Seriously Inconvenienced Ch. 05

"That was not just a fucking car collision," snarled Hugh Hewitt as they got going, "that was like an ammo truck going up!" Only now did the first glimmers that there was more going on cross Hewitt's mind.

Blue lights blazing, we were the first on the scene. It was a carnage of two fused, fiercely burning vehicles. I called in on the police radio, and it did not take long for police to block off the bypass and re-route traffic. By the next morning, the northbound lanes wold be made into a two-way lane, and while slower, the traffic would be restored.

But in the meantime I had a southbound bypass road with a crater in it, and the remains of two vehicles, a big cargo truck and a van. Fire engines and EMTs began pulling up, followed by more police cars...

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

Dawn was breaking as Chief Griswold, Jack Muscone, and I watched the examination of the scene. An EMT came up to us.

"Sir, we've found whats left of four bodies in the van, and one body in the big truck. Guy in the truck had his I.D. in a fireproof sleeve hanging around his neck. His name is Takaki Taichi, he works at Arrowpoint Solutions. There are no IDs on the three guys in the back of the van, and not much left of the ID of the driver of the van." He handed me the ID. I could see that we had a partial name of "Grif", but more importantly we got some of the picture in the ID... and I could make out the face of Gruff.

"Sir," said Sergeant Rudistan, who had come up from his patrol near the State Line when I'd called him on the radio after the explosion, "we found bags of burned money and what looks like melted cell phones and credit cards. We also found several assault rifles in the back of the van, as well as some grenade parts. Looks like the big truck had ammonium nitrate from Ward Harvester in the back. None of these guys had a chance in hell. Lucky it was this early in the morning, or other people might have gotten killed."

"Thank you, Rudistan." said Griswold, who then turned to me and said "He's right, Crowbar: other people might have gotten hurt. We're lucky, Crowbar, verrrry lucky." I knew he was pissed at me, just as I'd been pissed at my mother's scheme to entrap Eleanor Burke in the attempt to kill my wife.

"Yes sir." I said quietly. "We were lucky. Fortunately, no one else was hurt." I did realize that my plan was brilliant, but if an innocent person had been hurt or killed, that would've been a serious disaster and more than a reproach of my plan's execution. Somehow, I still felt it had been worth it. Maybe it was the Dark Side welling up in me again.

Still, I told the Chief that he was right, which mollified him a bit.

"Any idea who these guys were?" Jack Muscone asked.

"The guy in the truck worked for Barry Oliver, who was our Police Scientist and now works with my nephew at Arrowpoint." I replied. "The guys in the van were most very likely the last three bastards of the Corrigan Cell, and the driver of that vehicle was that guy Gruff that we'd arrested a while back." I explained further to Jack who Gruff was, though he knew already.

A few minutes later, Sandra Speer, Eduardo Escobar and Martin Nash drove up. Sandra reported to Jack Muscone: "Our agents raided the house on the other side of the State Line. We found one man, dead. No one else, and they'd cleaned everything out before leaving. We suspect the haul from the bank robbery is what was found burned in that van."

As she spoke, Sandra showed us a picture of the dead man.

"Merry Christmas, Iron Crowbar." Jack Muscone said, handing the picture to me. I looked at the dead face of the older man with the white beard, instinctively knowing that I was looking at the person who had nearly murdered me on the Fairgrounds just seconds before the Reverend Jonas Oldeeds had been dispatched to Hell. Now Keeler was consigned to Hell, I thought to myself, having failed to kill me... but me being much more successful in my vengeance, however unexpected...

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

"I can't believe it." Barry Oliver said when I told him his friend and employee was dead. Todd was in the room, also. Barry said "The system we tried, to drive the truck by remote control, didn't work, but he... he said he had another system in place."

"Yes." I said. "He drove the vehicle itself. It was a guided missile, and a kamikaze mission."

"But why?" Barry said. "Why did he choose to end his life?"

"He was dying." I said. "He had liver cancer. That's why his belly began sticking out and he looked so sick. He was having treatments for a year, but to no avail."

"Oh geez," said Barry, "I thought he was just gaining weight. He never said a thing."

"No." I said. "He wouldn't. He would consider it more shameful to say anything, to complain, or let it affect him and his work, than to keep silent and keep going in pain. He got this opportunity to go out in a blaze of glory,... and he took it, bless his soul."

