by Dan Walsh
Paco stood up, so did Jeff. “Do I get my blade back?” Paco said.
Jack shot him a look. The two young men walked down the aisle toward the double glass doors. Paco looked back at Jack, just once, confusion on his face.
Jack put the knife into his pocket and walked back to his favorite pinball table. He still had two games left, but he wasn’t in the mood anymore. He went into the restroom and splashed cold water on his face. Then headed toward the parking lot. He had no category for what just happened.
Ten minutes later, as he drove out of the downtown area and over the Chambers Road Bridge, Jack tossed Paco’s switchblade out the window into the river. He didn’t need it. His Glock had been sitting all along in its holster under his seat. He had a permit that allowed him to carry it with him.
Would he have to start doing that now?
35
Jack drove along the winding, hilly roads back to the cabin. A drive that normally relaxed him. Not this time. He felt all keyed up inside. Some of it was likely the adrenaline rush receding to its proper tide. His mind kept involuntarily replaying the incident over and over in his mind. It had all happened so fast, and none of it made any sense.
He had just gone into that arcade maybe twenty minutes after his meeting with Joe Boyd and Hank. He hadn’t told anyone he was going there. It was just a spontaneous whim. So how did these two guys know to find him there, and who could have sent them…and why?
He thought about calling Rachel, then thought again. She’d be so upset and worried if she found out what happened, even though Jack had made it through unscathed. Just the idea that two guys had jumped him like that, clearly intent on beating him to a pulp. A year ago, before Jack had started taking the Muay Thai classes, that’s exactly what would have occurred. He wouldn’t be driving leisurely back to the cabin; medics would be rushing him to the hospital in the back of an ambulance. He managed a smile as he thought about that.
He’d just taken out two thugs, barehanded, and pretty handily at that.
He might tell Rachel about it later, but not now. Instead, he waited until he pulled into the clearing beside the cabin, got out and called the Culpepper PD, the non-emergency number. The woman answering the phone said that Detective Boyd was interviewing someone and couldn’t come to the phone. “Is Hank Jensen available by any chance?”
“Hank? Yeah, I think Hank is still here. I’ll put you through.”
“Officer Hank Jensen, how can I help you?”
“Hank, this is Jack. Jack Turner.”
“Jack…what, did you forget something?”
“No.” Jack sighed. “I just got jumped by two thugs at the Fun Spot Arcade.”
“What?”
“You know the one on Franklin Street?”
“Yeah, I know it. Are you okay? Maybe you should be calling 911.”
“I’m okay. Actually, neither one laid a hand on me. I’ve been taking Muay Thai classes the last year. They came in pretty handy just now. Think I may have cracked one guy’s ribs and broken the other guy’s nose.”
“Whoa, Jack. For real?”
“Yep. The one guy was even going for a knife. I got it off him before he could do anything.”
“Jack, where are these guys? We need to pick them up.”
“They took off. I don’t know where. I’ve never seen either one of them before. I don’t think they’re students at Culpepper.”
“Were they trying to rob you?”
Jack walked over to the fire pit by the lake, sat in one of the adirondack chairs. “I thought so at first, but that’s not what this was about. It’s kind of crazy. Before they attacked me, one of them told me why they were there. From what he said, they were there to see me, specifically.”
“I’m not following you. This wasn’t random? They were targeting you?”
“Yeah, apparently.” Jack told Hank exactly what they had said.
“Someone had sent them there to warn you? Who?”
“I don’t know. I tried to make them tell me. The big guy didn’t know, and the shorter one—he’s the one seemed to be in charge—said if he told me anything they would kill him.”
“Kill him? You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was. That’s what he said. See, this doesn’t make any sense to me. First, they tell me that I’m butting into somebody else’s business, stirring up all kinds of trouble, then say they were sent there to warn me I better stop. I had just come from my meeting with you guys, talking all about Senator Wagner’s father and this old cold case murder idea. I’m wondering, how they could possibly know about that?”
“There’s no way they could know,” Hank said. “It was just you, me and Joe in that office. I haven’t told anyone, and Joe and I didn’t even get a chance to talk about it. Right after you left, he had to interview a witness about some car theft case we’re working on. He’s still in there with the witness now.”
“Can you see why I’m a little spooked?” Jack said.
“Sure, I can. But this has to be some kind of a mistaken identity deal. They must have thought you were somebody else. Did either one of them ever use your name?”
Jack thought a moment. “No, I don’t think they did.”
“Well, see? They weren’t targeting you. They must have had you mixed up with someone else. Maybe some other guy was supposed to be there at that arcade right then and by some crazy coincidence, you popped in instead. Wrong place, wrong time.”
Jack so wanted to believe what Hank was saying.
“Nothing else makes any sense,” Hank continued. “Even so, these are some nasty characters hanging around town. Sounds like you dished out your own measure of well-deserved justice, but I’d still like to get hold of these guys and lock ‘em up. Think you could come down here and go through some photo books. There’s a good chance guys like that have been arrested before.”
