“I really don’t want to meet any more of your friends. It doesn’t sound like a nice world.”
“Always the joker.” Patrick shook his head again. “Ethically rude people change the world.”
“Here we go. Patrick the Philosopher.” Hunter rolled his eyes. “Ethically rude people?”
“The ones that are willing to be disliked to get what’s best. The people that are willing to risk everything for something they think is right, and they don’t care if you like them or not. Take your current client—voted against his ethics so that he didn’t lose his backers. He’s not ethically rude; he’s being nice, agreeable and likable. But his party room colleague, Cindy Mendel, went against all the odds, everyone, including her own council, to do what she thought was ethically right.”
“I didn’t realize being likable was so bad.”
“Being likable isn’t about you. Someone who chooses to be likable, instead of what’s ethically correct, is actually being selfish and thinking about themselves. They’re choosing particular choices because of the way they will feel about it.”
“Being nice isn’t all bad.”
“Of course not. The world needs nice people, but it also needs ethically rude people. They’re the people that get stuff done. It’s like that saying by James Freeman Clarke— ‘A politician looks to the next election, while a statesman looks to the next generation.’ You have to be willing to be disliked to do something for the greater good.” Patrick swung his club again. “So, do you think that the nice guy finally snapped and did it?”
“I didn’t say that. I said that he was bound to turn crazy trying to please everyone.” Hunter leaned on his golf club for a moment, checking that the bays next to them were empty. “But between us, the answer is no. I don’t think he did it. I think he’ll spend some time behind bars. At this point, it looks like we can still get second-degree murder, but I don’t think he killed her. We’ll push for a good deal, and hopefully, we’ll get a reduced sentence, early parole, and an agreeable prison. The only thing is—I’m not sure how long he’ll last in any prison. He’ll be a big target, and I’d say he’d have a year to live, at the most. They’ll kill him as soon as they have the chance.”
“So you have to keep him out if you want to keep him alive.”
“And the only way to do that is to find another suspect.”
“But if not Robert, then who?”
“The wife is my number one draft choice, but there’s also a mystery woman floating outside of this case. I’m not sure what she has to do with it, but I’m sure she’s somehow involved.”
“Mystery woman?”
“Apparently, this mystery woman was going through a midlife crisis at the same time as Robert, and joined him on the quest to steal small items from stores, and then they slept with each other in the car after each steal. But they never exchanged anything—not where they worked, not where they lived, not even names. There’s no evidence that she even exists. She’s a complete mystery.”
“Interesting. Very interesting.” Patrick pursed his lips. “Robert’s quest for anonymity would most likely be caused by his need to escape his high-profile life. He would’ve felt that pressure, and the need to be a nobody—just a face in the crowd—could’ve led to his need to wear a disguise. It happens to high-profile people more than you think. They have a desire to stop being their public profile and become a nobody.”
“I don’t care about the reasons why he did it; I just need to find the mystery woman.”
“What about CCTV footage that places them together?”
“Tried that. They always wore disguises when stealing—a wig, a fake nose, or a hat. We can see her on some footage but we can’t ID her.”
“Classic move. Her quest for anonymity would most likely be the same. I’d suggest that she would’ve been under a lot of pressure, perhaps she was going through a divorce or she had a job where the eyes are always on her. She would feel the need to escape that. Stealing, well, as you’ve suggested, it’s an escape for these people. Most likely, they don’t need what they’re taking, but they want the thrill.” He turned to his sibling. “But I would suggest being careful.”
“Why?”
“Because people like this don’t retreat. If they’ve gone this far, they’ll be willing to go further. If you fly too close to their sun, they’ll burn you. They’ll kill someone else, or even possibly, themselves. Suicide is the best option you could hope for your mystery woman.”
Hunter looked down the fairway and paused, the thoughts of suicide filling his thoughts. “It’s Mom’s birthday soon.”
“Aw.” Patrick looked down at the ground. He continued softly, “Any mention of suicide and you have to bring her back up. Come on, Tex. We have to talk about something else. The past is the past.”
“Have you heard from Natalie?”
“Come on, Tex. Let it go. Our conversations can’t keep coming back to our sister either. She’s gone. She moved to Mexico. Nobody has heard from her in ten years. She’s probably dead for all we know.”
“Don’t say that.”
Patrick paused, looking up at the only family he still talks to. “I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighed. “Can’t we talk about something else?”
“Like Dad’s innocence? Shall we talk about that?”
“Tex. I can’t keep doing this.” Patrick looked away. “I can’t fight it anymore. In case you haven’t noticed, no one else still thinks Dad is innocent.”
“I’m sure we’ve missed something. He said—”
“Don’t tell me.” Patrick held his hand up as a stop sign. “I don’t want to know what he said last time you talked to him. I’m not interested. I’m not interested in how he’s feeling or how he’s going in prison. I don’t want to know. I want nothing to do with it anymore. I’m out.”
“He’s your father.” Hunter’s voice deepened. “You haven’t been in to see him in years. He’s your family, Patrick.”
“But where does this crusade end?”
