The Porkchoppers (19 page)

Ted Lawson pushed a button and for several moments there was only the sound of some kind of a mechanical noise.

“Recognize it?” Penry said.

Cubbin shook his head.

“You should, you've heard it often enough. That's a mimeograph machine. When we first considered taking part in your campaign a few days ago, I told the boys to go out and see if they could dig up anything that would be both useful and, I might as well admit it, impressive. Peter used his talents and discovered that something interesting was going on in a couple of motel rooms just outside of Washington. Then Ted used his talents and managed to record these happenings on tape. I think you're going to find it informative.”

For a while there was nothing on the tape but the sound of the mimeograph machine. Then it stopped and a man's voice said, “Well, that's the last thousand.”

Another man's voice said, “How many's that make now?”

“Fifty thousand on this batch.”

“God, I'd like to see old Don's face when he reads this one.”

“Yeah, it's a pretty good one, all right. You got any of that coffee left?”

“Yeah, I think there's some left.”

“Well, I think I'll have another cup before I run any more.”

“Yeah, I think it's still hot.”

“You know what I can't figure out?”

“What?”

“Why Barnett has such a hard on for Cubbin.”

“I hear it goes back a long ways. I hear that he tried it once before back in fifty-five or 'six.”

“Barnett?”

“Yeah. He tried to dump Cubbin once before.”

“What happened?”

“I don't know. I wasn't around then. But he must not have made it because Cubbin's still president.”

“That Cubbin's a funny guy. You ever meet him?”

“Yeah, I met him. He's always about half in the bag.”

“He looks good though. On television I mean.”

“He wears a wig.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah, I hear he paid a thousand bucks for it out in Hollywood. He got his the same place all those movie stars get theirs.”

“Well, Barnett's sure got it in for him. He's spending money too. He's got me and you here and Hepple and Karpinski out in L.A. and Joe James and Murray Fletcher in Chicago and what's his name in Cleveland—uh—”

“Fields. Stan Fields.”

“Yeah. Fields. Is he Jewish?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, what is that, seven guys living like we're living? Hell, it must be costing a thousand bucks a day.”

“More.”

“Yeah, more. More like two thousand when we start traveling.”

“Well, I don't guess there's any law against it.”

“Against what?”

“Against one labor-union president trying to knock off another one.”

“Even if they ain't in the same union?”

“I don't know of any law against it.”

“Yeah. Any more coffee?”

“There's a little bit left. Here.”

“Thanks. Well, it's warm anyway. What about this guy Hanks?”

“What about him?”

“He any better than Cubbin?”

“Barnett thinks so, I guess, but shit, you get up there and start making forty and fifty thou a year and you don't give a good goddamn about the members. You just wanna look good. I don't know anything about this guy Hanks except that he must have some kinda deal with Barnett. They gotta have something fixed up or we wouldn't be working for Hanks.”

“Well, when they get up that high they all get big-shotitis.”

“That's for sure.”

“I guess we'd better start on this new batch. You wanna run the machine or stack 'em in the boxes?”

“I'll run the machine awhile.”

“Okay.”

There was the sound of movement and then the sound of the mimeograph machine and then the tape came to an end. Lawson switched it to rewind as the others in the room turned to look at Cubbin. His face was pale and his lips were tightly compressed. “That son of a bitch,” he said.

“Barnett tried it once before, didn't he, Don?” Penry said.

“In fifty-five,” Cubbin said.

“That's a highly edited tape that you heard, Don,” Lawson said. “Most of the rest of the time they were talking about women.”

“You got their names?”

Lawson nodded. “I got their names and I also got a sample of what they were running off on that mimeograph machine. And I've got pictures of the interior of the two motel rooms and of them entering and leaving it. You've got all the proof you need.”

