The Car Bomb (The detroit im dying Trilogy, Book 1)

by T. V. LoCicero

  “Dad!”

  “Frank, we’re late!”

  “Thirty seconds,” he yelled back and lifted the receiver on the fourth ring. “Yes.”

  “Frank, it’s Dennis. I was hoping I’d catch you. I figured...”

  “Yeah, Dennis. I was locking the door. What’s up?”

  “Frank, I got Anthony Peoples on hold. I hope. He sounded pretty skittish, but I got him to agree to let me try to patch him through to you.”

  “Great, let’s try it.”

  “Okay, if this works, the next thing you hear will be Peoples.”

  The silence on the line lasted for several seconds. About to say something, he finally heard, “Frank? Hello?”

  “Anthony is that you? This is Frank. Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah, I hear you.”

  “Great. So how you doin’? You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. I was thinkin’ about comin’ back.”

  “That’s great, Anthony. I don’t know what they told you, but I’m just returning from vacation today. I’ll be back in town tonight. When can we meet? I can even do it tonight if we do it late.”

  “Naw, I ain’t comin’ back yet. Not at least until Thursday. I need some time to make sure of some things.”

  “So okay, where are you? I could even come to you if you think it’s safer.”

  “No, no. I’m comin’ back, and I’ll lay it all out with the tape and everything. But I gotta do it my way.”

  “Okay, that’s a deal. When will I hear from you again?”

  “I’m thinkin’ Thursday.”

  “Okay, that’s great. I’ll arrange to have a camera ready to do something maybe Friday morning. I want to make sure we do this for you as soon as possible. Because once we go public, you’re in a much safer place.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe. I’ll call you.”

  “I’ll be waiting, Anthony.”

  Chapter 62

  With its usual lunch-time business crowd, the Black Knight was bustling, and in the relative privacy of the high-backed Booth One, he sat with his friends O’Bryan and Dworkin. He hadn’t spoken to either of them in weeks, but when Peoples had called again this morning saying he was back in town, this lunch meeting had been arranged in no time flat.

  Having walked in five minutes early, he had found them deep in discussion with none-other-than Wil Barnes. So intent were they on the little prick’s every word that it had taken them a few seconds to notice Frank standing there. Had it all been calculated? Had they wanted him to find them conspiring with Barnes, their swallowed embarrassment all part of the act?

  So occupied had he been with such questions that when Barnes promptly retreated from the booth saying, “Hey, Frank, nice tan,” all he’d come up with was, “Beat it, you little bitch.”

  After the usual preliminaries about family and friends, Frank finally asked what they’d been huddled about with Wee Willy. The judge exuded an almost preternatural calm as he drawled, “Frank, Barnes is after us every other day for shit he can use on you. We’ve been stonewalling him, but we thought you should know what he’s doing.”

  Frank eyed first one earnest pal, then the other. “You guys are just a couple of princes. So how does the murder of Prentis Gant fit into all of this?”

  Sam got more interested in his food, but the judge didn’t blink. “Into all of what?”

  “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “No, I really don’t. But in any case, murder isn’t what the the coroner and the prosecutor called it. They said it was suicide.”

  “Yeah, well, murder’s still my theory.”

  There was silence as Sam chewed his cud, then wiped his mouth with the big white cloth napkin. Finally, he said, “Well, actually, now that you mention it, we were wondering why you’d be paying a midnight call on Prentis Gant. I mean, first you repeat the absurdities of an asshole like Randal Byrd. And then you go calling on a guy who absolutely hated our guts.”

  Surprised they would admit it, Frank asked innocently, “Why did Gant hate you?”

  Dworkin frowned. “He hated me from the day we started in the prosecutor’s office together. I guess it was some kind of jealousy thing. And Billy he hated for showing him up in court. The guy was an okay politician, but trying a case, he was a total incompetent.”

  The judge chimed, “Frank, we’re just concerned that people with an axe to grind have been feeding you garbage about us. And because you’re under a lot of pressure, both personally and professionally, you might go off half-cocked.”

