Free The St. Paul Conspiracy by Roger Stelljes

It was always that way with a mission. The excitement, tension and adrenaline of it kept you going, as if there was no recognition of the time passing. However, once the mission was over, the exhaustion hit. And he was older now, and the recovery time would be longer. Good thing he didn’t often have to run these operations anymore. In fact, he’d thought he’d been done with them all together. Then Claire Daniels came snooping around, and he came out of retirement.
    As he walked in, the boss was sitting behind his desk looking at some papers. He saw Viper walk in and put the papers into a manila folder. He walked over to sit down on the couch, and Viper joined him. The boss was having a drink. He offered, but Viper declined. A drink might put him to sleep.
    “So, where are we at?” asked the boss.
    Viper smiled, “We’re good.”
    The boss gave him a long look, “How good?”
    “Like I said, we’re good. Real good.” Viper kept smiling, a tired smile, but he was smiling.
    “Ahhh, you’re telling me they already have the senator?”
    “Yes.”
    “The police did it all on their own, eh? We didn’t have to help them along at all?”
    “No. They found our guy this afternoon.”
    “Hmpf. That was quick,” said the boss as he took a drink.
    “The kid running the investigation seems to know what he is doing.”
    “So, this young McRyan seems on top of it?”
    “From a distance, yes. He’s young, but he seems to have the respect of those working with him. His partner is far senior but seems to work with him without a problem.” They sat in silence for a minute. Viper looked out the window towards the Xcel Energy Center. It was well lit, and the crowd was strolling in. Must be a concert, the Wild were on the road.
    Viper broke the silence, “What does your contact have to say?”
    “I haven’t asked, as of yet, son. I’ll be getting to that, I assure you. Whatever I find out, I’ll pass along.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “Do you have anything else?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Then to bed with you. You look tired. Are you getting too old for this sort of work?”
    Viper gave the boss another tired smile and headed out. His bed was beckoning.

Chapter Seven

“Welcome to my world.”

    Mac pulled the Explorer in behind the bar. It had been a long and exhausting day, yet exhilarating all at the same time. His first truly “big” case and in the first day his prime suspect looked to be a sitting United States senator. “Top that,” he thought. He doubted anyone in the bar could.
    The bar was McRyan’s Pub, the other family enterprise and a true St. Paul institution. The Pub sat on West Seventh Street, just on the southern outskirts of downtown and one block from the Xcel Energy Center, home of the NHL’s Minnesota Wild. It was the favored watering hole of hockey fans, and the St. Paul police.
    Opened in 1907 by Mac’s Great-grandpa Pat, the Pub had a colorful history of serving drinks before, during and after prohibition. The during prohibition occurred in the now infamous Patrick’s Room, located in the basement and hidden behind what looked like a typical built-in wooden buffet one might find in an older home. A latch inside the middle drawer of the buffet opened the door into a large, hidden room. During prohibition, the police, politicians, and citizens together enjoyed illegal drinks and fun. Currently, the inside of Patrick’s Room was adorned with black-and-white photos of that colorful era, while the outside was marked by a plaque denoting the room’s colorful history. Patrick’s Room was now used for private parties, meetings, and cop poker games.
    Mac walked into the left side of the main level, a classic, old-fashioned bar, the counter of which stretched half of the length and width of the room, leaving barely enough room for people to stand three or four deep, as it was tonight. Behind the bar was a long mirror with M C R YAN ’ S P UB and a big green shamrock stenciled on it. Two retired