Burke's War: Bob Burke Action Thriller 1 (Bob Burke Action Thrillers)

by William F. Brown

  “Your Honor,” Grierson tried to interject, but Bloomfield cut him off with a disinterested wave of the gavel.

  “Later, Counselor. I’m no ‘Honor,’ and this ain’t a court, not a real one anyways, as we both know. Now Mr. Burke, that’s one hell of a lot of damned problems for one person to be creating here in our little town. What am I supposed to do with you?”

  “Whatever you think is appropriate, Mr. Bloomfield. I realize I made a mistake last night and I may have said a few inappropriate things to the Chief, but I was on private property in a parking lot having an innocent conversation with a young lady. I think the rest of those items are a bit of an exaggeration,” Burke answered as he looked over at Bentley.

  “Mr. Bloomfield,” Grierson dared to interrupt again. “In the interest of justice, I would like to point out that Mr. Burke…”

  “I don’t think I was talking to you yet, Counselor,” Bloomfield snapped.

  This time, Grierson ignored him and went on anyway, “As you may not be aware, Mr. Burke served two tours in Iraq and two more in Afghanistan in the armored cavalry, Army Rangers and Delta Force…”

  “Now look here, Counselor…”

  “… where he received the Distinguished Cross, three Silver Stars, two Bronze Stars, a Purple Heart with five Oak Leaf Clusters, a Legion of Merit, some Meritorious Service Medals, and... well, many more decorations which I shall not try to enumerate, before recently retiring as a Major.” Grierson paused, but this time, the hearing officer did not interrupt him. “Mr. Burke has apologized and agrees to accept full responsibility for his actions,” Grierson went on. “As we both know that Indian Hills has one of the largest VFW Posts in the northwest suburbs, with that beautiful new building over on Route 83. I was fortunate enough to be asked to speak there last summer, and I’m certain some of its members would take serious offense if it appeared a legitimate American war hero was not given appropriate consideration by its elected representatives.”

  At this point, Bloomfield’s eyes slowly turned away from George Grierson to Bentley and Schwartz. His wrath followed, as he wondered what the hell they got him into this morning. Being mayor and the occasional hearing officer -- a post he appointed himself to -- of a small town with a fat, growing treasury like Indian Hills was a juicy plum for a semi-retired used car salesman with a 'mail-order' law degree from a 'paper mill' in Alabama, who owned a small lot at the corner of “Walk” and “Don’t Walk” downtown. In addition to the multiple salaries he enjoyed from these two positions, he also received large stipends and expense accounts from serving on eight or ten outside boards and commissions that rarely met. No less important to him were the perks, the parties, the all-expense-paid junkets to the Super Bowl and World Series, Bears and Bulls season tickets, and the private hunting and deep-sea fishing charters sponsored by a few of the major corporations in town, including CHC… and of course there were his regular sessions with Wilma on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Yes, all things considered, Hubert Bloomfield greatly enjoyed being mayor. He held the position for the past seven years, through two elections, and he was up for reelection again this fall.

  Normally, the politics in a small town like Indian Hills never amounted to very much. The political party folks paraded around with donkeys and elephants on their lapels, but that was for the state, and national elections. In the town and township races, the voters knew the candidates, knew who they liked and did not like, and incumbents were rarely opposed. Come Election Day, however, the Mayor knew full well that the good citizens of Indian Hills would toss him or anyone else out on his sorry ass if they thought he did something stupid or let the job go to his head. That was why the last thing Hizzoner the Hearing Officer needed that morning was a couple of dumb town cops and the town lawyer shoving him into a very deep hole he would never climb out of with the voters. Bloomfield remembered bellying up to the bar at the VFW Post many a night, back slapping and buying drinks — and this smartass Chicago lawyer had just nailed him right between his political eyes. Those VFW boys vote, and the last thing Hubert Bloomfield ever wanted to do was to rattle their cage.

