The Dirty Secret (29 page)

With his shift ending, the governor kept a close eye on the whereabouts of another server. Justice Don Gammalo had participated in the dinner for twelve years. As Gammalo shed his apron and started saying his good-byes, Vincent subtly began making his own exit.

The governor rarely escaped from such functions quickly. People wanted to shake his hand, bend his ear, get an autograph or have a picture taken. Today, though, he had carefully crafted a strategy to minimize those delays. Turning from the serving line, he surreptitiously dialed Bowen, waited five seconds and hung up. He then walked into the kitchen to shake hands with the cooks who had prepared the feast.

“Thanks for your hard work,” he said, gripping one hand after another. “Wonderful job.”

Suddenly, his phone rang. “Pardon me,” he whispered, answering the call. “Hello? Yes. Okay, then … I’ll be right there.”

The governor hung up with notable flourish. “I’m afraid I have to cut this short, folks. I’m needed back at the Mansion. Keep up the good work and God bless you.”

With that, he waved goodbye and stepped through a side door into the church parking lot; his Secret Service detail close behind. Quickly glancing around, he saw Justice Gammalo ambling toward his aged Jeep about thirty yards away.

“Hey, Don!” Vincent called. “Wait up a second.”

Gammalo stopped and turned around. Seeing Vincent walking toward him, the jurist’s eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted sourly.

Vincent trotted to Gammalo’s position while his bodyguards maintained a respectful distance. “I’ve been meaning to catch up with you for a few weeks, but I haven’t had time. Things have been so hectic since the election.”

Gammalo peered up beneath bushy gray eyebrows at Vincent. “I wouldn’t know. My election cycle ended after the primary in
May
, thanks to you.”

Vincent feigned injury and innocence. “Don! I didn’t have anything to do with your race. I swear!”

“Ha! My opponent’s campaign contributors list had your fingerprints all over it. I may have been born at night, but I wasn’t born
last
night.”

Vincent sighed, spreading his arms with his palms up. “Look, Don, I know you think I supported the other guy, and we’ve been friends for thirty years. You supported me the first time I ran for the Legislature, and I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us. I just wanted you to know some friends of mine have endowed a professorship at WVU’s law school. We’ve discussed it, and I think you’d be the perfect candidate for that position. You have a lifetime of experience to share with students, and you’d have a very comfortable salary. It would be a win-win for everybody.”

Gammalo clenched his jaw. His brown eyes blazed. “You’re right, Luke,” he said slowly. “I
did
support you in that first race. And you stabbed me in the back because your new friends at the Chamber of Commerce dislike some of the opinions I’ve written from the bench.”

The old jurist took a deep breath and pulled his gloved right hand out of his coat pocket. “You used to stand for the working man, Luke,” he said, jabbing his finger into the governor’s face. “
That’s
why I supported you when you first ran for the Legislature.”

Gammalo paused, his eyes burrowing into Vincent. “But somewhere along the way, Luke, you
changed
. You don’t support anyone but
yourself
now. And if I were you, I’d take a long hard look in the mirror and try to figure out how that happened.” The Justice turned and strolled away. “By the way, Luke,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Your friends can keep that professorship. I’d rather have a clear conscience than a cushy job any day of the week.”

Vincent found himself at a loss for words. He wanted to defend himself, to change the old man’s mind and influence his vote in the appeal. But as he watched Gammalo slowly walk toward his old Jeep, the governor was utterly speechless.

CHAPTER 64

PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 6:45 P.M.

His two sons grew louder and rowdier as kickoff drew near for the WVU/Pitt game. Jack knew Tabatha would start yelling if he let the ruckus continue, so he quickly reviewed his email to Beria one last time:

Re: Draft Contract/Due Diligence, Part III
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
bcc:[email protected]
Attachment: enviroaffidavit.doc

Hello Alex,

Thanks for sending the purchase agreement. My lawyers need more time to review it due to the Thanksgiving holiday, but I will respond by next Wednesday.

