The continuing adventure of Tommy Euro
Previously in Installment Two of The Texas Peace Mission Matter…
When twenty-four-year-old peace educator Myles Pax Ritter was found hanging in his Goldman Mill apartment, his death was initially classified as suicide. His father, Paul Ritter, refused to believe it and sought help from Tommy Euro, a former Garda now working as an insurance investigator at Glasshome Finance. Medical evidence soon confirmed Paul’s worst fears: Myles had been strangled, and the hanging was staged. Detective Jaronda Charles is investigating the murder, while Tommy is following the circumstances surrounding Myles’s final days, including a troubling visit to Dallas, Texas, shortly before his death.
Three: The Texas Connection
The Texas Connection
Marisol Vega arrived at Red Emma’s Bookstore and Coffeehouse in Goldman Mill Centre a few minutes before Tommy. By the time he joined her, she had already ordered her usual non-dairy green tea matcha latte and found a table away from the busiest part of the room.
Red Emma’s was a franchise of the venerable Baltimore radical collective, and its presence in Goldman Mill had long been a source of satisfaction to the country’s activists, writers, and freethinkers. Tommy liked the place. So did Marisol, who had spent much of her adult life finding practical ways to turn political convictions into useful work.
At thirty-four, she managed the Armchair Activist call center at the Justice Center. She had studied peace at Pax University, specializing in satyagraha, with a minor in psychology, and cheerfully described herself as a militant pacifist. Her short, spiky blond hair and lively manner made her easy to recognize.
“How’s Chance?” Tommy asked as he sat down.
“Busy teaching people how racism works and why they ought to stop participating in it. Same as usual.”
“Sounds like worthwhile work.”
“It is. Two years married, and I still learn something from that man every day. And about picking socks up from the floor.”
She smiled slyly and took a sip of her matcha.
“Now. Tell me what you need to know about Myles.”
“I understand you worked with him in Dallas.”
“I did. He was a good dude, Tommy. Really good. He believed in people, even when they gave him plenty of reasons not to.”
“Tell me about the demonstration.”
Marisol explained that the Dallas organizers had invited peace educators to conduct nonviolence workshops ahead of a large public demonstration on May 14. She had gone to help train volunteer coordinators in nonviolent responses to provocation and to assist with communication among the participating groups. Myles had been particularly effective with younger volunteers.
“He could get a room full of people who disagreed about everything to work together,” she said. “He didn’t preach at them. He asked questions until they started listening to each other.”
“Where did the Coalition come into it?”
“They were organizing opposition. Publicly, it was speeches, prayer rallies, press conferences, all the usual stuff. But there were people around the demonstration who seemed more interested in creating trouble than expressing an opinion.”
“Did Myles identify any of them?”
“He started asking about the security people. On May twelfth, he went over to the building where some of the Coalition’s Dallas operations were being coordinated. He said he wanted to learn whether they had plans to interfere with our demonstration.”
“Did he have an appointment?”
“Not that I know of. He thought somebody might talk to him if he presented himself as a curious peace educator instead of an adversary.”
Tommy frowned. “That sounds risky.”
“It was. I told him so.”
“What happened?”
“He came back looking awful.”
Marisol set down her cup.
“I asked him what was wrong. He said he’d heard something in the men’s lavatory that he wasn’t supposed to hear. He wouldn’t tell me everything. He said there were powerful people involved and that he needed to get his notes somewhere safe.”
“Did he say he was followed?”
“Yes. He thought somebody had watched him leave the building. I offered to go with him to the authorities, but he said he needed to understand exactly what he’d heard first.”
“Did he give you any names?”
“Danner. Bell. And he mentioned a third man, somebody important to Senator Ewing’s campaign. I don’t think he knew the man’s name.”
“Did he describe him?”
“Not clearly enough for me to identify him. Myles was frightened, Tommy. I’ve never forgotten that. He was trying so hard not to show it.”
“Did he tell anyone else?”
“I don’t know. We had workshops to run, and he kept working. But he was different afterward. He was watching doors and windows. Every time his telephone rang, he looked at it before answering.”
“Did he ever say what the men were planning?”
“He said they wanted a peaceful demonstration to become violent. Not because they opposed violence, but because violence would help them politically.”
Tommy looked at her.
