Authors: William Bernhardt
16
L
oving’s first instinct was to run, but he managed to suppress it. Surely Leon wouldn’t try to plug him here, on “E” Street, in front of dozens of witnesses—would he?
What was he thinking? This was the man who had tried to kill him in the middle of a shopping mall. He turned to run—
Leon laid a hand on Loving’s shoulder. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
Somehow, the reassurances of a trained killer did nothing to stop his stomach from churning. He tried again to turn. Leon held him in place. Even though Loving outweighed the man by at least fifty pounds, he couldn’t break his grip.
“I just want to talk. Please. It would be in your best interest.”
He had a thick accent. Loving thought it sounded Germanic, but he wasn’t exactly Henry Higgins when it came to dialect. “ ’Cause you plan to get it over with quick and easy?” he jeered, feigning a confidence he did not feel.
Leon smiled. He had a gold replacement tooth on the top right row. “Because I’m off-duty.”
“Hit men get coffee breaks?”
“I was retained to accomplish a single task. Regrettably, I failed, so I forfeited my payment. My employer informed me that my services were no longer needed.”
“Sorry to put a black mark on your résumé, Paladin.”
“It’s not your fault. My…associate did not care for the experience of working with me. He gave a rather negative report to our employer.”
For some reason, Loving believed the man did not intend to harm him. At least not at the moment. “Gosh, that’s a tough shake. So who is this employer?”
Leon released Loving’s shoulder and held up a finger. “That would be telling.”
“Uh-huh. And what exactly was your job?”
“To prevent the young lady of the evening from conveying her information to you. Regrettably, we arrived late. When I saw that you had already spoken to her, it became necessary to eliminate you as well.”
“You’re wrong. We barely said hello. She told me nothin’.”
“I hope for your sake that is true.” Loving noticed that his right hand remained firmly clasped on whatever was in his pocket. This man could kill him in less than a second if he wished. “But I fear it will make little difference. You will have a hard time convincing my former employer.”
“So the hit is still on?”
Leon shrugged slightly. “As I said, I have been told that my services are no longer required.”
“So you really didn’t come here to kill me?”
“My dear fellow, why should I? I hardly know you. My contract has been terminated.”
“I guess I should feel proud,” Loving replied. “I’m thinkin’ you don’t have too many blots on your record.”
“You would be correct. Unfortunately, I was hampered by my…associate. My employer’s son. A difficult partner, at best.”
“Because he’s trigger-happy and stupid?”
“I tried to tell my employer that his…assistance was not needed. But he insisted.”
“He sent the idiot offspring to keep an eye on you.”
“They sent him to observe, to perhaps learn skills that would enable him to be of use at some time in the future. Unfortunately, I fear that is impossible. Many things can be cured with experience and training. Stupidity is not one of them.”
Loving’s gut instinct told him it would still be smartest to turn tail and run from this man who was, after all, a killer. But his curiosity got the better of him. “Why are you here?”
“I thought…I thought I might be of some assistance to you.”
“You want to help me?”
“You find that so difficult to believe?”
“Usually I don’t get to be best buddies with guys I run over with a car.”
“I’m not one to hold grudges. Would you care for a latte?”
Loving raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking, right?”
“Well, we are standing directly in front of police headquarters. And as dim-witted as they are, it is probably not prudent for me to remain here forever.”
Leon gestured toward a coffee bar across the street. Oookay, Loving thought. In for a penny.
Inside, they found a booth in the rear, away from the windows, and sat on opposite sides. Loving ordered black coffee and told the waitress he didn’t give a damn what blend it was. Leon ordered a white chocolate mocha, Genvalia ground, with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.
“You seem surprised.”
“Well…” Loving searched for words. “I guessed I had you pegged as more the bourbon-straight kind of guy.”
Leon gave a little shudder. “Stereotypes are so banal.” He took a sip of his gourmet coffee, which left a white foamy cream mustache on his upper lip. “As I was saying, I did admire the way you handled yourself last night.”
“Even the part where I stabbed you in the gut?”
“In fact, I was wearing Kevlar. The wound was not nearly so serious as you probably imagined.”
“And when I hit you with the car?”
“That stung a bit. It would never have happened if I hadn’t already been off my game. Decentered, if you will, by the handicap of an accomplice. But I must admit it’s not my first time rolling over a speeding car. One learns to deal.”
Loving rubbed the side of his face. Last night the man had tried to kill him; today they were sitting in a booth sipping overpriced yuppie coffee. It was surreal.
