Senator Love (20 page)

IT WAS Sam Langford's choice, a Vietnamese cocktail lounge
and restaurant in a strip shopping center a few miles south of Roslyn on that
stretch of Lee Highway now known as Little Vietnam. A reincarnated Robert E.
Lee, for whom the road was named, would have rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Even
in the darkened interior of the lounge there wasn't a single anglo or black
face.

"This your idea of low-profile, Senator?" the
eggplant asked. Langford had gone to elaborate lengths to keep their meeting
secret. He had returned Fiona's call from a pay phone, providing cloak and
dagger instructions. He would meet them at a Giant Supermarket parking lot off
Lee Highway.

The car, they noticed, had no Senatorial license plates.

"Man's a paranoid," the eggplant had remarked.

"You'd be too, running for President."

"With his zipper open?"

The Senator was aghast when he saw the black face in the
driver's seat. She had switched to the back seat to put the Senator next to the
eggplant.

"My boss," Fiona had told him. "Captain
Greene, Homicide Division, Senator Sam Langford."

"Call you Captain?"

"Your choice." The eggplant shrugged.

"I'm Sam," the Senator said, offering his most
ingratiating political smile and shaking the eggplant's hand as he got in
beside him. "I know it's a spy novel," he grunted. "It's also a
nightmare."

Except for giving directions, he grew silent, while Fiona
made comments about the changes in the area.

"Crazy wars," she said. "They came over
without a dime. Now they're buying real estate." Odd, she thought, how her
mind focused on real estate.

"Wasn't on a slave ship, though," the eggplant
grunted. She dropped the subject.

They sat in a darkened corner of the restaurant, far from
the nearest customer. The dinner hour was over but a few stragglers were lingering
over tea. The eggplant ordered a beer and Sam and Fiona ordered Diet Cokes.

"Hungry?" the eggplant asked.

"No. But I recommend we order
Bo Xao
."

"For appearances?" Fiona asked. The Senator
turned to look at her, his face tight, his mouth set firmly. He was definitely
not happy. Yet, in the half-light, his sad, handsome face looked mysterious and
vulnerable. Even in these circumstances, he sent out vibrations. In fact, the
vulnerability and sense of fear it implied made him even more desirable. Ashamed,
she pushed the idea from her thoughts. Not too successfully, however. Do your
job, Fiona, she berated herself.

"I did not appreciate your visit to my wife," Sam
said to Fiona.

"She didn't either, Senator," Fiona replied.

"It upset her," he muttered.

"She gave as much as she got," Fiona
acknowledged.

"Public life is getting to be a pain in the ass,"
Sam sighed. "Makes you wonder if it's worth all the trouble."

"Lots are standing in line to get in," the
eggplant said.

"Too much of a strain, I'll tell you. Problem is none
of us are perfect people. We're all flawed. Has been that way from the
beginning. Public servants should be judged on the way they handle their jobs,
not on extraneous matters."

"They say a man's personal life is a reflection of his
character," the eggplant lectured, shooting her a glance.

He shook his head.

"Well, you all know my problem."

"And we're trying to keep it out of the public
arena," Fiona said.

"Fat chance," the Senator said. The waitress
brought them their drinks.

"The
Bo Xao
will be coming shortly," the
woman, a delicate Vietnamese, said, gliding away from their table. There was a
certain indifference in her expression that explained why the Senator had
chosen this place and this area. Like all recently arrived minorities, the Vietnamese
conspired to silence. She knew he had been here before, probably with one or
another of his girls. It occurred to her suddenly that this was undoubtedly a
place and an area also kept secret from the ubiquitous Bunkie. A second hidden
private life, she snickered to herself.

"You do remember Betty Taylor?" Fiona asked.

"Of course I do."

"You know what happened to her?"

"Bunkie told me." He expelled air, his lips
puffing. "It's beyond belief."

"We would never have found her, Senator, if it wasn't
for that little slave bracelet you gave her. It was still wrapped around the
bone of her ankle."

"That poor kid," the Senator said.

"'My Bet' was engraved into the gold."

"My Bet," he whispered. "How awful. She
loved that little gift." His voice broke and his throat worked to swallow
deeply.

