Lewis Cole: Primary Storm Part 19

Short-term parking was a whopping two dollars, but Felix insisted on paying for it and getting a receipt. "It's so rare that I'm doing something this legitimate, it's pretty much a new experience for me. Expense reports. Can you believe that?"

"Sure, I can," I said, and in a matter of minutes, we were heading east, on Route 101, about an hour out from Tyler. Felix stretched his legs and stretched his arms and said, "Okay, kid. What's the job? Based on your movie reference, I'd guess it's going to be a Watergate-type activity."

"I think so, but without the publicity and the book deals."

"G.o.d, now that's a hope. Who's the target?"

"There's an oppo researcher for the General Grayson campaign. His name is Chuck Bittner. Ex-navy. He wants me to make an announcement tomorrow endorsing the general and criticizing Senator Hale and his family."

Felix said, "No offense, my friend, but for a day or so, you were the lead suspect in the shooting involving the senator. Does this Bittner character really think having your endors.e.m.e.nt is going to be a good thing?"

I checked the speedometer. Seventy miles an hour, just five miles an hour above the limit. Traffic was very light. We would make good time. "It's not the endors.e.m.e.nt part they're excited about. It's the criticism aspect they're more interested in."

"Wait a second. You said something about the senator and his family. What do you know about the senator's family?"

I gave him a quick glance. "Keep a secret?"

"Ha-ha," he said, his voice flat. "Very funny. What's the big secret?"

"Well, it's an open secret among the Secret Service and some members of the Hale campaign, and a few others. Luckily, so far, it hasn't reached the news media, though give them some more time, I'm sure they'll get it. The senator's wife, Barbara Hale?"

"Yes, the blonde. What about her?"

"I dated her in college."

That got his attention. "You're kidding me."

"Not for a moment."

Then he laughed. "Lewis, you ... you are so full of surprises, and this one, this one really tops the list. Dated the future first lady of our great land. I never knew you had it in you."

"Not sure what kind of 'it' you mean, but that's the deal. Tomorrow I'm supposed to endorse Grayson, criticize Hale and his crazed, power-hungry wife, and all will be right in the world."

"Knowing you, I know that's not going to happen. So what else?"

"The 'what else' is that if I don't go out and make this all public, Grayson's campaign will do it without me. It's a win-win for them. I go out and endorse Grayson, the media buzz will hurt Hale. I don't go out and endorse Grayson, and Grayson's campaign makes a big deal about the alleged shooter being an ex-spook with a mysterious past, connected romantically to Hale's wife, and the media buzz hurts Hale. And with just a few days before the primary, there's not enough time for Hale to recover."

"Knowing you and how you feel about Miss Wynn, I think hurting the Hale campaign is definitely off the plate."

"Definitely," I said.

We stayed silent for a few minutes, as Route 101 made its way through Epping, the self-proclaimed center of the universe. "This Bittner character ... where is he tonight?"

"At the Lafayette House."

"How convenient. What can you tell me about him?"

"Arrogant. a.s.sured. True believer in Grayson's campaign."

"What else?"

"Seems strong, in shape. Threatened me."

"Threatened you how?"

"Just said he was in better shape than me, and tried to break my upper arm to prove a point."

"Tsk, tsk," Felix said. "How childish. And what would you like me to do?"

We were now approaching Exonia, home to Phillips Exonia Academy and an obscenely high population of writers. I said, "Your usual and customary approach to making otherwise reluctant people see the error of their ways."

That brought a good laugh. "You've been with me so long, my friend, that I'd think you could do it yourself."

"I could, but I need you."

'Why, thank you. Always nice to be needed. But don't sell yourself short, Lewis. You can be a strong fellow when the circ.u.mstances require it."

I pa.s.sed a lumbering semi going up a slight incline. "It's not strength I'm worried about. It's something else."

"What's that?"

"You'll do it right."

"Meaning you would do it wrong?"

I gave the top of the steering well a small slap. "Yes, I'd do it wrong. I'd go at it wrong, take it to wrong places, and probably go too far. You won't."

'Why do you think that?"

"Because ... because for you, it's professional. For me, it's personal. He wants to use me to hurt the Hale campaign, hurt someone I had fond feelings for and someone I currently have fond feelings for ... and he brought up my past service and tried to use that against me. Ticked me off big-time. So, yeah, Felix, for me, it's quite personal. I know you'll do what has to be done, and I'll be there as well. But I trust you and your abilities. Which is why I need you. And why I thank you in advance."

"And you're welcome, too. In advance."

There was another moment of silence as we went over 1-95, fairly busy at this late hour, and Route 101 had shrunk to two lanes, and the marshlands and frozen sands of Tyler Beach were now beckoning us.

Felix said, "Need to ask you something else."

"Go ahead."

"The fake Secret Service agent. The one ... the one dumped in your front lawn."

I sighed. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing."

"If this Bittner character is desperate to use you to stop the Hale campaign, then there's a good chance this isn't their latest try. Maybe Bittner --- or somebody connected with him --- was behind the whole deal. Getting this Spenser Harris character to talk to you. Lifting your .357 Ruger. Hoping and planning that you'd be at the Hale rally that day. Makes a rugged sort of sense, you know."

"I know. If we have time, maybe we'll chat that point up with Mr. Bittner."

I could see Felix's grin from the glow of the dashboard lights.

