Richard Stevenson - Red White and Black and Blue

"I'm at the house. The confrontation with Louderbush didn't go well. What happened was, I tried to blackmail him I'm using the term in the jocular sense the campaign likes to employ-and he blackmailed me right back. Louderbush and his little wifey."

"What? He threatened to expose you as a homosexual?

How are you blackmailable?"

"He knew about Bud."

He collected his thoughts. "Well. Mister penitentiary-bound Giannopolous."

"Somebody tipped Louderbush off. Though tipped off may be too limited a term." I described the packet of materials that had been shoved through Louderbush's mail slot. "This stuff was dropped off at his house in Kurtzburg anonymously-or so Louderbush said. We know he lies 215

Red White and Black and Blue by Richard Stevenson through his teeth. He told me some wild story about being present when Stiver went off the roof at SUNY, and it was all just an accident, and now the assemblyman has put his unfortunate habits behind him, and we should all just leave him alone."

"Good grief. And his wife was there when he told you this story?"

"She was aiming a microphone at me apparently. All I had with me was a lethal weapon."

"Good for you for not using it."

"So, now I'm semidetached from the campaign and reduced to trying to find somebody else who's unblackmailable to drive Louderbush out of the governor's race, and I have to save my own ass to the extent that I am able. Also, somebody set my car on fire."

"But not your hair."

"I'm serious. The car was parked in front of Bud's place in Pine Hills, and while I was inside the Toyota went up in flames."

I could hear his head wagging. "You should quit."

"Nope."

"I'm frightened."

"So am I."

"This can't be the Republicans. It's somebody worse. The mob."

"Not likely, but it could be some Gordon Liddy type on the fringes of the party. A psychotic true believer. If so, it's a psychotic true believer with resources. But I've got resources, too. I've got the goods on Louderbush, and I've got Bud."

"Oh, wonderful."

I told Timmy I'd be in touch but that I might be spending another night away from home.

"How's your ear doing? And your hickey?"

"My ear just itches a little, and my hickey is now a pale aquamarine, barely disfiguring at all. When this is over, I want a fresh one, though not from the Serbians."

"I'm sure you'll be able to find someone in the federal pen at Danbury who can fix you up." **** I called my car insurance company and gave them the info on where the Toyota had been hauled off to. They would receive the police report, and I hoped they didn't deny me coverage on the grounds that my car had been destroyed on account of my unpaid gambling debts.

I got Bud on the phone he gave me, which presumably was secure. "Everything okay in Pine Hills?"

"I have Ephram and a few colleagues in the trade out here, and we're doing some security work on my systems. I got seriously hacked, and now walls are going up. It won't happen again. One of Ephram's more butch pals is down front keeping an eye on the front door. I'm cool. I'm also making some discreet inquiries as to who among the fraternity might have been working on the other side in this-whoever the other side turns out to be."

"That's exactly what I need to know. Who the other side is."

"Let me get back to you on that. We're all dying of curiosity."

I tracked down Frogman Ying at the state assembly taxation committee.

"Don Strachey here. We talked the other day about the Greg Stiver memorial scholarship fund?"

"Yeah. How you doing?"

"Just checking-did anybody else contact you about the fund? There seems to be some contact-list overlap."

"Yeah, somebody did. But I said I'd already talked to you."

"Do you remember who called?"

"Jim Jameson? Or John?"

"Right, right. We'll get this straightened out. Sorry to have troubled you."

"No problem."

I skipped Millicent Blessing at SUNY; she was probably still waiting for the BBC America crew to show up.

Melanie Fravel at HCCC answered her own phone.

"Hi, Ms. Fravel. It's agent Don Strachey. I was in your office yesterday morning about the case involving misuse of assemblymen's names?"

"Oh, sure. How are you today, Mr. Strachey?"

"I'm well, thank you. And you?"

"I'm super. But I hate this cold weather in June."

"Well, that's the Northeast for you. But if you don't like the weather, wait a day and it'll change."

She chuckled. "What can I do for you?"

"We talked yesterday about duplication of effort among law enforcement agencies. You told me that a John Jameson 218

Red White and Black and Blue by Richard Stevenson had visited you previously about the same case I'm working on. I'm curious. Has he by chance been in contact with you since I came by yesterday?"

"Funny you should ask. Mr. Jameson hasn't, but another man was here yesterday afternoon only a couple of hours after you left. He was asking the same questions about the same situation, and he was asking about you. He seemed to know you."

"Hm. What was his name?"

"Robert Smith."

"That sounds phony to me."

"Well, that's what I thought. I have to say, I was suspicious. He said he worked for the federal government, but his badge didn't look anything like yours. And he just didn't inspire the same kind of trust that you do."

"Can you describe this man?"

"He could have been Mr. Jameson's cousin. Very sort of Slavic and quite big."

"Another Serb war criminal?"

She laughed. "Those are your words, not mine."

"But well turned out for a Balkan thug?"

"Well, yes. In a Paulie Walnuts sort of way."

"Sorry to have troubled you again. I'm going to get this straightened out if it kills me."

"I hope you don't have to go that far, ha ha."

A mutual friend gave me the name of a lean and hungry able reporter at the Times Union. It wasn't time for any of that yet, but I knew it had to be soon. I was running out of ears, cars, etc.

I spent the afternoon checking back with people. Janie Insinger and Virgil Jackman were both in good shape, and the McCloskey campaign had pulled back their security for the time being. Neither objected to this; Insinger said Anthony had been doing a running mocking commentary on her relationship with Kevin, and she was "like, getting sick and tired of both of them."

Dunphy gave me the information on who my new paymaster would be: something called the Fund for Restoring Ethics in Journalism.

I said, "Is that a joke?"

He laughed. "Of course it is."

I made a number of calls in which I impersonated a Louderbush staffer-in for a dime, in for a dollar-and tried to find out if the assemblyman had intervened on behalf of other young male job seekers. "Hello, yes, I'm just following up on Assemblyman Kenyon Louderbush's endorsement of a faculty position applicant at your institution some years ago. The assemblyman wishes to know if everything worked out to the college's satisfaction… The applicants name? I don't seem to have it here. Oh it was, uh…" I couldn't say it was that handsome young fellow with the cracked ribs, so nobody had a clue as to what I was talking about.

Then Giannopolous called. "I got hold of something you wanted. Louderbush's cell phone contacts over the past two weeks."

"Excellent."

"Most are just numbers, but some are voice mails. I've got it on a disk. Can somebody drop it off somewhere?"

I packed up my laptop, my weapon and my personal gear and drove out to Colonie, where I took a room at a Comfort Inn. Bud's cousin Ephram, who was even smaller and weirder looking than Bud, arrived ten minutes later with an envelope, the second of the day for me to open.

Some of the numbers Louderbush called or had been called from had names attached to them, and some didn't. The only name I recognized was Deidre. I figured I'd contact Bud and ask him to obtain a list of Louderbush's office staff so that I could probably eliminate them as persons of interest.