  Frank smiled. “People with an axe to grind. You mean like Anthony Peoples? He thinks you murdered his wife and kids.”

  Dworkin looked up sharply. “What?”

  The judge said nothing, shaking his head in apparent amazement as Frank continued. “Oh, he’s sure it was a mistake, that the car bomb was intended for him and for the videotape he says he’s got showing the two of you taking a payoff.”

  Dworkin nodded three times, then spoke with the sound of perfect reason. “Frank, this is not believable stuff. You’re talking to dope dealers, murderers and professional liars. Surely you don’t believe this shit.”

  Frank gave them another mild smile. “Sam, right now I’m just listening. But what I’m hearing is pretty disgusting, and if it turns out to be true, you can take it to the bank that I’ll be breaking the story.”

  Dworkin turned his corpulant face to the judge. “Un-fucking-believable!”

  There were several seconds of silence as Frank leaned back and stared at his two friends, his smile still there.

  Finally the judge uttered a sigh and stared back. “Look, buddy, let me make this perfectly clear. What you’re saying is tripe. It’s garbage. And if you repeat any of it in public, your career as a broadcast journalist will be down the toilet. For openers, you can expect lawsuits for libel and slander that will tie you in knots for the rest of your life.”

  Dworkin addded, “And as of this Sunday, we’ve got Sherie all lined up with Barnes, and she’s ready to sing. All we do is say the word.”

  Frank dropped the smile. “Well, old friends, we all know what truth does to libel laws, so my advice is, go ahead and give Sherie and Barnes the word. Make a pre-emptive strike. Maybe, if it works, you won’t have to kill me too.”

  The counselor and the judge slid their eyes to each other and briefly bowed their heads. The judge said, “Frankie, you’re talking absolute nonsense here. I can’t believe the words coming out of your mouth.”

  “Well, I hope I’m wrong, Billy. For once, I really hope I’m wrong.”

  Chapter 63

  At 1:45 in the afternoon in Dr. Ben Stiener’s office waiting room there were four women reading magazines, one dabbing at her reddened eyes with tissue and one staring at a wall full of large framed photographs taken by the doctor himself on an African safari. They all look up with recognition, a couple with mouths open in disbelief, when Frank walked in and headed for the reception window. When he tapped on the glass, Sherie, in nurse’s white, looked up with surprised eyes and opened the window.

  “Frank, what are you doing here?” Her voice was a whisper.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  Sherie glanced at the gal at a computer nearby and then at the women waiting, everyone of them staring at her. “I’m working, Frank.”

  “I know. This can’t wait.”

  Sherie again looked around, catching eyes flitting away.

  “Sherie, it’ll only take a few minutes.”

  She turned wordlessly to her co-worker, who nodded.

  On her feet Sherie opened the door next to the reception window and led him past the waiting room eyes to exit the hallway door. In the corridor there was no one in sight, but, hand on elbow, he walked her several steps further away from the office door. They had not seen each other since since their memorable night together almost three weeks ago.

  “So what can’t wait, Frank?”

  Looking down at her lovely scowl, he felt some k
ind of new presence or authority in her. Maybe it was the antiseptic white, or the way her perfect breasts pressed against the fabric. Whatever, it made him regret even more what he had to say.

  “Sherie, I’m sorry it has to be this way. But I can’t see you again.”

  An unnerved surprise covered her lovely face, with a pale quality to those usually vivid blue eyes. “You came here to tell me that?”

  “Yes. And a few other things.”

  “Okay, so talk.”

  “Look, Sherie, I’ve always been very fond of you...”

  “Fond. That’s a nice word. Jesus, Frank.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry. The thing is, I’ve been in trouble emotionally over the past year, and you’ve helped me a lot. I’ll always be grateful.”

  “Hey, don’t mention it.”

  “Look, I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. I know I’m being a cad here, but I’m doing what I have to do. I’ve got to end this now and try to pull my life together.”

  “It may be too late.”

