Lady Justice and the Candidate (3 page)

    Ox addressed a guy that had been quietly waiting his turn. “Better find yourself another dentist, Pal. Dr. Friedman won’t be seeing any more patients for quite awhile.”

    He handed me the search warrant. “I’ll watch the receptionist. You go back there and see if you can find your missing teeth.”

    I opened the door and found Dr. Friedman with two big handfuls of Miss Brenda.

    I figured they were probably celebrating their latest gold strike.

    I held up my badge and the warrant.

    “Looks like your gold mining days are over, Doc. Take your hands off those things and put them behind your back. You’re under arrest.”

    My two gold crowns were in a cup soaking in some liquid.

    A search of the office revealed another half-dozen gold teeth extracted from unsuspecting victims.

    I never pictured myself as a vengeful guy, but I took great satisfaction in knowing that Dr. Friedman’s type attracted not only the ladies, but members of the prison population as well.

    Ox had called for a paddy wagon and when everyone was loaded he gave me a sly grin, “Bodacious? Really?”

    “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said truthfully.

    "Don’t worry, partner," he said. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

    The captain had given me a couple of days off to get my mouth back to its original condition.

    On my first day back, he summoned me into his office.

    I was surprised to see Mark Davenport.

    I had learned just a year earlier that Mark was my half-brother, the product of an illicit relationship that my dad had during his wild over-the-road trucking days.

    At the time, Mark was with the FBI and had come looking for a guy we called Thanatos who was offering euthanasia to dying patients.

    He was seeking the man’s services for his suffering mother.

    My next meeting was nearly a year later.

    Mark had appeared at Police Headquarters, this time as a member of the Department of Homeland Security.

    He had solicited our department, and me in particular, to help thwart a terrorist attack at the All Star Game.

    I certainly didn’t expect him back so soon.

    “Walt,” he said, extending his hand, “good to see you again.”

    “I certainly hope it’s not because of another terrorist threat. That last episode came a little too close for comfort.”

    “No, not this time,” he replied. “Actually, I’m here on behalf of the Secret Service. They fall under the jurisdiction of Homeland Security.”

    “Well, if you’re looking for some hookers,” I said with a grin, “I can refer you to some gals I know at the Shady Lady.”

    I could see that hit a sore spot.

    “Go ahead and have your fun --- everyone else has. That was not a chapter in our history that we’re proud of.”

    “Sorry,” I said. “What possible interest could the Secret Service have in our department?”

    “Not the department, Walt. We need you. Your country desperately needs you for another undercover assignment --- and it
IS
a matter of national security.

    I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

    Surely not again!

CHAPTER 2

    I looked at the captain dumbfounded.

    He just shrugged his shoulders and I could see by the expression on his face that I was not going to like what I heard next.

    “Walt,” Mark continued, “I’m sure you’re aware that this is an election year.”

    Duh! How could you not know? At least fifteen minutes of every TV hour were filled with campaign propaganda and since the beginning of the year, the newspaper had been reporting primary results ad nauseum.

    “So what does that have to do with me?” I asked. “Looks like the slate is set. The president is a shoo-in and the Republican guy seems to have wiped out his remaining challengers.”

    “Then I guess you haven’t heard of Benjamin Franklin Foster.”

    I shook my head, “Should I?”

    “If you haven’t, you soon will. It seems that many Americans aren’t exactly thrilled with either the socialist Democrat or the snooty, rich Republican.”

    I could certainly understand that. I could never figure why, out of a population of over 300 million people, we can never come up with two truly qualified candidates to run for the highest office in the free world.

    “So who is he?” I asked.

    “He’s an independent, not affiliated with any political party, and he’s causing quite a stir.

    “His message is ‘reform’ --- everything from the U.S. Tax Code to the abolition of the Electoral College.

    “The good news is that his campaign is winning the support of voters. The bad news is that he’s making a lot of enemies.”

    “Like who?” I asked.

    “Take your pick,” he replied. “It’s in the best interests of both political parties to maintain the status quo.  No one wants to admit it, but our government is built like a house of cards. The balance of power is precarious at best and if any one agency or department is affected, the whole thing could come tumbling down.

