Senate Cloakroom Cabal (22 page)

“There were others, like the whip, when Senator Pembroke wasn't there.”

“Pembroke didn't take part in the fun?” Michael asked, straightforwardly.

“He didn't enjoy it. He never did anything with them. But he liked the money.”

How damning was that?

Michael nodded. “Yeah. To each his own.”

“Did the pharmas and senators ever talk business at these affairs?” Betty asked.

“Oh yeah, they kicked a lot a shit around.” Mort was back into the swing of things. “They talked about how after that cancer drug got ditched, they'd play around with giving discounts on a few drugs to the old people . . . you know, that sort a thing.”

Mort clearly was not into the details.

Betty followed up. “Did you ever see any money change hands?”

Mort thought about that. “Yeah some, but a lot of it was trips and gifts. They'd take us out to dinner or we'd play golf . . .”

He drifted off. I needed a little more about the gifts. “You mentioned the other night that these gifts had caught your wife's attention, and she had questioned you about them.”

“Yeah, she's very straight, you know, honest. She thought what I was doing . . . taking things . . . that's what got us into fighting. I shoulda known. I shoulda listened to her.”

Tears began running down Mort's cheeks. I passed a couple of tissues to Michael who handed them to Mort. I felt sorry for the guy. He'd lived high and was now dropping fast. He wiped away the tears but remained emotional.

“What can you do for me? If I stay here, I'm going to get in deeper.”

“You could even go to jail,” I added.

“I know,” he whimpered. “I've thought about that. It might be my only way out.”

“Hopefully, you can avoid that,” Betty said. “We will find a safe place for you. Were you given cash to deposit in offshore accounts?”

“Yeah, it couldn't go from them to . . .”

“Them?” I asked.

“Sorry, I meant from Mr. Horowitz's bank to the senators'. Somebody could trace it back. The place I went, well, they kinda move around. Sometime it's in the southwest. I've gone to Virginia and Maryland, like Tyrell said. They move it around.”

“So,” Michael joined in, “did anyone else do the same as you, you know, like when you might not have been available?”

“Nah.” He sniffled and wiped his nose. “Senator Kelly didn't spread that type a thing around. You know, they got some other things . . . I'm not . . .” he sniffled, again. “They got other lobbyists, you know, people like that . . . other companies . . . you know, I hear things.” He looked down at his plate and wiped his nose. He was running out of gas.

“How soon would you like to make your move?” Betty asked caringly.

“I guess soon. Where will I go? They could find—”

“We'll work that out. We'll get you away as soon as we can. You can say you have a family problem, put in for leave.”

“I don't think her folks want any part of me,” he mumbled.

“How about your parents . . . or somebody else?”

He shook his head. “Let me think . . . I'll call my wife, I'll tell her I'm giving it up . . . we love each . . . I know I don't act like I love her, but I do. I swear. I love my wife and daughter, I just . . .”

I looked at Betty and Michael; they nodded. Michael signaled to the waiter. “Michael will get this,” she said and then whispered to me. “Why don't we wait outside?”

I collected my stuff. The waiter took Michael's credit card.

“We'll be right outside, Michael,” Betty said.

She preceded me and had just reached the door when a loud burst of yelling occurred near the bar. I turned to see two men in business attire in a shoving match.
A little too much to drink,
I thought. There were yells. Suddenly, one man went reeling backward, to where we had just been seated, knocking into other patrons. The two instigators tumbled to the floor and disappeared from my sight amid people screaming.

I felt a tug on my arm. I turned, thinking it was Roanne, but it was another woman who held up a badge. She moved to stand between the fracas and me.

“I'm with B&G Protective Services. Please move to the outside, away from the fighting.”

I looked a Roanne quizzically.

“Please, Senator Dalton,” the B&G agent said intensely, “I'll explain outside.”

Her knowing Roanne startled both of us, but we did as she asked. As we reached the door, a male wearing the same uniform intercepted us.

The female agent said, “The two men, dark suits, at the bar. It was a staged fight.”

