Frank is sitting down on a chair facing Jacob’s official looking office desk. He looks around the room and notices the large paintings of Jacob on the wall, like a stately home would have back in the eighteen hundreds. He thinks to himself. Asks himself one question, why so much grandeur? Frank has come across a lot of people in the political game in his career. All of them share the same characteristics when it comes to life style. Cut from the poor, give to the rich. Most media like to portray certain politicians as “for the people” but a lot of them don’t take into account the huge expenses these men and women take while furnishing their buildings, dressing their selves up for functions and driving limos to the airport while hopping on to private jets for globetrotting.
‘Nice office Jacob’ Frank remarks.
Jacob looks around the office trying to figure out if Frank was being a smart ass or the latter.
‘Thanks’ He replies.
‘It’s very stately wouldn’t you say?’ Says Frank
‘Yeah, you’re probably right there. It does its job though.’
Frank shakes his head in disappointment while lighting a cigarette up, his second cigarette in twenty minutes.
‘Tell me something Jacob. Why do you need all those pictures of yourself in the office? Do you forget what you look like or something? Surely a mirror would do the job just fine. No need for portraits of yourself. It’s just my opinion.’
Jacob nods in agreement, sipping his coffee examining Frank’s question with his eyes.
‘It is what it is Frank. I’m a successful man in my field. For all my hard work I get certain perks, that’s life, heck that’s my life! Is it wrong that I enjoy a certain level of success that most people do not reach? No, it’s not. Is it wrong that the government wants to cut your pensions despite your hard work for the state? Yes. Do I give a rat’s ass right about now? No. You’re here to discuss our agreement not my life style.’
Frank’s face is alight with anger, its shows. He gets up and stretches, while smoking his cigarette silently as if he was putting an exclamation mark on his opinion.
‘You know what Jacob’ Frank says abruptly while exhaling.
‘What Frank?’
‘You’re right let’s just get on with this. So how are you getting me the gear that I need?’
Jacob gets up from his seat and paces the width of his desk while looking at Frank cautiously.
‘There is no gear Frank. You can’t just expect me to magic what you need out of my ass. That’s not how it works. You need to give me time.’
Frank dismisses Jacob’s remark with a swatting motion of his hand.
‘Don’t give me that shit Jacob. Why the hell did you agree to me coming down here if you were not prepared to help me out?’
‘I would have thought that you would have worked it out by now Frank, being the detective and all’
Frank slams his fist on Jacobs’s desk to emphasize his anger.
‘Don’t Bullshit me Jacob!’
‘Look Frank I’m sorry but I’m the damn Defence Minister to the United States Government. This job means more to me then getting paid. It’s a position that I have worked my way up to since leaving the Marine Core seven years ago. I’m a black man doing a white man’s Job. We may not get another black President any time soon, but I can assure you that if we do, I’m going to be the next one. I can’t be risking my career let alone my freedom helping a fugitive break into the M.I.T research building and kill someone on a personal revenge trip, even if that person happens to be my best friend and former bunk mate at the core. Sorry Frank.’
Jacob exhales deeply and pats his pockets down. He reaches into his inner suit and takes a cigarette out. He lights it.
‘I’m sorry Frank.’
‘You’re sorry? Is that supposed to make me feel any better? If you’re not going to help me then why am I here?’
Jacob looks Frank Square in the eyes. The tension in the room is heavy as Frank dissects Jacob’s harsh stare. Jacob’s eyes dart to the intercom on his desk. Frank reacts. He gets up and covers the intercom with his hands so Jacob cannot operate it. Jacob shakes his head in disappointment.
‘There’s no use trying to stop the inevitable Frank. You are going to get caught, sooner or later.’ Frank pulls the chord out of the intercom. The room is filled with a static buzzing sound for a few seconds.
‘Looks like you have already made your mind up, sooner seems to be what you’re batting at the minute Jacob. Like every true great batsman, you’re going to strike out, sooner or later.’
Jacob leans into face Frank nose to nose over the desk, both men staring each other down, both men with their hands on the table, both men waiting for the other to react.
‘Looks like we have a problem here Frank, not only have you got a warrant out for your arrest, you also have your self locked down in a government building with highly trained men. You lay one finger on me and you will be taken down. You may recall me talking to the guard at the gate. I told him that if you are spotted by yourself in the building then they have permission to shoot on sight, you are not leaving here without me letting you go!’
Thirty Seven
Chief Shaw pours himself another double.
‘Whisky in the early afternoon helps me think’ He says
Commissioner Alvarez remains seated while reading the newspaper in Shaw’s office. He is a slender and tall man of Mexican descent, he is known for his loyalty to the working officers of the Boston PD and the so called suits, an every man’s man. Chief Shaw overshadows Alvarez not by height but by demeanour and manner. Shaw’s New York Irish accent is worlds apart from the well-spoken tone of Commissioner Alvarez. The commissioner crosses his legs. His shiny shoes reflect the light in the room. Well-polished, his suit is well pressed. Shaw feels underdressed standing across the room to the well-tailored Alvarez. Alvarez rests the newspaper on his legs. Every action he depicts is as elegant and swarve as his $4000 suit. He looks up at the chief of police with a smile. Shaw thinks to himself how surprised he is that the man sitting across the room hasn’t got a gold tooth, considering his high price suits and style, its only befitting that the man have a gold tooth.
He laughs.
‘What’s funny Mr Shaw?’ Asks Alvarez
Chief Shaw takes another swig of whisky. The ice hits his teeth and makes him cringe. The clanging sound echoes around the room, another drink. He pours himself another double, braces himself, and clears his throat.
‘Nothing sir, it’s just been one of those days. I’m glad you made it down here okay. I heard that they shut down the airports after Connor Chase made his way into our lives.’ Says Shaw
Alvarez smiles and takes a sip of coffee while surveying the Chief’s body language over the rim of the cup.
‘I think you mean “minds” Chief Shaw.’
Shaw takes another sip, this time being more cautious of the ice in the glass hitting his teeth, using his mouth as a shield.
‘I don’t think I get you sir.’ Says Shaw
‘Not many people do Mr Shaw. What I meant was, when you said Connor chase made his way into our lives, I think you meant minds’
Shaw shakes his head
‘No sir. I meant lives’
Commissioner Alvarez gets up from his seat and pats himself down. He walks over to Shaw and puts his hand on his shoulder.
‘If Connor Chase was in my life, then I’d be scared to walk out of the door. I would be looking over my shoulder every ten minutes, watching and waiting for him to show up. Connor Chase is nothing more than fear in my head.’
Shaw looks Alvarez up and down, taking in the splendour of his apparel.
‘I’m quite sure that the people he’s holding hostage find Mr Chase very much in their lives sir.’