Levels of Power

Chapter 8 London Even in London, Randy Fisher’s fame could not escape him. One of the managers of the restaurant chain was an American working in London and recognized the famous senator. He insisted on letting them have a large round table next to a window allowing them to look out onto Pall Mall East Street and a view of the Londoners out for their own lunchtime. Randy’s family settled into their chairs and opened the menu to browse the food selection. After eating bland English food for most of eight days, their appetites was looking forward to a taste of home. Mille had to speak up. “Randy, this is wonderful. We’ve stayed at some really nice hotels on this trip but the food is simply too bland for my taste.” Annie had to speak up. “Hey, don’t forget the French restaurant in Bath where we had dinner. My waist line is still showing the huge plate of beef stew and mashed potatoes I consumed all by myself.” Mille smiled toward her daughter. “I seemed to remember telling you about the three secret ingredients that is always used in French cooking.” She was about to continued but the other four people spoke before her. “Butter, butter, and butter.” Millie looked around the table and they all burst out in laughter. The group placed their orders and continued to talk about the castles and palaces they had visited. One commonly unknown fact by most Americans was that castles by their design were fortifications and used to protect the land. Palaces with their grand designs became the home for the royalty of England. The consensus among the group was it made no difference if the structure was castle or fort they were physical proof of what real financial wealth was all about. Their food arrived and the group tore into the first American style food that reminded them of home. It might be lunch but all of them had ordered steak and baked potatoes. Having not eaten since an early dinner last night they were all famished. Afterward, with the main plates cleared away, they were content to just sit and sip their coffee. It was their last day in England and the non-stop pace was catching up on the older Willis’s and Frances Ward. Annie looked at her husband. “Randy, what are you going to do with the Fair Share Tax Bill when we return to Washington?” Annie knew it was never too far from his mind. “I’m not really sure. My feelings towards the President have not changed in any way. I will support Tom Evans in his run for the White House. I will make speeches and conduct fundraisers even though I hate to ask people for money. I’m determined to see that Harold Miller only has one term in the White House.” He paused for a few moments as he gathered his thoughts. “The President’s bill certainly addresses the corporate tax problems and his drum beaters have stirred up the public to a high fever. However, all that said, I think the President has taken a Band-Aid approach to fix a tax problem that should have been resolved by fixing the basic problem. That means rewriting the corporate tax codes to close all the loopholes Corporate America and the foreign companies have been exploiting for years. The new tax bill would probably be two thousand pages long.” He paused again. “All of you know how I feel about huge pieces of legislation.” Before he could continue, they all spoke together. “If it’s more than one hundred pages then we probably can’t afford it.” Randy looked at the people around the table and started to laugh with them at the jab towards one of his personal mantras. He reached for the cloth napkin still in his lap and wiped his mouth. During the meal, he had been facing Pall Mall East Street and occasionally watching the people walking by the restaurant. He had just laid the napkin on the table next to his water glass when his hand froze in place. His eyes locked on a figure on the other side of the street. The younger man, dressed in a heavy black turtleneck sweater and blue jeans with black walking shoes, looked very familiar. His hair, showing beneath a wide brim hat, was black and curly. His skin tone was dark with a fizzy beard pattern on his face but he was not a black man. More like a European, Persian, or maybe Arab. Randy watched the man use a cell phone to take a picture of Trafalgar Square lying almost a full block away. The man dropped his hand holding the phone to his side and glanced over his right shoulder. In doing so, his face changed from a profile to a full face angle for Randy to see. Even with the hat partly hiding his face, Randy was certain about the man’s identity. He was looking at a ghost from his recent past. Only three years ago, the man across the street had shot Randy Fisher twice in the chest from only a fifteen feet distance. Chapter 8 London Annie was the first to see the strange look on Randy’s face. She had been waiting for him to finish his answer to her question. She looked at Randy and then quickly swiveled her body to look over her left shoulder to whatever had drawn his attention from the group at the table. “What is it? What are you looking at?” Annie turned back to Randy and the others took a quick look out the window but then turned back to Randy. From the look on his face, something was certainly upsetting the younger man. Randy watched the man across the street as the stranger had paused to take some pictures with a cell phone camera. The man adjusted a backpack slung over his right shoulder, and then walked on towards Trafalgar Square. Randy Fisher was no longer a tourist. He looked at Arthur Willis and pointed his right index finger at his father-in-law. “Arthur, pay the check and take everybody back to the hotel. Stay there and stay together in Annie’s room. I want to know where everybody is at all times.” He rose from his chair and turned towards the nearest door in the Texas Embassy Cantina that would exit onto Pall Mall East. Annie Fisher called after her husband. “Randy, what is going on? Where are you going?” Randy paused only long enough to turn his head and talk over his right shoulder. “Do as I say; now!”