  Feeling close to hopeless, he stared at her. “You’re right. I know you’ve already talked to Barnes or you’re planning to, and there’s nothing I can do about that. I’d only warn you: steer clear of Sam and the judge. They may be in big trouble themselves.”

  “Yeah, what kind of trouble?” She leaned back against the wall.

  He pulled out an envelope from an inside suit coat pocket. “I can’t talk about it now. This is a check for the rest of the lease.”

  “Ah, the payoff. And the kissoff.”

  “Call it whatever you want. Just take it. And find yourself someone who’s really worthy of you.”

  Saying nothing and cocking her head slightly, she took the envelope and stared at him. Surprised that his eyes were beginning tear, he leaned in and kissed her delicately on the mouth. “I’ll miss you, darling, in so many ways.”

  Still leaning against the wall, she simply gazed at him. But her eyes were also getting moist when he turned and walked off.

  Chapter 64

  Typing furiously at mid-afternoon, working in the pit with Dennis and a half-dozen writers, producers and directors, he stopped occasionally to squint at the screen in front of him but seemed oblivious when Dennis tried to get his attention.

  “Frank?”

  With no response, the young producer turned in his chair, leaned forward and spoke directly into his right ear. “Frank, you gotta tell me what this commentary’s about, or I can’t stack this newscast.”

  Finally, Frank said, “I’m going down to read it to Alice in a few minutes. Don’t worry. Just give me two minutes off the top.”

  The young man shrugged and gave up.

  “Okay, you’ve got it.”

  Chapter 65

  One hour later, high-energy theme music for the five o’clock newscast flooded the control room, and 3-D graphics were bending around the line monitor’s screen as Dennis, the director and technicians, all hunched forward in their seats and listened to the urgent, pre-recorded voice of the station announcer: “Here with your news today at five is your award-winning Channel 5 news team: Frank DeFauw and Mary Scott, along with Steve Madden on sports and Mark Adair with the weather.

  The director barked, “Take one and...cue him.”

  In the studio the floor director snapped a finger at Frank.

  “Good evening, everybody. I’m Frank DeFauw. Tonight’s newscast begins with a commentary that’s really kind of a personal confession.”

  As he continued, his million member audience included Alice Whitney in her office along with Jack Johanson; Jackson and a few patrons in Marvin’s Bar; Sherie, still in her white uniform, in her living room; Marci DeFauw along with Claire and Bobby in their family room; Francine and Don Albert in the newsroom; Judge William O’Bryan in his chambers; and Anthony Peoples in a motel room.

  “For the past year, ever since the death of my 21-year-old son Tom in a boating accident last summer, I have often indulged in some pretty ugly and unhealthy behavior. I’ve been drinking too much. I’ve relied too often on prescription drugs to boost my mood. I’ve frequently avoided and ignored the people closest to me, particularly my family. I’ve been less than faithful to my marriage vows. And I’ve too often shortchanged the good and talented folks I work with here at Channel 5 News, giving less than enough of myself to this job I love so much. In short, I’ve squandered the trust of everyone important to me, and especially those of you in the viewing audience who expect and deserve nothing less than honesty and integrity from those of us who bring you the news.

  “My purpose tonight is simply to ask for your forgiveness. To my beautiful wife Marci, who, of course, has also lived for the past year with the devastating loss of our son: I can only say I’m deeply sorry, darling, for causing you pain. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I pledge to do everything in my power to make our marriage live again with love and trust.

  “To my daughter Jennie and son Bobby: I love you both more than I can say, and from now on I’ll be there for you in a way that I so often failed to be in the past.

  “To all of my friends and co-workers: I’ll never stop trying to be worthy of the kindness and understanding you’ve shown me over the years.

  “And to all of you out there who turn to Channel 5 for the news you need in this town: my pledge is simply to earn your trust again. That means no more drinking, no more drugs, no more sordid stories about bar brawls and public indiscretions. Just good old-fashioned hard work and dedicated effort to bring you the best, most comprehensive news show possible every single day.

  “That’s my pledge, folks, and with a little help from the Man Upstairs, we’ll make it a reality from this day forward. Mary?”

