Tracie Peterson (2 page)

Here in the conference room of Kerns and Dubray, Attorneys at Law, Kerns intimately knew each of the men before him. He had structured them, molded them, created them. They were his men, both willingly and unwillingly. Some had come to him as desperate men in deep trouble with the law. Others had come to him simply out of greed. But they all owed him, and because of this Kerns had made them a part of the Association.

Watching each of the men, Bob Kerns reveled in his control over the clandestine organization. As an esteemed lawyer in both Kansas and Missouri, Kerns had managed to manipulate records and witnesses until each of the men before him had been vindicated of wrongdoing and had benefitted from his power. However, the price he extracted in return was monumental in both dollars and devotion.

The announcement he’d just made had created a rather strained atmosphere among the members. He read skepticism in the eyes of some, fear in the eyes of others. He waited for someone to break the uneasy silence, but as usual the initiative would have to be his own. His gaze fell on Patrick Conrad. The man seemed to wilt.

“You’re going to run for governor? Governor of Kansas?” Conrad questioned nervously.

Bob smiled tolerantly and took his seat. Now the meeting could truly begin. He loosened his tie, slowly undid the top button of his shirt, and smiled. Anyone who knew him recognized it as his trademark courtroom smile. It was a
smile that promised action. It was a smile that left no one doubting the force behind it.

“I suppose this seems rash to some of you,” Bob began, much like a surgeon about to describe a delicate procedure, “but I’m sure you can realize the unlimited possibilities such a position could give this organization.”

“Yeah, Bob, but . . .” Conrad interrupted. Kerns narrowed his eyes and turned a tight-lipped expression on the man. Silence once again filled the room.

“The Association has a great deal to gain from this,” Kerns continued. “You are all well aware of the things I’ve done for you, and the risks I’ve taken on behalf of your concerns.” He made eye contact with each man, knowing full well no one would look away. Patrick Conrad quickly lit another cigarette and puffed as though it were his last. The hazy noose seemed to lower around his neck.

Kerns made certain he had their full attention simply by tapping his well-manicured fingers against a thick legal dictionary. The smoke grew thicker as two more members lit up.

“As I was saying, the office of governor would allow us to accomplish quite a bit in our businesses. Wouldn’t you agree, George?” he said, turning abruptly to the man on his right.

George Sheldon was a giant in the chemical world, but here he was Sheldon the Environmental Protection Agency violator. Kerns had more goods on him than the man would ever be able to shake or buy off. Right at the top of the list was a little chemical groundwater pollution problem that Sheldon had still not brought to Kerns for help. Bob smiled as George reached for a cigarette. It was only a matter of time before he would come crawling—until then it was important to give him decisive strokes of confidence.

“George has been an important part of this organization since the EPA thought to contradict his operating procedures.” Kerns paused and reached out to give George a quick slap on the back. “But we showed them otherwise, didn’t we, George?”

The man seemed to relax a bit and smiled weakly between long drags.

“And I don’t know how we could possibly function without KANCO,” Kerns continued. “Pat Conrad has given us an excellent source of information through this fine janitorial service. KANCO now holds a large percentage of government contracts and will no doubt continue to be of help to us in the future.”

Conrad nodded with only the slightest hesitation.

“Of course without Cameron Hedley’s help through ENTER DATA we’d be doing twice as much work in consulting and database areas.” He paused. “I don’t need to continue down a long list of what each of you has done for me or”—he folded his hands and leaned back in his chair—“what I’ve done for you.”

Just then a young professional dressed in a three-piece suit and gold wire-frame glasses entered the room and handed Kerns a stack of papers.

“Ah, just the man.” Kerns got to his feet, took the papers, and put an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “I’d like to introduce Russell Owens. Russell comes to us from a law firm in Kansas City. I managed to entice him to join me here in Topeka for both the law business and the campaign. Russell will be my campaign manager—which means he will be in touch with each of you on a day-to-day basis. Get to know him, and understand this”—Kerns paused for emphasis—“answering to Russell will be answering to me. I expect your full cooperation in every matter. Understood?”

