In This Rain (47 page)

“In other words,” Charlie said, “we’re going to assume Greg Lowry was the connection between Blowfish and Walter, hope to hell Edgar has nothing to do with it, and stop looking.”

“Even if it were true that Westermann gave the Eliot woman’s chain to Blowfish, there’d be no way to prove it,” Finn said reasonably. “And if he did, that still wouldn’t prove he knew anything about the Eliot homicide. Just that he was willing to do Glybenhall a favor and Ford Corrington a little dirt. We already have six bodies on this: Corrington, Lowry, Glybenhall, the Winston woman, the two gangbangers. Seven, if you count Jennifer Eliot. I’m not sure what’s to be gained by pursuing Westermann.”

“You mean, you’re not sure how it would do what’s left of my political career any good, or yours when you make your run for Attorney General. What, you thought that was a secret? No, let’s not screw with Edgar Westermann just to clean up some mess in Harlem. Isn’t that right, John? Yes, fine.” He rode right over whatever the Police Commissioner had been about to say. “If proof Edgar’s involved jumps up and bites you in the ass, go with it. Otherwise, drop it.” Charlie snorted. “So when the smoke clears, the son of a bitch who ends up untouchable is Edgar Westermann.”

No one answered.

Abruptly, Charlie stood. He had to get out of this room before the top of his head blew off. “Tomorrow too soon for a complete report?”

The room was silent with surprise. The Police Commissioner recovered first. “No, sir,” he said, answering for the men who’d be putting in the overtime to produce it.

“Good. Thank you, gentlemen. And Lena, of course.” The mayor strode through the door to his inner office and slammed it behind him.

City Hall

“You can’t be telling me you’re surprised.” Hands in his pockets, leaning on the doorjamb the way he used to on the lampposts in Red Hook when he was young, the mayor watched the deputy mayor cross the room. “It’s completely Edgar. Kicking me while I’m down.”

“Surprised? No.” Don threw the window open. “Pissed. In this whole shitstorm he’s the only one who came out smelling like a rose. So why call a press conference and dredge it all up? What’s the goddamn point?”

“To kick off his mayoral campaign with a bang.”

“Why couldn’t he just let it go? Consider himself lucky, focus on the future— ”

“Put this behind us? Get some closure?”

Around the cigarette he was lighting, Don said, “You’re fucking good-natured for a guy who was called the most corrupt New Yorker since Boss Tweed.”

“Hey, it’s politics.”

“Edgar’s gunning for you, Charlie! He said the rumor you and Corrington were double-crossing Glybenhall is true.”

“He said he hadn’t seen anything to prove it wasn’t,” Charlie corrected. “I’m not happy about him dissing a dead man like that, but that’s between Edgar and his conscience.”

“Edgar’s conscience? Who are you kidding? And with all due respect to the dead, it’s not Corrington I’m worried about. For God’s sake, Edgar claims Shapiro would never have hired Lowry except that you insisted— ”

“I did.”

“— and that your refusal to take Ann Montgomery off the investigation proves your arrogance is out of control. Goddammit, he practically said you knew Glybenhall killed Jen!”

“If that were true,” Charlie asked mildly, “wouldn’t I have taken Ann Montgomery off the investigation?”

“What the hell is wrong with you? Edgar Westermann is skewering your ass!”

“Okay, so he’s working it. I’d be surprised if he didn’t. Doesn’t that make it even more intriguing, that now he wants a meeting?”

“Intriguing? For shit’s sake, Charlie! He’s acting like keeping you out of Albany matters as much as landing his own fat butt in this chair!” Don kicked the leather armchair behind the mayor’s desk. “And you’re acting like you don’t care!”

Because I don’t. But this wasn’t the time to say that to Don.

“Damn, Charlie, pull yourself together.” Don shot a stream of smoke out the window. “We have a campaign to run. We can still win the state, but not if you’re only half here.”

Not here at all, Charlie thought, but said nothing.

“Look,” Don said. “I know this is a hard time. You’re— ”

“No, I’m not. Pining for Louise, you were about to say. Of course I am, but that’s not the problem.”

“Glybenhall’s death, Corrington’s, the whole thing threw her. She just needs some time alone right now.”

“That’s the first thing Sue Trowbridge said that you ever believed.”

Don hesitated. “She can’t have

Because you’re in political trouble? I don’t buy it.”

Charlie shrugged.

“She’ll be back.”

Charlie didn’t answer, not because he thought Don was wrong, but because he really didn’t know.