  Finally having collected his thoughts, he smiled and asked, “Is that correct Mr. Burke? What Mr. Grierson said, uh, does that pretty much reflect your military record?”

  Bob looked up and nodded, his dark, powerful eyes drilling holes through him.

  “Well, that sounds like an exemplary one to me,” Bloomfield went on. “Speaking for myself and the good citizens of Indian Hills, I do want to sincerely thank you for your service,” Bloomfield continued, his mind racing. “And, uh, I appreciate your candor regarding the situation last night and your willingness to accept responsibility. Therefore, I am reducing these charges to one simple misdemeanor, charging you $500 in court costs… no, let’s make that $50, and the assumption that I shall never see you in my court again. Wilma here will take care of the details, Sir, and you are free to go.”

  Bloomfield slammed the gavel down on the desk and headed for his office. “Chief! In my office… You too, Schwartz!” he shouted over his shoulder. The Police Chief shoved Bobby Joe aside and hurried after the Mayor.

  “Well, that was a lot easier than I expected, Bob,” George Grierson turned and whispered to Burke as he slipped his papers back in his briefcase. “And I didn’t even have to use the good stuff,” he chuckled.

  “You used enough,” Bob answered as Chief Bentley turned and looked back at him. His sneer was gone, replaced by something bordering on wide-eyed fear. Bob nudged Grierson and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here, George.”

  It was shortly after 11:00 before Bob was able to pay his fine to the clerk and retrieve his automobile from the town impound lot. The “impound lot” consisted of three parking spaces on the rear side of the local Exxon service station. Apparently, it had the only tow truck in town, and the station happened to be owned by the Mayor Hearing Officer’s cousin, Larry.

  Thirty minutes later, Bob pushed through the door of the Toler TeleCom’s office, feeling tired, unshaven, and stiff from a long night on a short jail cot. He took a quick right turn, hoping to get past Maryanne’s desk without being noticed, knowing that was unlikely to happen; and it didn’t. She gave him an appraising look over the top of her glasses and scanned him quickly from head to toe.

  “Don’t ask,” he told her.

  “I pretty much already know. The coffee’s fresh, and I’ll bring you a cup. I arranged the stuff on your desk in order of pain, and separated your phone messages into Critical, Dire, Life Threatening, and Telemarketers.”

  “Very funny, Maryanne,” he said with a limp smile, as he walked into his office and closed the door behind him. All things considered, he knew he would have been better off if he went home and got some sleep before he tried to tackle the accumulated crap, but he couldn’t do that. The business problems were mounting, and he needed a plan. Besides, he once spent five days and four nights straight chasing Taliban gunmen through the Afghan mountains without any sleep or hot food. True, he was a few years younger and in prime fighting shape then, but that was no reason to surrender to a touch of fatigue. No, like pain, being tired was a state of mind, he thought, as he flopped in his desk chair and looked at the stacks of paper. First things first, he thought. He picked up the first stack of pink telephone call slips and began to thumb through them. Most were from various local newspapers and several television stations that must have picked up his arrest on the local police blotter. Those, he immediately dropped into his trashcan, knowing the reporters had deadlines and would soon find something easier to cover.

  Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the stack of correspondence and reports sitting in the middle of his desk. He pulled the top half dozen or so off the stack and began reading, when Maryanne buzzed him on the intercom and said, “Bob, you have a call on Line 1. The woman on the other end said she’s from the US Attorney’s Office. I assume it’s the little weasel who stopped by yesterday morning, Mr. O’Malley.”

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sp; “Probably so,” he answered as he punched the button for Line 1, put O’Malley on speaker, and leaned back in his chair. “Bob Burke here.”

  “Mr. Burke, I understand you spent some time as the guest of that paragon of the local law enforcement community, Chief Bentley.”

  “Him, and Mayor or Hearing Officer Hubert Bloomfield, I could never quite get straight which, and the rest of the Indian Hills brain trust.”

  “Dirt balls through and through, and all on the payroll of your friends at CHC.”

