When No One Is Watching (29 page)

“Bullshit! I’m responsible for this campaign, and I need to know exactly what you’re up to. We can’t afford any messes, Sam! Tell me exactly what you have in mind.”

Sam eyed Bobby skeptically for a long moment. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. The kid’s got mental issues. She’s participating in some sort of Olympic event in downtown Chicago, right on the lakefront. There’ll be mobs of people there. It would be easy for a kid like her to get lost in the crowd. If she shows up floating in Lake Michigan, nobody will think twice. A lot of those kids can’t swim. Everybody will think she just wandered off and fell into the lake. It happens.”

“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Bobby exploded. “This campaign won’t have any part in something like that. I can’t believe you’re even suggesting it. No way, no goddamn way, Sam! Making some evidence disappear is one thing, but nobody gets hurt here, got it? Whatever you’ve put in motion, call it off!”

“Look, Bobby, the campaign isn’t involved in this. You’re not involved in this, so cool your jets! Just leave it to me. I won’t do anything stupid.”

Bobby stepped to within inches of Sam. “Call it off, Sam. Right now!”

Sam glared at him. “You coward,” he sneered scornfully. “You shitty little coward.”

“Pick up your cell phone and call it off, Sam,” Bobby said in a low, threatening voice, carefully enunciating every word. “I mean it. That’s an order!”

Sam shook his head in disgust as he turned away from Bobby and slowly pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He punched in a number.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said in a low voice. “Abort the mission. That’s right. The mission is off.”

Sam listened as the answering machine at his home beeped on the other end of the line.

“Satisfied?” He glared at Bobby contemptuously as he stormed out of the room.

CHAPTER 46
T
hirty-four young athletes from Concordia were packed into the old yellow school bus as it made its way from the Far South Side toward Grant Park in downtown Chicago. The two young chaperones made a halfhearted attempt to keep some semblance of order, but they had little inclination to stifle the exuberance among their charges.

 

The level of excitement and anticipation escalated as the bus rolled up behind a long row of other buses parked along the curb on Jackson Drive, adjacent to the park. The young athletes poured out of the bus onto the wide sidewalk, joining the throng of participants and spectators making their way toward Pritzker Pavilion, the site of the opening ceremonies. Eric and Annie, the two young chaperones, shouted instructions, mostly about staying together and not wandering off, as they cheerfully led the parade of young Olympians toward the Pavilion. Their cheerfulness was quickly put to a test as they made the half-mile trek across the park. Their team seemed to have little desire or ability to maintain the same pace. Some were compelled by their eagerness to race toward their destination, while a few stragglers maintained their own leisurely pace, more interested in taking in the sights and sounds of the big city than in getting to the opening ceremony. Between their concern about their charges wandering off and dealing with requests to find restrooms or water, Eric and Annie soon found themselves frazzled and wishing they’d recruited another half-dozen volunteers to help maintain order and keep the group together.

“Hey, are you the group from Concordia?” Vic Slazak called out to Eric as he approached the swarm of athletes in their powder-blue T-shirts. He was sweating and winded from scurrying around the Pavilion area in search of a group wearing that color.

“That’s us,” Eric said, also sweating from the exertion of keeping his team together.

“Are you in charge?” Slazak asked.

“I guess you could say that. I’m one of the chaperones.”

“Is Ashley McGrath in your group?”

“Yeah, she’s with us,” Eric replied, looking over the sea of faces in front of him. “Hmmm … I don’t see her … Hey, Annie,” he called out to his fellow chaperone. “Where’s Ashley?”

“She went to the bathroom,” Annie replied, looking harried and distracted. She pointed toward a row of about two dozen bright-blue portable toilets across the park, about two hundred yards away.

“Alone?” Slazak asked, his concern turning to anger. “Didn’t the kid from the other bus call you guys and ask you to keep an eye on her?”

“We’ve got thirty-four kids to keep track of. We’re doing the best we can!” Annie replied testily. “Anyway, there’s no need to worry. We found a policeman to walk her over there.”

Slazak looked at her with stunned disbelief. “When? What did the guy look like?” The urgency in his voice was not lost on the young chaperone.

“Just a few minutes ago. I didn’t look at him all that closely. He was wearing his uniform. He was big and had kind of a dark complexion.”