“So I guess as a reward for my fabulous performance, you’re plannin’ to give me the name of the woman who was killed at the press conference?”
“Would that I could. I don’t know that poor unfortunate’s name. But I do know someone who might be able to give it to you.”
“And you’re gonna tell me?” Loving asked incredulously. A moment later, he snapped his fingers. “You’re pissed.”
“I’ve had nothing to drink.”
“I mean you’re angry. Because they fired you. You’re tryin’ to screw the pooch.”
“I assure you that never in my life—”
“You’re ticked off ’cause you got canned.”
“It was…unjust. The fault was all with my partner. And at least at some level, deep down, I believe my employer realizes that. But what can he do? The man is his son.” He paused. “That said, I assure you my motives are not entirely petty.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Loving said, sipping his cup of coffee. “I don’t care what your motives are. Who is this person? Give me a name.”
“Trudy.”
“And she can give me an ID on the murder victim?”
“Yes, I believe that Trudy—” He coughed into his hand. “—uh, might be able to help you along.”
“Got an address?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He passed Loving a folded sheet of paper. “Don’t be fooled by the office space at the front of the building. The den of iniquity you seek is in the basement.”
“Aren’t they always.” Loving shoved the paper into his pocket. “Got any other leads?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well then, I should probably push off. It’s been…um…interestin’.”
“Indeed it has.”
Loving hesitated. “So…I don’t need to worry about you sneakin’ up behind me and tryin’ to kill me? ’Cause we’re friends now.”
Leon tilted his head to one side. “Mmm…”
“I see. You’re still hopin’ they’ll hire you back.”
“A man’s got to eat.”
“And if they do, you’ll be back on my ass.”
“I think that very unlikely.” He smiled. “But if it does occur—I won’t enjoy it.”
Loving knew he shouldn’t be smiling, but he was.
“Let me warn you, Mr. Loving—even if it isn’t me who comes for you next, if you do not discontinue your investigation, there will be someone.”
“Why?”
“Because there are people who do not want the identity of the lady in question to be revealed. They will stop at nothing to prevent it. And they are swimming in resources. Money. Power. Armies to command.” He paused. “I can’t assure you that all of these minions will adhere to the same code of conduct that I do. Be very careful—danger may lurk in the most unexpected places.”
That sent a shiver down Loving’s spine. “Gotcha. Thanks for the tip.”
“It was my pleasure.” He extended a hand. “Best of luck to you.”
Loving couldn’t believe it, but he was actually shaking the hand of the man who had tried to kill him only hours before. “Very kind of you.”
“Not at all.” Leon looked up over the brim of his frothy mug. “You’re going to need it.”
17
I
should’ve started down here, Ben thought, mentally beating himself up for having wasted so much time trying to find Senator Keyes in his office, or in one of the meeting rooms for his many committees—or heaven forbid, on the Senate floor. When a senator of his stature wanted time alone, away from the prying eyes of reporters or the outstretched hand of whatever constituent happened to be touring Washington that week, he retreated to his hideaway. Nestled in the subterranean basements of the three Senate office buildings, the hideaways did not appear on any of the tourist maps—or even on the official blueprints—but they were there, just the same. You had to know how to wind your way down the stairs and through the narrow corridors crowded with disused furniture and outdated equipment. You had to brave the suction and noise of an air-conditioning system more ancient than Methuselah. But the difficulty of the approach was part of the appeal; senators came here when they did not want to be found, sometimes for work, more often for pleasure. Given the tumult currently under way upstairs, Ben should have known to check the hideaways first; a senator of Keyes’s stature probably had three of them.
He caught the senator just as he was leaving, locking the door behind him. Inside the room, he could hear high-pitched, rather feminine giggling, but he decided not to ask. Keyes saw him, but he still turned away and started down the corridor.
“Senator Keyes! Could I have a few words?”
“Can you talk while you walk?” he replied, buttoning the vest of his three-piece suit around his ample girth.
“Ever since I was nine months old,” Ben muttered under his breath. Then, audibly: “I wanted to talk to you about the Roush confirmation hearings.”
Keyes checked his watch. “Main committee room. Ten minutes.”
“Yes, I know that. I wanted to talk about how you plan to conduct the hearing.”
“With my usual enthusiasm and bonhomie, I’d like to think,” Keyes said, smiling slightly.
They turned a corner, and the racket from the antiquated air-conditioning system became so loud Ben could barely hear. “I wondered if we could come to a few agreements in advance. About how the hearing will be conducted. How we’ll conduct ourselves.”
“Why? You’re not on the Judiciary Committee.”
