by Allen Weiner
“Sorry to bother you,” Max said when he was within earshot of Tex. “Do you know how to do a three-way call?”
“You betcha.” Tex put down his magazine. Cheech and Chong, the stoner comedy act, was on the cover, but Tex was focused on the album reviews. “It’s simple. I’ll write down the steps.”
Max called Aaron and said the three-way call was a go. Max would first call Aaron and then Joe Taylor on his private number. At that point, Aaron would take over.
The hands on the ancient wall clock in the bureau appeared to Max to be moving backward as he waited for the three o’clock showdown. He was too nervous to eat but nibbled on a bag of Bachman pretzel sticks he brought back from his last trip to see his family.
At 2:58, Max dialed Aaron. Aaron confirmed the connection was clear. He told Max to take deep breaths and dial Joe Taylor.
“Yeah, who is this?” Joe Taylor answered angrily on his private line, indicating he was busy.
“Joe, it’s Aaron Grant and Max Rosen. Do you have a minute?”
“I do. Your minute starts now.”
“We understand the investigation is over, and the FBI is holding a press conference on Saturday to announce the results. Can you confirm that?”
“Where the hell did you hear that?” Taylor said with a furious visceral reaction. After those words, there was a long pause. “Look, guys, I am tired of this back and forth game. Let’s have an honest conversation.”
“That’s all we want,” Aaron responded.
“Your information is correct. I must applaud you for your legwork and the accuracy of your information. You are better reporters than I originally thought.”
“It was mostly Max’s work,” Aaron said.
“The people I spoke to,” Max said, joining the conversation, “are good, honest people who have no intention of interfering with the wheels of justice. They are only interested that the truth comes out.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Joe Taylor answered with a much softer tone in his voice. “Let me tell you what’s going on. In exchange, I ask a favor. Agreed?”
“Depends on the favor,” Max said in a lighthearted way.
“Yes, we will announce the termination of our investigation into Mayor Donahue, the union guy, and the head of the local Democratic Party. It will be around three on Saturday afternoon. We will announce the indictments were handed down and give a general recap of the years-long work.”
“That must be some favor you’re asking for that,” Max said.
“That kidnapping you looked into last week—the one with Arnie Mitchell’s wife. Well, there’s a lot more to the story, as you probably figured out. I want you, Max, to dig into it like you did the mayoral corruption case.”
“It sounds like this is personal to you,” Aaron said, sensing more to Joe’s request.
“This guy Mitchell—he’s a real piece of shit. We believe he uses underage girls in his photos, but no one has ever proven it. It’s just a hunch, but we suspect the faux kidnapping was from someone or a group looking out for revenge for his slimeball antics.”
“I’ve been going through a lot of background—you know, how he left New York and Penthouse because it wasn’t bold enough for him,” Max said with a determined tone. “I am happy to look into it as far as it goes.”
“I want you to promise me you’ll bury that guy,” Taylor added. “When we meet, I can give you a couple of off-the-record leads.”
“When did you want to meet?” Aaron asked.
“How about Friday afternoon? I’d like to go over the draft of your story and help fill in some of the blanks. You should tell your editor—that Devlin guy, right? —that you will have a final version Saturday.”
“Where should we meet?” Aaron and Max asked in near unison.
“That same diner works. See you gentlemen then.”
As he placed the phone on its cradle, Max’s heart raced. It was all over. Looming before him was a probable award-winning story of corruption, with another big piece waiting in the wings. It was the best Max had felt since the moment Joe Taylor knocked on his door on New Year’s Eve. Life had been looking gloomy, but now, everything was falling into place.
Aaron Grant called Max to strategize on how to approach Jack Devlin with the news. Since Aaron worked in Allentown’s main office, he suggested that he approach Devlin face-to-face. Grant felt that the managing editor wouldn’t mind the last-minute changes given the FBI announcement’s timing.
Max spent the rest of the day and Thursday poring over every piece of reporting that had been done about Arnie Mitchell since he moved to the Lehigh Valley. Thursday, Max drove down to the Allentown Public Library and sat in front of a microfiche machine reading stories in national magazines and other newspapers about the porno king. By the time he drove back to Nesquehoning on Thursday night, he had three large folders filled with copies of stories related to the smut publisher, his background, family, and other businesses he owned.
Knowing his partner was out of the office, Aaron left a message on Max’s home answering machine, stating that everything was good with Devlin. The newspaper had been running promos on its new Sunday series, promising for some blockbuster reporting. Max and Aaron were happy they wouldn’t be disappointing the newspaper and its readers.
The meeting with Joe Taylor on Friday afternoon was a brief twenty minutes. Over cups of coffee at the same diner where the three men had their Mexican Standoff days before, the mood was light but with serious undertones. Joe finally went through the draft of the story and made notes in the margins, adding color where necessary and crossing out things that he knew to be erroneous. Before they left their booth, Joe handed Max a blue folder with the FBI logo taken off.
“Here’s everything you need to put that son of bitch behind bars,” Taylor said, handing the papers over the Max. “You need to let your buddy here help you. I think you have promise, but he’s a wily veteran.”
