“The leader. And the led.”

Douglas shrugged. “I guess you could say that. Bo’s very loyal, and that counts for a lot in politics. But don’t get the idea you know the man. You don’t. You’ve only seen him at his worst. And that’s scared. Of you. Normally, he’s a very warm guy. Very funny.”

“Yes. Very funny.”

Douglas made a face, as if he were giving up on Hook altogether.

“What about Mrs. Rubin?” Hook asked.

“What about her?”

“You know why she called it a suicide? Instead of just an accident?”

“I have no idea.”

“And you never wondered? Never asked? Knowing what it could cost you?”

Douglas filled his glass again and took a drink. “I take it you know. Or at least have a theory.”

“I know.”

“She told you?”

“I just know.”

“So tell me.”

“My son turned her down.”

Douglas laughed. “Dorothy? Oh come on, man! Dorothy Rubin hasn’t got one erotic zone in her whole body.”

“You know that for a fact.”

“Well, I’ll admit I haven’t felt around for them. And I’m not about to. But I know the woman. I’ve worked with her for almost ten years.”

“I imagine she’s good at her work.”

“As a matter of fact, she is. And I might add she’s not the ogre you take her for either.”

“Just a little funny,” Hook said. “Like Parnelli.”

Douglas ignored the sarcasm. “Like Parnelli one way at least. You’ve only seen the lady at her worst—scared to death. And that’s not her. Normally she’s just your average hard worker. More competent than most maybe. More dedicated.”

“And loyal too? Like Parnelli?”

“And loyal, yes.”

“That’s the big thing.”

“You’re damn right it is. To me anyway. And let me say it cuts both ways. To people like Dorothy and Ferguson I’m not just an employer. I’m their whole goddamn career—until I fail anyway, until I’m dead politically. Why I imagine Bo sees himself as some kind of future Henry Kissinger or God knows what. And Dorothy—why do you think she’d take in Liz for me? Put up with all her shit? For the same reason she’s got just about all her capital tied up in the company. Because if I make it, she does too. Her life will be bigger than it is now. Fuller. More exciting. And she’ll have power. Part of my power.”

Hook said nothing. Douglas took another drink, a deep drink, and when he set his glass down and looked up again it was as if a light had gone off in his eyes, and Hook was able to see into them, to a dark unused corner of the man’s spirit where a different Jack Douglas lived, one normally kept out of sight, like a defective offspring. It seemed a timid creature, reflective, fey.

“Christ, Hook,” he said, “you know I almost had it made. I mean all the way. To you, I suppose, I’m just a local P.R. man. An amateur politician. But not to the boys that count, believe me. Not to the makers and shakers. Not to the check-signers. To them I’m one very important piece of property—the next congressman from this district. And not just any congressman either. I’m the one with the magic scepter, Hook. All the way. The right looks, the right family, the right kind of image on the tube—and that’s the whole ballgame these days—I guess even you got to know that. So they have—or had, I guess it is now—they had great plans for me. They were all ready with the money. One or two terms in the House, and then they light the fuse and we have liftoff. Governor maybe … senator … who knows?” He had been smiling as he went through this, with eyes distant and reflective, as if he were talking about someone else, in some other time. But now, looking at Hook, the smile faded and he came splashing down into the present. “And now here I sit drinking scotch with some Illinois farmer they don’t know from Adam, and yet who’s gonna change all their plans, not to mention mine.”