    “The alliances that exist have taken years to form, and they reach from the local precincts to the halls of Congress and even to the White House itself.

    “The policies that Ben Foster is promoting would disrupt all of that and no one on either side wants to lose their position and influence.

    “There are powerful people out there who want to see the man dead.”

    I understood what he was saying.

    A year earlier, I had been involved in an undercover operation involving the collusion between a giant pharmaceutical company and corrupt politicians.

    An assassin had been sent to kill a holistic physician that was poised to disrupt the 'status quo.'

    Our investigation uncovered a tangled web that included a local law firm, the Department of Corrections, the Food and Drug Administration and a U.S. Senator.

    “I see your problem,” I said, “but again, what does all this have to do with me?”

    He handed me a photo. “Meet Benjamin Franklin Foster.”

    I took the photo and it was like I was looking in a mirror.

    If my mother had sired identical twins, this guy could have been my brother.

    I didn’t know what to say.

    I had an idea where this might be going, but the concept was just so outrageous, I quickly dismissed it.

    “Here’s the situation,” Mark said. “Once an individual becomes a viable candidate, he is assigned a Secret Service detail.

    “We have enough creditable intel to know that the man’s life is in danger and it’s our job to protect him.

    “We need you to help.”

    There it was --- I was being offered the job of sacrificial lamb.

    Mark could see the wheels turning. “I know how this must sound ---.”

    “Do you really?” I said, cutting him off. “This Foster guy is important enough that you’re willing to set up a private citizen for his enemies to bump off --- your own flesh and blood, for chrissakes!”

    I didn’t mean to say that, but it just came out.

    “Then what happens when I’m blown away? Will you have another stooge waiting in the wings?”

    “Walt, you’ll have the same protection that we give to the President of the United States.”

    “Which
president?” I asked sarcastically, “Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley, Kennedy?”

    Mark looked at the captain. “I knew this was a mistake. Sorry I wasted your time. Good to see you again, Walt.”

    He rose to leave, but my curiosity got the best of me.

    “Exactly how would this work? I’ll always wonder what fantastic scheme you guys had cooked up for me.”

    I saw the captain stifle a grin. He knew I’d take the bait.

    Mark returned to his chair. “For the next four months, Foster will be cris-crossing the country on the campaign trail. He will be making speeches and personal appearances and most likely participating in debates with the other candidates.

    “During those times, he’s on his own. You would accompany Foster everywhere and when his speaking part is over, you would take over to ‘press the flesh’ so to speak, to mingle with the crowd, shake hands and kiss the babies.”

    “So he gets ushered off to some safe place and I would get to parade around when the exposure is the greatest.”

    “Yes, something like that.”

    “Why would anyone in their right mind agree to such an arrangement? It sounds very much like a suicide mission.”

    “I can’t answer that, Walt. Why do brave men join the Secret Service when they know that their job might require them to take a bullet for the president? Why do soldiers enlist when they know they may be put in harm’s way in Iraq or Afghanistan? Why do you come to work here every day, knowing that your next car stop might be a guy high on PCP?”

    I suppose that I’d never thought about it in those terms.

    “Will you do one thing for me?” Mark asked.

    “Like what?”

    “Ben Foster will be in town tomorrow. All I ask is that you meet the man and hear what he has to say. If you don’t like the guy, just walk away --- no harm, no foul.”

    “I suppose that I could do that. Let’s say that after I talk with him, I’m interested. What then?”

    Mark and the captain exchanged looks.

    “Then we’d have to kill you!”

CHAPTER 3

    “Kill me! Oh, this just keeps getting better and better!”

    “Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Mark said with a grin. “I was speaking in the figurative sense --- not the literal. We would have to fake your death.”

    “But why?”

    “Think about it. Powerful people want Foster dead. Your presence would be a closely guarded secret. Only a very few handpicked people would know of your part in this whole thing. If Walter Williams, the body double of Ben Foster, is suddenly not around without a reasonable explanation, someone will put two and two together.”

    “So to the world, I would really be dead --- funeral, obituary in the paper, the whole nine yards?”

    Mark nodded.

