Conspiracy of Fire

by Tony Bulmer

  “Alive for now, but who knows how long that will last with you around—you are insane. You just shot two guys. Not only that, you assaulted a cop and you drive like a maniac too.”

  “Anyone ever tell you Verner, you got yourself a real drip-­‐drip voice that is borderline whiney?”

  “I don’t have to take to that from you,” snapped Verner.

  Karyn looked up from the police file, the low burning lights of underground car park casting a menacing glow across her face as she said, “No, you are quite right Verner, you don’t have to take it do you?”

  “What?”

  “You could head on out of town, take the

  first flight to the mainland and hole up somewhere

  cozy until this all blows over couldn’t you?” “I could go to Seattle to my parents house,”

  said Brad Verner defiantly. “There wouldn’t be a

  damn thing you could do to stop me. This is still a

  free country. I got rights.”

  Karyn folded away the Police report into

  her handbag. “You are absolutely right Verner. You

  are a constitutionally protected citizen of the

  United States of America you got every right in the

  world to do whatever the hell you want, but before

  you make any hasty decisions, I want to show you

  something.”

  “You do? What?”

  Karyn gave him a tight earnest look, “Step

  out of the car for a second would you?”

  “Hey, you just told me to get back in, this

  better not be a trick or something.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “Of course I don’t trust you, a least I want to

  trust you—but—”

  Karyn nodded, “I understand Verner. It has

  been a hell of a day for you hasn’t it? You got up

  this morning thinking you were going to set the

  world to rights and yet now, here you are a fugitive

  from justice,” Karyn got out the car, paused then

  leaned back in.

  Verner said, “What? No I am not, I…” “Just get out of the damn car would you

  Verner, I got a short fuse when it comes to patience,

  if you know what I mean.”

  Brad Verner opened the door and sprang

  out of his seat, a petulant scowl creasing his face,

  “There is nothing that you can say that will make the slightest bit of difference. My mind is made up.”

  Karyn nodded, “I thought it might be,” she said beckoning him around towards the back of the car. She gave a sharp intake of breath, “You were right about those bullet holes.”

  “I am glad you agree, but…” Karyn held up her hand, “I got to tell you something Verner, those people who were after us, they are not going to stop. You won’t be able to hide, and you certainly won’t be able to run. You are a civilian. You haven’t got the skills and that means that when you try to make a break for it you will be dead before you get to the airport check in desk.”

  Brad Verner stared at Karyn his dark eyes betraying a building sense of horror.

  Karyn popped the trunk. It was empty. “You see what I mean,” she said.

  Brad Verner looked down into the chasming trunk. As he opened his mouth to speak, a cold hard realization suddenly hit. Fractions of a second later, the brutal impact came, a pressure in his neck so overwhelming that he couldn’t even gasp, only fall forwards into the dark confines of the yawning trunk.

  15

  It was just as the Police report said. The Penthouse suite to the Royal Anolani Hotel had its own exclusive elevator. Riding upwards in its mirrored confines, the uniformed attendant gave Karyn the look. His cologne grabbed viscerally at her, while he made chit-­‐chat about the weather, like she was some kind of tourist. Karyn stared at him. The chat shut down and quick, replaced by the quiet hum of the ascent, as cologne guy brushed down the front of his brocade tunic with a white-­‐gloved hand and forced out a nervous smile.

  Stepping out into the sumptuous Penthouse lobby, Karyn came face to face with a trolley-­‐cart packed high with monogrammed designer luggage. Someone was going somewhere soon, with no plans to return. Karyn’s heels sounded out against the cold marble floor. The place was pretty Ritzy, even by luxury hotel standards—gilt furniture, European antiques, and a collection of eye-­‐ache modern-­‐art paintings that had to be worth a million dollars a pop. The whole place stank of big money; not even the monstrous collection of fragrant blooms crowding every available surface could hide that.

  Karyn sniffed, nodded, figured that yes, hotel living was definitely the way to go for smart singles of substance.

  “Ms. Kane, how thoughtful of you to drop by.”

  Karyn paused, turned, and saw an older woman heading towards her, arms outstretched, the woman was wearing a diaphanous gown in this

  seasons colors. As she tottered forward, the clank of jewelry followed her, like a jangling leitmotif. Calista Johnston, wife of recently deceased Senator Tex Johnston, even sounded rich thought Karyn, as she offered her hand. But the senator’s wife simply drifted past her hand and closed in for an embrace, pressing ever so lightly against her in the European style. Karyn couldn’t help but noticing how painfully thin she was, as though she might be blown away at any moment by a sudden breeze.

