Elimination Read online

  No such luck tonight.

  I was thinking of checking out the front of the building – I was told that donuts and coffee were being offered there, which sounded good on a night when you could see your breath – when I saw Ted begin to hold up his arms, signaling that he was done. I was close enough that he was able to see me. He marched triple time in my direction, trailing reporters the way poor children trail rich American tourists in Latin American countries.

  ‘Where can we go?’ He was moving fast enough that, despite the temperature, there was a sheen of sweat on his face.

  ‘Front of the building.’

  Then we were walking triple time together. We could have moved even faster if we weren’t wearing topcoats. The reporters following us aimed their microphones at us as if they could actually pick up our words – we weren’t even speaking.

  Then, as we rushed along the side of the building, Ted said, ‘Katherine’s back in the dressing room with Jess. I told her to give Jess two Xanax. I need to talk to the press.’

  He didn’t ‘need’ to. He wanted to. The spotlight beckoned.

  As many as fifty people huddled in the lobby. The aroma of hot fresh coffee welcomed us.

  The ghosts of modern assassinations roamed the halls of the building tonight. Jack and Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King.

  I grabbed a donut and a paper cup of coffee. Ted did the same and followed me into the auditorium where the debate had been held. Though the stage was dark I could see the outlines of the rostrums. The TV people had cleared all their equipment away.

  We sat in theater chairs near the back.

  ‘We won twice tonight,’ Ted said.

  I must have been thinking about those political ghosts. Something had distracted me, anyway. ‘What?’

  ‘I said we won twice tonight. First the debate and now the shooting. You think we aren’t going to get a big sympathy vote?’ The mannequin face gleamed with real pleasure.

  ‘Yeah, we really “won” all right. Your wife could’ve been killed. I guess we have a different idea of “winning.”’

  ‘But she wasn’t killed, was she? Don’t get sanctimonious with me, Dev. Thank God she wasn’t killed. But since she wasn’t, let’s try to find a bright side to this. We should get a bounce out of both the debate and some right-wing bastard trying to murder her. So, any guesses what that bounce’ll be?’

  He was hopeless. ‘The two combined – maybe three or four points.’

  ‘Are you serious? I’m thinking more like six or seven.’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘You know some people are going to think that Dorsey was behind this.’

  ‘Some people think they’ve been abducted by aliens.’

  ‘Don’t kid yourself. The way he talked about all his “patriots” tonight. It’s not a big leap to think that one of them might have been the shooter.’

  ‘But there was nothing in it for Dorsey. He’d caught up with us. He might even have been ahead until tonight. We’re the ones who’ll now get the sympathy vote.’

  ‘Maybe, but that still doesn’t rule out somebody in Dorsey’s camp—’

  Abby said, ‘Mind if I join you?’

  She sat in the row in front of us.

  ‘What happens now, Dev?’ Ted said.

  ‘We start planning for the news deluge. Ted, you can be our spokesman.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  ‘No. Jess needs to rest and you’re her husband. You’ll talk about the gun culture, how lucky Jess was and how we now have to pass serious legislation. And, of course, hit all the points we make every day. You’re good on television.’

  ‘I appreciate your faith in me, Dev. I really do. This is an important venue.’ Then, ‘I can’t wait to see that first poll.’

  ‘I’m more interested in the major poll three days from now. Once things have had a chance to shake loose for a little while.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Abby said. ‘These things evaporate pretty quickly.’

  ‘Somebody trying to kill a congresswoman?’

  ‘Well, I guess you’ve got a point, Ted,’ she said. ‘This probably isn’t going to go away anytime soon.’

  ‘By God, Abby finally agrees with me about something.’

  ‘Ted, I agree with you all the time. You always forget that because once in a while I disagree with you.’

  ‘Am I really that vain, Abby?’

  Fortunately, Abby didn’t have to answer because a man I didn’t recognize came to the left door of the auditorium and said, ‘The policeman out front said he’s just been told that they think they have the shooter in custody!’

  EIGHT

  There are places lonelier than hotel rooms, but few of them are above ground.

  At midnight I sat at a table in my nicely furnished small room in the Royale Hotel with my Mac open and CNN on the TV. All the cable channels except the right-wing ones were orgasming over the attempted assassination of Congresswoman Jessica Bradshaw.

  As with most serious events, the first news had proved to be wrong. The police hadn’t taken anybody into custody; they had questioned three ‘persons of interest’ which translated into three local men who had made notably ugly and violent remarks about Jess. Two had been turned in by acquaintances, and one by a family member, which was an interesting story by itself. For all the noise hate radio made, the majority of people did not want to see their elected officials threatened, let alone killed.

  I’d called Chicago two hours ago and given one of my staffers there the job of answering the phones and redirecting any serious media calls we got to my cell phone here. So far I’d talked to two networks, including the news director of one of them. He’d made the best offer: seven minutes on the news. He was also planning a special called ‘The Hate Merchants’ and would give Jess seven more minutes on that. That would be on Friday night, a lame night for TV, but given the blanket coverage the shooting was getting it might pick up a much bigger audience than the night usually got. In the meantime, we had Ted on the most highly rated morning show.

