Lady Justice and the Candidate (Lady Justice, Book 9) Read online

  Like me, Maggie hadn’t heard of the guy before today.

  Neither of us were very political minded. We both were thoroughly disgusted with the current state of American politics and the pitiful selection of candidates that were presented to us each election.

  We seemed to always find ourselves voting for the ‘lesser of two evils’ rather than for a candidate that we believed could really lead our great nation.

  Every election year it was the same old 'politics as usual.'

  We could totally understand why people were reluctant to vote.

  Maggie hadn’t uttered a word as we read, but when we had finished the last article, she said, “Walt, you have a remarkable resemblance to that man.”

  “You noticed that, too,” I replied. “What do you think about the guy? Do you like what he’s saying --- the reform stuff --- changing American politics?”

  “I totally support what he’s saying, but face it, Walt, he’s an independent, and independents just don’t have a chance in our two party system.”

  History certainly supported what she had said.

  “How would you like to meet the guy?” I asked.

  “Is he coming to Kansas City for a rally of some kind?”

  “No,” I replied. “Just to meet you and me.”

  Maggie was no dummy. She knew right away that there was more to my little charade than just excitement over a new presidential candidate.

  “Why in the world would he want to -----?” Then it hit her.

  “Walt, no! You can’t!”

  “Just hear me out. Please!”

  Maggie folded her arms and closed her eyes while I told the story of my meeting with Mark Davenport and his unbelievable proposal.

  Maggie sat quietly for a long time after I finished my narrative.

  Finally she spoke. “You want this, don’t you?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know the answer to that yet. It depends on two things --- how you feel about it and how I feel about Foster after I meet him.

  “If you say ‘no’ right now, then I’m done. I wouldn’t even go see the man. You’re that important to me.

  “But if you’re not sure either, then we can go and talk to him together and then decide together.

  “If I’m not sold on the guy, there’s no way that I would leave you for four months. I know for a fact that I wouldn’t do it for the other two guys.”

  She looked at me skeptically, “So you wouldn’t say ‘yes’ until after we’ve met him and discussed it further?”

  “I promise.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

  The woman never ceases to surprise me.

  Mark Davenport met us in the lobby of the Marriott and whisked us up to the penthouse suite.

  A thirty-something fellow that had a remarkable resemblance to Ryan Seacrest, the American Idol guy, greeted us.

  “My name is Paul Ford,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Ben Foster’s campaign manager. Thank you both for coming today.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder why a young yuppie guy would want to hitch his political career to an old gray mare like Foster who was a year older than me.

  “Mr. Foster is on a conference call and will be with you momentarily. Can I get you a beverage while you wait?”

  “No, thank you, we’re fine,” I replied.

  We took a seat and waited anxiously to meet the man for which I was being asked to risk my life.

  In anticipation of our meeting, Maggie and I had researched everything we could find about Ben Foster.

  He was born and raised on a ranch in the Big Sky country of Montana.

  He attended college in California and graduated with a degree in business administration.

  He joined an architectural firm and during the course of his career, participated in the development of shopping centers and suburban subdivisions.

  After twenty years on the West Coast, he returned to Montana where he started his own construction business.

  The only elected office that he had ever held was an eight-year term as Mayor in his home city in Montana.

  We found nothing in the man’s resume that gave any credence to the notion that he could or should be, the President of the United States.

  Yet, somehow, the man’s message of reform had struck a chord in the hearts of many Americans and they were eager to hear more from the David who was willing to stand up against the political Goliaths.

  The door on the far side of the room opened and Paul Ford entered followed by a man and a woman.

  I heard Maggie choke back a little gasp when she saw the carbon copy of the man that she shared her bed with every night.

  Ford made the introductions, “Walt and Maggie Williams, I’d like you to meet Benjamin and Helen Foster.

  Foster extended his hand.

  “Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said.

  Foster smiled, “Let’s get something out of the way right up front. I’m not a ‘sir’ --- never have been and never will be. I’m just plain Ben and this is my wife, Helen. May we call you Walt and Maggie?”

  “Certainly, sir, --- uhhh --- I mean, Ben,” I stammered.

  Off to a great start.

  “Let’s have a seat and get down to business,” he said.

  When we were all comfortably seated, he began, “We all know why you’re here and I want you to know that this cockamamie scheme was certainly not my idea. I’m the one who started poking the hornet’s nest, so I’m the one who should suffer the stings, if there are any.”

  Paul Ford broke in, “Ben is correct. When Mark informed me of the possible security risks, he and I formulated the idea, based on Mark’s knowledge of your remarkable resemblance to Ben.”

  “Gosh, Bro, thanks for thinking of me.” I didn’t mean to say it, but it just came out.

  Foster clapped his hands, “Sarcasm, I love it! I think, Walt, that you and I have a lot more in common than just our incredible good looks.”

