Lady Justice and the Candidate (12 page)

    “Good!” Ben replied. “Anyone interested in some bread pudding? I hear their sauce is terrific.”

    Just then, one of the agents burst into the room.

    “He’s dead! The shooter is dead!”

    “But how?” Mark asked. “All we were doing was transporting the guy. What happened?”

    “We had just left the stadium and were putting him into one of our armored vehicles when they hit us. A black SUV roared around the corner with machine guns blazing. They seemed to know precisely what we were doing and they went straight for the guy. He went down immediately. One of our guys took a round but he’ll be okay.”

    “They got away, I assume,” Mark said shaking his head.

    “Yeah, they did,” the agent replied. “I’m sorry, Mark.”

    When the agent had gone, Mark turned to us with a very serious expression on his face, “This is a very typical ‘black ops’ tactic. If one of your men is taken, there is a back-up team ready to take him out before he can talk.

      “The guy told us that we were in way over our heads. I’m beginning to believe it!”

CHAPTER 11

    The last time that I had been to Arkansas was my first year on the job.

    Coincidently, we were working an undercover operation for Dewey Coughlin, the CEO of the huge BuyMart chain.

    Someone was ripping off the big retailer. Vince, my first recruit into the C.R.A.P. program, and I found ourselves at the BuyMart headquarters in Arkansas where we got a lead on the perpetrator and eventually collared him.

    As a result, Dewey Coughlin was so grateful, he decided to fund the City Retiree Action Patrol as a tax write-off.

    I wondered how he would feel if he knew that someone whose paycheck he was funding was in town to help Ben Foster rip him a new one.

    As I looked around my comfortable hotel room, I remembered the cheesy motel that Vince and I had checked into on our previous visit.

    There was a stuffed possum on the dresser, a spit cup on the nightstand, three back issues of Outdoor Life on the coffee table and a velvet painting of Elvis hung in a prominent spot on the wall.

    Real Arkansas luxury.

    I was looking forward to my afternoon.

    With two attempts on Ben Foster’s life, I surmised that Maggie must have heard the news and figured out that it had actually been me that had barely missed being a footnote in history as the assassinated candidate.

    I had approached Mark and asked if there was some way that he could arrange a call with her so that she could hear for herself that I was still in one piece.

    Given what I had been through, he figured that he owed me one and agreed to set up a call on a secure line.

    My heart skipped a little beat when I heard her voice, “Walt, are you all right? I was so worried when I saw the news.”

    “I’m doing just fine,” I said, trying to muster up as much confidence as possible. “Everything is going to be okay.”

    I tried to veer the conversation away from my ever-present peril, “Have you been hearing Ben’s speeches and interviews?”

    “I sure have and every time that I do, it reinforces what you are doing to help him. I really like what he has to say.”

    “So how is everything there?” I asked, not really wanting to know. “How is everyone taking my passing?”

    “Not well. Mary has been in a terrible funk. She threatened to cut off Mr. Feeney’s dick if he peed on the floor one more time. I think she really scared him. Willie has been moping around the building like a little lost puppy and I can’t even get Jerry to crack a joke. He missed amateur night at the comedy club for the first time anyone could remember. Everyone misses you, Walt --- especially me.”

    “I miss you too. This will be over soon and maybe we can look back and say that we really made a difference.”

    At that moment Mark cut in, “Hey, you two lovebirds. We have to wrap this up. Even secure lines have their limitations.”

    “Okay, we will,” I said. “Just give us another minute.”

    “Make it quick.”

    “I love you, Maggie. Don’t ever forget that.”

    “I love you right back. Just come home safely to me. You’re my hero, you know.”

    “Bye.”

    “Bye.”

    The line went dead.

    Ben was to speak in one of the hotel ballrooms.

    It was one of those places where there could actually be three events taking place simultaneously by simply pulling folding walls together.

    The hotel had only booked one of the rooms, but thankfully, no other event had been scheduled and when the crowd started lining up outside the hotel, management quickly collapsed the walls and added hundreds more chairs.

    No one, other than Paul Ford, knew what Ben was going to say on any given evening, so we all were anxious to hear what Ben had up his sleeve for this event.

    We were all surprised when he took the podium with a toaster under his arm.

    As usual, he launched right into his tirade.

    He held the toaster high over his head.

    “See this folks. It’s a toaster. Not a very complicated piece of equipment in today’s high-tech world. Its only function is to do one thing --- make white bread brown.

