“Mr. Green, the governor is on the line.”
“Bernie, Jack just called he told me you’re on board. Isn’t it great? I know the Congressman will tell you it was his idea, but Bernie you know whose idea it really was. Let’s just let O’Grady take full credit.”
“Governor thank you but I don’t know about this. I mean, I don’t really think I’m qualified.”
“Qualified? Bernie for god’s sake it’s just like the office you currently occupy, only a bigger media circus and even bigger assholes than the losers in Harrisburg. You’ll be fine.”
“I’d like to think this over.”
“Certainly, think it over all you want. Just be ready for the press conference on Friday morning at the National Constitution Center. It’s all set. Jack will be in touch later today with all the details. And Bernie we need to keep this on the down low.”
I was thinking this was de j’ vu all over again, like when the governor leaked my candidacy for Sylvester Johnson’s state representative job to the media before I had agreed to run. I needed to call my wife and talk it over.
“You’re not going to believe this, Jack Collins and the governor told me Congressman O’Grady is retiring and they want me to run for Congress.”
“Yes Bernie, I know.”
“How did you find out? Did Jack call you to give you a heads up about the press conference on Friday?”
“No, your mother called me?”
“My mother, how did she find out?”
“Apparently one of her lady friends in Boca, Dan Gross’ grandmother, tweeted her. It’s supposed to be on his blog later today.”
“Are you going to run for congress?”
“Honey, I don’t know. The way Jack explained it, it’s a done deal whether I like it or not.”
“Well, do you like the idea?”
In truth I already felt the seductive pull of the title ‘Congressman Green of Pennsylvania.’
“Maybe.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE
Please Step Back
“Thanks for the friendly advice. The State Police Detective told me he had just run my license plate and was about to get in touch with me. Apparently the motel manager saw my car parked near the room where they found Bob Worthington. I told him I didn’t learn about the shooting until our conversation and I called the authorities as soon as I got back to Philadelphia.”
“Better you called them, than waiting until they contacted you.” I said.
“Anyway… I just wanted to thank you for your advice,” she said. “Oh, I understand I’ll be seeing you on Friday.”
“You will?”
“Yes at the press conference. Congratulations on the endorsement for the Congressional seat. Senator Spellman thinks you’re one of the Party’s rising stars.”
“Well thanks, and thank the senator.”
“You don’t sound all that excited. Don’t you want to be a member of the U.S. House of Representatives? It’s quite an honor. I seem to recall you weren’t all that excited with the State Representative position, but you seem to do quite well with that. Now, can I give you some friendly advice?”
“Sure.”
“You’ve got a rare gift. People like you and trust you. Know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you’re too hard on yourself. If the pundits in the Party think you’re ready to move up, maybe they know what they’re doing.”
“Thanks Samantha. Maybe you’re right except for one thing.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The Party pundits, at least the ones I met didn’t strike me as the sharpest knives in the drawer.”
She laughed. “You may be right about that. But think about this, they got pretty far with whatever it is that they possess. See you Friday.”
The big day was there in a blink of an eye. Despite my earlier misgivings, I got caught up in the excitement. Nicky and Bobby and I looked like the All-American family. Bob and Marti Gronski arranged for a busload of people to fill the auditorium at the National Constitution Center complete with posters from my election campaign for the state house with state crossed out and U.S. in bold blue marker written over it. The Gronskis were brilliant.
It all would have been a spectacular event. Unfortunately we were upstaged by a press conference that had convened a mere 30 minutes before noon that bumped our entire presentation completely off the news cycle.
At 11:30 am Eastern Standard Time, Robert Conrad, the Attorney General of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania called an unscheduled news conference in his office. Conrad’s press conferences where such deadly boring affairs that only a handful of reporters from the press pool, the resident Harrisburg KYW radio reporter and a local TV station showed up. It had been widely rumored that as a result of a hatchet job in a Philadelphia gossip columnist’s blog, filled with allegations that the Attorney General had kidnapped his own granddaughter and vague innuendos to his involvement in homosexual liaisons, that Conrad was ending his nascent campaign for governor. Conrad was indeed ending his campaign and a lot more.
After a rambling monologue in which Conrad denounced his political enemies and highlighted his achievements, at 11:45 am he said, “I am announcing my decision to withdraw my name from my Party’s consideration as a candidate for governor. I want to thank everyone who supported me. I know that the current rumors that have been circulating about my personal activities have been disconcerting. Blogs and anonymous allegations that are posted on the internet distort what has occurred and do not provide a full and complete explanation. However, today that’s unfortunately how the game is played.”
“Now please step back.”
“My god he’s got a gun!” one of the reporters screamed.
Conrad removed a Heckler & Koch 45 caliber pistol from the drawer of his desk and placed the barrel in his mouth and fired. The hollow point 90 gram bullet went through the roof of his mouth and out of the back of his head with a cascade of blood and skull and brain fragments that appeared like a halo as he collapsed to the ground. All of this had been captured by the video camera as reporters ran out of the room.
Within minutes the video was uploaded on the internet; within seconds it had gone viral.
