My Honorable Brother

by Bob Weintraub

  Fiore was eager to get to the point and made quick use of the first lull in their conversation. “Let me tell you what’s happened, Pat,” he began. “This has really come as a shock to me because I remember what you said the last time we were here when we were talking about Ocean State. You told me that business was a lot better than last year, and that according to Brad, everything was going fine. Now I find out it’s not that way at all.” He hesitated, watching a look of concern come over her face. She uncrossed her legs and allowed herself to settle deeper into the sofa.

  “I got a call this morning from Irwin Platt,” Fiore lied. “He gave me the bottom-line numbers for the first three quarters, and they stink.” He had absolutely no idea what those numbers were, and was ready to avoid a direct answer if Pat tried to get more detailed information from him. He emphasized the word “stink,” and knew it was best to let her draw her own conclusions.

  “As if that wasn’t bad enough by itself,” he continued, “Platt found out that Brad’s been spending a couple of nights a week gambling for a long period of time. Apparently, he goes to one of those gaming parlors the Tarantinos run. Right now, he owes about $10,000 they extended him on credit, and the Tarantinos are starting to get anxious about whether he can pay it off.”

  Fiore suddenly wished he had checked out the exact figure with Sandy before meeting with Pat, and then decided to give himself some wiggle room. “It may be a little higher or lower than that right now,” he added. “I don’t know whether Platt was up to date on the account or giving me the last total he got from the Tarantinos. What’s more important is that Platt didn’t say he suspects Brad of ever using any of Ocean State’s money. That’s the good news. The bad news is that he figures anyone involved in that kind of regular gambling has a major problem and can’t be concentrating on the job he’s getting paid to do. Platt sees a company in the red and a president who’s got interests elsewhere. As of today he’s leaning heavily toward shutting the place down, and he wants to know what I think.”

  Hanley let her head fall back against the top of the sofa. “Oh, my God,” she said, almost moaning the words.

  Fiore gave her plenty of time to think about what he told her.

  “Get me a drink, Doug,” she finally said. “Please.”

  He went to the liquor cabinet and made her a gin and tonic. There was no ice in the bucket. He started to pour one for himself also, but thought better of it. Pat took several sips before putting the glass down on the coffee table.

  “When are you supposed to tell him?” she asked.

  Doug sat down in the green wing chair across from her. “I’ve got to get back to him on Monday, this coming Monday, as if I don’t have enough to do that day.”

  He paused, looking down at his feet, and then directly at her. “Look, Pat, part of what I’m about to say is going to upset you, probably upset you pretty bad, and I guess you’ll hate me for having the nerve to do it. Believe me, the easiest thing all around would be for me to just tell Platt to put a lock on the door and throw away the key. That’s the only honest answer to his question. But you told me once, a long time ago, that you’d do anything to help Brad keep this job. If you really mean that—and don’t say you do until you hear me out—I’ll go to bat for him. That means I’ll do everything I can to convince Platt that somehow or other things will start turning around at Ocean State Wire if I’m the new governor.”

  “Doug, I can’t imagine anything I could do that …”

  He interrupted. “The easy part of what you’ve got to do is to speak to Brad tonight and get him to promise he won’t do any more gambling at that club. Don’t let on that you know how much he owes, or even that he’s in debt at all. That might give him the idea that he’s got to talk to Platt about whose money he’s gambling with, and I can’t think of anything worse right now. Anyway, the fact is that if I lose to Singer and casino gambling becomes legal in Rhode Island, he’ll be able to go anywhere he wants to play the tables. But he has to understand that the Platts know what he’s been doing and they want it stopped immediately.”

  “Brad will ask me how I found out. What do I say?”

