At the tables, the male guests were in tuxedos, the women garbed in spectacular evening gowns, their jewelry glittering brilliantly in the camera lights.
The room reeked of affluence.
Bolan hung back near the rear of the room with the contingent of newspaper reporters, recognizable as such by the fact that their garb wasn't as sharp and fashionable as that of their electronic media counterparts.
Dutton occupied a seat at a front table, which sat on a kind of raised platform, along with several other men whom Bolan identified as political figures from both city and state level.
The senator, whom Bolan knew to be a liberal desperately trying to pass himself off as a kind of neo-conservative so he could stay in office these days, was a tall, slender, handsome man, a lock of graying hair rakishly covering part of his forehead.
There was one man at the head table with Dutton whom Bolan did not recognize. He sat at Dutton's immediate left, his head bald except for a fringe of sandy hair over his ears. He wore thick glasses, and with his diffident smile and mild blue eyes, he looked like somebody's favorite uncle.
Bolan stood on the periphery of the clutch of reporters while one of the politicians stood up, rapped on his water glass with a spoon and launched into some after-dinner remarks that led to an introduction of the senator.
Some of the reporters shot an occasional curious glance at Bolan, not recognizing him, but no one bothered to ask him any questions.
He waited until Dutton had been introduced, then took out a pencil and pad as the senator began his speech.
"I really can't tell everyone how glad I am to be here tonight," Dutton began in a smooth actor's voice. "It makes me feel good to know that in an apparently heartless world, so many people really care about kids."
Bolan's jaw tightened.
Kids.
Dutton went on, as if addressing a close circle of friends.
"Sometimes it seems as if today's world has become morally bankrupt, what with the floodtide of pornography, crime and violence, but then I see a gathering like this, where people come together to raise money for a good cause, and I am reassured. I regain my faith in my fellow man. Morality is not dead and never has been!"
That brought a thunderous round of applause from the packed ballroom.
Bolan watched in silence.
Dutton continued his speech, warming up now, and after several long minutes of pontificating, he got to the actual subject.
"Many of you may know that we have already raised more than enough for the new inner-city playground project, so that ghetto children will have a place to play besides on the streets. And the man who is largely responsible for getting this whole project off the ground is up here with me tonight."
He turned slightly to gesture at the bald man who was sitting beside him.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like Mr. Floyd Wallace to take a well-deserved bow for all he has done to help with this most worthwhile project."
The bald-headed man stood up and nodded his head in nervous acknowledgment of the applause that welled up again, then Wallace made his way to the podium to join Dutton.
Floyd Wallace reached into his pocket and produced a piece of paper, which he held up, though the printing on it could hardly be read from the other tables.
"I'm pleased and honored to be able to present this check to Senator Dutton, which he will pass on to those in charge of the playground project. Senator, thanks to all the good folks who participated in this fund-raising banquet. Here is forty thousand dollars. And if that's not enough, you just let us know. The kids are worth it!"
Again, waves of applause rang around the ballroom.
Dutton accepted the check, then shook Wallace's hand.
Electronic flashes glared and video cameras whirred, capturing the scene for posterity.
"And I do think the senator is being a bit too modest," Wallace went on as the applause died down. "Senator Dutton deserves as much credit for the success of this effort as anyone else."
More applause rang out, this time for Dutton.
The partygoers were having a good time.
Bolan leaned over to one of the other reporters.
"Who's this Wallace guy?" he asked in a low voice.
The reporter frowned at him.
"You from the sticks or what, man?" The reporter went on without waiting for a reply. "Floyd Wallace, the do-gooder. Owns a chain of day-care centers. He's always in on things like this playground project. Runs a privately funded orphanage and adoption agency."
The reporter turned away to face the podium, losing interest in Bolan.
Bolan had to admit, looking at Wallace, that the guy fit the part of a humble man dedicated to doing good deeds.
Wallace seemed embarrassed at being in the limelight. He returned to his seat, turning the speech making over to Dutton, who went on for another fifteen minutes before drawing his remarks to a close. He received another ovation when he was through, then the politician who had introduced him earlier made a few closing comments.
Bolan began elbowing his way along the wall of the crowded hall toward the front of the ballroom where the scene was starting to break up.
He kept scanning the room for familiar faces, as he moved, finding none.
Security was lax, this not being a bona fide political event. There were a few inattentive rent-a-cops posted at some of the exits.
When Bolan made his way near the standing senator, Dutton was busily shaking hands and talking to a knot of well-wishers gathered around him.
Bolan slowly edged closer to the group, waiting for some of them to drift away. When he judged that the coast was clear enough, he stepped up to the senator and addressed him in a quiet voice.
"Pardon me, Senator, do you mind if I ask you a few questions? It'll only take a couple of minutes."
Dutton hardly glanced at him, taking him for just another reporter looking for an interview.
"I'm sorry, but interviews are arranged through my office. Call there in the morning and talk to my press aide, okay? I'm sure he'll be able to set something up."
"I'm not so sure this can wait, Senator. It's about David Parelli."
Dutton's head swiveled to take a closer look at the big man addressing him.
"Who are you?"
"Just a few minutes of your time, Senator."
Dutton swallowed, looked around and plastered a practiced smile on his face.
"Why not?" he said heartily. He turned to the others in the group. "I'm sure you'll excuse me, folks. No politician can turn down the chance to get a little free publicity with the press, now can we?"
The others chuckled, unaware that anything unusual was going on.
Bolan fell in step beside Dutton as they headed toward one of the ballroom's rear exits.
Dutton kept smiling as he walked, but Bolan noticed that sweat had begun to bead across the senator's forehead.
"This better be good," he rasped to Bolan. "I don't know why I'm taking the time. I don't know anything about Parelli..."
They were approaching a cluster of people around the exit.
"Shut up," Bolan growled so only Dutton could hear, "and keep smiling. You don't want to lose any votes, do you, Senator?"
Dutton shot a furious glance at him, then they shouldered their way through the group.
They were alone in a short passageway that led from the ballroom to the hotel kitchen. Swinging doors at the far end of the hall closed off the kitchen, but the tinkle of cutlery and dishes being handled floated out past the doors.
Dutton turned to Bolan, irritation plainly written on his face now.
"Now see here, I want to know the meaning of this. I..."
Bolan did not break the reporter cover just yet.
"There was a shooting at the New Age Center tonight, Senator. It's a..."
Dutton paled.
"I know, it's a health club."
"Owned by David Parelli?"