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Fulghum received a standing ovation after his class on film adaptations of Raymond Chandler’s mystery novels. Students flocked to the podium to request the professor to do an encore performance for the entire college. Some students wanted him to design a course devoted to the subject so each film could be minutely dissected by the master. He took note of their comments and told the students he would discuss the possibilities with the administration. One female student called out that he should float the course offering as soon as possible in the SUCCESS evening program. That suggestion led Fulghum to the door of Dr. Giorgio Medic, the Serbian director of the SUCCESS outreach evening program.
“Professor Fulghum, your reputation precedes you. I was planning to recruit you for our evening program, and here you are! Come right in. Let’s discuss your ideas.”
“Thank you, Dr. Medic. I hope I’m pronouncing your name correctly, Meditch?”
“Perfect. Please call me Giorgio.”
“If you’ll call me John, I will. I’ve been teaching the course that Dr. Max Lebetter designed, Noir Film and the Noir Aesthetic. I seem to have hit a raw nerve in the student body. They’d like to hear more about noir in the SUCCESS evening program. What will it take to make that happen?”
“You can write your own ticket, John. Design your course for any format you like, three-week, six-week, semester, summer, whatever. The key is your course description. It has to sell your course. I’m about to promulgate our schedule for spring, summer and fall course offerings. Yours would fit under literature and film in the spring. If you can have the course description to me tomorrow morning, I’ll include the course in our catalog. I’ll also need a syllabus within the next month so I can post it with the others. The sooner you get your syllabus to me, the more exposure to our students it will have. Night, as well as day students, take SUCCESS classes. Typically, courses start with a majority of day students. Then the balance shifts and the second offering has predominantly evening students attending.”
“I understand Dr. Max Lebetter worked closely with you on the design of a number of night courses.”
“Both he and his wife developed nearly all the elective courses that we teach in the SUCCESS program. Their deaths were a significant loss for me. Not everyone can teach the courses they devised.”
“I’ve read what the college website features as the origins of the night school program. You’re given credit for being the inspiration behind it.”
“The president hired me to start the SUCCESS program. It’s done well in spite of me. Seriously, though, I’ve always thought of it as a great collaboration, an opportunity to enrich the day and night students by putting them in a context where they can interact. Day students gain from hearing the ideas of experienced adults. Adults gain from hearing the thoughts of young people.”
“I understand the night program has full academic accreditation.”
“It does indeed. In fact, it’s a model of its kind. I’m thinking of introducing an on-line curriculum so anyone, anywhere can enter the program. Of course, I’ll have to be able to hire people to teach in the various languages. Do you have language fluency, Professor Fulghum?”
“I’m fluent in Arabic. I’m literate in German and French. I’ve studied other languages, like Korean, but I couldn’t teach in them.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Dr. Lebetter was such an accomplished and talented linguist, so we planned to open SUCCESS throughout the Middle East and Northern Africa. Alas, that plan is only on the drawing board, so to speak.”
“Dr. Medic, I’ll write the course description and email it to you tonight. At some time, I’d like to stop back by to discuss at length the vision that you and the Lebetters developed. Just out of curiosity, did you conceive of any courses about the Nazi movement in Germany during the Nineteen Thirties and Forties?”
“We talked about that idea, yes. But we thought a more relevant idea was the Nazi movement worldwide since the Fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989.”
“Out of curiosity, could you please email me any descriptions or syllabuses that you developed along that line?”
“I’d be happy to do that in the hope you can pick up where we left off and carry the ideas forward. Here’s my card with my email address and cell phone number. Feel free to contact me anytime. Again, I’m delighted you dropped by. I’ve so much to do and so little time.”
“Here is my card, Dr. Medic. Your program sounds exciting. I hope I’ll be able to complement your efforts.”
Fulghum went to Sister Barbara’s office and asked her to walk with him. She was wearing her civilian attire today and looked beautiful. After dropping into the president’s office to say she would be back in an hour, she joined Fulghum on a walk around the periphery of the campus where the woods met a wide meadow.
“Sister Barbara, when you told me the faculty is encouraged to participate in the life of this campus, I had no idea of the layers of activity that were running in parallel below the placid surface.”
“Mr. Fulghum, people visit this college for a day, and they go away with the image of a peaceful place where contemplation is possible in a busy, sinful world. The trouble with that image is that our administrators, faculty, and students are people. They’re subject to the same impulses as people in cities, suburbs and rural areas of this country. As you peel back the layers, year by year, you’ll discover this college is not very different from anywhere else. What’ve you discovered lately that you want to share today?”
“I discovered, in addition to the collection in the retreat facility on campus, rumors of the existence of four other collections of art owned by this college in locations all over the country. Did you know about those?”
“I didn’t know about them, but I’m not surprised.”
“Could you get me a list of the artifacts in those four other collections? I understand they’re not implicated in the current negotiations for the return of the artworks that are located in the retreat house here.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Fulghum.”
“Tell me about the college librarian, if you will.”
“Brother Masters is a talented man in so many ways. He’s not only the librarian but an avid photography connoisseur and a published film and drama critic. He volunteered the library as the venue for a series of exhibits so the students would have examples of fine photography year-round. Dr. Lebetter and he worked with local photographers to develop the campus program, including the darkroom facility built with the president’s private contingency funds. Did I mention earlier that he’s also a renowned expert in theater lighting? He designs the lighting for all our campus dramatic productions. He goes to conferences on theatrical lighting all over the country.” She looked at Fulghum to gauge whether he needed more information.
“What’s his relationship with the bishop and the cardinal who just visited the campus?”
Sister Barbara frowned and thought for a moment. “I’ve heard rumors Brother Masters is a close friend of both those prelates. On occasion, he’s traveled to Rome to see Cardinal Angelus. He’s a frequent guest of Bishop Le Grande and the archbishop as well. Whatever the specifics of those relationships, Brother Masters is a trusted advisor and messenger for those men.”
“I have the impression that a lot of communication among church people is sub rosa.”
“Secrecy has been practiced for many reasons by the Catholic Church for almost two thousand years. The Vatican has one of the finest intelligence capabilities in the world.” She said this matter-of-factly as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
“Do you think the negotiations about the works of art in the retreat will conclude anytime soon?”
“There’s hope they’ll conclude imminently. Only a few details remain to be resolved.”
“Will you tell me those details?”
“I suppose you need to know because of your investigation.”
“I won’t know whether they do pertain until I understand them.”
She sighed and looked down as they traversed the meadow along the tree line on the campus perimeter. “Negotiations now hinge on agreements and constructions that will remain quiet even when the return of the art has received wide publicity in Italy and America. One dimension involves the chain of custody by which the art was conveyed from Italy and stored here at the college. Naturally, investigative reporters and detectives working for the original owners of the art will want to dig well below the levels the Church is willing to divulge.”
“I can see why this is a delicate interchange.”
“Then there’s the Argentina bombing connection.”
