by David Hosp
He looked at his watch – two o’clock. The operation was scheduled for four. Right now they were simply in place to conduct surveillance so there were no surprises when it was time to move. The air in the van was stale and hot. It stank of coffee breath and nervous sweat, and it was starting to make Mitchell feel ill. He sat up straight and shook off the nausea.
Two hours …
He could do that standing on his head, he figured. For the payoff, he could endure just about anything for two hours. Years from now, as he sat in the State House and all those white boys were kissing his ass, he would look back on this moment with fondness. This was the door, and he was about to walk through it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Finn saw them coming from the window in his office. There were two of them, and they converged on the building from both ends of the street, walking toward each other and meeting in front of the door with military precision. With their dark suits, sunglasses and ear pieces, Finn initially thought they were feds. The hair was too long, though, and after a moment Finn recognized the bodyguard who’d tried to keep him from going into Buchanan’s house the day before.
Private security. One step up from common thugs. Loyal, though.
He reached for the phone, ready to dial 911, expecting the door to be kicked in at any moment. Buchanan had already had two people killed, why stop there? And yet it wouldn’t make sense to take him in broad daylight, on a busy street. Finn hesitated.
As he watched from the window, the two men never made a move toward the door. They simply stood there, hands folded in front of their crotches, as though they were protecting themselves, staring straight ahead. A moment later a black car drove up behind them. The door opened, and James Buchanan stepped out. The two men parted as Buchanan approached the door and rang the door bell.
Finn was unsure what to do. Looking through the window, a thousand thoughts raced through his mind.
Buchanan rang again.
Finn walked around into the hallway, over to the entryway, turned the knob slowly, and opened the door.
‘Mr Finn,’ Buchanan said in a formal tone, almost as if he were out campaigning and he was about to explain why Finn should consider voting for him.
‘Yes?’ Finn was in shock; he had no idea what else to say.
‘I thought it might make sense for us to talk.’
Inside the office, the air was electric. Finn’s expectations were suffocating. Even Buchanan looked nervous. ‘Do you mind if we sit?’
Finn blinked. ‘Sure.’ It felt inappropriately civilized, and yet he couldn’t resist. ‘Do you want something to drink? Some coffee?’
Buchanan nodded. ‘A glass of water would be nice, thank you.’
‘Just a second.’ Finn walked out to the little kitchenette and drew a glass of water from the faucet. His hands were shaking the entire time. As he walked back into the office, he set the glass down on a side table near Buchanan to hide the tremors.
Buchanan reached over and picked up the glass, took a sip. He looked around the office. ‘You’ve done very well for yourself,’ he said.
‘It’s not Louisburg Square,’ Finn said.
‘No, but you built this yourself. I had my people look into your background. You came from nothing. You had every disadvantage a man can have stacked against him, and yet you succeeded. The modern American self-made man. I admire that. I never had the chance to prove I was capable of that; I don’t know whether I would have been.’
‘I guess that makes me lucky.’
‘It’s not luck.’
‘No? What is it then?’ Finn looked hard at Buchanan. ‘Breeding?’
Buchanan took another sip of the water. Putting the glass down on the table, he looked back at Finn. ‘I’m not your father,’ he said.
‘Then why are you here?’
Buchanan stood up and paced in front of Finn. ‘As I said, I never had to prove that I was capable of making something for myself. Oh, I did an admirable job of protecting my family’s wealth and businesses – growing them significantly. Many others in my position have squandered what they were given, pissed it away. But still, it’s not the same as building something on your own. As a result, if I am to leave a true legacy, it will have to be through public service.’
‘In other words, you’re worried about the election.’
Buchanan stopped pacing. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am worried about the election. In times as dangerous as these, the right man in the right position can make all the difference.’
‘You as senator? The right man for the right position?’
‘For now. In the future …’ Buchanan raised his eyebrows. ‘Who knows where life will lead me?’
‘I don’t care where it will lead you. I have my own issues to deal with.’
‘Yes, you do. Your issues. Not mine!’ Buchanan’s voice was raised, and he pointed his finger at Finn. ‘Leave me out of this. Do you have any idea what kind of damage you could do if you continue down the path you seem to have chosen?’
Finn just looked at Buchanan, unsure what to feel about this man who had given him life. This man who had abandoned him once, and now, given a second chance, was abandoning him again. Mostly, Finn just felt sick.
‘You say you’re not my father,’ Finn said.
‘And I’m not!’
‘Prove it, then. Take a blood test.’
Buchanan shook his head. ‘I can’t. Don’t you see? Once I take a blood test, the story will get out. Once the story is out it won’t matter that the test comes back negative. It won’t matter that I didn’t kill Elizabeth Connor.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘It is true. Most people still think of Richard Jewel as the man who bombed the Olympics. Everyone still thinks that Gary Condit killed Shandra Levy. It doesn’t matter that both of them were innocent, and that in both cases they actually caught the real killers. For a man in my position, admitting even the legitimacy of suspicion is the same as admitting guilt.’
‘I don’t know where that leaves us,’ Finn said.