    “Helen and I bought this at a BuyMart store three months ago and do you know what? It gave out before we could get one loaf through the darn thing.”

    He turned the contraption over, “Here’s why,” he said, reading the inscription, “Made in China.”

    “How many of you have bought some piece of crap, pardon the expression, that was made in China or Taiwan or some other place where they pay their people anywhere from .15 cents an hour to maybe a buck and a half for ten to fifteen hour shifts?”

    Nearly everyone raised their hands.

    “Do you realize that there are fifty year old toasters out there still making white bread brown? That there are fifty-year-old refrigerators still keeping things cold? Why? Because they were made in America at a time when people were proud of what they produced.

    “The technology is available to make things that last. Ford produced the 9N tractor from 1939 to 1941, the 2N from 1942 to 1947 and the 8N from 1947 to 1952. There are still thousands of them out there mowing fields and plowing gardens seventy years later.

    “What has happened is that quality has been sacrificed for profit. It’s about the money --- it’s always about the money.

    “As companies have competed with one another to put less expensive items on the retail shelves, two things have happened; American jobs have gone to foreign countries where people are forced to work for pennies on the dollar compared to U.S. wages and quality has been sacrificed for expediency.

    “We now live in a world of planned obsolescence. There was a time when Americans demanded quality products and were willing to pay for them knowing that they could last a lifetime. Today, we pay a cheap price for a piece of inferior equipment, knowing full well that it will have to be replaced in weeks or months if we’re lucky.

    "Has no one ever stopped to consider that it would cost less to buy one quality toaster than the three or four or five that are guaranteed to break down?

    “We have allowed this to happen and now it is time to demand that quality products are available to us on our shelves.”

    The crowd applauded vigorously.

    “How many of you have bought a product and when you experienced a problem and called tech support you found yourself speaking to someone in India or Pakistan and you couldn’t understand one word out of three?”

    Again, nearly everyone raised their hands.

    “So what do we do when that happens? After punching buttons and being on hold for a hour, we find ourselves talking to someone in Bangladesh and just give up. We say ‘Oh well’ that’s just the way it is today. Am I right?”

    The crowd cheered.

    “We’ve been letting the huge corporations get away with this and now it’s time to tell them that we’re not going to take it anymore.

    “I believe in freedom and I believe in a free marketplace. I believe that the American people want to go back to the days when they could buy a quality product that said ‘Made in America’ on the back, crafted by American men and women who were earning a living wage for their families.

    “This is my pledge if I am elected
president. We will fix this. How? By imposing a tariff on the inferior products that American companies and others are having made in foreign countries and using those funds to give incentives for American companies to re-open their factories and re-hire their American workers and produce a quality product that is worthy of the inscription, 'Made in America.'

    “In Dallas, I made the statement that a free market would dictate whether people would pay $4.00 a gallon for gas when they could buy New Wave gas for $2.00. I believe that the same is true with this toaster. The tariff will be the big equalizer. When this imported junk is sitting on the shelf beside a quality American made product for the same price, which would you choose?

    “We have let the giant corporations, whose only motive is to generate huge profits, take over our lives and our economy, and our homes and landfills are filled with inferior products that are built to fail.

    “We cannot control what is happening in other countries, but we can control what is happening here and you, my friends, have the power to influence this change by the choices you make when you shop.

    “It’s your money and you have the right to demand a quality product for your hard earned dollars and while you’re doing so, you will be putting your friends, family and neighbors back to work.

    “Join with me to send a message to the large corporations, ‘If you want to stay in business, you’d better re-open your American factories, hire American workers and make a quality American product if you want any of our American dollars!’

    “Thank you. I’ll take a short break and be right back with you.”

    The crowd rose and cheered as Ben left the podium.

    As I shook hands with the attendees, their words mimicked what Ben had said.

    “My neighbor lost his job when the company that he had worked for twenty years closed and they re-opened in Mexico.”

    “I’m so tired of buying cheap crap that breaks as soon as you get it home, but sometimes there are just no other choices.”

    “I have nothing against foreigners but when I need help with something, it drives me nuts because I can’t understand them and they can’t understand me.”

    I wondered if Dewey Coughlin was getting the message.

    When I returned to the suite, Ben and his entourage were rehashing the evening’s events and enjoying big slices of carrot cake.

    I reported what the man on the street had conveyed to me and everyone felt that his address had been a success.

