Dead Man Running Page 13

  "I do not. May I go now detectives? My husband is meeting me for lunch. He has a Chinese man that we plan to share."

  Bracey and Alvarez looked at each other. "Say that again, ma'am," said Alvarez.

  The woman giggled. "Sorry, my English is no the best, right?" She pounded her head with a tiny fist and let forth some expletives in Portuguese.

  She spoke slowly while maintaining eye contact with the detectives. "I meant to say that I am meeting my husband for lunch. He knows a Chinese man whose restaurant has the best food. We will share a meal at that man's restaurant."

  Bracey and Alvarez nodded. Bracey captured the interview, including the woman's faux pas at the end, and sent the report up the chain. Hours later it would hit the commissioner's desk to be filed along with several other similar cases.

  In the early morning Air Force One sat on the president's personal runway at Andrews. The CIA Director had just left the president's private office after delivering the daily national security briefing. Now, unexpectedly, the FBI Director occupied the seat facing Barack Obama. The president was sensitive about any delays – no CP time for this black man – and he gave Robert Mueller five minutes to tell his story and get the hell off his airplane.

  "We intercepted some chatter from the NYPD."

  "Why wasn't this part of Leon's briefing?"

  "This has nothing to do with terrorism, Mr. President. This is political in nature, hence the off the radar discussion."

  Obama nodded. "Continue," he said.

  "Police chief Kelly was made aware of some unusual reports associated with an event that celebrated Ben Wiley's re-election last fall."

  "You have intercepts on the police commissioner of New York?"

  "Yes, sir. It was determined during the last administration that any high ranking official in New York City is too important to the security of the city and this nation to have any privacy whatsoever. We record and monitor real time any conversations from mid level department heads to the mayor."

  "You're not telling me this."

  "No, sir, I'm not." Mueller smiled. "Do you want to stop it?"

  "Do I ever want to stop anything Bush and Cheney put in place?"

  "I'll take that as a 'no'."

  "We never discussed it," Obama said. He met the man's eyes and Mueller finally nodded. "Give me the quick version, Bob."

  "Three separate significant others have made reports to the police. The quick version is that they say that their significant other has been replaced by someone who looks and talks like the person but isn't the person."

  "Invasion of the Body Snatchers?"

  "Yes, sir, exactly. We have pod people in New York City." Mueller did not crack a smile.

  "What was the police's response?"

  "Mostly hilarity, sir. They took the report because they were afraid of being sued but they did nothing. Problem is, in every case a few days later the person complaining came back in wanting to retract the report. This pattern is what got the chief's attention."

  "What did they do?"

  "They spoke to the complainant, the person they were complaining about and any associates."

  "And they found?"

  "Nothing, sir. The conversation we overheard, Kelly dropped the matter."

  "But, if there is something to it…"

  "Yes, sir. I authorized an investigation. We've interviewed all the attendees of the Wiley event, the wait staff, kitchen personnel and hotel management. We did so without police knowledge and under the guise that we were investigating suspected drug use at the celebration."

  "Won't that get attention if it hits the papers?"

  "Drug use by the NYC elite – no, sir, I don't think that is front page stuff."

  "Anything come out of the interviews?"

  "Nothing. We didn't find any pod people, Mr. President." Mueller laughed.

  "No zombies or ghouls?" asked Obama.

  "None, sir. However, we were unable to locate four individuals – one money manager for a large investment bank and three members of the hotel staff."

  "Are they reported missing?"

  "One is, sir, an African American male who worked for the bank."

  "Check for a white girl," Obama smirked.

  "Sir?"

  "Brother probably booked with a white girl," he explained. Mueller wanted to smile but the expression on the president's face was serious.

  "Yes, sir. We'll follow-up on that."

  "The other three?"

  "All illegal immigrants – a husband and wife from Cameroon, a female from Costa Rica. Our working theory at this time is that they either moved on to other jobs or returned home."

  "They never return home," Obama said with sadness in his voice.

  "Yes, sir. The funny thing is, their lockers still had their personal effects, their street clothes even."

