Chapter 43
“Do you have an appointment, Mr. Tucker?”
The Simpson Oil and Gas Company now had a receptionist on the ground floor. There was also a security stop with a baggage scanner and a metal detector. It looked like what you might expect to see at any corporate headquarters.
“No, ma’am, I don’t. However if he’s in, I expect he’ll want to see me. Otherwise, I’ll make an appointment.”
She picked up the phone and talked for a moment.
“He’s in a meeting this morning. We’ll have to contact you with an appointment time. Do you have a card?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
I gave her my card and left the building. Just as well, I would have had to leave my gun in the truck anyway.
The call came in about thirty minutes later.
“Tucker, can you come down here? I need to talk to you privately. I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Yes sir. I can meet you for lunch. Where would you like to meet?”
“Come on down here to the Simpson building. We’ll talk first, and then we’ll eat.”
He hung up.
When I met him in his office, he was seated at his desk.
“Sit down, Tucker, I don’t have time for small talk, so I’ll get to the point. I guess you know I’ve announced my bid for Governor.”
“Yes sir. The timing of your announcement was…interesting.”
“What I do and when I do it, is none of your damn business. That’s the point. I expect you to keep your mouth shut. You’ve hurt me bad enough, but I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, if you are?”
“What do you have in mind?” I asked.
He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.
“Would a hundred thousand dollars buy your silence?”
I sighed.
“No sir.”
He shot me an angry look.
I held my hands up.
“Hear me out, Mr. Simpson. I don’t want your money. I have no intention of telling anyone about your relationship with Walter Farley. I’m a private investigator; I don’t divulge anything about my client’s. Not even former clients like yourself. I consider the matter closed. However, sir; the thing is this, if I found out about Walter and his relationship to you, someone else can do the same work I did, and reach the same conclusions.”
He shook his head. “Nope, I don’t expect that will happen. As far as the whole world knows, Walter was just my personal assistant. He had some kind of weird attraction to a former employee, but I had no knowledge of it. I’ll see to it the few people who know any different are paid to keep their mouths shut.”
I gave him a sceptical look.
“Walter owned World Wide Security Agency outright. There is no connection to me personally, nothing of record about me providing the start-up capital. Sure, Simpson Oil and Gas hired WWSA to provide some security services, but I’ll swear we didn’t know Walter owned that outfit. I’ll just claim he tricked us, the same way he tricked everybody else.” He said smugly.
“Mr. Simpson, I don’t think there is any chance you’ll get away with this. I think it will stick to you like a bad smell. Your son isn’t even buried yet, and you’re acting as if you never knew him. Walter stole industrial technology for you. He killed at least one man, for nothing more than disloyalty. If Walter was loyal to you, and you value loyalty so much, where is your loyalty to him?”
“That’s water under the bridge. He’s gone and that’s that.”
“Do you really believe you can become Governor through deception and bribery?
He chuckled. “Hell yes, boy! Don’t you know anything about politics?”
I was shielding my eyes from the overhead lights.
“You alright, Tucker? You don’t look too good.”
“It’s just a headache, sir. This whole business makes me sick.”
“Well, how do you think I feel? My only son was killed, because of you.”
I took a deep breath. “No sir, that’s not true. Your son Walter died because of the choices he made. He could have chosen differently. He just wanted to be big and powerful. Like his father.”
That silenced him, for a moment.
“OK, boy, here’s the deal. I have a non-disclosure document our attorneys drew up. I want you to sign it. It basically states if you ever divulge any of this to anyone, or if we even think you might have, we’ll own you, your business, and your future, forever. You sign it, and I’ll cut you a check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
I sat thoughtfully for a moment. Then I stood up.
“Mr. Simpson, when I came in here, I told you I didn’t want your money, and I had no intention of talking about this to anyone. Now you’ve offered me a quarter of a million dollars to buy my silence. It’s something to think about. Let me think about this deal for an hour or so. OK?”
He narrowed his eyes at me.
“Fine, I’ll give you one hour, but the price is non-negotiable. Let’s get us some lunch.”
He stood up.
“No thank you, sir, I really do have a headache and I don’t feel well. I need to take a walk and get some air.”
“Fine, it’s a beautiful fall day in East Texas. I’ll see you when you get back. Believe me, boy; this is good business, good for both of us. If you don’t take the deal, it will be very bad for you.”
I left his office, without shaking his hand.
When I got outside on the side walk, I looked around the square. It really was a beautiful day in East Texas. The sun was shining through the brightly colored leaves that still remained on the trees, and the fountain was splashing and twinkling in the light. I took a deep breath and turned my face up toward the sun.
