by MF Bishop
Chapter Ninety One
Helen rushed through her shower and held the hair dryer in one hand while she carefully applied lipstick with the other. A light touch of pancake makeup concealed the scratches on her face. As she spread the makeup she tried to remember getting scratched, but couldn't.
Half an hour after staggering into the house, dirty and bleeding, Helen admired herself in the hall mirror. She was wearing a dark blue dress with a conservative hem and neck. The color set off her blond hair and slightly sunburned complexion. She looked great; the picture of the healthy, energetic girl next door. She pondered a moment over her shoes, thought about high heels, then put on a pair of black, low heel pumps. It wouldn't do to be too dressy. After all, she was making a business call not a social visit.
The Chrysler was a nice car; the seats were leather - Helen hadn't noticed that before. She settled back in the driver's seat and gunned the engine. Wow, quite a change from the Sunbird. But after a few blocks she felt uneasy. This was a luxury chariot, the woman she had requisitioned it from was likely to complain. There might already be an APB or whatever they called it out on this car. She sighed and made a u-turn. Better be on the safe side and take Alan's battered Jeep.
Helen left the Chrysler four blocks from the house and hiked back for the Jeep. The CJ5 wasn't bad, really. It was a John Holtzman special, one of his many enthusiasms. He had completely rebuilt the running gear, shoehorned a hog of an engine into it and even installed sixties style rolled and tucked upholstery. When he tired of it, John gave it to Alan. The big V8 roared into life at the first turn of the key. A rough ride, but lots of power. It didn't look very good - Alan was into four wheeling for awhile until he got so involved in the business - the dark blue paint John had personally applied was scratched and the fenders were dented.
Dented or not, it moved right along, and Helen and the Jeep crossed the Woodrow Wilson Bridge and swung onto Foote Road ten minutes after leaving her house. The Loughlins lived in a new development just south of Fort Foote. All the lots in this subdivision were oversized, big and beautiful, with lush lawns and elaborate plantings. Helen admired the houses and the shrubbery while she searched for the Loughlins' house, a long, low, ranch style.
The lights were still on even though it was past eleven. In Washington even old people stayed up late. Helen parked the Jeep down the block, so they wouldn't see her unorthodox transportation.
It was all so clear, so simple, she thought as she approached the imitation oak front door, once the Senator realized his duty and his destiny, she could go home, get a good night's sleep, get to the office early, cancel the movers, get the staff working on unpacking, and finish the Senator's speech. It was a great speech, too. Helen banged the knocker set in the middle of the door. How homey, a knocker instead of a jangling doorbell.
The Senator's wife answered the door, her tall, angular figure wrapped in a dressing gown.
"Why Helen," she said, "what a surprise." She did not sound pleased.
"I must see the Senator, Mrs Loughlin," Helen said quickly, "this is extremely important."
Mrs Loughlin didn't move. "I told you this morning, dear, the Senator isn't feeling well...."
Helen pushed past the older woman and stepped into the hall.
"Now see here, young lady," Mrs Loughlin began, but Helen interrupted her.
"Just tell me where the Senator is. The quicker I get this straightened out, the quicker we can all go to bed." Deciding to search on her own, Helen continued down the hall, with Mrs Loughlin squawking protests and pulling at her arm.
The woman was irritating, and making so much noise it was hard for Helen to think. She was about to give the old lady a rap on the head when the Senator appeared, also in a dressing gown.
"What's all the racket," he quavered, then saw Helen. "Why, good evening, Helen, how are you? What brings you here this time of night? Martha, where are your manners? Get the young lady some tea."
"Really, Dugan," Martha said frostily, "she all but forced her way into the house, and now you want to give her tea." But she continued down the hall into the kitchen, muttering rebelliously.
"Come in, Helen, have a seat." Loughlin led the way into the living room. His slippered feet padded silently across the white wall to wall carpet. He settled into a low white armchair and motioned Helen to the matching couch.
Always courtly, thought Helen, always polite. Such a gentleman. She should compliment him on this beautiful room, or some other pleasantry, she thought, but instead she got right to the point. "The country needs you, Senator, you must lead the fight against the corrupt, effeminate liberals who are selling us out to the Japanese and other Asians...."
"Oh, Helen, I'm afraid we've lost this round...."
"We haven't lost, not yet. I can make you President! Together we can turn the country from decadence, bring back the bravery and determination. We can be great!"
Loughlin looked slightly fuddled. "Do you really think so?" He asked slowly. "Halloran said I didn't have a chance."