  So far I’d seen Trent Dorsey’s hilarious response four times on CNN. He was sitting at a desk somewhere with shelves of fake books behind him and the edges of a giant green plastic plant showing on screen right. Local TV.

  ‘I don’t even care about winning anymore. I just want to know that Jessica Bradshaw is all right and I want to know that the person responsible is behind bars. The congresswoman and I have our disagreements but not about how our democratic election process should proceed. That’s why I’ve been promoting the idea that our president should start using his office to promote fellowship, not the kind of ideas that divide this country. He knows where to find the answers to all our ills.’

  Here he held up a small Bible, as if he was going to hawk it along with a bunch of other goodies ‘if you ordered right now.’

  ‘This is where the answers are, Mr President. Right here. And Jessica, my friend, if you’re watching I hope you find a little time for the Good Book tonight. Nothing will give you more comfort, as my wife and our three kids learn every day of our lives. God bless America, folks. God bless America.’

  The closest vomitorium was four cold blocks away. I was too tired to walk to it.

  My daughter called a few minutes later, upset about the shooting and worried about me. She then told me about the granddaughter of mine she was carrying in her sixth month. Sarah’s voice always redeemed me. Even though I was talking to a woman, I was also talking to a girl whose mere name inspired all the sentimental moments of her early life. How her face glowed in the candlelight from her fourth birthday cake; how she’d had a two-line part in the second-grade play; how beautiful she’d looked in that new dress the night of her ninth-grade dance. And then, the remorse for never being there enough for her. How she said she’d forgiven me for that once she’d grown up. But I couldn’t forgive myself. That would be too easy.

  Her ‘I sure love you, Daddy’ was the security blanket I needed tonight.


  Then I felt the fatigue. I sat there watching the TV screen, slumped in the chair. Later I dragged myself to the john and then to bed.

  I dreamed of the Zapruder tape. Jack and Jackie in the convertible. Jack lurching forward suddenly. Jackie leaning into him. The convertible speeding off. And then unreasonably, insanely, Jess was in a similar convertible, her head splintering in three pieces as it would in a horror movie. Ted was her Jackie. Leaning into her—

  The phone woke me.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Conrad. I’m calling from the desk downstairs. There’s a woman here who’d like to see you. I’m actually calling from the office instead of the desk so I can tell you about her.’

  I struggled to wake up, to focus.

  ‘She’s very … disturbed. Scared, I’d say.’

  ‘And she wants to talk to me?’

  ‘She says it’s urgent.’

  The shooting. A woman with information.

  ‘Is the bar still open?’

  ‘For the next twenty minutes.’

  ‘Ask her if she’ll wait for me there. I’ll be down right away.’

  ‘All right.’

  I moved in a daze. Cold water on my face. A hairbrush. Stepped quickly into my trousers and almost fell over. Loafers. Screw the socks. My very wrinkled shirt.

  The elevator. Way too slow.

  Crossed the empty lobby to the desk.

  The tall young man in the hotel’s red blazer was watching me from behind the counter. ‘I hate to say this, Mr Conrad, but she left.’

  ‘She didn’t go into the bar?’

  ‘No.’ The long, thin face was way too somber for someone in his early twenties. ‘I got another call here – a very angry guest – and while I was on it she got a call on her cell. I could hear her arguing with somebody and then she sounded kind of … pleading, I guess you’d say. I don’t know what the other person said but it obviously got to her. She just turned around, started walking very quickly to the front doors and disappeared.’

  ‘She ever give you her name?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry.’

  ‘What’d she look like?’

  ‘Young – around thirty, I’d say. Pretty. Dark raincoat.’

  I walked outside. There was a cab stand half a block west. A lone cab sat there. I went up to the driver’s door and knocked on the window. The wind was making a metal racket with anything loose. Scents of cold and impending rain made the now moonless night bleaker. The blinking red light at the intersection signaled a disturbing urgency.

  When the cab driver’s window came down a heavy cloud of smoke escaped, along with the sounds of an excited radio minister. A fake gold cross hung from his rearview mirror.

  ‘Yeah?’ He was an older white guy in a heavy blue sweater.

  ‘Did a cab just leave here?’

  His whole wary life was in his green eyes. He had survived by being careful about what he said, and by judging people quickly. I was not likely to find favor with him.

  ‘Why would you want to know?’

  ‘I lost my woman.’ I smiled. ‘Had a little argument and she ran off.’

  ‘She your wife?’ The minister was in full rant now. The driver would want me to be a good, faithful husband.

  ‘Of course.’ I shrugged. ‘She wants a new kitchen and I said we can’t afford it. We really got into it. I overdid it. She ran out.’

  His turn to shrug. ‘Seen a lady get into Betty’s cab a few minutes ago. Pretty good guess she was takin’ your old lady home, don’t you think?’

  ‘Betty be back here tonight?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’

  And with that his window went up.

  Upstairs in my room, I called the cab company and identified myself as Jess’s campaign manager. With the shooting my position gave me real gravitas.

  ‘You have a driver named Betty.’

  ‘Betty Cairns, yeah.’