‘It leaves you in control of my fate, for now.’
It had been a terrible day at school. The classes Sally usually enjoyed seemed vapid and unimportant; the classes she normally tolerated seemed unbearable. All she could think about was Finn. She’d even asked to skip school that day, but he was having none of it. She agreed to go only because she knew the importance he placed on her education.
As soon as her last class ended, she hopped a bus to the T and rode the train down to the final stop at Lechmere. From there it was only a half mile to Finn’s office. She walked with purpose, desperate to know how the meeting with the police detective had gone, wondering whether Buchanan had been arrested. She hoped so. She had little patience for those who abandoned their children.
She saw them as she rounded the corner on Warren Street, closing in on the office. Two men in suits and sunglasses standing with their backs to the doorway, looking out onto the street, their heads swiveling, taking in everything around them. Their posture was condescending, and it annoyed her. The annoyance gave way almost immediately, though, to concern, as she wondered what they were doing at Finn’s office.
She quickened her pace.
The man on the left noticed her first. The head-swivel paused, following her, noting her focus. He turned and looked at the other one, nodding to him. Both of them watched Sally as she approached. She ignored them as she reached for the door, but they closed ranks and cut her off.
‘Sorry, Miss,’ the one on the right said. He was standing on the uneven six-inch granite step in front of the door, looking down at her.
‘You will be if you don’t let me through,’ she replied.
He looked over at his partner and gave a smile that made clear he was not intimidated. Looking back down at her, he said, ‘You can’t go in.’
‘I’m here to see Finn.’
‘Not right now, you’re not. He’s in a meeting.’
‘Fine,’ sh
e said. ‘I’ll wait in Kozlowski’s office in back.’ She reached for the door again, but the one on the left reached down and swept her arm away. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said evenly, staring straight into his sunglasses.
‘You believe this?’ the one on the right asked his partner. His partner shook his head, but his expression didn’t change. ‘Mr Finn doesn’t want anyone bothering him right now. He’s with someone.’
‘Let him tell me that himself,’ she said.
‘He asked us to tell people that.’
‘You’re lying.’ Her heart was beating fast now, and she wondered whether Finn was in danger.
The one on the left was beginning to look nervous, but the one on the right was getting angry. ‘I’m not going to tell you again, Miss. You need to leave.’
She looked down at the ground and turned, as if to walk away. She could sense both of them let their attention wander to the rest of the street, assuming the confrontation with her was over. They were mistaken.
Swinging her body back in one quick motion, she lifted her foot and brought it down with all her weight on the top of the right shoe of the man nearer to her. She was wearing her thick, hard-soled boots, and the man’s toes were hanging just off the edge of the granite step. The top half of his foot bent forward, cracking one of the bones. He screamed out in pain and his knees buckled.
The one on the left, already uncomfortable, hesitated. It was a mistake. She swung her bag, loaded with textbooks, into his face. It wasn’t enough to do any real damage, but it knocked him off balance, and he stumbled off the step.
Sally dashed for the door and grabbed the handle, but she wasn’t fast enough. The one with the broken foot had recovered sufficiently to reach out and grab her. His hand came down on top of her head and grabbed hold of her hair. ‘You little bitch!’ he growled as he pulled her back from the door.
She yelled out in pain and stomped hard again on the man’s injured foot, bringing a fresh howl of pain. He let go of her hair and bent over again. She swung the bag into him and he fell into the door. Unfortunately, he managed to catch himself, and as he stood, she could see that his face was contorted in rage. ‘Come over here!’ he yelled. Reaching out, he grabbed her around the throat and put her in a headlock. ‘Let go of me!’ she screamed. ‘Let go of me now!’ He wouldn’t, though. He tightened the headlock, making it difficult for her to breathe. ‘You want to play?’ he grunted. ‘Let’s play!’
At that moment, the door behind them opened in, and they both toppled into the office.
‘What the hell is going on here?’ Finn yelled. He helped Sally to her feet. One of Buchanan’s bodyguards tried to keep his hold on her, but Finn stepped on his hand. The man struggled to his feet and started to go after Finn, but a word from Buchanan halted him. ‘Maurice!’ the senator cautioned.
‘They wouldn’t let me in,’ Sally explained. ‘I was worried.’ Finn looked at Buchanan, who nodded. ‘I wanted to talk to you in private.’
‘This is my office, not yours,’ Finn said, angrily. ‘You had no right.’ ‘Given the nature of our talk, I didn’t want people –’ ‘Sally isn’t people. She’s my … she belongs here.’ He pulled her over, so that she was standing behind him. ‘You need to leave now.’
Buchanan put his hands up, palms forward in a placating gesture. ‘I’m going. But I want you to think about what I’ve said.’
Finn nodded. ‘What you’ve said means nothing. You’ve got no credibility with me. You want me to believe you? You need to give me a reason, because right now I don’t have one.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Buchanan was back in his office on the second floor of the house on Louisburg Square an hour later. He felt a sense of vertigo he’d never known before. Nothing looked right anymore; everything was skewed. His chest felt tight, and he was having trouble breathing regularly. Perhaps he was having a heart attack. Perhaps that would be for the best.
