Abel saves Alice from US Congressman

07 Nov Abel saves Alice from US Congressman

Abel spent most of the next few hours walking the streets, wracking his brain for a new strategy. Alice’s mind had become fogged by drugs, no question, but she was controlled by fear. Her handlers had done an expert job on their charge, rendering her helpless. This made Abel’s mission much more complicated. Saving Alice from this evil group was hard enough. Now he had to save the girl from herself. A nearly impossible task and one over which he had only marginal control.

The hours refused to pass. Every time Abel checked his watch, the time seemed not to have changed. The syndicate was on his tail, likely more determined now that he had overwhelmed one of its thugs and made off with an expensive car and a prize commodity – Alice.

At first, Abel had sought refuge in a 24-hour diner, but sitting in the booth made him feel conspicuous. Abel was convinced the few people who were in the place were looking directly at him. He could understand why they might take a second look. His tattered jacket and swollen lip were bound to encourage curiosity and suspicion.

His heart nearly stopped when two uniformed policemen came through the front door. The cops hung around waiting for their coffee and sandwiches, chatting casually with the manager about the recent Redskins’ loss.

The ice-cold fear of discovery did not prevent Abel from smiling when he heard them jabbering about quarterback sacks and first downs. He had seen a little American football on television when he travelled the world, but it was still a game he didn’t fully comprehend. It wasn’t anything like World Cup football. In fact, players didn’t even move the ball with their feet. It was more like rugby — with crash helmets. To most of the world, it was a very strange ritual, but for Americans, it was a passion.

For a moment, Abel put his prejudices aside and wished he were part of whatever normal world the cops and the manager inhabited. All they had to worry about was the point spread and some field goal kicker who couldn’t hit the side of a barn from the inside. He felt as if he were on another planet. In this case a planet inhabited by ghouls and monsters, and one where death was imminent.

Finally the cops left, juggling their paper coffee cups and bag of sandwiches. Abel felt himself exhale as if he hadn’t been breathing the whole time. He got up and left soon after, having had enough of American society for the time being. He needed to be alone.

Once outside in the cold night air, he wrapped his torn jacket tightly around his body. He had a hundred questions and no answers. Where did Alice run? Would she go back to the syndicate or would she go into hiding on her own? She was clearly an addict, and she would have to feed her habit. She wasn’t experienced enough in the real world to score on her own, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try, putting herself in serious danger in the process. She certainly had no money of her own, and that meant she would have to sell her body to a john or directly to the dealer to score.

Alice could exercise her second option and return to the syndicate, where drugs would be readily plentiful with much less exposure to danger. No, that wasn’t right. Going back to the syndicate carried very severe risks of a different kind. They might simply murder her to get rid of a potential problem. They had no qualms about killing Marcy to frame Abel; they would be no less reticent to kill Alice to get Abel off their backs.

Even if Alice recognised this risk, she might be desperate enough to take it. Or maybe at this point she didn’t care if she died. It wasn’t much of a life she was leading. Even as drugged out as she was, Abel thought Alice realised that much.

Abel was wearing down. He badly needed a place to crash even for a few minutes. He considered finding a nightclub, a place where there would be a crowd of people, many of them intoxicated or high, and the lights would be dim enough to shroud him. Such a place likely would be blasting music, but given his circumstances, he would have to take any safe port he could find.

As he struggled to decide which direction to go, Abel was startled by the piercing ring of his cell phone in his jacket pocket. His cold fingers fumbled it as he tried to get control of the device and open it. It continued ringing even after it hit the concrete. Abel quickly knelt down and flipped it open.

“Hello?”

“You’ve had an exciting night, haven’t you?”

Abel rubbed his eyes and let out a tired laugh. Maxwell Elliot’s voice had never sounded so good.

“Either you’re psychic, or you have an amazing pipeline of information”, Abel remarked.

Elliot laughed. “Nah, I just connected the dots. My contact said Schroeder left the hotel very upset right after the banquet. That could only mean one thing. He didn’t get laid. Dennis would never have let one of his girls stand an important client up, so I knew you must have trashed his evening’s fun.”

“Yeah, guilty as charged. Listen, have you heard anything else?” Abel said.