“I’ve been asked to represent Judge Roush during the hearings. To act as his representative.”
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest? One of the people who will vote on his confirmation acting as his legal representative?” Keyes acted surprised, even though Ben was quite certain he wasn’t.
“But I won’t be acting as a lawyer. Not really. I’ll just be acting as his advisor. Since he’s unfamiliar with the ways and procedures of the Senate.”
“Ah. Clever work-around.” He winked. “I thought your fearless leader was going to run interference for him.”
Ben assumed that was a reference to Minority Leader Hammond. “We’re both working with Thaddeus. He’s going to be helping me with—”
“Even so, this seems quite a high-profile position for a first-term not-really-a-senator.”
They reached the foot of the stairs. There would be reporters waiting at the top in the gallery, and once Keyes felt the embrace of a klieg light Ben knew he would have no chance of talking to him. He took hold of the man’s arm and held him back. “I wanted to see if we could come to an agreement about these hearings. Before we’re forced to start performing for the cameras.”
Keyes looked down at him, one eyebrow cocked high. “All right. What did you have in mind?”
“I assume we both want a dignified and expeditious confirmation process.”
“You assume a lot.”
“I hope we will both remember the constitutional role of the Senate in this process. To advise and consent.”
“The Constitution and I are well acquainted, Senator Kincaid.”
“It’s not an excuse to engage in personal attacks.”
“Heaven forfend.”
“No McCarthyite tactics.”
“Perish the thought.”
“No prying into the nominee’s private life.”
“Well…there are times when a nominee’s private life becomes relevant. Certainly your party found it very relevant when Clarence Thomas was nominated.”
“No one’s going to be bringing sexual harassment charges against Thaddeus Roush and we both know it.”
“Mr. Kincaid, you seem to be assuming I will be hostile to Judge Roush. May I remind you that he is a member of my party, and was nominated by a President who is a member of my party?”
“Don’t waste your breath. I know perfectly well the President wants this nomination killed.”
“I didn’t get that memo.”
“So your staff hasn’t been taking my fellow senators’ temperature regarding a possible Haskins nomination?”
Keyes turned slowly, his eyes widening.
“When the media-darling wife-and-baby-saving judge from Colorado flies to Washington and visits the President,” Ben added, “it suggests that someone is lining up a successor.”
“Nonsense. The President just wanted to formally acknowledge Judge Haskins’s achievements. The man is a national hero.”
“And the President could use a national hero. Just as soon as Roush’s nomination goes down in flames.”
“It’s hardly a crime to consider alternatives, Ben. Especially when the current nominee’s ‘partner’ is being interrogated in connection with a murder.”
“That sounds to me like a good reason to delay the hearing. Not to rush it forward.”
“Delay is not an option.” Keyes was quiet for a moment, then shrugged, apparently deciding that denials were not worth the effort. “You could hardly blame the President for forging ahead. Most pundits expect this nomination to fail, and his days in office are limited. If we don’t move forward quickly, he might not have a chance to select the next nominee.”
“This nomination doesn’t have to fail. It shouldn’t fail.”
“Some things are outside our control.”
“I’m not sure I think anything’s outside your control. At least as it relates to the Senate Judiciary Committee. You could stop the character attacks and the tabloid testimony cold if you wanted.”
“We still have many questions—”
“You already have Roush’s written answers to your interrogatories.”
“Pitiful. Haven’t seen a more evasive, less informative bunch of hogwash since Harriet Miers. And you know what happened to her.”
“Mister Chairman, I am well aware that you run this committee, at least with regard to the Republican members.”
“I’m only the chairman, Kincaid. Not the gatekeeper. I can’t prevent other senators on the committee from raising issues—”
“You can, and we both know it. That’s how it’s done. You get other party loyalists to do your dirty work so you can retain the appearance of impartiality.”
Keyes pressed a hand against his chest. “Senator Kincaid. Your accusations offend me. Surely you don’t suggest that I would use this hearing to engage in partisan skulduggery.”
“With all due respect, Senator—save it for the cameras.”
To Ben’s surprise, the senior senator chuckled with merriment. He placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I like you, Kincaid. I really do. You’re so…well, unlike everyone else in this town. I wish the Senate had ninety-nine more like you. Except Republican.” He laughed again, then looked Ben straight in the eyes. “What is it you really want?”
“I want you to promise there will be no discussion of Roush’s sexual preference.”
“I can’t do that. It may not seem relevant to you, but to my constituency, it is the most important issue relating to Roush’s confirmation.”
