Richard Stevenson - Red White and Black and Blue

I trotted back behind the porn and muffler shops to my car, tripping once but catching my balance, and got into the Honda and drove off.

By the time I hit the Garden State Parkway, I was no longer shaking, and after I got on the Thruway, with Albany a straight shot north, I stopped at a service area and left with a large bottle of cold water and a slice of pizza. The pizza smelled of gasoline, however, from my hands, and as I pulled back onto the highway I tossed it out the car window.

Littering! That, I was ashamed of, and I almost went back and picked up my garbage. But the pizza was biodegradable, after all, and I was bone tired.

Timmy stirred but didn't awaken when I came in at four thirty-five. I showered and crawled into the second bed in the room. I lay awake for fifteen or more minutes, and then I was far away from it all. **** Just after nine Wednesday morning, Timmy brought some coffee back to the room, and I woke up.

"Donald, I think I heard you when you came in. What time was it?"

"Late. After midnight."

"Where were you?"

"Making a mail delivery. Did you look at Bud's disk?" I had left a CD and a note for Timmy suggesting he examine the contents on my laptop.

"It's all incredible. Except it's not. They're the same people who brought Eliot Spitzer down. They're monstrous. They destroyed the US economy with their recklessness, and they're so morally bankrupt-or in such total denial-that they can't stand the idea of mending their greedy ways and abiding by regulations meant to protect ordinary investors and promote even a semblance of economic justice. And Sam Krupa, that evil old Republican troll! Wouldn't you just know."

"Everything old is new again. Not all of Nixon's thugs found Jesus and repented."

"So apparently you were being manipulated all along?

Krupa wanted you to get the goods on Louderbush, so he had you roughed up, knowing how pigheaded you are and how you'd just keep at it?"

"The question is, how did he know me so well? Some PIs would have said the hell with this, these people must not be messed with. He was sure I'd react the way I did. There's a reference to someone who claims to know me and who assures Krupa I could be danced around like a marionette."

"I could have told them how you'd react to being pushed around. But I didn't."

"What do you think Myron told Dunphy about me?"

"Probably that you were stubborn and a pain in the ass but a decent human being and quite effective at what you do.

And, yes, probably that you'd only be spurred on by a dangerous and challenging situation."

"I'd ask Dunphy, but he's obviously not going to admit to anything."

"I'm not sure he's that cynical. It could have been a lot of people. You're known around Albany."

I climbed out of bed and had a slug of the motel's watery coffee. "Did you listen to the CD and my interview with Trey Bigelow about Louderbush? Speaking of cynical."

"No, I fell asleep before I got to that."

"It's sickening. And heartbreaking." I described Louderbush's brutal treatment of this sad case of a young man and Bigelow's story about at least one other boyfriend Louderbush had apparently put in the hospital. "And then there's Greg Stiver. Louderbush got drunk and violent one time when Bigelow threatened to lock him out and said he'd once killed a recalcitrant boyfriend, and if Bigelow didn't cooperate he'd do it again. He said he had pushed this guy off a building."

Timmy sat down. "God. It's what the woman at SUNY almost saw happen."

"Possibly. Or it might only have happened in Louderbush's head. I'll have to ask him."

"Why would he admit anything to you? Anyway, he thinks he's got you defanged with all his blackmail crapola-the Bud stuff and so on that…who? Sam Krupa? — shoved through his mail slot."

"Yes, but I've got my own Bud crapola, and Assemblyman Louderbush's mail slot is about to be the recipient of another eye-opening deposit."

Timmy had called his office to say he'd be a little late, but now he was transitioning into his chief of staff mode, and he began climbing into his elegant costume. I said I wouldn't be back until late in the day and I'd be in touch. We kissed, and he was on his way.

I phoned the air service that had flown me to Kurtzburg and asked if somebody could fly me out there again that morning. They said they'd have to get an okay from the McCloskey campaign, but I told them I'd use a credit card and get reimbursed, and they said they thought Walt was around somewhere with his Cessna.

The day was breezy, and Walt did a couple of inadvertent loop-de-loops, but we arrived in Kurtzburg in one piece. There was no rental car waiting this time, but Walt suggested I call Dom's taxi.

I told Dom, "Special courier delivery for Assemblyman Kenyon Louderbush."

"Sure, I know where he lives. Everybody knows Kenyon.

Good man. Make a good governor. No bullshit."

I got out the envelope on which I had written Special Delivery to Kenyon Louderbush-from Don Strachey-Private and Confidential. I walked up the front steps to the handsome old Louderbush house on Church Street and shoved it through the mail slot in the big oak front door.

Before I climbed back into Walt's little plane, I phoned Timmy. "Can you find out discreetly if Louderbush suddenly bolts out of his office later this afternoon and hightails it out to Kurtzburg?"

"Sure, I'll let you know."

Then I swooped back to Albany, checked out of the Comfort Inn, drove to our house on Crow Street, and waited for Sam Krupa to call.

"It looks like we need to talk," Krupa said. He spoke in a low rumble bordering on a croak that sounded about right for a man of his age-mid-eighties, I guessed.

"You bet."

"Can you get into the city?"

"Sure. What about the Serbians?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Look, if this call is being recorded by either of us, neither of us is going to be able to make any use of it. We're at that stage, I think."

"The Serbians have been taken care of. They'll leave you alone. You know, you really didn't have to burn down their night club."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Now they're mad at me."

"Swell."

"I live on Sutton Place. Do you know the small park at the end of East Fifty-seventh overlooking the river?"

"I can find it."

"Tomorrow morning at eleven?"

"That works. And we'll both show up alone?"

"Oh sure."

I didn't give him my new cell number-I didn't want Todd monitoring my calls-but I gave him my e-mail address and said I'd check my Blackberry for any updates from him. Krupa recited his e-mail address, though of course I already had it 244

Red White and Black and Blue by Richard Stevenson at this point, everybody knew everything about everybody else.

At my request, Trey Bigelow had given me the Albany Med receipt from his last visit there. He'd also shown me the state employee's insurance card Louderbush had arranged for him to use, and I had made a note of the policy number. I called the Times Union, hit zero, and was put through to Vicki Jablonski, the investigative reporter I'd been told was the smartest and most aggressive in town.

"Don Strachey. I'm a private investigator. Rhonda Saltzman suggested I call. I've got a good story for you."

"Okay."

"I've got the goods on Kenyon Louderbush. The guy's not fit to hold public office."

"Uh-huh."

"Do you want to hear what he's guilty of?"

"Sure."

"Insurance fraud."

"All righty."

"Here's the thing. Louderbush arranged for an acquaintance with no health insurance to get onto his state employee family plan. This acquaintance is supposedly Louderbush's quote-unquote adopted child. But it's not true."

"It sounds as if you're saying Assemblyman Louderbush might be more of a humanitarian than some people give him credit for."