“And what do you think that means for us?”
“I think it means we ought to be worried.”
“Jesus, Freddie, why? You think we have anything to fear from Will Lee?”
“Jeb, didn’t you listen to what those New Hampshire voters had to say?”
“Sure, I did, and it didn’t make any sense to me.”
“Well, I guess that’s why you’re not president. Those people liked Will Lee, which shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to me, since I like him myself. Think about it; how many likable presidential candidates have we had since Jack Kennedy died?”
“Ronald Reagan was likable.”
“Right, right, who else?”
“Bill Clinton, although I personally hated the son of a bitch.”
“Anybody else?”
Calhoun screwed up his aging brow. “Not that I can think of.”
“And what else do Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton have in common?”
“I can’t think of a thing.”
“They both were elected to two terms, you horse’s ass!”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Now tell me, Jeb, who would you rather run against? George Kiel, or that nice-looking, charming fellow who just kicked George’s ass?”
“I see your point. But just because he did well in New Hampshire doesn’t mean that’ll translate to getting the nomination.”
“Jeb, the folks in New Hampshire are the most hard-bitten, skeptical, cantankerous voters in this country. Just about every one of them has met two or three presidents and a whole lot of candidates. If Will Lee can charm them, he can charm anybody.”
Calhoun drank some more bourbon. “Well, what are we going to do about it? Is the man clean?”
“Nobody’s clean, Jeb, you above all people ought to know that.”
Calhoun reddened. “Then there must be something we can get on him.”
“I’ve known him since he came to work for Ben Carr,” Wallace said, “and he’s as clean as they come.” He puffed on his cigar, then smiled a small smile. “That’s not to say he’s clean, though.”
“You know something I don’t, Freddie?”
“Jeb, I know a hell of a lot you don’t, and don’t you ever forget it.”
“Come on, Freddie, what have you got on him?”
“There’s a woman in Will Lee’s past,” Wallace said. “A very beautiful woman, in fact. Very telegenic.”
“Tell me about it.”
Wallace got up and poured himself another bourbon, then settled again in the wing chair before the fireplace. “It goes back a good ten years,” he said, “back when Will was first running for Ben Carr’s seat. He got himself roped into defending a young fellow down in Will’s home country. The fellow was charged with raping and murdering a colored woman.”
“You mean Lee got involved with a colored woman? I like it!”
“Jeb, the colored woman was the murder victim. Now shut up and listen.”
“Sorry, go on.”
“Will’s client had this very beautiful girlfriend. She sat there in court every day and knocked everybody’s eyes out. I guess she knocked Will’s eyes out, too, because he ended up screwing her.”
Calhoun leaned forward. “Let me get this straight: This woman was the girlfriend of Lee’s client, and he screwed her?”
“Not only was she the client’s girlfriend, but she was the principal defense witness; she was the client’s alibi.”
“Lee screwed a witness in the trial? His own witness?”
“Well, it was a little more complicated than that. Will was still single at the time, although he’d been seeing Kate Rule for a while. But they had busted up at that particular moment, and the client’s girlfriend had dumped her boyfriend, too, so, technically, Will and this girl were free, white, and twenty-one. And the girl had already completed her testimony in the trial.”
“What about the boyfriend? Did he get off?”
“Nope. He was convicted of first-degree murder and rape and sentenced to die.”
“And did he?”
“Not yet, but soon.” Wallace permitted himself a small grin. “Unless he gets himself a first-class appeals lawyer.”
“Has he got any grounds for appeal?”
How about his lawyer was screwing his girlfriend and allowed him to get convicted so the two of them could go on screwing each other?”
“You said this was ten years ago, and he’s about to die. That means he’s already exhausted the appeals process. Didn’t this come up before?”
“It did, but it was mishandled by a stupid lawyer. What that boy needs is a better lawyer.”
“You going to get him one?”
“Oh, I don’t think I want to do anything as direct as that,” Wallace purred.
“How you going to handle it?”
“I’m going to let you handle it, Jeb.”
“Now, wait a minute, Freddie—”
“Relax. You’ve had some dealings with that little group of conservative lawyers — what are they called?”
“The J. Edgar Hoover Institute?”
“That’s it.”
“Freddie, those boys are for the death penalty.”
“Well, sure they are, Jeb, like all right-thinking people. But they don’t want to see it misapplied, do they? Make ’em look good to take an unpopular case, especially one that reflected poorly on a rising Democrat candidate for president.”
Calhoun rubbed his chin. “Well, it might at that. I’ll give them a call tomorrow.”
“Jeb, you don’t want to do that,” Wallace scolded. “You want to talk to somebody who’ll talk to somebody, then he’ll talk to them.”
“Right, right.” Calhoun took a notepad from his pocket. “What’s this murderer’s name?”
“Larry Eugene Moody, if memory serves. He’s in the Georgia state prison at Reidsville, on death row, of course.”
“And the girl’s name?”
“Charlene Joiner.”
Calhoun stopped writing. “Isn’t there a movie actress by that name? I saw something on television the other night.”
Freddie Wallace smiled broadly. “You bet your ass there is.”
The phone rang, and Wallace picked it up. “Who is it?”
“Freddie, it’s Eft Efton; how are you?”
“Just a minute.” He covered the phone. “You get on it, Jeb; I’ve got to take this call.” He watched until Calhoun was out of the room, then returned to the phone. “I guess we got a little surprise tonight, boy.”
“I guess so,” Efton said. “I’m not worried, though. I’d love to run against a closet liberal like Will Lee.”
Wallace sighed deeply. “You just don’t get it, do you, boy?”
“Huh?”
“The man you want to run against is George Kiel.”
“But he’s the conservative.”
“Eft, that liberal tag ain’t gonna stick to Will Lee; he’s got some credentials on national defense and a good record on the budget. And that ain’t all; folks just naturally like him, and that can’t be said of you. I mean, the hard core is gonna be with you all the way, but you’re gonna have to attract the independents and a lot of Democrats if you want to get elected.”
“Come on, Freddie, I’ve been toning down the rhetoric, or at least confining it to preaching to the converted.”
“Eft, face it; you lack charm, and Will doesn’t. Trust me, you want to run against Kiel.”
“Well, I guess I’m not going to have much to say about who the Democrats pick, am I?”
“Maybe not, but I am,” Wallace replied.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve got a few irons in the fire; I’m going to get George Kiel the Democratic nomination, and nobody’s even going to know how it happened.” Wallace hung up the phone without another word, and began sipping his bourbon again. It bothered him a little that he was going to make a shit like Eft president, but he’d rather have a shit that he could control in office than somebody more independent-minded, like Will Lee, even if he did like him.