  “I kinda figured that out all by myself.”

  “You’re a smart guy, Bob, I expected no less.”

  “Look, Mr. O’Malley — if you don’t mind my calling you Mr. O’Malley — I spent last night on a lumpy cot, I haven’t had lunch, and I generally feel like hell. So, let’s get this over; to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I understand you talked to Linda Sylvester. What did she tell you?”

  “Not much. She’s got a daughter, and she’s scared of Scalese and Greenway. They warned her about me and she thinks they’re watching her and listening to everything she says. I tried to talk her into seeing you or the cops, but she doesn’t trust anybody at this point.”

  “She’s right to be scared of Scalese and Greenway.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a lot more than that. She’s really scared of Greenway.”

  “The gentleman is preceded by his reputation.”

  “I gathered that.”

  “What about Eleanor Purdue? Did she say anything about her?”

  “No, she’s still in total denial. She thinks Eleanor’s on a business trip.”

  “Well, when her body finally shows up, like the others…”

  “The others?”

  “Remember the other photos I showed you, the ones you didn’t recognize? As I said, the gentleman is preceded by his reputation. If I have it right, there have been three other women who disappeared before Eleanor Purdue, and there may be more. I’ve already interviewed most of the staff who work there, or at least the women under 40 whom I would have some plausible excuse to be interviewing. They’re all scared, but the bodies of the missing women and any proof that could stand up in court are hard to come by with those guys.”

  “Well, I tried with her, like you asked me to.”

  “No, Bob,” O’Malley laughed. “You went over there and talked to her for yourself, not because I asked you to.”

  He stared at the phone for a moment, knowing the bastard was right. “Maybe, but all it got me was a night in jail, and is probably costing me my company.”

  “Angie and the Special Board Meeting she’s calling?”

  “Are you bugging phones now, Peter?”

  “Almost everyone’s,” he laughed. “But not yours. No need. I have a hotline from the County Recorder’s office. My staff sees stuff before the ink is dry on their printer. Besides, I told you I have all that corporate business stuff covered. Play ball with me, and Symbiotic Software will vanish with the morning fog. You’ll have your company and the DOD contract.”

  “I don’t know what else you think I can do?”

  “Linda Sylvester — that’s what I think you can do. Sweet-talk her, get in her pants, I really don’t care which, so long as you get her to talk. She knows stuff. Then there’s Greenway. You watched him kill that woman and that makes you a witness to capital murder. You’ve got him by the balls. All you have to do is give him a little squeeze, and he’ll flip on the others.”

  “I’ve got him by the balls? You’re out of your mind, O’Malley. Besides, I told you, I don’t work that way.”

  “I hate to be corny, but it’s my way or Angie and the highway. Take your pick. You can get your company back, have a fat contract, and put some really bad guys away, or lose it all and have the IRS make a hobby out of you. Think it over; I know you won’t disappoint.”

  Burke was about to say something he knew he would regret, but he heard a click and realized that O’Malley hung up on him before he could. Figures.

  Two hours later, Bob was only halfway through the stack of letters and reports, when his office door opened and Charlie stuck his head inside. “Is this a good time, Boss?” he asked.

  Bob looked down the doodles he drew on his yellow legal pad, and waved Charlie the rest of the way in. “There’s no such thing. You come up with anything?”

  “Not much that’s any good,” the fat man admitted as he took one of the chairs in front of Bob’s desk and flipped through his notes. “Then again, I never did like this place.”

  “Good. Then you won’t miss it.”

  As Charlie began talking, the intercom lit up and Marianne said, “George Grierson’s on the phone for you, Bob.”

  Charlie began to gather his papers and get up, but Burke motioned for him to stay where he was. “Speaking of outside business expenses,” he said as he pressed the button for Line #1 and put it on speaker. “You got good news for us, George?” he asked.

  “No, what I got, was served with a Court Order, and I assume you’ll be getting one shortly, too. Angie must have found a friendly judge, because he locked you out of the offices until the Board Meeting. She has her lawyers at Gordon and Kramer appointed Conservators, and they will take over tomorrow morning. Sorry.”

