The Lovely Chocolate Mob (24 page)

I walked into the office and had a seat in front of the desk; Miss Planter sat in another chair next to me. She held my hands.

“Tell me what happened! What did they say?”

“Something terrible has happened.”

“What? Tell me!”

“Okay, here goes,” I said. “Are we still covered by code of confidentiality?”

“Yes, yes, of course! Now spill it!”

I took a breath, trying to calm down, and said, “I may have killed Dr. Burke.”

“Killed! What do you mean?”

“I mean dead, murdered, deceased, passed-away, post-mortem…”

“I get that! How?”

“Well, you recall this morning when I told you I was to see the Lovely Chocolate Factory’s board of directors?”

“Yes.”

“Everything went pretty much as I thought it would, except nobody on the board was interested; most of them were quiet.”

“Okay. So?”

“I didn’t give the name of the boyfriend of Susan Lovely.”

“And?”

“And afterwards, I … was in a room and found myself surrounded by a group of people who wanted the name of Dr. Burke.”

“They wanted his name? Why?”

“They want to
kill
him!”

“Oh, no! Who
are
these people?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see their faces; I only heard their voices.”

“They kidnapped you?”

“No, they… surrounded me.”

“How could they surround you without your seeing them?”

“They turned out the lights!”

“Oh, my! Did they rough you up?”

“No, they didn’t touch me. They just wanted information.”

“They didn’t identify themselves?”

“They did, in a way, but they’re a group of very bad people.”

“How do you know they’re telling the truth?”

“They’re telling the truth, all right. They’re not like us. Many of them had foreign accents.”

“If you could recognize their voices, you can identify them for the police!”

“No! Not the police. They said tell no one.”

“You told me!”

“Yes, well, you’re covered under the code of confidentiality.”

“Did you give them his name?”

I hesitated and said, “After much convincing, yes.”

“We have to warn him!”

“Yes… yes, you’re right!” I said, as the lightbulb came on in my head. “That’s right! I knew you’d know what to do! But not through the police!”

“Then it will have to be you… or me!”

“No, no, Miss Planter, not you; I don’t want you involved in this I just needed to know what to do.”

At that moment, the realization came to me that I had a grip on both of her shoulders. We looked into each other’s eyes; this was a moment of complete desperation and revelation; she needed protection. I pulled her towards me and held onto her; she didn’t resist and put her head on my shoulder. I held her until she was fully enveloped by my arms, and kissed her on the forehead. She looked up to me, and then I was kissing her all over her face and lips. This was a strange development in the almost-doctor/patient relationship. I hadn’t had those types of feelings in years. I realized that I loved her! I loved Karen Planter.

“I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go… now!” I released her from my grasp, charged out into the reception room, leaving Miss Planter standing in dismay. I ran down the hall towards the elevator, skipping it again in favor of the stairs.

“Got to warn him. Got to warn Franklin Burke!” I said as loud as I could, running down the stairs, making sure to hold onto the rail, thinking about the drive I’d have to make back through traffic over to the west section of town, where the nicer homes were.

Running down the stairs, the thought of the better homes flashed through my mind; many of the old-time mansions had been built there as a result of the chocolate factory, since it certainly affected the local economy. In later years, the newer, gated communities in that area could make the same claim.

At the bottom of the stairs, I ran past the security guard, pushed the glass doors open and ran down the concrete steps to the parking lot, as only a man with a mission would. I jumped across the small grassy area and landed on the asphalt of the parking lot, just in time to see something move to my far right and hear tires screech at the same time. I stopped moving and froze as a large dark blue van pulled up in front of me, blocking my path. Three men jumped out, flashing badges and yelling “FBI! Get in!”

I’m wasn’t in the habit of entering vehicles where I didn’t know the driver, except in Walter’s case, so I hesitated until I felt someone pushing me from behind. Falling into the side door of the van, two of the burly men jumped and handcuffed me, then gagged me with a bandana and threw a cloth bag over my head.

I didn’t appreciate my treatment from the civil authorities, and I especially didn’t like the fact that my mission had been interrupted, so I began to kick and thrash about until I felt something like a hard metal object push against my ear, with it making a “click.” A voice said, “Make any more movements, Mr. Owen, and you will be shot resisting arrest.”