    I could see trouble looming on the horizon.

    “What about Maggie? I wouldn’t even give this a thought unless she knew the truth. I wouldn’t put her through that for anyone.”

    “We figured as much and we would agree --- but no one else!”

    Then I thought about Willie and Mary, Dad, Bernice and the Professor. How would they take the news of my death?

    “I don’t know --- there are so many people who depend on me --- and Ox! What about Ox?”

    “We’ll take care of Ox,” the captain said. “He’ll be devastated, of course, but when this is all over and you’re back home, he’ll be proud of what you’ve done.”

   
Yeah, if I make it back
, I thought.

    “Maggie has to come with me to meet Foster. If she’s not on board with this, I couldn’t do it.”

    “Done!” Mark said. “Foster will be at the Marriott tomorrow at three o‘clock. Not a word to anyone except Maggie. No one knows that Foster is anywhere close to Kansas City.”

    “We’ll be there,” I replied.

    I had no idea how I was going to break the news to Maggie.

    She had been adamantly opposed to my last two undercover assignments. One involved infiltrating a suspected terrorist cell and the other had me rubbing shoulders with a drug dealer.

    Both nearly got me killed.

    During my three and a half years on the force, she had been very supportive, but with each close call, I could see her enthusiasm wavering.

    After these latest escapades, someone had pointed out that if I had nine lives like a cat, I had probably used most of them up.

    Maggie wasn’t thrilled with that prospect.

    When I walked in the door, Maggie greeted me with a hug and a big, wet kiss.

    “Made your favorite for supper,” she said proudly. “Tuna casserole with Peach Arbor Mist. Lots of Sun Chips on top --- just the way you like it.”

    This wasn’t going to be easy.

    I totally avoided the subject during supper. I didn’t want to spoil the tuna casserole.

    When the dishes were put away, I said, “Maggie, we need to talk.”

    I saw the look on her face.

    We had been down this path before.

    “What have you done?” she asked. “Or what is it that you’re going to do that I’m not going to like?”

    The woman can read me like a book.

    “I want you to see something,” I replied.

    Before coming home, I had ‘Googled’ Ben Foster and found a photo of him that could have been me.

    Maggie pulled up a chair beside me at the computer and when the photo popped up on the screen I saw her mouth drop open.

    “Who? --- What?” was all she could get out.

    “Just read,” I said, and together we read story after story about the upstart candidate from Montana who was capturing the hearts of more voters every day.

    Like me, Maggie hadn’t heard of the guy before today.

    Neither of us were very political minded. We both were thoroughly disgusted with the current state of American politics and the pitiful selection of candidates that were presented to us each election.

    We seemed to always find ourselves voting for the ‘lesser of two evils’ rather than for a candidate that we believed could really lead our great nation.

    Every election year it was the same old 'politics as usual.'

    We could totally understand why people were reluctant to vote.

    Maggie hadn’t uttered a word as we read, but when we had finished the last article, she said, “Walt, you have a remarkable resemblance to that man.”

    “You noticed that, too,” I replied. “What do you think about the guy? Do you like what he’s saying --- the reform stuff --- changing American politics?”

    “I totally support what he’s saying, but face it, Walt, he’s an independent, and independents just don’t have a chance in our two party system.”

    History certainly supported what she had said.

    “How would you like to meet the guy?” I asked.

    “Is he coming to Kansas City for a rally of some kind?”

    “No,” I replied. “Just to meet you and me.”

    Maggie was no dummy. She knew right away that there was more to my little charade than just excitement over a new presidential candidate.

    “Why in the world would he want to -----?” Then it hit her.

    “Walt, no! You can’t!”

    “Just hear me out. Please!”

    Maggie folded her arms and closed her eyes while I told the story of my meeting with Mark Davenport and his unbelievable proposal.

    Maggie sat quietly for a long time after I finished my narrative.

    Finally she spoke. “You want this, don’t you?”

    “Honestly, I don’t know the answer to that yet. It depends on two things --- how you feel about it and how I feel about Foster after I meet him.

    “If you say ‘no’ right now, then I’m done. I wouldn’t even go see the man. You’re that important to me.

