“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.”
Imber nodded. “Me, too.”
“What?” Guyan said.
“It’s company money,” Imber said.
Cubbin nodded. “It must be.”
“But you’re not sure,” Imber said.
“What do you mean I’m not sure?” Cubbin said. “I’m damned sure.”
“No, as far as you’re concerned, it’s money from friends.” He looked at Guyan. “You don’t care where the money comes from, do you?”
Guyan shrugged. “I just spend it, but I don’t want Walter Penry or that kneejerk Nazi of his telling me how to spend it.”
“You got Peter all wrong,” Cubbin said in a mild tone. “He’s really quite a liberal guy.”
“I’m not going to argue with you, Don,” Guyan said. “I’m just going to tell you right now that I’m not going to take any orders from either Penry or Majury.”
“But you will take money from them?” Imber said.
Guyan shrugged again.
“What about suggestions and ideas, but not orders?” Kelly said to Guyan.
“If it’s a good idea or suggestion, I don’t care where it comes from,” Guyan said.
“Well,” Kelly said, “from what I heard and saw during my first meeting with that bunch, you’re going to be getting quite a few suggestions and ideas.” He turned to his father. “You’d better play them that tape, chief.”
Cubbin nodded. “I guess I’d better. After you hear this tape you’re going to understand not just why we can use Walter Penry, but why we need him. Why we need him bad. Play it for them, Kelly.”
Kelly Cubbin walked over to the small Sony recorder that had arrived by cab shortly after he and his father had returned from the Hilton. He pressed a button and the sound of the mimeograph machine began.
Cubbin watched the grim expressions that appeared on the faces of Guyan and Imber as the voices on the tape began. I don’t guess they’ve ever played this rough before, he thought. It’s going to get rougher, a lot rougher because Sammy’s out to win and for him that’s everything. Christ, when’s the last time you wanted something so bad that it made you hurt the way Sammy must be hurting? Well, yeah, there was that time then when you wanted to get on that bus to L.A. You wanted that all right, but since then you haven’t wanted much of anything, at least not anything that wasn’t easy enough to get. You want to be reelected this last time, but it won’t kill you if you’re not. You’d probably be better off, you and Sadie. You’ve got to do something about Sadie. Maybe explain to her how after the election’s over it’s going to be okay again. Christ, Cubbin, you can really fuck things up.
When the tape ended, the grim expressions on the faces of Guyan and Imber remained. Imber looked at Cubbin who was wearing a cynical smile. “Surprised?” Cubbin said.
Imber nodded. “What’re you going to do about it?”
“I’m seeing Barnett Tuesday.”
“What’re you going to say?”
“You mean after I stuff that tape down his throat?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know,” Cubbin said, “but whatever it is, I’m going to have a damned good time saying it.”
Imber turned to Guyan. “You’d better tell him about it now.”
“Tell me what?” Cubbin said.
“The wire services have been after me for your answer to Sammy.”
“What’s Sammy saying?”
“He held a press conference in Washington this afternoon.”
“And?”
“He demanded that you resign.”
Cubbin snorted. “Christ,” he said, “I thought he might have said something important.”
19
The auditorium of the Calumet City high school was packed with 2,711 local union members, including wives and girl friends, who had paid a dollar for ten chances on a shiny new fiber-glass Chris-Craft cruiser that retailed for $6,499. The cruiser now rested on a trailer that was parked on stage next to the blue and white state flag that was correctly displayed on the audience’s right.
Donald Cubbin arrived at the high school in Fred Mure’s black Oldsmobile. He sat in front with Mure and in back were Oscar Imber, Charles Guyan, and Kelly Cubbin. A phone call from Fred Mure had produced a Chicago squad car that used its flashing top light to shepherd Cubbin’s car from the Sheraton-Blackstone to Calumet City. A block from the high school the squad car switched on its siren, thus enabling Cubbin to make something of an entrance.