The Lesser Evil

by Jim Magwood

  “Sir, are you alright? You can’t be parking here. This is dangerous. Are you okay?”

  Henry looked at him and saw the officer looking at his soaked shirt and his disheveled appearance. “Yes, sir,” he replied. “I think I just got a little sick for a while. I had to stop. I think I’m okay now, though.”

  “Pass me your driver’s license, please, sir.”

  Henry did as he was asked and the officer used his portable radio to call in for any adverse information. Then, he handed the license back and said, “Sir, are you sure you’re okay now? You have to move out of here.”

  “Yes, thank you,’ he replied. “I’ll get back on the road right now, okay?”

  “Okay, sir. Wait until I get back in my car and I’ll cover for you a little until you can get out in the traffic. You’re sure you’re okay, now?”

  Henry was able to get going again, and continued carefully on his drive to the office. He had decided it was just too far to drive back home and he wasn’t in shape for it. As he walked past Darla, his assistant, she began to urgently question his appearance, but he waved her off. He went into his office, closed the door, and flopped down into his chair.

  He realized his hands were still shaking, and slowly got back up and went to his mini-bar, poured a large drink and tossed it down in one gulp. It hit hard, and it almost made him sick, but he felt it begin to bring some warmth and quietness to his body. He got back to his chair then and just sat, trying to clear his confusion—and the fear that now coursed through him.

  What have I done? What do I do now?

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Two and one-half weeks later, the attacks stopped as abruptly as they began. In all, two hundred and ninety-two stores had been attacked and more than two hundred had been destroyed. Amazingly, no employees were hurt in any of the incidents other than a couple who had run into things or fallen as they were rushing to get out of the danger.

  Henry had asked Randall Johns about that, and the reply had been simple: “Mr. Baxter, we have no intention of taking lives. We only want the evil stopped. Perhaps those who are closely connected to the evil as employees, even perpetrators, will see the events as wake-up calls and will leave their evil ways.”

  Henry had also realized that almost all the stores affected were in larger cities, and when he asked about that, was told,

  “The smaller towns and cities are harder to move around in.

  Strangers are more easily noticed. While the fire departments might not be as fast as those in large cities, they tend to notice things around them simply because there are less things to notice. It’s much easier to track hotel usage, credit cards, gas stations, any purchases. Have you by any chance noticed, though, that more than one hundred of the stores have been closed, at least temporarily, because they cannot get anyone to work in them? Maybe the message is spreading, do you think?”

  A little more than a week after the attacks stopped, Henry received a delivery of three packing cartons at his office. They were filled with individual packages of information, one for each of the stores destroyed. He found pictures of apparent transactions between employees and customers. Pictures that showed customers apparently sampling out of plastic-wrapped packages. Pictures of piles of pills being sorted and bagged on counters. There were videos of the same, with both employees and customers casting furtive glances out front windows and, in a couple of instances, quickly sweeping the counters clean of evidence as a new customer entered the store.

  There were even audio recordings of both buying and selling transactions being conducted. And paperwork—very convincing paperwork. Copies of inventory records of stolen goods received and drugs moved. Storage locker rental forms where, ultimately, authorities found millions of dollars of goods able to be traced back to owners. As always, Henry was amazed at the ability of the vigilante group to gather this material. What kind of reach did these people have? Were they everywhere, all the time, or did they just invade places they were already preparing to take steps against?

  When the boxes arrived, he called in his assistant, Darla, to copy the materials before calling the authorities about them.

  She took a quick look at the packed boxes and said, “Oh. You have been busy haven’t you? Getting more each time.”

  Henry started to apologize for giving her the dirty work, but she quickly said, “No, don’t worry about it. You pay me to do these things and that’s my job. If you want me to sweep the floors, that’s what I’ll do. You pay me; I work. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Thanks, Darla. I appreciate it.” That evening, he stopped at a Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse and bought a $250 gift certificate for her, and then a $750 certificate at the Neiman Marcus down the street. Gifts she could spend and enjoy but not worry about taxes on.

  When he called Bob D’Arcy of the FBI the next day, the quick response was, “Henry, you are rapidly becoming my favorite customer. I think. Do I need a moving truck this time?”

  “No, there’s only three boxes, so we can carry them down to your car. You can carry two of them.”

  When D’Arcy arrived a day later, Henry had to steel himself to face the agent. His personal implication in this event had his nerves rattled and his conscience working overtime.

  D’Arcy noticed that he appeared out of sorts and commented on it, but Henry was able to put him off with a casual excuse.

  But as Henry watched the agent drive off, he realized his hands were shaking and sweat was again soaking his shirt—

  not sweat from carrying the box.

