"No."
She started moving on top of me. I held her tight, with my hands against her side, her flesh smooth and warm. "Have you now, or have you ever been, a member of a group advocating the violent overthrow of the government of the United States?"
"No... ma'am."
I kissed her and she lightly moaned, and said, "Have you now, or have you ever been, a male with extensive lovemaking fantasies?"
"Guilty as charged," I managed to say.
"Good," she said, holding on to me with her strong hands.
"Interrogation over."
"Best news I've heard all night."
"Oh, stop talking already," she said. "
You started it."
And she didn't say anything for a while after that, and neither did I.
Chapter Two
Sometime in the morning the shower was running, and I suppose a male who subscribed to
Playboy
magazine and worked out and was in top shape and form would have leapt out of bed to jump in the shower and wash Annie's back and see what else happened. However, since I'm one of those few who do buy
Playboy
occasionally for the articles and its fine fiction, I confess that I looked at the time and rolled over and went back to sleep. She's a dear but she can thrive and flourish on four or five hours of sleep, which I still didn't understand. I suppose I could give it a try, but I doubted I would live that long.
So when I eventually woke up, got dressed, and went down-stairs, she was finishing an English muffin and a glass ·of orange juice and she had gotten changed into the contents of her overnight bag, which was now slung over her shoulder. For some reason my stomach felt queasy and the sight of the food and drink made me just a bit nauseous. Probably the after affects of not enough sack time and a too-rich dinner.
Annie said, "I would have made you breakfast, except you were still snoring and sleeping."
"Only half true, counselor. I was sleeping. I wasn't snoring."
"Says you. Give me a kiss good-bye."
"Sure," I said. "But not here. Up at the parking lot."
"Oh, you romantic, you."
I took the overnight bag from her shoulder and grabbed a coat from the downstairs closet. We both went outside into the early January morning. It was overcast. It seemed like every day this past week had been overcast.
Annie said, "Brrr. Damn cold. Sick of it, I really do get sick of it."
"Part of the grand plan," I said.
"What's that?"
"To make us appreciate summer more," I said.
"Bah," she said. "Sounds like crap our Puritan ancestors made up to justify the lousy weather, and for settling their poor butts in this part of the world. Come along, sport, let's go."
She slipped her arm into mine as we maneuvered our way up my frozen driveway. To our left were a mess of boulders and rocks that marked this part of the eighteen-mile New Hampshire coastline, and to our right was a sharp rise of land and more rocks, hiding Route l-A --- also known as Atlantic Avenue ---- from my house, and vice versa. Before us was the Lafayette House's parking lot and Annie's BMW ---leased from a Boston law firm that she did work for as a paralegal ---- and I said, "Still can't believe the firm lets you drive that Beemer, seeing how you took a leave of absence and all."
She squeezed her arm against mine. "They see it as an investment, Lewis. All those potentially juicy contacts I can make during the campaign might payoff down the road. You know what the three biggest pastimes in Boston are, don't you?"
"Sports, politics, and revenge."
A quick laugh. "You've learned well."
At her BMW she turned and I gave her a quick kiss, and she said, "See you at the rally today?"
"I don't see why not. What time is it again?"
"Two p.m. At the Tyler Conference Center."
I had my hands on her hips. "Will I see you?"
"Probably from a distance, Lewis. But I'd like to know you were there."
"Then I will be."
She touched my cheek. "Two o'clock. Don't be late."
"I won't. Maybe I'll see my Secret Service agent friend."
"Maybe you will. Maybe he'll show you his gun and everything."
"Sounds like something you'd like."
That got a big smile and she got into her BMW, started it right up, and then left the parking lot, and I got a
toot-toot
from the horn as she turned onto Atlantic Avenue, and that's how this day started, a day before I was to be arrested for attempted murder. About halfway down the driveway, there came another blare of a horn, and I turned, half hoping and half expecting to see that Annie had come back, perhaps having forgotten something, perhaps deciding that crawling back into bed with me and seeing what Turner Classic Movies had to offer for the day on television sounded more appealing than a campaign rally, but no, I wasn't that lucky.
A blue Mercedes-Benz convertible had stopped at the parking lot, and a man came out, clad in a long gray winter coat, gray slacks, and wearing black leather gloves. He waved and I waved back. I stopped, putting my hands in my coat pocket, as the man quickly made his way down my driveway. Any other guy wearing those kind of dress winter shoes would have taken his time walking down the slippery driveway, but Felix Tinios isn't what one would call any other kind of guy. He came down to me, nimble as a mountain goat, and gently slapped me on the shoulder as he came up to me.
"Lewis, good to see you," he said.
"And the same. Did you give anybody a wave back there?"
That confused him. "From the parking lot? Why?"
"Dumb joke, that's all. The Lafayette House has seen a number of its guests lose radios and other stuff from parked cars over the past several weeks. Rumor has it they now have the lot under surveillance. "
"Then I would have dropped trou, if I knew that."
"A lovely sight to some, I'm sure. What brings you by?"
Felix said, "Was heading down to Boston and gave you a call. No answer on your end, so I thought I'd swing by and see what's up."
"I was seeing somebody off. Didn't hear the phone."
Felix grinned, cocked his head. "The lovely and talented Annie Wynn?"
"The same."
"Good for you. C'mon, it's too cold out here. I need a quick chat."
"What for?"
"Need your advice, that's what."
I looked at the smooth-shaven face, the thick mat of black hair, the cocky confidence in his brown and happy eyes. Felix was originally from the North End of Boston, and told people he didn't know that well that his occupation was security consultant, but I knew him well and I knew him better. I folded my arms and I said, "You feel that?"
