Robert Randisi - Bullets & Lies

“Can’t get good help these days,” Sally Bando said.

“Tell me about it,” Roper said and went inside.

In the living room Victoria was still sitting on the floor next to her husband’s body. The lawyer, Harwick, was standing off to the side with a large glass of brandy.

“It’s over,” Roper said. “Your killer gave up.”

She turned her tear-streaked face up to him.

“If you think it’s over, you’re a fool.”

“I am a fool,” Roper said. “I was a fool to ever take this on, considering how many lies I was told. And I don’t appreciate being set up to take the rap for what was supposed to be five murders.”

Victoria looked at him and said, “I’ll die before I tell you anything.”

“Harwick,” Roper said. “You want to talk? Fill in the gaps for me?”

“Believe me, Mr. Roper,” Harwick said, “there are just as many gaps for me as well. I was just doing what I was told.”

The man was leaving out the fact that he was in love with his client’s wife. He’d no doubt been hoping the husband would finally die, perhaps unaware that the man hadn’t been quite as close to death’s door as his wife had been letting everyone believe. However, it seemed as if the final effort it took him to get out of bed and come downstairs had done him in.

A goddamned mess that couldn’t get any worse, Roper thought, only to be surprised again in the next few minutes.

65

Roper heard some activity behind him, turned to see Bando and Dexter walking into the room. They had no guns, and their hands were up.

“What the—” he said.

“Sorry, boss,” Bando said. “They got the drop on us.”

“Who?” Roper asked.

Entering the room behind them were Wilkins, Hampstead, and Templeton, who didn’t seem much bothered by that nick in his left arm. All three of them were pointing their guns at Bando and Dexter.

“Now what the hell is going on?” Roper demanded. “Where’s Prince?”

“Unconscious on the porch,” Bando said.

“Sorry about this, Roper,” Wilkins said. “You saved my life, but there’s too much history here.”

“What history?” Roper asked. “Do I get to hear what you all did at the end of the war that led to this?”

“Afraid not,” Templeton said. He looked at Victoria. “Mrs. Westover, you know what we want. You know what your husband owed us.”

“He didn’t owe you anything!” she spat back. “If it wasn’t for him, none of you would have had a thing. How did you repay him? You tried to kill him. I’ll tell you nothing.”

“And we did kill him,” Hampstead pointed out, “if he finally died from that wound Quinn gave him.”

“Okay, I think I’m getting it,” Roper said. “You guys pulled a job at the end of the war, didn’t you? Stole…what? Silver? Gold? Union or Confederate? Not that it matters.”

“It’s time for you to shut up, Roper,” Dave Hampstead said.

“Bold talk for a businessman,” Roper said. “And you handled your rifle pretty well out there, Hampstead. Guess you’re not the tenderfoot you want people to believe you turned into.”

“Time to get rid of your gun, Roper,” Templeton said.

“You three are worried about one man with a gun?”

“Don’t make me kill you,” Templeton said.

“Why not? You’re going to kill us anyway, aren’t you?” Roper asked. “And then search the house for what you want?”

“They c-can’t do that!” Harwick blubbered.

“Shut up!” Hampstead snapped. “Drop your gun.”

Roper noticed some movement behind them, so he said, “No.”

“Damn it!” Hampstead said, raising his rifle.

“Wait—” Wilkins said. He’d come to know Roper better than the other two, and perhaps had some qualms about killing him, but Roper would never know. Prince had crept into the house behind them, bleeding from the shoulder, but holding his pistol in his hand.

“Drop ’em!” he shouted.

Surprised by the voice behind them, all three men started to turn. Roper went for his gun. Bando and Dexter hit the floor to get out of the way. Too late the men realized their mistake. Two of them started to turn back, but Roper fired twice, Prince fired once. Of the three men, only Templeton pulled his trigger, but he fired into the floor. The three of them went down, and Bando and Dexter were on them quickly, kicking their guns away just in case.

Roper’s two men checked the bodies. Roper looked past them at Prince, who was on the floor now, but conscious. He waved a hand at Roper to let him know he was all right.

“They’re dead, boss,” Bando said.

Roper looked around. Harwick was slumped against the wall, his hand on his bloody shoulder. He was alive, but he wasn’t any good to anyone.

Victoria Westover was draped over her husband’s body. He went to her, turned her over just enough to see that she had taken a bullet in the chest. She was as dead as her husband.

“Well, damn it!” Roper said, standing. “Now who do I get my answers from?”

66

Roper walked into Donald White’s office and looked around at the furnishings. Quite different from the empty room he’d been in during his prior trip to Washington. This one had walls lined with bookshelves and cabinets and hung with photos of White and certain Washington dignitaries. His desk was large and utilitarian, the chairs plain and functional. Everything fit Donny White’s personality perfectly. There was one window behind him, which looked out onto the White House in the distance.

“So this is your real office?” he asked. “This time I rate?”

“Sit down, Roper,” White said. “You’ve got a right to be upset. By the way, thanks for bringing young Prince back. He’s doing fine.”

“He was helpful,” Roper admitted, taking a seat, “so I thought I’d bring him back to you slightly battered, but in one piece.”

“I appreciate it. Would you like a drink?”

“No, I don’t want a drink, Donny,” Roper said. “I want answers. What did Howard Westover and his friends do at the end of the war that led to all this death twenty years later? Why did you lie to me about the records being lost?”

“Roper,” White said, “you know I can’t tell you everything. Unless, of course, you want to come to work for me. Once you have the right clearance—”

“Oh, no,” Roper said, “you’re not going to blackmail me into joining the Secret Service. I did my time with Allan, I’m not going to serve under you.”

“Well, then,” White said, spreading his hands, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to live with having a few gaps in the story.”

“A few gaps?” Roper repeated. “That’s what you call it?”

“You know,” Donald White said, “you could have tried to get a few more answers from your client before you took the job.”

Roper made a face and said, “Don’t remind me. I know I got myself in a mess in the first place.”

“Yes, you did.”

Roper sat forward in his chair.

“That doesn’t mean I have to stay in the dark.”

“Settle back,” White said. “Suppose you tell me what you think was going on.”

“We making a game of it?”

“It was no game, was it, Tal?”

“I think Westover and his men pulled some kind of a job, then fell out. Gerald Quinn put a bullet into Westover, but they all ended up going their way with their share of the proceeds.”

“And?”

“And for some reason, Westover got a Medal of Honor out of it.”

“Seems to me that would make the others pretty dissatisfied.”

“Yeah, but they couldn’t say anything without incriminating themselves,” Roper went on. “Now, years later, the government decides they want to recall some medals. Westover’s is one of them. I’m thinking you suspected him of something at the end of the war, but couldn’t prove it. What I can’t figure is, why try to take his medal away after all this time, and him being sick.”