Law and Vengeance

by Mike Papantonio

  Is that where everything went south? No, Strahan thought, but that was when he started circling around the porcelain bowl. He’d stayed afloat long enough to get his degree from Granite State College in Concord, a school with a one-hundred percent acceptance rate. It was safe to say he was the only Andover alum to ever get a degree from Granite State College.

  Strahan’s redemption should have been the Secret Service. His nickname there had been “Harvard,” which he’d secretly liked. It was a reminder of when he’d been Daedalus on an upward ascent. He’d held a job there for almost a decade before screwing up in grand style, and the Department of the Treasury had given him his walking papers.

  That was when Knapp had come into the picture again. The years had been kind to him. He had grown out of being the skinny, frightened kid at Andover. Money and a gilded path do wonders for confidence. After graduating from Harvard and then going to the Wharton School for his MBA, Knapp had gone into the family business. Under several manufacturing labels, the Knapp family was a major arms dealer known as Arbalest, or the Arbalest Corporation. If it shot or exploded, there was a good chance that the Knapp family made it. James Bond’s license to kill was nothing compared to the Knapp’s. Six years ago, Strahan had signed on to work for the family business. He was a lobbyist for the Knapp family and their gun rights advocacy.

  There, thought Strahan. He had pinpointed the time when he’d sold his soul. Thirty pieces had been his going rate as well.

  Officially, Strahan worked as vice president of operations for the Gun Safety Institute. It was a bullshit title for a bullshit organization. The last thing the Gun Safety Institute was interested in was safety. Hiding behind the moral rectitude of the Second Amendment, the Gun Safety Institute did everything it could to promote the “rights” of gun owners in America. Not so long ago, their lobbying positions would have seemed extreme, but now America was a place where “open carry” laws and “stand your ground” legislation ruled. Even school shootings—more like massacres—weren’t enough carnage to make the lobbying group reconsider its position. Armed guards, they said, were the answers.

  To protect their interests, the Gun Safety Institute was a free spender. Legal bribery was the lay of the land in Washington DC. There was a reason that more than 15,000 lobbyists plied their trade in and around K Street near the halls of power. Strahan was one of those hustlers. At some level, he knew his success and that of other lobbyists was the very thing that threatened democracy. But Strahan couldn’t walk away from all the money, and especially the perks, that came with his job. On a daily basis, he and his staff schemed to put more and more deadly weapons into the hands of more and more dangerous people worldwide. When he’d been in the Secret Service, Strahan had been disdainful of organizations like the NRA and the Gun Safety Institute. Their promulgation of guns and gun rights had made his job tougher and the world more perilous. And since then, he had only made things worse.

  Strahan’s sales territory was mostly five-star restaurants with top-shelf liquor and pole dance clubs preferred by the “Family Values” types. If Strahan did his job properly, enough of those politicos would set aside their sin meters for sex and coke, compliments of the “Institute.” What the politicos didn’t know was that Strahan’s job also extended to documenting their activities and gathering sordid secrets. Funny how Strahan rarely had to use them, though. Once bought, their politicians stayed bought.

  Around DC it was known that Strahan generously “lobbied” for tips, rumors, and rumors of rumors. The power of his payola had allowed Strahan to get wind of the Arbalest lawsuit just two days after it was filed under a court-mandated protective seal.

  It was that lawsuit that Strahan needed to derail, especially before it gained steam. That, and bribery money owed, explained why he was in Libertyville, Illinois. Strahan only met out of necessity with the “dark side” of the Chicago Police Department’s Fraternal Order of Police. Officially, Tom Lutz was retired from the CPD and its leadership, but in many ways, the former deputy chief now wielded more power than he had when wearing a badge. At Lutz’s beck and call was Officer Ron Thursby. Judging by Thursby’s “Incredible Hulk” muscles and patches of acne, he likely ingested a steady diet of steroids. Steroids and sociopathy were never a good combination.

  Strahan took a few deep breaths. It was show time.

