Assassination of a Dignitary

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Aren’t you going to say, what deal, Christian? Hunter, you disappoint me.” Fire sparked in the man’s eyes with enough heat to bring a building down. He stopped walking and crouched down on his knees in front of me. He studied my eyes. A few seconds later, he stood to full height and waved his man to take a few steps back. “No trust between us anymore.”

  “I killed her.” My family’s faces flashed through my mind. The touch of my wife’s skin, the smell of her hair, the way she and Yvonne would fight, the debates I’d have with Max over NASCAR. I wanted my life back.

  “You’re starting to bore me with what they say…” He rolled his hands to summon the words. “—Broken record.” He continued to study my face.

  I believe he wanted to bore a hole through my head and take control of my brain. The thought transported images from the past when he had taken a drill bit to a man’s skull. Sweat dripped down my back.

  “When I have verification she is dead, from the media, I will release them to you.”

  Big Guy stepped forward. Christian waved him back again and swore at him in Italian.

  “He wants to kill you. Part of me…part of me, wants to let him.”

  At this angle, I noticed the spots of dark red on Christian’s sleeve—dry blood. Was it from my family?

  “You killed them.” My eyes fell to the floor without thought. For a moment, I lost all fighting power. If they were gone, I had nothing to live for.

  “As I said to you before. I owe them nothing.”

  I jumped to my feet. “You son of a bitch!” I had Christian against the wall and held by the collar of his shirt before he could react. The barrel of a gun shoved into my side.

  Christian started laughing. “You’re still stealth-like, Hunter.”

  I continued to hold onto him. The big guy pressed the gun further into my side.

  “All I have to say is pleasant dreams, Hunter.” Christian remained calm even held in a death grip.

  My hands were locked in a clenching position on his collar. My breath carried on deep exhales. I matched eyes with him before backing up. “Let them go.”

  Christian stepped away from the wall and straightened his shirt. Big Guy kept the gun pointed at me.

  “You’re only who you are because of me. Did you really think you could leave The Family for good?” Christian laughed. “We own you. We always will. Do you think it was a coincidence that you ended up with Governor Behler as a client? We wanted to keep tabs on you. And we never knew when we could use your services. You’re stubborn and wild like a stallion. But we will break you.” He snapped his fingers on both hands. Big Guy tucked his gun into the back of his pants.

  “Do you hear what I’m telling you, Hunter? Do you understand?”

  My outlook turned from three-dimensional to omniscient. With his words, I had been granted insight. It all made sense now. The pride I had taken in setting up and keeping a business going was extinguished like the flame of a candle that had been snuffed out.

  “Aw, you think you did this on your own. How naïve of you.”

  He laughed again. The sound threatened to weaken the hardened stance I had and reduce it to dust.

  Big Guy watched from the back of the room. The way his eyes were trained on me, I questioned whether I would make it out of here alive. Christian was unpredictable, carried by emotions of the moment. And he had always failed to see the larger picture. Pleading for my family did little for moving this forward.

  “Why did you want her dead?” I asked.

  “You ask a lot of questions, Hunter. Perhaps at some other time.” He snapped his fingers, and Big Guy opened the door to the room.

  Did this mean I was free to go? What about my family?

  “Dad!”

  My head snapped to the doorway. Max came running toward me. He stopped shy of contact when he noticed Christian. I reached for my son, pulled him in, and held him as I would never again. Part of me didn’t know if I would ever get this opportunity. It could have been a sick tactic of Christian to instill hope when there was none.

  Max lifted back from the embrace. “What’s going on?” His hand felt the gun on my waist, his eyes enlarged.

  Tears stung the corners of my eyes, and I let them fall. It felt so damn good to hold my boy. I pulled him in again.

  “Enough.” Christian snapped his fingers.

  Another man who must have accompanied Max to the door tore him from me. I stretched to reach Max. A solid hand pulled on my shoulder, hard enough it jarred my back. “Max!”

  “Dad!” Max’s face was blotchy. Tears poured down his cheeks. He struggled against the man who held him.

  I would kill the son of a bitch! All of them!

  “Take him out of here. Now.” Christian gave the orders.

  They started to walk away. I wanted to follow them, but the hand held me back. “I love you!”

  Max turned his head. His eyes were scarred by his experience here; the darkened crescents I saw in the video must have just been shadows. More tears fell and he said nothing.

  My eyes went back to Christian. The pulse in my cheeks swelled with such intensity, I felt their throbbing. My earlobes must have been a burning red for the heat that manifested itself there. “I will kill you.”

  Christian didn’t laugh like I had expected him to. Instead his eyes went vacant. “You are free to go—”

  “My family—”

  “Are not. They will stay with me until news reports verify your kill.”

  “Trust me.”

  “First you say you will kill me, then you say trust me?” Christian cocked his head to the side. “You, too, must think I’m stupid.” He snapped his fingers. “Now, go.”

  Big Guy hovered until I reached my car. He stood there with his meaty hooks clasped together in front; his legs braced shoulder-width apart.

