—
THE FLIGHT RAN LATE,as usual. As soon as the plane touched down, Lucas called Smalls, who answered on the first ring, and said, “I saw that you were coming in late. I got here five minutes ago. I’m heading over to the Stone Arch.”
Lucas had no checked baggage. He grabbed his pack and his overnight bag and was on the Jetway ten minutes after the wheels touched down.
The bar was a typical airport restaurant, tables too close together, meant for singles or couples on their way to somewhere else rather than settling in for the evening. Smalls managed to find a table that was three down from the next closest drinker, who paid him no attention. Lucas spotted him, went over, dropped his pack and bag, shook hands, said, “Nice to see you, Senator,” and sat down. “What’s up?”
“Get a sandwich or something,” Smalls said. “I’ve got a burger and beer on the way.”
—
WHEN THE WAITRESShad come with Smalls’s order and gone with Lucas’s, Smalls leaned across the table and said, “This is going to sound insane, but that automobile accident? That was no accident. It was an assassination attempt. They were trying to kill me and they wound up killing CeeCee. I know who must’ve been behind it. You do, too.”
Lucas said nothing for a moment, but when he did, it was: “Oh, Jesus Christ, Porter, are you sure?”
“Let me tell you about it,” Smalls said.
—
HE DID,pausing only for the arrival of Lucas’s Diet Coke and chicken sandwich, and when he finished his story, he asked, “See what I mean?”
“No sign of paint or metal from the other truck? None at all?”
“That’s what the West Virginia accident investigator says, and he seemed competent. So, there’s a mystery. People keep hinting that the mystery might be in my head. They ask if maybe the trauma of the event made me think we were hit when what actually happened was that CeeCee swerved to miss the truck and hit this little ankle-high roadside berm so hard that I thought the truck hit us. But that’s not it. Wewerehit. Hard.”
“You think the West Virginia cops are in on it?” Lucas asked.
“Oh, hell no. Well, not hell no, but it seems unlikely. That would make the whole conspiracy too big and unmanageable. You know, I never believed in hit men outside of the movies until Grant wiped me out two years ago. Sure enough, she had hitmen. This is the same goddamn thing. She came after me again because I’ve been giving her a hard time.”
“What do you want me to do?” Lucas asked.
—
“I WANT TO KNOWwhat happened, the best you can give it to me,” Smalls said to him now. “Review the accident investigation. See if you can find the truck that hit us. West Virginia won’t even be looking for it.” Smalls’s voice grew quieter. He glanced around the restaurant. “I want you to be very discreet. If it is Grant behind this, she’ll probably try again. I oughta be dead right now. CeeCee did a hell of a job getting us into the trees that stopped us; I couldn’t have done it.”
Lucas nodded, and asked, “Is Grant going to run for president?”
“Yeah, probably. That’s another problem, but I’m not asking you to solve that one. My first priority is staying alive.” They sat and thought in silence for minute, then Smalls asked, “What do you think?”
“I believe you’re telling the truth, but I’m not sure the truth is going to lead directly to Taryn Grant. I’ll talk to the West Virginia cops, poke around, see what develops. Probably stay away from Grant, at least for the time being,” Lucas said.
“I can have my staff line up anyone you want to talk to,” Smalls said. “My chief of staff is named Kitten Carter. She’s absolutely reliable and trustworthy. I’ll have Kitten liaise with you, since she already knows about it.”
“Good. I have to talk to my wife, but I can be in D.C. on Monday,” Lucas said. He sat back and looked at Smalls, leanedforward and said, his voice as soft as Smalls’s, “One more thing, though: if it’s Taryn Grant, how did she get hooked up with another bunch of professional killers? She’s only been in Washington for, what, two years?”
“I’ve got an answer for that,” Smalls said. “She’s on the Senate Intelligence Committee and she talks to spooks all the time. Then there’s the fact that she could run for the presidency. She’s young, great-looking, richer than God and willing to spend that money. It looks like we’ll have a seriously unpopular president in two more years who might either take a chance and run again and risk getting blown out or leave it to some other guy who’ll still be carrying that unpopularity on his back. So, she’s a real possibility. When the people in Washington sniff out a real possibility... well, they can’t climb on the bandwagon fast enough. Everybody’s got to have a bandwagon going into a presidential election.”
“Even killers?”
“The intelligence community,” Smalls said, sitting back and simultaneously turning to look down the concourse, as though he might spot a spy. “Listen, Lucas, there are literally hundreds of trained killers out of the military and working as contractors with the private intelligence organizations. Most of them are fine people. Patriots who have risked their lives for the country. But some of these guys aren’t so fine, and I’ve had a few of them testifying before committees. They don’t have any real limits, moral or otherwise. They live on risk. They love it. You show them Grant’s kind of money and the possibility that she might wind up in the White House? They’ll be available. That’s my gut feeling.”
“Why you and why now?”
“Because I’ve been pissing on Grant ever since the election and some of it is beginning to stick.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t piss for a while,” Lucas suggested.
Smalls grinned, and said, “I’m hiding out in town for now, and I’ve hired a couple of ex-cops to cover me. If you jump on this, maybe you’ll be able to tell me how much trouble I’m in. Be nice to know, before I get back out in the open.”