“I suppose I could,” Jack said. “But first, maybe you could check with the owner of the arcade, see if they’ve got some surveillance cameras that picked all this up as it went down.”
“Oh, they’ve got cameras at the Fun Spot all right. None of them work. I’ve had some dealings with that place. Usually, kids trying to break into the machines. I noticed the cameras and asked the owner about it. He said they haven’t worked for years, and he doesn’t have the money to repair them. So, you’re pretty much all I’ve got.”
“When would you like me to come down?”
“The sooner the better. If we know what these guys look like, we might be able to pick them up right away. You didn’t see what kind of car they drove in?”
“No.” Jack really didn’t want to do this. That’s not how this afternoon was supposed to go.
“So, whatta you say, Jack. What time can you be down here? I’ll make sure I’m here then.”
“Give me an hour?”
“That’ll work.”
The truth was, Jack wasn’t sure he wanted to tangle with these guys a second time. If it was a case of mistaken identity, and he left it alone, it might just go away. Did he really want to get mixed up with them, on any level, and take a chance that whoever sent them might now have a reason to come after him on purpose?
36
Senator Burke Wagner looked at his watch as his frustration mounted. It was 1:06pm. Where was Vandergraf? Their lunch appointment had been set for 1pm.
He looked through the glass window of the Chez Bruchez, eyeing the montage of walking legs just visible at street level. Then realized how absurd it was, as if he’d recognize Vandergraf’s shoes. Chez Bruchez was the only high-end French restaurant in Culpepper. Here, patrons got to pay twenty-plus dollars for a half-empty plateful of something they couldn’t pronounce correctly. But they earned the privilege of telling others they had eaten lunch at the Chez Bruchez.
Wagner leaned back in his chair and looked at himself in the mirrored wall. Two decades in a sedentary job hadn’t gotten the better of him. Look at that waistline. He worked out two days a week, played rac
quetball on a third. Still had all of his light brown hair. Well, almost all.
“Sorry, I’m late,” said a voice over his right shoulder. Wagner turned in time to see Vandergraf take his seat, then unfold a linen napkin across his knee.
“Drove in from outside of town, got stuck behind an old man on a tractor. You know how that is. Single lane, curvy roads, no place to pass.”
Wagner did know how that was, which was why he always allowed five to ten extra minutes when his route involved the country roads outside of town. “Is that the first slow farmer you’ve come across since moving here to Culpepper?”
“Well, no…” Vandergraf looked into his eyes. He got the message.
“Ever eaten here before?” Wagner had never met his young aide here. He wondered if Vandergraf might need help to place his order.
“No, actually, I haven’t, but—”
“Can I help you, Messieurs? Are we ready?” asked a tall, thin waiter with a thick French accent.
Wagner wasn’t convinced it was authentic. “We’ll probably need a minute, Jacques. My aide here has been running a little late.”
“That’s okay, Jacques. If you’re ready, Senator, go ahead. I think I know what I want. Let me just take a look here and see if they have it.” Vandergraf’s eyes scanned the surface of the menu.
“Right, Jacques, well, I’ll have…”
“The usual, Monsieur Wagner?” Jacques smiled.
Wagner had only ever tried three items on the menu and had only really liked one. “Sure, Jacques. I’ll have that. And a glass of Chablis? Pick a good year.”
“Very good,” Jacques said.
“Certainement, Jacques,” Vandergraf said. “Je voudrais … hmmm … je voudrais La Canard a l’Orange, s’il vous plait. Avec Chablis.”
“Tres bien, Monsieur,” Jacques replied.
“And, Jacques, non presse.”
“Very good, Monsieur. I understand.” Jacques gave Vandergraf a satisfied grin, wrote down his order, turned and walked away.
Clearly, Vandergraf didn’t need his help. Wagner had never learned French. Back in college, he’d thought about taking it, but his father hated the French.
“I spent two high school summers in Paris,” Vandergraf said. “Come here often?”
“Every now and then,” Wagner said. “Did you get my voicemail?”
“The one about Mr. Herndon coming through with flying colors? I did. I can’t say I’m surprised. The way I left him after our meeting, he seemed pretty persuaded. So, I’m glad to hear it.”
“You mentioned in your text,” Wagner said, “that something fairly urgent had come up. Something we shouldn’t talk about on the phone.”
Vandergraf looked at his watch. “They should have gotten back to me by now.”
“They? Who are they?” Wagner said.
“Earlier today, I gave a pretty urgent assignment to two young men I hire for very specialized kind of work. I’ve used them before a few times, and they’ve always come through. They’re not very bright, but then, these assignments are never very complicated.”
“Anything I should know about?”
“I’m not sure, that’s why I wanted to meet in person. This has to do with your instructions regarding plausible deniability. I certainly understand the concept of not sharing certain details of my work with you, to protect your reputation and your ability to remain detached from any activity that might damage it. You pay me very well to exercise good judgment. But the situation I’ve just become aware of crosses into territory we haven’t covered before. It has to do with your father.”
“My father?” Wagner said. “What kind of situation would come up that might involve my father? He’s been dead for over ten years.”
