Эд Горман - Stranglehold

I got myself a cup of coffee and sat down at a Mac to check my e-mail. I needed to get caught up on the two other races my company was handling. The news made me feel better than it should have. I was probably just thankful that there weren’t any scandals associated with either one. We were holding small leads in both, but right now that felt like smashing victories.

“I’m meeting somebody for an early dinner,” Kristin said, slipping into her tan Burberry and grabbing her umbrella. “If either of you need me, I’ll keep my cell on.”

“What could go wrong?” Ben said. “Not on this campaign.”

Kristin laughed. “Oh, God, don’t even joke about it. I just keep thinking the worst is over and then something else happens. It’s been like that since they found Monica Davies in her hotel room.”

“Dev here has assured me that if we can just keep Susan’s police record as a hooker away from the press, everything’ll be fine.”

“And don’t forget when she was teaching grade school and selling crack to her students,” I said. I was glad to be making fun of it all. At this point there wasn’t much else to do with it. “But I’m pretty sure that won’t come out, either.”

“You two are terrible,” Kristin said. “You should have more respect for teachers who sell crack to their third-grade students.”

And with that she was gone into the cold, wet, black afternoon.

Ben took three calls from the press with no more than a few minutes between each one. He was patient and professional until the very end of the third one, when his sighs filled the room. “No, I told you Bobby hadn’t been officially charged with murder. Right now all they’re doing is questioning him.” Pause. “I know there’s a story on one of the radio stations that he’s been charged, but it isn’t true and that’s why we don’t have a statement about him being charged.” Pause. “I’ll tell you what, Nina. Call the police station. They’ll confirm what I’ve said.” Pause. “You’re welcome.”

After he hung up, he turned in his chair and said to me, “Kristin’s off to meet the new one.”

“I figured.”

“It won’t work out any better than the other ones, but right now she won’t admit that to herself.”

“But as soon as he mentions settling down and raising a family—”

“Kristin’s a political junkie just like us. She should settle down and have kids, but she probably won’t.”

“Look at her role models — you and I were shit parents. No offense.”

“She’d be a hell of a lot better at it than we were.”

“That wouldn’t be too hard.”

I always wondered if that wasn’t one of the reasons Ben and I were such good friends. We’d only gotten to know our children after they were grown. There was a lot of remorse and shame in our conversations.

But now it was back to work. We both knew what we were up against, and that the odds of succeeding were getting longer by the hour. I’d spent half a delusional day convincing myself that after a fess-up press conference the story would go away. But we’d had to play defense at the press conference. And we hadn’t expected the news about Bobby being sought by the police.

Another reporter called. Ben went back at it. He threw fastballs, sliders, curves. Ben at his best, which was very, very good.

And while he was talking I wrote e-mails to the managers of our other two campaigns. One of them wrote back immediately, saying that the Susan story was starting to get traction up where he was working. Not what I wanted to hear.

I was thinking about dinner and a few drinks when the cell phone in my pants pocket bleated. I didn’t recognize the number of the caller. “Hello.”

“Mr. Conrad?” The voice was unmistakable. Sister from the beauty shop.

“Yes.”

She identified herself and then said, speaking quietly, almost a whisper, “We’ll be closing up here pretty soon. I had a talk with Heather and I’m real worried about her. She says she’s gonna leave town tonight.”

“Did she say why?” I tried not to sound excited — you know, like a doctor when he sees a thirty-pound tumor; nothing here to get agitated about at all, Mr. Gleason — so I stayed calm. But obviously Heather was afraid now and I wondered why.

“She—” Now her words were barely audible. “Could you just come over here? I need to go. She’s coming back here to the office now.” She clicked off.

Ben was answering another call as I hung up. I heard him say, “Yes, Natalie. He’s right here.”

Ben waggled the receiver in my direction and rolled his eyes. Sotto voce he said, “She’s pissed off!”

I punched in the blinking line and picked up the receiver. “Hi, Natalie.”

“This is to inform you that as of this moment our reelection campaign is officially being run by Crane and Wilbur from Washington, D.C. In return for your help with any transition problems they might have, I’ll personally see to it that all your reasonable fees and charges are paid promptly.”

I was pretty sure she’d written this down and was reading it.

“They’re flying six people out here tomorrow morning. I’ll be announcing the changeover tonight. I’ve called two newspapers and three TV stations. I plan to be professional. All I’ll say is that we had certain intractable disagreements about procedures. I won’t get into personalities.”

“I appreciate that, Natalie.”

Ben stood over me now. He sensed the nature of the call.

“Wyatt said to tell you that he sends his best and that he wishes all of you good luck.”

“That’s very nice of him. And good luck to you and the campaign, Natalie.”

“Good-bye, Dev.”

“Bye, Natalie.”

“She fucking dumped us?”

“Yep,” I said, hanging up.

“This late in the campaign?”

“Crane and Wilbur.”

“No shit? Well, at least she made a good choice. They’re on a roll.”

“They’re sending an invasion force tomorrow. Six people. They’ll want to see everything. According to Natalie, if we help them with the transition, she’ll pay all the ‘reasonable’ bills we submit.”

“I love that ‘reasonable.’ Pure Natalie.”

I pushed back from the desk and went to get my coat. Natalie’s call hadn’t done its damage yet. It probably wouldn’t do its worst until the middle of the night when I’d wake up and face the fallout from being fired. I doubted Natalie would keep her word. She’d managed to stick a shiv in us at least once during these interviews. She’d also try to cheap-jack us on the bills, denying this one and that one as legitimate expenses. If she said anything especially nasty, we’d have to respond. The public wouldn’t care about our battle, but insiders would. Like Susan at her press conference, we’d be on the defensive. We’d have to explain ourselves, and even those who’d been in our position from time to time would pretend otherwise and shake their heads and say poor old Dev must be losing it. It was vanity mostly, I knew. But the image of certain enemies smirking over martinis at the mention of your name was not comforting.

“Where are you going?” Ben said. He sounded plaintive. He didn’t want to be alone at this moment, and I didn’t blame him. But just because we’d been fired didn’t mean I wanted Bobby to sit in jail any longer than he had to.

“I’m sorry, Ben. Sometime tonight steaks and drinks are on me.”

“A lot of drinks.”

“A lot, a lot.”

“Dumped by a fricking starlet,” he said. “With one of the greatest asses in history.”

I laughed. “So you had fantasies about her, too?”

“You, too? God, how can we hate somebody this much and still want to go to bed with her?”