so, Seth, not in a million years. They can fry my ass before I let that
happen.”
“You’re right. Sorry I brought it up.”
tried to As Seth glanced in his mirror the car next to them do a U-turn
directly in front of them. Frank hit the brakes and his car spun
sideways, crashing into the curb with a bone-crunching impact. The
Kansas license plates on the vehicle that had nearly crashed into them
quickly disappeared.
“Stupid tourists. Fucking bastards!” Frank gripped the steering wheel
hard, his breath coming in gasps. The shoulder restraint had done its
job, but it had dug deeply into his skin. His battered head pounded.
“Fucking bastard. ” Frank yelled again to no one in particular. Then he
remembered his passenger and looked anxiously in the back seat.
‘Jack, Jack, you okay?”
Jack’s face was pressed up against the door glass. He was conscious; in
fact, his eyes were staring at something with great intensity.
“Jack?” Frank undid his seat belt and gripped Jack by the shoulder. “You
okay? Jack!”
Jack looked at Frank and then back out the window. Frank wondered if the
impact had relieved his friend of his senses.
He automatically searched Jack’s head for bruises until Jack’s hand
stopped him and pointed out the window. Frank looked out.
Even his hardened nerves took a jolt. The rear view of the White House
filled his entire line of vision.
Jack’s mind raced; images hurtled across like a video montage. The
vision of the President pulling back from Jennifer Baldwin, complaining
of tennis elbow. Only it had been inflicted with a certain letter opener
that had started this whole crazy thing. The unusual interest taken by
the President and the Secret Service in Christine Sullivan’s murder.
Alan Richmond’s timely appearance at Luther’s arraignment.
Led me right to him. That’s what the detective had said their
videotaping citizen had reported. Led me right to him. It also explained
killers who killed in the middle of an army of law enforcement officers
and walked away. Who would stop a Secret Service agent protecting the
President? No one. No wonder Luther felt no one would believe him. The
President of the United States.
And there had been a significant event right before Luther had returned
to the country. Alan Richmond had held a press conference where he had
told the public how terrible he felt about the tragic murder of
Christine Sullivan. He was probably fucking the man’s wife and somehow
she had gotten killed and this slimeball was gaining political dollars
showing what a sensitive and good friend he was; a man who would get
tough on crime. It had been a tour deforce performance. And that was
truly what it had been. Nothing about it had been true. It had been
broadcast to the world. What would Luther have thought, seeing that?
Jack believed he knew. That was why Luther had come back. To settle the
score.
All the pieces had been dangling inside Jack’s head just waiting for the
right catalyst to come along.
Jack looked back once more at the catalyst.
Directly under the lamplight, Tim Collin again glanced down the street
at the minor traffic mishap, but could make out no details in the
oncoming swarm of car headlights. Next to him Bill Burton was also
peering out. Collin shrugged, and then rolled the window back up on the
black sedan. Burton threw his bubble light on top of the car, hit his
siren, quickly drove the car through the rear White House gate and tore
off in the direction of D.C. Superior Court in pursuit of Jack.
Jack looked at Seth Frank and smiled grimly as he reflected on the
detective’s outburst. The same phrase had erupted from Luther’s mouth,
right before his life had ended.
Jack finally remembered where he had heard it before. The hurled
newspaper at the jail. The smiling President on the front page.
Outside the courthouse, staring right at the man. Those same words had
exploded out, with all the fury and venom the old man could muster.
“Fucking bastard, ” Jack said.
ALAN RICHMOND STOOD By THE WINDOW AND WONDERED IF HE was destined to be