I’m listening.” Here it comes, Fishblate thought—he was about to be invited inside again. Good. The outside was no place to be, not after today.

“Tomorrow, invite me up to the platform. First thing.”

“Now, why would I do that?”

“You know,” Waddell said, still pacing, the legs unstiffening a little with the circulation, I’ve often thought what a good mayor you made. In those days, business was good. Things proceeded with a certain order. You could count on the police, the magistrates. Now, it has all unraveled into chaos.”

“King Numbers,” Fishblate agreed ruefully. “You are suggesting what?”

“MacRae has his own ideas about who ought to be mayor. So does Walker Taylor. So does George Rountree. So do a lot of people.”

“And you don’t have ideas?”

Waddell finished his brandy and put the glass on his desk. “Certainly, I’ve got ideas.” He looked Fishblate square in the eye.

“Me?” He didn’t quite believe it could be so easy.

“Why not? I sure as blazes don’t want the job—got my hands full. But I need a man I can count on.”

“And you can count on me? Why?” Fishblate was still skeptical. He’d been in politics too long to take anything at face value. Nothing came free. If he could only determine what Waddell stood to gain, then he could rest easy. The first rule of politics: find out the stakes.

“Because you’re a known quantity,” Waddell said. “Because you don’t trust Hugh MacRae. Because you’ve already got people you can call on to make a government. Because you can keep the streetcars running and the electricity on and the fire companies sober.”

“Keep going.”

“That’s all there is.”

Fishblate shook his head and stood up, as if to go. He wasn’t buying. “I mean, what’s in it for you? What’s your end?”

Waddell sat on the edge of his desk and struck a pose. “Simple. Next year, support me for governor.”

Fishblate nodded. Of course—why hadn’t he seen it? Waddell still had influential friends all over the state from his congressional days. But he would need Wilmington. And the mayor would control the party here. Whoever wound up mayor could make or break a campaign. “I could double-cross you.”

“You won’t.”

Fishblate smiled, nodding. “No, you’re right. A deal’s a deal.” Everybody knew that when Solly Fishblate made a bargain, he stuck to it.

“Then you agree?”

“How do I know you can do it? Just because I let you address the meeting? You’ve made plenty of speeches already.”

Waddell laughed from his belly. When he finished, he leaned over Fishblate, circled an arm around his neck, and whispered, “Timing.”

“Timing,” Fishblate repeated, now himself on the verge of laughter, recognizing the truth when he heard it.

Chapter Fourteen