  Simply putting the keys into the ignition sliced at my soul. I brushed a tear that fell with the back of a hand. It would be the last one I let fall. They would be sorry for getting me and my family involved with their matters.

  -

  Chapter 37

  A HALF HOUR EARLIER...

  NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK

  SUNDAY, JUNE 13TH, 3:00 PM

  CLINTON STILL FOUND THE ROUSE of telling the media the Governor was on the mend to be a brilliant move. It would shuffle the power from assassin to law enforcement. Wingham and he were on the sidewalk out front of Casa Grande. She was pecking at the keyboard on her cell.

  “What is it?” Clinton asked.

  “Prints came back on the phone in room 836. His name is Rick Carson. He has a record. Just minor B & E.” She kept texting.

  “So we’ve got him then?”

  “We have his last known address and phone number. Both tie back to Detroit.”

  Clinton let out a deep breath. All he was thinking about was the slipping headlines. This confirmed the killer crossed state lines. “Wonderful.”

  “Okay, you’re going to love me.” She glanced up for a second.

  “You know I don’t buy into that.” He smiled.

  “I have a friend in Detroit. He’s not a cop, but he’s a PI.”

  Clinton liked where this was headed. A private investigator would fit the bill. There was no way they could disclose their position just yet. The FBI would scoop in and claim the credit for what wasn’t their right. He knew they would be getting copied on the report, but by the time they acted, Clinton would already have the answers. And the Michigan State Police would be even further behind them.

  “I have him going by to check his place out. He’ll secure Carson if he can. He said he’d do it for me right away.”

  “Did you have to sleep with him?”

  Wingham narrowed her eyes. “You seriously didn’t have to go there.”

  Clinton suspected from the way sh
e blushed he was an ex-lover she hadn’t quite been cured of.

  “And you told a lie in there.” He hitched a thumb toward the restaurant. He referred to her denial that the Governor was dead.

  “I did not.” Her eyes went to slits. “I simply diverted.”

  Clinton shrugged. “Omission is a lie. At least someone tried to tell me that once.”

  “Mine was implication. I said she was shot. She was.” Wingham’s phone rang and she answered. Clinton tried to read her facial expression to determine the caller and their message. She turned her back on him. Her voice carried the manifestation of a smile. “Thanks…you take care too…oh, okay. Bye.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mean, later sweetheart? We’ll meet up and sip on fine wine.”

  “I said what I meant.” Her earlier playfulness had disappeared. “He went to the address we have on file for him. It was an abandoned warehouse.”

  “He was squatting.” Clinton shook his head.

  “We’re missing a much larger picture here. We have a dead Governor, who took a stand-in bodyguard to Niagara Falls. Why? We have a meeting between her and the Governor of New York. And then we have this third party, Tux. How does it all fit together?”

  Wingham walked toward the car and Clinton followed. “And how does Tux, who shows up at the restaurant, end up with her back at the hotel?”

  “The restaurant staff said they seemed surprised to run into each other.”

  Clinton stopped walking. “They’ve all got to be connected somehow.”

  “It’s the somehow that’s eluding me.” Seconds had passed in silence before Wingham spoke again, “Well, you know there’s only one person we can contact right now.”

  “Talbot.” Clinton let out a heavy exhale. “I was just hoping we didn’t have to go down that route.”

  Wingham pressed her lips. “It’s the only way.”

  “Sonya?”

  “Yeah.” Wingham turned around.

  “How did your guy respond so quickly? You know, to driving by Carson’s address?”

  Wingham smiled and got into the car. “I got the text about the prints an hour ago when we were in with Ian and Needham.”

  -

  Chapter 38

  EN ROUTE TO DETROIT, MICHIGAN

  SUNDAY, JUNE 13TH, 3:30 PM

  LESS THAN 14 HOURS UNTIL THE DEADLINE

  I WASN’T THE TYPE OF PERSON TO BACK DOWN. I also couldn’t accept that all I had worked hard to accomplish was an allowance by another individual. I had made it on my own terms, regardless of what Christian tried to make me believe. Behler was one of my largest clients.

  One other thing I knew for certain—my family would be coming home with me and we would all resume our normal lives. I imagined the events of the last few days would forever be etched in our psyches, but at least we would be there for each other.

  I drove back to the city of Detroit like Max’s favorite NASCAR driver—quick yet aware of his surroundings. I assessed the distance between my front bumper and the rear ends of other vehicles and made my moves. I had somewhere to get to—a score to settle. If Christian wasn’t going to respect my mission as complete, I would make his Pops see it my way.

  My foot lifted off the accelerator only minutely as I realized the stupidity and naivety of my thinking to presume that I could affect The Detroit Partnership by impacting the Russo Family. I wasn’t even an integral part of their organization. I was an outside contractor with everything to lose. Disposable. Honestly, I was surprised that I had survived the encounter with Christian. I wasn’t even sure why he had let me go. Why not hold me there until he received his confirmation of Behler’s death? Was it simply to toy with me and make me feel there was hope when there was none?

  His words played as a chant in my mind, repeating in an endless stream, you’re only who you are because of me.

