Kendall - Private Detective - Box Set

by John Holt

  Duncan knew exactly what it was that Randall wished to discuss. It wasn’t going to be a problem. At least not for him, but it was certainly going to cost Randall a considerable sum. And he wasn’t just thinking in monetary terms either. Time, perhaps, for a little horse-trading. “You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.” He started to laugh. “What are friends for, anyway?”

  Duncan looked at his watch once more. It was almost eight o’clock. He looked around once again. There were still one or two stragglers. There on the far side he could see Terence Connor, Mackenzie’s campaign manager. Next to him was Martin Berry, the Mayor of Maidstone County. They were deep in conversation. Berry suddenly looked up and saw Duncan looking towards him. He waved. Duncan waved back. Berry was another very important man.

  “Come along now gentleman,” Duncan called over, as he walked towards them. “It’s getting near the time, so best be moving along. You don’t want to miss anything do you?”

  Berry waved once more, and then he and Connor turned and walked through the foyer and into the main auditorium. Duncan watched until they were out of sight. He then looked at his watch for a third time. It was now a few minutes after eight. “Time to go,” he said. “It’s show time.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s do it.”

  He entered the main hall, and slowly made his way through the crowd down towards the stage area. Every few yards he would be stopped, and his hand grasped, or his back slapped. He smiled, and waved, stopping for a few words here, a brief comment there, maybe to share a joke. Then he would continue on his way once again. Over to his left hand side he could see the television cameras lined up. Next to them were assembled the ladies and gentlemen of the press.

  He waved to them. There was no reaction. It was no more than Duncan had expected. He knew that as far as the media was concerned, he was not flavor of the month. Not this month, or any other month, come to that. In fact they hated him. He didn’t care. It didn’t worry him, because he knew that in a few short months they would be clamoring to speak with him. Then we will see. He glanced back in their direction, and waved once again. Still there was no response.

  Duncan turned away, and continued on his way towards the stage. He mounted the short flight of steps, leading up on to the platform. At last the crowd was beginning to settle down. He stood in the center of the stage for a few moments looking at the audience. He then looked to the side and noted the brief signal coming from one of his aides. Senator John Mackenzie had arrived. The evening’s guest of honor was ready and waiting in the foyer. Duncan walked across the stage, and into the wings. There was Frank Reynolds, patiently waiting for his cue. Duncan walked up to his side and patted him on the back, and gently pushed him forward. “Okay Frank, it’s time.”

  Reynolds walked out into the center of the stage. There was a loud cheer. He held his hands high above his head, his palms outstretched. The cheering gradually subsided, the crowd expectant. Slowly a hush spread throughout the hall. There were a few nervous coughs, and then there was silence. All eyes were focused upon Reynolds.

  Reynolds looked out on to the sea of faces assembled in front of him. He waved as he recognized someone, or briefly called out a name. “Hi Joe,” he called to one. “Pete, glad you could make it,” to another. Each time there would be a spontaneous cheer, and then silence fell once again. Reynolds glanced over to the wings. There was Duncan. He turned back to face the audience. He tapped on to the microphone. There was a loud muffled sound, and then a low whistle. “1, 2, 3. Testing. 1, 2, 3. Testing.”

  There was the sound of laughter from the back of the room. Then someone started to applaud.

  Satisfied that the loud speaker was working, Reynolds took a deep breath. “Good evening friends,” he said. The audience fell silent. “And a very warm welcome to the Veterans Hall.” There was a loud cheer. “It’s good to see you all here,” he continued. Another huge cheer echoed around the hall. “This evening promises to be something special, something very exciting. You are going to be able to tell your friends something quite tremendous happened here, tonight.” There were more cheers. “They will be envious.” Reynolds paused, to wait for the cheering to subside once more.

  “Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce, my friend,” he paused momentarily. “And yours.” There was another brief pause. “The next President of the United States,” his booming voice announced, trying to be heard about the clamoring din, which was getting louder and louder. “Senator,” he paused. “John.” There was another pause. “Thaddeus.” There was a third pause, longer this time. “Mac ken zie.”