“You don’t sound happy, so I guess Alice isn’t with you”, Elliot said.

“You’re very insightful”, Abel said. He then gave Elliot a quick run-through of the evening’s frantic events.

Elliot snickered on his end of the line. “You know, Peter, you have a habit of rubbing people the wrong way. Then again, that’s what makes for a good journalist. If you’re not pissing someone off, you’re just not doing your job. Where are you?”

Abel looked around. “Ah … I’m not really sure.”

“Give me some landmarks.”

“Well, there’s a Seven-eleven on the corner.”

“C’mon, man, there’s Seven-eleven’s on every corner”, Elliot said. “You can do better than that.”

Abel spun around, searching for a more distinctive sign. “There’s D.C. Auto Repair and…what’s that say? … Phil’s Bar and Grill.”

“Go to Phil’s”, Elliot ordered.

“It’s closed, Maxwell”, Abel reminded him. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“Go stand in the parking lot”, Elliot insisted. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Abel’s phone went dead.

When Elliot picked him up, he made Abel hunker down on the floor in the back.

“I’d rather not chance us being seen together tonight”, he said. “I’ve got enough enemies in this town. I don’t need to take on your enemies too.”

After a few minutes, they pulled up in front of an old apartment building. Elliot went in first and Abel slipped in a few minutes later.

Abel followed Elliot into one unit and looked around. “Nice”, he said in his best tone of sarcasm.

The place was very small and only had the most essential furniture — a desk, a chair, and a mattress on the floor.

“It’s a pit. You don’t have to be polite”, Elliot said.

“It’s not the street which makes it a palace as far as I’m concerned.”

Elliot laughed and pulled a laptop out of his backpack, set in on the desk, and booted it up. He gave Abel a soft shove and pointed him toward the mattress.

“Sleep”, he ordered. “You look awful.”

Abel didn’t argue. He was dead to the world in seconds.

“Have a nice nap?”

Elliot’s voice roused Abel from a fitful sleep.

“What time is it?” Abel wondered.

“Seven in the a.m.”, Elliot replied. “Come here and look at this.”

Abel rubbed his eyes and walked over to the desk to get a look at Elliot’s computer screen.

“I got some info from my insider”, Elliot said. “Schroeder’s scheduled to take a boat ride on the Potomac this afternoon.”

Abel scratched his head. “Isn’t it a little cold for sailing?”

Elliot laughed. “Nobody sails, Peter. This is probably a sixty-foot yacht with a games room below decks.”

“So, what’s he doing there?”

“Well, he doesn’t have any official business, so my guess is he’s going to make it a pleasure cruise. And since you messed up his fun last night, maybe he’ll try to make up for it today or tomorrow. He has to make the best out of his wife’s absence. She returns in three days.”

“Do you think Alice will be there?” Abel asked.

Elliot shrugged. “I got sources, not psychics.”

Abel grabbed his coat and started out.

“Relax. They don’t leave till tomorrow afternoon. You have time to sleep and to eat one of my famous egg sandwiches.”

Abel made a face involuntarily.

“Hey, most people don’t make that face till after they’ve tasted it.”

With that, Elliot headed for the fridge and Abel took a seat.

*******************

Even at one o’clock that afternoon, the breeze off the Potomac cut through the old windbreaker Abel had borrowed from Maxwell Elliot. He’d finished breakfast – not half bad he had to admit – then left Elliot behind. Again, he didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else.

Abel huddled behind a shed on the pier and waited. Elliot had given him the name of the boat and the slip number where it was moored. It was an impressive ship, the kind of vessel only the super-rich owned. It wasn’t any good for commerce. Its only purpose was play. Abel considered the self-indulgence behind such a pointless expenditure.

He called Elliot to report that he had found the yacht and nodded when Elliot admonished him to be careful. Good advice and probably impossible to follow.

He watched as crewmembers and service people scrambled about the gigantic yacht, clearly preparing it for important passengers. Abel had been stationed at his post about half an hour when a stretch limousine rolled up to the dock. The chauffer stepped out, walked to the back of the vehicle, and opened the door. Out stepped Congressman Jason Schroeder, dressed in what Abel thought to be nautical wear for people who weren’t particularly nautical: a blue windbreaker over a red cable-knit sweater with white trousers and deck shoes. The only accoutrement missing was the fake Captain’s hat, although Schroeder managed to remember the mirrored sunglasses.

