no proof.”
“No. Of course not. If I had it, I’d be shoving it down their throats.” Goodman smiled again, quickly. “Even if I didn’t have it, but I was pretty sure about it, I’d stuff it down their throats. But I got nothin’.”
End of interview. They both stood up and Goodman reached out to shake hands again. “If you need anything, call Ralph. Any time of day or night,” Goodman said.
“Thanks,” Jake said, and moved toward the door.
Goodman asked to his back, “Would you do it again? The combat?”
Jake stopped and nodded. “Yes. I would.”
“Did you like it?” Goodman was grinning at him.
“Yes. Judging from your question, you did, too.”
“We’re a couple of unfashionable motherfuckers,” Goodman said, walking over to his desk. “Stay in touch, Jake.”
Goines gave him a private cell-phone number and left Jake at the elevators. Jake was almost out of the building when a woman’s voice called to him: “Mr. Winter.”
He looked to his left. The intern from Goodman’s office was standing in a side hallway. She held up a hand and folded her fingers toward herself. Jake stepped over. “Can I help you?”
She was a tall blonde, a southern belle, busty, long legs, pink tongue touching her puffy lips. Her skirt and blouse cost somebody a couple of hundred bucks each, he thought, and her silk vest looked like Hermès. “There’s a man named Carl V. Schmidt in a town called Scottsville,” she said. “He’s a Watchman. Goodman and Patricia and Goines are worried about him. They’re trying to find him and they can’t. They think he might have something to do with Lincoln Bowe.”
“Carl V. Schmidt.”
“That’s right. I printed out his name and address.” She handed him a slip of paper. “My name’s on there, too. You can call me at the house.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I don’t like Arlo,” she said. “He’s crazy. He wants to be president, and that wouldn’t be good. He also wants to sleep with me. Which he won’t get to do.”
Jake smiled at her. “You’re not worried about all this?”
She shook her head and smiled back. “My old man’s got more money than Jesus Christ and he’s a big contributor. Arlo won’t lay a finger on me.”
“But you work for Arlo . . . ,” Jake said, picking up her use of Goodman’s first name.
“Because I’m a poli-sci major,” she said. “He’s nuts, but he’s the governor. He’s an opportunity. Anyway, check out Carl V. Schmidt, and if it comes to anything, remember my name, and get me a job. I’ll take anything in the White House. I work really hard and I’m really smart.”
Jake nodded: “Thanks. If anything happens, I’ll call.”
“Thank you.” She turned and tripped away, down the side hall. Jake looked after her for a moment, watching her ass, and she knew it without turning around. She lifted a hand and twiddled her fingers at him, good-bye.
Very attractive, Jake thought, as he headed toward the door, and so young, for such treachery.
In his office, the governor picked up a phone, tapped a number, said, “Give me a minute.”
Darrell Goodman arrived two minutes later, from his cubbyhole office on the floor below. “I talked to Winter,” the governor said. “He’s doing what he said he was going to do: he’s jacking people up.”
“Want us to track him?”
“I can’t decide. There are some risks . . .”
After a moment of silence, Darrell said, “I could probably get online access to Winter’s cell-phone account, the billing records. We wouldn’t know what he was saying, but we’d know where he was, and who he was talking to.”
“What are the chances of getting caught?”
“Nil. We monitor from a phantom account and do the access from public hot spots.”
“Fuckin’ with a White House guy is different than fuckin’ with Howard Barber,” Arlo Goodman said.
“Be a very light touch,” Darrell said.
“Then do it,” Goodman said. He picked up
“No. Of course not. If I had it, I’d be shoving it down their throats.” Goodman smiled again, quickly. “Even if I didn’t have it, but I was pretty sure about it, I’d stuff it down their throats. But I got nothin’.”
End of interview. They both stood up and Goodman reached out to shake hands again. “If you need anything, call Ralph. Any time of day or night,” Goodman said.
“Thanks,” Jake said, and moved toward the door.
Goodman asked to his back, “Would you do it again? The combat?”
Jake stopped and nodded. “Yes. I would.”
“Did you like it?” Goodman was grinning at him.
“Yes. Judging from your question, you did, too.”
“We’re a couple of unfashionable motherfuckers,” Goodman said, walking over to his desk. “Stay in touch, Jake.”
Goines gave him a private cell-phone number and left Jake at the elevators. Jake was almost out of the building when a woman’s voice called to him: “Mr. Winter.”
He looked to his left. The intern from Goodman’s office was standing in a side hallway. She held up a hand and folded her fingers toward herself. Jake stepped over. “Can I help you?”
She was a tall blonde, a southern belle, busty, long legs, pink tongue touching her puffy lips. Her skirt and blouse cost somebody a couple of hundred bucks each, he thought, and her silk vest looked like Hermès. “There’s a man named Carl V. Schmidt in a town called Scottsville,” she said. “He’s a Watchman. Goodman and Patricia and Goines are worried about him. They’re trying to find him and they can’t. They think he might have something to do with Lincoln Bowe.”
“Carl V. Schmidt.”
“That’s right. I printed out his name and address.” She handed him a slip of paper. “My name’s on there, too. You can call me at the house.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I don’t like Arlo,” she said. “He’s crazy. He wants to be president, and that wouldn’t be good. He also wants to sleep with me. Which he won’t get to do.”
Jake smiled at her. “You’re not worried about all this?”
She shook her head and smiled back. “My old man’s got more money than Jesus Christ and he’s a big contributor. Arlo won’t lay a finger on me.”
“But you work for Arlo . . . ,” Jake said, picking up her use of Goodman’s first name.
“Because I’m a poli-sci major,” she said. “He’s nuts, but he’s the governor. He’s an opportunity. Anyway, check out Carl V. Schmidt, and if it comes to anything, remember my name, and get me a job. I’ll take anything in the White House. I work really hard and I’m really smart.”
Jake nodded: “Thanks. If anything happens, I’ll call.”
“Thank you.” She turned and tripped away, down the side hall. Jake looked after her for a moment, watching her ass, and she knew it without turning around. She lifted a hand and twiddled her fingers at him, good-bye.
Very attractive, Jake thought, as he headed toward the door, and so young, for such treachery.
In his office, the governor picked up a phone, tapped a number, said, “Give me a minute.”
Darrell Goodman arrived two minutes later, from his cubbyhole office on the floor below. “I talked to Winter,” the governor said. “He’s doing what he said he was going to do: he’s jacking people up.”
“Want us to track him?”
“I can’t decide. There are some risks . . .”
After a moment of silence, Darrell said, “I could probably get online access to Winter’s cell-phone account, the billing records. We wouldn’t know what he was saying, but we’d know where he was, and who he was talking to.”
“What are the chances of getting caught?”
“Nil. We monitor from a phantom account and do the access from public hot spots.”
“Fuckin’ with a White House guy is different than fuckin’ with Howard Barber,” Arlo Goodman said.
“Be a very light touch,” Darrell said.
“Then do it,” Goodman said. He picked up
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