[Quinn 02] - The Deceived

Guerrero must have just arrived, for he hadn’t made it very far into the room yet. He seemed to know almost everyone, sharing a few quick words or a laugh, and shaking every hand that was thrust at him. A politician who could actually talk to the voters and appear to immediately relate to them. If his campaign ever caught fire, that would be the reason why.

Quinn recognized the woman with him immediately. It was the congressman’s wife. The TV-friendly Jody Goodman of the Texas Goodmans. Quinn had seen her picture in several of the news reports he’d read earlier. He’d even watched clips of her appearances on CNN and MSNBC on YouTube.

She was probably around the same age as the congressman. Caucasian, shoulder-length blond hair, and wearing a vibrant blue dress that accented her thin frame. But whereas her husband gave off the aura of being a man of the people, Ms. Goodman seemed more distant, more above the fray. Even across the room, Quinn got the impression she thought she was smarter than anyone else around. And that included the congressman.

Glancing back toward the front door, Quinn realized Guerrero and his wife hadn’t come alone. There was a man stationed near the entrance who hadn’t been there before. He was standing about five feet away from the man working the metal detector. He had the distinct look of personal security, his eyes constantly checking the room, but always coming back to the congressman. This one was a professional, not a rent-a-cop. But probably not Secret Service. Even though the congressman was running for President, he wouldn’t have rated that kind of protection yet. No, this guy was private and expensive.

Guerrero and his wife slowly moved further into the gallery, eventually stopping near the center of the room. Instantly a small crowd began congregating around them.

Quinn checked the man at the door again. He was still in position, his attention more on a new group of arrivals than those already in the room.

Good, Quinn thought. It was time to make his move.

He walked toward the congressman, angling his approach so that most of the crowd was between him and the muscle at the front door. He weaved his way through the crowd until he was standing just a few feet away from Guerrero.

The congressman laughed at something a man standing in front of him said. As he finished, he swung his head around, taking in the crowd. When he noticed Quinn, he stopped for a second, a question crossing his face.

“We’ve met recently, haven’t we?” Guerrero said.

“This afternoon at your office.”

The question cleared from the congressman’s brow. “Of course. You’re the reporter. Mr. Drake, right?”

“That’s right. Richard Drake.”

“From...Denver.”

“Right again.”

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Guerrero said.

Quinn shrugged. “A friend recommended I come. He had an invitation he couldn’t use, and I had a free night.”

“Your friend was right. Marta is a tremendous artist.”

Quinn had seen the name on a sign near the door. Marta Harmon. This was her exhibit.

Guerrero’s wife looked around her husband at Quinn. “Hello. Mr. Drake, is it? I’m Jody.” She held out a hand. Her handshake was quick and firm, and her smile was forced and plastic.

“My wife,” Guerrero said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs....” Quinn paused. “Do you go by Guerrero or Goodman?”

“I see someone’s been doing their homework,” she said. “Did I hear James correctly? You’re a reporter.”

“Yes, but strictly profile pieces.”

“Not a troublemaker, then?” Again with the fake smile.

“No. I leave that to others.”

She gave him a small courtesy laugh as she looked him up and down. “In social situations, it’s Mrs. Guerrero. But you can call me Jody. I save ‘Goodman’ for business.”

“Nice to meet you, Jody,” Quinn said.

“Are you enjoying the exhibit?” the congressman’s wife asked.

“The work is certainly unique.” Quinn glanced at one of the paintings. “It’s very sad, isn’t it?”

“Sad?” the congressman said. “I have to disagree with you there. I think there’s hope in every picture.”

“No,” Jody said. “I think Mr. Drake might be right.”

“Hope is lost, or almost,” Quinn said.

Jody tilted her head and smiled, only this time it wasn’t plastic, it was more intrigued.

“What do you think?” Quinn asked her.

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” she said. “But I’m impressed. It’s obvious you know your art.”

“I know a little bit about everything,” Quinn said. “You never know when it might come in useful.”

“That’s a very smart approach to life,” Guerrero said. “In my job, I have to do pretty much the same thing.”