Whitewash (52 page)

Jason handed off the information he found on Arthur Galloway, but Senator Allen no longer looked interested. Jason knew his boss’s mind was, no doubt, preoccupied with more important matters. The Appropriations Committee was set for a vote early tomorrow morning. Jason wouldn’t be there. He was scheduled to be in Florida, seeing to the reception details, what he believed would still be a celebration.

Senator Malone’s vote would be enough, and yet Senator Allen hadn’t stopped pacing his office, the nervous energy jerking the muscles in his jaw all the way down to his shoulders.

“Is there anything else you need?” Jason asked and was surprised to see a grin, no, more of a smirk.

“We’ve done all we can,” he said, without stopping his march, and then adding, like a general preparing for battle, “I won’t go down without a fight.”

Now back in his office, Jason couldn’t concentrate. He had a hell of a lot of work to do before he left for Florida tomorrow morning. He hated being away from the office for three whole days and hated even more the idea of coming back to these piles on his desk.

He had stayed up late, surfing Google and the Net for more connections between Sidel and Zach. The South Beach Resort had been the only one he could find. Maybe it had been a coincidence. To make matters worse, his secretary had brought him a bulging envelope of forms that needed to be filled out and returned ASAP. The label read Contract Renewal. From what Jason could tell, after a quick glance, they looked like standard, mindless stuff—exactly what he needed. He didn’t have the attention span for anything more.

Jason pulled out the forms, ready to start filling in the blanks when he noticed EchoEnergy preprinted in the contractor space. He double-checked the envelope and then the description of the contract. This was one he didn’t know about and yet it was up for renewal, which meant, in this case, the one-year deadline was coming up.

Jason always prepared the Appropriations Committee contracts that the senator introduced and endorsed. And certainly Jason would have remembered one being awarded to EchoEnergy. He flipped through the pages, but he still didn’t recognize any of it. From what he could tell, it had bypassed a subcommittee vote because it had been considered part of the overall disaster package after the onslaught of hurricanes over the last several years. Senator Allen’s signature was scrawled across the bottom of the final page with several indecipherable initials in two other approval lines.

Jason grabbed a pen and began filling out the form. So what if he hadn’t seen this cross Senator Allen’s desk? There had been hundreds of these after the devastation left by the hurricanes. And though it was a bit odd that Senator Allen hadn’t mentioned anything, it wasn’t unusual. So what if it slipped Senator Allen’s mind that EchoEnergy had already been awarded a multi-million-dollar contract with the federal government to dispose of hurricane debris?

Jason sat back and pushed away from the form on his desk. He contemplated throwing a dart, but chose instead to twist and turn it between his fingers.

It wouldn’t slip the senator’s mind. It would have been another bragging point, a testament of the good and brilliant things EchoEnergy was capable of. In fact, Jason didn’t even know EchoEnergy could process hurricane debris. He thought it was only chicken guts. Why wouldn’t there have been mention of it on their tour? That did seem odd. Eliminating hurricane debris
and
turning it to oil would be a huge accomplishment Sidel couldn’t resist bragging about.

So why wasn’t he?

As he leaned back in his office chair, tapping the feathers of the dart against his temple, Jason had a bad feeling in his gut. This wasn’t right. Something was going on and he didn’t like it. He released the dart and absently looked up at the dartboard.

He’d missed the bull’s-eye.

Jason handed off the information he found on Arthur Galloway, but Senator Allen no longer looked interested. Jason knew his boss’s mind was, no doubt, preoccupied with more important matters. The Appropriations Committee was set for a vote early tomorrow morning. Jason wouldn’t be there. He was scheduled to be in Florida, seeing to the reception details, what he believed would still be a celebration.

Senator Malone’s vote would be enough, and yet Senator Allen hadn’t stopped pacing his office, the nervous energy jerking the muscles in his jaw all the way down to his shoulders.

“Is there anything else you need?” Jason asked and was surprised to see a grin, no, more of a smirk.

“We’ve done all we can,” he said, without stopping his march, and then adding, like a general preparing for battle, “I won’t go down without a fight.”

Now back in his office, Jason couldn’t concentrate. He had a hell of a lot of work to do before he left for Florida tomorrow morning. He hated being away from the office for three whole days and hated even more the idea of coming back to these piles on his desk.

He had stayed up late, surfing Google and the Net for more connections between Sidel and Zach. The South Beach Resort had been the only one he could find. Maybe it had been a coincidence. To make matters worse, his secretary had brought him a bulging envelope of forms that needed to be filled out and returned ASAP. The label read Contract Renewal. From what Jason could tell, after a quick glance, they looked like standard, mindless stuff—exactly what he needed. He didn’t have the attention span for anything more.

Jason pulled out the forms, ready to start filling in the blanks when he noticed EchoEnergy preprinted in the contractor space. He double-checked the envelope and then the description of the contract. This was one he didn’t know about and yet it was up for renewal, which meant, in this case, the one-year deadline was coming up.