  I saw Maggie and Helen exchange glances.

  I think they both rolled their eyes.

  Paul continued, “Walt, I understand the enormity of what we’re asking you to do, and if we weren’t totally committed to the message that this man has for the American people, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

  “I’m sure that you have questions. Ask anything --- anything at all. We have nothing to hide and we’re more than willing to share any information that will help you come to a decision.”

  I looked Foster squarely in the eye. “Ben, I mean no disrespect, but given the woeful track record of third party candidates, do you really believe that you have a chance to win this thing?”

  “Fair question,” he said, smiling. “If I told you that I thought that I could win this election, you would think me either a fool or a liar.

  “So your next question should be, ‘If you don’t think you can win, then why are you risking your life and asking me to risk mine?’ That, too, is a fair question.

  “I will tell you, honestly, why I’m doing what I’m doing.

  “I have lived in this great country for seventy years and I have always been proud to be an American, but I have seen many changes during those years and not all of them have been good.

  “I believe that slowly but surely, we have strayed from the path that once made our country the envy of every other nation.

  “I believe that the basic freedoms on which our republic was founded are being eroded away.

  “I no longer trust that our government is acting in the best interests of its citizens, and worst of all, I don’t believe that the other candidates running for office are committed to anything but maintaining the status quo.

  “Will Durant said, ‘A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself from within.’

  “I think that is happening before our very eyes and unless someone sounds the alarm, our country will continue down this destructive path.

  “Can we win this election? Only time w
ill tell, but win or lose, the American people will have the knowledge to make informed decisions for the future and vote for the candidates that will right the course of this great ship.”

  Ben Foster was correct --- we certainly did have more in common than just our good looks.

  While I couldn’t have said it as eloquently as he, I believed every word that he had said.

  I turned to Paul, “Why are you involved in this? You’re just a young guy. Realistically, wouldn’t your connection to this third party candidacy be tantamount to committing political suicide?”

  “Very astute, Walt. Yes, I’m risking a lot by managing this campaign, but I look at it like this --- if what the other two parties are doing is the future of politics in America, then I want no part of it anyway.”

  Maggie spoke for the first time, “I have a question for Helen.”

  “Sure, dear,” she said with a smile.

  “I read online that the two of you have been married forty-two years. How can you let Ben do this knowing that he could be taken from you because of it?”

  “I know my husband and I know that he is a passionate man,” Helen replied. “Sure, I could protest and he would drop out because he loves me, but to what end?

  “Life is meaningless without passion and without a purpose. Nursing homes are full of people our age who have lost their passion for life, and for me and Ben, that is worse than death.

  “Besides, the old coot could wander into the street tomorrow and be whacked by a bus. If he’s going to die, it might as well count for something.”

  Paul looked at his watch. “I don’t want to rush you. If you have more questions, we’ll talk as long as you like, but Ben has more calls to make.”

  I looked at Maggie, “I think I’m good. How about you?”

  She nodded.

  We said our goodbyes and on the elevator to the lobby Mark said, “I know you two need to talk. Just let me know when you’ve made a decision. Naturally, we’re hoping for a 'yes,' but if it’s a 'no,' we totally understand.”

  We had driven for blocks before Maggie spoke. “You two could have been brothers.”

  “So you felt that too.”

  “You want to do this, don’t you?”

  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  “You really liked what he had to say, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I really did.”

  “Yeah, me too, and I also understood what Helen was trying to tell me.”

  A long silence.

  “I think you should do it!”

  “Really?”

  “What the heck. If you’re going to die, it might as well count for something!”

  CHAPTER 4

  I phoned Mark as soon as we were home.

  He was delighted that we were on board. We scheduled a meeting with the captain for the next morning.

  I drove to the precinct with mixed emotions.

  On the one hand, I was truly excited to have the opportunity to participate in something that could possibly change the course of American history, but on the other hand, I hated leaving Maggie for four months and I dreaded the impact that the news of my death would have on my family and friends.

  The other thing that kept eating away at me was that I had always harbored a serious distrust of politicians.

  Jerry and I were discussing the subject one day and, as usual, he had a line from his comedy club routine that mirrored what we both felt.

  “What’s the difference between a dead cat on the road and a dead politician on the road? The dead cat has skid marks around it!”

  In my three years on the force, I had done a lot of crazy things in the service of Lady Justice. If she needed me to be a politician for a while, I figured that I could do that too.

  Once we were settled in, Mark didn’t waste any time.

  “In order for this to work, your death has to be believable. I think we have come up with a plan that will accomplish that. The captain will give you the details.”

  Captain Short drew a deep breath, “Walt, the department’s drug task force has been planning a strike against the Mexican drug cartel. The cartel has been bringing their product into the city on Missouri River barges.

