Lewis Cole: Primary Storm Part 6

Processing out was a heck of a lot more fun than processing in, and the staff and deputy sheriffs were cheerful and polite in getting my possessions back, after word had filtered through that the arrest had been a mistake. Raymond led me out to his silver BMW and we soon left the grounds of the county jail, and I was surprised that the journalist scrum was gone from the gate.

But after we started driving out, it just took a moment to see Agent Reynolds, standing on a set of steps by the main building, talking to said serum, and I said to Raymond, "Looks like he kept his word."

"For now, and that's a good thing."

"Ask you something?"

"Of course."

"The television tape," I said.

"Where did you get it?"

"Friends and favors owed, Lewis. I know how well covered these events tend to be. Just our luck one television station from Boston had a camera trained on the exit door that afternoon."

"Let's hear it for luck"

"Sure," he said. "How does heading home sound?"

"Home would be wonderful."

As we got back onto Route 101, this time heading blessedly east, Raymond said, "Offer you a suggestion?"

"Absolutely."

"I don't have to remind you of the number of journalists scrambling around your fair state, trying to get a different angle, a different story on the primary. It's always a combination circus and revival meeting, and this a.s.sa.s.sination attempt has just spun out the reporters even more. Not to mention that little bit about you having a relationship with the senator's wife back in college."

"That was a long time ago."

"Still, it's newsworthy, if it gets out. And knowing how dedicated these journalists are, I'm sure it will come out one of these days, sooner rather than later."

"I know."

"Good. And you're going to see something else, Lewis. Despite that little show back there at the county jail, where you've just been set free on the side of goodness, you are now a story. Probably one of the biggest stories in the nation, right up to the time next week when the ballots get cast."

I said, "If you're advising me to keep a low profile and keep my mouth shut, consider it done."

Raymond said, "Good. I had a feeling you knew where I was going; glad to see my high opinion of you is based on something."

"Not disappointing my attorney, that's always been a goal in my life."

He laughed at that and said, "Right now we've embarra.s.sed the Secret Service. They thought they had a shooter, and we've just blown that right out of the water. So don't be surprised if they come back at you with lots more questions, lots more attention, usually at a time and place inconvenient for you. Don't worry; we'll ride it out."

"Thanks."

Off in the distance I could make out the thin line of the Atlantic Ocean, and Raymond said, "Now, this was a change. Usually I come see you because of some ... adventure involving Felix. But you've managed to get into trouble all by yourself this time. Not sure that's an improvement."

"I just went to a rally and got sick. That's all."

"More than that, my friend. You've got yourself caught up in an attempt to kill a leading presidential candidate. When you die, that will probably be the first line in your obituary."

The approaching ocean looked good. I said, "I don't plan that anytime soon. Besides, something else might be the first line in my obituary. First man on Mars, for example."

He laughed. "I won't hold my breath, but if you do that, bring me back a rock or something."

"Or something."

Now we were crossing a long stretch of marshland, heading east to the ocean, and off to our right, squatting at the edge of the marsh, were the cement and steel structures of the Falconer nuclear power plant.

Raymond said, "Besides this campaign almost putting you in jail, it's lost me one of my best paralegals. How is Annie Wynn doing?"

"Doing well," I said. "Though yesterday was a pretty rough time. She's been taken in by the senator and his campaign. Question I have is, where is she going after the New Hampshire primary? She's made noises about going south if the primary goes well and if the polls improve for the senator."

"And how are the two of you doing?"

I eyed him. "Just fine, Counselor. Just fine."

That managed to keep him quiet. The road ended at Atlantic Avenue, which ran right along the edge of the coast, and he turned left, heading north. Empty parking spots flanked us all the way up to my home. I rubbed my hands across the tops of my legs. I knew I had just a few minutes left before we got to the Lafayette House parking lot.

"Raymond," I said.

"Yeah."

"I need to tell you a couple of things." "Sure."

"I was set up."

He tapped a finger on the steering wheel. "That you were, son. That you were. Have you p.i.s.sed anyone off lately?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Who do you think stole your handgun?"

"The fake Secret Service agent, that's who. He made sure I was going to be at the rally. And he knew me, knew about Annie ... knew a lot of stuff. Which tells me he or his friends did their homework, did their research. They needed a patsy, and I was it. Lucky for me I got sick at the right time."

"Sounds good."

"Then how come that real Secret Service agent didn't press me?"

"Good question. I have a feeling Agent Reynolds knows a lot more than he was letting on. But I can tell you this, he does have his hands full. Trying to find out who shot at the senator, trying to find out who was impersonating a Secret Service agent. Just be glad you're not him."

"All right, I will."

He spared me a glance. "What's next, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Not to worry, you're still under lawyer-client privilege, my friend."

I looked over at the wide cold ocean. "I'm going to find out who set me up. And why."

"h.e.l.l of a task"

"Don't think I've got much of a choice."