“I'll see what I can do.”

“Our two male friends are still in there,” I blurted.

A woman screamed from inside the bar, “He's bleeding!”

I couldn't see Michael or Mort in the melee. Outside, the agent moved us across the street. People were pushing behind us to get out. Once across the street, one man caught the female agent's attention. “He's one of fighters,” she said, taking out a camera.

She turned in the direction of a large man in a dark suit pushing his way through a stream of cursing customers.

The agent snapped a picture just before the man turned away from us.

Another suited man followed, unceremoniously picking his way through the growing crowd. The agent continued taking pictures as the second man ran off, leaving shocked people in his wake.

I got out my cell phone and called Jerry. A moment later, the male security agent came out of the restaurant escorting a very distraught Michael to us.

“Mort, oh God, he's been stabbed. He's, he's . . .” Michael choked.

“Mort?” I asked.

“He's dead, throat cut,” the security man said.

I was dumbfounded. Then I heard Jerry's voice and realized I had sent the call. “Jerry, I'm okay, but Mort was just killed in a bar fight.”

“Where are you now?” he asked, fear in his voice.

“Outside the Alley Pub with the senator, Michael, and two security people, who materialized out of nowhere. We were leaving the restaurant when a fight broke out. Mort stayed with Michael, who was paying the bill. A woman flashed a badge . . .”

“Who are they?”

I looked at the male. “Where'd you come from?”

“We're B&G Protective Services hired to watch over the senator. I'm Jeff Maxwell. Sandi Fisher is with the senator.”

“You hear that, Jerry? They're B&G Protective Services.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Hold on.” I looked at Roanne, about to ask— “My father,” she said. “That's all I know.”

Agent Maxwell interjected. “We need to get the senator out of sight . . .the car,” he said, pointing up the street. Agent Fisher gently took Roanne's arm. Michael trailed them with the male agent. I stopped while talking to Jerry.

I asked. “Can you—?”

“I've already called Anna. She'll be here any minute.”

I felt relieved; he was coming to get me.

“Are you covering the action?” he asked.

“No. I was going to call, but I didn't want to have to explain my presence to the assignment editor. I'm sure somebody's on the way.”

“Then shouldn't you get out of sight? Every reporter there will know you.”

He was right. I started after my group, as I said to him, “Thanks, my street instincts were kicking in. I was beginning to think like a beat reporter. But I do need to call Max.”

“I'll get there as soon as I can and check in with Max once I'm on my way,” Jerry said.

I walked toward the B&G security car while punching in Max's number. I wondered how Roanne was taking the fact that her father had hired a security company to tail her.

49

M
ichael and I stood alongside the car with Jeff, talking. Roanne sat in the back seat of B&G's sedan with Sandi Fisher. I saw Max arrive and go into the restaurant. Moments later he called, wanting to know where we were. As we were talking, he came out and headed my way. I was sure my involvement did not make him happy.

“I'm not a member of the working press on this, somebody else from the
Star
will be handling this,” I quickly assured him.

“I only have a moment. Jer called, and I told him what to do when he arrived. Is your group here?”

I nodded. “Senator Dalton's in the back seat of the sedan with the female agent.”

Before I could introduce him, Max moved toward the two men. “Max Walsh.” He shook Jeff's hand. “Which service are you with, Agent?”

Max was smooth as a politician. I'd already told him who they were.

“B&G Protective Services, sir. I'm Jeff Maxwell.”

“Gary Graves's outfit?”

“Yes sir,” the agent replied.

I introduced Michael, and Max shook his hand, then he turned back to Maxwell. “You bring the senator here?”

“Ah, no sir.”

I saw a questioning look on Max's face. “They were hired to follow the senator by her father,” I explained.

Max asked Maxwell some questions and got a timeline of events as observed by the two agents. He then turned to me. “Agent Fisher was inside and met you as you and the senator were leaving, identifying herself when the ruckus broke out, right?”

“Yes, and when Maxwell came in, Fisher moved us outside.”

