The Return of Elliott Eastman (16 page)

“So the banking committee sends it back to the floor unchanged knowing it would help mollify an angry public and at the same time instructing appropriations to decimate the bill,” Elliott said.

“You got it,” The President replied and laughed bitterly.

Elliott remained silent wondering if the growing nausea in his gut was from the news or the chemo.

“And the Armed Services Committee, undoubtedly pushed by Cobbings’ close friend Larry Lanting, the senator who chairs the Emerging Threats subcommittee, has recommended closing eighty bases over the next seven years.”

Elliott groaned and said, “I’ll call you right back.”

He hobbled as quickly as he could to the kitchen sink and threw up. After leaning against the sink for a few minutes to make sure he was done, he rinsed his mouth out, returned to the den and dialed the President back.

“Paul? Sorry about that. I think I have a case of food poisoning. The results don’t surprise me. When you have one-sided guest speakers addressing the sub-committees there are few conclusions that can be drawn other than what we are seeing here.”

“I’m so angry I can’t see straight,” Paul said, sounding utterly demoralized. “Now it will go to conference committee hearings and you know what that means.”

“Yes, there will be select members of the House and Senate committees who originally heard the bill and they will attempt to reconcile the differences between the two bodies. This just means the bill will be back in the hands of Cobbings, Bainer, Graham and Coryn,” Elliott concluded.

“This does not bode well for the bill,” the President said in a dull monotone.

“There are still things we can do. Let me think on things. I’ll call you in the morning.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The non-descript light brown four door sedan eased up the street passing each address slowly.

“There it is,” said Gordon. “235 Weaver Street.”

After Jim Buckner pulled to the curb across the street and doused the headlights. The two men studied the small single story tract home for a few minutes. A waist high chain link fence ran around the perimeter of the front yard. Weeds grew along the fence and grew in the cracks of the concrete driveway and walkway.

“Hmmm,” Jim said, “looks pretty run down, but there’s the black Escalade Backspace picked up on the traffic cam. This is the place, and there’s a light on in the front room so somebody is home.”

Gordon pulled a file from between the car seats. “Soro lives with his mother. From the records we pulled Marilyn Soro is seventy eight and on oxygen. Maybe she likes late night TV?”

“I’m going to take a quick look in the front window, see who’s home and if we have dogs to deal with,” Jim said as he climbed out of the car and quietly shut the door.

Walking softly towards the front of the house, Jim moved up the driveway and almost tripped over a tangle of garden hose. It was just past midnight and most of the denizens of this unsavory neighborhood were already in bed. The chain link gate stood open. Jim crossed the dry front lawn and the grass crunched under his feet, but the TV inside the tiny house was so loud he was sure they heard nothing. He peered through the front window and spied a rotund man sitting on a worn couch in his skivvies drinking a beer. Jim retreated back to the vehicle.

“He’s alone and there are no dogs.”

“Let’s do it,” Gordon said, thinking of Eddie’s badly bruised face.

“Okay, you stay with the car and keep a look out. Bring the car around when I’m ready. I’ll handle the perp.”

Jim climbed from the car again, opened the trunk and pulled a half full gas can from it. Quietly he moved across the street. In the shadows beside the Escalade he poured gas over one tire, laid a trail of the highly flammable liquid to the second front tire and dropped a match. With a whoosh the tires immediately burst into flames. Buckner moved back into the deep shadows beside the garage. A moment later Soro leapt through the front door. With an oath he ran over and began grappling with the hose trying to untangle it. Jim stepped from the darkness and said, “Hey.”

When Soro looked up Jim pressed the point of his Zap Mini Stun baton against Soro’s neck and pressed the trigger. A flash of electricity exploded from the end of the baton. With a grunt Soro fell to the ground and began shaking violently. Gordon pulled the car around while Jim lifted the nearly 260 pounds of unconscious man, dragged him to the car and tossed him in the back seat.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The Conference Committee hearing was held at the Dirksen building of the Senate. The tension in the room grew with the appearance of each new face as they entered the pale marble walled room of the ancient chamber. News people crowded the perimeter of the room recording every nuanced motion of the assembly.

A standard Conference Committee combines the chairs of the original committees in both the House and Senate, sensibly assuming they were the most familiar with the bill, along with select members of both Houses as recommended by the Presiding Officer of the Senate and the House Speaker with input from the Majority Leaders and Minority Leaders. In this case other members of the Senate and the House, sensing this was an historical occasion, requested inclusion which generally was granted. Cobbings and Bainer were there as was Coryn, Larry Lanting, Senators Jim Johnson, Sam Whitback, Ray Haley Hutchinson, Wade Biggs, Brian Nelson and another dozen members of the House and Senate. Opposite, across the huge mahogany table, sat Representatives Bruce Bennett, Earl Bishop, Jay Stephens, Kathy Rogers Morris, Rosa Sparks and Senator Roger Portman.