"Feel what?"
"Felt like the Earth was spinning off its axis. Because I thought I heard you say you needed my advice."
Felix grabbed my upper arm with a firm grasp and said, "Come on. Maybe this will be a day full of surprises."
In my house I made us both a cup of tea, and though I should have been hungry, I wasn't. We sat at the kitchen counter and Felix had his coat off, revealing a black turtleneck sweater and the usual bulk of his shoulders. He clasped the hot mug with both of his hands and I said, "Advice. What in hell kind of advice can I give you? Spelling? Grammar? How to get an agent?"
He looked hurt by my comments. "I'll have you know that when I was in seventh grade, at St. Mary's Academy, I won a rosary for a spelling bee."
"A rosary? Do you still have it?"
“Of course."
"And do you say your rosary?"
He lifted up the mug, smiled. "Every goddamn night. Look, here's the deal. I've got a job lined up for the next couple of weeks, and I want to make sure that it won't cause any difficulties with you and yours."
"What kind of job?"
He took a slurp. "Working for one of the presidential candidates."
"Which one?"
"Senator Nash Pomeroy. From our fair sister state to the south."
I took a sip from my own tea, grimaced. The nausea down there was perking right along. Two thoughts: I hoped I didn't have food poisoning, because it sure as hell would mean Annie would have the same problem. And I sure as hell hoped it wouldn't keep me from this afternoon's rally.
"I knew the senator was in trouble when he lost the Iowa caucuses, but now his campaign must be really collapsing."
"Why's that?"
I resisted an urge to burst out laughing, because Felix had such a serious look on his face. "My God, Felix, your background... I mean, no offense, but how many times have you been arrested?"
"No offense taken, and trust me, I don't particularly care about the number of arrests. It's the number of convictions that matter. And that number is quite, quite low. Just so you know."
"Maybe in your world arrests don't matter, Felix, but this is politics. Any hint of scandal with the campaign and... well, hell, it can't matter to them, because you've said you've been hired."
"That I have."
"Doing what? Security? Driving around the candidate?"
"Nope." Another sip of tea. "Oppo man."
"What?"
"Oppo. Opposition research. You've heard of that, I'm sure."
"Sure. Digging up dirt on the other guys. Sounds beneath you, Felix."
"Maybe so, but it's good money ... and can I tell you a secret?"
"Sure."
He made a point of looking around, and again, I was going to laugh, but that look on his face... It was a different look, a hesitant one. "Here's my secret. Tell anybody and... well, I know you. You won't tell anyone. Thing is, Lewis, I don't know why, but this winter is slowing me down. Get up in the morning, the usual aches and pains I got, they don't disappear like they used to. Working out... the thought of starting up a cold car and driving out to the gym in the morning, when it's so goddamn dark... I don't know, maybe I'm getting old. More often than not, I stay home instead."
I tried to keep my voice innocent. "Getting old is the secret I should be keeping?"
"No," he said, his eyes flashing at me. "Slowing down is the secret you should be keeping. And a lawyer acquaintance of mine, we were talking a couple of weeks ago, said that the Pomeroy campaign needed some help. Wondered if I could do it, and he mentioned the money, and it's good money for work that mostly involves talking. This winter, talking I can handle. The other stuff... well, there's always spring."
"Yeah, you can count on that. So. What's the advice you're seeking?"
He put the mug down on the counter. "Okay. Maybe it isn't advice. Maybe it's just reassurance. I like Annie. I like you and Annie together. It's a good thing, something good you've needed for a while. But I don't want her pissed at me --- and through me, you --- because she's working for the Hale campaign and I'm working for the Pomeroy campaign."
I nodded. "A sweet attitude, but I don't think it'll make a difference... except, well, there's two other candidates besides Hale and Pomeroy. Congressman Wallace and General Grayson. Who will you be doing the opposition research on? If it's Wallace or Grayson, I doubt she'd care. If it's Hale, she might be pissed no matter what I say."
That made Felix smile again. "I'm doing oppo research on Senator Pomeroy."
"Hold on. The campaign that's hiring you, they want you to dig dirt up on their own guy?"
"Sure," he said.
Despite my nausea, I had to smile. "Come on, you've got to tell me more. It doesn't make sense."
"On the contrary, it makes a lot of sense. Nobody --- especially a guy running for president ---wants to come forward and expose his warts and imperfections. They hide, they shade, they ignore. Just ask what happened to McGovern back in 1972 when he went shopping for a vice presidential candidate, and his first selection turned out to be a guy who went through electroshock therapy treatment for depression. And people who back candidates --- the guys with money, the guys with power --- they don't want surprises. When you're this close to getting nominated for the most powerful office on the planet, they want to make sure everything is vetted. They don't want something to blow up in their faces at the very last minute, ensuring that their investment has gone for nothing. That's what I'll be doing, Working as if I were one of Pomeroy's opponents, instead of coming from his own campaign."
"You've been reading up on political theory?"
"Theories I learned came from the streets, my friend." He finished off his tea and said, "So. We okay?"
"Yeah, we're fine. Go ahead and do your oppo research. And by the by, here's one bit of advice."
"All right. I'm in a good mood, I'll take it."
I raised my tea mug in his honor. "Make sure you get paid in advance, or at least on a regular basis. In politics, bills sometimes get lost, sometimes get ignored, and more often than not, never get paid when the campaign is over. There's lots of horror stories about car rental agencies and photocopying centers and other small businesses still looking to get their bills paid years later. Make sure you get paid first, Felix."