The two men wore lanyards and badges from the industrial union meeting at the Convention Center. Walter had been the number two man in the union’s leadership hierarchy for more than fifteen years. He had no interest in the top job. The union leader had to wear expensive suits and put up with reporters and send out Twitter updates, whereas Walter could wear jeans and do the real political work behind the scenes. If anyone in Tallahassee wanted something important done without publicity, they knew who to call. Not the top dog. They called Walter.

The political aide – Brent Reed, thirty years old, curly black hair, goatee – had made the call to Walter when their poll numbers started going south. Reed was just the messenger boy. The call went much higher up the campaign food chain, but nobody at the top wanted to get their hands dirty. That was Walter’s job. After fifty years in Democratic politics, ever since he was an eighteen-year-old kid, Walter knew everybody who mattered in Florida, and he knew how to get things done.

‘Jeez, these elevators are slow,’ Walter complained as they waited in the lobby.

‘Yeah, there’s never an electrical worker around when you need one,’ Reed joked.

‘Funny. That’s real funny.’

Brent slid an iPhone out of his pocket and scrolled up the screen with his thumb. Walter figured he was probably checking his Facebook page, ‘liking’ some post about a Vegas vacation or a cat in a sweater. Dumb kids.

‘Anyway, you can say you told me so,’ Brent went on, fixated on his smartphone screen as he sipped his coffee. ‘Looks like Diane Fairmont’s numbers are for real. She’s up three over Ramona Cortes in a three-way race. Eight over you-know-who.’

‘I told you so. People haven’t forgotten what happened to her husband ten years ago. Her favorability is, what, 65 percent? That’s a lot better than our boy. He’s down around 37 right now.’

‘Maybe we should shoot his wife,’ Reed joked again. ‘He can compete with Diane for the sympathy vote.’

Walter eyed the hotel lobby, then bunched the silk lapel of Reed’s suit coat in his beefy fist and hissed at the tall, slim aide. ‘You want to read a remark like that in the papers? Keep your goddamn voice down.’

‘Chill, Walter. There’s no press around.’

‘You better learn, there are spies everywhere. You have to talk like everything coming out of your mouth is going into an open mike. Haven’t you figured out that this is a war? The Republicans cottoned on to that a long time ago, and the Common Way folks have done a hell of a good job of catching up.’

Brent shrugged. ‘That’s why we called you, isn’t it?’

‘It took you long enough.’

‘Maybe so, but my people are getting nervous. They want to see some progress. What should I tell them?’