Primary Storm (25 page)

Felix then got up and walked around the room, looked at the television set --- which was broadcasting a C-SPAN program about the day's speeches from the different primary candidates --- and then grabbing the remote, he sat on the bed with Chuck. Felix patted him on the shoulder and then started flipping through the channels, and then he toggled a switch on the remote that brought up a menu selection guide on the television.

"Time for a little contemporary history lesson," Felix said, stretching himself out as Chuck kept his hateful stare on me. "Do you know what the single largest entertainment source -- in terms of money made --- is on cable and satellite television nowadays? Do you? Oh, I'm sorry, you can't reply. Well, it's not much of a challenging quiz. The answer is, of course, pornography. Hard to believe, but it's true. All these large hotel and motel corporations, and legitimate cable and satellite television networks, they all have a hand in promoting and trafficking hard-core pornography. Oh, this type of investment doesn't get much play in the news media --- especially since some of the very same news media have a hefty stake in porn ---and some conservative groups try to embarrass them to keep them from doing such kinds of business, but you know what? Even in the most conservative states, there's a healthy demand for it. And when there's demand, business will follow. Such that even in a quaint New Hampshire resort like Tyler Beach, the most high-grade hotel, the Lafayette House, will offer to its adult consumers a wide range of pornographic delights that even thirty years ago might have gotten you some serious jail time in any major city across the nation."

I tried not to smile. I had an idea where Felix was going. Felix went through the menu choices and said, "Each man to his own poison, I say, and to each man his taste in porn. Lord knows I have no halo over my head ... so let's take a look at some of these titles. Hmmm ... Locker Room Studfest, Saturday Night Cruising Delight, Buns and Rods of Steel --- not really Casablanca, but they sure do offer a varied sort of entertainment. Don't you think?"

Felix rolled off the bed and his voice got sharp. "So this is how it's going to be. I'm going to remove the tape. You're going to say in a nice, clear voice that nothing is required of Lewis, that nothing is going to happen to Lewis. And if I remove the tape and I don't hear those words, then the tape goes back on, and your television starts displaying the latest and greatest in gay male pornography. Lewis and I stay here for a while. Order lots of room service. Play the television really, really loud, so when management comes and kicks us out ... well, the story the next day, just a few days from the Tuesday primary, is that a campaign adviser to General Tucker Grayson entertained two men in his hotel room while watching well-muscled men have their way with each other on the television. All programming, of course, recorded on the room bill. Do we have an understanding now, Mr. Bittner?"

A quick nod this time. No hesitation. "Good," Felix said. "I'm going to remove the tape and wait for those magic words."

Chuck winced as the tape came off --- some skin was probably caught in the adhesive --- and he breathed in some and said, "You have my word."

"Glad to hear that," Felix said. "But let's put some more meat into that."

Chuck closed his eyes and said, "What you said ... nothing is going to happen to Lewis Cole. No news story, no news leak. Nothing. You have my word on it."

Felix turned to me and said, "Satisfied?"

"Almost," I said. "One other thing."

Chuck cursed and said, "Changing the rules of the game already, are we?"

"No," I said. "Just being political for a moment. I'm sure you know the drill."

"Fine, asshole," he spat out. "What else?"

"Spenser Harris," I said.

"Spenser who?"

"Spenser Harris. Is he an operative of yours?"

He shook his head, licked his dry lips. "Never heard of him."

"Perhaps under another name. He's in his late thirties. Trim. Black hair, a few streaks of white on the sides. Tanned skin. Fit. Likes to dress well. Occasionally he pretends to be a Secret Service agent."

Another shake of the head. "Look, I don't know the name, don't know the description. You can blackmail me all you want, do whatever you want, but I don't know Spenser Harris, and I don't know anybody like him."

Felix was still looking at me, raised an eyebrow, and I shrugged. Felix rolled Chuck over on his side and like magic, a folding knife appeared in Felix's gloved hand, and after a moment or two of sawing, the tape at Chuck's arms was cut free. Felix stepped back and I got up. Chuck rolled over and looked at me, the hate still in his eyes.

I said, "We'll be on our way, but I'll leave you with one more thought, Chuck. This is our turf. Our field of battle. Even if you check out of here tomorrow and think of doing something funny with me, we have friends with the management here, friends that owe us favors. So don't think that coming up with an invoice showing your porn movie rental can't be arranged in a very short period of time. Enough to impact this primary, or any other future primary we choose. Got it?"

"Asshole," Chuck said, sitting up in bed, tearing at the strips of tape around his wrists, fingers fumbling some.

"Probably, but you invited me to bring it on. Which is what I did."

He rubbed his face and said, "Pussy boy. You had to come in here with muscle to do your dirty work. What kind of fucking wimp are you?"

I was going to say something but Felix was quicker. He said, "Truth be told, sir, I'm the wimp."

"What?"

Felix put the knife away. "Lewis told me about his past encounters with you and your threats. He told me what he had planned for you. Trust me on this, I'm the wimp in this equation. I managed to calm him down, for if he had come up here by himself, you'd now be in that bathtub, bleeding, still bound with duct tape but missing a few inches of flesh that I'm sure you're awfully fond of."

He said, "Get the fuck out. Now."

Felix said, "Ready?"

"You got it."

So we got up and we left.

Once we went down in an elevator and made our way through the lobby, outside the cold air was refreshing and it felt good to be out of that room. We paused in the parking lot and Felix said, "You okay?"

"I'm fine. And you?"

Felix brought his hands together, up to his face, blew warm air into them. "Always nice to practice one's skills, to see that you still got it. And tonight, I still got it. Makes me feel good about myself. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm all right ... though I have to admit I feel guilty."