Helen was elated. "Yes, yes, of course I think so. The people are behind you, the people that want this country to be great again."
"The people," Loughlin said confusedly, "the people? Could I really be President? I'd like that."
"You can, you can be President," Helen cried, "I'm writing a wonderful speech for you...."
Mrs. Loughlin came into the room, carrying a teapot and three cups on a tray. "Do you take cream and sugar, Helen? Oh, dear, you mustn't get the Senator all excited." She put the tray on a side table and took Loughlin's arm. "Come, Dugan," she said, "its time for your warm milk and valium."
"Yes, Martha," he said, "but do you think I could be President?"
"Now Dugan, we decided to forget all that nonsense and go back to Albany. Don't you remember?"
"Now I remember," he said, and got up from the couch.
"W-Wait," Helen stammered, "yes, you can be President, you've got to be President." She scrambled from her chair and pulled at his other sleeve.
"That's quite enough, young lady," Mrs Loughlin said heatedly, "this is settled and there will be no more discussion. Now, I must ask you to leave."
The Senator raised one hand. "Now, Martha, that's not very polite...."
Rage flowed through Helen, a warm flush that started in her feet and coursed through her body to her face. This woman would not interfere! Helen seized the woman by her gray hair and flung her across the room. Mrs Loughlin screamed, smashed into the wall, and slumped silently to the floor.
Helen turned to Loughlin. "Now, Senator, as I was saying...." But Loughlin was on her, shouting and striking at her with his fists. She backed up, almost tripped on the carpet, and backed up again until she was against the wall. Loughlin continued to beat at her, mouthing gibberish, little drops of spit flying off his lips.
Helen pushed at him. "Stop, dammit," she said, "that is enough." Old as he was, Loughlin was a big man, and Helen couldn't get him away from her. He was bruising her face, tearing her dress. Her purse was still over her shoulder. She pulled her gun, pushed it against him.
"Now, get away from me," she said harshly. He struck at her, and she pulled the trigger again and again. Loughlin staggered back and sat heavily on the floor.
"What do you want?" he asked blankly. He fell on his back and lay still. Blood bubbled through three new holes in his dressing gown.
She looked down at him. "Oh, shit," she said.
This was a setback, Helen realized. Maybe she could hide the body, issue a press release in Loughlin's name.... Helen checked Mrs Loughlin. She was unconscious, but still breathing - smooth, even breaths as though she were peacefully asleep. Finish her off, Helen thought, then hide both bodies. She aimed at a spot behind the woman's left ear.
Hell, it will never work. Sooner or later, people will want to see Loughlin. Might get more votes
if they didn't, especially now. Not that he was that much different than he had ever been, she chuckled. Helen put her gun away and left Mrs Loughlin sleeping a few feet from where her husband stained the white rug with his blood.
Helen started down the hall toward the front door, but was distracted by the smell of the tea. How long since she had anything to eat or drink? She poured herself a cup. It was hot and strong and tasted wonderful. Maybe she could snack on something in the kitchen. The refrigerator yielded a plate of cold chicken. Delicious! Helen ate it all and dropped the bones in the garbage. She carefully washed her hands at the sink and rinsed the plate.
Now, out of here, refreshed and alert. She closed the front door behind her, checked it to be sure it was locked, then walked quickly to the Jeep. She drove out of the suburb and headed north on Highway 210 toward the city. There must be a solution, she thought, it was up to her to save the country, and she had to figure out how to do it. The Anacostia Freeway took her across the Anacostia Bridge over the Anacostia River. Did they run out of names down here, she wondered? The old Washington Navy Yard was on the left, dark and empty at this midnight hour. That's where the computer spooks work, Helen thought, and then the realization came to her, so clear and strong it was almost painful.
Of course, of course, this was all the fault of that tall fool and his brutal red headed partner. The revelation made Helen dizzy. She took the next exit and stopped at the corner of 10th and G to recover. That Major Robert Britton had to be the one, the chief traitor. Helen gripped the steering wheel and felt her mouth twist with the passion of her hatred.
All she had to do was eliminate that wimpy, whining bastard and everything would be all right. The clarity and rightness of her thinking amazed her. It was so obvious! How could she have missed the perfect solution for so long? No matter, now she had a purpose, and direction. Kill Britton and Loughlin could be President, she told herself, then stopped. No, not Loughlin, but somebody. Maybe Halloran. Now there was an idea...now, concentrate, Helen, she told herself, first things first. First kill Britton, then Halloran can be President.