  ‘She picked up a woman at the Royale Hotel maybe ten minutes ago. Fifteen at the most. I’d really like to know where she took her.’

  ‘Is this some kind of official business?’

  ‘It could be. I really can’t say anymore.’

  ‘Official, huh?’ He sounded amused. ‘Gimme your phone number and I’ll have her call you.’

  There’d be no sleep for me until I heard from Betty. I read all the national coverage I could find on the shooting. Even the conservative papers were charitable to Jess’s liberal voting record. The right-wing blogs were another matter. A few of them came close to suggesting that maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad way to get rid of a Commie. My side had said similar nasty things when a right-wing senator had been seriously wounded in a hunting accident.

  The local police chief’s name was Aaron Showalter. He’d given Channel 6 a three-minute interview that I’d missed. I was watching the rerun now. He stood in front of the police department. Next to him was a very attractive, small and dark-haired woman he introduced as Detective Karen Foster. She was apparently a prop. She was not asked a single question.

  Showalter looked and sounded ex-military in the interview. He had a thickset body and deliberate way of speaking and moving. He seemed smart and cautious. He didn’t say much in the three minutes but managed to impress me as being harsh and wily.

  The white Stetson almost ruined the hard-ass effect he wanted. If you live in Texas, Wyoming or South Dakota, the Stetson is fine, legit. If you live in a crooked river city in Illinois, you’re just playing cowpoke. That he wore it while he was inside was even more of a joke. But even with the Stetson, I knew he would be dangerous.

  If I remembered my law correctly, Showalter would now be part of an inter-agency task force (local agencies, state agencies and the regional FBI office) that would be assembled quickly to investigate the shooting. Most likely the state would assign security to travel with Jessica and protect her twenty-four-seven, which would be divided into three teams.

  Betty called twenty minutes after I talked to the cab company. She had a soft, intelligent voice. ‘I got a message to call you.’

  ‘Thanks very much for getting back to me so soon.’

  ‘They tell me you work for Congresswoman Bradshaw.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Back when she was on the city council here – that was quite a while ago – she really fought to get us cabbies better wages. I’ve always appreciated that. I’m just glad she’s all right. You wanted to know about my fare from the hotel, right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I took her over to the Skylight tavern. You know where that is?’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

  ‘Over by the old baseball stadium. It was a decent place till they built the new stadium but now it’s kind of a pit. That’s where I took her.’

  ‘Did she say anything while she was in your cab?’

  ‘She cried a little on and off. Not much. She kept punching in numbers on her cell phone but it must’ve been busy or something because she’d cuss every time she tried.’

  ‘Did you see anybody outside the place waiting for her?’

  ‘No. And she couldn’t have stayed too long. Earl, the guy who owns the place, was already cutting the lights. I wish there was more I could tell you.’

  ‘This is very helpful, Betty. Very helpful.’

  She yawned. ‘Sorry. It’s time for me to pack it in. I’ve got a husband at home who always makes breakfast for me no matter what time I roll in. That and bed sound pretty darned good right now.’

  ‘Thanks, Betty. I really appreciate the call.’

  Finding sleep again was difficult. It teased me. I almost dozed off several times, but not quite. It was the thought of how easy it would be if the woman who’d wanted to talk to me at the Royale could lead us directly to the shooter. But was anything ever that easy? So preposterously easy?

  NINE

  Jess and Ted lived in a Tudor-style house that could easily be classified as a mansion. At six-fifteen in the morning two massive TV trucks and
at least half-a-dozen cars were parked in front of the wide steps leading up to the house itself. Dew made the vast slope of grass sparkle. A beautiful golden retriever – Churchill, as Jess had named him – roamed the front of the place.

  Ted had called me at five-thirty. I’d asked him why he wanted me there. ‘You know how these cocksuckers are.’

  ‘Which cocksuckers are we talking about?’

  ‘The network news cocksuckers. They know everything and you’re just some dumb hick. But you know how to handle them. I’d like you to keep them from pushing me around.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can do that. They don’t have any more respect for me than for you.’

  ‘I have this black turtleneck sweater. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve developed this tiny gut. The sweater hides it. But the segment producer says that black is wrong. I had to show him four sweaters. He thinks the light blue one is best. First of all, it’s fucking fall, all right? Who wears light blue anything in the fall? And second, it emphasizes my little gut. You see what I’m talking about?’

  ‘Yeah, I see.’ I wished I could roll my eyes the way Abby could. Man, when she rolled her eyes you were not only judged guilty, you were sentenced to death.

  Five-thirty in the morning and he was laying fashion quibbles on me.

  ‘No offense, Dev, but maybe you should’ve gone with another network.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Well, listen, I need to shower and grab some breakfast, then I’ll be at your place.’

  ‘I really appreciate this, Dev. We’ve had our differences but that’s going to change. From now on I’ll listen to you. You’re the expert.’

  A magnanimous man is mighty Caesar.

  I was about to ask how Jess was when he said, ‘Get out here as fast as you can,’ and hung up.

  Despite the rush from His Majesty, I took three minutes to call Showalter’s office. He wasn’t there. I told the officer who answered about the young woman who’d called me, and how I wondered if this was worth pursuing.