Part 17 (1/2)
”Because he's Dunetown's golden boy. He's handsome, he's rich, he's young. He's a lawyer, married to a beautiful woman, and an ex-football star. His politics are moderate. His family's acceptable. And he's the state racing commissioner. Isn't that enough?”
”Sounds like he was born for the job.”
”Besides, Dunetown's long overdue for a governor, particularly with the city growing so, and Harry's just perfect.”
”Couldn't that be a hot spot?”
”Governor?” she said.
”Racing commissioner.”
”Anything but, dear boy. Harry's brought a lot of money to the state. And a lot of tax money for the schools.”
”I never trust a politician who was born with his mouth full of silver,” I said.
”Ah, but he wasn't.”
”So he married the money, that it?”
”Do you know Harry?” she asked. Her tone was turning cautious. I had the feeling I had stretched my luck a little thin.
”Nope,” I said. ”Just trying to get the feel of things. Obviously he's a man with a lot of drive. A lot of ambition.”
”Is there something wrong with that?” she asked.
”Not necessarily. Depends on how much ambition and how big a drive. What you're willing to trade for success.”
”He didn't have to trade anything for it, darling. He got all the prizes. The town's richest and most desirable young woman, her father's political clout. But he didn't sit on his little A-frame and drink it up the way a lot of them have. He made a name for himself. ”
”What's he like personally?”
She leaned back in her chair and eyed me suspiciously. I was beginning to sound a little too much like a man with an axe to grind and Babs Thomas was n.o.body's fool.
”Just what the h.e.l.l is your game, Kilmer?” she said.
”Told you, I'm trying to get a line on the town.”
”No, you're trying to get a line on Harry Raines.”
”Well, he's part of the big picture,” I said, trying to sound as casual as I could.
She leaned forward and said flippantly, ”You don't have to like a man to vote for him. Personally I find him a bit cold, but he gets things done. The rest of the state is in a depression and Dunetown is in the middle of a boom. You can't have everything. If he was any better he'd probably be in the movies.”
I laughed at her rationale. I'm sure most of the voters in the state would look at Harry Raines in the same way. Babs Thomas had a bit of Everywoman in her, although I'm sure she would have killed anyone who accused her of that.
”Anyway,” she said, tossing her head, ”the sheriff's on his side. That's reason enough to get elected.”
”That would be this t.i.tan fellow?”
”No, darling, not 'this t.i.tan fellow.' Mister Stoney. G.o.d owes him favors.”
”And he and Raines are buddies?”
I was coaxing information now.
”When Chief's son, Teddy, was killed in Vietnam,” she said, ”Chief almost died with him. Doe married Harry less than a year later. Chief faded out of the picture right after that.”
”As soon as he was sure the keys to the kingdom were in the right pocket,” I said. It was not a question. ”And now Sam Donleavy's running the store for Raines, isn't that it?”
”Yes. They're inseparable friends.”
Listening to her was like dej vu.
”Is Donleavy one of the landed aristocracy?”
”No, he's just plain people. He's from New Joisey,” she said playfully. ”Nouveau riche. You'd like him.”
I grimaced at her. ”Thanks a lot.”
”Just joking. Actually Sam's quite a charmer. His wife left him about a year ago. Ran off with her karate instructor. Sam took it quite hard at first, but he's over it now. In fact, right now I'd say he's the town's most eligible bachelor-and enjoying every minute of it.”
”Is this Raines clean?” I asked.
”Clean? You mean does he bathe?” She wasn't joking; it was obvious she didn't understand me.
”No, you know-does he cheat on his wife, that sort of thing?”
”Harry, cheat? He wouldn't dare.” She stared over my shoulder as she spoke and her eyes grew wide. ”Speak of the devil,” she said. ”There's Doe Findley now.”
19.
LITTLE TONY LUKATIS.
It's hard to be casual when every muscle in your body has turned to ice. I tried playing for time.
”Who?” I asked, in a voice that seemed to me to be at least an octave above normal.
”Doe Findley,” Babs said impatiently, pointing over my shoulder. ”Turn around!”
I turned in slow motion, still playing the charade, still acting like the whole thing was a bore. Doe was coming out of a small meeting room with a dozen other well-dressed women. She was wearing tan silk slacks and a dark green silk blouse and her golden hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and tied with a red ribbon.
”That's the horsey set,” Babs said. ”Thoroughbred breeders.”
But I wasn't paying any attention. I was remembering the first time I ever saw Doe. Her hair was tied back just like that, except she was only fifteen at the time. Teddy brought her into the dorm, where we shared a room. She was wearing tight white jeans and a red pullover and she didn't look any more like a fifteen-year-old than I look like Muhammad Ali. I had seen her pictures, of course; Teddy was big on family pictures. But she didn't look like that in pictures. No way. All I clearly remember was that she had an absolutely sensational rear end. I couldn't take my eyes off it. I was embarra.s.sed, but my eyes kept straying. It was like a magnet. I tried, I tried really hard, but it didn't do any good. I kept sneaking peeks. Then Teddy suddenly buried an elbow in my side.
”She's fifteen,” he hissed under his breath.