by Thomas Scott
The pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom speakers. “Excuse me, Governor? Ms. Small? We’re number one for takeoff. We’ll be airborne in less than twenty seconds. Make sure your seat-belts are fastened and until we’re at altitude, turn your cell phones off if you would, please.”
Sandy reached over and pulled her cell phone from her purse and turned it off. McConnell didn’t bother. “I’ll tell you something, Sandy, as a government official, I try to not only uphold the laws of our state and the nation, but as a citizen also follow them to the best of my ability, just like anyone else. But that whole ‘turn your cell phone off or the plane will crash thing?’ I’m telling you, it’s pure, unadulterated bullshit.”
Sandy grinned at the governor. “You’re probably right. But risk it?”
“Because there is no risk,” the governor said. “Guarantee you. I never turn mine off. Not on this plane, anyway. The pilots…they always ask—I think it’s required by federal law or something—but I have never done it. Not once. You have to if you’re flying on the airlines. Now there’s a bunch of genuine, grade-A, hard core rule enforcers…most of your airline employees, if you ask me. You give some low-income sky waitress the complete and total backing of the United States Federal Government and watch out. They look for reasons to toss you off the plane these days.” He paused for a moment. “So, how about that chocolate, hmm? Would you mind very much if I tried a piece? They’re my favorite. Did I mention that?”
Virgil ran to his truck and grabbed his cell phone. When he punched in Sandy’s number it went immediately to her voice mail. He ended the call without leaving a message.
Sandy felt the acceleration of the jet and within two or three minutes they were, according to the passenger flight display, passing through three thousand feet on a northerly heading. “I’ve got to use the restroom,” she said to the governor. “Help yourself to the chocolate.”
“I don’t think we’re supposed to leave our seats until the light goes out,” the governor said.
“Yeah. This from the guy who makes his own rules about the cell phones.”
The governor wagged a finger at her. “Executive privilege. Besides, that’s a different deal. The cell phone thing is pure propaganda designed to instill fear so you’ll follow the real rules.”
“What’s the rule on peeing your pants when there’s a perfectly good bathroom less than fifteen feet away?”
“Good point. Hand me that box before you go though, will you? I don’t want to unbuckle my belt just yet.”
She handed the box to the governor and then stood from her seat. “Save me some.” It wasn’t a request.
The governor turned the box over in his hands. “It’s wrapped. Was this a gift?”
Sandy sighed. “Two things, Governor. Number one, Fannie May candy always comes gift-wrapped. It’s part of their gig. I should know. I used to work in one of their stores back in the day. Two, if I don’t go pee, and I mean right now, I’ll probably never be invited to fly on this plane again.”
The governor waved her away with the back of his hand and began to unwrap the candy. He hoped they were Mint Melt-aways. Those really were absolutely delicious.
Virgil went inside the fbo building and spoke with the young man behind the counter. “How can I get in contact with the plane that just left?”
The young man looked up from his computer terminal. “You mean the state plane?”
“Yeah. My girlfriend just got on there with the governor and I need to speak with her right away.”
“Is it an emergency?”
“You could say that.”
The young man stood from behind the desk and moved closer to the counter. “I could try to contact the pilots, but I’ve got to tell you, they’re probably out of range and even if they’re not, I doubt they’d be monitoring our frequency. We only talk to the pilots when they’re inbound, you know, for rental cars or taxis or fuel requests, like that. What’s the nature of your emergency?”
Good question. Virgil tried to explain the situation, but he knew it was hopeless.
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” the young man said. “The hot looking blond that got on the plane with the governor is your girlfriend. You were going to propose, but somehow didn’t. Now the governor and your girl are headed to the windy city and you’re stuck here by yourself. That doesn’t sound like an emergency to me. That sounds like a chance to party like a rock star, dude. When are they coming back?”
For some unknown reason, Virgil answered him. “Sunday night.”
“Man…that’s like, two days from now. Go live a little.”
Virgil walked out of the building.
The governor unwrapped the box, tossed the paper on the floor by his feet and removed the lid. There was candy in the box, but it was what was in the center of the container that immediately got his attention. In the middle was a smaller, red-velvet box where most of the good chocolates were supposed to be. He turned around in his seat and looked back at the lavatory door. Still closed. The governor took the small red box from the center of the candy tray and opened the lid. When he did, he thought, son of a bitch. The governor—nobody’s idiot—put it together in about a half-second. He slipped the ring box into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
When Virgil’s phone rang he was certain it was going to be Sandy. He didn’t even bother to check the caller ID display before speaking. “Sandy…I’m so sorry. This is not how I wanted to do this.”
“Lucky for you that you’ve got friends in all the right places,” McConnell said.
“Governor?”
“You got it, Jonesy. So, gonna pop the question, huh?”
“Would you mind telling me what’s going on up there?”
“Relax, tough guy. She’s in the can. Boy, this is some ring. I’m guessing just shy of two carats. I’d say about what…eight grand, maybe?”
“Close enough. Has she seen it?”
“Of course not. I might be a lowly politician, but I’m not a fool. She would have seen it, but I opened the box while she was on the hopper. That part was pure luck. Boy, if she’d been sitting right there…whoops, here she comes. Gotta go.”
