Finding Patience

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 4

  Unexpected Aide

  Las Vegas – Fall, 2002

  Wassim traipsed into Mr. Al-Wadi’s office, appearing as if something suspicious was up, but before he could even get out a word, Mr. Al-Wadi volunteered nonchalantly, “What’s up, Wassim. You look as if your mother died.”

  “Sir, we have a problem.”

  Accustomed to Wassim’s overreactions, Al-Wadi replied, “What else is new?”

  “It’s that dancer, Antonia, she is making trouble again.”

  Rolling his one good eye, Mr. Al-Wadi inquired in exasperation, “Damn, what does she want this time, Wassim?’

  “She wants to go home. She says she’s done, sir.”

  “Funny she should say that, because I agree with her, Wassim. She is getting old. How old is she, anyway?”

  “I don’t quite know, sir, maybe thirty? Let’s see, it’s been nine years since we dished her out of that crumby joint in Harlingen, down in South Texas. Remember?”

  “Yes, of course I remember. She was a little pudgy back then, but she could sure shake her tailfeathers on that pole. I don’t know why she keeps complaining, we made her quite a lot of money.”

  “Yes sir, but she didn’t want to come here, remember?”

  “Yes, you don’t need to remind me. She didn’t want to drop her g-string. I remember, she thought that sort of thing was immoral or something.”

  “That’s the one, sir. And that’s the problem, she’s bringing up that old crap about being kidnapped. She’s threatening to expose us. She says she has evidence, and she’ll give it to the authorities if we don’t give her ‘a pension’.”

  “Ha! That’s a good one, Wassim! A pension! What are we, a retirees’ home or something? A pension…ha! Imagine that, Wassim – a lowlife stripper attempting to blackmail one of the most powerful people in the entire world!”

  Gazing momentarily at Mr. Al-Wadi, Wassim asked surreptitiously, “So do you want us to do the same to her as the others?”

  “Yes, please proceed, Wassim. But be careful. I’ve been thinking about her for some time, ever since she demanded that stupid raise two years ago. Here’s how I want it handled. You give her the first payment, pay her well, say three thousand, and pay for her plane ticket, too. Get her on the plane home, and make sure she goes back to Harlingen, okay? Then give her a couple more payments, one each month. Make sure it’s cash, okay? Then you and Sadiq drive down there, no plane tickets, absolutely nothing that can be traced. Drive down there and give her the final payment, and make it look like a drug thing. She’ll be right there on the border with Mexico, so the authorities will think nothing of it. I can see the headline now – ‘Former Las Vegas Stripper Murdered in Desperate Drug Deal’.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve got it. We’ll get right on it.”

  “Good! Now wipe that sullen look off your face and get outta here, Wassim. We have much bigger problems to deal with!”

  Pasadena – March, 2003

  Brandt had just stepped from the shower in his apartment when the phone rang. “Hello,” he spluttered into the receiver.

  “Hello, my name is Frank Hollister. Is this Dr. Brandt MacCauley?”

  “Yes, what can I do for you, Mr. Hollister.”

  “Dr. MacCauley, I’m a federal agent with the FBI. I’m wondering if I could have a few words with you regarding your organization, Restoring Patience.”

  “FBI? What’s this about? Am I in some sort of trouble?”

  “No, no, Dr. MacCauley, it’s nothing like that. If you were in trouble, I wouldn’t be contacting you by phone. On the contrary, I think that you may be able to help me. It’s regarding one Patience Walker.”

  “But she’s dead!”

  “Yes, Dr. MacCauley, I am aware of that. But you did know her, did you not?”

  The early morning cobwebs just beginning to disappear, he mumbled, “Know her…know her…I really don’t think that would be an accurate description, Mr. Hollister. I suppose that you could say that I met her once.”

  “Close enough, sir, and I get your meaning, as I am familiar with the exact circumstances to which you are referring.”

  Suddenly intrigued, Brandt replied, “Oh, so you know about my visit to Lincoln in 1997?”

  “Yes, we do, Dr. MacCauley. And we believe that it may be of some significance with regard to our investigation.”

  “What sort of investigation, Mr. Hollister.”

  “I’m not at liberty to say over the phone. However, if we could meet for coffee, I would be more than happy to elucidate for you.”

  As Brandt was still entangled in the vestiges of his long compulsion, he responded accordingly, “Of course, Mr. Hollister, I’m at your service.”

  “Good. How about the Starbuck’s opposite campus, say nine o’clock?”

  “Sure, but can you make it nine-thirty? I’m not quite functioning yet this morning.”

  “Done. Goodbye, Dr. MacCauley.”

  “Goodbye,” Brandt replied, but his caller had already hung up.

  Two hours later he meandered into Starbuck’s. Surveying the scruffily attired array of college students, he determined instantaneously that only one person in the entire establishment came close to the physical image stored within his mind, thereby leading him in the general direction of a fiftyish looking tall man dressed in an obviously worn black business suit who was silently perusing a copy of the Los Angeles Times.

  As he glanced up he announced nonchalantly, “Dr. MacCauley,” and subsequently presented his hand as Brandt came within hailing distance. Brandt approached and, grasping the outstretched hand, he observed him to say, “I’m Frank Hollister, which of course you already figured out. I’m afraid I don’t blend in too well with the frequenters of this particular Starbuck’s.”

  Brandt chuckled, sensing a certain fondness for his new acquaintance from the very first glance. Also stating the obvious, he replied facetiously, “Nor do I, Mr. Hollister, nor do I.”