“Then I want you to agree to proceed with fundamental fairness. No character assassination. No slimy slurs or insinuations. No gay stereotyping. We keep it all aboveboard and conduct ourselves as befits members of the United States Senate.”
Keyes looked at him levelly. “That I can agree to.”
Ben paused. Something about this conversation was extremely unsatisfying, but how could you go on arguing when the man agreed to your terms? “Fine.” Ben extended his hand. “Here’s to a fair fight.”
“Indeed,” Keyes said. “A fair fight.”
Ben was relieved to finally get Roush inside the Old Senate Caucus Room, where the confirmation hearings would be conducted. It was a beautiful room, one of the most ornate and elegant in the entire Senate complex, and virtually unchanged since its construction at the dawn of the nation’s history. The high ceiling gave the room a sense of being larger than it was; the gold crown molding imparted a sense of dignity and history that Ben could only hope imprinted itself on the participants. Most important, there would be no mob of reporters. In here, the select few allowed inside were assigned seats and were expected to remain in them. There was one camera strategically placed on the left side of the room, and its feed would be shared by all the television networks.
Ben took advantage of the fact that the rest of the assembly had not yet been admitted. He and Roush walked the room, getting a feel for it, getting comfortable, if such a thing were possible.
After they had explored the room, Ben and Roush made their way to the front-and-center table. There were two chairs, a pitcher of water, two glasses, and a microphone.
It was terrifying.
Maybe it wasn’t the table. Maybe it was the raised semicircular bench upon which eighteen senators would sit, ten Republicans, eight Democrats, each of whom in turn would question Roush about his fitness for the job of Supreme Court justice. No, Ben couldn’t blame Roush for seeming nervous. Just the thought of it made Ben’s stomach churn, and he wasn’t the one who was going to be grilled.
The rest of the assembly would be admitted soon. Best to get into position.
“Ready to go?” Ben asked, as he motioned toward the center chair.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Roush sat, and Ben took his strategic place beside him. “Is it too late to decline the nomination?”
Ben almost smiled. “If you were going to withdraw, I think you’d have done it by now.”
“Yeah.” Roush paused again. “Do you think I did the right thing?”
Ben didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. “As a matter of fact, I do. With the enormous amount of scrutiny and investigation given a Supreme Court nominee, it might’ve come out anyway.”
“The President’s people didn’t get it.”
“They didn’t get Anita Hill at first, either, but she still testified, putting Clarence Thomas on the defensive for the rest of the hearings. No, you were right, Tad. Better to do it yourself. That way, everything is on the table. You don’t have to worry about being discovered. All the secrets are out.”
“Yes,” Roush murmured quietly. “All the secrets are out.”
The rear doors were flung open and in an instant, the subdued edginess was transformed into brash panic. Eighteen senators took their seats on the bench, Senator Keyes in the center. Members of the press, of the Senate, and of the Washington establishment all took their positions in the gallery. Senator Hammond, their legal advisor, Bertram Sexton, and Christina took the seats directly behind. Gina Carraway, the media expert, stood on the left, where she could see the image in the television monitor—in effect, she could see the hearings as America saw them. Once Ray Eastwick was released from the police interrogations, he also would sit behind Roush, but they had decided not to leave an empty seat for him now—that would only remind America why he wasn’t present today. The cameraman adjusted the boom mikes and turned on the bright white spots. An anticipatory buzz swept through the Caucus Room, making the already unbearable suspense about a thousand times more intense. Ben could feel the heat bearing down on them, and that wasn’t just from the overhead lights. He knew he wasn’t the only one feeling it. Roush was already sweating.
Christina strode up to the table and placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder.
“Ready to go?”
Ben smiled nervously. “No.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Good. You always do better when you’re on edge. Comes with being mildly neurotic.”
“How sweet.”
She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I know you’ll be great,” she whispered. “You always are.”
“I think you’re seeing me through rose-colored glasses.”
“Perhaps. There’s a word for that.”
“Which is?”
She patted his shoulder one last time. “Well, if you don’t know already, you’ll hear it during the wedding ceremony. Whenever that happens.”
Ouch. Ben winced. He glanced at the other end of the table and saw Roush grinning broadly. “What?”
Roush shook his head, still greatly amused. “And I thought I had problems.”
Keyes tapped his microphone, as if to make sure it was working.
“This hearing is called to order,” Keyes said, with what Ben estimated to be approximately three times his usual Texas accent. “Would the nominee please do us the favor of rising?”
Ben leaned sideways and whispered into Roush’s ear: “Show-time.”