  "That is funny. Africans don't like to give up their clothes. I would know."

  "No, sir."

  "Anything there, Bob? I want to get outta here. We're going to visit a green company that I feel has a lot of potential. It's called Solyndra."

  "Nothing, sir. I can find no issues with Mr. Wiley."

  "Have you spoken to Ben?"

  "No, sir. Should I?" Obama rubbed his chin, looked out the window at the brightening tarmac.

  "No. The less said about this the better. I'm already a socialist, a communist, a Kenyan and a Muslim." The men laughed. "The last thing I need is to be a pod person."

  Mueller stood, shook his president's hand and exited the plane. Moments later the plane was wheels up and zooming west. The president relaxed with some light reading. His mind, though, would drift often over the next five and a half hours, sometimes finding it considering the three sets of clothes left behind by the missing hotel workers.

  It would nag at him until the inconvenient thought was finally vanquished by the wonders found in Solyndra's high tech factory.

  That evening, across the continent Janine Rhodes sat in her living room grading homework assignments from her fifth grade class. She was dressed for bed – pajamas, robe and slippers. She was comfortable on her couch with a pile of work before her and a glass of wine within arm's length.

  The assignment had been for the children to create an emergency evacuation plan in the event of fire or earthquake. Most of her students lived in the Altadena Arms and their plans were very similar: get downstairs as quickly as possible and get clear of the building. The only child who offered a different plan was Tamesha Holloway, one of Janine's favorite students. The form asked the students to diagram their escape plans first for fire, then for an earthquake. Tamesha had carefully drawn her escape path down the stairway closest to her twelfth floor apartment. The child rightly noted that the elevators usually don't work and, even if they did, would not be safe. Janine drew a smiley face near this statement.

  A refugee from Altadena, she knew the elevators were unreliable. They had been so when she lived there in the 70's and 80's.

  She had high hopes for Tamesha and prayed that she would survive the Arms. The odds were low but Janine had faith in her Creator and felt that He wouldn't let all the good ones be destroyed. Tamesha definitely was a good one.

  At the bottom of the form was space for 'Other emergencies'. Some of the children had taken the opportunity to describe what to do in the event the family was visited by gang bangers or the police. Tamesha Holloway took the opportunity to describe her emergency procedure in the event 'monsters' showed up.

  "Hide in the kitchen underneath the sink. First clear out the cleaning stuff and make sure there are no mice or roaches."

  Below Tamesha's words were a diagram of the kitchen and the sink. An arrow pointed to where Tamesha would hide.

  Janine corrected Tamesha's spelling and grammar and set aside the paper. She would talk to the grandmother, Mrs. Thomas. Perhaps there was something going on with a neighbor or relative?

  She took a sip of her wine, thought back to her days in the Arms. There were many m
onsters there in her day, many more now. She said a little prayer for Tamesha, imploring God to protect her from the monsters.

  FOURTEEN

  THE CAPITAL BUILDING - WASHINGTON DC – APRIL 2011

  The Clerk of the House of Representative stood before Elias. She was a middle aged black woman, heavyset with unfortunate rings of fat circling her neck. Elias was taking his oath of office – representatives who join the session due to the death or resignation of a member get to take their oath alone on the House floor. It was the crowning moment of his political career but all Elias Turnbull could think of at the moment was what a tasty meal this butterball of a woman would make for Wiley and his ever expanding army of undead minions. He shivered, and barely kept his hand on the Bible held by Clerk Miller.

  Finally it was done and Elias walked back to his office. An orphan, he had no family to witness his triumph. The only witnesses were several of his fellow members milling about the Floor at this late hour – nearly nine o'clock in the evening – and two members of his congressional staff. Wiley had converted his old staff to zombies and augmented the group with two veteran political hacks who he had converted in the Friday Night Massacre – what Elias and Mira jokingly called Wiley's murder and resurrection of New York City's power players.

