The Dirty Secret

by Brent Wolfingbarger

  “What’s this I hear about you threatening to shoot up some cows?” Rikki asked, putting a playful and friendly tone in her voice. “My first day on the job has been rough enough, Delbert, so don’t you go causing me any more headaches.”

  CHAPTER 32

  WEST VIRGINIA STATE CAPITOL

  CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA

  THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1:05 P.M.

  As Governor Vincent reviewed a memo from one of his department heads, his cell phone vibrated. Looked down at the screen, he saw he had a new text message. Using his thumb, he opened the message and noted it was from Tabatha McCallen. His stomach dropped.

  “It’s been a week since I heard from you,” the text message read. “You’re making me feel like a whore again.”

  Vincent’s nostrils flared and his mouth tightened. Without taking time to cool down, he blasted on the phone’s QWERTY keyboard with his thumb.

  “I don’t have time for this shit. I have a state to run and I’ll contact you when I can.”

  Vincent sent the message and put the phone down, knowing Tabatha would respond almost immediately. Although he kept staring at the memo, his mind was elsewhere; wondering just how badly she would react to his curt response. When it arrived a minute later, his phone vibrated again and the screen lit up.

  “Sorry ur secret little whore has disturbed u, Mr. Governor. By all means, get back to running this shitty state. It’s your loss.”

  The governor pursed his lips and stared into the distance, still gripping the phone tightly. Setting the memo aside, he reclined his chair and silently lamented the poor decisions that had led him to this uncomfortable and dangerous place.

  This situation is no longer tenable. So what am I going to do about it?

  ***

  PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1:15 P.M.

  “That son-of-a-bitch,” Tabatha muttered through clenched teeth, staring at her phone hatefully.

  “Who’s that?” Jack asked.

  Tabatha’s face shot up and she looked at Jack, wide-eyed. Then the fury faded from her face, replaced with a mask. “Some jackass from American Express. My card was declined at the gas station this morning, and he had the nerve to say our credit limit had been cut because we were behind on our payments. Is that true?”

  Jack felt his chest tighten. “Probably, honey. I had to let the credit cards slide for a few months to keep a handle on the company’s expenses. I’m sorry.”

  Tabatha squinted her eyes, and Jack braced for another tongue-lashing. But the storm quickly subsided. “That’s okay,” she said, placing her hand on the door frame. “Once this deal with Petromica goes through, our money problems will be over, won’t they?” She tapped on the wood with her red-painted fingernails and gave him an expectant stare.

  He swallowed a lump in his throat. “If the Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise.”

  “Good. Then I’ll pay off that card and tell them to go fuck themselves.”

  Jack belly laughed. “Now that sounds like my wife! Always ready to even the score.”

  The statuesque redhead smirked and flitted her eyebrows, then bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “And don’t you ever forget that.” She then wheeled and strolled sensuously through the living room.

  Admiring her figure as she walked away, Jack shook his head wearing a half-amused smile. Then he returned to Beria’s latest email:

  Due Diligence

  From: alex.beria@petromica.com

  To: Jack@mccallenresources.com

  Date: Thurs, 20 Nov 1:12 pm

  Dear Mr. McCallen,

  As expected, we need more info so our eggheads can do their due diligence. :-) How soon can you get me copies of the last five years’ production logs for all your wells? We also need a detailed breakdown of what you’ve spent the past five years in maintaining and upgrading your well equipment.

  If you have any questions, you know how to reach me.

  Sincerely,

  Alex

  Jack cursed under his breath. It was bad enough compiling those records for the wells involved in the Schoolcraft case. Now I have to do the same thing for all our wells!

  Fortunately, having already sorted through those documents for the Schoolcraft case, Jack thought his staff could gather the additional documentation Beria wanted without too much effort.

  McCallen fired off a quick response and got to work.

  CHAPTER 33

  GAITHERSBURG, MARYLAND

  THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 6:30 P.M.

