Political Science 101

Chapter Ninety-Two

IT WAS A little after 2PM when Lenny Knight arrived at the lavish St. Louis hotel hosting Ray Doyle's victory party that night. He didn't need to reserve a table or get there early for anything. As he sat in his car outside the venue, he knew that all he needed was his nifty St. Louis Police Department badge and he would be granted access to the party, no questions asked. He also knew his badge would grant him front-row access during Ray Doyle's victory speech, no questions asked. And once he was close enough to Ray Doyle's podium that his loud voice would be picked up by Ray's microphone, Lenny would have his own questions asked.

He had his diatribe all planned-out. He would stand during Doyle's victory speech and clearly (and loudly) ask him if he accepted illegal money from oil corporations that may be linked to the assassination of United States Congressman Arnold Jenkins. This would cause a bit of a buzz in the room, considering the weight of this accusation. And at this point, of course, Ray Doyle's staff would attempt to remove him from the room. And once again, Lenny's badge would come in handy, because, as Lenny saw it, no one would put their hands on a police officer — especially not an aging detective who bore a striking resemblance to Jerry Orbach. Additionally, Lenny knew that once he identified himself as a police detective, anyone who put their hands on him was committing a crime.

Lenny felt invincible. Lenny felt untouchable.

Being a cop has certain bully-inspired perks.

And then, in the ensuing confusion, Lenny would lay it all out there with direct accusations, telling everyone in the room that Doyle's illegal campaign and personal funding from corporations were from entities owned or controlled by Lenore Sable. And then he would tell everyone how Lenore Sable controlled Arnold Jenkins like a puppet until Jenkins didn't do what she wanted anymore, so she had him killed, and now Ray Doyle was Sable's replacement for Jenkins — pure and simple. Then, he'd drop the name "Chuck B" as being Jenkins' assassin, hired by Lenore Sable. Then he'd draw all the parallels between Lenore Sable's financial interests and Ray Doyle's voting record.

And finally, Lenny would culminate his moment in front of the people and in front of the cameras by summing it all up with one statement: Ray Doyle is connected to the assassination of Arnold Jenkins!

Everyone loves seeing politicians go down in flames.

Lenny smiled as he sat in his car, one of the few in the parking lot outside the hotel ballroom where the staffers of Ray Doyle were still setting up for the evening's festivities. His smile of smug self-satisfaction seemed to fade into nothingness when he brushed a brief glance around his car.

His 80s model Buick was barely still running. The interior was faded, stained, and ripped in some places. The floorboards of the front and back seats were littered with empty fast food bags and old Styrofoam coffee cups from whatever gas station Lenny happened to pass by on any given day. The amalgamized smell of dried coffee stains and cheap cigarette smoke became the unwavering aroma of his car — it looked cheap, smelled cheap, and felt cheap.

This feeling frustrated Lenny to no end. He saw himself as the guy who could bring down a Congressman; he saw himself as the man who would probably be giving interviews on CNN next week, as the guy who brought down a Congressman; he saw himself as being the guy who was offered a million-dollar book deal, as the guy who brought down a Congressman; he saw himself as the guy with a special segment on 60 Minutes or Dateline, as the guy who brought down a Congressman. And because of all this, at the very least, Lenny would need a new car, because bringing down a Congressman would give him a new life.

Patience, he thought to himself, it will all come in time. As Lenny saw it, this would become his legacy, and he only had one chance to make it happen.

Lenny Knight's cell phone rang. It had an actual ring (rather than a song or a ringtone or even a fake telephone bell, but a genuine cell phone ring). He reached into the pocket of his beige-colored trench coat and opened his antiquated flip-phone, checking the caller-ID before answering. He recognized it as the main number of his precinct.

"Knight," he said. He always answered with his last name rather than a traditional or casual greeting. He felt it was more cop-like.

"We need you here," the voice on Lenny's phone said. He recognized the voice as that of one of his superior, Sergeant Crane. Lenny didn't particularly like Crane, seeing as how Crane was nearly half his age and at least eight inches shorter. Several years prior, Lenny was quietly infuriated when Crane was promoted over Lenny.

"I'm kind of in the middle of something," he replied dismissively.

"Well," Crane replied, "we just pulled a body out of Dead Creek. Ironic as hell, but we need you."

"It can't wait?" Lenny said with frustration. "He won't get any deader and the CSI guys can process the scene."

"It's a she," Crane replied, "and she has no identification, a bullet in her head, and your business card in her pocket."

"My business card?" Lenny said, suddenly curious.

"Yeah," Crane replied, "so hopefully you can identify her, or at least give us a little insight. I'd text you a picture, but your phone is older than I am." Crane's sarcastic tone was clear-as-day, and even though he was short in stature, he wielded quite a bit of authority.

Lenny sat, momentarily silent, trying to figure out to whom he'd recently given his business card. "Oh—damn," Lenny said aloud.

"Ring a bell?" Crane asked. "Looks like a suicide, but we don't know for sure."

"I'mon my way," Lenny said. He closed his flip phone and started his car. The renowned keyboard riff of Dire Straits' "Walk of Life" began playing from the cassette tape player in Lenny's car. He quickly shifted his old car into DRIVE and raced to the city morgue to confirm his suspicion (and fear). Perhaps his investigation wasn't over yet. He'd only given his business card to one person recently. Soin the mind of Detective Lenny Knight, all he saw was another piece to his puzzle.