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

Thanksgiving Day was at the Mountain Nest, and it was crowded. Besides Laura, my mom Phyllis, and our babies, Molly and baby Ross had come up from Midtown. Cindy and Teresa were 'invited' (meaning instructed) to attend, and Jenna Stiles was there as well. Daniel and a very pregnant Melina Allgood had come, which meant Todd and Jeanine Burke had chosen to go visit Todd's father up at Lake Amengi-Nunagen.

Jack Muscone also came, having no other real family, and looked as happy and relaxed as I'd ever seen him. The family atmosphere was one thing, but the Corrigan Cell likely being gone for good added to his happiness.

Before eating, I said to everyone "I for one am glad to be alive, to have my family and friends alive and well and here with me, and happy that everything has turned out so well for us this year, despite some near misses. I can always rebuild a house destroyed by fire, but I can't replace any of you in this room with me today. Let's keep that going for next year, too, which means Teresa and Cindy should keep teaching each other how to duck."

Everyone laughed, but they knew that I meant it... about the rebuilding as well as the rest of it. I was already spending hours of my free time making plans for a new Cabin on the same site, a better house that would have the best of the old with improvements on that which hadn't been as good. Laura had not really said anything, except to complain that I was taking too much of my free time working on that instead of with the babies and of course with her.

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

"So, you think the threat has ended?" Cindy asked me as we stood on the back patio, braving the cold for a few minutes of private conversation after everyone had eaten. Everyone else was inside enjoying drinks and/or coffee.

"Yes, most of it." I said. "The Corrigan Cell is gone; the weaponry those guys had in that van was consistent with what the cell had been using, including when you were shot. I can't say for sure, but I think we got 'em."

"And they were coming to gun you down at the Old Mill?" Cindy asked. "And you had a trap laid for them, but they got blown up along the way."

"That's about the size of it." I replied. But the explosion had been a trap, also, I thought silently to myself. Laura had gotten CIA contacts to order the ammonium nitrate from Ward Harvester, and I'd had some people pick it up. Then Jack Muscone had arranged for some FBI agents with explosives experience to rig it up to detonate on the vehicle's impact. Then Taro was supposed to put a remote control on the truck to steer it, but it was too unreliable... and Taro had chosen another solution, one that I understood but still left me saddened.

"Fortunate." said Cindy. "Our planned ambushes have not always gone too well." she added drily, remembering her nearly fatal experience the previous summer, not to mention the SBI showing up at our drug raid. "So who sent them?"

"I suspect it was whoever our 'Moriarty' is." I said. "And just between you and me: I only mentioned out loud and in public that I would be at the Old Mill overnight at one place at one time, and there were eight other people in the room when I told Reginald B.F. Lewis that I'd be there: Councilman Lewis himself, Councilman Thomas P. Cook, Dr. Sidney Wellman, Pastor Westboro, Dr. Bonnie Karpathian, my nephew Todd Burke, Seth Warner, and our new Sheriff-to-be, Daniel Allgood."

"Oh my God, you think one of them is in league with this 'Moriarty', as you call him... or her?" Cindy asked.

"More than that, mon ami." I replied. "I think that one of them IS our Moriarty."

"Oh geez..." Cindy said, totally stunned. "Surely not your nephew, nor the Sheriff?"

"They were both there. But don't stress on it." I said. "Time enough to figure that out."

"So, what's left for us to do?" Cindy asked.

"Solve crimes." I said. "Get Sharples out of our Police Department. Get the TCPD ready for a new Sheriff and a new Chief next year. And, of course, keep an eye on Wargrave. He may not have been behind this foiled attack, but he was at least partly responsible for what happened to you last summer. By the way, are you and Teresa going to start training for the Independence Day Triathlon any time soon?"

"Yep." Cindy said, but we'll start that in earnest in January, after the Holidays. And speaking of those... got anything strong enough to tie Teresa down for this coming month?"

"Besides you?" I quipped. "Seriously, I'm hoping it'll be a new and better Holiday season for Teresa. She's come a long way this past year. A long, long way. And I'm grateful she has you as a friend."

"Me too." said Cindy. "But don't forget your own long journey this year. Your own brilliance has been nothing short of stunning, Don. I'm thankful you've now avoided four assassination attempts, and that I'm working for and with you."

