When Men Betray (25 page)

I opened the Excel spreadsheet of donors again and went directly to Texas—the most likely of the adjoining states to provide a number of wealthy donors. I immediately saw a name that I recognized—one that puzzled me. I knew the donor well, and I didn't think he had any interest in progressive politics, much less in Russell. Quickly scrolling down the names of Texas contributors, I found I recognized most of them. Then I remembered Beth's list of major contributors who had also donated big bucks to the Arts Center. I fished it out of my briefcase and ran through the names. Not a long list, but an impressive one, and I knew almost every one of them personally.

Of the thirty names on Beth's list, at least twenty-five had given the maximum contribution to Russell's last campaign for governor as well as to his Senate race. I had no idea why they'd supported Russell. His environmental record should have turned them off. I was confident
Woody wouldn't have known them from Adam. The only person who would see this list and be disturbed by it was me. I now had another huge problem to deal with in the morning.

When I finished making my own list, I closed the computer again, but remained in the chair. There was no way Woody could have understood the significance of what I had just discovered. Yet Woody had learned something that bothered him, and he had started researching donor lists. I still didn't understand the clues he'd left me, much less this new puzzle, and I was running out of time.

I'
D HARDLY GOTTEN
to sleep when the phone started ringing. It took me a few rings to realize it was the wake-up call. After a few groggy minutes, I pulled on some sweats, splashed some water on my face, and brushed my teeth. Still half asleep, I headed downstairs in search of coffee. The lobby was already busy, presumably with funeral-goers who wanted to be sure of a seat at Russell's funeral. Clovis was waiting for me on a lobby bench, and I joined him, trying to avoid recognition. I told him I had one more bit of research for him. I wanted to know who owned the Armitage.

He raised his eyebrows. “Is this for the case or you?”

“A little bit of both, I guess. I'd normally put it aside as my own insecurity, but I need to know, one way or the other. I honestly hope there's nothing there.”

Clovis nodded. “Let's hope it comes up a dry hole.”

The rest of our crew came through the lobby in pairs. Beth and Micki turned more than a few heads in their running shorts and racerback tanks. Maggie and Walter followed with Paul, and Walter's security man, Martin, and we all headed outside to the park. Discreet signs led us to an asphalt path that followed the river in both directions. Micki recommended we head west, saying the views were nicer and we'd run into fewer people. She jogged away with Beth and Paul in tow. Clovis and I followed, walking slowly, with coffee in hand,
enjoying the fresh spring air, the morning chill, and the river. Walter, Maggie, and Martin headed east at a brisk pace.

The park between the Armitage and the river hadn't been built when I left Little Rock. I appreciated how much the city had learned to value the river, building this park so everyone could have access to the soothing qualities of the broad river moving by. Over the years, the city kept acquiring riverfront land, adding to the size of the park on both ends. Now you could ride your bike or run along the river-bank for almost eight miles without having to cross a street. At the ends of the park were large, well-designed playgrounds, soccer fields, tennis courts, and pavilions for large family gatherings and picnics. A soaring footbridge over the river capped the western end of the park, connecting it to golf courses and more green space on the other side.

I thought about how good most of my life had been in Little Rock and how fortunate I was to have friends like Sam, Woody, and Marshall. Whenever we got together, we slipped back into our comfortable rapport without missing a beat. But did these reunions bear any resemblance to reality? Sam didn't think so. We looked pretty much the same, we still laughed at the same jokes and old stories, but we were no longer boys—we were mature men. Sam was now a self-described “hardened prosecutor.” Marshall was a judge whose perspective was defined by his work on the bench. Woody, the idealist among us, was about to be charged with the assassination of a US senator. I had chosen to be a DC antitrust lawyer. We weren't in Kansas anymore.

“Hey, Clovis,” I asked, “what does the movie
Jerry Maguire
mean to you?”

“I loved that movie. I remember Cuba Gooding, as the football player Rod Tidwell, shouting, ‘Show me the money,' the little kid throwing the baseball a mile, and Tidwell at last realizing that he had to shut his mouth and earn ‘the kwan.' It was a great scene, but I didn't know what it meant to earn ‘the kwan,' so I looked it up. It means to earn the respect, the love, and yes, the money, that comes with pro ball. That's what real life is about, not all that dancing and demanding and acting out athletes do these days.”

“I remember, and you're right. I just wish I knew what it meant to Woody.”

“Don't you have that backwards? Woody sent
you
the message. What did he think it would mean to
you
?”

“Hmm. That's pretty much what Micki said.” Maybe it was time I paid attention.

We turned around and were almost back to where the path linked up to the passageway to the hotel when Micki, Beth, and Paul flew by us in full sprint. When we caught up with them, the three runners had already drained their water bottles and were gulping water from the fountain at the park entrance, panting and drenched in sweat.

“Good run?” I asked. “Everyone okay?”

Micki was bent over, hands on knees, trying to catch her breath. She lifted her head and scowled at Clovis. “You brought in a ringer. Paul's no security guard. He's a track star. He damn near killed us.”