A well-dressed man came down the gangway to greet the congressman and escort him onto the vessel. During the next few minutes, Abel watched several other expensive cars pull up and expel equally expensive men and women, who also boarded the yacht.

Finally, Abel got what he wanted. A Lincoln, very much like the one he had commandeered the night before. He watched, transfixed, as two men climbed out of the front. Abel recognized one as the thug he’d fought with the night before. He didn’t recognize his face, but he noted tell-tale bandages around his left hand and a white gauze wrap around his head. Abel took some satisfaction in the damage he’d inflicted. On the other hand, he wished he’d done more so this guy wouldn’t be on the scene. He didn’t need a thug out for revenge. And this guy would want Abel’s blood.

Abel heard the other man call his thug, “Rudy”, so Abel now had a name to go with the unpleasant face.

As Rudy opened the rear car door, out stepped two elegantly dressed women, or more precisely, young girls.

The second one out was Alice. They wore expensive outfits that were designed to be flattering on women twice their age. To Abel, the young girls looked tawdry, inappropriate and exploited.  Alice didn’t seem to know it the night before, though. She was too scared to fight for her freedom. Or too stoned. Or both. Abel noted that she didn’t look any the worse for wear. Hell, he was relieved she was alive at all.

After everyone had boarded the vessel, Abel inched his way closer to the gangway. Taking advantage of a short interval when it was unguarded, Abel quietly scurried onto the yacht.

Once on deck, he slipped to the lower level where the serving crew was bustling around the kitchen. Abel knew he’d have to stay hidden. This wasn’t some huge hotel with a staff of hundreds. This was an intimate group and any stranger would stand out immediately.

Abel felt the vibration of the giant diesel engines when they started up and swayed as the yacht moved away from the dock and made its way out into the Potomac. The water was choppy, and Abel worried about getting seasick. He wasn’t much of a sailor.

As the guests socialised in the main cabin upstairs, the crew continued running up and down from the kitchen. Abel sneaked around and inspected the yacht. There were two smaller rooms at the back of the lower deck, and a bathroom on each floor. Abel slipped into one of the small rooms because the windows allowed him to see who was moving about. He noticed Rudy and the other thug walk by every few minutes as if patrolling the area.

After a few minutes, Abel heard voices from the adjoining room. When he put his ear to the wall, he heard a female giggle followed by an older man’s voice. Abel guessed Schroeder was ready to have his way with at least one of the young ladies.

Abel dreaded what he had to do next.  Despite his bold act of sneaking on board, the next move was just plain crazy. Abel was counting on surprise and the Congressman’s basic unwillingness to become involved in anything that required murder. Abel figured if he made it clear he only wanted the girl, then maybe they’d let him off the yacht alive. It wasn’t much of a plan, he had to admit, but he couldn’t think of a better one. And besides he was eager to get back on dry land. He was feeling queasy already.

After glancing out the window to make sure nobody was in sight, he slipped out of his door into the adjacent one.

What he walked in on might have been comical had it not been so pathetic. Sitting on the futon was Schroeder, shirtless, while Alice and the other young girl, both naked, rubbed his shoulders. The corpulent bare-chested Schroeder was hardly a pretty sight.

“Excuse me, Congressman”, Abel said quietly, “but I believe these girls are underage.”

Schroeder jumped up startled and grabbed his shirt. “Who the hell are you?” he said, his voice a high-pitched screech.

“Mr. Abel!” Alice cried. She threw a robe on to cover her naked body.   Abel took her by the hand. “I promised your mother I would take you home. Your mother! Alice, your mother! She has been crying all day, every day since you left. She may die!”

Abel turned to Schroeder. “I’m not out to hurt you, Sir. I want this girl. I’m taking her home, and I’m asking you to help me.”

Schroeder was dumbfounded. He just stared at Abel, mystified as if he couldn’t believe this was happening.

Before the congressman could regain his power of speech, the door opened. Rudy stood in the passageway, gun in hand. He smiled at Abel.