  “That’s no problem. Tell him I called and told you because those were the orders they gave me. He may be unhappy about not being spoken to directly, and wonder why not, but he’ll live with it. Now listen, Pat. What I don’t want you to do, under any circumstances, is talk to him about how Ocean State has been doing. There are too many things involved, and most of what’s been putting the bottom line in red ink isn’t his fault. The Platts know that, and if they decide to keep it going, we’ll all meet with Brad about what has to be done next year. Do you understand that?”

  She nodded her head without speaking. Fiore got out of his chair and stood behind it, his hands resting on the finely curved piece of dark cherry wood that ran along the top and sides.

  “You know, they say all’s fair in love and war, and here I am at war with Bruce Singer. You’ve probably seen the latest polls. The finish line is right there, just a few yards away, and we’re running a dead heat. That’s supposed to mean that my chances of winning are as good as his, except for the fact that the almighty Providence Herald is set to endorse him on Sunday. That would put the nails in my coffin. I think those sonofabitch senior editors over there are more in tune with what I’ve been saying about the issues than what they’ve heard from Singer. The problem is that in their minds they’ve still got me mixed up in a plot with the Tarantinos to kill Richie Cardella.”

  “But those other men confessed,” Pat said, almost arguing the point.

  “Sure they did, and by now everyone in Rhode Island knows what really happened. But the Herald was in so deep with all that shit Jenna Richardson wrote in the last couple of weeks that they’re too embarrassed or ashamed to come out and support me. You didn’t see them apologize to me or the Tarantinos for any of that stuff in her columns. That says a lot.”

  “Then what did you mean about your war with Singer?”

  Fiore returned to the sofa and sat down next to her. Looking at him, Pat could see the intensity in his face as he started to answer her.

  “The issues in this campaign don’t count any more. The only way I can beat Singer now is by getting something on him personally, before Tuesday. It has to be a situation he absolutely wouldn’t want the public to know about … the kind of thing that would force him to fold his tent and withdraw from the race as fast as he could.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Now just listen to me. Let me tell you what I have in mind, because this isn’t easy for me to say, and I wish to hell the goddam Herald wasn’t pushing me to this point.

  “I’m not sure you know it, but Singer’s wife—her name is Carol—works for my law firm. She’s a banking lawyer, not a secretary or anything. I’m sure she’ll help me do what I’m going to ask you because she’s very bitter about everything right now. Politics ruined their marriage. She didn’t want him to run for governor. She actually begged him to stay out of it, but he wouldn’t listen. I guess he made it clear that becoming governor meant more to him than staying married to her. So it’s over for them, after twenty plus years, with two daughters in college. Carol would just love to see him lose what he wants the most.”

  Fiore hesitated a few seconds before delivering the punch line. “What I need, Pat, is for a photographer to catch Singer in bed with another woman, and I mean you.”

  She wasn’t anticipating that kind of a bombshell. Pat gasped audibly and stared at him. After a long awkward pause, she reached for her drink on the coffee table.

  Fiore knew he had to keep talking. The worst of it was out, and despite her obvious shock, she was still sitting there. The rest was a selling job, and he spoke quickly.

  “I don’t mean you should have sex with him. That’s not part of it. He won’t even know you’re there until the flashbulbs go off and he sees what’s happening. He may never even find out who you are. But as soon as we send him a copy of the picture, Singer
will understand that the media will get to see it, and then maybe all of Rhode Island if he remains a candidate. He’s going to want to bow out of the race right away. He’d probably call a press conference and say he’s quitting for health reasons. He can claim it’s something he just found out about but wants to keep to himself for the time being. My guess is that Singer’s personal physician would be there with him when he makes the announcement. The doctor won’t know what to say because there won’t be any examination or tests run until later, when Singer’s in the hospital. But someone in their camp will give the doctor an innocuous statement to read to the media; that in his opinion, depending on test results, it could be difficult for his patient to be an active governor if he’s elected. Then he can cut off all the questions by raising the right to privacy under the doctor-patient relationship.”