  He said that the Governor was my client because it made it possible to keep an eye on me. By extension that would mean she was connected with them. But that was nonsense and didn’t make sense. Behler spoke out against organized crime.

  But then again maybe it held more logic than I first gave the thought credit for. I remembered the man with the Rolex, her bodyguard; he must have been put in place by the Russos. Otherwise, why would he have known my name and touched me the way he had? He was expecting me and not simply because the Governor had notified him a visitor would be coming. The connection was further made apparent due to his murder.

  The Governor’s words just as I pulled the trigger—I was one of. Had she tried to tell me she worked along with the Russos?

  I shook my head and kept driving, weaving in and out of the lazy Sunday drivers that all appeared to be sitting still next to me.

  Why would a Governor align herself with them? Money was the first thing that came to my mind but was quickly replaced by another thought. Behler had money; she had sold her soul for political advantage. As long as she kept police from narrowing in on the Russos, they would ensure her candidacy. It was a symbiotic relationship. So what went wrong?

  My inquiries turned to the personal when I felt heaviness in my chest. My family was in danger, and the longer they were left with Christian and his men, the higher the likelihood something really bad would happen.

  The way my thoughts escalated, I really didn’t see any other option than the path I was taking now. I had killed the Governor, twice really, in my opinion. Because the result hadn’t been death originally didn’t mean that I hadn’t killed her—in my mind I had. With Christian merely being a pawn and spokesman for his father, I would pay a visit to the head of the serpent and get my family back—even if it cost my life in exchange for theirs.

  The best place to find Pietro Russo at most times on any given day was the back room of the racetrack bar. It was likely suicide attempting what I had planned, but there was no other choice. Again, Christian had placed me in a corner and I needed to fight my way out. If Christian couldn’t accept that I had killed the Governor, and use one of his many resources to verify this fact, there would be no winning for me. It was a game he had stacked for me to lose.

  I thought of the dead man in my bed. He had been Christian’s contact. Why did they kill him?

  I knew the likely answer to the question as it formed in my mind. The rat-like man was put in place to ensure Behler was killed. He had fled the scene before confirming she was. He had let Christian down.

  I swerved the car to the side of the road. A car went by with a blaring horn. I didn’t pay the driver any attention. Leaning over the back seat, I rifled through my bag looking for the one thing that might provide answers to everything.

  Why was Governor Behler in Niagara Falls to begin with? It wasn’t official business, yet she had met with the Governor of New York.

  He didn’t look too happy to be sharing her company, the way his eyes kept going to his drink, and the way he held the glass as if it were his means of escape.

  Where the hell was that thing?

  I kept working through the bag, my hands touching everything but what I was looking for. I finally gave up and got out of the car and went to the back seat. I found it right away—the Governor’s phone. I powered it up and made my way back to the driver’s seat.

  The sky had darkened and a few raindrops hit the windshield. The wipers went up, making a noise against the glass. It wasn’t quite wet enough. I found myself jumping slightly. I blamed it on my exhaustion and imagination.

  There was something larger going on here. For them to take down the Governor of Michigan, assuming she was one of theirs, would involve a huge betrayal.

  Maybe she had been there reaching out to Talbot for help in getting out? Yet she said they never saw eye to eye.

  The phone seemed to be taking forever to power up all the apps. I pulled out mine and searched the Internet for a connection between the Governors. The only
results showed them attending similar conferences in the past. There was nothing beyond that to indicate a personal relationship.

  Had she sought out Talbot for help? Maybe she knew they were on to her. But if that had been the case, and she had been placed to keep an eye on me, why wouldn’t she recoil at the sight of me? Instead, she invited me into her company. She had asked me to join them. She even invited me back to her suite. She either felt no fear or had no idea that the Russos were going to exact revenge for something.

  With her phone powered up, I went to her text messages first. Nothing beyond taking-care-of-business texts. There was still one sent from me a couple weeks ago trying to arrange a time to get together about her taxes. It had been left unread.

  I touched the screen to bring up a list of all data and photo files. The names were nondescript and likely for a reason. I worked my way through them and came to a file entitled, NYF. When I tried to open it, a message window came on the screen: ENTER PASSWORD.

  This was definitely the file she was showing the Governor. At least, I felt it was in the pit of my stomach. I wiped a hand down my face and set out trying a series of entries hoping to break into the file.

  In the middle of another attempt, the phone’s screen lit up and vibrated in my hand. A pop-up box read, YOU HAVE 1 NEW MESSAGE. It dated back to Saturday night.

  My heart cinched as I opened it and noticed its sender.

  -

  Chapter 39

  DETROIT, MICHIGAN

  SUNDAY, JUNE 13TH, 4:00 PM

  13 HOURS UNTIL THE DEADLINE

  FOR SUNDAY AFTERNOON, there were a decent number of patrons at the Thoroughbred Bar. Televisions mounted on every wall that normally covered the live races from the outside track, broadcasted past races and some poker tournaments. The bartender was one I recognized from nearly two decades ago. It was his eyes that gave him away. Otherwise, the passage of time hadn’t treated him kindly. I believe there was recognition in his eyes as well. When he greeted me, it was confirmed.