  “Please, call me Frank,” Frank responded, thereby signaling his shared impression that they had gotten off on the right foot with one another.

  “Frank it is. And please sir, call me Brandt.”

  “My pleasure, Brandt. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  Smiling pleasantly, Brandt replied tongue-in-cheek, “Depends. Are there strings attached?”

  “Nope, none at all,” Frank responded with palpable candor.

  “In that case, I shall have a tall latte with a double shot.”

  “Done,” Frank replied and, sauntering over to the counter, he shot back over his shoulder, “Anything else?”

  “Sure, get me a slice of coffee cake if you don’t mind. But I’m warning you, I doubt that anything I could tell you would be worth such an investment.”

  Smiling over his shoulder, Frank responded knowingly, “We’ll see about that.”

  It was a good start. Since Brandt had never rubbed elbows with an FBI agent, he hadn’t known quite what to expect. However, he had surmised that this day would come sooner or later, given the nature of Restoring Patience. When Frank returned to the table with his ‘bribe’, Brandt was prepared for him, volunteering, “So, Patience Walker. What’s on your mind, Frank?”

  “I’m not going to beat around the bush with you, Brandt. I’ve done my homework, and I know that you’re a tremendously talented man. So I assume that you already have an inkling of why I’m here. To get right to the point, I’m trying to nail Hakeem Al-Wadi - one of the most vile and vicious vermin that every walked on the face of this planet.”

  “You’re telling me!” Brandt replied in obvious agreement. “I’d love to nail that bastard’s balls to the inside of a whale’s tonsils, just for the fun of seeing him shit his pants.”

  Unfazed by this, Frank responded, “Colorful thought, but I’d settle for just putting him behind bars.”

  “Yeah, I suppose I could settle for that,” Brandt deadpanned, �
�And you think that I can help you do that?”

  “As far-fetched as it may seem, I believe so.”

  Brandt rounded his lips into the shape of the letter O, whistled a small note of surprise, and commented surreptitiously, “Sounds like fun!”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. But let me be clear about this, I’m in this for the long haul, and believe me, it’s going to be a very long haul to nail this guy.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Very smart, very cagey…and he controls a vast criminal organization. He’s into drug trafficking, sex, money laundering, and gambling.”

  “Wow! I knew that he was rich and scummy, but I had no idea just how big a crime figure he was,” Brandt replied in surprise.

  “Yeah, he’s big, real big. And as a result, it’s going to take some serious magic to bring him down. We tried nailing him on a murder charge a few years back, but he killed off the prime witness. Now we’re working on income tax evasion, but I have my doubts about the effectiveness of that approach as well. Recently, I’ve been looking at other options, an Achilles heel, if you will.”

  “Like what?” Brandt asked with growing interest.

  “Well, you may not know this, but the guy we were trying to nail Al-Wadi for murdering was involved in the bombing of the Lido Hotel in Las Vegas.”

  At this admission Brandt jerked his head back and, arching an eyebrow in surprise, he rejoined, “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah, he’s the guy that took the photo of Patience Walker – the one that ended up in the Lincoln Journal Star. Al-Wadi found out about it and perfunctorily blew him away. His name was Navid Al-Hasawi. That got me to thinking about what happened the day of the bombing. Patience Walker’s mother filed a missing persons report on her in Lincoln on February 25th, four days after Patience disappeared. So we’ve known about that from the very start. Unfortunately, it went cold when her mother died six weeks later, there being no one left to push Patience’s case with the authorities. Eventually, I got involved with the Al-Wadi case. I did some research, and you started popping up wherever I turned. You’ve got a thing for Patience, haven’t you, Brandt!”

  Embarrassed by this accusation, Brandt nonetheless saw no point in denying it, “Damn straight I did.”

  “Did? Don’t give me a line of crap, Brandt. You still do. Despite the fact that she was killed on 9/11, you’re still obsessed with her.”

  “Okay, so I am. What of it?”

  “Nothing. You can get your jollies any way you please. But here’s the thing, between what you’ve been able to put together about what Al-Wadi did to Patience, and what I’ve been piecing together, we just might be able to assemble enough circumstantial evidence to indict that scumbag.”

  “But she’s dead. The primary witness is dead.”

  “I know, I know, but I’ve got nothing better to go with at this point, Brandt.”

  “Why don’t you chase down one of the other women he kidnapped?

  “Can’t. He never did kidnap another woman.”

  “What, you’ve got to be kidding me! That guy is a compulsive sadist. She can’t have been the only one!”

  “Oh, he kidnapped plenty of other women. I’d say at least fifty. But he never ever did another kidnapping in person.”

  “Wow! I didn’t know that, but, come to think of it, it does make sense. She must have scared the crap out of him when she got away.”

  “Bingo,” Frank replied. “From then on, he made sure his goons did it. That way he could never be directly tied to the crime. As I said - cagey - but he made that one mistake, and she somehow got away.”

  “So, you think we can put together enough evidence to nail him?” Brandt asked incredulously.

  “Maybe, maybe not. But from where I sit, it looks like it might be worth a shot,” Frank volunteered with a note of finality.

  “Whoa. That would be the arrest of the century, wouldn’t it!” Brandt responded with obvious relish.

  “Damn straight it would!”

  “Okay, Frank, enough said. Count me in!”

  Shortly thereafter, Brandt rose to leave, the two shaking hands as a demonstration of their new-found common obsession.