AN -I don't own these characters. Please enjoy this final installment.
The Things People Will Do for An Oval Office
Chapter 16
The End of Days Part Two
Breaking news: Harold Putnam Grant, along with two other detainees, has escaped from custody at the Federal Metropolitan Detention Center (MDC) in Los Angeles California. The disgraced former two-time California governor, alleged imposter and former CEO of Grant Industries is scheduled to appear in court for trial on Monday. Harold Grant was remanded to federal custody three years ago but has delayed facing charges under the RICO statute by filing a series of motions claiming constitutional rights violations and by firing his high-powered legal teams alleging legal malpractice and incompetence. Detention Center officials say they first became aware of Grant's escape during the midnight bed check. Grant was in the MDC infirmary undergoing evaluation for an apparent heart attack at the time of the escape. The two other escapees, Lawrence Bartholomew (Bart)Kirby and Jason Daniel Crenshaw were also patients in the infirmary at the time. The infirmary doctor was found tied-up, beaten and locked in a closet and the infirmary nurse gagged and tied to a chair. Inmates assigned to the infirmary and regular infirmary staff are currently being questioned. Officials report the detention facility is on lockdown until further notice. Federal marshals investigating the case suspect an insider aided the trio. No information on exactly how the men escaped the Detention Center has been released. Excerpt from Chapter 15
Local News Break – "We interrupt this broadcast for some breaking news: An abandoned vehicle matching the description of the suspected getaway delivery van used in the daring escape from the downtown federal detention center around 11:45 p.m. last night was found in a ditch off the 15 freeway near Temecula. Inside the vehicle, federal marshals found prisoner jumpsuits, clothing price tags and hair dye bottles. An all points bulletin was issued for the 30-mile perimeter surrounding the van location.
US Marshals suspect Harold Grant and his fellow escapees Lawrence Bartholomew (Bart)Kirby and Jason Daniel Crenshaw are making a run for the Mexican border. U.S and Mexican border authorities are on alert. Law enforcement officials believe Grant may also try for one of two small airfields in the area. Stay tuned to this station for further breaking updates."
Twenty-four Hours Earlier
"Charge" the infirmary doctor yells to the nurse operating the defibrillator controls. The doctor turns to place the paddles on Harold's chest only to be met with a solid punch to his jaw. The husky inmate assailant continues to deliver several painful blows to the stunned doctor until the doctor loses consciousness, slumps over Harold's gurney strapped body and slips slowly to the floor. Another inmate joins the first and grabs the frighten nurse by the arm and throat. "Have a seat sweetie", he says as he slams her down into a nearby chair.
The first inmate, Bart, loosens the restraints holding Harold to the gurney. "Alright Grant, you can get up now."
Harold jumps off the gurney and walks over to infirmary door. He looks out the security window, nods his head and opens the door for a man wearing a dark blue service jumpsuit. "Showtime gentlemen, we have exactly ten minutes and 43 seconds to get out of here, the mystery man bellows."
Bart tightens the zip ties around the infirmary doctor's wrists and ankles and drags the battered physician into the medication storage area. "Sorry I had to clobber you Doc but we can't have you running for help; now can we," Bart smirks. Jason pushes the wheeled desk chair holding the strapped and gagged nightshift nurse behind the linen rack out of camera range. Harold takes off his ripped jumpsuit and changes into a fresh federal standard issue beige jumpsuit.
"Straighten up the infirmary. Nothing should look out of place when the guards conduct their rounds, says the mid-height man standing lookout." The two follow the orders of the man who has yet to identify himself. All Bart and Jason know is that Harold hired the guy to break them out of jail and get them into Canada.
"How are we getting out of here", Jason asks while mopping up the liquid from the busted intravenous nitroglycerin bags damaged in the scuffle with the doctor.
"For now, you let me worry about that. You two finish up, we're leaving in 2 minutes", the man says checking his watch.
"We need to get out of here before the next inmate check at midnight." Harold says as he struts over to the man standing watch. "Look Digby I understand you have a habit of keeping you clients in the dark to avoid problems but I'm not your average client. I'm paying you good money to get us out of here and to help me rain some well-deserved retribution on my ungrateful pansy-ass nephew and his darky bitch wife. So let's dispense with your usual code of conduct and start spitting out details."
"Listen here Grant, you are paying me for my expertise; what-I- can- do-for-you", Digby enunciates each word slowly as he pokes Harold in the chest. "I do not make exceptions or reveal trade secrets to customers. You are not a client, we have no relationship, this is a one-time deal. You have purchased a service for yourself and Beavis and Butthead over there. Yes, you've also requested a special order item but that's it. I do not give behind-the-scenes insight into my operations. I am not a restaurant, substitutions are not allowed. Information will be provided on a need-to-know basis and at this point none you need to know anything more than what I have already told you. Got it!" Harold shirks back pissed. He walks away thinking he will have to take care of Digby after all this is over.