    We were about to break up and head to bed when there was a knock on the door.

    We looked at one another questioningly. No one was expecting a visitor at that late hour.

    Mark rose to answer it and returned with a puzzled look on his face.

    “It’s some guy named John Little and he says that he wants to be your vice president!”

CHAPTER 12

    Ben looked around the room, “Anyone know a John Little?”

    We all shook our heads.

    “Well I’m intrigued,” Ben said. “Invite the guy in and let’s see what he has to say.”

    Given the recent attempts on Ben’s life, poor John Little was subjected to everything but a body cavity search before he was led into the room.

    He appeared to be in his mid to late forties with short-cropped hair and glasses with very thick lenses.

    While he wasn’t a monster by any means, his stature bore little resemblance to his name. He stood a full six feet tall and it was evident that the guy was well muscled.

    Ben greeted him with an extended hand, “I’m Ben Foster. What’s this about you wanting to be vice president?”

    “I’m very pleased to meet you, sir,” he replied taking Ben’s hand. “I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since I heard your address in Washington. You said that you wanted to reform the bureaucracy and eliminate the graft and corruption. I can help you with that.”

    “Oh really?” Ben replied, sitting up in his chair. “How so?”

    “I’m a Director at the FDA --- have been for ten years --- and I know where all the bodies are buried and in which closets they’re hiding the skeletons. I know who’s on the take and who isn’t. I know who is taking bribes at the CDC to perpetuate the outrageous vaccination schedule for children and I know who is pushing the testing of seniors for hepatitis C to boost the sale of the latest drug. If you really want to clean house, then I’m your guy.”

    “But why come to me?” Ben asked.

    “Before my appointment to the FDA, I spent ten years as a District Attorney. I saw first hand what happens to whistleblowers. These bureaucrats are so entrenched and so connected to the people in power who want to protect the status quo, that anyone rocking the boat is literally risking their life.

    “I figured that I had three choices; I could just look the other way and the corruption would go on as it has for years, or I could be a whistleblower and spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder for a hit man, or I could team up with a president committed to reform and attack the bastards from a position of power and influence.

    “I chose the latter and that’s why I’m here.”

    It was the first time I had ever seen Ben speechless.

    John continued, “If what you said in your speeches was just more political hot air, then I’m not interested. If you’re looking for a figurehead VP that’s as worthless as tits on a fish, then I’m not your man. But if you really mean what you say and are committed to reform, then I think that we can do some good things together to turn this country around.”

    Ben finally found his tongue, “Let me assure you, John that my words are not more political bullshit. If I am elected, I will do my best to fulfill my campaign promises. I will accomplish that by surrounding myself with like-minded people who have the skills and determination to see this thing through.

    “You might just be one of those people. You can understand that until fifteen minutes ago we were total strangers. Let us do our due diligence and then we will talk again.”

    “I expected nothing less,” he replied. “Thank you for hearing me out.”

    After John had been escorted out, Ben turned to Paul Ford, “I like this kid. I want to know everything about him right down to what brand of toilet paper he uses. Can you do that?”

    Paul nodded.

    “Then let’s get to it!”

    Two days later, Paul called the group together to report what he had learned about John Little.

    “Based on everything that I could find, it looks like the guy is a real Boy Scout.

    “He has a degree from Harvard Law and worked his way up to District Attorney in Cook County --- Chicago, for heaven’s sake. The Circuit Court of Cook County files over 1.2 million cases a year and the Cook County Jail is the largest single-site jail in the nation.

    “He had a record as a tough-as-nails prosecutor who wouldn’t back down from either the mob or the political machine.

    “He accepted the appointment to the FDA hoping that he could help reform the system from the inside, but the opposition was just too entrenched.”

    “Any indication that he has been dipping into the big pot of money that big pharma dangles in front of everyone?” Ben asked.

    “Not that we could find. He looks clean.”

   Ben rubbed his chin, “What about his family life? Is he married?”

    “He married his wife, Linda, right out of law school. They have two children in college.”

    “Any skeletons there --- infidelity, hookers, little boys? Any addictions --- alcohol, gambling?”

    “Like I said, the guy is a Boy Scout --- almost too good to be true. Oh yes, he uses Charmin --- you know --- the squeezable kind, double rolls.”

    Paul had certainly done his homework. I was guessing that they probably knew my brand of tissue too, before they signed me on as Ben’s double.