“What?” Fulghum stopped in his tracks and looked at her with alarm.
“Negotiations have touched on the resolution of the issue of who did the bombing and who covered up the evidence all these twenty-odd years. This is very sensitive information. I’m not privy to the details, but there may be a connection of the art with the descendants of certain Nazi war criminals who resided in Argentina and Islamic terrorists behind the attack on the Jewish community center in Buenos Aires.”
Fulghum nodded as he looked at the placid green surroundings. He looked at Sister Barbara, a saintly figure walking next to him. “Has anyone discussed a relationship affecting the negotiations with a current Nazi organization, possibly clandestine?”
“That’s the conjecture that Dr. Max Lebetter raised with me during our nocturnal ramblings. We walked this path every evening after work. He had a wide-ranging conspiracy theory. With no hard evidence for some reason, he seemed convinced he could find the facts he needed if only he dug long enough.”
“And I guess time was running out for him and his wife. When were their tenure determinations going to be made?”
“Their materials were submitted last November. The determination was to be made by May or June. Therefore, they had four to five months before their time was up.”
“So Dr. Max Lebetter was feverishly trying to prove his theory in time to affect the tenure decision?”
“After he and his wife had returned from Argentina during winter break, he thought that might happen, but he was a realist. He’d worked so long on his conviction; it had a life of its own. He wanted to continue to pursue the issue after he and his wife left the college. That’s why he wanted his license as a private investigator.”
“Did he ever mention having a client who was going to support his investigations after his academic career ended?”
“He said he had a supporter, but he couldn’t trust her.”
“Did he say who she was?”
“No. And I didn’t pry. I thought he’d let me know in his own good time. Now, of course, it’s too late.” She kneeled to examine a delicate snowdrop blossom shooting up through the grass. “When I studied in Edinburgh, I witnessed the snowdrops coming up through the public lawns in spring. They were so beautiful and random.”
“Sister Barbara, were you aware of either of the Lebetters having affairs with their students or fellow faculty?”
She rose and pursed her lips. “I’ve heard rumors.”
“Did any student come to tell you about such contact?”
“In fact, yes. As a nun, I’m not under the seal of confession as priests are, but you must understand the feelings of the students who confide in me.”
“I don’t think any of those confidences need to be violated, Sister. I happened to discover one, independent of any that you may know. I thought there might have been others. Surely, you could comment on relationships among the Lebetters and adult faculty or administrators?”
“I know Amanda Lebetter had an affair with a faculty member for over two years. I always thought her husband must know. I thought their marriage was open and free. On the surface, they were such a loving couple, always busy helping others.”
“When, in effect, they both had liaisons with others?”
“Yes. Do you think it makes a difference in your investigations?”
“I don’t know yet. Jealousy can be a motive for murder. Was the faculty member bedding Amanda Lebetter in the theater department?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Professor Clancy?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“I’ll say it, then. It was Professor Clancy, who therefore had a motive to want Max Lebetter dead. And likewise, Max Lebetter had a motive to want Clancy dead. Did you hear about a fight between Father Rivera and Hal Clancy behind the theater building? A witness to the fight told me it was dangerously violent.”
“I knew there was bad blood between Father Rivera and Professor Clancy, yes. A student came to inform Father Malloy of an altercation she had witnessed. Both men were called to the president’s office to discuss the matter. The men confessed to their differences and promised to make amends. That was the end of the affair, at least in his mind.”
“Professor Clancy’s significant other, Professor Sturbridge, seems to have had a variety of sexual experiences. You must have heard about those. She’s in your department.”
Sister Barbara smiled. “Meg Sturbridge is a complex woman.”
“What do you mean? That she’s a litigator?”
“Yes, she’s a litigator, but for the reason of keeping her job in spite of her inability to be tenured.”
“She’s published dozens of articles and a book—her dissertation, I think. She’s got every academic checklist item she could possibly have. What could possibly stand in her way?”
“Do you recall when I told you those who are not Catholic would be edged out of the college eventually?”
“It’s as simple as ‘she’s not Catholic’?”
“I think it is.”
“You can’t tell me that your batteries of Catholic lawyers are having trouble arguing against her mostly frivolous lawsuits.”
“The Church tolerates Meg’s antics because it wants to do so.”
“Why? Is it blackmail?”
“Mr. Fulghum, what do you mean?”
“What does Professor Sturbridge have that the college desperately needs?”
“That’s a question for a private investigator like you.”
“It’s also a question for an administrator like you. You’re close enough to the power brokers at this college to know the answer to my question. By the way, who are the real power brokers of the college? I don’t think Father Malloy fills the bill.”
“The Board of the college gives direction the president follows. Of course, he’s also given direction by the bishop, the archbishop, the cardinal and His Holiness. And since he’s the general of his order as well as president, he reports directly to the Pope as well as through all the other figures in the hierarchy.”
“Who on the board is the real power behind the throne?”
“That would probably be Mr. Felix Contreras.”
“Tell me about Contreras.”
The sun was descending, and shadows were lengthening. Fulghum’s shadow rippled over the meadow as it pointed to the center of the campus like a compass point due east. Sister Barbara collected her thoughts. In the distance, she saw a figure walking across the meadow towards them. She spoke quickly.
“Mr. Contreras is a Catholic lay person, rumored to be Opus Dei. He’s fabulously wealthy and very political. Here comes Marcie Malloy. We’ll have to continue this subject later. We don’t want to have our conversation overheard by the president’s niece.”
Sister Barbara waved and smiled. Marcie waved back and started running towards them.
Marcie stopped to catch her breath before she said, “Hello, Sister Barbara and Professor Fulghum. Isn’t it a beautiful day for a walk around the campus?” Fulghum noticed that Marcie was wearing black jeans, Adidas and a forest green sweatshirt with SODALITY written across the chest and PEACE AND JUSTICE emblazoned below that. She had tied an orange ribbon in her auburn hair, which she now removed so her hair fell around her smiling face in ringlets.
“Hi, Marcie. Yes, it is. What brings you out to the edge of the campus this afternoon?”
“Robin Cavanaugh wanted me to remind you she needs your decision on the article about Professor Fulghum and the bomb. We plan to put the current number of The Clarion to bed tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp. Consequently, we must have a judgment on including or excluding the story tonight.”
“Professor Fulghum, it seems you’re becoming quite a celebrity on and off campus.” Sister Barbara smiled at him. She turned to the student and said, “Marcie, tell Robin to print the story exactly as written. The president has given his approval.”
“She’ll be delighted. Now we can put the number to bed! I’ll be going now. Have a nice walk and a tremendous evening.”
Marcie ran back across the meadow towards the campus. Her hair flew behind her, and her dress pressed against her body. Fulghum thought she was a fine looking, well-built girl. He also thought it was unfortunate that her uncle was the president of the college she was attending. Everyone seemed to be treating her like the bug that had been found in his office. When the bug was discovered, Fulghum placed it in a Ziploc bag and stowed it in his safe. In a flash of insight, the detective saw a direct correlation between the bug, Marcie and Hal Clancy, the mime in the glass box.