"All right gents, time to go. Walk behind me single file." Digby closes the door to the infirmary and breaks off the key in the lock. Digby is wearing a signal jammer that temporary disables the surveillance cameras. The three will be able to move through the facility unseen for the most part of the escape. He escorts his customers quickly down the bright white corridor to the stairway at the end of the hall. In front of the stairway are three linked laundry bins. He points to the bins, "hop in and cover up with the sheets." Digby pushes the carts to the service elevator just pass the stairwell. He taps the "G1" button for the garage level. The service elevator opens and he rolls the heavy bins inside. The sectioned light panel atop the closed metal doors lights up and dings in a backward sequence with the passing of each floor. Seven, six, five, four, three, two, LL, then finally G1. The doors part sluggishly and Digby pushes his cargo out of the elevator and down the loading dock ramp. The wheels of the laundry bins creak and screech as they roll down the ramp. A stolen laundry service truck is waiting at the end of the ramp. The three hidden passengers throw off the sheets covering their bodies and climb out of the bins. Digby opens the back of the truck and motions for the men to get in.
There is flaxen haired albino sitting in the driver's seat tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "This is Al, he doesn't speak to customers, so save yourselves the trouble of trying to talk to him."
Digby pulls a couple of bulky trash bags off the storage shelf. He shoves a bag into each man's chest. "Put these on." Harold opens his bag first and retches.
"What the hell is this? Where did you get these clothes? Harold says trying not to gag. The clothes smell of mildew, urine, dirty ass, underarm funk and cheap liquor.
Jason chimes in. "Hey man, did you roll some homeless dude or what?"
Bart follows up. "These clothes reek! They're probably crawling with lice or something worst!"
"Are you three finished complaining? I've been doing this type of work for a long time. What you do in the first 24 hours determines whether you make it safely across the border or wind up in the back of some federal cop's cruiser on your way to a maximum detention facility. So, since I was hired to ensure the former I suggest you shut your traps and do as I say. Get dressed and put your designer duds in those white laundry bags on the floor."
Digby leaves Harold, Bart, and Jason to change clothes and goes to talk to Al. The light-eyed tattooed driver nods his head in agreement to whatever Digby said and starts the truck. Digby goes back to check on the others.
"I think I'm going to throw up," Bart says.
"I better not get the clap from this," Jason squawks.
"Give it a rest. In 20 minutes, your nose will adjust to the smell. Digby moves past the three complainers and pulls up a floor panel hidden under the bolted shelving. "Get in," he says pointing to the revealed hollow space.
Harold squats down and bends over to inspect the space. "Do you really expect all three of us to fit in there?"
"Yes, I do. I've fit five Panamanian heavy-weight wrestlers in that space so the three of you will fit with no problem. Right now, think of me as your run-of-the-mill lowlife coyote, sneaking three desperate souls across the border. We don't have time to discuss the comfort of the accommodations; we'll be at the exit gate in a minute, so shut up and slide your asses into the compartment because quite frankly I do not give a fuck about how you feel, nor am I paid to." The men slid into the cramped space with no further argument.
Digby replaces the metal floor plate over the compartment and covers it with the white laundry bags. He checks to make sure everything else is hidden or bagged, and then he goes to sit in the passenger seat next to Al. The guards stop the truck at the exit gate. One guard with a halogen flashlight opens the back of the truck to do a quick inspection of the interior. The lingering smell of the stench-laden clothing makes the guard cover his nose. "Damn", he whispers. He closes the door, bangs on it, steps to the side of the truck in view of the gatekeeper and gives the all clear sign. Digby sends a text informing his contact everything is a go.
Al drives a few blocks over from the detention center to the heart of skid row. He parks on a street confirmed to have no exterior street surveillance cameras. Digby removes the laundry bags covering the floor panel, after that the panel. He extends his hand to help each of the men out of the cargo hole.
"Okay gentlemen we are going to camp out here for the next 24 hours."
"What do you mean we're camping out? We need to get as far away as possible from here. The next inmate check is in 10 minutes. All hell is going to break loose in the next hour. The police, federal marshals and the fucking FBI will be all over this place looking for us!"
Digby looks at Harold shaking his head. He gives a loud sigh before he responds. "We are going to hide in plain sight for the next 24 hours while the authorities trip over themselves looking for this truck and combing every inch of the detention center looking for your escape route. Al is going to dump this truck near San Diego or Temecula so it looks like you three are heading to the border."
The three men talk over one another asking questions, demanding explanations, voicing disagreement with Digby's plan.
Digby irritated by the men's questioning ignores their requests for additional information. He reaches over their heads to grab a large Walmart shopping bag sitting on the top shelf behind the men. He opens the bag and takes out several new garments. He splits the clothes between the three men.
"Here, take the tags off of the clothes and make sure your fingerprints get on the tags." Digby picks up another bag containing hair dye. He removes the bottles from the packaging, tossing the discarded boxes on one the shelves. He opens the back door of the truck and hops out. Spotting a nearby sewer drain, he pours the dye bottle contents down the grated opening. He hops back into the truck, wipes the dye bottles clean and hands an empty body to each man. Harold gets the black dye bottle, Bart the blonde bottle and Jason the brunette one.
"Okay, put the price tags and bottles in the bags with your jumpsuits. Al will dump the bags in various spots along the fake escape route. Tomorrow two men fitting Bart and Jason's description but with different hair color, will attempt to cross the border into Mexico. The Federales will detain the men until federal marshals arrive to interrogate them. Don't worry they have prearranged alibis and are being handsomely rewarded for their brush with notoriety."