The outer door opened. In something very close to a whisper, Lena said, “Edgar Westermann’s in the conference room.”

Charlie nodded his thanks; softly, she closed the door. He sighed. For the last two weeks everyone around here had been walking and talking as though this were the house of the dead.

“I think it’s a mistake to meet with him.” Don tried one last time.

“Noted. Let’s go.”

Don smashed his cigarette out. He yanked open the conference room door, stepping exaggeratedly aside to let Charlie go first.

“Charlie! Delighted!” Beaming, Edgar Westermann welcomed the mayor to his own conference room. “And Don.”

“Edgar.” Charlie poured himself coffee. Don took his usual chair at the end of the table with his usual scowl. No, Charlie thought: deeper than usual. “Wish I could return the sentiment,” the mayor told the Borough President. “But I’m rarely delighted to see people who call me scum on the six o’clock news.”

“Now, Charlie— ”

“Don thinks I should have told you to suck eggs, and I did consider it.” The mayor slipped into his chair. “On the other hand, people who call me scum usually don’t ask for meetings. The floor’s yours, Edgar.”

“Now, Charlie.” Westermann smiled again. “You know as well as anybody news conferences are mostly rhetoric. Got to give the people what they want! Don’t make it colorful, who’s going to listen?”

“I’m listening now. But skip the color. I don’t have all day.”

“Me, either. Lots to do, on this mayoral campaign. Though I got to say, I’m shaping up to be luckier than you, first time you ran. Terms of opposition, doesn’t look like I have much to worry about.”

“Congratulations.”

“Yessir, I got Harlem behind me, Brooklyn and the Bronx. I got right-thinking New Yorkers behind me. Edgar Westermann’s going to give the disenfranchised a voice, give the disrespected their day in the sun— ”

“And give his campaign speech every chance he gets. But not here. Do you really want something? Or did you just come to gloat?”

“Gloat? Oh, Charlie, no, no!” Westermann’s fingers circled above the cookies on his plate. “Charlie, you got yourself into a tight spot. You made a bunch of mistakes, I guess. But I know you’re not a bad man, no matter what anybody says.”

“Including you.”

Munching, Westermann nodded. “Possible I did go overboard, way I spoke about you. I want to make amends. We’ve always been able to work together, Charlie, no matter our differences. No reason that should change now. I’m here to suggest we bury the hatchet.”

“Really.” Charlie sipped his coffee.

“Lots of acrimony, distrust of politicians going around New York right now, since this mess with Glybenhall and Lowry. Cynicism everywhere you look. Now, the signs all point to me getting elected, but I don’t want to be mayor of a divided New York. And you, Charlie, you still got your eye on Albany, right? Well, then, seems to me we can help each other out.”

“You’re offering to rehabilitate my image. Make me look like a good guy again.”

“Everybody makes mistakes. Voters’ll understand that.”

“And you’ll tell them, because who better to hose off the shit than the guy who threw it? But damn, Edgar, I’m still the one getting hosed.”

“Whoa, now, Charlie— ”

“So in return for a little image-polishing, you want me to help you out with this ‘divided New York’ problem. You’ll deliver the urban vote to get me to Albany. And I’ll deliver

what?”

“Charlie, now don’t underestimate yourself. You still got lots of supporters. Voters out in Queens, Staten Island— ”

“Oh, come off it, Edgar! You don’t give a damn about them. You’re after money. You want me to smooth your way with the real estate and corporate people. You want access to the old boys’ network and the heavy hitters. That’s the only divide you want to erase. Well, you’re welcome to them, but you’ll have to do it without me. Not interested, Edgar.”

Frowning, Don shifted in his chair. Sorry, Don, Charlie thought, but you don’t like that, wait until you hear the rest.

The Borough President regarded the mayor through narrowed eyes. “Don’t mind my saying so, you’re making a mistake, Charlie.”

“You, too, Edgar. The whole goddamn point of that press conference was to back me into a corner so I’d need your help getting out. Bury the hatchet? Bullshit. I’ve underestimated you, but I guess a lot of people do. That’s what the damn-if-I-ain’t-just-a-homeboy act’s for. Like when you came here to ‘warn’ me about Ann Montgomery. Don and I shook our heads afterward and said, Shit, Edgar’s done it again. Telling me about her history with Glybenhall just about ensured she’d have to stay on the case. Because how would it look if I took her off? Damn, we said to each other, Edgar wasn’t thinking.”