  Late that afternoon, he received another call—from Ron Kincaide of the CIA. “Mr. Baxter, I understand that you’ve gotten busier than ever. I think we need to talk again. Can you meet me tomorrow, noon, at Bazin’s again? Good. See you then.”

  Henry’s hands began shaking again.

  CHAPTER 46

  As Henry entered Bazin’s just before noon, he saw Ron Kincaide had beaten him again. Ron was relaxed at a back table with a plate of hors d'oeuvres, laughing with Julie, one of the owners. As he approached the table, Henry saw Ron's laughter dry up quickly, and his hands started shaking again.

  Kincaide just pointed to the other chair at the table and Henry quietly sat.

  “Mr. Baxter. What have you been involved in now? It seems every time I hear your name I find myself asking a lot of funny questions—and not getting answers. So, I told myself, maybe the good Mr. Baxter would have some answers for me. What do you think? Do you have answers, Mr. Baxter?”

  Deciding to just bluff things out, Henry replied, “Look, Kincaide, I’ve been looked at by everyone from one coast to the other, and no one has accused me of doing anything wrong. I even called the people on the list you gave me to see if I could run this group down myself—with no results. I don’t know anything about these people, certainly a whole lot less than you and the FBI or anyone else. So, why me? What’s this challenge I’m hearing?”

  “Henry, Henry, calm down. We’re just talking here, like friends, right? I just thought you might have some information to share with old Ron, maybe something you’ve forgotten to tell someone else. How about it? Something those old bad guys said that you might have forgotten until now? Anything?

  Just for old times sake?”

  Henry looked at him, trying to figure just where he was coming from. Was he just looking? Just a tactic? His nerves started to settle, and he said, “Have you ordered yet?”

  Kincaide looked back at him for a moment, then chuckled. “No, I haven’t. Waited for my good friend, Henry, to get here. Now that he’s here, let’s eat. Here. Try some of these Crabmeat Spring Rolls. Did we have them last time? I can’t get past them. Have some Crispy Oysters, too.”

  They ate the appetizers for a while, small talking as they did, then got into their lunch, the Pulled Duck Confit and the Blue Cheese Crusted Steak, before Ron said, “What have you heard, Henry? You’ve been given more information than any of us have even dreamt of getting. I know you’re not involved in this, but l
et me pick your brains, or memory, and see if anything tumbles out. Maybe something you haven’t even thought of.”

  For the next hour and a half, the two men talked and bounced ideas. Mainly Kincaide, but Henry got his share of questions in, also—without getting answers. Henry finally relaxed when he decided that Kincaide didn’t have anything on him regarding the last events, the ones Henry had “picked.”

  Every once in a while, he asked a question of the “what if”

  variety: What if these guys are really doing something good?

  What if they can get rid of the bad guys for us all?

  Finally, Ron sat back in his chair, relaxed after his Apple Crisp desert, and asked, “Henry, if you could control these guys—if you could send them in directions you wanted them to go—how would you feel about that? How would that power feel?”

  Henry just looked at him for a moment, then slowly replied, “Ron, if that could be done, I don’t know. The FBI has their Top Ten list. Would I send them after that list? I suppose.

  How about all the real drug lords? Who was it just put out the list of the top ten worst dictators in the world, U.S. News or someone? How about them? Ron, that’s almost an impossible question. And the power? How would I feel about the power?

  I guess I would hope I could direct it in the right ways, get the right people, not get corrupted by it. What about you?”

  “Oh, I’d love the power. The ability to be the Lone Ranger and go get the bad guys? Man, I could make my list tonight in my sleep. But, you said the magic words—would we get corrupted?

  “You know, most of the countries of the world have a pretty good system of law enforcement, laws and rules, keeping order, trying to make things safe for the folks. There are some who go off the deep end sometimes. Figure their way is better than anyone else’s. Remember Animal Farm? ‘We’re all equal. Some are just a little more equal than others.’ But, for the most part, we have the basics of decency out there.

  Sometimes, though, we get a little misdirected, or we forget what we’ve learned from the past, or we want just a little bit more than the other guy. But, then we have the guys who are just plain down and dirty bad.

  “Anybody who gets on world-wide television and talks about destroying another group of people is just bad. That’s all you can say. Or someone who grows a crop that can only be used to poison other people, that doesn’t have any other value.

  And, I would dearly love to put them all way under ground.

  Preferably in small pieces. But, Henry, we have laws for that and agencies that are supposed to do that, and these vigilantes just don’t have the right to do what they’re doing. Yeah, I know what the people are saying, and it would be good to just go to sleep and let these guys take care of our problems. But, what if they get out of hand? What then?”