  He stepped back one pace, clapping his hands wildly. He looked down at the assembly, and then pointed towards the rear of the hall. “Here he comes now,” he yelled. “He’s right behind you.”

  The assembled group stood up as though one, and turned to face the rear. They then began to applaud loudly as they saw the double doors open, and Mackenzie started to walk through. Loud cheering echoed from the throng. Cheering which gradually gave way to loud chanting – “Mac Ken zie, Mac Ken zie.”

  Mackenzie slowly walked in from the foyer, accompanied by his wife, and his daughter. That had been Duncan’s idea. “It’s a nice touch,” he had said. “They liked to see the family man. Makes them feel secure. You know, in safe hands.”

  Mackenzie hadn’t been too keen at first, but he had to admit that Duncan was, as usual, right. He was always right. Mackenzie acknowledged his supporters as he walked slowly down the aisle, making his way towards the podium, waving to the crowds as he went by. He had been well briefed by Duncan. He knew who to make a fuss of. He knew who to single out as particularly special. He also knew who to ignore. Every few steps he would stop to shake somebody’s out stretched hand. Maybe exchange a few short words with somebody. Then he would look up, and recognize somebody at the back of the crowd. He would smile, wave enthusiastically, and call their name. As he reached the stage he slowly mounted the short flight of steps leading up to the platform. He walked over to the center of the dais, stopped and shook the Governors hand. The Governor then stepped back, and turned towards the side of the stage.

  Mackenzie turned to face his audience. The cheering increased once more. He raised his hands high above his head. Gradually the cheering ceased, the applause subsided, and then stopped completely. He looked around at the Governor, standing in the wings, and beckoned him back. “Frank,” he called out. “Frank. Come on back over here.” Instantly the cheering started once again.

  The Governor walked onto the stage a short distance. Mackenzie went to greet him, taking his hand, and raised it high above his head. The two men then turned to face the audience and waved. Reynolds looked back at Mackenzie, and slowly withdrew. The Senator looked at the Governor as he walked away, once more waiting for the cheering to subside.

  “Let’s hear it for Governor Reynolds shall we,” he shouted, and started to clap loudly. The cheer was deafening. As it gradually subsided, Mackenzie raised his hands once more. “Let us hear it for this great State of ours.” Once again there was a deafening cheer.

  He looked around the hall. There a short distance away, to the side, he could see the hall janitor leaning against the wall, close to the fire exit. Mackenzie was sorely tempted. Let’s hear it for the caretaker shall we. They would cheer he knew that. He reluctantly resisted the temptation. It might have been fun though. He looked up, and back towards the audience. “Are you having a good time?” he called out instead. The loud roar in return showed that they were indeed having a good time. Although he couldn’t think why, nothing of any great consequence had actually happened. Nothing earth shattering.

  It was a great response though, Mackenzie thought. But he also knew that the people congregated in front of him were already converted. Here was the party faithful. They were already committed, already staunch supporters. They did not need to be persuaded, or cajoled. They did not have to be won over with well thought out political argument. They neede
d no convincing. He already had their vote. They would have cheered anything that he said, or anything that he did. If he had known how, he could have done some juggling, they would have loved it. Or maybe he should learn to play a musical instrument. Other Presidents had been musicians hadn’t they? Bill Clinton played the saxophone didn’t he? And didn’t George Bush play something or other? He wasn’t sure about that. Or perhaps he could do some tap dancing. That would have been different, and he was sure that it would have gone down well.

  Or perhaps he could recite something, maybe from the telephone directory. That would bring the house down. Or he could read out a cooking recipe, and they would be simply ecstatic. “Take half a teaspoonful of sugar; add in the egg white, and the lemon, and stir.”

