The Whisper Box (14 page)

Howard firmed up his Senator voice as she made her way to him. He offered his right hand and greeted her, “Good Evening ma'am. Are you enjoying yourself? I don't believe we've met.”

She answered, “No Sir, the pleasure is all mine. I am Christine Summer, it's nice to...”

Howard, or “Sly Howie” as he was often called in college, interrupted her, “Why I didn't know Clint had a daughter.” A huge smile spread across his face.

She returned with pearly whites of her own, explaining, “Clint is my husband, Mr. Senator, not my father.”

Howard gave her a half-devilish grin and replied. “My, my, Clint Summer is the greatest salesman I've ever seen. How did he convince such a beautiful woman to be his bride?”

Howard was overflowing with confidence at this point, not to mention testosterone.

He realized Christine Summer was taking the bait. She giggled as she answered, “Well, sir, I guess I just fell for the old coot. He's a great businessman, a great person, and...”

Howard interrupted again, “It must be tough handling such a busy man.”

Christine thought for a second and replied, “He is awfully busy. We never get any time together. He's always running around trying to save the world.”

She was blushing like a teenager.

The good Senator shot back another grin and a solution, “If you are ever bored, come to my office. I'll, personally, give you the grand tour of how everything your husband does helps my leverage and my campaigning.”

Christine gazed at him. The Senator and his latest conquest continued to talk for about forty-five minutes.

Within two weeks, the Senator was sleeping with the wealthy cattle rancher's wife. Their affair lasted two years. In 1987, only days after Howard ended the affair Christine Summer's 1986 BMW drove off the road in the town of Sanders, Alabama. No one understood why Christine would be in Sanders, which was an hour and a half from her home. She had told Clint that she was going shopping that day, but the nearest mall was in the opposite direction.

At the funeral, Howard hugged a very sad and subdued Clint Summer, but only long enough for a few photographers to snap some photos. After the funeral, Clint had the Senator and some other friends over the house. Senator Farnsworth stayed the whole time consoling the cattle king. After everyone had left, Senator Farnsworth and Clint sat down and started talking about his wife's mysterious death. Clint expressed some concern that she may have been having an affair, that he had been seeing the signs for almost two years. She was coming home late and she was easily rattled when she did get home. Senator Farnsworth put his hand on Clint Summer's shoulder, looked him right in the eyes, and offered to help.

“Clint, if you think that she was sleeping with some fella' in the town of Sanders, I'll commit to you that the state of Alabama will do everything in its power to find this bastard. We can keep it quiet, between us, whatever you want.”

Clint wiped more tears away, “Thanks Senator, but maybe it'll be better to just leave things as they are. Honestly, in spite of all my suspicions, I really don't want to know if there was anything like that going on. I couldn't bear to hear it.”

With Clint's closure in place, Senator Farnsworth walked out of his house for the last time.

In 1989 the Democratic Party bestowed its top honor on Senator Farnsworth. The highest-ranking members of the Democratic Party urged him to run in the Democratic Primary. He quickly emerged as the odds on favorite of the three men running. He was a lock, by far the most powerful and confident candidate. Furthermore, he had credentials, experience, and connections that the other two candidates could not touch. His career was about to roar off into uncharted waters, but it did not faze him. Rather than being nervous over such endeavors, he actually enjoyed entering unknown territory. If it were not for this outgoing, adventurous side, he would probably still be living in
Alabama and pumping gas down the street from his parents’ farm. He sailed forward and never looked back.

12

Aaron lay on the bed in his hotel room staring at the ceiling for about an hour. He replayed everything he had been through during the last couple of weeks at least a hundred times. Hopefully, he would end up explaining it in court the next few months, instead of being buried in cement by the man who was in his house earlier. He kept telling himself that this had to end soon, or else he would be arrested for stealing JohnnyM80's credit card. He would try and convince the police and a judge that he did it in fear of his life, but worried about being eaten alive in court. Grant Winchester would no longer be willing to take the chance that might sacrifice his career for some man about to serve
five to ten because his alibi was too far-fetched to believe. He just hoped Grant would show at the airport. After Grant stood him up the first time, he had serious doubts about meeting him this time.

Aaron had not called his wife, his office, or Miles. His neighbor, Ed Towers, was probably still standing in his garage, wondering what in the hell was going on. Surely, something had to be done. He could hear his children in his head and could smell the coffee that his wife made for him in their kitchen every morning.

He had overheard Anderson telling the person on the phone that Laura Greene was dead. Whoever was in charge had to have planned on him being next. Aaron began to cry, with his throat tightening up as he fought off each tear. Soon he was groaning as if to tell his body and his emotions that they were disappointing him now. When he showed any sign of weakness, he took it as a blow to his ego.

When Aaron was six years old his father told him that everything in this world happened for a reason. Was he some sort of Messiah sent for the Republicans? After all, he was more politically opinionated than anyone he had ever met. “Good God,” he thought, almost laughing at these thoughts. Obviously, he was slowly going crazy.

Aaron shot up from the bed, stared himself in the mirror, smacked himself across the face, and gave his image its own little pep talk. “You are not going to lose. You are not going to die. Defend yourself. Be a man, Aaron. Be a man!”