The phone went dead in Virgil’s hand.
Sandy came out of the lavatory, sat down in her seat and fastened her seatbelt. She looked at the governor, extended her palm and wiggled her fingers in a ‘hand it over’ gesture.
McConnell handed her the box of candy. “Wow, that was good.”
Sandy looked in the box. Everything in the center—virtually half the box—was gone. “Boy, I guess you really do like this stuff, huh?”
“It’s a weakness. You know what, I think I have to use the bathroom as well.”
Sandy put a mocking tone in her voice. “You know…I don’t think you’re supposed to unbuckle your seatbelt until the pilots tell you to.”
“Yeah, yeah, quit twisting my testicles. Christ, you’re worse than some of the men I have to deal with. I hope you put the seat down when you were done peeing in there.”
Two minutes later Virgil’s phone rang again. He spoke without preamble. “If you mess this up for me, I will be pissed beyond belief. In fact, you can’t begin to conceive how—”
“Jesus Christ, Jonesy, I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere over Kokomo by now I would imagine.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m in the can. Would you please dial it back a little. I’m trying to help you.”
“Says the guy with a job.”
“Look, Jonesy, now isn’t the time, but you and I, we need to have a conversation. There’s no denying that. Right now though, we need to figure out what to do about this situation.”
Virgil wondered which situation the governor was referring to. “What are you proposing?”
“Hey, great choice of words,” McConnell said. “How about this…I’ll hold on to the ring. The pilots are going to
spend the night here in Chicago. They can’t come back until tomorrow…something about duty hours and flight time, I don’t know. Anyway, I’ll send the ring back with them. They can give it to Bradley and he’ll bring it to you. How does that sound?”
“Do not disappoint me on this, Governor.”
“Pearson will call you tomorrow. I promise…”
18
Virgil went back to the bar…or the office. In truth, he didn’t quite know how to define his workspace anymore. He wanted to coordinate with Murton exactly how they were going to work the Pope case, but when he walked in, he discovered that Murton wasn’t there. Becky was though. She sat at the end of the bar, her hands wrapped around a tall glass of green juice. A manila file folder was on the stool next to her. She wore a frilly little sleeveless dress and when Virgil followed her legs down to her shoes, he noticed that she wore a pair of black platform flip-flops. Her bra strap peeked out at the edge of her shoulder. She looked good. He pulled out a stool and sat down next to her.
“I miss you, Jonesy. Working for Ron just isn’t the same.”
“Is that the apple-asparagus?”
She took a sip, nodding as she did. “Yeah. It’s great.” She picked up her glass and wiggled it at me. “This is a really good idea…the juice thing. Was it yours?”
“Not really. Delroy is behind that. So, about Ron…”
Becky shrugged. “I don’t know…he’s a fine cop, anyone would tell you that. But it’s all business with him. Get me this, get me that, know what I mean?”
“I do. But I’ll tell you something, Becks, he’s really good at what he does.”
“Better than you?”
“Maybe. In fact, I’d say yes. He’s very…mmm…mechanical by nature when it comes to solving crime though. A leads to B leads to C and so on. I was never that way. I never have been. I notice things. I pay attention to the small stuff, the little things on the fringes that sometimes go unnoticed. When I do, things just sort of become obvious to me. That’s the way I’ve always worked and it has always worked for me.”
“I don’t get it.”
“All right, look at it this way,” Virgil said. “I just walked in, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And we’ve been sitting here together, what? Two or three minutes tops, right?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Without looking, how many people are in the bar?” She moved to turn on her stool and Virgil touched her arm. “No, no. No looking.”
“Okay. I don’t know. Twelve?”
He smiled at her. “Look at me.” When she did, Virgil closed his eyes. “There are exactly, at this very moment, thirty-one people in the bar and that includes you and me. Robert and his three sous chefs are in the kitchen. Delroy is behind the bar. You and I are sitting right here. The other twenty-four people are customers. Seventeen of them are men.” He opened his eyes.
“How do you do that?”
“You know what? I really don’t know. I just notice things and they stick with me.”
Becky laughed.
“What?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“Come on, what?”
“I was just thinking the next thing you’re going to tell me is what color underwear I have on.”
Careful, Virgil thought. Still, he couldn’t quite resist. “Lime green. Matching bra and panties.” The panty thing was a shot in the dark, but Virgil knew she was hoping to see Murton.
She punched him in the shoulder. Hard. “Shut up. How do you do that?”
Virgil smiled at her as he rubbed his shoulder. “So, what’d you bring me?”
Becky grabbed the file folder and placed it on the bar. “I feel like a spy.”
“Nah. Too cute to be a spy. Besides, you said yourself you already had the information. How’d you get it?”
“Same way I always do. I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but Al Gore invented this neat little thing called the Internet. It magically goes right to the computer. It’s pretty cool. All you have to do is sit down and type in—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Fucking researchers.
“Look, I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing anything illegal even though technically you are…sort of. Why don’t you consider working for me and Murt? That way whatever you research would be on our time instead of the state.”