  He was all smiles and waves entering the Libertyville Gun Club, an establishment that most of its customers had taken to calling “Bull’s-eye” probably because of the huge bull’s-eye situated at the entrance to the club and used as its logo. Heidi, the buxom, blond receptionist, greeted him by name. Strahan wasn’t surprised. He’d hosted a number of events at the club, wining and dining police personnel from half a dozen Midwestern and Northeastern states. If you were a purchasing agent, or had anything to do with procuring weapons, Strahan wanted to be your friend. The new police force, just like a domestic army, needed to be outfitted. Assault vehicles, urban warfare weaponry, laser optics, specialized robotics equipment, and so-called “smart weapons” had become requirements for America’s new and improved police army. Given the laws of capitalism, every time a bullet was fired, someone made money, and lots of bullets were being fired.

  “It’s so good to see you, Mr. Strahan,” Heidi said, leaning forward to give him a good view of some cosmetic surgeon’s handiwork.

  “Good to see you. Kendrick please,” he replied, with a smile and a wink.

  Most of those who went to Bull’s-eye only saw what was out in the open. That was vast enough. There were shooting ranges, a billiards room, a gymnasium, an indoor basketball court, and an Olympic-sized pool. Arbalest and similar corporate citizens had helped to pay for the complex. Supposedly, it had been built for “Chicago’s finest,” even though the club was open to the public—or at least some of it was. Most club regulars had no idea how big the building actually was and how many recesses it had.

  Heidi buzzed Strahan through a door that was marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” It was a starting point to get to what Lutz called “the Vault.” Strahan thought a better name would be “the Serpent’s Lair.” As he walked through the door and down the hallway towards the private elevator, Strahan thought about the masons and slaves that had built the secret passageways and hidden rooms in the labyrinth. He wondered if there was any truth to the stories that “the help” never lived long enough to tell tales of all their furtive building.

  Strahan took an elevator up to the second floor and waited for the door to open. That it eventually did open meant that someone was monitoring his movements and allowing him access to the Vault. Strahan had sponsored a party during his last visit to the Vault. He had made sure his special visitors were treated to the best in booze and broads. And after the party, there had been an uptick in the sales of Arbalest products.

  He had to walk down another hallway before coming to the entry door of the Vault. From inside, a deadbolt was deactivated, allowing Strahan to open the door. The interior of the Vault looked like a massive man cave. The room had a bar and two huge big screen televisions. Antique weapons lined the walls, including muskets, flintlocks, and Civil War swords. For good measure, there were some exotic animal heads on the walls too, including a Cape buffalo, a lion, and a cougar. The adult playpen had video games and old-school pinball games; there were several playing tables for pool, foosball, and air hockey. When a cover was added to it, the pool table also functioned as Lutz’s desk.

  Lutz was sitting behind that desk. Lounging nearby was Thursby.

  “If it isn’t Strahan the Second,” said Lutz.

  Thursby nodded and smiled for his boss; he scowled at Strahan.

  Lutz had taken to calling him “Strahan the Second.” From what Strahan could determine, there were two reasons for that. Lutz had disdain for the moneyed set, for those individuals called “junior” or those with numbers after their name. Lutz was also amused by Strahan’s paying lip service to the Second Amendment while selling Arbalest products at
events held in the Vault.

  “Gentlemen,” Strahan responded, making his greeting sound like a dubious proposition and daring a smirk of his own. He wasn’t the only phony in the room.

  Strahan approached Lutz and casually placed a bag on his desk. It looked like any athletic bag, but inside it was filled with hundred dollar bills. Lutz opened the bag and riffled though some of the packets of Benjamins.

  “Beware of geeks that bear gifts,” said Lutz.

  It wasn’t the first time Strahan had brought him bribe money, and it wasn’t the first time Lutz had made his geeks comment. Still, it got a wolf smile out of Thursby. Lutz’s muscle was openly packing heat, something only a cop whose workplace was a shooting range could get away with. Of course, in Thursby’s holster there wasn’t the usual 9 mm automatic preferred by most cops; he went old-school with a long barrel .357 magnum. The huge weapon actually appeared small in comparison to his mutant looking oversized body. Strahan often wanted to ask Thursby if he had been raised near a nuclear power plant.