I enjoyed my walk across the square, to the building that housed the local ABC network television affiliate.
Ten minutes later, I was showing the video of my meeting with Ted Simpson, which I had filmed with my new “pen cam” firmly clipped into my shirt pocket, to the news director and others. They seemed to think it was newsworthy. We discussed the possibility of me giving an on-camera interview, which I declined. I insisted I not be named as the source of the video, and that my name be edited out. I knew it was possible someone might recognize my voice, but there would be no way to positively identify me. The media circus would be focused on Ted Simpson. It might even be a pretty entertaining circus.
Exactly one hour after I had left his office, I called Mr. Simpson on his private line and rejected his offer.
His disappointment was as palpable as his avarice and ambition.
Epilogue
Most people lead lives of solitary anxiety, solitary, because they don’t talk about their fears with anyone. They don’t even want to admit that they have them.
They don’t know who they are, or why they are on the earth.
Introspection only brings more doubts and fears, so they seek solace from science.
Science tells them that they are just biological organisms, evolved from muck, eking out a brief existence, at the expense of a doomed planet. Science tells them that life is random, meaningless and pointless. Take another pill, and try not to think about it.
The clock is ticking.
Many wander through life, aimlessly waiting for the clock to run out. Some are seeking to find something that makes them feel as if their life matters in some way. They mostly want to “do the right thing,” but violently disagree on what “right” is, because, “Every way of a man is right, in his own eyes.”
The clock is ticking.
People know that from the moment of birth, they are doomed. They know that life is short and uncertain. It may end at any time. The best of them ask “why”?
Why do we exist? Why are we the way we are? Why do bad things happen? Why is there suffering and death? What happens after we die? Do we just cease to exist? When we die, will it
be as if we had never existed at all?
The world offers many different and conflicting answers. Most of them are lies.
So, most people everywhere, in every walk of life, are as lost as sheep without a shepherd, stumbling blindly through however many days that remain to them, silently screaming in desperation.
The clock is ticking.
I know why I get up in the morning. I know what I’m supposed to do and how I should do it. I live to serve, but I don’t serve the planet earth, the government, or myself.
I serve the holy God; the creator of all things. I am appointed as one of His ambassadors in this place.
I serve The Good Shepherd.
He alone is perfect.
His sheep are imperfect, but His sheep know His voice when they hear it.
Other sheep wander around lost, following whatever voice sounds most pleasant to them at the moment, even the voices that lead them to slaughter.
Sheep without a shepherd are helpless against the predators.
I am appointed as a Shepherd of His sheep, to seek the lost sheep, and to stand against the wolves.
We who serve as Shepherds are also imperfect, but we are empowered and equipped for service.
I have the sword of Truth, the message of glorious hope.
I have work to do.
I wish I were a better Shepherd.
The clock is ticking.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Liz Quinn, for being my beta reader and editor. In addition to the usual copy editing, she suggested some changes that were spot on. Thank you, Liz.
I want to thank Carol Cassella, author of Gemini, Healer, and Oxygen. Carol encouraged me and advised me on matters related to publishing. Thank you, Carol.
I want to thank all the people who read this book on Authonomy.com and gave me good critiques and advice.
May God bless all of you.
Whatever errors there are in the execution of this book are entirely my own.
www.danielbanks-books.com
The following is an excerpt from:
Angels and Imperfections
Book Two
SPECIAL AGENT
©
By DANIEL ROLAND BANKS
An excerpt from:
Angels and Imperfections
Book Two
SPECIAL AGENT
©
By DANIEL ROLAND BANKS
Christine came into my office and closed the door behind her. She was wearing a coral colored dress, with contrasting turquoise jewelry. The jewelry looked to be some old Navajo pawn pieces. The necklace was a heavy, handmade sterling silver chain, with big Kingman cabochons. She had matching earrings and a bracelet. The effect was stunning and made her look like a red headed fashion model. I wondered where she had found shoes that matched her dress.
“John, there is someone here to see you,” she said.
That was odd, because just by glancing at my monitor, I could see the man waiting out in the reception area. She could have just called me on the intercom.
“Ok. What’s up?”
“He says that he is with the FBI.”
“Well then, show the man in.”
“John, you aren’t in any trouble are you?”
“Oh, so that’s it. No, I’m not in any trouble, not that I know of. Go ahead and send him in.”
Christine walked to the door and held it open.
“Mr. Tucker will see you now,” she said, with a big warm smile.
She could be dazzling when she wanted to.
