The Kingfish Commission_A suspense novel about politics, gambling — and murder.

by Hal M. Harrison

  A large billboard off the interstate flashed “KEXI News...live, NOW!” with flashing neon lights whenever a newscast or bulletin was airing. A big, red switch in the KEXI control room turned the sign on, and deejays had been fired before for forgetting to switch the flashing sign on whenever news was on the air.

  Rob knew he could learn more from working in the KEXI newsroom than he would in any college classroom, even if he was just reading news copy off the wire, rather than delivering “KEXI Breaking News — Live!”

  Attending to menial tasks in the newsroom is exactly what he spent most of his internship doing.

  Each day, after class, he would report to the KEXI newsroom and check the assignments board. It would usually direct him to rewrite wire copy, dub “sound bites” to audio files, edit sports reports or make sure the deejays had the updated weather forecast every three hours. Rarely would Rob get an out-of-station assignment. Walker and Bradford had the seemingly glamorous duty of patrolling the city in the bright red KEXI news units, phoning in reports or dashing into the news booth at the last minute to deliver a “KEXI Update.”

  But, such was the life of an intern.

  Anita Fannin was also a freshman at LSU, and shared the same droll assignments.

  “Don’t you have to rush out and cover that big wreck on I-10?” Rob teased Anita one afternoon.

  “Oh, sure!” Anita smiled and rolled her eyes. “But, it can wait. I’d rather edit this Capital Update first.”

  Rob laughed at Anita’s good-natured facetiousness. They spent a great deal of time bumping into each other in the newsroom each afternoon, attending to the busy-work assigned to them, while the ‘big boys’ got the real jobs done.

  Anita was always quiet in class, but inside the KEXI newsroom Rob found her to be outgoing, intelligent and witty. They shared dreams of future glory — how they would run their newsrooms, the stories they would cover, the awards that would hang on their office walls.

  “I’ll let my interns cover some stories,” she had said. “Not the really big stuff — I’ll do that — but you know, I’ll let them out of the newsroom now and then for some real experience.”

  Rob remembered how she had flipped back her long, straight, blond hair over her right shoulder, punctuating her admonition with a nod and a smile. Her hair was blond, but not the flashy blond hair of No Doubt’s Gwen Stefani (this was 1996, after all) but more of a thoughtful shade of blonde. More like Melissa Etheridge.

  It was later during the same summer that things got really exciting in the KEXI newsroom.

  Ben Bradford had been doing a series of investigative reports on bad cops in the Baton Rouge police department. He and Andrew Walker had uncovered a seamy squad of “Capital City cops on the take.” The story had all the makings of a blockbuster KEXI news exclusive: payoffs from purported mob-related businesses, cops getting complimentary services from prostitutes, drug dealing under the very nose of the department, and more.

  When Bradford and Walker tackled a story of this magnitude, they were relentless. Day after day, KEXI news would reveal yet one sordid detail after another. The news reports were hard-hitting, ruthless and delivered with more than just a little cynicism. It became an obsession — even a competition between the two star KEXI newsmen: who would report the latest scandal, uncover the most sensational tidbit, take down the highest-ranking city official?

  The pervasiveness of the municipal misconduct was beginning to implicate even the Chief of Police, and the KEXI news team smelled blood. The reports became even more frequent and facts gave way to suspicion, spurred by rumor.

  Backlash to the KEXI news reports gained a grim and menacing edge, as the newsroom began receiving threatening phone calls. The intimidation became so frequent and so serious that Bradford and Walker began carrying pistols every waking hour of the day. The newsroom started to resemble a war-room. The holstered sidearms strapped to the newsmen made Rob particularly nervous. This was a side of the news business he had not been exposed to before.

  But, Rob’s knowledge of police misconduct would not be limited to what he learned during the ongoing KEXI news investigation. Rob would gain personal experience in that regard.