Thinking about Loughlin reminded Helen of her gun, and she ejected the clip and reloaded. Still plenty of ammunition. Little bullets, though. Really like to have a bigger gun. In the old days I could break into a sporting goods store and get anything I needed, she thought, but the damn gun control lobby has spoiled that, too.
She checked her address book. When Howard gave her the addresses of their various enemies, she had enjoyed writing them in the book, next to her friends and business associates. Britton, Britton...there it is, and his address isn't very far away. Now, just give him a call, who knows, maybe the ape-ette will be with him. No, Helen, she chided herself, don't be turned aside by mere revenge. You still have a country to save.
She found a phone booth in front of an all-night convenience store. Be there, be there, she prayed as the phone rang. She was about to give up when it was answered.
"H,Hello." The voice was thick and groggy.
"Major Robert Britton?" Helen tried to sound brisk and businesslike.
"Uh, yeah. Who is this?"
"My name is Helen Holtzman, Major Britton. I must speak to you."
"Helen H...Christ on a crutch." Britton was silent for a moment. "What about?"
"A matter of great importance, Major." Helen remained businesslike, but she was beginning to feel angry. Why was he asking so many questions? Why didn't he just cooperate?
"It's late," he said, "call me in the morning." His voice was wary.
"Listen to me, Britton, you stinking traitor," Helen screamed, "I want to see you now. Once you're dead the country will be safe...."
"Christ on a crutch," Britton said, and hung up.
Damn, Helen thought, I lost it again. I've been really irritable lately. Could it be pms? No, her period had ended just last week. Probably the poor diet she had been on the last few months. Too much junk food. Whatever the reason, the damage was done. Maybe she could get into his apartment building and knock on his door. No he would never open it now. Shoot him through the door? No, the damn gun probably wouldn't punch through even a hollow core door.
Helen bought a Coke in the store and drank it in the Jeep while she thought. There was no way to get into his apartment, and he sure as hell wasn't going to come out. But that was the only way to bag him, get him out of that apartment, out on the street. Then even a .22 would do the job.
How could she make him want to leave, right now, in the middle of the night? Of course! So clear, so obvious. Helen checked her address book. Yes, and only a couple of miles away. So considerate of everyone to live close by.
A street of brick row houses had been converted to flats. The address Helen sought was in the basement, with an outside entrance. A low fence divided the narrow front yard from the street. Better and better. Her luck was running again. Helen parked the Jeep and let herself through the gate. How would she work this? Of course! So clear, so obvious. She beat on the door.
A light came on inside, footsteps, a muffled curse.
"Who is it?" A voice said.
"An emergency," Helen called, "your mother, heart attack, come quickly."
The door flew open. Helen stepped inside, her gun in her hand. "Now, you just be quiet," she told Mary Grier.
"Who the hell are you...." Mary began.
"Shh, shh." Helen said, her fingers to her lips. "It's very important that you be quiet."
Mary's first impulse was to scream, strike out, attack this crazy bitch. Mary looked into Helen's eyes. They were black in the dim light, the pupils huge, with no more expression than the muzzle of the gun she held. If she wasn't very careful, Mary realized, she would die.
Helen gestured with her gun. "Get dressed," she said, "put on something businesslike."
"All I have is jeans," Mary said, "and my uniforms."
"Uniforms, yes, wear a uniform." Helen's mouth smiled, but her eyes didn't change expression.
"In the bedroom, the uniforms are in the bedroom." Mary started for the door.
"I'll go with you," Helen said.
"Now just a damned minute," Mary flared, "I'm not dressing in front of you."
"Yes, you are. Move along, we've got to hurry." Helen pushed Mary gently with the barrel of the gun. "I hope I don't have to shoot you, I'd rather not use any more ammunition."
Mary dressed with her back to Helen, her face hot with embarrassment and anger. "Why are you doing this?" she asked when she turned around.
Helen looked doubtfully at her outfit. "That uniform is kind of dirty," she said, "don't you have anything clean?"
"No, I don't," Mary snapped, "I've been too busy to go to the cleaners. You going to shoot me for that?"
"Oh, no," Helen laughed, "I wouldn't shoot you for that, I'll only shoot you if you don't do as I tell you."
"What do you want me to do?" Mary asked faintly.
"Oh, you're going to help me save the country," Helen said, waving her gun toward the door. "Isn't that nice? Let's go."
Helen was embarrassed by the jeep. "Sorry about the transportation," she said, "I kind of lost my car and had to borrow this from my husband."
This woman has a husband, Mary thought, who loaned her his car so she could...could what? What is she doing? Wearing that nice blue dress, so blond and sunburned, she could be my sister.