  “They bury the drugs under tons of sand harvested from the riverbed. Front loaders scoop the sand and drugs into dump trucks and off they go and no one is the wiser.

  “An informant has leaked that the next shipment will be arriving in two days. That’s when the task force will strike.

  “The task force has asked the Midtown Squad to supply a dozen officers to assist in the raid. You and Ox will be part of that dozen.”

  Mark broke in, “We will arrange for barges to be docked on either side of the cartel’s barge. Ox will be assigned to the upstream barge and you to the downstream barge. The main assault will come from the dock side. Ostensibly, you and Ox will be there to make sure no one tries to escape by water, which is highly unlikely given the treacherous current in the river.

  “These cartel guys will be armed to the teeth and when the assault is mounted, all hell will break lose.

  “Once the firefight has started, all you have to do is watch for an opportunity to slip into the river unnoticed.”

  “Hold on just a minute! You just said that the Mexicans would be stupid to jump into the river and now you’re telling me to do that very thing?”

  “Calm down, Walt,” Mark replied. “We’ve got you covered. We will have two Secret Service agents in a boat waiting for you fifty yards downriver. You can swim, can’t you?”

  I nodded.

  “Then all you have to do is keep your head above water and the current will carry you right to the boat. You won’t be in the water five minutes. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

  I hate that expression. Every time someone tells me that, something seems to go terribly wrong.

  “This is the perfect cover,” Mark continued enthusiastically. “We had to figure a way to bump you off without having to deal with a body. People are sucked away into oblivion every year by that old river and no one will question the notion that a brave officer was shot, fell into the river and his body was lost at sea, so to speak.”

  “You seem to have my demise pretty well planned.”

  “Indeed we do, and seeing as how it’s going to happen two days from now, I’d suggest that you get your affairs in order.”

  Panic!

  That’s what I was feeling once the reality that I wasn’t going to be around two days from now finally sunk in.

  Being on the cusp of seventy, naturally the idea that my days were numbered had crossed my mind, but unless one has a terminal illness or a crystal ball, it just doesn’t seem real.

  Maggie had cancelled her real estate appointments so that we could spend our last hours together and so that I could make sure that she understood how to handle all of my household responsibilities that would now fall on her shoulders.

  It turned out that about the only two things that I had been solely in charge of were paying the few bills that came in the mail each day and taking out the trash.

  She assured me that she was capable of doing both.

  Her biggest fear was playing the part of the bereaved wife.

  It was going to take all her acting skills to feign the appropriate amount of grief, knowing that I was still alive and kicking.

  Another big challenge was handling the reactions of my family and friends.

  Since pretty much all of them were my age and older, the last thing we wanted was for one of them to be so grief-stricken that they would have a real, honest-to-goodness coronary of their own.

  Even though my impending death was not real, knowing that this assignment might actually end up that way, I decided to take the time to spend some time with each one of them.

  I have heard so many people say that if they had just known, they would have said this or that to the loved one before they passed.

  I actually had the opportunity to do just that.

 
Mary Murphy had been the manager of my flophouse, the Three Trails Hotel, for many years. She was delighted when I picked her up and took her to the Dairy Bar for an ice cream soda.

  Willie, my best friend and maintenance man, had saved my skin more than once when my cases had gotten me in over my head. We took a walk together in Gillham Park where he and I had posed as two old codgers playing checkers in order to collar a purse snatcher, my first week on the force.

  My dad, who had just recently come back into my life after years of absenteeism, had been doing his best to make up for all of those lost years.

  I spent an hour with him and Bernice going through some old photos of our early life together.

  As always, the Professor had words of wisdom to impart. I’m sure he had no idea how often his counsel had helped me through difficult times.

  I even stopped long enough to hear Jerry’s latest monologue that he was preparing for amateur night at the comedy club.

  The two days passed in the twinkling of a eye and in the wee hours of the morning, as I laid awake holding Maggie in my arms, I couldn’t help but wonder if this might be the last time I would feel her soft skin against mine, feel the beating of her heart and her warm breath on my chest.

  I was glad that it was dark and that she was asleep so that she wouldn’t see the tears that fell from my eyes and soaked the pillow under my head.

  You could feel the electricity in the air as the drug task force gathered in the staging area.

  All eyes were on Sergeant Rocky Winkler who was in charge of the operation.

  "Gentlemen, there has never been and most likely never will be another operation like the one we will be conducting today.

  “The smugglers will be loading their illegal cargo onto one of the big sand barges somewhere down river.

  "The drugs will be buried under tons of sand --- if we didn't have the intel from our snitch, it would just look like another barge loaded with sand dredged from the river.

  "The barge will dock by one of the ports at the confluence of the Kaw and Missouri Rivers. Bulldozers will off load the sand containing the drugs to waiting dump trucks.