Bill was sitting at the table when Jimmy emerged from the bathroom. Bill had his arms crossed at his chest, and his face was as red as a new fire engine. “Nothing fits,” he growled. “This isn’t fair.”
Jimmy caught Julie’s eye. She held her hand over her mouth to hide her amusement and brushed past him, closing the bathroom door behind her. “When was the last time you bought something with a credit card?” Jimmy asked, turning away and pulling a button-up shirt off a hangar.
“How the hell can I remember? I don’t know, five years? They wouldn’t give me any more cards after the bankruptcy.”
“There you have it. You’ve probably gained some weight since then, huh?”
“Yeah, so what? Everybody gains some weight over that many years. Will you please call the front desk for me and see if they’ll exchange this stuff?”
“I don’t think there’s time. Go ahead and call. I’m going to get dressed. Do you mind?”
“Some friend you turned out to be. Fine, I’ll call.”
Bill got up from his chair, and Jimmy could see the reason for his anger. The jeans he had on were at least three sizes too small, and the zipper was spread open wide, exposing a chalky white roll of belly. Bill sulked his way to the door and disappeared back into Ken’s room. A moment later, Jimmy could hear him arguing with the desk clerk.
Twenty minutes later, the three of them were standing inside the elevator and heading down to the lobby. Jimmy tried not to look at Bill’s new pants, a pair of bellhop’s maroon slacks, complete with white stripes down the sides. It was the best that could be done on such short notice, and Bill had initially fumed about it. Thankfully, he seemed to have let it go after Julie scolded him for being so selfish. They had bigger fish to fry and very little time to work with. Jimmy loved the way he felt in his new clothes, fresh Levis and a checkered button-up shirt. He could tell Julie was also thrilled with her new clothes. She wore a tan V-neck blouse that tied around the middle and looked like a throwback from the Summer of Love. She had chosen a pair of knee-high leather moccasins that nearly matched the blouse and then quickly braided her hair. The transformation was stunning.
“Keep your eyes open,” Jimmy said for the third time. “Thrill seemed pretty sure that some bad guys are looking for us.”
“Looking for you,” corrected Bill.
Julie groaned and stared up at the floor indicator. A moment later, the doors slid open, and they found themselves staring into a sea of people. Bright lights flooded the interior of the elevator, and cameras flashed from every direction.
“Mr. Logan,” asked an attractive blonde woman with a microphone. “Do you have any comment about President Richter’s remarks at his press conference, this morning?”
“I’m sorry,” Jimmy stammered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“He called you and Ken Dahlgren a couple of murdering thugs,” the blonde said. Jimmy suddenly recognized her as a local television news anchor. “He also called Ken Dahlgren’s campaign a bad joke. How does that make you feel, Mr. Logan?”
The elevator binged, and the doors silently slid shut.
“Oh, my God,” said Julie. “This is crazy.”
“What do we do?” Jimmy asked.
Bill slapped the button to open the door. “You just watch,” he said, ominously.
“Bill, don’t…” said Julie, but the doors were already opening again, and Bill was brushing past them.
“Mr. Logan thinks President Richter is a jerk,” Bill said, pointing at the blond. “So does Mr. Dahlgren. If he’s got any brains he’ll step aside and let my guys fix the mess he made. Are you happy with the way things are? Do you approve of the new laws they made up? I sure as hell don’t. We’re coming for you, Richter. Do you hear me? You’d better start packing!”
Jimmy gasped and Julie hung her head.
“Excuse me,” a man in sports jacket said. “I didn’t get your name?”
“William Huggins,” Bill said, holding his head high. “I’m Mr. Logan’s best friend. This is Julie Hartman, Jimmy’s woman. Now, if you have any questions, I’d be happy to answer them for you.”
“William,” Julie said, we have to get moving. “This should wait for another time. Please,” she said, taking Jimmy by the hand and leading him out of the elevator. “We have to go now. Will you excuse us?”
Jimmy blindly followed Julie into the throng of reporters and clamped his hand around Bill’s bicep as they passed. “Come on,” he hissed into Bill’s ear.