“That’s a serious accusation.”
“I know. So did Myles.”
Marisol leaned forward.
“He wasn’t making it up to get attention. He was trying to find out whether what he’d overheard was a real plan or three men talking big. And he wanted evidence before he accused anyone.”
Tommy thought of the notes on Paul Ritter’s dining table.
*Ask about security arrangements.*
*Who is paying?*
“What happened at the demonstration?”
“There was trouble. Not as much as we’d feared, but enough. A few men started pushing people near the edge of the crowd. One volunteer was knocked down. Somebody shouted that our people had started it, and before anyone could establish what happened, there were clips all over the internet.”
“Did the police identify the men?”
“Not all of them. The organizers documented what they could, and there were witnesses who disputed the claim that our people started it. But the headlines were already out there.”
“Did Myles see it happen?”
“He did. He helped get the injured volunteer away from the crowd. Afterward he said it looked like exactly what he’d overheard in the lavatory.”
“Did he have proof?”
“Not enough. That’s what bothered him.”
“Was anybody seriously hurt?”
“The volunteer had a concussion. Several people were treated for minor injuries. It could have been much worse.”
Marisol looked down at her cup.
“Senator Ewing went on television the next morning talking about violent radicals. Myles was furious. Not because the senator criticized us. Because people had been hurt, and the people responsible were using it to score political points.”
Tommy made another note.
“Did he ever say he had a recording of the conversation?”
“No. He said he’d been in a stall and hadn’t expected to hear anything.”
“Did he report what he heard?”
“He wanted to. But he was afraid of accusing the wrong people. He said he needed to write everything down while it was fresh.”
Tommy thanked her and asked for the names of the Dallas organizers who had worked most closely with Myles. She gave him two contacts and offered to help with anything else he needed.
As they stood to leave, she touched his arm.
“Find out what happened to him, Tommy.”
“I intend to.”
“And don’t let them turn him into some poor, helpless kid who wandered into the wrong place. Myles knew what he believed. He stood up for it.”
“I won’t.”
—
The Dallas trip required coordination. Kevin Glasshome approved Tommy’s travel because Myles’s activities and contacts there were directly relevant to the disputed insurance determination. Detective Charles told the Gardai’s USian counterparts where Tommy would be, but she made no request that they treat him as an officer or share protected criminal evidence with him. His appointments had been made as a private investigator acting for the insurer, and everyone he approached was free to decline.
He arrived in Texas in early June with his luggage, briefcase, copies of the notes Paul had permitted him to use, and several appointments. Kevin’s instructions were clear: find out what could be learned lawfully, identify people who might speak to the proper authorities, and do not mistake a refusal for evidence of guilt.
His first conversation was with Rafael Ortiz, a man whose political sympathies lay firmly with the America First Christian Dominion Coalition.
Ortiz was affable. He had a broad smile, an easy conversational manner, and a talent for making even an uncomfortable interview feel like a chat between old acquaintances.
“You came all the way from Goldman Mill?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
“Never been there. Heard of it, though. Little peace country, isn’t it?”
“We do our best.”
Ortiz chuckled. “Well, you’ve come to the wrong part of Texas if you’re looking for everybody to agree with you.”
“I’ve noticed.”
They talked about the demonstration, the counterprotests, and the various organizations involved. Ortiz described himself as a supporter of traditional values and said he had helped with local outreach.
“Did you know Myles Ritter?” Tommy asked.
“I saw him once. Young guy, looked like a relic from the summer of love. Needed a serious haircut. Asked a lot of questions.”
“What questions?”
Ortiz smiled but didn’t answer immediately.
Tommy waited.
“I don’t know what happened to that kid,” Ortiz said. “But he was poking around in things he didn’t understand.”
“What things?”
“Politics. Money. People with influence. You know how it is.”
“Maybe he understood the things better than you thought.”
Ortiz didn’t answer.
Tommy changed the subject, asking about the security arrangements for the demonstration and the relationship between the Coalition and outside contractors.
Ortiz became less conversational.
“Those arrangements weren’t my department.”
“Whose department were they?”
“You’d have to ask the people running the operation.”
“Eli Danner?”
Ortiz looked at him for a moment.
“Mr. Danner’s a busy man.”
“I imagine he is.”