Al whistles pointing to his watch. "Hang on man", Digby says waving to Al. "Everybody out, Al needs to get going."
The four men exit the back of the truck and Al peels away headed toward the freeway. Digby leads the men to a makeshift tent made out of cardboard boxes, old pieces of plastic and newspaper. "Welcome home gentlemen. These are your overnight accommodations."
"You have got to be kidding," Harold spits.
"Like I said, hide in plain sight. Now get in before you wake your neighbors, Digby says eyeing Harold sternly.
"Fitz baby the twins are going to come running in here any minute. We don't have time to do the nasty right now." Olivia said moaning as her husband ignored her protestation and took her nipple between his teeth and bit down.
"We always have time for this he pants seductively in her ear. We make time for this no matter what Livvie." Swooning from his adeptly applied finger work, all Olivia can do is nod in acceptance. Her wet response to his sensual touch betrays her verbal call for sensible restraint. She succumbs to his way of thinking with little resistance and eagerly joins in the act. Grasping his engorged shaft, she coaxes the taunt sex muscle to greater length and volume. Fitz excitedly thrusts rhythmically against Olivia's stroking hand. He reciprocates her loving ministration by ramping up his digit diligence to her special spot. She trembles under Fitz's caring precision stimulation. Her private part swells, becoming slick and ready to welcome for his fully distended member.
"Wait, what?" "Did you really say do the nasty?" Fitz looks at her feigning shock. Olivia pecks Fitz on the lips and giggles.
"Yes, I did. Do you have a problem with the choice of words I use to describe sexual intercourse? Would you prefer I say, have sex, be intimate, get down, be naughty, have some nookie, fuck, or fornicate?" Fitz covers her mouth with his hand to stop what will turn into a 50-word monologue of synonyms. His Livvie is quite the wordsmith; a quality he normally loves, but not at 7:00 a.m. when his morning stiffy is begging for attention from her vajayjay.
"Say it again."
"What, fornicate?"
"Olivia we are married, our carnal coupling is not considered fornication. Now say the word I want to hear woman! And don't worry about the twins, I locked the door."
"Apparently, you've thought of everything Mister." She smiles rubbing her hand up and down his hard member. Is the word you want to hear, fuuuck?"
"Uhm hmm, say it again." He kisses her neck and climbs on top of her.
"Fu…uu…ck." He thrusts into her making her scream softly. Again, he thrusts into her, this time in rapid-fire motion and rubs her clit with his hand. He's going for depth and Olivia is bucking her hips to meet him thrust for thrust.
"I can never get enough of you Livvie. I'll always want you every second of every day. We are made for each other. I love you my basherte." He bestows another passionate toe-curling kiss on her. Every time he makes love to his Livvie he thinks of the eleven wasted years they spent apart because of a lie. The thought fuels his desire for her and turns their lovemaking sessions into times marked by feelings of deep devotion, appreciation, thankfulness and profound love.
"I love you so much Fitz, I cannot find the words for what I feel for you." Olivia stares into his eyes with a look of pure love.
Fitz stops suddenly, "you can't find a word," he grins. She slaps his chest playfully.
"You goofball. Leave it to you to spoil an intimate heartfelt moment." He rubs her nose with his own and resumes making love to her for the next hour.
Slumbering, wrapped in the afterglow of sexual bliss, the couple is awakened by the buzz of Fitz's cell phone. Groggily, Fitz answers the phone, "Yeah. Okay" he says a few minutes later after listening intently to the caller. He shakes his head,"god that man is so predictable."
"What is it babe?" Fitz sits up to relay the information from the caller.
"Dang it! He went through with it." Olivia looks at Fitz grinning and shaking her head. "God why did I take that sucker's bet?"
"Yep and you know what that means my buttercup." Fitz smiles and wiggles his eyebrows. He stares at Olivia waiting for her to summarize the terms of their little wager.
"Aargh! Yes, Fitz I know that means. "I have to serve you breakfast in bed for a week. And, I will dress up as Mindy McBendy the yoga instructor…"
"And", he says he says smiling, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.
"Fitz, seriously, I'm pregnant."
"Yes"
"With twins…again."
"Your point", he says with a sly grin.
Olivia groans and playfully rolls her eyes. "Don't you think you've done enough to my body", she smirks. "I'm pretty sure my body will not contort at this point and do that thing you love so much." Olivia shakes her head feigning trepidation.
"How come Huck and Harrison get away with paying you fifty-cents each and I have…"
"Stop complaining Mindy McBendy. We practiced that particular maneuver plenty when you were six months, you're only three months my dear."
"But…"
"But nothing, I'm not the one who memorized the Kama Sutra and said let's try all the positions," he says in a sing-song voice imitating Olivia.
"Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III, I cannot believe you are holding me accountable for anything I said while under the influence of alcohol."
"Save it sister, you were not drunk or impaired in any way; on the contrary you were feeling your oats and throwing down the gauntlet if I recall correctly." They both laugh. Fitz gives Olivia a peck on the lips and pulls away smiling like a Cheshire cat.
"Mommy, Daddy, time to get up. Di-neyland, Di-neyland," the twins, Genevieve and Gregory, shout through the door. "Mommy the door-s locked. Open the door, time for morning kisses and hugs. What'cha guys doing in there?" Gregory keeps trying to turn the doorknob. "I'm hungry." Fitz and Olivia look at each other and start laughing.
