Dark Money

by Larry D. Thompson

  One evening she stopped at the Walmart in Pecos to buy black cloth, sequins, and a pair of black slippers. She visited the optician shop at the front and was fitted with a pair of dark, almost black, contact lenses to conceal her distinctive sapphire blue eyes. Last, she bought the biggest fanny pack available, also black. After that, she spent evenings in her trailer, sewing her cat burglar costume. She sewed stockings to the slippers and fashioned them to look like calf-length boots, with an inch of sequins at the top. Next, she constructed a holster of cardboard, covered with black cloth and sequins to attach to her calf. All of this, including the gun and her mask, had to fit into the fanny pack for the mission.

  Five days before the party, Miriam put her truck up on blocks at the compound and changed the oil. Various people walked by and inquired if she was taking a trip. She smiled and said that she was going to visit a sick friend. Four days before the party she confirmed that the money was in her Cayman account, loaded her pickup, kissed her father on the cheek and drove slowly out of the gate. When she got to Pecos, she pointed her truck east on I-20 for the long drive through West Texas to Fort Worth. She stopped twice for gas and twice at McDonald’s before hitting the western edge of Fort Worth at about dusk.

  She made her way over to Camp Bowie Blvd., a major four-lane street that ran almost to downtown. It only took her five minutes to spot a restaurant with a parking lot that overflowed with vehicles. She paused on a side street, looking for cameras or a security guard. Seeing none, she entered the parking lot and searched until she found a pickup with an empty space beside it. Checking once more for restaurant patrons and seeing none, she dropped from her truck with a set of screwdrivers. She moved to the front of the other pickup and took only the front license. She figured that someone was less likely to miss a front license and with the one still on the rear, it was less likely to attract the attention of a cop. In less than three minutes, she was gone.

  She had already spotted a Hampton Inn on the internet just off the freeway and not far from Westover Hills. She made her way through back streets to the inn, pausing under a street light to trade her back license for the one she had just stolen. When she got to the motel she looked for cameras. At the entrance there was only one; she turned under the port-cochere so that the camera could record only the stolen license. Having done several similar missions, she knew to pay cash for four nights and, of course, used a fake driver’s license for identification. She also put the new license number on the registration. Once on her floor, she stopped to get a Diet Coke from the machine and went to her room where she turned the air conditioning on high and drank the Coke with a protein bar for dinner. Then she was asleep.

  The next morning Van Zandt read the Fort Worth Star Telegram while she enjoyed the inn’s complimentary breakfast. There was nothing about the upcoming party, which didn’t surprise her since she presumed that a bunch of Republican fat cats wouldn’t want publicity. After breakfast, she checked her GPS and within five minutes was at the edge of Westover Hills. The first thing she noted was that the community had its own police force. That told her that she could not wander the streets forever without someone noting an old pickup without lawn tools or something similar in the ritzy neighborhood. Having a good satellite image of the area and a GPS, she located the mansion at the end of the cul de sac. She paused at the driveway and took pictures with her cell phone when she peered through the archway and down the driveway to the back. Beyond the driveway, she could make out the woods behind the house. Slowly turning in the cul de sac, she started driving the surrounding streets, memorizing their complicated paths as best she could since they seemed to twist and turn for no apparent reason. She amused herself by being the sole judge for best Halloween decorations. She had been in the neighborhood about a half hour when she passed a patrol car. She waved and smiled and then elected to leave the area, at least until late afternoon when there would almost surely be a shift change.

  Next she drove to Roaring Springs Road and followed it to the entrance to Shady Oaks Country Club. She told the lady at the guard booth that she was applying for a job in maintenance and was waved through. She drove the parking lots, noting surveillance cameras and parked to study the fairways. Concluding that she could not leave her truck in the club parking lot, she left and continued on Roaring Springs until she found herself on Alta Mere where she saw Ridgmar Mall in the distance. Miriam circled the mall several times, locating most of the cameras. She finally decided that there was one back corner that would be near perfect to park her truck. She estimated it would be about a mile and a half jog back to Shady Oaks. From there she would figure out the fairways that would lead into the trees behind the mansion. She would test the route before sunset tonight and again tomorrow night when it was completely dark. For now she was ready for lunch and a nap. She chose Pulido’s Mexican Restaurant, the original one on a street named after the historic restaurant near Fort Worth’s rail yard, and arrived there in less than fifteen minutes.

  Four hours later she was parked once again at the mall in the back corner. She circled the mall in a slow jog and turned onto Alta Mere. The traffic was a hassle until she made it to Roaring Springs. When she arrived at the country club, she paused in the parking lot of some condos that faced it and looked for guards. Seeing none, she crossed the street to the closest fairway. She moved in the direction of the mansion, dodging sprinklers as she went. When she got to the woods, she slowed to a walk and picked her way through trees, shrubs and bramble bushes. It was clearly a nature preserve where nothing was cut or cleared. Even in daylight it took her twenty minutes to find her way through the woods to the back wall of the mansion. The wall was of cut stone. She found a couple of cracks to use as hand holds and scaled a few feet until she could grab the top of the wall and hoist herself so that she could look over the top to confirm that she was in the right place. She was. Facing her across the patio and pool area was a ballroom with ten beveled glass French doors. No doubt this was the place. She took a minute to survey the surroundings, including spotting a potted plant next to the last door on the left where the person on the inside was supposed to leave a key. She didn’t know who her accomplice was and wouldn’t ask. All she wanted was for that person to leave the key, as planned.