Aaron went into the bathroom, looked at himself in the mirror again, and thought. He needed some sort of disguise. He knew that the people he was dealing with were too smart to be fooled by his simple disguises. Anything to help throw them from his scent, even if only for a few minutes, was to his advantage at this time. He called the front desk and asked the clerk for directions to the laundry room.

The clerk gave him the directions, some of which he preferred not to hear. “It's in the basement, down the long corridor to the right. The light in the hallway kind of flickers, but don't worry, it won't go out.”

Aaron asked him if he was serious.

The kid just sat there in silence for a second and then answered, “Yes sir, you'll be fine, we don't have any boogie men here.”

Aaron wanted to run down to the front desk and rip this nineteen-year-old wise guy's head off. This kid had no idea what the occupant of room three twenty seven had been through and the last thing he needed was a laundry room that sounded like a setting straight out of a horror movie. Laughing again at his lack of luck, Aaron forced a smile and headed to the laundry room.

It was dark outside and the activity in the streets was starting to die. He could not walk five feet anymore without looking over his shoulder. Anyone watching him from afar would think he was a paranoid drug addict at the very least. On the left side of the hallway, walking towards him, came a maid.

“ 'Scuse me ma'am. Do y'all have any room service here?” asked Aaron.

She continued to stare at the floor. Aaron could tell she had a long day also. Her apron was untied, her hair frayed from where it used to be tied up. She was almost limping down the hallway. Aaron wanted to leave her alone at first because he felt sorry for her, but he was absolutely starving.

“Yes sir, we sure do. Would you like me to take an order for you?” she responded.

Aaron just wanted to smile, but he had to answer. “Ma'am, I need the biggest cheeseburger you have here -- bacon, pickles, cheese, mayo, everything -- with a large order of fries. I'm in room three twenty seven. Please?”

Finally, she looked at him and forced a grin. “Give me about thirty minutes sir. OK?”

Aaron started on his way saying, “Sounds great. Thanks!”

He stepped into the elevator and pressed the dreaded 'B' button. He had no clothes to wash, nothing in his pockets but eleven one-dollar bills and some change. He was going to prepare his disguise. Sure enough the elevator opened into a dark hallway with flickering lights. He took the path described to him by the desk clerk and headed towards the back corner. It was quiet; he could hear water leaking somewhere in the distance. There was no sign of life anywhere. He found himself walking very fast, almost jogging as his heart rate increased. This was his life now: a life of frightening trips just to go to the laundry room.

As he found the laundry room door, the lights flickered furiously, but just like the little wise guy at the front desk said, they did not go out. If Aaron were ten years older he would have had a heart attack in the basement of the hotel. He pushed the doors open, scanned the walls, and found exactly what he had come for. Every public laundry facility has a little vending machine on the wall that sells, detergent and bleach. It was the bleach he was interested in, little packets of bleach that cost two dollars each. He thought that it was highway robbery, but really did not care at this point. Thankfully, the machine accepted dollar bills, because he only had six quarters and he had no intention of walking back upstairs for change only to come back down here again. His hands were shaking as he slid the dollar bills into the slot. Out came the bleach, and, to make things even easier, it was the liquid kind. It was in a handsome foil package that was going to make the process much more efficient.

The metal butt of the gun found the back of Aaron's neck with tremendous force. He dropped to his knees instantly, temporarily losing consciousness. It is amazing how the brain reacts in the half of a second it took for some stranger's gun to connect with the back of his neck to the half of a second his nervous system realized what happened.

Just before he collapsed, Aaron actually had enough time to realize that he was about to die. Aaron had not seen the stranger approach. He must have been hiding in the laundry room, which led him to believe that this man had been following him and tapping his phone lines all along. How else could this person have known he was going to the laundry room? Realizing how logical his thoughts were, Aaron recognized that he was not unconscious. He could feel blood streaming down and around his shoulders and his chest. He tore open the handsome package of bleach and swung around. The bleach could not have been aimed better. More than half the liquid found the eyes, nose, and mouth of his assailant. The man crumpled to the ground, letting out a howl. Aaron kicked the stranger's arm until he dropped the gun. Aaron quickly leaned over, picked it up, pointed it at the stranger, and began his inquisition.

“Listen here mother fucker, I will not kill you, but I will put bullets in your nuts, your knee caps, and anywhere else that comes to mind if you don't answer some questions. You got me?”

The man, still gripping his face and groaning, answered, “Fuck you!”

Aaron held the gun to the assailant's right kneecap, turned his head away, and fired. The man screamed. Aaron put his hand over his mouth to shut him up and asked again, “Now, are you gonna’ to talk, asshole?”

The man made eye contact with Aaron and finally responded to Aaron's satisfaction. “Yes, Yes. What do you want to know?”

Aaron thought for a second about his next question, “Who sent you after me?”

The man worked his eyes furiously, clearing his nose and coughing the whole time. In a gurgled, teary voice, he spoke, “Who do you think man? Who do you think? That's a dumb fucking question.”