Paul looked a little less exhausted than Beth or Micki and a little sheepish to boot. Seems he'd started slow, but kept asking Beth and Micki if they wanted to pick up the pace. Neither of them wanted to wimp out, and by the end, they were busting it to keep up. Clovis and I enjoyed the banter among the runners, who had just successfully run five miles in less than fifty minutes. Maggie and Walter met us as we walked back into the hotel.

I went directly to the dining room, waved away the proffered newspaper, and ordered breakfast. I was starving. As I sipped on my coffee, my mind began to focus on my morning tasks. First, I had to call Ron. I also owed Jerry Prince a call to tell him I needed to delay our meeting. Third on the list was my meeting with Janis Harold.

The arrival of a cheese omelet, bacon, and hash browns roused me, and I noticed Brenda walking toward my table.

“Would you like some company?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

She looked pleased, smiling as she relaxed into a chair.

“You look nice this morning—and pleased as punch. What's the occasion?”

“Well, I have a full hotel and so far, no major problems.”

We talked for a little while. She seemed surprised to learn we weren't leaving after the funeral and asked how long we planned to be in Little Rock. I explained that we had a meeting with the judge that afternoon and the arraignment the next day, but out of habit, I wasn't
very forthcoming with our plans. Looking a little annoyed, she immediately excused herself and walked off.
What the heck was that about?

Trying to put Brenda out of my mind without much luck, I took my time over breakfast before going upstairs. As I got off the elevator, I noticed a hotel security guy standing next to my door. Since I didn't see the pin he was supposed to be wearing, I decided to put Clovis's procedures to the test and said, “Password?”

He looked confused and mumbled, “Charlie?”

I didn't budge, and suddenly, he reached behind his back, pulled out a knife, and lunged at me.
A knife? What the hell?
…

Instinctively, I dodged his thrust and managed to trip him up. As he fell, I stomped on his knife hand as hard as I could, then jumped back to a safer distance, hoping he'd run. But he didn't let go of the knife, and he didn't run. As I looked around for help, he quickly positioned himself between my room and me. He didn't look confused now, and I was in real trouble. I couldn't outfight this guy … maybe I could outrun him? I looked around wildly—where to go? Suddenly, the door behind him opened. Micki stepped out and swung a bottle of wine down over his head. The bottle shattered, and the guy dropped to the ground, stunned.

The next thing I knew, Micki was kicking the man in the balls. He quickly curled up into a ball of his own, but Micki kept on kicking. They were both covered with wine. I kicked the knife down the hallway and ended up defending him, trying to dodge Micki's leg. “Stop! Stop, Micki, please stop!”

She stared at me wild eyed. “He was going to kill you, Jack! He was going to kill you!”

As I held her and tried to walk her away from the guy on the floor, Clovis and Paul charged out of the elevator, guns in outstretched hands. It didn't take long for them to realize that the man on the floor was the one in trouble. Paul took Micki by the shoulders and eased her back to our suite. The man's groaning had become quieter, but between a swollen hand, a smashed head, and whatever shape his balls were in, he hadn't moved.

More security arrived, and Clovis told me he'd join us in the suite after he'd dealt with the police.

Paul was trying to soothe Micki and get her to sit on the sofa. She
was coming down from an adrenalin rush and was shaking like a leaf. Maggie had her arm around Beth's shoulders—Beth looked terrified, and I couldn't blame her.
What had I gotten us into? What if it had been Beth?

“I was in the bedroom when I heard this giant thud, and then Micki screamed,” Beth said, to no one in particular. “I rushed out of the suite and could hardly believe my eyes. Micki was kicking this guy, and Dad was pulling her away. There was wine and glass everywhere. I remembered the panic button and hit it, but everything was all over by then.”

That explained how Clovis and Paul had arrived on the scene so quickly. I felt the inevitable loss of adrenaline and sat down, trying to calm down, but my heart was going ninety to nothing.

Paul had gotten Micki to sit down. Still badly shaken, she sobbed. “I'm so sorry. I heard the noise, saw you and the knife, and reacted. I lost control. I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. I could've really hurt him if you hadn't pulled me away.”

“It's okay, Micki. You didn't have time to think, and right now, I'm really glad you didn't! Thank you.” She gave me a weak smile in return.

Walter rushed into the room, and I quietly pulled him aside, “After what just happened, I won't blame you if you take Maggie back to DC with you. She won't listen to me, but she'll listen to you.”

“She'd never go for it, and besides, I need her to watch you. We have an investment in your continued health. Seriously, Maggie is more aware of the danger than you realize. Just finish your job here, my friend, and come home. And if you change your mind, my plane's at your disposal all week. Feel free to use it to get the hell out of here.”

I
LEFT THE
living room and retreated to my shower. Despite my false bravado, my knees were now shaking as badly as Micki's. The realization of what had happened was just starting to sink in. There was no doubt—this guy had actually tried to kill me. I'd been just plain lucky. I used the soothing warmth of the shower to calm down. No ‘shower thoughts' this time. In fact, I tried not to think about anything at all.

Dressed in clean jeans and a golf shirt, I returned to the living room. Micki looked a lot better than she had a few minutes ago. I told Beth that her short list of names might come in handy after all and asked her to run each of their donations all the way back to the first campaign.