"Guilty? About what?"

I started walking to my Ford. "Guilty about lying to Chuck."

"When did you lie to Chuck?"

“When I said we were friends with management. Maybe you are but I'm not. I think management here is a jerk. But it made sense to tell Chuck otherwise."

I'm not sure Felix realized the joking nature of my comment, for he took it seriously. He said, "Well, we all have compromises we have to live with. I'm sure you'll get over it."

"Yeah."

At my Ford I turned and looked back at the Lafayette Hotel.

I had Felix here at my side, and with his skills and talents, I'm sure we could have returned back to the hotel and have gotten to work, and might have been quickly successful breaking in and finding that surveillance tape.

Yet ...

We had been lucky tonight, getting in and doing our business and getting out with an agreement that pleased me, for not only protecting my sorry butt but also removing a potential embarrassment for a political candidate I didn't have particular allegiance to, but who was important to someone very dear to me. So, all in all, it had been a productive night. I didn't want to push it.

"Lewis?"

"Yeah?"

Felix looked over at me from the passenger's side of my Ford.

"You okay?"

"Sure," I said, opening the door. "Just daydreaming for a second."

"That's fine," he said. "But how about daydreaming your way to getting my tired ass to home and to bed."

"No problem," I said, and in a matter of moments, we were on our way north, back on Atlantic Avenue.

Felix lives in North Tyler, on Rosemount Lane, a street that juts off to the right and which has fairly nice views of the ocean. There are six homes on Rosemount Lane, and five of them are clustered together near the road's entrance. Felix's stands alone, on a slight rise at the end of the road, and though he has never come right out and said it, I know he likes the location of the house. Homes like his are easy to defend.

I drove into his driveway and he said, "Coffee? Drink? Further conversation?"

"I thought you wanted to get to bed."

“"Hell, Lewis, I may be getting old, but I'm not ready to be buried."

"Neither am I, but I've had a long day. Thanks for your help.

I owe you one."

He grinned. 'We've gone beyond determining who owes whom anymore, Lewis. You just take care of yourself."

"I will. And are you finished with the Nash Pomeroy campaign?"

"Oh, probably," he said, retrieving his leather bag and putting it on his lap. "Let's be honest. When you're sent out on a research trip like this, to find out oppo stuff on your candidate, the people who hire you are hoping for the best. They've heard the rumors, they've looked for the facts, and now they want to know the truth. It's like the guy who hires a private investigator to see if his wife is cheating on him. Deep in his heart he knows, but he wants to grasp at the straw and hope that it's all a mistake. Well, the guys who hired me ... tomorrow they're going to fire me, no doubt about it, once I submit my written report. But I've already been paid in advance, my job is done, and there you go."

"A nice, professional attitude, Felix. You'll go far."

"I'm sure. And speaking of going places ... you do well by that Annie girl, okay?"

'What makes you say that?"

"Just a thought. You back her up. I know she's working long hours and doesn't have much time for you and all that happy crap, but she's doing something important. And it can't last too much longer. So you don't screw this one up. She's ... she's made you a better person, my friend. You smile more, you talk more, and you don't walk around anymore like the weight of the goddamn world is on your shoulders. So. Got it?"

"Got it, Dr. Felix," I said. "You go on and let me sleep."

"That I will," he said, opening the door. "You just have fun not sleeping alone, all right?"

"Good night, Felix. You want I should walk you to the door?"

"Damn it, like I said, I'm not dead yet."

He slammed the door shut and maybe it was just the way the night had gone, but I did wait until he got up to the door and went inside, and the lights came on. He didn't need my protection or my backup, but still, I wanted to make sure everything was all right.

A hell of a goal.

I backed out and went home. At home there were four messages on my answering machine, three from groups reminding me that in the event I had been living in my cellar for the past six months, that next Tuesday was indeed Primary Day, and that my vote was sorely needed so that the forces of darkness and Satan would not emerge to march upon the land, sowing war and pestilence in their path, or something like that. I deleted them all.

The fourth message was from Annie, and was to the point:

"Lewis, you wouldn't believe how much grief I got from my bosses about your little dinner stunt tonight. In fact, Tom wanted to punish me by sending me up to Colebrook, right then and there, until cooler heads prevailed. So, yeah, your little dinner idea really caused some heartburn tonight. ... "

Her voice dribbled off some and I waited, not breathing, just listening, when she laughed and said, "And you know what? It was worth it, worth it very much. Thanks again. You're the best, my dear, the very best. Sleep well and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I smiled at that and went into the living room, watched some of the late night cable news, and interspersed among all the talking heads, I saw a fresh clip of Senator Hale and his lovely wife, Barbara, at a campaign event way up north, in a mill city called Berlin. At the rally I saw the confident look of the senator, and the loving look of his wife, who was at his side throughout his remarks, and when that bit of political news was over, I shut the television off and went to bed.

The next morning I hesitated at the door, before embarking on my usual routine of getting my morning newspapers from Stephanie at the gift shop across the way. It had been my routine for months, and save for those times when the weather was really rotten, or I was ill, I had never skipped it, not once. But this morning was different. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be there, on the off chance of running into Chuck Bittner after our little adventure from last night. I was not sure how an encounter like that would be, but I had a feeling it wouldn't be a particularly cheerful one.

So maybe I wouldn't go today. Maybe.

I thought about it some more and then grabbed my coat. The hell with it. I was going to keep to my routine and not let anything bother me. That was my decision, and shortly thereafter, I was trudging my way up the packed snow to the place where my newspapers awaited me.