Cubbin turned to look at his son. “Kelly, get on the phone to Audrey over at the hotel and tell her to call Barnett down in Washington. Tell her that I want an appointment with him Tuesday at eleven
A.M.
Tell her that I won't accept any excuses and that she can lean on Bar nett's secretary or whoever she talks to as hard as she wants. She'll know how to do it.”

“What if Barnett's going to be out of town Tuesday?” Kelly said.

“Tell Audrey that I said that he'd better have his ass back in town. Don't worry, she'll fix it up.”

When Kelly went over to the phone to make the call, Cubbin turned to Penry. “Have you got some kind of a small portable machine that I can carry in a briefcase and just push the button to play that tape? I'm going to make a little speech to Mr. Howard Barnett on Tuesday and I don't want to ruin its effect by having to fumble around with a tape.”

Forever the actor, Penry thought, but replied, “We'll send a small one over to your hotel this afternoon, Don, all threaded and ready to go.”

“What do you plan to say to Barnett?” asked Majury whose craving to know was almost physical.

“Say to him?”

“Yes.”

Cubbin stood up. “Well, I guess I'll call him a few names first and then I'm going to tell him that if he so much as looks in my direction again I'm going to kick his ass right up to his shoulders.”

Kelly came back from the phone. “Audrey's making the call now,” he said.

Cubbin nodded and looked at Penry and his associates. “Well, I guess you guys have dealt yourself in. Thanks.”

“We're looking forward to it, Don,” Penry said.

Cubbin nodded. “I appreciate it. You know while you're snooping around there's something else that you might look into for me.”

“What?” Penry said.

“It's just a feeling I've got. A hunch.”

“What?”

“Here in Chicago.”

“What about Chicago?”

“That's where they're going to try to steal it. Wouldn't you if you were Sammy?”

“Yes,” said Walter Penry, nodding slowly, “as a matter of fact, I would.”

18

Sadie Cubbin lay on her side in the rumpled bed in room 918 of the Sheraton and watched Fred Mure as he slept and snored. He's earned it, she thought. He's given satisfactory service once, twice and sometimes even three times a day for the past four months now so you can't object if he snores a little when he sleeps.

She reached for a cigarette and lit it and then turned back to watch Mure. I think the first few times he did it to accommodate Don, not me. He fucked me because he knew that Don couldn't and so it was part of the service, like arranging for the elevator and putting Don to bed at night and getting him to places on time. Too drunk to fuck your wife, boss? Merely another simple problem in logistics except that Fred wouldn't use a word like that. So that's all it was at first, just stud service, but now he's built it into something more and when Don gets through with this election and things get back to where they were before, Fred is going to be a problem. Poor, ignorant, beautiful, cunning, crafty, sexy Fred Mure's in love with the boss's wife and she lets him be in love with her because she has to have it. He thinks it's going to continue like this when Don gets well again after the election. Don must know. Don't kid yourself, Sadie, of course he knows. That's why he wouldn't let them send Fred away, because he knew his wife had to have her share and she wasn't going to get it from him and she had to get it from somewhere and somehow Fred is no threat to Don. God, what a mess. It was all right before he started drinking this time. No it wasn't all right, but you could live with it. You got fucked twice a week, sometimes three. Now you get it twice a day, sometimes three. Well, there's no use worrying about it now. You can worry afterward, after the election. God, I hope Don loses. Please, God, make him lose.

Fred Mure opened his eyes and looked at Sadie. “I was asleep.”

“I know. I was watching you.”

“What time is it?”

“A little after three.”

“I'd better get going. He should be getting back around three-thirty.”

“What's the schedule for tonight?”

“He's got two meetings,” Fred said, “one in Calumet and one in Gary.”

“We'd better get dressed.”

Fred Mure smiled at Sadie, turned, and ran a hand over her body. “We've got a little time.”

She trembled and then the tremble turned into a shiver. “We shouldn't, darling,” she said as she wiggled toward him.

At four o'clock that afternoon Donald Cubbin finished reading the memorandum that Charles Guyan had handed him. He looked up at Oscar Imber and asked, “You read it?”

