She smiled and nodded.
“And don’t forget these.”
I handed her the small bottle of Seconal. “Think you can handle this?” I asked.
“I know I can,” she said.
“And put on some make-up before you go in.”
She smirked. “Thanks for the beauty tip.”
“No problem.”
She got up and I walked her down the stairs out onto the street and to her red Sunbird. It was cold and our breath showed.
“Angela,” I said.
“I know,” she smiled. “‘Be careful.’ I will.”
“It’s not that.”
I took her in my arms and I kissed her.
“What’s that for?” she asked, smiling, confused.
“Luck,” I said.
And it was goodbye. I wouldn’t be seeing her again.
18
I was not expected at the Freed estate, but the gate man-that same guy in the hunting jacket sitting in the brown Ford-recognized me. I got out of the Sunbird, and we talked across the metal gate, at first. I told him I needed to see the candidate. He said he’d check and see if the “chief” would see me.
“Tell him it’s urgent,” I said, as the beefy, sandy-haired sentry returned to his car to call in on something.
He wasn’t gone long; he unlocked and swung the gate open. “You can go on up to the house,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, his other hand resting on the butt of his holstered revolver. “But no cars in the compound tonight.”
“Security’s pretty tight.”
“Yeah. And I hear you’re the guy that’s responsible.” He grinned. “Some of the guys are pissed at you.”
“Some of the guys pissed, period, last time I saw ’em.”
He laughed. “Why don’t I drive you up?”
“That’s okay. It’s a nice night. I’ll walk.”
The guy shrugged, said, “Suit yourself,” and climbed back in the Ford, where he lit up a cigarette and went back to work.
It really was a nice night, more cool than cold, though I was glad for the sweatshirt under the black windbreaker. I had the nine-millimeter stuffed in my waistband, in back; still not bothering with the suppressor. This was an armed camp. If shooting started, noise would be the least of my problems.
Hands in the windbreaker pockets, I walked slowly up the paved drive, which cut through the forest, the smell of the pines reminding me of Wisconsin and Paradise Lake. Above me the sky was clear tonight; stars; moon. I felt relaxed. I wasn’t happy-I wasn’t about to fall into that trap again. But I felt peaceful.
The trees came to an abrupt stop as the rolling landscaped area began, the modern yet rustic-looking house far enough away to look small. The drive was near the edge of the quarry, and I wandered off the pavement to stand on the ledge of earth and look down at the water that filled the old pit, watched its surface reflect the stars and the moon. For just an instant, it seemed to call to me.
I got back on the pavement, followed it around behind the house. One of Freed’s deputy-like watchdogs was waiting in back. It was the heavy-set, balding blond one called Larry.
He turned his mouth sideways, at sight of me, doing his best to look as disgusted as he could, nodding toward the stairs that led up to the rear of the house, into the kitchen.
“He’s waiting for you in the livin’ room,” Larry said.
“Thanks, Larry.”
He snorted. Snot, not coke. “You’re no big deal, Ryan.”
“What, Larry?”
“You and me, we’ll settle up one of these days.”
“Larry,” I said, standing close to him, smiling, “don’t take a little security check so personal.”
Larry’s head bobbed back and he stuck his tiny chin out and looked down his nose at me. He smelled like lime aftershave.
“You just don’t know who you’re messin’ with,” Larry said.
“Yeah, right,” I said, and took my hand out of the jacket pocket and stuck the stun gun in his stomach and shocked him senseless. While he was down on the ground, shaking, pissing his pants, mouth already covered with tape, I flex-cuffed his hands behind him and his ankles. Then I dragged him under the steps where he wouldn’t be easily seen.
“Add that to the bill, Larry,” I said.
I went on in; nobody in the kitchen. Going on through, I could see past the open doors of the secretarial area into the outdoorsy conference room, where several security boys were playing cards, money on the table. The security wasn’t all that tight since I’d come aboard.
I found my way past the stone waterfall and its amber lights and into the sprawling living room. The lights were out, but a fire was going in the stone fireplace, over which the oil portrait of the candidate-in-buckskins smiled like a frontier god. The subject of the painting was wearing his dark silk robe again. He was lounged back on a light brown sofa, the upholstery looking like burlap; his slippered feet were up on an ottoman. A glass of Scotch was in one hand. He looked comfortable, sitting staring out his big picture window, with its view of the quarry, the narrow highway, trees and the glistening Mississippi.
“Lovely view, Mr. Ryan, don’t you think?”
“From up here. It’s polluted though. Get close, you’ll see that easy enough.”
“If the people put the right man in office, we can take care of that kind of thing.”
Somehow, despite all the trappings of the great outdoors that decorated this place, I didn’t figure environmentalism would be a major priority in his platform.
He turned his spooky china-blue gaze on me, a smile tearing his leathery face. “Are you here for a last- minute, pre-game pep talk? Or is there really something urgent?”
I sat next to him. Not terribly close. But on the sofa. The nine-millimeter dug into my back. “We just need to talk, before tomorrow. What time is it?”
He checked his watch. “Quarter till two. Why do you ask?”
“Something I have to do at two. Why aren’t you sacked out? Shouldn’t you be getting in your beauty sleep, before the big day?”
“Ah, my friend, I only look calm. Inside, I’m a collection of frayed nerves. I’m just a man, after all. Don’t let the accouterments of power fool you.”
“Cut you, you bleed, you mean?”
His smile quivered, then broadened momentarily, then disappeared. “Something like that,” he said, looking away from me, out his window, where the reflection of the fire flickered.
“You’ve got your security team in place for tomorrow morning?”
“I certainly do. And I will be wearing soft body armor, whether you find that practical or not.”
“Won’t hurt anything. Think there’ll be a good media turnout?”
“Excellent. Representatives from all three major net- works, plus CNN; coming in from their Chicago bureaus, for the most part. The newspaper world should be equally well represented.”
“I saw something in the paper about you today.”
“The USA Today poll? Yes, it said my recognition is up seventy percent since my previous campaign.”
“Yeah, but sixty percent of those who recognize you think you’re a loon.”
His eyes narrowed in irritation. “I believe the question was, ‘Do you take Preston Freed seriously as a
