House Justice Read Online Free PDF Page A

doing, even though he’d known them both for years.
    “Hang on a sec,” Benny said. “Lemme get a pen.” He opened the center drawer of his desk and looked into the little tray where the pens were supposed to be, but there weren’t any. Goldang it, where were all the pens? It was like something ate them for snacks. He pulled the drawer all the way out. Ah, there was one, hiding all the way in the back.
    “Okay, shoot,” Benny said. He listened for about five minutes and took notes. He asked a couple of questions and concluded with, “Allrighty. I’ll head out there tonight.”
    Benny got on the Internet, bought an airline ticket, made a reservation at a motel, and then walked into the kitchen to tell his wife he was going out of town. She was standing at the sink, washing the breakfast dishes, watching one of them dumb-ass morning talk shows, the one with the four broads all sitting around a table yapping.
    He looked at his wife’s ass and shook his head in dismay: she looked like a hay wagon from the rear. During their marriage the two of them had gained weight at about the same rate but fortunately Betty Ann still had her hair: a short perm she dyed dark red. And her face…he swore as they got older they had even started to look alike, both of them with broad noses, jowly cheeks, and double chins. The next thing you knew they’d be one of them dipshit couples walking along the street wearing identical hats and jackets, looking like fat ancient twins.
    But she was a good ol’ gal. No way would he trade her in for some young bimbo, not at his age, he wouldn’t. She had a sense of humor, she didn’t complain all that much, and when she was younger … oh, the jugs that woman had. He almost fainted the first time he touched them.
    “That was Jimmy,” Benny said.
    “How’s he doing?” Betty Ann asked.
    “Who knows? The bastard, he’s all business. He didn’t even ask how we were. Anyway, I gotta leave tonight.”
    “Oh, no! Are you going to miss Dave’s party?”
    “When is it?”
    “Friday.”
    “Yeah, I doubt I’ll be back that soon. Make up some excuse.”
    “He’ll be so disappointed. A sixtieth birthday’s a big deal, you know.”
    “Yeah, it means you’re one year closer to being dead,” Benny said and cackled.
    “Oh, you. Where are you going this time?”
    “Myrtle Beach. I made a reservation at the Best Western on Ocean Boulevard. FedEx me a .32 there. And don’t pack the gun in that Styrofoam bubble shit this time. That stuff gets all over the place. Just use newspaper or something.”

Chapter 7
     
    “I want everyone who attended that meeting polygraphed by one of my technicians,” LaFountaine said.
     
    He was speaking to John Mahoney and Clyde Rackman, and they were in Rackman’s office. Rackman was the majority leader of the Senate, a tall, rail-thin man in his seventies with mournful eyes and wispy gray hair, and it seemed as if a strong wind might blow him away. His apparent frailty, however, was misleading. He worked fourteen-hour days, was as tough as any politician on Capitol Hill, and he could be downright vicious to any Democrat who didn’t toe the party line.
    “I don’t think—” Rackman started to say but Mahoney interrupted.
    “In your dreams. You’re not hooking up wires to anybody here on the Hill, and you know it.”
    LaFountaine glared at Mahoney, and Mahoney glared back. Mahoney was older than LaFountaine by several years but both were big, bulky men and, except for their hair color, were actually quite similar in appearance. Glowering at each other across the conference table, they looked like two bulldogs ready to lunge at each other’s throat.
    “Somebody gave the story to that reporter, Mahoney,” LaFountaine said, “and it wasn’t one of my people. That means somebody that works in this building got my agent killed.”
    “Director LaFountaine,” Rackman said, “I’d suggest that you be very careful about making accusations you can’t