Aaron was finally coming out of his temporary state of denial. This was definitely not the man in his house earlier, “Are you telling me that you have orders from the President of the United States to kill
me
? Damn, y'all have too much time on your hands!”

The stranger's breathing continued to get heavier as he rolled across the floor holding his knee, but he continued to talk, “Not directly, but yes, he sends out the orders. Please just leave me alone. Please don't kill me.”

His eyes cold, Aaron shook his head and spoke aloud, “That mother fucker! I knew there was a reason I didn't like his ass. Well buddy, it's your lucky day. I'm letting you live. You tell him I'm gonna' bring his ass down. I'm gonna' be there when he goes down and love every minute of it. OK? You get that message to him.”

The man on the ground just shook his head and continued to roll. With that last threat Aaron put two more dollars in the machine, took the bleach and left. He made certain to take the gun, knowing it was a better weapon than his bleach. He ran to the stairwell and sailed up three flights of steps. There was no one in the stairwell or the hallway. He let himself in, certain that someone would arrive to finish the job within minutes. Wasting no time, he packed his gym bag with a pair of shoes, a shirt, pants, the bleach, and his razor. Then he grabbed his wallet and the laptop, before running through the door with his new gun tucked under his belt. Walking towards him in the hallway was the same maid he had ordered the food from. She was carrying a tray on which he saw a glorious cheeseburger. Without stopping, he swiped the burger right off the plate. It was a smooth transaction, like a magician pulling the tablecloth out from under a fully set dinner table.

“That's not yours sir! Hey!” yelled the tired woman.

Even though his mouth was watering at the thought of the burger, he kept running. When he reached the stairwell he stopped for a second and forced three huge bites into his mouth. Then, he threw the burger down and started running towards the bottom floor. He did not want to use the front entrance because he knew a black Lincoln would be parked out front occupied by two more human obstacles waiting to be cleared. Both men would probably have guns. His odds escaping one gunman had been slim, but the odds of escaping death three times in about eight minutes were basically zero. He came out of the stairwell on the first floor, flinging the door open and peering down the hallway before passing through the doorway.

As he focused on a man standing at the end of the hallway, he heard another man shouting, “Here he is! Here he is! Go to the stairs! Go to the stairs!”

Aaron could only run in one direction, which did not go along with his original plan. He headed back up the stairway. Without thinking everything through, he came out of the stairwell again when he reached the second floor. He ran down the hallway and turned right. There was a woman standing in the hallway that he almost ran over. He looked at her, and then at her room, the door of which, was wide open. He grabbed her and covered her mouth with his right hand. Keeping his hand over the mouth, he whispered into her ear.

“I'm not here to harm you, I swear. People are trying to kill me. I'm a good person and have done nothing wrong. Please do not scream. I just need a second to think about what I'm going to do next. I swear I will not hurt you. In fact, if you do scream, it will only draw their attention to us. Trust me, you don't want these guy’s attention. Understand?”

She nodded. Aaron uncovered her mouth. She was actually a very attractive woman who made Aaron forget what he was doing for a second. He apologized, “M'am, I am so sorry for this.”

She looked at him with a beautiful set of green eyes, “Listen, I have no idea what in the hell is going on, but you are endangering me by coming in here. You can use the window in the back, or whatever, but just get the hell out.”

Just then there was a knock at the door. Aaron quietly moved to the back of the suite, to the master bedroom. The innocent woman trembled as she walked to the door. She opened it immediately and welcomed the gun-wielding goons. She sounded relieved as she explained, “I have no idea who that just was but he ran in here and ran to the back.”

They ran past her, into the master bedroom. The curtains were drawn, and the window was open. One man jumped out of the second story window, while the other stayed behind.

“You mean to tell me that you had nothing to do with helping the criminal who just escaped through your bedroom window? Do you think we're dumb lady?”

The woman was now crying and shaking. Her voice trembled, “Sir, I swear, he was running through the hallway. I had gone out to get some ice from the ice machine. When he saw me he grabbed me, pulled me back in the room, and told me he was innocent...”

The gunmen interrupted her, “Innocent of what? What did he tell you, lady?”

Just then he pulled his gun back out of its holster and began screwing on the silencer. The woman started backing up, sobbing more and more.

“No, No, No, No, please, I swear. I swear. I don't know anything. He told me he was an innocent guy, he meant no harm, and then he told me to shut up. I swear!” She was begging now.

The gunman calmly apologized, and then raised the pistol. Aaron burst from the closet and hit the gunman over the head with the iron that came standard in every hotel room. The gun went off, just barely missing the woman. The gunman spun around and swung at Aaron. Aaron took a solid right cross to his cheekbone, but answered with a solid uppercut that landed squarely on the gunman's chin. Aaron could feel three fingers break on contact. The man fell to the floor and dropped his gun. As he rolled over onto his stomach to get up and reach for his weapon Aaron kicked him in the center of his mid-section. The man collapsed again. Aaron raised the iron above his head and smacked it down on the man's head. This did not render him unconscious, so he was left with no alternative. Aaron grabbed the iron like a small short spear and thrust it forward. He stabbed the man just below his neck, to the immediate left of his heart. The paralyzed gunman dropped to the floor staring at Aaron through glassy eyes.