Political Suicide by Michael Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

fighters, all of whom were young black men in perfect shape. It was impossible not to smile at the scene. Lou’s ex, Renee, was a social liberal and political moderate, but she was not a fan of Emily staying in Lou’s hardscrabble neighborhood, and expressed more than a little displeasure at her daughter’s sudden desire to take up boxing. Lou’s position was that as good as the Carlisle School in Arlington was in terms of academics, it did little to expose its students to the richness of multiculturalism. The more time Emily spent in his world, the more aware she seemed of the sheltered homogeneity within her own.
    “Feel like going a couple of rounds with your professor?” Cap asked.
    “Ordinarily I would never refuse an offer like that—especially if you promise to take it easy on me when my kid’s watching.”
    “And I will.”
    “But not today. Cap, have you read about the guy who got arrested for the murder of Congressman Colston?”
    “A little. We’ve got a big AAU tournament coming up, so I’ve been spending my time with the kids and not with the news.”
    “Well, you’ve met the guy a couple of times, most recently at that fund-raiser for the gym last year, where you talked me into sparring two rounds with you. His name’s Gary McHugh. He’s a doc, and has been a good friend of mine since college. In fact, I was in his wedding.”
    “Did he do it?”
    “He says no, but he was in a blackout and doesn’t remember much.”
    “Lord. I would wager that ninety percent of those in jail don’t really remember what they did to get there.”
    “So, I believe he’s innocent until there’s good reason not to. At the moment, the police and the court have a strong enough case to arrest him and keep him without bail.”
    “He’s in jail?”
    “The Baltimore City Detention Center.”
    “That hellhole? How in the heck did he end up there?”
    “No idea. He said something about overcrowding.”
    “Nasty, nasty place. Most jails are, even the newer ones, of which there ain’t too many. Less space, less protection, fewer guards than a prison. I swear, neither one of them is a rose garden, but I would take a penitentiary over a jail anytime.”
    “Gary’s having it tough there, Cap. Apparently word is out that he’s a doctor, and the inmates want stuff from him. He’s afraid. Is there anything we can do for him?”
    “Let me check with the grapevine and see if anybody I know is doing time up there. The odds favor it. If there is, I can ride up there with you during visitors’ hours and speak with them—see if we can get your pal a little protection.”
    “You’re the best.”
    “Give me a couple of hours.”
    Cap headed up the flight of stairs to his office, perched on supports that suspended it out over the gym. In a minute, Lou could see him through the plate glass window, making calls.
    Lou did a little foot and glove work himself and was about to motion Emily back into the ring, when he saw Cap stand up from his desk, wave, and start back down the stairs.
    “That was way too easy, Doc. In the old days, it would have taken a bunch of calls and a few hours or more to pin down someone doing time in any specific tank in the tristate area. Now, it’s like two calls, and I’ve got a name. Seems like there’s more brothers in the joint than out. That’s sad, man, real sad. Rolando Booker’s in Baltimore City right now for B and E. He’s always been called Tiny. I suppose because he ain’t. He and I used to run together after I was forced out of the ring. He’s a good guy and a real artist with locks and safes of any sort. Great at plannin’, not so good at gettin’ away with it. Everything I know about B and E—and that used to be quite a bit—ol’ Tiny taught me. We can find out when the visitors’ hours are for their cell blocks and make a road trip.”
    “Thanks, pal. Gary’s not exactly everybody’s cup of tea, but he’s always meant a lot to me, and right now, he’s scared