A Really Good Friend

My family keeps me in drink and I appreciate it. I am not an alcoholic, but I truly enjoy a cold beer or a good single malt. Years ago I implored family and friends to forego the gag gifts, puzzles, and clothing items that I invariably returned to their stores of origin and instead surprise me with a dark ale or scotch. They complied and every time I drink a dark Becks or sip a Laphroaig from a Waterford tumbler I think well of the givers. And of the Laphroaig I also think well of Dick Francis whose character kept saying "Ahaaa, Laphroaig" when tracing counterfeit single malts in one of his books. His appreciation for the peaty brand inspired me to try the brand for myself. I daresay the distillery should have given Francis a commission.

So it was not unusual that I was awake at two in the morning, sipping on a Laphroaig over ice and reading a downloaded Harlan Coben ebook on my android tablet when the phone rang. Caller ID long ago took the mystery out of who was calling, so seeing that it was my long time friend and former partner on the line, I answered it rather than blocking the number as I would have an unknown caller.

Judith, you do know it's two a.m., I answered.

Rushing through Yes, she said. You know how you have always said that the difference between a good friend and a really good friend was that a good friend would help you move furniture, but that a really good friend would help you move a body? Well, I need a really good friend.

Judith was a really good friend. We squeaked through some really tough situations together as feds at discrete alphabet agencies in D.C. before we aged out of the service. So if she had a body, it was natural that she should call me.

Are you in danger? I asked. No, nothing like that. I'll explain when you get here. But hurry. I really need your help. OK....be there in an hour. Hang loose and we'll get it fixed. See you in a bit.

I mentally checked off a list of things I had on hand and might need. Plenty of gas in the Avalon. Disposable surgical gloves. plastic wrap. a cinder block in case a weight was needed. A plastic drip cloth from the room I never got around to painting. A length of electrical wire for binding.

Minutes later, with my supplies, I drove south on New Hampshire to pick up the beltway and took the inner loop on I-495 past the MGM Casino and over the Potomac River to the Mt. Vernon exit. Ten minutes south on the Mount Vernon Parkway and I arrived at Judith's. She lived in a modest colonial in a community that sat on land that used to be part of George Washington's estate.

Judith met me at the door and led me into her kitchen. There, laid out on the floor in a pool of blood by the kitchen table was a body. It was a him that I did not recognize. Wade, meet my former brother-in-law.

Concisely and in professional detail Judith explained that her deceased sister's husband had dropped in unexpectedly after he ran from the FBI who sought to arrest him for his part in storming the Capitol seeking to overturn the presidential election. She had tried to get him to turn himself in, but he was afraid of being tortured and sent to Guantanamo. He chose a bullet rather than face prison and dispatched himself with an old 38 that he had concealed. He left her a note along with a Small Black Book that contained instructions from his militia for the raid on the Capitol and a manila envelope containing $20,000 that a militia donor had given him.

Judith explained that she thought it would be best for the family if this just all went away. I agreed. Hours later the kitchen was cleaned, the house sterilized of the brother-in law's presence, and the brother-in-law was anchored with a cinder block to the bottom of the Potomac River. She gave me the little black book which I will share with FBI friends. And she gave me the $20,000 to dispose of. $5,000 was given to a Dunkin Doughnut waitress, $5,000 to the owner of a beauty shop which was hurting because of the pandemic, $5,000 to lawn service employee, and $5,000 to a kid skateboarding across from the Art Museum.

Me? I went home and poured myself another scotch before going to bed.