"Never a dull moment."
"Okay you get the kids ready; I'll send the anonymous tip." "Yes, sir", she salutes and gets up to start the day.
Two Days Later
Breaking News -Federal detention center escapees Lawrence Bartholomew (Bart)Kirby and Jason Daniel Crenshaw were apprehended by federal authorities late yesterday evening as the pair attempted to cross the border into Canada through Porthill Idaho just before 11:00 pm Pacific Standard Time. The men were in possession of forged passports, five thousand dollars in cash, two twenty-thousand dollar prepaid credit cards and two handguns. The two men were also in possession of one-way airline tickets to Nicaragua; a non-extradition country. Harold Putnam Grant, the third fugitive, is still at large and considered armed and dangerous.
Digby turns off the motel television. He is teed-off and doesn't mind giving Harold an earful. "Those idiots, how hard is it to follow simple instructions. Idaho has only to border crossings. Does Porthill sound anything like Eastport? What part of use the 24-hour border crossing at Eastport did they not understand? And what the hell kind of dimwits try to cross an international border with guns? All they had to do was hop in the back of a truck, lay low and they'd be home free. Where did you find these two imbeciles?"
"Who cares? I did not hire them for their brains; I hired them for their brawn and infirmary duty assignments. This is a win-win for me. The Feds will be all over the Canadian border looking for me. Those dimwits as you call them have done me a great service. Forget about them, we need to move on to me settling the score with my nephew and his wife. Where are they and when are we going after them?"
"Yesterday they took their kids to Disneyland and spent the night in town. They are scheduled to return to the Santa Barbara ranch today. We'll pick up the interrogation expert a few miles south of the ranch. Before we go through with this, you should be aware, the wife is pregnant."
"I don't give a fuck! That's how this whole mess started in the first place! She has no business mixing her tree swinging genes with Grant DNA. As far as I'm concerned, any product of the union between those two is an abomination. I'm doing the world a favor by eliminating their inferior cross-breed offspring." Harold is literally rabid in his delivery of his condensed eugenics 101 lecture; the man is actually foams at the mouth.
Digby has worked with a lot scrum in his line of work but Harold Grant takes the cake. He has no doubt what Fitz and company have planned for this piece of shit is well deserved. "Grant you are a sick mother fucker; but you are not paying me to like you or be your conscious so spare me the diatribe on your deviant humanitarian master race beliefs."
"Look here Digby…"
"No, you look. After you settle things with your nephew, I will personally put you on a plane to Haiti. You can make your way from there to Nicaragua. Stick to this plan and you are home free; deviate from it and all bets are off. Thankfully, in 24-hours, our association will end. I have to say, being in close proximity to you makes me feel dirty. It's ironic, those homeless threads you wore were clearly a reflection of your effluent soul and given the company I keep that is saying a lot."
"Hey, you can't speak to me like that or judge me. I'm sure anything I've ever done is more palatable than the things you do on a regular basis, so get off your moral high horse. You are nothing more than a criminal for hire, an articulate thug in an expensive suit. You sell your soul to the highest bidder day in and day out. I make no apologies for the life I have led or the things I have done. My actions have kept me in control of my destiny and in control of the destiny of lesser mortals. Face it, life hands you only two options; be the predatory or be the prey. I my friend no matter the circumstance will always be the predatory. I need to teach my ungrateful son of a bitch nephew and his niggar wife a lesson. They have taken practically everything I have worked for away from me and I am going destroy them with my own two hands. That boy had a guaranteed future sitting in the highest seat in the nation, President of the United States and he fought me at every turn and for what? A common piece of dark cherry ass! The things I have given up, the deals I have brokered, the lies I have told, all the things I have done were to guarantee him the oval office. And how does he repay me? He spits in my face, ruins me professionally and financially and turns my allies against me. He and his whore deserve everything that is coming to them."
"Grant I may be a criminal, a liar and a shady deal whore but I also have standards. I will not be a party to the torture and murder of a pregnant woman. In this particular matter, I have judged you, so deal with it. I want nothing to do the taking of an innocent life."
"So what the hell are you saying Digby, are your trying to back out our deal?"
"Do I need to repeat myself? Didn't I say we'd meet the interrogation expert south of the ranch?"
"Stop speaking in riddles Digby! What do you mean by won't be a party to the death of Olivia Pope?" Harold spits, his nostrils flaring.
"Count me out on your "final solution" to Olivia Pope-Grant and child problem. Don't worry I hired a reliable subcontractor for your special request. You and he will get along famously. He is into power tools, torture, exsanguination and bird watching. The psycho bastard is as unapologetically morally bankrupt as you are."
"What about the rest of the plan? Is everything else in place?
"Yes, my people will have your nephew tied up with a ring-side seat to his wife's torture. The kids will fly to Haiti with you and go to live in an orphanage in the hills. Your brother will return to the ranch in three days, which means your nephew will sit stewing in his own shit in front of his wife's rotting corpse for three days. Anything else?"
"No, that covers just about everything. When do leave? "
"Our transportation should be here in any minute. Grab your bag and let's head out."