The man who entered my office was about 5’10” and about 200 pounds. He was well dressed, in a charcoal suit with a gunmetal grey silk tie. He had longish hair that was stylishly greying at the temples, and he wore expensive Oxford loafers. His face was only slightly off balanced by a nose that had clearly been broken, at least once. The overall affect was that of an attorney who liked to cage fight, and he was clearly dazzled by Christine. He could hardly take his eyes off her.
I stood to great him.
He shifted his attention to me, as Christine stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
“Mr. Tucker, I’m FBI Special Agent Douglas Booker. I’m the Special Agent in Charge of the Tyler office.
“Agent Booker, I’m pleased to meet you. I remember you from the child abduction case last year, although we never met, I said, as we shook hands. “Please have a seat. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”
“Thank you, no.”
We sat and regarded each other for a moment, across the top of my desk.
I was wondering if his heavy brow was a by-product of using anabolic steroids.
“I imagine that you’re wondering why I’m here…”Agent Booker started.
I waited.
“First, let me send greetings from a friend of yours. Jack McCarthy, asked me to say ‘howdy’ for him.”
I nodded. “How is Jack?”
“He’s doing well. He is now a Regional Director with DHS.”
“That’s nice.”
“I must say, I’m surprised by your appearance. What I mean is, I was expecting an older man.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, Jack said that you and he had worked together as agents in the DHS, for several years, up until maybe five or six years ago?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Huh, you and he are both about the same age, but you don’t look to be much over thirty,” he observed.
I changed the subject. “I would guess that you would know a good bit about me, if you’ve been talking to Jack.”
“Yeah, he shared your file, although your file says that you are quite a bit older than you look. No offense intended, but if you’ve had some work done, it’s extraordinary. You look like your photos from your days in the Navy.”
“Clean living. Surely you didn’t come here just to see what I look like.”
Why was he so hung up on my appearance?
“Uhh, no, just an observation. As I said, no offense intended.”
“What can I do for you Agent Booker?”
He studied me for a moment, and then he appeared to make a decision.”
“You attracted quite a lot of attention last year, when you and Lieutenant Escalante found those missing kids.”
I waited.
“Your name popped up several times in the news and you have become something of a local celebrity. You will remember that the child abduction was a federal case, because of the little boy who was transported across state lines.”
“As I said, I remember you from that case.”
“Then a couple of funny things happened.”
I stared at him.
“Well, not funny, exactly. More along the lines of ‘odd’ I would say.”
I continued to stare.
“Your name came up in a conversation some of us were having, about a local hate group.”
I shrugged and made a “move along” motion with my hand.
“What is your connection to the Righteous Army of God?”
I considered my response. “If you’re referring to the white supremacist organization, I have no connection.”
“It was reported to me, that you had informed the local law enforcement community that you suspect a member of the RAGs, in an apparent homicide.”
“I do.”
“How did you arrive at that suspicion?”
“In my investigation into a matter on behalf of one of my clients, I stumbled onto that, quite by accident.”
“What do you know about the RAGS?” He asked.
I know more than I want to, and somewhat less than I will, before this is finished.”
&n
bsp; “Uh huh…Agent McCarthy told me that you played your cards close to the vest.”
I shrugged again.
“You had a top secret clearance, when you worked for the Department of Homeland Security.” He stated what I already knew.
I stared at him, some more.
“Look, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot….”
“I still don’t know why you are sitting in my office.”
Special Agent Booker nodded.
“Fair enough, let’s start over. Mr. Tucker, as you know, domestic terrorism falls within the scope of my agency’s duties to protect and defend the citizens of the United States. The FBI is actively engaged in an investigation of the Righteous Army of God. The RAGs is a larger organization than most people realize. There are active chapters in at least half of our states. The Federal prison system is full of them, as are many of the State prisons. In addition, the RAGs have ties with other hate groups, and they are a significant part of the white supremacist movement in this country. We have reason to believe they are planning some sort of major event. Perhaps even on the scale of Oklahoma City.”
I considered the implications of his statement.
“Is that the connection between your agency the FBI, and the Department of Homeland Security?”
“It is, yes, one of the connections. It was through that channel I came to have information about you.”
“Again, Special Agent Booker, why are you here, in my office?”
“I was just getting to that. You have apparently developed some sort of information source, or connection with a person of interest in our investigation into the RAGs organization.”
“…And you want me to back off?” I speculated.
“…No, not at all. On the contrary, we want you to develop that relationship, if you can. We need all the information that we can gather. We have a source ourselves, but an additional source could be very helpful.”