Since I didn’t want to be shot, I calmed down considerably. I tried to ask, “Where are we going?” but it came out illegibly, since I was gagged. I felt very frustrated and, at the same time, a little frightened. It hadn’t really sunk in what sort of a predicament I was in. I was on my way to save a life and had been side-tracked and man-handled by government agents, wondering what law I had broken, besides being involved with the disabling of an FBI helicopter.

We drove for what seemed like an hour. The agent let up on the gun next to my head, so I moved very slowly, trying to get comfortable with my arms behind my back, and me resting on my stomach on the floor of a government van. It had already been a long day, but now I wondered what would happen in the near future. And what was with the gag and the blindfold? What did they want, information? I had no info, other than Walter’s electric pulse bazooka used 10 ”D” batteries, and I didn’t remember if they were regular, rechargeable, or alkaline. I didn’t want to rat on Walter, since I’d already “Judased” one person recently. And if they wanted information, why the gag? Wouldn’t they encourage my talking, even if it were only rambling? I hoped I wouldn’t be experiencing any waterboarding.

“We’re there,” said a voice. “Up, Mr. Owen.” I tried to roll over to sit up, but it was a little crowded in the back of the van. I felt two hands grip each arm near the shoulders, and I was pulled out of the van and made to stand up.

“This is for your protection, Mr. Owen. We couldn’t have you heard or seen in our custody; that’s why we’ve treated you this way. If the cartel saw you with the authorities, you’d be history.” Oh. Well, why didn’t they
say
so earlier? They knew about the cartel, that I had some sort of association or connection with them. If they wanted me to talk about a chocolate gang, I think I could hold out and not crack here, since the FBI wouldn’t threaten me the way that organized crime would. On the other hand, they did hold that pistol to my head. Or was that really a pistol?

We walked a little ways, but I was slow to put my feet in front of me since I still couldn’t see anything. I wondered if I would be fingerprinted and processed; this should have been an interesting experience, since I had never been booked or arrested before.

We went through a number of doors, and I could feel the temperature change, and knew there was carpet in some areas, but other than that I was helpless knowing my surroundings; I must have been quite a sight for all the other FBI agents and bureaucrats.

The same voice said, “Sit here, Mr. Owen,” and I was made to sit in a heavy hard chair, probably wood and metal.

I waited. Thank goodness for the waiting; it gave me a little time to gather my thoughts. The authorities already knew about the cartel, but I couldn’t risk telling them anything. They picked me up at Miss Planter’s office, which means they knew about her! If the cartel saw this, they might get to her, and I couldn’t have that! So I made my mind up to keep my mouth shut, for good this time.

I heard the opening and shutting of a door. “You can unshackle him,” someone said. Someone grabbed the handcuffs behind me and I felt the “click,” as keys were being administered to the cuffs. They fell apart and my arms dropped beside me. I reached up towards my head and heard another voice say, “Wait a minute.” The voice jerked the mask off and untied the gag-knot behind my head; I was free. There was a glass of ice water on a table in front of me, and two official-looking men across the table. They were wearing long-sleeved white shirts with ties and badges and shoulder holsters, with guns in the holsters, snapped shut. The room was about 15 X 20 feet, with one exit door and a large mirrored window next to it. I must be putting on a show for somebody; maybe I was being videotaped.

“Drink of water, Mr. Owen? It’ll get that taste out of your mouth.” I grabbed the glass and drank it all and put the glass down. “Thanks… I think,” I said, although still a bit thirsty.

“Mr. Owen,” said the smaller man, “I’m Special Agent Huebner and this is Special Agent Belken. You’ve been brought here under cover to answer questions about the people you had contact with earlier today. We need to know everything you’ve done from the time you entered the Lovely Chocolate Factory at 1:30 p.m. until the time we picked you up for questioning. You’ll need to start talking as soon as I give you the go ahead.”

I looked around and saw a third agent standing directly behind me, to keep me under control, I supposed. I didn’t plan on making his job tough. He was huge and had a shaved head and blond biker’s mustache; with a horned helmet, he could have been a Viking.

