Tooth and Nail

by Jennifer Safrey

  Johnson McCormack stood and kissed me on the cheek. “Lovely to see you, Gemma.”

  “Did I know you were coming tonight?” I asked him, smoothing a hand through my hair and tugging the wrinkles out of my shirt. “I’m sorry. When I worked full time, I kept flawless track of time. Now that I’m leisurely, I never know what day it is.”

  Johnson was as tall as Avery, with completely white hair. I’ve seen pictures of him younger, with dark hair, but the pictures didn’t make any sense to me, because the white hair was a true manifestation of his personality—strikingly distinguished and utterly original. His smile was wide and frequent. I didn’t know Avery when his father had run for office, so I couldn’t tell whether Johnson’s good humor was a coping strategy he’d cultivated to deal with the loss of his career or whether it was just the way he’d always been. He was nice to be around. Avery had told him at some point about my father, and Johnson never brought it up; rather, he quietly assumed the role when he felt the situation warranted it. Nearly a year ago, I had confided to him about a co-worker at the polling office whom I’d been clashing with, and Johnson had listened, asked me questions, and offered sound, serious advice accompanied by a pat on the shoulder and an assurance that he knew I could handle it. He was generous, smart and sharp, and I wanted to take a pickaxe to the anonymous jerk who’d embroiled him in needless—and ultimately career-crushing—scandal.

  “Dad just dropped by,” Avery said. He’d shed suit and tie for jeans and a T-shirt. “I’m going to run out and grab a couple of pizzas. Ball game’s about to start.”

  “Are you sure you don’t have work to do?” Johnson asked him. “I really just stopped by to say hello.”

  “I always have work,” Avery said, “but it’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow. I need a night off. Want anything special, Gemma?”

  “Whatever you’re getting is fine.”

  Avery tugged on a baseball cap and left. I grinned at Johnson and plopped down on the rug in front of him. I grabbed the remote off the coffee table and flicked on the flatscreen. As happy as I always was to see Avery’s father, the timing wasn’t ideal. I was planning to spend the evening coming up with some kind of perfect plan to stop Clayton. I could always escape to the bedroom after I ate, and do some thinking. I was still insanely angry at Svein, but knew that anger was useless if I couldn’t figure out a non-murderous plot. And I only had four days to get it all done.

  For the moment, I was obligated to be a gracious hostess. “How’s Avery’s mom?”

  “She’s fine,” Johnson said, “thanks for asking. She’s volunteering a little late at the hospital, and then it’s poker night with the girls. Left me to fend for myself.”

  “Guess she figured you could handle it.”

  “I think she knew I’d head over here for some guy time.”

  I laughed. “Sorry to interfere.”

  “You know you’re one of the guys,” he said, and winked.

  “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

  “How’s your right hook?”

  “Maybe not quite what it was,” I said, grimacing as I recalled Smiley calling me an old lady. “But I still wouldn’t advise you to stand in front of it.”

  “I’m not that kind of fool, my dear.”

  We both looked at the screen as I surfed through channels. When I found the Nationals’ pre-game commentary, I glanced at Johnson. His eyes were still on the screen, but he didn’t seem to be seeing it. He was thinking hard, seeing something only in his mind. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said, but suddenly his smile was thinner, and more tired. “Gemma,” he said, “I want to ask you something, but please don’t tell Avery I was asking.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Is he all right?”

  I dropped the remote on the rug beside me, leaned back on my hands, and frowned. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t he be?”

  He sighed. “It’s tough, doing what he’s doing.”

  “It’s been tough,” I admitted. “He’s working even longer hours than he did as a DA. Sometimes he’s fatigued, but then he pulls himself right back up. He’s going on Graham Wright’s late-night talk show this weekend, which is pretty cool. I’m sure he’s glad to have a night off to watch the game and hang out with his dad.”