“Is it true that Hal Clancy has tenure?” he asked.
She thought for a moment. “Yes. He’s been tenured for four and a half years.”
“He wasn’t Catholic when he came to the college, was he?”
“No. He was Episcopalian, not a very good one by his own account.”
“How did he get tenure?”
“That’s a long story, but the short version is, he converted to Catholicism. He took instruction from many of the priests among the faculty. Once he had converted, no one could find anything to say against him.”
“Even though he acts like a paranoid schizophrenic most of the time?”
“Professor Clancy didn’t always act like a sociopath. He discovered his glass box shortly after he got tenured. At first, he was the laughing stock of the college. Then people understood he was not going to stop being a mime, so they ignored him.”
“Thus, he became invisible.” Fulghum assessed her as she considered this conjecture.
“Yes, I suppose he did.”
“He’s a natural actor, for all that. I’ve never met such a chameleon. All his poses are letter perfect. From various sources, I’ve discovered he’s a martial arts freak, a Don Juan, a former spy, a mime, a phenomenal teacher, a sadistic producer and a first-rate, New-York-quality actor.”
Sister Barbara laughed. “He’s all those things and more. From the administration’s point of view, he’s the reason that most of the theater students stay at the college rather than transfer. Any prospective student he recruits comes and stays. In financial terms, he keeps one-third of our courses fully filled.”
“Do you think such a person could be a murderer?”
“Mr. Fulghum, that would require the kind of hard evidence you don’t have. I believe that a false accusation against Hal Clancy could be far more dangerous than a true accusation against the real murderer, whoever that might be.”
Fulghum mulled over this rebuke. He noticed Sister’s rising color when defending Clancy and wondered what her true relationship with the mime was.
“Did Professor Clancy ever take an interest in the art negotiations or in Professor Max Lebetter’s Neo-Nazi project for the SUCCESS program?”
“No to the former question, and yes to the latter. In fact, Max and Hal planned to team teach the Neo-Nazi course, using plays as well as films. I recall they were going to start their course with the play and film versions of Judgment at Nuremberg. The film had just been selected for preservation in the National Film Registry.”
“Isn’t that film anti-Nazi?”
“Very. It was vitriolic and highly propagandistic. But then they were going back to Triumph of the Will and surveyed Neo-Nazi films like The Boys from Brazil, This Is England, The Believer, and American History X.”
“Some of those films make my noir films seem like milquetoast.”
“The president was excited by the prospect. He said the course would raise our numbers significantly. He was looking for ways to help Dr. Medic rent a local movie house to handle the class. Dr. Medic was lobbying to make the course our first on-line offering. Father Burin, our treasurer, did the numbers validating the financial worth of the on-line SUCCESS.”
“Did the course have an external sponsor?”
“Mr. Contreras was the sponsor. Some say the whole thing was his idea. I don’t believe it because in my judgment the man is more a back-room operator than an idea man.”
“What did Brother Masters think of the idea?”
“He was for it at first, particularly when he learned that The Boys from Brazil was one of the featured films. He later became enraged when he heard that Dr. Lebetter was going to end the course with Mel Brooks’ film version of The Producers.”
Fulghum laughed, and Sister Barbara joined in his laughter. When they calmed down, Fulghum asked, “Would it be fair to say that the Neo-Nazi emphasis in the SUCCESS program divided the faculty and students into warring factions?”
“Near enough, but I don’t think an academic fracas would have led to two murders.”
“In fact, it may have led to three murders, and it might have led to fifty more. Let’s keep our minds open. We don’t want to commit to premature closure. I see we’re back to where we began our walk. I’ve got to get back to work, and I suspect you do also. Sister Barbara, have a fine evening.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fulghum. We should walk like this another afternoon. By the way, did you see what happened to Professor Sturbridge last evening?”
“What happened?”
“She fell down the stairs to her basement and landed on her face. It’s now all bruised and battered. She tried to hide behind makeup and dark glasses, but the effects of the bruising and swelling were impossible to mask. I suppose she should have taken greater care. She’s lucky her face wasn’t badly cut in the fall. That would have meant expensive plastic surgery, I think. She can afford it, but she’d never be the same after cosmetic surgery. She’s a good-looking woman, or was until her accident.”
While Sister Barbara walked to the administration building musing on the fragility of the human condition, Fulghum walked to his Saab, thinking of lighting up a Marlboro and finding his old friend Jack Daniels. He climbed into his car and checked the messages on his cell phone. The one that stood out boldly from the rest was a single letter message from Ken Mander that read, “K.” That meant a meeting tomorrow morning at eight at the Big One.
Fulghum lit up a Marlboro as soon as he was off campus. He drove to his office to be sure it was still functional. The building was intact. Joe’s Malt Shop was still open for business. Joe waved at Fulghum through the window and gave him two thumbs up. The detective waved back and smiled.
The detective went to the side door and warily stepped up the stairs to his office on the second floor. Before the door, he hesitated to sense whether anything seemed out of place. Satisfied it felt right, he opened the door and entered his office, picking up the mail from the floor. He quickly surveyed his office, noting the stacks of racing forms on the floor, his medals display on the wall and his safe behind his desk. He sat in his captain’s chair behind the desk and chain lit a cigarette, stubbing the old one out in his overflowing ashtray.
It took Fulghum around a minute to sort his mail. He placed seventeen pieces of junk mail to the right on his desk. In the center, he placed the one letter that interested him. He did not open that letter right away. Instead, he pulled the metal trash can from under his desk and filed the junk mail in it. He emptied his ashtray on top and put the trash can back under his desk.
The light from the grimy window high on the wall behind his desk fell like a searchlight through motes of dust and whorls of tobacco smoke. Fulghum decided to bring his friend Jack Daniels in for discussions. He eased open the second drawer on the right and retrieved a bottle of JD and one tumbler. He was going to use his handkerchief to dust the glass but stopped when he remembered Robin sobbing into it. He shrugged and poured three fingers of the velvety brown liquid into his glass. He was about to drink when his cell phone rang.
Given how long he had waited for this consultation with JD, Fulghum was inclined to let the call default to voicemail. Instead, he checked caller ID and saw the name, Marcie Malloy. He shrugged and answered the call.
“Fulghum, it’s your nickel,” he said gruffly.
“Hi, Professor Fulghum, it’s Marcie Malloy. Did I catch you at a good time?”
“Good enough for government work, Marcie. What’s up?”
“You may remember I asked whether you’d do some private investigative work for me.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I’d like to reopen that conversation if you don’t mind. Can we meet off campus somewhere to discuss it?”
“Okay, Marcie. I’m off campus now, but I’ll drive back that way. I’ll be coming through rush hour traffic. Why don’t we meet at the Dunkin’ Donuts nearest campus in forty-five minutes?”