Slazak bolted in the direction of the portable johns. When he reached them, he walked hurriedly down the row of rectangular blue boxes, staring at each one as if he were willing his eyes to see through the closed doors. He stopped at the midpoint of the row, bent over and put his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. From that vantage point, he could see everyone going in or out. As he looked toward the far end of the row, his eyes were drawn to a sight several hundred feet beyond, a tall man in what appeared to be a policeman’s uniform, next to a diminutive figure in a pale blue shirt, limping slightly, walking away from the park.

Before that morning, Victor Slazak hadn’t run a step in years, yet he immediately broke into a sprint like a well-conditioned runner, his mind fixated on just one thought:
Get to the girl!

“Ashley! Ashley McGrath!” Slazak yelled as he neared them. They were stopped at a traffic light, waiting to cross Lake Shore Drive. Simultaneously, the girl and the uniformed figure at her side turned around and stared at Vic Slazak as he slowed to a fast walk and approached them.

“Who are you?” Slazak asked the massive officer, noticing that there was no nameplate where one should have been.

“I’m a police officer. Who are you?” the uniformed man shot back in a belligerent tone.

“Where are you taking her?” Slazak demanded, ignoring the officer’s question.

“She’s running the track events. Those are at Soldier Field. I’m taking her over there.”

Slazak looked hard at the officer, then looked at the girl, crouching to speak to her on her level. “Ashley, you need to go back to your group, okay? Come on, I’ll take you.” He held out his hand. Ashley hesitated, then reached for it. The officer stepped between them.

“Get lost,” he said in a threatening voice. “You’re not her father. You must be some kind of pervert, chasing little girls around like this. Beat it or I’ll arrest you right here and now.
Capisce,
amigo?”

Slazak felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He had heard that voice before, asking that same simple question, mixing the foreign languages, sounding both sarcastic and threatening. He straightened up and stared coldly at the giant in front of him, who was at least half a head taller and probably outweighed him by sixty pounds.

“You’re not taking her anywhere,
amigo
,” Slazak replied, venom in his voice. “Ashley, let’s go. This man is not your friend!”

The officer quickly thrust both arms forward, striking Slazak squarely in the chest, knocking him backward and leaving him struggling to stay on his feet. Slazak steadied himself and approached his adversary, his body language cool and calm, in stark contrast to the burning intensity in his eyes. Slazak knew he was no kid and that, physically, he was no match for the monster standing in front of him, but several years of amateur boxing had taught him how to use his fists. Besides, he didn’t need to overpower this behemoth; he just needed to distract him long enough for Ashley to make a break and run back to the park.

Slazak stared coldly at the uniformed giant, but spoke to the girl. “Ashley, when I say ‘go,’ you run back to the park as fast as you can, just like it’s a track meet.”

In the next instant, his left fist shot forward in a lightning quick jab that caught the big man flush on the nose, knocking him backward.

“Run, Ashley, run!”

“You son of a bitch,” the cop bellowed as he advanced on Slazak, both arms flailing.

Slazak backpedaled, blocking the torrent of blows.

“Run, Ashley! Go, go, go!”

The girl was frozen where she stood. As he continued to ward off his assailant’s blows, Slazak shot a glance in Ashley’s direction. It lasted just a fleeting instant, but it distracted him enough that he lost focus and felt a devastating blow crash into the left side of his face. He felt himself hitting the ground as if in slow motion. He heard onlookers shouting. He heard someone yell, “Call the police!” although the voice seemed distant and muted.

“I am the goddamn police!” he heard the big man roar.

As Slazak struggled to his knees, he saw his adversary approaching him, pulling back his leg, preparing to deliver a vicious kick. Slazak rolled away and the kick missed its mark. As the big man tried to regain his balance, Slazak lunged at him, grabbing both legs in a clean tackle, sending the officer sprawling to the pavement. They rolled around on the sidewalk, inches from the curb, as a city bus whizzed by. In his dazed state, Slazak was quickly overpowered and found himself face-down on the pavement. A powerful hand yanked the hair on the back of his head and slammed his face into the concrete sidewalk. He felt his cheekbone shatter and blood spurt into his right eye, and he began slipping toward unconsciousness. Then he felt hot breath on the back of his ear as he heard a menacing voice that he remembered all too well. “I told you before that if you ever set foot in Chicago again I’d kill you. You should have listened, Slazak.”

