Phillip Margolin - Fugitive

“Yeah, yeah, just leave it,” Charlie said. Mickey Keys was out in the sitting room. “Have my agent sign for this.”

“Thank you, sir,” the waiter said as he backed out of the bedroom.

“Have I made my point?” Moonbeam asked. “If he talks to your parole officer, you’ll be putting on your seminars for the prisoners at the state pen. And there’s something else. You have to stop sleeping with that woman.”

“Whoa, who I fuck is none of your business. I warned you I wasn’t a one-woman man when you insisted on following me out here.”

“I know, Charlie, but it doesn’t look good. She’s married and she has a kid, not to mention that her husband is a powerful politician who can seriously mess you up.”

“How do you think we got this gig at the Westmont? I’m just using her for her connections, baby. If you’re too jealous to see that, maybe you should just go back to your rich friends.”

Moonbeam looked frightened. “Don’t send me away, Charlie. I only want to help.”

“Well you’re not helping by nagging my ass every five minutes.”

Moonbeam moved close to Charlie. “I’m sorry. You know I’m just worried about you.”

Charlie felt the heat and remembered what the girl looked like naked, hair or no hair. He glanced at the clock and saw that there was still time before they had to leave for the country club. He put his arms around Moonbeam.

“I know you care about me, baby,” Charlie said in a voice that oozed concern. “Just don’t worry so much.”

Moonbeam looked down and Charlie lifted up her chin until he could see her eyes.

“You don’t have anything to worry about. Sally can’t touch you in bed, and that’s what counts between a man and a woman.”

Charlie released the girl’s chin. “Why don’t you take five, Delmar?” he said as he fondled her small, firm breasts.

The bodyguard looked at his watch. “We’re heading out in three quarters of an hour.”

“That’s cool. See you then.”

Delmar left. Charlie scooped up Moonbeam in his arms and carried her to the bed. His timing was perfect. When his bodyguard rapped on his door three quarters of an hour later, Charlie was refreshed, fed, and ready to bilk the members of the Westmont Country Club.

Shortly after sunset, on the evening Congressman Arnold Pope Jr. was murdered, Sally Pope stood next to John Walsdorf, the manager of the Westmont Country Club, and watched a line of expensive cars drive toward the entrance to the Westmont’s sprawling fieldstone clubhouse. The caravan snaked along a wide, tree-lined lane that ran by a few of the golf holes. There was no moon, so the lush emerald green of the fairways was left to the imagination.

Some of the cars turned left at the end of the lane and drove past the pro shop into the outdoor parking lot that bordered the driving range. The rest went right and discharged their passengers at the club entrance after circling a large grass turnaround decorated with flower beds. Illumination from the clubhouse spilled onto the turnaround, fading as it crossed to the far side.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Tony Rose asked Sally Pope just as the limousine carrying Charlie Marsh, Delmar Epps, Moonbeam, and Mickey Keys drove into view.

“Not now, Tony. I’m busy,” Sally said, annoyed that Rose would pick the moment when the guest of honor arrived to speak to her.

“When, then? We have to talk.”

“We don’t have anything to talk about,” Sally whispered angrily. “And I don’t think hashing out any problem you might have in front of John would be a good idea, do you?”

Rose suddenly noticed Walsdorf, who had the power to fire him. Frustration and anger made his face flush. He started to speak, then thought better of it. The tennis pro shot Sally an angry look and walked toward the parking lot just as Charlie’s limousine stopped at the clubhouse entrance. The chauffeur ran to Charlie’s door. Before he could grip the handle, Werner Rollins stepped in front of him. The driver took one look at the Visigoth and skidded to a stop. This gave Gary Hass the opportunity to open the door to the limo.

“Hey, Charlie,” Gary said, flashing a wide smile.

Delmar Epps got out of the limo and put a hand on Gary’s chest.

“Step back, sir,” Charlie’s bodyguard commanded in his most intimidating tone. Werner started toward Delmar but Gary waved him off.

“I’m an old pal, right, Charlie?”

“It’s okay, Delmar,” Charlie answered nervously as he emerged from the car.

John Walsdorf was uncomfortable with activity that was far better suited to a lower-class tavern than a country club that catered to his refined clientele, but Sally Pope was unfazed. She walked over to the limousine, distracting the testosterone-charged men just as Mickey Keys emerged from the car. Keys took one look at Werner Rollins and edged away from him.

“This is John Walsdorf, Charlie,” Sally said. “He manages the club.”

Behind the club manager were two hefty security guards dressed in blue blazers, black turtlenecks, and gray slacks. They fixed on Delmar and Werner, who paid no attention to them.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sun,” said Walsdorf, a short, balding man with a narrow mustache, whose paunch was hidden under a buttoned suit jacket. He eyed Charlie’s bodyguard and Gary’s scary companion nervously.

“It’s a privilege to be invited to speak at this august institution,” Charlie brown-nosed.

“We’ve already got a good crowd,” Walsdorf told him.

“Great,” Mickey Keys chimed in.

“Why don’t I show you where you’re going to speak?” Sally offered.

She started toward the front door of the clubhouse, then froze. Walsdorf followed her gaze and saw a tall, broad-shouldered man bearing down on them from the direction of the parking lot. He recognized him immediately.

United States Congressman Arnold Pope Jr. was an ex-Marine and he looked like he was still in training. His stride was purposeful and his brown eyes were fixed on his wife. The open top button of his dress shirt, the tie that hung at half-mast, and the congressman’s flushed face were hints that Pope was not in full control of his emotions.

“Is this the latest boyfriend?” Pope barked angrily.

Sally stared at him with disdain. “I didn’t know you planned to join us, Arnie.”

“Caught off guard?” Pope said.

“Not in the least, dear. You know you’re always welcome to join me. The only surprise is that you’ve shown up at something I’m hosting. I see so little of you.”

Pope shifted his attention to Charlie. “You’re the guru, right?”

Charlie laughed nervously. “That’s what the newspapers are calling me.”

“What does your religion say about adultery?”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, you little prick.”

“Do we have to do this here?” Sally asked.

“Where do you want to do it, in our bedroom or this punk’s hotel room?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sally answered coldly.

Pope pulled an envelope from his suit jacket’s inside pocket and took a stack of photographs out of it. Pope held up a snapshot that showed Charlie and Sally groping each other in the foyer of the Popes’ home. Seconds after Sally realized that the shot had been taken through one of her front windows, Pope threw the photographs at her. Then he punched Charlie in the face.

The limo driver rushed out of the way. Charlie staggered into Delmar. Delmar pulled Charlie behind him and hit the congressman in the solar plexus. Pope dropped to one knee seconds before one of the security guards slammed into Delmar, who brought his knee up between the guard’s legs. The guard turned pale and Delmar swung him into his partner, who crashed into Werner Rollins.