Chapter 12

For the most part celebrities, politicians and other public figures, enjoy seeing themselves on television. It was as if each appearance on television was another notch in their belt. The exception was when the destruction of their career was being broadcast to a large audience. At that time, they would rather see the television cease to exist, and wish that the printing press had never been invented.

A television program titled, ‘Corruption In Paradise,’ was being broadcast. It presented the Betsy Carter case starting from the moment the 911 call was made by Steve Shelton, with video taken from the dashboard of the first police car that showed up at the Iota Nu Nu frat house.

Patrolman Alex Manning was at home watching his world crumble in front of his eyes. Video and audio from the video camera in one of the patrol cars clearly showed him threatening the witness who had reported the incident to emergency operator. He hadn’t even been bribed to do it, knowing that Ivan would reward him for protecting his son.

Alex was fully aware of the fact that Malcolm was a serial rapist. That night hadn’t been his first time to be called to the scene of one of Malcolm’s crimes. He had arrived on the scene expecting to learn that another woman had been brutally abused. Malcolm was a sadist. He made sure that his victims were not ever in a state to testify against him.

He had been on the scene for a little more than five minutes when he had learned that the deceased was Malcolm, and not his intended victim. It had been a little awkward there for a moment, while he had to change the direction of his demands upon the witnesses. A couple of the other officers had snickered while watching him trying to recover.

The witness had been something else. Initially, he had tried to explain what he’d seen. After a few minutes, he’d realized the officer didn’t want to know the truth, but wanted to dictate the lie he was to tell. Then the witness had protested hiding the truth. When Alex had started with the threats, the witness’s face had turned stony and his eyes had narrowed. Alex had left, feeling that the witness had not been intimidated.

He had watched the video knowing that his career as a police officer was over. If he was lucky, all that would happen is he’d be kicked off the force. After all, he was just a bit player in the whole affair. Still, he didn’t think he’d be that lucky. He thought that he would end up serving time for his actions.

Mr. Dickerson, District Attorney, stared in horror while recordings of him were broadcast during prime time viewing hours. They were not a flattering recordings made in a setting of his choice. In the first video of him, he was shown at home, wearing his ratty old bathrobe. His hair wasn’t groomed at all. In another video, also taken in his home, he had been scratching his balls during most of it.

The first video segment of the broadcast showed a split screen video with him and Ivan Petrov, the father of Malcolm Petrov, discussing the Betsy Carter case. There was no doubt about what they were doing. Ivan wanted Betsy hung for killing his son.

The second video was a split screen image. One side showed him on the telephone ordering a hospital administrator to dispose of the blood sample and test results for the Betsy Carter case. The other side showed the hospital administrator agreeing to dispose of the material.

He couldn’t believe the quality of the video, and the sound. Not only was there no doubt that he was corrupt, he looked like a total rube.

His wife, who had silently watched the television program beside him, asked, “Were you really going to try to put that young woman away for life?”

There wasn’t much point in lying. They had just watched five minutes of him going about doing exactly that.

Tiredly, he answered, “Yes.”

“Would you do something for me before the police arrive?”

“What?”

His wife answered, “Get your gun, get in the car, drive downtown, and blow your brains out.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m serious. You’re a monster. You should be dead. I would kill you myself, but there are the children to consider. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to touch you, and I don’t want you anywhere near my children.”

“Honey...”

“Don’t ‘Honey’ me, you sick fuck! Get your fucking gun, get the hell out here, and go kill yourself!”

“I...”

“You don’t need to write a suicide note. It’s being broadcast all over the fucking island!”

In a much richer part of the island, Ivan Petrov was watching the television program. He was angry on a number of levels.

He was angry at the television station for broadcasting his private business to the world. Someone was going to pay for that. He was angry at himself, for having discussed in such an explicit manner, matters of such a delicate nature in his home on his phone. He knew better than to talk about matters like that in his study or over the phone, but the death of his son had infuriated him, and his judgment had been a little off. It was understandable.