  Fiore pictured the whole scene in his mind and wanted to smile, but held back. “Once the election’s over, no one will really care what his problem is. He’ll be yesterday’s news. Singer will take some time off to make it look good, and then go back to his law practice.”

  Pat wasn’t thinking yet in terms of a “Yes” or “No” answer to his proposition. She was still into her role in the scenario he just described. “How could I possibly be in bed with him without his knowing it?” she asked.

  Fiore was calm now, ready for the questions he figured she would raise if she stayed around to hear his plan. He began moving around the room as he answered her.

  “It’s easy,” he said. “Carol would get him to sleep here in the hotel with her for one night. I’m talking about tomorrow night, Friday. Or Saturday at the latest. She’ll come up with some pretext she can use to get him here. Singer will do it because he’ll figure it may help to keep them together after the election. You’ll be in the adjoining room. Tell Brad tonight that you’re so angry with him about his gambling you’ve decided to stay at the Biltmore for a couple of days and think things out. He’ll be too ashamed to try and stop you. At some point after Singer falls asleep, you and Carol will switch places. Ten minutes later the room lights will suddenly go on, you and Singer will sit up in bed in time for the flashbulbs, and the contest for governor will be over.”

  Fiore was pleased with himself. His plan was put together in just minutes, after lunch, and he was certain that all the pieces fit perfectly. If Pat and Carol cooperate, he told himself, he didn’t have to worry about the Providence Herald.

  Pat raised another problem. “What if something goes wrong? Singer might wake up when we switch or before the photographer gets there.”

  “That’s a chance we have to take. Besides, I’m not worried about it. Carol told me he sleeps like a rock. But if anything goes wrong, I’ll take the hit. And here’s my part of this. If you’ll do what I’ve asked, Brad’s off the hook no matter what happens. I’ll see to it that the Tarantinos wipe out the debt he owes them, whatever it is, and I’ll tell the Platts I’m convinced it would be a mistake to shut down the plant. You do your part, and I’ll do mine.” Fiore felt he already had her on his side.

  Pat let her head fall and covered her face with her hands. “You shouldn’t be asking me to do this, Doug. I’m not a whore.” As soon as the word escaped her lips, she began to sob.

  Fiore went back to the sofa and sat down, leaving some space between them. He tried to talk softly, persuasively. “I already told you there’d be no sex involved. I wouldn’t ask you to screw the guy just for me … and I don’t think getting in the same bed with him for ten minutes makes you a whore.”

  “It doesn’t matter whether anything happens or not,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “It’s just the idea of the whole thing.” She stared at him. “How am I supposed to feel about the fact that I’m the one destroying his career by being in the picture with him? And what if the picture ever became public? What would that do to my marriage?”

  “Like I said before, all’s fair in love and war. He’d do the same thing to me if he had the chance.”

  It was as if he hadn’t heard the questions she asked. Pat realized that his only concern was with winning the election at all costs, even though the costs were Singer’s and hers, not his. Her feelings and the potential consequences she might suffer meant nothing to him. “So you want to take advantage of what we have and use me to fight your war,” she said.

  Fiore heard the bitterness in her voice and felt he might be losing her. “I’m not trying to take advantage of you, Pat. I’m just offering you a deal. Brad needs my help to keep his job, and I need something from you to get the job I want. He’s dead in the water if I don’t say the right thing to the Platts, and you’ll still have to figure out how to pay off the Tarantinos.”

  He stood up, took one step away from her, and then sat back down. “The worst thing that happens to me is that Singer wins and I keep making four times as much money in my firm as I would as governor. It just so happens that your relationship to Brad and to me puts you in the position you’re in and lets me come to you with this. If you help me, you help him, and you help yourself. Even Carol Singer gets something out of it.”

  “What makes you so sure she’d do it?” Pat was losing some control over her voice. “You’re asking her to put her husband in the most humiliating and shameful position of his life, to set him up for this thing. She may be angry about what he’s done to her and that they may be getting a divorce, but is she going to stoop this low just to get even? Could she live with that for the rest of her life?”