  I am sorry to intrude on your private grief, in what must be a very difficult time for you.” Karyn paused, assessing Calista Johnston’s face for any signs of emotion, found none and continued, “I would like to offer you my condolences and those of the United States Justice Department…”

  Calista Johnston gave a musical laugh, “Oh, please. Give me a break. My husband was a world-­‐ class asshole and we both know it. So there is no need to feed me that grieving widow bullshit, because quite frankly honey, I couldn’t be happier.” Calista Johnston looked at Karyn for a long moment, her eyes hidden behind a pair of voluminous designer sunglasses. Her tight, pale face betraying no sign of emotion. Suddenly she cracked a smile. “Throwing himself out that goddamn widow was the best thing that little weasel ever did.”

  Karyn gave her a concerned look, “See, that is what I wanted to talk to you Mrs. Johnston. Do you have any idea why your husband would do such a thing?”’

  Again the musical laugh, “Please, darling, call me Calista.” Making a flamboyant and dismissive gesture with the back of her hand now,

  Calista Johnston said, “I have already told those pricks from the FBI and the HPD everything I know darling, which doesn’t amount to much. Perhaps you should compare notes?” She broke a grin now, displaying a too perfect collection of sun bleached ivory spreading around to her diamond covered ears. “When you asked me why Tex would do such a thing, did you want to know why he would shoot that prick governor like that—or why he would want to throw his own gutless carcass off the top of his whore palace at the Pacifica Towers?
”

  Karyn gave Calista Johnston a tight look. “ Again the sun bleached ivory cracked wide. “Good heavens Ms. Kane—Karyn. I am quite forgetting my manners. Please, come through into the living room, there is the most beautiful view of the bay. Let me get you a drink, tell me, what is your poison?”

  Karyn followed Calista Johnston, with careful steps, as the older woman wrapped a thin arm around her and guided her forward. A cloying scent engaged Karyn’s nostrils, holding her senses hostage, bullying them, as swirling top notes of sex and cigarettes presented themselves like guilty Catholic schoolgirls before the mother superior.

  The view from the penthouse was astounding, the city of Honolulu spread wide like a glittering jewel encrusted tiara under the breathless Pacific sky.

  Karyn turned away from the view, her mind working fast. “Is there anyone who would want your husband dead Calista?”

  “My goodness Karyn, don’t you field the big questions early, and no messing about either,” Calista Johnston flashed her famous smile, but it

  was somehow more grotesque this time. She walked over to a nightclub-­‐sized bar and reached for a silver cigarette case. She snapped open the case, and said quickly, “I don’t expect you smoke, do you honey? Hardly anyone does these days.”

  Karyn shook her head.

  Calista Johnston reached out a cigarette from the case and double tapped it on the hard silver. “In answer to your question honey, my husband was a multi-­‐billionaire; a bigot with a mouth that had no off switch. I think we can safely say he was hated, by just about everyone he met. Tex was that kind of man, power-­‐hungry and insensitive. The only things he gave a good goddamn about were making money and buying his way to the top of the political system.”

  Karyn nodded, “I see.”

  “I am not sure you do honey. You have no idea what it was like living with a man like my husband. Close to twenty five years we were together all told, twenty five years in a cold, dead marriage with a man who would rather spend time talking money with a bunch of cowboy booted yahoos than making love to his wife. Now I ask you honey, what kind of marriage is that?”

  Karyn pursed her lips, her face getting tighter by the minute.

  Calista Johnston put the cigarette in her mouth and lit it. She took a long, deep pull and exhaled. Smoke curled into the air, languid and deadly. “What kind of drink can I get you honey? I am going to have myself a margarita, but I am guessing you being young and all, that you take your pleasures more simply?”

  Karyn smiled, “Tequila. Rocks.”

  “But of course—how very apropos.” Calista

  Johnston took another pull on her cigarette and

  called out, “Enrique—come here at once my dear,

  we have a guest—we will be needing your

  services.”

  Karyn raised her eyebrows.

  “Enrique is my personal assistant and

  companion.” The explanation was volunteered so

  blandly it almost seemed as though it was the most

  normal thing in the world to have an assistant.

  There was a pause—a long pause. Calista Johnston

  held her cigarette like a starlet in a 1940s

  Hollywood B-­‐movie. She took gentle puffs and eyed

  Karyn with a sly, almost lascivious smile. At length,

  Enrique appeared. He was young and slim and

  athletic with a mop of curly black ringlets bouncing

  on top of his head. He was wearing tight linen pants

  without shoes, and a crumpled dress shirt. He

  looked like he had just got out of bed—or the

  shower, and from the dark look on his face he was

  none too happy about it.

