The Next President (45 page)

Another reason for meeting at this particular bar, J. D. thought.

“What’s this person following me look like?”

“Black, middle-aged, nicely dressed… able to take care of himself, if need be.”

Donnel.

“Thank you for letting me know, Mr. Hayashi.”

“Sure. Where can I reach you when I find out about Townes?”

J. D. gave the reporter his PCR number, and just then the device’s pager element beeped. He looked at the number.

“Have to make a call,” he said.

“If you want to use a public phone, there’s one back there by the John. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.” He gave J. D. his business card.

“Or you can call me if you need to.”

The two men stood and shook hands.

“By the way,” Hayashi said, “you were right about the president having only one ball.”

“You found someone to confirm it?” J. D. asked, more than a little surprised.

“Talked to the White House physician.”

“He wouldn’t have said anything.”

“He barked out a very defensive “No comment.” If the story wasn’t true, he’d have just laughed and politely reminded me that people’s medical records are nobody’s business but their own. So you’re right, Mr. Cade.

Sometimes it’s how people react that tells you the story.”

J. D. called the number that had paged him and Jenny Crenshaw answered.

“It’s me,” he said deadpan.

“Spokesman to the stars.”

“Hold on a minute, will you?” J. D. heard her put the phone down and then in the background a door closed.

“I’m back.”

“You paged me.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“It’s okay. Vandy Ellison talked to me. I’ll do the Westside Studio appearance…

but then I think I’m calling it quits. Politics isn’t what I’d hoped it would be.”

After a moment of silence, Jenny asked, “Are you mad at me?”

“More puzzled than angry, but women have left me guessing before.”

“It wasn’t my intention to … I was just…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. One day you’re everybody’s friend, the next you’re on the outside looking in. It happens.”

Stung, a new note of formality entered Jenny’s voice.

“Del’s family has arrived in town and his daughter, Eleanor, would like to see you this afternoon.

She wants to express her thanks to you for saving her father’s life. The other members of the family feel the same way. Can I tell them you’ll make it at, say, one o’clock?”

That development took J. D. completely by surprise. Meeting a grateful Rawley family was the last thing he wanted to do. But if access to the candidate via Jenny had been cut off, and he knew that was what had just happened, another entree might provide a golden opportunity.

“They’re at the hotel?”

“Yes.”

“Tell them I’ll be there. Is there anything else?”

“Yes,” Jenny replied.

“Special Agent DeVito stopped in to see me this morning.”

“What did he want?” J. D. asked.

In a dispassionate tone, Jenny answered, “He said the guy you warned him about probably wants to kill you.”

J. D. had to shake his head in admiration of DeVito instincts. The

man was something else. DeVito wouldn’t be surprised to hear what had happened at the Beverly Center. Not that J. D. would ever tell him.

“I’ll make a note of that. Thank him for the warning, will you?”

When J. D. stepped out of the bar a moment later, he looked all around, making no effort to be subtle, but he couldn’t spot Donnel anywhere. He wondered if Donnel sensed that the end was near, too.

He wondered if he was making Donnel nervous.

“So your dad did it?” Blair asked Evan quietly.

“Yeah,” Evan admitted.

“My father killed your father.”

“Hey, this is all real interestin’,” Deena Nokes said in a bored voice, “but true confessions make me thirsty. And it’s hot as a ten-dollar Rolex in here.

How about a drink, swamp breath?”

The Toad had been enjoying the dialogue between Cade and McCray.

There had been no denial on Cade’s part, no recrimination on McCray’s, no anger from either. Just a melancholy and entirely civil acceptance of what he’d divulged to them. In fact, he was the one who’d been surprised that young Cade had already discovered so much about his father. The only reason the Toad could see that the revelation had not caused any hard feelings was that intuitively the two men had understood that it meant nothing in the context of their impending deaths. They were resigned to their fates, and you couldn’t ask for a better attitude among condemned men than resignation.

But then the woman had to open her big mouth-“Hey, Froggy, goddammit! I’m sweating like a pig here! You got the three of us joined together like we were born this way. Get me something to drink, reptile dick.”

The Toad stared hard at the glaringly defiant woman.