  Fiore looked at Pat and nodded his head up and down. He couldn’t let her know about his relationship with Carol and how certain he was that she would do whatever he asked. “The answer is ‘Yes,’” he said. “You haven’t seen Carol Singer with her husband once during this whole campaign. And you won’t see her there tonight, at the debate. She’s absolutely through with him. She hates him for destroying what they had and for what it will do to their kids so he could be in politics. If I ask her for this favor, she’ll do it.”

  Pat got up, walked a few steps away from the sofa and turned back toward him. “I can’t believe this whole conversation,” she began, and the tears came again. “I’m sick to my stomach that you’d even talk to me about doing something like this. I don’t know what to say. Maybe it all means that it’s time for Brad and me to get out of Providence, and to hell with Ocean State Wire. No job is worth this.”

  She went to the closet and got her coat. Doug started toward her but Pat told him to stay where he was. “You can call me tomorrow morning and I’ll give you my answer.” She turned and left the room.

  * * *

  Fiore suddenly felt warm. He took off his jacket, poured a glass of tonic water and drank it down. He went into the bedroom, sat down on the side of the bed and then let himself fall backwards, his heels still resting on the floor.

  With his eyes closed, he pictured the scene in the hotel room that would overwhelm Bruce Singer in a matter of seconds and force him to quit the race. There he was, being jolted out of his sleep by the sudden light in the room, the rapid-fire clicking of the camera’s lens and the flashing bulbs that accompanied it. Singer was wearing red and white vertically striped flannel pajamas. He reached over to the night table for his glasses and then realized that the woman in the nightgown next to him wasn’t Carol. She was a stranger, someone he’d never seen before. As he started to get out of bed, the photographer ran from the room, slamming the door behind him. Instinctively, Singer hurried over to the door and fastened its chain lock. He seemed to remember doing the same thing earlier in the evening, before he and Carol went to sleep. When he turned back toward the bed, the stranger had the sheet pulled up to her neck. “Who are you?” he yelled. “Where’s my wife? What’s going on here?”

  Fiore chuckled at the scenario he envisioned, and sat back up. He went to the telephone and dialed the number for Carol Singer’s line at Walters, Cassidy & Breen. When she answered, Doug invited her to the Biltmore to have a cup of coffee with him. Carol said she had a closing
taking place and was due back in the conference room in ten minutes.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  Fiore told her about the endorsement Bruce would be getting from the Herald on Sunday. He said it would add to the momentum building for her husband since the stories in the paper linking Doug to the Tarantinos and Cardella’s murder. “He’ll beat me on Tuesday, Carol, no getting away from it. The only way I can win is if Bruce decides to withdraw.”

  She laughed and was about to ask what made him think Bruce would ever do that. But she held back, suddenly wondering why Doug even brought up the thought.

  “I’ve got to get him out of the race before election day, and there’s only one way to do it. Listen to what I have in mind. It will take just a few minutes.”

  Carol listened, without interrupting, as he laid out the plan he already discussed with Pat Hanley. She considered the whole idea incredible. This is absolutely bizarre, she thought to herself, hearing that Fiore wanted to catch Bruce in bed with Hanley while he was unaware that Bruce had tapes of him and Hanley screwing in Room 606 for months. She had a mind-boggling thought that maybe both of them would have to withdraw at the last minute. Then suddenly she grasped the fact that Fiore would be asking her to acquiesce in his wild scheme.

  When he finished describing what had to be done, Doug took Carol’s consent and participation for granted without waiting for any reply. He simply asked her if she could get Bruce to stay at the Biltmore on Friday night.

  Carol was devastated by Fiore’s plan and his obvious certainty that she would be a willing participant, but she felt paralyzed at that moment to offer any response. Her mind wouldn’t let her find the right words to communicate to him. She needed some time to reflect on what he said, but for right now his question hung in the air.