"Not five attempts?" I asked.

"I'm not counting that last one on the highway." Cindy said. "That was you setting them up and then knocking them down like tenpins at the bowling alley. And beautifully done, by the way..."

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

"Ah, Lilly, you have surpassed yourself!" exclaimed Conrad King as he finished up his dessert on Thanksgiving Day as the guest of Henry and Lilly Wargrave. "It was wonderful!"

"Thank you, Mr. King." said Lilly Wargrave. "And I'm so glad you accepted Henry's invitation to Thanksgiving dinner with us. There are drinks on the sideboard, so both of you help yourselves, and I'll just excuse myself." Mrs. Wargrave knew that the men wanted to talk serious business. They watched the tall redhead leave, enjoying the sight of her firm ass and especially her long, slender, shapely legs and sexy feet in her high heel pumps as she took leave of them.

Once they were alone, Conrad King settled into a chair near the fire, the warmth feeling good to his aged body, and the sherry he was sipping helping even more. But the pleasant feelings had to end, and King got right down to it:

"Henry, I know you're angry about losing the last of the Corrigan Cell, as the Town & County locals are calling it, but we're going to have to let this one go. The attempt to murder the Iron Crowbar's children has riled him up, not to mention the entire County and its citizens. Whoever did that has done us no favors at all; it's getting very ugly for us now. As Admiral Yamamoto so astutely said about the Pearl Harbor attack: "we have awakened a sleeping giant."

"Nothing a few bullets to the backs of a few heads can't fix." Wargrave said, with some asperity.

"Which is why I am here, Henry." said Conrad King. "You had better not be the one to kill him. Certainly not while I'm alive and my operations are ongoing."

"I'm not the one that set the fire to his home in the first place." said Wargrave.

"It doesn't matter." said King, his aged voice barely above a whisper. "The mud has been splashed onto the innocent, meaning you, and by proxy the rest of us. A huge mistake was made in sending two simultaneous warning messages to the Iron Crowbar; I have word that our friendly neighborhood Police Commander has figured out that it was from two separate entities, and that he's fully aware of your status. Your Leader is now known to the Iron Crowbar; at least his existence, if not his name. As a result, we have made a decision: you must either cut ties with him, or with us. There is no longer any in-between, no longer any independently working for both. No man can serve two masters. You must now choose yours."

How had it come to this? Wargrave thought to himself as he looked into the flames of the fire in the fireplace. No, it had not been him that had set the fire at The Cabin, nor his instructions to do so. He had intended to have Laura Fredricson assassinated by a well-timed, well-planned ambush. He had been told about the highlighted passage in the same book he'd used to send the photograph to the Iron Crowbar; he wondered which of his intermediaries had dared to do such a thing... and for who.

Hubba hubba hubba, who do you trust? Wargrave thought, remembering a line of The Joker from the Keaton/Nicholson Batman movie. Conrad King was just a bit player himself in the organization he represented; Wargrave really was no fan of that group. At least the man in the Iron Crowbar's County had criminal ties that Wargrave could use to continue his own schemes.

"I'll give you my answer in 48 hours." said Wargrave. Both men knew as they stood up that this answer meant that Wargrave had already decided.

"I hope you'll still be with us, Henry." said King, knowing that Wargrave's loyalties lay elsewhere. "But if you're not, I very much appreciate the years we've had together, and the lucrative deals we've done together."

"Thank you, sir." said Wargrave, remembering that this man's son Jack King had said similar words before falling to the wiles of the Iron Crowbar. Would History repeat itself? Wargrave thought as the men shook hands and Conrad King ambled out the door.

Part 25 - Epilogue: The Expiation of Shame

On the Friday after Thanksgiving, November 28th, Selena Steele entered her office at the J.P. Goldman Bank. Her boss, J.P. Goldman, had asked her to come in to handle a special client. Despite the forewarning, she was still shocked when she saw who came through the door, closing it behind him.

"You?" Selena said. "Er, come in."

"Ah, my dear Miss Steele." her guest said. "I am very grateful that you have made some time to see me today."