  5

  Jack showed up at five o’clock in his Bentley and was waved through the gate by the same guard who told him to park where he had yesterday. “Different outfit and ride,” he noted. Jack had told Walt that his costume would be that of a plaintiff lawyer, dark suit, white shirt and tie, no mask. Walt met him as he exited his car.

  “Thanks, Jack. I owe you.”

  “Naw. This is just a minor payback for what you did for me. What do you want me to do?”

  “For now, just walk around the ballroom. Check the outside. They start letting people in at six-thirty. Then, I’d like you to man a post at the back of the ballroom. I’ll have Wyatt Kamin from our detail back there, too. Just observe the guests when they come in. Radio me if you see anything that looks out of order.”

  Jack did has he was told and wandered the premises. He found the kitchen, talked to the cooks and observed the preparations. He made his way through the house to the front entrance. It was a pleasant evening with no chance of rain; so, the security guards had set up tables on either side of the front sidewalk. He noted that each table had a clipboard with handwriting on the top sheet, Concealed Handguns. That was the closest thing to common sense he had seen. When costumed guests started lining up at the front, he made his way back to the ballroom, introduced himself to Wyatt and stood to the left of the doors while Wyatt took a similar position to the right.

  Walt Frazier stood at the corner of the balcony behind the stage so that he could analyze the guests as they entered the ballroom. It was strange to be wearing a black mask and have a pearl-handled six shooter strapped to his waist. Somehow, it didn’t fit with the business attire that was his normal evening wear when on the job. At least, he was not the only one feeling o
ut of place. Jeff Foster and Ryan Fitzpatrick positioned themselves at other balcony vantage points, also wearing coats, ties, masks and six-shooters. At least he had drawn the line when the governor wanted them in full Lone Ranger attire. Earlier in the day they had escorted the governor and his wife to a suite on the second floor that Oscar Hale reserved for visiting dignitaries. The detail could observe the activities below until eight-thirty when they would go upstairs to escort the governor and his wife to the party.

  At six-thirty the doors opened like floodgates and the guests streamed in. It was then that Walt realized that his nightmare was coming true. “Holy shit,” he said into the microphone on his cuff. “Roger that,” the others said almost simultaneously.

  “Walt, how the hell are we supposed to do our jobs?” Wyatt asked.

  “You just do the best you can with the cards you’re dealt. Can’t do anything more,” Jack drawled.

  The intent was that the Hale brothers and their wives would receive the guests as they entered. Oscar Hale was dressed as Elvis. Ellen, his wife of thirty years, was wearing a comfortable witch outfit. Edward dressed as Captain America. His trophy third wife, Maria, filled a tigress costume very nicely. Once the doors were opened, many chose to forego the receiving line in favor of getting to the bars more quickly.

  Walt watched the costumed guests fill the room and head to bars located against each wall. Batman entered, escorted by an obviously female Robin. Both had weapons strapped to their sides. Darth Vader followed, light sabre in hand. Through the other doors came the scarecrow and tin man along with Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. No weapons on them unless the tin man’s oil can contained pepper spray. A zombie sheriff followed, gun strapped to his side. “Jeff, keep an eye on that zombie sheriff. Ryan, here comes a terminator. He’s yours for the evening. Wyatt, there’s a female cop with a tiny halter top and short shorts. She’s carrying a gun. Watch her.”

  “Walt, this is all we need,” Ryan said. “Annie Oakley just arrived, rifle over her shoulder.”

  When Annie Oakley entered, she raised her gun in the air and fired off a shot that echoed through the ballroom. Walt froze for a moment, not sure what to do until he realized that the gun contained blanks. Still, he could feel his blood pressure climbing. “I’ve got her, Walt,” Jack said. “She seems harmless. Talking about how she can outshoot any man or woman within a hundred miles.” As the room continued to fill, Walt said, “I count six pirates, three male and three female, all with swords and a couple with blunderbusses. And there are five tigresses, three who can wear those skin-tight outfits and a couple who could have found more appropriate costumes. Then there’s the Incredible Hulk, Captain America, Spiderman, the Black Widow and a usual assortment of naughty nurses and schoolmarms.”

  “Walt, I see a couple of army rangers. Remind you of your old days?”

  “I prefer to forget those days. And, finally we have three or four Draculas and vampires, all with knives.”

  The room was overflowing. One evil clown, an unlighted cigarette dangling from his mouth, was trying to get a door to the patio open. Walt called Al, one of the security guards on the first floor. “Go tell that guy that the doors can only be opened with a key. He’s wasting his time.”