  “Ron, but what do we do when the agencies, as you said, can’t or won’t do the job? Here in the States, we’ve got the liberal judges that write laws, instead of judging. And the ACLU that would give everybody the right to do anything they wanted. I’ve always wondered what would happen, though, if the bad guys came knocking on their doors in the middle of the night? We’ve got people around the world, Ron, who are afraid of coming outside anymore. We’ve got millions—billions—of our dollars being totally lost to stuff we simply can’t control. Stuff we as citizens don’t even know is going on.

  “I’ve got a friend that wrote an article about some fraud stuff going on in high government levels back and forth between some countries and the UN. Food, money, influence.

  You probably know about it.” Ron nodded his head in agreement. “Anyway, this thing just hurt a lot of people and, supposedly, just a couple of high level bums in the UN or the country got anything out of it. Money, of course. So, why should people like that be allowed to survive what they did?

  Nothing happened. Some finger pointing and some headlines, but nothing else. Why should they not be stopped?”

  “Okay, suppose you could stop them. Question: Do you know they were bad? That they did what was said? I do believe I heard conflicting reports about that. How do you determine you’re correct if you’re going to take action? Isn’t that up to the courts?”

  “Yeah, but if the courts aren’t doing their job? Or if the hands of the investigators are tied? If you—the CIA, the FBI, whoever—aren’t allowed to really get in and find out the truth, what then? Does everyone get off just because everyone’s hands are tied?”

  Ron thought for a moment, then said, grimly, “So, Henry.

  I know you really are the head of this vigilante group.”

  Henry’s heart caught in his throat. “So, I’m going to take you in—right now. But, I’m going to save the country the cost of the trials and so on and I’ll just make sure you don’t arrive at the courthouse. I’m going to dump you in some pig farm in Georgia someplace. They won’t find anything of you except maybe your belt buckle.” He paused for a moment. Then, with a cold look, continued, “Is that what you want? Who’s right, Henry? Where does the authority rest? Should we appoint the vigilantes, or just take what’s given to us? Are you going to decide, or am I?”

  When Henry didn’t speak for several moments, Ron cut back in, “So, does it make it more difficult when it becomes personal? When it’s you on the receiving end, or if you had to make the ultimate decision?”

  Henry had finally swallowed his shock and quietly replied, “I just don’t know. I don’t. You and I both know that these events, at least the ones I know about, appear to all have been against people or companies that have been rumored to be on the wrong side for years. A couple of them I was already researching on my own. So how can we sit here, unable to do anything about them through the right channels—the legal channels—and do nothing? If we had the ability to call up these vigilantes and direct them against the evil we want gone—is that wrong? How else do we get a handle on fixing things out there if our hands are tied, if we have no other way?”

  “Henry, I can speak for me, because I know where I, personally, sit in the game. And I can speak the legal jive, tell you what the law books say, and tell you the law of the land. But, I can’t actually speak for anybody but me. I can’t tell you how to feel, or what to do. I can tell you what not to do. I know the law. I work in the law. These guys shouldn’t do what they’re doing, and if we catch them, they’ll go down. But, what you should think and do? You have to decide that, and the other citizens of the world. But remember, if citizens get caught doing these things—the same as this group— they’ll go down, too.”

  CHAPTER 47

  “Mr. Asch, thank you for taking my call.”

  “Quite all right, Mr. Baxter. How can I help you?”

  “I wanted to follow up with you about the meeting we had earlier and see whether you’ve been able to come up with anything that might lead to this vigilante group.”

  “I didn’t really know that I was supposed to do any research into the group. I’m sorry if we perhaps got confused.

  To answer your question, though, I don’t know any more now than I did when we met earlier.”

  “Oh.” Henry paused. “I guess I was hoping… So, nothing new then? At all?”

  “No. I’m sorry. That type of thing is really not my line of work. I mostly just gather material on Middle East history.

  Have you been able to gather anything from any other sources?”

  “No. I’ve had several conversations with people around here, but no one seems to know anything. I understand some investigations have begun, but I haven’t heard anything about them.”

  “Well, maybe the investigations will finally bring things to light.”

  “Yes. Well, I hope so. Well, then, I guess I’ll just let you go then. Again, thanks for talking with me.”

  “Do call me any time, Mr. Baxter. Good bye for now.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  “Jacob, this is Ron Kincaide. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Ron. Have you heard anything from your in-tre
pid reporter, Henry Baxter? He called me just this morning.”

  “I’ve had a couple of conversations with him, Jacob, but nothing of substance. I think we’ve cleared him of having anything to do with this stuff, and he’s just another reporter now. We do keep getting copies of the materials he gets from that group, and maybe we’ll find something one of these days to give us some leads. Anything from your end?”

  “No, Ron. I’ve been doing some looking, but nothing has come up. My friend Roger, from Canada, and I are doing some research into the subject, but nothing yet. I presume your people haven’t found anything that gives you any clues?”