"Certainly, though I must confess to being surprised to see you of all people here." Selena replied. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you, my dear." said the guest. "As you know, my friend the Iron Crowbar has recently lost his wonderful little cabin on the mountainside to filthy arsonists. I am here to create an account so that you my offer him a construction loan to rebuild the house. You may tell him that the loan is for two million dollars, but I will secretly add another million for any cost overruns."

"That's... very generous of you." Selena Steele said. "You must think very highly of Commander Troy."

"Oh indeed, I most certainly do." said the guest. "He is doing a wonderful job cleaning up this County and the corruption buried deeply within it. And of course, he saved a lovely woman such as yourself from being falsely accused of several hideous crimes."

"Yes, I am indeed grateful for him." said Selena as she busied herself setting up the account on the computer. "Do you want him to know who his benefactor is, or shall we keep your name safely anonymous from him?"

"Yes, let's see how long it takes him to figure it out." said the guest with the beginnings of a grin. "With his powers, I'm sure it won't be long, don't you agree?" Selena laughed, and the paperwork was completed. The guest handed over the credentials to transfer the money into the account.

"I'll let Commander Troy know of this today." Selena said.

"Thank you, my dear." said the guest. "I must now go and finish other business elsewhere. Happy Holidays, and I do hope to see you again soon."

"Likewise, I'm sure." Selena said, though it was to the back of the man already on the move. She watched as the flash of bright white hair went through the door, which closed behind the great mental presence that had just filled the room...

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

Having no idea of the financial transaction being done on my behalf, I boarded the FBI helicopter at County Airport at dawn, along with Cindy Ross and Barry Oliver. We had been summoned by Jack Muscone's boss.

Landing on the roof of the Federal Building in the City, we were escorted by several FBI agents. Their manner was efficient, but I could tell they were on high alert, and I wondered what was going on.

We were brought to a conference room inside the building, where Jack Muscone and the FBI Deputy Director were waiting. There were also four Japanese men in the room, two of them obviously security guards. I felt the power of the Director, as always, but I also felt the power in the presence of one of the other men in the room.

He was an aged Japanese man, with a tall, thin body and a chiseled face that showed well his regal and masterful bearing. I knew that he was Takaki Masaki, Japan's equivalent of the Director of the FBI in our country, and recently semi-retired. It was rumored that he had also had close ties to the Japanese version of the CIA, and that he was, like Conrad King, one of the 'Big Boys' in the world. His presence here was surrealistic.

He was also Takaki Taichi's father.

As the FBI Dep. Director introduced us, I bowed, then introduced Cindy and Barry. The old man bowed to us, not quite as deeply as we did to him, and introduced his son, who was his eldest son. The son was following in his father's footsteps in high-level Japanese governmental affairs, which meant that he was not introduced by name and that his name was not spoken aloud. I did not feel the same aura of power from the son, though I did feel he was a lot like a Japanese equivalent of myself, and was good at observation, deduction, knowledge, and taking action. It was the son who spoke first, on behalf of his father.

"I understand," he said in decent but heavily accented English, "that my father's son, my brother, was recently killed in your County."

"Yes, that is true." I said.

The old man looked hard at me and said "Tell me. How... did he die?"

I did not flinch. I stood erect and looked the man square in the eye.

"He died well, Takaki-sama." I said. "With honor, and with the greatest bravery." I bowed formally.

The old man nearly collapsed with relief, his son prepared to catch him. Takaki rallied, then stepped up to me and took my hand, shaking it in Western style, and also bowing, bowing lower than before. I bowed back, angling slightly to my right so that we didn't hit our heads against each other. He was bowing to hide his emotions, lest he be shamed by them. I was bowing to hide mine.

"Arigato, Troy-san, arigato." the old man said. As we stood up, I brought out the scroll Taro had given me.

"Takaki-sama, your son requested that I give you this scroll." I said. "It is his death poem." The old man signaled to his son, who formally received the scroll. The son opened it, examined the hiragana characters, and at the silent nod of his father read the poem in Japanese, the sonorous words seeming to soar through the room though I did not understand any of it. But all of the Japanese in the room were clearly moved by it, I noted.

"Translate it, please." the old man said. The son did so, speaking the final words of the innermost soul of Takaki Taichi:

Glorious Life continues on,

Death and Evil will be defeated;

My life has been but a dream within a dream,

But my death shall bring victory over the wicked!