Agent Huebner reached over and turned on a recording device. It was quite small, smaller than the tape recorders I’d seen in catalogues. “What’s that?” I said.

“This is a tape recorder, well, not really a tape recorder: everything’s digital nowadays,” said Agent Huebner. “It’s a digital recording device. You’ll need to start talking when I tell you.”

“Oh,” I said. I was still getting used to this situation, and the room. “Could I have another glass of water?” Agent Belken looked at me as if I was dirt; Agent Huebner looked at him and nodded, so Agent Belken took the glass and left the room.

Agent Huebner pushed a button on the recorder and said “This is Agent Michael Huebner, on site taking answers from person in question Randall Owen, who was strongly suspected to having gained contact with the Lovely cartel upon entering the Lovely Chocolate Factory at 13:30 hours, earlier today. Mr. Owen, did you have any contact with any members of the Lovely cartel?”

I let this question sink in for a moment, and leaned towards the recorder and said, “What’s the idea of putting a gun to my head?”

Agent Huebner grabbed the recorder, looking frustrated and pushing buttons to erase what I said. “We’re not going to make much progress if you continue to act this way, Mr. Owen.”

Agent Belken opened the door and entered the room with my glass of water. “Don’t give him that,” said Agent Huebner. “Mr. Owen has decided to become uncooperative.”

“Oh, he has, huh?” snarled Agent Belken. He looked as though he was going to jump across the table and bite my head off, when Agent Huebner said, “I’ve got a few questions to ask him, and if he doesn’t give me the answers I want, you can have him.”

“Gooo-o-o-ooood,” murmured Agent Belken. “I’d like to make him talk.”

“Mr. Owen, you’d better learn to cooperate, and I mean fast, because if you make me lose patience, Agent Belken is known to be, well, somewhat uncontrollable. The bureau doesn’t really know what to do with him; they have to keep covering his tracks.”

Now I had seen enough cop shows to know the “good cop/bad cop” routine and could see that I was being “played” at the moment. In reality, the authorities can’t touch you in a questioning situation, but on the other hand, they can’t just kidnap you, either.

“What’s with the hood and cuffs … and gag? Why didn’t you just ask me to come with you?”

“We’re under time constraints, Mr. Owen. We think the cartel is moving to put a ‘hit’ on someone, and a little birdy said you’ve set somebody up. We’ve detected activity in the underground, and so far all evidence points to you.”

He turned the recorder back on. “Mr. Owen, did you order a hit today on anyone?”

Me order a hit? I almost started to defend myself, but thought about where this would lead. Instead, I said, “Today, I went to visit the Lovely Chocolate Company’s board of directors, to speak with them concerning a family I know, and for the good of the reputation of the company.”

“What are you, a lawyer?” sneered Agent Belken.

“No, I’m an engineer, working for the company Root and Bonham. I called the chairman of the board, Mr. Hal Ostrander, and was given three minutes to air my concerns, which I did.”

“What’s your concern about their chocolates?” Agent Belken muttered. “You don’t like companies making an honest profit? You some kind of communist?” he growled, getting closer to me on my side of the table.

Even though I was seated, I leaned backwards in my chair, bumping into the silent officer behind me. “No, I’m not a communist and yes, I do like the idea of companies making a profit from their hard work, in a fair and open competitive system. But my concern wasn’t for the immediate financial welfare of the company as much as it was for the family I was represent--“ I cut it off. Maybe I’d said too much.

Agent Huebner smiled and said, “This family you were represent--ing, are they somehow involved in the planned hit? You’d better talk fast, Mr. Owen; someone’s life may be at stake!”

Yes, how well I knew that Dr. Franklin Burke’s life was at stake, but I also knew the cartel gave me a gag order; if I talked, they might go after people I cared about. If these officers let me go, maybe I could still warn Dr. Burke!

“The only people I saw were members of the board. I told them my concerns, and they responded.”

“What did they say? Did they order the hit?” asked Agent Belken, the bad cop.

“There was no talk of a hit, and really what they said is none of your business.”