House Rivals Read Free Page B

her.”
    â€œWhat kind of conspiracy?”
    â€œHell, I don’t know. Something political. I’d had a couple of drinks before he called last night.”
    Had a couple ? Knowing Mahoney, he’d probably had a lot more than two drinks. Mahoney was an alcoholic.
    â€œAll I know is that Doug’s never asked for a damn thing from me in all the years I’ve known him. He’s a fly-fishing guide and when I was younger I’d go see him and we’d go fishing and drink and tell lies about the war, but I haven’t seen him in years. Anyway, he said he needed help and he didn’t know who else to go to and his granddaughter won’t listen to reason. So I told him you were going to help him.”
    Before DeMarco could say anything, Mahoney said, “Hang on a minute.” He walked over to a street vendor and bought a Danish in a cellophane wrapper; the Danish was loaded with preservatives and had probably been baked a month ago. There was no point in DeMarco asking why he was walking if he was going to eat pastry as he walked.
    â€œYou don’t need to go with me the rest of the way,” Mahoney said as he ripped the wrapper off the Danish. “Get Doug’s address from Mavis, and head on out there today. I told him you’d see him tomorrow morning.”
    â€œTomorrow! But I got . . .”
    â€œWhen you find out what’s going on, let me know.”
    DeMarco walked back to the Capitol, cursing John Mahoney every step of the way. He didn’t want to leave today, not with his house infested with rodents. He could just see coming home from Montana and finding fifty mice in his kitchen, having a feast, dancing like cartoon characters in a Disney movie. He called Ralph. “Where are you?” he asked.
    â€œI’m still here at your house, ripping out the insulation. I found another nest.”
    â€œAw, Jesus. Don’t leave. I’ll be back in less than an hour and you can tell me what the game plan is.”
    DeMarco had worked for Mahoney for years. He had an office in the bowels of the Capitol, down in the subbasement. On the frosted glass door of his office, in flaking gold paint, were the words Counsel Pro Tem For Liaison Affairs . The words were absolutely meaningless; Mahoney had invented them. But DeMarco had an office, he had a title, and the U.S. government paid his salary. He was a GS-13, and had been a GS-13 for almost as long as he’d worked for Mahoney. His chances of getting a raise were between slim and none.
    DeMarco was Mahoney’s fixer—and sometimes his bagman, meaning Mahoney occasionally sent him to collect cash from people who wanted to contribute to Mahoney but didn’t want to be known as contributors. More often, if Mahoney had some sticky issue with a constituent or another lawmaker or an old girlfriend—Mahoney had many of those: old girlfriends—DeMarco would be sent to deal with the issue. And usually, if DeMarco was sent to resolve a problem, it meant the problem couldn’t be handled by Mahoney’s legitimate staff in some legitimate fashion. The other thing Mahoney had done many times in the past was loan DeMarco to his friends when his friends had problems—as he was now doing with his buddy Doug Thorpe.
    DeMarco got Thorpe’s address and phone number from Mavis. When he asked if she’d mind booking him a flight and renting him a car, she basically told him to go fuck himself. She did this by simply sniffing. She worked for Mahoney and only Mahoney.
    DeMarco descended to his hole-in-the wall office and used Google to learn that Doug Thorpe lived on the Yellowstone River about halfway between the towns of Forsyth and Miles City, Montana. He’d never heard of either town, and would have to fly into Billings. The best flight he could get left National at five thirty p.m. and arrived in Billings seven hours later, stopping along the way in Salt Lake City. Then it would be a