He loosened his tie. Early in the day for it, but he thought perhaps it would allow him to breathe better. The call with his lawyer had done little to ease his anxiety. There was no word from within the police department of an imminent arrest, but nor was there any movement to suggest that Detective Long would be pulled from the investigation. Apparently, while few within the department had confidence in Long, fewer wanted to give the appearance of showing favoritism to a politician.
The election was only two weeks off. If he could hold on for just that long, he would survive. The Senate was a bulwark from which a defense could be mounted against just about anything. Only the whims of the electorate could oust him, and only every six years. The memory of the public was laughably short; if he could get through this election, this would all be a distant memory. If Kennedy could survive Chappaquiddick, surely he could weather this storm.
And yet it all seemed to be slipping away.
He didn’t hear the door open. He was sitting in his chair, leaning back, looking through the window down onto the square. When he turned, Catherine was there in the doorway, staring at him with that meek-yet-superior look she so often wore on her face. It was a look that enraged him. She would have made a fine martyr.
‘What?’ he demanded. He did not get up.
She continued to look at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She looked tired. Tired and old. She always looked tired and old to him now; another thing about her that kindled his hatred. Imagine what he could do in politics with a proper wife and family.
‘What?’ he said again, this time louder; loud enough to make her jump.
‘I’m leaving,’ she said.
‘Where to?’ he asked. ‘Off to spend more of my money?’ He glared at her, hoping his contempt for her shone through. From her face he was sure it did.
She shook her head. ‘I’m leaving,’ she said again.
‘I heard you,’ he said. ‘I asked where …’ He stopped talking as her meaning hit him.
‘I’m taking Brooke with me,’ she said.
He stood up. His size had always intimidated her, and he could see that she was scared as he walked toward her.
‘Like rats from a sinking ship,’ he said. His voice was low and threatening. ‘With only two weeks until the election.’
She stood her ground, though her posture reflected her fear, leaning back on her heels. ‘We won’t say anything to the press,’ she said. Her voice was desperate, almost a whisper. ‘We’ll appear on stage at the rallies.’
He nodded as he drew closer. ‘Oh, you’ll be at the rallies,’ he said. ‘Because you are not leaving. Not now. Not ever.’
‘Yes, we a—’
She started to speak, and he felt the bile rise in his throat. His hand shot out and grasped her around the throat, cutting off her words. It felt good to silence her. It felt right. He moved forward even further, pushed her hard while still holding onto her neck as he slammed her head into the wall behind her. Her gasp was muted by the pressure he kept on her windpipe. He leaned in close to her, so that their noses were nearly touching, so that she could feel the damp heat of his breath on her face as he spoke to her. ‘You’re worthless,’ he said. ‘Do you understand that? Worthless. And yet I have stayed by you. Any man with half a brain would have dumped you by the side of the road decades ago, but I didn’t. I put up with your worthlessness and your fading looks and your weakness out of pity. And now, after all I have endured from you, you say you are going to leave me?’
She nodded, fighting against his grip. ‘I am,’ she choked out. ‘I am leaving you.’
He held her still by the throat and slapped her hard on the side of the face. He would have punched her instead, but he knew that he would need her on the podium, and welt marks could be covered with make-up; cuts and swelling could not. He longed to beat her properly, as she deserved, to break her nose to drive home his point. Perhaps after the election.
To his surprise, she pushed back against him, slipping out of the grasp of his sweaty hand. ‘I am leaving!’ she yelled, sli
ding to her left, making a break for the door.
He grabbed her by the hair, pulled her back. The rage grew, and his concerns about the marks to her face lessened. He threw her headlong into the wall, heard the crack of her skull colliding against the horsehair plaster. It felt good. Pulling her up by the shoulders, he spun her around and swung his fist hard into her stomach, doubling her over. She fell to her knees, gasping and sputtering for breath.
He knelt down next to her, his face close to hers again, his voice low and even. ‘You are not leaving me,’ he said slowly. ‘Do you understand?’
She shook her head, still struggling to breathe. ‘I am,’ she managed to mouth. She gasped the words over and over again. ‘I am, I am, I am.’
He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her closer. He shook his head and he looked straight into her eyes. ‘Never,’ he said. ‘I’ll kill you first.’
Long leaned over the sink in the men’s room at the station house. He let the water run until it was scalding, dipped his head down, cupped his hands and drew the water to his face. Then he turned off the hot tap and turned on the cold, lowered himself again. If the sink had been large enough, he would have submerged his entire head. He turned the cold water off and repeated the process twice more. He felt defeated, and he’d hoped the alternating extremes would make him feel better. It didn’t.
Pulling two paper towels from the dispenser, he dried his face, and headed out. He still had a job to do.
Racine was sitting in the chair next to his desk. ‘How’d it go with the wife?’ she asked.
He shook his head as he sat.
‘Nothing?’
‘I thought for a minute she was gonna turn. She was right on the verge.’
‘What happened?’