Election Day: A Harry Cassidy Novel

by Henry Hack

“We were at the tipping point before the last election. The Minutemen failed to change the results, so a revolution by the masses is all that is left. And when the money runs out from the great wealth tax and currency conversion, the government has another plan. They will gradually force all private and public pension plans to invest a portion of their assets in government bonds. And they will keep increasing that percentage up to 100%.”

  “And when that money finally runs out?”

  “China will take us over without firing a shot.”

  “How long for this scenario to run it’s course?”

  “Twenty to thirty years, maybe less.”

  “I need another scotch,” Harry said looking around the venerable club. The subtle odors of oiled wood and expensive cigars would soon disappear forever as the wealthy members fled the country, leaving the Winston Club a dusty relic of the past.

  “I’m buying,” Phil said. “While I’m still able. Enjoy it while you can.”

  * * *

  “Do you think Phil is overreacting to this?” Susan asked that afternoon as they had coffee in the living room of their apartment.

  “I don’t think so. He always seems to be in as to what’s going on, and what will be going on. But I admit, his whole scenario is tough to swallow.”

  “Should we do anything now?”

  “To be on the safe side, let’s take our excess cash and buy gold coins – Canadian maple leafs – as Phil suggested. Phil will take them to Canada. If and when the time comes, he can convert them to Canadian dollars, then to the new American dollars, and get it back to us.”

  “How will he transport the cash over the border to us? I would think the government would seal the border to prevent such a transfer from occurring.”

  “How do I know? He said he could do it. And what makes you think America is capable of securing its border now when they never could in the past?”

  “With the military. We’re still under martial law, remember?”

  “Let’s stop worrying about the future right now. My head is spinning. Let’s plan on going out to Pasquale’s for dinner tonight.”

  “And Wyoming?”

  “Not now. Let’s stay in New York awhile and see how things play out. If they go as Phil predicted, we’ll have plenty of time to make the move.”

  “Or before, if we can’t pay the rent. We are both unemployed now, remember?”

  “Crap, I forget your contract was up. Anything on the horizon?”

  “Nope, the economy and job prospects for lawyers are abominable.”

  “Maybe I can go back to Sheldrake in some capacity. At least we have my pension.”

  “Your net from pension will cover the rent, but we have to eat and wear some clothes. If you, or me, can’t get a decent job, we are going to have to give this place up.”

  “I’ll look into it tomorrow,” he said.

  * * *

  Harry picked up a copy of the Wall Street Journal at the kiosk adjacent to the subway station and headed down the stairs for the fifteen minute ride downtown to Sheldrake Associates. He glanced at the headlines on the first page and involuntarily straightened his shoulders as he read, “FBI Director to Step Down.”

  The story went on to say that, “Walt Kobak had decided to retire after thirty plus years of service. He denied that he had been forced out of his job by the attorney general at the direction of the President. Kobak said that he and President Nelson have always had a cordial, professional relationship and his departure was purely voluntary and had nothing to do with the recent attacks by the Minutemen.”

  Harry smiled to himself. Voluntary, my ass. He turned the next page to read that a military tribunal had found Herman Muntz and Sanford Green guilty of multiple counts of murder and they were summarily sentenced to be hanged in public within ten days. No mention was made of the rest of the Minutemen still at large.

  When he arrived at Sheldrake, he first asked the long-time receptionist, Lorraine Bender, where Nick Faliani was now assigned.

  “Oh, Harry,” she said. “They didn’t take Nick back.”

  “Why?”

  “Business is awful. They just let another dozen investigators and four supervisors go. I’m getting worried myself.”

  Harry hid his shock and said, “Lorraine, you’re the most valuable employee we…they…ever had. Don’t you dare worry. You’ll be here until they close the doors.”

  “I even worry that might happen. Oh, did you want to see Mr. Ridky or Mr. Ahearn?”

  “No,” he said, realizing a job request would be an act of futility. “I just wanted to chat with Nick. You stay well, Lorraine.”

  “And employed, I hope.”

  “I hope so, too,” he said as he patted her hand and turned to leave.

  He needed a walk in the brisk November air in order to clear his head. Kobak gone. Nick without a job. He and Susan without jobs. Consciously or unconsciously, his meanderings through the streets of downtown Manhattan took him to the front steps of One Police Plaza, where he once reigned supreme. He entered the lobby and walked up to the reception desk. “I’d like to see Commissioner Carson, if he is in please,” he said to the uniformed police officer at the desk who looked to him to be about fifteen years of age.

  She eyed him suspiciously and said, “Do you have an appointment?”

  Realizing she had no idea who he was, he handed over his shield case saying, “No, he and I are old friends.”

  She raised her eyebrows and said, “You used to be the police commissioner?”

  “Yes, before Commissioner Carson.”

  “Oh, that was before I came on the Job. I’ll buzz his secretary for you.”

  If Harry had been shocked at the news of Walt Kobak’s retirement and the state of affairs at Sheldrake, he was shocked more at the sight of his old friend, Charlie Carson. It must have shown on Harry’s face because Charlie said, “I know. I look like shit.”

  “You’re not sick, I hope.”