“Thanks, Professor. I really appreciate this. I’ll see you there.” She terminated the call.
Fulghum shrugged. Jack Daniels would have to wait until he returned. He took out a large index card and laid it over the top of the glass of whiskey.
The late afternoon light had turned to twilight when Fulghum pulled into the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. Seated in a familiar Volkswagen were Benny, Robin, and Marcie. They all piled into the Saab with Fulghum.
“Well, Marcie, as I said on the phone, it’s your nickel.”
“I brought Robin and Benny along for our protection, Professor Fulghum. They’re going to be able to verify your innocence during our meeting. Okay, you two can wait in the VW while we talk.”
Robin and Benny got out of the Saab and climbed back into the Volkswagen where they began their discussing and hand waving immediately.
“The things a student has to do to maintain her reputation!” Marcie exclaimed. “I won’t take up much of your time. My uncle is being pressured to do something unethical. I’d like you to find out who’s pressuring him and make him stand down. Will you do that?”
“Why doesn’t your uncle work directly with me?”
“You mentioned the conflict of interest in our last discussion. He feels strongly that the administration and faculty should have a strictly professional, arms-length relationship.”
“And here you sit circumventing the sacrosanct distance that’s usually kept between students and faculty.”
“Professor Fulghum, that’s a risk I’m willing to take when my family’s being threatened.”
“Wait a minute. You said your uncle was being pressured, not threatened.”
“Let me be plain. My uncle is being blackmailed into doing the deal for the artwork. He’s been told that non-compliance will mean his death.”
“How do you know this?”
She took out her cell phone and played a recording.
“Father Malloy, the art negotiations either go forward as planned, or you’re a dead man. Let me spell that out clearly - LEBETTERS. Got that?”
She stopped the recording and looked Fulghum in the eyes. Fulghum thought she was acting cool and collected for someone who had just played the recording of a death threat. He began to reappraise his opinion of the young woman.
“Do you know whose voice that was?”
“I think I know it, but I can’t be absolutely sure. I don’t want to give you a preconceived notion if you’re going to take my case. Will you help me?”
“Where did you get the recording?”
“You can’t tell anyone else if I tell you that.”
“Give me a dollar.”
“What?”
“Just give me one US dollar.”
She took out her purse and gave him one dollar. “Now what?”
“Now you’re my client. I’m bound not to tell anyone what you’re about to tell me unless you approve it beforehand.”
“Whew. Well, I’m sure you know the college has a board of directors.”
“Yes.”
“Benny wrote the software for the telephone system used by the board members. The system includes not only land lines but cell phones as well.” She let this sink in.
“Let me guess. Benny’s software has a backdoor so he can monitor telephone conversations?”
“Yes. He can monitor them in real time and search the archive. That’s how I got the recording. Benny found it in the archive and shared it with me. Now I’ve shared it with you.”
“How did Benny find this particular recording out of the thousands in the archives of that system?”
“Benny wrote a search routine that first transcribes the voice file as a text file. He runs searches against the text file routinely. The search that found this recording had keywords dead, art and Lebetter.”
“Benny can walk back the cat to find the caller whose voice we heard.”
“He’s already done that. It’s scary.”
“All right, whose voice does Benny think it is?”
“The most powerful board member, Mr. Felix Contreras.”
“Tell me what you know about this man.”
“He’s the pit bull that runs the board with an iron hand. He gives orders and expects instant obedience. Some people think he has enforcers to take vengeance on anyone who won’t comply with his every wish. He’s big, strong and mean enough to do his own enforcing.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“I met him once. His icy eyes sent shivers down my spine.”
“Who else knows what you’ve just told me?”
“Benny knows all of it. Robin only knows Benny found something hot. She can deduce I gave what Benny found to you. Right now, she’s probably trying to get Benny to tell her what he gave you. They’re always at each other’s throats.”
“Is your uncle aware of this voice recording?”
“I don’t think so. I believe he’d be upset if he knew it existed. At a minimum, Benny would be in deep trouble.”
“Why don’t you give me a copy of the recording?”
She handed Fulghum a thumb drive. She said, “The recording is on this thumb drive.”
“I think I now have enough to get to work on your case. By the way, I’m doing my work for you pro bono. That means, except for your one-dollar earnest money, my work will be done for free. I’ll let you know of my progress when I have it. When you get in the car with Benny and Robin, tell them we couldn’t come to terms. Tell them I still feel it’s a conflict of interest to take your case.”
“That’s what I planned to do anyway. Thanks, Mr. Fulghum, for ‘not’ taking my case.” She winked cheerfully and pushed the door open.
In a flash, she was in the back seat of the Volkswagen waving her hands, weeping and speaking excitedly. Robin and Benny glared at Fulghum as he drove away. They couldn’t see the detective’s smile of satisfaction with his new client’s performance. They also couldn’t see him lighting his Marlboro and checking his cell phone for messages, chief of which was a text from Silvia, “Drop by my apartment when you can.”
He texted back, “IM ENR, OK?”
She responded immediately, “K.”
Darkness was descending rapidly. By the time he arrived at Silvia’s place, it was night and a light drizzle was falling. He gave their secret knock, and she appeared dressed like Salome with two glasses of JD. She handed him one of those and kissed him on the cheek. They touched glasses. She locked and latched the door as he preceded her to her kitchen table, which was set for two. The smell of roast capon filled the house.
“I take it you met Marcie Malloy?”
“Yes, she, Robin and Benny met me at the Dunkin’ Donuts.”
“I’m glad for that. She was so anxious; she was about to burst.” She smiled.
“Do you remember when we were young and earnest?”
“I remember The Importance of Being Earnest, the play. Do you remember Bunburying?”
“Oscar Wilde certainly knew how to skewer British society.”
They both laughed and sipped their whiskey.
“Oh, please excuse me while I take care of something I have to do for Dr. Medic right now before I forget it.” Fulghum booted up his laptop and at white heat, wrote the course description for his evening noir course. He sent the email to Dr. Medic then he closed the laptop and looked up at Silvia, who was looking through a stack of papers with a pen in her hand.
“Thanks for letting me take care of that,” he said.
“No problem. I read through thirty papers while you were writing.”
She put her stack of papers on the chair by the table and pushed her hair behind her ears. She leaned towards Fulghum and spoke.
“Well, Professor Gumshoe, have you made progress, or what?”
“I’m working a great many angles, but I confess I’ve got nothing substantial or conclusive to report today.”
“Well, I have something important to share, besides the roast capon and chilled chablis. I’ll tell while you pour the wine and I move the capon from the oven to the table.”
While he poured and she lifted the capon onto a platter, she said, “Sister Barbara dropped by my office at noon to give me the lists of artifacts in the college’s four other collections and the complete itinerary of Father Rivera from the day of his arrival until his departure.” She laid a thumb drive on the table. Fulghum pocketed it with a smile and drank another slug of JD. He mused about the large collection of thumb drives he was amassing.