Digby and Harold stand at the entrance of a pink motel next to a slap and tickle nudie bar in the unincorporated area of LA. They don't wait long before a flatbed hauling porta-potties pulls up.
"Here's our ride." Digby walks over to greet the driver. Harold, baffled, stays put. Digby starts to introduce Harold to the driver whose name is Gleason only to find Harold still on the sidewalk. "Get a move on it Grant it's show time."
"What the hell is this", Harold asks indignantly?" The name on the side of the truck says Putnam Pottys. Harold is pissed because Putnam is his middle name.
"This is our transportation to the Grant ranch?
"You expect me to travel in a shit hauler? Is this some kind of joke?"
"You want to know why I am so successful at what I do." Harold does not respond.
"It is because I keep things simple and uncomplicated. I make sure my customers blend in with the surrounds. Tinted glass SUVs and low riding delivery vans, which obviously indicate having reinforced armor plating, immediately draw the suspicion of any Sipowicz with badge paying attention. Do you think anyone is expecting someone of your stature to be driving around in truck carrying people's outhouse dumps? Even if you are on the lamb, the general public is on the lookout for the Hollywood version of an escape vehicle and trust me a sewage truck is not a vehicle they have in mind." Digby opens the rear passenger door of the truck cab. "Get in." Harold hops in, shakes the hand of Gleason and the three men head off to Santa Barbara.
Gleason turns on to Highway 134 and travels for about 30 miles. Amenities are scarce in the area but there are a few well-appointed gas stations catering to the truckers who transport produce and livestock for the commercial growers and large family ranches located in the valleys and passes off the main highway. Gleason pulls into a familiar franchise truck stop, which happens to be the only semblance of civilization for the next 40 miles, for gas. He pulls up to the gas pump to fill up. All three men step down from the truck cab. Digby unhooks the diesel nozzle and inserts it the tank. Gleason nods at Digby letting him know he's going inside to pay for the gas. Digby pretends to check the tires and tailgate latch securing the porta-potties. Harold stands a few feet away from the truck waving his hand in front of his face trying to blow away the smell from the portable outhouses. He fidgets and paces by the diesel pumps.
"Why didn't he get gas before he met us?"
"No time, the truck driver was late to the pick-up. Here put this on." Digby hands Harold a baseball cap. "Try to act nonchalant, you're drawing attention to yourself with all that pacing and fidgeting. Your body language is screaming you are up to no good. Knock it off. Why don't you go inside and get a slushy or something."
Harold goes inside the minimart to get something to drink. Moments after Harold enters the minimart a K-9 unit drives up to the truck stop.
Earlier This Morning
"Roger that, 16 Echo 5 out", Officer Quintos confirms speaking into his shoulder radio exiting his patrol. He is responding to a report of a stolen commercial vehicle at the McBean-Harris construction site. "Someone here report a stolen truck?" Quintos asks addressing no one in particular among the small group of uniformed workers milling around in front of the construction site.
"Yeah we did", says a tall man in dark blue coveralls with the insignia Putnam Potty's stitched across the chest. He and another smaller man step forward to meet Quintos.
Officer Quintos opens his report pad, writes down the date and begins to question the two men. "Let me get your names first, then you can tell me what happened."
The taller man identifies himself as Juan Veracruz. The second man, sweaty and nervous sheepishly gives the name Jimmy Boransky.
"Okay Mr. Veracruz, Mr. Boransky who wants to go first?"
"Tell him man or I will", Juan threatens Jimmy.
"Shut the hell up man!"
"Fuck you! If that truck blows or those chemicals spill, your ass is going away until your kids are drawing Social Security. I had nothing to do with your little side business and I'm not going down because of your lying ass."
"Hold on, Quintos interjects. What are you talking you about? Are you saying the stolen truck is loaded with volatile chemicals?"
"Jimmy you better fess-up or I'll expose your shit."
"Somebody better say something quick because if that truck is a mobile bomb I need to have an all points issued on it."
Jimmy puts his head down and mumbles his confession.
"What did you say? Speak up; time is of the essence, Office Quintos demands.
Jimmy straightens his posture and repeats his statement. "I said the truck is loaded with two plastics barrels of meth making chemicals. The barrels are hidden in two of the porta units in the back of the truck bed."
"Officer I knew nothing about this. He just told me when I made the call to report the truck stolen."
Quintos walks away unhooking his shoulder radio and requests an all-points bulletin on the stolen truck. Within minutes, the alert goes out to all adjacent county jurisdictions and local news outlets. The highway alert system is also activated because of the potential danger to the public.
Gleason, Harold and Digby are standing by the truck as a K-9 unit pulls into the first parking space in front of the minimart, a few yards from the gas pumps. The cop inside the car lets down the rear passenger window making sure his canine partner has plenty of air before he gets out of the cruiser to buy his daily cup of coffee. Glancing over at the police office with mild interest, Gleason and Digby's attention is drawn away by the simultaneous chiming of their cell phones. Digby takes his phone out of his pocket first. He reads the message and tilts his head to Gleason.
"Shit! We have to get out of here. Grant, climb into one of units in the back and stay out of sight."
"Why, what's going on?"