“When we find the truth. When we find justice.”
“Can’t we just talk about something normal? You know, if you wanted, we could just crack a few beers and watch the ’85 Bears season again?”
“Again?” Hunter swung his club aggressively.
“I know you love that season, and you’ve told me that you could never watch those highlights too many times. The way the defense works, the way they shut teams down. You’ve said it yourself—it should’ve been back-to-back, but it’s only one perfect year, one perfect Super Bowl.”
“Dad’s case is our Super Bowl.”
“How about the baseball then? Can’t we talk about that? How about them Cubs, eh?”
“We don’t have that luxury.”
“We do.” Patrick was soft in his approach. “We’re brothers, and we’ve never even been to a baseball game together. Our father’s crimes stole our childhood relationship, but it doesn’t have to steal the rest of our lives too.”
Hunter didn’t respond, staring at Patrick, who was desperate to avoid eye contact.
“Way to spoil a moment.” Patrick packed up his golf clubs.
He shook his head at his younger brother, knowing that most of their interactions ended this way. The only place he couldn’t avoid talking about his painful past was with the brother he loved.
He took one last look at his brother before slinging his golf bag over his shoulder. “I’ll be at Mom’s grave for her birthday. 2 p.m. I’ll bring flowers. I’ll see you then. I love you, brother.”
Chapter 17
“No.” Hunter groaned as he walked up to the busy Starbucks on Clark St in the upmarket district of the Gold Coast. The café was still new; the seats were a shiny vinyl, the art on the walls edgy, and the lighting bright enough to feel welcoming. Suits hustled through the takeaway line, students sat on laptops using the free Wi-Fi, and older customers sat near the entrance, desperate to feel part of the community. “I thought
I told you to stay in the apartment.”
“No one will recognize me here.” The man with the baseball cap and sunglasses shook his head. He ran his hand over the light brown mustache, clearly fake—and not just because the color didn’t match his hair. “This disguise is too good. Nobody knows who I am.”
“Are you serious? Your disguise draws attention to you. You look like you’ve just stepped off the set of Get Smart. I’m surprised you’re not dressed as a tree.”
“I’d answer the shoe-phone, but you’re right; that would probably draw more attention.”
“At least you’ve still got your sense of humor.” Hunter sat down on the brown chair at the small round table in the corner of the room. His patience was being tested, but every client tested him in some way or another. Although it frustrated him, he often enjoyed this part of a client’s rollercoaster—watching them deal with the thought of losing what they truly valued but absolutely underestimated. Freedom. “What did you call me here for?”
“I’ve been thinking about the case.”
The men paused as a youthful woman dressed in a business suit sat next to them. She stared at her phone, the screen clearly visible and displaying a news site. She sipped on her coffee that was much too hot. She took off the lid, blew the steam away, but never took her eyes off the screen.
“We can’t talk about it here.” Hunter leaned forward, moving his chair closer to Sulzberger’s. “You shouldn’t be here. We can’t keep having your face in the media. The best thing to do is lock yourself in that apartment, and watch as many movies, or read as many books, as you can. Every time someone takes a photo of your face, you’re inviting more media coverage. More media coverage means more people are going to have an opinion, and right now, they’ll form that opinion to be guilty.”
“But what if this is it? What if this is my last taste of freedom? The last taste of life? What if this is my last chance to have a coffee in a coffee shop? If I’m convicted, I’ll never get out. You know that. I’ll be killed within a year. If I’m convicted of her murder, then it’s a death sentence for me.”
The girl raised her eyes from the glow of her screen, turning to look at them, recognizing Sulzberger instantly after catching the last sentence.
Hunter stared at her, making her uncomfortable, and she placed the lid back on her coffee, gathered her work bag, and moved away.
“This is what I do, Tex. I’m a man of the people. These people are still my constituents. They’re still my fans.”
“Not now, not at the moment. You’ve been suspended from the City Council, you don’t have a job, and everyone hates you. You have no constituents, and you certainly don’t have any fans left.”
“I’ve been thinking.” Sulzberger leaned forward, hands wrapped around the warm coffee cup. “Maybe I can work this to my favor. There’s no such thing as bad publicity, right?”
“In your case, I beg to differ.”
“I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to listen to it. It may come in handy for you one day if you ever decide to run for politics—”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“Don’t write it off yet.” Sulzberger lowered his voice, moving his chair closer to the table. “You see, people vote for who they admire, and people admire who they aspire to be. Remember this—aspiration equals admiration and admiration equals votes.”
“Aspiration equals admiration?” Hunter raised his eyebrows.
“Absolutely. If you can understand who your voters aspire to be, who they want to be when they’re successful, then you can be that person. Think about every person you’ve ever voted for—if you didn’t aspire to be someone like that, whatever values they held, then you wouldn’t vote for them. If you can appear to be what the majority of voters want to be, if you can appear to represent their values, then you have a much stronger chance of getting voted in.”
“Policies aren’t important?”
