Wilts had been at Marx's press conference, but I had seen Wilts at dozens of press conferences over the years and thought nothing of it. I had not known their relationship was deeper, or longer, and now a nervous tension grew in my belly. Debra Repko's final event was a dinner for Nobel Wilts.

What kind of trouble did Wilts need fixed?

Those days, Wilts was a notorious drunk. I'm talking blackouts. He was always getting pulled over or crashing his car. Couple of times he got out of hand with a broad. Whatever. He'd call Marx, and Marx would make it go away. That's what fixers do.

PART FOUR

And Wilts returned the favors?

Leverage wouldn't be interested in a stiff like Marx unless he was holding an ace. I'm guessing Wilts brought Marx in as his successor. The old man must be thinking about calling it quits.

As simple as that? Wilts tells Leverage Marx is his boy and Leverage takes him aboard?

Well, Leverage isn't doing it because they like his smile. This stuff costs money.

So who's paying the tab? Wilts?

Dowling made a flicking move with his hand.

Nah, he probably pressed one of his backers into footing the bill. They make the investment now, they get the favors later. Politics is like Oz, only you never see the magician behind the curtain.

Can we find out?

He thought about it a moment, then checked his watch.

I'll have to get back to you. Anything else? Henry has a full day.

I thought about what he had told me and all that went with it. Marx was no longer just a cop shading an investigation for publicity; now he was a cop who covered up crimes. I wondered how many crimes he had covered, and if Wilts was his only angel.

One more thing, Mr. Dowling. How far back do Marx and Wilts go?

Gotta be fifteen or twenty years. Fifteen, for sure. I can tell you exactly how they got together. I heard it from someone who was there. You do what I do, you hear things, you learn from what you hear.

He went on without waiting for me to ask.

Wilts was still a supervisor, before his first run at the seat. Found himself shit-faced at Lenny Branigan's, but that didn't stop him from trying to drive. He didn't make it half a mile. Sideswiped a line of parked cars, just raked right down their sides knocking off the mirrors, and ended up on the sidewalk. When he came to, Marx was wiping the blood from his face, had to be about three in the morning. Marx wasn't even on duty that night, just happening by, and one thing led to another. Marx drove Nobel home, then brought his car to a boy in Glendale who worked fast for cash. I've used him myself. You know who told me this story?

I shook my head.