Max nodded his head. “Thanks for everything. Will we see you Saturday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll be in the back trying to be inconspicuous with some of the others who worked on this case with me.”
A cold drizzle had begun shortly after sunset. The temperature never got above twenty-five on January 4, and there was concern that freezing rain was on the way. The weather was not on Aaron and Max’s mind as they drove over to the Chronicle office. For the next three hours, they revised their story and added detail to make the words jump off the page. It was close to 9 p.m. when they were done, so Max and Aaron put their final version in Jack Devlin’s inbox. Aaron followed that by calling Devlin at home with the word that they were finished and post-editing; the story was good to go.
Max got back to Nesquehoning after ten, but he was far too amped to go to sleep. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, so he popped a frozen lasagna into the toaster oven and grabbed the phone. Max was on top of the world and wanted to share his excitement. He wanted to share it with Sue.
Max again reached Sue’s answering machine with her oddly short message. “Hi Sue, it’s Max. Again. I have some great news to share. Call me.”
As he hung up, Max realized he hadn’t spoken to Sue since January 1, the morning after their romantic dinner was rudely interrupted. As he put his makeshift dinner on the table, Max realized he had heartfelt feelings for Sue. As he ate, he replayed New Year’s Eve, and while they never consummated their special time together, he hoped it wouldn’t be long before they rekindled the flame of that night.
Max slept in Saturday morning and took his time reading the paper and having breakfast. He devoured the last bagel he had brought back from his last trip to Philadelphia, along with some veggie cream cheese that he lathered on the poppyseed bagel. Max envisioned the Sunday paper’s front page with his and Aaron’s story dominating the entire section above the fold. While Max didn’t necessarily care about the attention and possible awards, he did think about the ninety-nine newspapers that rejected him and how lucky h
e was that he wound up working for the Chronicle.
The FBI office in Allentown was on Hamilton and took up half a block. The building was a mix of old and new with most of the original architecture in place while, per new safety standards, the windows and roof had been upgraded. There was no public parking lot, so Max got a spot down the block in front of the Allentown School District building, closed for the weekend.
Joe Taylor left their names at the front desk, and after showing his ID, Max was led to a large conference room at the end of the hallway on the main floor. He was only fifteen minutes early, but he spotted Aaron seated halfway from the front as he entered the room. Max joined him without saying a word.
Promptly at three, the regional director, Len Breslin, who orchestrated the operation, came up to the stage and spent close to thirty minutes going through the case involving Mayor Donahue and a host of conspirators. Not all names were revealed, but the man in charge described their roles in some detail. Breslin was quick to thank the agents involved in the work, mentioning that some were involved for several years working undercover. Max and Aaron traded glances and smiled.
Once the press conference was over, Max and Aaron got up from their seats and looked for Joe Taylor to offer their thanks. It had been a rocky relationship, but in the end, the undercover FBI agent came through. Max spotted Joe Taylor speaking to a female agent at the back of the room on the far side from where he stood. As Max and Aaron walked over, Joe Taylor saw them and waved the two men to come over.
Max was walking in front of Aaron as they reached the corner where Joe Taylor was standing. He turned his back toward Max and Aaron and gently took the arm of the female agent standing to his left. As she turned to face the two reporters, Max felt a bomb go off in his chest.
“Hi, Max,” the female agent said, reaching out to touch Max’s arm.
“Sue?” Max whispered as he felt his world cave in.
Chapter Twenty
Max stood motionless. He stared at Sue and tried to take it all in. Everything suddenly made sense.
Sue was working for the FBI, meaning she told Joe about Barrett planting the transmitter in the city hall elevator. She was the one who knew Max would be in Allentown the day of the transmitter planting. Thanks to Sue, the FBI knew every one of Max’s moves, which kept them one step ahead. That included the logistics behind the whole fake bugging of Max’s home phone.
And then there was New Year’s Eve. Sue told Joe Taylor where Max would be that night. Taylor’s sudden arrival at Max’s home came as no surprise to Max’s dinner guest; it was now obvious why she never asked Max why Joe Taylor had shown up.
The New Year’s Eve charade hurt the worst. Max took a deep breath, allowing him to keep his composure and hold on to his dignity for a few more minutes. With Max impersonating a statue, Sue broke the ice.
“Max, I need to tell you that this was more than an act. I did not plan on developing feelings for you, and I’m not sorry about that.”
Overhearing this heartbreaking conversation, Joe Taylor signaled Aaron Grant and suggested they give Max and Sue some privacy.
“Max, I’ll be in the lobby. Come talk to me before you leave,” Grant said.
Before Joe Taylor left the meeting room, he reached out his hand to Max.
“Here, this is for you,” Taylor said, handing Max the FM transmitter that was planted in City Hall. “I deactivated it, but I thought you might want it as a souvenir. In case we never meet again, I wish you luck in your career—you have great potential.”
Max and Sue were now alone in the back of the room, where the details of Max and Aaron’s big story had come to fruition. He tried to make sense of colliding emotional forces that gripped his soul. Was Sue’s masquerade some sort of cosmic punishment for using spycraft to get the story about Chris Albrecht’s trial? The sponge that was Max’s memory flashed through every moment he and Sue spent together and realized it was a joke, and he was the punchline.
