Sam knew this was because he was a good prosecutor and a good Democrat, though the meaning of the second was in contravention to the meaning of the first; good Democrat meant he'd just naturally look in other directions when certain county contracts were let. That was the system.
Sam accepted it because he knew he couldn't change it, and his willingness not to change it meant the party would elect him wholeheartedly, to make up for the nastiness of his loss to reformer Febus Bookins, who mainly used the office to reform his own bank account. Sam would never have done anything so crude; everybody knew he didn't care about money, but only about something called the law and something else called justice.
The worst was that night. One of his children, Tommy, eleven, came home in tears. He had been called out of class by two mean Yankees in suits, who'd questioned him about his father. They had scared him seriously, as they'd meant to, and the boy was shaken over it.
'There, there, Tommy,' he said to the child, cradling him tenderly, 'it's all a misunderstanding. Those men didn't mean any harm, and they'll be going away soon. I promise.' That made the boy feel better, but not Sam, who went to bed in a purple rage and awoke the next day in a black rage. He hit his law books for two hours, made several calls, then sat back.
They finally arrived at the office at around eleven.
He was polite. He let them in.
'Sir, we're federal investigators, examining a case of national security.'
They showed him credentials, which he did not examine carefully. They had badges and bulges under their coats, where shoulder holsters concealed revolvers.
They wore suits, hats and one wore glasses. They were big men, presumably ex-cops of some sort, from some Northern city. They were used to having their way, their badge frightening people into compliance.
Detectives worked that way, good and bad.
'Now, what is this about, fellows?' Sam asked, being a good sport about it all.
'Well, now, sir, we're pleased you're cooperating with us. You'd be surprised how much hostility we run into. We've just got a few little matters to clear up, then we'll be back on our way to Washington. These are troubling times, you know. You'd be surprised where your enemies turn up, and how they wheedle their ways into high places.'
'I do believe you, gents. You can count on me for cooperation, yes, sir.'
'Mr. Vincent, let's see, you were?' and he summed up Sam's life pretty succinctly.
They wanted to impress on him how much they knew about him already, what tiny corners and cracks of his life they'd already shined their light upon.
'Yes, sir,' he said. 'You've certainly been looking into me right thoroughly, I can tell. If the FBI thinks it's that important, I'm surely going to help out. Is this serious?'
'Well, Mr. Vincent, your name has come up in certain inquiries.
Certain possibilities have been raised, may I say. We just want to discount them.'
'Certainly. How can I assist you?'
'Well, sir, it seems you've been in Washington lately, and you've raised questions about a top secret project in the nineteen forties in Mississippi. It's not the sort of thing?'
'You folks from the FBI don't miss much, do you?'
'No, sir, we don't,' said the other.
'Now, could you tell us why you have an interest in a highly secret government circumstance? I mean, it's a little out of the way for an Arkansas prosecutor.' 'Yes, sir,' said Sam, 'I will be happy to answer that question. I don't want there to be any misunderstanding or any doubt about my loyalty. No, sir, I'd have thought winning a Bronze Star in the war would pretty much be it as far as proof of loyalty goes, but I guess you boys don't care much about that.'
'Sir, your military record is not at issue. We have a national security mandate to?'
Sam lifted the newspaper off his desk.
There was a tape recorder, and it was recording.
'Would you speak a little louder, sir. I want to make sure I get this for the trial.'
Little pause.
The two men looked at each other.
'It would be better for you if you cooperate, Mr. Vincent.'
'See, that's what I's just about to say to you, sir. Isn't that a laugh?
You thought you were investigating me. Here it turns out I'm investigating you'
'Mr. Vincent, where the hell do you think you are?'
'Impersonating a federal officer. That's two to five. First offense, the judge'd probably let you off with a warning, except I know all the judges, and I can guarantee you they won't.'
'Look, here, Vincent, this?'
'I got you on tape acknowledging you're an FBI agent. But you aren't.
You've been calling yourself federal investigators. You aren't even that. You're staff assistants at HUAC in D. C. You have no police powers, no right or authority to represent yourself as such, and no right to carry concealed firearms in this state. That's another two to five.
Again, if you have friends, it could go away. But in Polk County, see, here's the funny thing, I'm the one with the friends.'
The two looked at each other 'This is not helping your case,' said one.
'This is not helping your case,' said Sam.
'You wouldn't dare?'
'I would dare, gents. See, I don't like you. I don't like nosy men who come by and bully the uninformed and take advantage of the uneducated.'
'We have subpoena powers, sir. We could call you as a?'
'You do not have subpoena powers. You can request a subpoena through a congressional liaison and, if authorized, a subpoena may be issued at the discretion of the Congress. You think it's automatic? Well, it's not. It's a question of who's got the juice to get it done. You say you can get me subpoenaed. I say I can get you fired and set it up so you won't ever work again in that town, or any other.'
He looked at them. They looked at him.
He smiled. 'Suppose I call my good friend Harry Etheridge, of the Sixth Congressional District? You do know Boss Harry, don't you?
Believe you do; he's chairman of the Defense Appropriations Committee, which makes him quite a big fellow in your town. Well, guess what?
He's from our town, originally, before he moved up to Fort Smith. He even has a summer place a few miles west of here. Now suppose I call Boss Harry and tell him two monkeys from Congressman Dies's committee are down here stirring up trouble, alleging that Boss Harry has communists in his own hometown. Think how embarrassing that would be for a patriot like Boss Harry, and how he would have to set that right.
And what do you think Boss Harry would do if it turned out those same two boys were pretending to be FBI agents and frightening honest folks and picking on little boys in school?'
At last. A swallow. The one on the left licked his lips nervously, and then he swallowed too.
'I'm sure if we explained?' 'And I'm sure if I explained. Tell you what, let's find out, okay?
Let's call Washington right now and see what Boss Harry says.'
He picked the phone up off the hook, tapped the receiver a few times, until Mildred came on.
'Mildred, honey, it's Sam Vincent. Can you put me through to Washington, D. C.' Boss Harry's number. No, no, not his office number, his home number. I don't want to have to go through Claude, I'd rather go through Betty. She'll get him on the phone in ten seconds. Yes, Davis 3080, that's right.'
The two men looked at each other.
They both knew that an adversary like Harry Etheridge could make life difficult for them, and that their own guy, Martin Dies, didn't have enough juice to stand.
It was simple calculation on their part. Was Sam bluffing or could he get Boss Harry?
Clearly, the answer was not worth finding out.
'Now, see here, Mr. Vincent, there's no need to get upset. Why don't you put that phone down and we can have a little chat. I feel we've gotten off on the wrong foot.'