Senator Roger Portman had been in the Senate long enough to sense that this conference meeting had all the earmarks of a real bloodletting. He spoke at length with Senator Carl Carimendi from California, and Senator Bill Spitzer from New York. These were two experienced and savvy veterans. He met with them several times. They were already in favor of SB 1190, but by the time he was done informing them of the forces arrayed against the bill and what had gone on already in committee, the two men were poised to request being appointed to the Conference Committee. They were here as well.

Cobbings, along with his cronies, made a point of finding seats opposite the instruments of their wrath. They sat glaring at Kathy Morris and Bruce Bennett, while Tom Coryn stared hard at Roger Portman. This was not to be a meeting of amiable counterparts working together towards a common goal. No, this was akin to the Godfather meeting with the heads of the five families. They would speak to each other cordially, but in the end each wanted to spill the blood of the other.

A stenographer recorded every word spoken and began typing as the Chair of the Committee, Carl Nevin, brought the gavel down hard on the circle of rosewood beside him and said, “Pursuant to the Congressional Calendar and concurrent notice, the Conference Committee hearing is now to commence in room D-538 of the Dirksen Senate Building.”

Cobbings leaned across the table and whispered to Bennett, “This is never gonna happen. Do you know what you’re up against? Funding is flowing in for our own attack ads.”

Bennett shrugged. “Whatever.”

Carl spoke loud enough to interrupt the threats being traded between the two warring factions at the end of the table.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to have your undivided attention. Beside you on the table you will find a summary of the SB 1190. The House and Senate versions of the bill are there for you to review. The House passed the bill as written, but the Senate modified it as specified in bold type.”

Cobbings stood and said, “I rise in opposition to the SB 1190.”

“You may proceed,” Senator Nevin ordered.

“Mr. Chairman, I move that lines 22 through 44 of clause six are stricken from the bill.”

“You wish to eliminate the transaction fee completely?” Nevin asked puzzled.

“Yes, and further I move to strike lines 139 through 217.”

“You wish to eliminate the base reduction entirely?” Senator Nevin asked, inwardly realizing he was seeing the opening salvos of a battle the likes of which a Conference Committee had never seen before. He leaned back from the table and motioned to one of the congressional pages that hovered nearby to approach. The young man took three paces closer and bent at the waist so he could hear the Senator.

“Could you please inform the Sergeant-at-Arms his presence will be needed shortly?”

“Yes sir. Right away sir,” the page replied and hurried away.

Representative Bruce Bennett and Senator Carimendi stood at the same instant and spoke as one voice. “Mr. Chairman, I rise in a Point of Order against the striking of these lines!”

Nevin looked over at the two men and shook his head, ‘This is going to be a very long day,’ he thought.

“Only one of you may speak.”

“I yield my time to my esteemed colleague from California, Mr. Carimendi,” Bruce said.

“Thank you, Representative Bennett. Mr. Chairman, pursuant to Rule XXVIII the striking of the entire subtext which Representative Cobbings has delineated is outside the ‘Scope of Differences’. As we all know, implicit in the rules of both chambers is the requirement that conferees resolve differences by reaching agreements within the scope of the original bills sent to them. The House agreed to the original graduated flat fee arrangement while the Senate rewrote it with an across the board ten cent flat fee. Any proposed amendment must be within those extremes; therefore a complete elimination of the transaction fee is outside the scope. I might add the same statement applies to the base closures. The House accepted 400 and the Senate reduced the number to eighty. The Conference Committee must stay within those parameters.”

The Sergeant-at -Arms quietly entered the room and stood by the door observing the proceedings.

Representative Bainer stood.

Carl recognized him.

“I request a voice vote of the yeas and nays on the Point of Order.”

Bainer knew if the Point of Order could be overruled the amendments in question could be modified in almost any fashion they liked.

The vote was immediately initiated and Senator Nevin declared, “The yeas have it. The Point of Order is sustained.”

Senator Graham stood and said, “Mr. Chairman, I rise in opposition to the previous question.”

“Proceed,” Senator Nevin said.

“I move that lines 22 thru 26 be modified. They currently read as follows, “The transaction fee shall apply to all specified transactions. The term specified transaction shall not include any transfer between accounts of a taxpayer and any deposit into a personal account of an individual.

“I move to insert the following wording; ‘The transaction fee shall apply to all specified transactions. The term specified transaction shall include any transfer between accounts of a taxpayer and any deposit into a personal account of an individual.’”

Bennett’s head shot up. Bishop glanced at Kathryn Morris and then his gaze settled on Bennett. The young representative’s face was an ashen color.

‘So this was it,’ Bennett thought. ‘They intended to rip out the heart of the bill. It was supposed to be a fee on the huge financial firms, the ones gambling with trillions of dollars every day. Now they wanted to impose the fee on every transaction the average American made including a simple transfer between accounts.’

Bennett could not control his rage. He abruptly stood up staring directly at Graham and then gazed at those others beside him, “You sirs, are the most despicable of human beings!”

