by Melody Clark
“Sorry, Ham, it’s an emergency,” Jack said. “You didn’t tell T.J., right?”
“How the hell could I have told T.J. any damned thing? After six o’clock, I let my service take all my calls short of a Constitutional crisis or a full-on nuclear war, son. I only pick-up my special cell on those occasions, the number for which is known only to the President, the Vice President, the Speaker and now apparently your secretary, Taneesha, who is just too damned smart for her own good. Now what is this entire ruckus about?”
Jack turned toward the elevator doors and thumped the call button. “We’re going to see Deke Mendelssohn.”
“Who?” Hamilton snapped as he sluggishly followed him into the elevator.
“Representative Deke Mendelssohn. My old district?”
“Oh, yeah, I think I remember the name. Why the hospital? Is he sick or something?”
“He had a heart attack when he got the news.”
“What news?”
“He’s gay. Two guesses.”
Mendelssohn’s eyes were half-closed, seemingly aimed at a nearby droning television to which he was paying scant attention. As the two men entered, his eyes opened a little more. Deke squinted at them through a happy fog.
Mendelssohn was obviously medicated. “Jack?”
“We’re just here for you to be a witness, Deke,” Jack said. “Don't worry about talking. Are you in much pain?”
He shook his head, glancing toward the slow drip feeding medicine into his arm. “Hell, nothing hurts now.” His gaze moved slowly aside to the other senator. Mendelson seemed slow to focus. “Othel Hamilton, right?”
“That’s right,” Hamilton said gently. “I know that heart attack probably seemed like a good idea at the time but so did marrying my first wife and I guarantee you that was a big mistake. Are you all right?”
“They say I will be. I’m sorry, but, I don’t think we know each other, do we?”
“I dragged Hamilton here with me,” Jack said simply. “I’m here to ask Ham an important question. And I wanted you here to bear witness and give him a good and guilty conscience. You up to this? It’s about this stupid list.”
“I’m up to that for sure,” Deke said wanly, clearly fighting to focus again.
“Okay, I knew there was another sneaker about to go plop,” Hamilton said. “What is it about this damned list again?”
Jack pulled from his pocket an envelope and slapped it against Hamilton’s shoulder. “Here‘s your pound of flesh. You’ve got your Edison-Sobo signature. In a world of lesser evils, that’s the least of them. The first part of the list has already leaked and we’re still getting threats so obviously the second half contains the real dynamite.”
“Who the hell is threatening you?” Hamilton said.
Jack waved it away. “Who do you think? Anyway, here’s the deal. You get my signature and you give me the rest of the list. And if you give me an excuse instead, you’ll have to explain it to Deke Mendelssohn. You owe it to me now, and you owe it to Deke, to man up and deal with this situation truthfully.”
Hamilton groaned heavily, sagging down into a chair. “Hell, Jack, I would give it to you if I could.”
“Why the hell can’t you?” Jack asked.
“Because I can’t give you something I ain’t got. All right, I lied. I don’t have the last page and a half.”
“Why in the hell did you lie?” Jack asked angrily.
“Because,” Ham said, looking guilty as sin. “I thought I could finesse you boys into coughing up your list while I dredged up the rest. Saw it as a way of making short work of Edison-Sobo.”
“You set us up for some bullshit scheme?” Jack said, thunderstruck. “You endangered our lives -- “
“I didn’t realize it would work out that way! I just warned you boys on the outside chance … which unfortunately turned out to be the inside likelihood. Don’t feel so put-upon. I got my tit caught in the wringer, too, you know.”
“You put your tit there in the first place, Bonnie Big Ones. Why don’t you just go over to the dark side with the rest of your kind?”
“Now, Jack, don’t get nasty. I’ll tell you who the source is if that helps. It’s a little weasel who works at that hotel. The one the information is from. He told me how long the list was and that the Speaker‘s name is on it, that’s all. We‘re still negotiating on price.”
“Fine, who is he? What’s his name? I'll go pummel the damned thing out of him.”
“That’s the thing, I don’t know his real name,” Hamilton said, guiltily. “I know him by some pansy Renaissance painter nickname. No offense, boys. Leonardo, Botticelli, Donatello …”
“Michelangelo?” Jack asked shortly, almost surprised to hear the word leave his mouth.
“Yeah, that’s it. Michelangelo. You know him?”
“I might,” Jack said, reaching into his pocket for his keys. Jack glanced around toward Mendelsohn. “Deke, do you have a pass key to the Banks building?”
“Of course. In my suit jacket pocket, I think. Why?”
“I need to borrow that thing we talked about, you know, the thing in your office,” Jack said, pulling a nearby tweed suit coat off the arm of a chair. He reached into its waist pocket. “The thing T.J. and I talked to you about.”
Deke’s brow wrinkled deeply. “I don’t recall the conversation. Is it something about the list?”
