“Your cell phone now.” Brenda held out an opened palm to her daughter.
Her daughter’s eyes flashed rage as she tossed the phone on the counter. “I hate you!”
Well, right now I hate your father. Of course, she couldn’t speak those words aloud, but the message she got on the machine yesterday made her question everything. He said he wasn’t cheating on her. Yet he took off last minute to Niagara Falls and ordered a tuxedo for pick up. Since when did they have that type of money anyhow? He better hope that he just stayed in New York State, because when he did return, she was going to kill him.
NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK
“RAYMOND?” BEHLER LOOKED UP AT ME, glanced at the phone she held extended to the Governor of New York, and quickly pulled it into her chest. “What are you doing here?” She smiled at me. Although not her best work, she attempted the full political showcase.
“Just here on some business.” It wasn’t a lie.
“By yourself then?” Her eyes went up and down my tuxedo. “You clean up well, Mr. Hunter.” The complete smile now broadcasted.
“Yourself as well.” I returned the smile and cast a glance at the New York Governor. He was flushed, and a rapid twitch pulsed in his right cheek. He avoided eye contact.
“How rude of me.” Behler gestured toward him. “This is Vance Talbot, Governor of New York state.”
“I must say I recognized him.” I extended my hand to the man. He shook it, but his grip was weak. Whatever they had been discussing didn’t please him. I glanced at his drink. Another one had almost disappeared. At this distance, I picked up on the scent of Scotch.
“Raymond Hunter is an acquaintance of mine.” Behler distanced herself with the introduction. Talbot seemed more interested in people at other tables. His eyes were hardened and glassy from the alcohol.
Behler placed her satchel back on the floor. A tangible silence filled the space, and I saw this as my point of exit. “Good evening.” I took a step back from the table.
“Nonsense. Are you traveling alone?” Governor Behler repeated her earlier question that I hadn’t answered.
“I am.”
“Why don’t you join us?” Behler turned to her companion who shot me one of his own political smiles—obviously forced.
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“Of course.” Staff was summoned over. An oversized table for two became a compact one for three.
“What brings you to the fine state of New York, Mr. Hunter?” Talbot asked out of political etiquette; I sensed not out of sincere interest.
“If I told you, I might have to kill you.” I spoke the words knowing they’d be taken as a joke.
Behler took hold of the conversation again. “I’ve known you for what—thirteen years now?”
I took a sip of the water that had been placed in front of me. “Fourteen, but who’s counting.”
“Wow, I didn’t imagine it had been that long. Time has a way of moving forward, doesn’t it?” Behler lifted her glass and both Governors exchanged glances.
Instinct told me her reference to time moving forward had a bearing on their prior conversation somehow.
Waiting staff took our orders with the exception of Talbot who said something about needing to leave for a prior engagement. The waitress who had been serving me at my table shot sideways glances at me from across the room. She likely wondered who I was to warrant company with people of such prestige.
“It’s a shame you’re not staying for dinner. I hear they have a marvellous fusilli with creamed leak and spinach here.” Behler spoke to Talbot in a tone of voice that I had come to recognize as one she reserved for moments of intimidation. There was something she sought from the New York Governor. I may never know what.
Talbot ordered another drink before excusing himself for the evening.
Behler waited for Talbot to get out of earshot and flung back the rest of the champagne in her glass. “That man is a sack of lies. He no more has a prior affair tonight than I have the election locked for the next two terms.”
She sat her glass down and raised her eyes to meet mine. She didn’t blink. She was a hardened version of her regular self.
“Has he wronged you, Governor?”
“Please don’t call me that.” She smiled. “It’s Marian to you.” She took a pause and her expression turned serious again. “He takes a stand on the side of the law but fails to see that it takes all types of people to make a society.”
“‘All types of people?’”
“Of course. You need to have freedom of expression to find better ways of doing things. For example, hybrid vehicles. If Ferdinand Porsche had listened to the skepticism of his colleagues, he might not have invented the technology. And if it wasn’t for the Kyoto Accord that made the world agree to reduce greenhouse gases, it might not have realized fruition. We’d still be living in the Stone Age.
“And think of solar energy. Because of entrepreneurial individuals, there are grants provided by the government to individuals’ properties, as well as to businesses, to obtain kickbacks for hydro consumption. Talbot is a blind man.”
“You’re here to discuss political issues.”
Her eyes churned with an underlying agenda. “Talbot and I go a few years back. We came to discuss issues that affect both of us in our relative positions.”
“Hybrids and solar energy?”
It warranted a hearty laugh. “Hardly. But those are a couple of moot points. He just doesn’t see the future with the same vision that I do.”
“Isn’t that part of what you were just mentioning? A society involves all types of people?”
“You listen too well, Mr. Hunter.” She leaned back into her chair. “What are you doing later this evening? Would you like to have a nightcap with me?” She extended a hand and placed it on my forearm. “I know you are a married man. I would never jeopardize that. Just my room for a couple drinks. We can talk politics until you bore of it.”