  He had been trying since the beginning of the summer to get Anita out of the newsroom and into a social situation. He realized that the attraction he felt to his fellow intern was due to more than her pleasant demeanor and oft-displayed editing talents. Rob wanted to get to know her better.

  “How ‘bout we run down to Referee’s for a pizza after work?” He stood by the newsroom PC, glancing at wire copy while trying to make the invitation sound as off-the-cuff and casual as he could. Rob had been working up the courage to ask her out all day, and now it was less than fifteen minutes until they would leave the station.

  “So, you’re a big sports nut, huh?” Anita was teasing him. Making him sweat. She seemed to enjoy watching him squirm.

  “Oh, well kinda.” His voiced cracked. “But, they really do have a good pizza.”

  He looked up to see her smile and realized her game. He tried for a quick recovery.

  “Besides, a little sports knowledge rounds out a good journalist’s background.” He returned the smile and relaxed a bit.

  “Sure, sounds great.” She flipped back her hair over her shoulder.

  The next ten minutes or so dragged by, and Rob tried hard to seem busy, as if their upcoming ‘date’ wasn’t the only thing on his mind. It was.

  Within walking distance from KEXI was the 3rd Street clubs, a stretch of downtown Baton Rouge bars and restaurants. Referee’s was a sports bar with two-stories, a balcony overlooking 3rd Street and a small dance floor on the bottom level. The second level also had an elbow-high brass rail surrounding a thirty-foot square hole in the floor that overlooked the dancing action below. Sports memorabilia hung from every corner and films of great moments in sports history were constantly projected onto the walls.

  Rob loved the place, and wanted to be somewhere comfortable and familiar for his attempt at getting to know Anita better.

  They found a table in the corner of the second floor, then ordered a pizza and a couple of beers. Rob could tell that Anita was not a big-beer drinker by the way she barely sipped at the cold mug’s contents. He, on the other hand, could really use a beer to take the edge off, and heartily gulped past the foam, instantly finishing nearly half the beer.

  “Come here often?” Anita’s eyes opened wide as Rob set the beer down after his initial ‘sip.’

  “Huh? Oh! No, not really.” Rob was embarrassed that she had noticed his enthusiasm for the brew. “Well, you know, it is a great place, and —”

  “— the pizza’s really good.” She finished his sentence, making his awkwardness even more grueling. After a moment, she giggled.

  “You really love giving me a hard time, don’t you?” Rob asked.

  “It’s just so easy!”

  Anita maintained the upper hand throughout the shared pizza, with Rob never really gaining confidence. He didn’t feel like he was getting to know her any better, either, as most of their conversation centered on KEXI, journalism in general, and school — no matter how hard Rob tried to steer the conversation to matters of a more personal nature.

  But, the hour or so was pleasant enough, and Rob took the hint to take things a little slower. He was just beginning to relax, when Anita signaled an end to the evening.

  “I’ve got to get back to the dorm and study for a calculus test.”

  “Boy, I can’t help you there. I’m horrible with any resembling math,” Rob said, then realized that she hadn’t asked for any help. He was off-balance again.

  Anita smiled, with a warmness Rob hadn’t seen before, and he realized she hadn’t tried to corner him this time. He had been trying too hard all night. While he settled the bill, refusing her offer to pay half, she excused herself to the lady’s room, saying she’d meet him downstairs. The bill was less than he had guessed, and then he realized that he had had only one
beer during their whole time together. Her beer mug was still half-full.

  As Rob left the payment, along with a tip, he got up from the table and realized Referee’s had filled to near capacity. Until that moment he hadn’t noticed anyone else in the bar.

  The railing with the dance-floor view below was packed with guys his age leaning over, nursing their beers and staring at the young couples dancing below. Every pool table was busy.

  Rob began to make his way down the stairs to the first floor, realizing with a crowd this size, there was no hurry to meet Anita downstairs. She would be a while.

  Most of the people on the wide stairway were guys using the elevated view to watch the dance floor, as well as the action at the tables on the first level. It was nearly impossible to move. People were leaning on the railing, talking, moving a step or two, but mostly standing.