  “I’m really proud of him,” Johnson said. “Really very proud. He knows why I stay out of the public eye instead of campaigning for him. But I hate that I have to stand back. I want everyone to know how proud I am, and what a good son he is, and how committed he is to doing good things for Virginia, and the country.”

  I shifted a little, slightly uncomfortable. He and I never talked about his past career, and it was certainly not a topic I would have broached. “Avery knows,” I said. “He’s your greatest admirer. And don’t worry about the public support. I’ve got that covered for both of us.”

  He nodded slowly. “I have no doubt. But he witnessed what can happen to a career if—and I don’t want him to be thinking only about that.”

  “He’s vigilant,” I said. “I’m not going to lie to you. He thinks about it, worries about it.”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of talking heads out there who say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  I sat up straight. “But you didn’t do anything wrong. Why would anyone still be implying you were guilty when you proved you weren’t?”

  “People don’t remember I wasn’t guilty,” he said gently. “They only remember a scandal with my name on it. My exoneration wasn’t interesting enough to make headlines. And Gemma, it’s all about headlines. Facts don’t mean anything where public opinion is concerned. If you want to ruin someone, go to the media with a rumor or some allegations. Once it hits the streets and public opinion takes an ugly shape, that person’s life will become nothing but a series of defense tactics. It won’t matter if, in the end, they’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “That’s not true,” I insisted, but I did so out of politeness, because he was right. “Most people know you were honest and straightforward. More importantly, Avery knows.” I sighed. “Try not to worry about him. Deep down, I think he knows that a scandal would be out of his control. They only thing he can control is himself, right? And he’s been a great candidate. People really like him. He’s got brains and good ideas and a charming girlfriend.” I smiled again. “If something did happen, if we had to weather something similar to what you went through, you’d be right there for him.”

  “So would you,” Johnson said. “I’ll be honest. I would have had to love you no matter who you were, as long as my son loved you. But I’m proud that he managed to get you to fall for him, because of who he’s been since. I couldn’t have chose better for him myself.”

  A lump rose in my throat and my eyes stung at the retired politician’s ringing endorsement of me, the one who could potentially wreck everything although I was trying so hard not to.

  On TV, the leadoff batter stepped up to the plate, and we both fell silent, letting the awkwardly sweet moment pass by. But too quickly, my thoughts veered back to Clayton.

  Well, I couldn’t destroy his lab. Not only would I be putting other people in his building at risk, but it would be useless because production of his toothpaste wasn’t restricted to that room anymore. Clayton was right—I was too late for that. Smile Wide was out there already, cases and cases of it waiting to be sold and shipped.

  I could try to appeal to TV-Spree, but by the time I got through all the red tape that must block the important people at the network, it would probably be too late. I could stage some kind of boycott outside TV-Spree’s offices, but I was sure Clayton would cross my picket line with a glamour-filled grin and that would be that. Besides, a high-profile stunt by me wouldn’t help Avery’s campaign in the slightest.

  I exhaled hard through my mouth and the hair on my forehead blew up and down. While I was considering every possible thing I could do to stop Clayton, the fact still remained that Mahoney
wouldn’t let go either. I had a feeling that today’s phone call wouldn’t be the last.

  “Oh, no,” Johnson said, as the second Mets batter sent one up and up, and the center fielder gave up seconds before the ball sailed over the bleachers.

  If only there was a way that I could knock both Mahoney and Clayton out of the park at the same time.

  Wait.

  Mahoney wanted me to give him a story.

  Clayton was a local dentist about to sell thousands of tubes of tainted toothpaste to kids.

  Johnson had just said it himself: If you want to ruin someone, go to the media with an allegation. Public opinion counts more than facts.

  “I’m home!” Avery called. “What did I miss?”

  “Mets homer,” Johnson said, getting up to join his groaning son in the kitchen.

  The D.C. Digger’s talent was getting information out there, and getting it out there fast. He was a popular blogger whom Washington insiders hated and respected, and he was on the radar of the large networks. If he broke an interesting story that held even the smallest grain of truth, people would take it seriously. Clayton’s story had more than a grain of truth. I had scientists who could confirm it—albeit anonymously.