“Max, please say something,” Sue said, softly pleading.
“I don’t know what to say,” Max responded. He felt the uncontrollable urge to weep, but deep inside, he remained calm. “I guess I have a lot to think about.” Max looked toward the door, knowing the clock on his emotional dam was ticking and was about to burst.
Sue reached into her purse and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped package. Before Max could move away, she reached for his arm and gently held him in place.
“This is for you. Please don’t open it until you get home. I will never forget you and the time we had together. Someday, I hope you forgive me, but my job can be a tough one on me and the people around me.”
Max walked out the door and stopped for a moment to talk to Aaron.
“Are you all right?” Aaron asked Max with deep concern.
“I don’t know. Please just let me go.”
Max left the FBI building and walked the few blocks to his car. He had placed the decommissioned transmitter and Sue’s gift in his new briefcase. Once in his car, Max placed his new bag on the passenger’s seat. Knowing he couldn’t wait until he got home, Max reached inside and took out Sue’s gift.
Inside the gift wrap was a new bottle of Chanel No. 5 with a note:
Dear Max:
I know how much you liked my fragrance. Please give this to the woman you meet who can love you the way you need and deserve to be loved.
“Sue”
With that, the dam burst, and Max wept like never before.
Max let the flood of sadness run its course. After what seemed like an eternity, he started the car but had no idea where to go. He wanted to be alone, but he needed to talk to someone. Max had been with the newspaper for over four months. While he was friendly with many of his colleagues, there wasn’t anyone with whom he could share such a personal crisis.
For a brief moment, Max thought about going to Philadelphia to stay with his parents, but that refuge would come with a series of questions. The words “I hope you know what you’re doing” from his mother still lingered in his memory. Max was not up for any reminder of his foolishness. He knew Barrett, who was emotionally shut off to such matters, also wouldn’t be much help. That left Max with his only choice—go back to his apartment in Nesquehoning and sort things out.
Max knew it would not be wise to turn on the car radio. Any one of several sad or sentimental songs would lead to a stream of tears. He drove in silence the entire forty-five minutes, oblivious to everything around him except for the traffic. Max hadn’t eaten since breakfast but had no interest in stopping along the way; he was too busy eating his heart out.
The memory that served him so well throughout school and in his current career was now a curse. Max could relive every moment with Sue over the past few months, including their afternoon pretending to look at apartments in Allentown. Thinking of the night of the company Christmas party, when he drove a drunk Sue back to his apartment, just added to his painful recollections.
Max arrived home in Carbon County just as many people were making their plans for a fun Saturday night. Despite the cold weather, his neighbors were no doubt deciding where to go out for dinner or what movie to see. Kramer vs. Kramer had just made its way up to theaters in Lehighton and Jim Thorpe, and both movie houses would be packed that night. For Max, his plan for Saturday night was simple—go to bed and hope that January 6 was just a bad dream when he woke up.
In the middle of the night, hunger got the best of Max. He woke up at 2 a.m. and made himself a cheese sandwich and opened a can of Campbell’s vegetable soup. Max dined in a complete daze and returned to his bedroom sanctuary as soon as he put his dinner plates in the sink.
At eight o’clock on Sunday morning, Max opened his eyes and instantly remembered that his and Aaron’s big story would be splashed across the Chronicle’s front page. He rushed down, grabbed the paper from on top of the mat outside his door, and gingerly walked up the stairs. He went to the couch and took the paper out of the plastic bag that protected it from t
he elements. The headline screamed across the top of the Sunday edition of the Chronicle.
Mayor Mark Donahue, Union, and Political Leaders Busted in FBI Sting
Despite the trauma of the last twenty-four hours, Max took pride in the work he and Aaron had done. The story ran across the entire front page above the fold. The details were shared in powerful prose, which was predominantly Max’s handiwork. The reporting went into an elaborate description of the facts: Mayor Mark Donahue was recruited from Springfield, Illinois, where he had a bad reputation as a crooked politician and less-than-honorable businessman. Brokered by his father-in-law, Jim, who was well connected in the Lehigh Valley, there was a secret meeting between the local union and the Democratic Party.
The county had experienced severe economic depression, so the union and local politicians cooked up a scheme to elect a puppet mayor who would act as a front to bring new businesses to Allentown and the surrounding area. The union wanted to focus on manufacturing jobs and insisted they be located in run-down areas where buildings could be purchased at auction. Union contractors would get a huge shot in the arm with remodeling work.
Everything fell into place when Mark Donahue agreed to be part of the scam. Donahue was looking for a reason to leave Illinois, given his business and personal indiscretions. While it wasn’t in the story, Max would later find out that it was Matt Carpenter, a union shop steward, who tipped off the FBI years ago that something fishy was going on. At that point, the FBI began an investigation and finessed one of its top undercover agents into the inner circle.
Max’s well of despair was lifted. Even though he knew it would take time to get past his quasi-relationship with Sue, he needed to focus on what he and Aaron had achieved. He couldn’t overlook the fact that he had another story, the Arnie Mitchell kidnapping, waiting to be tackled.