  Sitting next to him on the set, Mary Scott was nearly gaping at him. She turned to one of the studio cameras with a stunned look, then turning back, she put a hand on his. “Thank you, Frank. We’re all with you in your battle.”

  Again she turned back to the camera. “Tonight in our top story, Mayor Coleman Young says he’s in full support of his police department’s new policy of confiscating the automobiles of those who solicit sex from prostitutes on the streets of our city.”

  Chapter 66

  At the reception desk, Gwen was wearing a phone headset, frenetically busy with the lines. “WTEM.” (pause) “Thank you for calling, sir. I’ll let him know how you feel.” She punched a button. “WTEM.” (pause) “Yes, ma’am, I’ll pass your words along.”

  In the VP-GM’s office Alice and Johanson faced each other across her desk. His pipe cold in his hand, the news director wondered, “What if he’d come to us with that before the show?”

  “Yeah, I was just thinking about that. I’m not sure what I would’ve done.”

  “I’m not either.”

  Picking up her reciever, Alice dialed and waited.

  “Gwen, how are the calls?”

  At her desk Gwen shook her head. “We’re swamped. Maybe 50 so far, and except for a few nasty ones, I’d say all of them positive or supportive in some way.”

  Chapter 67

  In the newsroom with the 5 o’clock just wrapped, Dennis, Francine and Don Albert were sitting together. Dennis seemed to be talking to himself. “‘I’ve been less than faithful to my marriage vows?’ Can he get away with that?”

  Don said, “If anybody can, it’s Frank.”

  “How about Mary?” Batting his lashes, Dennis did a serviceable imitation of the co-anchor. “‘Well, Frank, we’re all with you in your battle.’”

  Francine had no doubts. “I thought he was wonderful.”

  “You always think he’s wonderful,” said Dennis.

  Don did his Frank impression: “Good evening, everybody. I’m Frank DeFauw, and tonight I AM the news."

  “That’s about it, said Dennis. And then Frank walked into the newsroom with a bounce in his step.

  “Hey, boys and girls. So far, so good. The calls are running 20 to 1 in my favor.”

&n
bsp; On his feet Dennis headed for him. “Frank, you were awesome.”

  Frank shook the young man’s hand. “Thank you, my boy, and thanks for your turst. I know I drove you a little crazy.”

  Don got up as well. “Great work, Frank. Your numbers are gonna go through the roof.”

  Frank said, “Yeah, well, maybe, probably. Really, I have no idea.”

  He stopped in front of Francine and did his Bogart. “What’d you think, sweetheart?”

  “I thought you were fabulous, Frank. Oh, by the way, Pam in promotion asked me to remind you about that shoot with them tonight at eight.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “They said it’s just one 30-second spot straight to the camera, so it shouldn’t take long.”

  “Thanks, honey.”

  As he moved to a computer and searched through some papers, a phone rang, and Francine picked it up. A few seconds later she punched a button and said, “Frank, for you.”

  He reached for a phone. “This is Frank.”

  A man’s unfamiliar voice said: “A moving little speech, Frank, but you just signed your own death warrant. And maybe one for your family.”

  He glanced around the newsroom. “Who is this?”

  The man on the phone snapped, “Forget that Peoples story, Frank, or you’re dead meat.” Then he hung up.

  Hearing the click, Frank yelled, “Hey, you son-of-a...” and slammed down the phone.

  Francine asked, “What’s wrong, Frank?”

  He picked up his papers. “Just a crank.” Up from the chair he headed for his office.

  Thirty seconds later the door was closed behind him, as he sat at his desk, as usual piled with tapes, files, newspapers and other debris, and dialed his phone.

  After a few seconds: “Hi. So what’d you think?”

  “What do you want me to say?” Marci sounded slightly pissed, no different than usual. “Was I moved? Yes. Can I even begin to understand why you chose to say all that on TV? Hardly. I mean, what am I supposed to do, carry a TV set around all day just in case you want to talk to me? Why tell the whole world about our problems?”