by Henry Hack
“Good luck, Randy. You’ll need all your political skills there. Sorry I can’t help you with that.”
Randy laughed and said, “I didn’t hire you for your political skills, Harry. Walter told me that was one area of yours could stand improvement.”
They decided on a starting date two weeks away in early February. The salary and benefits of the position were set by congress and were substantially better than he had received as the NYMPD’s police commissioner. He called Susan at the offices of her law firm Vasky, Halloran & Sanders, and told her he would meet her there and they could go to lunch together.
“How did it go?” she asked after they were seated and had ordered wine.
“I got the job. I start in two weeks.”
“Terrific! Me, too.”
“What?”
“Andy Halloran offered me the position to head up the branch here. He wants me to supervise its continued expansion to a similar size of our Manhattan operation.”
“Congratulations, but how did you know I was going to get the offer – and accept it?”
“Come on, Harry, please. What else is out there that could still stir your juices?”
“You know me too well my dear, but do you also know, above all else, you still stir my juices the most?”
“I better,” she said with a smile, reaching across the table and taking his hand.
They decided to stay another day and get an apartment, then back to New York to put their place up for sale. “Maybe we can arrange a get together, or farewell party,” Susan said. “That way we can say good-bye to all our friends and relatives at one time and one place.”
“Good idea. I’ll call Peggy and bounce it off her. Besides I want to speak with my turncoat daughter, Lizzy. With all this hectic stuff going on I haven’t spoken to either of them since Walt told me about her acceptance into the FBI.”
“I wonder what Peggy thinks about her decision,” Susan said. “My guess is she’s not happy about it.”
Harry’s guess was the same and it was immediately confirmed when Peggy picked up the phone and said, “Did you hear about our daughter?”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m calling, Peg. I would have done so sooner, but I had to rush down to Washington. When did she tell you?”
“Just yesterday. When did she tell you?”
“She didn’t. Walt Kobak told me about her acceptance.”
“Can you talk her out of this nonsense?”
“I’ll give it a try,” he said to placate Peggy whose rising voice indicated her agitation. But secretly he was proud of Lizzy choosing a law enforcement career – just like her old man!
“One cop in this family is enough. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, Peg,” he said. “Is she there? I’ll talk to her now.”
“No, she’s out shopping. She has a list of items she has to bring to training in Quantico. She’s leaving in two weeks for God’s sake! Our baby…”
Harry heard the sobs and the tears and looked over at Susan rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Peg, calm down. Listen, I’ll get out there in a couple of days. I’ll be back in New York tomorrow. I’ll call you from there. Okay?”
“Okay,” she sobbed. “You’d better stop this craziness.”
“Yes, Peg, I’ll try.”
“Obviously, that didn’t go well,” Susan said when Harry closed his cell phone.
“No, I need another glass of wine.”
The weather had turned for the worse on this late January day. A mixture of sleet, snow and rain pounded the windshield of Harry’s new Buick sedan as he drove alone west on Interstate 78 towards Allentown. Susan had remained in Manhattan to list the apartment and begin the arrangements for the move to Washington. Harry planned on a short trip with no overnight stay, but if the weather became worse, that could change. He was not looking forward to the confrontation. Like most men, he preferred family harmony at all times.
Despite the inclement weather Harry had made good time and pulled into Peggy’s driveway at noon. He was greeted at the door by his somber-faced ex-wife who gave him a perfunctory peck on the cheek and said, “Lizzy is in her room upstairs. She knows you are coming today.”
He wanted to say, “Hey, hello to you, too, but can I take my damn coat off first?” but he wisely said nothing and proceeded up the stairs taking his coat off along the way. He knocked on her door and said, “Lizzy, it’s Dad.”
“Come in,” she said opening the door for him.
They smiled at each other and embraced warmly. He closed the door and said, “Mom giving you a tough time?”
“She sure is, and now I guess it’s your turn?”
