when he was an old man he was bent over like a question mark. And my father, before he got out of it. And me too, a summer. I keep the goddamn thing there to remind me where I come from.'
There did not seem to be anything to say to this revelation, so Karp smiled politely and waited for what would come. In any case, the social preamble seemed to be over.
Flores leaned back in his high-backed leather chair and laced his fingers. He had a large square face the color and texture of worn leather, set off by extravagant gray-shot sideburns and a thick Villista mustache. His hair was dark and swept back, and he had black, shiny eyes that seemed to be all pupil. These now bored in on Karp.
'I've heard a lot about you,' Flores began. 'Bert here's filled me in and I've asked around. Y'all have quite a record. You seem to be a hard charger.' He paused. 'And that concerns me. I've already mentioned this to Bert when he brought up your name, and I'm going to have to say it to you. This investigation is not the same kind of thing as a New York street shooting. The whole country'll be looking at what you do. Every move you make'll be raked over by the press and squeezed to see if it's got any political juice in it. Not only that, y'all're working for the Congress now. It's a whole different branch of government. It has… different ways of doing things. Political ways. You following me?'
The word 'sure' formed on Karp's tongue, but he could not bring it into the air. There were limits, after all. He said instead, 'No, as a matter of fact, I don't follow you at all. I'm a homicide investigator and prosecutor. I look at the evidence and shape a case. I don't see what politics has to do with it.'
Flores smiled at this statement as he might have at the burbling of a small child. 'Son, this is Washington, D.C. Ain't nothing happens here doesn't have some political angle. You might think it don't when you do it, but there's sons-of-bitches make it their whole life's work to find some politics in it and beat you over the head with it.' He paused to let this wisdom settle.
'Now, the reason I'm telling you this is that if you want to work for me we got to get one thing straight from the get-go. Y'all work for Bert Crane here, and Bert Crane works for me. Not only do I expect to be kept informed about what you're doing, but I expect that you and the professional staff of the Select Committee will be, let's say, guided, by me in all of your work. That means one thing's more important than anything else: no surprises. Your chairman does not want to get a call one evening from the Post or CBS asking me what I think of the latest thing y'all've done and me not know what the hell they're talking about. You following me now?'
Karp nodded. 'Right. No surprises.'
The conversation then turned to the details of staffing and logistics. There was some confusion here and Karp could tell that Crane and Flores were fencing. Neither said anything solid about how much staff he could expect and what his budget was going to be. This was something of a shocker; Karp had supposed that it was all greased and ready to go.
The two men got into an argument about parking spaces and then one about how the letterhead of the investigation staff was going to read. Karp felt he had nothing to contribute to this discussion and remained silent, growing ever more bored and irritated, and thinking that working with a short hoe was probably good preparation for this sort of work, although perhaps more stimulating.
After twenty minutes of palaver over trivialities, a call came through and the congressman picked up the phone and snapped at the operator. Then he cradled the phone in his neck and said, smiling, 'I got to take this one, boys.' He extended a hand to each of them in turn, and Karp noted that this time Flores did not feel obliged to squeeze hard.
'What the hell was that all about?' asked Karp when they were in the hallway again.
Crane placed a hand on Karp's shoulder. 'Welcome to Washington.'
'No, really. Did he mean that shit about running everything through him?'
Crane laughed, the booming sound echoing in the hallway, drawing stares. 'Oh, God, no! Let me translate. What he meant was, if things go well and we don't raise any flak, he gets the credit. If we raise any flak, we're on our own. There's no conceivable way he can oversee our investigation. He's got way too much on his plate, like all these jokers. Matter of fact, any involvement with government at all takes him away from his real occupation, which is getting elected every two years. That's the full-time job. He didn't really bear down on the staff issues, for which you can be grateful. That's why I kept him on the stationery and the rest of the horse puckey.'
'What about the staff?'
'Well, you'll be lucky to hire the main people-your personal secretary, the head of research, the chief field investigator. The others… well, congressmen have folks to whom they owe jobs, besides which, everybody on the committee will want at least one personal spy in the organization.'
Karp was openmouthed. 'You must be joking.'
'Not really. They're all worried, especially Flores. This Kennedy thing is a can of worms, with no real political payoff for anyone. The House leadership launched into it very reluctantly.'
'Yeah, you said that before. So why did they go for it at all?'
'Well, there you have me. My own theory was that it was a payoff to the black caucus in an election year. Launching a King investigation is something they can sell at home, and it's kind of hard for the House Democratic leadership to buck something having to do with King. Once you're looking into King, Kennedy kind of follows. Plus the stuff about federal agencies not being forthcoming with Warren, the stuff that's turning up in the Church committee's work. And the assassination nuts keep yawping at their heels. A lot of people believe it and it has to be answered. O'Neill's the key player, of course, and he hates this kind of thing, and consented very reluctantly. Warren is gospel with Tip. The old 'protecting the family' business.'
'This is not good for us, right?'
'Right, but meanwhile here we are.' Crane checked his watch. 'Look, I have to roll. Let me take you by Hank's place. If he's in, I'll introduce you; if not, we'll set up a date to get the two of you together.'
This, as it proved, was not necessary. As they entered the elevator, Crane greeted a tall, lean, sandy-haired man already in the car.
'Hank! This is a piece of luck. I have to run off and here you are to take the pass. This is Butch Karp from New York.'
One of those Norman Rockwell kids grown up was Karp's first impression as he shook hands with Henry Dobbs, Democrat of Connecticut. As their eyes met he revised his take. Dobbs had the freckled skin, the even, understated features, the crisp short hair, but the cornflower eyes were not innocent ones. There was a careful intelligence there, a wariness, some complexity of character that was not ever seen on the covers of the old Saturday Evening Post.
By the time the car had gone two floors, it was agreed that Karp and Dobbs would lunch together. Crane took his leave. Dobbs led Karp to his own office. It was like Flores's, with different flags, seals, and posters. Dobbs checked his messages, excused himself and made a short call, dealt with several matters pressed on him by staff, and then broke free. He seemed to run a happier and lower-keyed ship than Flores did.
The Capitol has a restaurant reserved for members and their guests during the lunch hours, and Dobbs took Karp there on the little subway that connects the various congressional buildings.
'I hear you met George,' he said when they were seated. 'What did you think?'
'A great American and a fine public servant,' Karp answered.
Dobbs smiled. 'You're learning. Keep that up and you'll be a big hit in Washington.'
'Well, about that-I'm starting to think this might be a major misunderstanding, me doing this job.'
'Oh?'
'Yeah, I tried to explain to Bert about being politically impaired. It's a form of epilepsy. If I think an investigation is being screwed up because of politics, my eyes roll up, I foam at the mouth, and I become uncontrollable.'
Dobbs laughed but Karp went on, deadpan. 'I'm serious. I don't want to mess things up and destroy lives and careers. I want to kiss ass, and go along to get along, and be one of the boys. I just… can't… do it. It's my personal tragedy, like being one of Jerry's kids. And now you know my shame.'
Dobbs wiped his eyes with his napkin. 'Thank you for sharing. Actually, I think you're just what we need. Look, in all seriousness, here's the picture on Flores. Like the rest of us, he's got more committee assignments than he knows what to do with. Two things interest him, Hispanic affairs and migrants-to his credit he's sincere about helping out his people-and energy, because he's in the oil patch down there and that's how he stays elected. His interest in the Kennedy thing is twofold: first, if you do come up with something rich, it'll get him on TV in Dallas, and two… that's a bit more complex.' Dobbs took a sip of water and continued.