Don uncrossed and recrossed his legs, sat forward, sat back. He pulled his cigarette pack from his pocket but slapped it down without taking out a smoke.

“But we were wrong,” Charlie went on to Westermann. “You were thinking. Or, Walter was thinking. Walter needed Montgomery to stay so he sent you to do his dirty work. Lowry wasn’t Walter’s only puppet. You were, too, weren’t you? Blowfish said he got Jen Eliot’s chain from you. That’s true, isn’t it? You went to Walter with Cole’s story about Corrington and the Eliot girl, and Walter gave you the goddamn chain to plant! Jesus Christ, Don, would you hold still? Edgar, you’re as dirty as anyone else in this. I can’t prove it but I can tell you to take your help and shove it up your ass.”

The silence was so complete Charlie could hear a bird tweet in the park.

“Charlie.” Westermann spoke with cold control. “Talk like that could do our friendship some serious damage. But I’m going to do the Christian thing and forgive you. You’ve been under a lot of stress and I know you don’t mean none of that. And as your friend, I suggest you reconsider my offer. You won’t get to Albany without my help.”

Oh, well, now’s as good as any other time. “I’m not running.”

It was a stop-motion moment: Westermann’s sugar cookie hovering halfway to his mouth; and Don, frozen mid-fidget, immobile for what might be the first time in all the years Charlie had known him. Except for the color draining from his face.

“I’m sorry.” Charlie addressed his deputy mayor. “This wasn’t the greatest timing, Don, here in a meeting like this. But I’ve had it.” He turned back to Westermann, as though the Borough President, soon to be mayor, deserved an explanation. “Walter was a greedy, pompous bastard, and Lowry was a dirty cop. Those gang bangers, well

And the Eliot girl? Anyone with the bad judgment to sleep with Walter, what could she expect? And the Winston woman was just collateral damage. See? I’m cynical and greedy enough myself, it seems, to be able to write all that off and keep going. But Ford Corrington— Corrington was something else. He wasn’t like you, Edgar, and me, and every other son of a bitch in this city who claims to be the Second Coming. Corrington and the Garden Project actually did people some good.”

Westermann gripped the table edge with fat fingers. Icily, he said, “The Garden Project’s still there. Reverend Holdsclaw’s taking it over.”

“Not the point,” the mayor said.

“What the hell is the point?”

Charlie turned in wonder. That outburst came not from Westermann, but from Don. “Did you— ”

“What the hell do you mean, you’re not running?”

Color had come back to Don’s face; in fact Charlie had never seen him this red. Or heard him speak in a meeting, in eighteen years.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said again. “But I’m through. This is all on me. It all goes back to my deal with Walter.”

“Oh, what bullshit! No mayor ever born wouldn’t have made that deal!”

“Ah.” Charlie smiled sadly. “But I was supposed to be different. You know, though, it’s not even that I was willing to make the deal. It’s that I’d convinced myself it was a good deal. The Bronx would get a nice project, Harlem would get a boost. Walter’s help would make me governor and then I’d be able to do even more good. It was horseshit. And I sold it to myself and I bought it. I don’t mind so much being a bad, bad man. What I mind is that I never noticed I was one.”

Don stared. “This is why Louise left you.”

The mayor nodded. “Not because I’m in trouble. Because I don’t care. She’d be right here doing stand-by-your-man if I ran and lost. But choosing not to run— it was as though she found out I’d used a false name when I married her.”

Westermann cleared his throat. “Now, Charlie— ”

“Oh, shut up, Edgar. One of the great things about leaving politics is I won’t have to listen to you anymore.”

“You can’t.” Don’s voice was rough. “You can’t do this. After what I— ”

“Don, I know how hard you’ve worked,” Charlie told him. “I understand how you feel. But it’s over.”

“You have no fucking idea!” Don exploded from his chair and strode back and forth across the end of the room, as though lost in the woods, searching for the path.

“Don? It’s not— ”

“Fuck, Charlie!” Don whipped a folded paper from his pocket and slammed it onto the table.

“What’s that?”

“The text of an e-mail,” Don said tightly. “From Jen to me. A Dear John letter.”

“I thought you broke up with her.”

“I did. But I felt guilty. This was her way of telling me not to worry.”

Charlie glanced from Don to Edgar, reached for the paper, and started to read. He felt his skin grow cold. “Wait. I don’t get it,” he said, rereading, hoping that was true, that he wasn’t getting it.