Monte said smoothly. “Easy Jake, I might have a business deal for you and your friend here,” nodding toward Leo.
“We’ve got a job. What are you tryin’ to do, set us up?” Leo asked contentiously
Monte smiled. “How is the pay washing windows?”
“We get paid enough,” Leo assured sullenly.
“I just thought you might be interested in a big one-time job that could net you boys a few ‘thou’, but I can see that I’m wasting my time… yep, you guys seem really happy washing windows,” Monte remarked sarcastically. “See you around.” He pretended a loss of interest as he moved toward the door.
“How many ‘thou’ are we talking about?” Leo pressed Monte. “What kind of a job?”
“Thirty thousand each with a bonus, if it goes like clockwork,” Monte replied. “But once you’re in, you’re in; understand? And you do it exactly as you are told.” He watched their faces and knew he had them hooked.
“Whew” Jake whistled. “Not bad! Who are we workin’ for?” he asked.
Monte responded, “No information unless you agree and as long as you get paid what do you care?”
“Just a minute,” Leo told Monte. “We gotta’ talk about this.”
They moved away from Monte. After an animated discussion a couple of minutes later, Leo nodded.
Monte walked up to them. “Agreed? Good! Let’s go over to that table and we’ll talk,” he said nodding to a dark corner booth away from the bar. After revealing the nature of the job and what was expected of them, Monte said, “We’re done now; I’ll be in touch in a day or so.”
Looking around at the half empty, murky bar room, “This is as good a place as any to meet. See you here on Monday after work.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you boys, you keep your jobs at Atlas, in fact I insist. Take sick leave or vacation for this job if you have to. You catch my meaning?”
They both nodded as Monte turned and headed for the door leaving Jake and Leo looking after him.
Later Monte placed a call from a pay phone. “Mr. Ramsey, this is Monte, I just want you to know I have located two good applicants and have interviewed them. They are eager to get the job, and I’ve set up another meeting on Monday, as soon as I get the information for them.”
“Excellent, Monte; the information and partial payment will be delivered at the usual drop. An envelope will be left for you at the desk at the Washington Athletic Club,” he went on. It will contain all the information you will need to pass along to the two applicants, plus the down payment money, which is to be paid half now, the other half when the job is done. That will be confirmed when the merchandise is delivered into my hands by messenger service. Call me if anything comes up.”
Ramsey sat back in his chair and drew a deep breath. The ball was rolling.
Chapter 2
Tuesday, September 16, 1980
1:30 PM
“Is this Charlene Thayer?” The voice on the phone was hoarse and raspy, almost a whisper.
Charlene hesitated, “Yes, who’s calling?”
“Are you Paul Thayer’s widow?”
Charlene froze, and answered tentatively, “Yes, who is this?”
The voice continued, “Mrs. Thayer I have information about your husband, Colonel Thayer.”
“Who are you and what do you want?” she demanded. “If this is some sort of sick joke it isn’t funny!”
“There are things you should know about your husband’s death, Mrs. Thayer, things are not what they seem…”
She cut him off by abruptly hanging up. She leaned against the wall; her breath coming in sharp gasps. Hearing Paul’s name brought pain, even after nearly ten years. But the voice had opened the door to a nagging question Charlene Thayer had turned her back on. It had been lying dormant and held in suspension until now by “busyness”. Suddenly no amount of busyness could close the door on the words, “Things are not what they seem…” echoing in her ears.
3:30 PM
Seattle had lapsed into its typical fall weather pattern, torrential rain interspersed with wind and drizzle. This September day had some of all three. The raindrops were large and splashed against the windshield as journalist Andrew Kincaid maneuvered his 1972 Toyota Land Cruiser into his assigned parking place in the rain soaked lot across from the Seattle Times building. He had just finished what he considered to be a thoroughly frustrating and unsatisfactory on-the-air interview with King County Council member Robert “Bob” Mitchell.
The topic, a political “hot potato”, was the need for a new disaster and transportation plan for the Puget Sound region largely dictated by the Mount St. Helens’ eruption that occurred last May. Mitchell had run for the Council and won based on his unique approach to disaster planning and his proposal for the area’s transportation needs.
Previously made contingency plans were proving to be impractical for the movement of people out of dangerous areas in question. The impact of population growth projections on transportation needs, modernizing and improving freeways and possibly adding light rail were on the table as agenda items as well.
Months before the actual volcanic eruption Governor Dixy Lee Ray had established a task force to examine those topics and address other natural disaster issues. She had asked Andrew Kincaid to serve on the task force as the media liaison and Andrew had declined. However he continued to monitor the activities of the task force and following the eruption, Andrew along with several of the state’s top investigative reporters were probing the state’s response.
Andrew knew that the State of Washington and the most populous King County had serious differences on several components of such a plan.
With his knowledge of the subject and his interview skills in play, Andrew attempted to have Councilman Mitchell explain his and the King County Council’s position on disaster planning; asking Mitchell specifically where and how the County significantly disagreed with the State.
He found it nearly impossible to keep the councilman on point. Mitchell changed his position several times on how a disaster plan should be adopted and implemented. To Andrew’s surprise Mitchell was even less definite on transportation needs and growth projections.
At the end of the interview all Andrew wanted to do was go home, have a strong drink and go to bed, thinking it had been such a long day already, he couldn’t believe it wasn’t over. Instead he found himself back at the Times finalizing Wednesday’s column.
As he drove into the Times parking lot and into his assigned space he noted the vehicle on the right was parked slightly across the line into his space, which would not allow a comfort zone for opening doors and exiting. “That does it!” he declared.
Wiggling to exit the car Andrew swore under his breath and commented to himself that he should have ridden the Harley. A motorcycle was far easier to park albeit a less desirable vehicle in Seattle’s rainy weather.
“Maybe I will ride the bike tomorrow, even if it’s still pouring buckets,” he grumbled as he splashed across the street and through the doors of the Seattle Times. “It can’t be harder than this!”
As he passed the reception desk he groused, “Doesn’t anybody in this town know how to park? This has been some day!!”
Wendy Hilyard, the dark haired receptionist raised her eyes from a page she was reading, adjusted her thick glasses and managed a weak smile. “Oh, hi, Andy, here are your messages,” she held out her hand containing a sheaf of 3 x 4 pink message slips and let her eyes drop back to the paper; he grabbed them as he hurried by hardly looking at her. Brushing wet hair out of his eyes, he mumbled “Thanks” while a disgruntled frown clouded his ordinarily congenial face.