  “No, not physically. Mentally is another situation. The stress of the job, especially going through the Minutemen fiasco, has really taken its toll on me.”

  Harry assessed Charlie’s condition. Lines and creases in his face where none had been before, down at least thirty pounds on a former hundred and eighty pound frame, hand trembling as he grabbed his coffee cup to his lips. Harry said, “I’m sure you know about Walt?”

  “He called me last night. It was ironic timing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mayor Kroger informed me he wants to make a change. Wants a more progressive police commissioner. One with a more sympathetic understanding of the needs of our minority groups and poorer neighborhoods. I’ve got six weeks left until the end of the year.”

  “I’d like to say, for health reasons, getting out of here may be a good thing. But having lost this job due to politics myself, I know what a lousy feeling it is. Maybe our leftist President called our leftist mayor and told him, ‘I’m dumping Kobak, why not dump that asshole right-wing police commissioner of yours, too.’”

  At least that got a slight smile from Charlie, who said, “Walt is coming up to New York in two days to say good-bye to everyone. I’m going over there to join them, and I know he’s going to want you there.”

  “I’ll be happy to see you all. I’ll call Walt later.”

  “They are disbanding the Task Force, you know.”

  “They always do that after a terrorist threat is over, leaving just a skeleton crew.”

  “Not even that this time. All the members are going back to regular duties next Monday. And that goes for all the joint task forces in all the cities where they exist.”

  “Why are they doing that?”

  “Walt said he was told they would no longer be needed. The military and Homeland Security agents will handle terrorism, if it appears again.”

  “Charlie, when I call Walt I’m going to ask him if it’s okay to bring Nick Faliani and John McKee over to say good-bye. I want an opportunity
to speak to everyone together, all the people important to me in law enforcement. I have some relevant information to pass on, and I want everyone’s input on it.”

  “I’m sure there will be no problems. In fact, let’s call him now and run it by him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Walt Kobak had readily agreed to Harry’s requests and said he had been thinking along the same line himself. The meeting was set for noon on Thursday and lunch would be brought into the conference room – Walt’s treat – just like in the old days. And when Walt walked into the room accompanied by Mark Negron, they all stood up and applauded their friend.

  Walt smiled, his spirits buoyed by the warmth and camaraderie of his long-time friends and fellow law enforcement officers. He looked around the room – Harry Cassidy, Nick Faliani, John McKee – the last of the original crew. He swallowed hard imagining the faces of the rest of the originals – four dead and gone at the hands of terrorists. He said, “Thank you all for coming to say good-bye to me. As I look around the room, I can’t help but visualize those who are no longer with us. Please join me for a moment or two of silence and prayer for our departed brethren – Alicia Johnson, Mike Morra, Jerry Campora, Dick Mansfield and Pop Hunter.”

  When the silent prayers were over Walt said, “Only one of those five made it to a full and happy retirement, the rest died at the hands of the terrorist groups we fought so hard against over the years. And now our terrorist fighting days are over. I know you all have been informed that this Task Force, and all our other Task Forces, will be shortly disbanded and you will be returned to your normal duties. We are at the end of an era and the beginning of a new one – one in which I’ll be glad not to be part of. Despite what you read in the papers, I was asked to leave by the President, but I would have resigned in a day or two anyway. Listen, I’m gabbing too long here. Let’s hear from some of you guys. Charlie?”

  NYMPD Commissioner Charles Carson got to his feet and also thanked everyone for their dedication and efforts, and then dropped his bomb. “As the President did to Walt, our dear mayor did to me. I will be leaving the Department at year’s end.”

  When the shock and shouts of outrage died down Charlie said, “Walt was right. We are at the end of an era. He and I will now be unemployed as are Harry Cassidy and Nick Faliani. To be a bit melodramatic, you can say four old warriors have been unceremoniously cast into the dustbin of history. It’s up to the new blood here, the young blood, to take up the challenge of honest law enforcement in the socialist paradise that will soon be upon us. Harry Cassidy would like to say a few words about that. Harry?”

  The mood was as somber as a funeral as Charlie sat down and Harry arose. He said, “I would like to impart some dramatic information to you, information that came to me from a reliable source, and which I believe to be true. You can all make up your minds and act, or not act, accordingly.”

  Harry spoke for fifteen minutes, with only a few interruptions, relaying to the group everything Phil MacDonald had told him. Before any more questions could be asked, the lunch order arrived and Harry said, “Let’s take a break and eat and think about what we discussed. We’ll wrap it up after that.”

  Danny Boyland took a ham and Swiss sandwich from the platter and said to his partner, “Spider, on Monday we go back to Nassau Homicide and lock up murderers again. What’s going to happen to our former leaders here?”

  “If it was me I’d take my pension, sell my house and go somewhere quiet and peaceful.”

  “Like Wyoming?”

  “Beautiful place, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is.”

  Lizzy Cassidy wedged in next to her father and said, “You really think a lot of that stuff is going to happen?”

  “Yes I do, but I hope it doesn’t. We will know in a couple of months, that’s for sure.”

  “Any advice for me?”