  Rob found a clear spot by the railing and sat down on a step. If the crowd wasn’t going to move, he might as well enjoy the view and take a moment to rest. He realized just how tired he was. The late-night studying, early morning classes, skipped lunches, afternoons at the radio station and pressure of trying to make a good impression on Anita had all finally taken its toll. He was whipped.

  “Let’s get off the stairs, buddy.” Some guy in a muscle shirt tapped him on the shoulder. Rob had been in a daze, and hadn’t really heard what he’d said.

  “Huh?” Rob looked up from where he sat. He was looking up at a guy with a really bad attitude. Instant-identification: an asshole.

  “I said, let’s keep it moving, buddy.”

  Rob just kind of waved the guy off and returned his gaze to the dance floor. This place was suddenly feeling way too loud and way too crowded.

  The muscle-shirt mumbled something threatening under his breath and huffed off.

  After a moment, Rob stood up; noticing the stairway had cleared out for the most part, and was now passable. He had taken only a step or two down, when a blur of motion came at him from below.

  Within an instant, Rob was standing eye to eye with another instantly identifiable asshole. This asshole had the same surly attitude. But, this asshole was wearing a cop’s uniform.

  “Did security tell you to get off the stairs, son?”

  The cop’s voice was raspy, almost a hoarse whisper. He gritted his teeth as he spoke.

  “Security?” Rob was trying to figure out what was going on.

  “Yeah, security told you to get off the stairs, right?” His tone grew even more threatening.

  “Some guy came up to me and said something, but I didn’t know —”

  Rob never finished the sentence. He felt himself rising from the floor. Another blur had risen up the stairs. He realized that two guys and the cop were now carrying him down the stairs.

  The crowd at the bottom of the stairs pushed back, eyes and mouths agape, and Rob realized he was now the subject of their astonishment.

  As they reached the bar’s front entrance, Rob felt one of the men carrying him stumble. All three men’s feet became entangled and they fell through the door in a mass of flailing bodies. A wooden landing covered by an awning, with three steps down to ground level fronted the doorway. Rob and his ‘abductors’ fell in a heap at the landing, and Rob continued falling down the final three stairs to the ground. Dazed, he tried to get up, without success, and realized he had stopped at the feet of several couples on their way into the club.

  As he lay in a crouch, on all fours, Rob felt someone grab his shirt from behind and drag him to his feet.

  “You son-of-a-bitch! Are you trying to resist arrest?”

  It was the cop.

  “Arrest?” Rob’s words were barely above a whisper. “I didn’t do anything! I work for KEXI radio!” He didn’t know what that had to do with anything, but desperately hoped the radio station’s respected call letters could get him out of this fix.

  “Hey, leave the guy alone. He didn’t do anything.” Rob heard the male voice coming from behind him, a short distance away — someone near Referee’s entrance.

  Rob heard the cop mutter something, and then felt a cracking blow to his skull. Then another to the crown of his head. Another.

  The cop was clubbing him with a nightstick.

  “Hey, cut it out!” The male voice again.

  Rob fell to the ground, nearly unconscious. Then, he felt himself being handcuffed, dragged across the pavement and shoved into the back of a patrol car.

  When he finally looked up from the back seat, Rob saw the patrol car’s emergency lights bouncing off the walls of the club and felt the car lurch forward.

  Arrested? For what? Sitting on some stairs? Beaten with a nightstick? Resisting arrest? Rob could barely maintain consciousness.

  SEVENTEEN

  At his next lucid moment, Rob realized he was sitting on a wooden bench in the police station. He didn’t remember getting out of the squad car or walking inside. Suddenly, his head was clear, but not without severe pain.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Rob was surprised how clear and forceful his voice was now. He felt the adrenaline rush through his body. He was hurting, but mostly he was mad. This was not right.

  No one was in sight.

  “Hey! Where is everybody?” He stood up as he shouted. Rob realized the handcuffs had been taken from his wrists, but had left shallow lacerations.