“I read it.”

“What do you think?”

“I think it's fine,” Imber said. “It's just the kind of PR program you need, if you had a million bucks to spend.”

Cubbin turned to Guyan who was half sprawled on the couch in the living room of Cubbin's suite. “How much fat's in there?”

“Not much.”

“Come on, I never read one of these things yet that didn't have some frills that could be cut out.”

“You might be able to get by on eight hundred thousand.”

“We haven't got eight hundred thousand,” Imber said. “We haven't got nearly that much.”

“We do now,” Cubbin said.

Imber leaned forward in his chair. “What do you mean, we do now?”

Cubbin smiled. “I raised four hundred thousand this afternoon. I can probably squeeze another two hundred thousand out of them. With what you've raised we've got enough.”

Imber stood up. “Where did you raise that much?”

“Friends.”

“Come on, Don. Where?”

“Walter Penry.”

“Jesus,” Imber said and sat back down, slumping in the chair.

“It's clean money,” Cubbin said.

“Bullshit,” Imber said.

“Is Penry in on this now?” Guyan said.

“He's going to help out a bit,” Cubbin said.

“Then you've got my resignation.”

“What the hell do you mean I've got your resignation?”

“I don't work with Penry.”

“Why not? What's wrong with Walter Penry?”

“He's slimy, that's what's wrong with him. He's the slimiest son of a bitch in the world and I'm not going to take any crap from him or from that creeping Jesus who works for him.”

Imber glanced at Guyan. “You mean Peter Majury?”

“
Jawohl,
” Guyan said and made a Nazi salute. “You know Majury?”

Imber nodded. “I know him and I know Penry, too.”

“Well,” Guyan said as he rose, “it's been real.”

“Sit down, Charlie,” Imber said. “Let's find out about this first. If it's like you think it is, I'll go with you.” Imber looked at Cubbin. “All right, tell us.”

“I don't have to tell you a fuckin thing, sonny,” Cubbin said, his voice rising. “If you want to quit, then quit. Christ, everybody else has run out on me. I'm sixty-two years old, but by God I can still run a campaign if I want to and I don't need any help from people who quit if they think they're not going to be the big cheese. I don't need you guys; I don't need anybody.”

“Calm down, chief,” Kelly said from his chair in the corner. “Just tell them what Penry told you.”

“You were there, Kelly?” Imber said.

“I was there.”

“What do you think?”

“About what?”

“About what we're talking about, for Christ's sake.”

“I think you guys are being childish. All of you. Penry's come up with some money. He swears it's clean and no strings attached. He also claims that he doesn't want anything to do with the PR or the management of Dad's campaign. He seems to want to work on the opposition, to come up with a few tricks that'll be dirtier than theirs. Although it's the first time I've met him, I'd say he might be able to do it. I didn't much care for him.”

“All right, Don,” Imber said, “let's start all over.”

“You guys want to quit, go ahead.”

“We're all a little edgy, Don. Just tell us about the money first.”

“It's just like Kelly said. There're no strings.”

“How about later?”

Cubbin shook his head. “No. None then either.”

“Who's putting it up?”

“The money?”

“Christ, yes, the money.”

“I don't know. Penry said friends of mine.”

Imber shook his head. “What do you think? I mean really.”

Cubbin sighed. “I'd like a drink.”

Imber looked at Kelly who nodded and said, “I'll get it.” He rose and went into the adjoining bedroom. Sadie Cubbin was seated in a chair, reading a magazine. “How's it going?” she said.

“All right,” Kelly said, mixing a bourbon and water.

“Is your dad okay?”

“He'll make it,” Kelly said and went back into the living room and handed his father the drink.

Cubbin took a large swallow. “You want to know what I think, huh?”

“That's right,” Imber said.

“Well, I don't have any friends who're going to put up four or five or six hundred thousand to get me reelected. I don't think anybody has friends like that. So that only leaves one source that I can think of.”