  “I wouldn’t be bearing—gifts—if you’d get an offshore account,” said Strahan. “In fact, I really wish you’d do that. These days, moving money is more and more problematic.”

  “You hear that, Ron?” said Lutz. “It’s problematic.”

  “That’s a shame,” growled Thursby.

  “I’m just saying it would be easier all around,” said Strahan.

  “Not easier for me,” said Lutz. “I trust bankers even less than I do lobbyists. And so do the people that work for me. I guess I hang around with unenlightened sorts. We didn’t go to prep school like you and your boss. I hear you guys were real close.”

  Lutz made the statement while gesturing with a limp wrist.

  Strahan didn’t even pretend to be amused. “You want to compare humble pie? I grew up in South Providence. My way to Andover was through a scholarship. And afterward, like you, I wore a badge for a lot of years.”

  “That’s right,” said Lutz, “I forgot that Strahan the Second was a real G-Man.”

  “He looks like a deliveryman to me,” said Thursby.

  “And today I’m delivering information as well as dropping off your motivation money.”

  “Our commission,” said Lutz, “which we certainly earned. There’s no way you could have unloaded all of those worthless ECW’s without our help.”

  “I wouldn’t call them worthless,” said Strahan, but he didn’t object very forcefully; in truth the Arbalest electrical conductive weapons weren’t the best.

  Lutz held up his hand to stop Strahan from saying anything else. “I got a tee time in an hour,” he said. “Let’s cut to the chase.”

  “You need to hear about a sensitive matter,” Strahan said, giving a side glance to Thursby. “I think it’s a matter best kept to the two of us.”

  “Whatever you got to say in front of me, you can say in front of Ronny,” said Lutz.

  Strahan nodded. He considered the best way to approach the subject. The last thing Strahan wanted to do was to excite these men out of fear of them acting hastily. “Forewarned is forearmed,” he started.

  “Damn, I wish I’d gone to Phillips Exeter,” said Lutz, interrupting him. “Is that your way of telling me some shyster is trying to get us in his sights?”

  Strahan unsuccessfully tried to hide the surprise on his face.

  Lutz continued: “Do you think you’re the only one, Mr. Strahan the Second, who has people at the Chicago Federal courthouse on your payroll? I heard about that lawsuit within an hour of it being sealed.” He used air quotes to show his disdain. “In fact, I was surprised you didn’t show up here yesterday.”

  “I had other appointments,” said Strahan. He didn’t add that word of the lawsuit had only reached him late yesterday.

  “Uh-huh,” said an unconvinced Lutz. “Well, here’s the latest newsflash for you. This Angus Moore hasn’t only been filing lawsuits. He’s been calling around asking questions. And today he called me. He was asking about any payments I might have received from Arbalest.”

  Lutz looked at Strahan, his glance suddenly probing. “You heard from this Moore guy yet?”

  “I have not,” said Strahan, “though I expect I will shortly.”

  “As I understand it,” said Lutz, “he’s named you in quite a few places in this lawsuit of his.”

  “Shit,” said Strahan. His source hadn’t known the particulars in the lawsuit.

  “As in deep doo-doo,” said Lutz.

  Thursby smiled at his witticism.

  “We can’t overreact,” said Strahan.

  Lutz lifted his hands palm out and looked befuddled for Thursby. “Do I look like I’m overreacting?”

  Thursby shook his head. The movement looked somehow strange because his overly muscled frame seemed to have eliminated his neck.

  “Because at this point, that shyster is just fishing for anything he can find,” said Strahan. “He wants to muddy the waters.”

  “Muddy waters aren’t good for fishing,” said Lutz.

  “No, they’re not,” agreed Thursby.

  “What I’m saying is that he’s using scare tactics.”

  “I can see how that might work with all those wrongful deaths of Sight-Clops being cited, along with product liability and knowingly distributing a defective and dangerous product.”

  “Ninety-nine out of a hundred of these cases are settled out of court,” said Strahan.

  “And what about that one in a hundred?”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Did Knapp assure you of that?”

  Knapp had not assured him of that. Arbalest had pulled Sight-Clops from the market, but said they had done so only because of the introduction of Sight-Clops’ successor, the new and improved Eye-Clops.