"Did she, like Helga, go quietly?" the eggplant
asked with a touch more sarcasm than was needed. Sam's gaze washed over both of
them.

"I know you must feel that I've been a real shit about
this. Sending a surrogate to do my dirty work."

"It had crossed our minds," Fiona said.

"I'm not too proud of it myself," he muttered.
"I have a tendency to want to avoid confrontations—"

"With ex-mistresses," Fiona interjected.

"It's morally repulsive but politically
expedient." He reached for his glass, raised it and sipped. Then he said,
"The fact is that they did go quietly."

"That's a helluva criterion," the eggplant said.

"I know," Sam replied. "Looks awful. But you
see, that's the way this game is handled. Everyone knows the rules."

"Not necessarily the young ones," Fiona
countered.

"They learn fast," he snapped. His gaze drifted
inward. "It's a trade-off, really. I've discovered a real urge out there
for young ladies to be star-fuckers. I'm giving it to you straight. Doesn't
speak well for me, but if the truth were known it's one of the perks of public
celebrity. A regular pas de deux. As they say, it enhances the flavor,
especially for the girls." He shook his head. "Not exactly a
character reference. It's opportunistic and contemptible. But I've always
treated the ladies with the utmost respect. Never like dirt." He became
reflective. They waited through his silence. "Okay, it's repugnant by most
standards. You'll find far more integrity in my political life. But as to killing—my
God. Besides—this may strain your credulity—I adored those girls." He
looked pointedly at Fiona, who turned her eyes away first.

"I assume you've been informed about what happened to
three of them," the eggplant said. "Three that got the word from
Farrington."

"Yes," the Senator acknowledged, lowering his
eyes.

"It's beyond my understanding," Sam whispered.
"Shakes me up." He looked into his drink. "If you want to know,
it makes me feel like shit."

"And them," the eggplant said. "Think about
how they might feel—if they could."

"None of them ever tried to contact you ...
after?" Fiona asked.

"You mean before," the eggplant corrected,
meaning before they died.

"There was a time gap," Fiona explained
pleasantly, not wishing to show the Senator any cracks in their solid front.

"The answer to that is no. Not Betty. Not Harriet. Not
Helga. I'm sure they did not think very kindly of me. I wouldn't if I were
them."

"Two of them were definitely murdered, Senator,"
the eggplant snapped. "Were there others we don't know about?"

It was one of those outbursts designed to inflame the
person being asked. But the Senator remained calm.

"Others?" Sam asked, frowning.

"Judy Peters, for example," Fiona said.

"Judy? Is she also...?"

"No," Fiona said. "She is, apparently, the
one that got away."

"Gave
me
the heave-ho, that one," Sam
said, smiling wryly.

"Yes," Fiona said. "We've talked to
her."

"I guess you might call her lucky," the eggplant
said.

"Am I the kiss of death?" Sam wondered aloud. He
paused and shook his head. "All right, I made love to them. I cared for
them. As for killing them?" He shook his head.

"Bunkie then?" the eggplant asked. The waitress
glided quietly to their table and put down a large plate of
Bo Xao
.

"Thank you," the Senator said. "It's really
quite good."

"Bunkie?" the eggplant repeated.

"Not Bunkie," the Senator said, biting his lip.
"Hard to accept. He is loyal to a fault. Ambitious as hell. Sometimes he
thinks he's the tail that wags the tiger. A killer? In a figurative sense, yes.
If it could hurt me, watch out. But in a literal sense, a murderer...?"
His voice trailed off. Despite his denial, he seemed tentative, unsure.

"But he did demonstrate that he was capable of a kind
of cruelty," Fiona prodded. "He was willing, perhaps eager, to take
on chores that hurt others."

"A far cry from murder," the Senator repeated,
but his defense seemed less certain. After a long pause, he looked up at them.
"Are you seriously considering such a possibility?"

"Yes, we are," the eggplant said.

"And me as well?" the Senator asked. "The
man behind the man."

"In our business, anything is possible," Fiona
said, cutting a quick glance at the eggplant.

"I'll say this," the Senator said. "In our
tight little circle poor Bunkie gets no defense. Except from me. He does come
over as an arrogant bastard. He plays the hatchet man, the bad guy. He does the
shit detail. But he's a trusted lieutenant and confidant. You know how valuable
that is to a politician." He shook his head. "Bet Nell gave you an
earful on that."

