The Usher

by Will Pettijohn

  Rick sat in an uncomfortable chair and waited for the judge to come into the deli. He’d seen Mathews on the bench several times, and he’d also met him a couple of times when the judge was an attorney. Rick’s father had known Judge Mathews a lot better than he did. But that didn’t help today, as Rick’s father had been killed a few years back in a car accident. Rick watched the door intently and waited impatiently. Finally the judge walked through the door and into the deli.

  Rick stood up from his chair and made eye contact with the judge. He walked over to him, and the two shook hands. “Judge Mathews, it’s good to see you, sir,” Rick said as he smiled.

  “Yeah, Rick, it’s a pleasure seeing you. I’m sorry about your dad; he was a very good man and a great cop.”

  “What’s good to eat here, Judge?” Rick asked as the two men turned and began looking at the menu on the wall.

  “I really like the tuna salad sandwich; they put red onions in it that make your taste buds go crazy.”

  “Well, that’s what I’ll have then,” Rick reported to the clerk.

  “Make that two; and we’ll each have chips and a drink as well,” Mathews directed the woman attending the counter.

  The woman wrote the order down, punched it into the register, and said, “Okay, that’ll be $12.09, sir.” Rick took his wallet from his trousers and paid.

  The two men took their cups and made their way over to the drink fountain. They filled their cups, placed the lids on them, and then walked to the table where Rick was originally seated. “How well did you know my dad, Judge Mathews?” Rick asked as the two took their seats.

  “Well enough to call him a good friend, Rick. We used to get into a lot of trouble together back in the day. I remember your dad was one of the smoothest-talking men I’ve ever known. He could talk a homeless man out of his shoes. But that’s not why you needed to see me today, is it, son?” Mathews tilted his head.

  “No, sir … I need to tell you about a dirty FBI agent who will get away with murder if I don’t do something about it and soon.”

  “What do you mean, Rick?”

  “Well, I don’t know if you’re up to speed on the Bennigan murders or not, but an FBI agent named Gary Young killed five people and then tried to pin it on another man just so he could catch him.”

  “Yeah … I remember hearing something about it yesterday. But isn’t that a federal case now?”

  “Yes, sir, but the federal judge was playing golf when it all went down. He wasn’t around to sign the warrant for the FBI tape recording when we busted this son of a bitch.”

  “Oh, and that makes the tapes inadmissible as evidence. But why didn’t they just get another judge to sign the warrant before they recorded him?”

  “I don’t know, your Honor. The agent who helped us catch him said his director was going to handle all of it. Now it seems that he will get away with murder if I can’t stop him,” Rick complained as he watched the server bringing their lunch to the table.

  The two men stopped talking as the woman delivered the food and asked, “Do y’all need anything else?” They shook their heads and she turned and walked away.

  “What does this have to do with me, Rick?” Mathews asked.

  Rick looked at the table as if he were embarrassed. “I was going to ask you if there is any way I could get a warrant from you for that day,” he said softly as he unwrapped his sandwich.

  Judge Mathews looked at the detective with a questioning stare and then opened his sandwich wrapper as well. “What good would a warrant from me do, if the FBI recorded the conversation?”

  “I was wearing a wire as well, Judge. That makes the recording from our department admissible in court if we have a warrant from you signed on or before the day of the bust.”

  “You do understand what you’re asking me to do, right?”

  “Yes, sir, I do know. I know that it’s wrong to ask you to do it. But I know that if I don’t do something to stop this madman, he’ll get away with murder and then he’ll be unstoppable,” Rick said as his head slowly fell in shame.

  “I don’t know anything about this case, Rick … Can you explain it all to me?”

  Rick explained the entire case beginning with the Bennigan murders and his investigation that followed. He told the judge about the phone call he’d gotten from Agent Woburn and the murder of Squeaky to cover the trail left after he planted the evidence in the house where the murders were committed because Young made him. Judge Mathews listened to every detail of the case as he finished his lunch. When Rick was finished, Mathews looked at his wristwatch. He pushed his chair away from the table and stacked his trash in the plastic basket his meal had been delivered in.

  “I have to get back to the courthouse. I’ll get in touch with you after I’ve had time to think about it all,” Mathews said as he stood and then pushed his chair under the table.

  “Thank you for hearing me out, Judge Mathews,” Rick said, and stood up and shook the judge’s hand.

  As Rick watched Judge Mathews walk out of the deli and then out of sight, he felt his heart sink deep into his chest. He sat back down in his chair and then began to wonder if he hadn’t offended the judge beyond repair. Then the small bell hanging over the door rang and Rick looked at the door to see the judge walk back into the deli. He walked over to the table and leaned down.

  “Are you certain that this guy is guilty?” Mathews asked.

  “Yes, sir, he told me everything on his own without duress,” Rick answered.

  “Well, you’ve got your warrant, son, but I better not regret this.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you, Judge Mathews. You will not regret it at all.”

  “Bring me a copy of everything, all of the information, and I’ll fill the warrant out tonight. Then be in my office tomorrow morning bright and early to pick it up.”