I rocked back in my chair and gathered my thoughts.
“Agent Booker…”
“Call me Doug,” he interrupted.
“Alright, Doug, I have a very tenuous contact with a member of that group. One of my operatives is in a position to interact with that person, but it could all end tomorrow. I intend to see that justice is done in the murder of a Mexican national. If it turns out that your so called ‘person of interest,’ is the killer, I’ll do everything that I can to see he gets put behind bars.”
“Now hold on, this is a much more important matter than the supposed murder of some illegal alien.”
“It depends on your perspective; I get that, but…”
“…Let’s just take this one step at a time and see where it leads us,” he interrupted.
I took a deep breath.
“OK, sure I can do that. Like I told you though, this could all fall apart tomorrow, maybe even today.”
“I’m not looking for promises, just a little cooperation.”
I nodded. “I’ll keep you in the loop, but I do need a promise from you….”
“…And that is?”
“My operative is on the edge of a very dangerous situation. He’s risking his job, his personal safety, maybe even his life. I want you to promise me that if this gets too dicey, you’ll help me get him out.”
“We’ll be happy to assist him in any way we can. Do you have a lot of confidence in this guy? I want to meet him, of course.”
“He’s a fireman by training and occupation. He only works for me part time. He’s using vacation and sick days to stay on this case. At some point very soon, he won’t be able to do that anymore.”
“What’s his name?”
“Show me your credentials.” I said.
He looked offended.
“I thought we were past this…”
“I don’t know you and I don’t trust you, Doug. You can be sure I’m going to check you out.”
“Fair enough,” Doug said, as he handed me his badge case.”
I copied down some of the info on his photo ID card and his badge number.
“You’re pretty thorough, aren’t you?” Doug asked.
“My clients expect me to be thorough, and I’ve found it is better to be safe than sorry.”
I handed back his creds.
“You’ll find you can trust me,” he said.
“Time will tell, Doug.”
“No worries.”
“Just one more thing, Doug…”
He raised his eyebrows, questioningly.
“I asked you to promise me you would help my operative, if I asked you to. I was speaking to you. You answered ‘we’ll be happy to assist him in any way that we can.’ I’m not interested in ten layers of bureaucracy. I had more than enough of it, when I worked for Uncle Sam. I’m dealing with you. I’ll hold you responsible, not the entire government, not the FBI, and not the local Field Office; just you personally. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Doug pursed his lips.
“You’re kind of a hard ass, aren’t you?”
“I just want to make sure we understand each other. If you can’t commit to that, tell me now.”
“Trust is a two way street. I don’t know you either.” He said.
“Well then, have a nice day, Special Agent Booker.”
He stood up, and started to turn away.
“Now hang on a minute. Ok, I get it. You want me to promise you my help. I can’t make some sort of blanket promise, to do whatever you want me to do. You understand I work for the Federal Government, right?” He asked.
I spread my hands.
“…Still, yes, I promise to personally help your guy in any and every way I can. OK, is that what you want from me?”
“That, my friend, could be the start of a beautiful relationship…..”
Later that afternoon, I was thinking about the implications of my meeting with FBI Special Agent Booker, when Christine buzzed me on the intercom.
“John, you’re three o’clock is here,” Christine said.
I checked the monitor and saw that Mrs. Clark was at least as attractive as she had sounded on the telephone.
“Thank you. Please send her in, Christine,”
I stood up behind my desk.
From the moment Evelyn Clark came into my office, I could see she was working hard to maintain her composure.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Clark, I’m John Wesley Tucker. Please have a seat.” I motioned toward one of the upholstered chairs in front of my desk.
I sat down as well.
We studied each other for a moment, before I broke the silence.
“How may we help you today, Mrs. Clark?”
She drew a somewhat ragged breath.
“I would like you to follow my husband.”
“I see. May I ask why?”
“…Because he’s having an affair, of course.”
“Are you sure of that?”
Her eyes jumped around the room, not really looking at anything, especially me.
“Oh, I don’t know. If I knew for sure, I wouldn’t need you to follow him.”
“I see. So then, you suspect your husband is having an affair, is that correct?”
She nodded several times.
“Do you have any idea with whom he might be having an affair?”
“…With whom? Of course not! If I knew that, I wouldn’t need you.” She snapped.
I conceded the point.
“Why do you think your husband is having an affair?”
“All the usual reasons I suppose. He’s a man. He likes women. He’s bored with me.”
“Are you bored with him?”
“What? No, this isn’t about me, it’s about him, or us, I suppose.”