“Yeah, it is.”
Deke pulled the jumble of keys out of Jack’s fingers. He shook the keys down to select only one. He handed it to Jack. “Then go for it.”
“I take full responsibility for whatever happens with these,” Jack said.
Ham clambered out of his chair. “What in hell are you gonna do?”
“First, I’m going to find this little Michelangelo bastard,” Jack said. “And then I’m going to make sure this whole situation is remedied for good.” He looked last toward Hamilton. “Call T.J., would you? Tell him not to worry and that I know what I’m doing.”
“I’ll tell him that first part, but I won’t vouch for the second. Jack, you know first-hand how goddamned dangerous it’ll be to actually have that whole thing in your hands.”
“Believe me, I know,” Jack said, and then he left the room without another backward glance.
“Any other day, the roads would be empty at this time of night. Now, of course, they’re not. It would work out in Jack’s favor on that account,” T.J. said, “But doesn’t it always.”
“I may not be Jack’s biggest fan,” Lee said. “But I can’t really blame the traffic on him.”
T.J. swerved a hard, probing look over at Lee. “He thinks you hate him, you know.”
“I don’t … hate him really,” Lee said. “I barely know him. He’s not the most approachable teddy bear of a guy, you know. I respect his opinions on issues. I know Taneesha loves him like a brother. I don’t like the way he treated you, ignoring you the way he did after his wife died.”
“Jack’s not the only one to blame for our relationship unraveling,” T.J. said in the voice of a personal revelation. “After Izzy died, I was terrified. I’ve known I had deep feelings for Jack for years. It’s the reason I approached Izzy about our arrangement – ”
“Wait,” Lee said, his jaw gaping open a little. “You approached her? I thought it was the other way around.”
T.J. exhaled a strangled, breathy sigh but laughed all the way through it. He shook his head as he scrutinized the faces of sidewalk people. He could have recognized Jack wearing black clothes on an unlit mid-winter moonless night, but he needed the brief fleeting hope he felt as each person walked past them. He saw Jack everywhere and then nowhere. “Now you know what I mean. I’ve been as disingenuous and conflicted about our relationship as Jack has.”
“Well, don’t worry so much,” Lee added. “You’ll get perpetual worry lines. We’ll find him. What is this whole thing but some grandstanding on his part? It’s just some competitive thing.”
T.J. laughed sadly to him
self. “Yes, that comment makes it obvious that you don’t know him very well. This isn't competition. It's Jack being certain he's right. Even if it means his own destruction, he will stick to his guns. And the greatly annoying part of it all is that he is usually right.”
“Oh, please,” Lee said, scowling.
“He is. The shameful fact of the matter is I need to be liked. Jack doesn't. I will be politic just to gain acceptance. It only matters to him if he does the right thing as he sees it. And that makes Jack most annoying. However, that which is most annoying about Jack is what makes me respect him enormously and love him even more. I predict that I shall spend the rest of my life knowing Jack was right about more things than I could ever admit.”
“He isn’t right about everything,” Lee said. “The way he goes on about your ancestor and his ancestor is ridiculous.”
“No, I’m afraid he actually has a point on that one, too. Adams has been woefully undervalued by history. I’d never admit that in front of him, of course, but he’s right to be miffed about Adams being discounted.”
T.J's cell phone rang. He grabbed it quickly. “Jack?” he said, before he realized the word had flown out of his mouth.
“No,” Hamilton’s voice replied. “Hell, I was hoping you'd heard from him.”
T.J. settled back in his seat, still scrutinizing the people on the street. “Not since earlier, why?”
“Because he is about to get his dumbass shot, that’s why. He got me over here to the hospital to see Deke Mendelsohn. Jack handed me his signature warranty for Edison-Sobo because he wanted me to give him the rest of the list. When I couldn’t give it to him, he flipped out.”
T.J flinched inwardly. “Why couldn’t you give it to him?”
“I couldn't give it to him. Tom, because I lied about having it. See, I thought I might be able to dig up the rest of the list and –”
“That doesn't matter now,” T.J said quickly. “What the hell happened with Jack?”
“That's what I was getting to. I think he found out how to get his damned fool hands on the rest of the list. I gave him the name of my contact at the hotel, because I felt bad about lying. Some guy named Michelangelo. He seemed to know who he was.”
T.J. grasped its meaning. “I think I may know him too. What else did he say?”
“He muttered some nonsense about needing Mendelsohn’s passkey to his building. He said you two had talked to Deke about picking up something from there.”
“We said nothing of the kind,” T.J. said, swallowing hard. “But I think I know why he needs them. We've got to find him and fast.”
“Well, come by the hospital to pick me up, too, will ya? Jack made it sound like Jesus was about to roll away the rock so I'm standing here in my jammies jacket freezing my jiggly white ass off.”
“All right, wait for us in front, we'll be there,” T.J said, hanging up the line.