"She led me to believe that he was not one of her
favorites," Fiona said, picking at the
Bo Xao
. It was too spicy and
she took a deep gulp of her coke.

"Only natural. She hates him. Both my wives hated him.
Fact is, being a politician's wife is a bad rap from the go."

"Your first wife, Senator..." Fiona began. For
some reason, she had hardly focused on that. She suddenly remembered that she
had seen her at the Mount Vernon dance. Seemed ages ago. A tall blonde,
regal-looking woman, bigger than life, amply endowed. They had politely
exchanged smiles across the dance floor. Fiona had noted that she had stolen
glances at him all evening. "...Did she know about your..."

"Peccadillos," the Senator said. He offered a
small laugh between clenched teeth. "Afraid so."

"Only natural, you said," the eggplant said.
"They wouldn't have been too happy with Bunkie. Not the pimp part."

"He was never that," the Senator snapped in a
sudden burst of anger. No way, Fiona thought. Of all things, this man could
find his own ladies to park their shoes under his bed.

"They were jealous of the relationship," Fiona
said, as if it were an explanation for the eggplant.

"Couldn't be helped," Sam muttered. Obviously
this was a sore spot.

"How come you broke up with Frances?"

"We were college sweethearts. Florida State. She was
the campus queen. I was the BMOC. Remember that expression? A good soldier she
was, and I was a good boy—until we got to Washington."

"And then?" the eggplant pressed.

He looked into his drink and smiled.

"Opportunity presented itself," he muttered.

"She caught you?" the eggplant asked.

He looked up at them.

"You're really digging," he said, shrugging.
"Anyway, it's history. We've been divorced for eons."

"What was the trigger?" Fiona asked, working to
keep her excitement under control.

"The trigger?" the Senator asked, frowning.

"Did any one thing set her off?" Fiona pressed.

He took his time mulling it over.

"It's been a long time," the Senator sighed.

"It's important," Fiona said, cutting a glance at
the eggplant, who leaned closer toward the Senator from across the table. She
sensed a crackle of excitement. Even the Senator, eyes shifting from one face
to the other, seemed to pick up the electricity.

"Frances?" he asked.

"Just tell me," Fiona said.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. Then his eyes grew vague, as
if he were plumbing his memory.

"She suspected I was playing around. She was right, of
course. Maybe she smelled it. I tried to be discreet. She actually began to
follow me. Saw me with women in my car. Naturally she wasn't happy about
it."

"She had fits of jealousy and rage?" the eggplant
asked.

"I don't know about rage. She wasn't one for
demonstrations. She was a pouter. Wouldn't talk to me for days. Just looked at
me with those liquid brown eyes of hers, full of contempt. Our marriage was
falling apart by then. Finally she did catch me."

"In flagrante delicto?" Fiona asked with a touch
of sarcasm.

"Afraid so," he sighed.

"Who was the woman?" Fiona asked.

"Betty Taylor."

He frowned, suddenly appalled by the connection.

"Of all people," the eggplant said.

"She was following me. She found out that Betty was
living in this apartment on the Hill. Just walked in on us. Found us in the
sack."

"She make a scene?" Fiona asked.

"Hell no. Not Frances. She just stood there for a
moment while we scrambled for cover. I must tell you, it's a very tacky
situation to be in." He paused and shook his head, obviously pained by the
memory.

"And then?" the eggplant asked.

"Downhill all the way. Aside from her own indignation,
she did bring up the career aspects. Hell, the Senatorial campaign was only a
few weeks away."

"So you called in Bunkie," Fiona said.

"You make it sound like a crime."

"In a way it is," Fiona snapped.

"But not THE crime," the Senator rejoined.
"Not
murder
. Cowardly. Objectionable. Repugnant. But not
murder."

"And Frances' reaction to all this?" Fiona asked.

"A good sport, actually. We both knew it was over. I
told her the fire was out and I assumed the feeling was mutual. We played at
marriage through the campaign, then, when it was over, we quietly split. No
scenes. No wild confrontations. We split what we owned and parted
amicably."