“You’re dead”, he said.

“Now, just a minute. I can’t be involved …” the Congressman said, sputtering. But Rudy cut him off.

“You won’t be. Go upstairs.”

As they were talking, Abel reached into his pants pocket deftly and turned on his micro-tape recorder. He wasn’t sure how he would get out of this predicament, but he hoped that recording it might somehow help.

The other thug arrived. He stepped into the room and grabbed Abel by the shoulders and tore off his jacket. He went through the pockets to make sure Abel wasn’t armed. The only thing he came up with was Abel’s cell phone, which he casually tossed across the room.

Abel worried the man would find the recorder if he patted him down, so he spoke up. “I’m not armed. I’m a journalist. The only thing I carry are pens and note pads.”

It worked, sort of. The second man smashed Abel across the face and dragged him out of the room. But he’d forgotten to pat down Abel’s pants.

“Wait!” Alice cried. “Please don’t hurt him! He’s not here to cause trouble. He’s a friend of my mother’s.”

The men laughed.

“Your mother is probably the only friend this guy has left”, Rudy said. “Now you go back inside, keep your mouth shut, and wait for us. If you get in our way, you’ll wind up like Marcy.”

The men continued to manhandle Abel, but Alice tried to impede their path. Rudy grabbed her arm and flung her back into the room. She landed hard on the wooden floor, rubbing her sore shoulder.

Rudy turned to Schroeder, who hadn’t moved a muscle this whole time.

“Go on, Congressman. You don’t want to see this.”

Schroeder finally left. The other girl put on a robe and ran out right behind him. Abel watched them go. So much for the Moral Majority.

He was shoved into the adjoining room, and the door was shut.

Left alone, Alice had a moment of panic. Her confused brain could not think what she should do. Fear gripped her. Then she saw Abel’s cell phone where it had been dropped in the struggle. What was the number she should call? How could she call the police? Poor Alice, in a strange and foreign country, her minded clouded by drugs, could not remember that 911 was the magic number. She pressed a button on the phone and then waited in despair. The button was redialled and Elliot answered, heard what was going on and called a contact at the FBI. He lied, telling the FBI agent that the yacht was full of gunrunners. The agent alerted the Coast Guard. The question was, would it arrive in time?

“Who sent you here?” Rudy demanded of Abel. “Who told you about the yacht, and who else knows about it?”

Abel knew that no matter what answer he gave, Rudy was determined to kill him, so he simply held his ground and stared. If he could find some way of disarming the man, he could put up a good fight. Once he did that, he’d find his way back to shore, swimming with Alice strapped to his back if necessary.

“Are you Dennis?” Abel asked the second man, stalling for time.

“No”, the man said. “Dennis wouldn’t waste his valuable time dealing with scum like you.”

“Scum like me?” Abel remarked. “I’m not the one trafficking fifteen-year-old girls out as sex slaves to perverted politicians.”

The man laughed. “It’s all just business, pal. There’s a demand, and Dennis is smart enough to fill it. Now If you want to save you ass, you’d better tell us who told you about the yacht and anything else you know.”

“If I do, will you let Alice go?” Abel asked, hoping he could at least save her life.

“Not our decision. She belongs to Dennis”, the man responded.

“Then call and ask. If he agrees, I’ll tell you everything. He might even slip a murder charge.”

“He didn’t kill Marcy”, Rudy said.

“No. You did.”

“What of it? You couldn’t prove that even if we let you live. Which we won’t.”

“The girl for what I know. Otherwise, go fish.”

Rudy slammed Abel’s head against the wall viciously.

“You’re fucking dead. And so is the girl, once we’re done selling her.”

Rudy stuck the barrel of his gun into Abel’s ear. Abel figured that was the ballgame. He was dead.

At that moment, an ear-piercing siren blasted through the air. Startled, Rudy jumped back.

“What the hell is that?”

The second thug peered out the porthole. “Coast Guard cutters! Four of them.”

Abel’s would-be murderer spun around, trying to catch sight of the boats. Abel seized the moment, picking up a heavy metal paperweight off a table. He smashed it over the first thug’s head. The man fell to the floor. Before Rudy could react, Abel grabbed his wrist and tried to wrench the gun from it.