The idea that some slut had the gall to kill his boy made him sick. Women were nothing but whores. He could make a call and have a hundred women flown here from Moscow or St. Petersberg. They’d be on their backs by morning earning him cold hard cash. No bitch was going to kill his son and get away with it!

He called for Timur, the head of his security. Gesturing to the television, he asked, “What do you see there?”

“I see you in your study, talking on the telephone.”

Ivan asked, “How did a television station get that video?”

“I don’t know,” Timur answered breaking into a sweat.

Ivan reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a pistol. He shot Timur in the stomach. He came around from behind his desk and stood over the man who was writhing on the floor holding his stomach. Two of his men ran into the room while he emptied his pistol into the former head of his security. The men froze and watched Ivan.

Illia, his second in command, asked, “What happened?”

“He failed me.”

“I’ll get a couple of men in here to clean up.”

Ivan said, “There’s no time for that. Get the jet ready to go. We leave. Now!”

The limousine carrying Ivan, Illia, and the driver arrived at the hangar where his private jet was parked. The hangar was brightly lit with the jet parked in the middle of the building. Ivan and Illia got out of the car and looked around for the pilot who was supposed to be prepping the plane for flight, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

Looking around for the pilot, Ivan swore, “Where is that fucking pilot? We’ve got to get out of here before the police catch up to us.”

Staring at the jet, Illia said, “Sir, we’ve got a bigger problem than the pilot.”

“What?” Ivan asked irritated by how things were going.

“The tires are missing on the jet,” Illia said.

Ivan spun around and stared at the plane. He couldn’t believe his eyes. His multimillion dollar jet was standing on blocks. The jet wasn’t going anywhere.

“What the fuck happened to my jet?” Ivan asked.

A door slammed from the area where the offices were located. The two men turned to look at where the sound had originated. A Druid, wearing his red robe, stood outside the door with a smile on his face.

“Good evening. My name is Jimmy Lee, and I’m with Immigration and Customs Enforcement. I have some questions about your visa.”

Illia reached inside his jacket and Ivan said, “If you pull out a gun, I’ll kill you myself.”

“There’s only one of him and two of us,” Illia said.

“He’s a Druid, you idiot. You don’t fuck with a Druid!”

“So?”

“Markov will make sure that you are tortured, and your children are tortured. Your grandchildren will be tortured, your great grandchildren will be tortured; and so on, for ten generations.”

“Markov? He’s in Russia.”

“You don’t fuck with Druids,” Ivan shouted.

Jimmy Lee said, “It’s nice dealing with people who have a little common sense.”

“Shut up,” Ivan muttered.

“I would appreciate it if you would please carefully place all of your weapons on the ground in front of you,” Jimmy Lee said.

In another house of a more moderate value, the Chief of Police watched a succession of videos in which a dozen members of the police force under his command accepted bribes to tamper with evidence and torture a prisoner. He wanted heads to roll, but he didn’t even know who to call. He suspected that there were still more people to be implicated in this mess.

“Did you know about this?” his wife asked.

“No,” he answered.

When he had asked about the case, he had been assured that it was an open and shut case. The girl had brutally murdered a boy during a party in front of a number of witnesses. The District Attorney was on the case, and was going to make sure that she got the maximum penalty possible.

His wife said, “What a mess.”

He said, “You’re telling me. I can’t even call up the District Attorney to start preparing arrest warrants. That asshole wouldn’t prepare one on himself, that’s for sure.”

“You’re going to have a lot of late nights.”

“No. I’ll probably lose my job over this,” he said feeling depressed.

“How about some ice cream?” she asked.

She knew that ice cream was one of his comfort foods. She remembered that time when he had shot a kid. He had come home after being suspended. She had never seen him so depressed. He was upset about the suspension, but more than that he was sickened at having shot someone. She had greeted him at the door with a bowl of chocolate ice cream and listened to him vent his feelings. They had both felt better afterwards.

“Sure. I’ll have some chocolate if we have it,” he answered.