As indicated in my affidavit, MR is in good standing with the state and federal environmental agencies. There are no environmental claims against MR, and I don’t believe any of our other leaseholds are in danger of lapsing due to non-development.

Once my lawyers give their OK, I’ll sign the non-disclosure agreement and fax it to you. I trust Petromica now has everything needed to finish its ‘due diligence.’ It was time-consuming to gather those documents & I hope we finalize this deal soon.

Have a good weekend!

Jack

“What’s taking so long to close this deal?” Tabatha asked pointedly. She stood behind him, peering over his shoulder at the computer screen.

Jack literally jumped an inch in the air. “Holy shit! Where did you come from?”

“From in there,” she answered, motioning with her head toward the family room. “I came to tell you that if you don’t want to find your boys chopped up into little pieces and shoved under the house, you need to get in there and start cracking down on them.”

“They’re just excited about the game,” he bristled. “If we win tonight, we’ll probably play for the national championship! This is huge!”

Tabatha snorted. “I’ve heard
that
before. WVU always finds a way to lose, and this year is no different.”

Jack clicked and sent his email. Standing up, he turned and faced Tabatha. “That’s the beauty of college football: Anything can happen on any given Saturday, and true fans always find a way to believe in their team.”

Tabatha leaned back and cackled. “What a crock of shit. And only someone as naïve as you would say such a thing.”

Jack felt his face flush. “What do you mean?”

“The world is full of winners and losers, Jack. It’s that simple. The Ohio States and Floridas of the world are winners. The WVUs of the world are losers. No matter how hard they work or believe their dreams will come true, they always choke.”

She paused, examining Jack closely, and his neck hair rose. He had seen this malicious spark in her eyes before, and he realized she was about to turn on him like a rabid dog.

“Come to think of it,” she added. “WVU reminds me a lot of
you
, Jack. And I bet this Petromica deal goes down the shitter, too. But then again, I’ve been married to you so long I’m used to it now.” She closed with a short, bitter laugh.

Jack’s hands were balled into fists and his heart pounded in his chest. “People will be here any minute,” he said very deliberately. “So go upstairs, turn on the Lifetime channel, and stay in the bedroom until the game is over and everyone is gone. Because if I see your face down here the rest of the night, I don’t think I’ll able to control myself.”

Tabatha pursed her lips. “Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll stay
well
out of your hair tonight. The last thing I want to see is a bunch of grown men crying over a football game.” Strolling away casually, she laughed again, leaving the echoes of her heels wafting behind her.

The musical doorbell interrupted Jack’s fury. He glanced at his watch. It was 6:58. Closing his eyes, he filled his lungs with air then slowly exhaled.

After composing himself, Jack walked to the front door and opened it. Dave Anderson stood beneath the porch light with a mischievous smile and a twelve pack.

Jack stood aside and made a sweeping, inward motion with his right arm. “Come on in. The game will be starting any minute.”

Dave stepped inside. “You want me to put these in the fridge?”

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “Right after you pull out two of ‘em for us.”

They strolled down the hallway into the kitchen. Walking past the family room, Jack peered in and saw his two sons lying in the floor, facing the big screen TV. WVU’s players were on the field wearing white jerseys with gold pants, lined up for the opening kick.

“Let’s move it, Dave!” he yelled. “They’re kicking off!”

Glass bottles loudly clanged against one another, then the refrigerator door slammed shut and Dave jogged into the family room. He handed Jack a beer. “I didn’t miss anything, did I?”

“Not yet,” Jack replied, sitting on the couch. Dave followed suit.

Pitt’s kicker booted the ball. Arcing down, it landed in the outstretched arms of WVU’s return man who sprinted behind his wall of blockers, blowing past defenders until he was tackled violently at the 40 yard line.

Logan and Brandon cheered loudly, kicking their sock-clad feet against the carpet. Jack uncapped his bottle and extended it to Dave. “Cheers, my friend.”

Dave clinked bottles with his mentor. “Let’s Go, Mountaineers! Win this one, and it’s on to the championship!”

Feeling a sense of contentment, Jack nodded. Gazing around the room at his two sons and his former protégée, he felt both nostalgic and optimistic.