“That fucking Conrad, couldn’t he blow his brains out in private like most suicidal assholes do it? No, he has to make a big production out of it,” the governor said. “I never liked that self-serving, sanctimonious prick.”
“Governor, you’re right, but it’s not right to speak so ill of the dead,” O’Grady observed.
The governor and the congressman along with Senator Spellman and Jack Collins were conducting a post mortem on the bizarre public suicide that had blown the carefully orchestrated dual announcement of the congressmen’s retirement and Bernie Green’s endorsement completely out of the news.
“Ya have to admit that both his staging of the event and his timing were exquisite. I mean that halo of blood and brains as he fell to the floor; it was nothing short of magnificent. And he timed it right before our press event. It’s like he planned it to screw Bernie,” Jack Collins said. “Ya know he really took Bernie’s marrying Nicky personal. I guess he thought Nicky should have remained in perpetual mourning for his son.”
“That young man Green showed a lot of class. His remarks were right on the money. I bet that makes the 6 and 11 o’clock news. It might even make the national news,” Senator Spellman observed. “Gentlemen, I think you picked a real comer,” he said. “Governor, where’d you get these cigars, they’re fantastic.”
“Havana.”
“My god they’re contraband!” Spellman said as he exhaled.
“Yeah, those commie bastards really know how to wrap tobacco!”
Senator Spellman’s observations were prescient and Green’s sober reflection on the tragic end of Conrad’s campaign did in fact make all of the local newscasts and several of the national broadcasts.
“Bernie we’re on TV,” Bobby exclaimed a
nd clapped her hands, excited by seeing herself and not completely understanding the full dimensions of the underlying circumstances.
“Your right sweetheart, there you are. You look beautiful,” I said.
“Mommy come see, we’re on television!”
A still stunned and subdued Nicky smiled at the little girl and said, “Yes I can see you.”
“Mommy, why are you crying?” the little girl asked. “Is it because of Uncle Bob?”
“Uh-huh. Bobby, is it all right with you if we talk about this later?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR
There’s Been a Major Development
“The court awarded the class $18 million in damages in the kids for cash class action case,” an excited Joel Solomon said. “Looks like your legal career will end with a flourish.”
“I haven’t been elected yet. I might have to keep my day job,” I replied.
“No way pal; that seat has been a virtual lock for the Democrats since Grant was president. I can see it now, ‘Mr. Green goes to Washington’, a remake of the Frank Capra classic.”
In truth the campaign was going extremely well. Bob and Marti Gronski and Mike Zeebooker had reenergized all of the supporters in the State Representative election. In this race, unlike the previous one, there was an opponent, Reilly Cooperman. He was the perennial candidate the Republicans used to trot out to run against Congressman O’Grady before they threw in the towel a few election cycles ago. As Joel had observed the seat was likely the safest seat in the upcoming congressional election, unless of course I screwed it up.
“So we got a judgment for $18 million, we know that between them the judges and the son have about $4 million in assets. Worthington is dead and all we could find in his estate so far is about $1.5 million. We know he must have made at least $22 or $23 million more, but he hid it somewhere, probably off shore. Do you have any ideas on where we can find the missing fortune and collect the full judgment?” I asked.
“I’m just a lawyer; you’re the resident genius. You show me the money.”
We had been stymied so far by the State Police murder investigation in our attempt to examine Worthington’s property to look for his missing assets.
Between the campaign for congress, my District Representative responsibilities and my law practice I was concerned that I wasn’t spending enough time with Nicky and Bobby. I realized that I needed to restore the appropriate priorities, family before career, or I would end up like my father.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait for the police to finish their investigation before we can delve into the mystery of Robert Worthington’s finances. In the meantime, at least for the rest of the day, I’m going home to spend some quality time with my wife and daughter. By the way, how’s my godson Matt?”
I was greeted by Toto and a surprised Nicky as I entered the apartment.
“Some flowers for my lady,” I said as I handed her the bouquet I had purchased from a vendor on the square.
“Bernie, they’re beautiful. Now what did you do wrong?”
“Funny, that’s exactly what the vendor told me you would say.”
“Why don’t we take Bobby and Toto somewhere for the weekend? Let’s go down the shore, just a quick getaway.”
“I don’t know. Marti Gronski called she told me that Bob arranged for a fundraiser at the FOP. She wanted to make sure that all of us were available.”
“I’ll tell her something came up.”
“You can’t do that. This is your campaign.”
“Maybe I don’t want to run for the seat. Maybe I just want to spend time with my family.”
“I know, but you have responsibilities. What?”
“I came home to cheer you up and you’re the one who’s making me feel better.” I was concerned over Nicky’s reaction to Robert Conrad’s suicide.
“Oh, I almost forgot, Detective Ichowitz called, he wants you to get in touch with him.”
“I wonder what that’s all about.”
I figured that with Robert Worthington’s death the investigation into the assault case was over.
“Ichowitz,” the detective answered his phone.
“Detective it’s Bernie Green returning your call.”
“Thanks for getting back to me,” he replied.