A murmur of agreement rose above the hazy air, while Kerns and Owens exchanged a look of satisfaction.

“Good.” Kerns motioned for Owens to take a seat before he handed the papers to George. “Pass these around and keep a copy. You’ll see from this printout exactly what it will take for us to win this election. We’re up against tough competition. The incumbent governor is well liked and greatly respected, but he’s a pompous fool. Local news articles have shown
him to be too much the do-gooder and now that’s catching up with him. His weak areas are clearly pointed out on page two. With all of us working together, we can surely stop him before he bankrupts the state.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think, Bob?” The question came from John Myers of Myers Architectural Services. Of all the men in the Association, Kerns had the least amount of dirt on him—which meant Myers was never afraid to voice an opinion.

“Are you a supporter of Governor Glencoe?” All eyes moved from Kerns to Myers in anticipation of an answer.

“Not particularly,” the dark-haired architect replied. “I just think it will take more than mudslinging to beat him in this campaign. He is well liked, just as you’ve pointed out. He’s got a strong following in the rural communities among the religious right. That’s one group you could never hope to win over on your reputation alone. People don’t have a high opinion of lawyers these days.”

Kerns met Myers’ steely eyes and felt a small amount of respect for the man. “True enough, John, and that’s exactly the kind of input we’ll need in order to iron out the rough places in this campaign. Kansas is an agricultural- and livestock-minded state. Even the major industries here take their cues from the barometric readings of the farming community. To ignore the outlying areas of Kansas would be to cut our own throats. However, as you all know, I’ve recently won two major cases for farming cooperatives. That gives me a stronghold with farmers—especially in light of the fact that both cases were against the federal government and very well publicized.”

“But is that enough to make you a major contender for the office of governor?” Myers braved again.

“That, along with my favorable reputation in Topeka, Kansas City, and Wichita, will make a good start. If you’ll read the printouts, you’ll see where our weak points are and how you can help. As I said earlier, Russell will be contacting you
in the near future to give you updates and see what assistance you might be willing to offer the campaign.” Kerns glanced at his watch. It was nearly midnight, and the best thing to do now was to give each member of the Association time to consider the news.

“I motion we adjourn for the evening,” Kerns said, knowing there would be no challenge. Conrad seconded the motion and the other members echoed their agreement.

As the room cleared of both smoke and men, Kerns signaled for Owens to stay behind. “Russell, I want you to get right to work on a list of possible running mates. The right person should strengthen my public appeal. We need someone whose reputation is impeccable, someone to draw the more conservative skeptics who question my background. However . . .” Kerns turned to look out on the city from his ninth-floor vantage point. The light atop the Capitol building glowed in the darkness, drawing his attention. He wanted the position of governor more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

And he would have it.

“However?” Owens questioned from behind him.

Kerns turned back to the table. “However, I want someone I can control. A yes-man who will take orders without question. A man who will take the fall for me, if necessary, and who will smile while doing it.”

Russell grinned and wrote in a black leather notebook. “Anything else?”

Kerns studied the man for a moment. His suit was expensive but certainly not GQ. Owens’ hair was fashioned in the current rage of young professionals with a generous amount of mousse and hairspray to give it that “just styled” look. Overall, he represented the crisp no-nonsense image that Kerns desired for his campaign. If Owens were a little older and more widely recognized in the public eye, he’d make a great running mate.

“How old are you, Russell?” he asked, knowing full well the answer.

“Thirty, sir.”

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Kerns said with one final appraisal before picking up his briefcase. “Stick with me and you’ll do even better.”

Owens smiled and pushed up his gold-tone glasses. “I intend to, sir.”

Kerns laughed, liking the man’s confidence, but knowing his reputation for ruthlessness and double-crossing. These qualities, and not the fact that he’d graduated summa cum laude from law school, had made their coming together advantageous to Kerns. A man like Owens would get things done. And, at this stage of the game, he was smart enough to recognize just who was buttering his bread.