When they parted, Ortiz shook Tommy’s hand and wished him a pleasant stay in Texas.
Tommy had the distinct impression that the man’s friendliness ended precisely where his loyalty to the Coalition began.
—
Curtis Bell was considerably less welcoming.
Bell ran God & Country Protective Services, a security and logistics company that had provided services to Coalition-associated events. He had ignored Tommy’s first two requests. On the third, Tommy identified himself, stated the purpose of the insurance inquiry, and enclosed a copy of the questions he wished to ask. Bell finally called back. He wanted to know whether the Goldman Mill insurer had found anything about the May demonstration, and he agreed to a ten-minute meeting at his office. Tommy recognized the calculation: Bell had no intention of helping him, but he wanted to measure the danger posed by the questions.
“Goldman Mill,” Tommy said when Bell asked where he was from.
“Never heard of it.”
“That’s all right. Most people have. It’s a country; you must have skipped school when they covered it in geography.”
Bell didn’t smile.
Tommy opened his notebook.
“I’m investigating the death of Myles Ritter. He was in Dallas in May, asking questions about the security arrangements for a peace demonstration.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Interesting. His notes contain your name.”
“People write down all sorts of things.”
“True. Did your company provide security for the Coalition?”
“We provide services to clients. I don’t discuss client arrangements.”
“Did those services include personnel assigned to observe the peace demonstration?”
“That’s privileged business information.”
“Were any of your people instructed to provoke confrontations?”
Bell’s face hardened.
“Watch what you’re suggesting.”
“I’m asking a question.”
“Then ask somebody else.”
Tommy closed his notebook.
“Thank you for your time.”
Bell stood.
“Mr. Euro, I don’t know how you people do things in your little country, but here we don’t appreciate outsiders coming around making accusations.”
“Neither do we. That’s why I’m asking questions.”
Bell showed him the door.
Out on the pavement, Tommy stood beside the parked cars for several minutes, replaying the interview. Bell had given him almost nothing, and Tommy had been pleased with his own geography joke for roughly three seconds. After that, he’d watched the man’s face close. He had made a point when he should have made room for an answer.
He called Jaronda from the hotel lobby.
“How did Bell take your questions?” she asked.
“About as well as you’d expect.”
“Meaning?”
“He threw me out.”
“Did he tell you anything useful first?”
“Not much.”
“And how did you leave it?”
Tommy hesitated. “I may have suggested he’d neglected his geography lessons.”
There was a silence at the other end of the line.
“Tommy.”
“I know.”
“You went there to get information, not win an argument.”
“He was being a condescending bastard.”
“And now he’s a condescending bastard who won’t answer your calls.”
Tommy rubbed his forehead. She was right, and he had known it before she said anything. “I let him get under my skin.”
“Then learn from it. You don’t have a badge anymore, and even when you did, it didn’t give you a license to annoy witnesses into silence.”
“That’s a rather harsh assessment.”
“It’s free professional development. Your employer ought to thank me.”
He laughed despite himself. “Will you let me buy you lunch when I get home?”
“If you bring something useful back from Dallas.”
“That is a very high standard for lunch.”
“Get used to it.”
He ended the call feeling a little less pleased with himself and considerably clearer about what he needed to do next.
—
That evening, Tommy called Endie from his hotel.
“Hello, Angel.”
“Hello, darling. How’s Texas?”
“Large.”
She laughed. “That’s your professional assessment?”
“Preliminary findings. Further research may be required.”
“How’s the case?”
“Moving. Slowly.”
“That’s usually how investigations move.”
“It’s a terrible system. I need you to fix it.”
She laughed again.
He settled back against the pillows and listened as she told him about her day at State Hall. There had been budget discussions, a meeting with Regina, and an administrative disagreement that had consumed far more time than its importance warranted.
“I’m going to propose a law against pointless meetings,” Endie said.
“Wouldn’t that require a meeting?”
“Don’t spoil my evening.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
They talked about home, about the possibility of another night at Sing Out, Louise, and about how much they missed each other.
Tommy remembered the evening at State Hall when they’d first met. She had been working on the national budget, and he’d come in on an insurance matter involving the Finance Ministry. They had talked for an hour, about everything and nothing, and he had spent the following six months finding reasons to see her again without quite finding the courage to ask her out.