She handed him a large carving knife and fork. “Will you please do the honors?” He began carving while she went to the stove and placed the asparagus spears and new potatoes in two bowls with serving utensils. She rummaged to find an ashtray and a book of matches. She placed the ashtray where they both could use it. With the matches, she lit two long white candles that sat on either side of the capon. She sat across from him while he served portions of white and dark meat for each of them then they helped themselves to the vegetables.
“The capon’s done to perfection, moist and warm. I’d like to raise a toast to the chef.” He raised his glass of wine, and she touched it with hers.
“Apropos of nothing, I met Brother Masters, the librarian, today. He’s reticent and intelligent. He’s just mounted an Ansel Adams traveling collection in the library. He invited me to visit and review the show. It’s great how ready-to-hang photo shows are available for only shipping and insurance costs. The library features a new show each month. Next month’s show features Edward Weston. Max Lebetter and Brother Masters arranged the deals to make that happen. Good grief, was there anything that Max was not involved in?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing. When I looked into the Neo-Nazi class he and Clancy devised for the SUCCESS evening program, I was astounded by the range and depth of their prospectus. Not many major universities could mount classes with so much meat and controversy rolled together.”
“Amanda Lebetter was a busy beaver too. Do you know what a sodality is?”
“Let’s see. Latin soder means sister. Does that get me close?”
“Close enough. A sodality is a sisterhood or sorority with religious flavoring. Anyway, Amanda had formed a group called Sodality for Peace and Justice. Guess who her main associates were in constructing that?”
“How about Sister Barbara and Professor Sturbridge?”
“You get a star. Their sodality included administrators, faculty, and students interested in making a difference with the new feminism.”
“Marcie was wearing a sweatshirt for that organization today. What’s the new feminism these days? By the way, this chablis is excellent with the capon.”
“Thank you. I’m trying new vintages each time, so please let me know when I guess wrong. I’ve got a good advisor at the wine retailer—so far. To your question, as best I can figure the new feminism is political with a vengeance. It goes beyond equality to assert women’s superiority. I kind of like that idea.” She smiled, holding a piece of dark meat in her fork like a banner.
“You would! But then you are superior in every respect.” He smiled and squinted to see her expression. She pretended to work on cutting her dark meat while blushing at his admiration. A curl of her hair was suspended over her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear unselfconsciously. Fulghum admired her radiant face.
She ignored his admiration, saying, “Evidently the sodality wanted to make Leni Riefenstahl a major figure in the Neo-Nazi class.”
“No wonder Triumph of the Will was the second film in the lineup. Do you know whether Opus Dei has a women’s auxiliary?”
“Opus Dei came up today in my conversation with Brother Masters. He said it was the highest expression of the Catholic laity movement.”
“What else did he say about it?”
“He said it had the power, money, and insight to save the Catholic Church, alongside the K of C, of course.”
“I thought you were going to say KKK. With all the Neo-Nazi discussions and films about skinheads and other mindless thugs, I wouldn’t be surprised to discover a Grand Dragon or two under the covers. I recall seeing a number of Renaissance paintings of dragons lurking under St. Margaret’s fine dresses in the Louvre and Prado.”
“I know those paintings. She was a saint.”
“And her dragon was a warning label?”
“Probably. The Sodality had one interesting objective.”
“What’s that?”
“Its primary focus was to assure that The Big Book of Secrets was correct from the new feminist perspective,” Sylvia explained as she examined her asparagus.
“What does that mean?”
“It means all entries regarding sexual ratings of women had to be expunged, and entries regarding sexual behaviors of men had to be validated by at least three women.”
“I think it’s high time we saw the latest version of The Big Book.”
“Which version do you prefer?”
“There’s more than one?” He sat up in his chair and leaned forward.
“When the sodality began its censorship program, a male version was created to run in parallel with it. Naturally, the male version contained the materials expunged in the sodality version.”
“So, the college had reverted to the Ninth Century when women and men were strictly segregated in all matters of religion?”
“What effectively happened was both versions of the document became skewed. I think the Sodality was a plot to destroy The Big Book from the inside.”
“Who would have wanted to do such a thing?” Fulghum said ironically.
“One of the theology professors made a remark that secular women should be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. He longed for the day when Tampax would be banned. That’s a revolting thought.”
“Agreed without discussion. Wasn’t there talk about an enlightened priesthood? Liberation theology? Gutierrez?”
“Evidently the last fifty years are considered a passing fad by the Church hierarchy and by many old-line priests. The Sodality is, therefore, both radical and revanchist. It carries on the tradition of the liberation of the last fifty years, so it’s radical. It also looks back with nostalgia on everything that’s been gained in that time, so it’s revanchist in that respect.”
“Where do you stand among the new Amazons?”
“I’m having dinner with my favorite Neanderthal tonight. Ask me again tomorrow after I’ve done more field work on my specimen.”
He smiled and extended his hand. Sylvia squeezed it and rose to clear the table of everything but the glasses of JD. He helped her clear the table and rinsed the dishware before placing the pieces in her dishwasher.
When he had finished loading and started the dishwasher, he observed, “I’ve got to get up early. I have an off-campus meeting at the crack of dawn. That means it’s early to bed for us if you feel like it.”
“But not to sleep, my prince.” She tickled him. “First let’s finish our JD.”
“Definitely, but then ...” he said with a low growl.
All that night John and Silvia rang the changes on the new feminism. When she felt she had gone as far as possible, he showed her that she had only just begun. They played and danced. They shared their secrets and hit the heights together. They were still enjoying themselves when her alarm went off. They showered and dressed in a hurry. Fulghum finessed breakfast so he could arrive in time to meet Ken Mander. Silvia kissed him goodbye thereupon enjoyed her breakfast to the sounds of WGBH Radio while she continued grading her students’ papers for her morning class.
Fulghum found Ken Mander waiting for him at eight o’clock under the Big One sign next to the signature truck with the hot dog in a bun on top. He gestured for Fulghum to park and join him for a drive. When they had both lighted up their Marlboros and cracked their windows open to reduce the ambient smoke, Mander drove and began their conversation.
“That was exciting imagery you sent me. Our folks haven’t seen the female subject, whose original name was Rachel Levy, for many years. We wondered where she was hiding if she wasn’t dead.”
“She’s one of yours?”
“Actually not. Rachel was with the Mossad. We liaised with her on a number of occasions but deemed her untrustworthy.”
“Can you give me anything on her background?”
“She’s a Sabra, born in Israel to an Israeli mother, who was believed to be in intelligence until she was captured and executed as a spy, along with her Arab husband, Ali Fuwad. Rachel was on assignment in Egypt at the time when she disappeared. Now she’s popped up again on your tape. I was hoping you could fill me in on her current details.”
“Rachel Levy is now using the identity of Dr. Margaret ‘Meg’ Sturbridge, faculty of St. Paturnus College. B.A. Brandeis. M.A. and Ph.D. Harvard. Literature expert. Well enough off to own a McMansion. Also still with the Mossad. Also ... my client.”