  Two of these undead sharpies had accompanied Elias to his swearing in: Marty Rabinowicz and Mary Lewis-Crawford. Rabinowicz had the appearance of an ancient rabbi – gray hair, ample paunch, slumped shoulders and ready smile. He was anointed by Wiley as Elias' chief of staff. He had been O'Donnell's go to man in the Mayor's Office and, surprisingly, considering that he was dead, Elias found him very engaging, creative and competent.

  Lewis-Crawford looked like she should be selling Girl Scout cookies. She was small of stature with a wide, welcoming face. She was no beauty queen but her homely appearance disguised a fierce intelligence. She was a pit bull in a poodle's body. Elias wondered, given her hyphenated name, what had happened to her husband? Perhaps he was undead and assigned by Wiley to a task to best serve the 'Wiley Way'? Or he could have been lunch for his wife.

  The trio walked underground to the Rayburn Building. They took a nearly empty elevator to the new congressman's second floor office. Inside, working hard, were other wide mouthed members of Wiley's tribe. His secretary, Louise Gibbs, who performed the same role for Ben Wiley, told Elias that Mira Hidar waited in his office. Elias indicated to his closest advisors that he would speak to Miss Hidar alone. Elias found that zombies were not unaware of affairs of the heart. The M&M team – Elias' pet name – each smiled and went about their business.

  Mira Hidar stood when Elias entered the room. "Congressman Turnbull," she said.

  "You didn't call me that last night. I think the phrase was 'chocolate stallion'." Mira smiled, wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him deeply.

  "I wanted to be the first to congratulate you," she said.

  He pulled her closer and they kissed again. "Will I see you later?" he asked. He knew with Wiley's confirmation hearings beginning tomorrow morning, it was unlikely that she would make an appearance in his DC apartment.

  Mira backed out of his arms, looked away. "We have more prep to go over. He's got it down but he wants it perfect."

  Elias nodded, the gesture hiding his disappointment. "The old Wiley would have read a one page brief thirty minutes before the hearing."

  He smiled and thought of the good old days.

  That old alley cat, all around bad boy and consummate politician Ben Wiley. The times he spent wheeling and dealing with the boss. Hanging with buddies Chi and Mookie watching the Knicks lose again. They were all dead now. He was the survivor but stuck in some kinda hell.

  Mira broke into his reverie. "That's not the old Ben Wiley. He's better and he'll lead America down a far greater path."

  Elias said, "I agree. He is a great man now." He said that for the benefit of the listening devices he knew had been planted in his office. His words were fake but he sensed that Mira was a true believer. He wanted more from their relationship – the 'friends with benefits' bullshit was getting old – but he realized he could not have more with her with her as long as she was aiding and abetting a megalomaniacal, mass murdering, power grabbing zombie.

  He kissed her one last time, more chastely this time lest his sexual urges get the best of him. "You better get going," he said. "You don't want to keep Ben waiting."

  "Dinner tomorrow?" she asked with one hand on the doorknob.

  "Dinner tomorrow," he responded and he watched her go. He turned and looked out his window. Soon he saw her exit the building. His eyes watched her until she became a small dot before disappearing over the horizon. He wondered why she did not have a car waiting, why she walked here from Wiley's temporary offices in the Treasury HQ.

  He watched some more and finally convinced himself that she walked to gain a few more minutes of freedom from Wiley. Maybe she and he shared the same thoughts about the 'Wiley Way'?

  Time would tell.

  He left his office, saying goodbye to his staff, still hard at work. He would go back to his apartment and enjoy a Heineken and the Knicks at the Lakers.

  In bed, he would dream of better times, of friends not so long gone.

  Gretel Hesterbrink and her best friend Gloria Murkowski positioned themselves in front of the widescreen located in the Bayside Arms retirement home in Brooklyn. They had commandeered the television from the trio who were playing Wii bowling. To Gretel, you could play the Wii anytime – once in a lifetime could she watch her former pupil, little Benny Wiley, at his confirmation hearing for a seat in the president's cabinet.

  Given the dustup with Wii triplets Mary Lou, Victor and Dudley they were already into Wiley's opening remarks by the time Gretel flipped to CSPAN.