The only reason he hadn’t shot her already was that he hadn’t wanted her corpse raising a stink in the trailer. But he’d promised himself that she’d suffer and he saw no reason why her pain shouldn’t start immediately. He looked through the cabinets behind the breakfast bar and found a bottle of Lysol. He held it up to show Deena.

“Think this might quench your thirst?”

“That stuff’s poison,” Blair warned.

“Exactly,” the Toad answered with a grin as he removed the bottle’s cap.

He gestured to each man with his gun not to interfere as he advanced on Deena. She had her mouth clamped shut and her chin pressed to her breastbone.

The Toad evaluated the two men. McCray might make a move. Cade was watching but his face was impassive. His body sat slack. The youngest of the three captives, he seemed to have lost his spirit the fastest.

The Toad held his gun in his right hand, convenient to the side of the sofa on which McCray sat, and the Lysol bottle in his left. If he had to shoot McCray he would—and at that point he’d have to abandon creativity and shoot the woman as well. Then he and his remaining captive would simply have to endure the mess and the stench until it was time for Evan Cade to die and him to leave.

Normally all that was required to open a mouth was to squeeze a nose shut, but the Toad’s hands were full. He thought the solution to his problem was to give the woman a sharp blow on the top of her skull with his gun, not hard enough to knock her out, but sufficiently hard to force her mouth open in a scream. Then he’d jam the bottle in and clean up the woman’s vocabulary.

Before he followed through on that plan, though, the Toad thought it wise to give Blair McCray one last warning with the business end of his gun. As the Toad looked at Blair, Evan came to life with the suppleness of youth and the speed of a snake. He slid his back down onto the seat cushion of the sofa and, angling to his left, whipped his feet up in a sharp jackknife motion.

The Toad saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned just as Evan’s kick arrived. The open bottle of Lysol went flying from the Toad’s hand and a sheet of the harsh liquid cleaner splashed directly into his protuberant eyes.

The Toad bellowed with pain, and Evan pulled his feet back and launched himself at his pain-wracked captor.

Jenny met J. D. at the door to Del Rawley’s suite.

“Thank you for coming,” she told him coolly. Then she turned and led the way to where the candidate and his family were rising from their seats with expectant looks on their faces.

Donnel was also present. Mrs. Rawley had been sitting next to him. He didn’t bother to get up. But a glance told J. D. that Donnel was watching him closely.

“Mr. Cade,” Del said, stepping forward to shake J. D.‘s hand.

“Good to see you again. I hope we haven’t interrupted any of your plans for the day, but my family wanted to meet you.” He guided J. D. over to the others.

“May I introduce my wife, Devree Harper Rawley. Devree, this is Mr. Jefferson Davis Cade.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Rawley,” J. D. said, taking her hand.

“The pleasure is ours, Mr. Cade.” Devree made no attempt to disguise the fact that she was studying J. D.‘s face, taking his measure. She placed her free hand over J. D.‘s, clasping it now in both of hers.

“Has something hurt you recently, Mr. Cade?”

The question clearly caught J. D. off guard, but before an answer became necessary, Eleanor stepped forward and her mother gave way.J. D. extended his hand to her but, true to her word, she stepped past it and hugged him.

“Thank you, Mr. Cade. Thank you so much for saving my father’s life.”

J. D. looked past the young woman embracing him to the candidate.

“My daughter, Eleanor,” he said.

She stepped back with a sheepish grin.

“That’s right, I didn’t even tell you my name. I’m sorry. I’m Eleanor Rawley Walker.” She turned to a young man standing behind her, who handed a small boy to her.

“And this is Benjamin Franklin Walker, age fifteen months. He still has his grandpa because of you.”

To everyone’s surprise, the boy reached out and grabbed J. D.‘s nose.

“Ben!” his mother chastised gently, and pulled him back.

Not discouraged in the least, the toddler made another lunge and everyone laughed.

“Would you like to hold him, Mr. Cade?” Eleanor asked.

“He seems taken with you.”

“I… yes, I’d like that very much.” Out of the corner of his eye, J. D. saw Donnel lean forward. Almost as if he was getting ready to make a move on J. D. Eleanor carefully shifted her son to J. D.‘s arms. He held the child with a natural ease; the boy was both comfortable and secure.