  He reached inside his pocket. He could feel a small piece of paper lying there. It was a small handwritten list of things that he had to do. He tried to visualize what was written down. Ring the Gazette, he remembered. Make appointment with Station WLRV. What else was on that list? He was thinking hard. Then it suddenly came back to him. Get in touch with Carlson at NBC and Jensen at CNN. He hesitated. Or was it the other way around? It was Jensen at NBC, and Carlson at CNN. No, no. He was right the first time. He knew the list by heart. I could read that to them, he thought, and they would still cheer.

  He was tempted once again, but he dare not. He could just imagine Duncan’s reaction. He would have apoplexy for sure. He looked across to the side of the stage. Duncan was looking straight at him. Mackenzie waved briefly. Duncan turned away. He knows, Mackenzie thought horrified, he knows what I’m thinking, but how could he? Mackenzie quickly let go of the paper, and took his hand out of his pocket. He turned to face the audience, raising his arms high into the air once more. Once again there was a huge cheer.

  Certainly he had nothing to worry about as far as this audience was concerned. But Mackenzie also knew that the actual election was still several months away. In the meantime he knew that he had a lot to do. There was still a long way to go, and it was going to cost money, a lot of money. Fortunately that wasn’t going to be a major problem. Not for him anyway. As far as he was concerned the money side had already been taken care of.

  He looked across to the side of the stage once again. There was Frank, standing next to Duncan. They were still deep in conversation. Just exactly what were they talking about, he wondered momentarily? Then he dismissed it from his mind. He looked closely at Duncan.

  That’s where the money was coming from. Duncan had promised to take care of the finance, and Mackenzie was not to worry. It won’t be a problem, Duncan had said. “Don’t give it a second thought. I’ll deal with it. You just worry about getting elected that’s all.”

  So, that is exactly what Mackenzie had done, left it entirely to Duncan. Of course Duncan would want something in return for his troubles. There was no question about that. Some small favor, Mackenzie knew that.

  “I will look after you,” Duncan had said. “And you will look after me.” Then he had laughed. Mackenzie thought for a moment. You got nothing for nothing in this life. There was no such thing as a free lunch. There would certainly be a payoff of some kind. He knew that sooner or later the debt would have to be paid off one way or another, and paid in full and probably with interest. That would come later though. There was nothing to worry about, not right now.

  Duncan suddenly stopped talking to Reynolds. He looked directly towards Mackenzie, almost as though he did know what Mackenzie had been thinking. Then he quickly turned away, and resumed his conversation with Reynolds.

  Duncan does know what I’m thinking, Mackenzie murmured. He does know. Don’t be ridiculous, there is no way that he could know. He looked back to the side. Duncan had his back to the stage, and was still talking to Reynolds.

  Mackenzie quickly looked away, and turned back towards the audience. He knew that a substantial part of the money that was required would be coming from this audience. He glanced around at the people gathered in front of him. There were businessmen, public officials, industrialists, and politicians. Without a doubt they were all Party members. How much were they all worth? He looked around once more. There were at least twelve millionaires out there, to his certain knowledge. Perhaps there’s a billionaire or two, who knows.

  He started to calculate. How many people were here, he wondered. He looked up at the gallery, and then down to the auditorium his eyes quickly scanning each area. The hall was completely full. He guessed that the hall had capacity for about one thousand people. Possibly as high as fifteen hundred, he decided. How much was each of them worth, on average? He had no way of telling, but he assumed that they were reasonably well off. Comfortable you might say. Mackenzie knew that they had each paid five hundred dollars just to be there. That was seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars alone.

  Three quarters of a million, just to see him. That was quite amusing, he thought. “But there again I am worth it.”

  He looked at the audience again. So they weren’t exactly on the bread line were they? They weren’t relying on welfare. They weren’t worrying about where their next meal was coming from. There must be millions of dollars out there, he decided, possibly five hundred million. He looked at the audience once again. That sounded right. He would settle at five hundred million. It was a nice round sum wasn’t it? “All of those fat zeroes.”

  He tried hard not to laugh, but failed. He raised his hands high above his head. Instantly there was another loud cheer, and the chant started up once again. “Mac Ken zie. Mac Ken zie.”