“Or discuss your tax returns.”
“Or we could talk politics?” She smiled as she repeated her earlier suggestion for a topic of discussion.
“Sure. Sounds fine.” My pulse intensified. As I looked across at the woman I was about to kill, I was numb. Prior instinct had become interwoven with my fibers.
“I’m staying at The Grandeur,” she said.
I smiled. “What a coincidence.”
-
Chapter 12
NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK
SATURDAY, JUNE 12TH, 11 PM
BEHLER INSISTED THAT I GO back to the hotel in her Town Car. I declined. I needed to do some thinking. In less than thirty minutes, she would be dead and I would be the cause.
As she continued talking through dinner, I almost couldn’t wait to silence her. It’s almost like the woman loved the sound of her own voice. I noticed that she hadn’t traveled with a bodyguard to the restaurant. It made me thankful I hadn’t taken the original route and waited on her in the hotel room. She had directed a man named Rick to confirm her dinner reservation. It could have been the concierge or hotel staff, but I doubted it. The interaction was brief but held familiarity.
I came off the elevator on the twentieth floor ready to carry out the job. I walked with determination. I had been in this position before. I had taken lives. I had survived. In fact, I even came out wealthier on the other end.
My stride slowed for a single deep breath when I saw the man outside of her room—her bodyguard. She had left him back at the hotel while she met with the New York Governor. She didn’t fear for her life. This displayed an arrogance that hadn’t manifested itself in the woman before. I knew the woman was both a politician and wealthy, an elixir for having a superiority complex, but I never recognized a careless cockiness in Behler before. That strength would be her weakness.
The motivation for ordering
the hit circulated in my mind. I knew one of her primary agendas as Governor, in addition to improving the stilted economy of her state due to the crippled automotive industry, had been a verbal lash out against organized crime. But from what I could see, it had been a bunch of talk, nothing more.
As I neared the room, the man who stood there placed both hands in his pockets, an unusual stance for someone who needed to be on the ready. The weak display exposed his character. He cared more about collecting his paycheck than the Governor’s safety.
He seemed like a rat of a man with shifty eyes and scrawny appendages. He moved to the side of the door, granting me access as I moved closer. “The door is unlocked.” He placed a hand on my wrist. “Ray.” I looked down at his hand. A Rolex peeked from under the cuff of his shirt.
“Get your hand off me.”
The guy lifted his hand and smiled. The way his lips curled, it gave me the creeps. This man wasn’t hired by Behler’s choosing. This man was put in place by the Russos to make sure I succeeded. No bodyguard for hire would be able to afford that watch. I pulled my hand back and put it into my pocket with the pen gun. I wanted to get this over with and behind me.
He knocked on the door and opened it for me. He whispered at a volume just loud enough to discern. “I hope she begs for her life.”
I cast him a glance that told him she wouldn’t have a chance. “Don’t find her until mid-morning, Rick.” Saying his name served as a pre-emptive strike and killed his grin until it gave birth to a high pitched laugh unnatural for a man. It was almost like the man was possessed.
“Oh, it’s about time you got here, Raymond.” The Governor had slipped into more comfortable apparel. Her heels were exchanged in favor of bare feet, and her dress for silk pajamas. A silk robe hung on her small frame, an evident few sizes too large. “I hope you don’t mind that I changed. My entire life is formal. Come in, please. Take off your shoes and loosen your bowtie, if you wish.” She flashed one of her sincere smiles, afforded only to those with whom she kept close company.
As I returned her smile, I latched the door behind me, careful to do so with the sleeve of my jacket covering my hand. I couldn’t leave a trace. And her wardrobe change only made an easier cover. Investigators would wonder if a rendezvous with a lover proved deadly.
“Maybe I will.” My goal was to set her at ease and get it done. My heart sounded like a drum; the familiar adrenaline rhythm keeping beat. I pulled one end of the bowtie and let the silk dangle around my neck. I left my shoes on.
“Well, don’t stand by the door all night. You’ll make me nervous.”
I studied her as she moved through the suite to the wet bar. A few bottles lined the countertop; they hadn’t been there yesterday. She turned them around to make sure all the labels were facing out. “I have pretty much anything that would appeal to a man of your taste.”
Of my taste? Her word choice struck me.
“You look like a Scotch man.” She laughed. “Although I believe most men are.” She poured a glass from the bottle of Blue Label Johnnie Walker.
I took the drink she extended me and took a small draw. “Good stuff.”
My eyes scanned the room I had been in over twenty-four hours prior. Tonight it was riddled with the Governor’s effects. Her satchel sat on the table in the living area as if just tossed there when she entered. It beckoned my curiosity, but I had to remember the reason I came here. First some small talk. “You and Governor Talbot seemed to be in a deep conversation when I showed up.”
Behler poured herself a drink before taking a seat on the sofa chair. She adjusted her robe as she did so. I remained standing.
“He’s a complex man. As I mentioned at the restaurant, he doesn’t see the future.” Her eyes fell to her drink and then lifted up to meet my eyes.