  And regarding Clayton, I was positive that as soon as it was publicly suggested that his toothpaste was eating away at teeth, his TV-Spree contract would sink, and sink deep. A huge television shopping network would never want to be liable for selling a questionable product. The possibility for massive recalls and class-action suits would be enormous.

  Besides, everybody went nuts when they thought children were at risk. Would his product ever survive? My guess was no.

  “Gemma,” Avery said, coming into the room with a plate of pizza and nudging my butt with his foot. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Yes,” I said, grinning widely. I’m going to save kids’ innocence. I’m going to save the Olde Way. I’m going to save you. “I definitely am.”

  >=<

  Was it ethical to make a deal with devil two if it meant bringing down devil one?

  Kind of hard to say, but as I stretched and watched inning three end with a strikeout, I knew I was ready to try it.

  The Mets had won last night and Avery and Johnson pretended to be glum, but they had a carefree, fun night together and I knew the final score wasn’t important. I’d slipped away to make a quick phone call during a commercial break, whispering into my cell phone in the bathroom. I’d suggested meeting at the Tidal Basin at midnight, but he’d scoffed at my amateur effort at clandestine activity. The most effective place for a secret meeting, he’d informed me, was in the middle of a crowd.

  After last night’s loss by two, the Nationals were out for revenge. My ticket was waiting for me at the window and I’d gotten here early enough to watch the players lie supine on the field, stretching their quads, then throwing the ball around the outfield. At the top of the fourth, my nose was definitely sunburned, there was no score, and the seat next to me was still empty.

  The pitcher threw a strike. As I clapped, a shadow fell over me. I looked up as he handed me a plastic cup of foamy beer, then he sat, wedging an open box of Cracker Jack between us. He took a sip and leaned back, surveying the field. “Nothing like a cold beer and a ballgame.”

  I nodded as the pitcher hurled another strike. “Well, Mahoney, that’s the first thing you and I have found that we can agree on.”

  He pushed up his glasses with his middle finger and squinted at me. “Your nose is pretty red.”

  “I know. I can feel it.”

  He reached into a small duffel bag at his feet and pulled out a tube of sunblock. He screwed off the top and handed it to me. I rubbed the coconutty cream on my nose as the fans cheered at something I missed. Then I leaned across my knee and Mahoney leaned across his.

  “There’s a dentist, Riley Clayton,” I said. “His office is at 14th and K. He’s invented a toothpaste for kids called Smile Wide, and he’s debuting it on TV-Spree Monday night. But I have it on good authority that it’s tainted, and kids shouldn’t be using it.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, and just watched the field. A batter walked to first, and the crowd groaned. “How do you know?”

  “Some scientists have run tests. I just know about it. But you can’t name their names, and you certainly can’t name mine.”

  “I won’t need to. Didn’t it get FDA approval?”

  “Yes, but— “I thought of Denise and Rebecca rendered speechless and senseless by Clayton’s gaze “-he’s very good at getting his way.”

  “Did he bribe someone?”

  “Listen,” I told him, “I don’t know. I’m giving you this, and now you’ll have to do your job. I’ll put a couple of lab geeks in contact with you. You can break the story and start the investigation rolling before Monday so TV-Spree can yank it. This toothpaste can’t go on the market. It’s dangerous for kids.”

  The runner got picked off at second, the catcher’s throw hitting the second baseman’s glove so hard, everyone in the park could hear the thwump. The crowd cheered around us, but Mahoney looked disappointed and bemused. “Is this all you’ve got for me?”

  “What more do you want?” I asked him. “You said at the fundraiser that you’re a hack, but that you want to write more important, bigger things. Well, here it is, pal. Write this one, expose this guy, and you can make an important contribution to society and help kids. Unless you were lying to me, and you really are satisfied with just making politicians cry themselves to sleep because you told everyone about their affairs with the nannies. In which case, quit wasting my time.”