    “But if you’re not sure either, then we can go and talk to him together and then decide together.

    “If I’m not sold on the guy, there’s no way that I would leave you for four months. I know for a fact that I wouldn’t do it for the other two guys.”

    She looked at me skeptically, “So you wouldn’t say ‘yes’ until after we’ve met him and discussed it further?”

    “I promise.”

    “Then I’ll go with you.”

    The woman never ceases to surprise me.

    Mark Davenport met us in the lobby of the Marriott and whisked us up to the penthouse suite.

    A thirty-something fellow that had a remarkable resemblance to Ryan Seacrest, the
American Idol
guy, greeted us.

     “My name is Paul Ford,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Ben Foster’s campaign manager. Thank you both for coming today.”

    I couldn’t help but wonder why a young yuppie guy would want to hitch his political career to an old gray mare like Foster who was a year older than me.

    “Mr. Foster is on a conference call and will be with you momentarily. Can I get you a beverage while you wait?”

    “No, thank you, we’re fine,” I replied.

    We took a seat and waited anxiously to meet the man for which I was being asked to risk my life.

    In anticipation of our meeting, Maggie and I had researched everything we could find about Ben Foster.

    He was born and raised on a ranch in the Big Sky country of Montana.

    He attended college in California and graduated with a degree in business administration.

    He joined an architectural firm and during the course of his career, participated in the development of shopping centers and suburban subdivisions.

    After twenty years on the West Coast, he returned to Montana where he started his own construction business.

    The only elected office that he had ever held was an eight-year term as Mayor in his home city in Montana.

    We found nothing in the man’s resume that gave any credence to the notion that he could or should be, the President of the United States.

    Yet, somehow, the man’s message of reform had struck a chord in the hearts of many Americans and they were eager to hear more from the David who was willing to stand up against the political Goliaths.

    The door on the far side of the room opened and Paul Ford entered followed by a man and a woman.

    I heard Maggie choke back a little gasp when she saw the carbon copy of the man that she shared her bed with every night.

    Ford made the introductions, “Walt and Maggie Williams, I’d like you to meet Benjamin and Helen Foster.

    Foster extended his hand.

    “Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said.

    Foster smiled, “Let’s get something out of the way right up front. I’m not a ‘sir’ --- never have been and never will be. I’m just plain Ben and this is my wife, Helen. May we call you Walt and Maggie?”

    “Certainly, sir, --- uhhh --- I mean, Ben,” I stammered.

    Off to a great start.

    “Let’s have a seat and get down to business,” he said.

    When we were all comfortably seated, he began, “We all know why you’re here and I want you to know that this cockamamie scheme was certainly not my idea. I’m the one who started poking the hornet’s nest, so I’m the one who should suffer the stings, if there are any.”

    Paul Ford broke in, “Ben is correct. When Mark informed me of the possible security risks, he and I formulated the idea, based on Mark’s knowledge of your remarkable resemblance to Ben.”

    “Gosh, Bro, thanks for thinking of me.” I didn’t mean to say it, but it just came out.

    Foster clapped his hands, “Sarcasm, I love it! I think, Walt, that you and I have a lot more in common than just our incredible good looks.”

    I saw Maggie and Helen exchange glances.

    I think they both rolled their eyes.

    Paul continued, “Walt, I understand the enormity of what we’re asking you to do, and if we weren’t totally committed to the message that this man has for the American people, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

    “I’m sure that you have questions. Ask anything --- anything at all. We have nothing to hide and we’re more than willing to share any information that will help you come to a decision.”

    I looked Foster squarely in the eye. “Ben, I mean no disrespect, but given the woeful track record of third party candidates, do you really believe that you have a chance to win this thing?”

    “Fair question,” he said, smiling. “If I told you that I thought that I could win this election, you would think me either a fool or a liar.

    “So your next question should be, ‘If you don’t think you can win, then why are you risking your life and asking me to risk mine?’ That, too, is a fair question.

    “I will tell you, honestly, why I’m doing what I’m doing.

    “I have lived in this great country for seventy years and I have always been proud to be an American, but I have seen many changes during those years and not all of them have been good.