I waited her out.
“So, what will it cost me to have him followed?”
“My rate is $500.00 per day, plus expenses. I figure a day is eight hours. I bill for each accumulation of eight hours.
I have other clients, and some part of every day is spent on the needs of each of my clients. So typically, I would not be billing any single client every day, for the work we do on a case. I would point out however, surveillance can often stretch out over several hours, on any given day. It may take several days to obtain any useful information. It is one of the most expensive services we provide.”
“I can afford it.” She said.
“Yes ma’am. May I ask, does your husband monitor or manage your accounts?”
She paled, as she thought about the implications.
I nodded.
She took a moment to consider her options.
“Do you carry a gun?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am I do. Why do you ask?”
“I want you to kill him.”
I regarded her for a moment, and then she broke down in tears.
I pushed the button on the intercom.
“Christine, would you please come in here?”
Christine came in and gave me a “what’s up?” look.
“Mrs. Clark has just asked me to kill her husband.” I said, as casually as possible.
“Oh my! …Whatever for?” Christine asked.
Mrs. Clark was sobbing now.
Christine knelt down beside her, and wrapped and arm around her.
I pushed the box of tissues over to where Christine could reach them.
“It seems that there are problems in the marriage, and Mrs. Clark suspects that her husband is having an affair.” I informed her.
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Do you really want John to kill him?” She asked Mrs. Clark.
Mrs. Clark shook her head. Her mascara was running down her face.
“I, I, just want to know….Oh, I don’t know what I want.”
“Of course you don’t. This is horrible for you. Have you talked to your husband about this?”
Mrs. Clark shook her head again. “I can’t, I just don’t know how, or what to say…”
“You could ask him straight out, if he is having an affair.” I suggested.
“He would just lie, wouldn’t he?”
“Mrs. Clark, have you ever considered marriage counselling?” Christine asked her.
The lady just shook her head in response.
“Do you think your husband might be open to going to see a counsellor with you?”
“I, I don’t know.” Mrs. Clark sobbed.
I caught Christine’s eye and nodded at her.
“Honey, let’s you and I go to the ladies’ room and have a private chat. We’ll get you cleaned up and put some cool water on your face. How does that sound?” Christine asked her.
Mrs. Clark nodded in agreement, and Christine helped her to her feet.
“John, if you’ll excuse us for a few minutes, we’ll be back shortly,” Christine guided Mrs. Clark toward the door.
When she looked back toward me, I gave Christine a wink.
She made a face, in response.
When Mrs. Clark was again seated in my office, she was much calmer, and appeared to be thinking more clearly.
“Mr. Tucker, please excuse me for asking you to….”
“…Not at all,” I said, interrupting her. “I understand that you are quite distraught. Sometimes it helps just having a friend to talk to. Mrs. Clark, here is a card with the contact information for a friend of mine who does marriage and family counselling. Please make an appointment with her. I think that you will find her a much more beneficial person to help you with this issue than I can be. She can encourage you, and help you figure out what it will take to save your marriage. It may be that your marriage can’t be saved, but if it can be, do you want to do that?”
“Yes, yes I do. I came here thinking that it was too late and that there was no hope. I don’t know, but I want to try.”
“That’s good then. I’m glad you came in today.”
“I am as well. You and Christine have been very kind.”
“If there is anything that either of us can do for you, even if it is just listening, please come see us again.” I stood up to show her to the door.
“It’s funny, I came here frightened and confused, but y’all have helped me feel better.”
I opened the door, and Christine greeted her with a smile.
When she had gone, Christine came in and sat down in one of the chairs upholstered in a green hunt scene pattern, in front of my carved oak desk.
I was reminded again, that Christine had been the one sent to turn my drab, one man agency into what it was now.
“That was the strangest appointment we’ve had in a while,” Christine observed.
“Not particularly profitable either.” I indicated.
“There is more than one kind of profit, John. I feel really good about being able to just comfort and befriend her.”
“Me too, but as they say, ‘that don’t pay the bills.”
“Taking a contract to kill her husband might have paid a few bills. Taking her on as a client and doing the surveillance on her husband would have put some cash in the coffers.”
“That was not the reason for the appointment.”
Christine was thoughtful for a moment.
“Mrs. Clark thought it was.” She said.
“Mrs. Clark didn’t make the appointment. She just made the phone call.”
Christine smiled.
“I think you’re right. That was a divine appointment, wasn’t it, John?”
I smiled back.
“They are the best kind.”
I was thinking it could be argued that on some level, all appointments have a divine source.
*******
A note from the author
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