  Petrenko stood at the counter, watching workers place two packages inside each of the ten large boxes he had just purchased. He had given them each a hundred dollar tip, and they were carefully encasing the smaller packages in an avalanche of Styrofoam peanuts.

  After the large boxes were sealed, Petrenko personally inspected them. They appeared safe. Fully loaded, he lifted one up and estimated it weighed 40 pounds.

  “They look good. And you’re sure they’ll get there tomorrow morning?”

  The young man smiled widely. “Damn straight,” he said over the register’s beeps. “The carrier guarantees delivery by 10:30 in the morning. Gair-awn-teed.”

  Petrenko extended his credit card. “Very good.”

  The cashier processed the card and handed it back. “Here’s your card, your receipt and your tracking slips.”

  Petrenko turned toward the door. “Thanks. I’ll monitor their progress online.”

  “You do that. Those packages will be right where you want ‘em tomorrow morning.”

  Petrenko smirked and flashed a thumbs up sign as he walked out the door. A chime announced his departure.

  CHAPTER 34

  MAGGIE’S DINER

  SOUTH WILLIAMSON, KENTUCKY

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 7:15 A.M.

  Bowen gulped black coffee, struggling to wake up. “Why couldn’t this guy meet us later in the day?”

  “Our schedule’s too tight,” Sheriff Perkins replied. “He’s coming here straight from his shift as is.”

  Bowen curled his upper lip but said nothing. His back was to the door and Perkins sat across the booth from him. Suddenly, the sheriff stared over his head and gave a quick wave.

  A man walked up to their booth. About six feet tall, he wore a brown goatee and tufts of brown hair were visible beneath his baseball cap. Wearing Carhartt coveralls and well-worn steel-toed boots, he lifted his cap and ran his hand through his hair. “Morning, Sheriff.”

  Perkins scooted toward the inside of the booth. “Good morning, Larry. Care to join us?”

  “Sure,” the man answered, sitting down next to the aisle.

  A waitress approached the booth with an order pad. “What can I get you boys?”

  “I’ll have the biscuits and gravy,” Perkins said.

  Bowen’s head was bowed as he studied the menu closely. “I’ll have the western omelet with wheat toast. Plus an order of home fries.”

  The waitress scribbled it down. “How ‘bout you, Larry?”

  Larry absent-mindedly stroked his goatee. “Ham and eggs. Over easy with a side of bacon and hash browns.”

  “And to drink?”

  “A cup of coffee.”

  The waitress tucked her pen behind her ear. “Coming right up.”

  Perkins rotated to face Larry slightly. “So how’s the power company been treating ya?”

  “Can’t complain. As far as jobs go, it’s a pretty good one.”

  “Have they said anything about the hearing you have in a few weeks?”

  Larry’s posture turned rigid. “They don’t know what it’s about. I told ‘em I had to be in court that day, but I didn’t tell ‘em why. They probably think it’s another child custody hearing. God knows I’ve had enough of them over the years.”

  The sheriff chuckled lightly. “Makes sense. But don’t ya think they’ll cut ya loose if ya get another DUI conviction? That would make your third.”

  Larry winced. “If my
lawyer can’t get me out of that DUI, my goose is cooked. Without a driver’s license, I can’t drive the company’s truck. They’d have to shitcan me.”

  Perkins clucked sympathetically. “Sorry to hear that. Your lawyer called me and asked me to talk to the prosecutor for ya. You know, to see if we could work something out so you wouldn’t lose your job, since good-paying jobs like that are hard to come by around here.”

  “I know,” Larry grumbled. “He said you couldn’t help me ‘cause I blew a point one eight on the breathalyzer.”

  “That’s aggravated DUI, Larry,” Perkins emphasized. “Plus, you’re a repeat offender! MADD would crucify my ass if I let you off the hook.”

  The man slumped back in the booth. “I know, I know. It’s my own damn fault. I was out with my buddies, shooting pool and got to feeling sorry for myself about the way my ex-wife keeps my kids away from me. The next thing you know, I’m plastered and too damn pigheaded to let anybody drive me home.” Larry sighed and shook his head sadly. “Like I said, it’s my own damn fault. I’ll live with the consequences. But thanks for thinking about it, anyway. I appreciate it.”