  As the crowd mingled, complimenting each other on their costumes, waiters and waitresses drifted among them, serving food and drinks. Walt had arranged for several of the security guards to be part of the wait staff, available in the event of a problem. When the bartenders broke out the champagne, corks started exploding around the room. Every cork caused the detail to pause a split second to determine if it was a shot or a champagne bottle. Walt’s eyes began to dart nervously around the room. The members of the detail were trained and had been on the job for at least ten years. When the governor arrived, they knew that the split second to figure out whether a noise was a bottle or a balloon or a gun could be a life or death moment. Shit!

  By eight-thirty only one vampire had drunk too much and was escorted by a guard to a den where he was served coffee and observed for the remainder of the evening. Walt saw both Hale couples making their way to the stage. As they walked, Maria Hale turned to her sister-in-law and said, “Can you believe how many women are in tigress costumes? If we ever do this again, I’m going as the queen of the jungle.”

  The Hales were followed by a clown with a star on his chest, a Power Ranger and The Terminator, also with stars on their chests. Walt knew that the clown was Kevin O’Connell, the fundraiser-in-chief. The other two were Tom Sinclair, the state’s first black Republican Senator, and Alberto Sanchez, a Congressman, along with their wives. The stars indicated that they were allowed on stage.

  Walt surveyed the scene below him one more time and said, “Okay, guys, it’s time. Let’s get Lone Wolf and Petal, that damsel he rescued from the bar in Abilene. It’s time for their grand entry.” Lone Wolf and Petal were the detail’s code names for the governor and his wife. “Jack, stay where you are. Radio me if you need to.”

  6

  Robert C. Lardner was a born politician, which was good since that was his sole occupation once he left the Air Force thirty years before. Six feet tall and lean, he could have been a Hollywood leading man. Instead, he married his college sweetheart, Susan, and ran for the legislature, seeking to represent the rural area of West Texas where he grew up. He won and was on his way, next as Commissioner of Agriculture and then Lieutenant Governor before climbing to the governor’s office ten years before.

  Along the way, he had become a multimillionaire although he never held a job that paid more than $150,000 a year. Knowledge was his key to fortune. As a young legislator and later as Agriculture Commissioner, he could borrow, say, a couple of hundred thousand dollars from a friendly banker who might need a favor down the road, with interest a few percent, then turn around and loan it to his campaign at twenty-five or thirty percent. When questioned about the interest rate over the years, he would laugh off the question and reply, “Have you looked at the interest on your credit card lately?”

  As he climbed the political ladder and accumulated money, he also had access to where freeways were going or dams were being built. Once he was certain a freeway was going to be funded, he would send out his friends to buy land along the right of way, wait a few years and sell it for ten times what he paid. And, if a lake was going to be created in the water-starved state, it was manna from heaven. Once he was sure of its location, he and his colleagues would buy hundreds of acres in an area prime for a residential development and again, wait a few years before cashing in.

  Lardner never did anything illegal. It was just the way that politicians in every state and, particularly, in Washington, supplemented their salary for public service to make the living they were certain they deserved. Nothing new about it, particularly in Texas where President Lyndon Johnson set the standard. He never held a job except as a small town school teacher and in politics; yet, he left a multi-million dollar estate when he died.

  And Lardner understood money and politics. He had his own PACs that he could dip into for almost anything, even family vacations. Did it pass the smell test? Maybe not. But following the Citizens United decision from the United States Supreme Court no one cared. Politicians on every level had two missions: First was to advance as far up the political ladder as possible. The second was to use the system to make sure when he or she finally got shoved aside, millions were socked away in savings and the stock market. If, along the way, he or she did something good for the country, that was a bonus. It was probably no different from early in the country’s history or even back to Roman times. Only, now there were so many more ways for a politician to make money. On top of that, judges and election officials looked the other way. Even on the Federal Election Commission, there were members who believed that the First Amendment’s mandate about freedom of speech was so powerful that no law could restrict campaign contributions since money, in their eyes, equaled speech.

  As for Lardner, he had not faced a s
erious opponent for ten years. Still, businessmen seeking access to him fed millions every year into his various PACs. He didn’t need the money to be elected in a solid red state, but he could take those same millions and pass the money out among his conservative friends in other states, knowing that his largess would create a due bill that he could call in as he moved into position to run for president.

  That, of course, led to Kevin O’Connell, the clown in charge of the fundraiser. O’Connell had not started life as a rich man either. He toiled behind the scenes in various Republican races over the years and had actually served in the White House when the last Republican was elected president. If there was one person anywhere who understood how the various PACs worked and how to move money from one to another to the advantage of his candidates and their causes, it was O’Connell. On top of that, he had practically memorized the Citizens United and McCutcheon opinions. He was comfortable being the man behind the throne, the master puppeteer, pulling the strings. Only the stakes were higher for him in this election cycle. His efforts had not produced big winners in the last three national elections. People were saying that he had lost his touch. When the Tea Party came along, he lifted his nose to the wind, sniffed which way it was blowing, and began raising funds for Tea Party candidates.