“I'll check on Hayes and be back shortly. Why don't you get in the car and stay out of sight. A half dozen of your friends might be very interested in why you're here.”

I smiled and nodded. My men certainly have my well-being at heart.

“Agent Maxwell, will you please keep anyone from getting close to your car?”

“Yes sir.”

Max turned back toward the restaurant, and I got into the front passenger's seat. Roanne asked me what was happening, so I filled her in, concluding that Captain Walsh would withhold all of our names, especially Mort's, until MPD contacts Senator Kelly.

“Why Kelly?”

“Protocol. A courtesy when it comes to congressional or White House personnel.”

“Oh, I didn't realize they contacted the majority leader first. I would have thought they'd call the Capitol police.”

The area in front of the restaurant had been blocked off, and traffic was being diverted. I watched through the security car's windshield for any headlights not turning at the barricade, keeping my eye out for Jerry. After many turning off, one came straight to the barricade. It looked like Jerry's SUV.

“I'll be right back.” I got out and ran the half block. I saw a uniformed officer approach Jerry, listen, and then gesture to where he should park. I waited until he parked.

“You all right?” he asked, as we hugged.

“Fine. Better now,” I said, giving him another big squeeze to hide my shaking.

He held me. “Where's Max?”

“Inside. Come on, the senator, Michael, and two protective service agents are up the street.” We distanced ourselves from the restaurant. “The two agents are Sandi Fisher and Jeff Maxwell. Sandi saw the fight break out. I thought Michael and Mort were right behind us, but the brawling cut them off.”

We were nearing the B&G car as I wrapped up my scenario of events. As we reached the sedan, Roanne emerged. I introduced Jerry to Michael and Jeff, who were standing alongside the car, and then to the senator.

She smiled and extended her hand to him. “Mr. Fields.”

He took her hand. “Senator, I understand you were working undercover tonight.”

She laughed. We all did, sort of.

After Max and Detective Hayes interviewed us, we were all released.

Jerry and I headed home. A day that had started out so promising with so many good leads had ended up in tragedy.

B&G Protective Services were taking Michael to his apartment and then Senator Dalton to her car. Fisher would ride with the senator to Crystal City with Maxwell following. They planned to sweep her condo—just as a precaution.

“The B&G agents proved extremely observant in their descriptions to Max,” I said, beginning to relax, as we drove through light traffic.

“Yeah. They sure were.”

“They had made those two guys right away . . . as not fitting in.”

“And here you are on the inside of another big story . . . or have I already said that?”

“You have, dear, but that's all right. My tape of Mort, can that be used in court?”

He grinned. “We'll see. But you certainly can use it to scare some people.”

50

I
sought out Lassiter as soon as I got to the office. Despite last night's hyped up activity, I had slept much better than I expected. Lassiter was in her office, and I gave her a rundown of what had really happened—which wasn't in the paper.

She nodded. “I thought Buzz's story was short on the details.”

“Captain Walsh didn't give much to the media. MPD's withholding stuff, like the staged fight. He has my tape. I hate to sound callous, but we didn't get to Mort any too soon.”

Lassiter agreed, and I went back to my desk. I had an uneasy feeling I was becoming involved again with people who used assassination to settle their problems. I called Max.

“I like your writing style better than Mr. Wilder's.”

“He didn't have much to go on, but thanks. Anything on the photos, my tape?”

He told me they had positively identified one perp from the B&G photos and fingerprints on a bar glass. “Unfortunately, they don't have home addresses.”

“I'm concerned that one or both could identify me.”

“I doubt it. They were focused on Stroble. From what I heard on your tape, he was in deep. Obviously, too much so to keep around. Didn't you say your back was to the bar?”

I felt relief flowing through me. “Yes.”

Max said that they were pros all the way. He thought if they went looking for anybody it would be Michael. “He may need some protection and—oops, Delia's paging me. Don't worry. I have gotten more on these perps than I usually get on professional hits. I'll have Delia send that tape over to you. Have a good day.”