His wife wouldn’t let him eat ice cream very often. In the darkest times together, they would sit and eat ice cream while talking. Now it was a very rare treat. She was afraid that it would raise his cholesterol.

He glanced at the television and all thoughts of ice cream fled his mind. He recognized the man talking to the DA. If he had thought things were bad, before, he knew that they were only going to get worse.

He shouted, “Jesus Christ. That fucking idiot. I can’t believe it. He just told a Druid to fuck off. That kind of stupidity should be fatal!”

“Calm down, dear. You’re aggravating your blood pressure.”

“Where’s my gun? I gonna kill him!”

Judge Jordan was seated at his desk writing a farewell letter to his family. He would occasionally glance up at the television dreading the moment when it was his turn in the spot light. It was going to be horrible.

He didn’t know whether it was stupidity or hubris that got him into this mess. He had known the girl was the daughter of a Druid, but he had dismissed that fact as irrelevant. After all, he was a judge – the final arbitrator of right and wrong. The only people he had to worry about were other judges and that wasn’t that big of a threat. They could over-rule his decisions, but they couldn’t toss him off the bench for bad judgment on one case.

He reached over and took a sip of cognac. It was the best that money could buy on the island. He had bought the bottle of Remy Martin Centaure de Diamant using the money with which he had been bribed. It was a coincidence that he had been drinking it when the television program had started broadcasting. He was well aware of the irony.

He knew exactly what was going to be shown. Ivan had sat in his office talking, detailing exactly what he wanted to happen to Betsy Carter. He had agreed to do what Ivan had demanded. He had taken an envelope full of money. He had counted it the moment Ivan had left the office. There would be no doubt that he was guilty.

Making him look even worse, Ivan had ranted about how cunts were on earth merely for men’s pleasure. Women were just cum dumps. Ivan may have believed that, but he didn’t. None the less, he had sat there and nodded his head while joking about sticking it to young bitches. It was just trash talk, a stupid attempt to keep Ivan happy.

His wife would kill him upon hearing him talk like that. He was glad that she was on the mainland, shopping. He hoped she never learned that her spending money came from Ivan to pay for incarcerating an innocent woman. She’d be ashamed.

“What a mess,” he muttered and took another taste of his cognac.

After looking over the letter, he couldn’t think of anything else to add. He’d covered all the bases – confession of his role in the Betsy Carter case, an apology for his past actions, a request begging forgiveness for his future actions, declaration of his love for his wife, and his regrets for things not done. He signed his name at the bottom of the letter.

He sealed the letter inside an envelope and wrote his wife’s name on it. He place the envelope on his desk where it would be found. He turned to watch the television hoping that he’d be able to destroy the letter. He’d do that only if he didn’t appear on the television program.

A segment came on with his discussion in chambers with Ivan. It then transitioned to a scene with him denying Betsy Carter bail. It was even worse than he had remembered.

He took out the pistol and looked at it. The time of action was upon him. His hand trembled. His heart was pounding in his chest. There was a rushing in his ears. He put the pistol to his head.

The thought that his wife would return from her trip, to discover his body after four days, stayed his hand.

“I can’t do that to her,” Judge Jordan said, slumping in his chair.

He walked out of the house. In clear sight of the neighbor’s homes, he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. His neighbors heard the shot, but ignored it.

Officer Laura Plante watched the television from her hospital bed. She had suffered serious injuries as a result of Tasing herself. Just about everyone who entered the room had teased her about it. They didn’t believe her when she said that Betsy had somehow turned the darts back at her. She knew it was impossible, but the girl had done it.

This whole nightmare had started with wanting to go skiing in Aspen. She’d been working overtime, without making much progress in saving enough money to pay for the trip. When she’d been offered a bribe to zap Betsy Carter with a Taser not just once, but over and over, she had jumped on the chance.

She watched the video of her taking a bribe to zap Betsy Carter with the Taser. Now all of her plans had unraveled. She wasn’t going to Aspen for vacation, she was going to jail for a long time. The little guy at the bottom always got the worst punishment.