  “Yes, sir, and thank you again, Judge Mathews,” Rick said. He stood up and uncontrollably shook the hand of the man who would help him bring Young to justice.

  Judge Mathews shook his hand and turned to walk out of the deli. Rick gathered his trash and took it to the trash can. He was elated with the good news. Now he would be able to stop Young from beating the murder charges. And he’d be able to get the tapes heard by the jury if it even went to jury trial. Rick walked out of the deli and smiled all the way to his car.

  Chapter 5

  Colt opened the door and walked out into the suburban jungle just as he had done a hundred times before. But today was different. Today he felt blessed. He hadn’t been so lucky in the past where the law was concerned; usually in a situation like this he would have to pay off a detective or eliminate the risk all together. And this time was different for another reason: it was as if he had friends everywhere and they took care of the problem, even before it damaged him or exposed him.

  He looked around at the neighborhood, thought for a moment, and realized that he had a very good life. The neighbor across the lane from him had been injured in a car accident when he was only eighteen years old. He had never had children or been married, because of his debilitating injuries.

  Colt thought about his own daughter and again felt blessed. He wanted to do good things, but he knew that he was destined for this life, the life that had been chosen for him. He walked down his short drive to the curb out by the street and looked down the road to the east. The leaves were still changing from green to brown, orange, and yellow. It would be a slow and beautiful fall. Texas had a late fall almost every year.

  He noticed that the widow who lived a couple of houses down on the opposite side of the street had accumulated a lot of leaves and trash in her yard from the large maple and oak trees that lined her property and the wind blowing in any homeless piece of paper that wandered by.

  He thought to himself that today he would make a difference where he could. If he co
uld make her day a little brighter, then it would make him feel better as well. He would feel as if he were doing something to contribute. He made his way to his garage and entered the code to open the door.

  He walked in and looked around the shelves for the large yard-garbage bags he had bought last year for his own leaves. He picked up the box of bags and grabbed the leaf rake from the wall.

  He walked over to the widow’s house and began cleaning the debris from under the trees and making several piles in the woman’s yard. He stopped a couple of times to catch his breath and then went back to work.

  He noticed the curtains move, but when he looked at the house, he didn’t see anyone. He continued to work until he had filled six bags to the top. He looked around and concluded that he would spend the rest of his day filling more bags and hauling them to the curb for Thursday’s trash pickup.

  As he knelt to fill another bag, he heard the sound of footsteps in the leaves behind him. He turned to see an older man with his hands placed deep in his pockets. “Hello there,” Colt said as he got to his feet.

  “Hello yourself, young fella. Is Widow Barnes paying you to clean her yard?” the old man asked as he leaned back and forth in his house shoes.

  Colt closed his mouth and tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as he answered, “No sir. Thought I’d help her out and clean up these leaves before they overrun her yard.”

  The man looked around at the many bags of leaves and nodded in approval. “You just decided to be a good neighbor and help out, huh?”

  “That’s right. I know she’s a widow and I don’t see her out much, so I figured I’d help her,” Colt said as he knelt and continued filling the bag.

  “Well, do ya need any help?”

  “Oh, umm … I think I can get it, sir. But thank you for offering.”

  “Okay, well … it’s a very nice gesture from you for doing this. Widow Barnes probably won’t even notice, but I’ll say thank you.” Colt watched the man walk away and then stop. What’s your name?” the man asked, but he didn’t turn around to look at Colt.

  “My name is Leonard, sir,” Colt replied, still looking at the man with his back to him.

  “I’m called Tom, Thomas McElroy Sr. I’ve lived in this neighborhood for more than ten years now. I don’t recall ever seeing you clean yards before. Did ya lose your job at the bank?”

  Colt rose to his feet and paused for a second. “I don’t work at a bank, Mr. McElroy, and I’m in acquisitions. But no, sir, I didn’t lose my job.”

  “Well, just the same, I haven’t seen you cleaning yards before, Leonard,” Thomas said as he turned and faced Colt.

  “I haven’t ever cleaned yards before. I just saw the leaves and wanted to help.”

  “Okay … Well, you have a nice day, Leonard,” Thomas said, and then he turned and walked away again.

  Colt watched the man walk away and wondered what the man’s point was. He wanted him to understand that he was just trying to help an old woman out. He shook his head in frustration and went back to work. The sun was just about over the horizon when he finished placing the last bag out by the curb.

  He gathered his rake and what was left of the bags in the almost empty box and turned toward his house. As he reached the street, he heard the large wooden door open and turned to see Widow Barnes standing in the doorway. He simply raised his hand to wave and then continued walking to his house.

  He arrived and placed the rake and box back in the garage and then closed it. He walked to his front door and went to open it. As he grabbed the handle, he noticed a yellow sticky note taped onto the glass door.

  He looked around and then read what the note said.

  I need your services.

  Bill Sacks

  (555) 342-2461

  Colt looked around again for the person who had left the note, but there was no one there. No one in the business knew where he lived except for Gamboni. Could someone have followed him home after a job? Could someone know who he was?