“What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted you to know that there has been a major development in the investigation into Robert Worthington’s murder. I thought you would be interested in hearing about it.”
“Please go on,” I said.
“Well a Detective from Harrisburg, Alfred P. Reese, who spoke rather highly of you by the way despite the fact that he believes Representative Wallander is guilty, compared the State Police forensic data of the Worthington murder to the Coroner’s Inquiry of the Conrad suicide and came up with a potential match on the bullets.”
Reese had been the Commonwealth’s witness in the Wallander prosecution. As I recalled the detective had actually gotten the better of me in the cross examination. “Are you saying the same gun was used in both incidents?”
“Well, that’s the preliminary report. The bullets and the pistol were sent to the FBI lab in Virginia for final analysis. If that report supports the preliminary findings…”
“That would mean that Conrad’s gun was the murder weapon. Conrad murdered Worthington.”
I was stunned.
“This is still only a preliminary finding. It’s not a matter for public disclosure. I just thought you should be made aware of the possible connection between the events,” the Detective said.
“Thank you Detective, I promise you I will not disclose this information to anyone.”
Why would Conrad kill Worthington? I wondered if my father-in-law Major Miller could provide some insight into his friend Conrad’s connection to Worthington and how that led to the murder. I figured the State Police had already questioned Miller as part of their investigation. I was concerned that should the preliminary report pan out how that would affect my wife. Nicky was already having difficulty dealing with Conrad’s suicide. If he turned out to be Worthington’s killer, how would Nicky handle that?
I decided, for the time being, that I would keep the information Ichowitz had shared to myself. After all why upset Nicky when the final forensic test results might not support the preliminary findings? I realized I was only delaying the inevitable; however, Nicky had been through enough and was entitled to a break.
Cinaglia twirled the spaghetti on his fork and held it up before placing it in his mouth. He took a sip of Chianti and said, “You know you shouldn’t cut up your pasta in little pieces. It ruins the experience of the meal. The pasta is meant to absorb the gravy and when you chop it up like you do, well, it’s just not…”
“Senator, I’m not Italian like you. For as long as I’ve known you it seems to me that I have never been able to do anything quite up to the standard you and your piasans have set. According to you, not only do I not eat correctly, I don’t enjoy life to the fullest, I seem to recall you telling me once that I don’t even know how to fuck right,” Max Green said cutting Cinaglia off.
Cinaglia laughed and held up his hands in mock surrender.
They were the only patrons in a private dining room at Ralph’s on 9th Street in South Philadelphia. Bobo the old waiter who was assigned to serve them cleared the table. “Gentlemen, expresso?”
They nodded and sat in silence until the waiter left them alone.
“This business with Worthington, my sources tell me that schifoso the Attorney General Conrad is the killer. Do you believe that?” Cinaglia asked.
Max Green nodded.
“What possessed him to do that, and then to blow his brains out? Oh, I also hear he’s a finocchio. What’s so funny?”
“You Italians have more words for gays, busone, effe, frocio, I’m sure I forgot some of the more colorful ones,” Green said.
Cinaglia smiled, “Yes you forgot orecchione and recchione. My friend our langu
age is so descriptive, so lyrical, so rich.”
“Aside from the eating lesson and the Italian lesson, why did you ask for this meeting?”
“Your son Bernard.”
“What about him?”
“Worthington put a contract out on him.”
“Why ?” Green asked.
Cinaglia shrugged, “Who knows, Worthington was a violent and vindictive man.”
“But Worthington’s dead. So I assume the obligation need no longer be honored.”
“One would believe so, however, I hear the hit man may be from one of those white supremacist groups. You know they’re anti-semites and how do your people say, ‘meshuga’?” Cinaglia shrugged again.
“I have not been a model father to Bernie. The truth is that I do not have much of a relationship with him. But his well being and that of his wife and the little girl are very important to me.”
“I understand,” Cinaglia said.
CHAPTER SEVENTY FIVE
A Multi-Million Dollar Heiress
Nicky saw the 717 area code and the name of a law firm on the caller ID and assumed it must be a call for Bernie. She answered the call.
“Mrs. Green my name is Warren Pennington, I’m from the law firm of Pennington and Gladfelder of Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, is this a convenient time to talk?”
She looked over at Bernie who was sitting across from her, a cup of coffee in hand reading the newspaper.
“Mr. Pennington what do you want to talk me about?” she asked.
“Our firm is handling the estate of the late Robert Conrad,” he said.
“OK, what does that have to do with me?”
“Well, your daughter Roberta is Mr. Conrad’s granddaughter; he designated her as his principal heir. We would like to schedule a meeting with you to discuss the terms of the trust that Mr. Conrad established for your daughter. Of course we’ll arrange to meet with you in Philadelphia.”
“Is a meeting really necessary, I mean can’t we handle this through the mail?”
“Mrs. Green, in consideration of the size of the bequest and the composition of the estate, and the fact that your daughter is a minor a formal meeting is best. Do you have counsel?”
The Pa-la-ti-'shan Page 31