  “I will have my usual darling and our guest

  Ms. Kane—Karyn, will have a double shot of Agave

  with ice.”

  Enrique gave Karyn an oily look and slid

  behind the bar.

  “What business did your husband have with

  the governor?”

  “Business my dear? I was never a party to

  my husbands business dealings.”

  Karyn nodded. “I see.”

  “I would imagine however, if I were to take

  an educated guess, that my husband, was engaged

  in furthering his political agenda, if you understand

  what I mean.”

  Karyn nodded, “Are you telling me he was bribing the governor. Why?”

  “Goodness my dear, how very direct you are.” Calista Johnston paused, examined her nails and then took a slow pull on her cigarette, as she exhaled she said brightly, “My husband was a man of very particular tastes Ms. Kane, he could not be aroused in a normal sexual way—his obsession with perversion prevented that—voyeurism, sadomasochism, dacryphilia. Such things appealed to his endless need for dominance.”

  The sound of Enrique hacking into a slab of ice with a steel pick cut through the silence.

  Calista Johnston examined her fingernails again then looked directly at Karyn. “My husband enjoyed humiliating his business associates. He derived pleasure from their pain, a compulsion that has created a number of potential scandals in the past. I wouldn’t be surprised if this little scenario at the Pacifica Towers was connected to my

  husband’s rather dangerous and unwholesome needs.”

  Karyn stared.

  Enrique, having filled the cocktail shaker began rattling it vigorously, all the while his black eyes burning lustfully into Karyn.

  “Your husband had connections on the far-­‐ right didn’t he?”

  Calista Johnston cast her head back and laughed wholeheartedly. “My husband believed in freedom Ms. Kane, freedom from the yoke of the Federal Government. He also believed in the determination of a New South, unshackled from the servitude it has so long suffered. No doubt there are those who would choose to label such vision as

  extreme, but politics is an ugly game Ms. Kane, exceedingly ugly.”

  “No doubt. You telling me his death had nothing to do with politics?”

  “My husband was a Libertarian, a

  Humanistian, He dreamt of throwing off the shackles of government and delivering freedom to the many. He may have been an asshole in private, but his political aspirations were truly God given.”

  Karyn nodded, “Freedom can be a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.”

  “Perhaps you believe also that freedom is the new captivity? If that is so my dear it would seem that you are doomed to a life of servitude.”

  “I work for the Government. Servitude is my business.”

  “But for how much longer? Very soon all governments will be as extinct as the dinosaurs. Liberate yourself whilst you still can Ms. Kane, very soon the whole world will be singing a song of freedom.”

  Enrique sashayed around the bar and delivered the ice cold drinks with a flourish. Karyn let hers stand on the coffee table, and looked at it thoughtfully. “Sounds like you and your husband had a lot in common after all. Te
ll me, with his political career riding on such a peak of euphoria, why would he take his own life? It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “The pressures of high office and

  longstanding personal obsession finally proved too much for him—if I had to guess, he was indulging in one of his scenarios with Governor Geryon and the whore they were with—obviously that scenario got out of control—how, we may never know—but

  what I can tell you is that the thought of final political ruination would have been too big a burden for my husband to bear and so he ended his life. If he had been a man he would have faced the consequences, but no, the thought of being judged was an impossible burden for him.

  Karyn nodded. “An interesting theory.” “More than a theory I think you will find Karyn, it is a course of events supported by the investigations of both the FBI and the HPD.”

  “Those investigations are ongoing at this current time Mrs. Johnston.”

  Calista Johnston gulped her margarita, her lips growing thin and tight. She extinguished her cigarette in a capacious onyx ashtray and it was immediately removed for cleaning by Enrique, who returned promptly with the cocktail shaker, so that he might refill his mistresses drink.”

  “Time will tell what insights the

  investigation will yield. Meantime, life goes on, does it not Karyn?”

  “You have been very cooperative Mrs. Johnston—Calista. Thank you very much for your time,” Karyn paused. “Tell me, do you have a trip planned?”

  “I flew in purely that I might be of service to the authorities. Now that I have played my part I will be leaving.”

  “A scheduled flight?”

  “I have a private jet Karyn, perhaps I can offer you a ride?”

  Enrique stood behind his mistress, beaming.

  Karyn said, “I don’t think so.”

  Calista Johnston licked her lips lightly, “Perhaps some other time Karyn?”