“Do you work for the hotel?” asked another voice.
Bill rolled his eyes as Jimmy violently jerked his arm. “I certainly do not,” he replied, haughtily. “For your information, I am Mr. Logan’s and Mr. Dahlgren’s campaign manager. Look, we really do have to get moving. I’m sorry, that’s all we have for right now.”
“What about President Richter calling you a pair of murdering thugs?” repeated the woman. “Don’t you want to respond to that?”
Jimmy stopped and let go of Bill’s arm and turned to face the cameras. “We defended ourselves, as we had every right to do. President Richter lives in a glass bubble and has no idea what we were up against. Mr. Huggins is right; we the people are coming for him. When you go to the polls, write in Ken Dahlgren on your ballot. Unless you’re happy with the way things are.”
Julie tugged at Jimmy’s arm, and they continued their way through the crowded lobby. They suddenly found themselves staring at Ken as he slowly walked in through the glass doors. His face was grim, and he shook his head. Jimmy held Julie close as the reporters flocked to Ken, surrounding him. Jimmy’s eyes fell, and that was when he saw that one of the men in the group was rushing towards Ken, holding a snub-nosed revolver. Jimmy sprang forward, feeling as if he were running in wet cement. “Gun!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “That man has a gun!”
He hadn’t known what to expect, but he certainly hadn’t expected nearly everyone to hit the floor at the same time. There were some moans and whimpers, but the large lobby was suddenly still and nearly quiet. Jimmy groaned and found himself staring into the dark eyes of the man with the gun. He was roughly Ken’s age, if not older, dressed in a black overcoat and wearing a ball cap. He raised the gun at Jimmy and smiled, sadly. Jimmy knew he was about to die.
A booming shot rang out, and suddenly the ball cap was blown off the man’s head. Blood sprayed from the wound as if a spigot had been opened at the back of his bald head. The man wore a shocked expression as he fell backwards, the revolver falling to the marble floor. Julie was suddenly at Jimmy’s side, pushing him toward Ken and the lobby doors. “Come on!” she shrieked, “We’ve got to get out of here!”
“Follow me!” shouted a strange man, holding a large semiautomatic pistol up next to his ear. “We have to move, now!”
Bill, eyes wide and pale white, limped over to join them, and Ken waved his arm in an exaggerated motion. His ears still ringing from the gunshot, Jimmy blindly followed along as the man who saved his life covered the room with his gun. Moving was easier with most of the reporters lying down on the lobby floor, but most of the cameramen were still following them with their lenses. The moment was captured live and would be replayed thousands of times in the coming days.
Chapter 20
"The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing." ~ Albert Einstein
A black Suburban roared up to the entrance, scattering people as it screeched to a halt. “Get in the truck!” ordered the man with the gun. “Move it! Move it!”
Without ceremony, the four of them managed to squeeze into the back seat as the man who had saved Jimmy’s life urged them on. The man behind the wheel turned to face them. He was bald with bushy eyebrows and a crumpled nose and reminded Jimmy of an old-time television wrestler. He smiled at them as the shooter climbed inside and slammed the door. A moment later they were flying east down Interstate 494.
“Will somebody please tell
me what the hell just happened?” Ken asked.
“Wasn’t that obvious?” asked the man in the passenger seat. He was somewhere in his late thirties with a chiseled face and lots of black hair, which Jimmy only now realized was pulled back and tied into a ponytail. “Somebody just tried to kill you. Why didn’t you people stay up in your rooms?”
“Nobody said a damn word to me about staying in my room,” retorted Ken. “Why the hell would someone want to kill me?”
The two men in the front seat exchanged a look and chuckled. The driver looked at Ken in the rearview mirror. “Mr. Dahlgren, you can’t be serious,” he said in a deep voice. “You’re taking on the President of the United States and he has a lot of friends—friends who will do anything to see he’s reelected. Do you catch my drift?”
“Luckily, you’ve also got some friends,” said the other man.