With that he strode swiftly from the room.

To Graham the affront was more than worth it. Let Bennett think what he may. With a rapacious grin Graham stood to be recognized.

Nevin nodded.

“I move that we notify the respective chambers that we cannot agree and file the conference report in disagreement,” Graham announced in a stern voice.

Cobbings instantly stood and seconded the motion. They knew that the chances of the entire bill dying when it was submitted unchanged back to the floors of the respective chambers was quite good.

Senator Nevin sighed. His ire was rising by the minute. “Gentlemen, we have been here for less than fifteen minutes. There are those in both houses of Congress, and I might add the American people, who believe some provisions in this bill have merit. I think they would like to see some minor effort at a reconciliation of the different versions. But considering the contentious nature of how this meeting has begun, I am going to move that we recess until a time agreed as ten a.m. on February third. That is two days hence and should give all of you time to reconsider your positions and make headway with your differences. I hope everyone returns with a more cooperative attitude. Meeting adjourned.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Richard Soro slowly came around to find himself staring into a bright circular disk of light. His arms and legs were securely duct taped to a chair in the center of a shabby motel room. A heavy smell of gasoline permeated the air and his underwear seemed uncomfortably soggy.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, struggling to make his jaw work after the torment his muscles had endured during the electric shock.

“Stay away from the light. Stay away from the light,” intoned Gordon in a hollow inhuman voice.

“Huh?” Richard murmured.

“Just kidding, I couldn’t help myself. I always wanted to say that,” Gordon confessed.

Jim Buckner stepped up to a point just behind the light and said, “We have a couple of friends who were hospitalized by you and your boys. We’re willing to overlook that if you can answer a couple of questions.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Soro responded.

Jim took a step closer and flicked the silver top off of his lighter and thumbed the flame to life. The flame wavered slow and lazy in the stillness of the room.

“Don’t even go there. We have the entire attack on film. That gasoline you smell is your undies, you’re soaking in it. If I drop this lighter you’ll go up in flames, and I’ll do it if you don’t answer the questions to our satisfaction.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I don’t think you want to test me. We have gloves on, so there will be no finger prints and we registered the room under false names. They’ll never know who checked in and I don’t think too many people are going to be saddened by your checking out. Now tell me, do you know a man called Doc Hastings?”

“Never heard of him.”

Gordon stepped past the light and poured more fuel on Soro’s crotch.

“Jesus Christ,” Soro cried as he teetered back in the chair and almost tipped over.

“Okay, okay. I know Doc Hastings.”

“That’s better. You might just make it out of here alive. Do you know about his dealings with John Bainer or Nick Cobbings?”

“Who?”

The lighter flicked on again. The flame, like a viper’s tongue drifted closer to Soro.

“God damn, don’t drop that thing,” Soro cried inching away.

“Talk!” Jim snarled.

“Alright. I never met either of them, but I’ve heard Doc say a few things. He doesn’t think much of either one of them. I wanna say Cobbings has some sweet deal with his wife’s Political Action Committee and a lease or something. Bainer I don’t know nothing about, but I heard Hastings complaining about Bainer demanding some boxes of real fine scotch from him. That’s all I got.”

“Nothing else?”

“Naw, that’s all I can remember.”

“Have you ever heard the name Sam Whitback?”

“Nope, and I think I’d remember a name like that.”

“Nothing more on Bainer or Cobbings?”

“Look, I’m sitting here with my nuts soaking in gas. Don’t you think I’d talk if I knew anything more?”

“Fair enough, now talk to us about Doc Hastings.”

Soro shifted uncomfortably and said, “I don’t know much about him.”

“You’re really standing on the razor’s edge pal. We know Hastings put you on our guys. Talk.”

“Okay, I said I know Hastings, but all I do is run errands for him from time to time. It ain’t like we hang out together.”

“Give us some dirt on him and we’re through here.”

“I don’t know nothin’ about his personal life,” Soro replied shifting uneasily again.

“C’mon, you’ve carried money for him. Who supplied it? Who’d you take it to?”

“Listen dude, do you think I deal with the higher ups? I meet a faceless nothing, drop some cash or pick some up and that’s it. And them guys see the same thing; an empty nothing shuffling between orders. I’m telling it like it is and there just ain’t no more.”

For a moment Gordon was concerned the thug might start sobbing.

Jim stepped swiftly around the light, drove a sharp left jab into Soro’s face and felt his nose snap. He then followed with a hard right upper cut that drove Soro’s head back and the chair toppling backwards onto the floor.

“Leave him here?” Gordon asked.

“Yeah, the cleaning people will find him.”

As the two men stepped from the seedy motel room and into the night, Gordon said, “Not much info.”

“No, but I think a visit to Hastings’ office might be in order.”

“It’s two a.m. You’re not thinking right now are you?”

“Yep, no better time, and a stop by Cobbings’ district office might be in order too.”

With a sigh Gordon said, “Lead on.”