  “It’s the price of doing business,” said Strahan.

  Lutz read through his dissembling. “One in a hundred odds suddenly doesn’t seem that great,” he said, “if we end up on the wrong side of those odds. And even if Arbalest wins the case, the last thing we need is to be scrutinized by the Feds.”

  “The Feds haven’t even signed on yet,” Strahan said, “and they might not.”

  “I told you I heard stories about the Sight-Clops being hinky two summers back,” said Lutz. “Some shooters said it was sighting way off the target.”

  “There might have been a glitch in a few models,” admitted Strahan.

  “What you call a glitch, this lawyer is calling murder.”

  “Theatrics are part of the legal game.”

  “Game or not,” said Lutz, “I don’t like being a pawn.”

  “We could be”—Strahan searched for the word—“proactive, without being reckless. I have a guy who has worked for me before. He’s good, as in real good, but you’d never know it by looking at him. He’s like the ultimate whiz kid, as in electronics wizard. Through him we can know what the lawyer and his firm are up to and figure out the best way to proceed.”

  “It sounds like you better get your guy on this,” said Lutz.

  “There’s one complication,” said Strahan. “I’ll need you to front the money.”

  “And why is that?”

  “For the time being, Arbalest is asking for an accounting of all my expenses. I am afraid there will be a short period of time where you won’t be getting ‘commissions.’”

  “Sounds like Arbalest is getting ready for a trial,” said Lutz.

  Strahan shook his head and said, “They’re just being cautious. I am sure in a few months things will be back to normal.”

  The normally quiet Thursby spoke up: “They better be.”

  This time it was Lutz who nodded, while looking Strahan up and down. For a moment, Strahan understood what a mouse must think when confronted by a huge feral cat.

  “What’s your guy’s name and how do we contact him?” asked Lutz.

  “He calls himself Ivanhoe,” said Strahan.

  2

  FOLLOW YOUR BLISS

&nb
sp; When he was a high school senior, Ivan Verloc’s counselor had advised him to “Follow your bliss.”

  That had proved to be remarkably good advice. At the time, Ivan’s bliss was voyeurism. Now, almost seven years later, he still hadn’t outgrown that fixation, although his deviations were now much more wide-ranging.

  When he was in his early teens, Ivan had gotten the reputation of being good with computers. By the time he was a sophomore, he was bringing home more money than either of his parents. Of course, Ivan didn’t just fix the machines. He improved them with some special touches of his own. No one ever found his add-ons. Ivan made his client’s computers his own surveillance devices. He especially liked fixing the computers of his female clients. Most of the laptops had cameras, and Ivan used those cameras for his own personal peep shows. He also monitored emails and Skype. As a young man, Ivan got a hell of an education. Early on, he learned a particular treasure: that everyone had secrets.

  What turned him on most were strong women. He loved how they acted behind closed doors. After watching his world history teacher in action, Ivan went from an indifferent student to one that was completely engaged in her classroom. Only he knew the real Miss Wagner and how she made men grovel. She told them what to do, and they did it. In one of his favorite bits of footage, Miss Wagner was fully nude, except for spiked heels, demonstrating her favorite sex positions to one of her many cougar catches. For almost an hour, she schooled her young, eager partner with the same demanding voice she used in class to emphasize important teaching moments.

  After that show, Ivan was always able to make lessons about the signing of the Magna Carta or the Treaty of Versailles seem much more interesting as he visualized Miss Wagner in spiked heels, fully nude, holding a whip.

  And then there was Mrs. Barnes, who lived three doors down from his family’s house in a typical suburban Ohio town. Mrs. Barnes had three children and volunteered much of her free time at her church where she also taught Sunday school. To look at Mrs. Barnes, you would have thought she was just another church lady carrying twenty extra pounds while juggling all the activities of her children. Luckily for Ivan, Mrs. Barnes liked to carry her laptop and tablet—the ones he specially doctored—around just about everywhere. That allowed Ivan an up close and personal look at the surprising number of individuals she hooked up with, including the pastor of the church, as well the female director of the choir, who she seemed to favor.