Ed Gorman - Blindside

‘Sylvia Fordham is legendary in the business of politics. She is considered one of the toughest, if not the toughest, of all the political operatives in our country. She’s working for the Rusty Burkhart campaign in our district and she’s here tonight to tell us some things she says she’s learned about Mr Burkhart’s opponent, Congressman Jeff Ward.’ Ken gave her his Ken smile. ‘Would you like to make some news tonight, Sylvia?’

‘I certainly would, Chad.’

‘Something’s wrong with her,’ Bryn said.

‘Yeah. For sure.’

She licked her lips and swallowed hard before starting to speak. ‘Our campaign has learned that the state attorney general’s office might finally look into some possible discrepancies in Congressman Ward’s PAC reporting. He may not have reported everything during the last election cycle.’

‘What the hell?’ I said.

Ken blinked a couple of times. The magical coach had turned into a pumpkin and the beautiful maiden into a gnarled hag. This was the freaking big story they were breaking tonight? Some bullshit little routine accusation about PAC contributions — and in the last election cycle, for God’s sake? If they had a mean TV columnist in this town, Ken and Company were going to get worked over big time for spending all night pushing the big reveal only to see it turn into nothing more than carping.

‘I see. But I guess I need to ask if Mr Burkhart didn’t already bring this up at the start of the campaign?’

‘Yes, he did. But we think it’s worth mentioning again now that the attorney general’s office said they might look into it.’

Ken was less of a Ken than I’d thought. ‘But the election commission has already looked into this and said that there’s nothing improper in the filing. And you keep saying that the attorney general’s office might look into it.’ A quick smile. The contempt in it was blade sharp. ‘I doubt Congressman Ward’s going to lose any sleep over this tonight.’

A hint of professional sympathy stirred in my racing mind. Their plans had changed quickly. They weren’t going to mention the DVD. But Sylvia had to go on anyway. She’d once staged a car accident to get out of an interview, but there hadn’t been time for that tonight. So here she was on the tube with a story so lame even the news reader was mocking her. Knowing Sylvia, she’d want to get her hands on his scrawny neck and dispatch him on live TV. Which would have been a hell of a lot more interesting than what she’d done so far.

‘Well, I know we have a lot of viewers watching tonight to see what kind of charges you wanted to unveil. I’m sure they understand the implications of this claim and I’m sure they’ll be eager to learn more about the story as the election draws closer. Thanks very much for coming on, Miss Fordham.’

She was a trouper. She found a radiant smile for a closer and she shook his hand as if they’d just agreed on a pact to end poverty, all wars, cancer, and make prime-time TV more fun to watch.

‘This is what Jeff was so nervous about?’ Bryn asked, clicking off the picture.

‘Either Sylvia changed her mind or somebody changed it for her. Maybe Burkhart himself.’

‘But why would Burkhart stop her?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe it was as simple as deciding to hold it till closer to the election. It could have been any number of things.’ My mind was already out the door. My body followed soon after. ‘All I can ask you is to hold off calling the police until you hear from me tomorrow. Right now I need to find out what’s going on.’

As I stepped over the threshold she grabbed the back of my arm. ‘Tomorrow’s the night of the debate. If I do it then I’d be betraying David. As much as he hates Jeff, he believes in defeating Burkhart.’ She got all junkie jittery again. ‘God, why did I sleep with him?’

I left her alone with the nasty night. And that miserable question she’d be asking herself for a long time to come.

The parking lot glistened with slick pavement. Dirty moonlight and tumbling trash, like something out of a noir sci-fi film. Both Lucy and Kathy were in David Nolan’s office when I got back. Each had a bottled wine cooler in front of her. They didn’t seem to be in danger of becoming rummies anytime soon.

‘We don’t know whether to celebrate or not,’ Kathy said.

‘We just wish we knew what was going on,’ Lucy said.

‘Well, at least we won’t have to be in at seven thirty,’ I said. ‘No reason to have a news conference.’

‘That doesn’t clear things up,’ Lucy said.

They still hadn’t been told about the DVD and I wasn’t going to be the one who broke it to them. ‘There’s beer in the fridge down the hall, Dev. That’s where Kathy found the wine coolers.’

I went and got one and came back. ‘Right now all we can do is concentrate on the debate tomorrow night.’

‘Jeff was crazy tonight. He said there was going to be this big explosion after Sylvia went on TV. But it was nothing.’ I watched Kathy’s lips. She had an interesting way of applying them to the neck of the bottle. Very neat and tidy. Almost chaste. Fascinating.

‘Well, for whatever reason, it didn’t happen.’ I twisted the cap off my beer. ‘I assume Jeff and I can get into the auditorium in the afternoon and check everything out.’

They glanced at each other, still not happy that I was keeping information from them. But they were pros and acted like it.

‘They said two o’clock to three o’clock,’ Lucy said.

‘It’s a good venue,’ Kathy said. ‘Great acoustics. Jeff has had three debates there over the years. He’s comfortable there.’

‘You have any video of Burkhart debating, Kathy?’

Two minutes later Kathy handed me a DVD marked Burkhart vs. Steinem. The date was three years ago. ‘This was from the primary when he was running for governor. Some amazing stuff in there.’

I went over to the video rig and set things in motion. I punched play. The forty-inch plasma TV bloomed. The first image told me that I was looking at a home video. Not a bad home video but a home video nonetheless.

Whoever had shot it must have come late because the first audio belonged to then-Congressman Norm Steinem and he was already in the middle of a sentence.

‘-at California. Look at the trouble they’re having with all their anti-tax legislation. The state government is paralyzed. It’s virtually impossible to raise taxes when it’s necessary. And sometimes it is necessary. We need government services and sometimes that means taxes.’

The camera panned over to Burkhart while Steinem was talking. He looked uncomfortable in a suit and tie. His toupee was cartoon red. The way he gripped the podium suggested he might crush it sometime soon. He knew how to steal a scene. As Steinem spoke Burkhart winked at his supporters, rolled his eyes once and then put a finger gun to his head at the mention of taxes and pulled the trigger. The laughter from his side of the auditorium was loud. The moderator who sat between the two podiums appeared most unhappy.

‘Mr Burkhart, I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t pull any of the stunts you did in the first debate.’

Burkhart loved it. He pointed to himself, grinned to his people and said, ‘I’m a bad boy.’ Then: ‘I apologize to you and I apologize to Mr Steinem. I just enjoy having some fun. But I can see that this isn’t the time or place for it.’

Everybody in the house was waiting for the punch line but it never came. The debate settled into sonorous titting and tatting.

It was eighteen minutes and thirty-six seconds before Burkhart let Burkhart become Burkhart, when it was his turn to respond to a question on prayer in school. Then he riffed, then he wailed, a born-again jazz man sending his lumpen messages out to true believers everywhere.