Jason always prepared the Appropriations Committee contracts that the senator introduced and endorsed. And certainly Jason would have remembered one being awarded to EchoEnergy. He flipped through the pages, but he still didn’t recognize any of it. From what he could tell, it had bypassed a subcommittee vote because it had been considered part of the overall disaster package after the onslaught of hurricanes over the last several years. Senator Allen’s signature was scrawled across the bottom of the final page with several indecipherable initials in two other approval lines.

Jason grabbed a pen and began filling out the form. So what if he hadn’t seen this cross Senator Allen’s desk? There had been hundreds of these after the devastation left by the hurricanes. And though it was a bit odd that Senator Allen hadn’t mentioned anything, it wasn’t unusual. So what if it slipped Senator Allen’s mind that EchoEnergy had already been awarded a multi-million-dollar contract with the federal government to dispose of hurricane debris?

Jason sat back and pushed away from the form on his desk. He contemplated throwing a dart, but chose instead to twist and turn it between his fingers.

It wouldn’t slip the senator’s mind. It would have been another bragging point, a testament of the good and brilliant things EchoEnergy was capable of. In fact, Jason didn’t even know EchoEnergy could process hurricane debris. He thought it was only chicken guts. Why wouldn’t there have been mention of it on their tour? That did seem odd. Eliminating hurricane debris
and
turning it to oil would be a huge accomplishment Sidel couldn’t resist bragging about.

So why wasn’t he?

As he leaned back in his office chair, tapping the feathers of the dart against his temple, Jason had a bad feeling in his gut. This wasn’t right. Something was going on and he didn’t like it. He released the dart and absently looked up at the dartboard.

He’d missed the bull’s-eye.

Pensacola Beach, Florida

Eric took Howard by surprise. At least that’s what it looked like. Howard mumbled something into the phone and quickly got off.

Eric wondered if it may have been Howard’s old friends who were supposed to be sailing up from Miami. For friends Howard sure seemed to be a bit on edge about their visit, and there didn’t seem to be much that put Howard on edge.

Howard didn’t talk about his former friends or his previous life. Neither did Eric. None of the group that hung out at Bobbye’s did. Eric knew through his own sources that once upon a time Howard Johnson had made millions of dollars trafficking drugs from South America up through Miami. The story was that the feds had made Howard an offer to rat out his suppliers. Instead, Howard decided to thumb his nose at all of them and simply retire before the feds had anything on him and before his suppliers got paranoid. No matter how much of the story was true, Eric was convinced that sort of a life wasn’t one somebody just walked away from. He was looking for Howard’s friends to be old friends and he wouldn’t be surprised if they had a little something for Howard.

“The Minnesotans canceling out?” Eric asked, giving Howard a chance to share his covert phone call.

“No, I haven’t heard anything from them.” He glanced at his watch. “I expect they’ll be here in the next hour.” Then he pointed to the TV and the ever-present Fox News channel. “Florida authorities are searching for your friend in Chicago. Media’s on it up there, too. They had an interview with some professor at the university where she taught. One of her students, too. Nothing new, just your basic ‘I never knew she was capable of such a thing’ interview.”

“Jesus!” Eric knew it was only a matter of time before the media discovered their dad, maybe even Eric. “Do me a favor. Don’t mention it to Bree, okay?”

“Sure, no problem.” Howard continued his morning routine, opening the cash register and checking the Visa/MC machine, but then he stopped and turned back to Eric, as if there was something he’d been meaning to tell him. His eyes were serious under bushy white eyebrows.

Here it was, Eric thought. Time for true confessions. Howard was finally ready to give him the dirt on what he was really up to.

“You’re a good friend,” Howard said, emphasizing
friend.

It wasn’t at all what Eric expected him to say. And now Eric realized he’d mistaken the look in Howard’s eyes. Howard wasn’t getting ready to confess and come clean. He was encouraging Eric to.

“Look, it’s none of my business and you don’t have to tell me a damn thing. It’s just…Gallo, Galloway…” He shrugged and picked up the inventory clipboard, leaving the conversation there and letting Eric decide to tell him or not.

“It’s complicated,” Eric said and scratched at his bristled jaw like his answer required some thought. He knew it wouldn’t matter all that much if he admitted he’d changed his name.

“Sure, I understand.” Again Howard shrugged his huge shoulders, this time the gesture so animated he set in motion the pattern of sailfish on his boat shirt. A gesture that betrayed his words.

It surprised Eric, though not enough not for him to risk an explanation. He’d already gotten too close to Howard, too friendly. It was better that Howard think he was a liar than for him to know the truth, that Eric was only interested in Howard’s drug connections.

“I definitely know about stuff being complicated,” Howard said just when Eric thought the subject was closed. Maybe he’d luck out, after all, and get Howard to share, not only information, but a piece of the action.