Endie had finally taken matters into her own hands.
Their first date at Float Inn remained one of his happiest memories. Dinner had become a walk along the pier, and the walk had ended with a kiss beneath the moonlight. They had gone home to his place at Oceanview Pier and made love. The next morning, after showering and changing, Endie had texted Regina to say she was on her way to State Hall. Tommy had insisted on escorting her home to Marley Flats before she went to work, a gesture that had amused her and pleased her in equal measure.
Now he was hundreds of miles away, listening to her voice through a telephone.
“I wish you were here,” she said.
“So do I.”
“Come home soon, darling.”
“As soon as I can.”
When they ended the call, Tommy remained on the bed, thinking about her.
He lay back and stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, he would find Danner. Tonight, he would dream of being in Endie’s loving arms.
—
**Dallas — May 12, 2022**
Three weeks earlier, Myles Ritter had stood in the corridor of a Dallas office building, trying to decide whether to leave.
He had come looking for information about the America First Christian Dominion Coalition’s plans for a peace demonstration. A receptionist had told him that the person he wanted to see was unavailable. He had thanked her and started toward the exit, then stopped at the men’s lavatory before leaving.
He was in a stall when three men entered.
The first voice belonged to Eli Danner, the Coalition’s executive director. Myles recognized it from public meetings and recorded interviews.
The second man was Curtis Bell, whose security company had been providing logistical support for the Coalition.
The third voice was unfamiliar.
“We need to be clear about what happens,” Danner said. “The demonstration is going to be peaceful unless somebody changes that.”
“Then somebody changes that,” the third man replied.
Myles froze.
Bell spoke next. “The people on the ground understand the assignment. They’ll be in the crowd before things get started.”
“And once the trouble begins?” Danner asked.
“Everybody sees what they expect to see,” the third man answered. “A bunch of radicals who can’t control themselves. The cameras catch the chaos, the networks run it, and Branch gets to spend the next month telling voters what happens when you let these people take over.”
Myles heard the sound of water running.
Danner wasn’t satisfied.
“You’re talking about people getting hurt.”
“I’m talking about winning an election.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“They are when you know how to make one serve the other.”
Bell said something Myles couldn’t hear.
The third man continued. “We don’t need the whole crowd involved. A few people who know what they’re doing, a confrontation that gets out of hand, and enough confusion for the public to draw the wrong conclusion. The rest takes care of itself.”
“And if somebody gets killed?” Danner asked.
“If some commie croaks along the way, that’s their small contribution to making America great again.”
Bell chuckled.
Danner gave him a scathing look, and the laughter stopped.
There was a silence.
“Do you have a limit as to how far you’ll go?” Danner asked.
“Please. Why do you think I have a home in the Caymans? One day, I’m gonna be president.”
“I believe it,” Bell said.
Danner sounded increasingly uncomfortable. “Does Senator Ewing know about this?”
“Branch doesn’t need to know. He’s a blowhard with a talent for television. His job is to stand in front of the cameras and tell everybody he’s saving civilization. My job is to make sure he wins.”
Myles had heard enough.
He waited until the conversation seemed to be ending, then flushed, opened the stall door, washed his hands, and walked toward the exit. His heart was pounding, but he kept his expression neutral.
The three men were standing near the sinks.
Danner looked startled. Bell glanced toward him.
The third man watched Myles closely.
Myles gave them a polite nod.
“Afternoon.”
Nobody answered.
He walked out into the corridor, resisting the urge to run.
Inside the lavatory, Danner and Bell looked at each other. Danner had begun to sweat.
The third man frowned.
“I think that one will be giving to the cause.”
He took out his telephone.
“Rodrigo. You see that longhair in the corridor near the northeast men’s room? Get a tail on him and keep me informed.”
He ended the call and turned toward the other two men. His frown became a grin.
“I got this, fellas.”
The third man was Lance Gray, Senator Branch Ewing’s campaign manager.
And Myles Ritter had just become a problem he intended to solve.
Next: Installment Four — The Man Who Was Paid
In Texas, Tommy Euro finds men who have answers—and very little interest in sharing them.
But a murder investigation is about to take an unexpected turn. Somewhere in the shadows of a political operation, money has changed hands. And one man is furious that he hasn’t been paid what he’s owed.