  Harry smiled and said, “Marry that good-looking Polack and produce a couple of grandkids for me ASAP.”

  “So I have your blessing?”

  “Sure, did Pete ask you yet?”

  “Yes, and I already said yes back to him.”

  “Will you stay in the Bureau?”

  “For awhile. If I have a child, I’ll make the decision to stay or leave at that time.”

  “You will probably have a good idea by then what law enforcement will be like under the new regime. I’m just hoping they don’t turn the FBI into the Gestapo using it to enforce their socialist dogma.”

  “I know you are convinced of what’s coming, but it’s hard for me to believe it. I really hope you are wrong.”

  “Me too,” he said.

  After lunch was over, Harry took a few more questions, and then each person took a minute or so to say good-bye to the others. Even Agent George Washington couldn’t muster an insult or pointed joke only saying, “It was a great experience working with all you wonderful people. So long.”

  Assistant Director Mark Negron and Task Force head Joe Ramos wrapped up the meeting with final thanks and they all, sadly and slowly, left the conference room, left the crusty coffee machine, left the scratched tile floor, left that dreary, windowless fluorescent-lit cave that had been their home away from home for many a battle. And those who knew they would never be back there again took just a bit longer to pass through the door that one, final time.

  * * *

  The new congress convened on January 4 and their first order of business was to pass the National Firearms Registration and Safety Act. All firearms had to be produced and registered in a national database by June 30. Handguns would be confiscated, and one long weapon, rifle or shotgun, would be allowed per household – for now. Failure to comply was a Federal felony punishable by five years in prison and a $50,000 fine. If you possessed a firearm in violation of the law you were presumed guilty, and no judicial discretion was allowed in sentencing.

  Ironically, the stop-and-frisk law, so hated by the liberals and the re-grouped and fully-staffed LFFJ, was reinstituted with a vengeance. Military personnel and any law enforcement officer could stop a person at any time and search them. Since the Fourth Amendment was no longer in effect under martial law, all guns discovered on the pat down were admissible as evidence in court, whether the frisk was legally justified or not.

  Another provision of the law allowed the government to determine who would be allowed to possess a concealable firearm. The short answer was no one. All legally possessed handguns had to be surrendered by June 30, including those possessed by retired law enforcement officers and retired military personnel. In anticipation of this back in December, Harry had staged a burglary in his apartment, and among the jewelry and TV’s “stolen” were also listed his two firearms – his Glock .40 and his Uncle Mike’s S&W service revolver. The bastards weren’t disarming him!

  Congress worked feverishly to pass as many bills as they could during that first session, resulting in a National Immigration and Reform Act, a National Universal Healthcare Plan, a more progressive income tax with a top rate of 75%, and an assortment of other progressive social measures to ensure equality among all our citizens. It was just as Phil MacDonald has predicted, and America had embarked on a new path to the future, and that future looked bright.

  Crimes committed with the use of firearms were down over 90%, and the people felt safe and secure in their homes, businesses and on the streets.

  The wealthy were finally forced to pay their “fair share.”

  The greedy doctors, and dentists, and hospitals, could no longer gouge the people with their stratospheric fees, but had their salaries and fee structure firmly set by the government.

  The health insurance companies went out of business.

  Lawyers could no longer sue for malpractice as it was now illegal to sue the government for anything.

  Unemployment insurance was increased to seven years, and food stamps were available to 75% of the population.

  The borders were secured by the military after legalizing fifteen million ill
egal immigrants, guaranteeing that Texas and Florida would vote Democratic forever.

  All the troops stationed in foreign countries came home and were assigned to internal and border control duties.

  The ACLU and LFFJ memberships were wary of the abrogation of the people’s constitutional rights, but they tolerated it, and some openly supported the declaration of martial law. After all, President Nelson was one of their own, wasn’t he?

  Red Baker’s commentary on the radical changes instituted by the President and newly-elected congress were cautionary, but generally positive. Although mostly apolitical – he tended to despise all politicians regardless of party affiliation – he always championed the cause of the “little guy,” the blue-collar workers, and the middle-class white collar workers.

  No one could dispute the widening income gap between the haves and the have-nots. It was a statistical fact that the rich were getting richer and the poor were getting poorer, so when the tax changes were enacted to ensure that everyone would pay their “fair share,” Baker commented, “Well, it’s about time. I take my hat off to the congress on this one.”

  When Red Baker received his fist bi-weekly paycheck, after the tax changes were fully implemented, his hat definitely went back on his head. Red-faced and shaking with anger, he walked into the news director’s office and sputtered, “What the fuck is this? I’m not rich!”

  Alan Acorsi said, “According to your new found friends you are, my friend. And so am I, by the way.”

  “But we’re not millionaires. This was meant for them.”

  “Guess you didn’t read the fine print. And I guess you forgot that you earn twenty grand a week, and in case you forgot how to multiply, that’s a million forty per year. That puts you right in the top 60% tax bracket.”

  “Gimme your calculator,” Red said.

  Red spent a few minutes with the calculator and wrote some figures on a pad. “Look at this, Alan. I start with forty grand for the two weeks and end up with a little under five grand. That’s over 87% they’re stealing from me.”