To hell with Tabatha
, he thought with a smile.
Maybe
she’s
too bitter to believe dreams can come true. But everyone else here knows better.

APPALACHIAN POWER PARK
CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 8:30 P.M.

Governor Vincent ambled through the club suite to the restroom. Entering a stall, he was draining his bladder when his cell phone vibrated.

Flicking twice, he flushed the toilet with his foot and redressed. His phone indicated he had received a new multimedia message.

Vincent sat on the toilet. WVU had just taken over on downs and he felt confident no one would walk in the john while the Mountaineers’ offense had the ball.

Tabatha’s message read, “Don’t you miss Pleasants County hospitality?” Sensing danger, he quickly lowered the volume and took a deep breath.

As the video started, his stomach dropped. Tabatha was outstretched on a bed, wearing a lacy black bra and matching thong panties, while black thigh-high hose covered her long legs. “Why don’t you come here, Mr. Governor?” she playfully asked, motioning sensuously with one finger for him to approach. Her words were almost inaudible, but he could follow along by combining his memories with a little lip-reading.

Vincent’s image appeared, taking a position by the bed. Recognizing his baby blue golf shirt and khaki pants, he suddenly remembered this tryst: It had occurred the previous summer in a St. Marys motel room, during his trip to the annual Bass Festival.

He watched Tabatha unbutton his khakis, sliding his pants and underwear down his legs. Prostrating herself on the bed, she took him in her mouth. As the scene unfolded, he felt frozen, unable to tear his eyes away.

Two minutes later, Vincent watched himself slowly remove Tabatha’s panties and part her legs, positioning himself for entry. She moaned, her long red hair flailing across the sheet as her fingernails dug into his chest. Then he regained control of his senses and shut off the video.

In a split-second, he had a plan. Tapping a carefully worded response, he put away the phone and walked over to the sink. Washing his hands, he poured cool water on his face and examined himself in the mirror.

This all will be over very soon.

CHAPTER 65

PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 9:40 P.M.

Jack stared at the TV from the edge of his seat. Dave nervously rubbed his palms together. They were waiting for WVU’s offense to retake the field after using its last timeout.

“Come on,” Dave softly pleaded, rocking back and forth. “We need six here.”

A huge bear of a man sitting to Jack’s left cried, “Put the ball in the end zone, damn it!” With a thick, dark brown moustache and bushy beard, he was wearing one of the shiny navy blue jerseys WVU wore for most home games.

Jack frowned and elbowed the man in the ribs. “Daggone it, Bart! Watch what you’re saying! Your nephews are young and impressionable.”

“Sorry, brother. You know what Mountaineer games do to me.”

Jack shook his head sadly. “Yeah, I know.” Then he jammed a finger into the soft side of his brother’s gut. “If I was you, I’d worry more about all those
bacon cheeseburgers
you’re eating. If you don’t lose some weight, the Mountaineers are gonna give you a coronary.”

“That’s what I keep telling him!” Bart’s wife exclaimed. “I’m waiting for him to keel over one morning as he’s climbing up on his tractor.”

“All right, Melinda! All right!” Bart McCallen conceded. “I’ll start taking better care of myself, I swear.” Turning his eyes skyward, the grizzly-looking man declared, “Lord … if You help our boys pull this game out of their keister, I promise I’ll start living better. I
swear!
”

Logan hopped up and down. “
Come on
, Mountaineers!!!”

WVU’s players began approaching the line of scrimmage at Pitt’s 32 yard line. The defenders scurried around the short side of the field in blue jerseys with gold numbers and blue pants. The graphic at the bottom of the screen read:

“PITT 28 WVU 24 0:09 4th & 7”

Two WVU players lined up wide on the left side of the ball with another two spread out near the far hash mark. The quarterback and tailback stood in the backfield, and the quarterback barked out calls, struggling to be heard over the roaring Pittsburgh crowd. Slashing his right hand down toward the ground like a knife, the quarterback tensed, preparing for the snap. Recognizing the signal, the center raised his head and hiked the ball.