“From the imagery you sent me, she plays with some very rough people.”
“Do you know who beat her up?”
“Three Neo-Nazi thugs. I brought their data on a thumb drive for you. You didn’t get the data from me. What are you up to lately that brings you in contact with these folks?”
“It’s a long story. I’m working for three clients simultaneously to solve three cases of murder and one of a threat. I think the cases are all related. The trouble is, the boundaries of the cases are unclear.”
“Can you enlighten me?”
“In the case of a double murder, Neo-Nazis are definitely among my suspects. In the case of a single murder, I’m investigating international intrigue surrounding World War II Nazis who migrated to Argentina. As things turn out, I’m right in the middle of the old and new Nazi stews. The Agency wouldn’t have anyone tasked to cover up how Nazis managed to escape counterintelligence in Germany and ended up in Argentina, would it?”
“I’ll check and let you know.”
Fulghum nodded. “Did you know I lost my apartment in a bomb blast?”
“I heard something about that.”
“I’d sure like to know if any of your Agency friends had something to do with that blast.”
Mander pretended to be affronted and wrinkled his nose. He tapped the ash from his cigarette before he answered Fulghum’s implicit question. “That’s not our style, John. You mentioned Argentina. Your apartment building blast seemed to be like the Community Center blast of 1994.”
“That occurred to me also, Ken. Somehow a deal involving information about the Jewish Community Center blast is mixed up with Vatican negotiations over some artwork stolen by the Nazis and stored since World War II at St. Paturnus College.”
“You’ve gotten yourself into the middle of a complicated minefield, pal. I wish I could help you. Look, I’ll nose around. If you need me, just call.”
Mander pulled up to the Big One and stopped his car.
“Here we are again where we began. Remember that we didn’t meet this morning and I never gave you that thumb drive.”
“Thanks, Ken. You know where to find me.”
“Now that you mention it, John, I don’t know where to find you, now that you’ve lost your apartment. You aren’t sleeping in your Saab or your office, are you?”
“No. Across the street is Lillian’s Motel. I’m staying there temporarily while I search for new digs. My room number is 007. That should be easy to remember. I’ll see you later.”
Fulghum dropped by the motel office to tell the day manager he would be staying for the next seven days. He paid ahead in cash then he went into his room and booted up his laptop to review the files on the thumb drive Mander had given him.
According to Mander’s file, the three biker skinheads who had roughed up Professor Sturbridge hung out at the Blue Velvet Bar on Main Street in Nashua. They had rap sheets as long as Fulghum’s arm with A&B, B&E, grand theft auto, extortion, racketeering, human trafficking, drug trafficking, attempted murder, and a host of misdemeanors. For all that, they had only served a collective fifteen years behind bars. Why they remained free from jail was a mystery almost as dark as the Agency’s apparently active interest in them.
Fulghum decided to visit the Blue Velvet Bar on Main Street while he was in Nashua, but the bar was closed until eleven o’clock a.m. The detective noticed that fixed surveillance cameras covered the exterior from every angle. He thought he could find out what he wanted to know by visiting the Nashua Police station later. Now he needed to drive to campus to teach his classes.
Fulghum’s lecture surveyed the works of a 1950’s era New York crime writer named D. L. Champion, author of the Inspector Allhoff stories. Champion’s main character Allhoff was a curmudgeonly inspector whose legs had been shot off in a botched raid. In Fulghum’s view, Allhoff was the epitome of noir within the police detective genre. His students squirmed as Fulghum described Allhoff’s sadistic and manipulative relationships with the policemen who had been assigned to work with him. “Yet,” Fulghum lectured, “Allhoff could outthink the entire force. That’s why the police commissioner supported him when otherwise Allhoff would have been forced into retirement. He had something like an edge.”
During his office hours, Fulghum was visited briefly by a portly priest by the name of De Brachia. He taught religion at the college and published widely on emerging South American writers, most of the Marxist persuasion.
“Professor Fulghum, we share a number of bright students who’ve told me the good things you are teaching about noir films. I wanted to stop by to offer a collaboration for next semester. I propose we team teach a course on noir films from Argentina, Spain, and Mexico along lines established at the Noir City Festival in San Francisco in 2014.”
“That’s an intriguing idea, Father De Brachia. Unfortunately, I’m on a one-semester contract without the option of renewal. You said, though, that you’d like to include Argentinean noir films. Is that right?”
“Hardly a Criminal and The Black Vampire are classic noirs. Argentina is the perfect noir setting. I know the country well.”
“Father, do you know the legends about the Nazi criminals escaping to Argentina during and after World War II?”
“Those aren’t legends. They’re historical truths. Look on the internet. It’s no secret what happened as the war ended.”
“How would you feel about team teaching a course comparing the legends with the facts about that?”
Father De Brachia got a suspicious look in his eyes. “Do you want to be killed? That would be the perfect way to set us both up for assassination. Vicious and vengeful people protect the truth in Argentina. I’m not a conspiracy theorist—I know the conspiracy first hand.”
“Father Rivera was connected in Argentina, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, and look what happened to him.”
“He disappeared.”
“In South America, there is a legacy of disappearances. In Argentina, the disappeared are called desaparecidos. Thirty thousand people just vanished.”
“Do you think Father Rivera was such a man?”
“I know that he was. He was doing things that the Argentinean government would never condone.”
“What kind of things was he doing?”
“He was digging up old history, visiting people who ‘don’t exist,’ and dealing with artifacts that were thankfully long forgotten.”
“Who would’ve ordered his disappearance?”
‘Even if I knew, I could never tell. If I talked, I’d be put on a list, and then I’d be exterminated. I think we’ve talked long enough today. You have students to see and so have I. You say you have a one semester contract. Your effect on the students tells me you’ll be offered an extension. Who knows, you may even decide to stay and go up for tenure.”
“Like the Lebetters?”
“They cut an unfortunate deal for their tenures, and it failed.”
“Do you mean they might have become tenured? I thought they were excluded based on their religion.”
“Professor Fulghum, anything is possible in the Church. Some people convert and gain tenure, like Professor Clancy. Others, like the Lebetters, do special service and earn tenure that way. Still, others hang on with interminable lawsuits like Professor Sturbridge. There is no single path.”
“What did the Lebetters do to earn their tenure?”
“The same thing they did to earn their deaths.”
“And that was what?”
“They went to Argentina on a special mission and succeeded.”
“If they succeeded, why didn’t they get tenure?”
“They may have been granted tenure after what they did, but what they did guaranteed their deaths. So tenure was, in the end, irrelevant.”
“Can you tell me more, Father?”
“Professor Fulghum, don’t pry too deeply into this matter, or you’ll end up like the Lebetters. I’d like for you to survive to team teach with me.”
“Did you plan to team teach with Dr. Max Lebetter?”