  Well, Burke thought as he hung up, reached into his desk, and pulled out the nearly empty bottle of Macallan. “Charlie, I’ll be damned if I’m leaving this for her or the lawyers.”

  “Nope,” Charlie said as he went for the glasses on the credenza. “When the going gets tough, the tough get drunk.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  So far, the day had passed quietly, or so Linda Sylvester thought as she sat at her reception desk in the center of the CHC lobby. Her chair was on a raised platform, which in turn sat behind the tall, marble half-wall, putting her almost two feet above the lobby floor. Architects! It was as if she were working in her own private castle. The other girls would walk by and whisper, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,” to tease her. However, on a day like today, after a night like last night, being able to hide behind a thick wall had advantages.

  Fortunately, Linda saw very little of Tony Scalese or Dr. Greenway all morning. More important, she saw nothing of the local police, the FBI, or that man Burke, which suited her perfectly fine. She didn’t care to see any of them again, ever. Unfortunately, she saw nothing of Eleanor Purdue, either. Dr. Greenway had stopped by and told her Eleanor made a quick trip out of town to meet with the corporate auditors in New York, and she had said to tell her she would be gone for a few days. Funny, Eleanor said nothing to her about taking a trip, and that was unusual. Eleanor was ten years older than Linda, almost like an older sister. Despite the gap in their ages, she and Eleanor had become close friends over the past few months. If Eleanor decided to leave town, even for a few days, she would have asked Linda to check on her house, water her plants, and bring in the paper. She would have phoned, left a note or an email, or stopped by. She never would have left town without saying anything. That was not like Eleanor. So, was Greenway lying to her? It wouldn’t be the first time. But why? Why would he make up a story like that?

  Having been hired only four months before, Linda was still fairly new to CHC and to the job. Except for her friendship with Eleanor, she was already sorry she took it. The money was great, much better than her previous one, and she had a daughter to think of. Still, there was a creepy feel about the place. She saw it on the faces and in the eyes of the other women; CHC was not an office where you could relax. Most of the other employees were female, from 25 to 40 years old. That could be said about the previous two places she worked too, but it was different here. There was a tension right below the surface that was so strong she could feel it. The women were scared, especially the younger ones. At first, she thought it might be Tony Scalese, the muscle-bound head of security, or his hairy-knuckled guards. They were middle-aged Italians and most of them wore wedding rings. Scalese was a tough guy — big, muscular, and crude. Od
dly enough though, as one of the other women whispered to her in the restroom, “Tony might break your arm, honey, but he’d never touch you… not like that.”

  Doctor Greenway, on the other hand, was different — smiling, polite, and impeccably dressed. It wasn’t that Linda was a prude or hadn’t been chased around a few offices by grabby young men who couldn’t keep their hands off her. She’d been divorced for three years now. That was a long time. To be truthful, there were moments she wouldn’t even mind it, depending on who was doing the chasing. With a five-year-old daughter, she learned the hard way that there were plenty of men around who she could hook up with for a one-night stand or even a long weekend; but that was as far as the commitment went with them. She was lonely, but not that lonely. Worse still, on several occasions in the past few weeks, she caught Doctor Greenway staring at her, and it creeped her out. He was more than twice her age, and there was something decidedly “off” about that man. He was tall, with long fingers, a thin, hungry smile, and hooded eyes that reminded her of a snake. After all, Linda had been around. She understood men and knew what they wanted, and that didn’t bother her nearly as much as it used to. There were times when she wanted it too, but not with someone like Greenway. No, she did not like him and she did not trust him either. Two weeks ago over dinner and a big bottle of wine, Eleanor told her never to let him get her alone in his office. Eleanor did, and she learned to regret it. Linda pressed her for details, but she knew there were some things a woman wouldn’t talk about, even with a friend, and that was good enough for her.