“Yeah,” said Bill. “Like me.”
“Aren’t I the lucky one,” quipped Ken. “Where the hell are we going? I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to find my wife.”
“Mr. Dahlgren,” began the driver.
“Ken,” replied Ken. “My dad was Mr. Dahlgren.”
“Ken,” the man continued. “My name is Alex Jacobs and this is Roger Dunn.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Dunn said, turning in his seat and giving Ken a nod.
“We’ve been hired to keep you people alive. I’m sorry; we’re not going to be able to look for your wife, at least not until things cool off. We’re heading to a safe house, and we’ll see which way the wind is blowing. I can’t be sure, but I think the attempt on your life is going to really help your campaign.”
“That man tried to kill Jimmy,” said Julie. “You saved his life.”
“And Jimmy saved Ken’s life,” replied Roger Dunn. “If he hadn’t cried gun, I never would have been able to take him out. That was brave; crazy, but brave.”
“You got him?” asked Jacobs, not bothering to take his eyes off the road.
Dunn nodded. “There must’ve been a dozen cameras in there. I’m going to have to look for a new line of work, or a good plastic surgeon.”
Jimmy stared out the window as the Suburban continued to roll down the road. He was suddenly angry that Ken had been goaded into a presidential campaign and that he’d allowed himself to be part of it. He looked at Julie and could see the fear etched into her face. Once again, they were heading into the unknown with only the clothes on their backs. He thought about Patty and Cindy and wondered how they were, trying his best to think of them as being alive and well. Jimmy could see life returning to the suburbs; houses in various states of repair, moving vans, reunited families. Things were slowly returning to normal, and Jimmy desperately wanted to be a part of that. He wanted a roof of his own and a few windows and a door with a deadbolt lock. He shook his head, thinking to himself that he might as well be wishing for the moon.
They drove for an hour, mostly in silence, heading north on Interstate 35 before exiting at the small town of Hinckley. They headed east and slowly drove past Grand Casino, which looked as if it were already back in business. Jimmy scratched his head as he stared at the cars in the parking lot. Dunn took a series of lefts and rights, and half an hour later they drove up to an ordinary looking ranch-style home, over a mile from its nearest neighbor. Dunn turned in his seat. “It ain’t much,” he said, “but its home.”
Jimmy opened his door, and he and Julie spilled out into the early May sunshine. Ken and Bill joined them at the back of the big Chevy. Ken surprised Jimmy with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “I have to believe she’s in good hands,” Ken said, slapping Jimmy on the back. “I have to trust that God is looking after her.”
“That’s the spirit,” agreed Julie, nodding her head.
Jimmy smiled and turned to face Ken. “We’ll find her,” he said. “You know we will.”
“And Cindy, too,” interjected Bill, looking at each of them in turn.
“That’s right,” sighed Ken. “We’ll find them both; you’ll see.”
Jimmy had been thinking about Cindy for much of the ride north. She seemed to have vanished into thin air. At least with Patty there was a trail to follow, cold as it was.
“Come on inside,” Dunn called from the front door. “I’ll show you to your rooms.”
Jimmy watched as Jacobs and Dunn disappeared inside. The brown house could use some paint and would soon be in need of a roof, but it looked solid enough, and it was definitely off the beaten track. A two-car garage sat behind the house, and behind that was a thick stand of poplar. Birds called from the trees as a light breeze rattled the leaves. Julie tugged Jimmy’s arm, and he saw that Bill and Ken were almost up to the house.
“Come on,” Julie said. “Let’s go see what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”
The first thing that caught Jimmy’s eye as he walked inside was the bright red shag carpeting. They both kicked off their shoes at the door, setting them next to the others. The living room was small and looked as if it belonged in a museum. From floor to ceiling, the décor was early seventies. A Spanish conquistador print hung behind a lime green couch. The console television sat in the corner, complete with tinfoil-adorned rabbit ears. An exhausted-looking recliner that may have been orange at one time sat next to a navy blue loveseat. Jimmy could see that a brick had replaced one of the missing legs.