“Of course, policies are important, but mostly, they’re not the reason the masses vote. Don’t get me wrong, big policies matter—major changes sway votes—but the everyday policies, the bulk of our decisions, are so close to the center of politics that it doesn’t matter. Policies only sway votes when it’s a big change one way or the other. Think a big change to healthcare policy, or a big tax break, or a big immigration policy that changes votes, but for the most part, for the majority of decisions, the masses are mobilized through admiration.”
“And what do your voters aspire to be?” Against his better judgment, Hunter humored him for a moment.
“My voters—they aspire to be strong, intelligent, and successful, so all I have to do is present that image to the public. I’m the strong army type, I’m a celebrity, I’ve got successful investments, and I’m well studied and well traveled. I dress well, and present the image of someone upstanding.”
“By being better than them?”
“Not even close, and actually, the opposite.” Sulzberger raised his finger in the air. “Although I need people to aspire to be me, I also need them to feel superior to me. The majority of the population needs to feel somewhat superior to others to maintain a sense of self-worth. As such, if I stand up and make complicated, uncomfortable, but entirely true statements, my appeal is going to be very low. But…” His finger waved again. “If I stand up as a successful person and make less intelligent statements, statements that are built around emotion, then I’m not challenging anyone’s perceived social status. In fact, people look at a successful, less intelligent person, and think, ‘Yeah, I could do that, I could be that person.’ I’m accessible to my audience. My voters want to be me, but more importantly, they think they can be me.”
“You’re saying democracy is only a popularity vote?”
“If there were no voters, democracy would be perfect.” He threw his finger in the air again.
“Put your finger down,” Hunter said. “You’ve clearly spent too much time by yourself over the last few weeks.”
“In our modern society,” Sulzberger continued, desperate for someone to listen to him, “success and celebrity dictate our social class. The more successful you are, the higher your social class. The more popular your celebrity status, the higher your social status. I didn’t buy a meal for a year, one whole year, after the Island Survivor win because people loved having me around. They loved having me in their restaurant or bar.” He went to put his finger in the air again before Hunter shook his head. “In our society, great success is achievable. Create a great app, create a great business idea, and you have the opportunity to be at the top of the social ladder, or create a great social media account, create a great reality television profile, and social success is yours. Amazing success. The opportunity to leapfrog up that social ladder has never been more achievable than it is now. Our society gives everyone a chance. Our society makes changing social classes admirable, and yet somehow, achievable.”
“The great American Dream.” Hunter ran his hand over his dark hair. “So, you think that going through a murder trial is going to make you more accessible? You really think that being charged with murder will bring you up the social ladder?”
“Not quite, but how I handle it will influence the voters. If I appear strong and intelligent through this whole thing, then the voters will still side with me. I’m still a celebrity—people still remember that series, and they’ll think I’m just an average guy that could also be them, just the wrong person at the wrong place at the wrong time. They’ll vote for me again.”
“Provided you get off.”
“Of course.” Sulzberger sat back, arms wide across the table. “We have to sort that bit out first, but I’m confident you will. I didn’t do it, so I should be able to get off. That’s what the justice system is for, right? But while you’re sorting that side out, I’m going to appear strong and intelligent. This publicity is going to help me win more votes for the next election. I may even run for the Senate.”
The public was desperate
for more drama.
For the mass media, more drama meant more sales. From a distance, somebody else’s drama can be a welcome distraction for a consumer; an escape from the everyday, the mundane. Someone else’s drama was an escape from the daily grind for so many people.
The most-read online article for the Chicago Sun-Times over the past week had been: ‘Eleven Ways Robert Sulzberger was Rocked by His Troubled Young Childhood.’ There was nothing of substance in the article, but the article headline encouraged people to click through to the story. His young childhood wasn’t troubled, and he wasn’t rocked.
And the article only listed nine reasons.
“Let me give you the inside word.” Sulzberger leaned closer again, lowering his voice as if his words were laced with gold. “If you tell a good story yet a completely ambiguous one, and your image convinces people of the story, then people will fill in the gaps themselves.”
“What are you talking about?” Hunter squinted. “Have you been smoking drugs in that apartment?”
“I’m saying that if people believe in your image, they’ll tell themselves their own story. If people believe that you’re a politician because you’re different, an everyday guy, a breath of fresh air, then people will find ways to confirm that. You just have to be ambiguous enough for them to find their own answers.”
“I noticed that the media attacked your policies for lack of substance when you were voted in.”
“Exactly. Substance isn’t important; belief is.” Sulzberger’s finger went back up, but this time, Hunter lowered it down with his hand. “The more the media questioned my lack of credentials, the more the voters believed that I was different, that I wasn’t the same as every other stock-standard politician. My voters didn’t want the status quo—they didn’t want another career politician, so all I had to do was appear different, appear as a fresh, new choice. The local media questioned my ability, and that only cemented my position with the voters. That’s the beauty of it—the less capable I appeared, the more the media questioned my ability. But the more the media questioned my ability, the more voters thought I was something different. The more different they thought this admirable man was different, the more they wanted to vote for me.”
Power and Justice Page 10