Andrew Vachss - Two Trains Running

Luther didn’t respond.

They came to a double-width door, the entrance ramp telling Shalare that the room inside was higher than the floor he had been walking on.

Luther strode through the doorway, Shalare three steps behind him. Beaumont was at the other end of the room, seated behind a modern, kidney-shaped desk. Shalare crossed over to him. “Thanks for having me,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Thank you for coming,” Beaumont said, with equal formality.

Here comes the bone-crusher, Shalare thought, steeling himself as they shook hands. To his surprise, Beaumont’s grip was just firm enough to be masculine-polite. One quick, dry squeeze, and it was done.

“Please sit down,” Beaumont said. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? A drink?”

“Well, since you’re offering, an Irish coffee would be a treat.”

“Jameson’s good by you?”

“I see you’ve been doing your homework,” Shalare said, grinning broadly. “Good by any son of Erin, and good anytime.”

“No homework necessary,” Beaumont said. “I fancy it myself. The Jameson’s, I mean, not in coffee. That one’s an acquired taste, I believe.”

“Well, that may be,” Shalare said, touching two fingers to his lips. “But I acquired it quite early on.”

Luther reappeared, handed Shalare his drink, placed a heavy tumbler full of ice cubes and a fifth of Jameson’s on Beaumont’s desk, barely moving his head in a “no” gesture as he did, indicating the Irishman was not armed.

Beaumont poured himself a shot of the whiskey, held up his glass. “To friendship,” he said.

“To friendship,” Shalare echoed.

Each man sipped at his drink. Noticing the black marble ashtray at his elbow, Shalare lit a cigarette. Nodding, as if this confirmed still another point of understanding between them, Beaumont opened his silver cigarette case and lit up himself.

“So,” he said.

“I want you to know I appreciate this,” Shalare said. “I feel we’ve a lot to discuss, you and me. And I’m thinking, Royal Beaumont is a man you want to talk with face to face, not over some phone, or through intermediaries.”

“As I would have thought of you.”

“You’ll forgive my bluntness, then,” Shalare said. “I wouldn’t have you think me impolite, or without proper respect. But I know your time is valuable. So, with your permission, I’ll lay out my cards, and let you tell me if you think I’ve got a hand worth playing.”

1959 October 06 Tuesday 16:33

“I’ll just wait here,” Dett said, tilting his head in the direction of the armchair in the living room. “Okay?”

“Perfect,” Tussy said, and walked out of the room.

Dett was halfway through a cigarette when Tussy came back, carrying a pink blanket. Without a word, she curled up on the couch, and pulled the blanket over herself.

Fireball immediately launched himself onto the couch, nestling himself at her feet.

“I think that’s why they call them ‘catnaps,’ ” Tussy said, closing her eyes.

1959 October 06 Tuesday 16:58

“There’s going to be an election next year…” Shalare said. Getting no response from Beaumont, he went on, “The biggest one in the history of this country, from where we sit.”

Beaumont said nothing.

Those eyes of his, they look like the sky just before it rains, Shalare thought. “We’ve all got a stake in this one,” he said. “Yes, sure, we all have a stake in every one, but this one, it’s going to change… business, for all of us. Forever.”

Beaumont raised his thick eyebrows, but stayed quiet.

“That is, of course, if the right man wins. It’s my job to see that he does.”

“Your job?” Beaumont said.

“Ah, you’re right to put me in my place,” Shalare said, with a self-deprecating smile. “It’s not my job to make such a grand thing happen, of course. It’s my job to do my part. To do what I can do. Whatever I can do. There’s people all over this country-all over the world, truth be told-that have the same job. The trick is to make sure all the horses are pulling in the same direction, so that none of us cancel out the others.”

“That would be quite a trick,” Beaumont said.

“Aye. But it’s one that can be done, provided each man sees what’s in it for himself. And for his people, of course.”

“And that’s your job? To tell me what’s in it for me and my people?”

“It is.”

“What are you looking for, exactly?” Beaumont asked.

“Well, the simple answer is… votes. Not local votes-we don’t care who’s the next mayor or city councilman or governor, even. The only thing we care about is the presidential race.”

“What makes you think I could-?”

“Because you do,” Shalare interrupted. “Your machine runs this town like the engine in my car. You built it, you maintain it, and you control it.”

“Are we still taking about votes here?”

“That’s my point, Mr. Beaumont-”

“Roy.”

“And I’m Mickey,” Shalare said, bowing his head slightly to show his appreciation of the gesture. “And it’s only votes we’re talking about. Not the casinos, not the clubs, not any of the… enterprises that your people control. Rightfully control, I might add. A man’s entitled to the fruits of his labor.”

“There’s some around here who don’t agree with you.”

“I’ll get to that, I promise. But let me just finish-about the votes, I mean. We need every single one, Roy. Come election day, we can’t allow anyone inclined to go our way to stay home. And we won’t be encouraging visits to the polls by any of those who might be opposed, either.”

“It’s not going to be a landslide,” Beaumont said.

“Right you are! And that’s why I’m here, hat in hand, to ask you for this special favor.”

“Exactly… what?”

“Exactly? I’ll tell you exactly, Roy. This is a Republican town, isn’t it? On paper, anyway.”

“On paper?”

“Well, if someone was to take a poll, right? The local Republican club is the power in Locke City. Everything gets run out of there. The mayor’s a Republican, the-”

“And it would be better, for this one election, if they weren’t?” Beaumont cut in.

“Much, much better,” Shalare said, not smiling. “And that’s where your organization comes into play. Sure, you’ve got the judges, the city council, the mayor. But they’re not what we’re after. To Mr. Royal Beaumont, those are just chess pieces. You’ve got the ward healers, the precinct captains, the ground-level troops. You’ve got them all. Not that tool Bobby Wyeth. You. On your payroll, in your debt, following your lead, because that’s the way it’s always been done, here. What we need is for this whole area to turn around.”

“Vote Democratic?”

“For this one election only,” Shalare said, leaning forward.

“That’s a huge effort.”

“Yes. Way beyond our reach. But not beyond yours, Roy. You could make it happen. Especially if you started laying in the foundation right now.”

“Even so, it would cost a fortune, in time and money. Because, from what you’re saying, I don’t think you want to leave this up to speeches and posters.”

“That’s right. We need the voting machines to work properly, too,” Shalare said, flatly. “But the more the final tally reflects how people in the area actually know they voted, the less… attention is drawn.”

“So, all over America, there’s men like you meeting with men like me,” Beaumont said, nodding his head thoughtfully.

“There are. There are areas of entrenchment we can rely on, we believe. The people in power there, they’re already committed to our side. Nothing but gold and gravy for them if things come out right. Each side can count heads. And each is going to try and poach off the other’s land.”