"Then that's a plan."

"Just curious, is our fake Secret Service agent still where we left him?"

Felix chastised me. "He's your fake Secret Service agent, and yes, he's still where we left him. And I know I said I would try to find out something about him, but in my spare time I've come up with squat."

"I suppose getting his fingerprints and trying to have Diane Woods do something with them is out of the question."

"Please," he said. "Detective Sergeant Woods already has a very low opinion of me. Why should we reinforce that?"

"All right."

Now we were racing along the clear asphalt of Route 101, approaching the few lights of the low buildings before us that were the heart of Tyler Beach. From the marshland the road then tightened up, narrowed on both sides by rental cottages closed up for the season, and there was not a single lit home or cottage about us as the road rose up to intersect with Atlantic Avenue.

I certainly hoped my new friend James from the Clive Wallace campaign was out there on this dark street tonight, trying to talk to whatever voters were huddled by themselves in the cold and dark.

We stopped at the intersection, crept forward through some parking areas. The Ashburnham House hotel and restaurant was to our right, and it was the only open place within view. I made a left and we went up Atlantic Avenue, heading north, about eight minutes or so from the Lafayette House.

Felix looked at the shuttered homes and businesses, the empty parking lots, the deserted side streets, and he said, "This time of year, and this little slice of paradise, looking like this, could make almost anybody slit their throat. How b.l.o.o.d.y depressing."

"Buck up. In six months this place will be packed with cars and tourists, and the primary will be a distant memory."

"Yeah, but it'll come back again, in winter. The great desolation. Empty streets, empty buildings. Like we suffered through a plague year or something. Blah. Enough to turn most guys to religion or legitimacy."

"Most guys?" I asked, trying to keep my voice innocent.

"Like you, Felix?"

"That's why I said most guys. Keep quiet or you'll miss our turn."

Which was doubtful, since the Lafayette House was now before us, in its white Victorian splendor, but I guess Felix was tired of showing his metros.e.xual side, and that was fine with me. I turned left and was able to find a s.p.a.ce, which pleased me. We got out and I left the doors unlocked --- if we had to leave quickly, fumbling to unlock said doors could cause problems --- and then Felix asked for a moment to go through his bag.

"Of course," I said, as he rummaged through his leather carrying case, and then he said, "Ah," and placed something in his coat pocket. I caught up with him as we went toward the entrance, and said, "As a matter of record, sir, are you carrying?"

"Yep."

"And what kind of weapon do you have?"

"This," he said, and he showed me what he had just placed in his coat. I looked at him and looked at the object, which quickly went back into his coat.

"Tape?" I asked. "Duct tape?"

"Absolutely."

"And why duct tape?"

Felix said, "Ever tell you the tale of my uncle Julius?"

"Nope, but I have a feeling you're going to."

'That's right. Uncle Julius was a disappointment to some family members, since he ran a small, legitimate hardware store in the North End, down in Boston. A little of this, a little of that. Everything from pipes to tools to small appliances. Was proud of showing people how to make small repairs around their homes and apartments. He told me once that most people could get away with two things in their home repair kit"

"And what's that?"

"WD-40 lubricant to make things go, and duct tape to make things stop."

I had to laugh. "Good for Uncle Julius. And you have the tape because ... "

"Because someone's being a pain in the a.s.s to you, I'm going to make it stop. That all right?"

"That's perfect."

"Good."

We went into the lobby of the Lafayette House and I saw that the gift shop, the site of my earlier triumph that day, was now closed. There were just a few people in the lobby but the lounge looked pretty well attended, with someone playing the piano, and a few drunken souls were trying to sing along in such a manner that I couldn't even identify the tune. I found a house phone and after a moment or two with the hotel operator, got the room of Chuck Bittner.

"Yeah?" came the foggy reply.

"Chuck, it's Lewis Cole."

"Lewis Cole ... Jesus, man, do you know what time it is?"

"No, I don't, and that's not the reason I called you. I'm ... I'm ready to make an announcement. I just need to run something by you."

Now he didn't seem so asleep. "Good. Where are you?"

"In the lobby."

"Room 312," he said, and that was that.

I hung up the room phone and Felix fell in step with me as we headed to the bank of elevators. As we waited for an elevator, Felix said, "All right with you, I'll take the lead here. Okay?"

"Sounds fine."

"Way I see it, you want a promise from him to leave you alone, not to bring you into the campaign. Correct?"

"One hundred percent. But Felix ... "

The indicator light dinged and the door slid open. We went in and he said, "Yes?"

"He's going to be a tough one," I said. "Ex-navy. Full-time campaign worker for General Grayson. True believer in the general's cause. He might not roll over for you like other guys you've ... encountered."

Felix gently pushed the b.u.t.ton for the third floor. "Don't fret, son. Don't fret. You forget how I do love a challenge."

"So you do consider this a challenge?"

Felix had a faint smile on his face and then the door opened up, and he said, "Hush. Just let your uncle Felix make it all right."

We went down the soft-lit hallway, found Room 312 with no difficulty, and Felix said quietly, "Okay, you stand in front of the door, so he can see you through the peephole. Make sure you're standing there, nice and still, and when the door opens up, you take two steps to the right, wait, and then follow me in. Once you're in --- and this is important --- don't touch a d.a.m.n thing. Got it?"