"You drive." Helen handed Mary the keys. "I'll direct you."
"Me, drive this?" Mary thought of claiming she couldn't drive, or could only drive an automatic, but she was afraid of Helen. She took the keys.
To Mary's surprise, the trip was a short one, ending at the Senate parking garage.
"Right in here," Helen said, "I have a reserved spot."
"Where're we going?"
"To Senator Loughlin's office," Helen answered. "We'll go past a guard at the entrance.
You stand still and smile while I sign you in, and I won't have to hurt you."
The guard leaned back in his chair, watching a small TV. "You're here awful late, Mrs. Holtzman," he said.
Helen smiled brightly at him as she signed the register. "Actually, its awfully early, Charley. We have a lot to do today. Got to help the Senator get moved."
"Oh, yeah, uh, real sorry to see the Senator go, Mrs. Holtzman." He briefly glanced up from the screen.
"Me too, Charley. See you. Come along, Mary."
Mary had been desperately emanating fear, but the guard never looked at her. She reluctantly moved down the hall ahead of Helen.
Loughlin's office was on the third floor. Helen unlocked the door and pushed Mary through. They entered a small reception room, which was almost filled with cardboard boxes sealed with plastic package tape.
"Let's see now," Helen muttered once they were inside. She took her gun out of her purse.
"Oh, God," Mary choked. She wanted to say something, to beg for her life, but what could she say?
Helen didn't notice Mary's discomfort. "Sit in that big wooden chair, Ok?" Mary sat. The chair was an old fashioned varnished oak office chair, the kind with arms. It had four sturdy legs and no wheels. Helen looked uncertainly around the room. "Let's see now," she said again, then she brightened. "Of course." Picking up a roll of the package tape, she ordered Mary to put her arms on top of the chair arms. Helen then taped Mary securely to the chair, fastening her arms and legs with turn after turn of the tape. "This is good stuff," she said as she worked, "I've always liked this tape. It sticks to anything. Even to you." Helen giggled.
Mary's terror increased, if that was possible. "Please don't hurt me," she said, hating herself for her cowardice, but too scared to care.
"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you. I need your help," Helen said cheerfully. She pulled an armchair close to Mary and sat the phone from the reception desk on the floor between them. "Now," she said, "we're going to make a phone call."
"You may have to dial," Mary said.
Helen laughed. She punched the keys. The call was answered immediately. "Still awake, huh, Britton?" Helen said. "I've got someone here who wants to talk to you." She held the receiver to Mary's mouth. "Say 'hello', honey."
Astounded, Mary silently shook her head. Without warning, Helen slapped her hard across the face. Mary screamed.
"Who was that?" said a tiny voice from the phone.
"Bobby, oh, Bobby, what's happening?" Mary cried, "Who is this person, what's she doing...."
Helen put her hand over Mary's mouth. "Hush now," she said calmly, "you've done just fine." She spoke into the phone. "You recognize her, Britton? Right, your girl friend."
The phone made frantic noises.
"No, no," Helen said, "she's not hurt, she's just fine. You do as I say and she'll be just fine. I want to talk to you right now." She listened for a moment. "Good, good," she said happily, "now listen...."
No cops, Helen told him, and no red headed friend. Just him and her. "Walk down G to 7th and then to D street. Be on the corner of 7th and D in 30 minutes, no more, no less." She hung up the phone.
Mary had cried silently during the phone conversation, tears running down her cheeks. Now she found her voice. "W,w,why are you doing this?"
"I told you already," Helen said patiently, "I'm saving the country. And you have been very helpful. Now I've got to go. I'll come back and let you loose after I've killed Britton."
"What?" Mary yelled, "kill Bobby? No! No!"
"Be quiet," Helen said, "you might attract a guard. Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you, you're probably a traitor like the rest of them, tearing down the United States, destroying everything my father worked for, my uncle died for, you, you...." Helen stared at Mary, her mouth working.
Now I've done it, Mary thought, I've gone and pissed her off.
But Helen collected herself. "No, you're just misguided," she muttered, almost to herself, "like so many others. It's Britton who's ruining everything." She found the roll of tape and peeled off a strip. "Open your mouth a little," she commanded. When Mary obeyed, she slapped the strip of tape across Mary's mouth. "Now I'll make a little hole in it, so you can breath," she said, and found a nail file in her purse to make the little hole.
That done, Helen rummaged in the drawers of the receptionist's desk until she found a cellular phone. Dropping the phone in her purse, she politely said goodbye, turned off the light and left Mary alone in the dark.
