about it being like the scene in All the President’s Men, that he was Deep Throat and she was Woodward and Bernstein. But Anne was convinced it was not really a joke with Ricks. He loved this cloak-and-dagger stuff. He thought he was into big-time investigative journalism, when really he was a weasel in a coat and tie.
Anne checked her watch. 12:30. Lunchtime. That was the other absurdity about this. If he wanted to do the Deep Throat thing, why had he chosen the afternoon?
Maybe the guy was just nuts. But if he was any later, Anne was going to make sure he was dressed down, too.
She thought of calling Ambrosi, but remembered him telling her never to call him on his cell. She could understand. What if she got him while he was whacking some guy? I thought I told you never to call me at the office! Funny.
The stifling air smelled of gas and tires. Anne sat back in her car and listened to rock music. She closed her eyes and immediately heard a tap at the window.
It was Ricks.
“You took your sweet time,” Anne said.
“Traffic,” Ricks said. He was sweating. His forehead looked like it was speckled with rock salt.
Anne opened the door of her car and got out, making Ricks do a little backwards dance. “You could have called,” she said.
“Hey, I’m here,” he said, a little too aggressively for her taste. He held a ratty briefcase, the kind with a foldover flap. He opened it and pulled out a file folder. He did not immediately hand it to Anne. “You have something for me?” he asked.
“Anxious, aren’t we?”
“Just doing business.”
Anne reached in through the open window of her car and snatched an envelope. It was filled with cash. She had counted out the five thousand herself.
“Perfect,” Ricks said, taking the envelope. He handed Anne the file.
“Detail me,” she said.
“Everything’s in there we talked about. I have a copy on disk.”
“Copy?”
“Sure.”
“You aren’t supposed to have a copy of any of this. That wasn’t part of the agreement.”
“Way I remember it, we didn’t have anything in writing.”
“Writing? Listen, you work for me, you do what I tell you to do, you get paid, and you shut up.”
“Hey – ”
“This is for Senator Levering, not for your rag.”
“We didn’t say anything about that.”
“It was understood.”
“By you maybe.”
Ricks had wet pit stains starting to show through his light brown coat. Anne thought she could smell him. Or was it exhaust fumes?
“This is extremely sensitive material,” Anne said. “If any of it should get out without our authorization…”
“Not to worry, okay? Let’s just call it insurance.”
“Insurance?”
“Sure,” Ricks said. “As long as we’re all on the same page, I’m happy, you’re happy.”
Anne waited for him to say something else. Instead he smiled. She could not stand smugness, especially from a guy like Ricks. “Don’t think you can mess with me,” she said. “That wouldn’t be very smart.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat or something?” Ricks said.
“Gee, you
With a slight recoil, Ricks said, “I’ve been threatened by better people than you and your boss. I don’t rattle.”
Anne wondered if she should tell him about her boyfriend, about his way of rattling people. But no. Let it be a surprise if need be.
“Besides,” Ricks said, “you need me.”
“What would I need you for, Mr. Ricks?”
“I got poop that’s a scoop. News you can use and won’t make you snooze.”
“Just what is it?”
“I get paid for my scoops, don’t you remember?”
“Not interested.”
“Okay,” Ricks said. “I’ll give you something because I like you, Anne. I see a little of me in you.”
Anne almost gagged. “What have you got?”
“Oh, just a little something from Mr. Burrow.”
That got Anne’s attention. Biff Burrow was the owner and operator of the
“You know Burrow?” Anne said.
“Know him? We are like two peas in a pot.”
“Pod,” Anne said.
“So you want to know what’s up or not?”
“Go ahead.”
“What’s all this about a homeless man who saw your boss and Millicent Mannings Hollander doing a grope session?”
Anne told herself to stay cool. “Are you serious?”
“He asked me about it,” Ricks said. “The cops ever question you about this?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re holding out on me?”
“What’s Burrow going to do with this information?”
“Nothing yet. He wants to talk to the guy himself. But the cops are not saying anything. And now you’re not saying anything. Looks like a job for Superman.” Ricks opened his coat, as if to display a giant S on his chest.
“This is so absurd,” Anne said. “Burrow is crazy.”
Ricks’s teeth disappeared behind his lips. “Remember this,” he said. “You owe me.” He turned and walked away, almost bumping into a Mercedes. That would have left a stain, Anne thought. On the car.
2
The Judiciary Committee of the United States Senate convened on a hot September Monday in room 226 of the Dirksen Senate Office Building. Millie sat at the witness table, alone, a solitary microphone in front of her. Beyond that, as if across a wide expanse of sea, sat the nineteen members of the committee. Behind her were the media and interested others, filling the austere chamber. A camera was set
