“Good, and then we can meet face-to-face, and I suggest as quickly as possible, as I would like an agreement signed by Friday evening subject to due diligence.” Murray Goldblatz paused. “Nat,” he said, “yesterday you asked me to do you a favor; I would now like one in return.”
“Yes, of course,” said Nat.
“The monsignor, a shrewd man, asked for a two-hundred-dollar donation for the use of this box, and I feel now that we are partners you should pay your share. I only mention this because it will amuse my board, and allow me to keep a reputation among my Jewish friends of being ruthless.”
“I shall make sure I’m not the reason you lose that reputation, father,” Nat assured him.
Nat slipped out of the box and quickly made his way to the south entrance, where he saw a priest standing by the door dressed in a long black robe and biretta. Nat removed two fifty-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them over.
“God bless you, my son,” the monsignor said, “but I have a feeling I could double your contribution if only I knew which of the two banks the church should be investing in.”
By the time coffee had been served, Al Brubaker still hadn’t given any clue as to why he’d wanted to see Fletcher.
“Jenny, why don’t you take Annie through to the drawing room, as there’s something I need to discuss with Fletcher. We’ll join you in a few minutes.” Once Annie and Jenny had left them Al said, “Care for a brandy or a cigar, Fletcher?”
“No thank you, Al. I’ll stick with the wine.”
“You chose a good weekend to be in Washington. The Republicans are in town preparing for the midterms. Bush’s throwing a party for them at the White House tonight, so we Democrats have to go into hiding for a few days. But tell me,” said Al, “how’s the party shaping up in Connecticut?”
“The caucus met today to discuss picking our candidates, and inevitably finance.”
“Will you be running again?”
“Yes, I’ve already made that clear.”
“And I’m told you could be the next majority leader?”
“Unless Jack Swales wants the job; he is, after all, the longest-serving member.”
“Jack? Is he still alive? I could have sworn I’d attended his funeral. No, I can’t believe the party will get behind him, unless…”
“Unless?” said Fletcher.
“You decide to run for governor.” Fletcher put his glass of wine back on the table, so that Al couldn’t see that his hand was shaking. “You must have considered the possibility.”
“Yes, I have,” said Fletcher, “but I assumed the party would get behind Larry Connick.”
“Our esteemed lieutenant governor,” said Al as he lit his cigar. “No, Larry’s a good man, but he’s aware of his limitations, thank God, because not many politicians are. I had a word with him last week at the governor’s conference in Pittsburgh. He told me that he would be happy to remain on the ticket but only if we felt it would assist the party.” Al took a puff of his cigar and enjoyed the moment, before adding, “No, Fletcher, you’re our first choice, and if you agree to throw your hat into the ring, you have my word that the party will get behind you. The last thing we need is a bruising election for our candidate. Let’s leave the real scrap for when we have to fight the Republicans, because their candidate will be trying to ride on Bush’s coattails, so we can expect a tough battle if we hope to hold on to the governor’s mansion.”
“Do you have any view on who the Republicans might put up?” asked Fletcher.
“I was rather hoping you’d tell me,” said Al.
“There seem to be two serious contenders who come from different wings of the party. Barbara Hunter, who sits in the House, but her age and record are against her.”
“Record?” said Al.
“She hasn’t made a habit of winning,” said Fletcher, “although she has over the years built up a strong base in the party, and as Nixon showed us after losing in California, you can never count anyone out.”
“Who else?” said Al.
“Does the name Ralph Elliot mean anything to you?”
“No,” said the chairman, “but I did notice that he’s a member of the Connecticut delegation that’s having dinner at the White House tonight.”
“Yes, he’s on their state central committee, and if he becomes their candidate, it could turn out to be a very dirty campaign. Elliot’s a bare-knuckle boxer who scores most of his points between rounds.”
“In which case he may turn out to be as much of a liability as an asset.”