The Prosecution of General Hastings
Page 3
CHAPTER TWO
Friday afternoon, and to Sally’s thinking it had come none too soon. Sally and Tom Stillwell had come to regard Friday evenings as ‘date night.’ Meeting for a drink at the Cattlemen’s Club had become a weekly ritual that the couple looked forward to, some weeks more than others. Located on the top floor of the bank building in which Henson & Byars was located, “the Club,” as it was simply known to its members, was a convenient and elegant watering hole and restaurant. On any given night one would find there a cross section of Oklahoma City’s upper crust. Oil men, cattle barons, land owners, politicians and businessmen all had a place at the Club. All partners at Henson & Byars held memberships to and used it routinely for entertaining or meeting with clients.
Sally had arrived first and found an out-of-the-way table in the spacious oak paneled bar near the window. Tom would be driving up from Fort Sill and was expected sometime around six-thirty. The bar was only moderately busy and Sally took the time to review a brief written by one of her paralegals as she sipped a glass of Oak Valley Chardonnay. She had expressed her appreciation of its buttery dryness to the club’s wine steward the first time he offered it to her and he had made sure that he kept some on hand ever since.
Far across the room, Sally observed a distinguished looking man who appeared to be in his early fifties. He was sitting with an attractive woman, who looked to be younger. Something about the man looked familiar but she was more taken with their conversation which had become more and more animated from the moment that she had arrived and noticed them. Though she could not hear what was being said, the conversation between the two was becoming intense and quite animated. As if on cue, with others in the bar taking notice, the woman abruptly stood. She picked up her drink and threw it forcefully in the man’s face. And then in a voice heard by all, she said, “You really are the son of a bitch that everyone says you are.” She took her coat that was draped across her chair, turned on her heel and walked out of the Club.
The man watched the woman leave, making no effort to follow. He retrieved a handkerchief from his hip pocket and deliberately wiped the moisture from his face and jacket. The other patrons turned to look away, hoping to diffuse the tension. After several minutes, the man stood, he placed several bills on the table and moved toward the Men’s room. Still far across the room, his eye caught Sally’s. For an instant contact was made. Very subtly the man nodded, acknowledging her. Sally watched him leave.
“Jack Hastings,” she said to herself.
Lieutenant Colonel Tom Stillwell, still wearing his Army Class A uniform walked through the entrance of the Cattlemen’s Club, straight to her table and leaned down to kiss his wife. “How is it that you look so incredibly gorgeous at the end of the day?” he asked.
“Well, hello there, Soldier Boy,” she said smiling. “You are looking pretty handsome yourself.”
Manuel, their waiter seemed to appear from nowhere once Tom was seated. “Your usual, Colonel Stillwell?” he asked.
“Yeah, Manny. The coldest Pabst Blue Ribbon you’ve got,” Tom answered with a smile.
Sally watched her husband and smiled. She never tired of looking at Tom Stillwell. They had met when she was just two years out of law school and an associate at Henson & Byars. He was a captain attending the advanced course for Field Artillery Officers at Fort Sill, just ninety miles away. It was a Christmas formal that was held at the Officers’ Club. An old guy friend from O.U., who was then an Army officer, had asked her to accompany him on a friendly date. Almost as she entered, Sally and Tom spied each other across the room. They later discussed the magnetism that seemed to draw them to each other that night. They began dating immediately and seemed destined for the long term. Tom, however, was deployed with the first troops sent into Afghanistan and the relationship, as often happens with service members, was put on hold. Through the wonders of email they maintained contact as often as they could. Then upon his return, Tom proposed. He was literally on bended knee in the baggage claim area of Will Rogers World Airport in Oklahoma City. Caught completely by surprise, all she could think to say at the moment was, “Gee, Tom, what about Mom and Dad?”
“I’ve just taken them to lunch in Nashville, Sally,” he replied. “Wild Bill and Connie seem to think it is a pretty good idea.” The fact that Tom Stillwell had stopped in Nashville to ask for Sally’s hand had more than sealed the deal. She loved the man but she loved the fact that he shared her old-fashioned family values. They also shared an admiration for “Wild Bill” Wilcox, Sally’s father.
Bill Wilcox had entered the Army with an R.O.T.C. commission when he graduated from the University of Tennessee in 1968. With the Vietnam conflict running hot and heavy, the young lieutenant went into Army aviation after attending Field Artillery Officers training at Fort Sill. He flew helicopter gunships through two tours in Vietnam. Highly decorated in combat, “Wild Bill,” as he was called by his flying buddies, stayed to make the Army a career. He got all the right assignments and attended the necessary schools to make Colonel after twenty-two years of service. His last assignment was again back at Fort Sill as Post Commander. One of his staff officers was Major Jack Hastings.
Shaking herself from the past, Sally asked her husband, “How are things at Fort Sill today, Colonel Stillwell? Did you shoot any of those big ole guns that you boys seem to like playing with so much?”
“Not today my dear,” he answered. “We have inspections coming up, so we are paying close attention to other things. And how about your day? Anything interesting?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” she said.
“Wow. What does that mean? Or, do I want to know?” Tom Stillwell was a professional soldier. And while he found his wife’s legal career interesting, he knew that an attorney’s work often dealt with details. Details that he thought would, more often than not, put him to sleep.
“I got a call this morning from a retired Army general. He wants me to help him in some corporate matters. I really don’t want anything to do with it and I’m going to pass the case on to Flynn or Murphy. You probably know the guy,” she said.
“Who is it?” Though there are some ninety thousand officers in the United States Army, it is likely, due to specialization, and the transient nature of the job that one officer might know, or have served, with another.
“His name is Hastings. John Jackson Hastings,” she answered watching Tom’s face for a clue.
He groaned. “Ole Jack Hastings, huh? Yeah, I know him. We’ve crossed paths several times. Can’t say that he is one of my favorites, though. I was very surprised to see him get his star as a brigadier general. And then I was shocked when he got a second one.”
“Yup. He retired as a major general. Or, that’s what he told me this morning. I met him years ago when he served under Daddy at Fort Sill. It was back in the ‘90s. He was a major then.” Sally had decided not to tell the whole story. It would serve no good purpose. “And, for a real coincidence… he was just here.”
“Here? As in… this bar?” Tom asked.
“Yeah. He was sitting with some woman over there,” she said indicating the table. “They were having some kind of spat. She jumped up and threw her drink on him and left. He left just a few minutes ago.”
“Did you speak?”
“No. But he seemed to have recognized me.” She thought for a minute. “I don’t want to waste any more of our weekend talking about Jack Hastings. Are you ready to eat? I’m famished.”
Tom smiled back at her. “I am, too. How about one of Monty’s steaks? Let’s go over to the dining room, have dinner and head for home. Sound good to you?”
“Perfect.” She lifted her wine glass to touch his beer. “Here’s to Friday…and having my hubby here to share it with.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said.