“Nice of you to come to the funeral,” Farrell said.
chapter forty-five
THEY CAME. NOBODY seemed very pleased about it, but Farrell got them there. The three Tripps came together, and Stratton came with two guys in London Fog raincoats who waited in the corridor outside my office, and looked intrepid.
Stratton looked at neither Farrell, nor at me. He shook hands with Loudon Tripp and put a hand on his shoulder while he did it. Unspoken condolence. Then Stratton shook Chip’s hand and they gave each other a manly hug and clap on the back.
“Great to see you, Bob,” Chip said. He wasn’t very old and you could tell he liked calling a U.S. Senator by his first name.
We got arranged. Stratton and Loudon Tripp in the two client chairs. Farrell leaning on the wall to my left. The two Tripp children to my right, a little back from the group. Chip looking aggressive, ready to slap a half nelson on someone, Meredith looking passively at the floor.
“Okay, gentlemen,” Stratton said. He smiled at Meredith, who made no eye contact. “And lady. Let’s get to it. You called us together, Officer. What have you got?”
Stratton looked tanned and healthy. His hair was perfectly trimmed and trying its best to look plentiful. His pinstripe suit was well cut. His white shirt crisp and new. He still wore his trench coat, unbuttoned, the belt tucked into the pockets. All in all he was direct, competent, square dealing, straight shooting, judicious, and nice.
Farrell looked edgy and tired.
“Spenser here came to me with some allegations which I thought we’d best confront privately, Senator.”
Stratton’s glance shifted to me. The pale blue eyes as hard as chrome.
“Allegations?”
“Involving the Tripps,” Farrell said.
Stratton continued to stare at me.
“You are becoming something of a pain in the butt,” he said, “Maybe I should have put you out of business a while ago.”
“Being a pain in the butt is my profession,” I said. “What’s the first word that comes to mind when I say The Better Government Coalition?”
Stratton’s eyes became more opaque.
“The American Democratic Imperative?” I said.
Stratton didn’t speak.
“Mal Chapin?”
Stratton stood up.
“That is just about enough of that,” he said. “I am not going to sit here and listen to some cheap private eye trolling for some way to make a name for himself at my expense.”
“I’m cheaper than you think,” I said. “The only check I got for this job bounced.”
Stratton turned toward the door. Farrell went and leaned against it.
“Why not hear him out, Senator, in front of witnesses. Maybe he’ll do something actionable.”
“You get out of my way,” Stratton said.
Farrell’s voice was soft. He was standing face-to-face with Stratton.
“Sit down,” he said.
“Who in hell do you think…?” Stratton started.
“Now.”
Stratton stepped back from the force of the single word.
“I’m sick of you, Stratton,” Farrell said. “I’m sick of the phony macho. I’m sick of the self-importance. I’m sick of the way you comb your hair over your goddamned bald spot. Sit and listen or I’ll bust your stupid senatorial ass.”
“What charge?” Stratton said.
But it was weak. The game was over the moment Stratton stepped back.
“Violation of no-dork zoning regulations,” Farrell said. “Sit down.”
Stratton sat.
“What’s the first word that comes to mind,” I said, “when I say The Better Government Coalition? The American Democratic Imperative? Mal Chapin?”
“Mal works for me,” Stratton said. His voice shook a little. “In my office. I don’t know those other things.”
“Mal work for you full-time?” I said.
“Yes. He’s my chief of staff.”
“Hard job?”