“You do that very well, Mr. Cade,” Eleanor said.

“You must have children of your own.”

“A son.” J. D. nodded.

“He’s grown now, but I guess some things you never forget.” He looked at the boy and gently took his nose between thumb and forefinger. The child swatted J. D.‘s fingers away and laughed.

“My son did exactly the same thing,” J. D. said with a haunted smile. He handed the toddler back to his mother.

“You’ve got a good one there.”

Eleanor smiled in agreement.

“Who knows? Maybe it won’t be long before your son makes you Grandpa Cade. Then you can put your old skills back to use.”

J. D.‘s smile faded.

Del sensed the conversation had strayed to sensitive ground. He stepped in and continued the introductions of his other children, their spouses, and his grandchildren. After everyone had had a few minutes to chat, he politely called a halt to the activities.

“Now, I think we’ve all taken enough of Mr. Cade’s time. We’ll have to let him get on about his business.” He shook J. D.‘s hand.

“Thank you for coming.

Let me see you out.”

J. D. waved farewell to the Rawley family. He nodded to Donnel, who was once again seated next to Devree Raw-ley. Del ushered him toward the door but stopped short. The two men were equidistant from the Rawleys behind them and the agents guarding the door. It was a zone of relative privacy.

Del said quietly, “Jenny tells me you’re leaving the campaign.”

“Yes. It’s… it’s best for me to get back to my regular life.”

Del Rawley laughed softly.

“Well, there’s precious little that’s regular about politics, and nothing at all about campaigning. But I’ll be sorry to see you go. I’ve enjoyed the occasions when we’ve had a chance to talk. You’re not like anyone else I’ve met on the campaign trail.”

“That’s probably just as well.”

“I want you to know, though, I’ll see you one last time.”

“How’s that?”

“Vandy Ellison talked to me. Pointed out there will be some good and very generous people at the movie studio tonight and I’d be foolish to neglect them. So I intend to drop in on your gathering after we’re done at the Bowl.

Keep the crowd warmed up for me, won’t you?”

“Do my best,” J. D. replied in a neutral tone.

“I’m sure you will, Mr. Cade.”

The candidate shook J. D.‘s hand once more.

Over Del’s shoulder, J. D. saw the little boy, arms out, still reaching for his nose.

Roth heard the scuttlebutt not fifteen minutes later from Landers, his new second in command.

“Cade’s leaving.”

“Leaving what?” Roth asked, careful not to sound too interested.

“The campaign. Tonight’s his last night.”

“Who told you that?”

“Thomas was on the door of Orpheus’ suite. Guy’s got great ears. He overheard Orpheus and Cade talking.”

“Why’s he leaving?”

“Well, that part’s speculative. Some people think it’s because Cade and Jenny Crenshaw had a falling-out. They were—” “Yeah, I know they were.”

“That’s one theory. Another is Cade really dislikes the way the spotlight got turned on him after he saved Orpheus’ life. Contrary to that, another school of thought has it that he’s leaving to sell his story to the movies.”

Despite himself, Roth snorted.

“Don’t buy that idea, huh?”

“Not for a minute.”

“Well, anyway, the part about him leaving seems solid.”

Having dispensed with that subject, Roth and his lieutenant went over the day’s business, ticking off one detail after another of not only having to keep Orpheus alive and well, but now also handling the additional burden of protecting the man’s newly arrived family.

After that, Roth was alone with his thoughts.

Cade was leaving. He wouldn’t be at the Bowl. He’d be across town at a movie studio. How the hell would he be able to kill Rawley from there? Answer:

He wouldn’t. So what was he doing, then? Writing off his son, giving him up for lost? Roth couldn’t buy that, not after his run-ins with the bastard.

Cade had something up his sleeve.

Unless Cade had decided there was absolutely no way he could hit Rawley short of a suicide attack. So if he thought he’d lost any chance to save his son, it made sense he’d give notice to the campaign … so he could devote himself to hunting down his enemies.

Like Roth himself. Whom he’d almost managed to drop a mountain on in his spare time. So now Cade was going to be out there with nothing else to do but draw a bead on him? While he was stuck heading Raw-ley’s protection detail? Fuck that.