"There's a statewide alert out on this truck." Digby points to the emblem on the side of the truck, "apparently, the Putnam Potty asshole truck driver is a part-time Breaking Bad Heisenberg wannabe crystal meth dealer. He stashed a few barrels of his raw inventory on the back of the truck. You need hide in case we get stopped. If we are stopped, we will distract the cops long enough for you to slip away. I'm texting the interrogator to give him a heads-up. Take this burner phone. After you find a safe place to hide, push the redial button and give him your location. Stay out of sight until he arrives. He will be driving a brown Jenson's Carpet Cleaners van. He'll take you to the Grant ranch so you can rain down your retribution. Follow his orders to the letter. If we are caught, it will take awhile for Gleason and me to make bail. One of my other men will take care of you if I am compromised. Got it?"
"Yeah, I got it. This is one royal fuck up."
"No time for complaints Grant. We need to get you out of here now!" The three men pile into the truck, with Harold locking himself into one the filled to brim potties.
The K-9 police officer comes out of the minimart sipping his decaf cup of coffee and munching on a powdered donut. As soon as the flatbed passes the patrol car, the drug-sniffing dog in the back seat starts barking incessantly. The officer follows his furry friend's line of sight to the departing truck. He dumps his coffee and donut in the trash, notes the plate number of the truck and plops down into his car seat to run the license plate number. Immediately the particulars of the APB pop onto the screen. The officer quickly starts his cruiser and radios in he is in pursuit of the suspect vehicle. He tears out of the truck stop sirens blaring and lights flashing.
"Damn it. We've been made."
Gleason kicks into evade mode. He weaves in and out of the slow moving tractor and 18-wheeler traffic on his way to a rural escape road. By the time Gleason reaches the turnoff, the police and highway patrol vehicles engaged in the high-speed pursuit are less than an eighth of mile away from intercepting the fleeing trio. Gleason makes the sharp right turn off the main highway. He struggles to keep the loaded truck from swerving out of control on the narrow dirt road. "Get ready the turn is coming up", he yells at Digby.
Digby climbs out the passenger window and tiptoes along the ledge of the flatbed railing gripping the slats hand over hand. His foot slips and for a few seconds his body swings in the air slamming a few times into the side of the truck. Fighting the wind and speed resistance, he finally manages to make his way to the rear of the truck, unlatch the gate and jump into the back. Before unhooking the straps holding the porta-potties in place, he takes a moment to look for the meth barrels. Gleason honks the horn and reduces speed. Digby unhooks the closest restraining strap and pushes two units to edge of the flatbed. As soon as he sees the first police car, he pushes a port-potty off the truck. The police car crashes into the unit and spins off to the side of the road. Digby pushes two more units off the truck, impeding the progress of the other police cruisers by littering the road with the foul smelling septic obstacles.
"Get ready," Digby yells before releasing the restraining strap holding the potty occupied by Harold. Harold is already bumping and shifting back and forth within the porta-potty. At Digby's command, he sits on the shit covered toilet seat, braces his hands against the walls and his feet on both sides of the door. He feels the wet contents of the toilet splash onto the seat of his coveralls. Next he feels the poop box go airborne then crash onto the dirt road. The porta-potty, skips, tumbles over on its side, rolls over twice and slides to a stop. The muck and filth of the portable toilet splatters everywhere. Blue disinfectant, toilet paper, and all manner of human waste cover Harold's body, infiltrate his mouth and seep into his nose. He blindly fumbles for the door lock desperately trying to get out. The door finally flings open and he scrambles out on his knees as the contents of his stomach gush out of his mouth like an erupting volcano. Wave after wave of projectile vomit spews from his heaving body. The bile-tainted globs fall to the ground and mix with the toxic ooze dripping from his clothing creating an even more vile gut-emptying smell. His head is spinning but he manages to take off his nasal offending coveralls and crawl a safe distance from the malodorous capsule of caca. Tanned blue by disinfectant, he closes his eyes and lies under a tree to catch his breath. Hearing the rustling of grass and leaves being crushed under someone's feet Harold opens his eyes and sits up.
"And just who might you be", the grinning CHP asks.
Digby releases the remaining strap and lets gravity force all but the two units containing the meth chemicals off the flatbed. The pursuing cruisers dodge and swerve to avoid colliding with the flying toilet boxes. Excrement sails through the air like brown and blue snowballs indiscriminately landing on windshields, car hoods and roofs. Wipers go to maximum and window cleaner reservoirs go empty as the closest police cars try to keep their windshields clear. The sacrificed patrol cars, those hammered by debris, hit by flying intact units and awash in porta-potty goop pull over to side of the road and let the unscathed continue the pursuit.
Gleason drives the truck down a steep brush covered embankment. "Hold on", he yells, before he rams the truck into a dead Cyprus tree. Digby jumps off the back of the flatbed and joins Gleason. They pull two black body bags containing two unclaimed bodies, compliments of the County Coroner, from under the back seat of the truck. They redress the bodies in their Putnam Potty coveralls and place the bodies in the front seat.
Digby grabs a duffle bag off the back seat and shuts the truck door. "That's everything."
"Okay let's light her up and get the hell out of here." Gleason opens the door of one of the units. He plunges a knife into the side of the barrel sitting on top of the toilet seat and lets the liquid leak out. He hops off the back of truck, takes out a matchbook, strikes a match and tosses the lit matchbook into the back of the truck.