“Well, what d’ya think?” asked Dunn, nodding his head with obvious pride.
“Oh, it’s very nice,” said Julie. “How long have you been out here?”
“Let’s see,” Dunn said, scratching the stubble at the side of his head. “I think my folks moved here in seventy-one. They were here for over thirty years. I know the stuff is outdated, but I just don’t have the heart to replace it. This is home to me.”
Jimmy hadn’t known what to make of the big man with the crumpled nose, but Dunn’s words struck a chord inside him. They followed him down the short hallway into the dining/kitchen area. The carpet here was dark green with a clunky black chain pattern, well-worn, but clean. A long oak table with matching benches sat to their left and a kitchen, complete with avocado-colored appliances to the right. The rooms were bright with sunshine and smelled of Pine-Sol. Jimmy smiled to himself; the cupboards were imitation black walnut and the countertops were burnt orange. The walls in the kitchen were painted tan while the dining room had been wallpapered with an Oriental print, silver and black, and full of dragons.
“This way,” Dunn said, waving them into the laundry area at the back of the kitchen. “Your rooms are downstairs. They ain’t much, but they’re clean and the beds are comfortable. We’ll get you settled, and then I’ll rustle us up some grub.”
They followed Dunn down the painted wooden stairs and into a long room with cinderblock walls that had been painted sky blue, each block carefully outlined with black. Dunn stopped at the bottom of the stairs and pointed to a door on the left. “Jimmy, you and Julie can sleep in here. I mean, if you two sleep together. I’m sorry, I just assumed…”
Bill laughed. “Oh yeah,” he said. “They sleep together, all right.”
“That’s enough, Bill,” Ken said, clamping a strong hand on Bill’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” Julie said to Dunn. “This is so nice of you.”
“I’m just glad to have company,” said Dunn. “Okay guys, follow me. Your rooms are this way. Ken, why don’t we put you here? Bill, you can have the back room.”
Jimmy flipped the light switch and followed Julie into the bedroom. A queen-sized bed sat against the far wall under an egress window that spilled sunlight onto a faded quilt. There were three dressers, painted three different colors, and the walls were adorned with Fleetwood Mac posters and string art. The carpet was a remnant, blue shag, but appeared to be so freshly vacuumed they left footprints as they explored their new home. Jimmy sat on the bed and bounced up and down. The springs groaned and so did Jimmy. Julie narrowed her eyes and shook her head.
An hour la
ter, Jimmy found himself sitting at the table with the others. They had just finished their lunch of spaghetti with surprisingly good canned sauce. Dunn doted on them like long-lost relatives while Jacobs filled them in on the political climate.
“There have been riots all across the country,” he said, sipping ice water from a tall red plastic cup. “The problem is the same now as it was before; the people don’t have anyone to lead them. That’s why their movement keeps stalling out, because in the end they don’t have anyone to pin their hopes to. At least, not until you guys came along.”
“I can’t believe anyone took us seriously,” said Ken. “I was speaking rhetorically; why doesn’t anyone see that?”
Alex Jacobs laughed. “Too late for that,” he said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “From what I hear, you’re the only one who can give President Richter a run for his money. The people seem to love you.”
“That’s crazy,” said Ken, picking at a piece of bread. “What do the people even know about me?”
“You haven’t watched the news lately, have you?” asked Dunn, rising from his chair at the head of the table. “You’d be surprised how much has been dug up about you and Jimmy.”
Ken’s expression grew dark. “What are you talking about? I don’t have any skeletons in my closet and neither does Jimmy. We’re just regular people. That’s all, end of story.”
Dunn nodded as he took Ken’s plate. “And that’s why everyone wants you guys to win.”
“They’ve dug up everything they can on you guys, and the only dirt they could find was on your driving record, Jimmy—two speeding tickets. Ken, you’re like the guy everyone dreams of having as a neighbor. You’ve got a Master’s Degree in business and you’re a devoted husband, active in your church. You’re President Richter’s worst nightmare.”
Desperate Times Three - Revolution Page 13