“I’m surprised that you would find entertainment in his company then.”
She laughed. “Well, we’re hardly friends if that’s what you assume. We are both in the business of representing our people, our respective states. Leaders can only benefit from expanding their field of vision. I was here to help Talbot with that.”
“His vision didn’t include the Mafia?”
Her eyes opened wide. She did her best to recover but failed when she lifted her drink.
I continued, “You mentioned all types of people are required to make a society. I would assume organized crime would be no different.”
“I don’t wish to discuss this.” Her brows pinched downward.
“The topic of conversation was your choice.” I paced around the room. Her eyes followed me. “Politics. ‘We can discuss politics all night.’ Weren’t those your exact words?”
“Who are you?” Rage fired in her eyes, yet there was no hint of fear. She straightened her seated position, leaning slightly forward, her one elbow on a knee.
I walked over to the wet bar, my back to her and took out the pen gun. I pulled out on it and bent it to expose the trigger. I had already loaded it. I turned the arrow to point at F for Fire.
“Is there something I can help you with over there?” She asked, irritation lacing each word.
The time had come. I turned around and made the distance to the sofa chair in less than a second. I placed the small barrel against her forehead. “Gift from Russo.”
“I was one of—”
I pushed up on the trigger. The Governor’s head fell backward from the impact of the bullet. Her head came to rest on the back edge of the chair, suspended at an upward angle as if looking to a higher power.
I watched as the blood pooled from the wound and dripped down her face—the china doll’s face now stained a crimson red. I slung back the rest of my Scotch. I had never found pleasure in death. Killing had simply served as a means of validating myself to the Russos. For a fraction of time, guilt threatened to seize hold of me, but the woody burn from the drink was enough to dislodge it from setting in. It was time to go.
-
Chapter 13
EN ROUTE TO DETROIT, MICHIGAN
SUNDAY, JUNE 13TH, 1:15 AM
I WENT OVER HOW THE night had played out numerous times, and with hours left on the road, I would rehash it several more. I had picked up an extra large coffee when I dropped the rental off and got my car, but it had cooled in the holder.
The clock on the car dash read one fifteen. I was only an hour and a quarter into my journey. It would be a long drive home. At this point I was thankful for the rest I got yesterday afternoon and the solitude I had now. It gave me time to think.
I had been careful to remove all the bugs I had set in place before leaving the room. I took them along with the glass I drank the Scotch from and dumped it off in a garbage receptacle a block from the hotel. No one would be able to forensically trace me back to that room.
Fear held power. And I was counting on that to keep the Governor of New York’s mouth shut if he got the urge to mention my appearance at the restaurant. Even if he did decide to speak up about some man, he’d know Behler herself introduced us and that we went back years. Either he wouldn’t perceive me as a threat, or if he did, he might not speak a word about me out of apprehension. He’d simply be thankful that he didn’t share the same fate his dinner companion had. The possibility was also there that he might not remember me. He seemed aloof and into his Scotch.
The highway was barren, except for the odd person who had ventured out, and one could always count on transport truck drivers. Their lights were an unpleasant thing for my eyes. Despite the fact I had become wired from the kill, my eyes were sore, making the rest of me feel tired and drained of energy.
I pictured my wife and the kids as I drove. They had no idea their husband and father was a type of chameleon, pretending to blend into a normal suburban lifestyle while housing a murderous past and volatile present. I needed to make the transient leap back to being the family man they knew me to
be. They were all that had kept me moving forward these past few days. What I had done, I did for them.
I couldn’t wait to hold my wife again and smell her perfume. If I thought hard enough, I could feel Brenda’s touch and the softness of her skin. I could hear her and Yvonne yelling at each other about something trivial that wouldn’t matter past dinner. I replayed prior debates with Max over NASCAR.
I inhaled deeply. In less than three hours, I’d be home. I flicked the radio on. It was some pop rock station out of Toronto.
“Up next Justin Bieber.”
The tune started, and I changed the station. The maid had been singing that song when I showed up to copy the all-access key. I needed to shake the flashbacks but allowed myself the trespass because the scene was still fresh. I could smell the gunpowder and feel the heat of the gun on my fingertips.
As I thought of Behler lying there, I envisioned tomorrow’s headlines, “Governor of Michigan Assassinated in New York State.”
The text of the article filled in too quickly for my liking. “Did her stand against organized crime have a part to play?”
Bile rose in my throat. The pungent smell of blood filled my sinuses. But there is no way they could tie her murder to the Russos, or back to me. I went through the entire process again from the cleaning of the room to ensuring no trace was left behind.
There was one thing that didn’t want to release its hold. Her last words, I was one of—.
One of what? I had to dismiss this and put this weekend behind me. It didn’t matter anymore. I had done what I came to Niagara Falls to do. I didn’t even care if I got the other five hundred thousand. All I wanted was to crawl into bed next to my wife and wake up with her. The thought of settling into the pillow top eased some of the tension in my shoulders.
Assassination of a Dignitary Page 6