  Perkins glanced at Bowen, who shot him a quick nod. “Well, what would ya say if I told ya there might be a way to make that DUI go away?”

  Larry’s posture straightened. “I’d ask whose dick I have to suck to make it happen. Yours? His?” He motioned toward Bowen with his head. “Fuck, let’s go out back and you can both whip ‘em out. I don’t give a shit. I need my job!”

  The man bit off his next thought as the waitress walked up with a tray. She distributed their plates and drinks and scurried away.

  “Relax,” Perkins said. “No dick-sucking required. We just need a little favor this weekend. About 11:30 on Saturday night to be precise.”

  “What do you need me to do? I mean, I was ready to start slobbing on your knobs, man. Short of killing somebody, there’s not much I wouldn’t do.”

  The sheriff shot Bowen a look that seemed to say, It’s your call.

  The lobbyist folded his thick fingers together and leaned forward. “We only need about two hours of your time. And after you’ve done your part, Sheriff Perkins will give you this on Monday.”

  On cue, Perkins slid a piece of paper in front of Larry. Reading the document, his face lit into a smile that ran from ear to ear.

  “Exactly what do ya’ll need me to do?”

  CHAPTER 35

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 9:45 A.M.

  “That sounds great,” Tyson Vasquez exclaimed, flashing Petrenko a thumbs up sign. The Russian was reading the newspaper and barely paying attention to the former congressman’s phone conversation. Petrenko half-heartedly returned the gesture without looking up.

  Vasquez hung up. “So far, so good. We’re just waiting for the shipment to arrive.”

  Petrenko kept reading the paper. “It will be there before 10:30. Gair-awn-teed.” He smirked, mimicking the shipping clerk’s pronunciation to a tee.

  “Have you checked the tracking numbers?” Vasquez asked.

  The Russian exhaled and put the paper aside. “The boxes are heading there as we speak.”

  Vasquez nervously tapped one finger on the desk. “All we can do now is wait, huh?”

  Petrenko unfolded the newspaper again, scanning the sports section for another interesting read. “That’s what I told you an hour ago.”

  CHARLESTON CIVIC CENTER

  CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 10:05 A.M.

  Dave stood behind the podium, staring out at the rows of tables arrayed horizontally across the room. With his thumb drive connected to the ballroom’s multimedia system, he quickly flashed through the PowerPoint overview of the state’s recount procedures.

  “How does it look from back there?” he called.

  Spence sat in the back of the room, squinting. “A little dark. It’s hard to see.”

  Dave’s lips tightened. “That’s what I was afraid of. What can we do to fix it?”

  “I’ll see if they have a better projector around here.”

  “Whatever you have to do, jump on it. Even if we have to go out and buy one, everyone must be able to follow along when we do this for real tomorrow.”

  Spence jotted a note and sighed. “Is all this really necessary? I mean, bringing in reps from the Republican Executive Committee in every county? Not to mention an army of lawyers. Putting them up in hotels, feeding them, renting this place … It must cost a fortune.”

  “Think about it this way,” Dave explained. “Between the campaigns and the various interest groups trying to influence the outcome, more than 2 billion dollars has been spent on this race so far. That’s ‘billion’ with a ‘b.’ Now it all boils down to who wins West Virginia. We’re up a 140 votes out of 800,000 overall, and literally every single vote counts. Our people on these recount teams need to understand the law and be ready to fight like hell every chance they get to pick up a vote for us.

  “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t spent the past two years of my life trying to get Jonathan Royal elected president, just to watch my work go spinning down the crapper because some yahoo in Welch, Weirton, Wellsburg, West Union or Webster Springs was asleep at the wheel when this recount starts on Monday.”

  Spence grinned mischievously. “What about Weston or Wheeling?”

  “There too,” Dave retorted. “And of course, nowhere is more important than your lovely hometown of Williamson.”