“Of course. It was the opportunity of a lifetime for both of us. But he died, along with his wife. Maybe you and I can pick up and carry on. Think about it, Professor Fulghum. It’s noir if you do and noir if you don’t.”
Father De Brachia chuckled as he left Fulghum’s office. The waiting students parted to give the portly priest a way through. They closed behind him, effectively screening him from Fulghum’s view.
Fulghum managed to see every student waiting in the hallway, giving short shrift to none. He was exhausted when the last one left his office. He decided to pack up and leave for the day when Professor Clancy knocked.
“Do you have a moment?” Before Fulghum could answer, Clancy entered the room and pulled the door closed behind him.
“I suppose you saw what happened to Professor Sturbridge’s face.”
“I was told she fell down her basement stairway on her face.”
Clancy laughed before he became serious, even menacing. “Give me a break. Those bruises weren’t the result of a fall. They were received in a brutal beating. I know the thugs who did that to her.”
“What do you intend to do about it?”
“I certainly won’t be calling the police.”
“Why not?”
“Those thugs are protected by the police.”
“Are you being paranoid?”
“You’re new here, Fulghum. When you’ve been here as long as I have, you’ll see things differently than you do now. I’m not paranoid. The college really is trying to destroy me. If you want to help me settle with the thugs, come to the Blue Velvet Bar at eleven o’clock tonight. If you don’t want to help me, stay clear of me for a few days. Things are likely to get violent.”
“Thugs don’t take the initiative. They follow orders. Whose orders were they following when they assaulted your friend?”
“I think I know the answer to that question, but the individual is untouchable. I’ll deal with those I can touch.”
“Hal, I know you’re adept in martial arts, but the people who frequent the Blue Velvet Bar carry weapons and heavy chains. I know a man who went in for a drink in the afternoon and was chained to the floor and kicked senseless. He had to undergo major surgery. No one was prosecuted for the assault and battery.”
“I’m not afraid of those goons, and you’re making my point about police complicity.”
“Good luck tonight. Out of curiosity, if you’re no longer around, who inherits your glass box?”
To his credit, Clancy howled with laughter. He hit the desk with the flat of his hand then he stood up straight and extended his right hand. Fulghum shook it. The mime exited the office and marched down the hall toward the outer door.
Fulghum checked his messages before he left for the day. Dr. Medic had acknowledged receipt of his course description. He replied that the description was approved and would appear in the SUCCESS night school offerings for classes beginning next week. If ten or more students signed up for the course, it would be offered, and Fulghum would teach it. Fulghum responded that he would be ready if the course met the required enrollment.
Mander emailed the confirmation that Harold “Hal” Clancy was, indeed, a former agent of the CIA. Pertinent information was included with an attached file. Mander also verified that the Agency had an ongoing interest in the Nazi community in Argentina and more information would be forthcoming including a point of contact.
Fulghum texted him, “Thanks, Ken. Neo-Nazi action at Blue Velvet Bar in Nashua tonight @ 11 PM.”
Benny had texted he had another thumb drive to deliver whenever Fulghum was ready to receive it. This one contained a large number of files including one with the search results Fulghum had asked for via Marcie. Another file contained additional surveillance imagery for the Sturbridge residence.
Fulghum answered, “Leaving campus now. Meet by my car ASAP or drop by my office tomorrow AM.”
Meg Sturbridge messaged him to check his Patriot file ASAP. He acknowledged with “K.”
Silvia had texted, “JD@8?” which he acknowledged with a smiley face.
Father De Brachia had emailed an attachment containing the description he and Dr. Max Lebetter had devised for the Argentinean noir film course. He replied, “Thank you. Will review and get back to you.”
Having answered his mail along with a myriad of text messages, Fulghum picked up the stack of student papers and his laptop. He scanned the room to be sure he did not forget something as he closed and locked the door as he left. He found Benny waiting by his Saab with the promised thumb drive, which he pocketed.
Fulghum wove his way through traffic to Patriot Park to clear the box, which indicated Number 4. When he searched around Number 4, he found a small-volume kitchen garbage bag, which he took to his car.
He opened the bag and found a lot of shredded paper plus a thumb drive. He deposited the bag in the trash receptacle at the exit before he stuck the thumb drive in his laptop. Only one file was there. Fulghum opened it to find a one-sentence note.
“Felix Contreras told me he was the man who hired the thugs to wreck my face during his visit to my house this afternoon to discuss the Nazi gold.”
Fulghum wondered about the reference to the Nazi gold. All he had known about to date were the stolen paintings and prints.
Fulghum took out Sturbridge’s thumb drive and inserted Benny’s. Among the included files was one labeled Sturbridge 2. He opened the file and reviewed the moving image showing a car pulling up in Sturbridge’s driveway and her garage door opening. The driver got out of the car and walked into the garage. The garage door closed. One hour later the garage door opened again. The man came out, got in his car and drove away as the garage door closed again. Fulghum decided to check the car’s plate against Massachusetts DMV records, but he was reasonably sure the car belonged to Felix Contreras.
It was almost eight o’clock when Fulghum reached Silvia’s apartment. He knocked in the special code, and she opened the door holding the ginseng root in one hand and a long kitchen knife in the other.
“I’ve learned how to slice the root. Want to join me for a bite?”
While she prepared the ginseng, Fulghum filled her in on his discussions during the day. He mentioned the Nazi gold reference that Dr. Sturbridge had tucked in her thumb drive message.
“That makes sense, John.”
“What makes sense?”
“Paintings and prints require maintenance. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that a ton or more of gold followed them to assure their proper handling for fifty to one hundred years. The Nazis were, if nothing else, supreme bean counters. Look at how complete and careful their records of the concentration camps were. Do we know whether the artworks were appraised as part of the negotiations?”
“An excellent question, Silvia. I’ll have to ask Sister Barbara about that tomorrow when I ask about the gold. Oh, by the way, I may be attending a rumble tonight in Nashua.”
“I know you’re not kidding. I hope you’ll be careful.”
“I’ll have company. Clancy will be there too.”
“Do you think you can keep the college out of the news?”
“That I can’t guarantee. Clancy wants revenge for the damage three thugs did to Meg Sturbridge’s face.”
“That may sound noble, but it also sounds stupid. Those thugs didn’t order the beating.”
“You’re so right, Felix Contreras did.”
“You know this for a fact?”
“I do.”
“Bring me up to speed.”
“The three thugs were on candid camera when they beat Meg up. Meg sent me a message that Felix Contreras paid her a visit warning her that she might be killed just like the Lebetters if she didn’t toe his line. Clancy knows Contreras was behind the beating, but he claims the man is untouchable. He also says the thugs are being protected by the police.”
“I see. And the police are naturally being ordered to back off by someone like Contreras. It seems to me you’re close to establishing the man behind at least the Lebetter killings.”
“I’m close, but I’m still working on the motive for the killings.”
“You may never have a satisfactory answer about the motive.”
