It was located in the basement of a building about two blocks from Dupont Circle.
The booth was a dark-stained wood, and the table was covered with a red-and-white—
checkered tablecloth. The only light in the restaurant was provided by a candle at each table sticking out of an old Chianti bottle. O’Rourke looked around and thought he might enjoy the place under a different set of circumstances. His mostaccioli tasted good and the wine wasn’t bad. Michael had told Liz that Coleman wasn’t responsible for the death of Senator Olson and his four Secret Service agents, but he had neglected to mention
Seamus’s involvement in the first four assassinations. He didn’t quite have the stomach to tell Liz that her future grandfather-to-be was an anarchist or revolutionary or whatever the term would be. Liz was attempting for the third time in twenty-four hours to convince
Michael that he should go to the FBI.
“Michael, I know you and his brother were best friends, but the man killed the
Speaker of the House, two Senators, and the chairman of the House Appropriations
Committee.”
“Keep your voice down.” Liz moved closer. “You have to turn him in.
I don’t care if he had nothing to do with Erik’s death.”
182
“For the last time, Liz, I am not going to turn him in.”
“I don’t understand you.” Michael looked at her for a long while and then answered, “I don’t expect you to understand why I feel the way I do.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Liz said defensively. “You have no reason to think those men deserved to die. You have lived a very nice life.” Liz shot him a scowl and
Michael said, “I’m not saying you haven’t worked hard, I’m just saying you’ve had a nice life. Your parents are still alive. Your brother and sister are alive. Nothing has happened to you that would cause you to look at our political leaders with a truly critical eye.”
“So, just because I haven’t lost someone close to me”-Liz folded her arms across her chest-“I’m not fit to judge my political representatives?”
“I didn’t say you weren’t fit to judge.
I’m only trying to say that I don’t think you understand why I feel the way I do.”
“Oh, I understand why you feel the way you do. Despite you not letting me in, I
understand. The death of your parents and Mark is a horrible thing, but I don’t think these bizarre assassinations are going to solve anything. You have got to let go of the past and move on with your life.” Michael placed his anger in check, but even so his voice became a little louder. “Liz, it’s easy to say you understand something when you haven’t experienced it, and it’s even easier to tell someone to get over something when you’ve never been through it. You can say you understand, but you will never really understand until you’ve lived it.”
“So what? Do you want me to lose my parents so I can empathize with you?”
“No, darling.” He reached for her hand. “I never want you to go through that kind of pain. When my parents were killed, my brothers and sister were robbed. They were robbed of dreams never realized and moments that should have been. They never got to look up in the stands during one of their games and see my mom and dad cheering. When the games were over and they came out of the locker room . . и all the other kids were getting hugs and kisses from their moms, but my brothers and sister didn’t have one.
When they came home from school, they didn’t have a mother or father to help them with their homework, and when they ate dinner, there were two empty seats at the table. My parents never got to see the five children they brought into this world grow up.”
Michael stopped and looked away. Liz looked around the candle flame and asked, “What about you?” Michael shrugged his shoulders. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” She pulled his hand closer. “What dreams did you miss OUT on?”
Michael paused for a moment. “My father was my childhood idol.
183
He was everything I ever wanted to be. My mother. she was my best friend. the nicest, most caring person I’ve ever known. Every holiday, every event for the last ten years, has been incomplete, and that’s the way it will be for the rest of my life.” Michael’s eyes glassed over.
“When we get married, it’ll be the happiest day of my life, but I’ll still look down at that first pew, at the two empty seats, and think about how nice it would have been to have them there.” Liz squeezed his hand tight, and Michael forced a smile. “When we have our first child, he or she will only have one set of grandparents, and my parents will have never had the chance to hold their grandchild. “I have been robbed of all of these moments and many more I . . and why?” In a quiet voice he said, “All because some drunk, who had proven time and time again that he was going to keep getting hammered and climb behind that wheel, was allowed to walk free. And why was he allowed to walk the streets?
Because we don’t have enough money to keep him in jail.” Michael poked himself in the chest. “Let me let you in on a little secret. We have the money. We have more than enough of it, it’s just that the egomaniacs who run this country would rather spend it on programs that get them votes.
That’s why I think they deserved to die. It’s more personal to me because their inaction cost the lives of my parents and the life of Mark Coleman, and that is why I’m not going to the FBI. “I don’t expect the average person to agree with me. Most people have enough to worry about just getting through their day-to-day lives, but when you lose someone or something close to you, things take on a more serious tone.” Liz wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded. Michael reached over and brushed her cheek with his napkin.
The hostess approached the table and asked, “Excuse me, sir. Are you Michael