"Let's go." Digby and Gleason run as fast as they can away from the truck. Seconds later the truck explodes sending a plume of black smoke and flames a hundred feet into the air. Harold and the police officer questioning him instinctively turn in the direction of the explosion. Harold takes the explosion as his cue to attempt escape. He quietly steps away while the officers speculate about why the truck blew up. He gets pass the last parked patrol car and starts to run. The officer who was questioning him turns in time to see him running down a small hill toward a lemon grove. The officer pats a couple other officers on the shoulder and points to the fleeing suspect. They hop into the nearest cruiser and give chase. They overtake Harold; throw him cuffed into the back of the patrol car and drive back to the incident command center.
"I'm Detective Hill with LAPD. Sir, are you ready to tell us who you are or should I call you Usain Bolt?" Harold sneers at the reference.
"Don't ever compare with a darkie", Harold spits.
"Now that we have established you are a card carrying member of the Aryan Brotherhood, you want give me your name so I can get you booked and you let can call your brothers in the white sheets to bail you out." Harold remains mute.
"Alright Papa Smurf, if that's how you want to play this." Detective Hill calls a junior officer over.
"Clean the blue crap off his face, take his picture and send it to headquarters so they do a facial recognition run."
The junior officer returns to the car with a box of wet wipes and starts cleaning Harold's face. At first Harold resists but the stinging sensation from the porta-potty disinfectant on his skin is becoming painful. The officer places the dirty wipes in a plastic evidence bag and snaps a quick picture of Harold.
Ten minutes later Detective Hill returns to the patrol car. "Well, well, seems you've been a bad boy Mr. Grant. You know being a federal fugitive is going add significant time to your sentence; but what's an extra 15 years when you're doing life, huh Harold. The marshals are on their way to pick you up, so sit back and relax cupcake." Officer Hill's code name comes over the radio.
"This is Hill, go ahead."
"The stolen flatbed is fully engulfed. Looks like the driver lost control and crashed into a tree. We can see two bodies burning in the front of the cab, the voice over the radio says. Haz-mat team is on site. The fire department is laying down foam to neutralize the meth chemicals."
"Copy that."
The marshals arrive and take Harold into custody. As they drive down the rural road they stop to wait for the traffic officers directing traffic. Harold looks out his window and cannot believe what he sees. He starts screaming.
"No, no, it's impossible! I'm superior! I'm superior! I'm in control! I'm the puppet master! Let me out of here! I'll kill him. I'll kill the both of them! I'll kill them with my bare hands! Harold slams his feet against the door and the driver's seat. He's thrashes about ranting like a madman shouting expletives at the top of his voice. The marshals jump out of the car, open the passenger door and subdue Harold with a taser. Harold slumps over trembling.
The marshals prop Harold up and fasten his seatbelt. Harold leans over pressing his face against the window. He starts to whimper, "no, no, no, it can't be." The traffic officers give the marshals the go ahead to proceed. The late model sedan slowly makes its way pass the crowd of onlookers assembled at the junction where the rural road meets the highway. Standing in the front of the crowd are Fitz and Olivia along with Digby aka Charlie and Gleason aka Huck. Fitz kisses Olivia's hand as Harold passes by. Charlie and Huck tip imaginary hats to Harold. Harold gently bangs his head against the window mumbling, "no, it's impossible, they cannot beat me".
I Made a Promise – 2 years later
"You are in for a special treat today Harold. The doctor has given the okay for you eat solid foods and your brother arranged for you to have a special dinner tonight." The chipper infirmary inmate places a plastic tray with the special order dinner prepared especially for Harold Putnam Grant on the hospital table.
A groggy Harold asks, "what day is it? How long have I been here?"
"Man you really are out of it. Today is Wednesday the 19th. You've been in the infirmary since you got in a fight with Big Willie Williams about week and half ago. Harold my man you are lucky to be alive. I can count on one finger the number of people who have survived a fight with Big Willie. He is kind of a leave no witness behind type of guy."
"I don't remember much of what happened." Harold pauses to massage his temples. "I was in the library on the computer, then out of nowhere he starts accusing me of killing his mother for some reason and the next thing I know he's punching me and stabbing with a…with a…you know those prison knife things."
"You mean a shiv?"
"Yeah, a shiv."
"Well your little beat-down earned him an extended stay-cation in solitary and enough additional years to build an ark solo."
"I still don't understand why he targeted me. Until that day, I had never said a word to the guy."
"He found out your company withheld cancer drugs from the free clinic where his mother was receiving treatment. The clinic could not afford the cost of the drugs and his mother died a painful death. The feds didn't even let him go to her funeral. So when he found out who you were it was only a matter of time before he came after you."
"I'm George by the way. Here let me help get more comfortable." George fluffs Harold's pillow and moves the bed table closer.
"Why are you being nice to me George? What do you want?"
"Me, I don't want anything from you. It's my job to be nice. Plus I am scheduled to be released in 16 hours and 34 minutes."
"Yeah explains a lot."
"So what is this?"
"Beef Richlay with Madeera Sauce." George removes the plate cover and hands Harold the meal card.
