“Come on in. A couple of minutes is all I’ve got.”
Brody did as he was bid and closed the door behind him. Cherry stripped off his shirt and tie as he stirred through the phone messages on his desk.
“What’s on your mind?”
“The aide said you were over at the White House?”
“Getting briefed. At least that’s what they called it. Jesus, what a day!”
“The networks say that Quayle is calling out the National Guard.”
“Yep.” Cherry found a clean shirt in the closet beside the washroom and put it on.
“My clients were hoping that you might oppose that move.”
“Wouldn’t do any good. Quayle’s made up his mind. Not that I disagree with him. He’s right about this, I think.”
Cherry selected a tie from the rack and looked at his image in a mirror as he worked on knotting it. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your people’s beef?”
“My clients are the people who have contributed generously to your PAC and campaign fund, Senator.”
Cherry made a face. He had assumed that. His estimate of Brody’s political sophistication went down a notch. “What’s their beef?” he repeated.
“Well, Senator, it’s like this. They think it’ll be bad for their business.”
“Pretty damn shortsighted of them, isn’t it? I mean, tourism and business travel to Washington will fall like a chunk of blue ice with all these killers running around loose. The sooner they’re behind bars the safer everyone will be.”
“That’s just it, Senator. My clients don’t feel that way. They think the FBI and Secret Service can find these people. Baldly, troops are bad for business.”
“Sorry. They’ll have to live with their disappointment.”
Cherry selected a sports coat and pulled it on. He came back around to his desk and pushed a couple of the phone messages away from the others with a finger. “I am in a hurry tonight, Jefferson. I have a couple of calls to make before I leave.”
“Senator, I don’t think you understand.”
“Understand?”
“I’m not asking you for a favor. I’m telling you.” Brody grinned.
The senator straightened. His shoulders went back. “Are you leaving or should I call my aide to throw you out?”
Brody sagged back in the chair and threw one leg over the other. “It’s funny, when you think about it. All those contributions, and you never once had anyone check to see who was actually giving you the money.”
“What …?”
“FM Development, that’s a real Florida corporation, and the sole stockholder is Freeman McNally, a prominent local businessman. Maybe you’ve heard of him? ABC Investments, that’s …”
Cherry collapsed heavily into his chair. He stared at Brody.
“I’m sure the FBI could give you a fairly extensive dossier on Freeman McNally, Senator. You have really screwed the pooch this time.”
“What do you want?”
“I’ve told you. No National Guard. No troops.”
“No.” Cherry’s face flushed scarlet.
Brody got out of his chair and sat on the edge of the desk. He leaned toward Bob Cherry. “You just haven’t thought this through yet, Senator. When it gets out that you’ve been flying around the country wining and dining and sixty-nining Miss Georgia and paying your campaign bills with drug money supplied by Washington’s biggest crack dealer, your career will immediately hit the wall. Splat! You’ll be finished.”
“I’ll give the money back. I didn’t know! I’ll—”
“Get real! You politicians sold out to the country-club types who ran out and bought savings and loans. You let them shoot craps with government-insured money — five hundred billion dollars down the sewer. You’ve maneuvered like drunken snakes to get yourselves big pay raises. You’ve voted yourselves the best pensions in the nation while you’ve looted the Social Security trust fund. You’ve damn near bankrupted America. The voters have to pay for all that! Their children will have to pay for it! Their grandchildren will have to pay! They aren’t going to believe that Bob Cherry was so senile, so abysmally stupid that he didn’t check to see who was stuffing the money into his pocket!”
Brody stood. He buttoned his jacket and adjusted his tie. “All you glad-handing backslappers do little favors for each other — a military base in this district, a sewer system there, a dam over here. Isn’t that the way your exclusive little club works?”
Brody’s voice dropped. “You get busy and call in some markers. Raise some hell. I’d better be reading in the newspaper about your courageous stand to keep democracy in the District and the soldiers out, or come Friday you’ll be reading about some very interesting contributions made by big-name dope dealers to a certain senator.”
Brody paused on the way to the door and turned around. “One more word of advice, Senator. People who cross Freeman McNally rarely live to brag about it.”
T. Jefferson Brody’s next stop was Senator Hiram Duquesne’s office. He caught the senator on the way out the door.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll walk along down to the garage,” Brody said.
He broached the subject of the National Guard troops.
“You know,” Duquesne said, “if someone had suggested calling in the Guard this morning after the attack on the Capitol, I would have been against it. But after that shot at the Vice-President I’m for it.
“Gid Cohen’s in bad shape. The doctor thinks he’ll make it. Took that slug in the shoulder. Just missed his left lung by an inch.” Duquesne shook his head. “The rifleman fired from a building five hundred and twenty-seven yards away. Left the rifle and a tripod and a toolbox. Just aimed, fired right through a closed window, dropped everything and walked away.”
“Amazing,” Brody agreed.
“I don’t know what we’re up against here, but this shit has got to stop. Quayle’s doing the right thing. Didn’t think that airhead had it in him.”
“My clients want you to oppose this move. They don’t want the Guard in the District.”
“Sorry, Jefferson. This has gone too far for politics as usual. Quayle has the legal and moral responsibility and he is taking steps. The Senate will back him up every way it can.”
Brody kept silent as they walked past the attendant at the entrance to the garage. He waited until they had reached Duquesne’s car and the senator was fishing in his pocket for the key.
“My client is Freeman McNally. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
Senator Duquesne gaped.
“Freeman McNally. His reputation is a little unsavory, but he’s a businessman. Pays his legal fees without a quibble. Contributes money to worthy causes. Gives freely to certain politicians. Like you, for instance. He’s given you over twenty-five thousand dollars. Remember FM Development Corporation?”
“Why, you greasy, filthy son of a bitch!”
“Now, now, Senator, let’s not get personal here. You were free to check to see where the money was coming from, and presumably you didn’t bother. You were free to refuse the money. You never did.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I told you. My client doesn’t want the Guard in the District. He’s contributed generously to keep you in the Senate and he thought you should pull out all the stops and help him out on this.”
“And if I don’t? Come on! Your kind of slime always has a stick handy if the carrot doesn’t work.”
“My client wants to see you right out front, Senator, waving the banner to keep the military out of the District. If the parade leaves without you …” Brody shrugged. “You’re going to have a difficult time explaining away twenty-five thousand dollars in contributions from Washington’s biggest crack dealer, Senator. Really tough.”