Anita Farrington Richards was terrified, but she had decided that her only chance to survive was to keep her wits, stay calm, and hope to find a way to communicate with her captors, men she had barely seen.
She had left the governor's mansion at eight-thirty, put her suitcase in the trunk of her car, and driven across Providence to River Street where she intended to meet a divorce attorney named Susan Salter. Anita had set up a nine A. M. appointment, without telling anyone. She had bee n o n her way to Susan's office when a brown Camaro rear-ended her at a stop sign. She pulled over to exchange licenses when a dark shape suddenly filled the window on the passenger side. Before she could even call out, the driver's door had been yanked open and, in an instant, two men were in the front seat with her. She had started to scream, but the man on the passenger side had pushed her down, and jammed a gag into her mouth. He leaned down and whispered into her ear.
'Shut up or you're dead.'
And then, with her head held down against the driver's thigh, they pulled out. She could hear the traffic and, occasionally, the man on the passenger side gave instructions to the driver.
'Right up there. . Halfway down the block. . They'll open the gate.'
She had tried once to straighten her legs.
'You move, you're gonna get conked,' the man had said. Then the car came to a stop. She could smell something dense and rich, perhaps oil in an open tank. A hood of some kind was put over her head before she was allowed to sit up; then her hands were taped behind her and she was led across uneven pavement. She heard a metal door open; she was pulled up some stairs and, finally, put into this room. The hood had been snapped off her head and the door closed, leaving her in darkness.
Anita tried desperately to hold on, to maintain her reason. Icy fear consumed her, periodically pushing her to the edge of sanity. Each time she struggled back. Her mind wouldn't hold still; it pinwheeled across a landscape of thoughts, sticking on meaningless details of her life, then racing off in search of nothing.
Oh, God. . oh, God. . oh, God. . she chanted in her mind. What will they do to me? How can this be happening?
A. J. had sent the plane back to Memphis to pick up the rest of the press and campaign staff. He left Haze at the governor's mansion and walked across the mall to his office. He sat down in his old leather chair and tried to recapture some of the excitement he had felt only a few hours ago when they'd swept Super Tuesday. It was useless. The excitement was replaced by a terrible listlessness.
The call from Henny Henderson came in at ten past twelve. He heard his secretary giving out the usual 'Mr. Teagarden is not in right now.' But he perked up when she said, 'Would you say that number again, Mr. Henderson?'
'I'll take that, Jill,' he called out.
'Oh, he just walked in. I can connect you now.' And in a moment, Fudge Anderson's campaign chairman was on the phone.
'Well, I guess you're a happy guy this morning,' the Republican wonk said cautiously.
'How you doin', Henny. . You call to set up a handball game or did you just miss me?' A. J. said to the man whom he hadn't spoken to for ten years, since Henny had called him a loose cannon in the Democratic party.
'Haze really came out of nowhere. Guess it's us against you guys now,' Henny said. 'I'll bet you've got the DNC spitting tacks into your picture.'
'Haze is an astounding candidate. He's got a great vision for America, Henny. He's tapping into a lot of discontent.'
'That's not all he's been tapping into.''
'What does that mean?'
'Does Haze know a woman named Bonita Money?' Al's stomach flipped. 'Is that `money' — like, 'We're in the money'?'
'Actually, now that you mention it, 'in' is the right word, 'cause she says Haze has been screwin' her. She runs a travel agency in Florida. Apparently, Haze set up some vacations down there where he did more than lie on the beach. Want the vitals?'
'Yeah, let's hear,' A. J. said, his spirits plummeting. 'She's five-five, thirty-six, with platinum-blond hair and abdominals you could scrub laundry on. She says they spent two consecutive weekends together last June. . the seventh through the ninth and the thirteenth through the fifteenth.'
'Jesus, Homy, calm down. You sound so happy.' 'Before we let go of this, I just thought I'd call and give Haze a chance to say it ain't so.'
'That's pretty damn nice of you. Why didn't you just run right to the press with it?'
'I would have, but Fudge wouldn't let me. He said he wanted to give Haze a chance to deny it first. That's why I called. We could fit in some handball, too, if you want, but I think you're gonna be too busy trying to bury this turd before it stinks up your campaign. However, you should know, behind Ms. Money, we have a line of bimbos queueing up.'
'You're a real prick!'
'I didn't fuck those girls, A. J. I'm just the poor messenger. If it wasn't for Fudge's sense of fair play, you would have been reading this blind in the papers tomorrow.'
'I'll have to talk to Haze. I'm sure this is just a publicity seeker.'
'Right. Well, we're gonna take it to the news guys at nine A. M. tomorrow, unless you can give us a reason not to. That's 'reason,' spelled A-L–I-B-I.'
'Gimme a number.'
They exchanged phone and beeper numbers, then hung up. A. J. leaned back and looked out across the mall at the governor's mansion.
'Shit,' he finally said, then lunged out of his chair and headed over to find out what he already knew was true.
Haze didn't deny it. He sat in his office in the statehouse and looked glumly out the window.
'Were you there? those two weekends in June?' 'yeah. … Anita was having the hysterectomy in New York. I flew down to Florida.'
'Great. Your wife is getting her uterus ripped out while you're playing tonsil hockey with this platinum-blond travel agent. Jesus!'
'Look, AJ., it happened. Okay?'
A. J. sat down and looked at Haze for a long moment. 'I can't believe this. Yesterday, we were sweeping twenty states on our way to the White House, and today, my life is caving in on me.'
'Your life?'
'Okay. . your life is caving in on me.'
'Look, I can't stop her from talking.'
'Were there witnesses?' A. J. asked in desperation. 'I'm not a complete fool.'
They sat without speaking and listened to the grandfather clock measure time. Then A. J. pushed himself out of his chair and walked slowly across the room toward the door.
'Where are you going? Whatta you gonna do?'
A. J. looked at Haze, the beginning of a desperate plan forming in his mind. He'd gone this far, he reasoned, why not go all the way? 'If we can't stop this girl, then we gotta get somebody else to stop her.'
'Not Mickey. You can't have this guy kill half the people I know.'
'No, not Mickey. We'll get Henny Henderson to stop her.'
'Why would he stop her. .? He found her.'
'He'll stop her if it's in his best interest to stop her. We have to create a situation to convince him it is.' A. J. walked out of the governor's office, leaving Haze confused.
Five hours later, they met at the same gas station parking lot. Mickey Alo was alone behind the wheel of the same motor home.
'This better be good,' the mobster said.
'It is,' A. J. answered as he climbed in beside Mickey and they headed up the highway.
They pulled off the road at a scenic outlook near the same raging river where they'd first met. Mickey set the brake, got out from behind the wheel, and moved to the back of the coach. A. J. made no effort to follow.
'This is your powwow. I drove all the way from Jersey, I hadda borrow this fucking parade float from Pelico. You wanna tell me what's so important we gotta go camping together?'