“Play the game right,” Kerns stated as he headed to the door. “And never, ever forget who runs the board.”

Three

Russell Owens pulled back the powder blue damask drapes from the sliding-glass window that led to his patio. Sunlight flooded the room, falling on stacks of unopened boxes and haphazardly placed furniture.

He grimaced at the sight.

His small west-side apartment was temporary election headquarters for Kerns, and boxes of campaign materials mingled with ones marked “FRAGILE” gave the apartment a warehouse appearance. Russell had barely set down his own things before Kerns had begun parading campaign necessities into his home. Given his upcoming schedule, Russell knew it would be a long time before everything got sorted out properly.

Switching on the television, Russell sat down to a Sunday afternoon of Kerns-focused work. He glanced at the TV, rolled up his shirt-sleeves, and picked up his notes. A large stack of newspapers covered his glass-topped coffee table, and beside these were clippings from magazines and business newsletters. All of the articles pertained to Kerns in one way or another, and it would be Owens’ job to sort through the mess and deem the effects of each in regard to his candidate.

Sipping a hastily made cup of coffee, Owens grimaced at his ineptness in the kitchen and put the drink aside. First thing tomorrow, he would locate the coffee maker, no matter how many boxes he had to search through.

He listened to the TV news broadcaster give a sketchy report on two legislative bills before turning his full attention to the task at hand. Jotting rough notes on a legal pad, he pored over one article after another. KERNS REPRESENTS FARMERS, read one headline. This was good, Owens decided. It would make for a good campaign quote at a later date. The next newspaper article was not as favorable: KERNS SEEKS TO COVER UP CHEMICAL SPILL. Owens read through the article and found the story of Sheldon Industries’ battle with the EPA to be quite fascinating. Toward the middle of the story he circled a paragraph that he would use as a compaign slogan.
“Robert Kerns supports the needs of Kansas industries over the safety of local residents. . . .”
Of course the quote would be trimmed to end after the word “industries.”

The game was beginning to be fun. Owens smiled and circled additional bits of information before turning his attention to a list of possible running mates for Kerns. The list was long and unreasonable. Owens immediately took to black lining any name that even mildly represented a problem. Having done his homework on the men listed, Owens saw the list diminish in size until only two possibilities held any real interest for him. And even those names conjured up the possibility of a political crisis. One man was well known for his support of the death penalty—an issue that Owens hoped to keep out of the public eye for as long as possible. The other man had created his own business in computers and had become an overnight phenomenon across the state. But he had a reputation for being a playboy. In and of itself, it wasn’t necessarily all that damaging, but in conservative Kansas, it just might be the one thing to send voters running to the other side.

“And on the local scene,” a female reporter was saying, “I had the opportunity to spend a day with Cara Kessler. Mrs. Kessler is the co-founder of HEARTBEAT Ministries, a statewide youth ministry that seeks to give spiritual direction, job training, and education to Kansas young people.”

Russell looked up, not really knowing why. He found an attractive brown-haired woman smiling back from the twenty-seven-inch screen. She looked like the stereotypical country sweetheart with her shoulder-length hair just turned under at the ends.

“Cara Kessler, you’ve been most notably described as a ‘dynamo’ and ‘spiritual torchbearer.’ Your ministry work
with HEARTBEAT is nationally acclaimed, and HEARTBEAT’s founding motto, ‘Youth are the pulse points by which we monitor the heart of our nation,’ has even been praised by the President of the United States. What can you tell us about your work?”

Russell put down the list and leaned forward for the remote. Quickly pressing the “record” button, he watched, completely mesmerized, as Cara Kessler eloquently explained.

“My husband, Jack, and I founded HEARTBEAT ministries almost ten years ago. We saw a desperation among the youth in our hometown, as well as in the cities around us. As youth ministers in our local church, we sought to answer why there was such deep despair among people who had so much for which to live.”

“And what kind of answers did you get?” the reporter asked.