“It’s supposed to be, but Mom and I don’t quite think alike about police work. That’s why we’re divorced, remember?”
Lizzy managed a smile and said, “Oh, yeah. What do you think?”
Looking at Lizzy was like looking at a female version of himself when he was her age – dark brown hair, dark blue eyes, the same smile. And now she wanted to follow in his chosen profession. “I think I’m proud of you,” he said. “Now, tell me how you came to do this – become a cop – a lousy Fed, of all things.”
Lizzy spoke of becoming a lawyer, thanking Susan's guidance and advice, and how she leaned toward the criminal law courses rather than to the civil ones, and how she was influenced by Harry’s career. “You know, Dad, the things you did, the cases you were involved with – they meant something.”
“You know Lizzy you don’t have to be a cop or an FBI agent to do things that are meaningful. Lawyers do a lot of good in a lot of different ways.”
“Yes, they do, but most of them are dull. I don’t want to live a dull life. I want excitement. I want to be there where the action is, and I want to be there first.”
That’s that, he thought. It was as if she picked out the part of his psyche that was his reason for being and placed it in her own brain. Not only was she his look alike, she was his think alike! Goddamn, he was proud!
“I understand, Lizzy,” he said. “Perfectly.”
“You do? Then you won’t try to oppose me on this?”
“Of course not, but tell me this – if I did oppose you would it matter? Would you change your mind?”
“No way, Dad.”
“Good girl! Go for it!”
“Oh, Daddy,” she said hugging him once more. “Thank you. But what about Mom?”
“She’ll get over it. She can’t divorce you. Are you ready to face her now?”
“Sure, are you?”
“By the way, where are your sisters?”
“Both working.”
Of course, he realized, none of them are little girls anymore. Katy, Lizzy’s step-sister, was following in her father’s footsteps and worked in the bank he managed and Patty, like her mother, was an elementary school teacher.
They walked down the stairs together into the kitchen and Harry said, “Could a cold, weary cop get a cup of coffee, please?”
As Harry had hoped, his comment elicited a tiny smile from Peggy and she said, “Sure, but you’re a cold, weary ex-cop now.”
“Yes and no.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Harry explained why he had been in Washington and the new position he had accepted. When he finished, Lizzy said, “You mean you’re also going to be a lousy Fed?”
Peggy immediately picked up on the word also and said, “You mean your father didn’t talk you out of this… this nonsense?”
“No, he didn’t Mom. I told him I didn’t care if he thought the same as you. I’m twenty-six years old. It’s my life, and I’ll live it the way I want.”
“It’s not your life I’m concerned about. It’s your death.”
“Mom, don’t be so melodramatic. We can all be killed at anytime in many different ways as you well know.”
“But most people don’t get shot to death. Don’t you remember when we went to see Dad in the hospital? Even though we were divorced, I
was terribly upset. Weren’t you?”
“Yes, but I thought he was a hero. And from that moment on, I wanted to be a hero, too.”
“Oh, my Lord. You want to be a hero. You’re a young woman with a law degree, not some dumb beat cop…”
Peggy caught herself up and said, “Oh, Harry, I didn’t mean that the way it came out.”
“Lizzy is not going to be a beat cop walking the dark streets of a crime-infested city, she is going to be an FBI agent – an investigator – going to work each day in business attire…”
“With an automatic pistol in her purse.”
Harry realized Peggy was not to be dissuaded. He was fighting a battle he could not win. She knew too much about the police life and could counter any positive argument he put forward with a negative one. It was time to take a different course. “Peggy, you are right. Lizzy is entering a dangerous occupation, but it should be obvious by now no matter what you think, or I think, she is going to go ahead with her decision. After all, as she just said, “It’s her life.”