  Spence’s grin vanished. “Don’t remind me. I get ulcers thinking about what they might try to pull down there.”

  “Me, too.”

  MINGO COUNTY COURTHOUSE

  WILLIAMSON, WEST VIRGINIA

  FRIDAY NOVEMBER 21, 10:40 A.M.

  “What do we have here, Sheriff?” Mark Monroe asked.

  Perkins signed the digital clipboard and handed it back to the delivery driver. “That grant came through. These are ten new dashboard video camera systems for our deputies’ cruisers.”

  Monroe’s brow furrowed. “I don’t remember hearing anything about a grant.”

  Deputies clad in black uniforms and baseball caps ferried boxes into the courthouse from a delivery van as they spoke. “Just take those up to my office, boys,” Perkins said. “We’ll unpack ‘em and start getting them installed this weekend.”

  He faced Monroe once more. “The Proudfoot Family Foundation started a grant program for local law enforcement. It didn’t get much publicity, so not many departments applied for it. Made it a lot easier for us.”

  Monroe put his hands on his hips and nodded. “Good work, Sheriff. Anything that saves the county money sounds good to me.”

  “Well, you’re looking at 30,000 bucks worth of equipment there. Not bad for just submitting a little paperwork, huh?”

  “Not at all. And from the size of those boxes, that’s some heavy duty equipment!”

  “Only the best for our boys,” Perkins said. “Why settle for less when they’re giving away free money?”

  Monroe clapped Perkins on the back. “Like I said, keep up the good work.”

  A devilish grin crossed the sheriff’s face as he watched the commissioner walk away. “Bet on it!”

  CHAPTER 36

  PLEASANTS COUNTY COURTHOUSE

  ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 2:30 P.M.

  Rikki was reviewing a file when it felt like an earthquake had hit her office. The conference table shook violently and a loud thud reverberated in her ears.

  Glancing up, she saw Jack grinning at the end of the table. Two bankers’ boxes full of documents jostled atop the conference table in front of him.

  “There you go,” he proudly declared. “Every damn piece of paper those bottom-dwellers have demanded.”

  “Congratulations. And you’re only two days late.”

  If Jack detected the sarcasm, he did not show it. Resting his hands on a box, he exhaled. “Man,
I’m relieved that’s over! One big document search down. One to go.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My staff still has to dig out the rest of our production logs for Petromica. But it’ll be a lot easier now that we’ve dealt with this crap. We’ve already found the logs; we just have to get ‘em organized and copied.”

  Rikki pushed her chair back and rotated her body to face him. “How long will that take?”

  “I’m going home to work on it this afternoon,” he replied. “Then I’m taking the boys to the high school playoff game against Williamstown.”

  Rikki winced. “Ouch. Are you glutton for punishment or something?”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you say that?”

  “Haven’t they beaten our football team like 50 straight years?” she gently asked.

  “Ah. You mean The Curse. Well, what if this is the year we manage to break it? Don’t you want to be able to tell your kids you were there to see it in person?”

  “Jack, I don’t have any kids. And at the rate I’m going, I don’t see any coming my way.”

  McCallen shrugged. “Suit yourself. But don’t blame me when you’re 60 and those rugrats science helped you squeeze out at 50 think you’re lame because you missed out on the end of The Curse.”

  “Consider yourself absolved,” Rikki quipped. “And besides, I have too much stuff to do. I’d planned to review some criminal files this afternoon, but I suppose I’ll put that off and switch gears so I can finalize your discovery responses. Since you finally brought me the stuff you were supposed to, that is.”

  “Thanks, Rikki. You’re a lifesaver. Even though you’re a Democrat, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Just doing my job, Jack. Now get out of here and go home so you can get some work done and take your boys to the game tonight.”

  Jack smiled and walked behind her, heading for the door. As he passed her chair, he bent down and gave her a little peck on the top of her head. “Thanks again. Don’t work too hard and get home at a reasonable hour. Everybody needs sleep.”