Raymond said, "You could let it drop. Let the professionals handle it."

"Not my style, Counselor."

He sighed. "All right. Just make sure you have my business card with you."

"Always."

The road rose up and went to the right and before us was the white Victorian structure of the Lafayette House, and across the street was the parking lot, the entrance to my house, and there was a mob scene.

The parking lot was a milling ma.s.s of reporters, photographers, news cameras, satellite trucks and vans, and a.s.sorted bystanders and pa.s.sersby.

"Well," Raymond said.

"Understatement of the year, Raymond."

"Yeah."

He slowed down and I said, "You can let me out and --"

"Lewis," he said, his voice changing, sounding more like that of the guy who had gotten me out of prison a half hour ago. "I said I was going to take you home, and by G.o.d, I'm going to take you home. Just sit there, look straight ahead, and keep your face blank. Like you're holding a full house in a poker game with a motorcycle gang. All right?"

"Sure."

He made a sharp turn to the right, into the parking lot, and we moved forward slowly, like an icebreaker going through a ma.s.s of jumbled ice. I followed my lawyer's advice and stared straight ahead, as the enthusiastic members of the fourth estate pressed against the windows and sides of the BMW. We had a b.u.mpy ride down to my house, and I felt a flash of anger as I saw another, smaller collection of reporters around the front door. Raymond said, "You let me handle this crowd, all right?"

"Sure," I said, thinking of the nice collection of firearms I have in my house, save for the one stolen two days earlier.

He pulled up and opened the door, letting in a burst of cold air and shouted questions, and he stood there for a minute or two, as the reporters gathered around him. He held his cell phone in his hand, smiled and said something, and after another minute or two, the reporters started going up the driveway. I turned and watched them trudge up the slight hill, and when they reached the parking lot, I got out.

"What magic words did you use to get rid of them?" I asked.

"Standard words. That they were all trespa.s.sing, and I was going to call the Tyler police to arrest their merry behinds. That's all."

I went up the door. Raymond followed and I turned and shook his hand.

"Thanks," I said.

"Not a problem. Just remember my advice. All right? And if you don't remember my advice ... "

"I remember. And yes, I've got your business card."

"All right." He slapped his hands together against the cold and said, "I'm off. Give my best to Annie."

"Consider it done. And, Raymond?"

He was back at his BMW. "Yes?"

"Why don't you send me a bill this time?"

That made him laugh. "You're under the agreement I have with Felix, and with Felix, it's a lifetime of free legal services. It's taken care of, it will always be taken care of, and that's it. Now. Get your b.u.t.t inside before you freeze it off."

"Sure. And get your b.u.t.t back to Boston before some campaign up here hires you out."

"No chance, no chance, no chance," and with a smile and a slammed door, he was back in his BMW, and heading up to the Lafayette House parking lot.

I went up to the front door, kicked the snow off my footwear, unlocked the door, and went inside.

Where I quickly determined I was not alone.

Chapter Five.

The house was too warm, there was a fire burning in the fireplace, and there was the low sound of music. The phone started ringing and I ignored it, knowing it was probably from one of the reporters up in the parking lot, checking in on me.

"Annie?" I called out.

"Yes, dear, I'll be right there."

But the voice sure as h.e.l.l didn't match the sentiment. I went into the small living room, and in the kitchen, sitting at the counter like he owned the d.a.m.n place, was Felix Tinios, a cup of coffee in front of him, his coat draped over a nearby chair. I suppose I should have been angry or upset that he had gotten in without telling me, but I knew how his mind worked. A friend of his was coming home from a stint in jail, so how could he not be here to greet me? The phone finally stopped ringing as I got to the kitchen.

He wore a thick green and black sweater and, I was a bit surprised to see, his shoulder holster and automatic pistol. "Carrying?" I asked. "That's a h.e.l.l of an oppo research effort you're making."

He smiled, shook his head. "Not part of my oppo research job. Just part of getting into your house without having to answer lots of questions from those bottom-feeders out there in your yard."

"How's that?"

Felix toyed with the handle of the coffee mug. "Going to get all cliched here and all, but most members of the press, they think the Const.i.tution begins and ends with the First Amendment. They're not familiar with the particulars of the Second Amendment, and I've found that a flash of a shoulder holster and its equipment tends to shut them up. Oh, they b.i.t.c.h and moan about being threatened, but it's never come to anything. Funny how somebody who's brave enough to ask a mom how it feels to see her son drown gets all cowardly when he sees something made by Smith and Wesson."

"I see what you mean."

I sat at the counter, across from him, and he reached back and poured me a cup of coffee. I dumped in two spoonfuls of sugar and said, "I won't insult you by asking how you got in. Your usual skills, am I right?"

"Of course."

"I might have need of your other skills, if you can pull yourself away from finding out if Senator Pomeroy likes to surf the Net for big-breasted p.o.r.n."

He said, "Somebody screwed you over."