Peggy sipped her coffee, tears slipping from her eyes and making their way down her cheeks, a look of abject defeat on her face. Harry took one of her hands in both of his and said, “Nothing is set in stone, Peg. We vowed to stay married forever. We didn’t. Nothing lasts forever. Lizzy may hate the job. Or she may put in just a few years and decide to leave to join a law firm. But right now the best thing – the only thing, we can do for our firstborn daughter is to support her in her decision. Help her pack for Quantico. Kiss her good-bye when she leaves. And in a few months we’ll go to Virginia and watch our daughter, watch her proudly, as she graduates from the FBI Academy into the service of our country.”
After several seconds of silence Peggy got up hugged Lizzy, and whispered, “I love you.” She then hugged Harry and said, “Thanks for coming. I think I’ll go lie down for a bit.”
When Peggy left the kitchen Lizzy said, “Thanks, Dad. Thanks for your support.”
“Remember, I have good friends in the FBI. As you go through your training and figure out where you’d like to be assigned, let me know. I can arrange it for you.”
“Maybe I’ll just let it play out without asking you to use your influence.”
“Okay, but if you want action you might end up in Podunk if you leave it to chance.”
“That would probably make Mom happier. Less chance of being shot there.”
“That’s not true, and unfortunately, your mom knows that also. It’s just as easy to get shot in a small town as it is in New York. We had an NYMPD sergeant who retired after twenty-two years working the meanest streets in Brooklyn and the Bronx. He took a job as a constable in a sleepy village way out on Long Island. He was following a suspected drunk driver who pulled into his driveway and went into his house. The constable got out of his police car and walked up to the front door. The door opened and the drunk blew him away with a shotgun.”
“If that’s true, that’s some story.”
“What do you mean if that’s true?”
“Calm down, Dad. I mean, you’ve always had these crazy, unbelievable stories you told us and some of them did sound made-up.”
“I wish they were made-up. Tragically, they were all true.”
“Uh-oh,” Lizzy said. “Are you having second thoughts about me and my career choice?”
“Not at all. In a few years you’ll have your own bag of tales to tell. And I want to hear them all.”
“Are you heading home now?”
“Yes, the weather looks okay for now. Oh, Susan and I want to have a going away party for you, me and her. Kick it around with Mom. Probably in New York somewhere within the next ten days. I’ll have Susan call her, too.”
“Okay, Dad. Good-bye and thanks for coming out.”
“My pleasure, Special Agent Elizabeth Cassidy. See you soon.”
Harry and Susan arranged the party at a hotel in Staten Island that had a large catering hall. They wanted to include as many friends and relatives as possible for this good-bye. They were leaving the place where they were born, grew up and had long careers and who knew when, if ever, they would return.
The affair would be held on the last Saturday night in January and all who wanted could stay overnight at the hotel and have breakfast the following morning. They wanted to spare no expense for their farewell. Although the invitees received only a week’s notice, over a hundred people showed up to say their good-byes to Harry, Susan and Lizzy.
As Harry made the rounds at the party, an undercurrent of sadness coursed through him. The ghosts of Pop Hunter and Uncle Mike weighed heavily on him, especially when he chatted with Vera Hunter and Aunt Mary, now both widows, now despite being nicely dressed for the occasion, bearing a look of loneliness and despair. This brought to Harry’s mind the others who had also perished over the years, especially Jerry Campora and his once wife-to-be, Rita Becker. Suddenly, a hand patted him on his back and a familiar voice said, “Harry, why so glum? You should be happy. Do you need a bacon cheeseburger?”
It was his old friend and owner of the Viceroy Diner on his former beat, Teddy Stavros. He smiled and said, “I could always use one of those, Teddy, and I am happy. But just now I was thinking of Pop Hunter.”
“Ah, yes, Pop. We all miss him.”
After a few words with Teddy, Harry was in a better mood and vowed to shake his melancholy and enjoy what was left of the evening. He danced with Susan and his daughters and Aunt Mary and Vera and Rose Becker and Susan's mom, Maria. Around midnight Harry and Susan were forced to stand up and say a few words to the group, and a few words they were – short and meaningful – “Thank you all for coming” and “It’s sad to say good-bye.”
