David Ellis - The Wrong Man

The Starboard Room in the city’s Maritime Club was at full capacity over lunch, thirty tables with eight guests at each, as the U.S. Secretary of Labor droned on about reform of collective-bargaining laws and diverse workplaces in the “New America.”

New America is right, thought Randall Manning, president, CEO, and sole shareholder of Global Harvest International, a privately held company located eighty miles south of the city. Normally he wouldn’t give the time of day to a speech on the topic of diversity, of all things, but he needed to be in town on other business and welcomed the excuse. And he couldn’t deny enjoying the prestige of the invitation, a seat among the elite. He could allow himself that much; he hadn’t experienced a great deal of enjoyment in his life of late.

As the labor secretary continued through his speech, Manning leaned over to the man sitting next to him, his lawyer, Bruce McCabe. “Where,” he said in a controlled whisper, “is Stanley?”

Stanley Keane, he meant, the owner of SK Tool and Supply, located in the small downstate town of Weston.

“Don’t see him,” said McCabe. McCabe, a principal at the law firm of Dembrow, Lane, and McCabe, was outside counsel to Global Harvest.

Manning put his hand on the back of McCabe’s chair and spoke into his ear. “Stanley needs to be here,” he said. “He needs to be seen here.”

“He understands that.”

“Does he, Bruce? It was your job to make sure he understood.”

“He’ll show up,” McCabe insisted.

He never did. When the speech and luncheon ended, Randall Manning mingled with other business executives. He shook their hands and listened to their stories and told some of his own. He laughed at their jokes and told some of his own. He waited in line for a photograph with the labor secretary and swallowed his loathing and forced a smile on his face for the photographer.

When it was over, Manning had his driver take him to the Gold Coast Athletic Club, where he met the president of a pharmaceutical company-one of Global Harvest’s biggest clients-for a game of squash. At five o’clock, he met a local alderman and a state senator for drinks to discuss a tax-incentive proposal for a freight yard that Global Harvest was considering building inside the city limits. At seven o’clock, he had a steak at one of the city’s best joints, enjoying a view of the river in the process.

At nine o’clock, he returned to his hotel. He took the elevator up to his room, changed his overcoat from a charcoal one to a beige one, donned a fedora hat, and took the elevator back down to the fourth floor, a transitional floor that allowed him to access a different bank of elevators that, in turn, allowed him to exit the hotel onto a cross street, different from the one he’d taken to enter the hotel. He never broke stride into a waiting town car and settled in for the drive.

They drove to a town called Overton Ridge, several miles outside the city limits to the south and west. The car passed the Good Shepherd Methodist Church on the corner of Wadsworth and Pickens, bearing a small magnetic sign that

read: WHOSOEVER SHALL CALL UPON THE NAME OF THE LORD SHALL BE SAVED.

The car stopped in an alley behind the church, where two large, armed men stood by the back door. They showed Randall Manning down a set of stairs to the basement, then to a back room.

When that door opened, six men stood at once. They included Manning’s lawyer, Bruce McCabe. They included Stanley Keane of SK Tool and Supply, who hadn’t made it to the luncheon today.

On Manning’s motion, the six men took their seats at a long rectangular table. At one end, where a seat remained vacant for Manning, was a. 38 revolver. Manning picked it up and pointed it at the man sitting immediately to his right.

“Are you prepared to give your life for the cause?” he asked.

“I am,” said the man, young and powerful like a football player in his prime, with a severe haircut and militant eyes. “I understand that the cause is greater than the individual. I understand that sacrificing this life for the cause will open up a new and richer life in the hereafter. I understand that-”

“Good.” Manning lowered the weapon to his side and walked around the table to Stanley Keane’s spot. “And you, Stanley?”

Stanley shrunk amid the scrutiny. “I am,” he said. “I understand that the cause is-”

“Enough,” said Manning. He positioned the revolver against Stanley’s left ear. “Did we not agree that it was necessary for you to attend the luncheon today?”

“We did, sir.”

“But you did not.”

“It was a scheduling issue, sir-”

“A scheduling issue? We have to cover our tracks, Brother Stanley, if you hadn’t noticed. If anyone is wondering why I’m here in the city today, I can point to the lunch with the labor secretary, I can point to a meeting I had with elected officials, I can point to a game of squash with a pharmaceutical company president who is a valued client. You, Stanley? What can you show?”

Manning cocked the weapon, and Stanley broke into a series of apologies. “I got a late start and I wouldn’t have made more than the last few minutes, sir, and by then-”

“Stanley,” Manning said with an icy calm. “We have a unique opportunity here, do we not?”

“We do, sir. We have an opportunity to return this-”

“And this opportunity is made particularly unique by the standing of the members of our Circle, true?”

“Yes, sir.” Sweat trickled down Stanley’s cheek.

“And keeping up appearances is paramount, yes?”

“Paramount, sir.”

“If we travel to a meeting of the Circle, we do so at the risk of calling attention to ourselves, do we not?”

“Yes-”

“And as I’m standing here at this moment, Brother Stanley, I am aware of no particular cover story for why you are here. If anyone were to inquire. Because you missed the luncheon. ”

“I apologize, sir. I have no excuse.”

Manning braced himself, and thus Stanley did as well. The entire room did.

Then Manning uncocked his weapon and held it at his side. “We are close, brothers. The closer we get to our goal, the higher the risks, the graver the danger.” He moved around the table to his rightful place at the head. “We have survived many challenges. We are so close now. Now is not the time to let down. Now is the time to recommit.

“Brothers, have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

“Very good.” Manning took a seat and bowed his head. “Now, we pray.”

“So he shoots Kathy Rubinkowski, he walks over to her dead body and he steals her purse, cell phone, and necklace.” Shauna tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “How is that consistent with PTSD? He’s reliving a moment in Iraq, he shoots her, and then he robs her?”

Lying flat on the couch in the corner of my office, I threw my football up in the air and caught it coming back at my face. “I saw a movie once where a soldier stole a cigar out of the pocket of the dead enemy soldier. The spoils of war, I guess.”

“I guess. It takes a little sympathy out of your sympathy argument, though.”

“Don’t forget, Tom apologized to her.”

“Yeah, that’s great. ‘Sorry I shot you, really I am, but as long as I’m here, no sense in letting all that money in your purse go to waste.’ That’s a real crowd-pleaser, kid.”

She winked at me. Shauna was my best friend. She was my lifeline. It wasn’t so long ago that she pulled my head out of my ass and forced me to share office space with her. I was on track to throw my legal career into the dumpster after I lost my wife and daughter. I’ll always wonder what I would have done for a living. Maybe an astronaut. The rodeo circuit would have been cool. Though I’ve never ridden a horse, much less a bronco.