"Beef Richelieu with Madeira Sauce, my favorite beef dish. Who did you say arranged this?"
"Your brother. The warden told him what happened to you. He paid for the cook to make this beef richlay stuff for you as soon as you were able to eat solid food."
"Even behind bars I still control him", he whispers grinning.
Harold bites into one of tenderloin medallions. The sauce perfect, the mushrooms flavorful and the "beef" tender. He continues to scarf down the rest of the plate. Just as he is about to finish George hands him cup of red wine.
"What is this?" George shrugs, hands him note and turns on the TV monitor above Harold's bed.
Harold opens the note. Drink this, you're going to need it.
"Hello Harold", the voice on the TV says. Harold shudders and looks up to see Fitz and Olivia staring at him.
"What the hell! How did..you..you?"
"Cat got your tongue Harold", Olivia smirks.
"Come on Harold, you yourself always said everyone has a price and in this case you were right."
"What do you want, you ungrateful son of a bitch? I see you haven't gotten over your jungle fever. Tell me Olivia where's the chicken bone you usually shove through your nose?" Olivia shakes her head.
"Poor Harold, forever the witless twit. Even now locked up, penniless and without a friend in the world your hurl insults like they are some kind of magical reality balls." Olivia covers her mouth bashfully. "Oops, I spoke to soon, my bad."
"Anyway our purpose for having this little ta-da-ta with you is to remind you of the promise we made. Well, really the promise Fitz made. Remember what I told you five years ago?
"Listen girl, I can't remember what you said to me five seconds ago. You are, for lack of a better phrase, white noise to me. You talk and all I hear is static."
"Well let me refresh your memory".
Prepare to descend into a life of obscurity and irrelevance. You are less than nothing. You are a footnote, written in pencil on a post-it stuck to the bottom of the shoe of a farmhand knee-deep in horse manure. My husband is personally going to erase your life from the annals of history. Grab hold of your nuts Harold Grant because according to my Fitz those aren't safe either.
"Sound familiar", Fitz steps in to ask. Harold sucks his teeth and scoffs.
"Five years ago we put a plan in motion to get justice for our murdered daughter. The plan was simple because despite your exaggerated opinion of your own intellectual superiority, you are no more than a cretin at best. Our little band of misfits outmaneuvered you at every turn. The moment we declared war on you Harold your every thought and action came under our control. You were so predictable, two days into the plan the challenge was all but gone. You know how my Livvie loves a good count down, so we'll break the plan down to you that way:
Olivia: "Six, we ruined your reputation."
Fitz: "Five, we took away your legacy."
Olivia: "Four, we left you friendless or rather associate-less."
Fitz: "Three, we banished you from the family."
Olivia: "Two, we took you for damn near every cent you had."
Fitz: "One, we made sure you ultimately lost your freedom."
'Feeling light south of the border Harold?" Olivia chirps.
"Olivia told you your nuts weren't safe and I promised my beautiful wife I was going to serve your fucking sterile balls to you on a plate with gravy. Did you enjoy the Beef Richelieu with Madeira Sauce? Prime grade beef is hard to come by in prison so the chef had to improvise." Fitz says with a smile.
Harold drops the cup of wine, throws his covers back and raises his hospital gown. He moves the catheter to side and feels for his equipment. He screams in anguish. His testicles are gone.
"Good-bye Harold," they say in unison. They kiss and the screen fades to black.
Harold goes berserk. He topples the table, rips out his catheter and IV in his arm and throws his water pitcher at the screen. The guards restrain him so the doctor can sedate him. A broken man he spends the rest of his life sitting on the floor in the corner of his cell rocking and mumbling to himself.
In The End
Fitz never ran for public office but he did put his support behind Andrew who, with the help Olivia and the gladiators recovered from Harold's smear campaign and became governor of California and eventually the 44th president of the United States.
Fitz and Olivia became international philanthropists and social activists. Their children also took the world by storm. Genevieve and Gregory shared the Noble Peace Prize for Medicine for their breakthrough cancer cure protocol and formulary, which generated billions in revenue for Grant Industries. Anna Grace became a renowned biographer and playwright. Mitchell Grant started a deep-space engineering firm and designed the first deployable fully functional temporary shelters used on the moon. Fitzgerald Grant II lived to be 102 years old. He became the strength and heart of the Grant family. After Harold was taken care of his name was never mentioned again among the Grants. When he died, the Grants refused to claim the body and simply sent a check to the prison with instructions to have the body cremated and the ashes dumped in the trash.
The End
AN – Don't you just love an Olitz payback? Sorry there was no scene with the second set of twins, but the muses were getting tired. I'm so happy to finally finish this story I hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you for taking this journey with me.
Now you know I cannot end this story without some fun facts.
Copy that – means to acknowledge information; no need to act
Roger that – means to acknowledge information or an instruction and take action
CHP – California Highway Patrol
Sipowicz – is in reference to a character on an old police drama called NYPD Blue; the show was on ABC and it was considered edgy because they showed nude butts during primetime (10pm)
Maybe ABC should revisit that policy; but only as it pertains to TG's nude butt. LOL
I'm working on updating Desert Princess next. I've been working on it along with this story. It's going to be another long chapter so please bear with me.
If you have the time, please write a review. So until next time, take care and be blessed.