Slazak felt his arms being pulled behind his back and heard the click of handcuffs. He felt the weight lift from his body as the big man stood up. Slazak lifted his head sideways and saw the man walking along the curb back toward the intersection. Ashley McGrath stood there like a statue.

The inside of his skull ached, and his entire face was a mass of pain. Slazak felt the pull of unconsciousness slowly overtaking him. Then he thought of the taunting, sarcastic voice, the assault in his home, and the ten years of exile in Vegas. For a man who had never let anyone push him around, he had allowed this thug to rob him of a big part of his life— his job and his home. Now the same man had just beaten him almost senseless and was about to walk off with Ashley McGrath, taking her to what was certain to be a tragic fate.

“Get up,” he whispered to himself. He rolled onto his back, raising himself to a sitting position, the pain is his skull almost knocking him down again. He tried to stand and fell over, partly because his hands were cuffed behind his back and partly because he was dizzy and disoriented.

He looked toward the intersection. The cop was leaning over, saying something to Ashley. They both turned toward the street, their backs to him, as they waited for the traffic light to change.

Slazak saw a tree several yards away and rolled toward it, his arms straining behind his back as he rolled over them. He raised himself to a sitting position, placing his back up against the tree, and slowly pushed upward with his feet, forcing himself into a standing position. He took a deep breath to steady himself and began walking toward the intersection, approaching Ashley and the cop from behind. He was unsteady at first, walking slowly and listing badly to his right side as he fought to regain his equilibrium. He stopped momentarily to allow his sight and his head to clear.

Then a surge of panic overtook him. The light would turn green in a few seconds, and the cop and Ashley would move on. Slazak staggered to a position directly behind them, about twenty feet away. He looked at the intersection and saw a bus rapidly approaching. It would cross the intersection, the light would turn green, and his enemy would hurry across the street with the young girl.

Panic and uncertainty yielded to rage and determination. Slazak lowered his head and began running directly at the cop, who was staring straight ahead, oblivious to his presence. The cop took a step back from the street as a speeding bus approached. Slazak let out a ferocious yell like that of a marauding warrior. The cop spun around. His eyes widened at the sight of Victor Slazak three feet away, charging at him like a deranged, armless linebacker. The cop grunted loudly as Slazak’s shoulder hit him squarely in the midsection, sending him reeling backward into the street, Slazak following, carried by his own momentum. Ashley McGrath stared in horror as the bus did the rest.

CHAPTER 47
B
obby Rosensteel climbed out of the hotel pool and toweled himself off. Life was good this morning. Governor Blair Van Howe had a commanding lead in the polls. The convention would begin tomorrow, and he felt supremely confident that it would be an event to remember. He planned to allow himself the luxury of an hour of relaxation, soaking up the Southern California sun, before diving into his last-minute preparations. He sat down in a poolside chair and began perusing the newspaper with a sense of self-satisfaction.

 

Bobby looked up as a large figure moved between him and the morning sun, casting a shadow across his face. Sam McIntire stood there, looking oddly out of place, wearing a dark suit among the crowd of sunbathers lounging around the hotel swimming pool in the early morning San Diego sunshine.

“Mind if I sit down?” Sam asked.

“Be my guest,” said Bobby agreeably, motioning to an adjacent lounge chair. “I was just reading the latest polls results. We’re pulling away, and the convention is bound to give us another big boost.”

“Well, here’s a report from the Chicago paper that I just pulled off the Internet,” said Sam, handing Bobby a short article from page fourteen of the
Chicago Tribune
. The article read:

Bus Kills Two on Lake Shore Drive
     
A Chicago police officer and another man were struck and killed by a city bus at the corner of Lake Shore Drive and Monroe Street yesterday morning. According to witnesses, Officer Frank Capetta, a fifteen-year veteran of the Chicago Police Department, was assaulted by a man identified as Victor Slazak, 54, who at one time also was a Chicago policeman. One witness reported that Slazak appeared to be deranged and instigated an altercation with Capetta. During the ensuing fight, both men tumbled into the street and were struck by a passing bus. Both men died at the scene.”