  “Here I am, son.” The calm voice came from an older, over-weight, but friendly looking police officer that appeared from around the corner at the end of the hall.

  “What is going on? I didn’t do anything!” Rob’s voice was less forceful now. It was vulnerable and pleading.

  “OK, calm down, son. Come into my office.” The officer smiled and motioned to an open door a few feet from the bench.

  Rob determined that he was in the administrative side of the police headquarters, but still didn’t remember how he had gotten there.

  He followed the officer into the cramped office and sat across the desk from where the uniformed man was now sitting. Rob noticed the nameplate on the desk said “Sgt. Hansen Davis.”

  “I’m the night shift Supervisor, Sergeant Hansen Davis.”

  “Rob Baldwin.”

  “Yes, sir, I know. Had quite a night, huh?” The sergeant’s voice was still warm and non-threatening.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Well, tell me what happened.”

  Rob recounted the entire episode. What he could remember.

  “What am I being charged with?” he asked, after relating what seemed to be a blurry nightmare.

  “Simple drunk.”

  Drunk? Rob couldn’t believe what he was hearing. For a moment he lost his voice. When he could finally speak, his words were choked with emotion.

  “Drunk? After one beer? Because I was sitting on some stairs?”

  “I’m sorry, son. That’s what the officer wrote up.” Sergeant Davis really sounded sorry.

  “But, I’ll take an alcohol test. Whatever you want. I wasn’t drunk. I’m not drunk.”

  “Son, the report’s been filed by the arresting officer. You’ll get a chance to tell your side of the story when it’s all handled at your court date.” The officer paused a moment to let this sink in and then added: “Do you have anyone who can make your bail, pick you up and take you home?”

  Rob was still astounded, but also relieved that the charge didn’t mean he would have to spend the night in jail — but making bail?

  “I can make a call. I walked down to the club from the station.”

  “KEXI radio, right?” The sergeant’s voice was now tinged with disdain.

  “Yes, sir.” Now, Rob understood. His worst misjudgment had been dropping the station call letters to a cop, in hopes of gaining an advantage in a bad situation. Those call letters were now poison to most cops. Even the good cops on the Baton Rouge police department were the subject of public contempt because of KEXI’s ongoing sensationalized investigation. First the cop had felt the embarrassment of falli
ng out of the club in a tangle of bodies, and then he had endured the further humiliation of hearing some kid boast of working at KEXI radio.

  The sergeant’s intercom buzzed. Rob was lost in his thoughts.

  “You have a friend out front already.”

  Anita. In all the excitement he had forgotten about her. Now his humiliation would reach a new level. Sergeant Davis led Rob through the halls to a receiving/dispatch desk. Anita was waiting by the Coke machine.

  “Rob, are you OK?” Her voice expressed concern, not ridicule.

  “Yeah, great. You missed all the fun.” His head was really hurting again as he remembered the whole episode in a flash.

  “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Rob looked to the sergeant. What about the bail?

  “It’s fine. You’re free to leave. Your bail’s been posted and all the paperwork’s done.”

  Paperwork. Rob looked at his hands and realized the smudges from being fingerprinted still remained. He now remembered having mug shots made. He had actually been booked in a throbbing stupor. No wonder they had thought he had been drunk.

  They walked to Anita’s Ford Probe, parked outside the police station. Once inside, instead of starting the car, she turned and faced Rob. He spoke first.

  “How did you bail me out?”

  “Don’t worry about that, it’s no big deal.” Rob was amazed at how strong and focused she looked. His affection for her grew.

  She changed the subject.

  “The cop had been drinking all night.”

  “What cop?” Rob was still trying to jump-start his battered brain.

  “The cop that carried you out of the club and beat you. I talked to a couple of the barmaids who saw the whole thing. They said you were walking down the stairs when they came and just hauled you off. The club manager saw the whole thing, too. He kept trying to call off the cop.”