Dead Watch

October, he’s outa luck. The Dems lose, Goodman’s out of his governorship next year, with nothing political available. And he has no real claim for the presidential nomination in four years.”

They both thought about that for a minute. “If your guess is right, about Goodman and Bowe,” Jake said, “I’d think you’d be a little worried.”

“I am—but not as worried as somebody else must be,” Patterson said. “I was downstream from the package. I never had it. Linc was the only guy who could point you upstream, to whoever has it now.”

“Does Madison Bowe know about it?”

Patterson scratched his head. “You know, I just don’t know about that. They were . . . separate . . . although they liked each other okay. And he was pretty protective of her. I don’t know if he would have told her about it. This thing could be real trouble for people who know about it.”

Jake said, “Huh.” Then, “Have any idea where I could look? Who I could ask?”

“I’d find Linc’s closest asshole buddy, and ask him. Somebody both in politics and in bed with him. But it’s just possible that he didn’t tell anyone.”

Jake thought: Barber. And, Patterson knew that Lincoln Bowe was gay.

“How many people knew about Lincoln Bowe’s sex life?” Jake asked. When Patterson hesitated, he added, “I don’t need a number, I’m just looking for a characterization.”

“So you know?”

“That he was gay? Yes. Madison told me.”

Patterson nodded. “So who knew? Anybody who knew him for a while—knew him well. If you were close enough to see who he was looking at.”

“Quite a few people.”

“Yeah. He was careful, but people knew. Two dozen? Three or four dozen? I don’t know. I don’t know if his parents knew . . .”

“Would Goodman know?”

“Ah . . .” Patterson ruffled his hair with one hand, squinting at the bright light from the window. “That’s hard to tell. I would be surprised if Goodman hadn’t put a spy or two in our campaign, but it’d be at a pretty low level—a volunteer, somebody running our computers. If Goodman knows, it’s probably only at the rumor level. And then you look at Madison, and you think, ‘The guy’s gay? With pussy like that in the house? No way.’ ”

They talked for another twenty minutes, with Jake trying to nail down every piece of information Patterson had about the Landers package. When they were finished, Jake stood up, dropped his legal pad back in his briefcase, and asked, “What’re you going to do?”

“Keep my mouth shut, for the time being,” Patterson said. “Until I find out where the trouble is coming from. If I talk to the FBI, they’re gonna want to know why I didn’t bring this up right away. Then the whole Landers thing will blow out in the open, and you guys get what you want—Landers is off the ticket, and we’re fucked. If I don’t talk to them, I might still be in trouble, but there’s a possibility that I can slide through. Right now, at this moment, I think I’ll try to slide. But that could change.”

“You gonna let me know?”

Patterson showed a shaky smile: “Maybe. I might need a little help. I’ve given you a little help, I might need a little help in return.”

“Call me,” Jake said. “Things can always be done.”

As Jake headed for the door, Patterson called after him: “Have you got something going with Madison?”

That stopped him: “Why?”

“Because when I said ‘pussy,’ your eyeballs pulled back about two inches into your head. I thought you were gonna jump down my throat.”

“I talk to her,” Jake said.

“Sorry about the ‘pussy,’ then.”

“Yeah . . . well. You were right about the thought, anyway.”

“One more thing,” Patterson said. “What’s with that goofy Hello Kitty cap?”

Jake touched the cap: “Short version, I’ve got a cut with a bunch of stitches and a white patch of scalp where they shaved it. A cabdriver told me I was giving off a Frankenstein vibe. I was on the run, and didn’t have time to get a different hat.”

Patterson smiled again: “The hat . . . I’ve never been questioned by a guy wearing a Hello Kitty hat. Kinda scary, in a chain-saw-massacre way.”

When he left, Patterson was still on the couch, drinking a Coke from the minibar, staring at the television. Jake walked down to the front desk, asked the bellman to get a cab for him, saw an Atlanta Braves hat in the gift shop, bought one, shoved the Hello Kitty hat into a trash can, walked out on the front steps, and punched Danzig’s number into his cell phone. Gina put him straight through.

“We’ve got to be really careful,” Danzig said, without preamble.

“I know. I talked to Patterson. We need to talk, tonight, if I can get a flight. Could be late.”