“I remembered that, sir. Nevertheless, it has. I have no idea what it’s about, and very few details to offer. I do know how rigidly you guard any information that has to do with your family’s past, and I perfectly understand that.” He looked at his phone. “I had hoped these men would have called me before we met, so I could include how the situation was resolved as part of my update. They should be getting back with me any minute.”
“You do know,” Wagner said, “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I do,” Vandergraf said. “And that’s intentional on my part. Seems like the very concept of plausible deniability suggests that I play it safe, and err on the side of telling you too little, not too much.”
Vandergraf had a point. But he had also piqued Wagner’s curiosity.
“Maybe I could handle it this way,” Vandergraf said, “if you learned that someone was asking questions about your father with a police detective, would that be of little concern to you, or would you want me to do whatever I had to do to make it stop?”
Wagner’s heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t good, not good at all. No matter what it was. He did his best not to let his depth of concern alter a single feature on his face. “I’m leaning toward you doing whatever you have to do to make it stop. Within reason, of course.” Wagner knew he had better set some boundaries.
Vandergraf picked up on this in his reply. “Perhaps I over-spoke. When I said doing whatever I had to do, I wasn’t referring to—to use an old German metaphor—the final solution. Although, that might be necessary in any assignment as a last resort. But I do feel better hearing your reply. It lets me know I probably handled this in a way that would meet with your approval. If you knew the whole story. Happily, we can leave it at that.”
“So, the situation is handled then?” Wagner said.
Vandergraf picked up his phone again. “Hopefully. I believe it should be.”
Just then Jacques walked up with their glasses of wine. “Your lunches will be out shortly, gentlemen,” he said and walked away.
Vandergraf’s phone began to vibrate. He picked it up. “Finally.” He looked at Wagner. “I better take this outside.”
Wagner nodded.
“Hold on, Paco. I’ll be right with you.”
Wagner watched Vandergraf navigate quickly through the tables and chairs toward the steps, then up the steps and out the front door.
Out on the sidewalk, Vandergraf un-muted the phone. “Okay, Paco. Please tell me you’re calling to say mission accomplished.”
A long pause. “I wish I was.”
His voice seemed shaky. “What happened? You didn’t get caught?”
“No.”
“You made sure there were no people, no one recording things on their phones?”
“Yes.”
“Then…what? What went wrong?”
“I don’t know how to say this. The target, this Professor, he was not like I expected.”
“What do you mean?”
“He looked like I expected, but he didn’t act like I expected.”
“What are you saying? Stop dragging this out. What happened? Just tell me.”
“Basically? He kicked the crap out of us. Both of us.”
“What?”
“He didn’t look like nothing. Like I could have whupped him without Jeff even being there. I warned him like you said. He didn’t seem to even know what we were talking about. I didn’t really know what we were talking about, so it’s not like I could ask him. I figured, maybe he’s just playing stupid cause he knew what we were about to do. You know, act innocent and maybe we would go away. So it was time for the beat down, only he suddenly becomes Jason Bourne, and we’re the ones getting the beat down, me and Jeff. I can hardly breathe without pain. Man, I think it’s my ribs. Jeff’s nose is broke. His eyes are all swelled up. You didn’t pay us near enough for this.”
Vandergraf couldn’t believe it. Stupid idiots. This thing was supposed to be quick and easy, over and done. “So, you think he didn’t understand the warning? Is that what you said?”
“That’s what it seemed like. But like I said, he could’ve just been acting. All I know is, I don’t want to get around that guy anymore unless we go in there with guns. He even to
ok my blade. I’ve had that thing for six years.”
Vandergraf had looked up this guy Jack Turner at the university’s website. He looked very average, definitely not like somebody who could go “Jason Bourne” on someone. “All right, Paco. Don’t worry about it. I’ll put Plan B into action.”
“What’s Plan B?”
“Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t involve you. You got your money, right?”
“Yeah, but don’t call us for a little while. We need some time to heal up.”
Vandergraf hung up the phone, put it back in his coat pocket. He headed down into the restaurant to face the Senator. Just as he reached their table, Jacques came up and set their lunches down on a stand. Vandergraf sat. Both men eyed each other dubiously as he set their plates before them.
“Enjoy,” he said.
After he left, Wagner said, “So…is it handled? Everything the way it needs to be?”
“Not quite, sir. My guys dropped the ball. But don’t worry. It’s just time to implement Plan B.” The problem was, Vandergraf had no plan B. He better come up with one pretty quick.
37
Officer Tony Campbell was surprised to see that history professor, Jack Turner, back at the station. Twice in one day. Vandergraf wouldn’t be happy about that. Of course, Campbell was happy to have some action, anything to keep himself relevant so they’d keep sending that monthly check. But he couldn’t call Vandergraf back unless he had something substantial to say.
Turner walked straight to Hank Jensen’s desk. Campbell wanted to listen in but another officer kept pestering him and he missed most of the conversation. Hank and the professor headed over to Boyd’s office, just long enough to duck their heads in for a chat. Then Hank escorted the young professor down the hall to one of the interview rooms.