The party wound down and some of the older people began to head for their rooms. Inevitably, as always happened at functions involving law enforcement people, the cops and ex-cops, the agents and ex-agents gravitated to their own table, removed from the rest of the group, to swap stories, real and embellished. The wives and husbands knew to leave them alone until they were done.
There were ten at the table with Harry – Nick Faliani, Danny Boyland, John McKee, Dan Snyder, Charlie Carson, Alicia Johnson, Joe Ramos, Carl Petersen, Spider Webb and George Washington – and they first re-lived the takedown of the Savior of the Romen Society. Then the ones who had battled bin Yousef and OBL-911 told their tales to the others. The stories reached back deeper and deeper into the past many beginning, “When I was a rookie walking a beat…” or “The first case I caught when I was a new agent…”
When they could speak no more, drink no more, laugh no more and cry no more, when they began to close their eyes and fall against each other, the spouses who had not abandoned them for their beds, walked over and grabbed them up. It was after three a.m. and Theresa Faliani clapped her hands and shouted, “Let’s go everyone! It’s beddy-bye time for you liars! Breakfast is five hours away.”
23
The drive of ninety-two miles from the cabin in the Idaho woods to the small town of Slate Hills, Montana took almost three hours along mostly two-lane country roads. They had left at nine a.m. and were in Slate Hills at lunchtime. “Let's find a roadhouse diner or bar to eat in,” Lars said. “Preferably one with a few motorcycles outside.”
“Are these New Vikings bikers? Or is it just the skinheads that drive them?” Fred asked.
“According to my research motorcycles are the vehicle of choice for most of the Aryan Nation – except for the Klan.”
At 12:15, Fred pulled the Civic into a large roadhouse with several cars and half a dozen bikes parked in front. “Shall we try to find some big, bad Vikings?” Fred asked.
“By all means,” Lars said. “And when we find them, old ones or new ones, I want you to say, ‘Take me to your leader in Valhalla.’”
They both laughed and headed for the door, but as they got closer to the parked bikes they noticed each had a symbol, a decal on each rear fender, of a hammer with a zigzag lightning bolt across it. �
�I guess that’s Thor’s or Odin’s hammer,” Fred said. “I wonder how religious they are.”
The large dining room and bar was cheerful and well-lit. It was about half-full and Lars and Fred noted the six bikers sitting at a round table near the back of the room. They chose a small two-person table about twenty feet from them and ordered burgers and beers. “They don’t look so menacing,” Lars said.
“No,” Fred said. “Not too many tattoos I can see, and they look pretty clean.”
Three of the six were clean-shaven, two had neatly-trimmed beards and one had a medium-sized mustache. They wore black leather vests, white T-shirts, jeans and boots – typical dress for bikers everywhere. They were not rowdy or loud and each had a beer in front of them.
Lars and Fred were served shortly after the bikers and they all finished eating at the same time. Lars got up and walked over to their table and said, “Excuse me, guys, but I was wondering if me and my friend can have a few words with you when you finish your lunch.”
“What for?” one asked.
“We’re interested in the New Vikings.”
“You want to join up?” asked another.
“Maybe.”
“We’ll talk outside,” said the first, getting up from his table and glancing suspiciously over at Fred.
When they were assembled outside of the restaurant the six Vikings formed a circle around Lars and Fred and the one who had asked if they wanted to join up said, “Now, who the fuck are you two, and what do you want?”
“Lars Jurgens and Fred Wagner from Idaho. That’s our car over there. We’d like to speak with your leadership concerning a mutual beneficial association.”
“Meaning exactly what?”
“Money. Power. Security. Recognition.”
“Go get in your car and wait,” he said.
Lars and Fred did as they were told and the one Viking who had done all the talking took out a cell phone and spoke to someone for two minutes. He flipped the phone closed and spoke briefly to the other five. One of them walked over to the car and said to Lars, “Follow us.”