  How handsome he looked, Gretel thought. Wiley wore a crisp black pinstriped suit with a white shirt and a slate tie. His lapel was decorated by a US flag.

  Her attention drifted to the angry group of Wii wannabees skulking about the dayroom throwing darts with their eyes at Gretel and Gloria. She gave them the look that she used to give the bad boys in her classroom. Benny Wiley had been one of those bad boys but Gretel Hesterbrink, Miss Stoneybrook back then, had straightened Benny out with her sharp words and a few whacks of her yardstick. Look at him now! He's where he is all because of me!

  Gretel's eyes drifted back to the screen, drawn by what she just heard.

  Wiley said: "I want Housing and Urban Development to be a model agency. Not just an agency but an agent of change for America. I want it to create living space that my own mother would be proud to occupy." He then turned around in his seat, smiled, clasped both hands in front and nodded his head toward a petite gray haired matron seated in the front row of the Senate chamber. The woman was crying, excitement and pride sharing her ancient features. She waved at her son and Wiley turned back to the committee. He had a tear in his eyes, which he allowed the camera to find before he deftly wiped it away.

  "Who is that woman?" Gretel asked out loud.

  Her friend Gloria, who had drifted off, roused herself to attention. "What?" she asked as her eyes scanned the room for the Wii'ers. She found them in the far corner sword fighting with the Wii remotes.

  "That woman, I don't know who she is. Wiley's mother died at least twenty years ago."

  "You sure, Gretel?"

  Wiley seemed to be concluding his opening remarks. He was talking about bringing a new level of competency and accountability to government. He again referred to the gray haired woman seated behind him, how she worked hard all her life, cleaning the floors of those above her on the economic ladder in order to lift up her son. He called what she had done the 'Wiley Way' and defined it as hard work and sacrifice for the greater good. When he finished he was greeted by muted applause from the demure audience and a peck on the cheek from his proud mamma.

  But that wasn't his mamma – or was it? They were similar in coloring – that deep, dark Yaphet Kotto 'back t
o Africa' black skin. And they clearly had the same wide mouth, full of bright white teeth. Gretel Hesterbrink hated people with wide mouths and she didn't know why. Maybe it was how they reminded her of clowns and Gretel had been frightened by a clown in her youth.

  "Maybe I'm mistaken," she finally responded to her friend.

  She turned her attention back to the hearing. The senator from Nevada, Reid, was asking a question. Gretel could read people and he had bad skin and beady eyes. That boy had given some teacher a lot of trouble along the way. She leaned forward on the couch so she could hear.

  "Mr. Wiley I'd like to tell you first how touched I am by the story of you and your mother's struggles. It is a uniquely American tale and I, for one, look forward to what the 'Wiley Way' can contribute to our nation."

  "Thank you, Senator," Wiley responded. Gretel recognized the same look of mischief on his face that he had before he used her scissors to hack off pretty little Louise Lee's hair braid.

  "Mr. Wiley, are you able to review the status of HUD and federal stimulus dollars? What has been accomplished thus far, what funds remain and how do you intend to make the best use of those dollars to help put Americans back to work while fulfilling HUD's mission?"

  "What a softball question," Gloria remarked.

  "Wait until the Republicans get their turn," Gretel responded.

  Wiley droned on with his response – 'shovel ready projects' was said so frequently she expected a yellow duck loaded with cash to come down from the ceiling. Now Groucho Marx, that was a funny man, thought Gretel. She remembered watching "You Bet Your Life" on her father's knee. Gretel drifted away from the nursing home.

  Gretel woke with a nudge from Gloria. "Now he's gonna get his ass handed to him. Here's that Republican kook from Tennessee."

  Senator McConnell adjusted his microphone. "Mr. Wiley, I too appreciate your background and what it says about our great nation."

  "Thank you, sir," said Wiley. He looked very humble, thought Gretel.

  "Given the financial trajectory of this administration, how do you plan to bring budget discipline to this department?"