Mess up! Getting a lecture on messing up from Sam Levering was too much to bear. Oh, God, what do I say?
Helen turned toward her. “Millie, what the senator and I are trying to do is help you remember what it is we’ve been fighting for all these years, for the right of women – ”
“Stop,” Millie said. “I don’t want to hear it. Helen, how could you?”
“I’ll tell you how,” Levering said. “The fundamentalists are shouting hosannas about your conversion. Or haven’t you heard? They’re already writing Roe off the books.”
“How can either of you think I’d listen to any outside influence?” Millie’s heart was making its way to her throat, pounding with outrage. “Including yours?”
Helen sighed. “Millie – ”
“Hold it,” Levering snapped. “Just hold it now and let me do the talking.” His face swiveled toward Millie. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Here is the way it is. You will check with me on the big votes, the big cases, from now on. I will tell you what to do.”
Millie’s hands curled in on themselves, her nails pressing flesh. “Are you insane?”
“Been called a lot of things in my time. Insane is pretty tame.”
“I would never,” Millie said, pausing to choose her words carefully, “ever consider compromising the workings of the Court, or my own independence, for anyone, let alone you. You are a United States senator with an oath of office. How do you look at yourself in the morning?”
“With these eyes,” Levering said, passing his fingers in front of his face. “I can see things, you know. I can see the future. Want me to tell you yours?”
Anger kept Millie’s mouth closed while she waited.
“You refuse to take my direction,” Levering continued, “and I walk over to the House and get a little investigation going. Impeachment, Madame Justice.” He drew the last word out so it sounded like Just-ess.
He was insane. Threatening impeachment as a form of extortion? Right here in his own limousine, with Helen sitting in silence, without protest.
“You can’t possibly succeed with an impeachment,” she said. “The country won’t stand for it. Congress won’t stand for it.”
“Don’t you remember what Bierce said? The Congress is a masquerade of principles, Madame Justice, and I can manipulate that particular masquerade.”
“You have no grounds for impeachment.”
Levering’s smile was sickening. “You have no idea.” He leaned forward, raising a warning finger. “This is a promise. You give me your answer by tomorrow. You don’t, and I will rain fire and brimstone on you. And you can take that to the bank, Saint Millicent Mannings Hollander.”
8
Millie’s head was practically bursting with anger when she got to Bill Bonassi’s house. Night was hovering over D.C. and several times she thought she’d faint in the taxi. The world was spinning out of control, out of the realm of reality. She needed Bonassi’s counsel now.
They met in his study as Dorothy went to brew some tea. The room was primarily floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the Old Lion’s den.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
She managed to tell him everything without breaking down. He sat, listening patiently, not interrupting her once.
When she finished Bonassi took a long pause before answering. “Mark Twain said there is no distinctly American criminal class, except Congress.”
It was the right comment, lightening the pressure just a bit.
Millie blurted, “I never thought I’d be in a position like this. What do I do?”
“Get a lawyer,” Bonassi said.
“Do you know anyone?”
Bill Bonassi raised his hand. “Why not let me take a crack at it?” he said.
“You?”
“Dottie says I’m spending too much time with my garden. I’m driving her nutty.”
“But I couldn’t ask you…”
“You don’t have to,” Bonassi said. “I’m signing up. Pro bono publico. We can’t let the Leverings of this world spread their poison, not on the steps of the Court. I want in, Millie, if you’ll have me.”
Now there were definite tears in her eyes, and she didn’t stop them. “Thank you. I don’t know what else to say.”
“No need to say anything.” Bonassi stood up, and suddenly looked twenty years younger. Excitement seemed to pour out of his skin. “Here are the ground rules. We’ll do everything by prayer and the law. In that order. Agreed?”
A rush of relief came to Millie like a cool breeze. “Agreed.”
Bonassi rubbed his hands together. “I’ll make a little call to our senator friend and let him know exactly what I think of his proposition. I’ll do your public speaking. You say nothing until your moment.”
“My moment?”
Bonassi nodded. “There comes a time in every trial for the moment. It may be on the floor of the United States Senate, when they try your case. Are you prepared to go all the way?”
Her heart was beating rapidly. “All the way, Bill.”
“Good. We’ll know the time you should speak.”
“I hope so.”
“No,” Bonassi said gently. “You’ll pray so. You’re a Christian now, with all the privileges of a child of God. One of those is prayer. We’ll need it. This is a spiritual battle.”
“I have a suggestion,” he continued. “Let’s pray for Sam Levering.”
9
The Senate dining room had two sections. One was for members and guests, the other – called the inner sanctum – was for senators alone. Sam Levering was eating his usual – bourbon and bean soup – when the maitre d’ informed Levering a cop wanted to see him.
“Can you make this short?” Levering said to the cop, who said his name was Markey. “I’ve got an appropriation rider to propose in” – he looked at his watch – “twenty minutes.”
“I’ll get right to it, then,” Markey said, sitting opposite Levering. “There’s been a disappearance. I was hoping you could shed some light on it.”
“What sort of light would that be?”
“Just the facts.”
Levering could not help rolling his eyes. “Don’t foul up my air with platitudes, will you, boy?” He hadn’t meant it in a racial way, but that’s the way it sounded. Well, too bad.
Markey did not look upset. In fact, he looked a little like that actor, what was his name, Denzel Washington. Why wasn’t this guy out making movies instead of harassing senators?
“I am conducting an investigation, sir,” Markey said, “and I would appreciate your cooperation.”
“Ask your questions and then leave.”
Markey took out a pad and pen. “Do you know anything about a homeless man named Elijah?”
“Sounds like a Bible story.”
“That was his street name, sir.”
“Never heard of the guy. Why would I?”
“Your aide, Anne Deveraux, knew him.”
Levering’s skin began to itch. “What’s Anne got to do with this?”
“Hasn’t she ever mentioned this man?” Markey asked.
“Some homeless man? No.” The booze was helping him keep calm. What did this detective know, anyway?
“She had an encounter with this man,” Markey said.
“Look, her private life is her private – ”
“I don’t mean that kind of encounter,” the cop interrupted. “She sprayed him with mace.”
Plausible deniability. It would save him again. “I have no idea what you’re alluding to. If you’re trying to connect me with this man, whoever he is, and something Anne did in her off time, it’s just not going to fly.”
“Funny,” Markey said.
“What is?”
“Oh, just the way Ms. Deveraux spoke about your working relationship. How close it was. You’d think she would have mentioned an incident like that to her boss.”