“What the hell am I now, the DC Senatorial taxi service?” Lee asked with a sneer.
“Until my Jack is found, I’m afraid you are, yes.”
He drove down Ambassador past the row of galleries he also fought to ignore. Focus, Jack, focus, Izzy’s words floated back to him. She understood too well his ability to be distracted by every other cause that came his way. One thing at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time, she would say. The thing at this time was Della Collina. The day and hour was now.
Its windows still flickered with the shadows of people moving beyond them. The outside lights were still on. Somebody was home. He made two fists and pounded them both on the center of the door.
A click on the inside door produced a slight opening. An eye peered out at him. “Yeah?”
Jack forced the door open more with his foot. “Michael, open up. You and I have business to discuss.”
“What kinda business?” the young guy whined in reply. “I got work.”
Jack’s foot moved forward again. “Just open the damned door or I’ll be too happy to tell your uncle all about your other job and your new enterprise.”
“What enterprise?”
“You know,” Jack said. “Extortion for fun and profit. You get my drift, Michael Angelo?”
The eyes beyond the door opened wider. Jack thought he might have seen the young man blanch a little. “Okay,” the kid said, opening the door. “Come in.”
Jack moved inside as the kid shut the door again and locked it. Michael looked one way then the other. “Look, I got bills. I need these jobs. You know how much the insurance on a Jag runs at my age?”
“Poor baby, my heart bleeds for you. You should have thought of that before you started playing craps with peoples’ lives. Anyway, I don’t want to get you in more trouble than you’re already in. You’ve done enough damage for one day. Why don’t you just cough up the list for me and I’ll be on my way?”
“It’s not that easy,” Michael said, his voice wavering badly.
“Sure it is. You give me the list and I don’t dropkick your balls. See how easy that is?”
Michael lowered his voice even more. “I give it to you and you’ll give it to them. They’ll find out where it came from. I’ll be dead. Or at least on Guantanamo.”
“Obama shut down Gitmo.”
“You think this dude didn’t open it up?” Michael asked.
“You don’t have to worry about it if you give me everything,” Jack said. “Give me everything and your risk transfers from you to me. I have no criminal culpability. I’ll tell the whole fucking world I don’t know where it came from. As far as they know, some dude did a Watergate and got it all.”
Michael shook his head. His voice trembled, as if under the weight of the words to come. “You don’t know who’s on it.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea. Care to clarify?”
Michael Angelo, already a tapioca-color, blanched bone white. He glanced around at the room. “He’s on it.”
“Who? God?”
“No, somebody more powerful than that,” Michael said, looking around, as if even the chairs might overhear them. He finally spit out, “The fucking President of the fucking United States.”
“Yeah, I figured as much, with the way everyone is tripping out. So what?”
Michael’s eyes grew large. “So you think he’ll think twice about killing you to save his ass?”
“Let me worry about that.”
“What if he waterboards you or something and you give up my name?” Michael asked.
“Your concern for me is touching. Look, they probably already know who you are and what you are. I’m in a position to stop them. You aren’t. The list is too hot to be lucrative for you now. Anyway, if they torture me, they’ll have to kill me to get any information. You’ll get a good head start out of town. And I suspect that sort of thing might spur my old friend, T.J., to mount a primary challenge against his party paisan.”
Michael sighed long and loud. He shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out a USB drive. He dropped into Jack’s palm as if it was a burning ember.
Jack took out his handheld, slid the small drive into the slot and hit enter. It made a soft moan, as if having electronic sex.
“What was that?” Michael asked.
“That, Mr. Angelo, was the process of propagating enough copies to enough places across the globe to cover both our butts.”
Michael exhaled in audible relief. “Where are you going now?”
“Oh, believe me. You’ll hear about it soon enough. It’ll be all over the news in an hour,” Jack said, sailing out the door with the speed of a man who knew exactly where he was going.
A cumbersome, lumbering man stood out starkly against the streaming late night lights. He wore a black slicker over a striped pajama shirt with what looked like old holey blue jeans to complete the tout ensemble. As T.J., now behind the wheel, drove up to the curb, the big man jerked his arm free from the clasp of a city cop.
“I told you, I am a United States senator, partner! I was just visiting a friend,”
Hamilton lashed back at the policeman as he looked toward the door that T.J. had just popped open for him. “And anyway, here’s my ride, just like I said.”
“He’s right, Officer,” T.J. called out, now behind the wheel. “We’re late in giving him a lift. We’re terribly sorry. Loads of traffic about tonight.”
The cop nodded and said, “Just so he gets where he’s going safely.”
“I am not a goddamned mental case, I already told you that!” Hamilton snapped again, and then crowded his way into T.J.’s car. He shut the door against the night with a slam for emphasis. “Goddamn your boyfriend for leaving me in the lurch this way.”