“If something ever happens to me I’d like you to have all my models.” He waved his hand up at the shelf that surrounded the shop, a foot from the ceiling and crowded with perfectly crafted and finely detailed boats and ships from various eras.

Again, he surprised Eric. He knew the collection, one that Howard continuously added to, was his prized possession. Never mind that he owned a successful deep-sea fishing service as well as the prime real estate the shop and the parking lot sat on. The model collection was something Howard built with his hands, something uniquely his.

“What are you talking about?” Eric tried to dismiss the tremendous gesture, almost hoping it was some kind of trick. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

“I’m just saying in case something does.”

“What’s gonna happen? Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“What you’re doing for Sabrina…not many friends would risk their necks like that,” Howard told him, his eyes still running over his collection, avoiding Eric’s. “Not any of mine would. You’re a good man.”

Eric wasn’t prepared for any of this.

Pensacola Beach, Florida

Eric took Howard by surprise. At least that’s what it looked like. Howard mumbled something into the phone and quickly got off.

Eric wondered if it may have been Howard’s old friends who were supposed to be sailing up from Miami. For friends Howard sure seemed to be a bit on edge about their visit, and there didn’t seem to be much that put Howard on edge.

Howard didn’t talk about his former friends or his previous life. Neither did Eric. None of the group that hung out at Bobbye’s did. Eric knew through his own sources that once upon a time Howard Johnson had made millions of dollars trafficking drugs from South America up through Miami. The story was that the feds had made Howard an offer to rat out his suppliers. Instead, Howard decided to thumb his nose at all of them and simply retire before the feds had anything on him and before his suppliers got paranoid. No matter how much of the story was true, Eric was convinced that sort of a life wasn’t one somebody just walked away from. He was looking for Howard’s friends to be old friends and he wouldn’t be surprised if they had a little something for Howard.

“The Minnesotans canceling out?” Eric asked, giving Howard a chance to share his covert phone call.

“No, I haven’t heard anything from them.” He glanced at his watch. “I expect they’ll be here in the next hour.” Then he pointed to the TV and the ever-present Fox News channel. “Florida authorities are searching for your friend in Chicago. Media’s on it up there, too. They had an interview with some professor at the university where she taught. One of her students, too. Nothing new, just your basic ‘I never knew she was capable of such a thing’ interview.”

“Jesus!” Eric knew it was only a matter of time before the media discovered their dad, maybe even Eric. “Do me a favor. Don’t mention it to Bree, okay?”

“Sure, no problem.” Howard continued his morning routine, opening the cash register and checking the Visa/MC machine, but then he stopped and turned back to Eric, as if there was something he’d been meaning to tell him. His eyes were serious under bushy white eyebrows.

Here it was, Eric thought. Time for true confessions. Howard was finally ready to give him the dirt on what he was really up to.

“You’re a good friend,” Howard said, emphasizing
friend.

It wasn’t at all what Eric expected him to say. And now Eric realized he’d mistaken the look in Howard’s eyes. Howard wasn’t getting ready to confess and come clean. He was encouraging Eric to.

“Look, it’s none of my business and you don’t have to tell me a damn thing. It’s just…Gallo, Galloway…” He shrugged and picked up the inventory clipboard, leaving the conversation there and letting Eric decide to tell him or not.

“It’s complicated,” Eric said and scratched at his bristled jaw like his answer required some thought. He knew it wouldn’t matter all that much if he admitted he’d changed his name.

“Sure, I understand.” Again Howard shrugged his huge shoulders, this time the gesture so animated he set in motion the pattern of sailfish on his boat shirt. A gesture that betrayed his words.

It surprised Eric, though not enough not for him to risk an explanation. He’d already gotten too close to Howard, too friendly. It was better that Howard think he was a liar than for him to know the truth, that Eric was only interested in Howard’s drug connections.

“I definitely know about stuff being complicated,” Howard said just when Eric thought the subject was closed. Maybe he’d luck out, after all, and get Howard to share, not only information, but a piece of the action.

“If something ever happens to me I’d like you to have all my models.” He waved his hand up at the shelf that surrounded the shop, a foot from the ceiling and crowded with perfectly crafted and finely detailed boats and ships from various eras.

Again, he surprised Eric. He knew the collection, one that Howard continuously added to, was his prized possession. Never mind that he owned a successful deep-sea fishing service as well as the prime real estate the shop and the parking lot sat on. The model collection was something Howard built with his hands, something uniquely his.

“What are you talking about?” Eric tried to dismiss the tremendous gesture, almost hoping it was some kind of trick. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

“I’m just saying in case something does.”

“What’s gonna happen? Nothing’s gonna happen.”

“What you’re doing for Sabrina…not many friends would risk their necks like that,” Howard told him, his eyes still running over his collection, avoiding Eric’s. “Not any of mine would. You’re a good man.”

Eric wasn’t prepared for any of this.