“I’m no fool, Mr Barron. But the day before Ted died he had a long phone conversation with Benedict Howards. I only heard part of it, but they argued and called each other terrible things, terrible things. Ted told Howards he was through with him, would have no part of the Foundation anymore, said Howards was a filthy monster. I’ve never seen Ted so furious.
“He told Howards that he was going to publicly withdraw his support from the Freezer Utility Bill, make a statement to the press about something awful he had found out the Foundation was doing. And Howards said, ‘No one backs out on Benedict Howards, Hennering. Cross me, and I’ll squash you like a bug.’ Those were his exact words. And then Ted said something terribly obscene, and hung up. When I asked Ted what it was all about, he got mad at me, but he really seemed terribly frightened—and I’d never seen my husband really scared before. Ted refused to tell me anything, said it was too dangerous for me to know, he didn’t… didn’t want my life to be in danger. And then he flew back home to talk with the Governor, but… but he never got there. Howards had him killed—I know he had him killed.”
Crazy paranoid bullshit! Barron thought. Bet your ass Hennering was involved in forty-seven slimy deals with the Foundation, went from State Senator to Congressman to Senator on Bennie’s bread, anybody with brains enough to read the funny paper knows that. Real touching lady, old college try to make your husband a dead hero instead of Bennie’s late stooge, Democrat front-man for Foundation muscle. Deathbed repentance yet, and just before he’s conveniently blown to kingdom come. Ted Hennering, Noble Martyr. Yeah, sure, after a hundred million people saw him two weeks ago gibbering like… like…
Jesus H. Christ! Was that why Hennering was so uptight? Shit, it does figure! Hennering was killed on Thursday night, which means he could’ve had it out with Howards either on Wednesday or Thursday, like she says, would’ve known whatever was supposed to have turned him off the Foundation when he was on Bug Jack Barron. Would sure explain why he was so out of it…
“You do believe me, don’t you Mr Barron?” Madge Hennering said. “Everyone in Washington says you’re an enemy of Benedict Howards. You’ll want to use this against him, you’ll want to put me on your program and help me tell the country how my husband died, won’t you? And not just to save Ted’s reputation. Mr Barron, I was married to Ted for twenty-one years. I really knew him, I know he wasn’t a great man, and I know he did cooperate with Howards, but he wasn’t a bad man or a coward. He found out something about the Foundation for Human Immortality that infuriated him, sickened him, something so terrible he feared for his life, and for mine, just because he knew it.
“I don’t know much about politics, but murdering a United States Senator is something that even a man like Benedict Howards wouldn’t risk doing unless… unless he felt he couldn’t afford not to. I don’t know what this is all about, but something terrible has to be going on for Howards to resort to politicial assassination. A lunatic with a gun is one thing, but this… this is something out of European history books… the Borgias… Ted, oh, Ted!” and she began to shake, sob convulsively, convincing Barron that at least the woman wasn’t trying to put him on.
But cold-blooded political assassination, he thought, that’s gotta be pure paranoia. So maybe Hennering did find out something rank enough to turn him off the Foundation (but what the fuck could be rank enough to make a phony like Hennering get enough religion to throw away Howards’ backing for the Presidential nomination?), maybe he did have a fight with Howards, and maybe Bennie did threaten him (how many times has Howards given me that squash-you-like-a-bug schtick?). But blowing up airplanes, the whole Borgia bit… pure coincidence, is all. This hysterical chick adds up one and one and gets three, is all.
Donner replaced Madge Hennering on the vidphone screen. “Well, Jack,” he said, “what’re you going to do? Should I have her call in Wednesday? This is big, scary—”
“Yeah, it’s scary all right,” Barron said. “What scares me is the thought of the lawsuit Howards could slap on everyone in sight if that woman gets on the air and accuses him of murdering without a scrap of evidence. You’re supposed to be a lawyer? Don’t even know libel when it’s screaming in your face! Not only could Howards sue, but the FCC would have me off the air quicker than you could say ‘yellow journalism.’ Forget it, Donner, I may be crazy, but I’m not out of my mind.”
“But, Jack—”
“And don’t call me Jack!” Barron snapped loudly. “In fact, don’t bother to call me at all.” And he broke the connection as Sara’s eyes finally blinked half open.
“Uh… whazzat…?” she grunted.
“Go back to sleep, baby,” said Barron. “Just a crank call, is all. Just a couple of screwballs.”
Yeah, he thought, just a pair of nuts. Bennie may be a little flakey, but he’s not about to go around killing people; he’s got too much to lose, his precious immortal life in the electric chair… .
Nevertheless, his back against the bedstead began to itch faintly.
12
Jeez man, what’s the matter with you, Jack Barron thought as they rolled the final commercial, Real stinkeroo tonight. So acid’s legal under Strip City SJC jurisdiction, but maybe illegal under Greg Morris’ California State Law, so Morris has his Attorney General demand access to the Strip City Narcotics Licensing Bureau records, to make Woody Kaplan look like either a criminal or a stoolie, and the mayor of Freakoutsville says “nyet.” Big fucking deal. Should’ve suggested the state-fuzz bust into the Strip City offices, grab the records on a state writ,then the hippy cops could bust ’em for breaking and entering under local law, and the state cops bust the local fuzz for interfering with state police, and you’d have all the cops in the County of Los Angeles arresting each other on street corners, good for laughs, at least. Which is about all the last 45 minutes could’ve been good for.
But I even blew that, just can’t keep my mind on that kind of crap, not with the real action that’s going on.Madge Hennering run over by a truck! Hit-and-run by a Hertz rental with the plates removed, impossible to trace, try to tell herself that wasn’t a pro job! Try to kid yourself you don’t know who bought the hit, Barron… Man, oh,man, would I like to get Bennie on the line now and hit him with that! Yeah, and what would he hit me with, a safe falling off the Empire State Building, or a lawsuit and the FCC and the kitchen sink…?
“Course it all could be coincidence, or the Hennering clan could have other enemies she didn’t talk about. Yeah, sure, and the Mars Expedition’s gonna find out Mars is made of red cheese. What the hell am I mixed up in anyway?
Snap out of it man, you’ve got a show to run, gotta try and pull something out of tonight’s fiasco. And the promptboard said “60 Seconds.”
“Hey Vince,” Barron said over the intercom circuit, “we got any real kook calls come into the monkey block tonight?”
Gelardi’s face was sour and worried behind the control-booth glass (Vince smells the egg we’re laying too), but he grinned wanly as he said, “You kidding? This is still Bug Jack Barron, just barely maybe, but we still got every freako in the country calling in.” And the promptboard flashed “30 Seconds.”