  His mind raced. He was apprehensive as he gripped the handle and slowly opened the door as quietly as he could. He looked for trip wires as he scanned the entire perimeter of the small opening. After he was certain that there were no dangers, he entered the house. He listened for the slightest noise. He hadn’t been in this situation before, someone approaching his home … the place where his family slept and felt safe.

  Colt continued to be as quiet as a mouse as he made his way to the hall closet and reached his muscular arm up to the top of the shelf. He felt around for a second and then found it. He pulled a Colt 1911 .40-caliber automatic pistol from a dark brown leather holster. He cocked it as quietly as he could … Click … click. He then made his way through every inch of his house. He believed that someone had placed the note there as a distraction, a ploy to catch him off guard. He wasn’t going to be taken by surprise, especially in his own home.

  Chapter 6

  Young sat in the cold, lonely cell and listened for any sign of movement outside the door. Before long, a guard peeked in the small, reinforced window at the top of the door. Young looked at the man but stayed seated. The door made a loud click and then opened slowly.

  “On your feet,” the guard snapped. “You’re going to be taken to a cell that will be yours for your visit here.”

  “I’m gonna be in the general population?”

  “No, you’re going to solitary confinement for your own protection.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stand up and face the bunk at the wall,” the guard said as two other larger guards entered the room behind him and slammed the door closed.

  Young jerked from the sound of the huge steel door slamming and then stood and faced the wall as he was told. The very large guards approached him as if he had a loaded gun in his hand. They slowly knelt down to his feet. “Don’t move a single muscle, don’t even look at these guards, and everything will go as planned. If you try to harm one of my guards, I’ll make sure that you have a very bad day. Are we clear?” the smaller guard who wore three yellow stripes on his sleeve and clearly was in charge asked.

  “You guys act like I’m armed with a bazooka or I’m gonna beat someone up. Like I’m a fucking cannibal or something. I’ll do what you want me to do, sir. I’m not going to be any trouble,” Young said as he stood in place.

  The guards shackled his feet as they continued to watch him closely. They then placed a chain around his waist and followed by running a chain through the shackles on his legs as well. They placed handcuffs on his wrist and tightened them until his face winced from the pain.

  The two guards looked at their supervisor and nodded, and then the door opened so the parade could begin. The supervisor stepped out into the large room and moved to the side. The other two guards turned Young around, and they too exited the room with their prisoner. As Young entered the large room, he asked, “What is this room?”

  “It’s called a day room. It is an area for all the inmates living on this cell block to socialize and get exercise. Don’t worry, though—you’re the first to visit this cell block in a long time,” the supervisor answered.

  “You are moving me from an area that has no inmates to another area that has no inmates. Does that even make any sense to you?”

  “You’re not a regular inmate, Special Agent Young. You’ll have the finest protection the government can give you.”

  “Why do you think I need so much protection? Is there something I don’t know?”

  “Well, ya see, when we have a guest of your stature visiting us, it’s hard to keep it a secret. You probably busted some of the guys who are residents here. We wouldn’t want them getting the chance to say thank you … now, would we?” the supervisor asked with an evil smile on his face. Young shook his head and moved between the guards who would protect his life as he walked to his new
home.

  Young and the three guards made their way through several small hallways and finally came to a doorway at the end of one of them. The supervisor poked his head up to the glass and looked both ways as if he were going to sneak into a church service after it had already started. He then looked up at a camera and nodded. The door made a loud click and he pushed it open. After the door was open, he made his way in and the others followed.

  As Young entered the door, he could see a large three-story opening with a catwalk all the way around the inside of each floor. He looked at the floor and could see more stories below the one they were on. About every eight feet or so, there was a cell door. They were not like the one he had been in before. They were doors made just of cold steel bars covered with a light tan paint. Young followed his guides and tried not to make eye contact with any of the other prisoners.

  After they had walked fifty feet or more, he began to hear the names the others were calling him. “You dirty fuckin’ pig!” one inmate shouted from a cell behind them.

  “Sorry mutha-fuckin’ rat,” a big Aryan Nation gang member whispered as they walked in front of his cell. The names continued and got even louder as they walked farther along.

  Young never lifted his head. He simply acted as if he didn’t hear them. They made their way down two flights of stairs and came to a locked door at the end of the tier on the farthest corner of the catwalk. Once again the supervisor looked up at the camera and gave the silent command. The door made the normal clicking sound and the man pushed it open.

  They entered the door and closed it behind them. In the hallway, the doors once again changed from the glass window doors to solid steel. Eight of these doors were spread apart at twelve-foot intervals. On each door were the letters PC, followed by a set of numbers. They made their way past two doors and stopped in front of PC-194.

  “This is your new home … It will be very quiet here, so you’ll have a lot of time to think. You will be safe in here, and none of your fans out there can touch you. Breakfast will be served at six hundred hours, and tea time is at nine, hee hee,” the supervisor said, poking fun at the now helpless Young. The man took a key from his pocket and opened the door. The room was dusty, and the smell of mildew was as strong as one could imagine. The guards made their way in and pulled Young with them.