out the .22 cal. Ruger Mark 3 and pointed it at Jules’ midsection. Evan and Becky saw them come on board but couldn’t see the gun because Jules’s body and the boat were blocking their line of vision.