“You mean, like, full-time?”
“Well maybe not right away. You know, part time to start, then we could see where it goes.”
“I’m only part time right now with the MCU. You know that. Plus, I’ve got these computer classes that I’m taking. Where would I fit everything in?”
“Nights and weekends?”
“Very funny, Jonesy. I do have a personal life, you know.”
“How many hours are you working over there? At the shop.”
“It depends. It’s no different now then it was when you were there. If something major is happening I get a few more hours, but if nothing is really going on I barely get any. I guess I’m averaging about thirty a week.”
“So quit. Murt and I could give you thirty hours, no problem. And here’s something to consider…how many hours do you spend on your commute each week?”
Becky puffed out her cheeks. “Too damned many, that’s for sure.”
“Well, there you go.”
“Well there I go, what?”
“You could work from home. We’ll pick up the cost of your Internet and cell phone, so you’d save a couple of hundred right there on utilities alone I bet, not to mention the gas. Listen, if you don’t mind my asking, how do you live on thirty hours a week?”
She gave him a sideways look. “There’s a little family money.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“So you don’t need the money…”
She laughed. “Oh, I need it. I don’t have access to my trust fund for another two years. All I get right now is a stipend.”
“Huh.”
“Look Jonesy, I didn’t know this was going to be a job interview. Can I think about it?”
Virgil laughed. “I didn’t either. And of course you can think about it. But in the meantime, I don’t want you feeling weird about giving me this.” He tapped his finger on the folder.
“Can I share something sort of personal with you?”
“Sure.”
“I hear things around the shop. People talk, you know? They screwed you over. Cutting you out like that? It wasn’t necessary. It was all political.”
“Ah, I already knew that, Becky, but I appreciate you saying so.”
“To answer your question, I do feel a little weird about giving you this information. It’s not something I could ever do again. I hope you understand that. I’m sure it’s completely against the law.”
“Yeah, me too. But it’s a small law and it feels kind of good, doesn’t it?”
Becky laughed. “It sort of does. Good thing you’re not paying me for this stuff.”
“Why?”
“Because it came out of the state’s computer system. If you were paying me I’d not only feel like a spy, I’d feel a little like a slut.”
“Says the girl in the platform shoes and matching underwear.”
That got him another punch.
“If you keep punching me I may rescind my offer of employment.”
“I doubt it.”
“Yeah…okay, but take it easy will you? You’re stronger than you look. So what’s in the folder?”
“Why don’t you open it and find out?”
“Because technically neither one of us has broken any laws yet.”
“So now you’re Mr. Truth, Justice, and the American way?”
“Truth is largely subjective based on perception. There is no such thing as justice anymore and the American way is primarily centered around crony capitalism.” They were both quiet for a beat. As much as he didn’t want to, Virgil slid the folder back toward her. “I’m sorry, Becky, I shouldn’t have p
ut you in this position.”
Just then Murton came through the back door and sat down next to them at the bar. “Jonesy. Hey Becks. How’s it going?”
Becky placed her hand briefly on Murton’s forearm. “It’s going well. Your partner here is trying to corrupt me.”
Murton gave Virgil a dirty look, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a check and slid it over, face down.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a check for ten grand from Nichole Pope. It goes against our retainer. Now all we have to do is catch her brother’s killer.”
“Did you say ten grand?” Virgil turned the check over and looked at the front.
“Yep.”
“I thought you said there wasn’t any money in this business.”
Murton flashed a fake grin. “I may have understated our prospects a little. Why are you looking at me like that? A guy’s gotta eat. Hey, speaking of eating, I’m starved.” Then he turned his attention to Becky. “So, you’re a little corruptible, huh?”
Becky slid the folder back over to Virgil. “I’ve thought about it,” she said. “I’ll take the job. How long before I make partner?”
“Have I missed something?” Murton asked.
Becky looked him in the eye. “Yep, I’m your new researcher, assuming you go along with the idea.”
“Sounds good.” Murton looked at Virgil in the bar mirror and winked.
Becky smiled at both of them. “Excellent.”
Saturday morning Virgil was up and out of bed before sunrise. He made a tall pitcher of fresh organic juice, took care of the other business prescribed by Bell, then set about reviewing the information Becky had brought him the previous day. After a few hours, he felt well versed in all things related to Augustus Pate. One of Pate’s companies, Pri-Max, had been awarded a bid by the state to not only build, but operate and maintain the new prison in Plainfield. This fact by itself was not news. It also was not very remarkable that the state was funding the vast majority of the prison’s construction via unclaimed lottery winnings. Somebody had to pay to erect the prison, after all. Unclaimed lottery winnings had always gone into the state’s discretionary fund, no matter the amount. If the state wanted to use that money to build a new prison, no one could argue with them. Well, maybe the teacher’s unions and the school administrators, but even they were mostly silent on the issue as the funding amounts allocated to them weren’t dependent on unclaimed winnings. Their money came straight from ticket sales. In fact, political issues notwithstanding, the only remarkable thing about the Pri-Max prison deal was the amount Pate’s company stood to gain from the state if no one claimed the prize.