  “Toothpaste,” he said, and we sat in silence, watching the inning until the final out. Then he said, “I know there’s more.”

  “Sure there’s more,” I told him. “But you threatened to mess with Avery. I don’t trust you. You’re lucky you’re getting this much.”

  He frowned, and I continued. “You said you’re willing to work together. Well, there is no partnership when one person’s doing things out of fear of retribution. Do this, and do this today, and maybe our relationship will change a little bit.”

  He leaned back and considered for a moment. “You’re afraid of me?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, “and wipe that smirk off your face. I have dirt on you, too, remember. I know your identity. What makes you so certain I’m not going to go blabbing that to media people?”

  “Because no one cares,” Mahoney said. “Seriously, who cares who I am? My phantom identity is a good gimmick, but the jig will be up sooner or later, and it won’t affect my work.”

  So much for upper hand. “Do we have a deal?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. Is the deal that I get this toothpaste thing out in the open today, and then you and I have a little more of an honest give-and-take?”

  It would have been so easy, in that moment, to turn on the glamour, to say, yes, it’s a deal, just do as I say and go away forever and everything will work out fine. And he would scamper home and write his story and wonder for the rest of time why he agreed to honor my request and I would be in the clear.

  But after Svein’s assumption that the only way the human in me could solve this was with a gun, I was determined to not only stop Clayton, but to stop him with my human half. Let Svein see that humans didn’t need to resort to violence to solve conflict—that my intelligence and ingenuity could trump wings and glamour.

  So I swallowed my pride and forced myself to really look at Mahoney—not as a mudslinger, but as a person who’d seen a fae and that after a lifetime of keeping only one secret, he just wanted to know he was right. I might be able to work something out where he didn’t necessarily have to expose the fae. Maybe there was a way he could work with us. I couldn’t figure it all out today, but today I had to accept that I could make a deal.

  “Yes, that’s the deal,” I told him. “But I’m making this promise to Greg Mahoney and not to the D.C. Digger. The Digger and I have nothing mor
e to say to each other after today. Do you understand?”

  He thought for one moment more, searching my face, and then put out his hand. “I understand,” he said, and shook much more firmly than I would have expected. Then he let go, reached his hand into the Cracker Jacks box, and turned his attention to the field. “Come on, Nats!” he yelled. Then, to me, “We’re going to win this one. I can feel it.”

  “You know what?” I said. “So can I.”

  >=<

  “I’m only going to be gone one night,” Avery said. “You don’t need to look so forlorn.”

  “I’m not,” I said, watching cross-legged on the bed as he folded a tie and dropped it in his small suitcase. He hesitated, then folded a second tie and dropped it in also.

  “I’m not sure which one I want,” he said before I could ask. “I’ll decide tomorrow. I don’t know which would show better on TV.”

  “Either,” I said, “as long as you’re the one wearing it.”

  His smile was tight and I said, “You’re really nervous about this, aren’t you?”

  “A lot of people watch ‘Late Night with Wright,’” he said. “He’s political, but he’s a comedian, and plenty of his viewers don’t necessarily follow politics. It’s the people who are ambivalent about or hate politics that I want to impress.” He sighed. “That’s hard.”

  “So what about just relaxing? You’ve seen Wright’s show. You know he’s going to do some funny stuff with you as the straight guy in the joke, so just go with it.”

  “That’s the thing,” he said, folding a pair of suit pants along the crease. “I usually go into speaking engagements and appearances more prepared because I know what to generally expect. Tomorrow night, I don’t know.” He dropped the pants in. “Hey, do you want to go? I didn’t ask because it’s only one night and we won’t have much time, but you can tool around New York a little. I’m sure you can get a seat on my flight tomorrow morning.”

  “Nah,” I said. “Unless you really need me there, I’d rather sit here and watch you on TV while I’m in my pajamas. I can fantasize that you’re a famous person I have a crush on.”