    Ben looked around the room, “Any comments?”

    Paul jumped in again, “We hadn’t really talked about a running mate because we were so focused in just getting the word out about your candidacy, but now that you’re getting national attention, it might be prudent to consider it.”

    Ben nodded his head in agreement, “I like to use the decision making method of my namesake. Old Ben Franklin would take a piece of paper and list all of the positives in one column and all of the negatives in another. When the list was complete, it was usually easy to see the correct course of action.

    “One positive that I can see is that John is twenty-five years younger than me. I think voters are sometimes squeamish about electing an old codger with one foot in the grave. A strong, young Vice President would certainly balance the ticket.”

    “Another point is that he has a law degree and you don’t,” Paul said. “While this is not a critical factor, I’m sure it will come up sometime during the campaign.”

    The discussion went on for another fifteen minutes with more and more items being added to the positive side.

    Finally, Ben said, “How about the negatives? Does anyone have any?”

    “Just that the guy is unknown. Nobody will have ever heard of him.”

    “Well guess what?” Ben said, “A month ago nobody had ever heard of me either, but we changed that, didn’t we.”

    Everyone nodded in agreement.

    “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a running mate,” Ben said with a smile. “If Robin Hood is going up against the Sheriff of Nottingham and Sir Guy of Gisbourne, then he ought to have Little John on his side. Let’s get the guy in here and throw his ass into the fire.”

    John Little was all smiles as he shook hands with the members of Ben’s entourage.

    He was appropriately surprised when he was introduced to me. Apparently, on his first visit, he hadn’t noticed that there were two Bens in the room.

    After he had been briefed about my role in the campaign, Ben said, “Before you commit to this venture, I want to make sure that you’re aware that there have been two assassination attempts on my life. By throwing in with us, you just might be painting a big bull’s eye on your back. In fact, it may even be possible that the attempts originated from your department.”

    “Yes, I am aware of the danger. If you don’t mind an old west cliché, it’s kind of like the new sheriff and deputy riding into Dodge City to rescue the town from the evil cattle barons. Of course there is risk, but it’s a job that must be done.”

    “Then it’s settled. Welcome aboard!”

    Ben wasted no time putting him to work.

    “Are you available to join us right away?” Ben asked.

    “Yes, I can join you immediately, but if you need Linda, it will take her a few days to wrap things up at home.”

    “That will be fine. We’re headed to your hometown, Chicago. I think that would be the perfect place to introduce you as my running mate. Apparently you’re well known there.”

    “Well, I certainly am among the prison population.”

    I liked this guy immediately.

    “No one outside of Chicago knows you, and the only way that is going to change is for you to jump in with both feet.”

    Ben handed John the same stack of paperwork that I had been given on my first day. “Read this --- particularly the part about prison reform. You’re going to give the address tomorrow night. Since you were a DA, this should be right down your alley.”

    I certainly hoped he would understand the stuff better than I did.

    John’s eyes grew wide, “Tomorrow? Really?”

    Ben nodded.

    “Then I’d better get to work!”

    The venue for John’s coming-out-party in Chicago was the Donald E. Stephens Convention Center.

    Paul Ford had leaked the news that there would be an important announcement and, as had been the case for the past few weeks, the place was packed.

    When I had first joined the campaign, Ben Foster was just a blip on the screen, but his message of reform had captured the interest of the public and the attempts on his life had made him a cult hero of sorts. Probably not the outcome that his detractors had hoped for.

    Gallup polls had shown Ben gradually creeping up on the Republican and Democratic candidates. The latest poll gave Ben 20% of the voters with the other two guys running neck and neck.

    I got the same goose bumps that I always did when I heard Paul bellow, “Please welcome Benjamin Franklin Foster, the next President of the United States!”

    Ben took the stage and John waited in the wings.

    “Ladies and Gentlemen, as you know, I am the candidate for change and reform. A few weeks ago, I promised to sweep the graft and corruption from the FDA, the CDC and other government bureaus. Tonight, I will demonstrate to you that my promise is more than just political rhetoric.

    “Tonight, I will introduce to you the man that will be my
vice president. Unlike previous administrations whose VP’s are nothing more than figureheads and tragically, have become fodder for late night TV comedians, my vice president will have a very important role in my administration --- he will be the new sheriff in the city of Washington whose job it will be to root out those who have taken the bribes and perks from the giant corporations and put the American public at risk.