  He had been on the stage for no more than ten minutes, and had said less than twenty words. That was approximately thirty seven thousand five hundred dollars per word, or seventy five thousand dollars per minute. If only the rest would be as easy. I suppose I better do a bit more though. Give them value for their money.

  He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, and withdrew a sheaf of papers, the notes for his speech. He looked at the papers, and then looked back at the audience. “Oh don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not as long as it looks.” Laughter erupted around the room.

  “It’s just that my writing is so big.” There was more laughter.

  “Friends, friends,” he announced, holding his hand up. The laughing died away. “Seriously, we have an opportunity, here, tonight, to do something big, something worthwhile. Something you can tell to your grandchildren.” He stopped for a moment.

  He knew enough about public speaking, to know when to pause. The days spent at the college debating society had served him in good stead. It wasn’t what you said that mattered, it was how you said it. You had to build up the emotion, build in some tension, and let the audience savor every word that they thought you had said. The real secret was, of course, that you actually said nothing, or at least very little, of any great consequence.

  “Tonight ladies and gentlemen,” he continued. “We are going to make history.” Once again he stopped, and once again the cheers began. “Senator Peters, my worthy opponent …” Loud jeers echoed around the room. Mackenzie held up his hand for silence, and tried once more. “Now, now, ladies and gentlemen, is that any way to act?” he said with mock indignation. “I think we should show Senator Peters a little more respect than that, don’t you?” The audience erupted into laughter once again. Mackenzie started to laugh. “Perhaps not,” he continued. After a few minutes he raised his hand again, and the laughter gradually stopped.

  “Senator Peters says he knows who the people of this great Country want for their leader,” Mackenzie continued. “Does he know?” A resounding No sounded from the audience. “Does he?” repeated Mackenzie. Once again there was a deafening “No”. Mackenzie raised his hands once more. “I know who the people want,” Mackenzie shouted. “And you all know who the people want.” He said indicating the people in front of him. “And I can tell you quite categorically, it isn’t you, Alan Peters.” Cheering started once again. “Who do they want?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Mac Ken
zie. Mac Ken zie,” came the resounding reply.

  “Who do they want?” he repeated.

  “Mac Ken zie,” came the reply once more.

  “When do they want him?” Mackenzie called out.

  “NOW, NOW, NOW,” came the reply.

  Mackenzie waited once again for the cheering to subside. “There Alan, there’s your answer,” Mackenzie shouted, trying to make himself heard above the din. He started to chant. “Mac Ken zie. Mac Ken zie.”

  As he did so he waved his arms as though conducting an orchestra, the audience following his lead, and joining in with the chant, the sound building and building. Alan Peters was the best that the other side could offer. There was no one else. If that were true, then there really was nothing to worry about. It was all over bar the shouting. He had it in the bag, all sown up and tied with a pretty blue ribbon.

  Chapter 7

  John Thaddeus Mackenzie

  John Thaddeus Mackenzie had been a Senator for a little over three years. Prior to that he had worked at the State legislature’s office, and before that there had been a short spell in the Governor’s office. He had won his party’s nomination for Presidential candidate, a little over six months ago. It was strange how things had turned out. There had been four runners to start with, Dave Chandler, Ted Forrest, Charles Davies, and, finally, himself. He had been ranked fourth, way down the list. He still didn’t know why he had even been chosen. His career hadn’t been outstanding, or memorable. He hadn’t done anything momentous. He hardly stood out. In fact most people said that his best quality was the fact that he was so forgettable.

  But there it was. He had been approached, completely out of the blue, and had been persuaded to put his name forward. After all, he was told, the Party needed him. Who was he to put up an argument, and so he had agreed. After the first round he was lying third. At the end of the second round of voting, there were only two nominees remaining, himself, and Charles Davies. Charles was a good man, extremely able, and extremely popular. He was the kind of man that Mackenzie would himself have supported were it not for the fact that he was also a candidate.