“The Lebetters went to Argentina on a mission during the winter break. They completed their mission, and that might have meant tenure. Still, Max Lebetter wanted to nail down details that his mission had revealed to him and Amanda. He wasn’t satisfied. I daresay you won’t be satisfied either.”
“What do you mean, John?”
“Don’t you want to know the real story about the Nazi loot?”
“You bet I do.”
“And if I solve all my mysteries without discovering what you need for your Pulitzer Prize winning story?”
“I’d keep digging until I found it.”
“Precisely. I think Max was similarly inclined. We’ve got to discover what the Lebetters’ mission to Argentina entailed. Once we do that, we’ll know why he had to keep struggling when he might have stopped and smelled the roses.”
Silvia and John dined on ginseng root sliced very fine.
She told him, “You have to eat some root every day for it to take effect. It’s good for the libido and whatever ails you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my libido.”
“I agree, but right now I’ve got to shoo you out to do your rumble. I’d like you to stay so we can see any immediate effects of ingesting the celestial root. Before you go, I’ve made us glasses of the liquid in which the root was floating. Let’s drink to your safe return.”
“I’d prefer to be drinking JD.”
She touched her glass to his and drank her glass dry. He shrugged and did the same.
“It’s not half bad.”
“There’s a lot more where that came from.”
“Another time, perhaps.”
“Will you be back tonight after you’ve had your fun in Nashua?”
“That’s my intention. If I’m not back, have the police drag the Nashua River for my body.”
“Don’t even kid about that, John. The very thought gives me the willies.”
Silvia kissed him tentatively on the cheek. He pulled her into an enormous bear hug and kissed her long yet gently on the lips then he was gone. She poured herself three fingers of JD and attacked a large pile of student papers at the kitchen table. She lighted a Marlboro as well as a candle to illuminate her vigil until he returned.
Fulghum drove to New Hampshire, up Route 3 to Exit 6, which led to Main Street and the Blue Velvet Bar. The bar was jam packed. Overflow people loitered on the pavement on both sides of the entrance. Fulghum parked in the municipal garage, walked through the crowds and into the bar. When his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he squeezed his way to the back smelling the body odors of the rough men who frequented the place. He was jostled by some. Others looked daggers at him, figuring him to be an undercover policeman. Nearly everyone he passed was packing something. Some held heavy chains. He counted bandanas and wallets with chains. On average, the clientele were muscle-bound biker giants. Most had the scars of street fighting experience and clumsy prison tattoos. Tonight, they seemed to be seething and warming up before a fight.
Near the back, talking with two huge toughs was Professor Hal Clancy, dressed comme il faut. Fulghum decided to keep his distance and observe the mime in action. He almost did a double take when Clancy looked to the right and dropped one of the large men to the ground with a single punch. Suddenly, the other man disappeared. Clancy stepped over the bodies and went forward to the bar looking for someone. Fulghum followed him at two arm lengths distance. Clancy whispered in the ear of a man who looked like one of the three thugs who had visited Meg Sturbridge. Fulghum couldn’t be sure about the ID. He was sure about the way the man buckled and hit the floor. One of the bar’s regulars was beginning to catch on. He raised a heavy chain and spun it around his wrist. He was about to let centrifugal force bury the chain in Clancy’s head when he got an odd look on his face. Clancy turned in time to see how Fulghum held the man’s balls from behind. Clancy smiled as Fulghum quickly pulled his fist together and yanked backward, flipping the man on his back and grabbing for what might be left of his vitals. Clancy gestured to Fulghum, and the pair headed toward the right of the entrance on the inside.
There at a table, the other two hulks who had beaten Meg Sturbridge sat, drinking and muttering to each other unaware of the two men who stood with folded arms next to their table. Clancy grabbed the one sitting on the left by the neck. He squeezed until the man thought his voice box would be crushed. His partner stood and drew his Bowie knife, which gleamed in the light of the candle burning on the table. With a quick snap, Fulghum pulled, then pushed and twisted the man’s hand. Fulghum now held the Bowie knife, and the man was hunched over nursing his broken wrist. Clancy winked at Fulghum and frog-marched the man he held by the neck to the door and flung him into the street. Fulghum did the same courtesy for the man with the broken wrist.
The evicted men were met by a gale of laughter, which made them angry. They charged back inside the bar and went flying to the floor because Clancy and Fulghum had tripped them. Fulghum used the Bowie knife to relieve the men of their wallets and belts. He threw the wallets into the crowd while Clancy grabbed both the fallen men by their hair and rammed their faces into the barroom floor repeatedly until they were unconscious. The clientele of the bar felt left out; hence, a donnybrook began in earnest. Those in the street jammed into the building to join in the fun. Clancy and Fulghum brushed themselves off and made their way through the flying fists and pushing, shoving bodies to the back exit of the bar where the restrooms were located. They managed to force the back door open and step outside into the alley. They wound their way to the municipal parking lot as the sirens howled and police cars converged from all four directions on the Blue Velvet Bar where occasional shots were heard as the fight swung into high gear.
In the parking area, Clancy extended his hand and Fulghum shook it. The two faculty members climbed into their separate cars and drove away. Fulghum got back on Route 3 heading south as a police car raced north and took Exit 6. Fulghum figured it would be a long night for the authorities. He also thought about the folly of what he and Clancy had just done.
“What have we gained by our midnight antics?” he asked out loud. “We’ve sown the wind. Now, will we reap the whirlwind? Or what?” He had risen from the fight and survived to fight another day. His cell phone rang the tone that indicated an incoming text message.
“Good fighting,” Mander texted. “We had your six. Sleep well. I’ve got to go, or I’d suggest your office for some JD. BFN!”
Fulghum wondered about the guardian angels that had brought him and Clancy through the fight unscathed. Now he suspected the Agency had fulfilled that role in the shadows.
“As to whether Clancy and I will be identified in the police reports, that’s highly unlikely. For safety, however, we might be wise to avoid the Blue Velvet Bar for a while.”
When Fulghum reached Silvia’s place, he gave their secret knock. She came to the door with two glasses of JD, each with three fingers.
“Welcome home, hero. When we’ve had our Jack Daniels, I want to examine every inch of you to see whether you sustained any injuries, however slight.”
“I’m pleased to say that I rose uninjured in the fray.”
“The Blue Velvet Bar made the news at midnight. Imagine that. Over one hundred people were arrested, and not just the usual biker riffraff. A New Hampshire state representative and the deputy DA for Boston were among the notables arrested. Three men were shot, none fatally. Once the police moved in, the brawlers who tried to escape were shot with stun guns. A fire broke out in the bar. Oh, well, I guess you’ll have to find another watering hole. Why not right here?”
“I’ll go for that. Do you have any more of the ginseng?”
“The root or the liquid.”
“The root. I have the liquid I want right here.”
“Do you like the root?”
“I felt a little stronger and more agile than usual tonight. Maybe there’s something to ginseng after all.”