“Come out on the upper deck with your hands in the air!” A voice boomed from a loud speaker outside.

As Coast Guard officers prepared to board the yacht, Abel and Rudy continued to wrestle. A shot rang out from the handgun, and the bullet lodged in the wall. Abel pounded his fist against Rudy’s already broken fingers, causing him to shriek out in pain. The gun fell to the floor with a loud rattle.

The other man recovered from the blow to the head and made a lunge for the gun. Abel shoved him aside and grabbed the pistol. He was panting with exhaustion as he pointed the weapon at the two defeated men.

“I guess we’d better go out on the upper deck”, he said.

Once the Coast Guard and the local police had the situation under control, Abel approached the officer in charge.

“My name is Peter Abel”, he stated. “The Washington D.C. Police Department wants to question me regarding the death of Marcy Tripp’s. I believe I have all of your answers right here.”

He handed the man his tape recorder. A crew of officers took the thugs into custody, and the Coast Guard and police boats escorted the yacht back to the dock.

***************************************

Abel cooperated with the agents, telling them everything he knew about Dennis’s operation and the murder of the young girl, Marcy Tripps. Alice also cooperated, and with her help they hunted down and arrested Dennis and his business partners. They were to be charged with many things, including the murder of Marcy Tripps. Schroeder and the other guests aboard the yacht professed to know nothing that had been going on below decks, but Alice and the other girl ratted out Schroeder. He was taken away in handcuffs, charged for starters with contributing to the delinquency of minors. More serious moral charges would be added later, the police said. Abel wondered how all that would play back in the home district.

After spending the rest of the day answering questions, Abel and Alice signed statements and were released.

When Alice and Abel stepped out of the police station, they were met on the steps by Maxwell Elliot.

“You must be the famous Alice”, Maxwell said.

“Yes”, she answered as she shook his hand.

“This girl saved your life, Peter”, Elliot told him. “She called me, and I called the Coast Guard. She’s very brave.”

“I know. Alice told the police about contacting you on my cell phone. I’ve expressed my gratitude.”

A cold breeze shot through the air and Abel threw his arm around Alice’s shoulders. “I’d have given you my jacket, but those thugs pulled it off of me”, he said.

“Wasn’t that my jacket?” Elliot asked.

“Ah … yeah, as a matter of fact it was”, Abel said with a laugh. “I guess I owe you one.”

“You owe me more than that. You owe me a story.”

For the first time in months, Abel felt truly relaxed. He kept his arm wrapped around Alice’s shoulders as the two of them followed Elliot to the parking lot. Before they could enjoy their moment of glory together, a harsh voice blasted through the air.

“Elliot, you moron!”

The three of them spun around to see a tall, thin, good-looking man in a suit come running toward them.

“How’s it going?” Elliot replied nonchalantly.

The breeze blew the man’s jacket open to reveal the gun nestled in his shoulder holster and a badge clipped to his belt.

“How’s it going?” he asked back. “It’s going lousy! You said there were gunrunners on that yacht. My men have been all over it. They have searched every tiny crevice. Do you know what they found? Some plates of fancy pâté, caviar, bottles of expensive Champagne, and a bunch of hard-core porn in which men are firing, but not bullets.”

Elliot bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Peter Abel. Alice Udor. This is Chase Watkins of the FBI. He’s the one who called in the Coast Guard.”

“Under totally false pretences!”

“Hey”, Elliot laughed, “I had to tell you something.”

He then reached into his pants pocket, pulled out his car keys, and tossed them over to Abel. “You two can take my car. Now that this is cleared up, you’ll probably be allowed back in your hotel room. I’ll catch up with you later. My man Chase and I need to have a little talk.”

Abel nodded and led Alice over toward Elliot’s car. “Hey, Maxwell!” he called back. “Thanks … for everything.”

Elliot smiled and waved.

As Abel and Alice pulled out of the parking lot, they could see Elliot and Chase walking along the pier. Chase was clearly irate, waving his hands and pointing. Elliot simply listened and nodded.

Abel looked over at Alice, shrugged, and then pulled the car out into traffic.